The daytime slums typically lived by pseudo-decency — if one didn't delve into details, beggars, the smell of raw and cooked meat, the rotting district could be mistaken for a simple outskirts. Many gangs usually relaxed, engaged in semi-legal activities or established contacts, but it was now that the Slaughter decided to strike another major blow.
Nobu, for the sake of distraction, maintained the appearance of a war with Dokugumi, but he and their leader, Siegfried, had long since entered into a rather nasty agreement, which, as both understood, could be violated at any moment. But for now, the non-aggression pact bore fruit. Moreover, although the lizards were stronger, more dangerous than the average member of the Slaughterhouse, they significantly lagged behind in numbers.
Nevertheless, two more factions remained on the black market — the foxes lurking somewhere and the Marauders, who didn't hesitate to recruit all sorts of psychopaths, including those addicted to meat, but strictly avoided herbivores. The reason was quite simple — they would simply be eaten there. Nonetheless, as a fighting force, the Marauders could also inflict significant damage. Moreover, they had several basement laboratories for producing drugs, different from the "mother-of-pearl dust" both in strength and in the duration of the high, which didn't prevent them from serving as a source of income.
Chon Hee and Nobu planned a daytime strike. With the help of reconnaissance by a flying squirrel himself, they found out where their main hideout was — an inconspicuous dormitory on the outskirts of the market could hardly arouse suspicion, Marauders were extremely cautious and prudent. However, Pibb then spotted some conditional signals by which the gang members could be recognized, and things became much easier. The dormitory was amidst residential buildings; most likely, a direct strike would be impossible, so thanks to the building plan obtained by the same sneaky gecko, Nobu solved the problem much easier. He took several construction respirators and sneaked into the basement of the building through the sewer.
The basement was dark and cramped, barely visible were the remnants of a heating boiler that had long since gone bad and permanently frozen.
"Quiet," he ordered in a hushed tone, removing the respirator. "Soldier, do you see anything without a flashlight?"
"No," grumbled the moose, barely squeezing through the hatch. "It's dark and smells, not a job, but a dream, damn it."
"Get out and stick with me. They hardly check the basement; the layer of dust here is as if no one has been here for a hundred years. Voices!"
"Aye-e-e," emitted a strange cry from the condor. Nobu reached out cautiously and felt the feather-covered, slender neck. Yes, he's a monster, but he's their monster.
"Calm down, kid. They've been holding you back for too long… those upstairs. You understand? We're trying to follow the trail, but they probably stole your voices among others…"
"Voices," whispered the bird.
"Yes. Up there. We'll find them, kid, I'll help you. But for now, stay quiet, alright?"
The condor flinched. He never showed the slightest sign of understanding the gang leader, but somehow Nobu managed to control him. The leader didn't want to think about what would happen if the miracle ended.
Makoto disagreed with the "sewer" plan, but the honey badger had an idea for that too — the lion led the diversionary squad, instructed to engage in a brief firefight with the posted guards and then flee. The Marauders had posts in several places around the dorm, two of them on the rooftops. All Makoto had to do was shoot them from the adjacent roof, attract attention, and possibly reinforcement, while Nobu would strike from the inside with a small group, without unnecessary shooting.
Chon Hee was terribly proud of this plan, and the leader couldn't help but admit that his underling had indeed excelled in such cunning. The final preparations according to the plan with the official were also underway. Nobu doubted that he would last long, but the flying lizard assured him that it wouldn't be necessary. Everything in the style of the Slaughterhouse — to strike, sow fear, reap the greatest benefit, disappear, never to return to the scheme.
Of course, except for those schemes that had long been established on a permanent basis.
"The door's there. It'll be easier from here, but we'll have to be ready for a fight to the death when we go out."
"I'm always ready, boss," responded the jaguar from behind. Shika, as well as his brother Avagui, marked by a sudden attack, with the strange nickname Pepper, became the final addition to the squad of ruthless killers. The moose, as the only one unable to see in the dark, was holding uncertainly, but Nobu knew perfectly well what would happen when he broke loose.
