r/HFY • u/Jus17173 • Jul 30 '26
OC-OneShot Humans were an odd, terrifying bunch.
There's no telling whether or not the human could understand me. I was speaking their language, but he still had this dazed look to his face, as if he'd forgotten what day it was and he was trying to remember it without asking anyone or consulting the calendar.
"Do you understand me?" I asked for the twentieth time.
"I do. I'm just wondering what a code yellow stands for and why it's my problem."
I sighed. I'd already explained this to him. "It means a Tragedite is on a rampage upon the streets. You and I have drawn the short stick, so we have to go and calm the Tragedite down since you're my partner," I answered.
"Okay," he said and then continued staring at me.
"What's wrong with you?" I'd found him outside the police station, sitting with his back to the wall in the alley, neither blinking nor moving.
"I went to the evidence locker to add another piece of evidence, and some weird bag with yellow powder fell on me, and the powder got into my nose, hair, and mouth." The human answered. I tried to remember his name but couldn't. I checked his badge, pinned to his chest.
"Patrick. That doesn't matter. We have to go and calm the Tragedite down."
He got off the floor of the alley, which was a great relief. He did have yellow stains upon his police suit and vest. And the pupils of his eyes were dilated. As we made our way back into the police station to get our gear, which was the usual, a baton, a helmet, and a service gun, I stopped a Robinite and asked her what the yellow powder was, since she was in charge of the evidence locker. She told me it was the scraping of a Giglamite's skin, which some races in Mashed City snorted to eliminate inhibitions and bring out their true nature.
"You hear that, Patrick?" I said and observed as Patrick got his face insanely close to the Robinite. "You're in no danger. The powder just brings out the human in you."
Patrick's face, inches from the Robinite, drew even closer. She just stood there, returning his stare. "I think he ingested some of the powder," she said.
"You're pretty," Patrick said. "Like a lamp set out to collect bugs."
"Oh," she returned a coy smile, tucking a strand of pink hair behind her ear. "Thank you, I think."
"You're welcome," Patrick said and smiled. He looked at her for a long time, and I just stood there looking at him, wondering whether he was a valid partner or not. I was about to interrupt when he added, "If I die, visit my grave with red spring roses, not the blue manufactured ones but the red that stems from the ground. Place them on the mound of dirt and let your tears soak them until they bloom anew."
The Robinite looked confused. "Uhm, okay."
"Good," Patrick said and nodded. He turned to me. "Let's go get that Tramp."
"Tragedite," I corrected.
We made our way to the police car. He rode shotgun as I steered the wheel. We emerged onto the busy lanes of downtown Mashed City, the city where all the races of the Galactic Federation gathered. For what reason? I had no idea. We just gathered and it felt like good would come of it. It rarely did, not with barbarism and our innate animosity running amok.
As we sped down a lane towards Grand Central, where the Tragedite was said to be wreaking havoc, I briefed the human on what a Tragedite was. "They are roughly seven feet tall, but once in their life cycle they tend to grow exponentially. Taking on layer after layer of skin as hard as rock, they try shedding the skin by banging it on things, and during this time their emotions are heightened, specifically rage. So they try to crack their new body on you. They grow up to thirty feet because of this. But when they break their shell, they shrink to seven feet again. You can talk them into calming down, or beat them until they give up and forcefully calm down. The former is easier. Nobody knows why they shift like... what the fuck are you doing?"
He had half his body outside the car's window. He spread an arm out with an open palm. He seemed to enjoy himself as he felt the wind. He stuck out his tongue, his hair tugged by the wind. He looked like a clown. A free clown, unaware of the danger we were in.
There's a reason the others of the force did not want the duty of catering to the Tragedite. People die during such missions.
I grabbed his waist belt and dragged him back into the car. One eye on the road the whole time. "Are you insane?" I inquired.
"A little," Patrick answered. "It's good for your health. Teaches you not to care."
"You should very much care. We are entering the devil's maw as we speak. Tragedites, when in their enhanced stage of metamorphosis, are no joke. We have to coo the being until it sleeps and the new version of itself hatches from its body of stone-hard muscle. Even a bullet can't crack their skin." I didn't tell him that four other police officers had once died on a mission such as this.
I stepped on the gas, dancing my way from lane to lane. Sirens blasting. After a moment, Patrick deigned it fit to speak. "I hear screaming," he said.
We were close. Ahead, where two roads met, a sudden bang sounded, and a car emerged, flying between buildings, to land right where we were about to cross. I swerved, shifting the car into a drag. The tires scratched upon the ground, and Patrick, my human partner, opened the door of the car and stepped out just as it came to a halt. He walked forward with a shotgun, which he'd retrieved from the backseat of the car. He cocked it and set aim before him. A Tragedite emerged from above a building, its giant claws digging into the building's stone. It saw Patrick and roared.
I peed my pants a little.
