AOI: Chapter 5- Rain

Cogs was dead.

Word spread through the camp like wildfire, demanding a sullen and dark mood. Reagan, the stout haflinger stallion was one of the most wounded by the news, as Cogs was his dear friend before he was stowed away for suddenly being declared senile. Layla, Cogs' fast friend along with one Cogs' own teammates, called Brechin, also mourned the loss of the old stallion.

It was not in the nature for members of other species to grieve for one another, but Cogs had been so active in the community that it was impossible not to have known him. Before he was taken away, he had made sure that he knew everyone, and he was always striking up conversations, his cackling, wheezing laugh often echoing off the cold walls of the barracks.

But those times were dead and gone, like Cogs himself. The fera had no interest in organizing a search party, for it is not in the nature of animals to search for one who is presumed almost certainly dead. No, only man could do such a thing, for it is hard for them to release what that have held on to for so long with an iron grip.

Weary from the day's events, Steampunk lumbered back into his bunker. The light, triggered by his motion, flickered on with an irritating, continuous buzz. The cramped quarters offered some comfort however; he was alone at last. His stomach growled angrily, causing him to wake from his thoughts and head towards the corner. Behind him, the retractable door slid back, offering complete privacy from the outside world. His heavy steel hooves resounded dully on the rubber floor, designed to keep the threat of a fall to a minimum. Reaching the corner, the glared with contempt at the series of tubes which came from the floor, held in the air by stiff rubber and steel casing. The stallion opened his jaws and stuck out his tongue. Well, his fake tongue at least. Because of the virus' rampage on his body, every inch of him had to be covered. Even his lowly tongue and the insides of his mouth; the throat was left untouched however.

Pulling the tube into his mouth, he pushed it down his throat by snaking his head lower down on the tube. Triggered, the machine below his feet, beneath the building began to pump a warm, squishy mash into his mouth, which he swallowed greedily. No taste satisfied his tongue, and the luxury of chewing one's food was in the past. After a few moments, he withdrew, feeling full and yet still hungry. Grazing was nearly impossible with the long, serrated teeth on his helmet. Two longer ones, in the place of his wolf teeth, sloped down past his chin. Many a time had he used them to stab his enemies' throats.

Turning, he made his way to the other end of the small building where a pile of straw awaited him. With a groan and a creak from his armor, he lay down, curling his unnatural tail about him. He made a sort of barking nose—which in reality was the English word for ‘off'—and the room instantly became dark. His ocular lenses, reacting to the darkness, began to glow, sending an eerie light about the room. Steampunk closed his eyes, the never-ending discomfort of the armor's embrace not leaving him even for sleep. The sounds of camp just outside faded away as the great stallion drifted off to a world of comfort, peace, and rest.

* Green fog surrounded him. It choked his lungs, it stung his eyes. It filtered in through the grates of his helmet, stinging the nostrils beneath. He reared up, thrashing the air with his great hooves. Around him, screams and horrible cries echoed around him. He was in the mountain pass, but it was fast filling with bodies as they tumbled from above and landed with savage cracks. Some fell and hit the rocky walls on the way down, breaking legs and necks. Above him, he could see some sort of figure, though what it was he could not tell. Fear clouded his senses, and he began to see horrible things in the shadows; wolves and men and horrible beasts with fangs, leaping out at him from all sides. The figure above him cried out in glee, a voice echoing, thundering, the voice of one but many. “No matter how powerful you appear,” it roared, large, horrid eyes boring straight into his head, “you are no more than prey. Prey for men, prey for beast, but most of all,” at this, the figure leaped into the air, diving down with an open maw straight for him. “prey for me!” *

Steampunk awoke with a start, instincts urging him to flee. His tail whipped out and smacked the wall with a thud and a clang as his hooves scrabbled on the floor. Then he realized that it was nothing but a dream, and he sunk down, sides heaving still. For months he had had dreams, all accompanying the strange green fog paired with death. The dreams caused him to be paranoid and on edge, which was beginning to be more noticeable to others. Six months had passed since Cog's death, and the humans were no closer to finding where he had gone. It was if he had vanished without a trace.

He sighed heavily, getting up and shaking, feeling the armor shift over his skin slightly. He looked back at his tail and snarled with annoyance. A crack about as wide as a garden snake and about that long had coursed over the metal from where he had hit it against the wall. He had a machine in his bunker able to repair his helm and shoulder plates, but not his tail.

