Where the Dead Things Bloom. [17, 18, 19]

17: Fort Bed 

I stepped into the loft apartment and paused, taking in the eclectic space before me. It was as if several designers with wildly different aesthetics had battled for dominance, each claiming territory in Nessy's home without a clear victor.

"Welcome to my abode!" she announced, spreading her arms wide and then shaking herself vigorously, sending water droplets flying everywhere. "Prepare to be amazed by my incredible interior design skills!"

The main living area was a study in contrasts. One corner featured clean Scandinavian lines—light wood furniture with simple forms, sheepskin throws, and strategically placed lamps creating pools of warm light.

"That's my contemplation zone," Nessy explained, pointing proudly. "Very zen n’ hygge. For when I need to think deep thoughts about engines... or life... or whatever."

Directly opposite, as if in deliberate contradiction, exploded a riot of 1970s excess—orange and brown shag carpeting so deep I could lose my shoes in it, paired with a sunken circular seating area.

"And that," she continued, tail wagging, "is my party corner! Not that I have many parties. Or any, really. But the potential is there! Perfect for curling up and watching movies or playing guitar!"

Most striking, though, were the nest-like arrangements scattered throughout the apartment. Corners, windowsills, even the top of a bookshelf—all featured carefully arranged piles of blankets, pillows, and what appeared to be clothing, formed into perfect circles or ovals.

"Do you... sleep in all of these?" I asked, gesturing to a particularly elaborate nest built into a modified bookshelf.

"Depends on my mood," Nessy replied. "That one's for rainy afternoons. The one by the window is for summer mornings—gets the best sun. The big one in the bedroom is for actual sleeping." She scratched behind her ear. "A dog needs many options… it, uhm, helps deal with… pack anxiety.”

I continued exploring the space. Near one window, a powerful fan sat, while across the room, a few warming lamps pointed at another nest.

"Thermal regulation!" Nessy explained. "Hot spots for winter, cool zones for summer. Some days you want to bake, other days you need to cool those paw pads!"

The kitchen area grabbed my attention next—a retrofuturistic vision straight out of a 1950s World's Fair. Chrome appliances with rounded edges, atomic starburst patterns on the backsplash, and pod-shaped stools at a curved breakfast bar.

"You a retrofuturism fan?” I observed.

"Yep!" Nessy beamed. "The 1950s future-vision! Isn't it fantastic? I always wanted a robot maid, but this is the next best thing."

On one wall hung an elaborate display of religious iconography—decorative steel swords shaped like crosses, paintings of massive sea creatures being slain by a radiant warrior, and what appeared to be framed scripture verses in elaborate calligraphy.

"That's my Nazarite wall," Nessy explained. "The leviathan Slayer rescued mankind from the world-serpent's coils! Pretty standard stuff."

"Right," I nodded, as if giant monster-slaying deities were indeed standard religious fare. "Standard."

“What? Your people don’t worship the Slayer?” She evaluated my expression.

“No, we do not,” I said.

“Sadge.”

As I turned to continue my tour, I noticed Nessy suddenly darting in front of me, trying to block my view of another wall as if she was embarrassed about it.

Too late. I'd already spotted it—an entire corner dedicated to photos, newspaper clippings, ticket stubs, drawings and misc mementos. All meticulously arranged and all centered around... me. Or rather, the other Alec.

"Oh, that," she said with forced casualness, her voice pitched slightly higher. "That's just, um, you know… a memory wall n’ stuff. Nothing special.” 

“Uh-huh. Looks like a totally normal amount of pictures. Not weird at all." I deadpanned as I stared at the Alec-shrine.

The photos tracked a shared history—two kids, then teenagers at what appeared to be a school dance, graduation. Interspersed were handwritten notes, small trinkets, pressed flowers, even preseved colorful butterflies and beetles. The level of detailed curation was impressive, telling a story of connection across decades.

"So, anyway!" Nessy said far loudly. "How about that rainstorm, huh? Pretty wet out there! Speaking of wet—" Her eyes widened as she finally seemed to notice our dripping state. "Oh I’m so stupid, you're soaked! We need to get you dry before you catch your death!"

"I literally just survived actual death," I pointed out dryly.

"All the more reason not to push your luck and waste Reconstitution," she replied, ignoring my words completely. She bustled around, grabbing towels from a linen closet. "Arms up."

"What?"

"Arms. Up," she repeated.

I complied reluctantly, and before I could protest further, she was tugging my wet shirt over my head. The sudden manhandling caught me off guard.

"Hey, I can undress myself," I sputtered as my head emerged from the soggy fabric.

"Clearly," she scoffed, already working on my belt buckle. "That's why you're standing there dripping all over my floor instead of getting dry."

"Nessy—"

"Less Nessy, more undressy," she countered, already kneeling to unlace my waterlogged sneakers. "You just had every bone in your body shattered. You're in no condition to argue!"

I opened my mouth to argue and closed it. She was incorrigible. 

There was something both comical and touching about her fussing—this fluffy, canine-human hybrid treating me like a child who couldn't manage basic self-care. Her ears were perked forward in concentration, tail swishing with purposeful energy as she helped me step out of my shoes.

"I've literally been taking care of myself my entire life," I finally protested as she tugged at my soaked cargo pants. "I'm not completely helpless!"

"Uh-huh," she nodded, not listening at all. "And how's that been working out for you? Oh right, you ended up fermenting in a bathtub before being reconstructed by the System."

"What?! That wasn't because I couldn't dress myself!"

"Debatable," she muttered, working the wet fabric down my legs. "Step out."

I complied with a sigh, standing awkwardly and covering myself as she gathered up my soggy clothes and rushed to throw them into a washer/dryer combo.

"You need a wash," she returned in a flash, looking up at me with determined blue eyes. “Can I help?”

"Wash me?" I repeated, cheeks burning.

"You know, like how I helped you yesterday," she clarified, as if this were the most normal suggestion in the world. 

“I can wash myself.”

"Your reconstituted body is probably still unstable. What if you slip and crack your head open in the shower? What if your bones aren't fully fused?" 

