Before the old world fell apart high-rises dominated skylines, but now the fallen pillars of glass and steel line the earth cutting through the landscape. Empty offices filled with soil and the windows that once gave stellar views became ceilings for greenhouse farms. Plants burst through the crevices of the horizontal monolith and give it green hair. Wooden scaffolds lead in and out of the building.

  “Home sweet home,” said Mori, smelling the fresh air.

  A large bee, the size of her head, flew past. It had a smiling face, big eyes of pure black and held a sprinkler can in its six legs. The signature drone bees of Manu on their way to pollinate and water the environment into growing back.

  “So what’s the plan?” asked Mori.

  “I need to run to ze HQ,” said Richard, “zen get back home to see Arachnia.”

  “Like, right now?”

  “We have spent a whole week travelling together. ”

  “Ah, you’re sick of me,” said Mori, pouting, “I see how it is. Maybe I’ll come visit Arachnia and just ignore you.”

  Richard laughed, and the two went in for a hug. Then Richard left her sat on a bench under the shade of a sycamore tree.

  Where to first? The telegram she sent in Kalsha meant she didn’t need to report back straight away giving her time to burn. But she also had to get started on her new goal to get stronger.

  She snapped her fingers and got moving. There was only one way to celebrate a return home and find the right exercising materials.

  She manoeuvred through the long high-rise greenhouses, under an arch built through a collapsed motorway and up into a sprawling market street. Buildings were covered in grass, solar panels and wind turbines; every inch used and painted on. Shops smashed through walls or built outdoor staircases to reach cafes as the death of pre-Deviation building codes led to an organic free-for-all battle to be the most inventive business around.

  The weeds that once plagued humans of old by bursting through the curb were embraced as natural gardens, turning defunct, straight roads into a winding, bustling meadow. Urban nature brought to life.

  Mori walked along and petted a dog with the arms of a pangolin owned by a man who had skin of literal granite; crystals lined his cheeks. She passed a smithy run by a woman of huge stature with a cyclopean eye, who breathed fire into a cauldron. Smoked billowed out the hole in the roof as it passed a blackened sign saying ‘Cyclops Forge: Sell your metals here!’

  When Mori reached a T-junction, there was a classic-faced man in the corner of the street standing atop a tree stump. He held a sign in his hand that read ‘Let the TRUE HUMANS rule again.’

  Oh heck, she thought.

  “Don’t be kowtowed into thinking you are lesser than these spawn of beasts,” said the man, “for WE who bear the faces and bodies of True Humans have been tricked through our infinite kindness to bend our knees and grip the harness of labour alongside these animals–”

  “Hey, can you shut up?” said another man, sticking his head out a window who features of a wolf like furred skin, dark hair and the sharp eyes, “it’s my sister’s birthday party and we’re trying to enjoy it.”

  “See? These animals cannot hide their rudeness,” said the street crier.

  Mori walked past, but she kept one ear trained in that direction. These situations had a nasty habit of turning violent quick.

  The last shop on the street buzzed loudly with the sound of drone bees floating in and out of the windows. The top floor bore a sign with grape vines draped on the sides to emphasise it further. It read ‘Simon’s Mean Greens.’

  The bell jingled as she entered. The shop was filled with flowers, fruits, vegetables, grass, hay and small buckets of insects; all reliable sources of protein. One of the drone bees flew in through the window and deposited a small package of avocado seeds, each as big as an eye, on the counter. It flew into the backroom and Mori heard a calming voice.

  “Ooooh, the seed shipment,” spoke a kindly old man, “we’ll get that new garden running in no time. Next year, I’ll call it ‘Green Butter’ for all to enjoy.”

  Mori waited next to one of the open windows to keep an ear on the street crier and wolfman outside, then a short fellow walked in from the backroom. He was round with the smooth grey skin of a dolphin. In fact, he had the head of one, a blowhole hidden under a flat cap, and rounded flipper hands with opposable thumbs. He carried a basket of dandelions, which he placed on the counter after standing on a stool, then gave the heartiest wave when he saw Mori.

  “How are you doing missy?”

  “I’m doing good,” she said, “how are the bees and business Simon?”

  “My beesiness is going eggcellent.”

  She laughed at the terrible pun. Simon’s laugh was more of a high-pitched hiccup drawing in looks from outside.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” said Simon, “I don’t sell eggs.” They giggled some more and when Mori settled down, her stomach aching, Simon asked her “so what can I do to help today, Miss Aisling?”

  “Well, the usual to start off.”

  “Got a handbag?”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “I got this nifty rucksack from this town I saved.” Mori removed the bag and unzipped it.

  “Let me go get the fresh stuff,” he said. He brought a wooden crate of fresh bananas from the back room. “Should be just about ripe. How many?”

  “Twenty, but I want half ripe and half not ripe so I don’t eat them all today. They’ll be my reward-food for training.”

  “Mind helping an old fella out and restock what you buy?”

  “Sure.”

  Simon weighed the produce while Mori replaced the bananas and grabbed other handfuls of vegetables.

  “Training, huh? What has the knighthood got you doing now?”

  “Oh, I finished all the official stuff,” said Mori, “but I need to brush up on some skills if I want to get ahead. Richard– you know Richard?”

  Simon pondered for a moment, pressed a few buttons on his register, then answered.

  “Northandy fellow? Pink-skin and his mum is built like a kraken?”

  “Yeah, him,” she said, “he won some land and I saw him in battle recently, which is when I realised I’m really slacking. I need to make sure I don’t get left behind.”

