An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A Step Toward a Resolution
Past sins haunt people like heavy shackles, but this is especially true for one contam solider. Guilt can drive anyone to do drastic measures as a mean for atonement.
...Or this is how The Ascetic came to be, the backstory of the wheelchair cat, and how The Ascetic group came to be.
These days were very uncommon, as most of the time they would have been bombed, shot at, or gassed within the hour or two. But at times like this, the enemy side would cease their assault for reasons unknown, leaving soldiers at the Southern Front restless.
And leaving him alone with his thoughts.
He looks down at his hand, mutated black like a moonless night, skin mutated into something inordinary, blessed by the miracle of the machine that mercilessly takes his body and spits it back out changed. His nails have sharpened too, not curved and predator like many other soldiers have, but noticeably sharper than normal. He reaches for his mouth and lightly tapped his nail against his teeth. After being revived so much, teeth grew and jutted along the side of his face, leaving gaps between the row of teeth that ache and leave him more susceptible to breathing in toxic fumes.
Every death, a new side effect emerges and spreads.
Another time he gets visions of the past.
Joining the army was a drastic decision. But, he compelled himself to do so, to repay for past regrets, and to the sins he commits now. Every bullet, every kill, ever life lost, all add to his debt that needs to be atoned for.
As he contemplates, he looks over to his squadron.
His squad mates are stationed along side him in the trench. The man whose eyes bleed out sits next to him, his gloved hand carefully runs his fingers across his thinning hair, careful to not pull anymore of that dirty blonde that loses its luster by the day. The ginger haired one sits on the lumpy sacks, trying to wipe away the blood that stains below his taken eye, but to no avail. His friend that sits below him next to his feet shares the same skin contamination side effect as him, but instead it spread all over his body, save for his eyes, which tremble in fear for the next attack.
All of these men have signed up for a reason, but after being here for so long, those reason probably doesn’t have the same weight as before.
A soft rustle catches his ears (or what’s left of it.) He glances over to the old stack of rations and supplies that have been sitting out for however long he remembers them sitting there. Setting his firearm to the side, he props himself up to walk over and investigate the strange noise.
The noises become more apparent and absolute as he approaches. He cocks his head to the side to see a tuff of white fur poking out of the box, searching for spoiled food. The creature’s fur was covered in mud, dirt, and grime, and upon further examination, blood stains and a few maggots crawling on its hind legs.
A pitiful pang hit the soldiers heart like a gunshot. The poor thing looked was fighting its way to survive. It was a miracle that it was still alive in such deadly and harsh conditions. Its head poked out of the boxes to reveal the face of a cat, chewing on a piece of expired meat infested with maggots.
The contam solider slowly approached the poor critter, extending a hand for the cat to take of notice him without being frightened. However,
he heard the end tail of whistling in the distance.
Before he could react, a sudden blast sent him flying backwards into the dirt wall, debris flying everywhere clouding the air into a thick fume of dust and smoke. His body was stiff with pain, and wincing in hot agony. He could barely register the shouts coming from all around the trench as guns start firing their ammunition.
Opening one eye, he looked down to see the cat sprawling across the broken ground, blood seeping into the soil.
Using all his strength, the man pushes himself off the wall and collapses onto the ground with a grunt. He crawls over to reach for the cat, barely breathing. Part of its hind legs were gone from the blast, leaving a blood trail in its wake. Slender hands gently scoop the creature under its torso, and he maneuvers so it would lean onto his sides. With his unoccupied hand, he begins to crawl to through the air-debris filled trench, avoiding being hit by flying bullets or chunks of mud that might further cause injury. Still, he uses his body as a shield to cover the feline from being pelted by stray clumps.
His eyes stung from the tiny particles that assault his vision looking through the smoke. Through the thick dust clouds, he finds an unoccupied hole in the wall. Reaching for the compacted dirt wall, he pulls himself into the small sanctuary and scoots as far back as he can away from the hell outside.The injured cat he cradles was breathed slow and heavy, barely clinging unto life beneath its weak frame. Settling the cat into his lap, he harshly rips off the sleeve of his uniform to wrap the green cloth around the remains of the cats back legs.
