Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Niki’s been walking for hours, surely. What a pain in the ass this all is.

To be honest, she isn’t quite certain why any of them are bothering to make the trek out to the sketchy dungeon in the middle of nowhere to begin with. She hadn’t seen it for herself, so all she has is what she’s been told. Apparently there’s some timer, and it’s rather important, too. She doesn’t know how any of them can be confident they aren’t being led into a trap, especially when Cucurucho is the one at the helm. Jaiden trusts him, and so does Foolish, but the former is grieving and the Federation wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of that fact, and Foolish only trusts them to be contrarian.

Or, well, that’s the vibe she gets from him, anyway. For someone supposedly immortal, he doesn’t have any of the wisdom she’d associate with that fact. Rather, he’s childish and impulsive, only doing things that interest him. It rubs her the wrong way, to be honest. If she could live forever, she’d use that infinite time to help people as much as she could. Or something like that, anyway. It’s not a possibility she’s thought about very often, to be honest.

Anyway, she’s wary about this whole… mission, is it being called? None of them have any good reason to trust the Federation (and she glares daggers at Austin as she thinks that), and yet here they are, going off on this probably-suicidal trek anyway.

Well, Charlie didn’t tag along. He’s been doing… better, ever since all of them set up in that neighborhood a few months ago, and he spends a lot more time there than she would expect from him. Less catatonic to the world, anyway. He doesn’t need Sneeg to babysit him anymore, not that that stops Sneeg. He’s as overprotective as ever. She wouldn’t expect anything less from him, of course, but she can’t help but grow more and more irritated with it as the months pass by.

She’s glad that Charlie stayed home, doing… whatever it is he’s been occupying his time with. He doesn’t seem to want to say, really. If he had come along, she thinks it might’ve set all of his progress right back to where he began.

Because, well… She can’t help but wince as she thinks about what they’ve all run into so far on this long, difficult walk. Hordes and hordes of the most powerful monsters the island had to offer, for one. Which was… fine. She supposes it was to be expected, anyway. If Jaiden was to be believed, it wasn’t the sort of place the Federation wanted them to be exploring. The dungeon, to be clear.

Which is… strange, because Cucurucho had been the one to lead her to that same dungeon, hadn’t he? If the Federation didn’t want them poking around there, why even reveal its existence to begin with? When she had asked that question, Austin had coughed into his hand, muttering “Just more proof that Cucurucho and the Federation are two separate things,” which in turn had caused Cellbit to shoot him an irritated look, which was… weird. She wasn’t even aware the two knew each other’s names, much less talked enough to have this debate.

The monsters were fine. Definitely a bit of a challenge, but Niki could take care of herself just fine. She didn’t need Sneeg’s anxious hovering and Etoiles confidently rushing in to take hits for her. She’s- She isn’t vulnerable, or weak. She can take care of herself just fine. She’s lasted this long, hasn’t she?

The monsters were fine. That part was fine. She’s not as addicted to adrenaline as Ethan was, but she didn’t mind the chance to get some practice in with her sword.

The issue was the things summoning those monsters. Or- no, she shouldn’t call them things. They’re still kids. Kids who… have an uncomfortable amount of things in common with her and her friends.

The dead kids were the ones summoning the monsters. Bobby and Tilín and Trumpet and… Actually, Juanaflippa was markedly absent, which was… interesting. Was it because neither of her parents were here? But why was Tilín here, then? Shouldn’t they be able to tell the difference between normal Quackity and evil Federation clone Quackity? Well, Niki couldn’t, but that was because she had spoken to him once, when she was still disoriented from entering the island. Besides, the two looked similar enough. It was just how ElQuackity acted, or so Charlie said. Apparently he and Quackity were friends, which was… definitely awkward.

It was sad, seeing them. Seeing the strangled, desperate sound Roier had let out when he had seen Tilín, but ultimately keeping his distance. Seeing the way Max’s brow furrowed and his teeth grit. Seeing Jaiden hug her son, or some facsimile of him, and getting him to dance with her.

Niki should have figured this place was like Showfall. The dead never get the chance to rest.

(But in that case, shouldn’t Ranboo be- why are they still- can’t he just-

No, that isn’t fair. All they wanted, with an earnest desperation, was to be able to rest. Niki had no right denying him that. They were dead, and she’s had months to accept that fact. Shouldn’t she be over this by now?)

It was odd, actually, now that she thinks back on it. Bobby had been the only one to not summon monsters or try to attack anyone, even though he had the weapons for it. He had danced with his mother, smiled at his father even as the man kept a wary distance, and then he had disappeared. Maybe Niki just doesn’t understand grief, but she thought seeing their dead kids again would have affected everyone more than it did. But it was like nothing had even happened.

Jaiden continued to walk forward with a cheery-yet-steely determination. Roier continued to hold Cellbit’s hand and ignore the concerned glances he shot him. If Charlie was here, he probably would have fallen to pieces by now; desperately apologizing to Tilín and desperately surveying the crowd of monsters in the hopes to spot Juanaflippa in the midst. He’s been really good lately, especially when it sometimes feels like he’s made of glass and anything can make him shatter. She doesn’t want this to ruin that for him.

And, yeah, Niki does still want to meet Juanaflippa. But that’s always been more of a passive hope, an idle wondering about what she might’ve been like. She doesn’t want the girl to have life forced back into her body, denied death over and over.

Speaking from experience, she can confidently say it’s an awful feeling. She wouldn’t wish it on anyone, especially not a child. She wonders what the Federation did, to have the dead children appear to block their paths. She wonders what they must have been thinking, to agree to attacking all of them.

Niki doesn’t blame them. Not in the slightest. Being nothing but an object and being aware of that fact is awful, and trying to rebel against that fate often leads to more harm than good. It’s not like she can be angry that they turned their blades on the islanders. She doubts they had a choice.

Besides, none of their deaths had been… pleasant. Tilín, caught on a blade. Trumpet, withering away as no one comes for him. Bobby, slain by monsters with his father being unable to protect him. None of those deaths ever gave the chance for them to die without regrets. She’d be angry if she were them, too.

Maybe it’s selfish of her to think, but she’s just grateful Ranboo wasn’t among the obstacles they faced on their trek to the dungeon. She doesn’t think she could bear seeing their face again and feeling the agonizing sting of failure burn through her.

Still, whatever that timer’s been ticking down to, it better be something truly amazing to be worth all of this hassle. Otherwise, she’ll be very irritated.

From what’s been described to her, the dungeon is a multi-floored building, once filled to the brim with some of the strongest monsters on the island. It had been cleared out, though, and the situation on the bottom floor had been discovered. Apparently, it’s filled with rows of blocks of ice, the massive ominous timer, and strange dispensers wherein Jaiden had deposited the materials Cucuruhco had asked her to obtain. When asked what those materials were, she had been vague, waving it off as “Food and lava, I think. I don’t remember the exact details,” which was… unsatisfactory, for obvious reasons. She would have preferred something more concrete, because it could have served as a hint as to what the timer was ticking down to, but sure. Whatever. Niki’s really trying not to be angry here, but it’s hard to be when she’s worried about them all getting hurt.

…Jeez, is she trying to do her best Sneeg impression right now? Maybe she should rephrase that and say she just doesn’t want to deal with the bedrest that comes with injuries. She would prefer to be up on her feet and doing… something instead of just sitting around. Maybe that’s her just feeling a bit stir crazy, though. There’s been this odd feeling of dread following her, as if something bad is on the verge of happening. She’s been trying to ignore it, but it’s hard to just tamp down.

The last time she felt this dread, it was because Showfall had been on the island, following their every move. She had ignored it then, too.

…Maybe the feeling has something to do with the timer? But no, that doesn’t feel quite right. There’s a puzzle piece of some sort she must have dropped on the floor, and when she finds it, it’ll fit perfectly into the bigger picture, she’s sure of it. For now, though, she’s just going in blind.

“Oh! Here it is!” Jaiden excitedly calls from her position leading the group. Niki startles, realizing she had zoned out more than she had thought. Sneeg was walking alongside her, helping to bring up the rear and make sure no one fell too far behind. He had to fall back more than once and drag Austin by his collar when he had gotten too preoccupied with writing in that small dogeared notebook of his to keep up with the group. Ethan was practically Austin’s opposite in that sense, to the point where he occasionally ran off too far ahead and had to sheepishly backtrack. Vinny stayed right in the middle, looking the most comfortable when he was closely surrounded by people on all sides.

“Thank God,” Niki mutters to herself, rolling her shoulders. “That was so tedious. ” Sneeg just snorts, looking unbothered by the trek.

Quickly scanning everyone else’s expressions, she can tell she isn’t the only one who thinks that. Most people look tired and wary, unsure about why they were even here and if it was safe or not. Niki finds herself feeling more and more glad that they had decided to leave the eggs behind, even if it did make them upset. Judging by the things they’ve encountered thus far, it wouldn’t have been safe for them to have tagged along. It would have been awful if one of them had ended up losing a life as a result.

Maybe that sentiment is just her being stuck in the past. Still, though, she can say from experience that it’s impossible to forget the feeling of your own death. No matter how good or bad everyone seems to be doing nowadays, she can tell that they’d agree with her if she were to ask. After all, it wasn’t as if any of them went out peacefully. Quick or drawn out, it made no difference. The memory was distinct, unable to be blocked out, and the phantom pain was just as agonizing as it was the first time. Even now, she found herself reaching up to grip at the scar resting over her heart, her breathing growing more strained as she remembered- remembered-

Just because it was a vivid memory doesn’t mean that it should be thought about. Isn’t that a lesson she should have learned by now?

Her right hand grips tightly at her left arm, easily finding the divots left by her nails. When she had decided she didn't want to hurt herself anymore, she had started wearing long sleeves, because it was easier to circumvent the actual pain than to break the habit of her nails finding skin altogether. Today was no exception, but she had already absentmindedly rolled up the sleeves half an hour ago, the continued exertion making her feel a bit stuffy.

She hadn’t even thought about the fact that her arms would have been exposed. Sure, she hasn’t been doing the greatest, but she isn’t anywhere near as angsty and hopeless as she was in the weeks following Ranboo’s death. She hasn’t managed to put Showfall behind her, but she’s at least found a way to distract herself from any lingering memories.

Until now.

Niki swallows, slowly and deliberately, and lowers her hand down to her side. The motion was barely noticeable, and her nails resting on bare skin lasted for a few seconds, but she found her eyes nervously flitting around the crowd anyway, waiting to meet some curious or disapproving gaze.

There isn’t anyone looking back at her. She’s… relieved by that, maybe? And yet, she does feel somewhat disappointed. Maybe it’s just another habit that’s been ingrained in her, this time by Showfall, to always find the nearest camera, to always appeal to the audience. There has to be someone watching. There’s always someone watching.

And yet.

She forces herself to take a breath as they all file into the dungeon. Immediately, goosebumps begin to run up and down her exposed arms, and she shivers as she rolls her sleeves back down her arms. The jacket she’s wearing, a gray zip-up, is a thin one, because the island is always warm. The most cold she’s ever felt was when she sat at a waterfront, wind tearing through her. Even then, the most she had to do was put on another layer.

The island’s weather is consistent in a way that unnerves her. It reminds her of something that would be at Showfall, just because it never changes. How can someone have complete control over the weather like this? Niki was under the impression that in the real world, weather was always unpredictable, and even the people who tried were often wrong.

Most of the time, there aren’t even clouds. It’s just an endless, vast blue sky, so overwhelming that she often feels vertigo when she stares up at it and has to look away.

When it rains, it appears in an instant, no overcast sky to serve as a warning. One moment, it’s as sunny as ever, and the next, water begins pouring from the sky in an onslaught. Of course, if it does rain, everyone has more things to worry about than just the sudden change in weather.

Bad things always happen when it rains, as if the world was able to sense the tension and deliver bad weather in response. If it rains, there’s something bad happening. But it doesn’t have to rain for something bad to happen.

Sometimes it feels like this island doesn’t know how to make up its mind. Sometimes, everything is rigidly perfect, and other times, things happen in an unpredictable blur. She would just like for one or the other. The blurring of lines just felt uncomfortable. Either everything is scripted and planned out, or fate is just as wild and incalculable as people themselves are. If it’s one of those, then she’d prefer for it to be consistent. She can adapt to those possibilities, but not at the same time.

The group walks down and down, either finding a pathway, jumping down a hole, or climbing down some vines. Niki finds herself falling behind more than once, feeling cramped and claustrophobic in this dungeon. Something about it is making her feel… nauseated, she thinks, and she rubs her arms in an attempt to generate warmth for herself. It’s so cold down here.

At some point, Sneeg fully backtracks to grab her by the arm. “C’mon,” he says with a huff. “You don’t want to get lost here.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” she grumbles, letting out a heavy breath. She’s surprised, for some reason, when she doesn’t see it in the air. It feels cold enough for that. “It’s really creepy down here. I have a bad feeling about this place.”

He looks over his shoulder as the two walk after the rest of the group. “Yeah?” he asks with a creased brow. “I think we’ve learned from experience to trust our gut. So, is it a specific bad feeling, or just an all encompassing dread?”

“The latter, I think,” she mutters. “I keep imagining the walls closing down on me, and the cold becoming unbearable. I don’t know why. I’m never this jumpy normally.”

“Hm.” He looks thoughtful, brow creasing. “Here, I’ll be sure to keep an eye on you, alright? It’s hard to be nervous when someone’s keeping you company. As nervous, anyway.”

“You don’t have to waste your time,” she huffs. “Not when it’s just me being stupid.”

“I don’t mind it,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, we can bring up the rear together, can’t we? Make sure no one else falls behind?”

The rephrasing helps her slightly. She isn’t weighing everyone down, she’s being helpful. “Sure, if you want,” she replies with a shrug.

Even though she tries to keep track of where they go, she eventually gets confused by all of the twisting corridors and the different layers the dungeon has. There’s no way she’ll be able to find her way back up to the surface on her own. Luckily, she probably won’t have to, because someone brought a warp stone with them to place down and make it easier for them to all get home. It sounds like something Phil would do, but the exact name and details got lost in the massive crowd, so all she can do is guess. She hopes she can figure it out and find some way to pay them back. She really doesn’t like owing people things.

Seeing everyone together like this reminds her just how many people are really on the island. She really only sees a few of them everyday, and it’s created a picture of isolation in her mind when that really isn’t the case. Of course, from what she’s heard and seen, any place in the real world would be ten times more overwhelming. Even before, in that big crowd, she was nervous, half expecting for them to all turn to her and stare, or for them to all be Showfall employees and take her away.

Niki’s used to only being with a few people, really. If something as small as this is enough to set her off, she can’t help but think she’ll be an anxiety-ridden mess in the real world. That fact doesn’t really matter, though. It’s not like she’ll ever leave this island. Even if the Federation’s rules weren’t suffocatingly, frustratingly strict, she likes it here just fine. She has friends, and a home, and some semblance of a life. Going into the real world would just leave her anxious and overwhelmed.

She’s looked up some things about Showfall in her free time. Apparently they were decently popular. A good chunk of people watched their shows, and their final show had gotten the most attention of anything they had made in a long time. If she left this island, there was a decently high chance that someone would look at her and think of her as the girl from Showfall. Maybe they’d call out to her, gush about her acting, ask if she would ever do any more shows.

God, even just imagining that scenario filled her with disgust. In that instant, Niki’s identity would go from the thing she desperately tried to carve out with her bare hands to her just belonging to Showfall. She wouldn’t have anything else; no depth, no nuance, no aspects belonging to an actual person. She’d go back to being a character.

One thing she’s learned from Showfall is how important perception is. There, your very survival was reliant on the audience liking you, seeing you as someone interesting. Some people internalized that fact more than others; even now, Vinny and Ethan struggle with it, tying their worth to how other people view them. It sounds exhausting, honestly. She isn’t sure why they bother.

If she talked to someone who only saw her as an extension of Showfall, that would be all she was, as if nothing she had done afterward had ever mattered. She wouldn’t be able to bear that. It was better to stay here and hide from the world then be forced to endure herself being torn back down to nothing all over again.

All this to say, she was fine where she was. Even if she were to suddenly remember her life before Showfall (a possibility that felt unlikely, given that none of them had done so yet, not even Charlie; all he has is what Mike’s told him), she doesn’t think she’d bother to go chasing after it. She doesn’t want to shake up her life anymore, at least not right now.

Maybe if she tells herself she’s happy enough times, she’ll believe it.

Not that she isn’t unhappy, per say; it’s not like she feels the cavernous void of misery threatening to cave her chest in like she had in the early days of both times she had escaped Showfall. She just struggles to feel happy, really. Her resting state is one of exhaustion and irritation, and that’s easiest for her; it’s hard to get hurt that way, after all. Trying to be happy just makes her feel like she’s forcing it.

Okay, so maybe she isn’t happy, but she doesn’t have to be. No one’s expecting her to be, after everything. The most she should be asking for is just to feel fine. She can’t complain about being fine. If she thinks that living on the island isn’t the worst thing in the world, then that might as well be a victory.

She’s not happy, she’s not miserable. She’s just neutral. It’s hard to lean too far in either direction when she’s still trying to catch her footing in life. Just as long as everything stays exactly the way it is, she thinks she’ll be able to embrace this living thing eventually. Maybe then she can tear down the walls she’s built around her heart, walls she’s never really needed. They don’t stop her from getting hurt, after all. How could they, when the person doing the most damage to it is herself?

If she thinks for any longer, she thinks she’ll go insane. So she bites her tongue until she thinks of something to talk about with Sneeg.

“What do you think is even down here, anyway?” she asks, drumming her fingers against her thigh.

“Evil clones of the rest of us,” Sneeg responds without even pausing. “It’s not fair that Quackity is the only one who gets one.”

“Oh, jeez,” she responds with a laugh, the response catching her off guard. “You’ve been thinking about that for a while, haven’t you? God, do we think we’ll have to fight ourselves?”

“We’ve already had to fight ourselves,” Sneeg points out, expression deadpan. “It’s not like we can turn off our thoughts.”

“Very funny,” she grumbles. “I mean a physical fight, not a mental one.” Not that one of them is any easier than the other. Mental fights are always exhausting, and she’s already had to wrestle her thoughts back into submission today. At least if she gets to get into a physical fight, it’ll be cathartic for her. Adrenaline is nice in small doses. She would never be able to chase the feeling like Ethan seems to do, though. She thinks it would just leave her tired and worn out.

“If you want a serious answer, though…” Sneeg’s brow creases as he thinks. “To be honest, I have no idea. Maybe some kind of skeleton in the closet belonging to the Federation? This place is too out of the way to not be hiding something .”

“Let’s just hope it isn’t a literal skeleton,” Niki huffs as she jumps down a hole in the ground, before moving out of the way so Sneeg can follow her. “I’ve seen enough dead bodies for a lifetime.”

“That would be the best case scenario, yeah,” Sneeg agrees, before letting out a breath. “Well, looks like we’re about to find out.” He gestures to the opening in the cave in front of him, which has people trickling out of the ends. It looks like the interior is too small to fit everyone in it, or maybe would just be cramped if everyone tried to cram into it. Surprisingly, Austin doesn’t seem to be at the end of the crowd. Maybe he got lost on the way, or more likely he made his way inside to obsessively scrawl notes into his notebook.

Niki wonders, sometimes, what he writes about with such fervor. It definitely isn’t a diary. Austin avoids everyone like the plague, but when she manages to come to him, she can learn a lot about him. He’s like a steel trap in some aspects, but in others he’s practically an open book. She doesn’t think he would appreciate her telling him that, especially since he seems to hold his own unpredictability and impassivity in high regard.

If she really had to make a guess, she’d say it was him documenting the world around him and the various things he learns, and then dissecting them on each page.

That honestly doesn’t feel far off, especially based on what she’s learned from Ethan. The man seems to be the only person Austin tolerates, which is weird because Ethan’s a loud, insensitive adrenaline junkie. She can practically feel the migraine forming the longer she has to deal with him. And yet, Austin doesn’t seem to be phased by his abrasiveness. She supposes the two compliment each other, in a vague sort of way.

Anyway, all of this to say; apparently he’s made his own murder board. Which is creepy and concerning all in one. Niki wonders what it says about her, connected with red thread to everyone she knows and everyone she doesn’t. Austin’s a paranoid bastard, or so Sneeg says. He’s the type to want to know everything with a desperate ferocity, or so Ethan says. An oddly poetic description, coming from him. Given that, Austin’s definitely not the type to keep a diary. His notebook is probably just a small version of his murder board, and probably even more disorganized.

He writes with a pen. What kind of person writes with a pen? From what she can tell, he doesn’t keep whiteout on hand, so does he just never make mistakes, or does he cross out a lot of words?

Niki feels her lips press into a thin line. “Might as well take a look,” she grumbles. “We came all this way, after all.”

“You do that,” Sneeg says, looking unbothered. “I think I’ll just stay out here. Make sure no monsters don’t go after us. Oh, hey, you think the Federation will try to poke around? I’d love to throw a punch at one of those creepy faceless workers.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” she calls back to him as she shoves her way past people and into the room. In the center is the timer, with sets of red, flashing zeroes on the screen. The rest of the room is absolute chaos.

The hazy description she had been told about the dungeon was correct, that much is true. Niki can’t help but wince as people continue to yell, making an aborted gesture to cover her ears. When she stops, her hands just hang limply in the air, and she isn’t sure what she’s meant to do with them.

Near the entrance stands Vinny, eyes wide as he rolls back and forth on his heels with an overwhelmed expression. She pushes past a couple of people until she’s standing right next to him and she taps on his shoulder. He jumps, looking over to her. “What’s going on in here?” she hisses. “Is there a reason everyone’s yelling, or are they doing it just to be loud?”

“Oh, um,” he says, blinking. “Apparently there’s people frozen behind the ice? So everyone’s split between communicating with them and trying to find a way to get them out. It’s, uh… not going well on either front, I think.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” she grumbles, shoulders having unconsciously hiked up to her ears. She hears a loud, piercing voice she doesn’t recognize echo through the room, but what it says is lost within the general chaos of the place. She takes a quick look down at her translator, but it’s not helping out either, text scrolling by too quick for her to parse.

She isn’t doing much just sitting here, but trying to push her way into the center of all the people doesn’t seem like the best idea, either. She’s already overwhelmed enough as is. She doesn’t exactly feel like dealing with that feeling amplified even more.

Instead, she decides to press herself against the walls and run her hand over the rugged stone as she walks a lap around the room. Maybe she can find something like this, even though the idea doesn’t seem likely. Either way, though, she’s in the perfect scenario, staying out of the way while deluding herself into thinking that she’s doing something helpful.

Unsurprisingly, there’s more people clustered around the blocks of ice. There’s blurry silhouettes behind most of them, and the most she can make out from them is small bits of color amidst the ice. One of them is an explosion of pink, another is white and muted purple, and a few of them are various shades of green. Their voices are just as muffled as they themselves are, and in the general chaos of the room it would be impossible to make out what any of them are saying like this.

On the wall opposite the timer, next to one of the rows of ice, there’s a small screen embedded into the wall. As she makes her way toward it, she sees Ethan, wearing the same stupid gaudy outfit he’s been wearing for the past few months, press his hand against the screen, and he makes a face at it as it flashes red. That display isn’t the most encouraging, but she still feels pulled to the screen anyway, not that she would be able to say why.

When she reaches it, her hand unconsciously lifts up. She only realizes what she’s doing when her palm presses against the cold screen. Instead of flashing red at her in the same way it had done with Ethan, though, it turns green, and a pathway opens in the wall beside her. She jumps at the noise it made, heart leaping into her chest, and she isn’t exactly set at ease when she realizes what happened.

Somehow, she managed to open a hidden door. Was the screen some kind of fingerprint reader…? Why did it work with her and not Ethan? Does it have her fingerprints registered in it? Jesus, that’s creepy as hell.

Niki gets the chance to digest this for maybe a second at the most before Ethan, who hadn’t moved too far away, lets out a startled yell. “Woah, there was a door there?” he gasps, before turning to Niki with his brow quizzically furrowed. “How the hell did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” she retorts, crossing her arms. She gestures to the opening in the wall. “C’mon, go take a look. I can tell you’re itching to explore.” That statement is true enough, but she doesn't want Ethan to press her on this. She has a bad feeling about managing to get the door open. Or maybe it’s not a bad feeling, exactly, but more unnerved. Her head still kinda hurts, and the sheer amount of noise in here isn’t making it any better, so she isn’t going to try to think about it for too long.

He frowns. “That’s true…” he mumbles. “Alright!” He excitedly punches a hand into his fist before darting inside. The scene hadn’t gone unnoticed by everyone else, and he’s followed by a bunch of people, Etoiles and Phil being among them. Niki finds herself going through the opening just to avoid getting trampled, although she thinks she might have decided to go inside either way. An odd feeling crosses over her as she walks through the doorway, as if something in her mind perfectly slots into place as she enters.

If it was cold in the previous room, it’s even worse here. She can definitely see her own breath in the air, and she grits her teeth as she vigorously rubs her hands over her arms. It’s not making her feel any warmer, but the repetitive motion somewhat puts her at ease. That on edge feeling she was talking about to Sneeg has only amplified since she’s stepped in her. She really doesn’t think she should be in here. Part of her can’t help but imagine the walls closing in on her more and more until she’s trapped, unable to move and unable to warm herself in this unbearable cold.

She lets out a shaky breath as she leans against the wall, watching people gradually filter in through the opening she had created. She can get a clearer view of the people who were trapped behind the blocks of ice now, but she doesn’t focus on them as much as she focuses on where, exactly, they had been trapped.

They seem to have been in these small chambers, one wall being the block of ice, and the other being a big metal bulkhead door that isn’t able to be opened within the chambers. Rather, the islanders have to free them, pulling open the doors with grunts of effort. The people trapped behind them begin to filter out from both sides, most of them going back into the previous room. The moment Foolish sees a girl with dusty brown hair and pale purple overalls, though, his eyes widen and he leaps at her, tackling her into a hug before excitedly pulling her back into the room a second later.

One of the people, though, stops in place a few steps away from her. He’s average height, maybe a bit taller than her, and his limbs have a gangly quality to them, as if he hasn't finished growing into them. His hair has been styled into a sort of mullet, brown on the top and bleached blonde on the bottom, falling just below his neck. He wears a green button up, khaki pants that are rolled up at the ankles, and a pair of goggles are perched on his forehead. He stares at her for what feels like an eternity, expression one of vague recognition, and she immediately feels her heart shoot up to her throat.

She straightens and quickly darts away; not back out into the room, but deeper into this odd, cramped hidden passage, with exactly five chambers on this side. The last one in the row she briefly stops in front of. The bulkhead door has been pulled open, but the chamber inside doesn’t have anything in it, living or otherwise, leading her to wonder if it had ever been occupied at all or if its occupant had just left already.

Either way, it isn’t what she’s looking for. (She’s… looking for something?) She turns the corner into the next hallway. The other side of it is the one bearing the timer. There’s some people in this passage as well, most of them turning the corner before she can make out who exactly they are.

As she turns the corner, a heavily accented, high pitched voice calls after her, and she knows without looking back that it’s coming from the same man who was staring at her. “Wait! Niki, where are you- Are you Niki? You look familiar, but I don’t know if…” He trails off, probably realizing the futility of calling after her.

Shit. Shit! He knows her name! How the hell does he know her name? Well, she can think of a few possibilities, if that’s a question she really wants an answer to… Either way, leaving when she did was probably the best option she had available. It seems like a conversation she really wouldn’t want to have.

Hopefully, he won’t try to follow after her. That’s why she came this way instead of going back out despite how on edge she is in this crawl space, right…? Besides, sitting around is something that’s never suited her. At least it’s fairly quiet here, even as loud bits of chatter filter through the thin walls.

Niki walks down the hallway, almost bumping into Ethan as he turns a corner. The two yelp, and she finds herself freezing in place as he blinks, looking startled at her sudden appearance. “Oh, hey Niki,” he says, and she finds herself wincing, hoping his voice doesn’t carry down the hallway. “Everyone’s already been freed from over there, so you’re good to go back to the scary timer room. I think we’re going to do interactions when we’re all settled down.”

“Okay,” she says, voice barely any louder than a whisper. Despite what she’s been told, though, she remains standing firmly in place. Ethan gives her a weird look, before he shrugs and walks down the hallway, disappearing from view as he turns the corner. Her head doesn’t even follow him as he leaves. It’s like she’s physically incapable of just… turning around.

After a moment, she begins to move again, turning right and getting a full view of the other set of five chambers. All of the bulkhead doors have been opened, as Ethan had said, and most of the unfamiliar people seem ready to make their way back into the main room. She presses herself against the corner as they pass, and although their eyes idly flit to her, they don’t seem to comment on her presence at all. She’s glad for it; the one question she’s dreading right now, even more than “Do I recognize you?” is asking why she’s here, because it’s something she doesn’t know the answer to.

Stupid, right? Exploring this frigid place as her head constantly swivels about anxiously, and she doesn’t even have a reason for it. She just feels like she has to be here, and turning back right now would just be impossible.

Eventually, everyone leaves the section of the crawl space, making their way back down the hallway and quickly disappearing from view. And suddenly, she’s alone, to do… whatever she came here to accomplish. 

Slowly, her body lurches into movement, and it walks back toward the end of the hall, stopping in front of the last chamber in the row of five. Just like all the rest, it’s now been emptied of any living occupants; unlike the rest, though, there’s a neatly folded pile of clothes sitting on the ground, the color a dark gray reminding her vaguely of storm clouds. Maybe its presence had gone unnoticed by the people searching the chamber for anything living, because it blends in with the floor, but Niki’s eyes are drawn to it immediately.

She crouches down, grabbing a sleeve. The fabric is neatly knitted. She unfolds the whole thing, and finds that it’s a sweater, most of it that same dark gray save for an argyle pattern going across the chest, the diamonds alternating pink, purple, and blue.

Niki doesn’t think she’s ever seen this sweater before in her life.

It belongs to her. Same goes for the silk white clip n bows that go tumbling to the floor when she picks it up.

The sweater is… her’s? That doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t even look familiar; the only thing staking a claim to it in her mind is a gut feeling. And even if it is her’s, why would it be here, of all places?

Unconsciously, she slips it over her head, the sweater loose on her. She lets out a shaky breath as she grips at her head; it feels like it’s about to split in two. Something about this feels wrong in a way she can’t exactly put into words. And yet, the sweater fits her, the fabric thick and comfortable. If she were to try to sink her nails into her skin, they wouldn’t make it through the fabric.

“Niki?” asks Sneeg, and she gasps, lunging forward to grab the two bows from the floor and stuff them into her pockets as she turns to face him. “What are you doing?”

“Just making sure no one was left behind,” she replies. The lie comes out of her unconsciously; she doesn’t even have to think about it before the words form in her throat. “Looks like it’s empty here, though.” She walks out of the chamber, but she can’t help but throw a forlorn gaze back to it. There’s a lot of mysteries intertwined with it that she has no chance of solving. Right now, though, she thinks her biggest one is why being inside of it had felt like being home, somehow. She bites down hard on her tongue as she continues to walk to the end of the hallway. She got what she came here for, so there isn’t any reason to linger.

(How did she even know any of this would be here at all? She knows some of it was a gut feeling, but there was something else accompanying it, too. She just wishes she could place it.)

“Ethan said something about doing introductions, right? We should get back out there before we miss them,” she says, looking over her shoulder at Sneeg, whose brow is creased with thought. She narrows her eyes at him, daring him to say anything, and he thankfully stays silent. Just as she turns on her heel and prepares to walk back down the hallway, though, she hears Sneeg take a breath.

“That sweater’s new, I think. Where’d you get it from?”

Her entire body tenses as her heart begins to race, and she isn’t even sure why. She feels like a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar. Slowly, she turns around. “Oh, I just had it with me,” she says, patting the inventory charm hanging off her belt loop as an explanation. Everyone has one, allowing them to carry a lot of things within them. Of course, most people also have backpacks for even more storage, but Niki’s own isn’t used very often. “As for where I got it, I don’t really remember.”

Even if she doesn’t know the significance of something belonging to her being in one of those chambers, she knows that admitting to that fact would cause a lot of trouble she wasn’t in the mood to deal with. Besides, she just feels exhausted already, the long trek having worn on her. Being stuck in a long conversation that wouldn’t mean anything in the long run would just be so grating. It’s really something she isn’t in the mood for.

Something about this dungeon is important to her. With both that screen recognizing her fingerprint, and something that she just instinctively recognizes as her’s being found within the chamber in lieu of a person… It has to mean something. But she doubts she’ll ever get her answers unless she pulls an Austin and tracks down Cucurucho to demand answers, and she isn’t enough of a moron to even vaguely entertain that idea.

Maybe the man with the brown and blonde hair recognizing her has something to do with it. But she can only guess.

Sneeg just shrugs in response to her words, walking past without looking back. She grits her teeth and quickly walks after him, slowing slightly to match his pace. She refuses to just be left behind. “How many people were found in the chambers in total?” she asks.

“Pretty sure it was eight,” he replies. “From what I can tell, one chamber in each row was empty.”

“Oh,” she says quietly. “Yeah, that… tracks.” She swallows, eyes darting behind her. The chambers from before are out of her field of view now, but she can still figure something out quickly in her head. The one she found the sweater and bows in was at the very end. If the other four chambers were all occupied, it would make that one the vacant one. Unlike the other seemingly vacant chamber at the very end of the first row of chambers, that one (her one?) had something in it to indicate… something. 

She’s already made the connection in her head, but knowing it doesn’t make acknowledging the realization any more pretty. That chamber was meant to be her’s, right? Meant to be stuck in that frigid hellscape until she died or someone came to free her, whichever came first. So… why is she here instead of being there?

The answer is surprisingly simple: Showfall. Whatever plans the Federation may have had for her, it was circumvented by Showfall presumably sinking their claws into her first. She can’t tell if she’s grateful for that or not. Objectively, being toyed with by Showfall was probably far worse than whatever the Federation could have done to her, but there was one silver lining for the former; she’s free from Showfall now. Criken’s already well on his way to ruining them just as he promised. They have no power over her or anyone else now.

The Federation, on the other hand, never hesitates to remind everyone just how prevalent they are. Plus, they seem to be a lot more careful than Showfall ever were. If they had gotten to her, would there be any way she could be truly free of them, or would she constantly be watching her back, nervous that she’ll go to sleep and wake up in one of those chambers or in any other unfamiliar place? That sounds like a nightmare.

Niki swallows as she presses her mouth into a thin line, she and Sneeg quickly ducking through the opening in the wall and reentering the main room. It’s gotten a lot more crowded compared to the last time she was in here; it seems like everyone’s made an effort to be here so they can hear the new people’s introductions.

As her eyes glance over the crowd of people, she easily locates the eight new people. Most of them look wary and unsure, keeping their distance from everyone else as they cluster in a corner. The woman with the purple overalls seems to be the exception to that rule, nodding along as Foolish happily chatters with her. Maybe the two of them knew each other already?

Actually, the girl isn’t the only exception. The man from before seems to be locked in an intense conversation with Phil, gesturing with his hands with a desperate air about him. As she steps back into the room, his head snaps to her. His blue gaze is so piercing she can’t help but duck behind Sneeg, feeling her breath catching in her throat. Sneeg isn’t that tall, really, but his shoulders are broad enough that she can feel free of the man’s gaze, whoever he is, even just for this brief moment.

ElQuackity suddenly climbs up onto a hastily erected podium in the center of the room, clapping his hands together. “Okay, guys, now that we’re all here, let’s-” His voice is entirely swallowed up by the people in the room and their voices. He looks irritated by the noise, and he cups his hands around his mouth as he yells “Callarse, pendejos!” The yell echoes around the room enough for everyone to fall silent, something Niki can’t help but be relieved by. Her head already hurts, and the irritating chatter of everyone in the room isn’t helping matters in the slightest.

“ Thank you. Okay, so now that we’re all here, let’s start with introductions!” He gestures in the general direction of where most of the new people are huddled. “The new group can go first. Or, um, I guess I’ll go first, since I’m already up here, and to demonstrate…” He trails off. Niki has to give the Federation this; they did a good job of mimicking Quackity’s uncertainty when it comes to new people. He was just as awkward when the seven of them showed up. “Right. Well, I’m Quackity-”

“ El Quackity,” someone in the crowd bitterly mutters. She doesn’t catch who said it.

“-and I’m one of the people on the island. I hope we can all get along.” He folds his hands in front of him as he speaks, and when he finishes, an eerie smile spreads across his face. It looks strange on him, almost inhuman; as if his face is pulling itself apart by simply grinning. Niki shudders and averts her gaze.

After a moment, he hops back down onto the floor. “Whenever you’re ready!” he yells, before running back into the crowd. Most people do their best to shuffle away from him, not wanting to get too close.

There’s an awkward lull for a moment, before the man next to Phil mutters “Oh for the love of-” and quickly makes his way to the front, climbing up onto the podium and dusting off his lap. “Um. Right. I’m Tubbo, or Toby if you’re Phil. If you need a machine constructed, I’m your guy.” He nods sagely, hesitates for a moment, and then leaves as fast as he came.

…Tubbo. Niki can’t help but mouth the name to herself. It doesn’t sound as foreign on her tongue as she would want it to. It feels… familiar, prodding at the hazy darkness in her mind that houses the memories scrubbed away by Showfall. She can’t help but wince as her head aches, the pain intensifying for a brief moment. It feels like proof enough that she had known him. Not that it was a confirmation she even wanted.

For as much flak as she gives Charlie for being awkward around Mike, she thinks she’s able to understand it. The realization is stark and startling. She wants nothing to do with Tubbo. All she can imagine when she tries to think of what a conversation between the two would be like is him expecting more from her. Maybe the two were the best of friends, and they knew everything about each other. What will he think, when she doesn’t remember a thing about him? What will he think, when he realizes that she’s so inevitably different from the girl he had once known?

Because she has to be different, right? No one can come out of Showfall being the exact same as how they went in. She doesn’t want to think that she’s always been this angry and bitter and desperate to prove that she doesn’t need anyone. She thinks she could have been… nice, once.

Nice. She could have used any other word. If Tubbo tries to say that she used to be nice, she won’t hesitate to punch him with all she has. It’s a word she’s heard enough of.

No matter how she thinks about it, she knows that any conversation the two of them would have would be nothing short of a living nightmare. He’s a remnant from her old life, a piece of the wrong puzzle, and no matter what either of them try, there’s no way he’d be able to fit in the same way he had before.

…No, maybe she’s the piece that doesn’t fit. He’d be better off having nothing to do with her.

A gunshot echoes in her ears. The acrid scent of gunpowder fills her nose. And she flinches, hard , hard enough that she nearly falls over. Her hands are gripping at her chest and her eyes are squeezed shut before she even realizes it. And when she manages to pry them open, Tubbo’s staring at her, brow creased and mouth slightly agape as if he wants to call out to her, but can’t think of what to say.

She doesn’t want his pity. And yet, if she were to explain what had happened to her, surely that’s all she would get.

Niki wants nothing to do with it. Niki wants nothing to do with him. Slowly and deliberately, she grits her teeth and turns away.

From there, introductions go as smooth as they can. Sneeg was right, there’s eight newcomers in total; Tubbo, Mouse, Tina, Lenay, Pol, Germán, Rivers, and Willy. Four English speakers, and four Spanish speakers.

Something she’s learned is that she can speak more than just English. She can speak German, a language that comes surprisingly easy to her, and she can also speak Spanish. Apparently the latter is European Spanish as opposed to Latin American. The distinction doesn’t make a difference to her either way; she still has no clue where she picked it up, and speaking any language doesn’t bring back any memories. She can just speak it, without a second thought. Figures she would be the closest with the one community on the island that speaks a language she doesn’t know.

If she had been originally meant to arrive on the island with this group of people, which one would she be categorized into? English speakers, or Spanish speakers? If it was going by native language, then she’d be put in her own category, since she’s fairly certain she grew up speaking German.

The more she thinks about this, the more certain she is about this fact; she just doesn’t fit. Right now, there’s an even number of newcomers, who can be split in half based on what they speak. But if she was meant to be in one of those chambers, then her presence would throw off the balance.

It’s weird, and confusing, but somehow, she’s still certain of it; if Showfall hadn’t gotten to her, the Federation definitely would have.

After the eight new people finish introducing themselves, the floor is open for anyone to go up onto the podium. Unsurprisingly, there’s a rush of people trying to get up there first; Ethan is among them. Niki hangs back, though. She’d prefer for her introduction to be slotted in the middle, quick and forgettable.

She only bothers to keep track of the order her friends introduce themselves in; Ethan, Vinny (who looks on the verge of passing out when all the eyes turn toward him), Sneeg, herself, and finally Austin, who had to be dragged onto the podium by Sneeg. Unsurprisingly, during her introduction, Tubbo was staring at her intently. She made sure to avert her eyes from him, not even spare him a glance.

Even though it was a good thing, overall, that Charlie wasn’t here, because of… earlier events, she did feel a bit bad that he had stayed home. (Or, well, not stayed home, exactly. He just hadn’t responded to their messages, something he did often. They all just assumed he was sleeping) Him not being here meant that he would have to get names later. Niki made a mental note to draft up a list of the new people, names paired with descriptions, just so he didn’t have to waste too much time with introductions.

Finally, after everyone finished introducing themselves, ElQuackity climbed back onto the podium. “Alright, so that’s everyone,” he says. “You’re all free to go back home. Um, someone should probably show the new people the way, so they don’t get lost.”

The moment he finishes, everyone begins to murmur, people splitting off into their own groups. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots a familiar green and white striped bucket hat, and he seems to be growing closer. “Shit,” she hisses. Sneeg, who’s standing right next to her, raises an eyebrow.

“Everything okay?” he drawls.

“Um.” Yep, that’s definitely Tubbo right next to Phil. Okay! She can not be here! “I’m gonna head home. Try to get something together for Charlie, since he missed the new people introducing themselves.” Phil’s practically right next to her right now, oh God , she really needs to get out of here. “Okay bye!” And she turns on her heel to run through the crowd to make it to the warp stone that had been placed down just as Tubbo opens his mouth to say something. She visualizes the massive towering oak tree in her head, and a moment later, when her eyes open, she’s in the neighborhood, practically collapsed over the warp stone.

Niki finds herself just… sitting there, for a moment, breathing heavily as adrenaline roars in her ears and makes her hands shake. Jeez, she really needs to apologize to Charlie. What a nightmare this all is.

Without a doubt, Tubbo will ask Phil for where she’s staying, and Phil, the nosy bastard, will give it to him. Best case scenario, he gets lost on the way there and dies of starvation in the wilderness. Hey, she didn’t say most likely scenario. Just what would be best for her. It would be pretty bad for him, probably. Second best scenario, they talk once for a few minutes, and he gets the message to leave her alone.

Worst case scenario, he tries to pursue a friendship with her. Even worse, there’s a chance Sneeg will try to encourage it. He’s even worse than Phil, in that sense; he’s always on everyone’s asses to make sure they’re all doing well. Not that it even does anything in the end; Vinny’s still a nervous wreck, Ethan’s still an abrasive adrenaline junkie, and Austin is still a paranoid moron who trusts the one thing he shouldn’t. Honestly, out of all of them, Niki thinks she’s been dealt the best hand.

…The best hand until today, anyway. Now she has a mystery to investigate, and a ghost of her past that doesn’t seem interested in staying dead. Joy.

Niki finds herself passing out the moment she flops down on her bed, not even bothering to change her jeans to something more comfortable. The sweater feels like a blanket on her, warm and just oversized enough to not feel tight or uncomfortable. And as she dozes off, she’s vaguely aware of the ache in her head subsiding.

— — —

The first thing she becomes aware of as she opens her eyes is how cold it is. Makes sense, since she was slumped against a seemingly solid ice block.

The next thing she becomes aware of, a beat later, is that she has no idea where she is.

Unsurprisingly, she begins to panic, throat feeling tight. “Hello?” she yells, terror easily able to wake her up. Even then, she finds herself rubbing her eyes as she looks around.

She seems to be in a chamber. Two of the walls are made of stone, one made of ice, and the last one is a heavy bulkhead door that doesn’t seem to open from the inside. Even then, she runs forward and pushes up against it anyway, gritting her teeth as she musters her full force to try to force it open.

…No luck. Damn it. Unless that block of ice melts, which seems unlikely due to both its size and the temperature, there doesn’t seem to be a way out of here.

Oh. She’s trapped here. Okay, okay, this is fine, try not to panic-

“Hello?!” she yells again, before immediately wincing as her voice cracks. “Hello?! Please, if anyone’s there, let me out!”

The silence is suffocating. She’s alone, and will probably die alone, too, left to suffocate or starve or die of hypothermia in this cramped, cold room.

Niki lets out a strangled breath as she sits down, pressing her back tightly against the stone wall. She presses her legs to her chest and wraps her arms around herself in an effort to conserve some heat. Even as her heart thunders in her chest, even as her breath comes out in choked wheezes as she tries to get a hold of her own desperation, she’s still able to look around the room, trying frantically to find some way out.

And still, there’s nothing.

She grits her teeth. Okay, there isn’t anything in the room. Well, that isn’t entirely right. She’s here, after all, and she had to end up here somehow. She begins to rack her memories in an effort to mentally retrace her steps, but it doesn’t prove to be very enlightening. Everything is coated in a layer of fuzz, and in an effort to pull it back, it just sticks to her hands and makes her feel lethargic.

The only memory that sticks out to her is the memory of her following after someone with extremely pale skin, so pale it might as well have been white (or was it white?). They were wearing a bright orange and yellow vest with a matching hard hat, and they were leading her down a hallway of opened metal doors, before stopping in front of the last one in the row. Then they had turned around, and-

Wait, that can’t be right. The person leading her… they had no face. Maybe they were wearing a tight white bodysuit? But in that case, she would see the outline of their nose at the very least. Instead, their face was completely smooth. Ugh. Since that isn’t possible, she’s probably just misremembering. She… hopes she’s just misremembering. Imagine living without a face!

After that, they had gestured to the chamber, and Niki had climbed in, the doors closing shut with a heavy thump behind her. And then… nothing.

…Really? That’s all she remembers? That’s not helpful at all! Niki places her head in her hands and groans.

Just as she resigns herself to her fate (well, no, she doesn’t actually do that, really. She doesn’t have a clue how she’s meant to come to terms with her death. She doesn’t want to die! There’s still so much she wants to do! She never even got the chance to open her own bakery, just as she always dreamed of! Besides, dying sounds painful, especially something as drawn out as this. If she were to die, she’d want it to be fast and painless. Preferably, it would happen in her sleep, so she doesn’t have to be aware of it at all), the metal bulkhead door suddenly opens with a loud creak of metal.

Her breath catches in her throat as she scrambles to her feet. “Hello?” she calls hopefully. Maybe someone’s come to rescue her!

Niki’s hopes are dashed when the doors fully open to reveal three of those faceless… workers, she supposes? Two of them are opening the doors, and the third stands in the middle, holding a leather book in their hand. When she doesn’t step forward, the worker does instead, holding out the book.

“You… want me to take it?” The worker nods. Slowly, she reaches forward and grabs it, flipping it open.

Whatever she expected from the book, it definitely wasn’t this. It just seems to be a list of materials, most seemingly scattered across rooms. On both the front and back page, the book has a seal on it, similar to what a library would attach to denote a book as theirs. Instead of a bar or a series of numbers, though, it’s a drawing; a building in the middle, and text on both the top and bottom. “Property of the Federation.”

…The Federation? She’s never heard of them in her life. Talk about a vague name.

“Am I… meant to collect these…?” she asks hesitantly. In response, the faceless worker who had handed her the book nods. “Um… okay.” She isn’t sure where everything is located, exactly, but from what she can tell, this place is cramped and linear. She should be able to find where to go eventually.

A part of her is tempted to fight back, but after weighing the pros and cons in her mind, it’s a possibility she’s quick to discard. She doesn’t have a weapon on her, and even if she just went at them with her fists, she’s outnumbered three to one.

Besides, odds are that this Federation group is the one who brought her to this chamber. She’s still not sure how she ended up here, but she’s familiar with the basics; she’s been kidnapped. There isn’t a lot she can do on her own. The only thing she can do is bow her head, as much as it grates on her to do so.

Not that she’ll listen to these creepy workers, mind. She’ll nod and smile for as long as she’s in their view, and immediately prioritize finding a way out when she isn’t. Overpowering them seems impossible, so outwitting them will have to do.

Niki steps out of the chamber fully, looking around. It seems that there’s five chambers in this row, and she’s the last one in said row. The rest of the doors have already been opened, which makes her curious. Are there other people here with her? If that’s the case, that changes the situation significantly. Maybe it’s too early to dismiss the idea of overpowering them yet.

The faceless workers nod at her before walking down the hallway and disappearing. She doesn’t move right away, still trying to get her bearings. She’s feeling rather dazed, still, and this cold, frigid air isn’t helping to clear her mind.

After a second or two, she takes in a breath and walks forward, poking her head into each doorway of the chambers. They all seem to be empty, unfortunately, but that doesn’t mean much. They could have just been let out and sent to gather materials, just as she has been.

“Hello?” she calls for the fourth or fifth time. She’s lost count at this point.

Unlike the other times, though, this time she actually receives a response. “Hello?” a high pitched feminine voice calls back with a gasp. It echoes around in the enclosed space, but from what she can tell, the person responding is far away.

Immediately, Niki feels relieved. She’s glad she isn’t alone here, with only those weird workers to keep her company. She thinks she might have gone insane if she didn’t hear another voice for a while! Spirits lifted, she quickly darts down the hall, turning to her left. There seems to be another long hallway, although this one doesn’t have chambers like the one she was just in did. In the center is an opening in the stone wall, and she finds herself walking into it without a second thought. For some reason, she just feels as if it’s the right way to go. “Are you in here?” Niki asks, before immediately wincing at how her voice echos.

“Looks like someone else has shown up,” comments a gruff, feminine voice, different in tone than the one that had initially responded to her.

She finds herself following the sound of it, journeying through some dark, cramped caverns. At some point, she spots a light to her left, and when she turns to follow it, she nearly runs right into a short woman.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Niki cries, taking a step back.

“ Salud, you found us,” drawls a man with stark white hair and tanned skin. He adjusts the brim of his green hat as she speaks.

Niki quickly glances over the people in the room. There seems to be four in total. One is the woman who she had almost trampled. She’s short, with pink hair pulled into pigtails and a wide grin on her face. Her teeth are a lot sharper than normal humans are, but Niki isn’t bothered at all by the observation. Another is a woman with a red backwards cap and sweatbands on her arms. The sharp glint in her eyes makes her seem as if she’s ready for a fight. She already examined the man who called out to her, so that leaves…

Wait, is that…?

“Tubbo?!” she asks incredulously. The man in question perks up when he hears his name, only to do a double take when he locks eyes with her.

“Niki? No way!” His excitement quickly turns sour as he crosses his arms. “So the bastards got you too, huh?”

She shrugs. “Guess so,” she says.

“So you two know each other, huh?” asks the woman in red, narrowing her eyes.