"I think I can manage—"

"Just let me help, you stubborn human," she interrupted, her ears flattening slightly. "I'm not being weird about it! It's what packmates do—they look after each other."

Looking at her earnest expression, I found my resistance wavering. There was no ulterior motive in her eyes, just genuine concern and a desire to help. Still… I needed to push on some boundaries.

"How about a compromise," I suggested. "I'll shower by myself, but you can wait outside the door in case of a shower-disaster in one of your house nests."

“Ugh.” Nessy considered the offer. "Fine," she relented. "But leave the door unlocked. And if I hear any suspicious thuds, I'm coming in."

"Deal," I agreed.

She led me to the bathroom, handing me fresh towels and pointing out various soaps and shampoos. "Use the blue bottle for your hair," she instructed. "Then put this robe after.”

“Thanks.”

The hot water was blissful, washing away the remnants of my bloody, rock-impact death and resurrection. I emerged feeling more human than I had since my plunge off the cliff, wrapping myself in the oversized bathrobe Nessy had provided. It had a tail hole with buttons in the back which I found amusing.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, I found a pile of clothes waiting outside the door—underwear, sweatpants and a black ‘Paws Before Bros’ T-shirt that looked like they might fit. 

In fact, I discovered they did fit when I pulled them on. They fit too well and had no tail-holes. 

Did she prepare Alec-clothes for this exact event… or… did these belong to the other me?

I saw that Nessy had changed into dry clothes as well—a pink pyjama tank top and shorts.

"Feel better?" she asked, ears perking forward.

"Much," I admitted. “Hey, are these Alec’s clothes?”

“Nope. They’re not worn by anyone. I know your size and bought these… just in case you ever came over. You didn’t though… not till today.”

“Uh-huh.”

"Go lie down," she instructed, pointing toward a door I assumed led to the bedroom. "I'll make us some food."

"I can help—" I offered, recalling her confession about setting pasta on fire.

"Nope. Bed," she repeated firmly, her tone brooking no argument. "You literally died today. Go lie down."

“Fine, but I’m definitely helping cook stuff tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

Choosing not to argue further, I retreated to the bedroom, finding it dominated by the largest nest arrangement yet—a circular bed piled high with pillows, blankets, and what appeared to be several of her shirts. The arrangement looked inviting in an oddly primal way, like something ancient in my brain recognized the appeal of a well-constructed den.

I settled onto the bed. Nessy appeared moments later, carrying a tablet.

"Here," she said, holding it out to me. “Entertain yourself while I cook. Feel free to browse the net n’ stuff. Password is 0615.”

"Thanks," I said, accepting the device. It was similar to tablets from my world, though the logo was unfamiliar—a stylized wolf head instead of an apple.

While Nessy returned to the kitchen, I turned on the tablet and typed in the password and then realised that she used my birthday as the password–June fifteenth. 

As I tapped the search bar to enter my query, a dropdown menu appeared—Nessy's recent search history. I froze, finger hovering over the glass screen, feeling like an accidental voyeur into her private thoughts.

"how to find someone who disappeared" 

"how to track someone across long distances" 

"how to prep for Systemfall events" 

"what happens when Syn-pack bond breaks" 

"dealing with abandonment trauma" 

"signs your best friend is avoiding you" 

"can pack bonds ever truly break" 

"how to accept that he's not coming back" 

"is it normal to miss someone this much" 

My throat tightened as my eyes traced those digital breadcrumbs of desperation, each query a window into her escalating heartbreak. I glanced toward the kitchen where I could hear her humming something softly, the sound punctuated by the rhythmic chopping of vegetables. 

I quickly entered my own query “Pradavarian evolution”.

The results that came up absorbed my attention fully—scientific articles, historical timelines, educational resources.

According to the information, only certain mammals had evolved full sapience and bipedalism… specifically predators. Most notably, some dinosaurs had survived the extinction event, evolving into the humanoid raptor species like Krysanthea.

What fascinated me most was how similar yet different this world's history was to my own. The same wars, the same technological developments, but with multiple species participating. Photos showed dog soldiers in World War II, raptor scientists, feline politicians. The similarity was surreal, there was no butterfly effect here, more like a slightly warped parallel as if someone just photoshopped animalistic humanoids into various historic events.

I was so engrossed in my reading that I barely noticed the time passing until Nessy called me from the kitchen.

"Food's ready," she announced. “Come eat!”

I put down the tablet and ventured into the kitchen, spotting Nessy setting two plates on the polished steel dining table in her retrofuturistic kitchen. 

"Nothing fancy, just defrosted chicken balls n’ some pasta,” she commented.

I settled into one of the pod-shaped chairs across from her. The kitchen was even more striking up close—chrome fixtures gleaming under pendant lights shaped like orbiting planets, cabinet handles resembling rocket ships. A vibrant poster of "The Atomic Café" hung beside us, featuring a stylized pradavarian girl in 1950s astronaut attire holding a white coffee cup with planet Jupiter looming behind her.

"Cool poster," I said, nodding toward it as I picked up my fork.

Nessy's eyes lit up, ears perking forward. "Oh! That's a commemorative poster from the Atomic Café! Best place in Ferguson for hot chocolate. We used to go there all the time in winter!" Her tail wagged enthusiastically out of the back gap in the round chair. "They do this thing where they heat the milk with this steam wand that makes this perfect froth on top, and then they add cinnamon and—"

She continued her detailed description of various drink preparation techniques, gesticulating with her fork at me while I began eating.

Her animated gestures nearly knocked over her water glass twice. 

"—Mr. Rottwell—he's the owner, big rottweiler fellow with this amazing handlebar mustache—he does this little flourish with the cinnamon shaker. Total showoff, but in a good way, you know?"

"Sounds fun," I commented into the pause in her chatter. The food was simple but edible, nothing was burned nor undercooked.

“Did your Ferguson have an Atomic Cafe?” She asked.

“Yeah, but it shut down after the whole covid thing and was turned into a clothing shop that went bankrupt,” I said.

