Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rayman--no-- Ramon slowly pulled his eyes open as if they were window blinds. Directly above him was the beige ceiling in the Directors’ boardroom. Somewhere in his daze, he had climbed atop the table from where he’d just massacred the men who manipulated every facet of his waking life, and lay upon it as if the feat of forcing the Board of Directors to call off the execution and ultimately enacting his vengeance took a heavy toll on him.

He lay on the table, fallen apart literally and metaphorically. Behind him the table was carved with geometric patterns that took on a symbolic image of the sun; in the middle of it was the ‘E’ for Eden and sharp, straight angles extended from all directions out the letter like the sun’s rays.. His hair circled around him like half of a halo and his coat was sprawled out from his torso like a robe. Somebody who still believed in God, any God might have thought he looked like an angel.

The frog could probably save himself now. He was an assassin, so he’d heard, one of those terrorists who’d done the unthinkable and escaped with unimaginable agility. Slippery, of course. 

Was it all worth it?

He could see his younger self, in the purple suit that was a little big on him and the neatly coiffed blonde hair, inside his exhausted and deteriorating mind judging him with partial fear and disappointment.

Wasn’t it enough to call off the execution? The frog can save himself. Did you have to kill them? 

The younger Rayman--yes, Rayman , prodded into his mind with naive disbelief. Ramon’s snout twitched into a bitter smile. He heard some footsteps clambering nearby, from down the hall. It would not be long before he got arrested.

Except what could Eden do without a board of directors, and without Rayman?

“I shot one of them the second I came in here. Just a warning,” Ramon whispered bitterly, his voice dry and groaning like the hinges of a long-abandoned door. He knew he was talking to himself, and he’d resigned to the fact he was insane by the time he started talking to his reflection.

He might have been insane long before that. It was hard to tell nowadays.

You could have done it without any violence! Just a threat. Just...maybe a little beg--

Ramon shot straight up on the table and hit his temple in disgust as he growled, “Don’t. No begging. No fucking begging. We’re not Rayman.”

No... Young Rayman lowered his head. No. Not anymore. But there could be something...

“Shut up,” Ramon groaned, letting out a deep exhale as he heaved himself off the table. He considered a glance at one of the dead Directors, and idly jabbed at their head with his shoe.

There they were, in that four-eyed red mask and hood, now lifeless on the floor with blood spilling from their head. Ramon guessed this was Alpha; he had never been friends with them, they were his...controllers.

He let out a bitter chuckle at that. The fact these people, who had him wrapped tightly around their fists and puppeteered him into delivering propaganda on Eden TV every night of his life, every waking and transitory moment he had, could be threatened and killed so...easily?

It couldn’t have been that easy. There had to be a catch, something to watch out for because there was no way it was as easy as stepping into this boardroom, threatening them with two guns, and eventually massacring the whole lot. One chair was empty. Of course not.

Show up for work barely sober, clean his face up in the makeup room so no child or adult would recognize what a sorry fucking mess he truly was, get a script filled with propaganda and barely disguised threats at the rebels shoved into his face, and look directly into the camera with an expression like either stone or a goofy smile, whatever they demanded.

He wondered about the teenager who had escaped his home in Dimension X. The terrified, limbless thing who stepped from a world already destroyed into a world about to be reborn. He had given Eden the benefit of doubt, and he had been so grateful to Eden for giving him a new home, a new life, happiness and stability. 

Ramon burst into laughter, echoing in the room like crackling thunder, a deep and anguished sound coming from his belly. He imagined the stupid little hybrid he was, wide-eyed and fresh out of college with a new scholarship as Eden took his hand in its own and smiled at him.

Don’t worry. They said, You’re family now.

Family?

They replaced him like he was nothing , had somehow cobbled up a near-perfect clone which he wasn’t even sure what it was. But it wasn’t him. It wasn’t...

Those dead, black eyes and the stilted monotone of its AI-programmed voice could still be seen on the screen above. The frog had escaped, as predicted, and now the robot that had taken Ramon’s place stood there, waiting for its next command. It stood there, waving to those poor children and no doubt ready to spew further propaganda, but it had no mind of its own

Ramon had stepped out of line, he had rebelled, and Eden would not have that. All those close calls on television where he had these residual twitches from cocaine or ugly hangovers from another night of liquor, the Board of Directors had warned him sternly each time but otherwise allowed him to keep delivering the “news” as long as he was palatable to them and easily puppeteered. 

The second he called out Red, swore at him and therefore voided his contract, Eden threw him out without warning. There was no second chance, he had fucked up and there was nothing Ramon could do except drink into oblivion again.

Ramon wiped blood and tears off his face, took his tommy gun, and shot at the screen, finally shattering it into pieces. If only the bullet had gone though and blew out the artificial brains of that disgusting replacement. He took a long, shaky breath and stepped backwards from where the screen’s shards of black glass lay across the floor, a little near the head of Alpha.

He heard shouting, nearly as robotic as his replacement and in ascending pitch as those footsteps followed until they met right at the entrance.

You really don't have to do this...

Maybe the younger Rayman was right. Maybe there was no need to further this pain. Vengeance, what was it all for, really? Thousands had already been dead before he stepped into the room. Thousands were being tortured, enslaved, and it was all his fault.

He dropped the gun, and raised his floating hands as he turned slowly to face the guards. He stared up at them with a look of utter defeat. They were armed with the highest technology Eden would allow, but all they were looking at was an exhausted man-- thing --who had been completely broken by everything he’d been put through, everything he was complacent in. 

Out of fatigue and the lingering headache he had given himself, Ramon knelt as best as he could without knees, and...

Beg?

He closed his eyes, and smiled.

Chapter Text

Ramon shifted in his restraints as he was wheeled down the hallway. He shuddered at the sight of these long, white winding halls with harsh, heavy doors holding each prisoner in. He knew he had a hand in the creation of these awful things, and now he was its next victim. His hands and feet were bound together with metal clasps, and a mask was fitted over his face, leaving some air holes for him to breathe and talk at least. His clothes were switched out for a sort of padded coat, an alternative to a straitjacket since such things would be useless on somebody without limbs.

Though under heavy sedatives, he jerked once the wheelchair stopped abruptly at one of those metal doors. Bearing the number 0195, this had to be his room. Letting out a low hiss, he was promptly grabbed by his collar and thrown unceremoniously into the cell, letting out a yelp of pain as his head hit the hard floor. 

He heard the guards mutter something about traitors, about insanity and terrorism, before they shut the door with such force that Ramon winced and trembled.

Twisting his body so he lay on his back, he stared blankly at the ceiling. It appeared to warp and distort before his eyes, the stark whiteness of it all nearly blinding him. He let out a deep exhale, closed his eyes, and---

“Rayman?”

He jerked awake again, his body twisting violently, turning to his side, then his stomach. He shook the hair out of his face and turned his head to locate the voice, his nostrils flaring, vision blurred from the sedative. The sound of his former name alone was enough to rekindle the fury the restraints were trying so hard to suppress. It was a newborn flame born from the ashes of an old wildfire, starting again. Igniting.

There, not far across from where he lay, a blur of green faded in and out of his vision. 

He snarled, rage already building up in his exhausted body. Still a young flame, aided only by a light wind. “Don’t...Don’t call me Rayman .”

“Ah, I apologize.” It had a French accent, intoned with curiosity. 

It added, “Is that really you?”

Ramon squinted, glowering at the green blob until it came into focus, becoming clear to him that it was Bullfrog. Of course he’d escaped the execution, but it seemed even the guards were quicker to catch him before he could set free. He noted the frog’s wounds had been dressed with bandages, and he wore little else but a prisoner’s outfit. He had no restraints of his own, hands and feet entirely free.

“You...escaped?” Ramon slurred. He was familiar with this feeling, the syrupy hold of alcohol in his blood and the heaviness that took over his bones. It wasn’t alcohol, however, just something with vaguely similar chemical properties, the feeling oppressive rather than mindlessly blissful.

Unfortunately, alcohol was flammable. “You...”

Bullfrog shook his head. He seemed only mildly disappointed that he didn’t succeed, his wide mouth twisting into a sardonic smile. “They got me eventually. Eden has eyes everywhere, there’s really not a single stone left unturned with them.”

Ramon’s eyes narrowed again. The flames were now fueling his anger, hissing and spitting inside him, bringing that loathing out of his heart. “Y-you think I don’t know that?”

“ Bien sûr , you were the eyes at one point. But now...ah. If that’s you here, who...”

“A clone,” Ramon’s voice dripped with dark, bitter venom. The fire burned where his throat would be, and he choked down a gulp. “A goddamn artificial intelligence. Sent to replace me. Sent to do everything I did...”

He let out a huge gasp, swallowing the air into his burning lungs, like he were escaping a building consumed by fire, the choking smoke, the ash. 

He exhaled wheezily, and muttered. “Fuckers.”

“I thought so.” Bullfrog stood up, and walked to Ramon’s side. 

Ramon jerked away with convulsive movements, hissing and attempting to roll away from the frog until he hit a wall. He let out a few pants before his voice found itself again, and growled.

“Don’t...don’t touch me.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I want to help you, tu comprends ?”

Ramon turned his volcanic gaze towards Bullfrog, inspecting the smile on his face and the way he held out those large, sticky hands. He had to consider his options here---there was only so much he could do in his current situation, and the frog was the only other person in this terrible white void.

Could he trust the frog? It was Bullfrog who enlightened him to the horrors of Eden, who turned his head towards a sickening reality and let him come to the realization of being used as a tool to spread oppression, fear, and hate. He’d been patient, too, understanding where Ram--Rayman came from and showing sympathy in the face of what the frog considered to be evil.

Another feeling came over the limbless, not enough to quench the fire, but rather joining it in unity. It was a kind of resolve, newfound determination like the first sprout after a wildfire had razed a forest down.

“...Call me Ramon,” He muttered, the flames abating for now. “Just Ramon.”

“ Bonjour , Ramon. I am Bullfrog, an assassin of the Brotherhood,” Bullfrog smiled, and tilted his head, still with that look of curiosity. The frog could look innocent, but Ramon knew just how smart he was, how dangerous. He could weaponize that look.

“How did you get restrained so tightly? You got drugged, too. Your eyes are glassy.”

He can tell?

Ramon shut his eyes, his mind already tormented with the imagery of blood splattered all across the director’s boardroom, the bodies bleeding out, unmoving. Dead. 

He let out a deep inhale, and said, “I might have killed them.”

His voice remained neutral, free of remorse, but something deep inside his wretched heart whispered, why? Isn’t that terrible?

“Pardon?”

“I killed the board of directors,” Ramon repeated, this time with a low growl.

Bullfrog’s curious, amicable expression shifted into a frown. His heavy brows knitted together, and he turned his gaze away, grimacing. “Oh.”

Ramon gulped down, feeling the sedative fight back against his rage, weighing him down like lead, gripping him by nonexistent shoulders and dragging him into oblivion. He inhaled, and let out a low, near-defeated laugh. 

“I...I shot them. Almost all of them. One bastard wasn’t there...” He continued, his voice choking with fury. His heart wasn’t breaking, but his mind was another story. “They were so weak. All these years of manipulating me...and they just drop dead like that. Just flesh and blood.”

He wrinkled his snout, tears which had hidden away in the corners of his eyes now starting to spill. “God, I can still smell their blood.”

“ Mon ami , I...” Bullfrog reached a hand out to the limbless, who once again jerked away violently and growled.

“No! I told you! Don’t touch me, you idiot!” Ramon yelped, kicking with his bound feet. “Damn it!”

He took in a sharp, shaky exhale as the tears surged down his cheeks. Before he knew it, his lungs burned once again as if they were filled with smoke---the fire was starting up again, destroying everything in its path. “I did it! I killed them! I did!”

“Ramon,” Bullfrog stood up again and put his hands out in front of him in an attempt to placate the limbless. “I’m not going to touch you, but you’ll injure yourself like this. I understand. I understand why you killed them...”

“Do you?!” Ramon snapped, snarling at this point. His face burned with rage and sweat began to run down his face in angry rivulets, joining his tears. Despite the sedative’s best efforts to oppress this fury he held in his heart, which ran in his blood like lava, the limbless twisted his body around violently again, kicking his bound feet against the wall. 

“You don’t know shit! You don’t know what they put me through!” 

The wildfire inside him had transformed, a horrific, sickening loathing in his core that both made him want to vomit and to scream. It was a volcano now, standing tall over the Megacity, ready to burst with boiling-hot lava, ready to melt anything...

Hyperventilating, he slammed his eyelids shut as he shook his head bitterly, wrathfully. He thought about his entire life up to this point, the situation he’d been forced into and played a witless pawn to. The evils he had done repeated themselves in his head again, enough to make him gag. 

He shivered and heaved, thinking of every single moment he’d been under Eden’s influence, shown false kindness by the directors who were just as willing to replace him the second he stepped out of line. The rage boiled over, loathing taking over every facet of his heart as the volcano finally erupted.

With the last vestiges of his energy, all the furious disgust and loathing at Eden not claimed by the sedative, Ramon screamed.

Bullfrog winced, clapping his hands to his tiny ears. “ Merde ...”

***

Bullfrog waited for the limbless to let every bit of his rage out, watching in mild horror as Ramon shook and screamed and cried. Red veins showed up in his eyes, and his hair was soaked with sweat, plastered to his face, giving him such a disheveled appearance. This was not the man Bullfrog grew up watching on the news.

He removed his hands from his ears once Ramon’s scream descended into gasping, shuddering sobs, filled with so much anguish that the frog nearly felt compelled to join in. He couldn’t, he had to stay strong. Stay focused. Eventually, the limbless finally fell unconscious, only with the occasional twitch of his body here and there.

Bullfrog let out an exhale and stretched his fingers before lifting Ramon’s prone body up and letting him lean against the wall.

He put a finger to his chin and considered his options. He , the assassin, was free of any restraints but also had no weapons, while Ramon (he had to remind himself not to call him Rayman) was restrained head to toe and currently under the effects of heavy sedatives.

That, and Ramon clearly wasn’t in the right state of mind. He’d killed the board of directors, correct, but in his current state all he could do was scream and cry and rant until he passed out. How was he going to cooperate if they were to escape?

Bullfrog let the limbless rest for now, quietly monitoring his pulse and breathing every so often. He needed Ramon to be alive at least, even if his mind was nothing short of fried.

And...what would he do, then? Where did Ramon live? He couldn’t just leave him there...that wasn’t in his code of honor.

Bullfrog looked to the ceiling. He knew the prison inside-out by now, and memorized the ventilation system. Trouble was, the prison was also very well-guarded and escape-proof, so obviously you could not have much ventilation in a holding cell. They were just tiny holes marked into the ceiling, nothing he could remove or squeeze through.

He looked back at Ramon, and noticed the way his floating hands twitched in their restraints. Now there was an idea.

Quietly, he held the hands into his own, and turned them over to inspect the metal clasps. He noticed little hinges, joints where the clasps could be undone. They weren’t very elaborate, only slightly more complex than putting a seatbelt on, it was something he could do.

He rubbed two fingers together, which came off with natural residue, an oily, clear film. This was very useful in a pinch if no other lubricant was available. He slid his fingers under and around the metal restraints, trying to loosen the hinges, wiggling them until they started to slide off.

Satisfied, he worked with Ramon’s shoes next. The hinges looked much the same, and the process was even faster, the metal restraints slipping off so easily that Bullfrog had to shake his head at the fact the guards did not consider everything , after all.

Next was the mask. Ramon had rather sharp canines that Bullfrog knew to avoid, but the limbless was deeply unconscious by now---opening an eyelid confirmed some form of REM activity. He rubbed his fingers again, and started with the hinges that held the mask in place at his cheeks. He wondered, too, how the guards had gotten a hold of a mask perfectly fitted for Ramon’s face.

He’d never seen anything like the limbless before. Yes, Bullfrog was a hybrid too, but he had all his limbs and was very happy to have them. Ramon had said something about being from Dimension X---did this mean other limbless beings lived there too? As he watched a hand twitch, he furrowed his brows. How did Ramon stretch? How did he manage anything, what was connecting him? It was almost hypnotizing to think.