"Somewhere here, their labs might be. Remember what I said, we don't kill the cookers, just knock them out, if possible."
"You tell that to your psycho, boss."
"He'll go straight up. Don't get in his way — or on the spur of the moment if that's what you prefer," Nobu smirked maliciously. He put his fingers on the door handle, commanded in a whisper:
"One, two, three… let's go!"
After kicking open the flimsy door, the honey badger immediately encountered a small mongoose in the basement corridor, loading a syringe with something brown. The mongoose didn't even notice the door opening — Nobu simply slammed its head into the damp, greenish wall, where a bloody stain spread. For his size, he possessed impressive strength. Nobu checked the dimly lit corridor — no one.
Outside, frequent gunshots rang out.
"Upstairs!"
The beasts rushed up the stairs — Shika, running first, silenced the nascent cry of one of the Marauders descending the stairs with his claws, and the Marauder gurgled, clutching his bloody throat.
"Voices, keep up, kid. Shika, Pepper, clear the first floor. Soldier, you're on the second. If they overwhelm you, retreat and hold the corridor with your pistol until we finish upstairs, but for now, don't shoot."
The moose silently nodded and pulled out a menacing-looking weapon with double-edged sharpened blade and serrations on the reverse side. Despite lacking claws, he handled the blade quite well… who knows what would have happened to that idiotic cook if the knife had been with him. The Soldier smirked vengefully and, despite his bulk, quickly dashed up the stairs. From below came cries.
"I said work quietly," Nobu muttered through clenched teeth. The moose disappeared into the doorway, the thin door slammed shut, and they rushed to the final landing. The old, though sturdy, three-story building could withstand many battles, but today it was destined to change hands. Nobu turned and stared into the eyes of the condor. He grinned falsely, stroking the creature's cheeks, and said:
"They live here. Voices, I need you alive. We all need you; Slaughter needs you. But they… the Marauders must pay. Like that very night. Remember?"
That night, he first picked up the key to the deranged one's heart, and he killed, like a deadly mechanism, wiping out an entire street gang with just a dagger.
"Voices…"
"Yes, yes. They took your voices and hid them somewhere. I think… it's here," Nobu pointed with his claw at a low gray-blue door with noticeable scratches. Voices fell silent, then something clicked in the bird's brain, and he pulled a wakizashi from his belt with emerging anger in his eyes. The condor carried the weapon with a floral ornament without a sheath, occasionally admiring the reflections of light on the blade. Unfortunately, it fell to the honey badger to clean and care for the weapon, but he could afford a slight disregard for his status.
In exchange for this.
With a predatory cry, Voices burst inside. Nobu immediately pressed himself against the wall — several shots shattered splinters from the door frame; the Marauders clearly expected guests — but the screams inside didn't stop, transitioning from curses to cries of pain. More shots were heard, then more, but farther away. Ducking and pulling out his pistol, the honey badger rushed forward, only to find two animals with deep slash wounds. One of them, it seemed, a lion, had his abdomen diagonally cut, and now the blue-gray intestines were trying convulsively to be stuffed back into the wound, the animal was howling in agony and terror. Shooting him, Nobu dashed forward, peering into every open door as he went.
The maniac always acted lightning-fast — in different rooms, his "friend" and master found numerous bodies. All were armed with either swords or pistols, but it didn't seem like they could oppose the bird darting chaotically with a small blade. Voices attacked not like a typical bird, all of which usualy preferred strikes from above — in fact, Nobu couldn't even remember a time when he tried to take flight. No, he ran like an ostrich, but five times faster, slipping past furniture, past the bodies of other animals… and slashing, slashing, slashing, cutting tendons, muscles, arteries, and sticking the blade into cheeks, between teeth, or into eyes, making the victims believe that they were being attacked by a real demon.
