This story is rated M for strong language, moments of intense violence (including blood and gore), matters related to Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and potential sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.
Disclaimer: All rights to Monster Musume: Everyday Life with Monster Girls goes to Okayado. All music, films, shows, etc. belongs to their respective creators. The only thing that belongs to me is my original character(s).
The Humvee flips forward, the force of the explosion throwing us off the road. Nobody has time to react, no time to brace themselves. Equipment is thrown about, slamming into doors, windows and bodies. Boxes of ammunition slam into my chest rig and helmeted head. Cries of pain and "IED" can be heard amongst the five of us before our truck slams back down to the earth, completely flipped over.
I groan in pain, hanging upside down in my chair, my seat belt holding me in place. The world is spinning, my vision foggy. Dazed, I try to make sense of what just happened and look around. Our driver is fumbling to get out of his chair, reaching for the belt buckle so he can drop to the ceiling-now-floor. In the passenger seat, the lieutenant dangles there unconscious, blood pouring from multiple head wounds.
Vision slowly clearing up, I turn to face the other passenger. He is screaming something unintelligible into my ringing ears. However, I barely notice him as I look over to the gunner. Or at least, what is left of him. In the gunner's hatch, covered in the dirt of the road, lies the mangled remains of his head, crushed by the Humvee's landing. Body still attached to its harness, it lies in a heap across the hatch and ground, blood and brain matter pouring out.
Bile rises to the back of my throat as I try not to throw up at the horrific sight. Quickly fumbling for my belt buckle, I brace one hand on the ground as I release my seat belt, bruised body falling to the floor. As I move to recover, I grab my rifle from next to the corpse. Weapon in hand, I reach for my door's latch and push hard to open it, crawling to escape the metal trap that was my truck.
Crawling out, the first thing that greets me are the sounds of gunfire and screaming. Soldiers barking out orders, calling out targets, and firing their weapons. I see a pair run towards a large boulder for cover, two more near another damaged truck laying down suppression fire at the top of a nearby cliff. Bullets whiz by me, clipping the truck and jump-starting me into action. Leaping to my feet, I stay low and run to the other side of the truck for cover.
Before I can take two steps, a scream of "RPG" is called out. An explosion throws me off my feet and into the truck, my chest plate taking the brunt of the impact. I can feel the Kevlar plate inside my rig shatter upon impact, as well as something white-hot slicing across the left side of my neck.
My head slams into the mangled wheel of the overturned truck. I fall to the ground, feeling blood seep down my neck. There is yelling near me, fellow soldiers moving towards my position. Rifles discharge rounds into our enemy, lighting up their defended position atop the cliff.
Vision grows blurry again as I see a pair of boots run towards me. The last thing I hear before I lose consciousness is someone shouting my name.
I jump out of bed, gasping for breath. One hand reaches for my neck, where the shrapnel sliced it open. The other hand fumbling for the ka-bar knife underneath my pillow. Extending the blade out in front of me, I scan the area, searching for the enemy. Heart is pounding, breathing becomes erratic. Panic begins to set in.
I look around, expecting to see a battle on a desert highway. Instead, I am greeted with blue bedroom walls, black bookshelves and a desk lined up against them. Books and manga fill the shelves in an orderly fashion. Papers filled with ideas, half-finished drawings, and various pens and pencils cover the desk. A guitar propped against the window, the light of the moon and nearby streetlamps illuminating the room.
I let go of my neck. The knife lowers back down to my lap. Closing my eyes, I try to slow my breathing as I wipe away the perspiration from my brow.
I am not back in the war. I am in my house, on the other side of the world.
I am safe. It was just another nightmare.
Groaning in exasperation, my head drops back down to the bed, hitting the soft pillows. "Can't catch a fucking break with these nightmares," I mumble. This was the third one this week, and it is only Thursday. Turning to face the nightstand to my right, I look at the radio sitting atop it. 4:57am.
"Son of a bitch," I complain. With an exaggerated sigh, I throw the blankets off my body and into a heap at my foot. Rolling over, I drop to the floor, landing on my hands and foot and knock out some push-ups. Get my blood pumping and drive away any drowsiness I feel. Finishing up, I grab my prosthetic and attach it to the stump that was my right leg. With practiced ease, the metal leg gets strapped and locked in. I stand and stretch my back, a loud popping noise coming from my spine as I groan in satisfaction. With that, I make my way towards the door.
"And so begins another exciting day here in Japan," I mumble to myself, walking out of the bedroom.
A cool breeze blows through the park. The sun has yet to rise, light poles illuminating the pathway in the city park. Hardly anyone was out, most people still asleep or at home preparing for work. The city is not yet awake.
Perfect time for a run.
Moving at a steady pace, I run along the pathway, enjoying the cool spring morning and the view of the lake. My breathing remains controlled, in through the nose and out through the mouth. Leg and prosthetic moving in an easy stride, so as not to overwork my good leg. Ear buds rest in my ears, blasting Five Finger Death Punch into my skull. Perfect motivational music.
