I can only infer that someone has opened the door. The moment light cracks through the seal, I can only drop to the floor as my retinas are seared. My eyes wrench shut. I distantly hear someone ask, “Why are you sitting all alone here in the dark?”, and then I can only curl in on myself as the overhead light bursts into sudden, excruciating brilliance. Even through my eyelids, the light feels like thousands of needles, lancets of agony straight to my brain. I jam my palms against my eyelids, to block out all trace of the light. Oh, Darkness Below, it hurts.

I realize I am screaming. But not within the register of human hearing.

I can sense that darkness returns after only a moment, but it feels like an eternity. Either way, it is too late. My autonomic nervous system has already activated self preservation defenses. It happens faster than a human can blink, unconsciously. Muscles just beneath my skin contract in a ripple, beginning at my scalp and proceeding downward, but faster than thought so it seems to be a single instant.

My scales erupt.

They are hard, sharp edged things, overlapping to protect my skin. My genitals retract into my abdomen, for safety, and hundreds of small plates of rigid scale cover me in defensive shielding. I am told they glitter like rubies when lit, refracting with millions of points of luminescence. Much like breathing, I do not always need to control their activation, but I can. Sometimes, if danger is imminent, they can activate without thought as they do now. 

Because all I can think of right now is mind numbing pain. I want to claw my eyes out of my head to relieve it. A dull throb begins a moment later, and I know I will have a migraine for the rest of the day. Probably well into my shift, in all actuality. That is definitely going to put a damper on enjoying a meal with Meshani.

I feel something pressing against the back of my head as I huddle upon knees and elbows on the floor. The sensation is well muted through the scaling. I do not want to remove my hands from my eyes, but the pressure is insistent. Grandy’s voice comes to me as from the end of a tunnel.

“Goggles, Tarriq.”

Ah. Yes. 

I snatch the goggles from his hand, not intending to be rough, but my desperate haste is my undoing. I feel the elongated scales on the ends of two fingers crease his fragile skin, and I know I have scratched him from the hiss of breath that escapes him. But I have to get my eyes covered. If I am blinded, everything is lost.

I push the rubber gaskets to my face, shielding my eyes behind the heavily darkened lenses, and hold them there with one hand as I draw the rubber strap over my head. Even still, I do not open my eyes. Just breathing is still a challenge, and my adrenaline is racing. 

I hear Grandy again. “Yes, this is Indire Lorezant. Please send the director to my room at once.” His hoarse whisper is filled with command. Understanding dawns after a moment: he was speaking to the operator. He must have sent a call to the home’s administrator. All the rooms here at the elder care facility have a telecommunication device, but they are uncommon outside of situations where an emergency may arise. Nearly all residences and even most businesses do not have such convenience, relying instead on youths to run messages. I am glad that they have such convenience here, even though it is difficult for Grandy to utilize it as well with his infirmity.

“I hate that you have to hide.” Even talking hurts. My head throbs, pulsing to the beat of my racing heart, and my throat feels raw. But I hate even more that Grandy must use a false name.

“Tarriq…”

“No, Grandy. I am not all right. I am hurt, and defensive. My skull feels too small. I need silence and darkness, neither of which I will get while I remain here. But I cannot be seen as I am. It will...cause problems.”

Grandy makes a soft sound of understanding. If I did not know better, it would seem like he is merely clearing his throat. 

“Who's there?” The voice is scared and female. I place it as the intruder. There is a thickness to it, as though she has a cold. But she would not be on duty today if that were the case. I realize my vocalization probably gave her a bloody nose.

There is no remorse at the realization. Instead, I want to scream epithets at her and curse her lineage for six generations in either direction. But I dare not. It would do no good. And I am desperate to avoid what she would do in response.

Grandy replies in my stead. “My grandson.”

There is a knock on the door, then. It feels too loud for my head, and my breath catches in a soft grunt. But I know that Grandy will not act without my acknowledgement. “Open it,” I grate out between clenched teeth, dreading what comes next.

Light from the hallway spills into the room once more. It is enough to illuminate my otherness for the nurse. She screams as her eyes realize there is one of the fabled monsters crouched in the room with her, and I cringe as the sound triggers a wave of nausea in response to the auditory assault upon my already pounding head.

They always scream. Male or female, adult or youth, it matters not. Their primal terror responds in an alert to the herd, a signal of fear, that a predator is nearby. They do not understand the response on a conscious level, but I do. I usually have to stifle my own response, but the throbbing of my skull leaves no room today for such.

“Damn.” I know that calm voice. Grandy did not call the home’s administrator after all. He called the director of Internal Order. My boss. Whose predecessor was Grandy himself.

“Hello, Merrick,” Grandy and I say, at the same time, with the same inflection, in the same rasping whisper.

“Well, that was more than a bit creepy. If ever I doubted you two were related, that just settled the matter.” There is a very sober tone to Merrick’s voice. “I take it we have an incident.” 

“You could say that.” Again, Grandy and I speak as with one voice. I cease speaking, as it seems that Grandy is capable of handling the explanation. And I also would like to refrain from vomiting as the migraine settles firmly into place, accenting the throbbing in my skull.

“I was speaking to my grandson. This nurse came to check in on me. Tarriq was ungoggled when the door opened.” Grandy’s succinct words hold no accusation. I know I would not be capable of such under these circumstances. Silently, I thank the Dark for Grandy's presence and common sense.

I hear Merrick suck in a sharp breath. He hesitates, and I know in that instant what he is about to say. What he is about to do. 

“Report.” The single word crackles with soft authority.

Damn him.