Shaking his head, Bullfrog finally got the mask loose, and with that all the restraints were finally off. Ramon was still in an uneasy sleep, the occasional choke or sob escaping...wherever his throat would be. He knew better than to wake the limbless up now. Besides, it gave him room to think.

He thought about Ramon’s palpable fury, the way he growled and his eyes spat fire. Not much could frighten Bullfrog. Years of training in the Brotherhood had steeled his nerves, but something about the volcanic rage in Ramon’s eyes and the way he fought so violently against the restraints holding him down with the spitting and snarling and near-convulsive twisting of his body...

It shook him, made him hesitate for a second if undoing the restraints and bringing him along for the escape was a good idea after all.

The scream, the scream , like metal screeching against metal, repeated blows to the face, hot as blood and filled with ire. And when it stopped, it had deteriorated into these gasps, these gulpy, sobbing gasps that could have come from a child who’d lost his mother...

Tears and sweat had streamed down Ramon’s face like a creek in a rainstorm, and Bullfrog could have imagined blood, too. Splashed over his face, turning his eyes red.

Ramon was shattered glass. Broken. Fragile.

Dangerous.

He shook his head to get rid of the mental image and sat back, waiting. He had a plan, and that plan involved Ramon’s hands.

Hopefully the limbless would cooperate.

***

Ramon awoke with a gasp, the stagnant air filling his lungs once more. He found himself sitting against the wall, and free of his restraints. Giving his snout a light touch, he felt a film of slime come away on his fingers, sticky and smelling faintly of frog.

The fire had died out long ago, having expelled every little bit of rage he had deep in his core. All that was left of his heart now was a charred black thing, just ashes and dust. What was left but the remnants of this anger, this volcano that had erupted, burst, and therefore lay dormant afterwards with little care about the consequences it brought upon.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

The frog had that smile on him again. In any other context it would have reignited the flame in Ramon’s heart, but he knew this smile. It wasn’t naive, it wasn’t the stupid grin Ramon’s younger self used to have plastered on as he delivered the news. It was a genuine smile, one filled with hope, determination.

Ramon tried to think of the last time he had any hope.

“I managed to remove your restraints,” the frog explained. “I have a plan, and I’ll need you to be alert for it, okay?”

Ramon exhaled, closing his eyes and swallowing down the residual nausea from the sedatives. The stickiness of his hands and face weren’t helping.

“Don’t you want to escape?” asked Bullfrog.

Yes .

“No.” Ramon averted his gaze. “Just let me die here. I should rot.”

“I’ll rot with you, then.”

Ramon blinked his eyes open, baffled by the frog’s words. “What?”

Bullfrog shook his head. “If you really just want to die here, I’ll die here wth you. I could find a way out myself, but it would feel wrong.”

Ramon narrowed his eyes. “You--” He gulped, that low growl coming out in his voice again, “--You still have a heart.”

“So do you.”

Ramon gave a hint of a smile, entirely humorless, filled with cynicism. “Ah, but...What’ll happen when I get a hold of a gun? I could just shoot you there. Leave you for dead. Some heart I have.”

“Ah, non, pas du tout , I know you wouldn’t. But you do remind me of my friend. I can feel his anger in you, much the same.”

Ramon ignored him and heaved another sigh. “So. How do you propose we escape?”

“How good are you with your hands?”

Now it was Ramon’s turn to say, “Pardon?”

Bullfrog gestured at the floating hands, and pointed to the massive door just across. “There’s little slits in there, breathing room. Likely for the guards to check in, too. You don’t think you could slip a hand out?”

Ramon gazed down at his hands, turning them over. They weren’t very muscular, the fingernails were chipped away and still caked with remnants of cocaine powder, there were already scars forming over his knuckles...

“I could,” he nodded, not entirely confident.

“ Bon! The guards outside have keycards they hide in their pockets. It sounds like something from a movie, but it’s based on reality. All you have to do is grab the keycard and bring it in.”

It couldn’t be that easy...

Ramon put one hand to his forehead and groaned, trying to process this information. “All right. All right, just...”

He attempted to stand, nearly falling over with weakness, but Bullfrog had caught him with swift motions, holding Ramon’s torso up like he weighed nothing.

“Fuck,” Ramon grit his teeth. “I need a drink.”

“After we escape,” Bullfrog helped support him, wrapping a muscular arm around the limbless’ torso. He led Ramon, who limped and heaved despite the destination being mere steps away, to the door.

“ Bon sang, how are you going to escape like this?” Bullfrog’s resolve turned shaky. “You can barely stand.”

Ramon let himself go off Bullfrog’s hold and stretched, the bones in his back creaking audibly. He gave another sigh and rubbed at his eyes, already puffy and red from the continuous crying. “I’m quite resilient.”

He looked at his hands again, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He took one hand and slid it through the slits. It wasn’t completely easy and he had to wiggle his hand a little to get through, but once he did, he breathed a sigh of relief. Then, he took another inhale and closed his eyes once again as he redirected all focus to the outside.

It was something unique to him, on account of being limbless: He could sort of “see” wth his floating parts. The vision wasn’t the most clear and everything came out as fuzzy outlines, but he could sense it, especially whenever he touched something. Whatever magic was working its way across the connection between hand and head made him tingle.

Keeping his eyes shut, he saw through his hand the long hallway in all its crisp, manufactured lines, and little else. Then, somebody came round a corner. Quickly retreating his hand to a corner in the ceiling, Ramon muttered something under his breath and inspected the human outline. It had the garb a guard wore, that was certain, now he just had to wait for them to settle somewhere...

The outline put their UBI card in a vending machine, pressed a button and grabbed a drink once it was dispensed. Ramon waited for them to get distracted in the drink, and...

He let the hand float, through he was already feeling the connection becoming strained as it floated further away from his body. Nevertheless, he braced himself and located the keycard in their back pocket. The outlines were getting shakier, and from here he could hear the guard gulp down the cobra juice like it was liquid candy.

God, he really needed a drink.

The connection was growing ever weaker, but he snatched the card out of the guard’s back pocket and quickly, silently, retreated his hand. It sprang back towards Ramon like a slingshot being released and he wiggled his hand yet again to get it back inside the cell.

Bullfrog watched with awe as Ramon showed him the card, then with concern as the limbless collapsed to the floor.

“There. God. Give me a second...”

“But the guard’s going to find out...”

“They were drinking cobra juice. Shit gets you wasted in seconds. I’ve had it before.”

Ramon took several deep breaths in a row, and used Bullfrog’s arm to heave himself up. He waved the keycard around with a smug, if still fatigued, expression and looked back through the slits. 

He and Bullfrog waited until the guard left, stumbling as they discarded the can of cobra juice onto the floor and went back around the corner to resume their duties. Ramon nodded, and brought out his hand with the keycard, carefully slid it through the gap again, and closed his eyes as he used the hand’s “vision” to locate the card reader. He positioned his hand in place, slid the card into the reader, and waited.

There was a beep , and he could hear the door’s hinges shift and come loose, until finally, it swung open. It was much too heavy for Ramon to push, but Bullfrog could do it without hassle. Outside, Ramon saw the hallway for a third--or second, with his own eyes--time. It winded down, long and white, almost labyrinthine. He had to figure out the next step. That was the thing.

Bullfrog held onto Ramon’s hand, much to the limbless’ shock. 

“The fuck?!”

“Oh, je suis désolé, I wasn’t thinking...” Bullfrog retreated his hand awkwardly. “Uh. Now what?”

“Now what? You’re the one who planned this!”

Bullfrog regained his composure and pointed towards the ceiling. “There, the ventilation system. The best way to escape nearly unnoticed.”

Bullfrog’s usage of ‘nearly’ did not stir confidence in Ramon, but his smile was nothing short of radiant when he said it.

“Okay. I...I trust you.”

He hoped he wouldn’t regret saying that.

Chapter Text

Ramon narrowed his eyes at the vents, made a hmm noise, and reconsidered.

“How about I stay down here, while you head up?”

Bullfrog crossed his arms. “Are you sure? The vents aren’t too small, and it’s much faster that way. You go unnoticed.”

It wasn’t that Ramon disliked tight spaces--he was light and mobile enough to maneuver through them without issue. He explained with his best attempt at confidence, “I just do better on foot, especially with a gun.”

Bullfrog rubbed his chin decisively, but shook his head. “I’d reconsider that, mon ami . There’s risk of getting caught, risk of injury, and so forth. It could even take you a whole day to get out as opposed to the vents...”

“I said I could trust you, right?” Ramon cut in. “Do you trust me?”

Bullfrog took a long, thoughtful look at Ramon, glancing him up and down, then gazed out at the long, bleak hallway. There was something about the way the frog tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in a calculating manner that Ramon found admirable. Not that he would admit it. Finally, Bullfrog nodded, face stern. 

“ D’accord , you can go. I trust in your skills, but please don’t do anything you’d later regret. I don’t want to see another mental breakdown from you, ok?”

Ramon knew, and so did Bullfrog, that he couldn’t promise such a thing, however--

“Of course. Now go!”

The frog gave a salute before hopping up onto the ceiling, and taking one last look at Ramon before climbing into the vent.

" Bonne chance .”

***

The hallway was a long, daunting, stainless thing, almost labyrinthine, with winding corridors and the potential for guards to be standing around corners. Ramon took a deep breath, stretched his hands and feet, recalibrated the connection between them, and ran.

The limbless was always light on his feet--first as a means to survive and escape, then later for simple convenience. He turned a sharp corner, and took in a deep breath as he realized his newfound freedom. The sedative was wearing off, clearing away the fog in his mind and allowing him to focus on one thing only: escape. Revenge felt wrong at the moment considering what he did with the directors, but he wouldn’t mind knocking out some guards.

Freedom. That funny little thing that lies in the heart of every living being. The desire to just be , without a cage, without binds. What this country was built on, and how a lack of it caused an empire to crumble, and another to rise. Something he was promised as a young refugee, but...

He realized he’d never really had freedom before.

Hearing footsteps, he backtracked and put his back to the wall, taking in a deep breath. Using his hand to “see” around the corner where the footsteps came from, he spotted two guards walking this way, having a conversation. Guns in their back pockets.

Ramon was unarmed. He also had no weapon. 

His hands could only do so much right now. He remembered how he managed to knock out a guard back at Eden HQ before reaching the directors, but that was one person, it would be tricker with two. Using both hands remotely was a lot harder than it sounded.

However, if freedom was there, so close , he wasn’t about to give that up now. He had also given Bullfrog his trust.

Taking in a deep breath, he let one hand “walk” up the wall and across the ceiling. Exhaling, he let it lay there and waited until it “saw” one guard take a seat, his outline illuminated like a neon sign in the darkest parts of the Megacity.

Carefully, very carefully, his hand crawled down the wall until it reached the guard’s back pocket, spotting the outline of a gun. He tried to not listen to their quips about the attractive new hire downstairs, and closed his eyes as he focused on the hand. He felt around until he touched metal, and slid the gun out of the man’s pocket slowly, quietly.

The connection between Ramon’s body and his hand was starting to strain, making the floating part tingle a little at the fingers, but he could not give in now. What if Bullfrog was up in the vents, looking through the grates? He didn’t want to upset the only potential ally he might have for some time.

Shutting his eyes, he gripped the gun, wrapping his index finger around the trigger, shakily positioning behind the guard’s head, and--- Zap!

It was an electric gun--bullets made blam sounds and rayguns were a fwoop . He hadn’t encountered one of those in some time. There was a flash of light, too, then a loud thud. 

Ramon heard the surviving guard swear, followed by rapidly retreating footsteps. He slowly turned to peek around the corner, where the only sight there was the prone body of the first guard, his mind fried by a direct electric shot to the back of his head. The other had long fled, likely to tell his coworkers a story they’d never believe.

Ramon blinked, staring at the scene. It wasn’t a grisly one like with the board of directors, but the guard on the ground was clearly dead, bleeding from his nose. He felt his body go light, almost floating as he held onto the gun and slowly walked towards the body.

With a feeling like euphoria wrapped around catharsis and trying to push itself against guilt, he stood there for some time, momentarily forgetting his goal as he kicked the corpse with one foot. 

Ramon took a deep breath. He killed people. He was a killer, now. He never could let that image of the dead directors go, how the blood pooled around their heads and stained the tan marble floor. He shook his head and groaned, wishing desperately that he had an alcoholic drink in his hand, or two.

A new flame crept into the woods, swallowing the grasses, then shrubs, before starting to engulf the trees. Something between a miserable choke and laugh escaped his invisible throat, and he clasped one hand to his snout, almost in horror.

What had one of the directors said before he massacred them? Are you happy?

Was Ramon happy? Was Rayman happy?

Rayman wasn’t a killer. The fake one that was scheduled to execute Bullfrog wasn’t a killer. He was merely fed a script and told what to do, and stopped when the directors ordered him to.

He wasn’t even real.

Ramon inhaled deeply, held the gun tightly in his hand, and walked on. Somebody had set the fireworks factory in his head alight, and in that moment there was such a colorful explosion of various emotions that it nearly made him vomit.

Exhaustion, rage, defeat, and determination, maybe not hope but something vaguely resembling it, euphoria at being free.

And, deep in there, some kind of guilt, not from the murder, but at everything else he had ever done. Buried underneath all the other fireworks, the only thing not lighted, so he could focus on one thing and one thing only:

Escape.

Oh, God, how he wanted alcohol, now.

***

He knew each prison complex had at least fifty floors, and it was only by luck that his cell had been on the second or third floor. He could separate the prison cell facility from the other rooms by looking at the walls. White, metal walls meant a specific material designed to be soundproof and bulletproof, while gray brick made up most of the foundation and lobby floor, also holding the other facilities such as cafeterias and recreation.

Rushing down more corridors, hiding behind corners and taking guards out while unseen, he continued down the winding white hallways, trying to look for the stairs. Of course, there might have been an elevator he missed, but why get caught that way?

Ramon eventually found his way to a metal door, which he swung open to reveal a steep, harsh stairwell angled in unforgiving lines as the black railing led down to the first floor. The flame did not last long, and fireworks had a short lifespan; his adrenaline was running out, leaving a light ache throughout his body as a reminder of the action he was forcing himself through.

Was the alcohol withdrawal kicking in? He felt no sweat, and his hands didn’t shake violently, but there was a strange buzzing in his mind as the flame fizzled out and left the fireworks extinguished--useless.

He held his breath for a second, lungs filling in with stagnant air, and took one step down. Then another. He groped blindly around for the railing, and--

There was a yelp. The world around him turned abruptly, blows of sharp metal hit his soft flesh as he tumbled down the staircase. His vision almost went black, accented by ocsillating white spots as he blinked rapidly, trying to escape the clutches of unconsciousness.

He tried forcing himself up from the floor, letting out a hiss of pain as it coursed through his body like a snake tightening its grip around weakened prey. Hands shaking, breathing heavily, he leant onto the railing and for some time did not move.

Something dripped down his snout, and he sniffed, idly wiping it off with the back of his hand. His heart skipped a beat, almost engulfed by his gut when he saw the smear of blood that came away.

He swore, and took in a deep breath through his teeth as his head swam with nausea. The flame, the little thing burning everything in its path--he had to rekindle it again. How was he going to win?

It’s okay, it’s okay. This happens with cocaine all the time. I can do this...

Letting out a breathy groan, Ramon scrambled around for the gun, fingers barely able to grab onto the handle as he attempted to stand. A rush of blood came back into his head, filling his brain with warmth, with attention--and he pinched the bridge of his snout.

I told Bullfrog I’d be okay, I told him--

What have you done now? The other voice--younger, higher pitched, but so achingly his own, interrupted.

“No, no--” Ramon shook his head, pointing the gun away from himself. “Don’t you start!”

He heaved, his mind still buzzing despite the rush of energy he’d regained. Taking in another deep inhale, bracing himself against the sting of pain in his abdomen, he backed up against the wall at the stairwell and took a few minutes to recalibrate himself. There was nothing he could hear, mercifully. Nothing but his own voice, at least.

You look awful.

“No shit. I don’t have time for this.”

You had better options...

“Oh yeah?!” He hissed, his free hand holding on to his torso while the other held a gun in it, threatening to pull the trigger. To pull it at...at himself? He shut his eyes and groaned again.

 “What other options?! You saw what I saw!”

