Human Enough Chapter 1 is on AO3!
Please enjoy this excerpt!
A peculiar stench grabbed Baxter by his feathery antennae during his final leg of travel. It was a musty, woody smell, like a damp, rotten log. Unpleasant to him, but intriguing to Fly, and impossible to ignore either way. He alighted on the rooftop of a vacant building—once home to a small confection factory—and looked around for the source of the smell. It was from something living, moving in his direction. Maybe it had something to do with Shredder, that monster. Playing the cautious game, he crouched down and dropped his antennae so they were flush with his scalp. They became tangled in his long, windswept, dirty blonde hair, but he paid it little mind.
“Boy, I’m starvin’! What’s a guy gotta do ta get some grub around here?” called out by a man in the same direction as the scent. He stepped out from the alleyway opposite of Baxter and into the main road where he was bathed in the orange light.
Not a man. A mutant. Part roach. Baxter adjusted his glasses for a better look. Purple flesh and spikes broke through most of his once-human skin, and remains of clothing hung off his body in tatters. His mouth was stretched wide to house two tusk-like mandibles. On top of his red scalp were two very long, yellow antennae that were wrapped by a black coil at the base.
But the most disturbing feature were two tubes that were grafted into his chest and snaked around the back to what looked like a small chemical tank. A third tube fed from the bottom of the tank to a spray gun, holstered to his belt. Baxter wasn’t sure if the mutant needed a steady supply of whatever was in the tank or if the tubes pumped some substance out of his body into it. Likely the latter given the gun.
The mutant stood akimbo in the middle of the street and scouted the area. Baxter shifted from crouching to lying on his belly with as much stealth as he could muster. There was no telling what was in the tank or if he’d fire at him on sight.
Putting his forefinger and thumb up to his mouth, the man-roach let out a grating whistle while his yellow antennae danced around. “Hey fellas, any good eats around ‘dis joint?”
On their own, Baxter’s antennae began to move in sync with the mutant’s. He tried to smooth them back down to his head, but they refused to stay and bounced up the second his hand lifted. His wings tried to buzz. A lump formed in his throat. In an effort to keep still, he tensed his body and gripped onto the brick rim.
Down at the street, hordes of insects—mainly roaches—congregated around the mutant. He picked one of them up and held it closely to his ear.
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. I ain’t in ‘da mood for roadkill again tonight. Try again, guys.” He tossed the roach behind him.
The coarse fly hairs on Baxter’s arms and back stood on end; his muscles felt like compressed springs ready to break forth; the lump in his throat slid upwards.
What’s happening to me? thought Baxter as his breathing and pulse quickened to catch up to his racing mind. He gripped ever harder onto the rim to keep still.
The mutant bent down to take more suggestions from the bugs. “‘Da dumpster by ‘da school on Houston Street? Eh, I suppose, but a guy can only have so many fishsticks before he gets sick of ‘em.”
More of the mutant’s signals struck Baxter’s antennae and sent a rattling shiver down his spine. Fly’s presence competed more for dominance than he ever felt since he regained his humanity. The lump in his throat was kept in place only by clenched jaws. His other half could not—must not—take over. Not again.
Then the mutant glanced up and snatched a rogue housefly midflight. “What say you, little lady?” He opened his hand to reveal the fly, dazed but unharmed. “...You and your buddies just had a slice of pizza before a rat took it? Well, ‘dat doesn’t help me now, does it?” He squished the fly before she had time to escape and licked up her remains with a single swipe of his warty tongue. “For the last time, does anyone have any good ideas?!”
Baxter could no longer keep control of his body as Fly burst forth. He sprung to his feet, wings abuzz, and cried out in a higher-octave voice, “The new bakery on 8th and D dumps all their unsold doughnuts every night!”
The mutant jerked his gaze straight up at Baxter. “Who’s ‘dat?” Seeing his bulging yellow eyes make direct contact with him sent a jolt of fear strong enough to pull Baxter back into the forefront of his mind. He squeaked in terror and dashed to the opposite end of the building before fleeing into the night.
The man-roach put a clawed hand to his chin, puzzled. “Doughnuts sound pretty good right about now. But ‘dere was somethin’ awfully familiar about ‘dat voice.”
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