“Yes, we’re friends,” Niki says with a nod. “I don’t think I’ve ever met you three, though. I’m Niki. It’s nice to meet all of you!”

“Rivers.”

“Mouse!” the other woman chirps, rolling back and forth on her heels. “I love your hair!”

Niki absentmindedly raises a hand to it. Half brown, half pink. Usually, when she wants to do something with her hair but doesn’t have any particular ideas for it, she just defaults to dying it pink. It’s her favorite color, after all, and she’s learned from experience that it looks good on her. “Oh, thank you, I did it myself,” she replies with a smile. “Yours is lovely as well! The purple accents are really pretty.”

“Thanks, I was born with ‘em!” Mouse replies, grinning.

As they speak, Rivers leans over and elbows the man in green. “ Qué?’ he cries, looking startled, before relaxing. “Oh. Um, Willy.”

“So I’m guessing you’re in the same situation as us?” Tubbo says. “Woke up in a weird chamber with no idea of how you got there, let out by some creepy workers without faces, given a book that tells you to collect materials…”

Niki nods glumly. “That’s right,” she replies. “Have you been out of your chambers for long?”

Tubbo shakes his head. “If I had to guess, I’ve been able to walk around for, like, five minutes? Something like that. Why do you ask?”

“Just wanted to know if you’d made any leeway on finding a way out of here,” Niki says with a shrug. “I figured if anyone would have, it would have been you.”

“Awww!” Tubbo replies, grinning. “You’re too kind. I took a quick look around before climbing in here, but I wasn’t able to spot anything that looked like an exit other than this cave system. I think there was a door hidden in the wall, but it was locked, and I didn’t see any sort of keyhole or mechanism to get it open. Right now, I’m trying to make a full lap ‘round this place, see if there’s anything that looks promising.”

Niki lets out a thoughtful hum. “That’s a good idea,” she agrees. “Worst comes to worst, though, we might just have to fight those workers and make them show us a way out… Do you know how many of us there are in total?”

“There were five chambers on my side when I woke up!” Mouse interjects. “One of ‘em was probably empty, though, since those workers didn’t bother to open the door to it.”

“And there were five on my side, too… Assuming all of them were filled, I guess that makes nine of us. Have any of you met up with anyone else?”

“Not yet, but I figure it’s only a matter of time,” Rivers says, shaking her head. “We’re all scattered around trying to get materials. Or the ones without brains are, at least. These creeps kidnapped us! What kind of pendejo just goes along with them all willy nilly?”

Willy groans. “Use a different saying, please,” he huffs. “Otherwise it just sounds like you’re insulting me. ”

“Maybe I am insulting you.” Rivers retorts, hands on her hips. “Have you ever thought of that?”

"Cállate, culero." the man mutters. She elbows him again, looking offended. 

“I figure those workers have some kind of trick up their sleeve, though,” Mouse suddenly interjects. “They might do something to us if we step out of line. And not that I’m criticizing any of your abilities, but if that ends up being the case, I don’t think just your fists would be enough.”

“Don’t you mean all of our abilities?” Tubbo asks. “Like, including you?” Mouse just smirks at him, pointed tail lashing behind her. He hurriedly nods, seeming to get the idea.

“Right now, all we can do is go along with what we’ve been told,” Niki asks with a sigh, shoulders slumping. “Damn it. That’s irritating.”

Tubbo pats her on the back sympathetically. “Hey, if I find anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Besides, it’s not like the materials we’re being told to gather are completely worthless,” Rivers points out. “We can make tools at the very least. Even if they’re garbage, it’s still something.”

Niki hesitantly nods. “Yeah, you’re right,” she agrees. “What materials do you guys need to get?”

After comparing lists, they all decide to splinter off. She and Tubbo wander for a bit before finding the room that houses the wood, and quickly grab enough for tools as well as some extras. The caverns they wander through have an eerie vibe to them, she notes. They’re tight, as if they were made with the littlest effort possible, and the way the stone was mined seems to give off the vibe that all the caverns were man made. Whatever they’re here for, they aren’t the first group to wander these caves. Did they ever get out, or did they die here?

…That’s the sort of thing she’s better off not thinking about.

The two of them splinter off quickly after that, Tubbo continuing his endeavor to find a weak spot in the labyrinthine caverns somewhere. Niki, meanwhile, decides to find people to meet up with. Being on her own like this is making her paranoid, and she’s half-convinced the walls will start pressing against her at any moment. Talking with other people would alleviate that, at least.

She finds herself mining with Rivers from earlier, along with three new people who introduce themselves as Pol, Lenay, and Germán. The three of them chatter to each other in Spanish, and although she could keep up with the conversation, she finds it easier to just mine, the words themselves fading into the background. It’s tedious work, even though she does find a diamond for her troubles, but something about the monotony helps to soothe her frayed nerves.

At some point, she crosses paths with Mouse, and on a whim, she offers her diamond to the woman. Upon seeing it, her eyes widen, and she gently cups it in her hands. “For me? Really?” she says with a gasp. “Ahhh, that’s so nice of you!” As she gushes, her pointed tail swishes back and forth with excitement.

“Don’t mention it,” Niki replies with a laugh. “I wasn’t doing much with it anyway. When we get out of here, I’ll get you something even better.” She likes how she phrased that. When they get out of here, as if it’s a foregone conclusion. It stops her from losing hope.

Mouse looks interested. “Really? Like what?”

“Ah, one of my hobbies is baking, and… Do you like sweet things?”

She nods so fast her head becomes a pink and purple blur. “Yes! All of them!” she cries. “Oh, maybe you could teach me how to bake at some point. I’ve tried to learn before, but… it never goes very well.” She winces as she says the last sentence, looking sheepish.

“Oh, I’d be happy to!”

Despite how nice the interaction was, it came to an end soon after, and Niki had lost track of the other people she had been mining with. She had no clue how big these caverns were. For all she knew, they could be endless! Then again, the bigger they were, the better it was for Tubbo to find some sort of weakness he can exploit.

She could have just gone back to mining, but she would lose focus on her own. Plus, her hands were already growing sore, the rough handle of her handmade tools rough on her palms. Besides, she figured she should try to make herself useful. Tubbo was looking for a way out, a lot of the people here would be able to fight if it came down to it, but what could she do that would make her indispensable?

In the end, she decided to look for food for everyone. They had to get hungry at some point, right? It was better to be able to solve that problem sooner rather than later.

Niki’s search brought her back to the hallway outside of the caverns. As she looked everything over, she spotted something she hadn’t before; a chest in the hallway without chambers, that seemed to be connected to a mechanism of sorts. Maybe it was a way to get supplies in here without opening an escape route? 

As she rifled through the chest, she pulled out crate after crate of potatoes. She pried open the tops on some of them, and they were all filled to the brim. Honestly, it seemed like something Phil would do. She chuckles as she thinks of her friend, but her mirth quickly takes on a more somber edge.

What if Tubbo doesn’t manage to find something? What if they’re stuck here forever, until they drop dead? Even worse, what if they’re here for years and years and years on end, constantly stuck in the monotonous lull of working down in these mines? Dying wouldn’t be ideal, but she would prefer it to being stuck here for the rest of her days. She still has a life she wants to live. She still has dreams she wants to achieve, friends she wants to support…

She swallows, trying to push her worries to the back of her mind. Tubbo’s the most brilliant person she’s ever met. If anyone could figure a way out of this situation, it would be him. The most she can do is put her faith in him, even as it grates on her to feel so powerless.

Quickly, she carries as many crates as she can, and then makes her way back through the caverns, following light and noise whenever she can. She’s sure everyone will appreciate the food, and it gives her something to do.

One of the first people she runs into is Tubbo, as a matter of fact. He immediately brightens when he sees her, sporting a large grin as he waves her down. “Niki! Just the person I wanted to see!” he chirps, rolling back and forth on his heels with nervous-yet-excitable energy.

Maybe she’s just imagining it, but the way he’s acting… “Did you find something?” she asks, eyes widening.

“Sure did! There’s an elevator. If I have an ender pearl, I might be able to do something with it.”

“Oh…” she says, feeling disappointed for a moment. Then the implications of what he said fully sink in, and she can’t help but grin. “Oh! Well, that’s great news! I haven’t seen any monsters hanging around, especially not an enderman, but if I spot one, I’ll be sure to take it out right away!

“That would be great,” Tubbo replies, nodding thankfully. “What’s that crate you have in your hands there?”

She readjusts it in her hands as she responds. “Found a lot of them in a chest,” she says. “I’d figured I’d take the chance to get them to everyone so we have food when we need it.”

“Sweet!” he says, immediately prying open a crate and biting into a potato like it’s an apple. He laughs at the face she makes. “I’ll keep looking around. Take care of yourself, ‘kay?”

“Will do,” she says with a nod. “Hey, that goes for you, too!”

After that, it’s hard to tell how much time passes. She spends her time weaving through caves to try to find the other eight people that are scattered about. When she finishes with that, she makes her way back to the front room to return her excess crates, only to nearly run right into one of those faceless workers.

She yelps, jumping back a bit. The worker’s head seems to follow her, giving off the impression that he’s staring at her even without eyes. “Um, hello…?” she says cautiously. Suddenly, they produce a leather book out of nowhere and hold it out to her. She stares at it with wide eyes for a moment, but remembering her previous encounter with one of the employees, she reaches out to take it.

“Please return to your room.” the book reads in perfect handwriting. None of the ink is smeared, and each letter is as if it had been typed on a computer. Niki scowls as she glares sharply at the worker.

“Why?” she demands, crossing her arms. The only response she gets is the worker racing forward to firmly tap the page of the book. Ugh. She’d punch them right now if it didn’t get her in trouble.

Now she’s at a crossroads. Either she could listen to the worker, and return to that awful, cold room with nothing to show for it, or she could refuse. She could try to run off down the cramped systems of caverns, but odds are she’ll get cornered in one of the myriad dead ends the system possesses, and she won’t be able to mine fast enough to get out. She could try to find an ender pearl and get it to Tubbo, but the odds seem low on that happening at all, much less in the sudden timeframe she’s suddenly been confronted with.

The only thing she can do is duck her head and listen. And God, how irritating it is.

“Sure,” she grits out. “Fine. Whatever you say.” She balls her hands into tight fists, so tight that her nails begin to dig into her palms.

The sensation of nails sinking into skin feels significant, somehow. But she can’t say why that is.

For a moment, she considers going back into the caverns to warn everyone else about what’s happening. But then the worker begins to escort her back to the same place she had begun this awful day in, and she doesn’t get the chance to. She feels irritated and powerless and small, and as she shuffles back into the chamber, she vows to herself to treat one of the workers as a punching bag the moment she gets the upper hand.

The door closes in front of her with a loud thumping of metal against the stone floor. She lets out a long, angry scream in response, banging her hands against the door even though she knows it won’t do anything. It just feels nice to be angry.

Pressing her up against the block of ice, she thinks she can make out a dimly lit room, primarily illuminated by a red light. There seems to be some sort of screen emitting it, and as she squints, she thinks she can just barely make out what it’s meant to be. A… timer, maybe? Those are a lot of zeroes… It seems close to being up. Niki wonders what it’s counting down to.

Due to the timer, she thinks she has a general estimate of how long she spends, curled up in the corner of the room as she tightly hugs herself in a frantic effort to conserve warmth. It’s just under an hour, even though she swears it’s thrice as long. It’s desperately, isolatingly cold, and the chill soaks into her so thoroughly she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be warm again.

Time passes slowly and agonizingly. She can’t even pass it by sleeping, because her body rebels against the very thought. The conditions are fraught enough for her body to go into overdrive, becoming tense and alert. Her shoulders are hiked so far up her neck she wouldn’t be surprised if they were sore for days afterward.

So Niki waits, waits, and waits some more. For what, she isn’t entirely sure. Maybe she’s waiting for that timer to tick down to zero. Maybe she’s waiting for Tubbo to low the door off its hinges and come save her.

Maybe she’s waiting for another one of those workers to open the door and send her back to work, and she can begin to resign herself to the rest of her life.

She doesn’t know. All she can do is wait.

It’s during this near endless waiting that she hears it, coming from the direction of the wall of ice. Voices, muted and inaudible, but the actual talking of people nonetheless.

Breath hitching in the back of her throat, she throws herself against the ice, banging her fists against it. “Hello?” she calls. “Hello?! Is anyone there?” From what she can tell, the only thing her yelling achieves is causing her voice to echo around the room. It’s so loud it makes her ears ring, and she winces even as she keeps herself tightly pressed up against the ice.

A few minutes later, she sees it; movement. She sees blurry silhouettes of people she can’t entirely make out, and judging from how they’re acting, they must have spotted everyone trapped behind the ice. The room’s nearly full to bursting, several people doing all they can to find a way out for everyone trapped.

Despite the cold, she can’t help but feel warm at the determination everyone seems to be exhibiting. Going through all this effort for a bunch of strangers… Niki would owe them, if they freed her. That was okay, though. It was nothing a few dozen baked goods couldn’t handle!

She never likes owing people, but in this situation, it’s unavoidable. All she can do is keep herself pressed against the ice so everyone knows she’s there, and continue to wait some more.

If she’s being honest, all of this waiting is getting on her nerves. She would save herself, if she knew how… But right now, all she can do is wait, like she’s some damsel in distress.

…God, what a pain in the ass this all is.

Eventually, all of the metal bulkhead doors have been forced open. Apparently, there was a door embedded in the wall, and with some ingenuity, they had figured out how to open it even though it was tightly locked, giving all of them access to the cramped hallways hosting the ten chambers.

Niki was definitely surprised to see Phil waiting on the other side of the door when it was opened, far less smoothly than the workers had done. His eyes had widened, looking just as startled to see her as she was him, but that surprise had quickly melted into a wide, warm smile. “Heya, Niki,” he had said. “Bit cold in there, huh?”

She had immediately gotten to her feet, breathing heavily. “You have no idea,” she had replied with a breathy laugh.

After that, he had led her out to the main area, the one housing the timer. There, she had gotten a full view of all the people who had come down to rescue her, and had felt more than a little overwhelmed. They were the other islanders, Phil had said.

“Islanders?” she echoes as she situates herself near the back of the crowd. “We’re… on an island?”

“Yep. Quesadilla Island.” Phil replies. “I’m judging by your reaction, you don’t have a clue how you ended up here?”

“I don’t.” she huffs, crossing her arms. “My memory is just a haze. It kinda hurts to push too far. If I had to guess though, it has something to do with those creepy faceless workers and the thing they work for… What was it called again…? Something generic, like… The Organization. No, that isn’t right…”

“The Federation?” Phil interjects, all mirth suddenly gone.

She snaps her fingers. “Right, that was it! They released us from our chambers and made us gather materials for a while, before forcing us to go back… I don’t really know what their deal is. I think Tubbo’s probably found more, if you want to ask. Tubbo!” she calls, cupping her hands around her mouth. The man in question straightened upon hearing his name, and brightened upon seeing Phil.

“Philza Minecraft, you beautiful bastard!” he enthusiastically yells, tackling the man in a hug. The man just chuckles and pats him on the head.

After that, the two become locked in an intense conversation, Tubbo detailing his experience in startling detail. Niki can barely recall most of it, to be honest. A lot of it was just walking through cold, dark tunnels, growing more and more weary and terrified as she tried to shrug off the dark thoughts clustering in the back of her mind, growing more and more overwhelming the longer she was awake.

God, today has just been terrible. Even now, a blanket of nerves and fear is still draped over her shoulders, seeping any lingering warmth from her body as opposed to warming her.

Something tells her that all of this isn’t over yet. Maybe it’s just because of Phil’s reaction to her bringing up the Federation. Maybe it’s due to her suddenly ending up on some random island, when she should be back home, trapped in the monotony of day-to-day life yet determined to make her dreams come true. Maybe it’s because she’s standing in front of Phil, getting the sense that she hasn’t seen him in… a while. 

Suddenly, a thought occurs to her, something jumping out to her from the hazy void that obscures most of her newest memories. “Wait, Phil, aren’t you meant to be on some sort of vacation right now?” she asks, blinking.

“Yep,” he says with a sigh. “This is the vacation. Welcome to Quesadilla Island, you two. It’s not really the greatest place to be, what with the creepy Federation having control of the entire place and not letting everyone leave, but it has its charms.”

“Does it?” Tubbo dubiously replies.

“Well, there’s…” A warm, affectionate smile appears on Phil’s face as he trails off. “They aren’t here right now. We all figured it would be dangerous for them to come along, and we were right. Still, when we get home… I’ll introduce you to my kids.”

“More kids?” Niki asks, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. “I guess it’s really true what Tommy says. You adopt kids wherever you go.”

“Hey, I didn't really have a choice in the matter!” Phil protests, laughing.

Quickly after that, they all start introductions. Niki has a feeling that she won’t really remember most of the names she’s heard. There’s so many people here, she can’t help but be surprised. And if what Phil says it’s true, none of them can leave.

…It feels so lonely, somehow. All of these people surely must be missing the lives they had before, just as she is. How do they reconcile with the fact that they won’t be able to go home for a while, if ever?

A man named Cellbit offers to take all of the new people on a tour around the island, and Niki is happy to accept in an effort to get her bearings. Along the way, a lot of people approach her. Two of them seem to be kids, named Pomme and Richarlyson. The former had given her a flower, and the latter had offered her some materials. A man named Etoiles, who introduced himself as Pomme’s father and a close friend of Phil’s, had also given her a backpack.

It was very kind, of course, but it made her feel startled at the charity she was offered. It just made her debt grow even higher, and it was quickly becoming impossible to repay it all and feel properly satisfied.

How could anyone be so kind? Were there any strings attached to it? The overwhelmed feeling was beginning to return again, and she didn’t have a clue how to stave it off.

She and Tubbo go to meet up with Phil, following the coordinates he had given them via the minimap on their newly acquired communicators. They had been given to them by a weird person wearing a bear mascot suit that quite frankly creeped her out. The shiny, unmoving and pupil-less eyes alongside the stitched on smile… It all felt distinctly unnatural and inhuman. The other islanders had identified him as Cucurucho, and had been quick to say that he couldn’t be trusted. Niki wouldn’t have trusted him anyway, even without the warning. So creepy… She hopes he doesn’t haunt her dreams tonight.

When they get to Phil’s house, he’s quick to greet them alongside a short, stocky boy with tanned skin, blonde hair and narrowed blue eyes and a tall, thin girl with dark skin, fluffy dark brown hair tied back in a loose braid with flower hair clips attached to it and a pink beanie. The former looks like Phil superficially, having the same physical features but his facial features being different, as if they were meant to resemble something else. The girl, on the other hand, looks different from Phil at first glance, but if one were to look closer, they could see him in the curve of her lips and the shape of her eyes.

“Glad you two made it.” he greets nonchalantly, leaning against the fence that goes along the end of the wall to prevent someone from haplessly wandering off it.

“Getting up here wasn’t easy, that’s for sure,” Tubbo huffs, rolling his shoulders with a disgruntled expression. “Only you would choose to live up here.”

“Honestly, Phil,” she adds, shaking her head, but they’re all smiling at each other.

Phil turns to the two kids trailing after him. “Right. These two are Chayanne and Tallulah. Kids, these are my friends, Tubbo and Niki. We’ve been through a lot together, so be kind to them, yeah?”

Chayanne looks wary, crossing his arms over his chest with a guarded expression, but Tallulah wastes no time in running forward, honey brown eyes glinting. “Hi!” she writes on a pink sign. “It’s nice to meet you!”

“And you as well,” Niki replies, smiling.

“Where’d you two come from?” Chayanne asks on a yellow sign, walking close enough for them to be in range of his sword, but not coming any nearer than that.

“We were frozen in blocks of ice in some weird dungeon,” Tubbo says with a huff, wrinkling his nose. “It was cold as shit in there. Not a fan.”

Both of the kids still for a moment, entire bodies tensing. The motion is so brief Niki can’t help but wonder if she imagined it. Tallulah’s quick to turn to Niki, beaming. “I love your hair!” she writes, pulling at half of her own hair to indicate the pink half. “Pink’s my favorite color, too.”

“Pink, huh?” Niki echoes, crouching down slightly. “You have great taste. I’ll try to remember that.”

Tallulah smiles, before her eyes suddenly widen in realization. She runs into one of the small houses dotted along the wall’s surface, and comes out a minute or two later, a pink backpack slung over her shoulder. “Here, I had an extra one!” she says excitedly, offering to Niki.

“Oh! That’s rather nice of you.” Niki replies, tilting her head and smiling. She looks over toward Tubbo, who seems to be making some sort of makeshift invention with bits of scrap. Chayanne is looking over his shoulder, trying and failing to hide his impressed expression. Looks like those two are getting along well, too, even if Chayanne seems somewhat standoffish.

“Are you gonna be staying on the wall with us?” Tallulah asks.

She thinks about it for a second, brow creasing. “Probably not,” she admits. “I’ll find myself a nice place to build myself a big pink house or something. But I’d probably stop by here a lot, so don’t be sad, okay?” Tallulah nods.

“Toby, Niki,” Phil suddenly calls. “Come here for a second, will you?” The two of them walk over to him, blinking. “Listen, you two are both a part of the family, right?” They both nod, even as Niki feels a warmth spread throughout her chest as a slight smile twitches at the edges of her lips. Family, huh…? Even now, it still feels weird to her just how suddenly people can just… declare that.

She decides it’s not a bad thing. If Phil cares about her enough to decide he chooses her as family… who is she to refute that?

“Course, mate,” Tubbo replies, a wide smirk on his face.

“That makes you Chayanne and Llulah’s godparents, then,” Phil says warmly. “But, with that fact… well, it brings a lot of responsibility with it, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Niki asks, threading her fingers through the gaps in her knitted sweatshirt.

“This island… It can be dangerous. It has the usual sort of monsters, but it also houses new threats the likes of which you’ve never seen. And the eggs…” He shakes his head, starting over. “We were given them by the Federation. The first batch was assigned to one English speaker and one Spanish speaker. To promote unity, I think. The rules have been adjusted a few times, but right now they’re like this; Three batches of tasks per week, otherwise they’ll lose a life to neglect. The eggs get two lives in total, and they can be regained if the death was found to be unfair. But overall, two tries is all anyone will get.”

Phil falls silent for a minute or two, staring solemnly at Chayanne and Tallulah.

Niki doesn’t think two lives would be so bad, really. It’s two tries in a world where one is the norm. But what must it be like, to know what it’s like to die, and yet continuing to be alive anyway?

“Chayanne and Tallulah have one life left.” Phil suddenly says. He lets that sink in for a few seconds before continuing. “And surviving… God, it can be unfairly hard sometimes. I guess the biggest threat would be the codes. Enhanced speed and strength, overpowered weapons, and a vendetta against the eggs specifically… They’re probably the biggest threat.”

“You want us to protect the kids against the codes,” Tubbo says slowly. It isn’t really a question. Anyone could see where Phil was going with his speech.

“If it comes down to it,” he replies calmly. “I won’t always be there, you know.”

Okay, she thinks she gets it. Phil trusts the two of them to protect his kids. And that’s a big responsibility. Tallulah’s so kind. Niki doesn’t think she could bear it if she were to get hurt.

All she can do is give it her all. Really, that’s all anyone can do, right?

“We’ll do our best, Phil,” she says softly, a steely smile on her face.

— — —

Niki wakes up gasping for air, entire body shuddering with the force of the breaths she’s desperately taking. It takes her far, far too long to remember where she is, and she’s left blankly staring at a corner of the room she’s in until it clicks.

What the hell was that? The dream, she means. …Was it a dream? It felt way too vivid for that to be the case. It was more akin to a memory, if she had to definitively place it.

But that wouldn’t make sense, because it’s impossible for it to be a memory. It’s one thing if she remembered something from her life before Showfall. She would have some idea of what to do with that.

She doesn’t have any clue what to do with that experience, that’s for sure.

Maybe it was spurred on by the experience she had at the dungeon yesterday, and the discovery of the sweatshirt that she's still wearing right now. Maybe none of that had been real, and her mind had just conjured it from nothing after running wild with the idea that she could have been in that dungeon if not for Showfall, and the fact that Tubbo had known her.

…The her in the dream had been wearing the exact same sweatshirt, and had the bows she had found as well that pinned her hair back. And yet, those were the only similarities between the two of them. Her hair was dyed pink on one half, for one, while Niki had left the bleached half of hair untouched. Her eyes, too, were entirely different, not anywhere near as bitter or angry as the ones that glared sharply at her everytime she looked in a mirror.

For all intents and purposes, that dream was like a glimpse into another world, one where Showfall never had the chance to get to her. Where she could be happy, and nice without having to think twice about it.

Not that it really was that, mind. She’s pretty sure it was just… a really strange dream. It had to be just a really strange dream.

…She wasn’t really sure what to do if it wasn’t.

Another weird thing about the experience was just how… all-consuming it was. For that dream that felt like it lasted an entire day, time passing slowly and solidly instead of hazily like it normally does in dreams, it was like she didn’t exist at all within it. Any trace of her had been neatly and meticulously scrubbed out, replaced with that version of her that was unreservedly and unabashedly happy.

She had never suffered like Niki had. She was missing the pasty white gunshot wounds on her upper and lower chest, and the newer half moon shaped scar embedded on her arm from how often she would dig her nails into it as a form of reprieve. She could trust others without a second thought.

If she heard a loud noise, she would probably be startled for a moment, but quickly calm down. If Niki heard a loud noise, her hands would immediately shoot up to her ears as she began to tremble, forgetting how to breathe. Worst case scenario, the world around her would entirely disappear, and she’d be back in the stupid candy room , the Puzzler holding the barrel of the gun against her back and getting ready to fire.

It must be nice to be so well adjusted. 

Honestly, the weirdest part about the dream to her was the people who were missing. People like Vinny, Ethan, and the rest, whom she saw at least once a week if not every day, were nowhere to be seen. Introductions had been conducted in the dream, just as they had been in real life the prior day, and they had proceeded almost identically.

…Her introduction had been different, of course. The her in real life and the her in her dream may as well be two different people.

Thinking about it had led her to determine something: Maybe it wasn’t just that Showfall had never gotten to her in that dream. Maybe Showfall hadn’t existed at all. And in that case…

Well, she wouldn’t know what it’s like to die, for one. She also supposes that most of them would have no reason to be on the island. After all, it wasn’t like they would be fleeing anything in that case. Moreover, they wouldn’t have met without Showfall. And even though she cares deeply about Sneeg and all the others, if she could trade them for a normal, happy life just like the one she saw in the dream…

She doesn’t know whether it’s an offer she would take or not. Then again, does it matter? She doesn’t solve anything from dwelling on what could have been. All she has is what’s going on, here and now. That stupid dream should just leave her head entirely. If she thinks about the life presented to her within it, she might become even more bitter than she already is.

…In a world where Showfall never existed, Ranboo would still be alive. Huh. That’s a weird thought. She wonders what they would be doing in that world. All she knows is that he would be so much happier, nothing like the desperately distant and unhappy kid they had been in the weeks leading up to his death. They all would be happier.

And if the world she had gotten a glimpse of is any indication, it doesn’t seem like she’d be lonelier without the friends she had made at Showfall. Other things would fill that void.

Speaking of friends, where the hell did her mind conjure up her and Phil being close from? She knows Phil, has talked to him once or twice. She thinks she would be aware of him knowing the person she was before Showfall.

(But maybe, if she had only spoken to him a few times before being kidnapped, it would have led to him not being as familiar with her, and not initially recognizing her when he sees her again-?)

No. No, she’s not even going to entertain this. The entire train of thought is stupid, and it’ll only serve to make her miserable.

Niki should really be focusing on more pressing problems. For example, Tubbo. He seems awfully stubborn, and she doubts that even avoiding him like the plague will make him want to give up on talking to her. Which is annoying, obviously.

She pulls herself out of bed, making a face when she remembers the circumstances she had fallen asleep in. She trades out the light gray skinny jeans she usually wears for a pair of baggy black sweatpants, deciding to stay inside for today, but keeps the sweatshirt from yesterday on. Not even she could provide an answer, even if she was to be asked why. It just feels… right.

Dragging herself in front of a mirror, she startles at her own reflection. For a moment, she was expecting to see the girl that had haunted her dreams last night, the girl that had lines in her face from smiling, whose eyes were alert and bright, and whose hair was dyed on one side. She’s almost disappointed when all she sees is her own reflection, with dulled, narrowed eyes and tight, bunched together shoulders.

The person staring back at her in the mirror is just her. Niki Nihachu. And she’s always been fine with that.

And yet, suddenly, she finds herself longing for more. She wants to be that cheery, peppy girl, who hasn’t been beaten down by the cruelties life possesses. She wants that peaceful, almost domestic bliss, with Tubbo and Phil and his family. She wants to feel okay for once.

And she just knows that those goals are impossible to obtain, no matter what she does. So what is she meant to do now, stuck living a life that she knows is inferior? How is she meant to ever be happy? That glimpse at another road her life could have gone down is going to end up driving her crazy, she just knows it.

As she numbly stares at her tired-eyed expression in the mirror, her hands begin to slip into her pocket absentmindedly. She doesn’t even realize what she’s doing until her hands are reaching to pin her hair back, the motion feeling like muscle memory. With one hand, she’s holding her hair, and with the other, she’s holding a silk white clip-on bow.

That hand leans forward, adjusting the bow until it’s fully pinned in her hair. She doesn’t even give herself a second to scrutinize her reflection in the mirror until she reaches for the other bow, mimicking the motion.

And then, all she can do is stare at herself, so close to mimicking the ghost she had seen in her dream. All she would have to do is dye the bleached side of hair pink, and the two may as well be one in the same.

Except, that wouldn’t really be the case, would it? No matter how much she tries to chase that other her, there will always be something that gives it away. Whether it’s her absentmindedly gripping at the gunshot scars on her chest, or flinching at a noise that’s just the slightest bit too loud, or smiling and realizing just how foreign the motion feels, or…

There will always be something that gives it away.

Niki’s legs buckle under her, and suddenly she’s left sitting on the cold bathroom floor, arms wrapped tightly around her chest. She cries, but she doesn’t even know why . Shouldn’t she be fine with who she is? She’s already found out how to be happy, no matter how difficult it feels some days. 

The tears pass as quick as they came. It’s hard to keep crying when she doesn’t even know why she’s doing so, after all. She’s not grieving, not really. She’s accepted that she’ll never get to live the life she was meant to have. 

So why does her chest feel so hollowed out? Why does her world feel as if it’s crumbling into dust around her? Why does she always have to be so bitter? Is getting to be happy too much to ask for, after everything? Isn’t that what freedom is meant to be, getting to be happy without any strings attached?

God, if she tries to look for answers in every thought she has, every reaction her body makes, every inopportune twist of fate the world presents her with, she’ll go insane even faster than she thought.

She grips her head and lets out a strangled gasp. Is it too much to ask for everything to just stop?

Suddenly, something comes to her. One difference between the her in her dream among the million that had been exhibited was that she seemed to have an interest in baking. Honestly, it was a hobby she had never felt much of before. But if she had once found comfort in it, then maybe…?

Wait, no. This isn’t… Even if the Niki that had been in her dream had liked baking, that didn’t mean anything when it came to her. After all, they were two different people. But she had a sweet tooth and had gotten some baking supplies on a whim a month back, even if she had never used it.

…When she had bought everything, she knew exactly what she needed. But things like baking are common knowledge, right? Her having a sense for that doesn’t mean anything. Ugh, that stupid dream is going to bother her for so long. Idly, she thinks that Showfall scrubbing her mind again wouldn’t be so bad if it means that any remnant of that stupid dream would be taken with it.

In that case, she hopes Tubbo will be brought down with her, too. She wants all possible memories of the person she was before to be eradicated as best as anyone can manage. Even though she doesn’t remember anything about herself, she knows she would hate whoever she used to be. She would have to, right?

Niki prides herself on her strength and her self sufficiency borne of the suffering she had endured at Showfall. That feeling of being pushed aside, always being ignored in favor of someone else, and her entire being just being boiled down to one word that felt as though it robbed her of everything every time it was uttered was something she had never wanted to deal with again.

So she was determined to do everything herself and never, never rely on others. She had learned how to fight from Etoiles, had gotten a rundown of how to farm from Phil, and had been taught how to sew by Mike, all so she could go about her day to day life completely on her own. The idea of needing anyone for anything sent shudders down her spine.

Not that she completely avoided others. She was content to just have friends, of course. But friendship was a completely different thing than needing someone. She has no interest in owing a single person anything. She’s completely fine on her own, thanks.

As she walks out to the kitchen, she rests her face against the cold material of her counter, letting out a shaky breath. Then, she gets up, walking to her pantry and setting everything she needs along the counter. She’s halfway through getting all of the dry ingredients into the mixture when she realizes something with a start.

Oh. She hadn’t even pulled up a recipe on her communicator. She’s just been… doing all of this from muscle memory?

…Okay. That’s- It’s fine. She just desperately needs to ignore the fact that she had gotten the idea from that dream. Because if it starts mirroring her own life, she’ll be…

Ugh. She really has no interest in thinking about that stupid dream for any longer than she has to, because if it ends up being true, she had really gotten a glimpse of what her life could have been like without Showfall… What is she meant to do with that? It just makes her feel…

If she and Tubbo had been friends… Hell, if she and Phil had been friends, then it just makes her life so much harder. She just wants to leave everything in the past, because trying to think about it just makes her miserable. Showfall, Ranboo, who she used to be… If she can just shove it to the back of her mind, maybe she could have the slightest chance of being happy.

But all of it comes back to haunt her, no matter what she tries. It just makes her feel so powerless, even though she’s tried to grab the world by the reins and force it to bend to her will. Why does she never get a choice when it comes to what happens to her? Why is it that no matter how much she isolates herself, she still feels watched, as if she’s being tossed in front of another camera and forced to suffer, suffer, suffer, and can neve properly be free from being a spectacle for the sake of it.

And yet, even as she goes through all of this, her body is still moving, falling into the comfort of muscle memory as she cracks eggs, stirs the dough, and loads the tray into the oven. When she finishes inserting the tray, she just leaves the oven open for a moment, hot air blowing onto her skin. It’s uncomfortable, and leaves her shuffling in place, the warmth suddenly stifling. But even then, she can’t take off the sweatshirt. She can’t. It’s hers. And what in this world has ever been just hers?

Not her life, certainly. She’s been stuck, pinned in front of a camera, and left to be nothing outside of it. She was property of Showfall Media, after all, and to belong to someone, you’re inherently worth nothing at all. You inherently are nothing. And people who are nothing can’t have anything. The mere concept is contradictory.

Not even her mind can be hers anymore. It’s been taken over by thoughts of what had once been. So much for leaving the past where it belongs.

She leans forward to close the oven. It closes with a final rush of hot air, and she grits her teeth. The oven reminds her of her own mind. All of the bad thoughts swirling around in it seem so all-consuming and inescapable, but they disappear when she manages to get a grip on them. The only reason she’s struggling so much is because she’s miserably pathetic and weak, no matter how hard she tries to control them. Even now, she can’t be anything other than nice, can she? Anything else she tries to make herself just crumples around her.

She really kinda wants to die, right now. She really kinda wants to burn everything around her to the ground, and feel vindicated as her sweatshirt and bows go up within the flames. She really kinda wants to go to Phil and Tubbo with her tail between her legs and beg to be a part of their family, because it’s the only place she’ll ever belong.

Wanting to belong somewhere is the very nature of human existence, isn’t it? And yet, she feels like a stranger in her own house, never mind her own mind. Home is what a person makes it, and yet nothing ever quite feels like home at all. And yet, that domestic scene up on the wall, where she vowed to give everything she had to protect Chayanne and Tallulah, was the most she had ever felt like she had a purpose. And she wasn’t even there, it was the other Niki!

It was funny how the her in her dreams would dedicate her entire being to keeping the kids safe. No one can really dedicate themselves, can give everything to something without knowing what it's like to have nothing, to be nothing. And of course she’s never experienced that.

Niki maybe hates the other her a little bit. Maybe a lot.

Suddenly, her head snaps up, breath catching in her throat. Does she hear… voices?

Staggering to her feet is more difficult an act than it should be, really. But standing feels nearly impossible when her legs are trembling as if there’s an earthquake beneath her, and she constantly needs to lean on something in order to not go tumbling to the floor. She feels awful, dazed and nauseous and dizzy.

As she gets closer to her door, she’s able to identify who’s talking behind it. That low, rumbly tenor she’s so used to hearing… Sneeg, without a doubt. And that high pitched, screechy voice… Goddamn it. That’s Tubbo. Can she ever be free?

“-died and made you the boss?!” Tubbo yells, sounding frustrated. “I just need to talk to Niki, okay?! Stop guarding this place like you’re some sort of troll under the bridge!”

In comparison to Tubbo’s loud whines, Sneeg is calm and collected, voice even but the words themselves pointed, like daggers. “I’m her friend,” he says flatly. “And I want to protect her. You were the reason she was acting so weird yesterday, weren’t you? It’s obvious she doesn’t want to see you. Let her come to you on her own. Better yet, just drop it entirely.”

A sudden wave of gratitude for Sneeg washes over her, and she lets out a relieved breath, the beginnings of a smile on her face. But Tubbo doesn’t seem deterred by Sneeg’s sharp putdown. He’s like an animal caught in a trap; he has no clue when to just give up. “And who the hell are you, huh?! I’ve never seen you before in my life! Who are you to boss me around? Who are you to tell me what’s best for Niki?!”

“I could say the same to you,” Sneeg replies, sounding almost mocking. “How do you even know her?”

“Ugh.” She presses herself up against the peephole in the door, and gets a clear image of Tubbo’s head in his hands, looking discouraged but not defeated. She wishes he would just give up and go live his own life, without her. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we were friends… Until she disappeared into thin air about… jeez, I think it was three years, now. I just want to know what happened to her, that’s all. I’ve… been worried.”

“ Oh. ” Sneeg gasps out, brow creased. “That’s… damn it.” He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Now I get why she’s avoiding you. But in that case… You two really need to talk.” He looks over his shoulder, glaring right into the peephole. “Isn’t that right, Niki?”

She groans. “As overdramatic as ever, Sneeg,” she grumbles, opening the door and stepping onto the porch with her arms crossed. Tubbo gasps when he sees her, eyes wide as they dart from her sweatshirt to her bows. He… looks like he’s seen a ghost. She supposes she can qualify as one.

“There’s someone here who wants to talk to you,” he says, gesturing to Tubbo with his head.

“...Right,” she says, biting her lip as she awkwardly fidgets with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I guess it’s not the sort of thing you’d be quick to let go, huh?”

She hears Tubbo’s breath hitch as he takes a couple steps toward her, eyes wide. “Niki… I…” he says, shoulders bunched up tight around his neck. “God, it’s been years. I… I don’t even know what to say.”

“Save your breath,” she retorts. “I…” Jeez, now that she’s in front of him, she can’t quite bring herself to crush his dreams. She just keeps thinking of the man she saw in her dream, young and bright eyed and friendly to her, of all people, and she somehow managed to return that friendliness without it spiraling into a messy argument. People being kind without any reason just… sets her off, that’s all. It feels disingenuous, or like they’re pitying her. “I don’t want to explain this out here. Mind going inside and taking a seat? You can come too, Sneeg. I… don’t want to be alone for this.”

“Whatever you want,” the man replies with a shrug. “C’mon, kid.” He grabs Tubbo by the color and yanks him forward, Tubbo letting out a cry of alarm but managing to keep his balance. Niki lingers in the doorway for a moment. She… doesn’t really want to explain this, but it’s not like she’ll divulge everything. Even if she never got the luxury of privacy at Showfall, it’s something she desperately wants to savor while she’s here.

…Honestly, though, she doesn’t really have privacy here, either. Everyone knows what happened with Showfall, on the second livestream if not the first one. Pity is a resource produced in as many qualities as kindness is, and she has no time for either.

The cookies are probably ready by now, she figures. A gut feeling. She slips into the kitchen, getting a glimpse of Sneeg glaring at a fidgeting Tubbo as they awkwardly sit on her couch, and she turns off the oven and puts the tray on the stove top. She probably should move the cookies to a cooling rack, but that would take time. They’re fine where they are.

Quickly, she goes back into the living room and practically collapses on the couch. She makes an effort to sit as far apart from Tubbo as she can. Which isn’t very fair, since her couch is small, but at least Sneeg’s in the middle to act as a buffer between the two of them. “So… hey.” she mutters, looking at a corner instead of anywhere near the practical stranger currently in her house of her own volition.

“Hey,” Tubbo numbly echoes. “...Jeez. You look so different, but at the same time…” Oh. He must be staring at her. Not that she can tell. Not that she wants to tell.

“Okay, don’t start with that,” she snaps. “Let’s get one thing out of the way: I don’t remember a thing about you.”

She can just imagine the confused expression on his face; the way his brows are pinched and his mouth is slightly agape. She doesn’t really like that she’s able to create such a vivid mental image like that. “What… do you mean?” he replies hesitantly.

Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she forces herself to continue. “I don’t remember anything about myself, either, before you start getting all pouty,” she says dismissively. “Not my family, any other friends, not even if “Nihachu” is my real last name or not. The first thing I remember is waking up in that stupid warehouse. I…”

“You’re not doing a good job of phrasing this,” Sneeg points out. In response, she flicks him on the arm. He doesn’t even react to it, and continues. “The thing is, all of us–um, that is, me, Niki, Austin, Ethan, Vinny, and Charlie–were all kidnapped by this group of bastards named Showfall Media. They’re an entertainment company, most of their stuff is a mix between comedy and horror. Their actors weren’t really that at all, just people they had kidnapped and irreversibly ruined beyond repair. Their default state was being so dazed from mind control they couldn’t even think straight.” He lets out a derisive snort.

“We escaped to the island about… well, we got here on June 3rd, so I guess it was a little over two months ago,” Niki continues. “After… some difficulties, we mostly settled in.” She can’t help but stare listlessly out the window, in the direction to where Ranboo was buried, no matter how far away from here it was. “None of us have remembered anything from before we were kidnapped, so don’t get your hopes up.” She looks at Tubbo for the first time with a stern glare, only to remember the dream she had and winces, looking away.

Except, hey, hang on, that doesn’t count as her remembering her life before, because there’s no way in hell that was a memory from before Showfall. The timeline doesn’t match in the slightest. The only thing that makes sense is the dream was a look into a world without Showfall, as ridiculous to think as that sounds.

Maybe he misinterpreted her wince, because Tubbo frowns. “You don’t have to feel guilty,” he protests, even though he’s fidgeting with a bit of wiring in his hands, as if he’s not sure how to approach this. “It’s not your fault. If anything, I…” He places his head in his hands and groans. “An entertainment company, huh? You were right there. I bet all I had to do was turn on a fucking TV.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” Sneeg suddenly says, and Niki can’t help but feel startled by the interjection given that he’s been nothing but hostile to Tubbo the entire time. “Even if you had seen her, you couldn’t have done anything. Showfall had everyone in their pockets so they could get away with all of it. The mind control was common knowledge, even if the kidnapping wasn’t. No matter what you tried, no one would have done anything. And if you had tried anything, you would probably be strangled by hordes of zombie employees or kidnapped yourself.”

“Then how did you escape?” Tubbo retorts, straightening as he bristles. It seems like he’s not a fan of the implication that he’s powerless in the whole situation.

“The first time, it was planned. More content for their stupid fucking shows.” Sneeg hisses. “The second time, it’s not like it was easy. It’s not like we all made it out alive. ” Judging by the irritated expression that crosses over his face as he slides a little bit down the couch, he didn’t mean to say that part.

“Oh,” Tubbo whispers, all color draining from his face. “Oh.” He hunches in on himself, shooting furtive glances at Niki when he doesn’t think she’s looking. She usually is. Finally, he swallows. “Niki, I… I missed you a lot. You barely look like the same woman who was there one day and was gone the next. You’re… You’re so different. But that look in your eyes… I can tell it’s still you, even if…” He sighs, shoulders slumping. “Now that I know what happened, I can tell that this is a lot for you. Whether you still want to be friends or not… I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Okay is a relative term,” she retorts, rolling her eyes. “And if I ever want to reach out… I’ll come to you, okay? No showing up on my doorstep out of nowhere.”

“Would you have talked to me if I didn’t?” Tubbo asks, pouting.

“Doubtful.” Sneeg adds with a snort.

“I’m never talking to either of you again,” Niki announces, and the other two burst into laughter.

After a few more back and forths, she finally manages to chase the two out of her house. Her shoulders slump as she leans against the counter of her kitchen. Idly, her hands reach out to grab a cookie from the tray. It’s mostly cold now, but as she bites into it, she realizes the inside is still warm.

She actually doesn’t know the last time she had a cookie. But as she chews the mouthful, she realizes the taste is nostalgic. A warmth begins to bloom in her chest as the beginnings of a memory spread through her mind. The exact details are hazy, and she can’t make the blurriness fade no matter how hard she tries. Instead, she just opts to enjoy the memory that refuses to come into focus, but still makes her feel happy anyway. This happiness… is this how the other her feels everyday?

It makes Niki hate her even more.

As the day winds down, she climbs back into bed, making sure to actually change into pajamas this time. Tonight, she’s going to prove it was all a fluke. Whether she has a normal dream or a paralyzing nightmare, it won’t matter. Either way, she won’t get another glance into that world without Showfall. She won’t be driven insane by what could have been.

Determined, she rests her head against her pillow, and after half an hour of tossing and turning, she falls asleep.

— — —

The dreams don’t go away.

Why aren’t the dreams going away?

Niki doesn’t have a clue what she’s meant to do. How can she make it stop? She’s tried staying up late, not sleeping, sleeping on her couch instead of her bed… And yet, no matter what she tries, the dreams still come, an inevitable looming specter constantly haunting her. The more she gets a glimpse into this other world, the more she feels as if she’s being driven insane.

Her only solace is that she’s not the only one getting the dreams. The girl in her dreams seems just as bothered every time she wakes up, looking dazed. It’s like she forgets where she is every time she regains consciousness, just as Niki herself does. And moreover, she seems subdued in the mornings as she thinks over her own dreams from the night before.

If she’s going to be driven insane by this, the least that can happen is the other Niki experiencing the same alongside her. The more she sees of her life, the more resentment she feels, a cold, searing fury building in the back of her throat, just waiting to be spit out. At least she knows what it’s like to actually suffer now. It wasn’t fair that she was the only one actually acquainted with the feeling.

(Logically, she knows that the girl in her dreams hadn’t gone through life without knowing the feeling of suffering at least once. But emotionally, why should she care? It doesn’t change the fact that their lives, their very souls are irreconcilably different, and she’s going to be resentful of anyone who’s lived a better life than her, especially another version of herself. She supposes that’s the sort of person she inherently is; bitter and angry at everyone who’s just the slightest better than her.)

The worst part about the dreams is that she can tell that  they’re influencing her and her behavior, too. She finds herself being more cheerful without thinking about it, only to stop short when she realizes exactly what she’s doing. Not that being happy is a bad thing, exactly. She just… It makes her feel more vulnerable, and weak, and nice. She’s tried to swallow her pride in order to present herself in the same way the girl in her dreams just is, but it always leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

The most notable change in her behavior is her change in feelings toward Jaiden.

Ugh. It’s so stupid. But the girl in her dreams had been saved from a horde of mobs by Jaiden coming and cutting through them. She had been so starstruck and grateful by the assistance that she couldn’t help but…

There really isn’t an easy way to say this, but… she thinks she has a crush on Jaiden.

Which is not ideal, obviously. Not that she dislikes Jaiden or anything! There’s worse people she could be crushing on. It’s just that she knows the other woman isn’t interested in anyone, and her feelings are destined to go nowhere. What’s even the point in wasting time on them like she is?

It’s embarrassing. That’s all she’ll really say about it. She doesn’t want to think too long about it in case the girl in her dream's feelings begin to rub off on her a little too much, and she does something stupid and impulsive.

Every time she walks past a mirror, she always does a double take. She’s never really sure what she expects to find in her own reflection. The most she does is staring into her tired-eyed reflection as she’s struck with the distinct feeling that there should be more. 

It doesn’t help that she wears the sweatshirt and bows more often than not. They bring her an odd sense of comfort, even as every other reminder of the girl in her dreams leaves her agitated and bitter. When she looks like this, the two are identical at first glance. The differences only become more apparent upon closer glance.

If someone who knew the other Niki saw her, they’d just think she was her. All of her efforts to be more than what other people make her, and yet she’s easily reduced to nothing in an instant.

Even the thing that distinguishes the two the most, that being their hair, isn’t really that different. Of course, Niki’s hair is styled differently, and half of it is blonde as opposed to pink. But that really doesn’t change much, especially when the color can just be written off as the dye being washed out.

In the end, she’s really no different from the girl in her dreams at all. If someone’s first thought when they see her is to think of the other Niki, then that just means she failed. It means she’s nothing, completely and utterly, and all of her efforts to be her own person mean nothing at all.

No matter how much she tries to distinguish herself from the girl in her dreams, she’s dragged right back to the same wall she’s stuck at each time. If just a few things had changed for Niki, she would be just like her. How can she truly say that the only thing they share is a face and a name, as if she isn’t aware of how much more they could have shared?

Their souls, their very being, are the same, she thinks. Her’s is just… damaged. It probably has cracks running through it, with gaping holes in the exact areas she bears bullet scars. It’s like trying to fully set herself apart from Showfall. It’s impossible because of the sheer amount of impact they’ve had on her.

If she can’t set the two of them apart just from who they are as people, then what can she do?

The answer to that is surprisingly simple. All she has to do is alter her appearance to the point where she can’t recognize herself when she’s in the mirror. She already can’t do that, really, just because of the sheer bitterness and exhaustion burning in her pale, icy eyes. At this point, she might as well go all the way with it. What else does she have to lose?

That day, she goes out and gets red and black dye alongside bleach. She doesn’t have a clue what she wants to do with it, really. She just grabs what feels right to her.

And yes, she grabs red, not pink. In the world within her dreams, she seems to have a love for pink, judging by the pink castle she spends the majority of her days working tirelessly on. Niki can’t help but love the color too. That love is the exact reason she avoids the color like her life depends on it. She needs to forge her own path. She needs to be completely differentiated from both the person she was before and the woman she is in a world without Showfall.

She won’t let anyone tell her who she’s meant to be, not anymore. Not when she finally has control of her own life, even though the world seems determined to pry that control from her hands with an almost surgical ease.

When she gets home, she stations herself in front of the mirror. She hates how young she looks, how young she is. But she also hates the weary look in her eyes that makes her look practically ancient. She’s never happy with how she looks. It’s irritating.

The first thing she does is apply the bleach to both sides of her hair, both the brown side and the roots poking out on the already bleached side. In the interim, while she waits for enough time to pass, she ties her hair up, putting a bag over her hair. The bleach stings her hair, especially the top of her scalp. It’s somewhat embarrassing how much it bothers her, given how much worse pain she’s experienced. But it bothers her anyway, and that in turn makes her irritated.

