KNOCK—KNOCK, KNOCK.
Seba stopped tapping his soft-boiled egg, realizing that the knocking was coming from the outside. Rubbing her eyes with an apple in hand, Ewa reached for the door. Takako was also at the table, although she was currently occupied with emptying his homemade pickle jar from all its contents—her hand constantly diving down into the greenish brine like a net descending into an overgrown lake.
“What do you want?” Ewa yawned, leaning the side of her face against the door and allowing its cold metal surface to sober her up.
“ZOMO,” a commandeering voice came from the other side. “We want to talk.”
Seba lowered his spoon and shot a quick, worried glance at Takako—a pickle halfway to her mouth. It seemed like Neko didn’t understand why he was suddenly so tense, continuing to crunch.
"How many of you are out there?" Ewa—still groggy—failed to register the danger, taking a big bite out of her apple. Either that or she simply lacked basic self-preservation instincts. You never knew with that girl.
“Just the two of us, ma’am,” another voice—this one softer. This must have been the twins—Lidka and Kitka—then. A little early all things considered, but it’s not like either expected them to skip their morning rounds. It was Friday, after all. Payday.
“Well,” Ewa scratched her ass, “then talk to each other.”
There was a pause followed by the sound of someone stepping up and drumming their baton against the door. Ewa jerked back, rubbing her sore ear and almost dropping her fruit.
“Don’t fuck with us, Curuś!” Lidka bellowed.
“Please just tell Sebastian to get the stuff ready,” Kitka added with the slightest hint of compassion. “We’ll come for pickup at eight.”
With that, the pair pulled out, and Ewa turned towards her partner with a self-serving smile. “There we go. Got them off of you, Seba. Once again proving myself useful.”
“You’re as useful as a fishing card in a brothel,” he put his elbows on the table. “Now, they’ll ask for double the bribe and we’re still one paycheck behind.” Said paycheck was also getting its hands on the second jar.
“Come on, you know those two are always trying to step down from their high horse and onto your lap,” she sat back down, pouring herself a glass of mint juice. “Plus, I don’t want to risk them finding our princess.” She took a long sip before reassuring “If they do come back, feel free to take a little from my emergency stash to pay them off.”
“You have an emergency stash?” He had always assumed Ewa spent her whole payout the moment she got it. “But I suppose this is a better alternative than stuffing her into the closet and hoping they don’t notice.” Pulling away from the table, Seba rubbed his hands together. “I am going to finish working on the chassis.”
“Good—good,” Ewa nodded. “In the meantime, I’ll hit the markets and get something proper for dinner.”
“Mawket?” The Neko replied with a pickle dangling from her mouth. Quickly crunching it up, Takako wiped her mouth, looking up. “I would like to go. Yes.”
Ewa winced, looking at her teammate for his input.
“You know, I could use some peace and quiet,” he said, reaching for his gloves. “Might actually get more work done.”
“People could ask questions.” While dressing up, Ewa saw the tiny woman following her like a dog waiting to be taken out for walkies. “Because of…you know,” she used her index and middle finger to mime cat ears.
“People are going to ask questions either way,” Seba peeked from behind Kabura, waving her off. “Cover those ears, tuck her tail in, and you’ll be fine.”
“It’s not a dick! You can’t just tuck it into the belt and hope nobody notices.” Looking through her drawers, Ewa took out a headscarf—a bright piece of red fabric with an intricate floral pattern. Getting it around Takako’s maw took some effort since the woman despised having her ears pressed down. It seemed like she was perfectly satisfied wearing Seba’s olive-green field jacket, so she only insisted that the Neko also put some pants on; a bra was extraneous.
Climbing into the yellow Polonez, Ewa uttered a prayer before turning the key and hearing the car choke itself to death. Finally, it sparked, with the woman backing out of the driveway and onto the road. In the distance, Warsaw had a dark cloud hanging over it. It might have been an omen of death if this soot wasn’t the only thing keeping the capital alive. Seeing a twitching body was better than a still one.
“Why is Sebasuchan so grumpy?” Takako was already fidgeting with the radio—turning the worn knob back and forth until settling on a song she liked.
♪Apple and Sin—that's how it's been♪
“He was just born that way,” Ewa gave a non-reply, placing both of her hands on the wheel.