In the rooms, there were already at least a dozen animals, horribly maimed and powerless to fend off the attack. From the penultimate room came noise, picking up the second pistol his size from the floor, Nobu hurried there and almost crashed into a massive desk — rather, the desk broke through the thin wall, forcibly thrown by the owner of the office, and apparently, the leader of the Marauders.
Swinging bloodied paws, discarding the useless empty pistol, the huge grizzly bear tried to hit Voices, who darted from side to side, but unfortunately, the bear had just thrown away the last obstacle, and despite his agility, the condor couldn't deeply cut through the dense fur, and from the multitude of cuts, the beast only became even more enraged.
Swallowing and raising his weapon, Nobu shouted, "Hey!"
The bear turned around and immediately roared in pain — the wakizashi had pierced its side. Catching the half-opened mouth in his sights, Nobu pulled the trigger — a thin dark streak of blood splattered, the grizzly grabbed its head with its paws, not yet realizing that the upper part of its skull was torn from the inside, gaping with bloody shreds, then it fell heavily to its knees and fell face-first to the ground. Voices breathed heavily — as he had many times before, he suffered no serious injuries. A bloody streak on his wing, seemingly from claws, but overall he looked… usual. Insane, as usual, but now also drenched in blood from head to toe, and menacingly staring at Nobu.
The honey badger often liked to repeat that he feared nothing, but from this look, he felt uneasy. Discarding the second useless pistol, Nobu slowly hid his weapon behind his belt and with an inconspicuous movement pulled out a small item on a cord from his pocket, wrapping it around his fingers.
"Voices… it's me. Nobu. Everything's fine, they got what they deserved," he appealed, holding his palms forward. For a few moments, he considered whether to leave the condor in "combat" mode, but he wasn't as easy to control as electrical devices with an off switch. "You're bleeding from your wing. We'll treat the wound with the guys and look for your voices here, okay?"
The bird nodded. His gaze was fixed on the object in Nobu's hand — a small phosphorescent pendant, a common trinket that the boss had once shown him by happy chance. And found that with its help, the condor could be slightly subdued, although the object itself was of no particular value. But now, for the honey badger, its value was in the millions of yen.
"Calm down, Voices. I'm a friend. I'm Nobu. Everything's fine. You won't hurt a friend, will you? I wish you only good…" Nobu spoke softly and confidently — and the bloodied fingers of the condor relaxed, the wakizashi fell from them, the blade sinking between the floorboards. He made a mournful clucking sound and bent down, picking up the weapon, tucking it behind his belt.
"Well done," Nobu said with a smile. "Let's go, let's check on the others."
"Yes," unexpectedly sensibly replied Voices. The leader looked at him with caution, but he again sank into his thoughts, whatever they were. Shrugging, Nobu moved forward.
On the second floor, they found Soldier, pressing a cut on his shoulder, but otherwise uninjured. Jaguars were coming up from below, both covered in blood, but not their own — the pistol in Shika's hand looked as if it had been shoved into someone's eye socket and twisted for a long time.
"Clear?"
"Yes, boss," Shika obediently replied.
"Excellent. Found the lab?"
"No. Nothing even remotely similar."
"Damn. Soldier, how about you?"
"Didn't see the lab, boss. Scrtch's fine."
"Didn't ask about your fucking wound. Grrrr… seems like it's somewhere else. Find the survivors and ask them persistently where the lab is. Or — wait, I have a better idea!"
He dialed a number and, waiting for an answer, immediately said:
"Makoto, everyone okay?"
"Yes, boss. Ikaku got shot, but nothing serious."
"Excellent. Try not to attract attention, set up an ambush in case they follow you. Connect Splin, let her watch the approaches on the cameras."
"And you?" Makoto asked coldly.
"We'll set up an ambush right here," Nobu smirked, stroking his chin. "It's a chance to get rid of the Marauders once and for all; the rest will either leave the market or try to join us."