"Ah! Well ours is still open! We should go when… things calm down a bit," she said, suddenly looking uncertain. "I mean, if you want to. No pressure or anything."

"I'd like that," I replied, surprised by how much I wanted to visit more places with Nessy by my side.

Did she just bamboozle me into a date?

The husky-girl simply beamed, then proceeded to devour her entire plate of food in what seemed like just a few enormous bites. She set her empty plate aside and proceeded to sit perfectly still, her blue eyes fixed on me with unblinking intensity as I continued to eat at a normal human pace.

After several more uncomfortable moments of being watched like a nature documentary, I finally paused my eating. "Yes?"

Her ears perked forward, tail wagging intensifying. "Nothing," she said, though her expression suggested it was very much something. "Just... happy."

"Happy watching me eat?" I prompted.

"Happy you're here," she clarified, tail wagging. "In my kitchen. Safe. Alive. Eating my food." Her ears twitched slightly. "I keep thinking I might be dreaming, you know? That I'll wake up and you'll be gone again and I'll still be running through that awful city looking for you or all alone in my apartment… I mean, I do like my place, it’s just… It’s lonely. Was lonely. Isn’t anymore!”

The raw sincerity pouring out of her made me pause. I resumed eating, but the weight of her gaze remained, as if she were memorizing every detail of my existence.

As I finished the last few bites, Nessy leaned forward suddenly, her face approaching mine. Before I could react, her tongue darted out, swiping across the corner of my mouth.

“What?” I blinked.

"Sorry!" she said, not looking remotely sorry. "You had a little sauce there—" She gestured vaguely at her own muzzle.

"I could have used a napkin," I pointed out, feeling heat rise to my cheeks once again.

"Napkins are overrated," she declared, taking my now-empty plate and stacking it with hers. "Plus, waste not, want not. That sauce was too good to leave behind."

After quickly washing our dishes—something she insisted on doing herself despite my offers to help—she pulled me back to the bedroom, where the giant nest-bed waited invitingly. The rain outside was still going, droplets drumming against the windows in a soothing rhythm.

"Fort bed awaits!" she announced with appropriate reverence. "Superior to all other fort-nests in comfort, security, and snugglability."

"Snugglability isn't a word," I pointed out.

"Is too," she insisted. "It's the scientific measure of how good something is for snuggling. This nest rates very high on the snugglability scale. Trust me, I'm an expert!"

18: Bed Talk

She crawled into the nest first, arranging herself and then patting the space beside her. I hesitated only briefly before joining her.

"See?" she said smugly. "Told you. Expert nest-builder."

"It is comfortable," I admitted.

I waved a hand at the tablet standing on the bedside table now. "So… according to the net only predators evolved into human-like forms? That seems oddly specific."

Nessy snorted, propping herself up on one elbow. "Prad evolution is just what the scientific establishment wants you to believe," she said with a dismissive wave of her paw. "The real story is much cooler."

"The real story?" I echoed.

"The Slayer did it," she said. "When he killed the Leviathan, he used its blood power to grant sentience and form to all strong wild beasts that would aid in keeping the world safe! That's why predators got the upgrade package—we were designed to be protectors. See? I protek!" She puffed out her curvy chest slightly, looking proud.

"That wasn’t mentioned in any of these scientific articles I managed to browse," I said cautiously.

"Well, of course not," she rolled her eyes. "Current science can't explain everything. Some things are beyond fossils and whatnot." Her expression softened. "But you're free to believe whatever version makes sense to you. I'm cool like that—not one of those pushy Nazarites who gets all barky about the scriptures."

The ‘barky’ comment and the sincerity with which she offered this alternative creation myth was oddly endearing. Whatever the truth was—evolution or divine intervention by a monster-slaying deity—it was clear that Nessy had a worldview that gave her comfort and purpose.

"Very generous of you," I replied.

"Am an extremely generous doggo," she agreed, tail wagging against the blankets. She shifted closer, her warmth radiating through the thin fabric of my borrowed shirt. "Also, the best companion a guy could ask for. Just putting that out there."

“Uh-huh.”

A particularly loud clap of thunder made the windows rattle. Almost instinctively, Nessy moved closer, her body pressing against mine as if to shield me from the elements—or perhaps from the world itself.

"See, it's a good thing we're in Fort Bed," she declared, voice slightly muffled due to her snout being smooshed into my side. "Optimal storm protection!"

"Of course," I agreed, fighting a smile.

Another crack of thunder, this one close enough to momentarily illuminate the room in stark relief. Nessy's arm draped across my chest.

"Sorry," she murmured, making no move to withdraw. "Instinct."

"It's fine," I said. 

We fell silent for a few minutes listening to the rain.

"Say, is Kristi going to be a problem?" I asked into the comfortable silence that had settled between us.

Nessy's ears twitched at the question.

"Probably," she admitted with a sigh. "She's a raptor with a broken heart who just watched her boyfriend die and come back as something she's sworn to destroy. Plus, she's got badge authority and a gun." She shrugged, fur brushing against my arm. "So yeah, I'd say there's a strong possibility of her being a problem."

"Great," I muttered, staring up at the ceiling where shadows played across the surface, cast by the dim light and swaying trees outside.

“It is what it is,” she sighed. “I honestly didn’t expect for her to be this big of a problem.”

"How do you two know each other anyway?" I asked.

Nessy shifted in her nest.

"We've known her since grade eight," she said, a nostalgic tone creeping into her voice. "Her parents moved to Ferguson when we were fourteen. She was this gangly, awkward raptor girl… until she hit puberty and became tall, extra bossy and all sorts of… intense.”

She paused.

"We had biology together," she continued. "She was wicked smart in school—always got the highest grades. She quickly became focused on beating everyone, especially me. You—well, the other you—you two bonded over some science project about reptilian metabolism or something, I dunno. Just basic friends at first."

"What changed?" I prompted when she fell silent once again.

"The formal. Senior year."

Something in her tone made me turn to look at her directly. Her expression was neutral, but her ears and tail—those canine appendages that betrayed her every emotion—told a different story.

