Chapter Text
—Present—.
"Ready?"
"I guess I have to be..." the goose muttered as he leapt onto Roz’s shoulder and spread his wings. The robot stretched out both arms and began to run toward the clearing, picking up speed to help launch Brightbill into flight.
Fink followed behind them, not in any hurry. His pace was nowhere near fast enough to catch up with Roz, but he didn’t mind. He stayed close enough to see her—and to silently say goodbye to the goose he’d come to love like a son.
But there was something he couldn’t get out of his mind.
Something inside him stirred as he watched Brightbill flap his wings and soar out of the clearing, following the flock. Roz stopped almost immediately, not moving at all as she gazed up at the sky—perhaps for longer than any parameter would deem necessary—her interface already confirming that her task was complete.
And the fox knew exactly what that meant.
“Without an assigned task, my next priority is to return to the factory.”
It was all over.
His steps grew clumsy the closer he got to the robot, as if he were afraid that reaching her would make Roz say out loud what he feared the most.
And Fink wasn’t ready to hear it.
Even though he knew that fate had been sealed long before he ever met her.
He had never been so painfully aware of how much he wanted to deny it—though in that moment, the ending felt inevitable.
He didn’t want to face it. He hated the very thought of it.
Still, he kept running.
He gasped for breath when he reached her, the air escaping him as if he’d just run across the entire island. He wasn’t sure why his chest felt so tight.
He waited for her to say something.
Nothing.
“…Roz?”
She kept her eyes on the sky. On Brightbill in the distance.
Realizing something she didn’t want to admit.
“I…”
A shiver ran down Fink’s spine. It was the first time he’d heard her speak with such a soft and vulnerable tone.
Usually, she was the one in control. The one who always knew what to do, who never let herself be swayed by emotions she didn’t even have. She wasn’t like him.
It was… strange to see her like this.
He wanted to ask what was wrong, but he couldn’t—because Roz suddenly took off, running into the trees without a word.
Fink didn’t need an explanation. Somehow, he understood what the robot was going through. In his own way.
He decided to give her space. Besides, a little time alone would do him some good too. As long as he didn’t see her, the goodbye wouldn’t feel quite so… inevitable.
Or so he wanted to believe.
He’d never admit it, but he wanted to put it off for as long as possible.
The minutes dragged on painfully slow as he waited for her to return.
He didn’t even notice when the sky turned gray, or when a cold breeze began to sweep over the island, or when the first snowflakes started falling onto the grass.
He knew the chill he felt had nothing to do with the coming winter.
Roz probably wasn’t even aware that she’d be covered in snow if she didn’t move soon, so he started looking for her—despite the fear that still clung to him.
He found her sitting on the cliffside, silent in a way that unsettled him.
That wasn’t like her.
Fink thought he knew why she was in that state.
Roz didn’t want to leave either.
But her programming dictated that she had to.
It was a little ironic, the robot who had rewritten her own code months ago just so she could disobey it, claiming it was the only way to complete her task.
It was almost as if she wanted to be obedient one last time before returning to the life she was created for: serving some family in the city.
Because now that Brightbill was gone, she had no reason to stay.
She was still a ROZZUM, a robot built to receive and complete tasks.
But…
"Must be a relief" said the fox, appearing almost out of nowhere, a faint smile on his face as he looked at her. She didn’t flinch at the sudden arrival, but she didn’t look exactly calm, either.
Fink thought about how different she was from the robot he had first met.
He hoped to break the ice somehow, to get them talking—though he didn’t want to be insensitive. He knew the migration had been hard to process, for both Roz and himself.
Maybe even more so for her.
But she nodded, as the fox sat down beside her.
“Yes! Brightbill is where he belongs, and now you can return to your solitary life of struggling to survive on an island where everything wants to kill and eat you.”
She gave his a couple of pats on the back, her voice unusually upbeat.
"Me, the bear, everybody. We’re all just trying to survive."
Fink figured maybe he shouldn’t have put it that way. In his head, it sounded kind of funny. But when she said it, with that innocent tone, it didn’t seem funny at all.
What unsettled him even more was that she seemed… happy that it was all over.
He was supposed to be the expert at pretending, after all.
He was the one who’d taught her how to lie.
And Roz was forgetting the first rule: don’t say the lie in a tone so painfully obvious.
In any other situation, he wouldn’t have minded. He might’ve even tried to laugh.
But he couldn’t.
