Chapter Thirteen – Clean Work #2
We keep moving. Around the corner, we pass a break room, the scent of burnt coffee punching through the door. Inside there’s a vending machine, a battered microwave, and a fridge with a Sharpie sign: LABEL YOUR SHIT. DON’T TOUCH WHAT ISN’T YOURS.
“This is the common area,” the sergeant says, without stopping.
Finally, we reach a larger room. Long table down the middle. Whiteboards line the far wall, scribbled with acronyms and a half-erased building layout. A few desks off to the side, three already occupied.
“Squad room. You’ll work from here,” Wilsbone says. “But only permanent personnel get a desk. ”
No complaint from me. The less time I spend crammed into a human chair behind a desk that cuts off at my knees, the better. Judging by my brothers’ bored expressions, they couldn’t care less either.
Wilsbone’s eyes linger on us just a beat too long before saying, “You’ll be paired with Fontes. He’s squad lead today.”
He pushes the door open, steps inside and nods to one officer. “This is Fontes.”
The officer doesn’t get up. Just looks us over, assessing. Then he asks to the sergeant: “They briefed yet?”
“Just finished the tour,” Wilsbone replies.
“I’ve got it.”
Once Wilsbone leaves, Fontes turns back to us. “You’re shadowing today. We’ve got a recon sweep this afternoon. Nothing tactical, just presence patrol. You’ll walk it with us. Get a feel for how we move.”
He taps a spot on a map spread across the table. “Three calls came in over the weekend from North Hill Industrial, reporting movement in Bay Seven, in the old freight depots. Cameras picked up heat, but no patrol followed up. Could be squatters. Could be something else.”
We take one of the unit’s black Tahoes. Fontes drives. And another officer — Cole — rides shotgun to track comms, while my brothers and I cram into the back seat. It’s roomy for humans. For us, not so much. But still beats Jo’s Corolla.
We roll in twenty minutes later. It’s an industrial dead zone between the rail yard and the river. No housing. Just rust, concrete, and weeds clawing through cracks. The air reeks of diesel and oil.
Fontes parks behind a freight dock and steps out. “Eyes open. If anything feels off, say it.”
He takes point. Jay trails just off his left.
Cole’s in third, gripping his rifle tight.
I fall in behind him, watching our right, and Shane covers the rear.
We move in silence, the only noise from our boots on the gravel.
Our shadows stretch across a row of broken pallets outside a loading bay.
The garage door’s bent upward at the bottom, like someone tried to pry it open.
Cole gestures to it with two fingers. “That’s new.”
Fontes nods and logs it on his phone.
Further down, there’s a fenced yard full of stripped trucks. We check a side building, the back door is unlocked, but cold. No recent movement. We loop toward the outer fence, and that’s when we see the truck, half-sunk in a drainage ditch. A delivery model, long dead.
Fontes slows and raises a hand.
We spread out. Jay drifts left, Shane drops back and I take the right. Cole flanks Fontes as he circles the vehicle. He checks the doors, cracks the front driver’s side and shines his light inside. Pauses at the rear door, looks in the bed, then steps back. “Clear.”
We start to move again, but something familiar in the air pulls at the back of my nose.
Gun oil.
Sharp, bitter, threaded with powder. Not a memory of it, it’s fresh, recently fired. I glance at Shane. He’s already sniffing the air. Jay’s eyes flick toward the truck again.
We hold position.
“There’s a gun in there,” I say.
Fontes stops mid-step and turns. His face doesn’t change. “You sure?”
Jay nods. “Mid-grade cleaning oil.”
Shane moves in without being told and leans through the open door Fontes already checked. “Passenger-side backseat. Under the carpet liner. Inside the frame maybe.”
Fontes doesn’t argue, just signals to Cole. “Watch perimeter.”
He pulls gloves from his pouch, opens the back door, flashlight angled low. He lifts the floor mat. Nothing. Then pries at the base of the seat bracket, and stops. “Shit.”
It’s wrapped in cloth.
“Modified Glock,” he mutters, turning the gun over in his hand. “No serial.”
He pauses, studying it. Then he looks at us and nods once. “Good catch.”
He keys his mic. “Unit Two to Command. Located a possible unregistered firearm, North Hill Industrial sweep. Request evidence retrieval and processing.”
We’re back at the unit before noon. We follow Fontes to the squad room, but he heads straight to his desk and starts typing, probably the sweep log.
Shane glances around, then at me. “What now?”
“Wait, I guess,” I reply.
And we do.
By twelve-fifteen, it feels like we’ve been sitting in these tiny chairs at the long table for hours.
Jay stands, stretching. “We eat or what?”
I tell Fontes we’re going to lunch on our way to the break room, and he nods without looking up.
The vending machine takes Jay’s first bill and spits the second one back four times before it works. We score a couple of protein bars each and a bag of beef jerky that tastes like it expired sometime last year.
This past week got me used to good food, either from Jo’s favorite restaurant or her cooking. I glance at Jay, who’s already digging in like it’s a steak dinner.
He catches my look. “What? It’s not the worst thing I’ve eaten,” he says with a shrug.
Shane chuckles. “That’s a bold statement, even for you, Jay.”
The rest of the afternoon crawls .
Fontes disappears — paperwork, probably. Cole vanishes too. No one gives us tasks. We stay out of the way.
By the time Jay’s phone buzzes, Shane’s so bored he’s drawing nonsense on a sheet of printer paper he found.
My phone vibrates a minute later, and I smile when I see the name.
Jo.
How’s the first day? You guys okay? she texts.
Yeah. Found a gun. Ate jerky. You? I reply.
So basically you’re thriving, she sends back.