"Are we… going to accept them?"
"Do you take me for a fool? Of course not. If anyone tries to come in — they're out immediately."
"Once again, you're orchestrating a slaughter, boss."
"Don't approve? Well… it's time for the rest to acknowledge that Slaughter is the only possible state of affairs in the black market," the honey badger remarked smugly.
The clinic, rather high but hidden between two old houses, hardly caught the eye. If not for the green cross, a universal medical symbol worldwide, it would have been difficult to notice from a distance, but for those who had already mapped out the route in their brain's navigation system, it stood out distinctly. Likewise, so did the clinic's owner.
Melon raised his hand and tapped on the door with his fingertips. Clear scratches stood out on the solid surface, which hadn't been there before, deep and positioned higher than any average-sized animal could reach. It seemed some unruly patient — or vengeful one — had turned up. Knowing Gouhin's methods, the latter was easy to believe. And although as a doctor of both physical and mental health, the old panda had managed to establish himself only positively over the years (and survive, which was also an achievement in the black market), his character was… not the most pleasant.
"Why have you come?" Gouhin asked grumpily, opening the door. "We agreed — appointments are made by phone only."
"To visit you, doctor," the hybrid said with obvious irony, tilting his head to the side. The doctor yawned and spoke irritably:
"Save your nonsense for those who willingly listen to it. What's in the bag?"
"Food. From the restaurant where I work."
"From 'Khud Tej'? Did you decide to start a fire in the clinic?"
"It's not spicy. I cooked it myself," Melon said with a stony expression. Gouhin chuckled:
"Let's not play detectives now and employ deduction to understand why on earth you showed up? Well, unless we assume that there's only one patient in my clinic right now, and you've come to… visit him?"
The hybrid nodded impassively.
"Guilty on all counts. Let me in?"
"It's so unlike you that I'm slightly taken aback."
"Don't portray me as a heartless monster, doc. I just want to make sure my efforts haven't been in vain."
Gouhin snorted:
"Efforts." But stepped aside. Melon nodded politely and entered. He wore, over a short, thin jacket, a hood of special design for horned animals, and his traditional mask, which the hybrid immediately removed upon entering.
"I don't understand why you're so actively hiding when it brings you such displeasure."
"Hm… among other, not so obvious reasons, I can name a memorable appearance, the police, and the fact that my face was once known on the black market. Not so long ago, by the way. I haven't found any old friends here, but as for enemies… they could have survived," Melon replied almost without sarcasm. "How's Bill?"
"His treatment… is progressing. I, as well as your doctor, need to ask — what's with the sudden interest?"
Melon awkwardly shrugged, kicking off his shoes:
"Rex knows."
"What did you see in the tiger?"
"He disgusted me."
The seemingly imperturbable mask of Gouhin seemed to waver for a moment:
"Disgusted?"
"Yes. You've spent so many years in the black market — you've seen this filth yourself. Animals who have brought themselves to the state of crawling and rooting in the trash heaps. Beggars, lunatics… you'd think, who am I to speak disdainfully of lunatics?" the hybrid's voice rang out, saturated with sarcasm. "But Rex tear them all… why stoop lower and torment yourself, getting not even a drop of pleasure?"
"I might argue about certain points, but overall you're right," Gouhin nodded. "Let's go to the kitchen, and you can show me what you brought. As for pleasure — yes, one could say we live for it, the brain injects dosed hormones at precisely measured moments. Whether it's the satisfaction of a job well done or more physical sensations, they're imprinted in memory as confirmed by our own biochemistry."
"Not for everyone."
"Nevertheless, your situation isn't the worst. Just be careful."
"Sure," Melon smirked. "Now you're showing an uncommon kindness."
"Please! I'm a doctor, compassion for patients is exactly what I'm known for."