He waved an accusing finger in the air, and continued. “Why the fuck were you silent back when Bullfrog was around?! Just giving me the convenience of a little sanity ? Ha!”

He winced, and spat a glob of blood onto the floor, staining the white marble with a visceral red splatter. 

You had somebody to talk to.  

“You want me to go insane, don’t you? I don’t care! What I care about right now is getting the hell out of here, and needing enough alcohol to pass out for several days!”

He shut his eyes again, feeling his brain twist and pull against itself as it tried to keep him oriented. “My God .”

Exhaling, especially now that the other voice went quiet, he limped as he looked around the corner of the stairwell. The pain in his side was a nagging, incessant thing that reminded him over and over that he fell down some stairs like a drunk --but it was preferable to listening to his younger self. 

Oh, how little he knew. How much he wanted to fight with himself now.

Here, the relatively narrow stairwell opened out to a large corridor, squared and with several openings leading into other facilities. One sign said bathrooms, and the other said cafeteria. The one in front, however, was the lobby. The walls here too were gray brick, and at that he let out a sickly, coy smile.

Just a little further.

The flame had to go over the brick wall now. He wiped the now-dry blood off his snout and sniffed again, letting himself absorb the pain as he faced the final obstacle. He could see the glass doors leading outside, so tantalizingly close--already dark out, too, illuminated by street lights.

He took several careful, light steps towards the lobby, almost stumbling once and stifling another swear. Once at the wall just before the next room, he backed up again, and took a peek. The pain in his abdomen did not relent, but even as he winced he turned his body in a way that aggravated it.

There was the door, the big glass door that led out into the forest of metal. Freedom, veritable freedom. He wondered for a second why he had become so obsessed . Perhaps it was the adrenaline still pumping throughout his veins, or it was the realization that he was technically a captive of Eden for more than twenty years...Whatever it was, he liked how it felt to him.

The lobby was a rectangular room surrounded in gray brick, with the addition of a waiting room by the side, several metal chairs lined up in orderly fashion. There was the receptionist’s desk, also an unforgiving gray slab, and for a second Ramon had to consider what the interior design planner had in mind. 

The man at the reception desk appeared to be dozing off, nodding his head. There was the possibility of drug use, but there wasn’t anything else to confirm. Pity, because a receptionist under heavy influence would be fairly easy to sneak past. Ramon let out a huff and held out his gun, examining its details.

An EDENworks 95-9-1 electric pistol. Standard-issue for the police force. Battery-operated.

He fingered the trigger some, and squinted, considering his options--well, he only had one option, really. Only one more thing to do, and then the flame would get past the final wall. He turned, stealthy, and aimed the pistol right at the receptionist’s head.

You don’t have to...

He shut his eyes. Shook his head. Opened them again, taking aim.

Rayman wouldn’t...

He squinted, and pulled the trigger. 

A bolt of white-hot electricity shot out of the pistol, giving it some kickback as Ramon watched the unwitting receptionist jerk violently once the blast hit the back of his head. He made a pained groan, and fell face-forward to the desk with a light thud. There were a few more convulsive jerks, then the body stilled. 

Ramon nearly felt his soul leave his body then, hoping it was the soul that held his younger self. He took in a deep breath, focusing his eyes on the gun as his hands shook nearly just as much as the receptionist had. Sweat was coming down his forehead now.

He didn’t need to care what he had done. No ruminating over another dead body, especially part of the authority that had enslaved him for so long. He had to get out.

Still holding the gun in one hand, his other hand at the wall as he glared at the entrance, he took in a deep inhale. There was the exit, out of the desert, into the woods. No oasis, not a place of peace and rest, but certainly better than being trapped for an eternity controlled by the worst the world had to offer. No longer a mouthpiece for others.

He remembered, there was that little seed of hope that would rise from the ashes of a ravaged forest. A little green sprout, just climbing its way out of this blackness, this choking desolation. But why was there hope in such a ruthless word? 

With a rueful smile, he stood, looked behind himself, and backed up.

It was the assassin, wasn’t it? That frog who let him see the truth, lifting the veil of deceit that Eden had draped over his eyes for so long. Even after all this the frog stayed with him, planned the escape with him. 

Ramon could see that face in his head. His smile could look innocent, duplicitously so, his entire life revolved around merciless execution--but at that time Ramon recognized that smile as genuine.

He was entrusting himself to an enemy of the state. A terrorist. Imagine that.

Still with the gun in his hand, he exhaled, and bolted right for the door. 

It barely occurred to him that he could have simply opened it, but it was too late, he found himself crashing through glass, crystalline shards raining down as the doors exploded. Shards of glass dug themselves into his body as he hit the ground and rolled, stabbing, bleeding him dry. 

Hyperventilating, he tried to stand, managed a couple feeble steps towards the gates, and collapsed.

When he opened his eyes and the stars had gone out of them, all that he saw now was a kaleidoscope of purple, blue and green, then fading to unconsciousness.

“You do better on foot, huh?”

Ramon snapped open his eyes, his vision filling with the image of a starless night sky, tainted by artificial lighting of the city, and in the corner, Bullfrog’s face. He had a look of mild amusement on him with the way his lips were twitched upwards, but his eyes seemed concerned.

He was, of course, mostly unscathed.

Ramon let out a low growl, his stamina entirely depleted, attempting to lift a bleeding hand towards Bullfrog. He let out a sharp inhale and his hand dropped to his torso, his vision growing blurry. 

Bullfrog’s voice grew more and more muddled until there was nothing Ramon could hear but the buzzing of his own brain. He felt the grip of unconsciousness drag him into oblivion again, numb from pain, numb from want of alcohol...

Chapter Text

Bullfrog tried to make it easier for Ramon. He really did.

He assumed Ramon had no professional training, and the sorry state he was in proved him right. He’d taken it upon himself to always be ahead of the limbless. He would sneak into wherever the guards were, usually their offices or in the cafeteria downstairs, and quietly eliminate them each time. It appeared he missed a few, if that gun was anything to go by.

But, barrelling through a glass door without a second thought and collapsing right there? Ramon seemed to act first, think later. The exact opposite of himself.

Bullfrog gently turned Ramon to his side, inspecting his wounds. Most of the glass had embedded itself in his hands, and some in his face, but there was a rather large stain of blood forming on his prisoner’s outfit. He cringed, not so much at the blood itself but more at who it was coming from. He could eliminate as many enemies and spill as much blood as he wanted, but the blood coming from someone he--god forbid--started to care about was...different.

Quickly, he heaved Ramon up onto his back, surprised by how light he was.That would make things a little easier, a little faster to get around.

There was, on the other hand, the matter of Ramon’s lack of limbs. Bullfrog wasn’t sure how he would keep all the parts together at first--having to remind himself of just how unique Ramon truly was. There had to be some sort of intricate, magical connection keeping Ramon’s parts connected that Bullfrog found puzzling, something only Ramon himself knew.

It almost perturbed him. Even his head was detached.

Bullfrog looked up from his fallen acquaintance, and observed the horizon.

Not too far from the prison complex was the Megacity. In this gloom, where the artificial lights had long abandoned the stars, it was a behemoth of sharp angles and overwhelming neon. Some blimps hovered past, swimming slowly in this sea of black illuminated by the city. Massive highways, tall and concrete, overhung the city before it wrapped around the entirety of it like a coiled anaconda.

Directly below the highways were the huge tunnel entrances leading into an old, nearly abandoned sewer system that would guide Bullfrog and Ramon, unseen, into the city proper.

Ramon let out a weak, tremulous groan as Bullfrog hoisted him up onto his back. The assassin used the prisoner outfit’s sleeves to tie Ramon to himself, and carefully slid down the hill, coming to a murky stream at the end, hopping over it and entering the tunnels. 

Inside, he was met with a stagnant darkness and the foul smell of sewage, bitter and chemical. The tunnel was long and large, looming over both figures in all its grey dampness, its details appearing to be several decades behind in technology, left here like an afterthought while the city rose above and marched on. Tying the sleeves even tighter around him, he continued to trudge on, keeping Ramon on his back.

As dark and grey as the tunnels were, several manholes could be seen from above, poking little beams of light into the sumps, contrasting the sickly green-and-gray hues with vivid swathes of color that vacillated between reds, blues, and yellows. Bullfrog used these to find his way deeper and deeper into the city, until he was sure he found the right spot--if he had to guess, it was downtown where there were more alleys to be found. The alleys did not hold as much light.

He stopped at one manhole, with faint orange glows bleeding down the rusty ladder, as if it beckoned him to come forward. 

“Hold on.” He told Ramon, even if the limbless couldn’t hear him, and started climbing the ladder, stopping to remove the manhole with considerable force, the little pool of light widening into a circle of red and yellow.

First, he lifted Ramon up onto the surface, then heaved himself over the manhole cover, shielding his eyes from the sudden onslaught of light. Letting his vision readjust to the rapid change, he blinked and shut the manhole cover before carrying Ramon deeper into the alley. 

The alley was cramped, with browned concrete walls, smelling of discarded food and drug paraphernalia. He could hear the rumble of cars just out in the street, the chatter of civillians. Daily life, as if nothing else were going on. They knew nothing of what happened at the prison, not yet. They listened to the news religiously, and they did not take a second guess that Rayman was replaced.

Leaning Ramon against a wall, he checked for a pulse. Bullfrog found the hand an easy place to feel Ramon’s heartbeat, pressing into his bleeding palm, the slow, sluggish thump-thumps showing some fragile signs of life the limbless otherwise betrayed, with his face growing so pale.

“ Bon ,” he whispered. “Please, stay alive.”

The person Bullfrog had carried all the way through the sewer and up into the alley, this person, appeared so dramatically changed from the writhing ball of rage he’d just met hours prior, that he had to double-check if it was really Ramon. It hit him, like a hidden assailant with a crowbar, that this was Rayman. This was the newscaster and voice of Eden for so long...He really did not resemble the face that was plastered all over the city at the moment.

Bullfrog felt a pang of sympathy---perhaps misplaced, he didn’t know anymore---as he looked at Ramon’s features. Because he wasn’t flying in a rage, gnashing his teeth and kicking around, it was much easier to see the rest of him now.

His blond hair was disheveled, and his forehead caked with sweat. Without the makeup he had on as a newscaster, his face revealed the harsh wrinkles and signs of trauma and continued drug abuse, with dark circles pooling under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in days. He was a pitiable shell of his former self, so transformed from whatever youth he must have had since Eden took a hold on him as to be unrecognizable.

Bullfrog nearly felt the urge, deep in his heart, to reach a hand out and touch that haggard face, but held back, retreated the hand and shook his head. He had to focus on helping Ramon right now, making sure he was alive, making sure he could heal . It was possible to find a first-aid kit around, of course, the only issue being how to get it in the first place.

They were both criminals now. Terrorists, fresh in prisoner uniforms. They had no money to speak of, and no one to contact reliably. The only thing Bullfrog had going for him was some knowledge of medicine--having trained himself considering how isolating and dangerous being an assassin was.

Why are you risking this ? He asked himself, gulping, feeling a strange and empathetic twist in his stomach. Why? Why your enemy? This was not what assassins did, not remotely--

Because...he saved your life. 

Isn’t that enough?

An enemy of the Brotherhood was in his hands now. Someone he so easily could have been assigned to eliminate without a second thought. Someone who was able to see the horrific errors of his ways and turn his life around.

He let out a light, perplexed chuckle. He talked a whole propagandist into changing his mind. Elimination would have been fast and easy, absolutely, but...no. He talked. No blood spilled. Not from Bullfrog himself, at least.

They’d ended up in the same cell together, for whatever reason. Even after that outburst of rage that shook Bullfrog’s confidence until his nerves were nearly jelly, Ramon still cooperated, still worked with him and even said he trusted him.

How...admirable?

Lifting Ramon up, he peered around the corner of the alley. Just across the street was a row of apartments, utilitarian in appearance as they were constructed from solid concrete, with relatively small windows. Apartments, of course, would have people in them, and with people you’d probably have first-aid kits, or a medical cabinet in the bathroom.

To Bullfrog’s luck, one person walked out of their apartment, locking the door and heading over to the underground parking lot. 

Smiling coyly, he looked for a way to get across the street---making sure nobody was present and no cars would hit him--reminding him of an old game he used to play as a tadpole. He let out a deep exhale as he finally reached the periphery of the apartment complexes, Ramon still with him, and crept forward. He spotted the exact apartment he just saw that person exit, and crouched where the window was. 

Quiet as an ant, he pushed the window up--the owner somehow left it unlocked--and crawled inside with Ramon on his back.

He took a glance at the apartment he was now inside. Clothes were haphazardly strewn over the couch, emptied cans of beer tossed aside without much care onto the carpet, and containers of takeout food spilled on the table. It too smelled of alcohol, the cheap kind one would get if they didn’t care much about quality and simply wanted to forget their existence.

A place of sorrow and regrets.

It reminded him of Ramon.

He shut the window door, and tiptoed towards the bathroom, opening its door and stepping inside, then shutting it. Turning the light on, he browsed the small bathroom, a stark contrast from the dark space of the apartment. While it wasn’t filthy by any means--certainly not as much as a public bathroom--it still wasn’t the cleanest place, some dirt in the bathtub, something in the toilet was stuck...

There was a lingering smell of chemicals here, and the light was buzzing, a sickly fluorescent blue. He lay Ramon on the bathroom mat, and started searching for medical supplies.

The medical cabinet was behind the mirror, over the sink. Its contents included some rolls of gauze, a pair of tweezers, scissors, and antibiotics. There were also pills that wouldn’t have any use on Ramon--at least not any that Bullfrog knew of. He gathered the supplies and headed back to where Ramon lay.

He took the scissors first, and used them to cut Ramon’s prisoner outfit open. Yes, Ramon would end up naked, but he’d figure out the rest later--right now he had a life to try and save.

It was then that he saw Ramon’s nude body for the first time. Limbless, detached, with a vague peanut shape and so oddly human . There was the outline of his collarbones, the way his chest rose and fell as his diaphragm expanded, and the navel down on his belly. Bullfrog touched his skin, traced his fingers over the contours, his skin rough, but soft to press just like a human’s.

A pained whimper snapped Bullfrog back to reality, and only now did he notice the wound. That scar, situated on his side just over the ribcage, wasn't a clean cut, not done with a knife. It appeared jagged, messy, but thankfully not so torn beyond repair that it needed stitches. His face was eerily, ashy pale, the dark circles under his eyes growing more evident, giving him a raccoonish look.

Blood did not gush from it as much as it drooled, thick and slow like lava, a sharp ruby color contrasting with such pale skin, highlighted by the bathroom light.

The fact that Ramon bled, too...He had a heart in there. Lungs, too. Bones.

Bullfrog applied the antibiotic liquid to a sponge and gently dabbed it around the skin where the gash was the deepest, most angrily red. He wondered what Ramon must have fallen over to get such a bad wound through the prisoner outfit--There wouldn’t have been enough guards to be a threat, and...

There was one darker possibility he thought of, and frowned. No, he couldn’t...It made no sense.

However, the fact Ramon had gotten wounded in this manner and still kept going fascinated Bullfrog to no end. Everything about the limbless fascinated him, and he never really thought of it previously...

The sponge was quickly going red with the amount of blood absorbed into it, so Bullfrog turned the bathtub’s water on, washed it until it was a pristine white color again, and returned to cleaning it. Once he was sure no more blood was trickling from the wound, he prepared the gauze and used it to bandage that odd, peanut-shaped body until the red stain that started to spread on the white gauze was somewhat concealed. He tied it up, tight enough to staunch blood flow but not so much that it would constrict his lungs.

He picked up the tweezers in one hand, and held Ramon’s left hand in the other, gently, as though he held a work crafted from porcelain. 

Bullfrog was equally captivated by the appearance of his hand. There were knuckles there, knobby and scarred, there were fingernails, bitten into until they bled. His palms, callused, creased, having endured more hardship than they ever should have.

Using the tweezers with careful precision, he plucked each crystalline sliver from Ramon’s fingers first. Tiny beads of ruby appeared each time, just more blood lost as he went on with removing the shards. He turned the hand to check his palm--embedded with larger shards here, and horribly scuffed by the pavement.

Then, Ramon made a frail groan, his eyelids fluttering, head moving to the side. Bullfrog’s heart nearly skipped a beat, and he grimaced slightly. “Hey...”