She’s so weak, even now. Her hands sink into the crescent moon scars in her arms, but she doesn’t feel anything, no matter how deep she digs her nails into her skin. Somehow, the numbness doesn’t make her feel any better. The hollowness in her chest stays exactly the same, never growing any bigger or smaller. Just lingering there, sapping her energy gradually and leaving her shoulders slumped.

After she washes out the bleach, she wipes out the steam from her mirror, breathing heavily as she gets a good look at herself. Her hair is a yellowish-blonde, and seeing the color on her entire head feels like a shock. At the same time, though, she gets the sense she’s seen her hair like this before.

It’s a change, but not enough of one. She grits her teeth and grabs another pair of rubber gloves, the material tight against her skin. She’s armed with a brush to apply dye in one hand, and silver clips to move hair back in the other.

The process of actually dying her hair is messy. Bits of dye end up smeared along her bathroom counter and sink, and the ruby red and charcoal black colors make it look as if she murdered someone and then set the corpse on fire. Something tells her that the dye will eventually come out if she were to scrub hard enough, but she isn’t that bothered by it.

In the end, she ends up with this; the majority of her hair is a brilliant red, the color reminiscent of blood. However, it’s split in the middle, with black in the front and more red in the back. The bottom has less divided divisions, strands of black and red interwoven together.

She barely recognizes herself in the mirror. The effect just becomes more pronounced when she applies makeup.

It’s perfect.

Niki doesn’t even know how long she’s staring at her own reflection for. She just keeps running her eyes over each dip and contour within her face, occasionally poking at her cheek to check if this is real or not.

When she’s finally satisfied, she leans back. And then she takes in a breath, squaring her shoulders. “I know you’re here,” she calls. “Watching me, just as you do everyday. It’s the same thing I do to you, too.” She begins to idly run a hand through her hair. “You must be saddened by it, seeing how pathetic I am. How far your life could have careened off course.”

Her entire body shudders with the force of the breaths she’s taking. She can barely breathe, all of her breath going toward speaking. “I hate you. I hate you with everything I have. What have you done to deserve a happy life that I didn’t do? What do you have that I don’t?”

“Get out of my dreams. Get out of my head. ”

And then she lunges forward, hand balled tightly into a fist, and drives it into the glass of the mirror with all her strength. The glass shatters with the impact, shards digging into her fists, and blood trails down her arms in red streaks. If she were to look at it from a certain angle, it would look like juice, as if she were holding a popsicle in the process of melting.

Then, she takes a step back, pressing against the bathroom wall so she can get a full view of the mirror. In some bits of the cracked glass, she sees herself, but in others, she sees that stupid, distorted version of her that won’t escape her dreams. It’s like she’s viewing herself in a funhouse mirror, her reflection mirrored and warped.

Niki doesn’t move for several seconds, shoulders heaving. And then she turns away.

(It’s a pyrrhic victory, because the dreams never stop. But somehow, she feels as if she’s won anyway.)

Chapter Text

The eggs have gone missing.

The moment the words are uttered, Vinny knows he’s dead. He might as well take a death kneel, take a sword and drive it right through his heart. There isn’t any way he can go on. Death would be so much better than having to deal with this painful ache, the looming knowledge that any of the goodwill he’s built will evaporate into the air.

Even after the writing was on the wall, though, he couldn’t help but be hopeful. A stupid, hopeful, worthless idiot who can’t do anything anymore-

And yet, he keeps fighting anyway, like a flailing fish out of water who refuses to give up even as the odds become more and more stacked against him. He supposes it creates a good picture of his desperation with how frantically he clings to this.

Without the eggs, he has nothing left. That is, there isn’t anything he can do to prove his worth. He’s no good at emotional support (god knows people need it right now); an awkward man fumbling through conversations doesn’t do much for morale. He can’t do physical labor; Sneeg says he’s built like a twig. He can’t even try to go out and look for the eggs, because he doesn’t have a clue where to start.

Of course, there isn’t much reason for him to hang around… anyone anymore. But he’s terrified of the thought of going home to his miserable, empty house, with its cavernous hallways that somehow feel like they’ll suffocate him, and the empty rooms he never got around to filling. He thinks if he returns to that house, he’ll never leave. He’ll just rot away, dying with the knowledge that he can’t do anything anymore.

But he doesn’t want to die, even if he knows he deserves it. So he clings desperately to whatever he has left, even as it begins to dissolve in his hands.

A few days after the eggs disappear, Vinny makes his rounds to visit all of his friends. Well, friends are an overestimation, just like it always is. But it rolls off the tongue better than “people whose kids I take care of so they’ll keep me around and I don’t have to be alone”.

Unsurprisingly, none of it goes well. No one would want him around in the best of situations, and this is probably the worst thing that could happen. Still, it doesn’t stop his heart from breaking, from that small sliver of hope he clung onto disappearing just like the eggs had.

Bad had been first on the docket, mostly because he’s always been antsy about the man and he didn’t much feel confident in the idea that he’d want Vinny around. Unsurprisingly, he was right. He wouldn’t even let Vinny into his house, cracking the door open just slightly to glare at him with narrowed eyes and too sharp teeth.

“Oh. Hey. What do you want?” He hadn’t hesitated to cut to the chase, but the sharp grief in his voice had made Vinny wince and scurry back a few paces. He looked like shit. Vinny won’t mince words there. His cloak was wrinkled in a way that looked like it had been slept in night after night, his face was haggard with deep bags under his hostile eyes, and the bits of hair he could see under his cloak were knotted and greasy. He was normally so… relaxed and put together.

His disheveled appearance wasn’t the thing that had caused Vinny to leave as soon as he could. It was the way his teeth were grit and the expression in his eyes; that angry, unstable look will never be erased from his mind. He looked on the verge of doing something horrible. Like he could lunge forward and strangle Vinny if he did anything wrong.

“Um,” he had stammered out, voice breaking. “I just- are you alright? I-”

“Honestly, what do you think?” Bad had snarled in response, shoving his head through the door as he bared his teeth in a snarl. Vinny had actually let out a strangled cry, hugging himself as he backed up more and more. “My kids are gone. Everyone is- They’re all- Why the hell are you even here? It’s not like we’re friends. ”

That had been his worst fear, hearing someone actually say that. And he deserved it. God, does he know he deserves it. It’s his fault Ranboo’s dead. It’s his fault he’s alone. Hell, he probably did something wrong, and that’s why the eggs are gone. Really, he doesn’t mind being a scapegoat. At least it’ll give him confirmation that everyone hates him instead of leaving him constantly wondering.

“Right,” he had hollowly replied, feeling an odd vertigo as the strangled feeling in his chest grew tighter and tighter. “I-I… already knew that, I don’t know why I’m- Bye.” And then he had turned on his heel and desperately ran. He had only managed to get out of Bad’s view before he had completely collapsed on the ground, scraping his knees against the stone as he gasped for air and struggled to breathe.

Vinny doesn’t know how long he had sat there, struggling for air as his eyes stung. He just knows when it ended, he felt lightheaded and nauseated, his hands trembling in front of him. There was a lump in the back of his throat that he couldn’t swallow no matter how hard he tried.

Maybe he had already known then. That this would be the rest of his life, he means. That he would be frantically rushing from person to person, trying to find someone, anyone who would want him around, only to never find it.

That could be his life. A pathetic, worthless thing that could be dismissed in less than a thought. That… would be his life, if he didn’t do anything.

He felt like a bug stuck in a web, waiting for the spider to come back and finally end it. There isn’t much he can do to avert his fate, now that the only thing he’s good for has disappeared into thin air.

He’s upset that the eggs are missing, sure. But that’s primarily because it means that there’s no reason anyone would ever want him anymore. It’s like he’s been fired from a job, and there’s nothing that he can fall back on.

The writing is on the wall. It’s always been there, no matter how much he’s tried to ignore it. He’s etched it there over and over again in his own blood, the bright ruby red drying and crusting into a rusty burgundy.

Vinny’s dead. He’s dead, dead, dead. He should just kill himself already and get it over with.

But he hadn’t gone through with it. Not in the past, and not in the present, either. As for the future… All he can do is wait to see what it’ll hold.

At the end of his panic attack (that’s what it was, right? That feels like the proper word to describe it. Even now, as he thinks about it, he struggles to breathe), instead of returning home with his tail between his legs, he walked toward the nearest warp stone and imagined Foolish’s terrifying, intimidating house that always made him feel even more pathetic and worthless than he normally does whenever he was around it.

Foolish was alright, though. Well, no, that sounded cruel! Foolish is great! His constant enthusiasm is so infectious he can’t help but make Vinny smile, too. He’s just- never mind.

Now he feels like a terrible person. Damn it. Is it his thoughts that make him terrible, or his actions? Either way, he’s still a fundamentally irredeemable person. That fact is just an inherent quality he possesses. Even then, he can’t help but be disappointed with himself. He buries his face in his knees and lets out a nauseated groan. Despite how awful he feels, he doesn’t stop thinking about the past.

Of course he doesn’t. He needs to remember everything he’s done wrong, every reason why he deserves to be alone.

So on he had went, warping over to Foolish’s house. No matter how used he gets to it, he never really likes warping. He has no clue how it works, which makes him wary, and moreover, it just makes him feel like… nothing, he supposes. It’s like a massive cavernous void opens in his chest, and it grows wider and wider until it swallows him whole. And then suddenly he’s at his destination, the feeling suddenly and noticeably gone.

It beats walking, though. It’s less time he has to be alone. God, he’d do anything to not be alone…

And yet here he is.

On shaky legs, he had staggered up the stairs leading to Foolish’s house. He had as little luck with the man as he figured he would. Sure, he was acting as cheerful as ever, but anyone with eyes could see that it was a front.

“Vinny? Whoa, wasn’t expecting to see you here, since, y’know…” That’s how Foolish had greeted him, with so much mock cheer and nonchalance that it made him feel nauseated. How far was he pushing back his terror, his nervousness? How much did he miss Leo? Was it like a part of him had been carved out and was gushing blood, even now? 

That’s what real worry is. Feeling so suffocatingly terrified that you neglect yourself for the sake of the person you care for. Vinny could stand to learn that, couldn’t he? Just so he could stop feeling so terrible about his selfishness? He had taken care of Leo, Dapper, and Ramón a lot, often enough to feel… something about their absences. Right?

He throws himself into the recesses of his mind, determined to find something. Worry and fear and terror that isn’t directed toward himself, but toward other people. He knows it’s a revolutionary concept, but he has to be able to muster something.

And still, there’s nothing. And that’s the truth of the matter: he never gave a damn about any of the kids at all, whether he did anything to take care of them or not. The only thing he cared about was people wanting him around. And now, he doesn’t even have that.

Vinny can’t even feel disgust at himself. He’s too busy feeling terrified for what lies in wait.

“Yeah, I know,” he had sheepishly replied. “I guess I just wanted to see how you were doing. You’re probably not taking this very well, huh?” The thing with Foolish was that he was misunderstood. People saw his cheerful, happy-go-lucky attitude and misinterpreted him as immature or uncaring toward others. But that wasn’t the truth at all! He could be sad and worried just as anyone else could be.

Because of that lack of understanding, though, the majority of people didn’t bother to get all that close to him. Really, it was just him and Leo against the world. And now it was just him.

And now Vinny feels sad. There it is, proof that he isn’t some emotionless asshole capable of feeling pity or whatever else. So if he could feel it for Foolish, a man who wouldn’t care if he were to drop dead tomorrow, why can’t he feel it for the eggs, who have been nothing but kind and encouraging toward him?

Why can’t he do anything right?

He can’t even have a presentable death. Burning to death as he screamed for someone, anyone to help him, was deemed too graphic or too boring or whatever reason Showfall would filter something out. Instead, he was made into a joke, and left with burn scars and itchy skin grafts and a horrible, agonizing fear of fire. All he has to do to trigger it is to smell the slightest bit of smoke, and suddenly he’s back there in that laser room, writhing on the floor as Ranboo and Sneeg watch him silently, eyes glazed over.

Vinny still resents the two of them for that, no matter how unreasonable it is. That’s right, he resents the dead kid who’s been nothing but kind to him, the kid who died in his place. He also dislikes the guy who would do anything to protect him, just to cement his status as cruel and selfish.

But still, they should have done something. Or, well… He supposes they didn’t have to do something. It would have been nice, but he can’t really blame them for not running through lasers that would set them on fire in an effort to save his life. After all, it’s not like he was really worth much of anything. He’s more insignificant than a speck of dust next to Showfall’s amazing, infallible Hero.

He hadn’t wanted to die, though. Why did he have to die?

Maybe the better question was why he had to live. If he just died, at least it would all be over. But he stubbornly continues to live anyway.

God, he’s gotten really distracted. His thoughts are a dark, murky place nowadays. It’s hard to get a handle on them. Even harder to push them to the back of his mind and act like they don’t exist. They aren’t the sort to like being ignored.

At his response, Foolish had blinked owlishly at him, mouthing something to himself. He was probably calling Vinny an idiot. To be fair, he was. His kid had gone missing. Leo could be dead. And Vinny wanted to know if he was doing okay or not? What kind of insensitive moron was he?

“Well, I could be doing better,” Foolish had slowly replied, looking hesitant. That had stung, realizing that Foolish didn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth about how he was feeling. Then again, why would he? Vinny was just some traumatized stranger who occasionally came in handy. That’s all they are to each other.

Maybe it stung so much because Vinny would happily divulge anything and everything to the other man. He’s not really the sort to keep secrets close to his chest. Or maybe he just trusts too easily?

…No, it’s definitely not that one. How can he trust anyone, when he knows just how expendable of a person he is? How can he trust anyone after this, after all the pain and rejection?

“Right,” Vinny had slowly said. “...Is there anything I can do? Um, it’s just… It’s not like I’m doing much right now anyway. If you just want someone to keep you company, I can-”

“No!” Foolish had suddenly interjected, with so much force Vinny had shrunk back. “Listen, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but I just want to be alone right now, alright?”

That’s something he can’t ever imagine. Why would anyone ever want to be alone, with only their thoughts to keep them company? If Vinny were in that situation, he’d go insane. He supposes he’s already going insane right now, really.

“Um, are you sure? I know you’re taking this hard. You really cared about Leo,” he had earnestly said. Why the hell had he said that? He really had the nerve to bring up Leo, when he couldn’t even be bothered to worry about the kid? “You don’t have to put up a front around me, you know. You can-”

Of course, that had been the wrong thing to say. Why the hell had he thought that would convince Foolish to want him around? Poking his nose into the other man’s business like that… Who did he think he was, Niki? “Like I said, I’m fine, ” Foolish had retorted, cutting him off. He still had his trademark smile on his face, but it felt a lot more intimidating with the clipped tone he had suddenly adopted. 

It reminded him just what Foolish was; he had lived for so much longer than Vinny had, and would continue to do so long after he was buried and forgotten. He could kill him without even thinking about it. Maybe if he kept pushing, the man would finally put him out of his misery.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your concern,” he had continued, leaning forward. “But it’s not like you could ever know what this is like.”

And that? That had really set him off. “What do you mean by that?” he had snapped, forgetting himself. No one liked a person who started arguments, especially when the person he was arguing with was already in a bad mood already. Even if the eggs came back, which felt doubtful, would Foolish even want him around anymore?

Would anyone? Had anyone even wanted him in the first place, or had he just deluded himself into thinking that?

“You don’t think I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone? Is that it?” he had continued, bristling with indignation. “I can take you to Ranboo’s grave if you like! I can remind you how I got these burn scars! I-!”

And suddenly his actions had caught up to him, and he had realized what he had just done. He had gotten into an argument with Foolish, of all people, one of the only people who had always welcomed him with open arms. Bad and Fit were always wary of him, but Foolish was nothing but kind. Even though he was keenly aware of the fact that he didn’t fit, there were always a few cherished seconds where he felt as if he could belong.

“I-I’m sorry,” he had gasped out, trembling. “I-I shouldn’t have- Why did I-? Please don’t hate me. Please, please, please. I’ll do anything as long as you don’t-” And then his eyes had begun to sting, and it occurred to him how pathetic he looked, trembling like a leaf as he folded in upon himself, looking even smaller in front of the man who had a solid foot of height on him.

Vinny had screwed it all up. Why would anyone want him after that display? How could anyone trust him with their kids? How could he ever return to Foolish now?

Maybe Foolish would have reacted with kindness. More likely, he would have reacted with derision. He hadn’t waited to find out. He had to get out of there. Even being alone would have been better than having to suffer that embarrassment.

So he had ran. Again. Foolish had called after him, but he hadn’t stopped, lunging toward the warp stone. He hadn’t even been thinking of anything when his fingers grazed the stone. Or he’s pretty sure he wasn’t, at least. It was difficult to think straight at that moment, much less focus enough to visualize a destination in his mind. Somehow, he had ended up at spawn.

He had rested his head against the cold stone of the warp stone for a long, long time. No matter how much he tried to even his breathing, it felt like an impossible goal. He was just left, entire body racked with shudders and sobs both. His plan to visit Fit was pushed far, far on the backburner.

(Besides, he’s heard that Fit’s been busy with something. It’s to do with Pac, he thinks? He’s been stuck in his own little bubble ever since the eggs went missing, chasing after his own, desperate ideals. He doesn’t want to bother the man. He’s already enough of a burden.)

Vinny wanted to go home. Except, what was home, really? Where was he even meant to go anymore? Not to Bad’s or Foolish’s, surely, and his own home couldn’t even be considered that. It was just an empty house that only served to remind him how unwanted he was.

He had never gotten a handle on his breathing. He had just continued to sit there, and sit there. Maybe he was waiting for something. An apology from Foolish, maybe. Expect it wasn’t him that should be apologizing, was it?

So here he was now, laying on the grass at spawn right next to the warp stone, staring blankly up at the sky as the clouds slowly moved along the endless sea of blue in white, scattered shapes. He envied the clouds, somewhat. They were so free. They didn’t worry about what others thought of them. They didn’t worry at all.

And suddenly, he thinks he can understand what Ranboo was thinking in the weeks leading up to their death. This horrible, overwhelmed feeling, as if you’re drowning and the water just continues to rise instead of giving you a break…

Vinny just wants everything to go away. This is hard, this whole living thing. He’s not sure what else he’s meant to do with himself. He’s already thrown himself down one path with all his might; it’s far too late to try to pivot.

If he were at Showfall, he wouldn’t have to worry about any of this. Of course he wouldn’t be gotten rid of; he gets the sense he’s been around for a while, and besides, they’ve put so much effort into him already, haven’t they? Even if the viewers hate him and view him as expendable, he still has a role, even if it is to die more and more painfully each time.

All the burns and grafts on his skin would be erased soon enough, buried under new wounds that show off his pain. Even his suffocating fear of fire would dissipate eventually. And what would he be? That same, eccentric man excitedly showing off all the things he has hoarded? That same eager man, offering to be thrown through lasers to help people who couldn’t give a damn about him?

Showfall’s miserable, of course. The only upside is that he gets to forget everything. He gets to forget his own expendability, his worthlessness, and the fact that no one really needs him. And he doesn’t think he wants to be there. He just thinks it’s the only place left for him.

They’ve done more to him than just erase his memories. He idly rubs at the faded tattoo on his body, the one that reads “Property of Showfall Media”. That tattoo is symbolic, a depiction of how much his life has been ruined. Now he’s an anxious wreck, the idea to appeal to everyone permanently ingrained into him. Every decision he makes, every thought he thinks, it’s been influenced by what they did to him.

Is it revenge? He escaped from them, wasting all of their work. In exchange, they’ve made it impossible for him to get his old life back. They’ve made it so the only choice he has is to go crawling back to them with his tail between his legs.

But he won’t. Or, um, he hopes he won’t. He knows he’s like a weathervane, going anywhere the wind blows. He doesn’t bother to set down roots, or hold his ground. Life is free to do with him what he wishes. But in this case, he wants to stay hee on the island. He knows he doesn’t have a future here, but he has even less than that at Showfall.

Besides… if he goes back, it won’t solve anything. Sneeg will come for him, because he’s almost obsessive when it comes to keeping those he cares about safe. Does he care about Vinny…? Regardless, he would come. He’s too stubborn not to. And he isn’t much in the mood for enduring his lectures about what he was thinking, because he’s not entirely sure how he’s meant to answer.

Really, he doesn’t think at all. He just goes with what his gut tells him. If he did think, he wouldn’t be in this situation at all, would he? If he had thought through his own actions for a second or two more, he would have realized where he would end up. This inevitable dead end of his own making.

But he didn’t, and now he’s here. Really, acting like this when it’s all entirely his own fault…? He’s not even surprised. He knows he’s selfish. He’s doing the equivalent of slashing his own tires and complaining that he can’t go anywhere. It’s just hard to be conscious of it in the moment.

“Vinny?!” asks a familiar, incredulous voice. His head snaps up, startled. He only relaxes slightly when he meets Niki’s icy blue eyes, her hands on her hips. He’s still not used to her new hairstyle. Blood red streaked with deep black… It’s a big change, and Vinny hates change. But she seems happy with it. “What the hell are you doing here?” She looks him up and down, eyes narrowing further when she looks at him fully. He probably looks like a disheveled mess.

He can’t breathe, still, and with Niki’s harsh, judgmental eyes trained on him, calmness feels further than ever. Her new hairstyle makes her seem even more severe than usual. Vinny opts to not answer her, curling more in on himself. She probably already thinks of him as pathetic. He doesn’t want to add to that perception.

Actually… Looking at her, he’s surprised to see that she looks awfully messy for someone who hasn’t lost a kid themselves. Sure, she and Pomme were close, but not nearly enough to be considered mother and daughter.

“You look like shit,” she adds, sitting down onto the grass with a huff.

“I am shit,” he whines. “Just leave me to die.”

Niki elbows him, rolling her eyes. “Overdramatic asshole,” she huffs. “Get over yourself. I know for a damn fact you’re not worried about the eggs.”

“And what about you?” he mutters. “You don’t look any better. What’s your deal?”

She hesitates, glancing away as her mouth presses into a thin line. “I just haven’t been sleeping well,” she says slowly, but there’s a significance behind her words Vinny doesn’t entirely grasp. “That’s all.”

He’s surprised that she actually answered him. Usually, she would just brush him off or glare at him until he apologized for the invasive question. Her sudden honesty makes him feel guilty at being so standoffish, and he sighs. “No one wants me anymore,” he whispers, so quietly he would be surprised if Niki heard him. “I don’t have anything left to offer them. I’m worthless.”

Niki doesn’t say anything for so long Vinny begins to think she didn’t hear him, after all. But then she shifts in lace, scowling at him. “Idiot,” she says, flicking him in the face.

“Ow.” he grumbles.

“Why does it matter if you have anything to offer people?” she huffs. “Why does it matter if anyone wants you? You shouldn’t care so much about what people think. Forge your own path!”

“I don’t want to be alone,” he whispers, curling in on himself more and more. “And without this, I… I…” He lets out a whine and buries his head in his hands.

“Stop that,” she says flatly, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him forward. He stumbles, hands falling to his sides, and Niki takes the opportunity to grab him by the shoulders and press her forehead to his. “You’re not alone. You have all of us. And even if you are alone, so what?”

“So what?” he cries, getting more and more angry, “So what? ” He shoves her off him roughly. “I know you don’t understand. You weren’t at Showfall for as long as I was. But here’s something you’ll have to learn; No one needing you around is the equivalent of death. If you’re useless, you’ll be gotten rid of. And being alone? That’s even worse.”

“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes, not looking very moved by his words. “I can’t claim to understand how you think. Or feel, for that matter. But if you’re so desperate to be useful, I’ll give you something to do.”

Vinny’s head snaps up. “Really?” he asks hopefully.

“What, you think I’m leading you on?” she retorts, putting her hands on her hips. “Yes, really. Listen, Charlie’s been growing more and more distant for… a while now. He just up and left completely about… three weeks ago, I think? Sneeg got the address to a house that he had built before leaving the island from Phil, but every time he’s stopped by, he isn’t home. There’s signs of it being lived in, though, so it’s definitely where he is. One of us would go, but he’s busy looking for the eggs, and I’m…” She frowns, shifting in place. “...having trouble thinking straight right now, I guess. Besides, there’s no harm in giving you something to do.”

She wasn’t wrong about that. “So you want me to go and look for him,” he summarized. “Sure, okay.” He isn’t doing anything other than struggling with his misery and suffocating under his loneliness anyway. He digs his communicator out of his pocket. “Give me the coordinates.”

Reaching forward, Niki inserts the coordinates into his map. Vinny can’t help but feel startled at how far away he is. The distance is reminiscent of where Austin lives, all the way out in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t understand Austin’s decision then when he first built his house, and he doesn’t understand Charlie’s decision now. Why would anyone want to be alone? Don’t they realize how horrible it is?

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll walk out there and wait until he shows up, and… report back?”

“Sneeg just wants to know whether he’s starving himself again or not,” Niki replies with a shrug. “Keep an eye on him. And if he looks like he isn’t doing well, do everything you can to drag him back here. Don’t be afraid to call for reinforcements if you need to.”

“Um, sure,” he dubiously replies, even as he’s keenly aware that he probably won’t do that. He’ll just feel stupid. He can’t help but idly wonder what state Charlie would be in when he met up with the man. Would he be a mute, disheveled disaster, reminiscent of the days following Ranboo’s death? Vinny isn’t really sure why that may be. None of the eggs ever really hang around him if they can help it from what he’s seen. Why should he care if they’re gone? His daughter is dead. What else could he have left to lose? 

Or maybe he just wants to feel less shitty about his own apathy toward the eggs themselves. He can't be the only person who doesn’t care, right? “Do you know how long the walk is?” he continues.

Niki hums, biting her lip. “I dunno. I’ve never been there myself. From what I’ve heard, it’s pretty depressing there.”

Perfect. Depressing. Just what he needs. As if he isn’t miserable enough already. “Okay,” he says slowly. “And, um… thanks.” He awkwardly fidgets with the cuff of his track jacket, trying not to look at her. “I needed something to do.”

“Yeah, I know,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes. “You need to get a hold of yourself, idiot. You don’t always need to be doing something. You’re on a tropical island. Isn’t the whole point of this place to relax?”

Vinny shrugs. “I wouldn’t know,” he wistfully replies. “And I don’t want to relax. It sounds boring. And stressful.”

She just shakes her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand how your mind works,” she mumbles to herself, idly twirling a strand of charcoal black hair on her finger. “But whatever you say, I guess. Um… stay safe out there, alright? We still don’t have any clue why the eggs are gone. If they were taken by something, it could still be out there. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Vinny could make an argument that everything he does is stupid, but he doesn’t feel like getting in another fight. Instead, he just nods.

After that, Niki quickly leaves. He can’t help but notice her throwing a sidelong glance up at Phil’s house atop the wall. Maybe she thinks that if he were here the eggs would be okay? He had left on a trip just a few days before the eggs went missing; he was still on the island, just far away and essentially unreachable. His communicator was off. He had no clue what had happened to the eggs.

Even though he barely knew the man, Vinny couldn’t help but feel at ease around him. Most of the time, he was relaxed and easygoing, with a laugh that lit up the room. But he carried a sense of competence and protection. He could lay his life in Phil’s hands and be unfalteringly confident that he would get out of it alright.

Maybe if Phil was still here, the eggs still would be, too. And maybe everything would still be fine for Vinny, too. In that sense, he can’t help but resent the man for leaving, no matter how unreasonable it is. If there was even the smallest chance he could’ve done something, then he should still be here.

The trek to Charlie’s house, if it can be considered that, is long and arduous. Vinny already feels like he's going to go insane before he’s even halfway there, and no matter how much fidgeting he does with the items in his pockets. It doesn’t take his mind off the situation he’s trapped in, nor does it ease the swirling darkness within his mind.

However, when he gets to Eggxile, as was named the coordinates on his map, he realizes that maybe his situation isn’t the worst thing someone can be in. The surroundings are… horrible, to say the least. It’s located on a spot on the coast, the waves rough and churning against the shore. It’s horribly humid, and the scraggly trees scattered about don’t do much for shade.

In the sand, there’s a dug out bonfire surrounded with rocks, two lopsided chairs, and two stools next to each other that looks battered by the elements. A few feet away is a shack that looks on the verge of falling apart and a hole in the ground that seems to lead to a makeshift mine. There’s also a stone gazebo that seems far too nice for Charlie to have built, with a warp stone in the center. Vinny reaches out, hands grazing the cold stone. Purple particles explode in the air around him, and he lets out a breath.

Slowly, he glances around, taking the rest of the area in. It’s all so… sad. He can feel the misery radiating off of every aspect of this place. The uncomfortably humid air, the rough waves that could knock someone over if they were caught within them, the wild uncontrolled growth of the grass… It all seems perfectly engineered to make someone miserable.

If he had to describe this place… It feels like a punishment. Vinny still doesn’t know who Tilín was, other than them being one of the dead eggs. But he can’t shake the feeling that this place is related to him, maybe…? Did Charlie even know her? It’s not like he would answer that question, even if he was asked.

Slowly, he pokes his head through the doorway of his dilapidated shack. The interior is completely empty, save for a few scattered pieces of furniture that seem to be in poor condition. There’s a staircase that goes down to a basement, and Vinny can’t help but take a peek into the basement. It seems a lot nicer than the rest of the house, that’s for sure, even if it’s dark and the one light within the room doesn’t seem to turn on. Instead, he opts to use the flashlight on his communicator as he looks around.

Just like the first floor, most of the things within the room are worn down pieces of furniture. But there’s also things framed on the wall, as well. There’s an axe and a knife, and in the middle of the two is a ticket, wrinkled from how much it’s been folded. It has a massive letter “B” on it. Vinny runs his hands over the frames they’re placed in, idly wondering at their significance.

Somehow, he feels like he’s intruding on something. Like this was something he wasn’t ever meant to see. Everything here carries such an uncomfortable importance he couldn’t ever begin to imagine. What right does he have to poke his nose into it? If someone did this to him, he would’ve… He wouldn’t be very happy, that’s for sure.

Then again, it’s different for him. He can’t even imagine the things Charlie’s gone through, both on the island and at Showfall. He carries such a sense of burdening grief, so overwhelming and agonizing he’s not even sure how the man handles it.

No one seems to understand him. Even Vinny can’t make a claim that he does. Charlie reminds him of Foolish in that sense; he’s a complicated man, and barely anyone bothers to see beneath the facade he puts up. At least Foolish has more people who see the real him. Anyone who Charlie may have had are either dead or gone with the wind.

The only time he had ever met Mariana was when the man had come with everyone else to rescue them from Showfall. And even then, he hadn’t talked to anyone. Vinny hadn’t even known who he was until later. He only had eyes for Charlie, gazing at him with a fiery look in his eyes that was hard to read. It was an odd mixture of love, resentment, and pity that stayed with Vinny even after the fact. It was so powerful.

Would anyone ever look at him like that? Somehow, he couldn’t help but feel doubtful at the notion. Charlie didn’t realize how lucky he had it.

…Wait, was he seriously saying that about Charlie, of all people? He’s really lost it..

Either way, there’s nothing in the house. Vinny’s tempted to turn tail and leave right then and there; this place is sad, with an oppressive air to it. He doesn’t want to linger here. But if he returns to Niki and announces he failed, what will she think of him? She tried so hard to throw him a bone, and he can’t even bring it back for her? Is he that worthless?

No. There’s more that he can do that isn’t this minimal glance around. After all, the dilapidated house isn’t the only place a person could be. He had spotted a mine on his way in, and honestly, out of the two options he had, he would prefer the mine, so long as it wasn’t on the verge of collapsing on him. The least he could do was explore it, or follow the areas that seemed most traveled. A cursory glance felt like more than enough. If he doesn’t find Charlie even after that, then he’ll be comfortable with his own failure. But only after giving it everything he has.

He needs to put as much effort into this as he can. Niki said that he’ll never be alone, that he’ll have everyone from Showfall. But is that really true? If he were to think about it for long enough, he’d quickly find that their friendships were just as conditional as anything else. He just hasn’t bothered to maintain those friendships, because they’re all just as much of outsiders as he is. He doesn’t gain any more security in terms of his place on the island from that. 

Maybe failing Niki’s goal she set for him will be the thing to break that lingering trust, that care built from them all experiencing the same suffering. If he screws up the one task he was given, will he ever be able to show his face to them again? Or will he be even more alone than from where he started?

…Is that really the truth, though? It’s just Charlie. No one ever seems certain what to do with him even when he’s around. There’s a painful, uncomfortable weight to his distant words and narrowed eyes. It’s as if he’s a demonstration of how much worse things could be, meant to be looked at but not touched. Will anyone really care if he just disappeared into the night?

Sneeg would, at the very least. He’s so overprotective he’d probably explode into gory viscera if he saw one of them with even the smallest of scrapes, just from the worry. If Charlie just up and left one day, never to be seen again, how would the man come to terms with that?

Vinny thinks he would feel the slightest bit guilty about it. For being unable to find Charlie and having to deal with the domino effect it causes, he means. But he would only feel slightly guilty. His very existence relied on others, after all. He doesn’t care who it is. As long as someone can give him purpose, can give him company, he’ll do anything to keep it. When he lives like that, he can’t bear to spare too much feelings for them. He has to focus on his own actions, first and foremost.

It’s an awfully selfish existence, he knows. It leads to people themselves fading into the background, their identity becoming unimportant. But he’s never really cared about any of the people he goes to on his constant neverending rotation, just as he’s never cared about the eggs themselves. The only time he spares a thought for them is when he can see too much of himself in them.

That sympathy he feels for Foolish, about how no one ever understands him… It’s not really about Foolish at all. It’s just about him, always. If people knew how truly selfish and horrible Vinny was, he’d be abandoned, left to rot. He couldn’t say he doesn’t deserve it. He’s just scared, like he always is.

Swallowing, he steps into the mine. The darkness is quick to consume him, to the point where he wouldn’t know if he was walking or not if not for the feeling of his legs under him and the sound of shoe scraping against stone. The torches interspersed on the walls don’t do much for visibility, as they’ve nearly burned out, only a few smoldering embers left to serve as light. Usually torches get relit as people go up and down their mine systems. He gets the feeling that no one’s been down here in a while.

And yet, he keeps walking further down anyway. He’d be lying if he said he had a gut feeling about Charlie being somewhere down here. He just wants to feel a sense of purpose for even a little while longer, instead of the miserable aimlessness he’ll… have to get used to, he supposes. Without the eggs, he doesn’t have much of a purpose or any way to prove his worth. He’ll just be lost, his drifting tendencies growing worse and worse as he tries to find any excuse to avoid his stiflingly empty house.

God, he hates Foolish for building him that stupid goddamn house. He hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t wanted to move into Niki’s stupid neighborhood to begin with. And now, he’s stuck with it, something attached to his name. Now people will look at him funny when he says he has nowhere to go, and will think of him as strange when he desperately tries to hang around and avoid leaving. All because he’s too much of a doormat to speak up for himself.

Well, he had spoken up earlier today, hadn’t he? A pained grimace spreads across his face as he thinks of the argument he had gotten into with Foolish. And where had that gotten him, huh? Now the other man hated his guts. And Bad didn’t want him either, and Fit had other people to worry about, and-

Vinny can’t help but startle when he notices something. The torches had been growing gradually brighter and brighter the further down he had gone, even if he hadn’t initially noticed it. Huh. Had his decision to go further down actually yield something? It had just been a spur of the moment decision, really. Not something he had actually expected to be helpful.

So Charlie was down here after all. He isn’t sure why. This place is cramped and miserable, and the thought of the ceiling suddenly collapsing down on him was terrifying. Plus, there’s no way he’s actually getting enough to eat down here. If Sneeg was worried the man was starving himself, it was Vinny’s goal to drag him back up to the surface and ensure he was doing fine. The only thing down here was glowberries, rotten flesh, and the occasional tropical fish. Not enough to sustain yourself, and certainly not a healthy diet.

His breathing’s grown shaky all of the sudden, and he has to stuff his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t have to see them trembling. This place is unnerving, with an eerie air to it. He can’t help but feel like he’s going to discover a dead body.

All he can do is press on, though. He has actual, solid proof that Charlie’s down here somewhere, and he refuses to go back until he’s exhausted all possibilities. He grits his teeth. It’s not determination he’s feeling as much as it’s just pure stubbornness. That stubbornness is the same reason he’s alive right now, probably. He’s not interested in just giving up right now, in his search for Charlie or in anything else. Even if he wishes he would. Even if he should.

This is the only choice he’s giving himself. This blind trek into a cavern that grows more illuminated by the minute, no matter how terrified he is down here. He just keeps pressing on.

Vinny doesn’t know when it happens, exactly. He just knows he turns a corner and suddenly spots it in the distance, a small wooden house nestled into the back of the cave. The torches on it and around it burn the brightest, as if they’re frequently relit. If Charlie was anywhere, it would be here.

Oddly enough, it doesn’t really seem like something Charlie would build. From what Vinny’s seen of his other lodgings, he would have thought that this house would be more dilapidated or disheveled and not so… sturdy.

Now that he gets a closer look at it, he feels unnerved by it. The house being well built is one thing, but this just feels… unnatural. Each piece of wood is perfectly smooth and straight, none having any splinters protruding or being placed slightly crooked. The glass in the windows is completely clean. Even if he held a light up to it, he doubts he would be able to notice any sort of smear or smudge. Even the way the moss grows over the roof feels eerily rigid and planned.

Vinny shudders as he rubs at his arms. Maybe it’s just his overactive imagination trying to find more things to feel nervous about. But something about this house… He just doesn’t like it. That’s all.

But Charlie’s in there. He can tell now, the closer he walks. The windows are illuminated, meaning that a light’s on inside. And somehow, picturing Charlie living in the sprawling cave system is an image that doesn’t really fit in his mind. Any other possibilities have been exhausted. He’s found Charlie.

It’s odd. Isn’t this what he wanted? And yet, as he stares blankly at the house in front of him as he grows to a stop in front of the door, he just feels high strung. The only thing that would make him feel more terrified would be a monster appearing from nowhere, and even then, it would only just barely beat his current jumpiness out.

He raises a shaky hand to the door and knocks. The sound is quiet at first, and he grits his teeth as he knocks again, somewhat louder. The noise inside the house abruptly stops. He hadn’t even registered it in his mind until it had disappeared, to be honest.

A minute passes. Something like a minute, anyway. And yet, there’s no response. He doesn’t even hear approaching footsteps. Is he being… ignored?

The feeling resonates painfully, leaving an odd stinging feeling in his chest. “Charlie!” he yells, irritated now as he hits the door with his fist. “It’s Vinny! Niki sent me here to look for you! I know you’re in there, don’t just ignore me!” His voice cracks awkwardly on the word “ignore”, and he’s keenly aware that his anger isn’t really directed at Charlie at all. He’s just the easiest target, because all of the people he’s really upset with aren’t anywhere near here.

Bad and Foolish are in their houses, and Fit’s out doing… something, and none of them are thinking about him at all. He’s so small and insignificant that he’s not even worth a second thought. Which is fine. They can ignore him all they want. But he won’t allow Charlie to do the same. If their time together at Showfall means anything, he’ll be kind enough to at least look at him.

Whatever the look in his eyes might be, it’ll be proof that he exists. That’s all he wants. All he needs. He just wants to feel real, instead of some insignificant pest who can easily be cast aside. And if Charlie can offer that to him…

Slowly, the sound of footsteps grows louder, until they stop in front of the door. The door opens slightly, not even creaking, and it’s been opened about a quarter when Charlie pokes his face through the opening. The motion is almost identical to how Bad had greeted him earlier in the day. Jesus, that was today? This day feels as though it’s lasted an eon.

He looks… It’s hard to describe it. Physically, he’s horrible, enough to send a shudder down Vinny’s spine. His eyes are bloodshot, with deep bags under them. His hair is messy and tousled, his clothes are wrinkled and somewhat stained, and his glasses are askew as they rest on his face.

It would be hard to get that impression from just looking at him, though. His eyes are crinkled with an emotion that feels out of place on the man: happiness. There’s smile lines on his cheeks, and even now as he warily regards Vinny, a grin twitches at the edges of his lips. Every other second, he glances over his shoulder, as if looking for something, and when he faces Vinny again he looks just the slightest bit more relieved.

Obviously, the man appearing like this prompts a lot of questions, the biggest one being why. Why he’s so happy, why he looks like such a mess, what could be making him look so relieved… Regardless of what the question may be, it feels like he’s unable to answer it. He just doesn’t have enough information to work with. He just focuses on what he knows: here Charlie is, standing right in front of him. Right now, his only goal is to make sure the man’s doing okay, and drag him back to the neighborhood if he isn’t.

That’s easy. Or it should be, anyway.

“...Vinny?” Charlie says slowly when he doesn’t say anything. His voice is raspy, but instead of that rasp being from disuse, it sounds as though it came from being used too much. Who is he talking to in that case? Himself? Is he hallucinating, like Austin is?

“R-Right,” he stammers. “Um. Hey. It’s been a bit, hasn’t it?”

Charlie doesn’t look impressed at his attempt at small talk. “I guess,” he says, looking unsure as he shifts his weight from leg to leg. He looks impatient, as if he can’t wait for Vinny to leave so he can get back to whatever he had been doing. He really knows how to make a guy feel welcome. “You said something about Niki?”

He winces, before nodding. “Um… yeah. She and Sneeg were worried about you, that’s all. They’re both busy with stuff, and I’m… not doing much.” Understatement of the century. “So I came here for them.”

“Busy with stuff?” Charlie echoes. He looks a little more interested now, but not enough to replace his wariness. “Like what?”

“Um,” he says, brow creasing as he thinks. “Sneeg’s helping look for the eggs, and Niki is… She said something about not sleeping well? I dunno. I… didn’t want to pry.”

The more he talks, the more apparent it becomes that Charlie has stopped listening after the first sentence. His mouth is agape, green eyes on the verge of bulging out of his head with how wide they are. “Looking for the eggs?” he asks, leaning forward. Vinny, skittish as ever, can’t help but shuffle back nervously. “What do you mean by that? What happened to them?”

“Oh,” he says before he can help himself. …Right. He should’ve known, really. News doesn’t travel as fast when you’re in the middle of nowhere. Combined with the fact that only a few people know where this place is at, he shouldn’t have expected Charlie to know. “I’m not the guy to ask, really. All I know is that they were there one day, gone the next. Everyone’s… really freaked out about it.” What he doesn’t say is that everyone had been so freaked out they began to destroy the island as a result.

Well, that wasn’t entirely their motivation. But Vinny wasn’t actually there for any of that, all he saw was the aftermath. He can only guess at the context behind it.

“Missing?!” Charlie yells, and Vinny flinches and curls in on himself. He doesn’t like the sound of people yelling, or loud noises in general, although he doesn’t have as good an excuse for it as Niki does. 

It just makes him nervous, reminding him of hearing the gunshots and strangled sobs from the next room over, and unable to do anything to help. The question of whether he would have done anything or not is a complicated one. More likely than not, he would’ve become nervous and stayed right where he was, while Ethan would have rushed in and probably have been shot too.

Wait, would that be something Ethan would have done then? It’s in character for him now, there’s no question about that, but the Ethan at Showfall was less of an impulsive adrenaline junkie and more of a timid, reserved man.

Either way, it would have been impossible to stop Niki’s death. All he could do was sit on the carousel, hands bound and occasionally twitching as they unconsciously reached for his pockets, and feel dread fester in his gut as the acrid smell of gunpowder drifted into the room.

And then, soon enough, he had been unbound and shoved into the next room. Had he realized that he was walking to his death? After thinking about it for a second, he decided that he didn’t. Even when he was on fire and thrashing on the ground, he hadn’t realized he would die. It wasn’t the sort of thing he could be conscious of. He was just alive in one second, and still alive in the next, even if his circumstances had suddenly changed in what felt like a blink.

“What do you mean, missing?” Charlie continues, hand pressed tightly against the edge of the door. It’s slowly drifting open, more and more, giving Vinny a glimpse into the admittedly cozy interior of the house. It feels… too cozy, if that makes sense, as if the low lighting and choice of furniture was engineered to set those within the house at ease. Jokes on whoever designed it, though, because Vinny’s never been at ease a day in his life! “What happened to them?!”

“Like I said, I don’t know!” he fires back, more irritated now. “If you’re desperate for an explanation, you can go find someone who does know!”

For a moment, Charlie seems to be considering it, before he glances behind him. His mouth presses into a thin line, and he shakes his head. “No,” he decides. “I shouldn’t leave. You can tell Niki I’m doing fine. I’m doing great, actually.”

“...Right,” Vinny replies, getting whiplash at the sudden topic change.

He’s done now, he supposes. He did what was asked of him.

…So, what now?

Does he just go back to that miserable, empty house after reporting back to Niki? What if she doesn’t have anything else for him to do? The only reason he’s even here is out of pity. What happens if that pity runs out? No, she’s busy with her own issues, and everyone else is, too. There’s nothing he can do to help. He’s stuck running up on the realization he’s been dealing with the moment he heard about what happened to the eggs.

No, not just then. It’s the same realization that came to him the moment he left Showfall. No matter what he does, he’s disposable. 

But there has to be something. There has to be someone who needs something he’s capable of providing. If there isn’t, then what good is he anymore? What point is there to him being here? How is he any better than a limp, cooling corpse?

Vinny’s so desperate he’s choking on it. But it’s impossible to do anything about that now. His only option is to grit his teeth and press further on, throw himself into a free fall he has no chance of surviving. It’s not like he has anything better to do, anyway.

Just as Charlie moves to close the door, Vinny moves to wedge his foot between the door and the frame, heart thundering in his chest. “Wait,” he says. “Um, do you… need anything? While I’m here, I mean. I’m not busy with anything, really! I’m willing to do whatever you need as long as it means I can be helpful!” He aims to be so earnest there isn’t any way Charlie could refuse him without feeling bad.

Unfortunately, that tactic doesn’t seem to succeed. The other man’s expression is painfully unimpressed, dashed with a sharp wariness. Okay, so Charlie doesn’t want him here. He did sort of barge in uninvited, he supposes… What can he do to make him want him? That’s the question he’s asked himself over and over for a variety of different people, and he’s gotten no closer to figuring out an answer that isn’t painfully temporary.

He thought the eggs could have served as a solution to his plight. Why did they have to leave? It wouldn’t be fair to blame them if it wasn’t of their own volition, but if it was… Well, then what? He doubted there was anything he could do to fix that. It was just another way to prove how poor his plan ultimately was.

Charlie shakes his head before Vinny finishes. “No, I’m fine, really,” he firmly insists, cutting Vinny off before he has to resort to any more begging. “There isn’t anything I…” He trails off as a more contemplative expression drifts onto his face. “Hm. Actually, give me a second.” He closes the door, not seeming to care that it hits Vinny’s foot until he removes it with a pained yelp. And then he disappears inside his creepy house, leaving him standing outside of it with wide eyes.

Jeez. Charlie could have said if there was nothing he needed. It would have been an easier pill to swallow compared to this drawn out rejection. He’s just left standing awkwardly in front of the door. So, should he leave, or…?

If he strains his ears, he thinks he can hear Charlie talking. None of the words are audible, but the tone is so warm it makes him feel bitter, as well as a bit surprised. Warmth isn’t exactly something he associates with Charlie, that’s for sure. The man’s more of a “bitterness hidden behind a strained cheerful veneer” sort of guy, if he had to put it into words.

Shuffling his feet, Vinny looks around warily. He never likes being underground. It’s the sort of place that gives him the creeps, what with the low lighting and things being prepped to jump out at him at any moment. He’s left gritting his teeth as his tensed shoulders gradually hike further and further up to his ears.

A few minutes pass, he thinks. He probably should have left by now, accepting the fact that he wasn’t welcome here. But that same hope that made him embark on the futile trek to visit those he viewed as friends keeps him standing in place. He’s waiting for Charlie to come back. Surely the man wouldn’t just… leave him here, right? He could be a bit of an ass when he was in a bad mood, but surely he wasn’t that cruel.

He’s startled by the door suddenly swinging open. Charlie looks just as startled to see him still standing there as Vinny is to see him actually come back, but he shrugs off his shock quickly as he presses a list into his hands. “Here you go!” he says cheerily.

“Um,” he replies with wide eyes, glancing down at it. The handwriting… isn’t the greatest, but he’ll be able to make out what it says if he squints down at it enough, he’s sure. “What is this?”

“You asked if there was anything I needed, didn’t you?” Charlie prompts. “Well, here you are! I can’t leave to get them. Er, I mean, I don’t want to leave to get these things. And if you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind you helping out!” He grins widely at Vinny. To be honest, he seems a little bit manic, reminding him vaguely of Ethan. It’s a lot more unnerving on Charlie, that’s for sure.

“O-Oh!” he cries. To be honest, he really wasn’t expecting that. But if he has something to do, then there’s no way in hell he’ll go complaining about it, that’s for sure. He doesn’t have to go back to that miserable house and choke on his own loneliness after all! Charlie might as well be his savior at this moment. He doesn’t care what the man asks of him. He’d be willing to do it so long as it means he can be useful. “Thanks. I’ll get to this right away and come back as soon as I can, okay?”

Charlie nods, the motion slow and jerky. “Okay,” he agrees, and he moves to close the door before he stops in place, looking stricken. “Hey, um… Can you do me a favor?”

“Aren’t I already?” he mutters.

Ignoring him, he continues. “Just… Don’t mention this place to anyone, okay?”

“Sure,” he says, agreeing before he even thinks about what he’s doing. Hm, that’s kind of suspicious, actually. Not that he really cares, but he could think of a few people who would. “Um… Why?”

“It’s personal,” he grits out, crossing his arms defensively. “I just don’t want people poking around here.”

“R-Right,” he stammers. “I… I get that.” …He says, even though he very much does not get that. “Um… I’ll be back!” Wait, didn’t he already say that?

God, this feels painful. He better leave before he makes an even bigger fool of himself than he already has. He turns on his heel and goes back the way he came, hoping he doesn't get lost in the cramped, sprawling caverns.

— — —

The items on the list were certainly… weird. Nestled between items like eggs and milk that had initially made him think he had accidentally gotten a grocery list were things like gunpowder and enchanted weapons. Charlie had said he had needed those things, and if he didn’t want to leave his house underground, it was up to Vinny to get them.

What wasn’t up to him was questioning the items he had been told to gather. All he had been told to do was help out, and he was always eager to please.

Explaining things without going into detail to Niki was difficult, as it turned out. She wasn’t very happy with his avoidant, one word answers, and the more information she pressured out of him, the more unhappy she became.

“He’s not in his house?! It’s shitty, but at least if he was, he’d have a roof over his head. Where is he, then?” she had incredulously asked.

“Um…” He had let out an anxious whine. “He told me not to tell. But he says he’s doing fine, and honestly, I believe him. He looks better than most of us do, to be honest…”

“And I should believe you why? ” she had retorted, hands on her hips. “You two are being secretive idiots, and I doubt it’s just for nothing. C’mon, talk to me!”

He doesn’t remember how he had gotten out of that conversation alive. If looks could kill, Niki would leave a trail of bodies in her wake every single day.

