Chapter Text
Sebastian was a bright child.
He performed above-average in academics. He knew how to play the electric guitar, and a little bit of the bass. He was learning French, on top of being bilingual.
He had a solid GPA in university, and was exceptional in labs and practical scenarios. He wielded the soldering iron like a pencil, fluency in his movement and accuracy in his use. So it was a no-brainer that he secured an internship in the summer of his second year.
But, well…
Fate isn’t exactly picky when it comes to understated downturns.
Often, when the lack of sleep and delirium sneaks up on him, Sebastian hears things.
Usually, it’s an errant door opening, a squeak of wheels from a rusty gurney, or the flick of a light turning on. Sometimes it’s an intercom calling his designation, that he has to listen twice to in order to discern its authenticity. Sometimes, someone calls his name; that one Sebastian has learnt to never entertain.
And sometimes, very rarely, he hears a woman. A voice definitely distinct from that nuisance that is the Imaginary Friend. Something softer; something familiar.
She doesn’t say anything.
She just hums a sweet melody muffled behind the walls.
Sebastian knows she isn’t here. She can’t have been. Because she certainly didn’t sing for hours– ten minutes at best, and then she’d pull his ear for wasting her time. Light-heartedly, of course.
But that melody, that voice…
Something in his soul eases.
Peace, even if it’s volatile, blooms in his chest for a moment. The memory of warmth shows him gentle hands running through his hair, sometimes braiding, much to his past dismay. He’d take that over anything now.
This memory, no matter how eroded, helps. His head clears and his destination sharpens into view.
Maybe they wouldn’t like who he’s become. Maybe they’ll truly cast him away for living up to his criminal reputation in the first place, once they know what he’s done.
He’s no longer the bright boy they once knew.
Something in Sebastian’s stomach lurches, and his throat tightens up.
But… he’d be content if he gets to just see them again.
And maybe, he’ll be alright if he gets to do that once he gets out.
He remembers one time– maybe a day after the lockdown– Painter would fall into one of their more depressive troughs. They had rung him up, their voice crackling gently through the talkie.
“Sebastian…” They’d trail off. “Are we too foolish to hope?”
At first, it had caught him by surprise. He had never really considered the fact that hoping was something dangerous. “A bit too late to ask that question, yeah?”
Painter had fallen silent on the other end.
Feeling uneasy, along with the nagging thought that he might’ve said something wrong, Sebastian would then follow: “We’ll figure that part out when we get out of here, alright?”
He can’t even guarantee that life in or after Innovation will be smooth sailing. Nothing sets in stone the possibility that they might live peacefully after all this.
He’s been alone for ten, long years. He’s so tired of being a scared animal that lashes out at any whisper of mistrust.
Sebastian rubs his face aggressively, callous scales catching on errant scars.
He doesn’t have the time to be worrying about the future, when worrying about their survival is what will definitively secure it.
It takes a distant clang to snap him out of his reverie. He grimaces– Painter would’ve chided him for dissociating; citing it’s only because he hasn’t rested a wink. And that’d be true, only if he didn’t pass out after losing a whole arm.
Sebastian groans, rubbing his face aggressively. How could he have slipped up like that? That was too risky, especially right after a swarm like that. Too vulnerable for his liking.
However, he supposes it wasn’t a total disaster. Sebastian grumbles lightly.
For the entire course of those two hours, Sebastian hadn’t exactly been hurt. He woke up exactly where he’d slept. No examination light aimed at him. No dull pain that gives way to agony as the anaesthetic wears off mid-surgery.
All he’d woken up to was Painter, idly chatting with The Expendable, over fixing up Sebastian’s coat.
That’s… certainly a first.
The vent cap was barred with a large crate, and when Sebastian cranes his neck up, he finds the same done to the narrow bridge that leads out from the shop. For all purposes except brute force, the shop is relatively secure. Only someone who knows where to look would find it.
These two really had kept him from harm…
“You’re awake.”
Sebastian jumps; he hadn’t realized The Expendable was right there. Rookie behavior.
“No, I’m swimming with the dolphins. What’s it look like?” Sebastian snarks, tugging his esca to flicker it on. The guy scoffs lightly.
“Seems you’ve healed plenty to be running your mouth like this.”
Sebastian rolls his eyes, but secretly smiles. He casts a glance to his now stub, awkwardly jutting out from his coat like something he’d rather not name.
The phantom pains haven’t kicked in yet, which is a bit of a surprise. Sebastian had excruciating phantom pains when his legs got reduced to two tiny tailfins.
He moves it a little, and the thing pathetically nods up and down. The sight would’ve been hilarious, were it not so unnerving. His third arm is gone.
“Well,” Sebastian sighs, almost mourning. “It served me well while it lasted.”
The Expendable doesn’t reply. He quietly gestures for Sebastian to come closer, and the latter squints, but leans. The guy just stands on his toes and reaches for Sebastian’s forehead, a brief contact of cool skin against scales. Just as Sebastian’s about to yank himself back, The Expendable retracts his arm.
