Chapter Text
There was mold in the food.
There was, almost always, some amount of mold in the food.
There was, almost always, some ignorable amount of mold in the animal kibble they passed off as food.
Animal kibble, because these kinds of people didn't bother to see the human parts of her and others like her. They just saw the hybridized parts. The ears, tails, fur… get enough generations in, and even the hands and feet become toughened and paw-like. Hybrid genetics that could be exploited to the highest buyer. For the bigger stronger men, toughened up and sent away to die under some militia contract. The prettier ones got excess hair shaved off and auctioned off to perverts who liked the collars they were forced to wear.
'Like pre-built sex pets', she heard one of them say on a tour of the facility, many months ago. But that had been through the wall. The ones who couldn't be made 'presentable', like her, were kept out of sight. Used to train up the stronger ones, to be chased and bullied and kept around as examples.
'This is what happens if you don't follow directions.' 'This is what you'll look like if you toss aside what limited food you're given.' 'Better keep quiet, or this will happen to you.'
'Look at Maggot. See how long she's been here. No one will pick her, she's only good for being chased.'
Maggot…. She knew that wasn't her name. Couldn't be, the name her mother called out in long faded memories sounded kinder. Sweeter… but Maggot was apparently close and cruel enough for the handlers to punch it onto the metal tag that hung from her fraying collar. She had been kept by this company for as long as she could remember. From the moment she was ripped from her home…. She couldn't have been much older than a toddler. And Maggot certainly hadn't been a child in a while, she remembered years ago when she'd been told she was old enough to be paired off with other hybrids for "heat". She'd had those awful seasons for a couple years before…. Well, before she didn't anymore. That too had been at least a couple years ago if she kept track of the seasons right.
She wasn't pretty enough to be sold, according to the handlers. Her hands and feet are calloused and furry. Fur across her hips and back too thick to be clipped away. Even her nose had those dogglike slits up the side of the nostrils. And as much as they helped her sense of smell… apparently the kinds of customers who came looking for young dogs like her didn't like to be forced to remember that they were buying actual dog hybrids and not just pretty girls with accessories.
Back to the mold.
Maggot reached out to the plastic bowl and traced a line between roughly half of the kibble. Just as she'd spotted, about half of it already had that telltale fuzziness at the edges… but half of it looked salvageable. The food had been passed out hours ago, but it was always best to wait and see what would emerge from letting it settle. She'd seen and heard too many of the other hybrids in adjacent kennels get sick from eating too eagerly. The benefit of being here the longest she supposed. Plenty of time to learn.
She picks up the remaining pieces one by one, rubbing her rough thumb-pad over the surface to remove any dust or debris before carefully tucking it into her cheek to soften up with saliva. A couple more to make a meager mouthful, waiting until she feels them crumble, then quickly swallowing before the taste can really hit her tongue. A slow process, taken sitting crisscross on the concrete floor with the plastic bowl in front of her, facing the kennel wall. But the closest thing to peace she can find usually, besides sneaking naps here and there to save what little energy the kibble will give her. She'll need it for tomorrow. Rumor has it, there's a new buyer in town, and the big hybrids will need extra training in order to impress them. Which means she'll probably be stuck outside in the summer heat running around a barren field until her legs give out again and she's caught in the hands and jaws of whoever gets lucky enough to earn a real meal that day. The food had been getting worse with the humidity making everything cling with sickly moisture. This would have to be enough, even if she already had a hard enough time just standing up when ordered.
Maybe Otto the mastiff hybrid hasn't been sold yet. He's usually nice enough to let her just fall to the ground and stand over her, not letting any of the others get a bite in at her heels. The handlers think its possessiveness. Otto's been here almost as long as Maggot, and the big guy gets enough buyers interested for the handlers to keep him around for a good show. But she knows its what little kindness he can get away with. She made sure his food wouldn't make him sick at the start, back when he was kept in the hidden away kennels like her and the other lost causes.
The other tougher hybrids aren't as nice. They'll just as easily bite her arms and scratch at her shins to trip her if it gets them a little bit more food promised. They're the ones that make the handlers see them as animals, she thinks. Doing anything to beg master for a treat. Bullying the younger, smaller ones. The kids…. Not a lot of kids make it back into the reject kennels. Maggot isn't sure that's a good thing.