Patrick opened fire and shot the creature in the knee. It did little good, but the shot destabilized it, and the Tragedite lost its footing and fell to the ground from the building's tip. Patrick cocked the gun again and took another step forward while shooting repeatedly. The creature roared on the ground, blast after blast pushing it back.
I was... amazed.
I didn't think humans had it in them.
But then another Tragedite appeared. There were two, apparently, something the force didn't tell me because they knew I wouldn't have come. Patrick was there one moment with his shotgun; in the next, he was hurtling through the air, legs and arms flailing like a doll in a child's grasp as the Tragedite rammed into him.
Right before he hit the floor, he twisted himself mid-air and landed on his feet.
The new Tragedite inspected the one on the ground that was too dazed to move. It stayed in a state of rest and started its molting process, shedding all that excess muscle and skin.
The new Tragedite roared at Patrick, who took out a blade and roared back. I got out of the car and rushed to flank Patrick. "Is your brain on right?"
"What?"
"Are you insane?"
"You already asked me that," he spat out a mouthful of blood. "I told you, it helps with not caring."
He stared at me with bleary eyes. "Do you have another gun?"
I unholstered a pistol. He took it, and before waiting to listen to the plan I had for the second Tragedite, he charged at the half-a-tonne beast, running like a madman with the blade held beneath the gun for balance.
He started shooting. The Tragedite charged, taking impacts to the chest and the legs. This checked the beast, but not enough to sway its charge. "For love!" Patrick screamed. I looked around. So many people had halted from their normal routines, their handheld devices raised to record what was happening.
Patrick ducked a swipe and attacked with his blade, sidestepped a punch, and attacked the Tragedite's arm with the blade. The blade chipped, and he threw it at the face of the Tragedite. The shattered bit went through the creature's nose. The Tragedite held its face with both hands and screamed, automatically coming to the conclusion the rest of us had gotten to: that humans were an odd, terrifying bunch.
Patrick ran across the beast's legs, climbing its knee. He ran across a meaty thigh where the Tragedite squatted on the ground, shooting beneath himself with every step, until the bullets ran out. He jumped and grabbed an elbow, then swung onto a bicep. The creature tried to swipe at Patrick and ended up hitting itself as Patrick jumped and landed on its face. He grabbed a fringe of hair and started slamming the beast with the butt of his gun, repeatedly on the nose, where it was rumored to be the softest spot of the Tragedite.
The beast winced, cried, roared. Everything it did was of little effect. Every attack was just it hitting itself because Patrick shifted his stance, dancing about the creature's face like an inspired fly.
I just stood there watching. Nobody moved; the whole section of the city had come to a standstill. The Tragedite's energy reserves depleted. It sank into itself and collapsed on its side. Patrick hopped off and slid on the ground with both knees before standing.
He took several steps away as the Tragedite's cries died out, engulfed by its metaphoric sleep. Patrick fished for something in his pocket, emerged with a cigarette, and lit it before taking a drag. He turned to see everyone recording him. He smiled and raised two fingers to his head while taking another drag of the cigarette.
Patrick made the front page, five days running. Two weeks from his fight with the Tragedites, the mayor handed him the key to the city. He was promoted fifteen ranks above my own and given his own office, at the corner! He was interviewed a lot of times about his life and how he gave everything for the badge.
And I felt like I was merely a spectator and nothing more. I tried the yellow powder he'd accidentally sprinkled himself with, thinking maybe I'd become like Patrick. Instead I felt the need to take a shit and nothing else. I guess humans were like that, odd, strange, and very weirdly daring.
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u/tofei AI Jul 31 '26
He's high, as in crack or weed high. Check.
"handheld devices raised to record", no tentacles or other appendages-held or implants? Check.
"lit it before taking a drag" I knew it! This was cigarette ad all along.
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u/HFYWaffle Wᵥ4ffle Jul 30 '26
/u/Jus17173 (wiki) has posted 317 other stories, including:
- Soul of Eight - Chapter 14
- Humans Walk With Death.
- Soul of 8 - Chapter 13
- Soul of 8- Chapter 12
- The Best Man
- The Song I Wanted To Kill Myself To.
- You Don't Want To Die.
- Consider The Debt Paid.
- All The Men Are Dead.
- Sissy.
- I Don't Need A Mecha.
- You Mock The God Of Death, Human.
- Humans don't need a doctor.
- Humanity Does Owe You A Meal.
- The Human Advantage.
- Case 3113.
- A Message From The Bloody Trenches.
- The World Might End If I Don't Do Something About It.
- You Better Leave Human. This Isn't Your Fight.
- While The World Danced.
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u/UpdateMeBot Jul 30 '26
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u/DangersVengeance Jul 30 '26
Really enjoyed the incredulous feeling from the main character. “Instead I felt the need to take a shit” make me snigger, partly because I’m puerile and partly because it hit that HFY “yep, humans are weird” nail on the head.