Chapter Text
CAPTURE
The last thing he remembered was walking somewhere after doing something. The first thing he experienced was waking up in the darkness, laying in a dank alleyway between a mortgage building and a bakery.
I’m hungry, was his first thought.
His stomach was clenching dully from how hungry he was, and his head had a nasty ache that spiked when he tilted his chin a little to the side. The back of his skull was particularly painful, as if it had been resting against a sharp steel nail.
Come to think of it, his whole body was aching and felt out of proportion. Everything hurt and everything was in the wrong position. With the way he was laying down his knees were so uncomfortably straight that they bordered on folding the wrong way.
The weight of his head strained his neck backwards over a stiff ledge, so that his vertebrae felt tight and the skin on his throat overly stretched. All his joints felt dry and tender.
He cracked open his eyes and struggled to lift his head up. His body was pressed into weird angles which made it hard to get up. He flexed his abdominals and tried to lift his torso straight upwards in a sit-up, but something was blocking the way and he felt an odd tugging sensation all around his hips and spine. He stopped trying to move and instead tried to lift his arms.
His right arm felt shaky and weird. He could feel it, there was no pain, but he was having trouble moving it. His movements were jerky.
That was when he noticed that something was particularly wrong. He could not feel all his fingers, and his skin rubbed the wrong way in all the wrong places. Lifting his left hand to his face, he saw that he had only two fingers and one thumb, and his skin was wrinkly and scaly like a lizard. His nails were somewhere between a dog’s and a humans, yet strong and long nonetheless.
He lowered his hand and looked down his chest. Instead of a human chest he had a series of plates leading down to his legs. It looked like a turtle shell.
He tried to sit up again and was impeded by the same trapped feeling. He realised it must be a turtle shell to match his chest. So he rolled side to side until he was able to use a leg to strut against the ground and then push himself over onto his chest. He sat back on his heels and rubbed his face with his single two fingers.
His right leg felt shaky and erratic, just like his arm.
He only had two toes.>
He felt like he should be far more nervous than he felt. He should probably be panicking right now because turtle humans were not supposed to exist.
Instead, he just felt tired. Like all of this was normal.
The last thing he could remember at this point was… now. Hadn’t he been doing something? What was he doing in this alley? Why was he a turtle?
Who am I?
He could not recall if he had always been a turtle or not. And even though he could not quite remember his name who he was at this very moment, he knew for sure that turtle-people were not something that existed in the world. But if he was not born a turtle, then why was he feeling so calm? Perhaps he was subconsciously used to his body despite his inability to remember anything else.
He leaned forward and placed his hands on the dirty, crusty, crumbly alley ground to stabilise himself as he moved into a crouching position. His shell felt really heavy and put him off-balance, which was worsened by the persistent shaking in his right arm and leg. He persisted and practised leaning forwards and backwards until he felt comfortable to stand up fully without falling over.
Then he sat back down because he suddenly noticed his feet and wanted to look at his toes a little bit. Both of his toes were big and similarly-sized with a large gap between. It looked like he had two big toes, like they duplicated themselves side by side. His heels were tough and scaly for walking on, and his toenails matched his fingernails in their claw-like appearance.
He scrabbled and pinched at his scaly skin in fascination. If he scratched at the same spot, opaque scaly flakes would appear and flutter to the ground. They looked like pieces of dandruff.
He rubbed along his face again, noticing he lacked a nose, instead there was something like a snout with a toughened lip. His head and face were completely bald and flaky like his legs and arms, but there were the shadows of tiny eyelashes on the edges of his vision when he squinted hard enough.
That was nice, eyelashes were good protection.
His chest plates were somewhat smooth and felt just as tough as his fingernails. When he reached around, he was able to confirm that the thing on his back was indeed a turtle shell. It has the same texture as the front and there were grooves surrounding the edge and bigger, circular plates on the rounded surface.
His hands dipped down as he felt along the shell, and then he felt an appendage on his butt.
It was a tail.
A tail?
He sat back down and spread his legs, leaning back into the wall to take a better look at this fascinating thing. It was short, about the length of his hand but thick and triangular. He concentrated on flexing the muscles around his back and legs until he found the ones that moved his tail. He clumsily wiggled the tail back and forth. It looked kind of silly.
He figured that if he had been a turtle his whole life, then surely he would be familiar with this tail. So that implied he had been a human.
On the other hand…
He did not feel particularly shocked by this knowledge. More so he was fascinated.
He would figure this out.
He glanced around the alley and noticed the garbage piled up around him. If he transformed into a turtle from a human, he should have been clothed. That is unless he walked around naked, which was highly doubtful.>
However, there was so much garbage, new, old, or rotting, that it was improbable to accurately distinguish possessions that could be his from the objects that most likely were not.
Gross.