Avoiding Niki was only an afterthought when it came to his goals for the past few days. He’s determined to be useful to someone, and he doesn’t care what he has to do to achieve that goal. As such, he’s dedicated himself to marking off each item on the list with a messy, crooked checkmark, cramming them down into his inventory charm.

It’s not an item that he’s used to using, his pockets serving well enough when it comes to carrying things, but it’s good for organization. His pockets are awfully big nowadays, and he doesn’t want to get important items Charlie needs mixed up with his own junk.

Getting everything was surprisingly time consuming. Charlie needed a lot of things, as it turned out. His seemingly staunch refusal to step a foot out of that house has probably made it difficult for him to procure items that are common on the surface. Or, well, not that common. He has access to them, but it’s a struggle trying to get everything together sometimes. Gunpowder is one of those difficult things, especially as the horrible acrid smell brings back memories he would rather forget.

Plus, the whole creepers blowing up thing can be rather painful when he isn’t careful. Less painful than dying, more painful than stubbing his toe. That’s how he’d catalog everything if he was forced to rank his painful experiences.

In the end, though, each item on the list had been collected, sorted, and marked off on the paper that had become significantly worse for wear the more time had passed. He’s not sure how it became so folded and crumpled, because he’s pretty sure he didn’t put it away that roughly, but that’s just how things went.

So, a few days after his first visit, he had returned to that eerie house underground, his unease for once replaced by a desperate, hungry eagerness. If Charlie’s so insistent on staying down in the cave, so far away from the people who want to help him, he’ll need people to get things for him, won’t he? If he’s done a good enough job, maybe he’ll need Vinny in the future. And then he’ll have something to do with himself again.

The idea is tantalizing, almost hypnotic. He’s felt so aimless and directionless the past few days as he was exposed to the inevitable result of the validation he chases. Instead of trying to give himself something to do, though, here he is, throwing himself at the first person who’s asked something major of him. It’s what he knows, after all.

Change feels impossible, at least if you were to ask him. Not to mention it’s terrifying. He’s practically upheaved the life he’s been used to for so long, exchanging stability for freedom. And what has he gained from it? Things are so different now. The only source of comfort is falling back into habits ingrained in each beat of his heart, in each awkward dart of his eyes.

He already has the entire conversation planned in his head. He’ll smile and simper and fawn and beg. Anything to build pity for him. Anything to persuade Charlie to view him as having some worth. The moment he doesn’t, Vinny thinks he’ll fade away to nothing right then and there. What is a person if no one needs them? What is a human without the presence of others?


And suddenly, he blinks, and he’s in front of that same wooden door again. He can’t help but run a finger over the smooth surface, expecting a bit of wood to get caught in his skin. But it comes away clean, not even a speck of dust on it. What’s the deal with this place, anyway? It feels a bit big for one person. Or maybe his expectations of what a house should be are skewed by the stupid, massive place that unfortunately belongs to him.

He sucks in a breath, and knocks on the door. When no one comes to answer it right away, he remembers what he had to do last time. “Charlie!” he calls. “It’s me, Vinny! I’m back with the stuff you wanted!”

That seems to do the trick, as he hears footsteps running toward the door. Vinny doesn’t think to step back before it swings open, and he winces as he stumbles backward, rubbing at his head.

Charlie doesn’t seem to notice what he did, a massive smile on his face. It doesn’t seem to be a result of his presence, but it makes him feel better nonetheless. “Oh, hey!” he says. “I’m glad you’re here!” He holds his hands out, as if expecting Vinny to deposit everything into them, like he wants to play the world’s worst game of Tetris.

Vinny winces. “Um… You asked for a lot of things, so… It would be hard to just give everything right to you. Maybe I can just come in and put everything where you want it?” Charlie looks as unhappy by the proposition as Vinny feels about it. He doesn’t really want to go into that house very much. If the interior sets him on edge as much as the outside does, he’ll probably be too freaked out to properly convince Charlie of his usefulness. But it seems like his best choice at the moment.

“I… guess,” he mutters. “We do need the stuff… Hang on a sec.” He turns around, closing the door, and Vinny sighs, shoulders slumping. This encounter is going the exact same way it had last time, even if it is less awkward.

Wait… “we”? Who was he talking about? He finds his ear pressed to the door before he can even think about what he’s doing, hoping the material is thin enough and Charlie is close enough for his words to come through.

“-hide, okay?” If he focuses enough, he can hear what Charlie’s saying. It sounds like he’s talking to someone, but he doesn’t have a clue who. “It’s not safe for people to see you.” He pauses, as if waiting for a response. “That’s right, you did tell me that! I’m just following your lead, Flippa. All I want is for you to be safe. Go into my room and under the bed, and don’t make a sound, okay?” And then he hears the sound of footsteps growing quieter, as if someone is walking away. They aren’t as heavy set as Charlie’s, so whoever’s walking away is smaller than him. It also means he isn’t just talking to himself.

But then… What does that mean? After all, he said the name Flippa. Flippa as in Juanaflippa, Charlie’s dead daughter.

Was she there? Right there, in his house? The eggs have gone missing, but maybe that only extends to living eggs. Is it possible the dead eggs have come back?

No. He would have heard about that. Moreover, he would have seen it for himself. So why does Charlie get his child when no one else does?


Actually, that isn’t important. He doesn’t particularly care, anyway. The circumstances themselves don’t matter as much as the facts themselves do.

The fact is, Charlie has an egg. And people like it when you help to take care of their kids. It makes them want you around, even if it doesn’t endure them to you. It’s something inherently temporary, but temporary is fine. Temporary is perfect. It’s better than nothing at all.

When the eggs disappeared, Vinny thought he was screwed. But maybe he still has a chance.

It was pure fate that led him here, to this hidden house tucked away far underground. But maybe it wasn’t all it was. Maybe the world was finally willing to throw him a bone, give him a path so that he wouldn’t have to be alone. Maybe this was salvation in its purest form.

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts he doesn’t even register the sound of Charlie walking back. When the doorknob turns, he only has a moment to scramble back, the door briefly getting caught on his shoulder. He tries his best to look as innocent as possible, even as the other man squints at him.

“So…” he says slowly. “Am I good to come in?”

“Yeah,” he replies, nodding. “Just follow me, okay? Don’t poke around too much.”

“Right,” he says slowly. He said Flippa had to hide in his room. Something about it not being safe for her to be seen? So the question was, how could Vinny get to his room without causing suspicion? Or maybe the better strategy was to get Charlie’s trust. He didn’t think it was safe for anyone to know Flippa existed, which means he has no one to rely on when it comes to her. Vinny can be that person. He won’t have to be alone! Oh, this is so exciting! And nerve wracking. But also exciting! “I’ll… follow your lead.”

The house’s interior just feels plain wrong. It makes his heart begin to thunder inside his chest, on the verge of bursting through skin with the force at which it beats. He has to hide his trembling hands in his pockets. How could anyone ever live here? It just… doesn’t feel right.

Somehow, Charlie looks even more at ease here, shoulders relaxed and eyes crinkled as he smiles. Does he not feel this charged energy in the air, this horrible wrongness?

The lights in here don’t flicker. Not a single speck of dust can be seen. This place feels so overwhelmingly domestic, with the perfectly smooth table and the satisfyingly askew chairs. It’s almost as if it’s designed to lull whoever is within it into a sense of security. Maybe that’s why Vinny’s so terrified here.

At the same time, though, it’s so perfect. As Vinny looks around, he notices one thing after another that just emphasizes the house’s flawlessness. He can see why Charlie doesn’t want to leave. It might as well be paradise to him.

Was it Flippa who built it? It doesn’t seem like something Charlie would be capable of putting together. Then again, isn’t she a child?

Or, well, she was a child. Vinny can’t help but have a bad feeling about her sudden seeming resurrection. He has a bad feeling about a lot of things, but this one feels more substantiated.

“So, um, where do you want everything?” he asks, unclipping his inventory charm from a belt loop and waving it in the air, even as the motion feels stupid. “I have everything in here. Oh, by everything I mean everything on the list. I made sure to get everything you wanted!” Even as he speaks, he’s wincing. He’s saying way too much, isn’t he…?

Charlie shrugs, the beginnings of a grimace on his face. “Right, right, and you did a good job with that,” he assures, even as the words feel like an absentminded assurance. “Um, here, pass it over. I can decide where everything goes as I sort through it.”

“Right…” he says awkwardly. “I’ll just stay here until you’re done. I would like to keep my inventory charm, so…”

He doesn’t even nod as he begins to produce items from the inventory charm, putting them on the floor in an awkward sort of circle. Vinny would like some indication that he heard what he said. He hates being ignored. But he doesn’t want to annoy Charlie if he did hear him and just isn’t responding, so he’ll abstain from repeating himself. One of the worst things someone can be is annoying, although if you were to ask Vinny, he’d say that being alone is even more unbearable.

Goddamn it. What is he doing, just sitting here? He should be doing something. He doesn’t care what it is as long as it keeps him busy. “I-I can start putting things away!” he offers, the desperation in his tone feeling agonizing. “Just tell me where you want them, and I’ll put them there!”

At his words, Charlie tenses up, wariness creeping back into his expression. Shit. “I’m fine,” he says dismissively. “Just stay here.”

“B-But I-!” he gasps out, heart thundering in his chest. “I’m already here. I might as well do something. Please.” He doesn’t even try to think about how his words come off. He just knows that this is now or never. If he doesn’t convince Charlie that he needs him now, he never will. And then he’ll be alone, forever and ever and always. No, no, no, please, that can’t happen. Charlie’s his only option left now. He’s the only person left who doesn’t know how pathetic he is.

Slowly, the other man turns to look at him, brow creased. There’s an odd glint in his eyes as he looks Vinny over, as if he’s seeing Vinny for the first time. Whatever he’s thinking feels unfair. Charlie’s just as much of a mess as he is. “Okay…” he says slowly, drawing out each syllable of the word. “If you’re gonna be weird about it, then I guess I can give you something to do. Put these in the cabinet in the kitchen.” He makes a pile of objects and shoves them over to Vinny, who struggles to pick them up without dropping anything.

“Okay!’ he says, breath getting caught in his throat with how excited he is. “T-Thank you!” he darts away, ducking his head as his face shrivels up with a pained expression. He feels like the only reason Charlie relented was because he pitied him, but pity is better than nothing.

He gets to the kitchen and opens the cabinet with his mouth, because his hands aren’t able to. He stacks all of the items he had been given into it, although it looks more like cramming things into any space, no matter how small it is, at the end… By the time he finishes, he has to shove the doors closed, hoping that the items within don’t fall out in an avalanche of food and objects.

When he’s done, he briefly leans against the cabinet doors, letting out a breath. His own terror hits him all at once, a horrible overwhelming rush of emotions. It’s strong enough to make his eyes water as his knees buckle under him and he collapses onto the floor.

Fuck. He’s so scared. He’s so scared of messing this up, of having to go back to that awful house, of no one ever wanting him around ever again. He can’t help but feel like he’s doing everything wrong, like he’s always the slightest out of step with everyone else no matter how hard he tries to keep the rhythm. He knows he’s awful and selfish, but he’s deluded enough to want people to care about him anyway. That’s the root of all his problems.

“Please,” he gasps out as he buries his head in his hands. His hands aren’t cold like they usually are. Instead, they’re warm and sweaty, and they don’t help to ground him at all. “Please, Charlie, please. I don’t want to be alone. I’ll do anything if you’ll just keep me around…” He trails off, voice petering out to a high pitched whine. If Charlie saw him like this, if anyone saw him like this…

Suddenly, his head snaps up as an odd feeling washes over him. He knows this feeling. He’s being watched.

Unexpectedly, he meets the neon green eyes of a little girl, so bright they seem to glow in the low light. She looks a lot like Charlie, something he hadn’t been expecting. Her face, the softness of her features, even the slight pudginess of her cheeks… It all contributes to making her look like the spitting image of her father. Her hair is a light brown and is tied in two loose braids, hair falling out of them. She wears a massive, thick pair of glasses that are practically half the size of her face, and a white t-shirt with two red pixelated hearts in the center. They’re both broken. She also wears a jean skirt (a jirt???) and beat up sneakers.

As he stares blankly at her, a memory occurs to him. He can’t help but be reminded of the election dinner, which at the same time feels like an eternity ago and like it was just yesterday. The false versions of Tallulah and Chayanne, with their neon green eyes the exact same shade as this girl standing in front of him. They had felt and looked similar to this, with their strange and unnerving qualities slowly piling up to create the image of something wrong. 

Their eyes had been just slightly too big, their cheeks just a bit too chubby, retaining some of the baby fat that had gradually been lost with the real kids. Tallulah was shorter and stockier, especially compared to the lanky girl he has a hazy image of in the back of his mind. Eerily wide grins contorted their faces, something that would look too big on an actual human face. It was like their appearances had been altered to bring to mind the idea of an adorable kid, and those appearances had stayed even as they drew weapons and lunged at anyone in range. It was unnerving, seeing it, and also a bit sad. Seeing weapons speared through those kids’ chests like that… Even if it wasn’t real, it was creepy.

Knowing that, he can’t help but feel dubious as he stares at the girl in front of him. This must be Flippa, or at the very least, it’s a code masquerading as her. And this too makes sense. Charlie has always been fragile. Every new tragedy he endured shattered him more and more. It made sense that he would be desperate, that he wouldn’t question his dead daughter appearing in front of him, and he would ignore any differences in her appearance and actions.

Damn it. This was meant to be his salvation. The last egg left on the island. The last person who could possibly need anyone as useless as him for anything. Is he really destined to be alone forever?

But maybe this could be it, the opportunity he was looking for to be useful. He has no investment in the Federation vs the Code vs the Islanders conflict. He just wants to stay out of the way. What does it matter whether this is actually an egg or not? She’s Charlie’s daughter, isn’t she? And if she is, then that means… That means…

Vinny swallows, the feeling dry and uncomfortable. “Hello,” he whispers, the sound horrible and strangled. “You’re… You’re Juanaflippa, aren’t you?” She doesn’t give any indication that she heard him, which makes sense. The eggs don’t speak, so why should a being masquerading as one speak either? Still, he’s used to them being more… animated than this. He’s expecting a tilt of the head, a nod, anything.

And still, she doesn’t move a muscle. Vinny’s not even sure if she’s breathing or not. The most he can see of her is those toxic neon green eyes, too wide and luminescent. The real Flippa or not, it’s obvious that she’s wrong. Sometimes it’s easy to forget what the eggs are; that is, shapeshifters, not actual humans. But at this moment, that knowledge is in the forefront of his mind. This is unnatural, his brain is quick to remind him. The being in front of him is nothing more than a twisted approximation of a child.

“You’re the only one left,” he gasps out, and he’s not even sure why he’s saying it other than for his own benefit, to vocalize his thoughts and make it feel real. “The only egg. I… If I screw up now, I’ll… I’ll really be…” She just stares at him, not even blinking. It’s hard to read her expression, but there’s an odd glint in her eyes. Is that good or bad?

“Vinny, are you-? Flippa! ” Charlie calls, cutting himself off with a gasp as he spots his daughter in the hallway. “No no no, what are you doing? I told you to-” He suddenly appears in view, and Vinny’s chest tightens as he scrambles to his feet. Appearances are everything, and he doesn’t want to seem any more pathetic than he already does.

As Juanaflippa spots her father, her entire appearance shifts. Her too-tensed shoulders relax, and a smile spreads across her face. It isn’t as wide as the fake Tallulah and Chayanne’s were. Instead, it’s something softer. Even then, it still carries a predatory quality to it, as if she’s on the verge of pulling out an impossibly strong weapon and slitting Charlie’s throat with it. She pulls out a sign, a simple wooden one, and begins to write on it.

“S0rry, P4pa,” the sign reads. “1 w4s just cur10us. 4m I 1n tr0uble?” Something about her handwriting seems familiar, and as Vinny stares at it, he’s struck with a realization. It looks exactly like Cucurucho’s handwriting, with that typewriter-esque quality. It’s like it was printed out. It makes the numbers interspersed in her words stick out all the more.

Charlie’s wide eyes and terrified expression slowly revert back to his resting expression, and that just makes the similarity between the two stick out all the more. Usually, the eggs are a mixture between their parents or other members of their family. But the father and daughter pair look identical, down to how their hair sticks up. It makes him wonder what she took from her mother, Mariana, if anything. He doesn’t know the other man well enough to say.

Now that he thinks about it, hadn’t the code imitations of Tallulah and Chayanne done something similar? They looked nearly identical to Phil, to the point where their features from their other father, Missa, had either been softened or replaced to the point where it was impossible to make out what had initially been there. Was it meant to appeal to the parent, set them at ease? It was just creepy, if you asked him.

“Of course you aren’t,” he says soothingly, getting down on one knee and resting a hand on her shoulder. It’s weird seeing Charlie like this, with this soft kindness and warmth as opposed to a strained smile and avoidant attitude or unabashedly miserable and bitter. “I could never be mad at you. I’m just worried, that’s all. I want to keep you safe.” Slowly, he gets up, but he’s tightly clenching Flippa’s hand in his own as he does so, as if she’ll disappear if he lets go. He turns his gaze on Vinny, and he opens his mouth as if to say something.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he blurts out, all in one strained breath. He was desperate to speak, to make a promise before Charlie’s perception was colored and he was too wary to hear out any assurances, true or not. “I promise. I… I don’t know what’s going on-” which is a lie, he has a brain and eyes “-but I trust you. Okay? Can you trust me too?”

Who the hell does he think he is, going on this bullshit spiel about pathetic things like trust? He barely knows what the word means, viewing it as a futile assurance as opposed to anything actually meaningful. How can anyone offer something like trust in this world? Fate is unpredictable and cruel and hard to get a handle on. How can anyone simply trust that it’ll all turn out alright?

To be honest, he envies people like that. People who can just view the world with relentless optimism, no matter how much they’re beaten down for it. Those people would take solace in being alone, because they’d think of it as temporary. Vinny knows that if he doesn’t do anything, it’ll be like this forever. No one will want him. He’ll be worthless. And eventually, he’ll be disposed of.

It’s not a feeling he’s unfamiliar with. C’mon, he remembers that moment at Showfall, as the audience voted on who deserved death in an unabated stream. He also remembers the result of it. Ranboo, staggering toward him, eyes glazed over. That sharp, shiny knife clenched tightly in their hand.

Maybe it would have been better if that knife met its target, instead of the wires connecting the kid’s mask. Someone was always going to die at Showfall, that’s true enough, but it didn’t have to be Ranboo. Vinny was just selfish.

But he isn’t going to die here, especially not now. A way out is right in front of him, staring at him with fluorescent green eyes. Ranboo’s already dead, anyway. All his death would do is cause grief, even if it’s a long time coming. Even if he’ll be quickly forgotten anyway.

No. He’s already been so, so selfish. He’s already put everything below his goal of not being alone, no matter how awful it is. He only cares for others when it comes to what they can offer him. And right now, this is what Charlie can do: he can extend his hand, and say anything he wants, so long as an opportunity for him to be kept around is nestled somewhere within his words. Vinny feels pity for the man, but no more than that. He doesn’t care. 

He just wants to keep himself busy.

Unsurprisingly, Charlie doesn’t look convinced by Vinny’s words, and he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he says hesitantly. “After what you told me, I’m… worried. People will think it unfair that I have an egg and they don’t. That I have an egg, of all people.” There’s a significance buried in those words, but he doesn’t know enough to pick up on it. “I don’t know what they’ll do to Flippa. I just want to keep her safe. I already failed once, and I…”

There it is! Vinny’s chance is right there, a bright red target pinned to a tree. All he has to do is aim straight and true, and utilize this opening in every way he knows how. “Listen,” he says softly, walking forward to grab Charlie’s free hand. He gives it a few reassuring squeezes as he continues. “I know why you’re wary. You just want to protect your kid. I get that.” Does he, really? Or is he just saying things he knows will spur Charlie’s pity? “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything to hurt her. I’m not that heartless. Or, um, heartless at all, really?”


Suddenly, an idea occurs to him, and he digs through his pockets until he produces his communicator, pressing it into the man’s palm. “Here. See? Now I can’t tell anyone unless I leave. And I… I don’t have to, if you don’t want me to.” He blinks at the man, eyes wide and hopefully not that desperate.

Charlie yanks his hand back, staring at the communicator with wide eyes. “Really?” he breathes out. “You’re… You’re not going to…?” He doesn’t finish that sentence, and Vinny doesn’t have a clue what he meant to say. Does it matter, though?

“Nope,” he insists, shaking his head. “I don’t need to know what’s happening here. I don’t need to know. If you’re putting your trust in all of this, that’s enough for me. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. I won’t do anything if you don’t want me to.” He doesn’t say everything he wants to. He wants to start begging, throwing himself onto his knees, tears streaming down his face as he assures Charlie that he’ll be anything the man wants him to be.

But he doesn’t. He would like to keep some semblance of composure about himself, even as he feels on the brink of breaking down into tears.

“Anything?” Charlie echoes dubiously. “Really? Are you sure?” As the conversation progresses, he becomes less and less guarded. Is he persuaded by it?

“Of course!” he cries, leaning forward slightly. Charlie flinches at the sudden proximity, and Vinny’s eyes widen as he takes a few steps back. “I already got all of the stuff you wanted, didn’t I? I don’t care what I have to do. I just want to…” He hesitates. He had been telling the truth so far, but he doesn’t want to admit that he couldn’t care less about Charlie and his probably-code daughter. “I just want to help you.” he finishes, somewhat lamely.

“I…” Charlie whispers, biting his lip. He looks even more unsure than when this conversation first started. He turns to his daughter. “Flippa, what do you think?”


At some point, the girl had turned to stare at him, eyes wide and intense. She hadn’t blinked once, had she? There’s a sharp look in them, thoughtful and analytical. It feels as if she’s stripping him apart, layer by layer, to get a look at everything that makes up who he is. It makes him feel ugly and exposed.

Slowly and deliberately, she removes a wooden sign from her pockets. “Y0u’ve a1re4dy pr0ved th4t y0u c4n g4ther m4teri4ls.” she says. “Wh4t e1se c4n y0u d0?”

It’s a surprisingly shrewd observation from a child, or a being pretending to be one. But it’s also the perfect segway. It’s like she wants him to succeed.

… Does she want him to succeed? Is she looking at him and seeing a tool she can use? Oddly enough, wondering that makes him feel more relaxed, somehow. She sees his worth. All he has to do is convince Charlie.

(Maybe he should be more unnerved by the fact that a code thinks of him as useful, because he’s not entirely sure what it will entail as a result. But he’s not worried about it in the slightest. Why? Is it just because someone thinks of him as worthwhile to keep around, no matter what they are or what their plans may be? Is he that easy to please?)

He straightens, Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat as he tries to control his breathing. “I’m good at taking care of kids!” he says eagerly. This is it. Now or never. “I was helping out with Dapper, Leo, and Ramón a lot, before they... Um, the point is, I have experience with taking care of kids and helping out with whatever people need. I’m not- I can keep a secret.” He nods vehemently, hoping the motion is reassuring to Charlie. Honestly, it’s just making him feel dizzy, but he can’t stop. He needs to do something. 

Charlie doesn’t look particularly convinced by that sorry display, which is fair. But then his gaze softens as he stares at Flippa, and he crouches down again, staring at her as he absentmindedly tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I know you can take care of yourself,” he says softly. “But it would be nice to have someone watching out for you if you ever needed it. I can’t stay down here forever.” He laughs hollowly. “Unfortunately, there’s people who would object to that.”

Flippa smiles and nods, as if in agreement. Charlie looks a lot more relaxed when he staggers back to his feet again. “Is that… a yes?” Vinny anxiously asks.

“Something like that,” Charlie says, shrugging. “I don’t mind giving you a chance. You seem willing to help, at any rate. But if you even think about hurting her…”

“I know,” Vinny says, falling into his new position with ease. “What kind of terrible person would I be if I let a kid get hurt? I’ll do everything I can to protect her, and I’ll take whatever punishment you dole out if I can’t.” It’s hard to care too much about Flippa’s wellbeing when he stares at her and feels horribly unnerved by her ever-so-slightly off appearance, but it becomes much easier when he views it through the lens of his own wellbeing. If she gets hurt, he’s dead, so he’ll protect her with everything he has.

…Not that she needs it, probably. He’s seen the codes only once, and that was enough for him to know he never wants their swords turned on him. They’re the pinnacle of strength, with inhumanly sharp reflexes and immeasurable might, not to mention their weapons that can bring someone down with a single swipe. Vinny can barely defend himself.

But the promise seems to make Charlie trust him more, judging by the smile twitching at the edges of his lips. He’ll make as many false promises as he needs so long as it’s enough for him to stay. “Okay,” Charlie says. “Then we’re in agree-” He suddenly cuts himself off, a strangled sound forcing itself from his throat. That’s all the warning he gives before he collapses to the floor and begins to scream.

It’s like his very body is glitching, a pulsing green energy fizzling in and out of existence with each passing second. There’s brief flashes of his body being twisted at unnatural angles, and his screams sound muffled and garbled.

And suddenly, it stops, ending just as quickly as it started. And Charlie’s left gasping for air on the tile floor, looking relatively intact for what Vinny had just seen.

What he had just seen… He had recognized those flashes of green, that’s for sure. It was the same color the codes were. The same color Flippa’s eyes were. He tries not to stare at her, but it’s hard when her gaze is trained on him, looking remarkably unconcerned despite what just happened. There’s something expectant in her eyes, as if she’s waiting for Vinny to connect the dots.

Instead, he ignores it with everything he has. It’s probably not important, really. Sure, Charlie’s probably turning into a code or something, but why should Vinny care? It’s probably caused by prolonged exposure to Flippa, if he had to guess. In that case, if he’s kept around for long enough, he’ll go the same way, eventually, if he lasts that long. And in that case, he won’t ever be useless again, right? Won’t ever be weak again? Are the codes capable of actual thought, or are they the equivalent of mindless beasts, swinging their swords in whatever direction their masters direct them?


Either way, he doesn’t really mind. Why should he? The inevitable end of tying his worth to the eggs was being left alone whenever caring for them became impossible. Now it seems the inevitable end of this path is becoming a code. Sure, okay. The idea does fill him with a horrible fear, because he doesn’t want it to hurt, but he’s already said it, hasn’t he? He doesn’t care what he has to do as long as he isn’t alone. This is just an extension of that, isn’t it?

Maybe Flippa sees that in his face, painted in his impassive expression and relaxed shoulders, because she smiles widely, the expression a predator would wear moments before pouncing on their prey. Vinny wanted Charlie to play into his hands, but he couldn't help but feel like he was the one to play into the girl’s hands instead. Is he really that powerless here?

Deliberately, he crouches down next to Charlie and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Charlie?” he says, voice strangled. “Are- Are you okay? That was…” There’s a number of words he could use to finish that sentence. Painful looking? Reassuring in a fucked up sort of way? “...terrifying.” he finishes.

The man shakes his head, gritting his teeth. “I’m- I’m fine, ” he gasps out, eyes steely and shoulders set even as he’s laying in a crumpled heap on the floor. “I’m… I’m just sick. It’s a bad cough or something.”

Now, Vinny knows Charlie isn’t that dumb. He’s probably perfectly aware of what’s happening to him, but he’s willfully ignoring it. He probably doesn’t want to march to his death as badly as Vinny does, right…? And he looks like he’s willing to endure anything as long as he gets to be with his daughter. He can’t help but respect it, in a dubious sort of way. He has people who care about him, and he’s willing to throw it all away? Vinny wishes he could be as sure of himself, instead of being an anxiety ridden wreck all the time.

“Right,” Vinny says slowly, but over Charlie’s head he can’t help but stare at Flippa. She stares at him right back, as if daring him to say something. He doesn’t, obviously, because it would make Charlie mad and he would have to leave. “Still, um, that looked… really painful. Maybe you should get some rest? Sleep is a good way to fend off sickness. Or so I’ve heard.”

Something tells him that whatever Charlie’s ailed with, it’s not something that can just be slept off. Things can never be that simple. But he won’t put that feeling into words. Doing so would make it real instead of something that could be ignored.

“But I can’t,” he grits out, impossibly strong and stubborn even as he gasps for air on the floor. Even as he’s lost everything, and is on the verge of losing even more. “I have to- Flippa-”

“Charlie,” he whispers, lifting the man’s head so they can stare at each other. Up close like this, it becomes obvious how terrible he looks. How long has he been dealing with this? “You don’t have to do everything on your own. I’m here now, remember? Get some rest. Flippa will be fine. I promise. I’m sure she doesn’t want to have to see her dad like this.”

At his words, Charlie’s eyes soften, and his shoulders slump as he gives up on trying to right himself. “You’re… You’re right. I’m just being selfish. I’ll go sleep. Flippa, show your Tio Vinny where to put things away, alright?” At his words, the girl nodded. Vinny moves to help Charlie up, and when he’s on his feet, he wobbles for a brief moment before making his way to his room down the hall.

He said he was just being selfish. Selfish. Really? Charlie probably doesn’t even know the meaning of the word. Next to Vinny, he may as well be the most selfless man alive. It’s not fair. He’s seen for himself what Charlie can be like, and yet he manages to push all of that aside just so he can care for his daughter…? God, it makes him mad. So mad he can’t even think properly. Vinny can’t be the only unbearably terrible person here. He can’t be the only one Showfall irrevocably ruined.

Vinny watches him go, breath hitching in his throat. He finds himself hating Charlie in this instant, even as the man has granted him such kindness. Why does he have to be so good? It makes him feel so small and insignificant. What is he meant to do with himself?

And then, Charlie disappears from view, and it’s just him and Flippa. Slowly and robotically, her head tilts to look up at him. There’s something expectant in her eyes, as if waiting for something from him.

He doesn’t know what she wants him to say. He just begins to ramble, liking the taste of the words of his tongue even as he dislikes the words themselves. “You’re a code. You’re taking advantage of Charlie and turning him into… I know. I know. But what am I meant to do about that? All I have is… All I am is-! All I can do is do whatever I can to make sure I’m not alone when everything is over.” He feels a bit dirty, hoisting all of his problems onto a kid. Is she a kid, really…?

Flippa produces a sign. “Y0u d0n’t w4nt t0 be 4l0ne?” she asks, something like craftiness visible in the set of her shoulders and her mouth, pressed into a thin line.

“Of course I don’t,” he gasps out. “Who would?”

She looks around the house and shrugs. She reaches up and grabs onto his wrist, dragging him back into the living room. She gestures to the pile of items in the center of the room, and to the inventory charm in the center of it all. “Oh… okay. I’ll get stuff out, and you’ll put it away?” She nods in response. “Okay. I can do that.”

The two work in silence, with only the scuffing of shoes against wood and Vinny’s shaky breathing being heard. It’s unnerving, the quiet. Without any voices to pierce through it, there may as well be no one here at all. At this thought, his chest tightens, and he struggles to breathe for a moment. But it passes, like everything does, and he continues on with his work in grim, determined silence.

Several minutes pass. Maybe something like half an hour? After a while, they finish, and Vinny clips the inventory charm back to a belt loop on his pants. He idly bats at it with his finger as he stares down at Flippa. “Okay, we’re done with that…” he mumbles. “Is there anything else you need?”

In response, she shakes her head, twin braids moving in sync with it. “Ju5t k33p me c0mp4ny,” she says, eyes wide and earnest even as her handwriting is flat and far too neat. “0k4y, Ti0 V1nny?”

Warmth stabs at his gut as he reads her words. He’s always felt bittersweet about how quickly the kids have a tendency to bring people into their families without a second thought. It’s always made him feel strange, like he’s playing at belonging somewhere without putting any real heart into it. After all, it’s not like it lasted very long, anyway. What does being in a family mean? He can’t remember having one…

But that look in Flippa’s eyes… He knows she’s just trying to appeal to him, to that instinct in everyone to want to care for a cute child. That’s why she takes the appearance she does, isn’t it? Still, though, even as he’s aware of it, he finds himself glad to fall for it. Maybe he’s just missed people looking at him, like he actually exists. He’s found himself falling into the background for the past week, intentionally or not, and the girl staring at him like this is… It’s…

“Sure, kid,” he murmurs, eyes crinkling with the beginnings of a smile. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

She giggles, the sound slightly distorted, like when Charlie had his… episode. She walks over to the couch and plops down onto the cushion, and Vinny hesitantly creeps after her, like a wary prey animal creeping out into the open. He may as well be prey, with the way the girl’s looking at him.

He can’t help but begin to fidget with something in his pockets, swallowing anxiously as Flippa begins to kick her legs in the air, looking relaxed and unbothered. “What’s your plan here?” he mutters. “For me. Or, um, for Charlie, anyway.” All she does is smile, pressing a finger to his lips. He swallows, the girl’s motion making him feel an odd foreboding. “Not that I don’t appreciate you keeping me around. I do owe you for that. I just… want to know what to expect.”

“W3ll, 1 c4n’t t3ll y0u th4t, Ti0 V1nny,” she writes, underlining the word “that” with an affronted expression. “W3 h4ve t0 keep s0me s3cr3ts. 8ut d0’nt w0rry, y0u c4n tru5t me!”

“Really?” he dubiously replies, raising an eyebrow. It’s a bit hard to read her writing with the numbers interspersed within them like that, and it just makes her status as a code all the more obvious. He can’t help but wonder why she writes like that at all. “If I were to ask… literally anyone else, I doubt they’d agree.” He can’t even trust people when they give him a reason to. What reason does he have to trust her?

Flippa pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose before grabbing Vinny’s hand, squeezing it a few times. “1sn’t th1s wh4t y0u w4nted?” she prompts. “Y0u w4nted t0 n0t b3 al0ne, 4nd n0w y0u h4ve m3 4nd p4pa! Sh0u1dn't y0u b3 h4ppy?”

“I am, ” he protests. “And grateful, too. To be honest, I…” He trails off, wondering if this is really something he should say. It’s like the equivalent of showing your neck to an armed foe and trusting them not to slit it. “I don’t care what I have to do, for you or Charlie, so long as I can stay here.” His eyes begin to sting, and he hisses as he wipes at them. “I’m already finished, anyway. The people I thought would want me have turned me away. Tying myself to your ship is the only choice I have left, even if I end up going down with it.”

“Y4y! Th4t’s gr3at!” she writes with a laugh, clapping her hands together. “Y0u’re r1ght, 4nyw4y. W3’re th3 0nly pe0ple wh0 w1ll t4ke y0u. Y0ur b3st b3t 1s t0 st4y r1ght h3re, 0kay Ti0 V1nny?” Her cutesy way of writing and acting is contrasted heavily by her expression that goes right back to resting on a face that’s flat and emotionless.

“Sure, okay,” he mumbles, slumping against the back of the couch. “It’s not like I want to go back to that horrible empty house, anyway. Compared to here, this place is like paradise.”

“Th4t 1s th3 p0int,” she replies, shrugging. “Th3 0uts1de w0rld 1s h0rrib1e 4nd d0es n0th1ng 8ut c4use p4in. 1n th4t s3nse, th3re 1sn’t 4ny r3as0n t0 ev3r le4ve h3re. N0t r3ally.”

Maybe it’s because it’s being presented by the face of a young girl with a wicked grin on her face, but Vinny can’t help but feel unnerved by her words, awkwardly shifting in place. But the way she speaks, so self assured, as if what she says will inevitably happen… Somehow, it soothes his nerves, as if she’s leaving nothing up to chance. And as a man who has been ruined by the turning wheel of fate, he’s comforted by that.

He’s comforted by all of this. The cozy surroundings, the low, inviting light, and Flippa’s relaxed, confident expression. Maybe the reason he was so unnerved by the house’s exterior was because he knew this would happen, lured into this honeypot by false promises and vague assurances until he’s ensnared within it.

But he doesn’t want to leave. How could he? It’s just as Flippa said. She and Charlie are the only people who will welcome him with open arms. And even if the eggs were to come back tomorrow, and he could settle back into the life he lived before, he wouldn’t ever be able to feel at ease again. Not when the thing he’s been trying to ignore for so long is now at the forefront of his mind.

Vinny has two choices. Stay here, and get involved in the complicated web that Flippa’s weaving, or stagger back to the real world, pitied at best, alone at worst. In that sense, isn’t the choice he’s meant to make obvious?

“You’re right.” he mumbles. Flippa’s expression is smug as she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “What other choice do I even have? I’ll stay here, no matter what happens. If you’re okay with that, anyway.”

“0f c0ur5e,” Flippa writes in response. If she were to speak, her words would come out as a low purr. 

The confirmation, inevitable as it may have been, makes him relax as he practically sinks into the couch cushions. He’s glad. So, so glad.

More than that. He’s wanted. He has others at his side. And the person offering it as a code wearing some approximation of what may have once been Juanaflippa’s face. Whatever she expects from him, whatever her reasons for allowing him to stay are, he doesn’t care. She absolutely has ulterior motives; that just comes with the territory. But when she tilts her head and grins widely at him, eyes glinting with a feral barbarity that looks foreign on her face, he’s able to forget everything else. For once, he can just live in the moment.

Finally, he understands what all the parents had felt, are feeling. This warm feeling boiling in his gut, like a pot about to spill over… Is it love? The beginnings of it, anyway, at any rate. It’s an entirely alien feeling to him, but he finds it isn’t half bad. This is the only way he could have begun to care for any of the eggs; laying himself bare like he is, and the other being entirely transparent.

If he had revealed his motivations in earnest, each twisted and distorted feeling and selfish thought, every single person would turn away from him in sync. If no one looks at him, who’s left to prove if he’s even real? But with all these awful thoughts in his mind, how can he look anyone in the eye?

“It’s funny,” he says, voice hollow. “I never gave a damn about the other eggs at all. They only served as a means to an end. But sitting here next to you like this… I think I can understand why the other parents lost their minds.”

The girl looks overjoyed at the admission. Yet again, he just feels like he’s playing into her hands. “Th4t’s s0 sw33t!” she writes, kicking her legs back and forth. “4nd th4t adm1ssi0n c0mes 4s a r3lief, 1f 1’m b3ing h0nest.”

“Really?” he asks, confused. “Wait, which part?”

“Th3 p4rt 4b0ut n0t c4ring 4b0ut th3 3ggs. Th4t m4kes th1ngs e4si3r.”

“What, because it’s the code’s goal to kill the eggs?” he asks flatly.

She shrugs, moving her hand in a “so so” motion. “F1lthy F3derati0n p4wns,” she writes, expression scornful. “0ur j0b w1ll b3c0me s0 much e4si3r wh3n th3y’re fu1ly g0tt3n r1d 0f.” Her face twists in a soundless snarl, and her hands twitch at her sides, as if she’s ready to spring into motion and rip out the eggs’ throats with nothing but her bare hands.

Filthy Federation pawns, huh…? That’s an interesting admission, and one he’s not sure if she meant to reveal or not. Either way, it seems he was right for never wanting to fully care about them. Not that he particularly cares for or dislikes the Federation. On the island, there’s three sides: for the Federation, against the Federation, and ambivalence. He’s always been partial to the latter, but it seems Flippa is decidedly against them, as are the rest of the code, presumably.

He’s never been all that bothered about the Federation, but if someone like Flippa is filled with such vehemence toward them… He finds his feelings toward them swaying ever so slightly already. If she hates them so much, she has to have a good reason for it.

“Your job…” he murmurs to himself. “I’ll help you, if you need it, though I don’t know how much use I’ll be. I’m rotten at fighting, and everyone says I’m awkward when it comes to conversations.”

She pats him on the arm. “D0n’t w0rry,” she assures. “Th3re w1ll b3 s0meth1ng th4t l3ts y0u pr0ve y0ur w0rth ev3ntu4lly. Ju5t g1ve 1t t1me.” She says it so matter-of-factly that he can’t help but believe her. There’s a chess board making up the entirety of this island, and Vinny is just a simple pawn on it. But even the pawn who dies at the beginning at the match serves a role, and he’s no different.

Oh. He thinks he knows how Austin feels, now. Trusting someone he has no business of trusting, who anyone else would warn him away from… He doesn’t know what thoughts go through Austin’s mind as he trusts Cucurucho unconditionally, but maybe it’s something like this.

Vinny’s special. He’s important. He’s needed. The words are foreign in his mind. But he might get used to thinking them eventually. As long as Flippa keeps looking at him like that, her wide grin having just the slightest edge of wolfishness to it… He can’t help but think he’ll settle in just fine.

So he smiles, and she mimics the motion, and there’s an odd peacefulness to it all. There’s a taste in the air, the sort of smell that hovers in the moments before it begins to rain. It’s a strange thing to note, especially since they’re both underground and indoors, but the smell is persistent and stays in his nose anyway.

It tastes like the calm before the storm.

Chapter Text

The elections have been over for exactly one week when Ethan seeks Etoiles out.

His goal is simple, isn’t it? He wants to learn how to fight. Properly, he means.

Things are getting scary around here. There’s an odd energy being carried in the air, and he isn’t entirely sure what the future holds.

Either way, he has only one thing in mind. Protect Richas and the rest of his friends. It’s difficult to put into words just how much they mean to him, especially their unwavering and unquestioning belief in him. He needs to preserve that for as long as he can.

The longer he remains like this, complacent and overconfident, the more likely it is that something will happen. He’ll be dropped like dead weight and left behind. He needs to prevent that, no matter what he has to do as a result.

To be fair to himself, he thinks he’s pretty damn good at swinging a sword around! He’s figured out ways for his blows to do the most damage possible, killing monsters in only a few swings when it would take most people twice as much. He thinks he has some talent.

…More than some, surely? Not everyone could survive an attack from the code. Unless that was a fluke, and he’s truly talentless after all.

But he can’t be! Or rather, he won't accept that explanation. This is the only thing he’s good at. That, or it’s just the only thing he’s been bothered to bolster. He could secretly be a prodigy at something stupid, like… underwater basket weaving, or something, and he’d never know.

That possibility is fine by him, though. Most people on the island took up arms to protect those they care about, and Ethan’s origins were no different. But his goals shifted as he progressed, and he grew more and more interested in fighting not for others, but for himself. 

Jeez, that feels selfish to think, but it’s true, isn’t it…? The thrill of the feeling that burned through his veins every time he found himself in a battle was too addictive to simply ignore. The thrill is heart pounding and exciting, even if it draining from his body leaves him on the verge of an energy crash, legs shaky underneath him.

Alertness isn’t a bad thing, really. It’s better than being ambushed by Security out of nowhere and near-instantly killed in its overwhelmingly powerful jaws.

God, Security. The one creature that remains lurking in the hard-to-reach crevices of his nightmare long after his fear of the code dissipated. Even now, hearing a loud noise or odd footsteps nearby makes his heart race, even as he feels stupid for it. Who does he think he is, Vinny? Ethan’s nothing like that miserable, anxious wreck of a man. He’s nothing like any of them.

Everyone from Showfall… He can’t put into words how he thinks of them, other than “unimportant”. They’re the sort of people who prefer to wallow in their own weakness instead of setting it aside and becoming truly strong. If he’s being honest, they disgust him the most, more than the Federation or codes do. Usually, people hate one of the two groups. He’s distinguishing himself from the rest by hating those that are meant to be his friends.

Why, though? Why must he continue to make an attempt at friendship with those who will do nothing but weigh him down? Just because he went through something terrible alongside all of them doesn’t make him the same as them. He’s nothing like those sniveling weaklings. He’s strong, strong, strong. If they ended back at Showfall right now, he would survive, and not think twice of the bodies left in his wake.

If he had to declare an exception to the rule, he supposes it would be Austin. The man wasn’t some paragon of strength, really. He was just as anxious as Vinny, just as unstable as Charlie, just as hot headed as Niki… He couldn’t even throw a punch without bruising his knuckles.

And yet, Ethan nurtures a soft spot for the man anyway. Maybe it’s because he saved his life all those months ago, back when he had been too pathetic to do anything of worth. At least he has a quality worth keeping him around for: his sharp mind and analytical tendencies. He can read people, or make some guesses at their thoughts, and can act as a brick wall in turn.

Something like intelligence isn’t as valuable as strength is. That’s his opinion, anyway. But if anyone were to survive in this cruel, uncompromising world with nothing but their wits, it would be Austin. From Ethan, that’s the best endorsement someone can get.

Ugh, this train of thought is super embarrassing… Whatever, never mind. He hates how vulnerable he feels when he has a soft spot for someone, especially because he knows he won’t get anything in return for it. At least with Richas and the Brazillians, they offer him companionship, praise, something to do with himself… What does Austin do for him? He doesn’t even think the man likes him.

Every time he tries to visit Austin, he just reacts with hostility. He doesn’t even have the nerve to look at him, opting to scrawl away in that stupid, dogeared journal. Sometimes, he imagines ripping it out of his hands and burning it until it’s charred and unreadable. Then, Austin would actually look at him, with those sharp eyes that feel as if they see every emotion and selfish thought he tries desperately to hide…

He knows he’s already acknowledged anger as a pointless emotion, but it’s hard to make it just… go away. Even as he hides it under layer after layer of eagerness to please and an all-consuming thirst for battle, he can still feel it, simmering in his gut, swelling and shrinking with every wayward thought and offer of praise. It’s hard to repress it fully.

Ethan finds that his anger comes out the most when he’s around Austin. Is he really so insignificant to the other man, to the point where he won’t even spare him a glance and offer him a response longer than clipped one to two word sentences? God, he’s so infuriating! No wonder he lives in the middle of nowhere. No one would want him around otherwise.

Still, he’s fond of the man. It’s unreasonable and untenable, but just like his anger, it won’t go away. It’s driving him insane!

Battle can distract his mind from most problems, though, past or present. The burn of adrenaline pushes out any unnecessary feelings, and he feels so alive, like a wild animal battling against its prey. He’s so unburdened by the pathetic things that make him human. It’s amazing.

And yet, the feeling always goes away eventually, leaving him exhausted and irritable. There has to be some way he can make the adrenaline high stay forever. But for now, he has to content himself with the brief moments of excitement he’s offered.

For now, he’s working toward a relatively simple goal. All he has to do is get better. He knows he has to have some skill. He wouldn’t have chased off the code like he had otherwise. But when he compares himself to people like Phil and Etoiles, how insufficient he is becomes all the more apparent. They’re practically professionals, paragons of overwhelming strength.

Hopefully, that goal can be achieved by Etoiles agreeing to train him. Why Etoiles specifically? It’s just because the man is so magnetic to him. He has a sharp tongue, laughter reminiscent of wind chimes, and so much strength that he admires with all his heart. He can do anything, and he somehow finds the time to be kind on top of that. He’s amazing. If Ethan could completely scrub every aspect of himself out, he would happily replace himself with Etoiles.

Besides, something he notices is that the code appears to Etoiles more often. And Ethan has been itching for a rematch for ages! He knows more now, and if he manages to last longer against the code, he’ll be a hero. And there’s nothing he wants more in the world than for people to look upon him and view him as a hero.

He’s addicted to validation, maybe even more than he is to adrenaline. There’s better than a well placed word of praise, in his opinion. He could be on the verge of collapse, blood streaming from various opened wounds, and he would still be grinning. Because people would be looking upon him, eyes wide and admiring, and when they spoke, they would be awestruck.

Even the thought of it sends a shudder of pleasure through him. To be honest, he isn’t really in the mood to die again, not when he has so many things he wants to do. Not when he still has to prove himself to so many people.

For a while, he had been considering talking to Phil over Etoiles. Ultimately, his decision had been influenced by a few aspects. Number one, Etoiles was just so cool. Not that Phil wasn’t cool, but just thinking about Etoiles was enough to put stars in Ethan’s eyes. Number two, Phil doesn’t have as much free time to teach him. He’s a single father, while Etoiles’ daughter is being coparented by… a bunch of other people. He’s lost track of who, exactly. He doesn’t want to inconvenience Phil or anything. Not because he actually cares, but because getting on Phil’s bad side doesn’t seem like the greatest idea.

So, exactly one week after the elections draw to a close, he takes a warp stone to France, seeking Etoiles out with an intense, single minded focus.

Luckily for him, the man seems to be home. It makes his plan b of “walking aimlessly around the island until they cross paths” now useless, which he’s grateful for.

He has to psyche himself up before actually knocking on the door, jumping up and down and giving himself quick pep talks. He even has to slap his cheeks once or twice. Just as he raises his hand to knock on the door, it swings open, revealing Etoiles standing in the doorway. He looks startled to see him.

“Oh, Ethan,” he says. “How long have you been here?”

“...Not that long,” he says sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

“I was just going to take a walk, so don’t worry, you aren’t interrupting anything,” he assures. He hadn’t been worrying, actually, but he’s glad to have the reassurance. “Here, come in. I can make you something if you want.”

Ethan shakes his head as he follows after the man. “Nope!” he chirps. “I’m good. Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

The other man shrugs as he sits down on the couch, sprawling out with a relaxed expression. The leather does look comfortable, but would it be weird to sit next to him? Instead, he awkwardly plops down onto an armchair. The cushion feels somewhat stiff, as if it hasn’t been used very often. “You know, we haven’t talked very often, even though you’ve been on the island for a few months,” he comments. “I’ve heard things about you from other people, though.”

“Good things, right?” he weakly jokes. His smile is strained. Hard to make it look good when he can hear blood roaring in his ears.

“Of course,” he replies, smirking. At the assurance, Ethan relaxes against the back of the chair, hoping his sigh of relief isn’t too loud. “Niki’s quite irritated by you. She’s called you an “idiot adrenaline junkie” on more than one occasion.”

“Rude, but not surprising,” he says with a sigh.

“Pac thinks quite highly of you, though,” he continues, and he feels his entire body go rigid as his eyes widen. It’s one thing for Pac to say it, but another entirely to hear it from someone. “He’s grateful for everything you’ve done for him and his family. What was the nickname he used for you? Purpur… something.”

“Purpurino,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “Portuguese for purple. Which is stupid, since I haven’t even worn purple since my first day on the island!”

Etoiles laughs, the sound clear and melodic. “Purple in French is just violet,” he says thoughtfully. “Although I guess there’s also pourpre…”

“Hey,” he protests. “We are not making this a thing!”

“What do you mean?” he asks, shooting Ethan a shit-eating grin.

“Calling me purple in different languages,” he huffs. “My name would work just fine.”

“Whatever you say, pourpre,” the man chirps. Ethan groans and puts his head in his hands. Etoiles chuckles, but he trails off, his expression turning appraising. “Not that I’m unhappy to have you here,” he begins. “But you said you wanted to ask me something?”

He nods so rapidly he can only hope he doesn’t look like too much of a bobblehead. “Yeah! I, um…” Jeez, he’s getting so tongue tied all of the sudden… Was all the time he spent hyping himself up for nothing? “You’re such a good fighter,” he says earnestly. “I was hoping I could learn from you, y’know? I mean, I can swing my sword just fine, but it’s nothing like what you do. There’s so much you can teach me! If you’re up to it, I mean.”

“Jeez, you’re practically glowing,” Etoiles mumbles, hand reaching up to shield his face. “Well, your enthusiasm isn’t unwelcome. It’s not everyday people come to me asking to teach them what I know. Most people only take up arms because they have to.”