Ramon opened his eyes and sluggishly turned to face Bullfrog, his expression blank, exhausted. Deliriously, with a voice like molasses, he muttered. “Mmmhuh?”

Bullfrog gave him a reassuring, relieved smile, whispering. “You’re okay.”

Ramon’s eyelids sank back into his head as Bullfrog continued taking the slivers of glass from his hand, whining faintly and starting to fidget. His complexion was still waxy, so pale nearly all the blood could have gone out of him by now.

“F-frog--”

Bullfrog grabbed another sponge, a clean one, and carefully placed it inside Ramon’s mouth, between his teeth. “Bite into that,” he instructed.

 “It will hurt. Je suis desole .”

The limbless nodded, his eyes filling in with tears, eyelids drooping with fatigue, with weakness.

The hand now free of embedded glass, though bleeding, Bullfrog dabbed at it with the sponge and some antibiotic, then, tightly, as he did with the body, wrapped it around in gauze. He put all remaining glass shards in the bathtub and hoped the owner wouldn’t be too mad when he found out.

“Mff...” Ramon moaned piteously, eyes screwing tight in pain. “Mghh...?”

Bullfrog looked up at him, the pain and confusion so deeply etched it the limbless’ face that it might as well as become permanent. He put Ramon’s hand back down, and explained. “We are in somebody’s apartment, in his bathroom. I took you here to help you. I had nowhere else to go.”

“Mmh...”

“You’re already badly injured,” Bullfrog whispered as he picked up Ramon’s right hand. “Will I have to take care of you from then on? Mon dieu , I hope not.”

As delicate as he was with the left hand, Bullfrog picked each and every splinter of glass out of the right hand, then dabbing it with the antibiotic liquid and wrapping it around in gauze.

“Ugh,” Ramon whined, his voice nothing more than a desperate whimper. “Guh.”

“Just a little more, a little... s'il te plaît ?”

But Ramon was too restless, shutting his eyes again and leaning back, struggling to breathe as if his lungs filled up with water. His body quivered so violently Bullfrog thought he’d gone into convulsions, and his skin was clammy with sweat, so pale it nearly matched the bathtub’s color.

Bullfrog stopped immediately, dropping his hand and helping Ramon lean forward, removing the sponge from his mouth.

“Fuck!” Ramon coughed, and panted. He was shivering incessantly, sweat trickling down his forehead like rain on glass. Bullfrog almost hugged him, with the tangible pain and exhaustion he was in.

“God , ” Bullfrog exclaimed, with a mixture of relief and shock coursing through his veins. “You are... a mess. ”

Again, Bullfrog asked himself, Why are you doing this? Taking care of this stranger, this enemy of yours, in somebody’s bathroom? Why so much work? So much empathy wasted on...this?

He closed his eyes.

  Because. 

Ramon attempted to sit up, gritting his teeth and letting out a grunt as he coughed again.

Bullfrog helped him lean against the tub, watching empathetically as the limbless heaved, making gurgling sounds before coughing some more.

“How--how are you feeling?” Bullfrog asked.

Ramon coughed some more, trying to find his voice. He managed, weakly: “L-like...shit. Need...drink...”

A drink? Bullfrog’s thick brows furrowed once he realized Ramon meant alcohol . “No, I can’t...I-I couldn’t.”

“Please...” Ramon whined, panting. His eyes opened, the widest they had been in the past hour. His shaking was growing more violent. “Just...a little.”

Bullfrog had to consider between enabling the limbless’ profound alcoholism in a vulnerable condition and leaving him to withdrawals that would no doubt kill him later--It was not the first time he had to make a difficult choice. He sighed, heart settling heavy in his stomach, and nodded.

“ D’accord . Only a little bit. Hang in there, ok?”

Ramon smiled desperately as Bullfrog stood up and exited the bathroom. Leaving the door ajar just in case Ramon’s pain worsened, he went to the kitchen.

 It was a bare, cramped space connected directly to the living room with a little stove and not much else. There was a minifridge in the corner, yellowed over time, buzzing as the aging cooling system chugged along inside. He opened it to find a meager amount of contents, some leftovers rendered unrecognizable with mold, and what he was looking for: several cans of cheap beer. He grabbed one, closed the minifridge’s door and hurried back to the bathroom.

“I have...something for you.” His voice was suddenly weak, ashamed at himself for this act, but what else could he do?

Ramon made a weak grabbing motion with his trembling, bandaged hand, and made a choking sound that somewhat resembled, “Please...”.

Another terrible sting of empathy, like a needle piercing itself into his heart, came over Bullfrog as he knelt down to where Ramon lay, opened the can of beer, and slowly helped him drink it. He let Ramon’s head lean back as he poured the contents in, only a little bit so he wouldn’t black out, or worse. He watched as Ramon gulped the bitter liquid down, almost ravenously, like a man parched.

Bullfrog put the can down, still half-full. Ramon shuddered, and sighed so heavily it seemed to echo in the bathroom. His eyelids started sinking in again, and he moaned softly.

“Don’t pass out. Don’t.” Bullfrog warned, a hint of growing fear in his voice. “Not yet.”

He also whispered, low enough so Ramon couldn’t hear: What the hell happened to you?

Ramon forced his eyes open again, and stared at his bandaged, now heavily scarred hand. He choked back a sob. “Oh, god...”

“Hey...” Bullfrog put his hand out to hold it. “We’re almost done. You’re okay. Allez, tu es en vie .”

He held on to Ramon’s face, holding his jaw, as he plucked the last bits of glass from his snout. The limbless whimpered again, letting tears fall from his eyes, but he endured.

Ramon heaved again, and asked, “What...what did I...do?”

Bullfrog gave him a concerned smile, his eyebrows downturned, shaking his head. “Just an accident. You will be okay. We’ll get out of here. Find a new home.”

Ramon coughed, and rested his head against the edge of the tub. “God...I’m out...I’m finally...”

“You’re naked,” said Bullfrog, cleaning up the last of the shards before standing up. “We need to get you into something--”

Ramon’s face flushed, finally bringing some color into that miserably pale complexion. 

Bullfrog looked around, and quickly spotted a pink bathrobe on the coat hanger attached to the bathroom door. Smiling, he took it off the hanger, and measured its size relative to the limbless. Yes, it would be too big, but it would have to do. And as for the sleeves...

He looked back at Ramon. “Well...You shouldn’t stand, but...”

It was as if the alcohol, paradoxically, brought energy back into the limbless’ body. He nodded, still choking back some sobs, still with his face flushed. 

Mon dieu, a weepy drunk?

“Aw, come here.” Bullfrog helped Ramon sit up better, minding the bandaged wound on his chest. He draped the oversized bathrobe over the limbless’ body, itself seemingly shrinking under all the pinkness. Very, very delicately, he held Ramon’s hand in one, and with the other hand he supported his back.

Ramon wobbled, breathing heavily. His feet were uneven on the floor and Bullfrog was so afraid of him hitting the edge of the bathtub that he made sure to move Ramon away from it.

“Okay, hold on...Try to walk...just...try.”

Bullfrog took one step. Ramon followed, tremulously. “Okay. Good, keep going...”

He prayed that the owner of the apartment wouldn’t return any time soon. He had to take his time with Ramon--a badly injured, mentally unstable and hopelessly alcoholic soul.

No. This wasn’t the newscaster who delivered propaganda all across the television screens. This wasn’t a ruthless killer bent on revenge, this wasn’t a madman, not the enemy. Not...Not Eden.

Ramon didn’t belong to Eden. Not anymore.

But it left him so broken that Bullfrog doubted the limbless could bring his life back. That was the consequence of working with Eden. In another time he would have simply shook his head and went along with his mission.

Ramon smiled at him, weak, having forgotten every bit of anger he had at the people that hurt him. Smiled, like he was going out for dinner. Or just stepping out of the hospital--

“H-hey...Frog?” Ramon asked, slurring, as they reached the living room, snapping Bullfrog out of his thoughts.

“ Oui ?”

Ramon gulped, his face turning pale again. “Would I...uh...” He paused to take a breath, and let out a light laugh. “Would I make a good pirate?”

Bullfrog raised a brow, and smiled along with him.

Ah, he’s that drunk?

“A pirate? Are you sure?”

Ramon laughed again, and winced. “Ouch. God...S-some pirate...”

Bullfrog remembered where they were, and opened the door to outside, this time deciding to carry Ramon as he hopped across the street into another alley. The limbless barely reacted, but blushed once he realized he was being carried. Bullfrog set him down, gentle, on the ground with the intention of letting Ramon breathe.

Instead, the limbless decided to try to stand, cringing in pain as he gripped his bandaged chest, and promptly vomited--the only contents being beer. He wiped his mouth off and slumped back against the wall, breathing heavily.

He shook, still, but at least had the bathrobe with him, wrapping it tighter around himself. 

Bullfrog stepped around the vomit and sat next to Ramon, now content in this little alley where they remained unseen. He thought about these...feelings. That concern he had, the absolute sympathy over the enemy. The blood being spilled, bandaged up, and the little reassurances, the alcohol

Oh god, what was his life coming to now?

He gulped, and looked back at Ramon.. “Hey, Ramon?”

“Mmhm?” Ramon turned, giving a sickly smile. 

The frog looked away for a second, and cleared his throat. “You would make a good pirate.”

Ramon’s eyes brightened, showing some spark of life in those desolate eyes. “R-really?”

Bullfrog nodded. “One of the best.”

Chapter Text

A cry for help, lost in the sea of darkness, left in limbo. Detached hands clawed madly at whatever it could not see. Lungs choked with bitterness, a horrible prickling as he coughed and gulped, trying to find air whenever possible, blind, mindless.

In the distance, a beacon. Light at the end of the journey, onwards to shore, onwards to home. Spinning, pulsing, beckoning him closer. He could hear it, hear its call--

“Ramon?”

He hit the rocks, razor-sharp and slippery all the same, trying to scramble up to dry land as his hands bled and bled. Blood mingled with the seawater. The beacon was growing stronger, pulsing brighter, flashing.

“Ramon!”

Ramon bolted upright, hissing as the gash in his side protested against the sudden movement, his hand going to where it was bandaged. Being pulled out of an oppressive current, he felt waterlogged, weighed down so much that lifting his head alone proved a strenuous task. 

But as he came to, he realized he was on dry land. He was sitting on a long-forgotten, hard mattress in a compact room that consisted of industrial piping, cardboard boxes, and a rusty table in the corner. One hand to his torso, the other was holding something firm, warm, alive.

He turned, and jerked back his hand as his face met Bullfrog’s.

“... Bonjour ,” the frog smiled. He brought his hand gently to Ramon’s side. “How are you feeling? Do you need any water?”

Ramon groaned, pushed away Bullfrog’s hand while trying to check his side. His torso was wrapped in bandages that were stained dark red by now, as were his hands, stinging every time he flexed them. He felt his brain throb in his head and was suddenly made aware of an overwhelming dryness in his mouth, trying to relocate his tongue into a more comfortable position.

“Water--” He shut his eyes, and shuddered at the image of drowning at sea and trying to scramble for dry land. He opened them, and heaved. “Y-yeah. Water...”

As if he were a magician, reaching into a top hat to grab anything, Bullfrog immediately handed a small water bottle over to Ramon. The limbless stared at it, blinking.

“Here you go,” Bullfrog untwisted the cap with little effort, and handed it over to him, “Slowly, now--”

Not hearing him, he grabbed the bottle and gulped it down in one go, before sighing and resting back on the mattress. Despite the intake of water, he still felt debilitated, his entire body heavy with fatigue. Inhaling sharply, he winced as his ribcage expanded and flexed the injured muscles in his side.

“Ugh...” He shut his eyes, trying to fight back against sleep--he did not want to return to the terrible ocean. Trying to find his voice, in half a gasp, he muttered, “Where--”

“ Mon dieu... ” Bullfrog whispered, and shook his head sympathetically. “Well, it’s an old car assembly factory. There is just enough here for some sleeping room and materials to scrounge. How I found it--Sometimes when I am not on the job, I like to wander. I was fortunate to find this place, it must have been forgotten for a long, long time. You should check out the view on the roof once you feel better. It’s breathtaking.”

“Car...” Ramon wheezed, “Factory?”

“Huh,” Bullfrog raised a brow and gave him a quizzical smile. “Have you always pronounced car that way?”

Ramon looked to the ceiling. Yellowed white flakes of plaster were falling off, and he could hear water dripping, but not see the source. “Maybe.”

He sniffed. His snout crinkled as he caught a whiff of the oily, greasy air. Attempting to turn to his uninjured side, he sighed again, his brain nothing but fog at this point.

“You should eat,” Bullfrog offered, standing up to grab something, and returning with a cup of noodles in his hand. “These might be a little expired, but...It’s better than starving. You need something if you’re going to recover.”

A little expired?

Ramon sniffed again, and turned his head away from the cup of noodles, a sudden wave of nausea overcoming him. The shrimpy aroma wasn’t the worst smell in this room, but...

He licked his lips and groaned, giving in to his hunger. “Fine.”

 Bullfrog helped adjust his position--it was difficult since the pillow the mattres on was flimsy and there was no other support, but he was strong and Ramon was relatively light.  He handed Ramon the cup of noodles and a pair of chopsticks.

“It is clean,” Bullfrog said. “I checked.”

Ramon glanced into the contents of his cup, a swirl of thin noodles in a yellow broth and shrimp flakes. Shrimp wasn’t his favorite flavor, he preferred chicken, or veggie, but he was no longer in a position to choose.

He looked up again, wordlessly. 

That was right. He had nothing. No home, no money, just him on this mattress and a recently expired cup of shrimp noodles. 

Gulping down the self-pity until it settled into his stomach, he took the chopsticks and started eating.

The noodles were soft, soggy and chewy in his mouth in a rubbery way, and the broth itself was a hit of pure salt and umami. The shrimp flakes tasted less like actual shrimp and more like a vague idea of one, as if the factory processing the noodles ran out of shrimp and in a hurry decided to dye bits of tofu pink and salt it.

No...what shrimp tastes like tofu?

He closed his eyes, slurped the noodles up, and let a tear fall down his face. The taste was artificial, overpowering in its processed form, made by a robot that knew nothing else but to follow the instructions and would never taste the luxury of cheap cup noodles.

He looked at the label on the cup, and it read, “Rayman’s Ramen.”

Oh god, I can’t be crying over cup noodles...

Setting the cup aside once he was finished, he gave a shuddering breath and looked over to Bullfrog. “Is there--is there a bathroom?”

“Oui, yes, just around the corner. I cleaned it thoroughly, for both of us.”

Ramon blinked, and let out a slight noise like a chuckle. “Y-you’re really doing everything for me, huh? As if I deserve that.”

Bullfrog frowned, his bushy eyebrows heavy over his eyes. “Don’t give me that nonsense. I’ve got enough on my mind deciding if being with you is a good idea at all.”

“All right, all right...” Ramon heaved himself up, wincing as the stitch of pain caught him again in his side. He looked down and inspected the bandages. Still stained red there, but mostly dry. Underneath the bandages, he itched terribly, wanting to tear it right off his skin. The ants under the bandages...

He barely registered Bullfrog lifting him up, now finding himself on his feet once again. The assassin gave him a gentle pat on his back.

“Do you need any help? Just, anything in the bathroom--”

“No, no--” Ramon shook his head, face flushing. “No. I can do it. I’m good.”

“D’accord. Be safe.”

Ramon gave a sardonic smile, pushing through the fog in his brain. “Of course, do I look like I’m in any danger?”

“You did run through a glass door...”

He cringed, now remembering in the midst of all the haze, the argument he had with himself and--

“Egh. Just adrenaline, that was all.”

Shaking his head, he headed out for the door unsteadily, as if he were on a boat rocked by a vicious maelstrom and there was little he could see in the terrible mist. He used his fingers to feel his way around the walls, and entered the bathroom. The door was a chunk of rusted metal with a decayed sign that used to read RESTROOMS, and that alone gave him some doubts. 

I’m eating expired ramen noodles with my face on it and taking a shower in an abandoned factory...