He inspected the nearest piles of junk, looking for things that were dry and clean. Given the lack of light, it was difficult to tell whether something was shadowed or soaked with water, so he avoided touching the ambiguously wet things. The light from the street lamps beyond the alley were only just enough to find his way around.
A torn but otherwise cleanish hoodie looked promising. He dug through the pockets and found two empty wrappers for granola bars. They smelled like peanuts and made his stomach growl. He considered licking the inside of the wrappers but decided against it, not knowing who owned the hoodie and what germs might be lurking beyond the capabilities of his vision.
There was a rotten trench coat that would have been fun to wear. It was missing an entire sleeve and had silt caked into the crevasses. Further along was a car tire and a window screen. He kicked the screen a couple of times because he liked the warbling noise it made as it settled.
He found a leather wallet face down in the alley. It looked clean enough and might hold some clues. There was a young man's driver's licence. He did not recognize the person, and he figured that if it had been his own face it should have triggered some memories.
In addition to the ID, there was a library card and many soaked receipts. The library card had an address on the back, reading NY. The letters seemed familiar, but he could not recall what it meant. There were no cash, debit cards, or credit cards in the wallet. It was picked clean of anything valuable or wallet-worthy. He supposed it was likely tossed by a mugger.
There was a single flip-flop by a trash bin, as well as a shattered phone. The phone case had a folding cover that served as a wallet. He pulled out all the cards and papers stashed inside the slips. There were some sticky notes with phone numbers and plastic cards, including a student ID. He did not recognize this one either. Like the first wallet, there were no money or debit cards, so it was likely this was trash from a mugging too.
It was inconclusive whether he was a human or a turtle. Right now there was nothing he could do and he did not have enough evidence to subscribe to any single idea.
His stomach was still grumbling.
Still hungry, his stomach said.
He stood up unsteadily and wobbled to the edge of the alley.
Cars drove past in the road under the illuminating streetlights. He knew he should be cautious until he learned more about the world he had forgotten about.
He did not know what city he was in, what country, or what the culture was like. He had no idea where to find food or where to sleep. He did not know if there were others like him here, or if they were all humans.
Yet he was hungry.
He needed to move because this alley was not the place to be. It would likely be even more crowded during the day and then he would be hopelessly trapped, without the cover of shadows. He decided it was less risky than waiting for morning.
***
The gas station he found was dark. He stole across the street as low to the ground as he could and then stumbled. He panicked and tried to speed up, hands over knees.
He sidled up to the door and pressed his face against the glass. He had to use his hands as a shield to block out the street lights and angle his head this way and that before he was able to see well enough into the gas station market.
It was empty, as expected, but it felt better to check for some reason.
He scrabbled his claws along the tiny crack of the door frame to pry it open, but could not get a good enough grip. Frustrated, he paced back and forth ravenously. He could almost smell the food inside. He considered breaking the door to get in. Would a loud alarm set off? He did not like loud noises.
His mouth was watering and he decided to smash open the door. The food would be worth it for sure. He turned around and steeled himself. He needed to do this without falling over. He expected that kicking with his legs would be a bad decision, so he decided to try his shell.
He threw himself backwards, letting his shell bang against the windows. The window made a plasticky bang but did not break immediately.
It took multiple times before the window finally cracked and exploded inwards. He almost tumbled over the side of the window but shot out his arms and caught himself where he was. He could feel the ragged edges of broken glass scraping along the base of his shell, and thankfully nothing cut open his skin.
He carefully stepped over all the pieces of glass protruding from the windowsill and flicked the shards scattered in the floor with his toes before stepping down. A quick glance behind showed an empty street, with the occasional car driving past.
He stood at the front of an aisle for a moment, practically buzzing with indecision, eyes darting around at the piles of packages that filled every wall and shelf. He was too hungry to make a decision. He settled on the thing in front him.
He had trouble opening the bag. His right hand seemed devoid of any coordinated strength, but he was eventually able to punch a hole and rip it open with his teeth. He opened a package of gummy worms, which had a nice chewy texture. He wanted to savour them but was too hungry and just swallowed them whole by the handful. With some sugar for his brain, he started to feel a little less groggy and shaky.
He scoured the aisle for something that looked tasty, then paused upon a sudden realisation.
He could read. He could read words.
After all, he had read the ID cards and the granola bar wrapper earlier. That was some knowledge he retained, so maybe his other memories would come back too. It felt like a good sign, and he felt a little happier.
He gathered many bags and wrapped foods and walked over to the wall of coolers. He dumped the packages in a pile on the ground and pulled open a cooler door to grab an energy drink.
He brought it to his lips and touched the cold, wet metal to his skin. It felt very calming, and he took a deep breath into a chest he had not realised was tight.