"Did you really not know that Alec was falling for her?" I asked.

Nessy's gaze dropped, focusing on her paw still tracing invisible patterns. "I... urm… sorta suspected the possibility of it happening," she finally admitted, the words sounding almost painfully extracted. "But I ignored it. Refused to see the signs. Didn't want to believe it.”

She shifted again, restless energy vibrating through her despite her outwardly calm demeanor.

"What exactly happened at the formal?" I asked.

A deep sigh escaped her. "I fucked up," she said bluntly. "Is what happened."

She rolled onto her back, letting go of me and staring up at the ceiling.

"I was so excited about the formal," she began. "I'd been planning for months. Got this blue dress that matched my eyes. Practiced dancing in my bedroom until my paws were sore." A bitter smile curved her muzzle. "I thought... I was so sure that night would be perfect. I… obsessed over making it amazing, the best."

I remained silent, giving her the space to continue.

"You picked me up in your grandfather's old truck, wearing a navy suit that was slightly too big in the shoulders. You had this look on your face when you saw me—like you were seeing me for the first time." Her voice caught slightly. "You said I looked beautiful, and for that moment, I believed it… thought that maybe you wanted to… uhrm...”

She blinked, pausing her narration and swallowing her words.

"At the dance, everything was... going great. We laughed at Principal Hartford's terrible dancing. You stepped on my toes during the slow songs. I didn't care… Then Kristi showed up."

Thunder rumbled outside, echoing the tension in her voice.

"She was wearing this fancy-ass, ‘xpensive, custom-made emerald dress with fiber optics woven through it. Every movement made her scales shimmer like she was covered in stars. Everyone was staring—especially you."

Nessy's ears flattened further, her paws restlessly plucking at the blanket.

"When she asked you to dance, I... I panicked. Grabbed your arm, probably too hard. You looked confused. Said it was just one dance." She swallowed audibly. "I should have let it go. Should have been cool about it. But I… wasn't."

Rain pattered against the windows, filling the brief silence.

"Kristi started it with her snarky jokes," Nessy growled softly. "She asked if you perhaps needed a written permission from me to let you dance with someone else. Asked if I owned you."

Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath. "I lost it. Told her that you were mine because we were packmates. That I saved your life at the quarry, that no 'stupid feathery, rich lizard' could understand the… the debt of that day."

The words hung in the air between us, heavier than the storm clouds outside.

"The moment I said it—the moment I mentioned debt—I saw your face change. Like I'd slapped you." Her voice had gone very quiet now. "You pulled away from both of us and said you didn't belong to anyone. That friendship wasn't about debt."

“I tried to apologise, tried to explain that my mouth made a stupid, but you didn’t want to listen. I tried to smooth things over by saying that you can dance with her, and you did and you seemed to enjoy it. I saw you two whispering stuff to each other, glancing at me. Then… the formal ended and we drove home in awkward silence.”

A memory flashed through my mind—gripping a steering wheel, knuckles white with tension. The soft vinyl beneath my palms worn in familiar places, the truck's engine humming with that slight tick on the left side that Grandpa always said would fix itself eventually.

The silence suffocating, heavy with words unsaid and things that can't be taken back. Beside me, Nessy in her blue dress. Her scent—pine and something uniquely her—filled the small space. Her presence... suddenly claustrophobic as she pawed at me, talking on and on. But I knew how she really felt now… Knew that… 

What? 

I pushed the memory that didn’t belong to me aside, wondering if it was being somehow incepted into my head via the System’s ‘Companion’ connection bullshit or whether some part of me belonged to the local Alec. It was impossible to tell.

“So,” I said. “Did you really stay quiet in the car?”

"Noppers," Nessy said. "I started talking. Wouldn't stop talking. Nervous chattery-talking. Every attempt at explaining made things worse—like watching myself dig a hole deeper and deeper while being unable to drop the shovel. I tried to apologise in a hundred different ways, circling for acceptance like a shark.”

“Sounds like you alright,” I said.

“I tried to explain that of course I didn't own you, that's not what I meant. But then I kept talking about how we were meant to be together, how we'd promised each other forever when we were kids.” She laughed bitterly. "I actually said, 'We're a package deal—that's how packs work.' Like I was stating some universal law he had to abide by. I talked and talked and you didn’t say anything…”

I nodded.

"The next day, you… apologized for being harsh," she continued. "We tried to pretend everything was normal. But something had shifted. Like a fault line had opened between us. Or perhaps a door had closed or maybe you’ve never seen me as more than just a friend. Then you… left for uni… and told me to stay home, to do my own thing like singing and work as a mechanic. To accomplish something that didn’t revolve around you… err, him.”

She sniffed.

“I did all that. I did everything you… he asked. I became focused on fixing cars and composing music,” she waved a hand at a guitar hanging on a wall. “Sorry… I’m sorry. You’re definitely not him. You threw yourself off a cliff for me today. That's... not something that the Alec from my world would have ever done."

“He was an ordinary human struggling with ordinary life,” I shrugged. “While I’m some sort of Systemfall person-shaped bloom that’s currently displaced from my dimension and being extra-smothered by an extraordinary talking dog.”

"You know what the really messed up part is?" Her voice cracked slightly. "I told myself I was giving him space, but I was actually just waiting. Like if I followed his instructions perfectly—become independent, focus on my career, develop my own interests—he'd eventually come back and reward my good behavior with... himself. Talk about self-deception.” She sniffed again and then froze. “Hang on… did you just call me extraordinary? You think I'm extraordinary?”

“You’re a talking dog,” I deadpanned. 

“Just that?” She poked my side.

“You’re extraordinarily sweet,” I added. “And extraordinarily cute. And extraordinarily clingy.”

She let out a whine.

“And this is fine. Because unlike the Alec you grew up with, I don’t consider you a mundane girl or a mundane friend in the slightest. You’re…  more like an alien from Star Trek, a girl from another planet. Heart-stoppingly beautiful, bossy, quirky, terrifying and strange in so many ways.” 