  Her rucksack was stuffed full of bananas, clumps of hay, potatoes and spinach. She heard an old legend years ago that spinach, if eaten in large enough quantities, could give a person the power to lift a mountain. After years of consumption she still couldn’t, but it tasted good on toast or in mash.

  Simon tallied the total and the cash register opened with a ping.

  “Thirty-two queens,” he said.

  “Has the price gone down?”

  “For special customers it has,” he said with a smile, “but also the Manu council subsidise shops who keep bee farms. I got a telegram machine too.”

  “Neat.” She handed over thirty-two queen-faced stamps, and her ear twitched at hearing a little shouting outside. “Has the street crier been around a lot?”

  Simon sighed. “Fraid so. I don’t see the big deal. Even if you look like a proto-human, no one actually is one… did you know I have a tiger’s stomach?”

  “No way, really?” She tried to pay attention, but her body and ears were turning toward the door as she knew she would be needed soon.

  “Yes, I got tested because of digestion problems,” he said and leaned closer, “I need to eat little red meat too. But don’t share that part around.”

  “Pricey stuff.” She thought she heard skin punching skin. “Could you hold my bag?”

  “Course,” he said and gave a thumbs up.

  She vaulted out the window, hopped past houses in seconds and reached the street crier and the wolfman going fully at it, blood dripping steadily out their nostrils. Incomprehensible screams came from both of them. Their fight went off the street corner and went into the middle of the road, pushing into people around them. The two were dangerously close to a girl in a wheelchair with her mother pushing her along.

  The wolfman spat at the crier.

  “Acid spit!” shouted the street crier, “see these demons show their true colours. Beasts inside and out.”

  “It’s not acid, idiot,” said the wolfman. He grabbed the crier by the shirt and kneed him in the stomach, rocketing red spittle out the his mouth.

  That’s when the situation turned worse. The crier jumped back, howling in pain and knocked the small girl out of her chair. The wolfman saw Mori leaping forward and backed away, hands in the air. She helped the crier to his feet though he seemed dazed out of his mind.

  “Deviant form,” she said.

  “Oh come on, he started it,” said the wolfman.

  “Form.”

  The man pulled a small card from his pocket and handed it over. Mori pretended to remember the name and address on it to scare him, but paid attention to the descriptor at the bottom called ‘Deviations.’ It listed enhanced strength in the upper body, greater smell and a pungent saliva that can induce nausea.

  Deviant forms, or Deviant Cards, were a great and simple way to list unique medical requirements or dangerous abilities when Deviations could cause such an infinite myriad of changes to the body. Thankfully, Mori didn’t read anything too dangerous about the man and handed the card back.

  “Fight’s over,” she said, “I need to take you both in.”

  “What? He started it,” he said, “you can’t arrest me, it’s my sister’s birthday.”

  “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t know that made you immune to crime,” said Mori.

  The crier muttered under her arm, so quietly only she could hear.

  “Beasts, the lot of them. City full of monsters who need to be skinned, dominating the true humans…”

  The air warmed up, making Mori’s face tingle. A yellow glow emitted from the street crier’s eyes as he pushed away from her.

  “Sir, I need to see your forms too,” said Mori, growing concerned.

  “Monsters, beasts,” he said, “demons!”

  A yellow beam shot out his eyes which she barely dodged in time, but it struck the wolfman behind her on the arm. His fur ignited instantly and he ran screaming. The crier’s beam died away but his eyes continued to glow a malevolent yellow.

  “No beast shall touch me,” he said.

  “Everyone stand back,” said Mori. She heard more screaming. “And could someone get that guy to stop, drop and roll. While you,” she pointed at the crier, “need to stop and put your hands behind your head… actually, put them over your eyes.”

  “Such a pretty, human, face,” said the crier, though he gazed slowly at her ears, small deer horns and her legs, “do not let your deformities sway you to the side of the beasts.”

  Get lost, she thought but it was better to keep it to herself. Near them both was the mother helping her girl back into the wheelchair. She couldn’t make any sudden moves, not until they got away.

  She edged back toward a tree bursting through the middle of the street. The beautiful purple flowers arched over her head, and the crier followed. Those yellow dots in his face never left her for a moment.

  “Sir, you need to stop,” she said.

  “I need to stop? Me?” He grabbed his oversized shirt. “This world is inflicted with a disease, and while some were gifted like myself, others,” he waved toward the crowd, “we’re not. Deviations are not made equal.”

  “Get a grip, you don’t get permission to set people on fire.”

  “The dogs need to be cooked.”

  Mori saw the mother and girl pull away back to the curb. It was safe to fight fully. She placed her hand on the tree, the familiar sensation of energy leaving her fingertips to be infused in an object. The crier looked over her head, and his eyes widened at the face forming in the bark.

  “Gree,” it said. It bashed the street crier on the head. He tried to look at it, sprays of yellow cutting through burning flowers.

  Mori leaped forward and in half a step drove her fist into his cheek. His feet left the floor, he span around and landed on his chest in a puff of dust. She lifted his face off the floor (his human face as he might have said) and the light had gone out of his eyes.

  She was as surprised at her strength, as she was satisfied knocking a supremacist out, as she was in complete pain. Her wrist felt swollen and her fingers felt like they were barely holding on. Using her animations frequently meant she punched so little she was no longer used to the force.

  When she stood back up, a crowd had formed around her. They all clapped, and she smiled through the pain.

  “Home sweet home,” she said.