He let the thought sink in as he stumbled into the restroom, disgusted with himself. It was a little hypocritical, maybe, because his penthouse was generally a pigsty too, with clothes strewn everywhere, drugs and food on the floor. He at least could hire somebody to clean it for him, and that was all well and done. Now he could only clean up after himself.

He wasn’t about to look in the mirror--there was something about them nowadays. He could see the clean, coiffed appearance his past self had, with all the makeup and the hair spray and rose-scented nightly baths--

Eyes shut, he let go of the thought and removed the pink robe. It wasn’t his , it was dirty and stained and smelled of blood and alcohol. It wasn’t his robe, Bullfrog gave it to him. He then undid the bandages on his hands and his torso, taking in a deep breath as the gauze came off; sticky with blood and dried antibiotics.

Letting the water run cold, he stepped into the shower, bland and gray and rough with broken concrete for both the walls and floor.  Like the prison. 

Idly touching at his wound, he looked around for some soap. There was a dingy bottle left in the corner seemingly just for him, and he found himself cracking a smile at the fact the assassin thought of everything . A ruthless terrorist who would have no second thoughts slitting the throat of any of Eden’s workers and making an escape--doing something as dainty as leaving some soap out for the poor fettered newscaster.

In contrast, the gash on Ramon’s side was rather haphazardly cleaned and bandaged, done in a hurry and without stitches, leading to more bleeding, more pain and no doubt some risk of infection. He traced the skin that was torn out there by glass and even tried to put a finger inside it. It wasn’t very deep, but it ruptured through some of the surface muscles, making breathing in deeply somewhat of a chore--like something was constantly digging in there.

He let out a pitiable laugh and laid his head against the wall, closing his eyes and letting the water stream down, letting it run down his face and wet his hair. The wall was rough against his skin, pressing into his skull. He gave it a knock.

But he was free now, wasn’t he? He’d killed the board of directors, rid himself of Eden’s chains, and escaped a prison together with Bullfrog. He didn’t have to bend down to Eden’s whims anymore and could finally do some good for the country. They would make him a wanted man. He had Bullfrog on his side now, someone he maybe could trust. He just had to find new clothes and get out there in disguise. They would make him a wanted man. He could wake up each morning with a nice beer and stay up every night with him and watch the fireflies. Why, he could already hear the gentle whir of machinery just outside. They would make him a wanted man.

He knocked on the wall again.

In his mind, the young Rayman’s face reappeared. Or was it the clone? He couldn’t tell anymore. He shut his eyes and groaned.

I’m not talking to you, he thought.

It’s not like you have a choice, said the other Rayman. 

Oh, I do. Ramon opened his eyes, facing the wall. I could bash my head in here.

That’s not--

Ramon continued. I could split my skull open on this wall and let my brain matter dribble down the wall.  

He thought about it. Smashing his skull in until he lost consciousness and fell apart on the floor, covered in blood and brain. And Bullfrog would have to come in and find his dead, twitching corpse on the shower floor with his viscera being drained out by the cold water.

Or at best he’d have brain damage. He could be giving himself a lobotomy. He could just not remember anything. But he would never be independent again.

Then do it, he heard Rayman say. If you want to get rid of me that badly.

I... Ramon stared at the wall, already imagining it stained with blood. I...

It wouldn’t be hard. Especially for a limbless. He could just throw his head against the wall if he so badly wanted to, but...

No. He closed his eyes.

Why not?

Ramon did not answer, opening his eyes again and grabbing the bottle of soap to clean himself with. He was gentler this time with his wound, massaging the bruised skin and washing around where it was most red and itchy. He put Bullfrog’s smile in his mind to replace both the image of his younger self and the previous violent thoughts. Wanted man or not, he wasn’t alone, and suicide would solve nothing. That clone would still be there spewing propaganda. Eden would still be flourishing.

He knew, no matter how bleak he felt, and how hopeless his situation was and would get, he knew he couldn’t give up this easily.

***

 Ramon had taken so long in the bathroom that Bullfrog almost felt the urge to head there and check on him, and thus sighed in relief when the limbless came back in his robe. His hair was still wet, and he had a dour expression on his face like he’d been told some bad news, but he was unscathed. Mostly.

Bullfrog took the first-aid kit from the table and motioned over to Ramon, “Sit down.”

“What am I, a dog?” Ramon barked, and begrudgingly did as he was told.

The gash on the limbless’ side was slightly inflamed, red around the edges and starting to bruise, but it was manageable with the kind of antibiotic he had on hand. He just had to keep a close look, and did not trust Ramon much if at all to take care of himself.

Bullfrog sat by the mattress and unwrapped some fresh gauze, putting the antibiotics on the side. Ramon watched the contents with cynical curiosity.

“Are you always going to have one of those ready for me?” He smirked. “Poor ol’ me.”

Bullfrog ignored him and undid Ramon’s robe in order to apply the antibiotic first. “What took you so long in the shower?”

The limbless’ smug look twisted into embarrassment, then resentment--hopefully not directed at him , and he turned his face away. “I take long showers.”

“Sure,” Bullfrog nodded, and wrapped Ramon’s torso with the gauze. “It’s already starting to heal. I don’t want to see any trouble from you again.”

Ramon shut his eyes, made a hum noise, and opened them again, that sardonic expression back on his face. “You’re going to be taking care of me, aren’t you?”

Bullfrog so badly wanted to say something to the effect of, I know eight different ways to kill you using just my hands alone, and 25 other ways using only the objects in this room, but shook his head and thought against it. 

Whatever else he was going to say next probably wasn’t a smart idea either:

“I survived because of you, I am alive because you called off the execution. Right now I have nobody, I’m alone.” He inhaled, and continued, voice starting to tremble. “I’ve seen several of my comrades die already. I was beaten within an inch of my life and brought to be executed on live television, and one of my surviving friends has disappeared. I have nobody right now. I carried you out of the prison. I took you to a random civilian’s bathroom to heal you. I even gave you alcohol!”

He balled his hands into fists and looked away from Ramon, another strange emotion overcoming his soul like a crashing wave--Regret? No. This was something else. It was heavy and threatened to drag him under with its icy claws.

There was a rhythmic drip-dripping of water leaking from the ceiling at a distance as the two did not speak, sharing this relative silence in a room that smelled of oil and old batteries. Bullfrog glanced back at the limbless to get a reading of his face--and didn’t expect such a look of shock, eyes wide as two moons. He generally had a good idea of a person’s intentions regardless of expression, and he knew Ramon wasn’t faking this.

And he didn’t even mention the bomb in his head that could go off at any second, depending on how nice the Warden was feeling.

He put on a smile again and nodded, excising the whirlwind of negative thoughts in his brain and attempting to rise above the tidal wave of doubt and conflict. “ Oui , I am going to take care of you. At least until you are stable .”

Which, Bullfrog thought later, might never happen.

Ramon sighed deeply and laid back on the mattress, wincing as his injury acted up again. That air of exhaustion returned in the room, just as palpable as his anger had been back in the prison cell. It seemed to Bullfrog that Ramon was also stuck. It could be the waves in a stormy sea, or the desolation of a forest after a wildfire had razed everything down, it could be the air getting sucked out of one’s lungs or even alcohol’s warm, heavy, inviting pull.

“You,” Bullfrog cleared his throat, “Uh, you should rest. You’ve been through too much, and you still need to heal. I’m going to find more materials.”

“Ah,” Ramon mumbled. “One more thing.”

“Please don’t ask for alcohol.”

“No...” Ramon shook his head. “Tell me, did I do the right thing?”

Bullfrog had some inkling of what he meant, but needed clarification: “What right thing?”

“Killing the directors.” Ramon’s mouth twisted into an uncertain rictus, his voice quivering in fear. “Saving you. All that. Was it right? Did I have to do it?”

“You’re asking an assassin,” Bullfrog said as calmly as he could muster, attempting to brush off that disconcerting pressure Ramon’s tone and face were giving him. “We have different definitions of right and wrong.”

Ramon chuckled, his face grim, lying back on the mattress and staring at the ceiling. He pulled his parts as close to himself as possible--which Bullfrog found mildly uncomfortable to witness--and gulped. 

Truthfully, Bullfrog couldn’t find a good way to answer Ramon’s question. Obviously it was yes , those bastards got what they deserved, you’re free now, and no longer a puppet under Eden, but...Revenge never went well. He knew this better than anyone. It sticks with you, the residual guilt and the thought of what would have happened if...

He sighed, and got up. Ramon seemed to be almost falling asleep, but his face was still twisted in that horrible self-doubt. Bullfrog was going to kick himself in the ass for what he was about to do, but again, just as he thought in the bathroom,  what could you do with somebody like that?

When he came back with a can of beer in hand, Ramon was still laying on the mattress, staring at the ceiling in contempt. He seemed to be deep in thought--so deep that Bullfrog wasn’t sure how he’d drag the limbless out of the abyss of his mind. He was mouthing something. Arguing with an invisible force.

Bullfrog opened the can of beer, and the hiss sound made Ramon turn his head. He raised his brows and suddenly he looked innocent again, shocked, unbelieving.

“I-I thought you didn’t want me to drink?”

Bullfrog was resigned to Ramon’s needs at this point. He tried, oh he tried, but the weight pulling at his heart and pounding in his head like knocks on a metal door was just torture. He shut his eyes and handed the can of beer over.

“Just drink it.”

He kept his eyes shut as Ramon grabbed the can and drank up the contents--he was done by 30 seconds and let out a burping sigh. 

“Do you have more?”

When Bullfrog opened his eyes, Ramon seemed vibrant again, face glowing, smiling at him like he had nothing to worry about. Was alcohol the only way out for him? This reprieve from the hardships he faced in life?

“Fine,” Bullfrog got up again, and headed out to the compartment where he’d hidden away the box of alcohol, dragging it out to Ramon’s bedside.

He watched as Ramon took another can from the box and popped it open, greedily drinking up the contents. He was almost halfway through the box when Bullfrog noticed changes in his movements, the way he slurred as he spoke.

“How much can you handle?” Bullfrog asked, but had a good guess as to what the answer was. As much as possible, until he forgot his own existence and fell into unconsciousness.

“I could--I could keep going.” Ramon burped. “You know. It wasn’t my choice...”

“Hm?” Many things were also not Bullfrog’s choice, but none of it was alcohol. He was never fond of the taste.

“Drinking. I didn’t--” Ramon exhaled, and took another gulp. “I didn’t like it. Not at first. There wasn’t--it wasn’t. You know?”

“I’m not sure I do.” Everything in Bullfrog’s logical mind wanted to take the alcohol away from Ramon, to throw out the remaining contents and have the limbless drink water in order to offset the alcoholic effects. No vomiting, no. More harm than good, there.

Ramon smiled, sloppy, pitiably, and continued. “After I got here. I-I wasn’t even 18 yet. Not in college. Just a little kid. Scared. Nobody liked me. Little limbless...wossname. But.”

He finished his fourth can of beer and went for another. “I was a sight at bars. Bars, you know. Could be drunk. No one cared. But I--I hated the taste. So bitter. Shit. Made me feel funny.”

And he continued, “W-wasn’t much better when Eden...uh, picked me up. Told ‘em I graduated. Pretty good job for an alien freak. Drinking and partying.”

“Is that how it started?” Bullfrog carefully examined Ramon’s expression, the slow transformation from giddy drunkenness to a sort of nostalgic anguish, wrinkling his snout and furrowing his brows and furthering the lines carved into his face. 

“...Could be.” He blinked slowly. “Then. There was...wossname, cocaine. Cocaine. I miss coke.”

“I am not giving you cocaine.”

“No, no.” Ramon laughed, throaty and sad. “M-more than that. Whores. Partying.”

Bullfrog was starting to regret letting him continue like this, but he said anyway: “Go on.”

“There was one. Uh.” Ramon stared at the beer in his hand. “Ate sushi off her. Nice whore.”

I’m sure she had a name and a respectable life, Bullfrog thought.

“Still tastes like shit. But.”

Ramon gulped, and globs of tears trailed down his cheek. “Bastards. Got me. They--they had me in. Their hands.”

He choked, and sobbed, sniffling and letting the tears run through. Bullfrog wanted to give him a hand, to console him if he could, but something deep in his soul was preventing him from doing that. All he could do was watch Ramon like the spectacle he was.

“Fuck. It was them. Their fault. They--they’re why I’m.” Ramon wiped snot off his snout with the back of his hand. He stared at where his arms would be. “Limbless freak. Face of. Face of wossname. Eden.”

Ramon shuddered like he was outside in a blizzard, and he set the can aside. “Oh, god.”

“Have you...had enough?” Bullfrog asked, picking the empty can up. As he turned to inspect it he saw scuff marks and dents on the tin already.

Ramon sniffled again and nodded, a heavy motion with his head just as if it were about to drop off from whatever was connecting it to the rest of his body. Bullfrog carried the box--still with a little more than half of its contents in it--outside the room and back into the secret compartment he dragged it out of. He returned to the room with a bottle of water and unscrewed it.

“You need water,” he said softly, trying to keep Ramon’s head up. Would it fall off? Could it fall off, be disconnected? Would that kill him or...

“Ugh,” Ramon moaned, and opened his mouth with little resistance. “H-here.”

“You have hands,” Bullfrog shook his head. “But, okay...”

He shut his eyes and helped Ramon drink the contents. “Slowly now, slow...”

Ramon coughed, and sniffled. His eyes were at this point like eggs frying in a pan, all wide and wet with tears. He struggled to sit up, coughing again and grabbing onto Bullfrog’s arm. With a shaky breath he stared directly into the assassin’s eyes and asked him:

“Promise...promise me something.” He inhaled, and gulped back a sob. “Don’t leave me. Don’t. Don’t leave me here. I’m so lonely. I have. I have nobody...”

Ramon’s voice was cracking, breaking down along with everything else his fragile mind couldn’t hold for too long.

Completely at a loss, his heart skipping a beat when the limbless touched him, Bullfrog could do nothing but stare. And all staring did was prolong that horrible feeling of guilt and self-doubt that he could not do anything for Ramon--never mind that he was meant to be the enemy.

No, he’d always seen Ram-Rayman as this...untouchable. Something beyond a person. The face of Eden, its voice, making itself known to all. Behind the scenes...

He wondered what Eden must have really done to Ramon to reduce him to this, and shivered. Betraying himself, he pulled Ramon into a hug--very gentle, as little physical contact as possible, and rubbed his back.

Chapter Text

Morning was just starting to bleed over the horizon like a fresh wound. While Bullfrog was used to staying up night after night thanks to his assassin training and hybrid anatomy, Ramon was not so fortunate. 

The limbless was twisting and turning underneath the ratty blanket on the mattress, making soft whimpers and gritting his teeth--Bullfrog had noticed Ramon grit his teeth often in his sleep.

It wasn’t technically Bullfrog’s job to stay up. He could have slept if he wanted to, but the factory was still new to him and newer to Ramon. He couldn’t compromise either his own or the limbless’ safety. Not paranoid, merely hyper-vigilant, with acute ears and sharp eyes that could see in the dark as well as he could see in the day.

Right now, his job manifested in the form of a trembling lump on the mattress, restless underneath the blanket. Bullfrog pulled that away, and checked Ramon’s forehead for a temperature.

“ Merde, ” The frog hissed as he pulled his hand away like he’d put it into a bonfire. “Ramon?”

He tried to gently rouse the limbless, who gave a labored groan and heaved before attempting to sit up. His face was sopping with sweat, and the bags under his eyes could hold the richest man’s money and leave room for more.

“Ugh,” Ramon retched, his face pale as ash. 

Bullfrog recognized what was happening, and helped his companion up carefully. He didn’t need any vomit on the mattress, they didn’t have a spare and nothing to clean it up with.

“Guh,” Ramon retched again. He held onto Bullfrog with clammy hands, brittle nails digging into his flesh. He gulped, and choked. “I feel---urgh...”

Bullfrog didn’t have to ask if Ramon needed the bathroom. He immediately went for the door and took him through the hallway leading there.

Despite all his experience in his field of work, where being an assassin met often walking through dark corridors knowing he could get the tables turned on him, there was something else disquieting about this hallway. The hazy morning light from outside wasn’t strong enough to penetrate the gray walls in here, with its peeling plaster and the constant dripping of water from distant leaky pipes.