♪War and Laughter—right after♪
“That’s not really an answer,” the Neko asserted, lowering her eyelids.
♪Green and Brown—Flame and Smoke♪
“Let’s say…” Ewa tapped the leather for a while. Takako was right, of course. She was essentially repeating what her parents said when they couldn’t be bothered to reply properly.
♪The Beggar—and the Crowner♪
“He’s pent up.” Leaving it at that, she focused back on the road. You always need to be quick with such excursions. Most settlements were covered with furnaces, but this little 16-kilometer stretch was an all-encompassing wasteland. Rather than an elegant painting, it simply looked as if somebody coated the entire thing in a thick layer of white; out here, the air itself had the consistency of that stuff you have to scrape off of cars in the morning.
“Pent up, huh?” Takako looked out of the window.
The meat store sat depressingly bare. There was a delivery this morning. By noon, everything was gone. The people grumbled—as they were known to do—but eventually dispersed, thinning out the line. All the better too. After hearing them whine and complain about the scale being off or their cut being too small or there being too much fat on the meat, Dosia was more than content with taking the rest of the day off.
Resting the side of her head against the glass counter with a cigarette between her fingers, the woman straightened up at the sound of the door being thrown open.
“Then the husband comes back from his shift, sees his wife in bed, and checks the closet.” That girl—Ewa—walked in, telling a joke to a shorter woman by her side. “Inside, there is a guy. So he asks ‘What the hell are you doing in here?’ And the guy answers, ‘Believe it or not, I am waiting for the tram.'"
“I don’t get it,” Takako winced, looking over the empty displays.
Dosia could barely see half of her face, but the confusion was still tangible. Lacking the joke's setup, she was essentially in the same boat.
“Hey, Dosia,” Ewa gave her a little wave. “I am just here to pick up some pork.”
“Who is this urchin?” She snuffed out her cigarette, leaning over. Having worn her older sister’s clothes throughout her entire life, she could somewhat sympathize with her sense of fashion. Still, it was always fun teasing the people Ewa brought along. “And why is she so short?”
“She’s unfinished,” Ewa put her hand on Takako’s shoulder.
“Unfinished?” Dosia questioned while Takako began grumbling Japanese cusses.
“Yeah. Unfinished. When her parents were making her, somebody walked in and turned the lights on.” This woman’s ability to say utter nonsense at the moment’s notice in just the right way to cut any line of questioning was truly impressive.
There was a pause as Dosia stood there with her arms crossed. Clearing her throat, Ewa assured her that “she’s a friend.” This was a signal that the clerk could go ahead. Walking out into the back and looking over the larger freezer they used for storage, the woman secured two boneless pork chops.
“This is the black market?” Takako seemed disappointed, walking around the empty store with the hope of something interesting happening. All that she saw were diagrams of farm animals and the stagnant smell of smoke mixed with the faint aroma of cold meat. “I thought it would be more…interesting. Like underground with shady vendors.”
“Dosia is not shady enough for you?” She attempted a joke. “In life, you don’t need to sneak around to get the good stuff. You just need to know the right people.” Ewa reached into her pocket at the sight of the clerk returning, sliding her a few dollars in exchange for a paper-wrapped bundle. With that, she headed for the door, stepping out onto the streets.
The Neko adjusted the headscarf again, glancing up at a massive ZOMO mecha. The front panel was exposed, with the officer poking his head out and talking to his buddy—Citizen’s Militia member on a simple brown horse. It was painted the same bluish-gray as the office’s wooly coats, with a riot shield made from reinforced plastic and a retractable white baton. The design was rugged and utilitarian, with the only hints of color being the exposed yellow joints, but it lacked the lumbering quality of Kabura. Takako reckoned that if she could just grow a bit, throwing it around wouldn’t be an issue.
“Where are we going?” Takako asked, grabbing Ewa’s hand.
“Bazaar near the old station. They have some stalls that might fit your ‘underground’ vibe.”
In the past, trains used to pass through here. Now, the train station was a cathedral of avarice, with a tall ceiling and light filtering in through stained windows. Few had stalls while others simply laid out their goods on dark blue tarps. Others still walked with heavy coats—each step accompanied by the sound of something plastic clicking underneath. There were militia members outside, but they couldn't do a damn thing. Warszawa Główna was in the Wola district. All the sellers here had the blessing of the German Cartel (or at least pretended that they did). Ergo, they were virtually untouchable.