Nessy's eyes widened, her ears perking straight up as she stared at me. For once, she seemed completely speechless, her usual torrent of words dammed by surprise.

“It’s like you were made to care for me,” I said. 

"You... you think I'm beautiful?" she finally managed, her voice uncertain. "And bossy?" Her tail began to wag slowly against the nest. "And made for you?"

I nodded.

She wiggled closer, gradually draping herself across me, her blue eyes bright with a mix of emotions I couldn't quite decipher. "So you're saying that being from different worlds is actually a good thing? That not having the baggage of the past Alec and Nessy is... better?"

"Maybe," I conceded. "We have a clean slate. No history of promises broken or expectations unmet.”

"Just new promises to make," she suggested, her tail now wagging with undisguised enthusiasm.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," I cautioned, though I couldn't help but smile at her eagerness.

"You know," she continued, voice quieter now, "I spent so long trying to be the perfect packmate. The perfect friend. Loyal. Devoted. Reliable." She traced an invisible pattern on the blanket with one clawed finger. "I think maybe I tried too hard.”

“Maybe,” I shrugged. “Or maybe that’s just who you are. Someone who tries hard. Your expressiveness isn’t wrong or bad. Just... intense.”

She picked at a loose thread on the blanket, not meeting my eyes. "What Kristi said earlier—about me suffocating Alec, about him needing space from me—I've been stress-thinking about it for a while now. Was I really that bad? Am I being that way with you now?"

"Honestly?" I said, propping myself up slightly. "I wasn’t here, so I can’t speak for the Pred-world Alec’s behaviour.”

"But what about you?" she pressed, blue eyes searching my face. "Am I... too much for you? Are you... uncomfortable with my intensity? Comfy being with me?"

I considered this, weighing my response.

"I'm getting used to it," I finally said, honesty seeming the only fair approach. "I can't dispute your invasive beastly ways. You are definitely the most physically affectionate person I've ever met… With the constant licking and hugging and bathing offers and you currently half-sprawled across me in a nest-bed. But..." I paused, "I don't dislike it."

Her tail gave a tentative wag beneath the blankets. "Really?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "It's actually kind of nice to have someone care that much. To not be... horribly alone."

She nodded.

"I did date people, but never achieved any kind of closeness with anyone," I added. "So Kristi's opinion about what I—or rather, her Alec—needed? It doesn't matter. That was a different me with different life experiences.”

"Really?"

"Really," I confirmed. "Look, I died alone. No one came looking for me. No one missed me. No one cared enough to notice I was gone." The admission hurt, but it was true. "And then suddenly there's you—running across realities to find me, fighting monsters for me, willing to take a bullet from a velociraptor ranger for me."

Her smile blossomed.

"So yes, you're clingy and invasive and pretty overwhelming. But after a lifetime of being overlooked? Of having people walk away without a second thought? Your... enthusiasm... is actually kind of nice.”

"Even the face-licking?"

“The face licking is pretty weird, I gotta admit,” I said.

"I'll try to dial it back a bit," she promised. "Maybe lick you… slightly less often."

"Such restraint," I teased.

"I know, right? The sacrifice I make for you!" She clutched dramatically at her chest, then sobered. "Seriously though... I want to get this right. Us. Whatever 'us' means now."

I found myself reaching out to squeeze her hand, feeling her pads. "We'll figure it out," I said.

"One day at a time?" she yawned.

"One day at a time," I agreed.

Her breathing began to slow, her body relaxing against mine. 

The events of the day—our escape through Calvin's door, our plunge into the quarry, my temporary death and resurrection, the confrontation with Krysanthea—seemed to have finally caught up with her.

"Nessy?" I murmured.

"Hmm?" She voiced.

"You know, that companion wish I made... I'm glad it gave me you."

Her body stiffened momentarily, a small intake of breath catching in her throat. In the dim light, I could see her eyes half-open, searching my face with an intensity that belied her sleepy state.

"You mean that?" she whispered.

"I do," I replied simply. "I asked for someone I could trust. Someone loyal. I got exactly what I needed."

“Me too.”

Within minutes, her breathing had deepened fully, soft snores escaping her muzzle. I watched her sleep for a moment, admiring this strange, devoted canine-human.

The world outside was alien and potentially hostile, but here in this nest of blankets, with Nessy's holding onto me, I felt something I hadn't expected to find in this or any reality really—a sense of pure, liquid belonging. I felt myself drowning in its inescapable embrace as I drifted to sleep.

19: Morning

Morning arrived with gentle persistence, sunlight filtering through the windows casting rays of light into my face. I woke slowly, awareness returning in gradual waves—the soft warmth pressed against my side, the rhythmic sound of breathing not my own

Nessy was still asleep. In sleep, her features softened, the constant animation that characterized her waking hours temporarily stilled. Her ears twitched occasionally, responding to dreams or distant sounds beyond my perception.

I studied her with the detached curiosity only possible in these unguarded moments—the precise patterning of black and white fur, the angel wing markings on her forehead, the way her whiskers quivered slightly with each breath.

There was something profoundly strange about waking up next to a talking canine who walked upright and had opposable thumbs, yet also something oddly familiar, as if some part of me recognized her on a level deeper than conscious thought.

Her eyes opened suddenly, startlingly blue and immediately alert—the instinctive vigilance of a predator despite the comfort of her nest.

"You're staring," she observed, voice husky with sleep.

"Just thinking," I replied.

"Dangerous habit, that," she yawned, stretching beside me in a full-body motion that was decidedly canine. Her spine arched, paws extending, before she settled back into the nest. "What're you thinking about?"

"How strange all this is," I said honestly. "Waking up at your place in your world where dogs talk and work and make jokes."

Her tail thumped against the mattress. "Talking? Doggos don’t talk, you're just hallucinating this entire conversation. Bork, bork, bork."

"Is that so?" I chortled at her fake barking.

"Mmm-hmm," she nodded solemnly, trying hard not to break into snickering. "Classic human delusion. Your species is very fragile, you know."

"And here I thought I'd managed to cross dimensional boundaries and cheat death, only to discover I'm having a psychotic break."

