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Bipedal, sapient, talking animals.
N. Gin thought they were works of fiction. Back in his childhood he'd sometimes lose himself in cartoons, his imagination brewing vivid fantasies of meeting the characters for real.
What he'd been meeting all day would've made the younger him overjoyed.
Mutants. Cortex had been guiding him throughout the castle to introduce him to actual mutants. These are my creations, Cortex had declared. Of course, that traitorous little snake Brio had assisted me, but his contributions were very small. Microscopic, even. Subatomic.
Cortex could've easily gathered every mutant in one spot to make the introductions easier, but Gin suspected Cortex enjoyed how draining the long walks across the castle were on him. He was still recovering from the missile accident, steps a little wobbly at times, anemia sapping his stamina. Every room he'd been taken to had begun to look the same.
Another cold stone-walled room greeted him with very little variation in decor. What awaited him there was huge and muscular, covered in orange fur. He couldn't tell what it was; he was no animal biologist. Its spike-studded shoulder pads glinted beneath the overhead lights as it adjusted its loincloth, its eyes as full of curiosity as the other mutants' had been.
"This here is Tiny Tiger," Cortex said, and before Gin could ask where its stripes were, he clarified, "a Tasmanian Tiger."
"Nice to meet you, Tiny." N. Gin didn't go for a handshake. He had a feeling his hand would be ground meat if he did. "My name is— "
Cortex interrupted him. "I want you to meet N. Gin, an old colleague and a friend of mine."
Tiny visibly brightened at that, turning to Cortex. "Is Gin also friends with Br—"
Tiny didn't finish its question. Whatever look Cortex was giving Tiny made the thylacine's ears droop. It hung its head with a mumbled "Tiny sorry.”
"I'm friends with Brio," Gin said. He chose to ignore Cortex’s scoffing. "Did you know him well?" He couldn't resist the question; Tiny was the only mutant so far to bring up Brio.
"Brio nice." Tiny's gaze lifted from its feet and stopped at Gin's missile. "Brio has metal on head, like Gin. But Gin has more." Tiny's hand reached for his missile, and Gin tensed. "Gin's metal has pretty colors."
There was a tugging pressure in his skull, an ache sparking his nerves. He winced. Tiny was pulling on his missile, curiosity back in its eyes.
"Stop," he hissed, more from pain than anger. Gin couldn't jerk his head free from Tiny's powerful grasp. "That's"—a sharp breath in—"that's part of my head! You’re going to kill me if you pull that out."
Tiny withdrew its hand in a flash. "Oops, Tiny sorry. Tiny—" It went quiet, eyes narrowing as if in deep thought, only to widen in horror moments later. "Wait. Gin born like that?"
What? Gin made a baffled sound. How’d it reach that conclusion? Had it asked Brio the same?
Cortex cut in before he could reply. "Yes. Tragic, isn't it? It was very hard on his mother, too."
It was clear payback for mentioning Brio, he knew it, yet he still sputtered his protest. Cortex's hand clamped on to his shoulder, already steering him toward the exit. The pushing hand kept him moving forward. He looked over his shoulder, calling out to Tiny, who was left behind, still gawking at him in absolute horror.
No matter how many corrections he tried to offer, Cortex would speak over him. It's not true, he's just kidding, he'd say, and Cortex would counter with He's a scoundrel and not to be trusted. Have I ever lied to you, Tiny?
He could feel Tiny's eyes on him until they were out the doorway and turning a corner.