“The fever’s gone down, so you should be alright.”
Sebastian blinks, “I have a fever?”
“Yes, ‘had’ ,” The Expendable’s gaze darkens. “Considering your more than thirty-six hours of up-time, it was inevitable, really.”
Sebastian winces, a little annoyed. “You sound like Painter.”
“Then perhaps you should listen to what they have to say,” The Expendable fires back. His gaze then softens at the edges, voice settling exasperatedly with a sigh. “I understand why you’d rather stay awake, but you can’t afford to be fatigued, Sebastian.”
Sebastian falls silent at that.
If he can count how many times he’s been told that in the past three days–
It’s been three days? Sebastian winces. Sure felt a lot longer than that.
He sighs, resetting himself. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Guard Dog.”
It’s stupidly funny how immediately the guy’s face sours.
“What?” Sebastian’s voice lilts, feigning innocence. “You literally growled back then when you’d spat fire.”
The Expendable flushes. “Did not–?”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Perhaps because of the blazing fireball lodged in my throat, I wanted to clear it instinctively, and it made a sound.”
“Oh, it was instinctive, alright,” Sebastian grins, and receives a glare that could throw daggers.
The intercom blips. “I was awoken by the sound of mockery,” Painter feigns a groggy voice, which wears off in five seconds. “Where is it? Show me the object of ridicule.”
Sebastian jerks his chin towards the guy, “Return of the Guard Dog.” The younger man rolls his eyes boredly.
Painter perks. “Oooh, fun! What, did he bark or something?”
The Expendable turns around. “I’m leaving.”
Painter wheezes, “What, no? Was it a howl instead? I would pay to hear that– Drone, can you howl, pretty please?”
The guy starts making his move towards the vent as Painter’s mid-taunt. Sebastian quickly lays his tail over on the crate blocking it. “Fat chance.”
The Expendable’s face twists into the most suffering thing Sebastian’s ever seen. He leans back, smug, crossing his arms. “Stay mad, Dog.”
“Mad dog?” Painter wonders theatrically.
“Please stop talking,” the guy groans. Sebastian and Painter snicker.
The heat detector on the airlock wouldn’t budge. The thing buzzes loudly, and the lights on the hand-print indent glow an angry red.
That was on Sebastian’s attempt– he’d somehow fit a finger or two into the print, but no. The detector wouldn’t let him through because his body temperature is much warmer than a normal human’s. It probably thought there was a massive piping hot cart of some sort.
The Expendable tries to give it a shot, hand sinking into the print like butter. He shifts it around, and it buzzes then, too.
The lock on the private cubicles in the administration sector gave Sebastian trouble. At the time of the lockdown, it was one of the few he couldn’t crack. Mainly because he had to work very quickly, and also because his lovely fish eyes had trouble adjusting to the color-offset of the walls. The pitch black of the sector– of what he can only assume were red– messed with his depth perception a lot. They still do. And back then, he just wanted to wreak quick havoc and move somewhere else.
That meant there were still a couple locks he couldn’t immediately bypass. Seems like Painter can’t either, since the detector works completely autonomously and isn’t connected to any major system.
Hence why they’re here. Since the Expendable Program’s official conclusion, Urbanshade’s goons are going to start littering the place any moment. So they must act quick in order to find and secure damning intel. And the only place Sebastian hadn’t looted was here, so it’s a good start.
The Expendable tries a second time; the buzz rips through the air yet again.
“It’s slightly knocked off,” he says, standing up. “The sensors aren’t aligned, so it’ll take a few attempts before I can clear it.”
“Won’t it alert something if you do it too many times?” Sebastian mutters with a vague gesture.
“It’s not hooked up to anything,” The Expendable reminds, “so technically I can try as many times as I’d like.”
Sebastian snickers, “Someone with a fever must’ve gotten annoyed and hacked it off the system.”
The Expendable scoffs, “Yeah, probably.” He leans down to inspect the detector again.
…Were the ends of his hair always singed? Maybe it was harder to spot because they were ebony to begin with. Somehow that shoulder-length hair has always been neatly tied up even when The Expendable’s in combat. Sebastian moves once and he gets fifty strands straight into his mouth.
Maybe he really should tie it back. Seems convenient.
Sebastian realizes he’s staring. He shakes his head a little and turns. “I’ll waste my time around, then.”
The Expendable– not having noticed– answers with a grunt, prying the detector’s casing loose. Sebastian sets off to open the drawers in the office.
He tries to reach for the lower drawer with his third arm–
Oh, right.
He doesn’t have that anymore.
Face unreadable, he moves on.
There’s a flashlight, and some batteries in the first three desks he checks. The former is of no use to him anymore, but he does swipe the batteries– just in case.
The fourth and fifth are unremarkable, but the sixth catches Sebastian’s attention.
“A smart phone?” He voices, appalled.
“Someone must’ve forgotten it in the chaos,” The Expendable supplies, still tinkering with the detector.