The hybrid grinned sardonically and pulled out three smaller packets from a large paper bag with a black and yellow logo, which in turn were neatly arranged in cardboard boxes and plastic cases with food.
"At all times, when official relations ended, you were and remain an old grumpy thorn in the side," he said quietly. But Gouhin heard and parried:
"Then we have a lot in common. You're quite the thorn yourself."
"I have nothing to object to on this point. Where's Bill?"
"Where he's supposed to be, in the infirmary."
"It's too optimistic to call a room with three filthy beds an 'infirmary.'"
"I changed the lighting there. And San cleans regularly in the evenings."
"And are the walls still as yellow and peeling as they were on Tuesday?" Melon chuckled, unpacking the food.
"And who among us is the grumpy animal?" Gouhin crushed the cigarette between his fingers, for some reason not lighting it. "A personal question. Useless for therapy, so you're free to answer or not, as you wish. Just want to tie up loose ends in my mind."
"What's with the preamble? If you want to ask something, just ask."
"Did you… want to prevent a similar fate for Bill?"
"I wanted to shake him up and knock some sense into him. It's disgusting to watch when, you know, you can clearly see this burden of guilt on random carnivores — they reach for a piece, drop it, then reach again…"
"Allow me to inquire — why?"
"Why do they reach? They liked the taste."
"No. Why was it so critically important for you to bring him to his senses?"
Melon turned suspiciously:
"What are you implying, doc?"
Gouhin shrugged:
"I'm not implying anything. Just wanted an answer to the question. Perhaps you haven't answered it for yourself yet?"
"That's none of your bear business."
"As you say," Gouhin chuckled.
"I don't have those idiotic mirror neurons. Or they're asleep. I don't know. But I'm not going to sympathize with him and wipe his nose after every childish prank," Melon grumbled, pulling out the last of the food and tossing the bag on the floor.
Or maybe mirror neurons just didn't have a chance to learn in a social circle.
Gouhin flicked his lighter and took a deep drag. He said:
"Call Bill."
"So much trust. Or just lazy?" the hybrid quipped, leaving the kitchen. The tiger didn't look too good. In casual clothes, in semi-darkness, he sat, leaning against the wall, staring blankly at his phone. Hearing the sound of the opening door, he didn't lift his head, hardly reacted at all, only raised his eyes after a second:
"Gouhin? What, is it time for me… Melon?!"
"Yeah. It's time to eat," the hybrid said and closed the door.
"But I'm not…"
Bill fell silent, not finishing the sentence, realizing that nobody was listening and wouldn't be for the foreseeable future. He sighed slowly and got up from the bed, staggering out and putting his phone in his pants pocket.
In the kitchen, two familiar faces were already waiting for him — the local king and god, Gouhin, and the guy who picked him up in some diner, Melon. Bill had already thanked him back then, but hadn't seen the hybrid since. In the small, though cozy, room, there was an unfamiliar smell, but a delicious one; the tiger licked his lips instinctively and twitched his whiskers.
"Did you… prepare something, Gouhin-san?"
"Fried bamboo," Melon snorted. "Smells good, doesn't it?"
"Hello, Melon. Did you also come for an appointment?"
"I brought food. Usually where I work, we only cook spicy dishes… but since I'm the chef, it's up to me to decide how much and what to put in the dish."
"Thank you… but I eat well," Bill said embarrassedly.
"Eat well?" Melon glanced at him. "Kid, you've lost a few pounds in four days, your eyes are sunken, your fur is dull…"
"It's related to the healing process. He's getting enough calories," Gouhin grumbled, snuffing out his cigarette and pushing back his chair. "What's this?"
"Soy curry. For you, Bill, udon with dumplings, and I went with biryani."
"What's this?"
Melon grinned:
"In simple terms, it's pilaf. But I wouldn't advise you to try mine."
"Why?" Bill asked.
"Too spicy. Dangerously spicy for regular taste buds."