He sidled out the door and groaned. He was supposed to be in charge of Avalon and the other younglings this day. But it was punishable by death to go around with armor that could leak the virus. Steampunk's eyes scanned the area. A little ways away was Layla, who appeared to be resting in the shade of a tall bunker. “Layla,” Steampunk called roughly across the clearing. The grey mare lifted her head, ears perked, and called back irritably. “What is it?”

“I need you to do something for me, just for a few hours.” He explained, stepping over to her, being sure to keep his tail far away from the mare. Layla was inoculated for the virus early in her stages, and only her legs were affected. Her limbs were wrapped in the same soft black material that covered Steampunk's own legs and belly; her lower legs were protected by metal guards which tapered at the knee. A small purple gem was encrusted in each. Smaug had these as well; they would emit a light when poison gasses or radioactive substances were detected in the air.

On Layla's thin Thoroughbred shoulders were large shoulder plates, connected at the withers by a thin strap of tough, flexible leather, which also attached the plates across the chest and under the belly. A tall, scooping piece of metal reared up from each shoulder plate, and between these two peaks was a large, spinning orb, which floated in the air all on its own and was attracted to the metal by a magnetic charge. From this orb is where her wings also attached, floating, currently folded neatly at her sides, the long fingery metal parts waiting patiently for her command. The wings acted on impulses from the orb, which in turn rotated and responded to the shift of the shoulder plates. All Layla had to do was roll her shoulders forward, and her wings were at the ready.

“And this ‘favor' is?” Layla asked, propping one back hoof. Steampunk sighed. “My tail's cracked,” he began gruffly, and in response Layla scowled. “so I need someone to watch the younglings for a while.” Layla groaned audibly, rolling her eyes. “Fine,” She spat. “But only this once. Now go get that fixed before some fera gets sick.” With that, her shoulders rolled, and her artificial wings whipped upwards, and she brang them down swiftly, then thanks to technology and power, the horse was up in the air, sweeping down to gain momentum before rocketing back upwards.

Steampunk was able to reach the repair ward in half an hour, and waited impatiently for the lazy human to make his way into the warehouse. The human wore the mask which they were required to wear, but that was it. He led the stallion over to a bench, propped his tail up, and began to weld the crack. All the while, Steampunk was consumed with thoughts of his dream.

* “So his tail cracked? How? How long will it take to fix?” Avalon rattled off questions to Layla, who glared, irritated, down at the filly. She'd had to watch the younglings before, but that was when Morgrim was Avalon's size and Avalon herself was just a foal. “Yes. Don't know. Hopefully soon.” Layla answered the barrage of questions in tandem as the three year old bounced around, yapping out more questions. Morgrim had decided to begin showing off, balancing a dead flower atop his nose as he trotted around. Fae was standing nervously a few yards away, her large eyes blinking. Layla looked over at her. “You must be Fae.” Fae started, licking her lips. “Ah…yes.” She replied, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “What's the matter?” Layla asked, a little less than caring. “I… the men. They are coming to take me and Morgrim away this day.” The young gypsy vanner replied shakily. Ah yes, thought Layla. The men were coming to take them for testing. To try and discover what made them immune to the virus. Bitterness swelled in the grey mare's throat; why hadn't she been immune? She could have gone on to compete in more races and mother many great foals. “You'll be fine.” She replied dully, returning her muzzle to the earth where it had been a moment ago. Just then, a rumble was heard, and over the hill came a lumbering black truck towing a trailer. Morgrim dropped his flower, and he and Fae shared a look of fear as the truck drew closer. *

“Steamy!” Avalon cried, tripping over her own feet as she galloped down a hill towards the armored stallion, who had his tail repaired and was coming to fulfill his duties. He looked up; Layla soared past overhead; she must have seen him coming. He turned his attention back to the oncoming filly, who appeared upset and crying.

“Steamy, they're gone;” She sobbed, slowing down as she got closer to the stallion. “The men came. They took Morgrim and Fae away! Why did they do that, Steamy?” She begged, teary eyes wide and concerned. Steampunk sighed. He knew this day would come. When the foals and fillies were old enough, they either went into testing or the breeding program. Avalon was old enough for the testing program, but not the breeding program. She was bound for the latter, and only a few more years needed to pass before she was ready.