“Well, yeah, no shit,” Sebastian deadpans. “I’m just surprised– this is the first phone I’ve seen down here for some reason.”
“Really?”
“Yeah– I’ve seen laptops and tablets plenty, but not a smartphone.”
The Expendable pauses. “Do you think it could be of use, somehow?”
Sebastian shrugs. “Worth a shot, why not?”
Sebastian turns the phone over, and removes the casing. Immediately, there’s a cause for concern: the battery’s swollen.
“...I don’t think this person took care of their phone very much,” Sebastian grunts.
“You think?”
Sebastian presses on, delicately removing the SIMs from the back. He puts the battery and casing back in place, then tries to power it on.
The Expendable asks, “What carriers are they?”
Sebastian squints at the tiny abstract logos on the SIMs. “I don’t recognise them. But they’re definitely not Norwegian.”
The guy makes a noise. “Interesting.”
The pair continue tinkering away at their respective devices. The Expendable clicks his tongue over the unrelenting detector and Sebastian swears under his breath at another failed attempt at booting up the phone.
“Turn on ultra power-saving mode as soon as you restart it,” The Expendable says, distractedly.
“Who are you to tell me how a smart phone works?” Sebastian murmurs sweetly to the guy.
Without looking back, The Expendable says, “You powered it off twice by accident.”
Sebastian grits his teeth.
The lock beeps loudly again, and The Expendable furrows his brows.
He presses his palm again, a twitch of frustration in his jaw. He pushes once, then twice–
Ding! It’s green.
“Ah–” He yanks his hand back, hissing. His palm stretches, furling and unfurling to ease the cramp.
Sebastian leans forward. “Gimme,” he grunts, bored as he pulls the guy by the wrist. Gently, he cradles them and firmly presses his giant thumb against The Expendable’s much smaller, calloused palm.
Sebastian absently kneads the valley, clipped claws catching on stray scabs.
The Expendable visibly stiffens, and it takes Sebastian a moment for the awkwardness of the situation to set in. He hastily lets it fall, and The Expendable tests his grip subconsciously.
Sebastian clears his throat, “Sorry. You need that hand, bub.”
The guy rolls his eyes, shoulders sagging. “Sure thing.”
The airlock hisses open, and the hallways give way to the private office cubicles. The pair explore on their own, branching paths to lower ranking staff’s working environments, which were predictably of no use.
“Exactly whose we’re looking for? Might save us time,” asks The Expendable from another room.
The two emerge into the main hallways. The sector is lined with grey and red, unlike the Blacksite’s corridors and the administration zone. It still has the same heating as the latter, being a subsector, but for some reason, the sound dampening is much better here.
None of the ambient noise that typically litters the air is here. Sebastian doesn’t know if that’s a relief, or if it unsettles him.
He makes a thoughtful sound as he slithers down the hallway. “I’m pretty sure it was… number fifty-three and twenty-nine…”
The Expendable pauses. “Supervisors’?”
Sebastian hums, “One’s a project director. The other two were supervisors, even if only by name.”
“I see.”
The trek is quiet. The dampening of the walls means those ambient noises Sebastian grew so accustomed to in the main hallways of the Blacksite were gone. It’s deathly silent, and it makes Sebastian’s skin crawl a little.
“What about you? You had any people hovering about you?”
The Expendable nods. “I had three, and similar to you, only one was committed. I wasn’t part of a project, so I didn’t have a project director.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Dr. Atropa was my primary supervisor. The others were Dr. Qureshi, and Mr. Elizondo–”
The immediate way Sebastian’s face falls into acidic sourness.
The Expendable blinks. “I’m guessing you had something to do with Elizondo?”
Sebastian laughs bitterly, “Understatement of the century. Let’s just say, I wouldn’t be opposed to decorating the place with his guts.”
The Expendable scoffs, “I know what you mean. He wasn’t even qualified for what he was doing.”
Sebastian’s jaw clenches and throws his hands up. “He’s just some corrupt guy who weaseled his way into the ranks. We were the lucky individuals who had to deal with him,” he spits additionally.
“Quite lucky we are to have landed ourselves here in the first place,” The Expendable says, peeking into another room to look.
Sebastian huffs, “I hope I burn this place to the seafloor.”
The guy shifts to glance back at him. “The timing’s ripe. You could, if you’d like.”
The taller male pauses, bringing his claws to his chin thoughtfully.
The Expendable cautions, “Oh dear.”
“It is an idea.” A slow grin makes its way to his face. “But…”
“You need this place to exist for leverage,” The Expendable finishes for him.
“You get it,” Sebastian pipes, clasping his hands. “They can’t exactly pick the Blacksite up and relocate.”
“I suppose so, yes.”
“A good addition to my itinerary. What’s yours anyway?” Sebastian inquires, gaze narrowing. Mostly out of curiosity, but he disguises it as an attempt to keep the conversation going.
The Expendable falls silent. “...I can’t disclose that. I apologize.”
Sebastian raises a brow. “You do understand that what you’re saying makes it so much more likely for me to kill you?”