“Here,” Ewa knelt in front of Takako, reaching into her wallet. “I have some Marks left. Vendors love it when you pay with them—trust me.”
“I can get whatever I want?” The Neko flipped the bill, feeling the paper between her fingers. Now, she might not have had much of a concept of money but still understood that they could be exchanged for things.
Ewa nodded, her face shifting for a while until it settled on an uncomfortable smile. “I really hate doing this but there is something that I need to take care of while we’re here. One of my contacts…get a bit angsty when I don’t come by myself. You know how these people are.” She knelt in front of her, pinching her cheek. “Wait for me by the entrance once you’re done, okay?”
“Mhm!” Takako had already run off somewhere into the crowd. You could find secondhand clothing, homemade preserves, electronics of dubious origin, and a variety of street food. The thick wad of money felt thin when there were so many things to spend it on.
One of the men in a trenchcoat opened up like a moth spreading its wings once a customer approached, showing the man a selection of films strapped to a maze of inner pockets. After settling for the one he liked, the patron slipped him a few Marks and fled the scenes.
“Tapes?” The Neko pointed at the tall salesman, startling him. He quickly looked around for the source of the little voice, noticing a little thing standing by the side of his leg.
“Uh. Yeah.” He took a step back to get a better look at her. “But I don’t reckon it's anything you would be interested in—not unless you’re into girls.”
“I like girls! Yes,” she enthusiastically confirmed. “I need tape to stop being pent up.”
“Ah. You’re one of those.” A smirk appeared on his previously unmoving lips. “Why didn’t you say so?” Turning left and right, he once again opened his coat. “I’ve got some good material—foreign stuff.” Bending down like a crane, he whispered “Some of them even feature nuns” where he presumed her real ear would be.
“Oh no, that’s okay,” Takako shook her head. “I am not Catholic.”
“It is an acquired taste,” he admitted, shuffling around her. “So what kind of stuff are you into?”
Takako fanned herself with the banknote. “Do you have anything with tanks?”
“Military stuff…” the man mumbled while ruffling through his pockets. Sometimes even he had a hard time keeping all the material organized. “Here we go,” he revealed on a tape wrapped in thin paper. “This has girls having some fun inside of a cockpit. Should be right down your alley.”
“Thank you, mister. Yes.” She patted him on the head while handing some money over.
Now that the matters of the soul were in order, it was time to attend to the matters of the body—or rather, the stomach. You had your usual suspects: zapiekanki, potato pancakes, bigos, waffles, and sausages; in a more peaceful age, they would have probably also sold ice cream in the middle of July. Japanese street food tended to be more delicate so this was certainly exciting. That being said, Ewa did mention that they were going to have dinner soon, so Takako really did not want to spoil her appetite.
She saluted them farewell, waiting on the agreed-on spot.
“We’re back!” Ewa announced after throwing the door open. She quickly shuffled both herself and Takako inside before closing it back, not allowing even a slither of warmth to escape.
Seba was sitting by the side of the table with a knife in one hand and a half-peeled potato in another. Below him was a bucket full of yellowish skinless spuds. He quickly flicked his knife to Kabura and Jopek before focusing back on the task at hand. “Mecha are moving again,”
“And I’ve just found us a couple of jobs,” Ewa beamed, throwing a folder on the table with a loud slap.
Peeking up at it, Seba accidentally dropped one of the potatoes. It rolled across the entire hangar as if trying to escape getting boiled. Fortunately, Takako went chasing after it. Wiping his hands with a towel, the man looked over the details. The fact that it wasn’t a self-decaying paper told him that they were either dealing with someone lower grade than Rüstungszentrale or at least considerably less paranoid.
“They want us to watch over a warehouse,” he traced his fingers through the text as if reading braille. “Turning to subcontractors like that means they have no security there."
“I don’t think I follow,” Ewa shook her head, bending down to carry the large pot of potatoes over to the stove. “We’re to protect the place.”