He mouthed at the can and managed to wedge his toughened upper lip under the can tab. He flexed his jaw and popped the can open. A sweet, cold, fizzing filled the air in front of his face. Frosty mist touched his face, and he closed his eyes in bliss. He tipped his head back and gulped it down. It tasted like liquid candy. He loved it.
The soda fizzled ever so slightly in his stomach as he started to eat the other food. It gave a somewhat cold sensation, a little bit like tingling.
Lights flashes and bobbed in the corner of his vision as he popped open another can with his beak-like lips. The lights were red and blue, and cast purple shadows as they blinked back and forth. He looked up from his can to see two police cars parked in front of the gas station.
He stood up quickly, considering making a run for it. His leg gave out and he slammed a palm into the coolers to stay upright.
The prospect of escaping seemed tiring. He had nowhere to go. He was unbalanced. Even if he tried to rub, they might shoot at him because he looked like a monster. (Unless turtle people were common, but he ignored that useless pebble of doubt.)
In the worst case, he would be imprisoned. In the best case, they could help him out.
He was weakening. Staying seemed the best option. The most secure and predictable option.
They might even know who I am.
He settled back down, eyeing the silhouettes of the officers as they approached the shattered window.
He tipped the can back to finish the dregs and heard a shout from one of the officers. A blinding light shined on his face and replaced his vision with swimming green lights.
"Call that number." One of the officers said.
He rubbed at his eyes, and the green lights were replaced with a pretty shade of violet. That was rather unexpected but also fascinating. He wondered if all lights did that.
Both officers looked young, maybe in their twenties. They could even be twins for all he knew: average looking, blonde, similar heights, and brown eyes.
They were also much smaller than he expected. A lot smaller. If he stood up their heads would probably reach just under his chest.
No, that was wrong. The officers were not small, he was big. He was huge, actually.
He was taller than the shelves.
But wait, why would people make shelves taller than them? How were they supposed to reach the food?
He looked up at the ceiling and then back at the officers. They were a third of the wall’s height.
Outrageous. Why were the ceilings so tall if people were so short?!
There was a buzz of chatter as they talked into their walkie-talkies and the staticky voices of their superiors responded.
It appeared they did not know who or what he was. Instead, he was probably going to prison. And all he wanted was some food.
He felt like an idiot for staying and letting himself get caught, but there was no point in blaming himself. He had to focus on now. Things were happening, and he could make decisions while they were happening, not after.
One of the officers had been trying to get his attention for a while. Her arms were in a placating gesture, held forward with palms facing him as she talked. Her eyebrows were raised impossibly high and her dark eyes were wide.
His arms were shaking, but the officer’s were not.
He heard nothing of what she had been saying while lost in thought, thinking about ceilings and decisions.
A moment of silence passed and then she lowered her arms and started talking into the microphone on her shirt. "...appears not aggressive."
Of course he was not aggressive.
He was ignoring them until his attention was caught by a concerning phrase. "...tranqs are on the way." The static on her polo said.
He perked up. They were going to dart him. He could not see any darts on the officers, but what if the arriving people darted him instantly? Just walked through the door with a dart pointed at him?
He eyed the tasers and guns sitting in their holsters. Come to think of it, he would actually prefer a dart to a taser or bullet, it sounded much less painful. Darts sounded okay now.
One officer’s eyes widened as they watched him. They pulled out their taser and pointed it at him.
The motion of something being pulled out of a holster caught his nervous eye and he glanced over. He dropped his drink as a spike of fear made him cringe, expecting the blast of a bullet. The can buckled and rolled away, fizzing.
The officers started barking orders at him that made his head buzz with noise. He started to feel floaty. The world was flurried. Noise and movement. Lights.
He blinked rapidly and squeezed his hands open and closed. His overactive imagination was convinced he could already smell the electricity. Each voice sounded like a discharged bullet.
When the pain failed to come, he cringed up at the officers. They were looking at him with fearful scowls. He raised his hands to look peaceful, mimicking that placating gesture, and shook his head. His right arm was shaking terribly, and it was difficult to keep it up.
Both officers looked rather confused.
"I think it's... shaking its head." She whispered.
He shook his head again and pulled his hands a little closer to his body, relieving his muscles. He could feel the spilled drink creeping under his toes and tickling with popping bubbles, but he did not dare move. His eyes teared up in tandem with another spike of fear in his gut, despite how he intended to suppress fear and remain rational.
He tried not to care if they saw him as weak or childish. He was a weird monster who just ate maybe twelve packages of gummy candy. There was nothing normal about him right now and it was not worth his time to work on a reputation with a bunch of random people he would likely never see again.
"Don't move." They ordered.
The rationality was quickly draining. He was starting to panic now. They were not going to help him, they were going to imprison him. He did not think stealing food was that bad of a crime, and he thought they would be nice to him because he was a turtle. Clearly something had happened, no one was normally a turtle, right? He was forced to resort to these measures. That had to be understandable.