"Tragic, really," she agreed, then exploded into giggles and flitted into the bathroom.

I reached for the tablet again. This time, I searched for information about Ferguson specifically.

The results painted a picture of a town remarkably similar to the one I knew—founded in the 1870s, named after a colonel from the Civil War, built around the limestone quarry that had once been its economic center. The differences were in the details: the town's first mayor had been a German Shepherd named Wilhelm Greymane; the high school mascot was the "Fighting Foxes" rather than the "Fighting Falcons"; the annual Founder's Day celebration featured something called the "Great Pack Run" where families raced through town following scent trails.

I kept on obsessively scrolling through local Ferguson history until Nessy returned. I saw that she was balancing a tray laden with pancakes, bacon, and steaming mugs of coffee.

“Wait… that… when did you even cook these?” I glanced at the time. I realised that I totally lost about twenty five minutes delving into the depths of Pradavarian wikipedia.

"Haha, bamboozled! N’ways, breakfast is served," she announced, setting the tray between us as she climbed back into the nest. "Prepare your taste buds for adequate nourishment!"

"It looks great," I said, genuinely surprised. "I thought you said you couldn't cook."

"I said I was terrible at cooking when I’m all by myself, not that I couldn't cook," she clarified, passing me a plate. "There's a subtle but important difference there. Cooking for you increases my focus tenfold.”

I took a bite of pancake, finding it perfectly acceptable—fluffy, slightly sweet, with a hint of cinnamon. "This is actually good."

"Don't sound so shocked," she grumbled, though her tail wagged betrayingly. "I've been practicing. Living alone, you either learn to cook or starve."

"Or order takeout," I pointed out.

"Ferguson has exactly three delivery options, and they all close by 8 PM," she replied, spearing a piece of bacon. "Small-town life, you know? Not like the big city where you can get sushi at 3 AM."

“Doubt that’s an option now,” I commented.

“Eh,” she shrugged. “I wasn’t ever into big city life. Now I don’t have to deal with any of that. Silver lining!”

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the simple domesticity of sharing breakfast in bed. Lost in my thoughts, I discovered that Nessy was holding out a pancake piece on a fork for me to eat. I accepted it into my mouth, watching her smile widen immensely, tail wagging.

A knock at the door interrupted our moment, three sharp raps that echoed through the apartment with ominous finality. Nessy's ears shot up, her body going rigid with sudden tension.

"Are you expecting anyone?" I whispered.

"No," she replied, her voice equally hushed. "No one knows I'm here except..."

"Krysanthea," we said in unison.

Nessy's ears swiveled toward the door, her nose twitching as she scented the air. "Damn it. It's her," she confirmed, voice tight with alarm. "I can smell her."

The knocking came again, more insistent this time, followed by a voice that carried clearly through the door:

"Open up, Nessy. I know you're in there, and I know he's with you. I can smell the pancakes and hear you making chewing and breathing noises behind the door.”

“Ughhh, why must you ruin everything nice n’ good in my life?” Nessy whined.

“Why must you break the laws?” The answer came from the door. “Ten seconds to open up before I kick it down.”

Nessy scrambled out of bed, her claws clicking frantically against the floor. She shot me a panicked look as she fumbled with her pajama pants, straightening her appearance.

"Coming! I'm coming! Don't destroy my door!" she called out, her voice pitched higher than normal.

I rose quickly, setting the breakfast tray aside and attempting to make myself presentable.

Nessy took a deep breath before turning the locks and opening the door.

Krysanthea stood in the hallway, the morning light highlighting her iridescent emerald feathers and violet scales. She was wearing the same uniform as yesterday–crisply pressed green ranger outfit, polished badge, and a wide-brimmed hat that cast a shadow across her amber eyes. Her clawed hand rested on her holstered weapon, though she hadn't drawn it. Yet.

"Officer Strand," Nessy greeted stiffly, her tail rigid behind her. "What a surprise."

"Cut the crap, Whitepaw," Krysanthea replied, her voice professionally detached. "Step aside."

For a moment, Nessy hesitated, her protective instincts visibly warring with the reality of confronting law enforcement. Finally, with a tense sigh, she stepped back, allowing Krysanthea to enter.

The raptor-woman's gaze swept the apartment, taking in details with practiced efficiency before landing on me. Her expression remained carefully neutral.

"Alec," she acknowledged with a curt nod.

"Officer," I replied just as curtly.

Krysanthea closed the door behind her, then leaned against it, positioning herself to block the only exit. Her feathery tail swished once, the only indication of emotion in her otherwise composed demeanor.

"You said you were giving us until morning,” Nessy whined.

"It is morning," Krysanthea replied flatly. 

"If you're here to arrest us—" Nessy began.

"If I were here to arrest you," Krysanthea interrupted, "I would have brought backup. This is... unofficial."

She removed her hat, revealing the colorful feathers beneath, now slightly flattened from the headwear. She wiggled her forehead and her mane straightened, glittering with dark and green patterns, each small feather as detailed as a peacock’s tail, casting little rainbows in the air. 

I couldn’t help but stare at her.

"I spent all night thinking," she continued, her gaze shifting between Nessy and me. "About what you told me and what I saw." Her clawed fingers tapped a rhythmic pattern against her gun belt. "About my duty to this town versus my... personal feelings."

"And?" Nessy prompted when Krysanthea fell silent.

The ranger's amber eyes fixed on me. "I need to understand what you are," she said simply. "Not just for the department. For myself."

"I told you yesterday," I replied. "I'm Alec, but not your Alec. I died in my world and was... remade. Reconstructed by the System. Then Nessy… ran into me and then a Mini-Mart manager helped us find our way back to Ferguson via a dimensional gate.”

"A dimensional gate, huh?” She asked with a skeptical face.

“Yes,” Nessy nodded.

“Right,” Kristi turned from Nessy to me. “I scented decay on you yesterday. Death. Yet here you are… talking and breathing." Her nostrils flared slightly. She leaned forward, studying me with an analytical focus. “Perfectly healthy. Alive. Your heart… beating normally. Human. Too human in fact. No wrongness. No wrong-smell, no observable horrid uncanny valley that the Systemfall bloom radiates.”

