For a Glacial Tomorrow

1 | The Peregrine

A cascade of mottled blue water once poured from the rusty pipes; now, they hack up snow and ice chunks. Dry and rigid from drought, icicles line the surface of every corner—chilled seaweed coils and rots.

Bitingly cold water shoots up in the air as a creature rolls into the water. Their head is under before they push it up, inhaling the air. The creature, a cream and brown slugcat, climbs onto a platform, securing a rope and binding a large, heavy satchel to its torso. His dark blue eyes focus back where he'd come—a salamander, dark pink in slimy skin with lighter gills and beady eyes, slips out of the same tunnel, emitting a guttural hiss. He draws a spear from his bag, scraping his hands across the rebar as he prepares to throw. The salamander's claws catch hold of the pole poking out, seemingly a swing away from a higher platform. Suddenly, red quills unfurl from the seemingly harmless pole, ensnaring the captured prey and pulling it in with ease as it flopped and struggled.

The slugcat, Peregrine, knew it was a pole plant. He knew every pole has a pole plant here.

Peregrine leaped his spear into the wall, clenching his fists around the sharp material. He pivoted upward, his body airborne until he clutched the ground above. He bunched his muscles and leaped onto the next platform, face to face with another pole plant. Without hesitation, Peregrine clasped the pole plant with a strangling grip, swinging himself into a flip before it could react. Its stalk wobbled, the red leaves flaring in a fury. He was falling before catching another one by its tip, sending himself to the next and then the next before he landed safely on the other side of the room. Water soaked him, his torn cloak weighed down and sopping wet, but he didn't care. Ticked-off pole plants flailed in the vats of water, grasping at nothing in starvation.

Peregrine is contained through a new network of tunnels, mud clotting his feet as he dove down the crisp system. He didn't attempt to stop his falls by grabbing the fake poles, knowing his demise would come from that. Instead, he impaled each one that threatened him.

Soon, he crawled through a tunnel and was met with pooling, cold water at his feet. Water dripped steadily through the pipes, barely frozen over, gathering around a rough platform. Shadows shrouded everything beyond the platform. Peregrine's ears perked in alert, and he unhooked his bag to get something. He pulled out three infant centipede carcasses: all for him, now that he'd found an Ancient Shelter. He settled on the platform, biting into the tender antennae, feeling at ease.

That is until he felt a tentative tap on his shoulder.

He bolted to his feet, fumbling with his bag to wield an explosive spear. His eyes caught a glimpse of the "attacker": a pole plant. It was curled in a questioning manner, coming from the darkness. It didn't appear to be connected to anything. Peregrine growled, stuffing the centipede into his jaws and swallowing without a second thought. The pole plant slumped, and it reached out to tap the second one. Peregrine didn't have enough time to do much before it trapped the corpse, reeling it back into the shadows.

Peregrine's nostrils flared as he forced himself to stay calm. He took the last one, shoving it down his gullet before the pole plant could. "Mine!" He yelled. The pole plant didn't return for some reason, but for Peregrine, that was positive. He laid down, flicking his tail over his nose to form himself as a ball. His eyes shut, and for a moment, he felt something with frills pat his head.

Then, he fell into hibernation.

. . .

Cycle 1: Karma 8 (Rain Starts In Twenty Hours)

A faint orange light casts over the shell of the Drainage System, brightening the desolate space and nearly melting the icy waters. Little cracks of light peeked into the room Peregrine slept in. Peregrine was abruptly awoken as something lashed against his side, sending a light pain through his limbs. He struggled to his feet, eyes half-lidded from grogginess, and grumbled.