Considering some of the rooms along this hallway had computers still in them that survived scrapping and vandalism, Bullfrog theorized these must have been the office section of the factory back when it was in operation. It was unlikely the workers slept or lived in here; the mattress had to come from a squatter who inhabited the room before they did. Bullfrog did what he could with meticulously cleaning it, just like he did with the bathroom. 

Pushing the heavy metal door open, he helped Ramon to the toilets, kneeling beside him and holding his limp hair up. He looked away when Ramon started retching over the toilet.

Poor thing , he thought. It wasn’t the first time he saw Ramon vomit in front of him, it wouldn’t be his last, and he had a feeling that it wasn’t his only time after an alcohol binge.

“Urk--”

Bullfrog glanced back at the sorry sight before him, still expelling last night’s meal, which really only consisted of a little bit of expired noodles and many cans of beer. The fact that Ramon could vomit indicated he had to have some passageway between his stomach and head, but as far as he could see he had no throat. Just another enigma to add onto that puzzle.

“ Je suis desole, ” he whispered, as Ramon finally stopped and was now panting over the toilet, drooling.  “I shouldn’t have given you all that...”

“Ngh...” Ramon choked, and looked up from the toilet. He shook as if he were a fragile leaf in the autumn wind, and gave his best smile, which still ended up being pitiable. “No...was good---”

 “It’s making you sick,” Bullfrog took some of the toilet paper and wiped Ramon’s mouth with it before tossing it into the toilet and flushing. “I’m going to have to find better food for us...Come on.”

“Mgh,” Ramon groaned, still gripping onto Bullfrog’s arm like it wasn’t just his sanity that was slipping away.

“You should wash, for a little bit.”

“A-again?” Ramon coughed. His eyes were bloodshot, puffy and welling with tears to join along with the sweat and drool.

Bullfrog had the disturbing thought that the board of directors, and hell, even the prostitutes, must have seen Ramon like this many a night. 

Funny, the more and more he stayed with Ramon, the more he was finding out, and finding himself feeling such empathy for him. And to think he was in that jail cell expecting the limbless to hardly cooperate. Really thought he had no hope.

To think he would have gone along with assassinating him and been none the wiser.

“Do you want to smell like vomit?”

Ramon chuckled, the sound undertoned with hoarseness.. “N-not the...first time.”

“I know,” Bullfrog did his best to not sound too disturbed. He mustn’t lose his composure around Ramon. The limbless wouldn’t shut up about it otherwise.

He took Ramon to the shower room, and took off his bathrobe, quickly reminding himself to find new clothes along with the food he promised to get.

“Guh,” Ramon groaned as Bullfrog undid the bandages on his torso. “Is this...is this worth your time?

“Worth what time?”

Ramon shut his eyes, burped, and sighed. His hair clung to his face, long and limp. “The whole. Assassin thing. Easier to just...kill me.”

Bullfrog raised one thick brow, and shook his head as he reached for the body wash. Worth what time, indeed. You’re lucky I didn’t leave you for dead. You’re lucky you’re alive at all and not rotting in that prison or in an alley...

A part of him wanted to say of course you’re worth my time...

Ramon was sitting on the shower floor now, hair plastered to his face and where his neck should be, eyes like the moon reflected in water. Bullfrog sat in front of him and gingerly reached for the wound in Ramon’s side, inspecting it closely.

There he was again, dealing with the naked body of a limbless being who seemed to have no regard for personal safety and the mental fortitude of a dog in the late stage of rabies. 

It was starting to be comforting to do. Oh, no. What was he thinking?

There was still a purple bruise around the gash, which was fading away into dark red with crusts of scab around the corners. All things considered, because he didn’t use any stitches, it was looking decent. He scrubbed around the wound and near it, then rinsed the soap off, trying to ignore Ramon’s little whimpers of pain.

Finishing that, he wiped the remainder of vomit off Ramon’s mouth and checked his teeth. They were yellow and stained, and his breath was essentially what happened if you mixed depression with an abandoned refrigerator.

“Wash your mouth,” Bullfrog said. “There’s no toothpaste, but regular water should rinse out most of the vomit.”

Ramon nodded sleepily and cupped some of the shower water into his mouth, sloshed it around and spat it towards the shower drain.

“Thank you.” Said Bullfrog, and he added, now starting to wash Ramon’s hair with shampoo. “You’ve reminded me, I need to bring some new clothes and more food here, plus another first-aid kit.”

Ramon’s hair was blonde, yes, but Bullfrog could see his roots were a more orangish color. The limbless was freely allowing him to handle and wash his hair just like this, holding its strands and washing the smell out with gentle shampoo. Bullfrog hadn’t considered what a privilege that was.

Once he was done, Bullfrog turned the water off, and grabbed a towel to wrap around Ramon, taking in the details, how it enveloped around his torso and ignored his limblessness, casting a strange bump over where there should be the crook of his elbow. Supporting him by hand, making sure he didn’t stumble over the towel that trailed behind him like a king’s cape or comfort blanket, Bullfrog helped Ramon out of the shower room.

“Your clothes are wet,” Ramon said as he dried his body off with the towel, a smirk creeping on his face.

“I--”

Bullfrog shook his head and reminded himself that Ramon was in a fragile mental state. “Right. We will get new clothes, as I promised. But you should rest first.”

Besides, a little dampness never bothered a frog. For every time a human or another hybrid complained about wet socks, Bullfrog just let it slide. The only downside was, water slowed some of his movements as it had weight, and a slow assassin was a sitting duck.

Once the limbless was dry, with just his hair wet and being held up in a ponytail for the time being using an old rubber ring, Bullfrog took the first-aid kit from underneath the sink and opened it. He grabbed a roll of gauze and some antibiotic ointment.

Bullfrog’s fingers traced where the glass had slashed through the flesh and left a dark red scar, applying the ointment gently. 

It had been on his mind for the past few days, this act of helping another, with tender touch and healing instead of what he was so accustomed to. That voice in his head, the little ball of self-doubt he had that kept telling him why?, it was silent, but he never felt so aware of what he was doing until now. Helping somebody. Being the healer and not the fighter. Mending wounds and not spilling blood.

There was something off about this feeling, not so uncomfortable but still strange, alien. He unrolled the gauze and wrapped it around Ramon’s chest. Was it a good feeling?

“There you go,” he said, dryly. Trying to avoid eye contact. He stepped back and let Ramon stand up and stretch, making an audible groan as the skin around his wound stretched along with it.

He watched as Ramon put the robe back on, the one they’d stolen from the apartment. It was still dirty, still ragged and stunk no matter the amount of cleaning Ramon just had, and it fit him perfectly.

But, no. Surely Ramon had a little dignity left. He couldn’t be left in a bathrobe that he had to bundle and tie around himself so many times that it looked like he was wearing a very thick sweater by the end of it.

...There was something charming about that.

He had to half-carry Ramon back into the room--his demeanor was still shockingly fragile, all the flames that had ravaged the fire had died away and left ashes and thin, burnt branches in its wake.

Bullfrog made a mental note about Ramon’s explosive mood swings and how to deal with them, in both its roaring highs and sinking lows. He had to face both the wildfire and the storm.

Mon dieu, he thought as Ramon went to the mattress and bundled himself up, I’m an assassin, not a therapist! Qu'est-ce que je fais?

But Ramon had told him, in his drunken stupor, that he was so lonely. Begged him not to leave. Now he was asleep, curled up on the mattress like a kitten and shivering slightly. 

What now? Was it the beer? The noodles? His wound wasn’t that bad and Bullfrog was keeping a close watch on it to make sure it did not get infected. Worth what time, indeed.

Despite everything, he cared. 

In the face of death, in the face of fury and despair and pain and doubt and the goddamn bomb still in his head, he cared .

***

Morning dragged on, a great arthritic figure taking its time to stand, its head, the sun, just now escaping the mountains and meeting the ceiling that was the sky. Light filtered through the broken windows haphazardly, zig-zagging across the dirty floor until it met Ramon’s eyelids.

Ramon awoke to the room sideways, still resting his head on the filthy mattress in a place he desperately didn’t want to call home. He lifted his head and the room re-oriented itself again. The same mattress, the same table, the first-aid kit Bullfrog left here--

Blinking, he rubbed at one eye and took in his now-familiar surroundings. He hadn’t been here for very long, but he expected this room to be the only thing he’d wake up to for a long time. Maybe.

There were the cardboard boxes, rusty metal piping along the walls, broken windows where the glass glittered dangerously and sent an instinctual shiver down his spine. He brought his puppetlike body up from the mattress and groaned as the gash in his side ached, tightly bound by bandages. 

He blinked again, and took a glance at his hand, the floating, disconnected thing that mystified anyone who ever came into contact with him. The scars had healed over fast, leaving scabs over his knuckles and in his palms, stinging slightly whenever he stretched it, like tiny bug bites.

“Frog...,” he mumbled, hoarsely and without much confidence. His head was dead weight, threatening to loll away from his torso and disconnect, he could barely keep it holding up. Running his hand through damp, stringy hair and squinting as the full effect of the light caught his eyes, he repeated. “Frog?”

No, he wasn’t in the room...Ramon’s mind was still processing being woken up, so he sat on the mattress for a minute trying to compose himself. Bullfrog was gone. He was away. That was okay, that happened to him all the time. Probably just grabbing a few things. 

With feet like concrete bricks, he slowly stood, finding the wall to support himself on, gripping at his temple as it cried out to him in its post-inebriation agony. The worst of it was done with, but...

Feeling the wall as he kept his eyes shut, he stumbled over towards the door, and called for Bullfrog again. All he could hear was the echo of his own shaky voice and the distant dripping of leaking water pipes. 

“Frog?”

Now he opened his eyes, and met the long, dark hallway stretching out to the other areas of the factory. This was not like the prison they had escaped from, with its sharp, obnoxiously clean white metal walls or even the harsh gray brick of the foundation and lobby area--these walls were dull, lifeless, somewhere between gray and brown and peeling off the walls as the plaster decayed. 

He trudged on, dragging his bare feet along with him, feeling the grit and grime under his soles, and the occasional sticky...something. He looked down the throat of the hallway and squinted, trying to spot a light in the distance. There was always a light.

Autonomously, with nothing else in his mind but the lack of Bullfrog’s presence, he continued on. He ran his fingers across the wall, feeling the crumbling, frail plaster as it fell apart in his hands, the peeling like tearing off scabs, dry, devoid of life.

He stopped as he came upon graffiti a little further down the hallway. Sloppily sprayed onto the wall, red paint contrasting viciously against the gray, he took a step back and read what it said:

FUCK EDEN

For once, he agreed.

Further down the hallway, it broke into a hard left angle as it led to a different area. This one was wide, vast and empty yet covered in old, abandoned machinery that had not felt a hand in decades. A production line.

Rows of unused engines, the shells of cars, all left behind one day--was he responsible too? Would he have been responsible for the factory’s condemnation? Perhaps the technology was simply obsolete. Perhaps they went bankrupt. They had to move on. 

“Look at these cars,” he said, to no one in particular. “They’ve got to be as old as me. ”

He looked closer at one of the dilapitated shells, a curvy sedan that must have been a gentle powder-blue before all the rust had taken over and ravaged it through. He knocked on it, a hollow sound coming from the shell. It did not have tires, did not have windows, only the shell, the old metal casing.

His headache was fading, a mist clearing from the ocean, now all that occupied his brain was a quiet, desolate sadness. Bullfrog surely hadn’t abandoned him, but he left no note. When did he leave, and when would he come back?

...Why did he care?

Ramon tore his eyes from the car shell and glanced up at the ceiling, as if asking for answers. 

The prison had been mostly a blur of walls, stairs and glass doors with little else as his frenzied brain sought out freedom, in a wild panic, an animal escaping a forest fire. This was different.

In this vast space, this metal and concrete assembly line stuck forever in time’s grip, he felt like nothing more than a cockroach blindly seeking shelter, being pursued by a predator he could not see. 

You’re looking for the frog.

Rayman’s voice was smooth, soft. The way he tilted his head, the little glint in his eyes, showing a kind of deceptive innocence; no wonder the audience always ate up his words, no wonder he had so many fans in the past. Like he was tailor-made to be Eden’s mascot. 

Just a puppet, a big, smiling face and springy blonde hair to say good morning and good night to his audience, while behind the curtains the government exploited hybrids using slave labor and abused children that swore loyalty to Rayman.

“You!” Ramon hissed, turning to his side where the apparition leaned against one of the car shells. “What do you want now?!”  

You’re asking yourself, Rayman said, pushing himself off the car shell. He turned, looked at the ceiling, and walked with his hands behind his back. Every motion he made seemed carefully calculated, with a little bounce in his step and sway of the hips. He hardly regarded the line of cars he passed through.

Fury was coming from the pit of Ramon’s stomach, a roaring fire that burned and spat as it reached where his throat should be.

The wildfire in the forest took all it could with itself and left no trace of life behind, engulfing, exhausting. No trace, but a little seed buried so deep, so carefully beneath the scorched soil, it had escaped the rage, the horrid destruction he had wrought. 

Who would be there to nurture the seed? To bring it out of the soil and start the rebirth of a new forest? Bringing hope when there was none? 

He was the wildfire. He was responsible for this desolation, never satiated with his rage. What could these rough, hard hands do but snuff more life out of the last thing trying to survive?

Ramon looked the apparition up and down, seething, his fists clenching.

Rayman’s hair was brilliant and lively. His eyes appeared to glow , an inviting dark brown with little dots of light in them. His royal purple suit was spotless and free of wrinkles, fashioned out of velvet and personally made to fit his anatomy. 

And there was Ramon in that awful bathrobe, bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. He looked down at himself; Barefoot, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, coming out of a hangover after an alcoholic binge and vomiting. 

How could this be the same person?

Why are you so angry? Rayman’s expression softened into concern. Ramon couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or not.

“You’re asking yourself, ” Ramon shot back, snarling. “Showing up like that, when he’s away...”

Rayman shook his head and made a tsk sound. You feel lost without him.

Something hit Ramon, lodged it between the ribs and drilled its way into his heart. Heaving all of a sudden he looked down and felt his chest, where there was nothing. No hole in his chest, no blood, his heart still pounding.

“L-lost?” He muttered, choking the very word out. “I’m lost without him?! No!”

But you were thinking about him, said Rayman in a honey-sweet voice. You were calling his name, walking through here...

“But it’s not like him to leave.”

How can you be sure, when you barely know him?

If silence was golden, then this room was made of platinum.

Ramon cast his eyes down at the rusted metal floor, now of all times suddenly feeling its cold. How long had he known Bullfrog--no, how much did he know? Their time together couldn’t have been more than three days in total. Although they talked, he didn’t think they were close...

Then another something hit him, this time aiming for his brain. He shut his eyes and slapped his face, head rolling backwards dramatically like he really had been hit with a bullet. “Of course! He told me he was going to get food earlier today!”  

Rayman nodded. And do you remember what happened last night?

“Well.” Ramon looked down again, at his bandages and that robe. “I got drunk, didn’t I?”

Rayman nodded again. He bandaged you up, gave you a whole box of beer. No wonder you’re trying to find him here.

Ramon cringed. How much did he spill to Bullfrog? The very thought made the roon spin around him. How much? How much? 

“Oh god, I--”

When was the last time you got that kind of treatment?

“No, I don’t--”

Rayman’s smile could disarm a tank.

So, you are lost without him. The default state for you.

“I’m an alcoholic,” Ramon grit his teeth. “He knows I’m a damn alcoholic! Is he enabling me?”

Why do you sound so scared? You’re a terrorist too.

“Terror--” The room was essentially orbiting around Ramon now, he was at the center of it all, stumbling, disoriented. Rayman was perfectly still.

You ripped through the board of directors like a tornado in an office room. What else would you call that? What is Bullfrog to you?

Ramon tried to find his ground, focusing on the floor and making sure it didn’t get bigger with each blink. Of course. It made sense. Of course he’d be a terrorist. Of course he killed the board of directors, the group that had made him their little puppet for much too long, he’d snapped and grabbed the tommy guns.

Destruction. That’s all he ever left in his path, both as Rayman and as Ramon. He couldn’t escape, couldn’t separate himself from the wildfire, burning his home out and everything that ever mattered to him.