"The System calls it Reconstitution,” I said. “It’s like a magic skill or something. It stops me from dying. Do you… have stats?”

“I do not.” Krysanthea's gaze shifted to where our Sandwichu Tree sat in its bucket near the window, its glass branches glinting in the morning light.

"And that... sandwich-tree-thing... is connected to your condition?" she asked.

"It helps," Nessy interjected, positioning herself slightly between Krysanthea and the tree. "The sandwiches it grows heal him."

"Magical sandwiches," Krysanthea repeated flatly. "From a tree made of glass and concrete."

"Basically, yes." I shrugged.

The absurdity of my words hung in the air between us. For a moment, I thought Krysanthea might laugh or draw her weapon. Instead, she simply rubbed the scales between her eyes with a clawed finger, as if trying to ward off an impending headache.

"Look," she finally said. "The laws against System-bloom are clear. As a ranger and deputy officer of Ferguson, I should confiscate that tree to destroy it and report your... condition." She glanced at me. "But..."

"But?" Nessy echoed, ears perking forward.

“But that would mean losing my boyfriend forever,” she said. “This isn't an option. I do not lose. Especially not to a knobfold dog.”

Nessy let out a growl.

“Oh shush you,” the raptors shot back.

“I believe that we’ve already established that I’m not your boyfriend,” I said. “At best I’m more like your Alec’s twin from a completely different town that you’ve never met.”

“I don’t effing know what you are,” Kristi said. “You’re a walking, talking, immortal anomaly that doesn’t fit into the narrative of Systemfall.”

“Maybe your narrative is incomplete?” I suggested.

“Exactly,” she nodded. “I don’t know enough about this… case to make a decision. I need to figure things out before I act. You’re something new and I need to understand if you’re dangerous or useful. If you’re Alec or not.”

I opened my mouth to argue that I wasn’t.

“All of my senses are screaming that you’re alive and healthy and that you’re MY Alec and yet I saw you talk with a broken neck yesterday,” she said sharply. “If more ‘Blooms’ like you show up, replacing people or even ordinary objects… then Ferguson isn’t just a little fucked, it’s ‘invasion of the body-snatches’ levels fucked. We’ve been relying on pradavarian senses to determine if something is Systemfall-corrupted to keep Ferguson valley free of anomalous bullshit. For example–that tree is driving me crazy with how it smells. I know its wrong and fucked up and has no right to exist in our reality. You, on the other hand, smell perfectly ordinary. This is incredibly concerning, to say the least.”

The raptor's amber eyes narrowed as she studied me, her posture rigid with tension.

"So," she continued, "I'm offering you a deal."

"A deal?" Nessy echoed suspiciously, her tail bristling.

Krysanthea nodded, her feathered crest shifting slightly with the movement. "I'll keep your secret—both of you—for now. No arrests, no confiscations, no reports to the department about System-blooms in Ferguson." She held up a clawed finger. "In exchange, I want to observe you. Study you."

"Study me?" I repeated, not liking the sound of that.

"Yes," Krysanthea said. “My job is to keep the valley clear of blooms. I need to understand what you are, how you function, if you're dangerous.”

"And why should we trust you?" Nessy challenged. "You were ready to shoot us yesterday!"

"I can shoot both of you at any time," Krysanthea replied evenly, "if I wanted to destroy you both, I would have come with a full tactical team at dawn. Instead, I'm here alone, offering you a chance to show me that he’s our Alec and not the ‘effing walking dead.”

"What exactly would this 'observation' entail?" I asked.

"Staying by my side. Answering my questions truthfully. Documenting any changes in your condition or abilities." Krysanthea's tail swished once, betraying a hint of her inner tension. "And most importantly, getting that tree outside of town and containing any of its influence. No spreading its seeds, no sharing its fruit with others."

“Staying by your side where?”

“I’m thinking in the forest, close enough to the station so I can pretend to monitor the valley below while monitoring your every move.”

“You want me to stay at the ranger station?”

“Mmm, no. We can tow your grandfather’s RV to one of the campsites at the edge of the valley up top.”

"And what about me?" Nessy interjected, her ears tilting forward aggressively.

Krysanthea's gaze cooled as it shifted to the husky. "You can continue your normal life. Work at the garage. Act like nothing has changed. Just keep your muzzle shut about... all of this."

"So I'm just supposed to pretend everything is normal while you monopolize his time?" Nessy growled.

"Yes," Krysanthea replied bluntly. "That's exactly what you're going to do if you want to avoid Ferguson's Systemfall containment protocols. Which, I should remind you, would mean immediate destruction of that tree and Alec and your imprisonment."

The tension between them crackled almost visibly in the air. I could see Nessy's hackles rising, her fur bristling as she stepped closer to Krysanthea, teeth bared in a silent snarl.

"This is ridiculous," she growled. "You can't just... claim him like some kind of prize!"

"I'm not claiming anything," Krysanthea replied, her voice remaining level despite the aggression directed at her. "I'm offering a compromise that keeps you both out of jail and that tree intact. The alternative is official intervention which none of us want."

"Ladies," I interjected, stepping between them. "I appreciate that you're both... concerned about my welfare, but I'm right here. I can make my own decisions."

Both women turned to look at me, their expressions a fusion of surprise and indignation—as if the idea of my autonomy was somehow novel.

"This deal," I continued, addressing Krysanthea, "would allow me to stay close to Ferguson without risking arrest or... whatever other 'containment protocols' might involve?"

The raptor nodded, her amber eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes. As long as you cooperate with my study and keep that tree's influence contained, I can classify this as an ongoing investigation rather than an active threat."

"And you'd be watching me... constantly?"

"As much as my duties permit, yes," she confirmed. "I need to understand what you are, if you pose any danger to Ferguson, and..." she hesitated, something vulnerable flickering across her scaled features, "...if there's any chance at all that you're somehow… him. My Alec."