As I run, I allow my thoughts to wander, thinking about my new life here in Japan. The past year living away from the States has certainly been interesting. Having to learn about an entirely new culture, in addition to having to adjust back to civilian life away from the Army, it's definitely been a challenge. But already knowing the language, plus having a Japanese grandmother certainly helped ease me into living here. More or less.
So lost in thought, I barely notice another runner sprint up from behind me until they are already at my side. Slowing down to my much slower jogging pace, the runner smiles brightly and yells something I can barely hear due to the music. Pulling out my ear buds, I shake my head a bit and say, "Sorry, what did you say, Polt?"
"I said good morning, August!" the hyperactive kobold, Polt, exclaims. "Getting your morning workout in?"
"You know it. Gotta maintain these good looks and sexy muscles for the ladies after all."
Polt just laughs at my stupid joke. I smile and look at my workout buddy. She is wearing her usual blue tank top and green jacket, a green headband around her forehead, just below her canine ears. Add in white shorts and track shoes, she looks like she is ready to run a marathon. Which she probably is, just like every other day.
"And before you ask, no I'm not running with you again," I inform her just as I see her mouth beginning to form a question. "I'm still struggling to get to two miles before my bad leg gets worn out. You damn near killed me with that half marathon."
"Aw, come on!" she whined. "It was our very first run! I didn't know about your leg! You looked like you could handle it just fine!"
While I have to disagree with her on looking like I could handle it, I do understand why Polt would not know about my prosthetic when we first met. I always wear gray sweatpants when I'm out on a run. Don't want to attract too much attention to the so-called 'cripple.' Not like I would let them get away with calling me that before knocking their fucking teeth out.
"Fair enough," I concede, smiling. "How's the health spa coming?"
"Great! Less than a month away before Sports Club Kobold opens its doors!"
"Hell yeah. Let me know when the grand opening is and I'll be there."
"Thanks, August!" Polt replied happily. "So, any plans for today, or just another day indoors drawing and writing?"
"Hey, that's not all I do, ya know," I defend myself, even if she is technically right. Unless I actually make the effort to make plans for a day, I typically just end up working out, reading and writing, and attempting to draw manga. "And yeah, I do have plans. At least I think I do. My grandma said she has a surprise for me that's supposed to show up this morning."
"Any idea what it is?"
I just shrug my shoulders, having no idea. Being the only family I have in Japan, my grandmother and I have grown close this past year. She helped me with a lot of the cultural differences I found when I first moved here, as well as helping me polish up on my Japanese. I've made it a point to take her to lunch once a week and help her with any difficult housework she needs done. She is one of the smartest and kindest people I have known. However, my grandmother has been known to be a little... eccentric, at times. So this surprise of her does have me concerned.
"No idea," I admit, shrugging my shoulders. "It'll probably be something really weird, make no sense to anyone but her, and or involve my lack of love life. Or she's finally decided to get me a cat."
"That's... oddly specific," Polt mused.
I shrug my shoulders again. "It's my grandma." She nods her head in understanding, having met her almost two months ago. A dull throbbing pain begins to grow where my right knee used to be. I grunt in pain a little, which Polt notices immediately.
"Alright, I'm gonna head out," I say, starting to get out of breath as well. "Think I hit my limit for the day. Catch ya later, Polt!"
"Alright! See ya tomorrow, August!" And with that, Polt takes off in an impressive burst of speed. Within mere moments, she is already out of sight around the bend of the park's pathway. I slow down to a walk and make my way towards a nearby bench to rest. Plopping down, I let out a groan as I try to control my breathing. I wipe some sweat from my brow before pulling up my right pant leg to fiddle with the prosthetic.
"Fuck, I hate this thing," I mutter to myself.
Two hours later I was showered, shaved, and with breakfast nearly finished cooking. The large kitchen smelling of sizzling bacon, eggs, french toast for my soon-to-arrive grandmother, and copious amounts of coffee for us both. Moving about the kitchen in nothing more than a pair of faded jeans and my angel wing necklace, I flip the bacon, scramble the eggs, and sip some black coffee from my Darth Vader mug. I sigh in contentment, enjoying my standard morning routine.
Cooking has been a skill I had ever since I was little. Mama always had me help her in the kitchen, teaching me everything she knew. "Women love a man who can cook," she would tell me all the time. Not like that really mattered to me. I just loved to cook. Especially breakfast. I love breakfast.
Taking another sip of coffee, I turn the stove off and start preparing the table for two. My grandmother said she had a surprise for me. However I convinced her to have breakfast with me before that happens. Not that it took much convincing. All I'd have to say is I'm cooking french toast and brewing coffee and she would be at my house in ten minutes flat. That woman is living proof that my caffeine addiction and sweet tooth is hereditary, my father and late uncle being the exact same way.
"I should have invited Polt over for breakfast," I mumble to myself, setting a plate stacked with french toast onto the dining table as I think about my kobold best friend.