Her train of thought is interrupted by the reverberating clang of the heavy metal doors being swung open, startling her into preemptively swallowing her food, forcing her to press a hand to her mouth while she muffles a cough. The evening is fading from the high up barred windows of the warehouse, there shouldn't be any reason for the handlers to check in before the nightly shift change… no good reason, anyway. She shuffles the last remaining safe bits of kibble into the cleanest corner of her kennel as out of sight as possible in a six foot square concrete room with a thick wire door frame, her ears perking up slightly at the sound of the few other hybrids further along the aisle shuffling around as well.
A couple familiar voices of the handlers echo out, the harsh flickering lights flashing on overhead, and more footsteps than Maggot can immediately count. Heavier, too…
"-Don't worry about these ones. You wanted a thorough tour, and unfortunately that includes the less successful projects. Every batch has a couple failing grades, but we use ours to further the growth of our best assets where we can."
Thompson, one of the business leads… He rarely comes down to see the hybrids in person, so knowing hes here leading a tour of all things immediately has Maggot on edge. She moves to kneel in the center of the kennel just as trained, wincing as she presses her scabbed knees against the concrete and feels a creeping numbness along her left thigh from sitting for so long without stretching out.. Hands on her knees, tail curled around her hip. Eyes down and ears still.
Footsteps move closer. Six, maybe eight sets. Thompson giving the speech, low hums or unimpressed grunts following. Shadows of tall, broad figures move past on the floor, Maggot keeping her eyes down no matter the temptation to peek up and see what devils have come to visit today. But the limited food and energy catches up for a moment as her head swims and she blinks hard, reaching out to her side for just a moment to steady herself before straightening her back again.
… One of the shadows pauses, just before passing out of sight of her kennel. She closes her eyes and tightens her fist, hearing almost more than feeling her heart hammering against her ribs. Attention isn't good. Attention is dangerous. Attention means criticism. It means less food, more running, less sleep, more bruising-
"Wha' about this one." A gruff voice comes from the lingering shadow, the other passing bodies pausing. She can hear how tall it must be.
"Hm? Which one are you-" Thompson steps back across the floor, peering around the edge of the wall before chuckling. "Oh, that one wouldn't be of any interest to your company. That's just one of our bait dogs. Encouragement for the real fighters, you see."
"... Bait dog." Another unfamiliar voice comes closer, blocking yet more light from coming into the kennel, covering Maggot with a shadow that feels more and more suffocating by the second. The voice itself is stiff, anger curling at the edges.
Thompson takes the statement as a question. "Yes! Maggot here isn't suited for our more serious programs, but we find she gets the best reactions out of our other hybrids. They'll train through heatwaves, snow, hail, just about anything if she's the prize! That said, not exactly for sale. I'm sure you understand."
The words fade away at the edges, as the unfamiliar men stand just close enough that Maggot gets a whiff of their scent. Guns and metal come to mind first, undeniable and present beneath fabric, and leather. Underneath that is more individual notes, smoke, musk, a subtle blend of soaps and laundry detergent that makes her heart ache for fresh air. And… something more. Something that tugs at her throat and begs her to lean forward for a deeper sniff. Something tempting and warm, hidden beneath the others… coming from that first stranger who spoke. The one who saw her.
"We'll take this one." An authoritative tone makes her flinch away from where she had nearly lost control of herself and leaned forward to take in more scents, and she feels the hair raise at the back of her neck. This time, she risks glancing up from the floor.
Four unfamiliar men, all bulky and broad, made even more imposing in solid black uniforms and thick padded vests. The one who just spoke and now faces a confused looking Thompson sporting a hat and bushy facial hair. Another darker skinned man glances down at her with something like pained pity, his gloved hands tucked into the top straps of his vest. Further back another man seems to be looking between the other kennels along the wall. And the one that had stepped closest, she has to glance just that extra but higher to catch his face.
And finds her gaze locked with the eyes of a white skull mask beneath a heavy looking helmet. The eyes looking down at her, equally guarded and yet open with an urgency she can't help but feel shocked by. Looming over her as much as possible through a fenced door, searching for something in her. Soldiers or militia she realizes, tearing her eyes back down to the floor with a strange fluttering taking root in her chest.
"Oh? Well, as I said, Captain, She's not exactly up to our company's standard, I doubt she would be-"
"From what I've seen, Mr. Goliath, you're between buyers at the moment. Not a lot of traffic coming through, despite the increased attention this… industry has gotten recently. You reached out to us. Promised a show of good faith. Army's only as good as its weakest soldier, so we'll be taking this one." The man in the hat, apparently a captain of some kind, lowers his voice to a near threatening timbre. No nonsense, no room for argument.