“...Is that a yes?” he asks after a moment of silence, smiling anxiously.

“Sure, why not?” Etoiles replies, getting to his feet. “I’ll train you, so long as you’re able to keep up.” He tosses Ethan a lazy smirk, and he can’t help but bristle. It tastes like a challenge in his mouth.

“Of course I can!” he insists.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“What’ll we start with?” he prompts. “Sparring? Warm ups? Super cool moves?”

“Nope,” he immediately fires back, popping the “p”. “First, we’ll need to decide what will work the best for you. For you… Hm.” He looks Ethan over, and despite the fact that he's blind, he can’t help but feel as if the man is heavily scrutinizing him. “How much muscle do you have on you?”

“Um…” he says awkwardly. That feels a bit subjective, doesn’t it? “I have a bit, but I haven’t made much of an effort to build a lot.”

Etoiles nods. “Right. From here, we have two options. You can bulk up, and use as much brute force as possible against any enemy, or you can focus more on agility. Strength or speed. Which do you value more?” He really sounds like a professional when he phrases it like that. He must have a lot of experience when it comes to things like this.

Ethan’s brow creases as he thinks. The idea of pure and utter strength calls to him at first glance, and it reminds him of Phil, in a way. Pure, technical skill, and it allows him to rush forward without fear and defeat most enemies in heavy, gory strikes. But on the other hand, speed and agility is just as valuable a weapon.

No matter how strong he gets, he doubts he’ll ever be able to properly compete with Phil and Etoiles. They’ve been fighting for their entire lives, and no matter how much he trains, he can never catch up. That fact is immutable and inherent.

But he doesn’t want to be weak. More aptly, he can’t be weak. The idea is completely unbearable to him. So if he can’t beat Etoiles and Phil at their own game, he’ll have to carve out his own niche. To keep himself useful, if nothing else.

A memory surfaces. Of his battle against the code, several months ago now. He could barely do anything against it, his rarely used, unenchanted sword barely even grazing skin. He had survived by being fast, by serving himself up as a distraction.

Against complete, overwhelming force, there was no way anyone even slightly lesser was capable of winning. The only way it could work was if someone had another method to give him a chance of victory.

“Speed,” he decides, letting out a breath as he speaks. “That’s what I’ll go with.”

Etoiles nods, rolling his shoulders. “Right.” He turns, gesturing for Ethan to follow. After a moment of dumbly blinking at his retreating frame, he scrambles after him. “The first thing any aspiring fighter needs is their preferred weapon,” he explains as he walks across the paved roads of France. “For example, I have my scythe. It works well with my fighting style. We need to find something that works for you. ” He jabs a finger into Ethan’s chest as he stops right next to him.

“Right!” he says enthusiastically. Etoiles opens the door he stopped in front of, and Ethan can’t help but gasp, eyes wide as he surveys the area. It seems to be an armory of sorts, various weapons and shields scattered about. He darts in, looking around, but he can’t say anything significant about the weapons presented to him. There’s swords, lances, axes, bows, and weapons that don’t fall into any category, but he can’t say anything more than that.

The other man walks over to a row of swords, grabbing one and throwing it from hand to hand. He turns back to Ethan with a satisfied look on his face. “Here,” he says matter-of-factly, offering it to Ethan. He grabs it by the handle, and is startled by how light it is, especially compared to the swords he’s used to. “It’s a slim sword. Best for quick, light hits. We’ll start with this and see how it goes.”

“Oh,” he says, staring down at it as he absentmindedly runs his hands over the hilt. His hand drifts down to the blade, a cold metal, and it goes down the sword until it reaches the tip. He presses a finger against it, but it doesn’t draw blood. “It’s a bit dull.”

“What, you want to draw blood with it right away?” Etoiles says teasingly. “I would have thought you’d have wanted to get used to how it feels in your hands first. Speaking of your sword, though, what are you going to name it?”

“Name it?” Ethan echoes, startled by the question.

“Sure. Every good sword has a name. Most people don’t bother if they’re just using it for self defense, but if you want to seriously fight, it helps to have a name. Makes you feel connected to it.” He pats the hilt reassuringly.

To be honest, he hadn’t been expecting the instruction, and he’s left floundering for a name for a second. But then, something comes to him, and he can’t help but smile at how perfect it feels. “Futuro.” he says softly. It’s Portuguese for future, and as he stares at it, he can’t help but think that it’s bright for him.

“Excellente!” Etoiles says, patting him on the back. “Very nice. And now…” He grabs his scythe, and Ethan takes a few steps back, eyes wide. “We fight.”

“Really?” he asks, blinking. “Now? Here?”

The man laughs. “Well, not here, ” he clarifies. “Fighting around all these weapons can lead to some nasty injuries if we aren’t careful. But there is a nice field nearby that I usually use when I want to try out a new weapon or enchant.”

“...Sure,” he replies after a moment, hoping he doesn’t sound too dubious as he hops from foot to foot. “I’m ready for whatever!” Etoiles is the boss, after all. He knows more about this than Ethan does, that’s for certain. He isn’t really in the right mindset for a fight. Usually, he’s fueled by determination and the addictive high of adrenaline. But as he stares into Etoiles’ unfocused milky white eyes, he thinks he’ll be able to muster something up.

It’s just a matter of proving his worth to the man, isn’t it? Or at the very least, proving he has enough potential for Etoiles to be willing to take him on. Shouldn’t be hard. After all, he had managed to defend Richas against a code attack when all he had in experience was the occasional monster felled by his sword. That has to be worth something.

Or, more aptly, he needs it to be worth something. He’s already put all of his eggs in one basket, so to speak. He’s Ethan Nestor, the guy who won’t hesitate to raise his sword and do what needs to be done. The guy who will do anything to defend anyone. It feels a little too late to pivot from this, not when he’s already carved that identity into his very soul.

Besides, he loves how strong he feels when he has a blade positioned in front of him. It’s thrilling in a way nothing else can truly be. It feels like a promise, somehow, that he’ll never be the weak, pathetic man who was mauled that day at Showfall. He won’t ever duck his head, won’t ever march to his death, and won’t ever listen without question when someone tells him to do something.

Upholding those goals feels a lot easier when he’s locked on a battlefield, bringing down monster after monster. Showfall might as well have not even happened with how far away it feels then. But the adrenaline always drains from his body, leaving him deflated and gasping for air, and he’s always reminded of the man he’s trying desperately to run away from.

How can he prolong that feeling, make sure it never goes away? How can he keep that addictive high constantly pulsing through his veins in tune with his own heart, and always feel alert? It’s a question he doesn’t know how to answer. But he’s determined to find one, eventually.

Locked so intensely in his thoughts, he doesn’t even realize that Etoiles has stopped for a moment, but he manages to stop right before colliding with the man. Ethan looks around him as he idly smacks the side of his head in an effort to clear his mind, taking in the site that will be their battlefield. Or, er, the site of their sparring.

It’s a wide, open field surrounded by trees. He can’t help but imagine being ambushed by the code, being pressed up against a tree as his skin is rubbed raw by the bark. He winces, even though the memory of it doesn’t even exist on his skin. Just his mind, which clings onto things no matter how hard he tries to forget it. The grass sways lightly in the breeze, with pockets of dirt among the greenery. It’s a peaceful area, and he feels a little bit bad that the grass will eventually be trampled by rough feet and steel meeting steel.

But only a little. His excitement for the battle is enough to overpower any emotion, especially one as useless as pity.

“So this is where we’ll fight, huh?” Ethan asks, grinning. “Can’t wait.” Etoiles begins to walk across the field, stopping a few feet away from a tree. He raises his scythe in the air and slowly lowers it until it’s pointing directly at Ethan. It feels a lot more threatening than someone normally pointing at him would.

“That’s right,” he agrees. “First to draw blood wins. No more than that. Don’t worry about any serious injuries.” He tilts his head, and even from this distance, Ethan can see the sharp, resourceful glint in his eyes. “It’s nothing that can’t be fixed.” 

He only has a second’s worth of warning–his muscles tensing, his grip on his weapon of choice tightening–before the man rockets forward in a blur of green, deftly swinging his scythe through the air. He’s not going to pull any punches, it seems. Which is fine, of course. He wouldn’t expect anything less from the man. But the sudden burst of movement catches Ethan off guard, and his breath catches in his throat as he throws himself backward, a cloud of dust exploding around him as he collides with the floor.

The man raises a brow at him, a lazy smirk on his face. “C’mon, pourpre,” he says, his tone more teasing than mocking. It’s not unkind, really, but it still makes Ethan angry anyway. “Are you ready, or not?”

In response, Ethan grits his teeth, grabbing the slim sword sheathed at his side and gripping it tightly in white-knuckled hands. “Bring it,” he huffs out, staggering to his feet as he holds his sword in front of him. Etoiles shoots forward again, and he just barely manages to block the blow with the blade of his sword.

Even as Ethan blocks the strike, Etoiles doesn’t seem deterred at all, pushing further and further until the two weapons are barely a few inches away from his face, and the only deterrent preventing the blade from reaching skin, Ethan’s shaky hands, grow weaker and weaker by the second.

…Shit. What does he think he’s doing, trying to wait this out? Etoiles isn’t going to give up. He’s a man of remarkable strength, and a thing as small as a blocked blow isn’t going to cause his determination to ebb. In this situation, there isn’t any possibility that he manages to come out on top.

His decision from just a few minutes earlier pushes itself back to the forefront of his mind. Speed over strength.

Of course. 

Ethan brings his leg up, using his knee to briefly shove Etoiles away and to briefly ease the pressure being applied to his blade. The moment he’s capable of moving, he does, dashing with all the speed he’s capable of. He grips his sword tightly in his hand, but it’s hard to be aware of it over the feeling of his heart jackhammering in his heart. Distantly, though, he’s aware of the tip of the sword dragging against the dirt, stirring up clouds of dust as he runs.

Actually, that works out pretty well for him.

Not that the presence of the dirt will be enough to obscure where his presence is, but he hopes it will distract Etoiles enough for him to think of something. The man definitely won’t hesitate to come at him with all he has. Pure, unbeatable strength. Ethan can’t beat that. But he can try to counter that with a strategy of his own.

He can hear Etoiles running after him, heavy footsteps and barely labored breathing growing closer and closer. He has more experience with this sort of thing, he’s sure; Ethan’s already finding himself winded, though.

Suddenly, he darts to the left, running back toward Etoiles and swinging his sword toward his torso. Etoiles spins his scythe in the air and brings it to his side just before the steel makes contact with his skin, blocking the blow. Ethan grits his teeth and tries to duck under him, but Etoiles shoves him to the ground. It’s all he can do to raise his sword before the blade strikes him.

“Trying to run?” Etoiles teasingly chides. He’s so close to Ethan that he can feel the man’s hot breath against his face.

“I prefer the term tactical retreat,” he mutters, before rolling across the grass, clambering back to his feet. He holds his sword in front of him, and he can’t help but feel somewhat disconcerted about how light it feels in his hands. He’s used to a weapon feeling heavier, having a heft to it. When he swings, he has to put as much strength into it as he can muster, and let his weapon do the rest of the work. He doesn’t have to think as much about what he’s doing.

But with this sword, it changes how he’s meant to fight. It’s so light, if he swings too hard, he might just topple over. He has to focus on smaller and deadlier strikes, instead of just hitting and hitting until the enemy falls over. In other words, it makes combat less brainless. It’s a change he’ll have to get used to, as he’s used to sustaining himself on pure adrenaline during battle, shutting down all parts of his mind that aren’t important to survival. He’s like a wild animal, and he prefers it that way. It’s much better than being human.

Niki called him manic on more than one occasion. “It’s creepy,” she had complained, swatting at him. “How you look whenever a fight is brought up, or if you think of one… A wide grin spreads across your face and a weird predatory look appears in your eye. You look less like a human and more like an animal.” And then she had theatrically shuddered. Ethan had been so offended by her words he challenged her to a duel. Like the coward she was, she declined.

Later, she had heard her calling his penchant for fighting an “addiction” to Sneeg. That’s not how he would describe it, really. Doesn’t she know what it’s like to have hobbies? Besides, she should try being less judgmental. If she keeps being so irritable and prickly, she’ll get stuck like that. That is how the saying goes, right…?

Etoiles takes another swing at him, the advanced range of his scythe making it so that he doesn’t have to get close to attack him. Which is detrimental to his strategy, but fights are all about unpredictability!

…Maybe that’s why he loves them so much? He revels in the world’s unbridled quality, how nothing within it can be predicted with any accuracy. People die and are hurt and suffer, and it happens regardless of whether people want it to or not. That’s simply how life is; a wild, untamed beast. It’s a battle to beat it, no matter whether the person enjoys it or not.

He knows some people are struggling with it. By that, he means the people from Showfall. And, um, they’re struggling with how unstructured the real world can be. Sometimes he’s too general, and other times he’s too specific. It’s hard to know what people expect from him.

It’s easy to tell how overwhelmed they feel by the real world. It’s in their faces, with their wide eyes and creased brows and tensed shoulders. None of them know how to adjust, how to switch their minds back from the rigid structured life they had at Showfall.

All it does is serve as proof that they’re all so pathetic. It can’t be hard to readjust to the real world. They all lived in it once, hadn’t they? If they can just get over themselves…

Ugh, it just makes him so mad! None of this is hard. And yet, they act as if they’re performing an arduous task, and that it’s impossible no matter how hard they try.

Why? Why is it so hard for them? Maybe the memories of Showfall weigh them down, and they can’t set their past aside to focus on the present. But in that case, they just have to find something to distract themselves, right?

Maybe Ethan just doesn’t get it. Maybe he’s just a trigger happy idiot with zero social or empathy skills. Maybe these thoughts constantly running through his head are just evidence of how awful he is. But he doesn’t really care about stupid things like morals. He just wants to survive, okay?

Other people would be worried about this, he’s sure. This callousness, this cruelty. They’d be so worried about what other people think. But who gives a damn about other people? They’re so unimportant it’s laughable. The only thing that matters is whatever ends up being on the other end of his sword.

Etoiles’ scythe and his sword are interlocked with each other. Ethan grits his teeth as he pours all of his strength into the hilt, raising his sword into the air. He just barely manages to deflect the scythe, and the moment he does, he ducks under it, raising his sword. He’s so close to meeting skin, tearing the cloth, drawing blood, he just has to…

The man easily ducks under the sword. Ethan’s so stunned by the movement that he can’t even process Etoiles swinging his scythe through the air. When it hits his cheek, making just the smallest of gashes against skin, he stumbles back. The feeling of blood dripping down his chin and falling under his chin is reminiscent of tears.

…Not that he knows what it’s like to cry.

“I win,” the man says, grinning as he lowers his scythe. His teeth aren’t as sharp as Foolish’s, but his smile feels even more cutting. “Good fight!” He pats Ethan on the shoulder a few times.

“Right,” he replies, dazed. He doesn’t even sheathe his sword, continuing to hold it in the air as his grip grows looser and looser. He… lost. He actually lost. The experience is so foreign to him that he can’t even process his feelings. He’s just… numb.

“I can tell you learned a lot during it,” he continues, drumming his fingers against his side. “And I learned a lot about you in turn. A good fight can tell you everything about someone.”

A chill runs down his spine, leaving his skin prickled with goosebumps and his hair standing on edge. Everything, huh…? He doesn’t like the sound of that. Other people can be so sensitive. If they heard some of his thoughts about others, what would they think about him…? He decides he won’t dwell on it. “So?” he prompts. “What did you learn?”

“You have good instincts,” Etoiles says, and Ethan feels his heart swell at the compliment. He loves it when someone offers him a few kind words. The thrill of validation is the only thing that can compete with the thrill of battle. “But you’re too impulsive. You don’t think about what you do and how your opponent can counter it, because you’re used to fighting mostly brainless monsters.”

Quickly, the thrill ebbs, leaving a small, gaping pit in the back of his stomach. If he were to try to dig his fingers into it, it would feel as if he was falling deep into an endless, spiraling void. The thought is enough to make him feel nauseous as he sheathes his sword and reaches to wrap his hands tightly around his chest.

“Speed is definitely the best decision for you,” he adds, not unkindly. “You just have to get used to it. You can’t pull off heavy swings against a skilled opponent twice your size. You need to focus on small, lethal strikes. Dart in, get some damage, dart out. Prolonged proximity can easily end up being your downfall.”

He knows Etoiles is just trying to give him advice. His tone is almost clinical, and everything he presents is completely objective. But with every word he speaks, it’s as his daggers are being driven straight through his body, much more painful than anything Security had ever done to him. It’s like all of his worst fears are being put into words. He has no talent, and every decision he’s made during his time here has just been a mistake.

Forcing himself to swallow the lump in his throat, he stares at the other man, balling his hands tightly into fists. “Okay,” he says, struggling to keep his voice level. “Those are the things I need to work on. How can I do better?”

“Well, that and technical skill are your biggest downfalls,” Etoiles replies, waving his hand. “But that isn’t a surprise. You just need more practice behind a weapon. The other things… Well, those can be taught. They’ll come in time naturally, but I’m worried they won’t be cemented into you if you don’t learn hard lessons. Focusing on it right now is the most painless way.”

Etoiles sounds like he’s leading up to something with his words. Ethan can’t help but lean forward, perked up with interest. “So…?” he prompts, trailing off.

“So,” he parrots. “I mean, this is why you came to me, right?” He looks amused. “I’ll train you. You seem eager enough for it, anyway.”

He can’t help but pump his fist, feeling relieved. “Yes!” he cheers. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” The other man laughs, his voice clear and melodic.

“It won’t be easy,” he warns. “If you’re so eager to throw yourself into the art of battle without reservation, you should be aware of how difficult it is. You’re going to be knocked down a lot, especially in the beginning. The most important lesson I can teach you is that you need to get back up.”

Despite the unfocused quality of his eyes, there’s a steely quality to them, and he carries a grave air about him. Ethan gets the sense that his response to this will end up being one of the most important actions he does.

“Okay!” he immediately replies, not even thinking about it. Is that what Etoiles meant when he said he was too impulsive…? “I’ll stay as determined as I can!” Ugh, that feels like a bit of a lie… He feels bad. After all, the demotivated feeling clings to him, and it’s hard to just shrug off. It makes his shoulders slump and his expression rest in a frown.

This spar was the first time he lost. He’s never lost a fight before. Objectively, the battle between him and the code ended in a stalemate, since neither of them died to the other’s hand, which is so lame. Subjectively, though, he came out on top in that battle with the code! And all of the other fights he’s found himself in, mostly just small skirmishes with hostile monsters, were so easy they weren’t even worth mentioning.

What’s the point of fighting if you can’t win? The entire point is that you’re meant to protect others. 

But he lost. Does that make him useless?

Yeah, he decides, it does. But it won’t last. Etoiles will make him worthwhile, and he will become someone who can actually protect Richas and all his friends.

Not a bad goal to work toward, if you ask him.

— — —

He’s lost track of time ever since he began to learn from Etoiles. The days pass by in a hazy blur of grit, determination, and the inevitable, crushing weight of disappointment when Etoiles defeats him, over and over again. No matter how hard Ethan tries, or how evident it is that the man is going easy on him, he still loses.

But he thinks he’s begun to last longer, most of the time! That means something, doesn’t it?

…Ugh. He might actually go insane. He feels like that guy in the story, pushing a boulder up a hill, only to have it roll right back down when it reaches the top. The high of adrenaline is so thrilling, but the miserable weight of failure between his shoulders hurts even worse. His name eludes him, but he figures it’s ultimately unimportant. The only thing he needs to focus on is getting stronger.

Maybe he’s been too harsh on everyone from Showfall. If Etoiles is true strength, how can Ethan ever properly measure up to it? How can anyone? All of the pride and confidence he felt falls through his fingers, as if he’s trying to hold water.

And still, Etoiles doesn’t stop with the seemingly endless torrent of compliments, never letting up even as he continues to fail and fail and fail. It hurts even worse than if he just were to insult him. He keeps insisting that Ethan is getting better, faster, and that he’s making so much progress. If that’s the truth, why can’t he see it?

Normally, he revels in the praise, but his words ring hollow. It’s as if he’s offering Ethan pity, and the thought is enough to make him bristle. He’s not weak, okay?! No matter how much he gets knocked down, he’ll find the motivation to get back up. He’ll have to. This is what he’s been working toward this entire time, after all.

He wants to fight! He wants to protect others! He wants to prove that being kept around is a worthwhile endeavor. He… It’s so easy to be determined when you aren’t slumped over against the cold, damp grass, a small cut on your face and body, the small stinging pain feeling even worse than death does. At least the pain of dying ends eventually. That’s kinda the whole point.

The pain of a bruised ego is impossible to numb, though. He could take painkiller after painkiller, bandage any wounds, and get into battles to distract himself, but when everything is over, the pain still remains. Immutable, unchangeable. Permanent.

God, what’s wrong with him? He’s fine with thinking all of his awful thoughts, because they’re just that; thoughts. Besides, he could care less about hurting the feelings of someone insignificant to him. But this horrible mindset feels impossible to just shrug off. It’s like a parasite, digging itself into the recesses of his mind and influencing how he views everything.

He admires Etoiles with all his heart. That’ll never stop being true. But he can’t help but feel a bit of resentment toward the man begin to build within him, growing with every loss.

Why does he have to be so talented? Or maybe the issue is that Ethan is talentless. Either way, his entire existence feels as if salt is being rubbed into a wound. He feels so bitter, and it’s not an empowering feeling at all. But unlike anger, it’s difficult to just push it back and ignore it.

Could Showfall fix him? Scrub his mind until it was fully blank, and then do whatever they wanted with him… He’d go right back to the version of himself he hates. But that has to be better than feeling this hatred for Etoiles, who’s been nothing but kind and encouraging.

He’s never felt bothered about being an awful person before. Why does he have to start now?

Ugh, what is he thinking? Showfall is gone. If they weren’t, they would have come back for all of them already. And moreover, what the hell does he think he’s doing, wallowing in his own self pity? How pathetic can he get? Training with Etoiles was meant to make him stronger, but he can’t help but feel as if he’s regressing. He should get over himself already.

Is the trap everyone else finds themself stuck in? Feeling sorry for themselves and nothing else? Well, Ethan won’t fall into it! He’s better than that. He’s seen it for himself.

Staring at himself in the reflection of his communicator, he examines himself. Tired, disheveled, a bit beaten up… Yeah, that seems about right.

Etoiles is quite forceful about taking breaks every few days. “Training is all well and good, but you need to let your body recover.” is what he’s said in response to Ethan’s eagerness more than a few times. “If you were to hurt yourself, you’d have to rest for a lot longer. So quit it with the complaining!” That’s around the time he swats Ethan.

Now personally, he thinks that if he gets hurt, he deserves it for not being strong enough. Besides, it’ll help his body toughen up more. It feels like a win-win situation! But if he were to say that to Etoiles, the man would likely swat him until he couldn’t feel his skin. Or maybe he would just glare at Ethan like a disappointed father would. Honestly, out of the two options, the second one seems worse.

Today is one of those break days, and he’s bored out of his mind. He isn’t entirely sure what he's meant to do with himself. Early on, he had trained more on his own, but it left him wrung out and sore, and Etoiles had noticed right away. He doesn’t want to do anything to affect his performance or Etoiles’ opinion of him, so bored he shall remain, he supposes.

He doesn’t decide to go on a walk as much as he’s leaving the house and treading down a well-worn path without realizing it. Well, this is what he’ll be doing today, he supposes. It’s keeping his body busy, at least. Not so much his mind, but there’s very few things he can do to distract it, anyway. There’s only so much he can do before his mind circles back to the same point, over and over again, as if he’s a dog chasing his own tail.

Not that he’s a fan of that comparison. He’s not a brainless idiot, only focusing on base instincts of survival. He supposes he doesn’t act as human when locked in a battle, but listen, Etoiles is working on that!

He’s not some brainless mutt, walking blithely after its master, even if it leads to its death. And he’s not weak, either! …That’s mostly unrelated to the last sentence. He just wants to make sure everyone’s aware.

An oppressive, weary feeling begins to press down on him the longer he walks. He thinks it’s the chip on his shoulder growing deeper and deeper. His irrational desire to be the best is probably impossible to achieve, but what does that matter to his brain? It doesn’t make decisions based on things like rationality. It simply thinks about what it wants, and yanks him along like a dog on a leash as it chases after him.

Again with the dog comparison. Is he really so simple that he can be boiled down just like that? God, that’s irritating. He’s learned to value unpredictability as he continues to learn under Etoiles. And yet, the comparison, as harmless as it seems, takes all of that away from him. And they stop thinking as highly of him, when they realize just how completely pathetic he is.

Or maybe he’s just exaggerating things. That is a possibility. It’s easier to get caught up in your mind then it is to see what’s right in front of you. Sometimes he even prefers it to being in the real world, because what can be is often so much better than what is.

Either way, it’s not as if he has any control over any of this. Not the world, not other people, not his mind. He may as well be a passive observer simply along for the ride with how much power he has here. And there isn’t a point in bemoaning that fact. It’s simply the unchangeable truth, for him to stare down with his grip tight on the hilt of his sword. The dread usually kicks in alongside the realization that nothing he can do can defeat it.

He’s confident in his chances against most enemies. Even against the code, he likes to think he’d be able to keep up with it enough for it to retreat. But what can he do against something as immovable as the truth? He can throw himself at it as much as he likes, and still he would never get past it.

It’s inevitable. Inmutable. Unstoppable. Not even Etoiles or Phil would be able to defeat it. And still, the truth would never gloat, never brag. It would just sit there, solemn and silent, as it leers over everyone with a heavy, oppressive weight to it.

Just once, he wishes the truth would be something other than completely objective and demoralizing. He wishes it would be sneaky, twisting the words. He wishes it would be cocky, exuding its power over everyone caught within its grasp. He wishes it would be foolish, so even someone like him could defeat it.

But it’s none of those things. It’s stoic and undeniable, and its presence is never enough to fire Ethan up. It only leaves him worn out and deflated. How is he ever meant to psyche himself up to challenge it if the mere thought of it makes him feel powerless and worthless?

There isn’t any point to the truth, not really. The world would be so much better if the things people desired could be made reality, formed from only the air and the force of their feelings. Then Ethan could have everything he’s ever wanted, and he wouldn’t be hungry for praise and desperate to prove himself.

Jeez, all of this is really hard. Maybe he’s starting to understand why Ranboo chose to simply give up, letting life drain away from them between limply held fingers. But he won’t himself fall to the same level he was at. He’s better than that. Or rather, he needs to be better than that. If he denies himself the simple, honeyed lie he’s been feeding himself for so long, he thinks he’ll completely break.

He’s better than everyone else from Showfall. Stronger might be the better word for it. That’s how it’s always been, and how it must always be. Someone must be at the top of the food chain, after all, and who else but him? Niki is hostile, with no patience for other people, and Vinny is jumpy and neurotic. Sneeg is overprotective and so terrified of change, and Charlie is a man beaten down by grief to the point where he’s unable to get up. Austin…

…is the worst. He fails at every single aspect of being a human. Truly, he’s worth nothing at all. In a crueler world, he’d be left behind.

Ethan’s at the top of this social ladder, though, out of the six of them. And it’s the duty of the strong to help the weak, no matter how much they weigh others down as a result. So he’ll drag the man along, kicking and screaming, in hopes that the two of them will one day be able to stand at the top of the world together.

All of this is what he tells himself. All of this is what he clings to. But with every time he’s defeated by Etoiles, every time he feels a part of his heart break off and dissolve into nothingness, it becomes harder and harder to believe that. If he was so much better, why hasn’t he won already?

And, in the end, if he’s truly as worthless as everyone else who clawed their way out of Showfall, if they’ve been ruined beyond repair, then it’s simply his duty to die. There’s no point in burdening everyone else, in forcing them to protect such a pathetically weak man.

Sure, he says that, but no matter how many times the thought crosses his mind, he can’t make that promise to himself. The words form on his tongue, but never leave his lips, as if the air is physically rejecting them. He doesn’t want to die. Please, if anyone’s listening, he truly doesn’t want to die.

That’s why he needs to become stronger. If he’s as weak as he fears he is, if he becomes reduced to a shuddering, sobbing mess, then the world will deign to put him out of his misery. It isn’t considered cruel for no reason, after all. But if he becomes strong, no one can argue about his place in this world. No one will be capable of protesting.

And, well, if they do… He’ll just rip their tongues out. Pretty easy, right?

What a meaningless conclusion. He’s right back where he started; wanting to grow stronger. Most thought experiments are just pointless wastes of time, after all, and they never lead to any particular realization. Why think when you can fight? It’s not a coincidence that most people view brains and brawn as two opposite concepts.

He just keeps walking, feeling unsatisfied and out in the open. At any moment, anything could leap out of the shadowy depths of the trees and pin him against the floor with overwhelming strength. But the idea doesn’t particularly unnerve him, because he has his sword sheathed at his side, like he always does, ready to swing it and feel his heart begin to thunder in his chest.

The thought is enough to spread a rare grin across his face. In a world full of uncertainties, at least battle is as simple as ever.

“Ethan?” calls a familiar voice. He wasn’t expecting anyone to call out to him, and he can’t help but startle, jumping in place as he whirls around, trying to find where it came from. “Over here.”

Niki, Sneeg, and Pomme seem to materialize from the trees to his right, all of them looking bemused to see him. Not that he was expecting this, either. Did he really walk that close to France? He was so lost in his own mind it was hard for him to keep track of where he was going or for how long. He just wanted to walk. It didn’t matter how he did it.

“Oh.” he says, before slowly raising his hand up in the area in an attempt at a greeting. “Hey, guys. Wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“We could say the same thing about you,” Niki points out, cocking an eyebrow. “It’s been a while since we’ve really chatted like this.”

“Yeah,” Sneeg adds, shrugging as he loosely nudges Ethan’s arm with a conspiratorial smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ve been so busy with your new friends that you’ve forgotten all about us.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes. Yeah, that’s kind of the point. He hates being around everyone from Showfall. It’s like he’s getting thrown right back into that horrible, powerless mindset he was incapable of escaping from. “I’ve been busy,” he says flatly, absentmindedly stretching and rolling his shoulders. 

“I’ve heard,” Niki returns, her voice just as clipped and unconversational as his is. She sounded a lot more friendly when she called out to him, but her mood shifts as his own does. “It would be hard to tear you from Etoiles’ side, wouldn’t it?”

“Not really,” he immediately retorts, bristling at the challenge in her voice. Because it has to be a challenge. Why else would that tone be in her voice? “I’m here right now, aren’t I?”

Sneeg’s eyes flit back and forth, from Ethan to Niki and back again. He looks tired and resigned, as if he knows he’ll have to break up a fight soon. God, that resignation just grates on his nerves. Not only is he just accepting it, but does he really view Ethan as that immature? He’ll only get into a fight if Niki starts it.

…That, or if he gets so irritated he can’t help but unsheathe his sword and slash at her. But it would be her fault too, in that case, so he doesn’t count it.

“Only ‘cause he makes you take breaks,” Niki fires back, crossing her arms. “If he didn’t, I doubt any of us would ever see you again.”

“And?” he snaps, tilting his head. “It’s not like we see each other either way. What does it matter?”

“Okay!” Sneeg suddenly yells, clapping his hands together. “Try not to rip each other’s throats out, okay? You’ll traumatize Pomme.”

“He started it,” Niki huffs in reply, putting a hand on her hip. “Not everything has to be a fight, you know. Taking things easy is an option you have.”

God, why does she seem so firm about it? Niki annoys him so much. She acts like she’s so much better than everyone, judging them all from her high horse. And when someone does something she doesn’t like, here comes the judgment! He swears she came up with the neighborhood idea just so she and Sneeg could team up and obsessively micromanage everyone. Austin had enough of a spine to refuse, which makes Ethan’s acceptance even more embarrassing.

It’s so grating, how the two of them will always side with the other. Do they just want the same things, or do they know how convenient it is, and turn a blind eye to the things they disagree with? Either way, it’s hard to do anything against them. They immediately turn on and tagteam anyone who tries to go against them.

That’s seen right now, with the challenge in Niki’s eyes as she raises her chin at him, as if she’s just begging him to continue to bicker with her. It’s seen with the way Sneeg stands behind her, arms crossed, not doing anything to calm her down but the steely look in his eyes serving as a warning toward Ethan, of all people.

But what can he do? God, Sneeg is so terribly useless, and the fact that he pretends to care about anyone other than himself and Niki is such a joke. If anyone did something that didn’t serve their interests, he wouldn’t hesitate to turn on them, he’s sure of it. He’s a hypocrite, and miserable to be around besides.

Ethan’s never stopped resenting him for allowing him to just go to his death, without even a token protest. He isn’t really bothered by what other people did at Showfall. Criken’s existence is meaningless to him either way, so why does what Hetch did to him matter? But Sneeg’s insistence on “protecting everyone”, or whatever trite bullshit he continues to spout, is enough to make him furious, because he knows that isn’t true.

Unless Ethan just isn’t worth being protected. Is that it? Did Sneeg know how weak and pathetic he was? Is he truly hated that much?

It doesn’t matter to him that Showfall stripped every ounce of agency from them. He wanted to live, goddamn it! Sneeg could have done something. Any of them could have done something! Austin didn’t owe him anything, and had already saved his life once, and Ranboo was more of a shambling zombie as opposed to an actual human being, but what’s Sneeg’s excuse?!

His hatred is irrational yet incorrigible. It makes this conversation the last place he wants to be right now, because there isn’t any way it ends civilly. It started at a disadvantage already, with Niki’s mood swings and Sneeg’s bias and, fine, he’ll admit it, Ethan’s hostility and his willingness for a fight. It’s not like he gains anything from this conversation, anyway. Nothing will change if it ends in a battle.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” Sneeg prompts after a long, awkward moment of silence that leaves Pomme shuffling in place.

“Taking a walk,” he slowly replies. “Um, remind me where “here” is, exactly? I lost track of time.”

“Around the outskirts of France,” Sneeg offers, his tone easy and conversational. It paints a heavy contrast to both him and Niki’s tones, and it leaves him squinting at the man in an effort to scrutinize him. He probably doesn’t really mean it. Why would he? “We were taking Pomme out to the beach, since there’s one nearby and she wants to swim. Wanna come with?”

Wow, he’s never encountered a question where he’s been so sure of the answer. “I’m good,” he says flatly. “Not that it doesn’t sound fun-” To be honest, he can’t envision anything more soul sucking, but that’s neither here nor there. “-but it’s better if I take it easy for now.”

Sneeg tilts his head. “Well, that’s a shame,” he says, and Niki unsuccessfully tries to cover up a scoff at his words. “But it’s not like we’re in a hurry. Would you hate it if we were to stop and chat?”

No, please don’t do this to him. “If you want,” he evenly replies. “It’s not like I’m doing anything.” He doesn’t even know why he’s bothering with these worthless pleasantries. It’s not like with everyone in the Favelas, where being friends with them is an actual worthwhile experience. He gets their respect, their protection, their leniency. With them, he feels comfortable pushing his luck.

But it’s not like he views their friendship as purely a measure of what he can gain from it. It’s not like he’ll just drop Felps just because he isn’t around very often, and there isn’t much the man can offer him. But it is a worthwhile metric when he wants to consider whether he wants to start a new friendship or maintain an old one.

Everyone from Showfall may as well be piles of dirt with how much they can do for him. They’re miserable, angry shells of where people may have once been. It’s terrible that whatever their lives may have been were stolen away from them. Whenever Ethan retreats deep into himself, he feels the void of what his life before left behind, so deep and cavernous it fills him with a nauseating vertigo.

The difference between him and them is that he doesn’t dwell on it. Really, it’s that simple. It’s something he can never get back, so why think about it. Why agonize about what might have been? Why try to find a reason for any of it? Showfall didn’t kidnap any of them because they did something to deserve it, or because they had asked for it. They just kidnapped them because they’re terrible, irredeemable people.

Why does everything have to have a reason for it? Why must everything be written off as some sort of test, or fate or destiny or some miserable trite bullshit? Why do people try to make an excuse for the thrilling way anything can happen? Why do people have to struggle against the current, instead of allowing themselves to be washed away by the chill of the waves?

Living is so easy. People are so obsessed with being good people that they waste time wallowing in their own weakness. If they understand that people need to get hurt, that others need to be at the bottom for you to be at the top, he’s sure all of it will just click.

At first, people will try to insist that working together is the most important thing. That they should always spare people’s feelings, always be kind and considerate, that it’s okay not to be the best. Those people disgust him worst of all, even more than weaklings.

What right do any of them have to deny the nature of the world? The strong live, and the weak die. If you put others above yourself, then you’ll just die, and you’ll be forgotten eventually. Your life will be nothing but a waste, and you’ll be forgotten. Ranboo met that fate. How many will do the same before everyone finally learns?

He’s impulsive and impatient because he doesn’t need to think twice. He knows exactly what he’s doing here, and it’s to be better than everyone else. It’s not his fault that people are living just to live, instead of having a goal to claw their way up to. Maybe that’s why Niki is so angry all the time. She feels that burning sting of unfulfillment, and takes it out on other people.

It just reminds him that no matter what he’s doing, he could always be doing worse. No matter how horrible people may view him as, he knows he’s strong. All six of them were in the exact same situation, and yet they all reacted to it in different ways. It would be fascinating, if he were the thinking type. But he’ll leave the implications of that to Austin.

Ethan thinks the world would be a better place if everyone had his exact mindset. Sure, it would make getting to the top harder, because everyone would be competing just as desperately as he is, but he would prefer a challenge over a cakewalk. Sure, out of everyone from Showfall, he’s the best, but what does that matter? It’s not a hard category to reach. He’ll only truly be satisfied when he knows he’s the best.

Throwing a sidelong look at Sneeg, he can’t help but feel curious, even as he knows he gains nothing for indulging it. The man is so determined and steely, but he doesn’t have a clue what drives him forward. It can’t be the desire to be the best, because… look at him. So what is it?

Sneeg grins when he catches Ethan’s eye, but Niki just scoffs. “You two can do what you want, but we should be going,” she announces, gesturing to Pomme. The younger girl looks uncomfortable at being used as an excuse, but she slowly nods.

In response, Sneeg stares at Niki, and she narrows her eyes at him, scowling. She tilts her head ever-so-slightly, as if to offer a helpless shrug. God, he hates feeling out of the loop like this.

…Not that he really wants to be in the loop anyway. It’s just… irritating, that’s all. He would prefer that people vocalize any thoughts they may have, especially about him. He’d like to know what they explicitly think of him so he’s able to properly refute it.

But with this awkward, stifled half communication, he doesn’t have a clue. At least words can be interpreted, but he doesn’t have a clue what he’s meant to think of her uneven blinking and the way her hands twitch. He doesn’t know Niki enough to figure that out, and it really grates on him. If she were brave, she would say exactly what she was thinking, uncaring about what he would think of it.

What is he thinking? He already knows Niki isn’t brave. He can vaguely hear her desperate screams and smell the stench of gunpowder lingering in the air if he focuses enough. Things from their first go around at Showfall are hazy, because he doesn’t particularly care much for remembering it.

Austin grabbing him and staring into his eyes with that steely, intense glint in his own was vivid enough in his mind, though. He also remembers his own death, although that goes without saying.

Slowly and methodically, Sneeg begins to roll his shoulders as he stares at Niki head on. “Sure,” he says in response to her, not even hesitating to respond. The awkward gap of silence characterized by strange movements only lasted for a few breaths at the most, and yet Ethan felt that painful stretch of time weighing directly on his soul. “I’ll catch up when we’re done chatting.”

“I would say try not to kill him, but I don’t particularly care what you might do to him,” Niki says lazily, shooting him a disdainful look as she moves to turn away. “If anything, handing his ass to him might give him a much needed reality check.”

With that, she disappears with Pomme back into the trees. Ethan, incensed by her words, moves forward, hand already flying toward his hilt, but Sneeg’s hand darts forward to rest firmly on his shoulder. And yet, the man doesn’t even look at him. He should kill them both! What the hell do they think they’re doing, treating him like this? He’s stronger than both of them combined.

And yet, they aren’t scared of him in the slightest. That makes him more angry than he can put into words. They should be. He wishes they were. And yet, Niki looks upon him with nothing but scorn, and Sneeg seems to be under the impression that he’s still the person he was at Showfall, and that he needs to be protected. He should really set that straight.

Ethan turns toward Sneeg, hoping his glare is intense enough to pin the man against the tree behind him. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to react to it at all, lazily sticking one hand in a pocket and adjusting the brim of his bloodstained hat with the other.

God, that stupid hat. He really wouldn’t mind tearing it to shreds with his bare hands, if the option were to be extended to him. It’s a symbol of everything he hates about all of them, of how they cling to the past. It’s all just so pathetic.

How does he even feel comfortable wearing the thing? Ethan had burned the clothes he had died in as soon as he could. They were torn, bloodied, and purple. He felt disgusting just being near them, much less being stuck wearing them.

Despite that, Showfall had put him right back in the exact same outfit, as if what he had done hadn’t even happened. As if to erase everything he had done; every breath he had taken, every thought that ran through his mind, and every single miserable act of rebellion that made him think he was actually getting away with something.

To put him back in that outfit was to erase everything he had ever been and had the potential to be. To be boiled back down to “disposable sacrifice, but this one is wearing purple” was the most insulting thing he could possibly think of. Instead of suing them or whatever he’s planning, Criken should kill every single person responsible for Ethan’s torment point blank. That would be only slightly less satisfying than doing it himself.

Burning that outfit for the second time felt so meaningless. He had stared blankly at it until most of it was nothing but a pile of smoldering ash, and then he had begun to rifle through it. He had ignored the burning feeling on the tips of his fingers, and when he brought his hands back, a charred piece of lilac fabric rested in his hands.

Even now, that bit of fabric is still in the left pocket of his jeans, feeling as if it’s burning a hole right through his skin and into bone and muscle. He’s not even sure why he kept it. It was a fleeting moment of sentimentality he was foolish enough to give into, and he can’t help but feel stupid for it. He always means to throw it away, or to finish the job, but he never gets around to it.

Some day, he wants to lift the fabric up to the air and watch the sun filter through it. He wants to stare at it in the palm of his hand and not recognize it in the slightest. But for now, he remains painfully aware of it within his pocket. It’s timed with the beat of his heart. Every time his heart pounds in his chest, the fabric grows ever-so-slightly hotter. Soon, it will overtake even the hottest flame, and he’ll be unable to handle the agony any more.

It makes him feel the slightest bit of pity for Vinny. Burning to death is truly horrible, especially when it’s so drawn out like this. But only slightly. He can’t forgive the man for anything else. Not his anxiety, not his weakness, and not how he continuously revels in it.

“So, did you have anything in particular you wanted to chat about, or did you just want to make small talk?” he asks, hoping his voice isn’t dripping with too much sarcasm.

“I was just curious, that’s all,” he replies. One hand is rubbing the back of his neck, while the other is using his fingers to drum against his thigh. He isn’t even looking at Ethan, as if he’s some sort of afterthought rather than the focal point of the conversation. God, it makes him mad. Can’t Sneeg pretend to care? “I’ve heard you’ve been learning how to fight from Etoiles. How’s that been going for you?”

“Ah,” he says. He’s a bit caught off guard by the sudden interest in what he’s been doing lately, but it isn’t a bad sort of feeling. “Pretty well. I’ve been learning a lot, anyway. Besides, Etoiles is such an amazing teacher. I’m lucky to get as much instruction from him as I have been.”

Sneeg squints at him, one hand reaching up to shield his eyes. The movement feels awfully performatory, if he’s being honest. “Jeez, you’re literally glowing,” he grumbles. “Turn it down for me, will you? We don’t need another sun in the sky.”

Would it kill him to be genuine for once? He knows sarcasm is the other man’s thing, but it just makes him feel like the two of them are at each other’s throats. It’s not particularly the greatest energy to be picking up on when he’s already in a bad mood like this. And if Sneeg keeps annoying him like this, fuck it, he’ll beat him up! It’s not like he cares about whatever he thinks about Ethan. He’s barely anything in his thoughts, so small and insignificant he’s the equivalent of a bug. He could squash him right now!

“If that’s all you had to say, I should just leave now,” he says with a scoff. He reaches toward the hilt of his sword, giving it a few reassuring squeezes just to ensure it’s still at his side. He might end up needing it. It might not seem fair to bring a sword to a fist fight, but Ethan just wants to slash at the man. Maybe he wouldn’t be so irreverently smug with a few slashes to the face.

“Not really,” he huffs, shaking his head. “I actually wanted to ask you something. But I can tell you don’t want to stick around, and I don’t need to know enough to force you to stay.”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbles. He does still have a question of his own to throw at Sneeg, even if he feels stupid just forming the syllables on his tongue. “But spit it out already. You’re wasting my time otherwise.”

“So harsh,” Sneeg drawls, his tone both lazy and teasing in a way that leaves Ethan bristling. “But fine. I was just wondering why you’re so desperate to become so strong. I mean, we’re on an island. Shouldn’t you be relaxing? Kicking back a little?”

…Wow. That was so stupid that Ethan doesn’t know if he has the words to refute that. “Seriously?” he snaps. “I’m sticking around in this worthless conversation just to hear that completely brainless question?”

“Even then,” Sneeg replies, looking completely unphased at the insult. “It shouldn’t be that hard to answer, unless you do things without thinking. I wouldn’t consider you the type.” He says that, but the disinterested way he picks at his nails is enough to reveal his true intentions. He’s looking for something from Ethan, and he doesn’t know what it is so he can try to avoid it.

He grits his teeth. “Just think for a second or two, will you?!” he yells. “Why would anyone be bothering with this? Maybe it’s because they know how the world looks. Maybe they want to get stronger. Not that you would ever understand that. Look at you, in your ugly Hawaiian shirt and your cargo shorts! You may be happy wallowing in your own misery, but I'm better than that! Better than all of you!”

The words taste weird in his mouth. He’s never spoken them aloud before. He just repeats them in his head like a mantra. They’re so cruel and yet completely true to the point where he knows they wouldn’t be well received if he were to say it. And yet, here he is, goaded into it anyway.

And still, Sneeg seems completely unbothered by it, hands in his pockets as he looks a little to the left of Ethan’s face. “Wow,” he says dryly, voice flat and emotionless. “Tell me how you really feel, why don’tcha?” He snorts, scratching at the bottom of his chin. “Okay. So you’re doing this to prove your superiority, right? Because you’re such a miserable, insecure wreck you can’t believe what you tell yourself, so you need tangible proof of it you’ll never find?”

His entire body tenses as his breath hitches. The words lodge themselves deep into his heart. A direct hit. And even then, they don’t remain static for long, bouncing and rebounding as if his chest is an echo chamber. The words are repeated so much in his mind it’s impossible to block them out, and so loud it leaves his ears ringing.

Feeling like this… Maybe Sneeg was right. He’s miserable and insecure. But he doesn’t want to just acknowledge that. Sneeg’s such a smug bastard that saying that would only serve to inflate his ego even more.

“Well, what about you?” he hisses. His hands are balled into such tight fists his nails are digging deep into his skin. He’s uncomfortably conscious of the pain. “Why do you fight? Why are you such a neurotic, overprotective moron about people who don’t give two shits about you?! What’s the point in any of this? Or are you so dumb you can’t even imagine what your actions will lead to?”

“Oh, I’m perfectly aware,” Sneeg replies. Ethan had been trying to hurt the man as much as he could, but he had no clue where to aim. And now it seems as if the insults have simply rolled right off of him, like water off a duck’s back. “I want to protect the people I care about, even if they don’t need it. Even if they don’t deserve it.” His gaze is scathing as he glares at Ethan. “Because I know how the world works. And I know that there’s no point to being alive if the people I care about get hurt. So what about you, huh? What’s your grand aspiration? How do you plan to make your life matter to others?”

Ethan wants to be loved. Even more than he wants to be strong. He wants people to think he matters. Even after he inevitably dies desperately chasing bigger and bigger adrenaline highs, he still wants to be remembered.

But he can’t just say that. He knows how pathetic that would make him, even more than he already is.

Instead, he punches Sneeg. He feels a thrill of satisfaction on how the man stumbles back, hand raised to his cheek, and the stunned expression he wears. But then it shifts back to that unbothered expression as he shrugs. “Alright,” he says, sighing. “I guess there isn’t much of a point to this. You’ve made your decisions, and I’ve made mine. But if you ever want to live a little, instead of just survive… You know where to find me.”

And then, before Ethan can even get the last word in, he turns away and walks off.

That bastard. He could at least try to argue his point a little bit more. But no. Instead, he just leaves, looking completely unbothered by it all. Ethan doesn’t want to just punch him again. He wants to kill him. Maybe that will show the man that he doesn’t need his worthless protection. Maybe that will show everyone else just how strong he truly is.

“Running away?” he jeers, cupping his hands around his mouth. “You fucking pussy! Either get back here or don’t do anything at all!”

Sneeg doesn’t even look over his shoulder back at Ethan. It’s like he didn’t say anything at all. It’s like he’s not even real.

No, no, no. He’s real, he knows he is. He’s left his mark on this horrible world. Without him, Richas would be dead. Right? The kid probably would have been rescued by his parents. Okay. Fine. What else is there that proves he’s actually here?

He’s appeared on camera. In that way, he’s immortalized forever. But he did nothing while at Showfall. He may as well have not even been there. That’s not proof either.

The scrape on his cheek still aches from his last spar with Etoiles. It ended, unsurprisingly, with a victory in the man’s favor, but his loss was so painfully pathetic he can’t help but grit his teeth as he thinks of it. In an effort to evade Etoiles, he had ended up diving to the floor, but he had landed wrong, resulting in scratches and gashes on his palm and cheek.

Of course, that had resulted in blood being drawn, and Etoiles had called it there, much to Ethan’s disappointment. He said there wasn’t any use to training while you were hurt. But Ethan doesn’t care about the pain. It helps to remind him that he’s alive. The bitter sting of disappointment in his chest hurts even worse than the vague sting of the still-fresh scratches on his skin.

Pain is real. So if he can feel it, that means he’s real, too. It’s the transitive property, or something like that.

It’s not the complete, definitive proof he was looking for, but it’s enough to make his heart relax. Right. Everything’s fine.

Jeez, he hasn’t struggled with this in a while. He’s been too busy with other things to really focus on it. It’s all Sneeg’s fault. It wouldn’t kill him to acknowledge Ethan, even if it were for less than a breath. Even if Ethan was blinking while he did so. He just wants the man to look straight at him for once, instead of looking at the ground or his nails or past him.

But that feels stupid to even think. He doesn’t need Sneeg’s acknowledgment, of all people. The only time he’d want to stare the man in the eyes and have him stare back is when he has him pinned to the ground, bloody knuckles raised as they ready themselves for another swing.

And he doesn’t need anybody else to acknowledge him, either! Not Niki, not Austin, not even Etoiles. He can’t keep himself alive with the thrill of validation forever. No matter what he does, any admiration or praise he may receive will eventually dry up. And it makes him weak, desperately relying on others like this. He can’t trust that people will provide him the thing he craves. The only thing he can do is continue to survive, armed with his own reasons and motivations, and enjoy any validation that may just happen to come his way.