Three years ago, the governments of the world announced that there were nonhuman races living among us, classified as liminals. They, along with the leaders of these various 'monster' races, then created a set of laws called the Interspecies Cultural Exchange Act, integrating these races into our society. Liminals could sign on to the Cultural Exchange Program and live with a host family as an exchange student. However some races, like kobolds, were soon given special privileges, such as not needing a host family or starting their own businesses. Polt being the prime example of this.
The two of us met about three months ago on our typical morning jogs. After a series of exercise and movie related conversations, her unintentional attempt to kill me via a half marathon, and various shared interests and stories, the two of us became fast friends. Polt helped me work out a routine to strengthen my leg, I shared my oversized music and movie collection with her, we went out for drinks and occasional meals, and so on.
As I finish setting up the table, I smile a little bit thinking about Polt. I had been living in Japan for nine months when I first met her. She was my first friend here. And it's a friendship I cherish just as highly as I do the brotherhood I have with my battle buddies in the Army.
Snapping me out of my thoughts, the sound of the doorbell rings out. Confused, I walk through the living room to get to the front door, grabbing the gray v-neck shirt off the couch and slipping it on.
"Wonder who that is," I mutter to no one. It can't be my grandmother. I gave her a key to the house so she would not have to knock and wait for me. And I highly doubt it was Polt. As fast as she is, even she should not be done with her morning routine by now. And as sad as this may sound, I don't really know many other people in town. At least not well enough to let them know where I live.
Confusion turning to concern, I reach the front door. Looking to the right, I make sure the aluminum baseball bat is still propped against the wall. Since I can't own a gun here, I have to make due with what I have. Satisfied that my potential weapon is within arms' reach, I adjust my shirt and open the door. And what greets me brings back my confusion and dials it to eleven.
Standing before me is a gorgeous woman. Wearing an all black suit and skirt, stockings covering one of the best pairs of legs I have ever seen. Long black hair cascading down her back, a smile on her face, eyes covered by a cheap pair of sunglasses. Her body says model. Her attire screams government.
However, what surprises me even more is the girl standing behind her. A pink sweater and black skirt cover her. Long red hair reaching her lower back. Golden eyes darting nervously between me and the woman. What stands out though is the massive snake body attached to where her legs should be. Covered in copper scales, the massive tail extends and curls for what looks like at least five or six meters. A few scales adorn her cheeks, red pointed ears sticking out past her hair.
A liminal. And a beautiful one at that.
"Augustus Roland Kessler?" the woman in the suit asks, snapping me out of my staring.
"Yes, ma'am," I reply, my voice reverting to a more professional tone. "Can I help you?"
The woman's smile shifts into a smirk. I do not like where this is going. "Why yes you can. I'm your Interspecies Exchange coordinator, Smith. I'm here to place Miia into your care as her host family for the Cultural Exchange Program."
As soon as Smith says that, the liminal now known as Miia bows to me. "I-it's nice to meet you, sir. Please take care of me."
For a brief moment, I say nothing. I look to Smith, her sunglasses slightly lowered down her nose, allowing me to see her brown eyes. The smirk on her face grows as she pushes them back up. Miia raises herself up, hands starting to fidget out of worry. My mind processes what was just said to me. And after thinking about it, I reply with the first thing that comes to mind:
"What the fuck?"
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay... So this just happened. I just started a Monster Musume fanfic... There is a good chance something is seriously wrong with me. But we're not going to talk about that. That would be bad for everyone.
ANYWAYS! When I was going through some of the Monster Musume fanfics on this site, I stumbled across a few of them that involved have a member or former member of the military as the main character. Nothing wrong with that. Me being a soldier myself, I was excited to read those... Well, after reading some of them... I wasn't very impressed. Some just due to bad writing. Others, it just left a bad taste in my mouth with how they were portrayed. Like they were a Hollywood movie character instead.
So here I decided, I wanted to write a story about a soldier. Still a bit of a badass, but trying to be a little more realistic with it. Plus throwing in the sheer insanity and shenanigans that is Monster Musume (because why the fuck not?).
Now, to address a few things about this story:
- This is an OC-centered story. This is NOT a self-insert story. The character of August is not me in any way, shape or form. A few similar interests and taste in music, yes. But that's just my personal bias coming through. Nothing more.
- Yes, Monster Musume is a harem anime. Yes, it's a romance anime. This is not a romance-centered story. The romance WILL be there, but it is not the primary focus. At least not at this time. It could always change. For now, I'm going to say this is just a slice-of-life story.
- Due to my personal life being what it is, I will not have any kind of update schedule for this. I'll post new chapters when I can. If things changes, I'll let you know.
- I am all for listening to your suggestions and ideas for this story. If you want to see something happen (an event or whatnot, etc.), let me know. If I like it and I can make it work, I just might do what you suggest.
- Going off the previous point, I will NOT be writing smut scenes. Do not ask me to. It will not happen. That is something I am not entirely comfortable in doing. That being said, this IS Monster Musume. So while I won't be writing smut... Well, it's Monster Musume. Need I say more?
Alright, I'm done rambling. Thank you guys for reading the first chapter. Leave a review, let me know what you think. Be honest. Brutal or kind, everything helps. See you next chapter.