The Expendable huffs, amused. “I don’t need to prove to you that I’m on your side. Same way I don’t need to prove to Urbanshade that I’m not on theirs. I’ve got my own mission.”
His voice flattens a little when he says that.
Sebastian may not be the best liar, but he sure knows how to detect one.
“Huh.” Is all he says in reply.
Eventually, they reach the root of the complex, where different paths diverge into different subsectors. Sebastian pinches the bridge of his snout.
“This facility looked a lot smaller on the outside,” he grumbles.
“You do know the location of the offices you just mentioned, no?” The Expendable asks.
“Yeah,” Sebastian responds, “Painter gave me directions.”
“That’s good. I would hate to wander aimless in a place like this,” the guy drawls.
“The aim would be to get out, though.”
The Expendable waves dismissively. “You know what I meant.”
Sebastian snorts, “I do. Every corner looks the damn same. Maybe that’s why these people looked so confused when they were in here.”
The Expendable hums, “You make a good point. Perhaps that’s why they were so disorganized all the time.”
A bark of laughter escapes Sebastian. “Yeah, they were,” he snarls lowly.
Time passes; they’re both looking around for the office numbers, lost in their own different paths to really be talking. Sebastian doesn’t think his voice could even reach The Expendable at this point.
He shrugs– as long as he gets what’s needed. And that’s proving to be a much longer debacle than Sebastian initially anticipated.
A number seventeen cubicle is followed by a number fifty-six. Sebastian groans audibly. This would be so much easier if they were all sequential, but nope. The Green Bastard just had to make things difficult.
Forty-two, seventy, thirty-eight, nine , fifty-one–
Twenty-seven. Sebastian does a double-take on that one.
It’s not twenty-nine, sure, but it’s sort of interesting in its own right.
The number is attempted to be scribbled off. Emphasis on attempted – it just seems like someone rubbed a Sharpie on it, not bothering to actually redact the number. He’s never seen an office marked like this, and it intrigues him enough to take a peek.
Sebastian rounds the corner, poking his head in. He doesn’t quite expect what he sees.
The entire room is unmarred. The overwhelming smell of dust permeates the air, particles floating about in the stale air.
The walls are lined with shelves, but unlike a lot of the offices he’s seen, it’s not at all adorned with personality. There are no picture frames propped up in front of books, no low-quality awards issued by Urbanshade lining the cabinets, no trinkets strewn about, not even a desktop calendar or clock on the office desk. Even the desk drawers are empty for the most part.
It’s as if the inhabitant hadn’t been here at all, let alone used the place.
Except for one single thing. And Sebastian finds it in the bottom drawer.
A torn photograph, thin and worn with time. It’s slightly damp– probably from all the leakage around them– and there are smudged markings on the back.
There are two women in the picture, with an infant and a young child. The picture seems to be torn exactly at the women’s necks. One of them Sebastian can vaguely recognize from the attire, but he can’t exactly put a name to her.
What catches Sebastian’s attention, is the young child in the picture. They’re wearing the Urbanshade prisoner attire; clearly a few sizes too big for them, as the shoulder sags off, and the sleeves and trousers are rolled up multiple times. But that’s not what’s brow-raising about them, no.
It’s those eyes, and familiar mop of hair. Obsidian and ebony.
Interesting .
Sebastian folds the photo carefully, pocketing it in his coat. It sits snug with his last Ferryman Coin.
He looks around a bit more, checking for any files or drives that may be left behind, but finds nothing. It makes sense, when Sebastian thinks about it. If the office is abandoned, there sure aren’t going to be any goodies stashed here.
The only items of interest in that room, apart from the photograph, are the two keys hung on the shelf’s keyholder. Which immediately makes Sebastian narrow his eyes.
Because, one: If the office is abandoned, why just leave your car keys in?
Two: And the place runs on keycards and biometric scanners. So what’s the point of keys?
And three: Those aren’t just average car keys. What do they open anyway?
Upon closer inspection, there are some markings that glint in the light differently. When Sebastian reaches to unhook the keys, however, the holder ends up loosening and clatters to the floor.
Wow. This place really is old.
Sebastian brings the keys closer to himself, turning his lure off so he can see better. The keys aren’t anything out of the ordinary, the only oddity being the manufacturers’ brands scratched out, for some reason.
And now that Sebastian realizes, one of the keys is probably the key to the desk. So that lead is a dead end.
Sebastian sighs, hand holding the bunch bouncing impatiently in the air as he scans the room again.
His gaze lands on the collapsed holder again. The thing is surprisingly antique in a devoid room like this, and a small crack runs along one end, likely due to its fall.
Hold on…
Sebastian squints, leaning down to pick it up. He turns it over in his hands: it’s a pretty little thing, adorned with indentations. It has a small tassel hanging from it, old and worn.
Sebastian eyes the “break” on the other end. It’s… suspiciously linear.
He inspects it, prying the end apart from the break. And sure enough, it gives. Sebastian’s brows shoot up, a fascinated smile playing on his lips.