"Khud Tej" generally maintains and, I would say, carefully nurtures the sad reputation of the place from which customers were sometimes taken away in an ambulance," the doctor remarked, cautiously sniffing the curry. It really smelled delicious, no matter how much of a jerk Melon was, he knew how to cook. And for a creature unable to taste the dish, he was a genius chef.
Bill asked cautiously:
"Is it all that bad?"
"I have several bushes of Carolina and Nagas growing in my pantry — some of the hottest peppers in the world," the hybrid shrugged, opening an improvised plate and starting to devour the contents. "If you turn them into liquid and load them into a pepper spray, it will be a lethal weapon. High probability of respiratory edema and serious mucosal damage. But you have nothing to fear, I honestly prepared the palest dishes in the entire history of 'Khud Tej', probably."
"M-m-m… not bad," Gouhin nodded after tasting. "Bill, if you were waiting for a signal, you can start your lunch. Or is it dinner? What time is it anyway?"
"Five in the evening. Just something average," Melon shrugged, flicking his tail. "Did you two sleep again?"
"No. I was working, filling out reports for the sponsors. The ones the funds provide — need to be accounted for."
"I see. Bill, dig in. It's not poisoned. Want me to try it first?"
"No, I…" the tiger hesitated, picking up the chopsticks. "Just trying to figure out what that smell is."
"Give it a try," Melon advised. A pleasant and strong burning sensation showed its tongue, slightly hindering clear speech, so he limited himself to short sentences.
Gouhin suspected something was amiss:
"You didn't add meat to that, did you?"
"Wouldn't a carnivore recognize meat from three miles away by the smell?" the guest countered with questions.
"No, it's not herbi meat…" the tiger said thoughtfully, then, winding some udon around the chopsticks and skewering one of the dumplings, sent it all into his mouth. His eyebrows raised in surprise:
"Oh! This is amazing, Melon. Are you a professional chef?"
"Recently," the hybrid concealed his smile behind the food. Gouhin thumped the table with his fist:
"Alright, spill it."
"What?"
"What did you mix in there?"
"Just regular udon, we already get it ready-made. Just need to boil it, add some spices, some like it slightly fried or even chilled…"
"Don't give me the tooth speech, tuft of fur. The dumplings. What are they made of?"
"Fish."
"What?!" Bill exclaimed, barely swallowing the treat. It stuck in his throat and refused to move after what he heard.
Melon raised his palm:
"Easy!… yum, easy. No psychological trauma, Bill, please. You know how ocean dwellers view the cycle of life and death?"
"I do, but that doesn't mean they can be caught and…" the tiger began to boil, his claws starting to protrude from his fingers, but the hybrid opposite clenched his fist in the air:
"Hold on! Negoro, the restaurant owner, sources the products absolutely legally! They are supplied by the ocean dwellers themselves, without violence, just as goods for trade. And these are not corpses, it's something already processed and ready to consume!"
"So it's legal?" Gouhin tilted his head skeptically.
"Well, they haven't banned them yet…"
"But they haven't fully approved them either; introducing a new food product usually takes years."
"So for now, we're in the gray area," Melon shrugged philosophically. "Bill, what you're doing now is ethical. And justified, considering you're losing weight and need to recover."
"You… deceived me," the tiger bared his teeth, his claws starting to extend on their own.
"I fed you. Not with animal carcasses, not with a bleeding piece of meat, not with a roasted deer steak, but with udon. With fish dumplings made from semi-finished seafood," Melon cut in firmly and resumed eating. Then he lowered the chopsticks and added:
"I've never gutted a single fish in my life."
Here, strangely enough, he was honest. Yet the doctor still looked at him menacingly:
"Melon…"
"What?"
"You could have jeopardized our already modest progress. Next time, be less… inclined to tricks, please."
"It's not a trick."
"Sure it isn't," Bill shook his head disapprovingly. He had calmed down a bit, but still felt the anger gnawing inside him.