“They went to go figure out how to stop the virus.” Steampunk put plainly, beginning to walk. Avalon, knowing she would get no more answers, sniffed loudly and followed with drooping ears and tail. She noticed a glint from the corner of her eye, and saw the fresh weld that closed the crack in his tail. She looked at it in wonder. “Steamy—did that hurt?” She inquired, glancing up at the tall stallion.

“No. It's not attached to me directly.” He replied shortly, not halting. Another question popped into Avalon's head. “What are you like underneath this metal?” At this, Steampunk halted. He was silent for a long time, and Avalon began to fear that she had upset him. But his next, angry glare back at her informed her that she had just angered him. “Never ask that.” He growled low before walking onwards towards the small barn.

Questions whirled around in Avalon's mind. Although she had known Steampunk since her arrival 3 years past, she still knew hardly anything about him. Soon however her mind drifted to other things, and she began to ramble on and on about different things. “… and I saw a falling star yesterday! Well, two nights ago really. But it wasn't really falling. But then I saw a butterfly! At last I think it was a butterfly. Morgrim said it was a butterfly.”

She rambled on, and Steampunk eventually tuned her voice out, consumed in his thoughts. That dream. The green fog. What was it? Why did he keep dreaming of it? And who, of all fera, was that figure above him in the pass—

“Steamy, where are we going?”

Steampunk was rattled from his dark thoughts then. He realized that he had walked all the way to the west gate—one jump and he would be on the path back to the camp. He cursed himself for daydreaming. Avalon peered over the old, knotted wooden gate, down the path that led over the hills. She looked so longing and curious that it ignited something in the great stallion, although he knew not what. Compassion maybe? Still looking down the path, he asked, “Have you ever been outside the gate, filly?” Avalon looked sad now. “No,” she answered. With that, the stallion leaped over the gate, catching Avalon off guard. The stallion looked her in the eyes and her stomach fluttered. Steampunk began to unlatch the gate with his muzzle. “Well. I think it's about time you came and explored the world before it dies.”

***

If Avalon had been amazed by the sights she had seen along the path to the camp, then she was surely astonished now. Never before had she seen such a wide variety of animals all gathered in one place, bustling about to and fro, armor clanking as they went. Her wide blue eyes took in every sight, and Steampunk was curiously confused as to why she was asking no questions. In truth she was too amazed to even speak. Buildings were almost foreign objects to her, having only known the small barn and the concrete walls of the pasture. She trotted excitedly next to Steampunk, who harvested confused and annoyed glances from the surrounding fera. That first day, Steampunk simply gave her a sort of tour, introducing her to his world and the knowledge he held, which she swallowed up greedily, wanting to know more and more.

By the time she had to return to her home on the prairie, it was night and she was weary but saddened about having to leave this strange, exciting world which Steampunk abided in. She complained all the way back to the pasture. “If you stop complaining, I'll take you back out tomorrow.” Steampunk had hissed, and after that she had complained no more, happy to rest in her bed of straw and hay.

When the great stallion left, however, she suddenly felt very much alone. Darkness enveloped her, shadows seemed to come alive and bite at her hooves, until in a cry of fear she had sprang up and raced after the great lumbering stallion. Steampunk, thoroughly annoyed, agreed to follow her and stay until she fell asleep.

In the morning, when dawn's light filtered through her eyelids, Avalon stirred, the rustle of hay and straw beneath her, prickling her skin. When she blinked the sleep from her eyes, she was overjoyed to see Steampunk just outside the barn, basking in the growing light. His armor glinted marvelously, like a thousand diamonds.

For two weeks, Steampunk agreed to take her back to the camp and let her explore with him. She became something like that of his shadow, and soon all knew her presence and were used to it, for the fera adapt easily to young life. However, during one such adventure, the clouds began to darken, and thunder growled menacingly in the sky, and bright lightning began to flash, contrasting against the dark skies.

The metal beasts ran for their lives into their bunkers and before he knew what he had gotten himself into, Avalon was in Steampunk's bunker with him, seeking shelter as well. There was no way Steampunk would get her back to her pasture before morning now. Avalon was afraid of the growls and booms that the sky tossed down, and cowered under Steampunk's belly. As the skies grew blacker, the two retreated into the back on the building, curling into the hay (at the protest of Steampunk of course, who didn't much like sharing). There, two sets of eyes began to grow heavy, and before he could stop himself, Steampunk was asleep, his tired dreams being greeted by a laughing figure above him and the ever-present green fog.