A half choked chuckle comes from Thompson, and Maggot picks up the faintest whiff of fear in the air. A few more hushed words shared between the strangers as keys jangle against the locked kennel door.
And then… the door is open, and Maggot feels frozen and hesitant. A moment passes… and that strange warm scent comes closer as the largest, skull faced man steps just far enough into the kennel to squat down in front of her. A gloved hand reaches out, ignoring her slight flinch, and tilts her chin up so that shes forced to meet those achingly piercing brown eyes once again. She swallows hard…. What could they want from her? Maybe they just want a chew toy. Something to pass the time before shes tossed aside to finally rest for good. Maybe they've come to free her to that last cold embrace… maybe that would be better than the other worse things swimming in her mind.
The hand on her chin moves slowly, tracing a finger down over her shoulder, feeling the bone beneath skin and thin fabric. Then up, brushing the dirty hair away from her eyes. SHe doesn't dare flinch away, afraid to offend.
"... Can you walk?" The voice is low, quiet. Takes her a moment to recognize the question, even longer to make her body respond. Legs trembling, bracing a hand on the wall to stumble to her feat, trying to hide the wince as her knees pop uncomfortably. Tugging the faded yellow hem of her ill fitting dress back down into place over her thighs. There's a hum, some unhappy noise from one of the other men looking into the kennel. Maggot feels a bit lightheaded, the vertigo of standing making her stumble when an arm reaches out faster than she can flinch away from it.
Warm… warm, solid, surprisingly gentle. The stranger loops his arm around her waist and a second hand under her knees, lifting her up with an ease that would betray his strength if she weren't already so thin and frail.
"Relax, lass, we'll take it from here." The third man, his accent different than the others, with a thick woolen hat pulled low over his forehead, steps up to the skull masked man and nods softly to Maggot, reaching a gloved hand out to tug her loose dress strap back up into place.
She just… nods. Tucking her hands against her chest, doing her best not to nuzzle into the warmth of the chest she's being cradled against.
"You understand? Can you speak English? How about reading and writing, know that too?" The man says, in the accent she now remembers being called Scottish, with soft interest as he and the skull masked man start walking back down the hallway to the exit, leaving the other two talking with Thompson.
Maggot debates pretending not to. Maybe being dumb would earn her some sympathy. But being carried already has her shoulders softening.
"... Mhm. English. Bit… bit of French. I can read but don't have a lot of practice writing."
"That's real good, lass, that's real good. Hang tight, we'll get you outta here."
When the metal doors swing open, she's hit with a gust of warm late evening air. A faint breeze, heavy with the scent of metal, wood, and the tang of sweaty bodies kept in the same place for long periods of time. Gravel crunches under the boots of her seemingly new owners. At that moment, she was thankful to be carried, remembering all the times before she'd been forced to walk barefoot across the rough sun heated gravel to go to the training fields. Breathing deeply, she takes in the fresh air while she can. Just because her new owners might carry her doesn't mean their kindness would last. Best to enjoy it while she can.
They cross the gravel pathways out towards the parking lot, coming close to the first of the ring of fences she knew encircled the lot. Used to keep the hybrids separated from the office and vehicles. The couple of guards on duty stand up straight just outside the small booth that housed the gate controls.
"Ey, our Captain's just taking care of payment, we're taking this one out to the van." The Scot takes the lead, his smile wide and toothy.
"... You bought Maggot? Woulda thought big blokes like yous would buy one of the beefier ones. That thing's been in here longer than I have." One of the guards chuckles, shaking his head. Maggot remembers him, one of the more reliable ones in his cruelty. At least, he hadn't pretended to be nice to the hybrids at any point. The hands at her back and under her knees twitch, and if her hearing were just a bit better, she would've sworn the man carrying her growled faintly under his strange mask.
"None of your business now, ain't it. Open the fuckin' gate." No nonsense, straight to the point. Gruff and stern enough to kill the last few chuckles from the handlers before they hit a switch inside the booth and the gate swings open.