It’s a USB.
Now that’s something of use.
He pockets it silently in the same place, silently reminding himself to scan it for malware when he inevitably gets curious.
… Should I tell him?
Before he can slither out the room though, that thought makes him pause.
Well, it’s not like he was gonna spill. This is probably my best bet getting intel on him.
There’s a moment of hesitation, and then he shakes his head, moving along. He’ll think about that later.
He searches the other rooms, then switches branches when he finds nothing of use. Even in the other paths, luck is not on his side: the rooms he wants are nowhere to be seen.
Eventually, he sighs and gives up. He’ll revisit the place in a couple hours to search once more.
“Drone, where are you?” He calls out. He gets a light grumble for an answer. Sebastian's brows furrow.
“Drone?”
“Sebastian…” His voice sounds compromised. Sebastian picks up his pace slightly.
Maybe a little too quickly, he asks, “What's wrong–?”
Sebastian hurriedly gets to where he hears him. And–
“Oh my god,” Sebastian snorts.
The Expendable– this broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed and hyper-competent man– is being utterly undone.
‘Wawa!’
‘Wawawa,’ chirrup the sea bunnies.
“They're taking a hike on you, pal,” Sebastian bursts into laughter.
The Expendable is swarmed by a very insistent gaggle of sea bunnies, standing dead center in the lounge the bunnies usually claim as their dens.
There's two on either of his shoulders, one piping proudly from atop his head, three clinging to his pantlegs, and one hanging off his sleeve.
The man looks so lost.
“I'm being ambushed,” he says in all seriousness, and that only makes Sebastian laugh harder.
“They're just little guys,” he snickers, peeling the dangling one away and scratching it behind its ear. “But I've never seen so many be so–,” he trails off, failing to hide a grin, “affectionate.”
The Expendable nearly trips over his own feet trying to get out of the sea bunnies’ den. He sends a suffering look to Sebastian, who merely clasps a hand over his mouth and giggles.
“You are of no help,” the guy says.
“It’s funnier watching you suffer,” Sebastian grins.
“ Sebastian .”
“Fine, fine,” Sebastian relents. He saunters over to the compromised man, picking two especially cuddly bunnies from the guy’s chest.
“Hey it’s alright,” Sebastian addresses the pair climbing up his arms. “I don’t blame you for it,” he adds cheekily.
The Expendable, ears red, sends a withering glare his way.
Sebastian laughs. “Oh, if Painter were here,” he sighs wistfully.
“You called?”
Sebastian and The Expendable jump a foot into the air. The A.I.’s scrawled face appears on the overhead monitor, expression sheepish.
“Kid,” Sebastian explains, breathless, “ a warning would’ve been nice? ”
“Sorry, sorry–!” Painter apologizes profusely, grinning still. “I was getting bored, so I decided to check in. Coincidentally, I heard you talk about me the moment I came in…”
Painter trails off, their eyes locking onto a hunched Expendable. Painter immediately bursts into laughter.
“What?! Since when was Drone a bunny magnet?”
The Expendable’s ears flush crimson anew.
“Literally just two minutes ago.” Sebastian crosses his arms, eyes not leaving the guy as a small smile tugs on his lips.
“Aww, really?” Painter whines, “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve recorded it.”
“Painter–” The Expendable starts, almost pleading.
“Actually, I think surveillance footage might’ve beat you to the punch, bud,” Sebastian interjects, his grin sharpening under The Expendable’s look.
“Oh, yeah!” Painter realizes. “I’ll get on that right away.”
“Have you two not bullied me enough for one sitting?” The Expendable remarks, lightly. The way he says it slightly exasperatedly does indicate he’s not actually bothered by it.
So Sebastian beams. “Nah.”
The Expendable scoffs an “insufferable” under his breath. Eventually, they manage to get all the bunnies off of him, and resume their trek through the corridors.
“Are you one of those animal magnets?” Painter pipes up. “You just have that thing about you that animals can’t help but get attached to. Is that what this is?”
The Expendable looks confused.
Painter continues, “First bunnies, then what? Worms? Fish?”
The Expendable shrugs, “I wouldn’t mind. I enjoy seafood.”
Sebastian makes a noise of mocking realization. “Years underwater, and you like seafood. Never would’ve guessed.”
Painter’s eyes suddenly light with mischief. “Sure he does. Clams, lobster, fish, angler–”
Sebastian’s face falls into a deadpan. “Painter.”
“What?” They feign innocence.
“I can’t imagine anglerfish taste any good,” The guy interjects.
Painter sniffs theatrically. “Bummer.”
A comfortable silence fills the time. Painter switches from screen to screen, either to look at something curiously, or because they’re bored.
The Expendable is inexplicably fidgety. Sebastian has been noticing the guy getting lost in his own head a couple times, nearly walking into a doorframe once. If he hadn’t known better– and he probably doesn’t– he’d say The Expendable looks… worried about something.
Sebastian shakes the thought off. He’s probably looking too much into it.