…Yeah, right. As if he’ll ever be able to make that happen. If he could rewire his brain and fix all the things wrong with him, he would have done so already.

Unfortunately, that’s impossible. He isn’t Showfall, and he never wants to be. Torturing people simply for entertainment like that… At least he would have the humanity not to draw their suffering out. He’d kill them, and he would feel satisfied, and that would be the end of it. He’d even bury them, if he respected them enough.

No matter what he does, he struggles to fully fill up the hole in his chest, deep and cavernous. Any time something seems as if it might fill it, it simply falls straight through. Adrenaline, validation, direction… None of it feels as if it’s enough.

Ethan simply has to resign himself to it. He continues to walk, altogether it feels more like staggering. At some point, he stumbles upon a pond, and he crouches in front of it, staring blankly at his reflection.

It looks so odd, somehow. Maybe it’s because of how human he looks. But he can’t be, not really. He’s better than that. Or maybe it’s that he’s worse? It’s one of them, he’s sure. He just has to figure out which.

He claws desperately at the water, staring at the way it ripples. His reflection briefly becomes obscured, but when it settles again, there he is. Ethan Nestor, a tired, hollow-eyed shell of a man. His hair is frizzy, going out in all directions, and his dark brown roots are crawling further and further down his head. If he were to cut his hair, he could allow it to overtake the bleach entirely, if he wanted to.

But in the end, he doesn’t really care. His appearance doesn’t mean a thing to him.

So why, then, does he feel so dissatisfied as he stares at his reflection?

He slowly pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but that doesn’t eliminate the feeling stirring in his gut. Is it… his expression, maybe? He moves his mouth in an attempt at a smile, but it looks more like a snarl, as if he’s some wild animal. Maybe he is no better than that. Maybe that’s why he receives so much derision. Is it that he deserves it?

No matter how much he continues to twist his mouth, he can never make it look quite right. He can never be quite happy with how he looks. He tries and tries over and over again, feeling hysteria begin to bubble in the back of his throat.

Who is he, really, other than a man adrift, searching for anything that will keep him tethered? What word can be used to describe him, other than pathetic?

Ethan stares at his face so long it stops looking like a real, tangible thing anymore. It’s like when a word is repeated or read so often it begins to look strange. And still, he continues to stare, as if he’s stuck in a trance. He barely notices his hands moving up, but he does notice when he begins to claw at his face. It leaves his skin stinging, and he lets out a hiss as he crawls back, away from the water.

Huh. That seemed to work out pretty well for him. He bets he would have remained paralyzed there the entire time, letting the days crawl by until he inevitably withered away. Pain seems to be the only thing that can drag him back to earth, especially as validation starts to run dry and he grows more and more used to the thrill of validation in his gut, barely getting the same high he used to.

There’s a lot of bad lessons he could take from that, to be honest. Knowing that, he resolutely refuses to dwell on it. He chews on his tongue as if it’s a piece of gum as he staggers to his feet.

Making this promise to himself has to be the most important thing he’s ever done. He has to swear that he won’t let himself get distracted on his desperate trek to become the best. He has to swear that he won’t get pulled too deep into his own thoughts, that he won’t let himself get weighed down by stupid, worthless emotions.

If he fails in his goal, then he has nothing left to live for. He won’t let himself just roll over and die. He won’t. He didn’t live through all those awful things for nothing.

“Okay,” he whispers, throat dry and voice hollow. “I promise. I’ll keep moving forward, no matter what. I need to.”

How long will that last for, he wonders? Maybe it’s not as much an issue of making the promise, but actually finding some way to fulfill him. Whatever’s wrong with him, it feels impossible to fix.

…So should he just keel over and die, or what?

— — —

Out of all the possibilities today had to offer, he would think being visited by Austin fell awfully low on the list.

It was strange for a variety of reasons. Ethan was usually the one seeking Austin out, even if he didn’t do it as often at the moment. He doesn’t gain much from continuing his friendship with the man, especially when he has a habit of being quite irritating and dismissive. Plus, Austin being spotted outside of his house was miraculous enough on its own; he’s heard a few rumors of people spotting him and him darting away the moment they call out to him.

He’s doing something in that stupid, remote, house. No one just has any clue as to what it is. Niki grumbles under her breath about “Cucurucho” and him being a “brainless idiot”, but gaining more information would require prolonged contact with a likely-irate Niki, so he’d rather avoid that.

If someone were to ask, he would say he couldn’t care less about whatever Austin might be up to. He’s his own person, and doesn’t need to be obsessively micromanaged. He can make bad decisions and screw himself over. That’s his right as an actual, living human being, and it’s something he’s always been denied at Showfall. Ethan doesn’t give a shit about Austin. He has other things to worry about.

Unfortunately, that practiced, prepared response would be a lie. He isn’t as neurotically overprotective as Sneeg is (and God, how annoying that is! The man couldn’t do anything back at Showfall, watching Ethan go to his death with glazed over eyes, and he wants to protect everyone now, when they barely have anything to worry about anymore? What a useless sack of shit! Ethan’s so much stronger than he’ll ever be, so what’s the point of his worry?), but he does still worry about Austin.

For the record, it isn’t an all consuming fear. It’s not like every single thought is dedicated to whatever idiotic thing he might be up to. If he’s lucky, he can go a day or two without any thought of the man even flitting through his mind.

He just… can’t help but be worried sometimes, okay? That’s normal! It’s proof that any capacity for sympathy wasn’t completely scrubbed out by Showfall and his own selfish desires. The feeling just feels so nonsensical, though. He owes Austin his life, and that’s why he feels this care for him. He wants to be able to pay him back, and if he’s dead in a ditch somewhere, then that debt will haunt him to his grave, unable to be repaid.

But his life doesn’t mean that much, really. Showfall felt comfortable throwing it away for no reason without a second thought, after all. It wasn’t as if he was the Hero. He was just… the Unemployed. Perpetually in the background, disposable, and easily forgotten about.

Even now, long after they died, a part of him can’t help but resent Ranboo. What did he do, to become worthy of the title of Hero? They were just as sniveling and pathetic and weak as everyone else was. So why was he propped up, treated as special, toyed with, and injected with bitter, false hope? What did they do to deserve that punishment? What did he do to deserve that honor?

God, what an ungrateful brat. They were so special, so valued, so loved, and he didn’t hesitate to throw it all away for a life of freedom they hadn’t even enjoyed! Ethan might be selfish, but Ranboo was just as bad. So why, then, is his memory honored and treated as something sacred, while he would be shunned if he ever vocalized the thoughts in his mind.

Out of everyone left from Showfall, he’s the only one deserving of the title of the Hero. He can only be glad that Ranboo is out of the way forever, so he can assume the mantle if need be.

Not that things can ever be that easy. If Showfall ever came back for them and brought them into a new show, someone else would become the Hero, he’s sure of it. And he would be stuck lurking in the background, bitter and antsy and desperate to prove himself.

His death would be painful and awful and mocking, as if to teach him a lesson. As if to say he should know his place in the artificial world Showfall effortlessly sculpts with gloved hands. Because he can never get anything he wants, not when they’re in control.

Hetch’s mocking voice echoes in his ears, even now, cruel and demeaning. How dare he ever think he could be the Hero? And then, perfectly on script, Security would lumber forward and tear him limb from limb.

Fine. Fine! He could never get what he wanted at Showfall. He already knew that, so why is he angry? But no matter how many times he comes to terms with it, it still makes him so damn angry. None of it is fair. God, what a pain in the ass!

Ethan’s come to admire a fair fight in the time he’s spent learning under Etoiles.There’s nothing more demotivating than fighting against an opponent you know won’t play fair, and as talented as Etoiles can be, he doesn’t play dirty. Not yet, at least. He’s seen the man when he fights a difficult battle. He uses anything and everything, because he knows there isn’t a point if there isn’t victory.

Sure, Ethan could play dirty. He could use distractions and deflections and not care if he hurts Etoiles or not. And maybe, if he’s ever on the verge of death in a real fight, it would be something he would stoop to. But against Etoiles? He’d rather prove his might in a real, tangible way, instead of getting lucky with what tactics he deploys.

That sort of just, noble world view doesn’t work very well in the real world. Then again, it’s not like it ever did much for him at Showfall, either, so why does he bother to cling to it? If he needs something as pathetic as that to obtain some weak comfort, then it wasn’t worth it at all. He’ll be just fine without it.

But he can’t help but be obsessed with how things should be, instead of how they are. Ethan should be the Hero. Everyone should admire him. What’s so wrong with that? It gives him something to work toward, doesn’t it?

Speaking of how things should be… He shifts in his seat and throws Austin a narrowed, scrutinizing glance. It’s so strange seeing him here like this. If he were to reach out and poke the man, would he disappear into the air, as if he was never here at all?

He can’t tell whether it’s genuine nerves or a flight of fancy that makes him lean forward, jabbing Austin in the arm. He feels solid enough, and the irritated glare the man trains on him feels more realistic than his mind would be capable of mustering. “What was that for?” he grumbles, looking unimpressed.

In response, he shrugs, tossing Austin a cheeky grin. “I dunno,” he replies, kicking his legs in the air. “Just making sure you were real is all. It’s not every day you come out of your lair and grace us mere mortals with your presence.”

“Don’t phrase it like that,” he huffs, shaking his head. “I’ve just been busy with some things, okay?” He looks uncomfortable with the current subject, suddenly, shoulders tight and drawn. “Not that you need to worry about it.”

“Okay, I won’t!” he says, grinning. “So, what do you think of the place?” He gestures around him to the crowded house located in the Favela he spends most of his time in. The one in Niki’s stupid neighborhood is… nice, he supposes, but it’s also purple. Not really his thing. Plus, it feels so isolated from everyone else. He would like for the people he cares about to be in arm’s reach in case they ever need him.

“It’s nice,” he promptly replies without looking at anything. His gaze is simultaneously intense and far away. Ethan stares into his eyes. Jeez, they feel like an endless cavernous pit. If he were to get lost in them, he’s not sure he would be able to claw his way out. “Nicer than my place, anyway.”

Ethan instinctively makes a face as he thinks about Austin’s house; a small shack nailed together with wooden boards, drafts tearing through it. It’s only furnished with the bare necessities, and the garden around the back feels like the closest to personality the place has to offer. He can barely stand to be in it for a couple hours, much less shut himself away into it like Austin does. The man must be insane if he’s capable of withstanding it. “Who’s fault is that?” he reminds the man, voice sharp. “You were the one who declined Niki’s neighborhood idea, stupid as it is.”

Austin throws him a sidelong glance. He looks… unsure, which is odd for a man who keeps his expression so schooled most of the time. “So… um… What have you been doing lately?” he asks, grimacing as he awkwardly fidgets with his shirt sleeve.

Small talk. Really, from him of all people? Austin’s always been the kind of guy to get quickly to the point. Something like this seems out of character.

Ethan narrows his eyes. Whatever he’s playing at, it wouldn’t hurt to make an effort at playing along. “Nothing much,” he says carefully. “Etoiles has just been helping me to get better at fighting. It’s… going pretty well.” He’s leaving a lot of things out. Like how demoralizing each loss feels, as if it etches itself into his soul and leaves itself as proof of his weakness. Like how Etoiles has been growing more and more quiet, things clearly weighing on his mind. Like how there’s an odd energy in the air, similar to the scent that hovers before it rains.

His shoulders bunch together as a grim expression flits onto his face, as if the answer was what he was expecting but not what he wanted. “Great,” he says quietly. “That’s… That’s great.” He glances down at the half-opened book in his arms a few times, fast enough that there isn’t any way he can register the words written on the pages. “Um… Ethan, I…” He trails off, looking pained, as if the words he’s speaking are made of acid and are burning a hole through his tongue.

“Whatever you want to say, just say it,” he snaps, taken by a burst of sudden irritation. It’s been hard to control his emotions lately, not when there’s other things he has to focus on. “I’m tired of this small talk and dancing around the subject. Say what’s on your mind, or don’t say it at all.”

The other man doesn’t flinch at his harsh words, even if he does look startled at the sudden venom. He just nods, staring down at the book in his hands as he runs his fingers over the leather cover. “Right,” he says quietly. “I… It wouldn’t be smart to tell you. Not right now. Not when I’ve already…” He sighs, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. It seems impossible for him to stay still, as if he must be in constant motion. “Just… be careful. You’re standing on a precipice. I don’t know if I want you to fall into it, or stay far, far away.”

His words are heavy and laden with metaphor, and Ethan can’t help but narrow his eyes sharply. He knows something. Well, of course he does. It’s Austin’s business to know everything, especially after so much has already been taken from him. He’s always been fine with that. It just feels more disconcerting when that knowledge is directed toward him. “What do you mean?” he flatly asks.

“I- Ethan!” Austin says in reply, looking somewhat flustered. “Like I said, I can’t tell you that! He’d kill me…” He suddenly straightens, turning away from Ethan with his mouth pressed into a thin line. “I have to keep my distance. From you and everyone else. I already knew that. I’ve already been doing that. I just… didn’t think it would hurt so much.” He swallows. “Listen. Don’t let other people tell you what to think or feel. If you ever reach a point where you have to make a difficult decision… Go off your own feelings. No one else’s. Okay?”

To be honest, he can’t help but feel a little bit lost. Austin acts like he’s saying so much, as if he’s imparting something important onto him, but in the end, his words are worth nothing, really. Not when he refuses to say what he truly means. “Um… Sure. Whatever you say.” he says dubiously.

Austin looks less than happy at his uncertain response. “You don’t know what I mean,” he says, voice flat and clipped. “Fine. But if I can tell you anything and have you listen to me… Don’t do anything that will anger Cucurucho. He’s dangerous, and…” His hands tighten into fists at his sides. “And I… I don’t want you to get hurt. Okay?”

His heart begins to pound in his chest. There’s no way Austin meant it as an insult, but how else is he meant to take it? Worry? Why would he ever be worried about Ethan when the two rarely see each other? Besides, he’s the one indebted to Austin, not the other way around. What reason does the man even have to care about him?

“What is that meant to mean?” he says with a hiss, leaning forward. “Huh? You think I’m weak? You don’t think I can handle that creepy, stupid bear? Well, guess what! I’m a lot stronger than I was back at Showfall. I’m no longer that worthless, pathetic, susceptible man who walked calmly to his death! I’m strong, you hear me? Strong! Don’t think you can underestimate me!”

In response, Austin just pinches his nose, looking exasperated. “God, you’re impossible,” he grumbles. “I was just warning you. Anything you can do to Cucurucho, he can do back to you tenfold. I just want you to tread carefully.” He looks over his shoulder to stare Ethan in the eye. “But you’re an impulsive, hotheaded mess of a man. Any warning would be wasted on you.” His grip tightens around the book he’s holding, eyes far away. “What’s the point in even trying…?”

“Austin!” Ethan angrily yells after the man’s retreating form. God, he’s getting so tired of people turning their backs to him. “Hey! Don’t just ignore me!” But he doesn’t chase after him, and Austin doesn’t look back at him. They can see each other, fracturing halves of a whole, but neither of them try to repair it. They’re just aware of it, know that it’s so, so broken, but it would take too much effort to fix it.

…Fine. That’s fine. That negligible soft spot he feels toward Austin does nothing but weigh Ethan down, anyway. He’s better off completely discarding it.

But still, a part of him still wants to repay the debt he owes Austin, so he doesn’t owe anyone anything. But what can he give the man that’s the equivalent of a life? How can anything ever compare?

How can he let Austin know just how much he cares for him without making himself so painfully vulnerable?

He can’t. It’s impossible. He’s better off forgetting about whatever the two have altogether.

(Sure, he says that, but the man’s face is embedded in the back of his mind, in the pocket of his mind aiming to remind him about everything he feels guilty about. He can never forget about Austin entirely, even as the crevice between them grows wider with each passing day.

That’s just another part of life, he supposes. Not everything can be as satisfying as the untamed unpredictability the world has to offer. Sometimes, everything that’s been left unsaid festers on the back of his tongue, impossible to fully vocalize. And still…)

Life carries on regardless.

— — — 

The eggs have gone missing.

…Okay. What is he meant to do about it?

Well, that makes him sound super selfish, but he can’t think of any way else he’s meant to react. Whatever reason the eggs are gone, whether they’ve been kidnapped or ran away of their own volition, he’s powerless to know. It’s not like he’s able to chase after them and find some way to recover them.

But he assists in the search regardless. Maybe it’s because he’s been taken by a hypnotic vision of discovering wherever the eggs are being held and chasing after them. Of rescuing them and bringing them back to their parents, injured but nonchalant. Of the sheer overwhelming amount of admiration he’d receive for his bravery and the rescue. Even Niki would have to admit that he was amazing.

God, what a beautiful dream. And no matter how much he knows it won’t happen, he still chases after it, hands constantly in front of him as if to reach out for it.

Finding the eggs… Now that would mean something. It would prove that all of his idle-minded worries are completely for naught, that he truly is the hero he strives to be. He would soak up every bit of praise thrown his way like a sponge, and never let them go, clinging onto them and rerunning the words through his mind as if he’s playing the same video over and over again.

Around this time is when he has to shake himself out of his daydreams, because he knows he’s being stupid. There isn’t a chance that this happens, so what’s the point in indulging that thought?

Maybe his biggest weakness is his self indulgence. That, or his pride. …Or his hard to manage temper. There’s a lot of things he struggles with, okay?! But it says a lot about his humility that he can admit it. So actually, he’s kind of amazing.

But anyway. It can quickly become irritating how easily he can slip into idle daydreams that aren’t anywhere near what reality actually is. As much as he likes imagining the world as a better place than it actually is, things quickly become disappointing when he’s dragged back to the real world and he’s stuck being the same man he always is.

It’s like a rush of disappointment, so much more soulsucking than a rush of adrenaline is. The real world is awful. If only Showfall had used everything they were capable of for good, allowing people to live in a much better world… It would be escapism, sure, but is escapism really so bad? Do people really gain anything from forcing themselves to stay grounded?

Memories are everything, after all. If everyone remembers something as one thing, it becomes that. If a person’s memories are changed, then that’s essentially the truth to them. He can’t remember the life he may have had before Showfall, so all he can do is assume that it doesn’t exist. He’s never had a family, never had friends.

Fine. Why should he care? It doesn’t bother him in the slightest. He’s happy enough with the life he’s living as it is. He has a goal, people he cares about, and enough pep for his mood not to be dragged down in his day to day life.

Except, things are kind of falling apart at the moment. Everyone is stressed beyond belief, Richas is gone, and Pac… He’s gone off the rails. Not that he’s the only one to do so, obviously. It just sticks out the most with him.

All of this is slowly becoming overwhelming. Desperation is palpable in the air the longer the eggs continue to be gone, and it’s not like the Federation is doing shit. There was already a base level of nervousness and unease, because no one was able to leave the island as it was, and most people had things they wanted to go back to.

Most people.

But the eggs disappearing into thin air ramped that tense, uneasy air up to eleven. Even walking on the island nowadays set him on edge, goosebumps running up and down his arms.

It’s fascinating how people react to all of this. Niki seems completely exhausted. Well, she seemed exhausted for about a week even before the eggs went missing, but it’s even worse now. He keeps his distance at risk of his neck being snapped. Sneeg seems more concerned with making sure everyone else is holding up okay. Austin doesn’t give a shit either way. Has he even spoken to an egg before?

Vinny and Charlie seem to have disappeared into thin air. Maybe they fell into a deep ravine and died on impact, and no one can be bothered to discover their bodies. It’s not like any of it particularly affects him. They could be dead or alive, and he wouldn’t care in the slightest.

Ethan misses Richarlyson. Whatever happened to the kid, he knows he didn’t deserve it. And he’s worried, and antsy, because he won’t be able to save him this time. It makes him feel so powerless.

But he’s a strong kid. He just has to trust that he’ll be fine, even though trusting in others leaves him nervous and antsy.

What will happen to him if Richas dies? What is he meant to do? He only got this far because he saved the kid’s life, all those months ago. If he dies, will people start to blame him for it? Even now, he can only think of himself. This is the only time he resents himself for it, though.

If Richarlyson is hurt or worse, he’ll be upset. Even though he isn’t one of the kid’s fathers, he still cares for him anyway. He’s easy to love. He doesn’t really feel stupid admitting that like he normally would. Saying something like that about Austin, of all people, sounds like complete insanity. But about one of the eggs, no one bats an eye.

Changing and shifting expectations feel almost funny to him. There’s no rhyme or reason to them. Showfall was easy enough to grasp, at least; entertain the audience, and you’re kept around. There’s no guarantee on you living, but you aren’t disposed of. It’s all someone can ask for in a world that is so completely and utterly hostile to anyone, especially the people forced into it.

The real world is much stranger, though. Different people expect different things, and those expectations shift and change like the tide of the ocean. It’s impossible to predict what others expect of you, especially when they don’t vocalize it. All you can work off of is guesswork and hesitance. It would be enough to drive a lesser man insane, he’s sure.

But he’s not a lesser man. It’s easier to just accept it. Accept that the world is rigged against you, no matter what you do. It’s not like the world really tries to make things easy for anyone, save for the people who are born lucky. 

People like Phil and Etoiles… Their talent is so sheer and overwhelming it makes his chest hurt. Did they have to work for any of it, or were they simply blessed with it the day they were born?

He can’t help but feel irritated by it. What’s the point in even trying, when there are people so much better than you eclipsing you, emitting so much light it’s blinding? Why bother to carve out a niche for yourself until your fingertips are raw when there are others who can do it so much better?

Like most things these days, it’s enough to set him off. He’s no better than Niki in that sense, easily influenced by the churning of his own emotions. Anger is so meaningless to him, like so many other things in this world are, but he finds himself easily swayed by it anyway. Pathetic, isn’t it?

…Yeah. He thinks so, too.

But it’s fine, really. It’s just one of the many things he’s working on with fervent determination. If he can just beat Etoiles in a fight, if he can just swallow back his temper, if he forgets about the way it felt to be ripped limb from limb, if he stops thinking of himself for once, if he…

No matter how many things he achieves, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be happy with who he is. But that’s okay too. This is just another part of being human, he’s sure of it. This misery, this constant, hungry drive to be more that feels as if it’s eating away at the edges of his stomach… It’s something everyone has experienced. He’s the crazy one for feeling uncomfortable in its presence, isn’t he?

It’s not like he can ask anyone. Everyone from Showfall is just as clueless about this living thing as he is, and he would feel stupid walking up to Etoiles and divulging a part of himself like this. It feels oddly personal, like a thing he wants to keep close to his chest. Divulging it would just make him feel vulnerable and uncomfortable and out in the open.

At least anger can be used as a fuel source if he’s ever running on empty. But what do any of those feelings do for him? He’d rather avoid the embarrassment altogether. It’s not like anyone cares about how he’s feeling, anyway, It’s all about what can be done to benefit them. Which is fine, of course. He’s never had an issue with it. To live is an inherently selfish experience. But it does make him feel lonely, in a way, knowing that he can’t really talk to anyone else about how he feels.

God, what is he, some overly saccharine grade schooler? This is stupid. There isn’t much of a reason to care about it, so why does he?

(Probably for the same reason he cares about Austin still. Stupid, pointless sentimentality that feels difficult to part from. He’s hopelessly alone and will continue to lament it, but he won’t do anything to change it.)

There’s a lot of nervous energy built up within him. He can feel it in the way he waves his hands in the air at his sides in an effort to discharge it. The way he constantly feels on edge nowadays is even more potent in that sense. It’s to be expected, of course. This is the lowest point he’s ever seen the island at, with a heavy air of depression hanging over everyone.

It’s cold and suffocating, reaching out toward his lungs in an effort to wrap its fingers around them and constrict them. It’s a difficult thing to simply repel, too. Not when it hangs over every corner of the island, as if being emitted by everyone. Not when it tastes like the bitter despair that rested upon everyone’s tongues when they woke up in that storeroom at Showfall, feeling thoroughly abandoned by the world.

Ethan’s no stranger to this feeling. He just isn’t sure how to beat it back. With anger, it’s easy. He simply needs to distract himself with something stronger, like adrenaline, until he forgets the reason he was angry at all. It’s less effective nowadays, but it still works.

Despair is harder. It has a tendency to remain on top, as if it’s snow lightly dusting over everything. No matter how much he tries to warm himself up, he can still feel the chill bleeding into his skin and seeping into his bones, like an animal gone into hibernation. At this point, his best bet is to throw his arm into a fire and see if that will abate it.

It probably won’t. This isn’t some enemy that can be defeated. Much like his loneliness and sentimentality, it’s all in the mind. That makes it far harder to dispose of.

Today is another day where he trains under Etoiles. He’s clung to the schedule they’ve established in a desperate attempt to keep his routine the same. Things are in so much chaos everywhere else that it’s all he has left, really. Ethan keeps an effort to act the same as he always does in hopes that Etoiles will do the same. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to bear the awkwardness that will stem from it if the msn is just as down in the dumps as everyone else.

Not to pat himself on the back or anything, but it’s working out pretty well for him. Whenever the two of them meet up for training, they’re both the same as they always are. It’s stability in the face of constant, overwhelming change. And he’s fine with change, but it happening all at once for everyone is… ugh. He’s really not a fan of it. He can’t believe he let all of these days pass by normally, without desperately clinging onto and savoring them. It feels so surreal now, especially as he stares upon the island and doesn’t recognize a thing he’s seeing.

He may just be imagining it, but he swears Etoiles has been getting more aggressive as they spar lately. It’s like he has a lot of pent up energy that he tries desperately to release, even as it ends with it being taken out on him. Normally, he would appreciate the challenge, but he hasn’t even been able to beat him when he’s going easy on him. How is he meant to feel as if he stands a chance?

“Why is he acting like this?” might be the better question to ask. Ethan can make some guesses. He could be angry at how powerless everything is. He could be struggling with that same cold, agonizing despair. He could simply miss Pomme.

But no, that’s impossible, isn’t it? Just because Ethan’s feeling like that doesn’t mean anyone else is. He’s probably just projecting, if nothing else. After all, Etoiles is so impossibly strong, stands so unreasonably tall above everyone else as a beacon of hope. His smiles may be more taut than they usually are, but his daughter’s missing, of course he’s stressed.

Everything else remains solidly in his imagination, though. He just wants to see his own weakness in someone else, just wants a sign that he isn’t as alone as he thinks he is.

Patheticness. That’s all it is. The sooner he discards it, the better he can be. Maybe then, he’ll actually have a chance at beating Etoiles. But for now, all he can do is try and try and try again, only to feel his hopes become completely and utterly crushed every time he inevitably fails.

So here he goes, walking to France instead of warping in an effort to get his head screwed on straight, like he always does on a day he’s to meet with Etoiles. Warping always leaves him slightly out of step, too caught up in his disorientation to properly focus. That’s how it makes him feel, anyway.

Jeez, look at him. So easily bothered by just one line of thought. Niki thinks of him as no better than an animal, acting on base feelings and desires, and honestly, a part of him would prefer if that were the truth. If it was, he wouldn’t be such a complete mess. He would rather be a wild animal than stuck as human. Somehow, he finds it’s the worst experience of all.

Funny, isn’t it? He sacrificed so much to get here, desperately trying to convince himself that he was above all of this, and now here he is, trapped under the weight of it as if debris has fallen right on top of him, trapping him together with his own awful thoughts. Etoiles says he gets faster every day, and he does believe it. He’s able to duck under blows that normally would have struck him. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t run from any of this.

He makes it to France, letting out a sigh as he rolls his shoulders. The path to the sparring ground had already been well traveled, but now it was worn into the dirt with how often it had been trod through. He had heard Baghera joke that they might as well pave it over at this point. The comment was obviously meant to be in good nature, but it had left him feeling uncomfortably exposed. He hadn’t bothered to get to know the other people that frequented this area, mainly because one of them was Niki. He mostly just spent time with Etoiles, sucking up everything the man had to teach him as if he were a sponge.

Ethan’s sure Baghera and Antoine are good, kind people. He just can’t help but feel nervous, is all. He’s already putting so much of his trust in Etoiles. He feels terrified of extending his trust any further. What if he gets burned for it?

So he keeps his circle painfully small, to the point where he can feel the border pressing in on him at all sides. It’s just himself, the Brazillians, and Etoiles. That’s all.

Austin hovers on the edges, close enough to reach out to him, if Ethan wanted to. But he keeps his hands pressed tightly to his sides, staring at him but never doing more than that. How could he? There’s too much between them, suddenly.

Maybe it’s always been like that, and the change in setting was simply enough to bring it out. Friendship isn’t really the sort of thing someone can afford to worry about, not at Showfall. Survival is far more important, requiring determination and luck and above all else, selfishness.

Austin wasn’t selfish. Maybe that’s why Austin died, crushed by that moving wall? The sound of his bones shattering was so loud he could still feel it echoing in his ears. He had watched the show one night, half-buried under a pile of blankets. It’s funny, how many things had happened that he simply hadn’t been aware of. Staring at that version of himself, trapped so firmly in the past, had made him so nauseous he had to set his communicator down for a few minutes.

So a brainwashed Sneeg had held Austin back, and both of them died, because that’s how the world mandated the story must be told. Because the Hero must live no matter what, even if Ethan doesn’t think Ranboo was very heroic at all. More like an overgrown child in over their head.

So Vinny had burned to death, but his death had been censored, as if reality was just an afterthought. So his death was nothing more than a joke, huh? Did he really deserve anything better, though? What did his life mean, truly? He was just as disposable as anyone else. Moreso, even, because the audience chose him to die. Maybe he should have. It would be better than dealing with how much of an infuriating anxious wreck he ends up being.

Charlie dies, over and over again. Each time, it’s senseless. Ethan still remembers his limp corpse lying on that operating table, his nonsensical babbling growing quieter and quieter until it stops altogether. What had Austin been hearing, though? Was it the same thing as him, or was it desperate, hysterical cries for help? He decides he doesn’t want to know.

Ranboo was interesting. Begging for death, as if that would be the end of it. But how could the audience ever tire of him? Why would Showfall discard them? No. They would have played with him until they broke. Death was a way out for him, like it always was. Ugh.

Etoiles is already at the field, doing some stretches, and he perks up when he spots Ethan. “Nice to see you, pourpre,” he greets, tone a mixture of calm and teasing. It’s impossible to make him shake that nickname, no matter how much Ethan complains and whines. Etoiles tries to claim it’s a compliment, saying it’s the “color of kings”, but he knows better.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “It feels like it’s been a bit, huh? Or maybe… Time just feels like it’s been passing slower.” He winces as soon as he finishes. That probably isn’t the sort of thing he should talk about. People have less to do without the eggs running around. That sort of thing just feels obvious.

Etoiles looks away from him, shoulders rigid and set. “Maybe,” he replies, voice feeling colder. Ah. Whoops. Here he is, making things awkward… He really needs to learn how to shut up sometimes.

“Same rules as always?” he asks, hoping to steer the conversation away from the elephant in the room.

“Of course,” the man answers, smirking.

It’s hard to feel particularly confident in his chances here. After all, he has yet to win a single spar. Maybe he is just that unconfident in his odds.

God, he can feel it. The horrible weight of each and every loss is pushing him down, making it hard to stand up straight without it feeling agonizing. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to seize victory, because it’s hard to see a visualization of his own progress when things are like this. Is he getting better, truly? Or is he just wasting his time?

What the hell is he doing here? He hasn’t won, not once. He’d be lucky if he were to prolong a spar past five minutes, but that would only happen if he were to desperately avoid combat the entire time. There isn’t a point to any of this.

How does he know he’s progressing in any way? Has he changed in the slightest, or has everyone around him just been humoring him? Maybe it’s just a matter of pity. This pathetic man thinks he did anything by saving the life of one person, and even though it doesn’t mean much, he’ll be indulged as to not crush his spirits. This worthless man wants to learn to fight, even though he’s completely talentless, and his offer will be accepted just to not dash his hopes.

He can’t help but reach a hand up to self consciously run it over his face. What does Etoiles see when he looks at him? Does he see a man eager to learn? A person burdened with the scars of his past? Something completely subhuman? And worst of all, can he see past the layers upon layers Ethan has frantically wrapped himself in right down to the horrible, rotting core that exists at his very being?

Ethan wishes he knew what was wrong with him. Or, well, that’s not how he would phrase it, exactly. He just wishes… Yes, that’s it. He just wishes he could fix it. He doesn’t need it to have a name. That gives it more power. He just wants to get rid of it.

But it seems impossible to get rid of, somehow. No matter how much he tries to cut at his skin, cut out the rot that permeates his entire being, he won’t be rid of it entirely. It’s as if it’s fully taken him over, and it has more control than he does. He may as well be a zombie, or a spectator in his own body.

At least it’s not a feeling he’s unfamiliar with. It’s easier to resign himself to.

They spar, and surprise surprise, Ethan loses. To add insult to injury, Etoiles accidentally cuts him deeper than the small scratches he usually leaves to signify the end of the duel. He’s incredibly apologetic about it, immediately running over to help him up. He would have been content to lie in the grass forever, to be honest, and let himself be consumed by bugs and birds and any other gross things that will want to pick at his flesh.

He stares blankly at the bandage wrapped tightly around his arm as Etoiles finishes applying it. “Again, je suis désolé,” he says, looking sheepish. “I suppose I got a little too carried away.”

“Not really,” he mutters, unable to meet the man’s gaze. If he does, he doesn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from yelling. Why is he bothering with all of these worthless apologies? They don’t close the wound on his arm, they don’t let Ethan seize victory in their spar, and most of all, it just feels embarrassing for a man as strong as him to be as fanatic about saying sorry as he is. “If you had stabbed me a few times, that would warrant an apology. You just grazed me, really.”

Etoiles shakes his head. “Non,” he says. “It was unnecessary. I should have been more careful.”

“Right,” Ethan grumbles, shoulders slumping. It wasn’t as if he thought he had a chance at winning, really, but this loss just puts him in an even fouler mood. On top of that, he has to deal with all of these insulting apologies that feel completely pointless. He can’t help but resent Etoiles. Can’t he and Phil just keel over and die already, so he can shove his way to the top easier?

He doesn’t care who he has to trample or put down. He would do anything to become the strongest. Maybe then he would stop feeling so worthless. Maybe then this feeling in his gut will finally abate. He just has to… He just has to…

It’s not like he can kill Etoiles, even if his guard is let down. Instead, he just has to deal with this. Keep swallowing all of this anger and venom back as he continues to learn. God, this feels impossible.

Can’t there be a shortcut? He doesn’t want to put in the work, not if failure continues to be so continuous and demoralizing. Isn’t there something that can be done to make this easier?

For now, all he can do is duck his head, feeling resentment burn like a fire in his chest. Soon, the smoke will become stifling. But not today. Instead, he just tilts his head up toward Etoiles and speaks. The words themselves aren’t important, only what they mean.

Ethan will continue to trek down this path, even if it leads to his death. And even if he can’t be happy with how things are, he can’t do anything to change it.

Self destruction is inevitable. He just wants to feel satisfied with who he was and what he’s done when everything comes to an end. This is fine. He can manage this, even if it’s only for a few moments longer.

Rigidly, he gets to his feet, turning to Etoiles. “So,” he says. “What tips do you have for me today?”

Chapter Text

Austin hasn’t stopped moving for an hour at least. He just keeps reaching and stretching across the wooden board, the scratchy fibers of the yarn digging into his fingers.

To be honest, he hadn’t been expecting to have this much to say when it comes to making this. He knows things on the island are complicated, but he’s practically filled out every inch of this board.

His goal here was to create a physical way to view everything he’s discovered about the island at once. If he were to do that, then he could look at everything he knows without having to tediously flip through the crinkled pages of his notebook.

Of course, it’s very useful, don’t get him wrong! He loves the notebook. It stores everything important in a way that can easily be kept on his body. He usually sleeps with it nowadays. He can’t risk losing at.

At the same time, he’s stopped using it as a catalog of everything he’s learned on the island as much as he did in the early days of having it. Most of the later pages detail his thoughts about everything, as well as a basic outline of who he is. The latter has an entire page dedicated to it.

It’s stupid to feel paranoid about this. But he can’t help but think that Showfall will come back, because they always come back, and when they do, they’ll take everything, again. He’s already thought of hiding places in here that they would struggle to discover, so if he ever even thinks he spots a Showfall employee, he can immediately lunge toward one of them and stash it away. Then, when he inevitably escapes again, he can go back for it, and remember.

That journal may as well have his soul within it for how much of himself he’s put into it. If anything happens to it, he thinks he might cry, and then die. So he thinks up new ways to keep his journal safe, and he feels relaxed as a result.

Some of the things he has in it include his feelings on Cucurucho (eerie and untrustworthy, but ultimately worth every scrap of information he pries from his stitched mouth), his own feelings on everyone on the island he’s familiar with, his own thoughts on the insidious darkness threatening to swallow the island whole… It’s important to have these things somewhere, so he can never forget.

All of the information he’s put on the board in front of him… It's the things Cucurucho has given him. Even if he were to appear right here and now, he wouldn’t do anything. Why would he? He chose to give Austin that information, and he’s able to do whatever he wants with it. Simple enough.

But his journal… Jeez, Cucurucho would kill to get his hands on that. He’s never stopped being insistent that Austin should follow him. Every time, he continues to refuse. He knows the precarious position he’s found himself entangled in, letting Cucurucho hold as much of his heart in his hands as he does. He won’t do anything that will make things worse for himself.

If he were to follow Cucurucho, would anyone ever see him again? Now there’s a question. Unfortunately, that answer is based on a bunch of variables, such as why he wants Austin to begin with, and what he’ll do once he has him. The only way to get a definitive answer would be to follow him, and his curiosity, as suffocating as it is, doesn’t make him immediately discard any self preservation he may have.

Letting Cucurucho get his paws on his journal might as well be akin to a death sentence, though. He has so much of his own thoughts written in there, particularly about the Federation. If Cucurucho knows what he thinks, he can manipulate him without Austin even realizing it. The thought is enough to make him shudder. He cannot risk it.

Even more than that, some of the things in that journal are just kinda… embarrassing. Listen, he needs a way to put down his thoughts somehow. He has two whole pages filled with the flimsiest reasonings imaginable as to why he should trust Cucurucho, only to be immediately refuted by another thought that comes into his mind.

All in all, putting as much trust in Cucurucho as he does is a bad idea. And yet, he continues to do so anyway. He has all the benefits he’s reaped from it right in front of him, on the wooden board stringing together ideas with bits of yarn.

His breathing is heavy as he takes a few steps back. Seeing everything in front of him like this… It just makes him all the more conscious of everything he’s missing. There isn’t very much blank space left on the board, having been crowded with every bit of information he could think of, but staring at his cramped handwriting, he’s reminded of every time he’s asked Cucurucho a question and he replied with “Classified.”

Austin needs to know. God, he has to know. He feels as if he’s going to go insane if he doesn’t. Nothing in this world can be considered real if it doesn’t have complete, objective facts backing it up. Until he finds out everything he can about the gaps in his knowledge, it feels impossible to even think. What if he assumes something that turns out to be false, and all of his thoughts end up being wrong?

No. He needs objectivity with such desperation he can feel it gnawing at his gut. But Cucurucho isn’t going to give him that. He keeps his secrets tucked behind that stitched smile and the beady, unmoving eyes. If he wants to discover this information, he’ll have to do it himself.

So that just leaves the question of how. The issue is, he can’t really search for knowledge via breaking into the Federation offices scattered about the island. The odds of him being discovered are high, for one, and if he is, Cucurucho will never trust him again. And the things he’s capable of doing to people…

Ugh. Nope, nope, nope. He can’t get the information himself, but receiving it from someone else works just as well. That’s what he’s been doing with Cucurucho, after all. Unfortunately, not everyone seems to value knowledge as highly as he does. Ethan, for example, chases after strength with such foolish, single minded determination it makes him cringe. So that begs the question of who he can ask. And more importantly, whoever he talks to has to be someone he can trust enough to not blab his plans to Cucurucho.

Trust is such a worthless, abstract concept. If a question can’t be answered with a yes or no or a short, simple sentence, then there isn’t a point to it being asked at all. But trust comes with so many caveats and asterisks attached to it that answering it becomes a long, complicated explanation in futility. 

Does he trust Cucurucho?

…Please don’t make him answer that question. He doesn’t know if he can bear it.

In terms of people he can ask, there aren’t a lot of people on the list. Most people don’t exactly busy themselves with prying into the myriad of mysteries the island hosts. Instead, they take care of the eggs, which is ironic, given what he knows. Sure, very few people actually extend their trust toward the Federation, but they tolerate their presence enough to let them keep their secrets.

Most names are crossed off his list immediately. Damn it, he wishes the people he actually knows were just as worried about everything that was going on here as he is. Instead, he’ll have to approach someone he’s likely never talked to just for the sake of knowledge. And he’s willing to sacrifice a lot in his relentless pursuit, but he’s rather attached to his dignity, and wouldn’t want to discard it needlessly.

Out of everyone, Cellbit stands out to him the most. He’s wary and paranoid, with a ruthless streak to him. No one Austin can trust, certainly, but someone he can respect. So much has happened to him in his efforts to discern the truth of the island and the motivations of the Federation. He can’t help but feel impressed.

The issue then shifts to how he’ll go about asking him. He could offer a trade of information, like the deal he has with Cucurucho. But he doesn’t want to show his hand to Cellbit. He’s too sharp. If he realizes how much Austin knows, he won’t stop until he gets all of his questions answered.

Using Cucurucho is one thing. The stupid bear is too useful not to take advantage of, no matter how terrifying it can be. And he seems to be gaining something from Austin, so he won’t just stab him in the back or kidnap him in his sleep or what have you.

But Cellbit… He’s a variable, and an unpredictable one, at that. He’s human, with constantly swinging emotions and impossible to follow thoughts. No matter how much he plans out and maps out any interaction, it’s no substitute for actually experiencing it. He can expect one thing to happen as much as he wants, but when it comes down to it, there’s nothing stopping the other thing from coming true.

All of this is already risky. But giving Cellbit information he has no reason to know… That’s far too impulsive for him to feel comfortable indulging in. There has to be something else.

Most people would just tell him to ask, that he should have more confidence in Cellbit’s willingness to give information for information’s sake. But he won’t do that, actually, mostly because that’s fucking stupid. Why would anyone give anything away for free? Even if people don’t realize it, there’s always something to be gained.

Cucurucho giving him information isn’t free, because he expects information from Austin in return. Ethan giving Austin his notebook wasn’t free, because he expects Austin to put up with his bullshit. And Cellbit won’t just give him what he needs. His information may as well be a commodity, one he has a surplus of compared to everyone else. If Austin wants to gain anything, he needs to have something to offer in return.

It is an interesting thing to ponder, as much of a pain in the ass as it is. What can Austin give a man like him? He already has his own bargaining chips, and his shrewdness will easily let him see through any of Austin’s bluffs. Something as trite as companionship won’t be enough to move him, either.

If he’s really set on this, he’ll need a second opinion. Someone who knows Cellbit better than he does. Someone he feels comfortable approaching. Someone he can trust to give good advice. Someone like…

…Uh oh. Uh oh. There’s only one name he can think of. Funny, the one man he has to talk to is the one he’s desperately avoiding at all costs.

Austin really, really doesn’t want to seek out Ethan. It’s not something he’s particularly interested in doing in general, but for something like this, it feels like even more of a nightmare.

The thing about Ethan is-

(Nope, he’s not continuing that line of thought. He’s avoided thinking about it for this long. Acknowledging it now would be like admitting defeat.)

The thing about Ethan is-

(Can’t he just drop this already? There isn’t any point to it. He can’t control what others do, so why should he dwell on it?)

The thing about Ethan is-

(Okay, he needs to find something else to focus on. Flipping through his journal? No, his eyes won’t properly read the words. Fidgeting with his sleeve cuff? That doesn’t make his thoughts stop. C’mon, there needs to be something-!)

The thing about Ethan is-

(Goddamn it. There’s nothing. He supposes it’s a testament to the man’s grit and determination, if nothing else, staying in his mind like he is.)

The thing about Ethan is that he’s a complete and utter brainless idiot. He’s no better than an animal, acting on nothing but base thoughts and instincts. Not only that, but he has zero respect for things like the pursuit of knowledge. He can see it written all over the man’s face whenever he visits (which is… less often, these days), that disgust and lack of understanding. He just doesn’t understand Austin. That should be enough to discard him entirely.

And yet, Ethan is relentless in everything he does. Maybe that’s why he has such staying power in his brain. He wouldn’t accept just being pushed to the side like that. He would think he’s better than that, the ass.

If the man were capable of reading minds, he would be smug at how much of Austin’s attention he has directed toward him. That should make him irritated, but instead, he feels a sort of grudging amusement at the thought. If he were to admire Ethan for anything, it would be his determination to make the world what he thinks it should be. Any other person would be disconcerted by it, but he’s just annoying and stubborn and…

God. He just wishes, for once in his life, Ethan would use his brain. He throws himself into things without a second thought, and Austin will withhold any opinion on that matter. Is it better to be recklessly impulsive or an obsessive overthinker? Jeez, that sounds like a set up to a bad joke…

In a way, the two of them feel like two sides of the same coin, or maybe the reflection in a mirror. They’re not… the same, exactly. As a matter of fact, they seem to contrast each other perfectly. Austin’s the brains to Ethan’s brawn, the mind to his body. They’re better together. It’s something he’s picked up on every time the man happens to visit.

He has a knack for pushing Austin out of his shell. It’s nice, hearing the sound of his voice and hearing someone else’s in turn. The most talking he ever does is… to himself, mostly. Conversations with Cucurucho don’t count, since all he has is that modulated voice and books upon books upon books.

And in exchange, Austin gets to see a side of him he doesn’t think most people are privy to. He can be surprisingly thoughtful, when he’s not whiny and irate and having a chip on his shoulder the size of a boulder. There’s something about him that makes it easy to conjure respect.

Maybe it’s because Austin’s been at his side from the beginning, in a sense. He was there on the carousel as he did his introduction, scoffing under his breath as he nearly burst into tears over a fish. A fish! Of all the stupid things to get emotional over, why a fish? They’re barely even sentient! Plus, he doubts the stupid thing was real anyway.

He was there as the amount of people on the carousel dwindled more and more. While Austin heavily breathed, nausea threatening to consume him whole, Ethan looked around with wide, nervous eyes. He had even leaned over and asked if Austin could push his glasses up the bridge of his nose for him, since his hands were bound behind him.

“So are mine, idiot,” was his unimpressed, deadpan response. Yeah, he definitely wasn’t happy to be stuck on that awful carousel with Ethan. Even Niki would have been better. Her sobs would have been grating, but at least she would be taking the situation seriously. At least she was capable of it.

The decisions Showfall made are enough to drive him insane if he were to think about them for long enough. It was horrible there, yes, but his experience was its own kind of horrible, and isolating on top of that.

No one could ever understand just how lonely it is to be the only one able to peer beyond the illusion Showfall cast over all of them. He felt like he was going insane on that damned carousel, watching as the numbers continued to dwindle. Staring blankly at Charlie as his skin grew paler and paler, and his hysterical babbles turned into wordless sobs before finally petering off. The only thing of him Austin was left with was his blood, gradually turning browner and browner against his torn hospital gown.

Vinny and Niki and the rest all died. But that doesn’t make them special. So has everyone. But they’ll never understand the experience of watching the blood spread across the pure white tile, of the horrible, desperate screams left ringing in his ears. Of turning to Sneeg and Ranboo only to see a complete, blank nothingness on their face. Their eyes were blank and glassy, as if they were incapable of comprehending anything that had just happened.

During that moment, it was like talking to a brick wall. Nothing he could say could move them, could get them to react. He may as well have not been real. The only thing he was needed for was to die so the Hero could live. Any other action was negligible.

He tried, he swears he did. He tried to live so desperately he can still feel the ache in his gut as he thinks back on it. He wanted to live for the people who had been slaughtered without a second thought. He wanted to live for himself.

But that wasn’t how the script was written. He died, thrashing against Sneeg’s iron-tight grip, and in the end, nothing he did was enough to change anything. Both of their deaths were worthless, and even the one person who made it out alive died too. The entire show served as an exercise in futility, as if to break their spirits more than they had already been. And Austin, the one man who was capable of seeing things for what they were, was treated like a joke and nothing more.

…Except, for some reason Ethan seems to be under the impression that he saved his life. He doesn’t know why. He did nothing, really. Sure, he grabbed Ethan, but that was just to prevent the idiot from running off to his inevitable death. Everyone else was dead, after all. He had heard Niki’s screams and smelt burning flesh and watched the life leave Charlie. He simply didn’t want to be alone.

That wasn’t brave. That was cowardly. All he did was prolong things a little longer, and for what? Ethan still died. Austin can’t do anything. He’s no hero, and he doesn’t want to be. Just another difference between the two of them.

But if the man believes that, there’s no correcting him. And Austin doesn’t think he minds having Ethan feel indebted to him. It’s convenient, especially in moments like these. Austin needs something from him, and who’s he to say no?

Ugh, that makes him sound morally bankrupt. But Ethan is even worse than he is, in that sense. Not only is he a brainless idiot, but he’s a selfish brainless idiot. He only thinks of things in terms of how they’re able to benefit him, but he isn’t able to think ahead enough to make that mindset helpful in any way. He has nothing against selfishness, of course. His deal with Cucurucho is selfish in every sense of the world. But selfishness without smarts is just foolishness.

It’s not like he expected much else from Ethan in that sense, though. How can one man be so obsessively single minded? Wanting to become stronger is one thing, but at the cost of all common sense? At least Austin knows everything he’s risking. If Ethan were in his situation, not only would he not take proper advantage of it, but he’d get himself killed after a month, if that. 

And now he’s thinking about his last conversation with the man. Great.

God, what a disaster that was. There Austin was, trying to warn him out of some misguided worry toward the man that continuously reaches out to him, and Ethan makes it into a fight, because he can’t live without one.

Warn him about what? Um… Is he allowed to answer that question? He’ll double check with Cucurucho and get back to you.

He’s officially released himself from any responsibility in terms of Ethan. It’s not his problem if he gets himself tangled up with things much bigger than he is. He doesn’t owe Ethan anything, no matter what the man thinks. So he won’t waste his energy obsessively worrying about something as unpredictable and reasonable as other people. That’s Sneeg’s job, isn’t it?

Because of that, he can’t really feel guilty about all of this, right? He could do something if he wanted to, but he’s decided he won’t. He’ll sit on his laurels and simply observe, because that feels a lot less nerve wracking than throwing himself in the line of fire does. He’s only gotten this far because of the front he’s tried to present to Cucurucho. As a paranoid, unstable wreck of a man who doesn’t care about anything other than knowledge.

Which is… mostly true, he’ll admit. He won’t pretend as if knowledge isn’t his primary motivation. But that isn’t all there is to it.