He didn’t feel capable of bursting her fragile little bubble. She needed to believe none of this mattered—maybe that way, it wouldn’t hurt so much when she finally left.
So he played along.
“Yeah! And you… can go to that place you’ve never been, and don’t know what’s gonna happen to you…”
He had never felt so miserable pretending.
Roz nodded, though deep down, she didn’t like the idea anymore.
“Yes!”
Her cheerfulness sounded painfully forced. He let out an awkward laugh.
“Yes…! So… All good!”
“All good!” she echoed.
“Amazing!” he said, spinning clumsily in place.
“Amazing!”
“Even…”
Uncomfortable silence.
“Amazing…”
Neither of them knew what else to say.
The corners of the fox’s mouth dropped slightly. His mind searched for a way to bring up what he really wanted to say, stealing glances at her every so often.
The wind blew hard over the cliff. Fink wished the gust could carry away all the doubts spinning in his head.
Roz still said nothing.
Maybe now was the right moment to tell her…
After all, he knew she didn’t want things to end either. But they were both too scared to say it out loud.
He traced an invisible circle in the dirt with his paw, hoping the contact would keep him grounded, maybe help calm his nerves.
“Not that it matters, but…” Fink scooted a little closer and gently placed a paw on the robot’s metal arm. “Who says you need to leave?”
It was a dumb question. He already knew the answer. He’d known it for months.
He just… hoped she would deny it.
That she would ignore whatever was written in her manual. That she would say she wanted to stay. That even though the agreement had ended, she still wanted to be by his side.
“I am… not sure… Them, I guess.”
Ah…
He tried to be understanding.
He gave her a faint smile.
“Your… programming?”
She nodded, without energy.
Once again, the corners of the fox’s mouth fell. He pulled his paw away.
He tried to come up with something else to keep the conversation going, but nothing came to him.
What was he supposed to say? He was too much of a coward to just tell her directly that she was important to him. That every time he looked at her, he felt like more than just a predator. That she had made him want to be better.
Love was useless. It made you lose sight of what mattered. Made it harder to do what needed to be done. His mother had told him that a hundred times.
He had never liked the certainty that everything had an end.
So why had he even bothered to stay by her side in the first place?
He was an idiot.
His love meant nothing. It wouldn’t change anything.
This was the end.
Either way, the wind was growing colder by the minute.
It was time to go.
“Well… time for me to go underground for the winter.”
He didn’t really expect the robot to say anything.
“Fink…”
The sound of his name made his ears perk up. He smiled without meaning to.
How pathetic…
“Unless you want to stay! ‘Cause we could… we could hang out and… and do stuff.”
Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have said “hang out” quite so obviously.
Didn’t matter.
“…How do you know if you love… something?”
Huh?
He tried not to let the sudden tension in his body show when he heard the question.
A chill colder than winter ran down his spine, freezing him in place. His heart started pounding so hard he worried Roz might hear it.
“Someone…?”
It felt like all the air had been cut from his lungs.
Love…
He still wasn’t used to hearing the word out loud.
It embarrassed him to realize he’d been thinking about it.
Loving someone… the way he loved her.
Maybe…
“If you do… you should probably tell them.”
…maybe she felt the same.
Right?
She already loved Brightbill like her own child.
She’d told him he was important…
He waited.
The robot didn’t even turn to look at him.
“What if is… too late?”
He felt a painful knot in his throat.
He parted his lips to say something.
As always, he had no idea what.
“…I wouldn’t know.”
There was nothing more to say.
She had already made her decision, and he had to respect that.
Even if it hurt.
He didn’t even notice when he started running out of air—but he couldn’t breathe without moisture stinging his eyes.
It was better to leave before Roz heard him.
So he left.
No drama. No last “goodbye.”
No saying all the things he wished she could know, even if she wouldn’t remember them after the reset.
He just left.
Quietly, as fast as he could without making a sound.
He didn’t want to think.
He just needed to reach his den.
And sleep until the pain in his chest went away.
Suddenly, his ears turned in the opposite direction, involuntarily.
The air carried a soft murmur, like water slipping through branches.
A single syllable.
“…Fink?”
His paws stopped instantly.
He turned his head, heart thudding harder, his whole body trembling.
It was her.
Probably wanting to say something.
What if she really…?
No.
He was insane for even considering it.
She couldn’t love him. There was no way.
And even if she did, he didn’t want to make the goodbye harder than it already was.
He couldn’t.
So he kept running.
Without looking back.