"As you say," Melon coldly replied, squinting his eyes.
They continued eating in complete silence, even Bill, after a pause, started eating. The taste of fish didn't evoke painful associations; rather, it was Melon's attitude that disturbed him. However, the tiger was never a brilliant orator, and he simply couldn't find the right words now. He wanted to hit Melon, get into a fight, but overall, the hybrid hadn't done anything bad to him yet. He helped once and tried to help a second time… although with all of Gouhin's vague warnings, Bill couldn't definitively say if the beast opposite was sincere.
The beast opposite, however, didn't hold grudges for long. Usually, he would retaliate instantly, but something was holding him back now.
Progress… they probably had some progress with Gouhin too. Especially when Melon learned to navigate the corridors of his own psyche, which he hadn't considered worthy of examination before and simply enjoyed life. But now… mindless enjoyment was diminishing. And meaningfulness was still elusive.
"You should probably know," Melon said, finishing and closing the box. "I'm a killer." Bill flinched. He slowly raised his eyes from the nearly empty container of udon to Melon, who just looked back, trying to gauge his reaction. Glancing at Gouhin, Bill was surprised by his composure. However, he reminded himself immediately that the doctor lived in the black market. Surely, this wasn't his first patient with blood on his hands and wouldn't be his last.
"Like… me?"
"If that night was the first time you realized what an adult and strong tiger is capable of, then it's worse, buddy, much worse. I have a bloody trail behind me for miles. Perhaps that's what our good doctor warned you about, or wanted to," the hybrid chuckled, approaching the window and standing with his back to the others. Outside, there was an empty street, but he wasn't sure if Bill should see his ironic smirk. "Furthermore, I'm a psychopath in the medical sense. But oddly enough, I've never killed fish. Or any of the marine creatures."
"Oddly?"
"Yes. Besides pride and disappointment, that's all I have. Twisted laughter, mischief, trickery. I don't even have bloodthirst – never had."
Melon turned his head aside, looking in the window, and continued:
"I'm not trying to look like a tragic figure now. I enjoyed it. Senseless slaughter, cruelty, power. But I don't do that anymore. Maybe Gouhin pounded some common sense into this head of mine, but the changes started a bit earlier."
"I… don't understand," Bill said quietly. "I thought I'd get better and turn myself in to the police."
"They would've been delighted. Idiots who wouldn't even show their nose on the black market. Idiots who can't even ensure safety on the streets outside it."
"Shut up!"
Gouhin's shout acted like a whip — the horned figure by the window slightly flattened its ears and hunched over, waving its tail. The panda growled angrily:
"If you need to vent, vent to me! Why do you have to interfere in someone else's life and influence their decisions?"
"Oh, no, Gouhin-san. You told me to be honest — I'm as honest as can be. To the bone, to the thread, to all possible limits," the hybrid retorted venomously. "Bill, tell me, didn't Gouhin-san warn you it's better not to deal with me?"
The tiger remained silent. After a few seconds, Melon nodded:
"Just as I thought. Well, now you know what a monster sent you to the doctor. And brought treats made from fish carcasses."
"So… Bill, back to your room."
"Gouhin-san, maybe we should…"
"No. Go occupy yourself with something."
Having waited for the tiger to leave, Gouhin almost growled:
"Why?"
"Crystal-clear honesty."
"But for what purpose? Just to throw all the facts of your biography in his face and wait for him to understand the intricacies of someone else's life? Melon, the guy is nineteen, he can barely figure himself out right now, and your confessions and actions could trigger an endless number of psychological levers and traps. Although you're not much older yourself…"
"Do I need to be older than you to have a right to an opinion? I wanted… maybe I wanted to act like normal animals do. Not be a hypocrite. To bring something that shows not the utmost indifference," the hybrid dryly stated, still staring out the window. Gouhin crossed his arms over his chest:
"Normal animals are actually the biggest hypocrites. To your credit, you've always been honest with yourself, although in today's world, it's rather rare. And about not being indifferent… you just wanted to show that?"