I hear the nurse whimper in fear as I rouse, my scales murmuring a soft susurration as they slide over each other. Her fear tries to ignite the predatory responses in my brain once more, but nausea washes the response away. Casting out with my hand, I find the wastebasket as I lumber upright and clutch it tightly by the rim. I sway, unsteady on my feet, and use my free hand to grasp Grandy’s bed rail for stability as I orient on where Merrick waits for me to speak. They do not know that I keep my eyes clenched shut even behind the darkened lenses; to them, I appear to be functioning the same as anyone else. But even the mild glow of the red hued bulb would stab fresh daggers into my brain.

“Darkwalker Tarriq Zar, making report,” I manage, my voice roughened as I try to speak around the pain. “Last duty shift ended at 0600 this morning. Two hours’ sleep obtained at IO Station Seven. Emerged into Survivors’ Day crowd, watched approximately thirty seconds of prerecorded…” I want to say propaganda, but rethink my word choice immediately. “...video. Traveled home via personal transport. Bathed and shaved. Traveled here via personal transport to visit paternal grandsire, Ranger Tolen Zar, retired.” I register two sharp intakes of breath, neither of which is Grandy. Suck on that, Merrick. “Ranger Zar offered hospitality in the form of low interior illumination, to accommodate known Darkwalker ocular sensitivity. Hospitality was disregarded in ignorance when a wellness check was unexpectedly initiated upon Ranger Zar. No hostility detected, autonomic personal defenses activated in response to sudden illumination and severe sensory overload. Normal ocular function return anticipated with rest. Current status: migraine secondary to ocular overload, with accompanying sensitivity and nausea. Fatigue. Hunger anticipated in approximately four hours, or when migraine subsides. Report concluded.” 

With that, I immediately crumple to my knees and vomit noisily into the wastebasket. Very little besides bile comes up; I have not eaten for more than 12 hours. 

"They were never monsters." Grandy's voice rumbles with intensity, despite his profound injury. "No matter what the news programs tell you. They call themselves the Denzai. I saw them. I met them. Once they could communicate with us, I spoke to them. What happened to our world was an accident."

I know all of this already; it is probably safe to assume Grandy is speaking to the nurse now. He can speak of the past. I will speak of the present when it is time. Once his tale is spun.

"They were never trying to hit Earth. They wanted to terraform the moon's far side. Five devices were launched, but only two hit the intended location on the moon. Someone miscalculated. Mistakes were made. When they realized their mistake, they attempted to discern if we were sentient. But all we could do was scream in terror and try to kill them. The first word they learned to recognize in our language was 'monster'."

I hear the woman weeping softly. She is terrified, her whole belief shaken. Now it is my turn to shake it further, even if I still am speaking more to the wastebasket than anything else. I refuse to stand up again.

"I am not wholly of humanity, as your sight can discern. But I am not wholly of their world, either. I speak their tongue and retain some of their traits, and I understand their technology. But I am only a quarter Denzai. My sire was half, my matron human. My grandsire, whom you see before you, is fully human. He found love with a Denzai female. My grandmatron. This is the story they refuse to tell you. Why my grandsire hides his name behind an anagramed alias. Because who would believe their hero actually consorted with the supposed alien enemy?”

I bark a harsh laugh, which I immediately regret. My head is still pounding and the room wants to spin out from beneath me. But I manage to tilt my head in the direction of Merrick and the nurse. I can hear them perfectly well. 

"Look at me. Do I look like I could harm you right now? How frightening is a man who can be so utterly crippled by light? Who vomits on his knees into a wastebasket? The Denzai are no threat. Of course they came from the Dead Zones! Because that was where the light could not touch."

Grandy resumes the dialogue. "And they have tried to help us. To make reparation for the damage they caused. It is their technology that makes our subterranean life possible. Their machines filter our air and water, and cleanse our waste. Darkwalker Zar is indispensable; he is the only one here that can repair and maintain the machinery that makes life possible. We depend upon him. In other sub-cities, Denzai are becoming a more vital and accepted part of the community.  But here, beneath the site of the impact zone, it is much more difficult for the survivors to accept that it was all a great mistake." 

Some few, I think uncharitably. Only four other sub-cities to my knowledge have even welcomed cohabitation. Less than 10%. But it is not my place to speak this truth right now. 

Merrick finally takes up a small piece of the narrative. "It was a shock to all of us at first, of course. To learn the truth of the so-called ‘monsters’. And some sub-cities have embraced the Denzai. It is what we hope to work toward even here. But such integration has not had a chance to blossom here in Londinium yet."

I speak up again, cutting off Merrick. "Nurse, I know you did not mean harm or offense. You are clearly new to your position, and no one told you about considerations that are needed when I visit my grandsire. But I would have you hear this from my own lips, in my own voice: I wish you no harm. Just let me be. Let me live, and work, and love." I curl into myself once more, the migraine searing. "Someone send for Meshani, please. I am not moving from this corner. When he arrives, I need everyone except Grandy to get out. And I will need undisturbed dark and silence."

“I will take lunch in the common room,” Grandy murmurs. “Please ensure a wheelchair is made available, Lowasha.” Ah. That must be the name of the nurse.

“And see to his hand,” I add. “I fear I may have caused a small injury in my unkind haste.”

Grandy tries to wave it off. “It is nothing,” he rasps. “A mere scratch.”

“Tolen, there is nothing ‘mere’ about it,” Merrick chides. “I can see you bleeding from here. You will have it seen to. Honestly, I’m surprised you don’t need stitches. And a runner has already been sent to your partner. Tolen does not call me for minor things, so I took the liberty of anticipating what might be needed."

"Thank you," I croak. I realize I am clutching the wastebasket and ride out another wave of nausea. 

Silence descends. Blessed, welcome silence. I can almost taste the tension from Lowasha as she hovers, uncertain. I know I should offer some reassurance, but I just want Meshani to hurry. Adrenaline is fading, and pain is starting to grow ascendant. I will probably be bawling like a child within a half hour.