Jean Beast

Jean Beast was, objectively speaking, quite a fearsome beast, she thought as she curled back her rubbery red lips and bared her nine-inch fangs for brushing.

She stood about eleven feet tall, a good height; very intimidating but not over-the-top. When necessary she could, for example, still hide in a (large) bush.

And, while she lacked the horns of a male Beast, her neck crest was large and a very impressive deep scarlet.

Her external, major mandibles were large, the talons faced inwards symmetrically and held dripping blood very well.

She could run at up to 44 miles per hour for short bursts and she could rupture mammalian eardrums with even a moderate roar. Her body was covered in a thick layer of chitinous scale, which cracked into knife-sharp ridges around her joints, and could tear most outer skin layers with a casual swipe.

Like all Beasts, her wings were vestigal and could not support true flight but, when extended to their full twenty-two foot span, and with her crest engorged, she could still cut rather an imposing figure.

But today was one of those days. Jean Beast had been working for Outworld Material Acquisition Solutions (Armoured Battalion) for most of the summer. The work was good; she enjoyed it. Of course, it would have been preferable to be making kills with her own claws, as it were, but, as her father had always said: Better to be in a tank than an Arial Offensive Bombardment Glider – they were for sissies.

The guys at Armoured Battalion were a decent sort of a bunch. Or, at least, she had thought they were a decent sort of bunch. Until Gr’Ah!Krk from Bestial Resources had turned up.

Gr’Ah!Krk was one of those Beasts that Jean could have happily gutted and worn as a very ornate hat. Not only did he take his (rather silly) job far too seriously, he also insisted that everyone around him talk the same rot, and got them into trouble when they didn’t.

He wore every synthetic enhancement it was possible to have. He even had those tacky rocket launchers on his back. As if he would ever need those! Stuck in his office, poring over his tables and graph-tablets. Staring into 3D holo-spreads with those cold, dead eyes. He shouldn’t have had the eye-stalks added either; on some Beasts it looked intellectual but he just looked cross-eyed.

Jean hated him and everything he stood for. And that was yesterday. Today, well…

It was like being back at school again. All the schools. She was lucky that her father’s job took them all over the place, so she never had to stay in one place for too long. Because they always found out. Always.

Mother had said that she was named after a warrior-queen but, as soon as they did even the first module of Human Studies, the jokes started. It wasn’t even true, Jean found out later. In fact her mother had found the name on a gold-plated necklace on one of her early victims. It had become stuck in her teeth. She’d just liked it, she said. She thought it was pretty. Some said her mother was short in the cerebral ganglian. Sometimes Jean thought they were probably right.

Jean hated being teased; she would mostly be found at break-time, while the other Beasties were taunting prey in the Pit, sitting with her wings folded over herself and her pale, pubescent neck-crest wilted and saggy.

For those first few days at anywhere new, when she was still Zak!R’aah (actually a direct translation in the Elder Tongue, if anyone had ever bothered to look it up), she was popular; happy. But it always came out eventually.

The worst time had been when she’d fought back and ended up eviscerating and roasting an entire hatchery-worth of little Beasties. They’d marked it up as high spirits but she knew she wasn’t welcome afterwards.

So she’d carried on moving around and, when the time came when all the bitches had properly-grown crests and fronds, and had started talking about nothing but the bullocks, she couldn’t join in. Even seriously maiming her fellow bitches and forcibly mounting the bullocks had been a hollow victory. Her hearts weren’t in it, and she ended up on her own at the end of every night out.

So, when she’d applied for the place at OMAS(AB), as Zak!R’aah naturally, she’d been really hoping for things to be different. Her first chance out of school to be who she wanted to be; who she could be. She’d slaughter more innocents than they could shake a power-lance at, and they’d never know about her stupid, secret name.

And then Gr’Ah!Krk turns up saying there “seemed to be some irregularities with her records”. Trust him to find out.

They were all gathered around the Armoured Transport, with only a few prey still running around, mostly crippled for the party later. And he’d come straight out with it. For a moment, they just looked at her. Then the laughter started, and didn’t stop. The whole frontline team roaring, stamping and slapping with a noise like thunder.

Gr’Ah!Krk looked at her impassively. She looked him up and down. Yes, he was quite well kitted out in this season’s armour, but really, when all’s said and done, it was just armour.

A funny thing happened to Jean Beast. She didn’t whimper, she didn’t run away or hide in her wings, she just stood there, looking at him. And she considered Gr’Ah!Krk.

‘Fuck it’, she thought, and she gutted him, sliced off his arms and legs and stuck him on her head, like a very ornate hat.

‘Never liked him!’ she roared, her throat rippling. ‘Drinks are on me!’ And she wore Gr’Ah!Krk all night, and everyone thought it was funny, especially when one of his rocket launchers fell in Pl’ur!rk’s drink.

And, although it was never quite the same again, and although they would still sometimes call her Jean, just quietly, mostly things were ok, and Jean Beast got away with being Zak!R’aah for ever more.