Making his home on this island is a dangerous game. Maybe he should have left with Criken when he had the chance, as much as he detests the man. But he made the choice to stay, because there was no way he could get anyone else to come with him. An enemy you know makes them become less dangerous, because you can at least guess at their intentions.

That’s the logic he’s using, anyway. No one seems to be treading lightly here. They throw themselves into everything they do, because it’s not like they have anything else to worry about. It’s kind of embarrassing, to be honest. How can they simply trust in their safety? The Federation is no better than Showfall, really. Austin’s just lucky he got his foot in the door and is able to gain something from them.

If any of them ever got into any trouble… Logically, it wouldn’t be his problem. Emotionally, though, he couldn’t live with himself if he just left them to be in over their heads. Not after Ranboo.

Which is stupid. He already knows that, so you don’t have to tell him twice. The world would be a much better place without any sort of emotion at all, just so he doesn’t have to waste his time worrying after people who wouldn’t do the same for him.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the power to change and mold the world in the way he wants to. How could anyone who’s less than nothing make any sort of impact? So he just has to accept that he’s just as wild and unpredictable as the people he claims to detest, and resign himself to it. Dedicating all that brain power to something he can’t change is just an exercise in futility. He’d rather think about more pressing things.

So his plan is to approach Ethan and ask him how best to squeeze the information he wants from Cellbit. He won’t set anything in stone just yet. Rather, he’ll think over everything that can possibly go wrong, and methodically run his hands through the folds until everything lays flat and goes on without a hitch.

That strategy doesn’t work when it comes to Ethan, though. If humans are unpredictable, he’s the worst of all of them. Wild emotions that seem to change in a blink and strong goals and values that are completely set in stone don’t suit themselves well to things like reason. He had spent days planning how he would approach Ethan, only for the man to completely ruin everything in the span of a few sentences.

Austin’s learned to value the virtues of control. He has very little when it comes to his dangerous dances with Cucurucho, so he takes the few bits he’s offered and holds it close to his chest with white knuckles.

Showfall was control gone wrong, in a way. They script everything, from memories to behaviors to emotions, and still, things find a way to go wrong. True control can’t really exist, not in this world.

The Federation’s goal is different. They simply want order, much like how the Resistance wants chaos. But order isn’t exclusively a good thing, much like chaos isn’t exclusively a bad thing. It’s simply just a matter of deciding what’s important to you. And Austin would prefer to tie himself to the organization that strives for complete order and perfection, as opposed to the one that has no other goal than overthrowing the Federation.

Of course, there’s always a chance that the information he’s received is biased. He’s not sure that Cucurucho is capable of emotion, but most information can’t be entirely truthful. There’s always something left out.

Good or bad, he simply can’t agree with the Resistance’s methods. Of course, he doesn’t care in the slightest for any of the eggs. He can’t trust a single one of them, and finds himself overall apathetic to their entire existence. He won’t run the risk of getting attached to them. It would make him far too vulnerable for comfort.

Despite that overall apathy and lack of trust afforded to them, he still pities them. Austin knew exactly what he was getting into when he made his deal with Cucurucho, but the eggs didn’t. They didn’t ask to be born. And still, they’re being taken advantage of by one side and targeted and marked for death by the other. Their only hopes are their families, but what can they do?

It’s like being at Showfall, but so much worse. If they were lucky, they wouldn’t have a clue what was happening to them and what they were truly being used for. Knowledge wasn’t what Showfall or the audience desired from them. No, all they expected was for them to be entertaining, a subjective, nebulous concept in and of itself. It leads

 to anxiety and fear, and a frantic drive to make yourself interesting just so you can prolong your miserable life for just a show or two longer.

Even if it’s impossible to be fully aware during the shows themselves, it’s something purely instinctual. Be interesting or you die. But Austin has no patience for those decisions borne purely of fickle opinions. Entertainment is one of the most worthless things in the world, because what one person finds interesting is what the other views as completely dull. Why should anyone try to bother to appeal to people, especially when their opinions change by the day?

Predicting what anyone wants is impossible, and pleasing everyone is even more so. Austin simply can’t understand what Showfall’s goal was to begin with. It was something inherently temporary, because people would inevitably grow tired of anything, no matter how hard they tried.

But would Showfall ever understand that? He doubts it. They would keep pushing and pushing, because as long as a story’s interesting enough people will watch, right? And when they don’t meet the numbers they’re pushing for, who’s the one to get punished for it? The actors, obviously. It’s illogical and unreasonable.

He can’t really get mad over it, though. Showfall’s just so… nothing to him. How is he meant to feel a thing about it? They took his memories, but that’s fine. He doesn’t need more things to worry about. They tortured him and his… not his friends. The people stuck enduring that alongside him.

And, yeah, that’s true enough. But he can’t put a name to “they”. There simply isn’t enough information for Austin to be able to get angry at it. He wants Criken to keel over and die, but he’s a person. Someone he can focus and rally all of his anger around. What can he do for anyone else from Showfall? He doesn’t know them, and he never will. To him, the corporation is just as faceless as their employees.

Mostly, Austin just can’t find a way out of the blanket of numb apathy that’s spread over him. He’s numb to everything these days; the looming threat of Cucurucho, Ethan and his worthless morals, and his ever present hallucinations.

…Wow. How did he manage to completely skip over his hallucinations? He supposes they’re becoming less relevant to him nowadays. Keeping his distance from everyone makes it difficult for his mind to figure out how to torture him in new and creative ways. 

But he still sees the blood oozing from the walls as if his house is a living creature. He still has to wade through the blood he finds himself swimming in with every other blink. He still has to grow more and more desensitized to seeing horrible gore and viscera or otherwise lose his mind.

It’s a difficult choice he’s been left with. Should he find some way to cope with the miserable quality of life Showfall has left himself stuck with, or should he just kill himself? It would be a difficult choice for anyone else, but Austin doesn’t intend to just roll over and die. He still has questions he wants to be answered.

Even if being alive inherently leads to misery, he doesn’t care. He can ignore any emotions that don’t help him accomplish what he needs. Emotions are worthless for someone like him, who prefers things to be based on pure objectivity. It’s impossible for him to shut down the part of him that feels entirely, but he can ignore it. So he supposes it’ll have to be enough.

Right. There’s only so long he can continue to think about things that don’t help him in the slightest. He needs to start planning. If he can truly say he values knowledge, he needs to do this. Even if it involves talking to Ethan, the most obnoxious man he could think of, he’ll simply have to resign himself to it.

Austin takes a seat on his uncomfortable wooden chair, tightly holding his legs to his chest as he balances his notebook on his knee. Two pages should be enough to dedicate to it. He takes the cap off his pin, absentmindedly chewing it in his mouth as he glares down at the blank pages.

In cramped, slanted handwriting, he begins to write.

— — —

Well, he was right, unsurprisingly. Talking to Ethan was a headache and a half.

Not only was the man confrontational and aggressive, he didn’t seem to understand why Austin was doing this at all. “You want to talk to Cellbit?” he said flatly. “Just talk to him. Why are you asking me? He’s pretty damn approachable.”

“Because,” he hissed, leaning forward. God, he wanted to strangle the man. With his cocky, sharp eyes, the way his lips twist in a snarl with every word he spits out, the way his hands squeeze the hilt of his sword like it’s the one thing keeping him anchored to the earth… Austin would say he wants to kill the man, but he’s so impulsive and headstrong he’ll probably do that himself. “I’m not an idiot.” And then he had cocked an eyebrow in a way that could be perceived as a challenge by a man who always tries to make everything an argument.

Ethan had bristled. “And what is that supposed to mean?” he retorted, face thin and drawn. “Why are you looking at me like that when you say that?”

“You’re just imagining things,” he innocently replied. “And what that means is that I know better than to expect him to simply give me anything I’m looking for.”

In response, he had thrown his hands in the air in exasperation. “Oh my god,” he said flatly. “You may think of me as nothing more than an idiot, but that’s better than being a paranoid wreck, overthinking every little thing. Just ask and get it over with.”

Austin had crossed his arms, scowling. “And you don’t understand how the world works,” he retorted. “No one gets anything for free. That’s just obvious. ”

Oddly enough, that sentence had been enough to really make Ethan mad. “You’re saying that to me? ” he incredulously spat. “I’m the one person who actually understands! If you’re weak, you die. Simple, right? But you have different goals, so why would it matter to you?”

He had pinched the bridge of his nose, this conversation leaving him feeling completely worn out and exhausted. Ethan was such a headache, willfully misinterpreting every word for his own purposes. He didn’t actually care about any of the words coming out of Austin’s mouth. He hears what he wants, and does with it what he will. There isn’t any way to change that.

More unfortunately, that fact leads to every single interaction with the man being impossible to predict. And for him, that’s simply a nightmare. 

“Stop!” he snapped. “Stop, stop, stop. You’re making this into an argument. Knock it off. Do you have anything of use for me, or should I just leave?”

Ethan had looked more pensive at that question. “Anything of use…” he muttered, scuffing the grass with his shoe. “Hey, do you think I’m useless?”

The question was completely sudden, coming out of nowhere, even as he thinks back on it now and goes over every turn the conversation had taken. There was an intense look in his eyes as he stared at Austin, but he didn’t have a clue what the man wanted from him. Maybe just an honest answer? Lies are so complicated, and ultimately nothing but a waste of time. The truth is something inevitable, because it will never change. It’s always there, permanent and looming, waiting to be sought out by anyone brave enough to do so.

Of course, as a man who values knowledge, it makes sense that he in turn values truth. There’s always the looming anxiety of if the information he learns is true or not. Even the smallest detail being untrue could ruin hours of work and deduction. It’s inconvenient, not to mention nerve wracking.

He isn’t interested in wasting Ethan’s time. The truth will come out eventually. It’s simply up to him whether it’s now, or later. The question itself has a heavy weight to it, though. It isn’t simply a matter of truth or lie. He’s completely apathetic to the idea of hurting Ethan’s feelings, but having the man hate him would be annoying. He’s probably the only one who really cares about Austin.

In that moment, he was better off testing the waters first. “What do you mean by that?” he asked after a long moment of silence. “Useless in terms of what? About something specific, or just in general?”

Ethan had narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth as he leaned forward. Seeing him like that just made it painfully obvious how much he had changed ever since leaving Showfall. Change isn’t a bad thing, really. It can be, to be clear. The dizzying change from Showfall to the island was disorienting and left people struggling to adjust. Ranboo was one of those people, but Austin wasn’t.

Or rather, he hopes it wasn’t. Sure, adjusting to everything was difficult, but it didn’t take too long for everything to click. Showfall was one set of rules, and the island was another. He thinks the mistake everyone is making is that they view the island as the “real world”, but that isn’t true at all. How could it be, when the hand of the Federation casts the entire island in shadow?

He could go to the real world right here and now, and he’s confident that his experience would be entirely different. There would be less all-consuming mysteries to solve, for one, which would make his life significantly more boring. There would be less sympathy, too, he’s sure of it. People on the island can afford it, because kindness doesn’t cost them anything. But the real world is the sort of place that demands people to be brainwashed and tortured purely for entertainment. He can’t imagine it offers much in the form of kindness and leeway.

Austin and Ethan’s world views don’t inherently conflict one another, for the record. Maybe Ethan views it like that, because he’s self assured to the point where it’s foolish. He won’t believe anything that he hasn’t become assured of on his own. Just another way the man is miserably idiotic. Austin can’t help but feel bad for him, because it feels like an awful way to live.

He keeps his own beliefs, refusing to acknowledge anything else. It doesn’t matter what anyone tells him; if it conflicts with his views, he immediately dismisses it. Not only does it make his existence a truly pathetic one, but it makes talking to him nothing but a headache.

Case in point. Even thinking back on their conversation makes him want to lie down.

“Don’t waste my time,” Ethan snarled. “I don’t want your annoying overthinking. Just give me an answer, yes or no!”

Austin didn’t think he could answer that question. Or rather, he didn’t think he should answer that question. He didn’t want to hurt Ethan’s feelings, as idiotic of a notion it was. It’s just a testament to how illogical the man makes him act. Why is he even bothering to spare the man’s feelings? He’s too daft and blunt to ever do the same to Austin.

Still, even as a snappy, irritated retort rested on the tip of his tongue, he couldn’t spit it out. He couldn’t handle the thought of watching Ethan’s face crumble with sadness and anger. It’s demoralizing and depressing enough that he just wishes the man would drop dead so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. God, what a pain in the ass he is!

Unfortunately for him, Ethan won’t just lie down and die. Why would he? He’s too determined and unflinchingly stubborn for that. In that case, the next best thing would be the man fucking off to who knows where, just so he never has to see him again.

But he won’t do that either! He sticks close to Austin’s side (even if he hasn’t been, lately. Their last conversation ending in an argument might have something to do with it. Things always end up like that, when it comes to Ethan. He wonders how Ethan thinks of him. It’s the sort of morbid curiosity he can’t help but indulge, even as he acknowledges that it doesn’t really matter) out of some stupid, misguided obligation.

If he said that Ethan was completely useless, the human equivalent of a puppy going around begging for scraps, it would be enough to scare off the man for good. Which is completely fine by him. It’s what he prefers, even. It’s dangerous for him to hold people too close. Cucurucho can easily notice it and exploit that weakness.

Even without that fact, Ethan’s already caught Cucurucho’s attention. Warning him just ended up being completely useless. Why has he caught Cucurucho’s attention? Um… no comment.

Actually, would he even acknowledge Austin’s answer? It’s obvious all he wants is for someone to stroke his ego. Even if he were to answer honestly, Ethan would just get angry, as always, and treat Austin like he’s completely unreliable. He won’t accept the truth.

Yep. He’s completely delusional. It wasn’t a hard conclusion to draw, but thinking back on their conversation has just confirmed it. They’re really opposites in that sense. Austin simply can’t allow himself to believe anything that isn’t true. Not when the truth is so important to him. Ethan, meanwhile, uses honeyed lies and candied words to sustain himself, as if they’re a substitute for food.

Really, it’s embarrassing. It’s the sort of thing that can be seen in the eyes. He’s constantly looking around, never really settling down, as if he’s looking for something. Or rather, on guard in case something was to appear. Something that would shatter the carefully curated lie he’s created for himself.

In this case, he supposes the lie would be… his own strength, maybe? Ethan seems to value the idea of it. Between the staunch insistence that the weak die and the angry yells saying that he wasn’t weak, it painted a pretty clear picture. He had doubts when it came to his own strength. That was probably why he lashed out so often. It’s… sad, but Austin can’t bring himself to feel pity for him. It’s his own damn fault for being as unlikable as he is.

Of course, other than Cucurucho, Ethan is the only person he speaks to with any sort of regularity. Which is really, really sad. He was semi-tolerable early on, when they all first arrived on the island, but ever since the second time they were taken by Showfall, it’s like he’s gone completely off the deep end.

No, he was acting strange before that. He was fine when he visited Austin in the days following the attack launched on him by the code, even though he seemed awfully upbeat for someone who had almost been killed. That had been the start of it, he thinks. He’s just gotten worse and worse, and Ranboo’s death hasn’t seemed to help anything.

He views everyone with a sort of disdain. Everyone except for Austin. What makes him so special, huh? Is it just the fact that he “saved Ethan’s life?” (And trust him, the quotation marks he puts around that statement are heavy) That sort of bias just makes no sense to him. Really, he can’t understand Ethan at all. What a headache the man is.

“Answer the question,” Ethan hissed, leaning forward. He was so closely in Austin’s face he could feel his desperate, labored breaths against his cheek.

“Not to me,” he replied, tone bored and disinterested. “But I can’t make statements when it comes to anyone else.”

For some reason, that response had been enough for Ethan to take a few steps back, brow creased with thought. “Not to you…?” he echoed. “Oh, I see. That’s awfully nice, coming from you. I guess you’re still waiting for me to repay my debt to you, right? Well, alright! I’ll protect you until I’ve saved your life, and then we’ll be even. I won’t ever have to deal with you again after that!”

Despite the dismissive nature of the words, there was an odd smile on his face that left him feeling completely confused. What was that for? Austin hadn’t answered his question at all, and yet that pathetic half answer somehow managed to serve as reassuring and energizing to him?

“Don’t get carried away,” Austin flatly replied. The promise was… nice, he supposes, but it felt relatively meaningless. No matter how determined he was, he couldn’t take on the Federation. It would be the equivalent of taking on Showfall. He’d get torn to shreds to prove a point. “You can do what you want. I’ve barely done anything for you. Especially not something warranting such… loyalty.”

To be honest, it makes him feel uncomfortable, seeing Ethan act like Austin’s such a big hero just because he did one thing. Maybe it’s because he knows exactly what happens to Heroes. They get killed without a second thought to teach everyone a lesson, and leave a gaping hole in their place. Ethan will probably meet that fate at some point, except he doubts he’ll be missed as much as Ranboo is.

Austin would miss him. …Damn it. The words don’t feel like a lie as he mouths them to himself.

It seems odd to think that, after most of his thoughts directed toward the man have been nothing but negative. Then again, maybe not. It’s difficult to simply forget a man like him, who proves his existence by clawing it out, bit by bit. It’s even more difficult to accept the idea of him dying.

Ethan doesn’t seem like the type. To die, he means. And he knows that thought is completely and utterly stupid. He can feel himself losing brain cells the longer he continues to dwell on it. But it’s true. No matter what happens to him, he’ll just claw himself out of it, because he has no interest in simply laying down and dying.

But death doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t matter if people want it or not, it comes anyway. Indiscriminate and inevitable. Ranboo wanted to die, and the world deemed it fit to grant that wish. Austin wanted to live, but he was crushed to death, thrashing and screaming until his very last moments.

For some strange reason, Ethan was left in a much better mood. Jeez, he really was manic, wasn’t he? His mood swings in an instant. “Listen, I really don’t have any advice for you when it comes to Cellbit,” he informed. “Just don’t be an asshole.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Austin grumbled, crossing his arms. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say, but again, he wasn’t one for lying. 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Ethan huffed, puffing out his cheeks. “But again, he’s a nice guy! You’d have to really try to make him angry and have him bite off your leg. That probably won’t happen.” Austin narrowed his eyes at him, because that seemed like an awfully specific example to be purely hypothetical. Ethan just grinned at him. The worst. “I mean, he is in a sort of sour mood right now,” he continued, tapping the bottom of his chin. “Obviously. Since the eggs are missing. So be a little bit patient with him, if you can.”

Right. The disappearance of the eggs. To be honest, it had completely slipped his mind. He found it irrelevant to him overall, but it had piqued his interest. So when Cucurucho had visited him, acting as if nothing was amiss, Austin had found it suitable to ask.

His question would only be answered, Cucurucho said, if he swore not to disclose the answer to anyone. He had dryly replied, saying that he didn’t do that at all to begin with. With that, his question had been answered, tightly pressed into his hands in the guise of a leather-bound book. He had opened it without a second thought, eyes scanning the page like his life depended on it while he copied down what it said in his notebook.

The answer was so simple it was disappointing. The Federation didn’t have a clue. Maybe they left because they were tired of being stuck under the organization’s thumb. Maybe they left to flee the threat of the code. Or maybe they were kidnapped, although it doesn’t seem likely. Whatever the reason, the Federation were working tirelessly to get them back.

Was that meant to be reassuring? For Austin, who pitied them enough as it was, could only hope they could never be found. They chose to leave. Whatever reason they may have, that decision should be honored.

But the Federation cares naught for agency, much like Showfall didn’t. They dragged the seven of them kicking and screaming, and only six remained. What state will the eggs be left in when the Federation inevitably recovers them? How many will make it back?

It scares him, this realization. The fact that he and the eggs may as well be the same. They’re both pawns of a bigger corporation, unable to resist anything they’re asked. They both know nothing else.

Their parents miss them. That’s true. But if they knew the whole truth of what the eggs were made to be, of what they must do, would they really want them to return? It’s not a question he can ask anyone, of course. If he ever has to see the eggs again…

Maybe he can find some way to inform them he’s rooting for them. That they can find some way out of this and be truly happy, without any asterisks attached.

Sappy, sappy, sappy. Not to mention stupid, too. He feels like the necessary wall he’s built to protect everyone keeps being broken down, and he’s worried that Cucurucho will take advantage of it eventually. But for now… It’s fine. Really.

With Ethan’s offered advice, Austin had left. He didn’t have to go too far to get to Cellbit, since Ethan lived in the Favela, but he wanted to step back for now and think everything out. Ethan’s advice wasn’t that good, in the long run. Just be nice to him? No way.

Maybe kindness would be good enough a reason for some people to offer up what they know, but that isn’t Austin’s motivation. And he won’t allow himself to feel confident that it will be Cellbit’s motivation, either. 

Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t even think he’s spoken one word to the man. Which, as it turns out, is rather unlucky. It makes it hard to guess how the man will act, and all he can do is act on a gut feeling. That fact makes him feel vulnerable and uncomfortable, because that isn’t logical in the slightest! Gut feelings… blind guesses…

Ugh, it’s all so annoying. Why can’t Cellbit be a brainless idiot, easily swayed by false promises and avoidant half-truths? Well, if he was, that would make this entire exercise pointless. He can’t put his trust in anyone who doesn’t deserve it.

(Wow. If he’s going to lie, could he try not to be obvious about it? Ethan and Cucurucho are constantly there, hovering at the back of his mind. Is it trust? It’s… hard to tell.)

No. The man is smart. Too smart. It’ll be hard to get anything out of him, and harder still not to give away that he knows more than he should. Ugh, this is such a pain in the ass… He wishes he could be happy with what he knows already. But he knows he won’t be truly happy until every single question has a satisfactory answer attached to it. So either he’ll have to be content with going insane, or he’ll drive himself into the ground with his determination.

Jeez… For as much as he rags on Ethan for being an impulsive idiot, Austin isn’t much better. He’ll choose knowledge over anything any time, even if it comes down to his own life. Now that’s foolish. But he considers knowledge a much more noble pursuit than something like strength.

For one, knowledge is a much less subjective idea. The meaning of strength is down to the person seeking it. For some, it can simply mean being able to lift things. For others, it can mean mental strength. For Ethan… It’s hard to tell with him. But as much as he claims to admire Etoiles, there’s a bitter edge to his tone whenever he mentions the man.

He won’t dwell on this for longer than he needs to. He already knows Ethan is a complete enigma. Debating what’s going on his mind is just a complete waste of time, and Austin doesn’t have a lot of that.

So. Cellbit. Cellbit, Cellbit, Cellbit… He can’t help but let out a sigh. Of course, he has an idea of the man in his head, but he doesn’t know how accurate it is. How can he make any assumptions without any facts to back it up? If only he wasn’t so isolated. Maybe they could have had a conversation at some point, or exchanged a few words in passing. At least that would give him a baseline of sorts.

For the record, though, he doesn’t regret the current path he’s carved out for himself. Not in the slightest. When he first got on the island, he had no idea how he was meant to handle his hallucinations. They were horrible. He doesn’t think he would be able to bear seeing the crushed, gory viscera coming out from whatever was left of Ranboo’s head on a daily basis. Not that he really has to worry about that anymore…

Being on his own like he was gave him a chance to… Well, not to get a handle on his hallucinations, exactly. They’re still happening even as he thinks. He gets the sense it’ll be something he has to live with. But it allowed him to become more desensitized to them. He feels less overwhelmed when he’s talking to people and suddenly sees them become awash in an overwhelming amount of blood.

Not only that, but if he hadn’t been on his own, would he have been able to attract Cucurucho’s attention like he had? He knows why the stupid bear appeared to him. Because he was unstable, and alone, and far away from anyone else he could talk to. And he needed information. Who else then the man who doesn’t know any better?

Luckily for him, that wasn’t how things played out. He was able to bluff like hell, and somehow claw himself into a deal that was nothing but beneficial for him. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true, but any negative side effects were negligible. They weren’t important to him, ultimately. If he died, or worse… Well, it’s not like anyone would miss him.

Austin’s aware of what they think of him. An unstable, avoidant freak who’s trapped in his own mind. A stupid idiot who’s in over his head as he searches for things that are ultimately useless. But he doesn’t care about how others view him. That sort of thing is worth nothing to him. He doesn’t care about how Niki or Sneeg or anyone else views him. Their view of him is influenced by emotions, and doesn’t have a single fact to back it up.

People would be more worried if he didn’t keep his distance. If he moved into Niki’s stupid neighborhood, he would be less misunderstood, he’s sure. People would actually talk to him, and his information on everyone would be less out of date. As far as he knows, Niki still has a steely, biting streak to her, but how is he meant to know if that’s changed or not? She won’t talk to him. Or, um, rather, he doesn’t want to talk to her. 

But it’s fine. He doesn’t need people to be worried about the sorts of things he gets himself into. It would just weigh him down. And no one knows as much as he does, other than Cucurucho himself. No one offers him anything useful, so why should he bother with them? It’s a simple measure of value, and compared to everyone from Showfall, he would pick Cucurucho over them in a heartbeat.

Despite that… Ugh, this is so embarrassing to even think. He can’t imagine having to vocalize it. The issue is, he’s… Well, he isn’t worried for the people from Showfall or anything. That’s far too trite for him. But there is pity for them, one borne of shared experiences. They’ve already suffered so much. Austin would prefer to sidestep any more suffering, if he really gets a choice in the matter.

What right does he have to care about what happens to them? After all, he was the one what Showfall was to Cucurucho to begin with. There was a chance that the Federation would have remained ignorant of where they escaped from and would have never let their employees onto the island, but he completely ruined it.

No. It can’t be his fault. If it was, that would mean Ranboo is dead because of him. And as much as he’s desensitized himself to awful things, he isn’t sure if he can bear that. They were just a kid, and yet he had been through so much. And instead of getting the opportunity to truly live, they died. Even if he wanted it… God, it’s so unfair.

Is he being too sentimental? …Maybe. But it’s the same thing as the eggs. Ranboo was so young, and yet they died as if that meant nothing at all. He suffered, even though animals are meant to protect their young.

He’s seen too many horrible things to think of humans as anything other than animals. They can be so unimaginably cruel to the point it’s difficult to cope with. He doesn’t know how anyone can do it. He has a habit of getting irritated at others, but irritation and outright brutality are two entirely different concepts to the point where he doesn’t feel comfortable comparing them.

Austin’s smart enough to know that he isn’t better than anyone just because of the decisions he’s made. He’s clever, and he’s proud of that fact. Most people would be satisfied with everything they’ve found and stop there, but he keeps pushing. It’s a fact he’s both proud of and resigned to. He can’t exactly control that part of himself, so he doesn’t even try.

…He’s getting a little bit anxious, just sitting here as his thoughts constantly circle each other. He can’t help but get the distinct sense that he’s wasting his time. And, well, that sort of thing is limited, so he would like to budget it well.

The issue is, no matter how long he sits here and runs through scenarios in his head, there isn’t any way he can predict how his conversation with Cellbit will go. And that terrifies him. He isn’t the biggest fan of the unknown.

But that’s… fine, he supposes. Sometimes things are out of his control, and that’s irritating. But he can’t change it, so he might as well just get it over with.

Keeping that thought in mind, he warps to the Favela. He’s glad it seems to be empty, because the last thing he wants is to run into someone and have them ask what he’s doing. But it also doesn’t bode well for his mission of tracking down Cellbit…

Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to be in his house in the Favela. He figures the man will be in his castle, the one he shares with his husband, in that case. It’s so big, though. It feels awfully impractical for someone to live in, but he’ll resist saying that to the man if he sees him.

Luckily, Cellbit is there. Un luckily, so is Roier. He has to deal with them talking to each other in low, sultry tones as they sit in their garden while he crosses his arms and waits for them to notice him. It takes a few minutes, and in his opinion, it’s a few minutes too long. He would just clear his throat, but that would be awkward. Even more awkward than this is, though? Hm…

“Eh?” Roier yells as he notices him. “¡Oye, culero! ¡¿Por qué estás aquí?!”

“Finally,” he grumbles. “I need to talk to Cellbit, if you wouldn’t mind!” he yells in response, cupping his hands over his mouth.

The man in question looks curious, looking at Austin appraisingly. He’s a bit off put by it, and makes the mistake of falling out of his typical blinking rhythm.

…Damn it. Now the two of them are covered in blood. It’s disorienting, and takes him out of his steely resolution for a moment. He bites down hard on his tongue in an effort to regain his focus as he tries to get back into his typical rhythm. (Maybe it’s just his mind running wild with what Ethan told him, but he swears blood is crusted around Cellbit’s mouth and stains his teeth. Did he really bite off Pac’s leg? Maybe this entire venture was a miscalculation.)

“Sure,” he replies after a moment. “I guess I’m not doing much.” Roier elbows him, and he just laughs. Austin doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone look as at ease as he does.

“Great,” he wearily says. “Can we stay out here?” He glances over to the castle as he speaks, and yep, it’s still as intimidating and unnecessarily big as ever. Maybe it’s an irrational fear, but he can’t help but be worried that if he steps into that castle, he’ll never leave. He’ll just be wandering around the endless corridors forever. “And um, talk alone?”

Jeez, he’s asking a lot of the man, isn’t he? He was going to ask these in a way that didn’t sound as demanding, but that didn’t turn out how he wanted it to, huh? Everything already feels thrown off due to his own mistakes, and he’s not sure how he’ll get back on track.

“That’s fine,” Cellbit says with a nod, and he has to try to not make the relaxing of his body too obvious. Roier gets to his feet, looking disgruntled, and shoots Austin a Look as he leaves. He can understand the meaning just fine; he better not try anything. As if he’s dumb enough to take someone like Cellbit on.

Suddenly, they’re alone, and Austin anxiously swallows as he slides onto a wood bench across from Cellbit. He definitely doesn’t have enough nerve to sit next to him. It’s his goal to keep his distance as much as he can without the other man noticing. He’s sitting on the edge of the bench, on the verge of overbalancing and falling into the grass, just so he can bolt at a moment’s notice.

It’s a struggle to work up the nerve to say anything. Damn it, why is he getting tongue tied now? He chews on the side of his cheek, running through all of the possible openings he had brainstormed.

“Right,” he grumbles, realizing that there isn’t an easy way to do this. He just has to swallow his nerves and resign himself to sounding stupid. “I… have some questions. About the Federation, and things on the island. I figured you could help me answer them… if you wanted to.” He begins to awkwardly fidget with his sleeve in an effort to distract himself from Cellbit and his presence.

“Sure,” he immediately replies, and Austin feels his eyes widen. He hadn’t been expecting such quick agreement, and especially without any sort of requirement to it. “What do you want to know?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he says insistently, crossing his arms. He isn’t going to just trust him. Maybe he’ll answer any questions Austin may have, and then twist his arm to make him reveal any questions he has. It’s not like he would be able to say no. “Seriously? Just like that? You don’t want anything from me in exchange?”

Cellbit shakes his head, looking bemused. “No,” he says, crossing his arms. “Why should I? I don’t gain anything from gatekeeping information. So, what do you need?”

He just stares blankly at Cellbit for at least half a minute. He doesn’t understand the man’s mindset here at all. Slowly and uncertainly, though, he begins to speak. “What do you know about the Federation’s motivations?” he asks, hating how shaky and wobbly his speech sounds. “You’ve been looking into them, haven’t you? You have to have some idea.”

The man doesn’t say anything for a moment, looking Austin over appraisingly. It’s as if he’s seeing right through him. “I’ve heard about you from Ethan,” he finally says, and Austin feels his breath catch in his throat.

Austin’s first thought is What? His second thought is Shit. “W-What do you mean?” he stammers out. He usually feels so self assured and confident in himself, and yet in front of Cellbit he’s been reduced to a babbling, stammering mess as he tries again and again to regain his footing.

“He says you’re smart,” Cellbit continues, not even acknowledging his protest. “Impossibly so. You overthink everything to a painful degree, and you’d do anything for information. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Oh. He is going to fucking murder Ethan.

“Why does it matter?” he retorts, bristling. “You said you wouldn’t gate keep your information.”

“Is this really something you need, though?” Cellbit asks, the picture of innocence. “I don’t think you need any information about the Federation. Because Ethan’s also said that you have some sort of deal with Cucurucho. What sort of thing does he offer you for it to be worth it?”

Oh. He really is going to fucking murder Ethan. This time he really is going to do it. He swears to any sort of god that may be out there, he is not going to let that bastard live for a second more.

His blood is running completely cold, and his hands are beginning to tremble at his side. And yet, Cellbit is staring at him with such a knowing expression it makes his entire being ache. What can he do to wipe that stupid expression off of his face?

“Seriously?” he forces out, tone gruff and flat. Now that he’s truly in danger of everything crumbling around him, now he can be serious and brusque, each word clipped and spat out. Why couldn’t he be like this from the beginning so he could appear competent? “You’re trusting Ethan, of all people? You know he’s a brainless idiot, right?”

Cellbit’s eyes narrow in annoyance. “Think of him however you want,” he says flatly. “He’s my friend. And I trust what he has to say. And judging by how terrified you seem to look, I bet he’s right.”

He feels his eyes widen, breath hitching. He hasn’t even been aware of the expression on his face throughout this conversation, dedicating his brain power toward planning out the course of this conversation instead. But now that he’s aware of it, he quickly tries to smooth out his expression, narrowing his eyes and locking his mouth in a scowl and tucking his still-trembling hands neatly behind his back.

“So what?” he snaps. “You don’t even know what our deal is. Why do you think Cucurucho would tell me anything? I’m no one. Less than no one. And I can trust someone with less ulterior motives.”

“You think I have ulterior motives?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Cellbit chuckles. “Maybe,” he concedes. “I have my own reasons for everything I do, as do you. So why do you come to me for information? Why do you risk everything you have with Cucurucho?”

In a way, it’s reminiscent of his pre-existing deal. A question for a question. But Cellbit didn’t even answer the first question Austin asked before posing his own. What a cheater.

“Because I need to know things. I can’t bear anything going unanswered,” is the reply he settles with. What he doesn’t say is that the more he knows about the Federation’s goals, the more he’ll be able to keep his friends safe. That’s stupid and trite and not the sort of thing he wants to go around saying. “And I don’t want to put all my trust in Cucurucho. That’s why I came to you. Was that a mistake?”

He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck with a scowl. “I can’t stand anyone who works with the Federation in any way,” he says, his pleasant voice suddenly dipping into something uncomfortably threatening. “So maybe it was.”

“Fine,” he says, although his voice wobbles. Maybe he should have thought about that. His deal probably wouldn’t make him popular with others. “Then I’ll leave.” He turns on his heel and storms away.

He doesn’t want to be liked by anyone. But he wasn’t expecting outright disdain for his decisions, especially someone like Cellbit. But maybe he didn’t understand the man as much as he hoped he did.

The moment he leaves Cellbit’s line of sight, he crouches on to the floor, putting his head in his hands as a pained grimace spreads across his face. Damn it.

Maybe he was just being overconfident, expecting so much from a man he hasn’t even had a single proper conversation with. It’s stupid to believe in the natural generosity of anyone.

Honestly, the worst part of all of that was the fact that seeking him out like he did may have just done Austin more harm than good. He can’t help but worry that he may have attracted Cellbit’s attention, and not in a good way. He can find a lot of things Austin would prefer to stay hidden if he puts his mind to it.

Underestimating the man was probably his biggest mistake. And now, he’s completely and utterly fucked if Cellbit decides to indulge his curiosity.

Damn it, damn it, damn it. Someone kill him now.

“Excuse me,” says a hushed, feminine voice, and his head snaps up. He doesn’t expect to meet the narrowed, intelligent eyes of Bagi. He has to admit, he can’t help but be curious about her. She just showed up on the island, and Cucurucho completely refused to elaborate on why she was here when he asked.

Classified, he said. It was the most infuriating thing in the world. What right did he have to withhold information from him? If Austin was going to put his trust in him, he deserves to have the bear’s trust in return.

But he can’t get Cucurucho’s trust. He can’t get anyone’s trust. All of this is so horribly annoying…

“I know you don’t know me, but I have some questions for you,” Bagi continues. “Do you think we could talk?”

Well, he doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter, really. Funny how that turns out. If he declines, he just looks suspicious.

Slowly and deliberately, he nods. She smiles hesitantly, and gestures for him to follow her. Jeez, all he can do is hope she isn’t planning to kill him or rat him out to Cucurucho or anything

As he trails behind her, a thought suddenly occurs to him. She looks rather similar to Cellbit, doesn’t she? From her confident stride to her firmly set shoulders to the glimmer of intelligence shining brightly in her eyes, the two of them could be siblings. Even their hair looks similar, even if their colors are swapped.

Cellbit’s hair is mostly brown with a strand of white, and Bagi’s hair is mostly white with a strand of brown. But they have the same texture, messy and spiky and sticking out in a myriad of directions. Huh. Could they be siblings? It’s an interesting thought, even though it feels unlikely.

He’s walking behind her for quite a while. She doesn’t say anything, fiery determination etched into every crevice. Finally, when they reach the outskirts of the Favela, she turns to him. “So,” she begins. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he dryly echoes. “I hope you didn’t lead me all the way out here to kill me and dump my body somewhere.”

“Of course not,” she replies, snorting. “Ever since I woke up here, I’ve been determined to find out about everything that’s happened here. I’ve learnt that people have arrived on the island in five groups: The English and Spanish speakers, the Portuguese, the French, the people in the ice… and your group. No matter how hard I tried, no one would give me more information about the six of you. So I figured I had to take matters into my own hands.” As she speaks, she punches her fist into her palm.

Hm. To be honest, it wasn’t the reasoning he expected, but it is one he respects. He can see the sharp glint in her eyes and the way she grits her teeth. She’s truly burning with a desire to discover more, even if it seems like she has her own reasons for that motivation. He won’t show too much of his hand, he decides, but any questions about Showfall are fair enough game.

After all, he claims to be entirely separated from that time in his life. He wants to be entirely separated from it. It’s important that he’s capable of looking back on his past and not become reduced to a trembling ball. In a way, talking with Bagi like this is a good way to swallow his nerves.

“Well, you’ve gotten one thing wrong right off the bat,” he says. She bristles with indignation at the accusation, but doesn’t protest. “There weren’t six of us. There were seven.”

“Seven?” she echoes, blinking. “Did I miscount? There’s you, Niki, Vinny, Ethan, Sneeg, and Charlie, right? I mean, Charlie’s kind of weird, because he came on the island in two groups, but it seems like you’re counting him.”

“There was someone else,” he murmurs, staring at his nails instead of her face. He’s anticipating pity, and is doing everything he can to avoid tackling it. “I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of them. The people who knew him don’t want to talk about them if they don’t have to. It’s painful.” He bites his lip. How long has it been since he felt this name resting on his tongue, like an animal waiting to pounce? “His name was Ranboo,” he finally says.

Bagi’s eyes widen in recognition. “Oh,” she says, stunned. “I’ve seen their grave, but I didn’t know…” She trails off, looking awkward. Austin braces himself for the worthless, futile apology. “Okay,” she says after a moment, nodding. “With him, that makes seven. I don’t want to sound invasive, of course, but was the way they died related to how you found yourselves here to begin with?”

Austin blinks, startled. Huh. He wasn’t expecting that. Maybe the two are more like minded than he had initially believed them to be. “Jeez,” he mutters. “It’s not the sort of thing any of us like to talk about, you know.”

“I get it,” she says, not a shred of pity on her face as she adjusts her hat. “Cellbit took me aside and told me to avoid sensitive topics around you guys. Loud noises put Niki on edge, Vinny’s terrified of fire, and you should always approach Ethan from areas where he can see you. Things like that. Those sort of things feel too specific to be general phobias, especially since Vinny’s covered in burn scars and skin grafts.” Her next words are careful and measured. He knows this tone. It’s the same one he uses when he’s fishing for information. “What happened to you? Were you kidnapped and tortured by the Federation?”

The guess is so off base Austin can’t help but let out a snort. Judging by the fury in her eyes as she spoke the words aloud, though, the subject seems to hold some kind of personal significance to her, so he won’t poke fun at it too much. “Definitely not,” he dryly retorts. “You are right about the kidnapped and tortured part, though.”

“I see,” Bagi replies. Her eyes have a razor sharp glint of interest in them as she leans forward.

He can’t help but feel exasperated by it, even if he knows it’s irrational. “You know, everyone on the island sans the iceberg group know most of the details,” he wearily points out. “You could press them and spare me the pain.”

“Most of isn’t the same as all of,” she says matter-of-factly. Damn it, he did phrase that poorly. It’s his own fault she leapt onto it. “And I prefer an objective, first hand source over a speculative recounting.” Yet another point he agrees with. How irritating.

“Fine,” he grumbles, taking in a shaky, shuddering breath. Imagining himself as Ethan is a good way to gather his courage. “They were called Showfall Media,” he says after a long moment of silence. “Kidnapping people, erasing any memory that didn’t fit their goals, and using those broken shells as mind controlled actors in their shows… That was the bulk of what they did, essentially.”

Bagi doesn’t move a muscle as he speaks. Her dark blue eyes are like a churning ocean of intense waves that leave him feeling battered and bruised as he stares into them. Cellbit’s eyes are the same color and carry the same quality to them. Hm.

Austin would have thought that she would try to write things down. After all, she has a pencil in the brim of her hat, next to the fake flower. Does she have that much confidence in her own mind, or does she view it as disrespectful to him?

“The bulk of their shows were horror,” he continues, barely aware of the words as he speaks them. “Which meant we had to suffer just to create an interesting story. The feeling of dying… I can say I’ll never forget it, but that would be a lie. Being crushed by a wall as I thrashed in Sneeg’s arms probably wasn’t the first time I experienced death. It’s just the only one I remember.”

“That’s horrible,” Bagi says firmly. There isn’t a trace of pity in her voice. Just righteous anger. It’s preferable, at the very least, so he won’t complain. “I’m assuming Vinny burnt to death, then.” Austin nods. “And everyone else’s fears… I can make some guesses, but I’ll speculate later.” She throws a bit of hair over her shoulder as she speaks.

“Ranboo…” His breath hitches as he speaks the name, and he scowls. He doesn’t have to talk about this, but he needs to get over this. He won’t let himself continue to be weak like this. It’ll just hold him back. “They died not knowing how to live. We all struggled with it, of course, but we found ways to cope. Now he never will.”

Suddenly, he realizes just how sentimental he’s getting, and he swallows as he balls his hands tightly into fists. He can’t dwell on emotions like this. It’s completely worthless, not to mention nonsensical. All he can do is focus firmly on the future.

Bagi nods, even though she still looks pensive. “Right,” she murmurs. “So you all were kidnapped and tortured and can’t remember anything of your lives before. I understand that. What I don’t get is why you would flee to the island. It isn’t much better, really.”

“We didn’t have much of a choice,” Austin points out, irritated. “None of us had any clue where to go, and we were terrified of being dragged back. That didn’t change much in the end, but…” He trails off with a snort. “Charlie had managed to escape once before, and some memories of where he went had begun to resurface. So he took us all with him.”

Despite his very succinct and matter-of-fact explanation, though, Bagi doesn’t stop frowning, crossing her arms with a bemused expression. “I get it,” she says slowly, tilting her head. “You went here because you had no other option. …I’m sorry. None of you had any idea of what you were getting into, and now you can’t leave.”

Ah, here it is. The apology he had been expecting, even if the context is different. He scowls, standing up as straight as he can. “We could have left,” he snaps. “We had a choice. The second time we were kidnapped, we brought someone else with us, and he fought tooth and nail so he could leave. But we all stayed. What place do characters have in the real world? I can’t speak for anyone else’s motivations, but I still have things I want to do here. So I’m still here. Hate me for it if you want. I don’t care either way.”

He crosses his arms and sharply glares at her, daring her to say a word. She doesn’t for a while, looking pensive. But finally, she turns to him and says “You’re different from a lot of other people here. You seem to know exactly the kind of situation you’re trapped in. That’s fine. You probably don’t want me worrying after you anyway. But be careful, okay? You don’t know what Cucurucho is capable of.”

“Maybe not,” he replies with a snort. “But I’ve seen all of the horrible, awful things humanity has to offer. In that sense, I’m one step ahead. I’m not afraid of getting hurt, and I’m especially not afraid of death. So don’t waste your time on me.”

What he is afraid of is more people getting hurt, or worse, dying because of him. That’s why he tried to warn Ethan. (Warn him about what? He can’t say. He won’t say. Even the idea makes blind, flailing terror stab at him, although he can’t tell if it’s fear for Ethan or fear of Cucurucho.) That’s why he feels so completely, vulnerably awful when he thinks about Ranboo, awful in a way he didn’t know he was capable of feeling.

Somehow, carefully maneuvering himself makes him feel alive, makes him feel human in a way that’s completely foreign to him. He’s content with being nothing but a hollowed out shell cataloging everything he’s discovered, with no room left for painful sentimentality.

But that’s not how things pan out. He can’t erase his feelings. Not on his own, anyway. He’s worried and scared and God is he guilty, and these parts are as vital as his single minded desire for information. He would claw them out if he could, relishing how blood becomes entrapped under his fingernails as he does, but they’re firmly embedded in him.

That’s fine. Really, it is. It doesn’t contribute to the growing, looming sense that he’s completely powerless in this world or anything. No, of course not. He has control. He bargains and barters and desperately grasps onto the scraps of information he’s offered, and he snaps at anyone who tries to get close to him.

Except for Cucurucho. He trusts him more than he wants to say, more than he feels comfortable admitting. But he’s special, and valued, and wanted. No matter what the Federation is using his information for, no matter what plans they have for him, he can’t just turn away from them.

On every show, he was so disposable it was painful. He doesn’t need to remember them to know it’s true. The audience had no care for him, and every death was painful and horrible and not what he deserved. But it was funny or forgettable or necessary, so he continued to die.

Cucurucho would never treat him like that, right? He wouldn’t treat Austin as subhuman, as disposable, as worthless and good for nothing, not even entertainment.

No, of course not. He’s gotten this far with him. The bear has to have some sort of respect for him, if he feels anything at all. He has to be important somehow. Even if whatever will happen to him will be horrible and painful, at least it means someone has something planned for him. At least it means he’s being considered.

Austin doesn’t want to be forgotten. With the audience who watched Showfall, though, that’s inevitable. He’s nowhere near heroic enough to be a star.

That’s fine. He doesn’t need heroism. He just needs his intelligence. And when one person values it, he knows he’ll never be forgotten again.

“You remind me of my brother,” Bagi says softly, melancholy briefly appearing in her eyes before getting swallowed by the churning waves. “You’ll probably disappear without a trace, just like he did. But at least that’s your decision, right?” 

She smirks, but there’s no bite to it. Then she turns on her heel and disappears.

— — —

It’s a nice day. By his standards, anyway. He doesn’t need a cloudless sky and warm weather. He just wants a temperature and conditions he can handle being in.

Today fits the bill and more in that sense. The sky is a wide expanse of pure blue. If he looks up at it, it gives him vertigo, because he feels as if he’s falling into it. That, or it’s leaning down to swallow him up whole. Either way, he’d prefer to avoid looking up at it.

The lightest of breezes gently makes its way through the field, rustling each blade of grass in a way that’s painfully picturesque. The grass looks less like plants and more like waves, ebbing and flowing with each gentle wave of wind softly blowing through.

Austin can feel it against his face, but just barely. Despite that, the plants scattered about sway and dip, as if it were a lot stronger. Maybe to them, any wind is strong, because they’re thinner than he is. From that perspective, it makes things make more sense, at least to him.

He already tended to his garden earlier in the day. Other than obtaining information, his garden is probably the thing he devotes the most time to. That only makes sense, of course. It’s the only way he can get food. He tried hunting animals back when he first settled here, but doing that left him feeling nauseated and disgusted with himself.

Taking the life of a living creature… He knows the distance between an animal like a cow or pig and a human is wide. They can’t talk or have complex thoughts. But they’re still animals, and killing them just feels horrible. 

Every time he brought an axe down upon them, the blood splattered everywhere from the rough, unpracticed blow. He felt it against his face, warm and sticky. No matter how much he wiped his hand against the stain, he could feel it, as if it were a brand of guilt seared upon his skin.

The worst part is the meat isn’t even that good. Apparently he needs things like spices to properly bring out the flavor, and he doesn’t even know where to find them, much less how to efficiently harvest them. At least fruits and vegetables are simple. But he forced himself to eat all of the meat, turning the bits he didn’t eat into jerky to snack on later. He took a life, after all. If he lets it go to waste, then he’s no better than Showfall.

Due to all of those issues, he decided he simply wouldn’t eat any more meat. He keeps chickens in a small fenced off pen for their eggs, but he isn’t going to kill them. He isn’t stupid enough to think that they actually like him or anything, because they’re wild animals he tempted into his backyard with seeds, but when they eat from his hand, he feels proud. Maybe he just likes the idea of something relying on him to live. Maybe he likes exerting that control.

Never mind. This is stupid. Why is he wasting so much of his thoughts on chickens, of all things? Does his tendency for overthinking really stretch that far?

Anyway, other than the food he grows in his garden and the eggs his chickens lay, he forages for other things. He also fishes, occasionally. He doesn’t do it very often, but killing a fish makes him feel much less guilty. They seem a lot less intelligent and alert than the other animals he’s killed. He’s able to stare into their shiny, glassy eyes, and not feel anything at all.

It’s an exhausting life to live, to be sure. He stays on his feet, making sure to have something to do. And when he leaves his house, he can’t help but feel paranoid that he’s missing Cucurucho, and missing out on an opportunity for information. Or worse, the bear took the chance to poke around his house. Even though he carries around his journal with him almost always, the idea he finds the most terrifying is Cucurucho finding it.

His journal has everything in it, from his knowledge to his speculation to his personal thoughts. It’s like a piece of his heart, meticulously carved out and given form. If Cucurucho got his paws on it, it would be the equivalent of Showfall having full control over his body. And he won’t let himself become a puppet to anyone, whether trust is involved or not.

Despite the paranoia and the exhaustion, he likes the life he lives. He feels prideful in his own self sufficiency, in the fact that he doesn’t need anyone else. Whether he lives or dies, he can be content with the fact that it was all based on his own choices.

Being so far away from civilization is peaceful, in its own way. He feels like he lives an entirely different life than anyone else on the island, and that’s not just because of Cucurucho. He’s proud of himself and his dedication.

And if he goes insane out here, he knows it’s his own damn fault. So he continues on, determined and relentless, and he finds comfort in the monotony.

Today is just another day. He sits outside, because his house… isn’t great. He didn’t build it with comfort in mind. He just needs it to be functional. It gets uncomfortably stuffy in the daytime and horribly cold in the night, so no matter how bad being outside can get, he prefers it to discomfort. The only thing that can force him inside is the rain, and in that case, he has other things to worry about.

Currently, he’s looking over the fence that surrounds both his crops and his chickens, trying to make sure everything remains intact. Stupid wild animals keep getting at his plants, and it’s really pissing him off.

He’s tried his hand at making scarecrows. If they have to scare off the birds, then surely they need to be terrifying. His first pass was the scariest thing he could think of: Ranboo’s limp corpse, crucified against fence posts, and the box wasn’t there to hide the gore and viscera. Honestly, he was quite proud of how good the blood splatters looked, rusty and crimson against the messily stitched clothes. And it helped that he found it quite horrifying.

