We'll Meet Again

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Today’s report: 3 dead. Same initial cause: laceration to the back of the neck, attempts at a cleanup, and traces of unknown organic matter at the edges of the injury. Same desecration: limbs removed, torso sliced apart, teeth marks in the face.
Same rumors: the Flesh Flower.

“Y'know the vents get loud at night. Y'all've heard it, sure. Thinkin' 'oh, s'just the shower pipes leaking or the cooling being increased or whatever.' But //I// know better.”

The young worker put down his cup of distilled water, ignoring his foodpaste, leaning over the table towards his companions. I, of course, stand guard near the food trays, but lean a little to eavesdrop on a cafeteria tale I’ve yet to hear.

“I've seen that Flesh Flower's face, through vent systems 76C and up through 192YY - you know, by that stupid old library? Always starting at 00:51, it’s there!”

He takes a quick sip of water, his companions falling silent by now to listen.
He keeps his expression entirely neutral.

“Every single night, I sees those petals, sees an eye flicker to the side. It’s watching me, I swear.”

Some of his companions chuckle, but most exchange nervous looks.

“And get this! It was nearly… what, 7 months ago? At lights-out, I was working on a slurry pipeline.”

His companions groan.

“The usual shit, yeh. But - when I popped the grating of the tube and peeked inside - //that's// when I saw it.

"A deep crimson face peered back at me. Dozens of mattered eyes, they all turned to face me.
Eyes on its face, eyes on the sides of its head, eyes on its neck.
Its petals… framed its face… those gently swaying, blood-red tendrils, and one big eye for a face.
Bloodshot and swollen, examining me.
Piercing me.“

He trails off, takes a sip, then continues. Someone drops a tray, and the room falls silent, but he presses on without even flinching. I remain standing up straight, as I must.

“S'not like it said nothing. Just stared at each other. Damn thing still crawls around - would recognize it anywhere! Look, I know it’s more than the rest of the flesh-floors and the growths.
I've seen the look in its eyes - every damn one of them.
I reckon it knows something we don't."

By now, the chatter in the room has resumed. His companions slap him on the back and laugh, adding their own insightful commentary...

"Would rather get merced by a fuckin' plant than fumed out underground, m'self..."

...but I find myself mulling over his words for days on end.
I choose not to eat that day. The formula we're fed is fit only for the pipeheads to eat - nothing organic exists down here to eat, of course, so you get used to the taste. Mostly.

I was still mulling over his words when I went to bed that night. On a whim, I peered into the air vent above my cot in my solo sleeping quarters. I saw nothing peering back, which assured me. And besides - there was a metal grating firmly bolted onto the vent. Not a chance anything would get through. But the thoughts still persisted, try as I did to use logic to dispel them. How did it manage to strike in the blind spots between cameras? Why has nobody seen it? How have the automated vent snares failed to grab it? Did they even work anymore? Did it have anything to do with the flesh growths from the mines?
All these questions and more buzzed my strapping body like flies as I took a look at the crime scene.

I take one more photograph of the body. This one was of a worker, still wearing their bright jacket - think I'd seen him at the cafeteria before. The killings always happened at night, and via the same method, but that was the only consistency. Where, exactly when, who… I had theories, yes, but no evidence.
As the bunker’s Head of Investigations, it was in my best interest to get some answers. It was hard enough suppressing rumors in such a small community, and 3 more surprise deaths of “natural causes” would only raise more eyebrows. 33 was somewhat above the 'acceptable loss' quota for the month.

That was when I decided to do some reading.

I find myself most productive when inside a library. This one in particular is homely, the source of the only open flame in the bunker - a nice stone fireplace around some wicker reading chairs. I slouch slightly as I walk in, a taste of refined elegance permeating the beautiful, artificial oak and LED-filled chandeliers. It's nice, here, away from the mines and the distorted screams of the pipeheads looking for their next fix... until I realized some chimpanzee had gone ahead and scratched the oak.
With a scratch that reached all the way up to the roof, no less - and… shattered the glass of a CCTV camera in the corner.
Unusual.

I decide to take a closer look, and spot some thorns embedded in the glass. I walk over to the counter and the librarian, walking past the desk. She glares up at me from her reading chair.
“Excuse me, si-“

I place a hand behind her neck and tap 3 times, wait a moment, and tap once more. She slumps over onto the desk, face landing between the blank pages of the fake book she was reading. I tap 4 times, wait, then tap twice.

“Mode: Debug. User: Stefan Riddle. Password: 8008lavender.”

The woman sits up straight.

“Query: Yesterday, between 20:00 and 07:00 hours. Recount disturbances.”

She stares blankly ahead. “No disturbances recorded.”

I sigh.

“Query: Download 24CCTV to 19:23:71:1102.”

I walk out from behind the desk.

“Mode: Default.”

She slumps down, then regains her composure, returning to her fake book and her fake life or whatever androids do.

I sit down at one of the dozens of empty tables and tap on the side of my glasses. I spend a moment scrolling through the views of bookshelves and the crackling fire until I lose visual in a camera. Pausing the footage, I check my other cameras. And… aha.
A vine can be seen creeping up a wall-
and that’s when I heard a loud THUD, from above me, jolting me out of the video playblack. I take off my glasses as I hear another, and another. From a vent system poking out from the high ceiling. At this time of night, I know nobody is likely to be on call- and then something fell.