They enter a control panel room to the side, dodging a Froger as the area plunges into darkness.
The room mimics one of those display panel rooms back in the heavy containment sectors, with a large shattered glass panel, shards scattered about the floor. A grid of overhead monitors tilts down at them, black broken mirrors.
Sebastian looks around. The giant monitors don’t exactly invoke the determination to keep staying. Old static buzzes from behind him, light spilling onto the walls.
Painter suddenly makes a strangled noise. “Ummm—! M-Mayyybe we don’t need to be in this room.”
“What do you mean?” Sebastian starts to turn—
“Look at me!” The Expendable barks.
Sebastian freezes, gaze snapping to him instead. The guy’s alarm is raw enough to knot Sebastian’s brows.
“Sebastian—” the Expendable commands softly. “Eyes on me.”
The contrarian in him itches to resist, to find out what could possibly be so bad—
“Trust me. You don’t need to see that.” His voice is low, as if plucking the thought straight from Sebastian’s skull. “Painter—”
From behind, Painter perks up: “I’m already on it.”
The static cuts out. A deathly silence rushes in.
Only when the Expendable’s stance eases a fraction does Sebastian turn. Blank screens stare back. Painter flickers onto one of the less-damaged ones, relief scribbled across their canvas-face.
“What was it?” Sebastian asks, quieter than he’d like.
Painter hesitates a little. They glance at The Expendable, then say, “An A.I. generated video. About something you really shouldn’t care about right now.”
“B-but–?” Sebastian opens his mouth, then closes it.
The curiosity will eat him alive, and he knows that.
But if they really decided he did not need to see it, for the sake of his sanity or otherwise, he’ll take their word for it.
“A-alright?” He concedes uncertainly, not before letting a smirk tug at his lips. “Move over so I can mess this one up.”
Painter snickers and obliges, blipping to the door display instead.
Sebastian rolls his sleeve up, and drives his fist straight through the monitor. The resultant crash echoes throughout the chamber.
The hall above and outside the shop is quieter than usual. It’s a little unnerving, with no thundering footsteps barging around, or distant doors cranking open.
Sebastian sits hunched over his tail, surrounded by a mess of wires and scraps of paper. He’s been absent-mindedly chewing on a pen, mind wandering for the past couple hours.
The talkie blips to life, and Painter’s voice fills the room.
“Hi Seb!”
“Hey bud.”
“Soooo… Remember when we were leaving that admin place?”
“Myeah?”
“You had one of those looks . The one that says ‘I’m definitely keeping a secret and hoping no one notices .’”
Sebastian stiffens, and without looking up mumbles, “…That obvious?”
Painter scoffs, “Please.”
Sebastian hesitates, then sighs, ”I… found something. A USB. In cubicle twenty-seven. Been keeping it out of sight… from him.”
A beat of silence passes between them, followed by a mock gasp. “Oooh, betrayal. Omission. A shocking plot twist.”
“Don’t start,” Sebastian says dryly.
Painter grins anyway. “I mean… you realize you’re treating Drone like you got treated? Hoarding from him, watching him– waiting for him to slip.”
Sebastian grimaces, setting the pen down. “It’s not like that. I just—” he pauses, “I don’t know if I can trust him.
“You don’t have to trust him,” Painter says matter-of-factly. “But making him an enemy? Baaad idea.”
Sebastian glances over in the arbitrary direction where The Expendable usually disappears to. His expression tightens.
“You’re right about that. He’s the only one Urbanshade will probably want to take back. What with the new features, and all.”
An agreeing hum resounds. “So maybe don’t push him away. Don’t turn an ‘uncertain ally’ into a ‘certain threat’.”
Sebastian rakes a hand down his face, muttering. “I know. I’m just… suspicious.”
Painter hums, “You’re always suspicious, Seb.”
Sebastian snorts, “Keeps me alive.”
Painter makes a high indecisive sound. “Sure. But– and this is just my juvenile take: don’t let it be the thing that’ll bury you someday, too.”
Silence washes over the shop. Sebastian fiddles with the wire again, but doesn’t look at the talkie.
Painter then murmurs a softer reminder. “And let’s not forget— Urbanshade’s not done. Expendable Program’s over, yeah, but they’ll want the Blacksite back. They’ll storm the place.”
Sebastian grumbles low and firm, “Which means if he’s standing with us, we won’t be under fire as often.”
“Exactly. So maybe don’t make yourself his problem.”
Sebastian huffs out a bitter little laugh, but his eyes are darker, thoughtful. He knows Painter’s right. He just doesn’t like it.
And perhaps, right on cue, The Expendable shuffles into the vent, walking gingerly on a torn ankle.
“Do you have a–”
“Perithesene,” Sebastian finishes, tossing the thing to him from a far corner. “Here.”
The Expendable, a little taken aback, accepts, catches it. “Thanks,” he says, jamming it into his ankle.
He watches the ankle refold back into shape, wound stitching itself close, the skin smoothing over. Nothing but a scar remains, and the guy heaves himself up to test his footing.