Unfortunately for him, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Vultures and crows began to circle it, occasionally swooping down to poke at it with their beaks. By the time the week was over, his makeshift scarecrow was covered in holes, and the grass he had stuffed it with was spilling out of it. Maybe they thought it was a corpse and were trying to scavenge off of it?

Either way, that was a definitive failure. Even if it had worked, he would have gotten rid of it after Ranboo died. It just felt distasteful. Afterward, he had to figure something else out.

What makes birds afraid of scarecrows, anyway? Do they think they’re humans? He supposes they are pretty scary. If he was a bird, he wouldn’t want to go anywhere near a human. They can be so unimaginably cruel. He would feel nervous flying near them, as if they would reach up and snatch him out of the air like a cat.

Sometimes he wishes he was a bird, just because he wants to fly. He wants to taste the fresh, open air of the sky, and be able to escape anywhere so long as he had the energy for it. He could go anywhere. If he could, he’d settle in the tallest trees, just so he could feel far away from everything humans had touched, with their poisoned fingers and cruel sneers.

But he isn’t a bird. That’s obvious enough. He won’t waste his time on pointless sentimentality. He just… Sometimes, he wishes he didn’t have to live as a human. It feels like an impossible weight to bear, because it means so much, doesn’t it? Ranboo died because they didn’t know how to be human. Austin might get bit by the one thing he trusts because he’s been avoiding it.

His next decision for what he would make the scarecrow look like was a Showfall employee. He feels an instinctive fear whenever he sees that stupid logo and monochromatic outfit, even though he hasn’t had that much of a bad experience with the employees. It’s probably just something lingering.

The most vivid memory he has of them is them dragging Sneeg back as he screamed and flailed in their arms. And then, when the mask was placed upon him, he became unnaturally still, as if he were dead. He couldn’t even see him breathing.

It would have been better if he had died then. But he hadn’t, and it ruined things for Austin. Not that he was ever meant to get to the end anyway.

The Showfall employee scarecrow worked decently, but some birds seemed to grow wise to them. Maybe it was because of the fact that it didn’t really look human. Either way, seeing the birds poking and prodding at his crops really made him angry. He wanted to reach out and wring their necks. He didn’t have a gun though, so he couldn’t shoot them out of the sky.

Huh. Maybe birds are right to avoid humans like they do. And maybe he’s no better than the people who relish in blood and violence.

…Anyway. His third and final scarecrow creation was one of Cucurucho, who stood tall and proud across the Showfall employee scarecrow. That seemed to scare off the birds real good, and now he didn’t have to worry about his crops being worried. He glances up at them as he inspects the fence. Horrifying. Perfect.

As he finishes making his lap around his fenced off backyard, he hears a stick snap. His head snaps up, breath catching in his throat. It could have been an animal, but they don’t usually get this close, and if they do, they aren’t jumpy. Most of them haven’t even seen a human out here, and they don’t know what to expect.

Besides, the sound was painfully loud, with a weight to it only a human could have. Or something human-adjacent, anyway. “Cucurucho?” he whispers, heart thundering so hard in his chest it makes his hands tremble. No, it couldn’t be. He prefers to sneak up on Austin without a sound. If he were here, he wouldn’t have a clue.

“Who’s there?!” he yells, shoulders stiff and rigid as a snarl twists his face in two. “Come out, now!” He knows he isn’t very threatening. He’s a little over average height, with a thin, scraggly stature with no weapon on him. But he has an advantage of being familiar with the surrounding area. And if he imagines a person as Criken, he would be able to strangle them without a second thought.

“So jumpy,” teases a voice from the trees. “At least you’re alert.” Austin narrows his eyes. The voice sounds familiar, but he can’t place how it does. It’s not any of the people he’d expect to be hanging around this area, anyway.

“Come out,” he says, the beginnings of a snarl concealed in his voice. “Now.”

After a long moment, a man slinks out from under the cover of shadow, and Austin’s startled. He recognizes this man from his very first day on the island, snipping at Roier and leading introductions.

Except… no, that isn’t right. The man in front of him carries himself with far more confidence and smugness than Quackity does nowadays. Which means he has to be…

“ElQuackity,” he says, crossing his arms. He doesn’t have a clue why the man would be showing his face, given that as far as Austin knows he disappeared after being eliminated from the elections, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.

The man wears a long blue sleeved shirt, black pants and suspenders, and a matching blue beanie that only slightly obscures his unruly black hair. His eyes are the most unnerving thing about him; they’re completely blank and endlessly deep, like a bottomless pit. He feels dizzy just staring into them.

“Wow, you remember my name,” he drawls, tilting his head up just so he can look down upon Austin. “So impressive. You’re so smart.” Each word is drawn out and mocking, as if he’s talking to a baby or an animal. Either way, it’s as if the man views him as lesser. That impression is enough to make him want to lunge forward and punch him with frantic, driven force.

“What are you doing here?” he flatly asks, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. He has half a mind to just reach forward and strangle him just so he doesn’t have to deal with whatever trouble he’s brought with him, but his presence can be useful to him. It’s important to be smart about this, okay? The other man thinks of him as smart, after all, and it’s important to live up to that impression.

“Classified,” ElQuackity replies with a smirk, as if he’s doing his best Cucurucho impression. As he speaks, twirling a piece of hair that sticks out from under his beanie. Jeez, he and Quackity really do look identical…

He can’t help but wonder what he is, really. A clone would make the most sense. But why of Quackity? He doesn’t spend most of his time on the main part of the island, but he knows that the man doesn’t exactly have the most friends. It would be smarter to clone someone more popular if they were really desperate for information, although that increases the chance of them being caught.

“Right,” he scoffs. “So are you here for me, or just to be a general nuisance? And try to answer fast, will you? I don’t have a lot of time for this.” As he speaks, he taps his foot against the grass. To be honest, he doesn’t care how much the man drags this out. It’s not like he’s doing much else. Still, though, making him speed things up will hopefully mean he’ll be able to squeeze more out of him.

“Awfully self centered of you, Austin Show,” he replies, deep black eyes wide and cavernous as they drill into him. He’s not one to be unnerved by expressions that give little away. If he was, speaking to Cucurucho would become nigh impossible. But it’s strange seeing eyes so blank they may as well be fake on an actual human. Or, um, something that looks human, anyway. “I was told you were more pragmatic than that.”

“Is it self centered to want to know what to expect?” he says flatly, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m not really a fan of being caught off guard.” He doesn’t even bother to pursue the obvious bait ElQuackity expected him to take. He can guess who has disclosed information about him easily enough.

The man chuckles, raising his hands in the air in a self deprecating manner. Is it meant to lower his guard? He knows better than that. “Of course, my mistake,” he says innocently. “I’ve just heard that Cucurucho has made a deal with someone. I was just curious who had drawn his attention enough to make it worth his time.” He looks over Austin appraisingly. “You don’t look like much.”

…Okay, he’ll just set the insult aside for the time being. “Oh, you’ve heard?” Austin says, drawing out the final word with a sneer. “Gee, I wonder from who.”

“Just here and there,” ElQuackity says. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, I’m sure.”

Reassuring. “I’m sure,” he echoes in a low mutter, rubbing at the back of his neck. The man’s gaze remains firmly fixed on him. Those eyes are so hypnotically deep he thinks he could become trapped within them if he looked at them for too long. Jeez, has he even blinked…? “So, what? Have you come to ask me questions? Because I should let you know I don’t give answers away for free.”

“Obviously,” he says with a scoff. “That just makes sense, don’t you think?” Hm. Austin hasn’t been around enough normal people to be able to tell, but he gets the sense the man is acting weird. “I just want to take this chance to iterate on your pre-existing deal. A special, limited time offer that won’t come back after today. Sounds good, right?” He leans forward, steely eyes glinting with just the slightest bit of… something. He’s really hard to read, and it’s not a skill he’s ever needed to hone.

“By that, you mean we trade questions back and forth,” he summarizes. “I’m game.” It may seem hasty to just immediately agree without a second thought, but he doesn’t know when he’ll get this opportunity again. And he definitely knows different things compared to Cucurucho.

Plus, ElQuackity is human. Human enough, anyway. He’s definitely more animated and alive compared to the stupid bear, or any of the Federation employees he’s managed to spot. So long as he feels actual emotions, it gives Austin something to take advantage of. Maybe riling him up will do the trick?

“Maravilloso,” ElQuackity replies. His tone is genuine enough, but the completely emotionless look in his eyes gives him the sense that it isn’t anywhere near real. “Let’s get started, then.” He produces a coin from a pocket, spreading out his fingers and holding it between them. “Which do you want, heads or tails?”

He really couldn’t care less. “You can choose,” he flatly replies. “You’re a guest, after all.”

“Unfortunately,” he retorts, snorting. “This place is a complete dump, and I haven’t even gone inside yet.” Well, he isn’t wrong. He doesn’t need his house to be nice, though. Functional is fine with him. “Fine. Heads.” He throws the coin in the air, and when it lands, it rests on his thumb. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he replies with a sigh, rolling his shoulders.

ElQuackity flicks the coin, the sound of it flying into the air sharp and metallic. It flies into the sky, spinning and spinning, and as it comes back down, the man reaches up lazily, snatching it out of the air. Austin watches him like a hawk as he opens his palm, making sure he doesn’t do anything to tamper with the results.

The heads side of the coin stares up at him from the man’s tanned palm. Either he didn’t catch whatever the man decided to pull, or he just got unlucky. Whatever the reason, his disappointment tastes bitter in the back of his throat.

“Well, would you look at that?” ElQuackity says, not looking surprised in the slightest. “I won. Lucky me.”

“Get on with it, will you?” he snaps, losing his temper. He’s so irritatingly smug. He’s not even sure a fist to the face would be enough to eliminate it. He’s like Ethan in that sense, thinking he’s better than everyone. And much like Ethan, whatever reason he has for believing that isn’t enough to make Austin less irate toward him.

“No need to bite my head off,” he says teasingly, leaning forward as he disapprovingly waggles a finger at him. Austin grits his teeth.

Cucurucho’s cold, robotic countenance is off putting at times, but it’s easy to adjust to. Whatever ElQuackity is doing… decidedly isn’t. He supposes if he’s a clone of a human, he’ll act human enough, but he wasn’t expecting him to be so… emotive. And cheery. Those words really don’t click with the Federation.

“Okay,” he says, cracking his knuckles as he stretches for a long moment. Austin stares blankly at him, decidedly unimpressed. “Why do you collaborate with the Federation like you do? What do you hope to gain?”

“Those are two questions,” he points out.

“They’re the same, really,” he says, smile a lot more uglier. “So I’d suggest answering them, before I lose my temper.”

…Ugh, he really doesn’t want to admit how intimidating that was. He probably has experience in threatening people. “Because I want information, duh,” he says, keeping his voice level. “I would prefer to know what I’m getting into by deciding to stay here. And knowing things is never a bad thing.” He leans forward, shoulders tensed. “My turn. Why are you here? The real Quackity is running around living his life. Unless I’m operating on incomplete information, you don’t have much of a reason to be hanging around.”

The rhythm of the conversation feels different than when he talks to Cucurucho. Usually, he’s the one doing most of the work, because it takes time to write things and the bear only has so many pre-recorded responses. But with this conversation, it’s a give and take, words being fired back and forth. It’s like talking to an actual human. Pretty damn surprising, huh? Austin never feels like he has the advantage, no matter how many words he gets out.

“Is a guy not allowed to do things?” he retorts, tilting his head. The motion is uncomfortably stiff, reminiscent of Cucurucho. “I don’t think my life should be dictated on whether that inferior idiot is trapped in water or not.” Water, huh…? It means nothing to Austin, really, but it does make him wonder. “Plus, I already told you. I’m curious about you. So, it’s my turn.”

“Hang on!” he interjects. “That was barely an answer at all! What are you planning?!”

ElQuackity laughs, the sound loud and grating. “That wasn’t your question,” he points out, each syllable drawn out as he mocks him. “Your question was why I’m here. How about you remember your own rules before you get up my ass for breaking them?”

Damn it. He’s right. He balls his hands tightly into fists, feeling his nails dig tightly into his palms. He’s gotten too used to Cucurucho, who was surprisingly open. He should have figured he would need to be as specific as possible. “Go ahead, then,” he says after a moment. It’s not like he can argue with the man.

His smug smirk just gets even wider at his resignation. “Wonderful,” he replies, clapping his hands together. The sound is loud, like a gunshot, but if he thinks that’s enough to make him squirm, he doesn’t know him very well. “If you want information, why work with the Federation directly? If it became common knowledge, I can’t imagine you’d be very popular.”

Austin scoffs. “Well, I don’t care about popularity, for one thing. Besides, this is simply the easiest way to get what I want. I don’t care what the Federation does or who they hurt as long as I’m not the one to get burned.” He worries after Ethan, of course, but it felt only fair at the time to give him a warning. It’s not his fault he refused to heed it, so that’s the end of things. “I could ask that question about you, too. It’s obvious you have more autonomy than the eggs, so why waste it like you are?”

“Is that your question?” the man asks, not even reacting to the barb he hid in his words. It’s surprisingly difficult to get under the man’s skin.

“Nope,” he innocently replies. “Just an observation. My question is what your position in the Federation is. Do you have power, or are you a pawn, no better than the eggs?”

For some reason, that question is enough to completely set him off. His blank eyes become alight with fury as his hand shoots forward, tightly grabbing Austin’s collar and roughly yankling him forward. He’s so surprised by the sudden motion he doesn’t even try to dodge. Instead, he just stares at him with wide eyes, feeling his hot, labored breath against his neck.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he snarls, baring his teeth as he speaks. He looks like a wild animal readying itself to tear his throat out. “I’m nothing like the eggs. I can make my own decisions and have my own goals. It just so happens that some of them intersect with the Federation, so I work with them for my own benefit.” And then he shoves Austin away, taking a few steps back as he tries to collect himself.

“Good to know,” he dryly replies, completely unimpressed by the man’s outburst. He can’t say it wasn’t strange to see actual emotions in his eyes, but he can ignore that.

“My turn,” he says, anger still lingering in his voice. Austin can’t help but cross his arms, glaring at him. He’s not a big fan of being yelled at, as it turns out. “If you were ever asked to join the Federation, would you?” There’s an odd energy about him, as if he thinks he’s won.

Huh. That seems like a strange question to ask. In a way, he has been asked to join them. But he doesn’t really count that. If Cucurucho wants him to join the Federation, he should be more specific instead of just asking Austin to follow him. That could mean anything! For all he knows, he’ll be spirited away into some deep recess of the Federation, never to be seen again. He’s being risky, but he isn’t an idiot.

“Depends on what I would have to do there,” he says, shrugging. “I’m not really interested in hurting anyone or torturing a bunch of kids that haven’t done anything wrong.” ElQuackity’s face shrivels up in anger at the mention of the eggs. It seems like he’s found the man’s sore spot. “As long as I get to keep my agency, I guess I would. It just depends on the situation.”

“What a wishy washy attitude,” the man says, sneering. “Just make a decision and stick to it. To be honest…” He tilts his head up, eyes cold and steely. “It’s people like you I hate the most.” Is that really true, or did he just want an excuse to insult him?

His voice is scathing, and carries an unnerving weight to it. “I never asked to be liked, especially not by you,” he retorted, crossing his arms. “If anything, that just means there’s less of a target on my back.”

“You’re human, aren’t you?” ElQuackity says impatiently. “Shouldn’t you want to be liked? To be useful? To be consumed by stupid, worthless emotions?”

As if he knows what it’s like. Austin can’t help but be struck by an odd sort of pity for the man in front of him, disheveled and angry and painfully desperate. He was made in the image of someone else, and yet seems to have nothing but disdain for him. What’s the point of him being alive? He doubts the Federation needs him, really.

So here he is, trying to prove himself. Trying to find a place for himself here. Trying to prove that he is truly, immutably alive. He’s trying so hard to hold the fraying pieces of himself that aren’t really him together, because he doesn’t know what else he has.

Pity would be the last thing he wants, he’s sure. Austin certainly doesn’t appreciate it. So instead, he tries to hone in on the part of himself that’s reminded of Showfall. None of them were actually people there. They were just bits of flesh stitched together with various mishmashed parts as they were needed.

It makes him feel a little bit existential, to be honest. He isn’t proud of who he is. He knows he’s selfish and miserable and constantly on the verge of teetering over the edge of the gaping abyss within his mind. But he can’t change it. His only choice is to embrace it. Without the pieces that make up who he is, he wouldn’t be himself, and he prefers to cling to the sharp jagged edges that make his being up over throwing himself completely into the unknown.

But how does he know that everything he is was a result of his own thoughts and decisions? It’s just as likely that every single aspect that makes up who he is was pieced together by a Showfall writer who didn’t think twice about him the moment he left his line of sight.

And that… really fucking sucks. He likes being an actual human being with agency and free will. Every time he carefully weighs out a decision, spinning it over and over in his mind, he feels pride in himself. Because he’s free, and he takes advantage of it.

If he’s just a product of Showfall, though, unable to disentangle himself from the scars he embedded upon his very being… How is he meant to be satisfied with that? He doesn’t need to dwell on everything Showfall did to him, but if he himself is simply a facet of Showfall, he’ll never be able to get away from it. God, it’s awful. Someone kill him now.

Showfall and Federation essentially using the same methods with different goals is something that struggles to leave his mind. He can’t bring himself to hate Showfall, exactly, but he detests Criken with ease. And yet, here he is, getting himself wrapped up with an organization just as cruel and heartless.

How can he claim to have a distaste for Showfall when he’s built an odd, tentative sort of trust with the Federation. Here he is, trading barbed words back and forth with a man who’s exactly the same as him. And yet, both of their egos prevent them from acknowledging that.

C’mon, it wouldn’t be hard to spit the words out. All he has to do is look ElQuackity in the eyes and ask him if it’s worth it. If he knows that he’ll die just as Ranboo did, and be replaced in an instant. Is he even aware enough to acknowledge how he would be instantly gotten rid of the moment he slipped in his usefulness? Can he even imagine a life away from the Federation?

ElQuackity talks a lot about being better than the eggs, but that isn’t true at all. His closest equal are the brainless Showfall employees. Faceless and disposable. It’s impossible for the thought of escape to even cross his mind. That’s not what he was made to do.

The eggs are completely aware of their situation, and it makes them miserable. They love the families they’ve made for themselves, and it pains them to betray them like they are. But they don’t have a choice, because escape is impossible against a looming corporation who can hurt the people they care for without a second thought. It’s like a hostage situation.

…Or, escape was impossible. They’re gone now, aren’t they? 

Meanwhile, ElQuackity’s situation is a strange one. He’s human, or seems to be, at least. It’s a worthless distinction to make when it comes to victims of Showfall and the Federation, but it’s one his mind remains fixated on.

And yet, he seems to hold nothing but disdain for humans. He talks down to Austin like he’s an idiot, but asks him questions as if he’s genuinely interested in him. Cucurucho must have sent him here on purpose, to badger Austin like he is, probably, which means multiple things.

Firstly, he lied. How can he afford to put his trust in anything the man’s given him as an answer when he now knows that he holds no interest in being truthful? Secondly, it makes him worried about whatever Cucurucho is planning. Does he no longer trust Austin, and has to send one of his pawns to do his dirty work for him? Or is he simply busy?

To be honest, he’s disappointed. He’s risked so much, outstretching his hand to Cucurucho and expecting him not to take advantage of how vulnerable it makes him. He doesn’t want to say he trusts the stupid bear, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t.

And what does he get for that trust, huh? Instead of any proper reward, he gets Cucurucho’s attack dog sent after him to have the man nip at his heels. What was the purpose of that? Just to remind Austin of his place here?

Or maybe it isn’t anywhere near as complicated as he’s making it out to be. Maybe it’s simply a matter of Cucurucho being too busy to come see him personally, and sending someone who wasn’t doing anything in his place. In that case, Austin would have preferred it to be someone actually trustworthy, if he may be so bold as to complain.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he stiffly replies after a long, agonizing moment of silence. “Don’t act like you do just because Cucurucho was kind enough to pawn information to you.

“That goes double for you,” ElQuackity retorts, the beginnings of a snarl on his lips. “You’ve heard all the rumors people spread about me. Congrats. It looks like your ears are working well enough. But no one knows me, so don’t act like your incomplete knowledge is enough to paint a full picture.”

He can’t help but startle at the statement, so full of fury dripping from every word. But… he’s right, oddly enough. It isn’t fair to judge him based on what others say. Words have a tendency to become distorted with bias as they become passed from person to person. He can really only trust himself to discern the truth.

But here he is, judging the man in front of him based on the biases of others anyway. Ha. He should really know better than that. After all, how others view him is so colored by their perception it’s painful. They think of him as a hermit in the middle of nowhere, barely clinging to sanity, all while engaging in sketchy deals with the Federation.

Not even Ethan understands him, not really. No matter how many times the man visits him, he won’t ever. It just goes to show how differently they view the world; it’s something impossible to reconcile unless one of them completely changes how they think.

Which is fine. He doesn’t need anyone to understand him, especially not Ethan. But it does make him feel a little bit lonely, knowing that no one will ever understand why he’s doing this. How he tries to protect them by not caring about them, because it takes away Cucurucho’s attention from them. He doesn’t want praise. Maybe just a little bit of acknowledgment…?

…This is completely pathetic, isn’t it? This is the path he chose to walk. What’s the point in complaining like he is? He isn’t… fine with any of this, necessarily, but it is what it is. Having all control stripped away from him at Showfall was like training him to resign himself to the messy unpredictability of the outside world.

“Fine,” Austin says stiffly, taking the slightest step forward. “You say no one understands you. That my knowledge is incomplete. If you’re so insistent on that, then prove it.”

“...How?” ElQuackity slowly asks, eyes narrowed. He didn’t seem to expect him to suddenly speak up like that, and although his demeanor is stiff and hostile, Austin doesn’t think he’s simply imagining the glint of interest buried deep in his eyes. He’s caught the man’s attention. He just has to hope he can be interesting enough to keep it.

God, that’s a depressing thought. He hates having to act like a circus animal just so people will look at him. But he knows the rules of Showfall; if the audience is no longer interested in you, there isn’t a point to you continuing to live. He understands that well enough. The island isn’t the “real world”, so why should it abide by different rules?

It’s probably slightly different. Instead of being interesting, you have to be useful. Vinny and Ethan seem to understand that, with how often the former runs around and how determined to become stronger the latter is. But Austin doesn’t know what the Federation wants from him. All he can do is continue to be himself, because that’s what feels right to him, and hope it’s enough.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” he says, unimpressed as he crosses his arms. “If anyone was to know the truth, it’d be you. Of course, you can do what you want.”

ElQuackity hesitates, shoulders slackening. He looks… confused, as if no one’s ever simply talked to him before. Without any hostility, any defensiveness. Maybe that’s because Austin doesn’t have anything he holds dear (that’s a complete fucking lie, but as long as the Federation believes it he can feel somewhat at ease), so he doesn’t have to worry about the man trying to do anything.

Of course, he’s confident that people have tried to understand him. He’s an enemy to them, having tried multiple times to kill the eggs, and acts generally antagonistic regardless. But he doubts anyone has tried to go up to him and talk. They wouldn’t think it would be that easy.

And it isn’t, really. It took a lot of work to get to this moment. Maybe the only reason he went through all of this without giving up was because he went in with an open mind. His isolation has led his biases to be less all-consuming. Just another reason why he’s glad for it.

The silence lasts for a long, weighty minute, before ElQuackity takes a few steps back. He looks nervous, holding his hands in front of him as if expecting Austin to do something. But what? He doesn’t even have a weapon with him.

“No, no, NO!” he snarls. “¡Puedo ver lo que estás tratando de hacer, bastardo! ¡No dejaré que me engañes!” He wasn’t expecting the sudden switch to Spanish. He doesn't even have his translator on him, because he wasn’t expecting to need it. Judging by the tone of his words, though, whatever he’s saying is hostile.

“Calm down,” he hisses out. He tries to keep his tone relaxed and leveled, but the sudden burst of anger leaves him uncomfortable and defensive. “I’m not trying to argue with you-”

Suddenly, he lunges forward, grabbing Austin by the collar of his shirt and yanking him close to his chest to the point where their foreheads are resting against each other. Every single labored breath that comes out from his mouth makes him squirm uncomfortably, but he’s so stunned by the sudden movement that he can’t reach up to shove him away.

ElQuackity seems to have a thing for proximity, doesn’t he? Then again, it makes sense. It is intimidating. His eyes are able to shift from completely blank and emotionless, as if they had been carved out and replaced with the stitched on beads Cucurucho has, to holding complete and absolute fury in less than a minute.

And he’s human. Of course he is. He’s so painfully and utterly human that it’s painful, especially as the grip against his shirt collar grows tighter and more uncomfortable. He pretends to be above the simple whims most fall victim to, but in the end, he’s no better than anyone. The practiced, emotionless state he seems to rest in is just a side effect of spending so long with the Federation.

Maybe that’s what Austin would be like too, if he had completely lost hope while at Showfall. Actually, Criken seems to fit the bill in that regard. He shifts from anxious and guilty and paranoid to completely objective and blank in the blink of an eye. The latter happens whenever he describes something particularly gruesome, as if it’s some sort of defense mechanism.

He’s desensitized himself to it. He would have gone insane otherwise. Austin supposes he could relate to it… But that doesn’t stop him from hating the man’s guts. He holds such a hot, burning distaste for Criken. Not even them having a thing in common is enough to dispel that hatred.

“Shut. Up.” ElQuackity spits. “Stop trying to get in my head. I’ll fucking kill you!” He shakes Austin like he’s a maraca. Rude. “I get it, though. You’re smart. So goddamn smart. I’m sure Cucurucho wants to keep an eye on that, right? Tie a leash to you in an effort to keep you under control.” A smile twists his face, carrying a manic edge to it.

“I’m not a dog,” he protests. All he has to do is keep his voice level, don’t fall victim to his own anger, just let ElQuackity get it all out… “But I’m glad to hear you find me smart.”

“You bastard, stop smiling!” he roars as he shoves Austin back with such force that when he hits the ground, he’s winded. He stares up blankly at the sky, breathing heavily. ElQuackity moves to stand above him, expression murderous. “I’m sure you have it all figured out, don’t you? Get close enough to the Federation to build their trust, so you can benefit from it. But there’s no such thing as being able to trust the Federation. They’ll stab you in the back, and you’ll suffer for it. I, for one, can’t wait to see it.”

Austin makes the mistake of blinking. Immediately, the man becomes absolutely consumed by blood, the liquid dripping off every part of him. It’s like he’s been sculpted from it. His hands are the worst, though. Blood is caked into each crevice in his palm, under every fingernail. It’s like how Ranboo’s hands looked in his hallucinations, except even worse.

It’s just his imagination running away with him yet again. It doesn’t stop him from feeling nauseated, though, and more than a little nervous. He sits up and crawls backward, staring up at ElQuackity as he tries to catch his breath.

“Look at you,” he sneers, voice dripping with mocking. “Crouched on the dirty floor, trembling like a leaf. Is this the man Cucurucho is so interested in? How disgustingly pathetic. You’re just as human as anyone else.”

“Like you’re… any better…” he rasps out. “Falling victim to… your own anger. You’re the same as me.”

His expression carefully shifts to a perfectly emotionless mask, but it’s given away by the way his eye twitches in irritation. “Maybe I am,” he says, but he doesn’t look pleased about admitting it. “But one of us is standing proudly, and the other is sniveling on the floor. Do me a favor and go to hell, okay?”

ElQuackity bares his teeth, as if he’s a wild animal about to rip out his throat. Austin feels his heart begin to thunder in his chest as he lays on the grass, paralyzed. Is this how Ethan felt in the moments before his horrible death? Did he die thinking that Austin had failed him?

The man raises his knee and brings it sharply into Austin’s chest. There’s so much force behind it that he goes flying back into the grass, any remnant of breath remaining in his lungs going flying out.

From above, the man just scoffs, before turning on his heel and disappearing. Austin is left laying on his back for who knows how long, staring up at the blindingly blue sky.

Completely and miserably alone.

He has a habit of not realizing what he has until it’s gone. And so it is with Ethan making himself scarce, becoming irritated with Austin and deciding it was no longer worth the effort to try to keep him company. He doesn’t like Ethan. Not in the slightest. The man is the opposite of him in every way.

But he misses his visits. He misses talking to another person, someone who didn’t have any ulterior motive for wanting to stick with him. Cucurucho was nice, because he had things he could offer Austin, but he wasn’t any substitute for actual human contact. Ethan was the only thing keeping him sane. He reminded him that he wasn’t simply a catalog of knowledge, but a living, breathing person with actual needs.

At least talking to ElQuackity reminded him of that. It let him hear the sound of his own voice, reverberating in the air, and let him hear an actual human reply in turn.

Ugh. Is he seriously going to try to treat ElQuackity like a replacement for Ethan? At least he can be confident that ElQuackity will actually come back.

It’s the perfect substitution, now that he thinks of it. They’re both quick to anger, impulsive, and desperate to prove themselves. Maybe continuing to talk to ElQuackity will teach him how to talk to Ethan. Maybe then the man won’t be such an enigma to him.

But maybe ElQuackity won’t ever come back. Maybe Cucurucho won’t come back, either. Maybe he’ll be alone forever, laying limply in the grass, waiting for something to happen, but it never will.

Maybe he’ll just die.

Does he even have much to live for, anyway? He seeks out knowledge with fervent desperation, but that comes at the cost of everyone viewing him with disdain. As much as he claims not to care, he’s only human. If he could just protect them with everything he has, if he could throw himself in front of Cucurucho and bear it all…

He doesn’t owe them anything. He knows that. Austin should live for himself.

And yet, and yet, and yet…

Austin doesn’t know what to do. He just blankly stares up at the sky as it fades from a brilliant blue to a fiery orange, and waits for life to pass him by.

Finally, long after night has started, he staggers to his feet, gasping for air. He can still feel the force of ElQuackity’s knee in his stomach, and he slowly hugs himself. Maybe ElQuackity was right about how pathetic he is. But he can’t change anything now.

If Cucurucho came right now and asked him to follow him, he probably would. He needs something to live for. He needs someone to give him a purpose. He needs to stop feeling so empty.

But Cucurucho never shows up. Talk about a wasted opportunity, right?

Aha. This is really just a joke. He really, truly is human. That’s something Showfall was never capable of stripping away from him. He just wishes he doesn’t have to carry the weight of all the bad aspects of humanity.

That night, he doesn’t fall asleep. He lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling, waiting and waiting and waiting until Cucurucho shows up.

He’s left waiting for a long time. But the wait was worth it when he finally does.

Chapter Text

Charlie stares into Mariana’s eyes, breathing weighty and strained. He knew this day would be coming eventually, of course, but he can’t help but feel so terrified it’s suffocating.

Mariana said he wanted to talk that day at Ranboo’s funeral. Charlie knows he’s still a bit of a disheveled disaster, but he’s managed to get himself together enough to be ready for this. As ready as he can ever be, anyway, when he can only see one way this conversation can end.

He doesn’t want Mariana to leave again. He… He knows Flippa’s gone, but they can still be a family. He just… doesn’t want to be alone.

He’s practically drilling holes through Mariana as he stares at him, waiting for him to do anything. The man sits, frozen and painfully peaceful, staring into Charlie’s eyes in return. His brownish-hazel eyes are uncomfortably intense as his hands remain neatly folded in his lap.

When he first entered Charlie's house, the one out in Eggxile, he had gently cupped Charlie’s chin. He isn’t really used to people touching him, or people looking at him like he’s in any way precious. But Mariana always treated him strangely.

Not strange in a bad way or anything. It makes him feel happy even just imagining the warmth from his calloused hand as he gently cradles Charlie in his arms. He’s missed Mariana in a way that’s completely agonizing to him. Even their arguments and endless bickering have left a painful hole in his heart now that they’re gone.

And they’re both in Eggxile. Of course they are. Charlie never wants to leave for too long. He has too many precious things here, memories that are agonizingly painful but somehow leave him missing them. Besides, he can never feel comfortable in the house Foolish built. It’s way too big and way too nice and more than he deserves.

Besides, being so close to other people feels… overwhelming is what he’ll go with, he supposes. He feels like he can’t be around anyone without something bad happening. Maybe he’s cursed to lose anyone who ever cares about him.

Ranboo’s face flits to the forefront of his mind, and he lets out a choked, panicked sound. He’s been trying to avoid thinking about them, as horrible as that is to admit. It hurts with such burning agony that all he can feel is grief, bubbling in his gut and threatening to spill out of his throat in a wave of sobs.

Sometimes he can’t help but feel like he’s on the verge of shattering like glass, his entire body falling apart. It feels impossible to hold himself together, no matter how tightly he digs his fingers into his skin. Every time he patches up one hole in his being, another opens, more wide and gaping than the other.

Charlie’s hands move all over his body, feeling his hands get caught in the scar tissue dotted all over his body. They’re so common and easy to find that the actual unblemished skin might as well be the odd thing out. It feels like proof, permanently embedded upon him, of the suffering he’s been forced to endure.

He doesn’t want proof, though. He already has his own memories, doesn’t he? If anything, he’d prefer for that to be the only thing he has left of Showfall. He knows how malleable and easily influenced memories can be. It barely takes anything for him to believe that all he’s known was that cabin, because that’s true enough, isn’t it?

When facts can easily be manipulated and toyed with by anyone wanting to use them for their own gain, what’s the point in having them at all? Even if his memories are completely fabricated, it’s not like he knows any better. There’s no proof that anything at Showfall was real, nor was it fake. So he just trusts in what he knows, because he’ll drive himself insane if he keeps dwelling on this.

Showfall… Even thinking about the place is enough to bring horrible memories to the forefront of his mind. But layered behind the bits of agony and pain is… joy. He knows that sounds awful, but it’s true.

For the record, his childhood was horrible. He won’t refute that. Days passed by in both a painfully short crawl and a disorientingly quick blur that left his head spinning. He was alone so often that he would talk just to hear a voice. His surroundings always remained painfully stagnant. Even when he tried to push furniture around and leave toys scattered about, the moment he fell asleep, everything would be reset. Nothing he did ever mattered, not there.

Looking back on it, he now hates that cabin with all he has. But he hadn’t known anything else back then, so how was he meant to build up an emotion as fiery and all consuming as hate is? Most of the time he just felt numb. He didn’t have the life experience nor will to build up anything even close to hatred.

So instead, he was happy. Happy enough, anyway. As long as he had food and a roof over his head, he wasn't even able to realize how much he wanted anything interesting, anything to break up the miserable monotony he was forced to exist in. So he lived, if it could even be called that.

And then the cameras had begun to be shoved in his face. Back then, he was capable of seeing them. He hadn’t even known what they were, really. He just knew he should look at them and smile as he babbles anything that comes to mind.

When the cameras appeared, so did actual people. No longer was he left with the occasional visit from a masked employee that moved stiffly in a way that left him feeling nervous and on edge, even though he couldn’t remember enough to realize that they were wrong, not anything like an actual human.

Most of the people from back then exist as nothing but a hazy, shapeless blur in the back of his mind. They were all dead by now, anyway, so he doesn’t try to make those memories more vivid. Sometimes, he can’t help but wonder what would have happened if help had come earlier, if Showfall hadn’t gotten away with as much as they did. Maybe it would all just be a bad dream to him, barely anything to dwell on. Maybe he wouldn’t have lost so many people and not even be able to mourn them.

Ranboo would be alive, and so happy that his heart aches at the idea. That he knows for sure.

Not that it matters now. He can’t change the past. He can’t make anyone care about him. No one ever came to save him, so ultimately he had to do it himself.

And where did that leave him? He escaped Showfall three times, once on his own and twice with others. And no matter how many times he claws his way out of there, things continue to remain the same, stagnant and unmoving.

The world is never any less cruel to him. He just continues to be left behind. And now, as he stares at Mariana with his lip wobbling, he can’t help but feel terrified.

“Are you going to leave me again?” Charlie numbly whispers as he listlessly stares at Mariana. He barely even realizes he spoke aloud. Mariana’s brow creases, and he sighs as he rubs the back of his neck. That isn’t reassuring in the slightest. “Mariana, please!” His voice breaks under the weight of his sheer desperation.

He can feel his eyes sting as tears begin to brim in them. He tries to wipe them away, but they keep returning to his eyes. He feels so small, and he can’t help but get to his feet even as he sways back and forth. He can’t bear sitting down and having Mariana looking down at him.

Charlie isn’t less than him. He isn’t less than anyone. It doesn’t matter the sort of things he’s been through. It doesn’t matter how much of a mess he is. It doesn’t matter whether he’s a completely irredeemable wreck. He’s still a person. He’s not some disgusting, subhuman being.

…Even if he’s a murderer. Even if he can’t protect any of the people he cares about. Even if Mariana’s going to leave him, again and again and again, because something about him seems to drive people away, or maybe they just can tell that he’s a horrible person that they should stay away from. He doesn’t know. But does it matter? They still all go. And he’s still… Still…

Forcing himself to stagger forward, he tightly grasps Mariana’s arm. “Respond to me,” he begs. “Or just look at me! Just do something, won’t you?!” He hates even to plead for the man’s attention, and judging by the way his mouth presses into a line, Mariana doesn’t seem to like it either. “Mariana!” he cries again.

Saying his name feels strange on his tongue. He doesn’t like to think about him, even though there aren't many good things in his thoughts to distract himself with. Even though his mind is a horrible place to be, he can still take control of it at times. So he doesn’t think about Mariana unless the man is right in front of him.

It’s for the best. It’s obvious enough that he doesn’t want anything to do with Charlie anymore. Keeping his distance, acting all prickly and irritable, appearing only to disappear in a flash again… He wishes the man would just stay away for good. He can’t deal with his heart being played like this. But he understands. Who would want to have anything to do with a murderer?

…Wait a second. Charlie knows he’s terrible and all, but Mariana’s just as bad! He remembers the man’s confession, each word jagged and practically having to be pried from his throat. He was the one to kill Flippa. Not Charlie, the man with Tilín’s blood on his hands, the man who tried to kill all the eggs out of misguided desperation.

No. It was Mariana. So really, he isn’t that perfect after all! He doesn’t have any kind of moral high ground compared to Charlie. Mariana let her be neglected, Mariana tripped over her bed, and it was Mariana’s sword she was caught on. They’re the same. That means he doesn’t have any reason to leave! It means that he’ll be accepted by the other man, right?

Maybe he should be mad, but he struggles to muster up any sort of feeling even adjacent to anger. Irritation, hatred, fury… All of them feel impossible to produce. Just like the hazy days at Showfall, he just feels numb. Maybe if a camera’s shoved into his face, he’ll brighten up…?

He doesn’t need to have blame passed from hand to hand. That accomplishes nothing. It’s not as if it’ll bring any of the dead children back to life. Flippa, Tilín, Ranboo… They’re ghosts, hanging over his shoulder, pulling at his legs as he tries to move forward.

They wouldn’t do that to him, would they? They would want him to be happy. He was Flippa’s dad, even if he’s not sure that really means anything in the slightest. And Tilín would know that he was just trying to protect him, right? He never wanted her to get hurt, much less die.

But he failed at that. Or maybe it’s less failing, and the world never giving him what he wanted? He can’t say for certain. But either way, they were dead, and here he is, alive. Honestly and truly alive. Somehow. And what is he doing with it? He’s wasting the life he was. The life Ranboo gave him!

Ranboo would always try to pull Charlie away from his constant wallowing in grief by dragging him in front of Tallulah and Chayanne. He didn’t know what to do around them, and it was obvious Chayanne wanted nothing to do with him, but at least Tallulah was always kind to him. It was probably the best thing they could have done for him, if he’s being honest.

That’s just the kind of person he was, huh? Always giving so much to other people, and never leaving anything for themselves. Truly, he was a Hero. And Charlie just wishes that they were anything out.

Because someone had to die. It should have been Charlie, or Vinny, or Niki, or anyone other than the person with so much living ahead of him. He would have sacrificed anyone from the island, or any one of the eggs. Because if he managed to keep Ranboo safe, at least that was someone alive because of him. At least he isn’t hurting someone he tried to protect.

Why did Ranboo push him out of the way of Security? Why did they go limp, as if he had accepted death? Why did they decide that Charlie’s life was more important than his own? Did they view himself that lowly, or did they view Charlie that highly? He… doesn’t know. It’s not like he can ask.

He feels so powerless and trapped within his own mind. He can’t help but wish that Ranboo was here, because he was always able to drag him out of his head. But here he is now, staring blankly at Mariana, overthinking like his life depends on it, afraid of the cruelty the outside world can easily impart upon him.

It’s like he’s cursed. Maybe the world has decided to be as cruel as it possibly can be to him, to make up for all the years he spent coddled in his gilded cage. Maybe it’s meant to be some cruel joke, the world poking and prodding at him and delighting in how easily he breaks.

One day he’ll shatter into a thousand pieces. But wasn’t he shattered already? He tried to kill the eggs, something he would never do if he was in his right mind. He was addled by grief and desperate, fearing death with such all-consuming fervor but being convinced it could be undone.

In a way, it could be. The Federation had the same power as Showfall did, playing with their residents like toys. The only reason Flippa and Tilín were gone was because the Federation said it should be so. As long as they have control over the island, everyone has to follow their rules.

So his daughter was dead. His beautiful, bright daughter with sharp eyes and quiet giggles. He couldn’t be there for her in her final moments. He could never even say goodbye to her. At least he got to watch Ranboo’s final, shuddering breaths, even as he hysterically screamed for them to wake up, wake up, please! 

But Flippa’s final moments were an enigma to him. He didn’t even know if her death was quick or long and drawn out. He didn’t even know what she was thinking in her final moments. Was she sad? Relieved? Horrified? Betrayed? And if she thought of him, did she hate him?

Maybe it’s for the best he wasn’t there for her as she died. He killed her best friend. He wouldn’t be surprised if she resented him with everything she had.

“Hey, pendejo,” Mariana scolds, and Charlie’s vision refocuses in an instant. His arms are sore, and with a start, he realizes it was because he was tightly holding them. It’s as if he’s trying to hug himself, but the worse his thoughts got, the tighter his grip got. He lets out a hiss as he shakes out his hands. “You alright? You zoned out.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, hunching his shoulders. “I got lost in my head.”

Mariana shrugs. “You’re fine,” he mutters. “It’s not like I can blame you for that. But try to pay attention, will you? This is important for the both of us.”

Charlie nods with rapt attention, even as he feels anxiety spike in his chest. His heart is thundering so rapidly he finds it difficult to breathe. Here it is, the payoff for the horrible, looming dread towering over him. If he can just beg the man with all he has to stay at his side, maybe he can…

The man seems to pick up on his nervous energy, because he sighs as he rolls his shoulders. “Listen,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck with a scowl. “Don’t go running around thinking that I hate you, okay? Because I don’t. But I’m my own person, you know? And without Flippa, I don’t really see a point in sticking around.”

Wow. He didn’t mince words at all, did he? He got to the point instantly. To be honest, he would have preferred for things to be more drawn out. He knows the anxiety is practically paralyzing him, leaving him standing in place as he stares imploringly into Mariana’s eyes. It’s like he’s falling deep within them, a cramped, claustrophobic cave that becomes even tighter as he becomes ensnared within it.

“So what? You’re going to leave again?” he whispers, beginning to feel anger build in his chest. “I get it if you hate me. But if you’re seriously just going to disappear and think I’m fine with it, then-!”

“Callarse la boca!” Mariana yells, voice loud and scalding with heat. Charlie flinches, shuffling in place. “Stop jumping to conclusions for once, will you? Listen, I get it. You’re miserable and guilt ridden over that kid. But I’m not any better, you know. I killed Juana. My- no, our daughter. ¿Esperas que esté bien con eso?"

“U-Um,” he stammers. He can’t actually speak Spanish, but he can guess what the man’s saying. It’s the sort of thing that’s impossible to cope with. They both have the blood of children on their hands. In a way, Mariana’s situation is far, far worse. But Charlie’s already spent so much time grieving… He doesn’t want Mariana to leave him either. “I don’t think you deserve to be on your own,” he rasps, voice wobbly. “You shouldn’t have to deal with all of that pain.”

The man lets out a long, drawn out sigh. "Dios, dame fuerzas..." he mutters, irritated. “Listen to me, will you?” he scolds, hands on his hip. “There isn’t anything left for me here. Just ghosts and sympathetic assholes.” Well, Charlie can relate to that sentiment. 

“You still have me,” he protests, voice hushed and subdued. “We’ve been through the same things, haven’t we? Let me be there for you, please! You have me!” His tone goes from protesting to pleading the longer he speaks. He can’t moderate his tone at all. He’s just speaking to hear his own voice in the air, pleading so that no one could say he’s done nothing to persuade Mariana.

“Be quiet!” the man snaps. “And just stop it, will you? You don’t need to throw yourself at my feet and beg for a scrap of attention from me. You’re fine on your own. I know you are. Regardless of what you think, I know you’re strong.”

“I can’t even keep a handle on my own thoughts,” he mutters, bunching his shoulders tightly together. “I can’t even protect the people I care about. And you call that strong?”

Mariana groans. He leans forward and rests both of his strong hands on Charlie’s shoulders. The sudden proximity causes icy cold shock to spread through his body, leaving his limbs feeling fuzzy and numb. Mariana’s so close to him, so agonizingly close, and all of the other times he’s been so close to him he’s always been quick to draw away.

Like when he first entered the house and cupped Charlie’s cheek with such warm gentleness, making him feel so impossibly loved by the man who has all the cause in the world to hate him. And maybe he should hate Mariana in turn. Both times Flippa died, it was due to him.

But he can’t bring himself to be capable of anger, much less hate. He’s just tired and worn out and is busy obsessively wanting with every fiber of his being. There isn’t enough space left in him for hatred, not even for the man who killed his daughter.

He can’t even hate Showfall, and that knowledge makes him feel guilty and broken and like some incompetent, braindead idiot. They took everything from him and from the people he cares for. He should feel anger and resentment and a longing for revenge.

The words “and yet” feel as though they carry the weight of the world upon them as they’re thought. And yet, they took care of him, didn’t they? Sure, they stole so many things from him, but they gave things to him too, even as their form was warped and distorted.

He had parents, at the very least. They were masked and robotic and never spoke a word to him, but they took care of him. That’s what parents were meant to do, right? He didn’t need love or conversation or attention. So long as they visited every so often and delivered him a meal and new toys, he could be content with his life.

How could he not be? It was all he knew. And it wasn’t that bad, really. Showfall started with comedy shows, so even though he was so brainwashed his mind was more blank than a piece of printer paper most of the time, he didn’t have to worry about death or pain or…

Even then, there was still blood. He wondered if it was them experimenting with their filter on his mind, or if they were preparing for the shift to horror. Either way, there was blood, warm and sticky and staining everything. Every time the cameras powered off, the bright neon green slime morphing to deep crimson red already beginning to dry.

He wasn’t capable of reacting. Not with horror, not with alarm, not with confusion. He just stood blankly in place, waiting for the camera to turn back on and give him purpose again, and not reacting as employees dragged him off to wash him off and shove him back in that awful room to rot.

Could it even be described as growing up while he was there? He thinks he would need to remember more of his life if that were the case, surely. But most of it remains as a hazy blur to him, misshapen and impossible to recall.

How many people has he forgotten about? How many of his fellow actors had been essentially buried the moment he wasn’t able to remember them? Memories may as well be facts when the very world can be molded and changed by those who have the power for it. And he’s rather comfortable with forgetting everything about Showfall.

Fine. He’ll let everything from back then die and remain buried, because he can’t do anything to save them anymore. Trying to watch videos of Showfall just so he can force himself to remember sounds like a form of torture to him, if he were to be one hundred percent candid.

The shows were horrible, especially when he had begun to be treated like a punching bag and killed in new, painful ways. He shudders in Mariana’s arms as he thinks about all the deaths he remembers and all the deaths he doesn’t.

All this time, he’s thought that he shouldn’t be alive because Ranboo died for him. But the reason he shouldn’t be alive is much easier to swallow, as it turns out. He’s already died, over and over again. His time has come long ago, and the longer he waits, the more the reaper takes from him out of frustration. He should hurry up and die before he loses even more.

But he lives anyway, both for those who couldn’t and for the simple pleasures of life. Staring into Mariana’s firm, steely eyes and feeling the way his grip absentmindedly tightens on Charlie’s shoulders as he tries to figure out what to say is one of them.

In a way, Showfall was comfort, even if it was warped and distorted. Charlie was able to exist there, unchanging and placid, the mind of a child trapped in the body of a man. And every bad memory would eventually be erased, as if it was nothing but a bad dream. In a way, wasn’t that a relief?

Escaping the first time around was a fluke, and making his way to the island even more so. Until he had met Quackity, he had just been wandering around aimlessly, seeing every aspect of the world for himself, both good and bad.

He had been essentially homeless the entire time, walking around through crowd after crowd as he tried to understand how living worked, exactly. He was used to not having to think about anything, because Showfall did all the thinking for him.

But being in the real world was significantly different. For one, he had to look for his own food, digging it out of trash cans and stealing it from gas stations. As a side effect, he felt like shit all the time, but it was fine. Other than looking for food, which took up most of his time, he spent most of his time aimlessly wandering through crowded streets. He had never seen so many real people in his life, and he was as awed as he was overwhelmed.

With every cold night he spent curled in on himself and shivering, the urge to go crawling back to Showfall grew more and more intense. But he remembered the stab of terror poking and prodding at his hazy, static-y brain as he gained a rare burst of consciousness.

They hadn’t been expecting anyone to escape. That was obvious enough. There had been employees guarding the room he had been stuffed in, but they had been easy enough to take out with the nearest blunt object. They had crumpled as he swung it down, and began to frantically run as they staggered back to their feet.

Floods of employees had begun to pour out of doorway after doorway. As he ran, his mind grew more foggy and his limbs grew more weighed down, but he refused to stop. He ran until his body ached and the back of his throat ached from his heavy breathing and his entire body was composed of all-consuming blind, flailing terror.

Charlie can’t even remember what he saw that scared him so bad. He just knows that he was terrified and needed to leave, driven by a determination that wasn’t entirely his own. As if someone had told him to leave, or he was determined to live for someone else. He isn’t entirely sure.

Either way, that lingering determination was enough to make him live through even the most horrible conditions, no matter how stressful things got. After a while, he had finally been rewarded for his patience. Quackity had given him a ticket to the island, and his life had changed forever.

As it turns out, Quackity had ulterior motives for giving him that ticket. “You know, for the longest time, I was pretty sure you were homeless,” Quackity had said to him once. “Your clothes were disgusting, and you kinda smelled like shit. But you were funny and earnest, so I didn’t really mind it. I don’t really judge, you know?”

He had just shrugged in reply. He hadn’t been entirely sure how to respond to that. He had a habit of agreeing or chiming in when he wasn’t sure what the conversation was about, and he was scared of making a fool of himself by misunderstanding something and speaking up.