From the vents, a mass of vines, red tentacles, and a… humanoid figure collapse in front of me. It stands, and a single eye centered in its head opens to stare at me. It instantly slams me in the chest with a tentacle, knocking me to the ground, before covering the bottom of its face with its hands. I look up at it, groaning quietly from my stunned state. It’s wearing a dress, I notice, as its ballet shoes walk a little closer. The straps are fused into its fleshy feet. Vines around it, tipped with thorny barbs and poised to strike, slowly retract, confused, as its eye widens in surprise.

“Oh! There’s… usually nobody here-“

Its voice is light and feminine, in stark contrast to its gruesome appearance.
I stand up and move to draw my pistol. It slams me in the gut, as I double over momentarily.

“Oh, no you don’t. Sit **DOWN.**”

It shoves me into a wicker chair, before simply sitting in front of me, vines quickly twisting and writing beneath it to form a crude seat. I almost move to stand before I see vines quickly sprout from the floor around me, with spiked thorns at their tips. As the pain subsides, I realize 3 things - I am alive, uninjured, and in //deep// shit.

It stares at me, eye blinking once, twice. Its gaze moves to the tag on my shirt, then back to my face.

“Security. Hmm.”

The vines around it shift, then settle.

“Honestly, I’m glad you had the common sense to comply. Would hate to have made a mess.”

The thorny vines behind and around it fully retract, save for the ones around my feet, and I realize a fourth thing - it’s sapient, and it wants a reply.

“Erm. I appreciate your… restraint.”

We’d been trained for the flesh growths, and the occasional pipehead - not this. It crosses its arms over its chest, blinking a few times.

“Well, first off, I’m not hungry. I was just here to finish a book about pets. Not like I can check things out - I know it’s all tracked. But I wanted to read about cats.”

My sharp inhale goes unnoticed by the entity. How did it know?

“First, it was hydrochloric acid, then biology, then I found something about pets, dogs… you know, I’ve already read about dogs."

The entity’s eye closes briefly, eyelid curled up in a sort of smile. The petals flanking its face spread out, exposing more of its raw, red flesh to feel the air.

“If I could go anywhere - be anyone - I’d want to see the surface. Own a farm.”
Its eye opens, petals framing its bloodshot gaze as it consumes its entire face. “I’d have a purpose - something to work towards. I’d get to go home to something that loves me, unconditionally.”

It shoots me an irritated glare.

“Something that doesn’t judge me for petty things out of my control.”

I neglect to mention the numerous bodies it left scattered around the station, and simply nod.
It idly wipes at its bloodied dress.

“There's nothing organic here to eat, anyway…"

It sighs deeply.

"Anyway. Doubt people like you even have ambitions, but… mind if I ask what yours might be?”

I lean forward in my wicker chair, clasping my hands together. Do I ask about the books, or answer the question? Considering its current… advantage, in this situation, and my own doubt in the stopping power of my sidearm should its compliance prove fickle, I decide it is best not to antagonize.

“Work for the N-UN. Help keep the peace in the places that really need it, work to make the world a better place.”

Its face rips open, revealing spiraling, irregularly spinning rows of thorn-like teeth.
The laugh it emits is… human.
After finding my comment amusing, it leans forward similarly, gaze shifted to amusement. I raise an eyebrow, but it does not explain itself. Clearing my throat, I decide to move to the next required topic of conversation.

“I’d like to hear more about what you read about.”

It leans back, rolling its eye.

“Oh, NOW you’re interested. I suppose you would like to know how I got in there, yes? That would be where you’re leading me?”

Sharp, this one.

“No, this is off-the-books. I would actually like to hear more about what you read about - other than dogs and hydrochloric acid.”

Its gaze flickers from the door, to my hands, to my face, to the vent, before it finally clasps its hands together. It sighs, the silence growing more uncomfortable every moment, but it finally looks into my eyes.

“About what the surface’s like. If it even exists. About the war. About serial killers. About the solar system. About the late President. About Rome. About diseases.”

A smaller hole is ripped across the side of its face, revealing a smile.

“I was there for a while.”

I take a breath, in, then out.

“And you were busy taking out the CCTV during your little light reading session.”

It hisses, vines crawling up my legs.
I resist the instinctual urge to kick them off.

“You know what your security would have done to me if they found me in there. I knew you would increase security afterwards. I knew what a mess it'd be. I spent my time //wisely.//”

I nod.

“You’re certainly slippery, yes, admirably so. You know… I could always just start leaving books in the vents.”

The vines slowly retract, thorns losing their edge. It looks up at me, eye narrowing.

“But if you let me leave, now, I can arrange that. And I promise you I’ll keep this between us.”

…Since, additionally, admitting it managed to catch me like this would certainly be career-ending, if I even had a life after the higher-ups were done interrogating me. It was assured my position would be lost, at the minimum, and its associated benefits.
Its slow smile made me wonder if it knew this, too.

"You seem awfully trusting of someone who eats your kind."

If the mines don't take them at 25, then this thing does. What's the difference?

"And you seem a little too trusting of someone whose job it is to track down and kill you."

It giggles lightly, this seemingly confirming its suspicions.

"Fine, I accept your offer. On one condition.”

My face turns pale, despite myself. “That being?”

“Be back here in a week. Same time.”

--------------------------

After that, I became the most avid reader the bunker’s library ever had, checking out books day in, day out.
At night, I’d stick a new one in the ventilation above my sleeping chamber before I slept - Grapes of Wrath, How To Train Your Dragon, Eragon, The Scarlet Letter - and it would usually be gone by the morning.

And always after a few days, the book would be returned -
the cover freshly stained by faint, red droplets.
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We'll Meet Again

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