Satisfied, he hunches to crawl out of the vent.
“Hey.” Sebastian blurts.
The Expendable pauses, turning. “Yes?”
The talkie blips off. Painter left Sebastian to deal with this on his own.
Sebastian almost backpedals. He almost dismisses it all with a muttered ‘nevermind’. But no. No, not this time.
He has never been a coward, and he certainly won’t start now.
“I found cubicle twenty-seven.”
The Expendable stiffens. “What,” he says sharply. “When?”
“When we were in the office complex. I found a USB, some keys and a photograph,” Sebastian says easily. Surprising himself, he’s a lot less nervous for someone who withheld crucial information from an ally.
The Expendable’s eyes narrow; he’s a little panicked despite himself. “And you didn’t think to tell me about it?”
Sebastian raises a brow. “I didn’t steal the crown jewels, Drone. What’s in there that makes you twitch like that?”
The Expendable answers, clipped and defensive, “Why hide it from me?”
Sebastian dryly shoots back, “Why hide it from me?”
“HYPOCRITE,” some voice inside him yells.
There’s a beat. Sebastian waits for… something. Maybe some grand reveal, or some indication that The Expendable truly is traitorous, and that he never should’ve given him the benefit of the doubt in the first place. But all he sees is a man suddenly short of breath, almost confused by his own nerves.
The Expendable, after a pause, simply sighs quietly. “…Never mind. Just— let me see it.”
Sebastian doesn’t argue. He digs out the drive and hands it over. The Expendable wastes no time plugging it into a beat-up spare laptop. He pulls a crate to sit on, posture taut, eyes flicking over the documents rapidly.
Sebastian leans down to see. “What’s in here anyway?”
“Experiment logs,” The Expendable says distractedly. “Escape routes.
The latter makes Sebastian perk up.
The Expendable opens a folder: a collection of maps for each sector of the facility, along with images.
Sebastian leans over a little, squinting. “These are—” he snorts. “Yeah. Outdated. Polite word for ‘useless.’ These walls haven’t looked this pristine even before the lockdown. Security was a joke back then, too.”
The Expendable’s jaw locks. He scrolls faster, gripping the USB like it might vanish.
A beat passes.
“Listen,” Sebastian tries. “Nothing about this place screams friendly hugs and companionship. Anyone who’s thrown down here without a blatant ally, is more or less on their own. Painter kept me sane. And I try to return the favor.”
The Expendable doesn’t say anything, knee bouncing as he scrolls without looking at him.
Sebastian continues, quieter. “Everything needs to be known down here. An unknown factor could very well spell your death. So, I hope you don’t blame me too much for doing what I did.”
The Expendable sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know. It still makes me trust you less.”
“I’m sure, yeah,” Sebastian agrees, relenting. “I don’t care what your goals or plans are. But if it interferes with ours, then I have to at least look into it.”
The Expendable clasps the USB in his hand a little tighter. “You first.”
“You know mine. Painter and I are going to leave via Innovation’s meddling. I’m gathering data to use against Urbanshade to hopefully burn them to the ground.”
The Expendable sighs, “I do know yours. And I have everything I need to know from the radio.” He casts a searing glance at Sebastian, voice hardening, “You don’t exactly keep yourselves secret, even at the risk of mouthy prisoners.
“But… I um,” The Expendable pauses, as if trying to articulate. “Dr. Atropa left something for me down here. Before she was executed, she’d instructed me to look for data in her office.”
The Expendable crosses his arms, eyes still glued to the open document. “She said she’d left notes on vulnerable points in the facility, and every record of what they did to me. Which, according to her…” his eyes narrow pointedly “…includes Project Matsya.”
Sebastian’s throat tightens, hand clenching by his side. He asks hesitantly, “Then, why keep it all a secret?”
The Expendable leans back, and after a beat, he says with reluctant honesty. “Paranoia, I suppose.” His voice falls into a whisper. “I had to make sure you…,” He trails off, as if realizing how silly it seems. “Nevermind.”
Ah. Sebastian wrestles the recollection away. “No, I know what you mean.” He averts his gaze a little. “Still. You’ve seen the files. The methods she implied in them didn’t exactly… take into account a potential site-wide lockdown happening.” Sebastian chuckles a little.
The Expendable goes quiet for a few moments. “…I know,” he mumbles. His knee bounces again.
“I guess I screwed things over for you on that front,” the taller male adds, awkwardly.
There’s a heavy silence that washes over them. The Expendable runs a hand through his hair.
“I know you’ve already planned a few legitimate escape routes.” He glares at Sebastian, “Again, I was expecting you to be a lot more discreet about it. But it’s why I intervened with threats coming your way; I wanted to hopefully figure out how you did it, and plan something similar for myself.”
“Yeah, no offense,” Sebastian retorts dryly, “but I don’t see you being a shopkeeper, ever.”
The Expendable snorts. “Not what I meant–”
“No, I know, I was just kidding,” Sebastian says, voice softer than he means it to be.