"Yes," the hybrid firmly said, turning around and looking into the doctor's eyes. Or rather, into one eye, although they were so dark that in poor lighting, one would hardly notice the difference.
"Well, we can work with that," Gouhin sighed. "But about the fish, I suspect this is your usual desire to walk the line between possible and insane."
"Animals say it tastes good, society doesn't explicitly condemn it."
"But it doesn't approve either. It's a floating, stagnant situation, not the first in your life. Do you want to change something?"
"Yes, probably," Melon said, crossing his arms over his chest as well, but less confidently.
"Apologize to him."
"For what?"
"For deceiving him. I know it wasn't deception by your standards, but in situations like this, which are ethically questionable, it's customary to warn. I mean, deception not about the food, but deception according to the principles of the moral system that has developed in Bill's mind. I think he considers you his friend, and such an act doesn't fit into the friendly relationship accepted in society."
"A friend? Ha."
"Yes, perhaps you don't need such a relationship. But, guided by the same reasons that made you help him the first time, I would apologize. It's up to you to decide."
"If blood suddenly starts leaking from under the door of the room, remember, I have an alibi," Melon said gloomily and abruptly turned, heading for the corridor.
There wasn't a lock on the door, of course. And Bill was unlikely to have become so depressed as to lock himself in, but the hybrid was prepared for anything. He found the tiger in the same position as when he first arrived — with a phone in his hand, sitting on the bed, Bill wasn't even looking at the screen now. Taking off his T-shirt, he exposed the bandages wrapped around his arms and torso, covering the short orange fur with black stripes. The wounds didn't bother the beast too much. His head was thrown back, eyes closed. His thoughts wandered far away…
"Bill," Melon broke the silence. The patient spoke without opening his eyes:
"What?"
"I'm sorry. I thought you could at least eat fish products."
"And you were right. But you should have asked. Or at least said before we started eating."
"Understood. And that's why I apologize."
"It's okay… I also acted like an idiot. Listen, what does 'psychopath from a medical point of view' mean?" Bill opened one eye slightly. Melon sighed:
"It means I have no emotions. Not all of them, some, but, importantly, I can't empathize or express empathy. Pity, sympathy, care — that's not me."
"But why did you help then?"
"I didn't want you to turn into a complete pile of animal garbage. You were aesthetically unpleasant to me, to put it more complexly."
"Believe me, I felt even worse. Like crap. But now it's easier. Thanks to you and Gouhin."
Melon shook his head:
"Don't overestimate my help. Everything I said in the kitchen was the absolute truth."
"And yet, thanks for the help you were able to provide. And for the food," Bill said with a distant hint of warmth in his voice. "I didn't think udon could be cooked so deliciously. But how… do you manage without taste?"
"I remembered, look at that," Melon smirked, as if the tiger had just cracked a funny joke. "I stick to the recipe card and use good kitchen scales. Customers judge the rest… although in the restaurant, it's easier for me, most visitors just like spicy dishes."
"I like spicy food too."
"They all say that. Until their first visit to 'Khud Tej'. Negoro's restaurant specializes in spicy food from around the world."
"I could eat your dish of the day on a dare!"
A glimmer of former enthusiasm flashed in the tiger's eyes. Life was slowly returning to him, although he didn't understand how to behave in such strange circumstances. But Melon… even if everything said earlier is taken as pure truth, Gouhin still didn't kill him on the spot. And that meant there were reasons to trust the animal at least a little. The hybrid grinned mischievously:
"And you'll go back to the hospital again, kitten. Didn't you hear what the doc said about the reputation of the place? Don't overestimate yourself."
The tiger irritably curled his lip, showing his fangs:
"We'll see. And stop calling me 'kitten'. It's annoying."
"Get well," Melon said with a light chuckle and left the room.