Something so deep in the trenches of his memory that all the oxygen would have been snuffed out of it tried to crawl towards the faint light miles and miles above. It scratched at his brain with icy claws and he could see himself looking down that abyss, all that depth and so far in he had to squint--green eyes.

“No!”

He stumbled backwards, heart ready to spring from his chest. He could barely look at Rayman now, everything was blurring.

You...could go back.

“No.”

You could beg.

Ramon took another uncoordinated step backwards. He took several deep breaths to stabilize his heart, and at last gave Rayman a rueful smile. “Or I could just die.”

Rayman raised a brow. Die? You’d rather be dead than a terrorist?

“What does it matter?” Ramon shook his head, and chuckled unstably. “You’re already dead. I killed you.”

How is dying going to fix any of this?

A great, heavy storm cascaded over the blazing forest, dousing the wildfire in an act of finality. Hollowed-out, blackened trees made a somber foreground against the gray mass of clouds. The seed waited. And waited.

Alone. He always was. It didn’t matter how much time he spent in bars or with prostitutes or had his face all over the city and everyone was asking for an autograph--he was alone.

And right now, he had a chance to not be. If he would die now, he’d be destroying that last chance, the only person who ever bothered to hear him out. Destroying it with everything else.

“I--”

Ramon screwed his eyes shut and gulped, hand to his chest, ready to collapse. Inhaling so deeply that his lungs would have popped with the amount of air in them, he opened his eyes again.

All that he saw were rows of abandoned cars. Unseeing shells, rusting away, waiting for...something.

He couldn’t wait. Nearly stumbling to the floor as the room twisted and turned around him, angles shifting, disorienting objects growing and shrinking as he fled, he ran back to the room with the mattress. His safe room. Their safe room..

No Rayman. There was no sight of that awful apparition. He wasn’t here with that smile and the way he carried his voice as he convinced Ramon that he was a terrorist and absolutely, truly insane.

He sighed, let the tears roll down his cheeks, and collapsed into the mattress.

***

It was later that day when Ramon woke again to the feeling of a hand on his forehead. Blinking, rubbing his eyelids, he concentrated on the blur in front of him until it focused into Bullfrog’s shape.

“ Comment allez-vous?” The frog’s expression was gentle, almost worried as his heavy eyebrows were upturned, forehead wrinking.

Oh, right, French , he thought. He had some knowledge himself. Sitting up on the mattress, hearing it creak beneath him, he looked behind Bullfrog to find the spoils of his hunt--various bags of food, drinks, and even clothing and medicine. He must have spent the entire morning scrounging for this...No easy feat.

Well, maybe it was easy for an assassin.

“I’m fine.” said the person that demonstrably wasn’t.

“Oh, bien , I was worried I’d left you for too long.” Bullfrog exhaled, and grabbed one of the bags, dragging it near the mattress. “It’s a bit late for breakfast now, but...”

He took out a sandwich encased in paper wrapping, and handed it over to Ramon. “Eat, please. You need the energy.”

Ramon snorted, unable to conceal a smile as he unwrapped the sandwich and bit into it. It had already gone room-temperature, but the ham was juicy and the cheese savory. Best of all, the wrapper did not have his face on it.

He was finishing his third bite of the sandwich when he looked at Bullfrog and asked, “Am I a terrorist?”

“By what definition?” Bullfrog had a sandwich of his own too, a vegetarian variety with tomato and lettuce.

Ramon almost spat out his morsel of ham sandwich. “What do you mean, by what definition? An enemy of the state. One who murders for political goals!”

“Is that why you killed them? Political goals?”

He thought about the anger he had towards the directors, the volcanic rage that coursed through him as he threatened them at gunpoint and finished the job after all. He shut his eyes, and saw himself lying on that bloody table, surrounded by fresh corpses.

Was that political? Were his motivations politically driven? Was his goal to save Bullfrog from being executed, or was it to enact selfish revenge?

He set the sandwich aside and stared at the ceiling, once again asking for answers.

Bullfrog gave him one. “The government would certainly brand you as one by now. You shouldn’t dwell on such labels for too long. The only way out is forward.”

Ramon shuddered, closing his eyes. “Oh god. What have I started?”

“Started? I don’t understand.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Chapter Text

The hard part was now over. Bullfrog hoped the haul he’d amassed would keep the two satisfied for at least a week. 

As he looked out the window, he was surprised to see that the early morning horizon had transformed into a clear, blue day. In his tunnel-vision he forgot how much time had passed – he was so fixated on the task at hand. One mistake could have been fatal.

Or, that was the assassin’s perspective of sneaking around in a convenience store for a couple of sandwiches. He knew all the methods to relax himself, meditative breathing, logical thinking, yet there was still the coil of anxiety around his being. A weakness.

The words, what have I started, echoed in Bullfrog’s head. He looked to Ramon, who had this distant, contemplative look on his face, the kind he occasionally would slip into…Arguing with an unknown force?

Bullfrog wanted to ask him to clarify what he meant. Whatever it was, it bothered Ramon greatly. But he didn’t want to push any buttons. He didn’t know which ones would give an answer and which ones would lead to another meltdown.

“Do you want to finish your sandwich?” He asked instead, voice soft, picking up where Ramon left his morsel.

“Huh?” Ramon’s face took on a journey of its own before being yanked back into the room. His mouth opened into a sloppy grin that did not meet his eyes. “Yeah, of course.”

He took the sandwich from Bullfrog’s hand and finished the last bite, though he was still distant. There was something deep inside his mind, far, far away from where Bullfrog sat and could not reach…

“A terrorist?” Ramon muttered, giving Bullfrog a slight startle. “Well, then. If that’s what he wants…”

He? Now Bullfrog’s curiosity could not be held back any longer. “Who is…he?”

Ramon swallowed the last piece of ham sandwich and sighed. “Rayman. Who else?”

He said this in such a casual way, as if he expected Bullfrog to understand what he meant. To accept it and say, okay .

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bullfrog asked hesitantly. Is that why Ramon sometimes had such a far-off look, and would stare at the ceiling with a glare? Was he seeing things? Hearing them?

Ramon closed his eyes. He was trying to think, his brows furrowed. Then, he opened them and said, “No. I’d–I’d rather not think about it. My head’s filled with garbage as it is already…”

Bullfrog nodded solemnly. He could bring up the fact he had a bomb in his head, and that Ramon wasn’t alone in having something nagging that won’t let go of you, but that might be too much for him in this state. Right now, he needed somebody to talk to.

“Oh!” Bullfrog remembered, and grabbed another bag from his pile in the corner, this one containing the clothes he’d gathered from select stores. Shoplifting was a non-issue to him and he knew how to disable the security system, but somebody would notice the missing coats…

When he turned back to Ramon, the limbless was looking out the window, almost wistful, that far-off look in his eyes again. His light blonde hair shone with the sun’s rays, wisps of gold spilling just over where his neck should be. Bullfrog could see his orange roots coming out, standing out even more now that the day was clear and his hair was tied up in a ponytail.

“Ramon?”

He turned, and smiled again at Bullfrog. Again, not meeting his eyes. Something was wrong.

“Earlier I said we needed new clothes, oui ?” Bullfrog tried to divert his mind from Ramon’s wellbeing for a second. “I wasn’t sure what fit, je desole , but I think you’ll like it.”

“...Oh?”

Ramon perked up then, breathing some new life into his distant mood. He took one look at the bag and dug into it, taking out some of the clothing–a hat, a coat, a pair of shoes.

“These things look expensive,” Ramon said, his voice low, like he didn’t want somebody to catch him in the act. “How did you…?”

“Ah,” Bullfrog shrugged. “Just took what I could from several stores. Ce n’est pas grave. ”

“Of course,” Ramon inspected the black hat, dusting off any stray lint and placing it on his head. It had a wide, sloping brim and concealed most of his face this way. “Hm…”

“Oh, I got something for myself, too,” Bullfrog said, taking out a body suit, nearly all silver save for some red accents. “Stealthy, don’t you think? It reminds me of my days in the Brotherhood.”

Ramon took his hat off and glanced at the bodysuit. “Are you going to dress up in front of me?”

Bullfrog blinked, and let out a chuckle. “I’ve already washed you, haven’t I? You never had a problem.”

“Oh,” Ramon said, picking up a black coat, running his fingers along the fine, delicate embroidery, and thumbing the silver buttons. “But I was dying, you know.”

“Dying? You just had a hangover.”

Ramon shook his head, and tugged at his bathrobe. His nose wrinkled, and he tore it off his limbless body with contempt. “Well, good riddance to this thing.”

“ Repose en paix ,” Bullfrog said, with mirthful sarcasm. “It won’t be missed.”

He wasn’t about to admit that it fit Ramon, with his drunkenness and self-loathing. But…if things were going to change, he wasn’t about to stop that.

Bullfrog took a few steps back so he could make space for himself, and removed his prisoner outfit– it was stuffy, stiff, and made things harder than they needed to be for no reason. Much like Ramon’s disdain with the bathrobe, he tossed the outfit aside, and started putting on his bodysuit, feet first.

He noticed Ramon watching him, in a sort of quiet awe, a curiosity, with his eyes tracing over every muscle in his body. He said nothing of it, merely smiling, and zipped the bodysuit up.

“How is it?” He asked, once he patted down the suit to smooth out the wrinkles. 

It was made of a soft, flexible material that was smooth on his skin and form-fitting. The red accents, on the sleeves and collar and hem, all stood out handsomely against the silver fabric. Yes, just like the outfits he wore back in the Brotherhood.

If only he had some extra armor to protect his joints, like his old outfit used to have. There were scraps of metal lying around the factory, but they were too rusted to be of any use, too old and jagged. He took a thick white belt from the bag and tied it around his waist.

“It’s–” Ramon faltered, and cleared his throat. “It looks good on you.”

Ramon was in the process of putting on a white dress shirt, and it was then that Bullfrog saw how he’d put on everyday clothing:

He tilted his head to the side, just enough to widen the gap between jaw and base of his ‘neck’ – almost totally detached that Bullfrog feared he might just drop it altogether. Then, he pulled the shirt over the top of his torso, just like that, smoothly, and pulled it down over the rest of his limbless body.

The sleeves hung loosely, and he paid them no mind, of course, but nonetheless he picked up one sleeve, took his free hand, and calibrated its proximity towards the cuff of the sleeve until it ‘hung’ there, between hand and body, an invisible arm. Bullfrog saw this before in the holding cell, the way his sleeves would sometimes fill in with volume, but other times it’d be just as loose as it were empty, hanging right on his hand like a ghost. 

Ramon also considered the black pants, but ultimately did without them, placing them back in the bag. The effect would have been about the same.

Looking at that ghostly image, that strange apparition that was Ramon, with invisible – they had to be invisible, they were there , they made up volume – limbs and easily detachable, modular body parts. He thought about holding those large, scarred hands, and seeing what he could see through them.

“Uh,” Ramon’s voice jolted him out of his introspection. “Did you get any weapons too? I might need a new gun.”

“Weapons?” Bullfrog looked through the bags again. “Sorry, not any that I could find. It’s a little stupid to try and take weapons from the one using it in the first place, isn’t it? Even for an assassin…”

“Ah,” Ramon nodded, and he added, “One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Close your eyes.”

Bullfrog raised his brows. “Close my – You saw me naked, I’ve seen you naked –”

Ramon smiled playfully. “No, no. I want to surprise you. Close your eyes.”

“... D’accord ,” Bullfrog said, and did so.

“Okay, open them now.”

Bullfrog slowly lifted one eyelid, then the other as he took in the sight before him, a gasp escaping his throat.

The pink bathrobe lay on the floor, dull and ragged, like a cicada’s shed molt. In its contrast was Ramon, standing tall in front of Bullfrog, dignified in a manner he’d never have imagined coming from a sobbing drunk just last night.

Clad in almost all black and white, as if he’d stepped out of a noir film, Ramon turned around and regarded his new outfit with curiosity.

Sleek without being too showy, the dark coat was longer than he was tall, the lapel flaring out like a butterfly’s wings and framing his white dress shirt, pendulous sleeves in the back. The only splashes of color in his monochromatic arrangement were a velvety purple necktie and deep purple patches on black leather boots. 

He put on white gloves, so tight they conformed to his shape exactly, and a black hat with a wide, curved brim that shadowed his eyes in the most striking manner. His hair flowed around the sharp shoulder-pads of his coat and was the finishing touch, filigrees of gold veining deep, midnight black.

Ramon was so completely transformed, not just in his new outfit but also in the way he carried himself, Bullfrog hardly recognized him. There was a new light in his eyes, and the way he held his head high, with a confident posture and slight tilt of his hips–

“You’re blushing,” Ramon said, sitting back on the mattress, a coy smile on his face.

“I am–” Bullfrog touched his face, and stifled a laugh, “Oh, mon dieu. Well. You look good. Very good.”

As he looked closer, Ramon’s eyes still held a deep uncertainty about his very being, shadowed underneath by dark circles. The wrinkles were there, the creased forehead and crows’ feet tugging at the edges of his eyes. He seemed so profoundly tired, world-weary and yet paradoxically fierce in his own right.

He wanted so badly to touch Ramon’s cheek, to feel his yellow locks of hair and reach in–

He shook his head, perishing the thought, and stood up to stretch himself before putting the bags away. 

Pausing, he looked through the remaining bags, inspecting each one like he was watching for an attack, squinting. And it hit him with a big stick that said Ramon’s an alcoholic–

No alcohol. He hadn’t brought any. Because, after seeing the limbless be so weak, seeing him vomit over the toilet, he forced himself to look away from the alcoholic products so he wouldn’t have to enable Ramon again.

Except, whether Ramon wanted to or not, quitting alcohol straight away was a disastrous affair. Suddenly panicking, he rummaged through one of the bags to see if he had anything – a single can. He did bring in some medicine, but nothing for withdrawals – it’d be too risky, who knew if he had any allergic reactions…

“Frog?” Ramon asked, adjusting his hat.

Bullfrog jumped, nearly crumbled into the bags as he stumbled back up, his resolve shattered for a second before taking in a deep breath. “What?”

“Do you think I’m insane?” Ramon asked, with a surprisingly innocent look on his face. The kind that was simply begging for a tight hug.

Bullfrog, who had his back to the wall, one foot in a bag of food, blinked. “Pardon?”

“Insane? You know…” Ramon lifted his index finger, pointed it to his temple and made a circular motion with it. “Not right in the head. I mean, I’m seeing Rayman everywhere now…”

Bullfrog sighed, and re-adjusted his position, returning to where Ramon was.

A part of him wanted to humor Ramon – to tell him “yes”, that he was certifiably insane and there was no cure. The only issue with that was how seriously the limbless seemed to be taking it himself, between his mention of Rayman and everything else Bullfrog observed so far. That made him think, what was Ramon doing when Bullfrog was gone?

“I don’t think so, non ,” he answered. “Not if you have to ask.”

“Are you sure?” Ramon smiled grimly. “What else could happen? My tie starts talking to me?”

Bullfrog stared at Ramon for a second, as if he had suddenly grown limbs. He then shook his head and chuckled. 

“Come on, let’s go outside. You probably just need fresh air.”

And hopefully not much more than that.

The factory was built out of weathered brick and metal, rising out of the lifeless soil like a blister, situated on a hill not too far away from the rest of the city. A tall iron fence had been installed around the complex, half of it rusted, slicing away at the sky with its ugly grayness. There was a faint smell of smoke and rot in the air.

Ramon paused the moment he stepped out of the shadows, frozen like a movie frame as he gaped at the vast blue sky above, his jaw slack.

“Ramon?” Bullfrog asked, in a hushed tone, because he didn’t know if Ramon was having one of those episodes again. To try and lighten the mood, he added: “What, never been outside before?”

Slowly, Ramon’s hand lifted, and reached for the sky. He was trying to catch the sun in the palm of his hand, entranced, mesmerized. Then, he took in a deep breath and shut his eyes, like he was expelling all remaining negative energy from his soul.

“I haven’t…Seen the sun lately.” He said, whispering. “Not much time.”

“Not much-” –Bullfrog remembered the board of directors, and Ramon’s former job as late-night show host and newscaster– “Oh, right.”

“Shit,” Ramon muttered, walking over to the nearest bench he could find. He took off his hat, and shook his head as sunlight touched his yellow hair. “That’s warm.”