I turned to Nessy, whose ears were flat, blue eyes wide with a mixture of anger and fear. "This wouldn't be some kind of solitary confinement?"

"I suppose," Krysanthea conceded reluctantly, "brief, supervised visits would be acceptable. Provided they don't interfere with my observations."

“Brief visits?” Nessy growled. “No! I’m staying with him! I saved him, I brought him home! I won’t let him go, I can’t! He’s… he’s my everything! You can’t take him away from me again! I’d rather you shoot me right now!”

"Quit the dramatic show, Whitepaw," Krysanthea snapped, her patience visibly fraying. "This isn't about what you want. It's about keeping Ferguson safe while figuring out what the hell he even is!”

“He’s my packmate! He’s my Alec!”

“Nazareth, you’re such a selfish bitch,” Kristi growled.

“What?! Me?! You’re the bitch here! We’re not gonna harm the town! You could just let us live peacefully!”

I could feel the situation spiraling into further conflict as Kristi’s hand slid to her gun.

"How about this," I suggested, stepping fully between them. "I'll stay at my grandfather's RV as Krysanthea suggested. That way, I'm contained and can be observed without disrupting the town. Nessy, you can continue working at the garage and visit when you're not on shift."

"But—" Nessy began, her voice rising in protest.

"The alternative is what? Arrest? Imprisonment? Destruction of our tree?" I pressed. "This arrangement gives us freedom, albeit limited, and time to figure things out."

Krysanthea nodded slowly. "Acceptable terms. I can arrange to have the RV towed to the ranger station campground by this afternoon."

"And I want visits whenever I feel like," Nessy added firmly. "Not 'brief' or 'supervised.' Actual time together."

“We can arrange the detail of such later.” The raptor's amber eyes narrowed. "Not right now.”

“Whyyyy?” Nessy whined.

“I need to test his blood in the lab,” Krysanthea said. “Determine if it can bloom and propagate outside of his body. Until this happens you need to stay away from him. We don’t know if he can infect your insides with whatever is inside him.”

“Infect my insides?!” Nessy sputtered. “How would that even… What are you implying?! I’ve been with him for three days now and I’m perfectly fine!”

"As far as you know," Krysanthea replied coolly. "You're too emotionally compromised."

"You’re the one that’s emotionally compromised! My nose is PERFECT," Nessy growled, jabbing a clawed finger toward the raptor. "It's what led me to him in the first place!"

"Ladies," I interrupted again, feeling like a referee in an increasingly hostile match. "Let's keep this civil. Krysanthea, a few basic tests seem reasonable, but I'm not agreeing to becoming a lab specimen. And Nessy deserves regular, private visits—she's been through a lot to find me and to get me to a safe place."

The raptor and the husky exchanged glares, neither wanting to concede ground. Finally, Krysanthea exhaled sharply through her nostrils.

"Fine. I'll conduct the necessary tests today. If they confirm you're not actively spreading contamination, she can have her visits," She said, "But I still need time to observe you myself. Until I determine what you are, you're staying by my side.”

"And what exactly will these tests involve?" I asked.

"Blood sample, tissue sample, basic physical examination," she replied.

Nessy's tail swished anxiously. "And if these tests show something you don't like?"

Krysanthea's expression hardened. "Then our arrangement changes.”

Nessy whined like she was being stabbed through the heart. I couldn’t handle her heartbroken expression.

“If I am infectious then Nessy is definitely already contaminated,” I said. “She’s been licking my blood. She should be quarantined with me or whatever.”

Krysanthea’s eye twitched.

Nessy looked defensive. "It was medical care! My saliva has healing properties!"

"For Nazareth's sake," Krysanthea muttered, pinching the bridge of her snout. "You two are making this infinitely more complicated."

She paced the small apartment, her tail swishing agitatedly behind her.

"Fine," she finally said. "You're right. If there's contamination, she's already been exposed. You'll both come to the ranger station for testing. But the RV arrangement stands. I need a controlled environment to monitor Alec."

"Deal," I agreed before Nessy could object. "When do we start?"

"Now," Krysanthea replied. "Gather whatever you need, including that... tree. My vehicle is outside."

Nessy and I exchanged glances. Her blue eyes were clouded with concern, but she nodded slightly.

"Give us five minutes to pack," I told Krysanthea, who leaned against the exit door with a curt nod.

Nessy grabbed my arm and pulled me into the bedroom. "Are you sure about this?" she whispered urgently, snapping the door closed. "Can we trust her?"

"I don't think we have much choice," I replied honestly. "And she's right—we need to know if I'm dangerous to others."

Nessy's ears drooped slightly. "I don't like her having control over you."

"She doesn't," I assured her. "This is temporary. A compromise to keep us both safe and free while we figure things out."

Nessy began gathering clothes and stuffing them into a duffel bag with more force than necessary. 

"We'll be okay," I told her, though I wasn't entirely convinced of it myself.

Her blue eyes met mine, filled with a mixture of determination and fear. "Promise me you won't let her separate us."

"I promise," I said.

She nodded once, zipping the overstuffed bag closed. "Then let's go face the scales-and-feathers brigade."

Krysanthea led us to a forest-green ranger vehicle, its official insignia gleaming in the morning light. She opened the rear compartment wordlessly, watching with narrowed eyes as I carefully secured the Sandwichu Tree.

As we drove through Ferguson toward the ranger station on the edge of town, I watched the small community pass by—storefronts with their displays of everyday goods, residents going about their morning routines, a mix of humans and pradavarians living in apparent harmony.

It all seemed so normal, so untouched by the System chaos I'd experienced. Yet beneath this veneer of ordinary life lay a rigid structure of protection and vigilance—a town determined to remain untainted by the changes sweeping across the world outside its borders.

I wondered how long such isolation could last, how long Ferguson could maintain its pretense of normalcy when reality itself was being rewritten beyond its boundaries. How long it would take for someone like me–changed by the System, but potentially less sane to tear through this little haven.

As if reading my worried thoughts, Nessy's hand found mine in the back seat.