More silence weighs them down. Sebastian’s tail flicks impatiently. He gets up suddenly to reach for a file in his desk drawers. It’s a file countless prisoners have glanced into.
The Expendable raises a brow as the file is offered to him.
Sebastian still doesn’t look at him. “Consider it an evening of scales.”
The Expendable, a little surprised, slowly takes the file from him. “That’s… certainly a way to put it. I’ll take a look at it later.”
“Yeah.”
Another bout of silence passes, this time awkward.
Sebastian knows exactly what to say, and yet…
What if he regrets it?
What if he botches their one clean chance at escape because of some sympathetic camaraderie?
The Expendable walks away into a quieter part of the shop, and begins to pace. Sebastian knows that look– the furrowed brows, lips pressed tight, wandering eyes: The Expendable’s thinking of a billion things right now.
Sebastian chews on the inside of his cheek. He slithers further down the railing, away from the shop, and presses the talkie.
“Painter.”
“Yeah?” Painter’s face blips onto the large screen in front of him. Sebastian hurriedly makes a gesture to quiet down. He glances over to the shorter male, and thankfully the latter’s still in his own head to notice.
Sebastian whispers low. “How much of that conversation did you hear?”
“Oh! Uh, pretty much all of it. Why?”
Sebastian crosses his arms tight, his right hand brushing over the stub on his side. “What do you think?”
Painter blinks, surprised, “Why ask me?” Their face pulls into a nervous smile. “I’m pretty much the worst judge for that.”
“I guess… I mean, you were there when Drone carried me back to the shop. Did that, like, catch you by surprise or anything? Was that unexpected of him?”
“Uh… not really, I guess. I think I subconsciously knew he’d jump into action. Even if I was on my toes after he killed a bunch of people for us. But… he hasn’t exactly interfered with us or our plan, right– besides accompanying you on scavenges when the expendables were around?”
Sebastian frowns, tail rhythmically slapping the floor impatiently.
“...You’re conflicted.”
“Of course I’m conflicted,” Sebastian throws his hands up. “I can’t get a read on this guy’s motives. Everything he’s done has been either neutral or useful for us. I can’t understand why he’d do the shit he does–”
“Because it’s new and unfamiliar?” Painter supplies unhelpfully, raising their brows.
Sebastian deadpans, “You’re really muddling the waters, kid.”
“Hehe, sorry.”
Sebastian goes back to fidgeting, and Painter looks a little awkward.
“I–” they start. “I don’t know how much of my trust in him is credible. I wouldn’t share my life story, duh, but I would expect him not to stab us in the back. He seems pretty reliable, from what we’ve seen of him so far. But uh…” Painter hesitates, then backtracks. “...You probably have a better feel for this kind of stuff, heh.”
Sebastian paces a little. “I just–” He halts when he catches The Expendable waving in his direction.
“I’m going to the offices to look around some more,” he notifies. “Painter, holler if you two need me.”
“You got it!” Painter responds, and the pair watch the guy exit the hall.
Sebastian’s tail slaps even louder against the floor once he’s gone.
Painter asks, concerned, “Why are you so worked up over this?”
“I don’t know!” Sebastian whisper-shouts, shoulders falling in resignation. “I’m just waiting for him to jump out and turn the gun on us.”
“Has there been any indication of that, ever?”
Sebastian doesn’t answer.
“Speaking of guns,” Painter remembers, suddenly, “didn’t he toss your own gun back to you? Because quote ‘You’re a better shot than me’ ?”
Sebastian’s face contorts. He runs a hand through his hair.
Memories of those stupid obsidian eyes, and those stupid concerned brows flash through Sebastian's thoughts. That dumb low voice either chastising him for doing something admittedly compromising, or him sternly listing instructions before rushing to get a Dweller Chunk.
…Or perhaps, even the memory of finding his ring quietly returned to him in his shop.
“You’re conflicted because you want to bring him along, just spit it out already!” Painter barks.
Sebastian lets go of a strangled groan, then swings a punch at a wall.
The loud metal clang echoes faintly in the damp chamber, and an ache blooms across Sebastian’s knuckles. He melts against the wall, sliding down to the floor.
He’s not exactly slick, is he?
Sebastian gnashes his teeth. Dammit – he thought he was being careful.
The anxiety and fight seeps out of him, replaced with uncanny resignation.
“Yeah,” he admits quietly.
Painter, surprised, lowers their voice to something softer. “It’s alright,” They reassure him, careful. “We’ll figure it out. We’ve still got another two days, right? We can judge more by then.”
Time…
Right, we have time.
Sebastian takes a deep breath. He hauls himself up, rubbing a palm across his face.
“You’re right,” he says, finally. “You’re right. Sorry for… freaking out like that,” he chuckles weakly.
Painter huffs, “Don’t you worry about that. You go back to what you’ve been doing. And if you want, I could go check up on him?”
Sebastian smiles small. “Sure, kid. Thank you.”
“Anytime, buddy.”