“...It’s March, Ramon.”

Ramon snorted, and motioned Bullfrog over, who joined him with relative unease. Bullfrog already had questions before stepping out, and now he had even more.

“Do you…” He had to choose his words carefully here. Oh, why was he even afraid? He was an assassin, and Ramon had no weapon–he knew the limbless was a lot weaker without a gun.

He shut his eyes and continued. “ Did you ever consider quitting alcohol?”

Ramon’s eyes squinted in the sunlight, and he brought a hand over his brows to shield them. For an uncertain moment Bullfrog could not read the expression on his face, and his primed, well-trained fight-or-flight response nearly kicked in when Ramon sighed and turned back to face him.

“Sometimes,” he confessed. “I’ve tried. God, I have. It’s easy to drink and then forget where you are or who the hell you are, but you try going cold turkey, the shakes come in and it grips at you, like…”

Ramon’s eyes darkened, his pupils like chilling whirlpools. “And even when I try , the board of directors comes in and doesn’t do shit about it. They give me all the more reason to drink.”

Pressure was building upon Bullfrog’s shoulders, threatening to sink him into the deep sea. He gulped, and moved his eyes away from Ramon. He had to push back the tide, no matter how powerful it got, he had to push back.

“This morning, when you woke up…And I had to take you to the bathroom…To see you throw up like that, be so sick–” He shook his head at the memory. “I thought to myself, I have to stop this somehow. I have to help you.”

He braced himself against the rising tide, feeling as if he were on a ship in the midst of a great storm, rocking back and forth dangerously.

Ramon’s voice was low, a hint of bitterness like dark chocolate, but the storm did not weaken. “Oh. you realized you’re enabling me.”

Something struck the ship, unseen in the storm, and sent it careening wildly against the tide. Bullfrog shook his head and grabbed Ramon’s hand with his own.

“ Non ! That’s not what I–”

“Then why would you keep doing it, knowing full well that I’m an alcoholic?”

Ramon tore his hand away from Bullfrog’s and held it to himself defensively, as if he’d been slapped. His previously distant, even calm look was harshly replaced by an unnerving darkness in his eyes.

“Ramon,” Bullfrog said. “I…When I see you, so hurt like this, in clear pain…I don’t know what else to do. I’m not a therapist. I’m an assassin, for God’s sake!”

He felt his heart hammering in his chest, and grit his teeth. “ Mon dieu , I could give you all the food and baths and bandages and shit in the world but I can’t fix what’s in your head!”

Ramon stood now, looming over Bullfrog with those dark, piercing eyes. In the expression he wore, there was a hint of guilt in it, hiding shamefully behind disbelief.

“Neither could I…” He said at last, and took a step back, letting out a dry chuckle. “That’s–that’s why the alcohol helped. Just to forget everything even for a second…”

He put his hand to his forehead, and groaned, baring his teeth like a mad dog. His expression was going from disbelief to anger. Bullfrog had to be careful not to let that boil over. “And you knew that, you knew…”

It was Bullfrog’s turn to stand. He approached Ramon, reached for his shoulder before the limbless slapped it away.

“You fucking knew!” Ramon threw his hands up, “And only now do you decide, maybe it’s a bad idea to give me more of that shit?!”

He continued, turning his back away from Bullfrog. His voice was dripping with venomous sarcasm. “ Thank you for trying to fix me. You’re doing great! Do you want a Ph.D in psychology? God!”

Bullfrog steeled himself, shut his eyes. “Ramon.”

“You’re just like them, you know?!” Ramon snarled. “You’re deciding everything for me! Telling me what I should do, what I should say, all that bullshit! What makes you think you’re any better? What is it that you want ?!”

The storm continued, growing more and more intense as it buffered the sinking ship, hit by the cannonball of Ramon’s words, drowning in an icy sea. Bullfrog opened and closed his fists, looked away from Ramon for a moment, then glared at him.

The very accusation, the implication that Bullfrog was anything like Eden, anything like his worst enemy, the people who shunned him and oppressed his kind. The nerve…

“Ramon.” He at last said. “You should choose your words more carefully next time.” 

He felt ice creeping up his spine, any of that lingering fear and uncertainty he had freezing up into a cold, silent rage. He did everything for Ramon so far, everything , he risked his own life just to get clothes for the limbless, washed him, fed him, and now…

He breathed out a deep exhale – he mustn’t snap at Ramon, not now — and continued. “Do you really think I only wanted to keep you drunk? That I was doing this out of selfishness? Do you think I don’t know what withdrawal is? That I would have otherwise let you suffer even more?”

“Frog–”

“Do you think it was all a waste of time? Me, trying to make sure you didn’t bleed out, wrapping bandages around you, and bathing you. Did you think I did all of that because I’m just like them?”

The words remained in the air even after Bullfrog spoke. He shuddered, and realized he was about to tear up  — No. No weakness. He can’t show weakness. The fury in Ramon’s eyes had gone, snuffed out by the cold wind of his words. He stood there, gaping, silent.

“I barely know you,” he whispered, after the silence. “And I’m only trying to help you.”

Ramon held his head low, averting Bullfrog’s gaze, and slowly, like a machine, walked back towards the bench. He picked up his hat, dusted it off slightly, and put it on, his back still to Bullfrog.

“I’ll ask again…” The limbless spoke quietly, softly. “Am I really worth your time?”

You’re testing me, Bullfrog thought. He said, “Do you think you’re not?”

Ramon didn’t respond.

“Do you think suffering will make this world better?” Bullfrog asked. He was finally letting go of that icy grip on his spine, finally fleeing the sinking ship and watching the storm subside.

“You have a choice to make here, you realize that.”

There was yet more silence, and everything in the air seemed to go still, the light breeze, the sun hanging overhead, the overlapping sounds of the city drowned out by all this weight.

A light ‘Hm” from Ramon finally broke that silence, and he turned to face Bullfrog, surprising the frog with a light, wry smile on his face. 

“Tropical or orange?”

They eventually agreed on Ramon having one drink a day — it wasn’t a perfect solution by any means, but it was a way to wean off the alcohol and Bullfrog hadn’t gotten the limbless any pills to help. What were they called again, ben—ben, something. Benzos? He mentally jotted down that note in his head. It was still stormy in there, but he was far away from the sunken ship, and the clouds were clearing.

“Slowly, now,” Bullfrog said as he handed the beer can over to Ramon. “Just a little bit, through the day.”

Ramon nodded, and took a few sips out of the can, sighing. He didn’t seem very happy still, an air of unease still permeated around him, and if he had proper shoulders, they would be tense.

“So,” Bullfrog held his hands together. “What are your plans?”

“Plans?”

“It’s not going to end at going sober, is it? So, allez-y .”

Ramon held his can of beer, swirling the liquid around as if it were a fine wine. He took another sip, and smiled sadly. “Well, I suppose I have to do something about Rayman.”

“Not me,” he added, pointing to himself, “Not who I am, but who I was. And the other one , of course…”

Bullfrog saw the way the limbless’ face scrunched up in disgust, and he remembered that night in the cell together. That anger that had caught him off guard.

“Rayman’s already dead,” Ramon continued. “I willed it. I made it so, he died the second you showed him what was in that bubble, and then in the bathroom. Out of that came Ramon. That’s me.”

Bathroom…?

“Ramon,” Bullfrog mulled over the name. “I thought about that name. It’s not…it’s not too different from Rayman , is it?”

Ramon chuckled, setting the can aside. “What else would I be? Go on, choose a better name.”

“Well, you don’t exactly look like a Jacques…” All the names Bullfrog could think of were either French, or those of animals.

“...Piranha?”

“Eh?” 

Bullfrog shrugged. “You have the energy. Ravenous, gnashing teeth, bold and fiery. All that in a little package.”

“I don’t want to be called a fish…” Ramon stuck his tongue out playfully.. “I’ll just stick with Ramon. Really, Piranha ?”

“...Garface.”

“No fish! Else you’re…ah. Mudskipper!”

Bullfrog couldn’t hold back a smile, and he snorted. “Well, okay. I’m Monsieur Mudskipper, and you’re Captain Piranha.”

And, like they had nothing to weigh down their shoulders, they both burst into laughter, rubbing tears out of their eyes and catching their breath afterwards. If Bullfrog had any appetite for alcohol, he’d have asked for a drink as well. He inhaled, exhaled and glanced back at Ramon. He could see the corona of the sun behind his head, like a halo.

“But,” Bullfrog said after some quiet deliberation. “What are you going to do? What about the doppelganger?”

Ramon’s smile dropped like a bomb. He looked into his can of beer, and mumbled. Then, he shut his eyes and groaned.

Bullfrog knew what was coming next – that distant, foggy look in his eyes, and the stilling of the air around him. All echoes of laughter faded away, and with it the last vestiges of a joke.

Ramon spoke again, somberly, his body starting to tremble. His eyes were shadowed underneath the hat, almost invisible in his hard, black glare–but he wasn’t glaring at Bullfrog. His vision was elsewhere. “Oh, God. That other me – could it really be me?  – He’s going to have to answer for all of this. He has to.”

He exhaled, and with forced calm, spoke. “There’s only one thing I can think of, when it comes to that bastard.”

“And that is…” Bullfrog whispered. Despite the bright light from the sun shining through the broken window, the room felt dark around him, dreary, dangerous. In his mind, the tide was slowly receding from the shore, and the clouds were bunching up again, threatening another storm.

“I have to kill him.”

When Ramon said that – Bullfrog noticed – it wasn’t like the first time around. He wasn’t spitting in rage, there wasn’t a volcanic redness in his eyes, no growl from an invisible throat. He seemed still, stone-faced, with such finality to his words, like he had committed to this already and would never look back.

 Kill him? Maybe that was the obvious answer, but – Bullfrog remembered, that young man, Laserhawk – How he ended up in that situation, overflowing with fury and stopping at nothing to get his revenge. How badly that ended up for him, and everyone else involved.

“But–” Bullfrog caught himself. He wasn’t in control of Ramon. He couldn’t be. He was not Eden.

Revenge bears bitter fruit.

But, he thought again, he had failed Laserhawk. He could not fail Ramon. He would never allow that. If he loses Ramon, he would have lost everybody. He put his own hands in Ramon’s, those big, unattached hands that he knew could pack a punch if he were stronger, and held them tightly, close to himself. Then, he smiled.

“I’ll help you.”

In the young night, underneath the broken window, on the mattress, Ramon stirred. He jerked, and a hand pushed away the can of beer, letting it topple over and spill the last few drops of alcohol it had left. Bullfrog, whose hearing was incredibly keen, heard the soft moaning from the bathroom, and rushed to Ramon’s bedside.

It was just like that other night, where Ramon was shivering and twisting on the mattress — except when Bullfrog put his hand to his forehead, he felt no feverish heat this time around. Suddenly, the limbless bolted upwards, gasping, his shaky hands patting his chest, as if trying to locate a wound. His eyes were wide open, his pupils little black dots in pools of stark white.

“Ramon?”

And he grasped onto Bullfrog’s arm, tight as a vice, holding on like he was hanging off a cliff to his perilous death. Bullfrog found himself half-embracing the limbless, or moreso Ramon had pulled him down onto the mattress, still shaking.

“Ly – Oh, my god – Ly…” His voice was tremulous as he buried his face within Bullfrog’s chest, gasping between harsh breaths. It was that sinking, palpable anguish again that Bullfrog felt, all the way back in the cell and again when he’d foolishly let the limbless binge drink.

He did not try to pry Ramon off himself, instead stroking his hair gently — his hat was on the side by the mattress. He had so many questions to ask, almost panicking himself, but he wouldn’t let Ramon see that side of him. No, he had to be his anchor. Silently, for a few minutes, he rested his head on the limbless’ and continued patting his hair, feeling his pain. Accepting his pain.

Then, after the sobbing quieted down and silence returned in the dark room with the broken window, Ramon pulled himself away from Bullfrog, and sat up on the mattress.

Bullfrog was shaken. Again and again he reminded himself it was his responsibility to take care of Ramon — both of them were terribly alone in this world, and one was faring much, much worse than the other. Or, more accurately, Bullfrog at least had a handle on where his mind might wander, but Ramon’s was set free — a frenzied bird who had no idea what to do after spending his entire life in a gilded cage.

He whispered, softly. “Tell me what happened.”

Ramon stared at the ceiling. His expression was as distant as the stars, mouthing a few things and choking back the occasional sob before furring his brows in – what? Pain, anger, Bullfrog couldn’t tell.

“She...” He muttered, bitterly. “They’re all dead. All of them.”

“And she…” Bullfrog said, “Is Ly?”

Ramon nodded slowly, as if it were painful to move his head. “You….you remember the Rabbids?”

Bullfrog gulped. He did, those grotesque abominations that appeared out of some otherworldly portal and threatened the Megacity. It was–what was his name, that handlebar-mustache bastard – it was his doing. And he remembered the night Rayman had to report on that news, the unease that Bullfrog could sense, Red’s goading did not help the matter, and as a result Rayman exploded, swore at him on live television.

“They were —” It looked as if it hurt Ramon to speak now. “Those things came from my world.”

“Dimension X?”

“Well, that’s the name Eden gives out, isn’t it? I always thought it sounded stupid, but…” He wiped the tears off his face, and continued. “Yes, and no. My home, its true name is the Glade of Dreams.”

Bullfrog’s mouth opened, silently going oh . Somehow, this all made sense. Dreams, of course. Where else could a being like Rayman – or Ramon for that matter – have come from? Nothing that was limbless, nothing like that was grounded in reality.

“It started with pirates, wouldn’t you believe that?” Ramon let out a broken chuckle. “They came from space, and…They were here to take the Heart of the World. They made a mistake, though — or maybe it was their plan all along, I don’t know anymore — and they corrupted it, destroyed the chamber that was meant to keep it safe. And thus the Glade was in jeopardy.”

The number of questions in Bullfrog’s head were still mounting, growing — they had been since they first met, but he said nothing, allowing Ramon to continue.

“Rabbids. Normally they’re just stupid…Mostly harmless, except for when they decide you’d do great in their version of the Olympics. But then…When the Heart of the World got corrupted like that, they –” Ramon made a motion with his hands mimicking an explosion. “They grew. Got more dangerous. The pirates used them to their advantage, and destroyed whatever was left of my home, using them as their tools.”

“Pirates?” Bullfrog asked. “Wait, was that why you asked me back then, if you’d make a good one?”

Ramon shook his head. “Probably.  I don’t remember. But it’s funny…they destroyed my world, and now I had a hand in destroying yours .” He smiled — a sad, twisted smile.

“...And what of Ly?”

“I thought I’d forgotten,” Ramon said frankly. “I thought I’d left that memory behind, deep in there, and drowned it out with booze. No, she’s coming back, creeping back here.”

He continued, “I loved her. She was everything to me…Oh, God. And to think she sent me here …”

“She–?”

“I had a plan, or so I thought. I thought I could take down those Rabbids, the little idiot I was. I had a lot more power then, because I was the guardian of the Glade, and so was she — I did everything I could to prevent my world’s destruction, but I couldn’t even hit a dent in those things!”

“Then,” Ramon let out a deep, shaky exhale and looked at his hands, squeezing them. “The pirates caught her, along with Betilla, and Globox.”

At that moment Ramon glanced back at Bullfrog, and there was a glint of nostalgia in his eyes, like he was looking at something only faintly familiar that he could barely get a hold of.

“She – God, she fought back as much as she did against those bastards – she took the last silver Lum she had and opened up a whole portal for me to jump into – I begged her, but she said no, you have to go. You have to escape.”

The room fell quiet again, and the weight of what Ramon had just said to Bullfrog was nearly enough to crush him. He sat, mouth agape, staring at that strange being that was Ramon.

He thought, perhaps selfishly, of his own past too. Born specifically to be an assassin, born into the Brotherhood, ostracized and called disgusting by humans and other mammalian hybrids, no matter how much he trained, and no matter how much skill he amassed. 

He had someone, too. He could barely remember their name, now, but there was someone who cared about him — until one day the entire brotherhood had been massacred by Eden in front of him, leaving nothing.

He thought he had every reason to hate Eden, and by extension Rayman.

And then he whispered, as softly as he could manage.

“ Je suis désolé.”