He didn’t know why he was determined to save this creature. Maybe something in the back of his mind told him so, or something deep whithin is soul.
Between the blasts and the gunshots, the solider could barely depict an intense scuffle between ground and dirt coming closer. Within seconds, another solider slides into the hole without a second thought. The man pants heavily, his thin blonde hair sticking to his forehead from swear. Still running high off of adrenaline, he clutches his firearm tightly against his chest and presses his back deep into the wall to ground himself admits the chaos outside. It wasn’t until he calmed down a little to look over to see his fellow roommate also occupying the space, cradling the hurt feline.
“How…how did you get that?”
“I found them in the boxes, prying through the rations.” He replies, combing through the damaged fur, picking out dirt embedded in the tufts.
“Just barely, Im not sure how long it’ll make it without help.”
The bombs outside hasn’t yet ceased their bombardment, though growing more quieter. The eyeless solider, while clutching his gun, scoots closer to further examine the cat. He reaches over to pull back the cat’s eyelids to reveal sharp yellow eyes, then proceeding to softly pat its head.
“I don’t think it’s gonna make it.” The blonde whispers softly, a hint of remorse etched between the syllables.
Silence fills the air from between the cramp space afterwards.
Once the blasts creased their assault, was only then they crawl out their hiding hole. His bunk mate agreed to pick up their dead while he returns back with the cat.
After that, his focus was primarily on the injured feline. With his best effort, he had cut off any loose parts of the back legs for a clean heal. He wiped away the blood and the dirt stains that littered its fur. It was a miracle in on itself that the higher ups and the others around allowed him to keep the critter, even if out of pity or with disdain.
Food and precious sleep was sacrificed to nurture the cat back to health. Instead of eating his daily rations, he opted to feed it to the cat instead. Whatever was offered that day, soup, meat, bread, it didn’t matter as long as the cat retained some nutrition, even if it earned him a couple of hisses and a few bites to his fingers. He would routinely get up in the middle of the night to feed it, breaking up a few pieces of bread to feed throughout the night to keep it well fed, and never hungry. He payed no mind to how his stomach roared or how tired he felt when marching into the battlefield. This, was worthwhile.
Of course though, this behavior did not go unnoticed.
Seeing their fellow roommate increasingly becoming more tired and thin caused some worry, but it was not entirely that. They were…a bit perplexed at this display of selflessness and discipline. War offers no mercy, no luxury to be empathetic and kind to other souls suffering under the same horrific circumstance. With this, it’s not unexpected for a few soldiers to indulge in misconduct, rudeness, and even violent behavior. To see someone abstain from basic necessities for the life of another was…intriguing, motivating even.
The red head was the first to initiate, offering up his bread to the ascetic man at the mess hall. He tried to decline the offer, but the other insisted he should eat. The next time, it was the eyeless solider. One day after dinner time was over, all soldiers were to return to their rooms for down time. As the ascetic man was about to feed his sneaked in rations to the cat, the eyeless one stepped in and offer his instead.
This became a new routine between the bunkmates. Everyone would contribute a portion of their food to both the cat and their roommate. These small exchanges quietly created a bond between them, silent trust blooming in each transfer.
As the cat grew healthier day by day. Another issue became more clear - that the cat will not be able to roam around without its back legs. Ideas were thrown around between the bunkers, before one plan struck with them all.
Each solider would find and collect the necessary materials from wherever they could - the battlefield, the mess hall, the nurses office, anything useful. After everything was collected, they were able to put together a makeshift wheelchair for the cat to use.
After a bit of a struggle to adjust the straps on, the cat was able to be back on its feet. The feline let out meows of joy finally being able to move around once more. Wheels in tow, the white cat walks up to dark slender hands to rub in appreciation, purring all the while. The contam solider returned the affection by giving it a few scratches on its head before it walked off to see the other soldiers, all praising the cat and giving the critter affectionate attention.
In an environment drenched in murky waters, gas, blood, pain, and desolation, there is little to look forward to day by day. But perhaps even in the deepest and darkest of places, light can be sewn into places where it is needed most with proper effort.