… The last time Maggot had been on the other side of this gate had been years ago. Dragged out half conscious to the back of a mobile medical unit parked in the lot. She didn't remember the pain and sickness, not really, she just remembered… thinking that it was the worst she had ever felt. Thinking she might die, over and over. That maybe the other side of that gate was just the afterlife. Of course, then she'd woken up nauseous and sore a couple days later, back in the kennel with her abdomen wrapped up and crushed pain meds mixed into her water, the memories of pain slipping away somewhere deep. She'd been one of the lucky ones, barely anyone came back once they left the first gate.
She hoped this time she would be leaving for good. She would allow herself that little hope.
Maggot's thoughts return to the present when her carrier pauses next to the back hatch of a large black van with the windows heavily tinted and, if she had to guess at what an armored vehicle looked like, it would be one like this. The Scottish man pulls the handle and swings the door open, and she spots a few plain black bags and various weapons strapped up against the walls, along with…. A small metal framed kennel, strapped in against the side. She would have to curl up to fit inside, but it was better than being left loose with the bags, she supposed. And being carried had allowed her limbs to stretch out a fair amount at least.
But as she moved to reach a hand out and crawl into the back, the man carrying her tightened his hold and looked down at her. His expression seemed almost confused, but when he followed her gaze to the kennel, he took a deep breath in through his nose.
"That's for dogs. Regular dogs. You'll sit in the car with us."
"Oh… okay." Maggot withdraws her hand, feeling equal parts confused and embarrassed. The Scottish one rummages through the bags in the back of the van before pulling out and shutting the doors, a thick gray blanket draped over one of his arms.
This time coming around to the side of the van, she's set down gently on the pavement, a hand still steady at her back while the door is opened, and then shes guided into the back seat and the men take to either side of her. The Scottish one shakes the blanket loose and tucks it around her, the skull masked on reaching over to pull the seat belt loose and buckle her in, all the while Maggot sits silent and bewildered.
"They called you a maggot. Why?"
"It's my name. The one I was given, at least." Maggot untucks one of her arms and finds the metal tag attached to her collar where it had twisted off over her shoulder, turning it for the men to see. The Scottish one winces visibly and sighs, while the other just stares.
"Let's… lets just call you Mags, for short, yeah? My name's Johnny, folks I work with call me Soap. The big scary bastard is Ghost. How, ah, how long you been with these people?" The Scot-.. Johnny shakes his head slightly again.
"As long as I can remember, mostly. Sometimes the company moves, handlers change out. But as far as I was told, I was born on one of the farms."
"Farms?"
"Hybrid farms, Soap. Like this place, but worse. Not a lotta those left, these days. Let's get that thing offa you." Ghost mumbles while reaching into his vest, pulling out a wicked looking switchblade that immediately has Maggot raising her hackles and stiffening against the car seat. But then, he turns the handle over, swapping the blade out for a small set of thick scissors. "Hold still." he says, reaching out and sliding one gloved finger under the edge of the collar. Its not even skin contact, but just the brush of gloved fingers against her skin makes Maggot shiver. Maybe its from the sensitive skin she knows is under the collar… maybe its just the gentle touch. He pulls the collar just enough to tug it away from her neck without tightening it too much, and with a few quick snips… it falls loose into his hand.
It's old. Faded to gray and caked with dirt and dead skin. The edged frayed and the latch replaced with thick zip ties clipped short that used to dig uncomfortably into her skin when it was turned the wrong way. And from it, a single metal tag with her name punched into it, mirrored on the other side. No other identifier, not even a number, as cruel as that would have been. Just feeling air against her neck is so strange, she reaches up and brushes her fingertips against her skin, feeling stripes rubbed raw and tender. It's a strangely overwhelming feeling, and she's struck with the thought that she really doesn't know what's happening anymore. Shes in the back seat of a van between two of four men who clearly are armed up to the teeth who just took her from, while it was an awful place, the closest thing to home she had ever known. The tears are falling down her cheeks before she knows what to do to stop them.
"What do you want from me? Why pick me?" She whimpers, curling up as much as she can with the seat belt holding her in place. Rubbing the heels of her hands against her eyes.
"Oh sweetheart, deep breath. Come on, bonnie, deep breath." Johnny leans into her sight, his eyes soft and sympathetic. "Just saw you and had to bring you out, promise. Wasn't even plannin' to come to this place, we're on our way back from a job and Cap' got an invitation. Thought it best to scope things out, glad we did too." He watches for a moment longer before glancing at Ghost and tilting his head. Then, reaching up to the beanie on his head… he tugs it off and stuffs it into his vest.