“And we’re going to hit it instead.” Seba leaned back in the chair, flicking his sore wrist. “Rüstungszentrale wants their weapon cache,” reaching into the drawer, the man took out a hammer and a cutting board. Placing the pork Ewa bought against the wood, he began pummeling the pink meat. “As far as they know, it might have been a bunch of cheap Balkan rifles in that transporter. So,” a loud THUD emphasized his speech, “we’ll give them just that.”
“Thought you were against keeping her here,” she watched the Neko walk up to her, hand the woman a potato she had caught, and then quickly scurry off to the makeshift room they had prepared for her. “Thought you were going to complain.”
“Oh trust me, I am going to complain. But fair is fair. We had a vote.” Seba raised a hand. “Under one condition. Tell me: why do you care so much about her? And don’t just say that it feels nice to be nice.”
Lying here was only going to make it worse. If Seba can be so brutally honest, why couldn’t she? “My family owes a lot to the Japanese. I am originally from Ussuri, you know.”
“You aren't a Goral?” Seba put down the hammer, eyeing her up.
Maybe Ewa pretended that she didn’t hear him. Maybe she was offended. Maybe she just couldn’t come up with a funny rebuttal. “During the Civil War, many orphans from Siberia were sent to Japan. My great-grandfather was amongst them.”
"So—what—this is your way of repaying a debt that happened lifetimes ago?"
"In a way," Ewa’s voice was resolute. "I wouldn’t have been born if not for them.”
“You wouldn’t have been born if your parents had a different breakfast that morning since it would completely alter their biochemistry. Being born is all up to luck.” Seba watched as his teammate stared at the potatoes with a certain longing. “But if that’s what you want to do—if that’s what you want to fight for—I will respect that.”
“Initially, I just wanted to avoid standing in the food lines,” she admitted. Reaching into the fridge, Ewa pulled out a cucumber salad. “Now, I want to look out for others, you know?” She placed the salad on the table, glancing towards Takako’s makeshift room. “Like a mother should.”
“You’re a bleeding heart, Ewa.” Seba resumed hammering the meat—each thud reverberating through the room. “But maybe that's why I need you around.”
“But we’re both girls!” The low-res moan came from the video player. Takako edged closer to the screen. Her eyes—previously narrow cat-like slits—now appeared huge.
“I don’t care,” the other woman in the film wrapped her hand around her Private’s throat. “I am still your superior officer.” It looked like she could have easily snapped it, with the younger woman now gurgling on her spit—silver strands dangling down from her puffy lips. “And you will service me.” Sitting down in the gunner’s position, the officer undid her belt, pushing down the head of the junior body towards her crotch.
“Captain…” she wiped her lips, looking up directly at the camera directly at Takako. Her fingertips felt cold as the woman traced the contours of her soft body—feeling each inch as if it were foreign to her.
“There is no place for whores in the People's Army,” the captain placed a firm slap across the younger woman’s face. Just as the sound of pain mixed moan escaped her lips, Takako brushed past her hardened nipples, letting out a similar yelp.
Looking down at her body for confirmation that she was still lucid, the Neko noticed both of her hands were shaking. Much more than that, her entire pelvis was throbbing—waiting for her to do something. Both her anus and lips pulsated in anticipation. Her head felt dizzy as the woman’s hand began wandering further south
It took some bracing, but Takako eventually poked her clit. As expected, another sharp, warm sensation spread through her body. Her heart was now pounding so vigorously that it almost hurt. Before she even knew it, she was flicking her bean while pressing and squeezing on whatever tits she had.
Should she become larger? The two sensations (growing and masturbation) were not too dissimilar. Both were euphoric—addicting. Like money, sex was a nebulous concept to her. The one thing she certainly understood about it was how intimate it was supposed to be. Normally, Takkako loved being huge—loved being seen. But they couldn’t see her like this.
She was probably making such a dumb face…
Groping herself in tandem with the film, the Neko had a certain persistent thought in her near-empty brain. Is this what her body was designed to do? She understood that she was a weapon—she liked being a weapon. But, despite it all, Takako needed to admit that being a woman was fun as well.
Gritting her teeth, she squired across the room—silver strands painting the dark floor. Once again looking down at her hand, Takako played with the warm juices between her fingers. Leaning back, she quickly needed to calm down before the others called for her, placing a pillow over her mouth and squinting at the dim light bulb above her.
Woman. Weapon. Maybe she could be both.