Maybe they wanted to kill him only because he was a turtle, and the stealing was irrelevant. Maybe they would be pointed flashlights and tasers at his face regardless of where they found him.
His heart started to race, but he was afraid to breathe too quickly. If he started to pant, his breathing would become louder too and draw attention. They might think he was doing something bad, or he was dangerous. Then they would tase him.
So he controlled his breathing and forced it to be slow. He was starting to feel light headed. His heart stuttered as he refused to allow his lungs to keep up with his rapid pulse.
Strangely, it helped. With the dizziness came giddiness and a feeling of calm.
He had some tears on his face so he wiped them off. He was feeling much better now that he was light-headed and floaty. He was having trouble remembering why he got upset. Everything felt distant.
The officers had been talking to him, and he had not been listening. They were both standing closer to him. One had her taser pointed up at the ceiling and the other had put hers away.
They kept glancing down at the food wrappers around him.
The closest officer picked up some packaged goods off the nearby shelf and gently tossed it at him. They flinched when it bounced off his throat, but it did not hurt. They waited with wide eyes to see what he would do.
He understood this as a gesture of peace, so he leaned forward and dragged the food closer with a single claw, and then opened it to eat.
The officers laughed nervously. They seemed quite entertained by this. He was not offended, it must be like feeding a stray cat.
They reported this to their walkie-talkies.
***
The next ten minutes were chaotic. What must have been thirty more police cars filled the street, each headlight flooding the gas station with yellow. Caution tape and barricades were placed in the streets, and crowds of people began to gather, drawn in by the commotion like moths to a flame. Every window was guarded by five officers, each with guns and tasers. A helicopter thrummed overhead.
He continued to pull from the shelf behind him. He nibbled the chocolate off a candy bar, avoiding the gaze of the officers. He was starting to get scared again with all of the guns and lights and shouting. This was not ideal, but it was okay.
Some of the new officers worked up the courage to step in through the window once they realised he was not interested in murdering anyone. They swept the glass with their boots and then cut the lock on the main door. Another officer came with some tools and removed the hinges before carrying away the whole door.
They removed the whole door.
That was... unexpected.
He smiled. They just took the whole door. The ENTIRE door. He let out a single chuckle and this immediately drew the jumpy stares of the officers. He instinctively shied away, hunching in on himself.
Things began to slow, with officers standing around windows and doors, the shouting turning into a monotonous drone in the back of his head, the sirens fading into the background, and the angry chatter of phones and helicopter blades comparable to nothing more than the wind. There was a comfortable pattern to the rush of sounds… as long as nothing was too loud.
He began to grow restless and bored. No one had tried to interact with him so he felt no point in waiting to see if anyone would get his attention. It felt almost as if he had been forgotten, like if he left the officers would just continue reinforcing windows and shouting and taping up walls.
He stood up shakily, struggling to get his right leg to cooperate. His spilled can was still on the ground in a puddle, and he wanted another drink.
There was a blaring alarm, a crackling snap, and he hit the floor.
He was face down on cool tiles. His entire body was tingling and numb in a way that made him feel like he was floating.
It took him a few moments to realise what had happened. By then the officers were all over him, trying to place cuffs around his thick wrists and ankles, and ripping out the stainless steel needles that had delivered the shock from the taser.
He was stupid. Of course they would tase him if he got up. But it had not crossed his mind at the moment.
His arms were being bent at odd angles and they were pressing into him in a way that would have been painful, had he not felt so numb. The officers were using their whole bodies to hold down each arm. He flexed his shoulder to move it into a slightly more comfortable position. There were shouts and all of the weights lifted away, finally giving him room to sit up.
That was when the second shock was delivered.
This one was painful, especially where the metal cuffs were touching his skin before they slipped onto the ground. He wished he could scream, he was sure it would alleviate the pain. But he was too scared and hurt to risk speaking.
The pain came and went in only an instant and it was gone before he knew it. All that was left was the tingling and a slight tenderness around his wrists.
He did not try to move again. Absolutely not.
Minutes passed. He stayed motionless, breathing shakily.
Time passed wrong.
Things were happening after they happened. Sounds repeated themselves.
He could not remember how to move. He couldn't breathe manually if he tried. In fact, he couldn’t move anything at all besides his eyelids. His breath came out steady and soft, forming condensation on the dirty tiles under his mouth.
Breathe.
Breathe.
The officers knelt down in front of his face.
"It’s awake."
Exhale.
Breathe.
Well I would too, if I’d’ve been tased.
Breathe. Exhale.
When are the tranqs coming?
Breathe exhale breathe
Another breath another exhale
There were several sharp pokes in his shoulder and neck.
breathe breathe exhale
Time felt quick and quiet.
He started to slip away.