And revealing two ears rounder and more fuzz covered than any regular human would have. They were passable as human under the cap, but when freed stuck out from his head in a way that was almost comically cute. They also sat higher on his head than human ears, and as Maggot wiped the tears from her eyes her gaze slid further up to his hair. A surprising haircut for what she assumed to be a soldier, but more surprising were the short but visible striped spines throughout his hair. A hybrid, undeniably.
"Hedgehog. Don't laugh. Technically half hybrid, but my mam's genes won out."
"... Wolf. Prefer not to show it off." Ghost mutters, but takes off the helmet on his head to let two large canine ears perk up out of holes cut in the hood attached to his mask. Both shades of gray and fur covered, one with a good inch or so missing from the tip in a long healed scar.
"You- you're both hybrids? What about the other two you came with, are they also…" Maggot feels her chest loosen, but worry for the other two still back in the warehouse as far as she knew spiked up.
"Nah, Gaz and Price are both human, but they're good men. Tough, but kinder than I suspect you'd be used to. Not out handlers either, in case you're wonderin'. Handlers and such are only the kinds of people who like takin' control and abusin' less fortunate hybrids like you and the others stuck in that place. Since Ghost and I can pass more easily as humans, our team gets sent in to scope out these kinds of places. See what we can do to help rescue whoever we can." Johnny reaches over to tilt her chin up, taking a look at her neck with a concerned wrinkle in his brow.
She knows there's a chance they could be lying. There's a very real chance she's still in so much danger. But they're hybrids. They hid being hybrids until they would be out of sight of the handlers. And they took her from them, with a promise of safety.
Maggot feels the adrenaline drain from her body as she sags back against the seat, relieved half sob following the last of her tears. A short knock on the window behind Ghost has her startled for a moment, but Johnny sets a warm hand on her knee as the front doors of the van open and the other two men slide into the seats, the hat wearing one as the driver.
"How's she lookin' back there, LT?" The dark skinned man looks over his shoulder to Ghost as he buckles in, and the engine rumbles to life.
"Shaken. Deff needs a lookin' to at medical when we get back. Otherwise, safer now."
"The hat wearin' one's Price, our team's Captain. The handsome bloke is Gaz, but don't tell 'im I said that." Johnny leans over to loudly whisper, clearly not actually caring if either party overheard.
Maggot just nods, watching ahead out the front windshield as they turn out of the parking lot and head out through the main gate, once again buzzed through by the last remaining handlers between her and the rest of the world.
"How about chatting it up with the salesman. How's it looking we go from here?" Soap settles back in his own seat.
"... He hinted that their operation is moving locations soon. I'll have eyes and ears on where they end up, and we'll go from there. Otherwise… not any news I think our friend needs to be hearing." The captain says as he adjusts the rearview mirror, and as he glances back at the shrinking fence line behind them his eyes fall down to the thin bundled up young woman now squished between his soldiers.
Why Ghost had paused at that kennel in particular, he couldn't fathom. It was supposed to be a quick stop, in and out with the information needed to track down where these traffickers were sourcing their hybrids, and a plan to come back later with heavier forces. Instead, the soldier he knew best as being unshakable seemed drawn to this pitiful little waif like a magnet. From the moment Ghost drew attention to the poor thing, Price knew he had to get her out of there. Dirt caked and dulling her hair, matted to the sweat along her forehead and neck. The proportions of her hands and feet made him think that she should be carrying more weight on her bones. And the way she had stood up… trembling like she didn't notice it and her shins scabbed over, her already pallid skin draining of color before she had stumbled into Ghost's hold.
Sometimes his old army buddies gave him shit for taking on what they saw as lost causes. The beaten and broken souls that others couldn't put the effort into. But he always saw the potential. Saw it in Kyle, guiding the headstrong and ambitious young man into a primed leader ready to take on whatever was thrown his way. Saw it in Johnny, taking a cocky young man with punches to pull, and gave him all the targets he could ever hope to hit. Saw it in Simon, over and over again, even when the ghost gave up on his shell.
And he could see it in her too. Speaking with that weasel of a man after Soap and Ghost had taken her out. Heard how long she'd been around, longer than even most of the human workers. Long enough for her records to be lost a couple times over. Abused, mistreated, beaten, bitten. And yet.. Her eyes held the last embers of a spark that he would do his damnedest to revive.
"... Get some rest back there, it's a long drive."