Then: I’m fine, I guess. Just dealing with the fact that word’s getting out about what I am. Since I got here, all I see are people staring at my bite marks.
Shit. I didn’t know the people at the hospital didn’t know what she is.
How bad is it? I text.
Maybe I’ll need a lawyer. But I already went through this in college. People make a fuss, but eventually they leave me alone, she replies.
I’m sorry, I send back.
This is the kind of problem I didn’t anticipate. Something she’d have to face because of our bonding. Because of us.
She answers quickly: Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Anyway, I’m thinking of doing a barbecue once we finish unpacking. Want to show you guys off. I think once people see how amazing you are, they’ll snap out of this stupid prejudice. Just grilling, nothing fancy. What do you think?
The idea that she wants to show us off, like she’s proud of us, makes my chest pull tight. I want to tell her that just seeing her name on my screen makes everything better. That I’ve checked my phone six times today, hoping she’d text. But I don’t know how to say that, so I just type: Sure.
Great! Gotta go. You and Jay talk to Shane. And tell him I’ll buy a new phone and give his back. I want to text him too.
Before I can say anything, Jay slips his phone into his pocket and asks: “Where do you think we can learn how to barbecue?”
After we explain it to Shane, Jay somehow finds an impressive number of grilling videos on YouTube, and we take advantage of the dead air to watch them. By the end of the shift, we’ve learned more than I ever thought possible about temperature zones and meat thermometers.
By five, most of the unit has filtered back in. The room’s louder now with report chatter, chair legs scraping tile, boots crossing the floor.
When Wilsbone steps in, the room quiets. “Alright. Brief end-of-shift.” He crosses his arms. “Recon sweep turned up something. Glock. No serial, no prints. Could be nothing. Could tie to the Bay Seven calls. Either way, it’s logged.”
He pauses, then looks at us and nods once. “The new aegis unit caught it. Clean work. ”
This is the first time we’ve ever been given credit in front of a room like this. I don’t know what to say, so I just nod back.
We head to the truck and drive home, stopping at an electronics store on the way to buy Jo a new phone. Same brand she had, just a newer model.
When she finally gets home after her shift, we’ve already finished unpacking the whole first floor.
Only the upstairs still has boxes. She squeals when we hand her the new phone, clutching it like we gave her diamonds, and spends the next thirty minutes curled on the couch fussing with it, figuring out the new settings, logging into her apps, syncing everything with her account.
Yesterday we lived off pizza, but tonight she makes dinner and preps lunch for us to take to the station the next day. And now that we actually fit in the kitchen, she starts teaching us how to cook too.
She puts on music and moves around like she belongs there, guiding us through each step, telling us what she’s doing and why, correcting how we hold the knife or stir the sauce.
Between instructions, she tells us about her day. “The word spread quickly. Before lunch, people from other departments were already coming to stare at me like I was some kind of zoo attraction. People I’ve known for months, since I started my residency.”
She says it lightly, but the sharp lemon note in her scent doesn’t let her hide how upset she really is.
We all make a face. It’s not just her scent making us anxious, triggering that strange urge to carry her to the nest, cover her with blankets until she disappears, and stand guard at the door.
It’s the guilt too. It’s hard hearing how she was treated, but worse knowing it’s because she bonded with us.
“I mean… even Kacy and Jenna,” she goes on. “They went completely different from the way they were with me. Like they didn’t know how to act around me, even though we’re friends… or I thought we were.”
I remember the names, her nurse friends. From the way she talked about them, they were close, so it feels especially cruel that the second they found out she wasn’t human, they changed. But I’m not surprised.
Jay’s voice is clipped. “People never treat us the same as humans, Jo. Now that they know you aren’t one of them, don’t expect consideration.”
She stops chopping tomatoes and looks at him. “I’m the same person I was ten days ago. Treating me differently just because I’m a nyra makes no sense. I didn’t change.”
“We know that,” I say. “But try explaining that to a human. I’m just glad all you got was gossip and stares and no one reported you like you were a rhino on the loose.”
She glances back at the tomatoes and resumes cutting, but when she finally answers, her voice is a little shaky. “Actually… Dr. Lindstrom called me in. Said he has to talk to Legal and see how the hospital wants to proceed. ”
We all go still.
She sighs. “But he was polite about it. Very… corporate.”
“We fight this,” Shane says immediately.
“Only if I need to,” she replies, voice even weaker.
“I don’t want to start a lawsuit. That could ruin my career.
Back in college, my dad hired a lawyer when I told what I was, but he didn’t even have to do anything.
The faculty realized they had no grounds to expel me.
I think now it can go the same way, so I’ll wait.
If they really try to take my job, then I’ll get a lawyer, but until that happens, I’ll just keep my head down. ”
I step closer to her. “How are you? For real.”
She blinks quickly. “I’m fine. I mean… people get weird. Then they calm down. It just takes time.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” Shane says, still stirring the sauce like she taught him.
“No. But if I let myself think that way, I won’t be able to function.” Her voice is barely a whisper now. “I just want to keep my job. And not lose my friends. That’s all.”
Jay moves in closer too. “We’ll help however you need. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
“I know.” She exhales. “I just hate that bonding with you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and the worst at the same time.”
Even with everything she’s going through, my chest jolts with joy hearing her say that about our bond. “Then we’ll do everything we can to change that second part,” I reply, smiling.
After dinner, we take turns showering. Shane goes first, while the rest of us use the time to dive into the remaining boxes. Jo’s the last one to go.
My brothers and I keep unpacking, but the second that distinct spice note in her scent hits, the one that means she’s turned on, we wrap up fast and head straight for the nest.