Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For once, when The Federation arrive, the sky isn't painted a dry red colour and is instead almost the same as the night sky on Quesadilla island, if a bit darker. The stars still seemed to twinkle in the sky, shinning down on the sandy beach even if they seemed to shine a bit dimmer. The atmosphere is still weirdly humid, just uncomfortable enough to be a bother, but not unbearable. You couldn't cool yourself down without freezing, yet it felt too warm to not try. They were beginning to understand why so many of the islanders who had returned had shed their over layers. WB_68 was kind of wanting to shed their fur themself. Not that they could. Not anymore, at least, but it was nice to imagine it. Perhaps that's why they called it Purgatory. A place of suffering before the end was the kind of atmosphere the place gave off. And if the stories they'd overheard were to be trusted, it certainly sounded like Purgatory.

"WB_68,"

The sudden robotic voice in the silence is almost enough to make them jump out of their skin. Yet even still, almost instantly their head jolts towards Cucurucho and is met with, to no one's surprise, soulless eyes and a smile to big, too… everything, to be genuine. It seemed the longer WB_68 knew it for, Cucurucho just seemed to get more unsettling. Wasn't it meant to work the other way? Cucurucho was weird like that. Maybe it's just what it wanted. They could see that. After all, it seemed that Cucurucho wanted the islanders to fear it, so it would make sense if it wanted it's workers to also fear it.

Even despite the voice in their head telling them to run, flee, get away, WB_68 didn't listen. It's not like they have much of a choice anyway. They're on an island in the middle of nowhere, escape is impossible without someone noticing. A search party would be sent out within minutes, if they cared enough. They'd be caught instantly! And if Cucurcho caught them…

Well, they'd rather not dwell on that now.

Or, more likely, The Federation wouldn't care. And given the… lack of life, on Egg Island, they doubted they'd be able to get away easily. If that was the case then they'd be trapped here, on this island with the vultures. WB_68 wasn't stupid. No matter how much The Federation tried to sweep the incident under the rug, they'd heard the stories. Seen how some workers seemed to cower at the mere mention of 637's name. They'd seen the shake in the hands of the workers sent to clean the scene when they returned. Seen the blood painting their fur.

And well, that seemed like a fate worse than working for The Federation.

So, they quicken their pace, almost jogging in order to catch up to where the rest of their group of workers had gotten to. A few weird looks are sent their way, but WB_68 finds themself walking at the usual pace, arms behind their back and head held high. It's uncomfortable, sure, but after annoying Cucurucho already? They didn't feel too eager to mess something else up, lest they get sent as fodder for the vultures.

Ah. The vultures.

The vultures were what they'd come to call the pair who'd been left on Egg Island, based purely off the stories that other islanders told. They were said to be violent, ravenous, with a thirst for blood no amount of death could quench. Supposedly, someone had supplied them with every weapon they could dream of, the best armour one could acquire. They were undefeatable.

That's what the islanders said anyway. And with the blood covering them and the stone floor below them. Well, they were willing to believe the stories they heard, that was for sure.

"Low Rank,"

The workers steps forward on instinct, though the slight bit of hesitation in their steps is obvious. WB_68 couldn't blame them. After all, the only reason Cucurucho was sending the Low Rank workers first was because they were expendable. They weren't even worthy of their 'names' so if they died, it wouldn't matter. WB_68 wanted to feel bad for them, really, they did! But them doing it meant they didn't have to get torn to shreds. And, selfish as it was, WB_68 found that they quite valued their worthless life, thank you very much.

One of the workers looks back at it, like maybe if they stared long enough, WB_68 would feel enough pity and offer themself in it's place. It wouldn't though. Not with Cucurucho practically burning holes into their back, even when their certain that it's eyes would still remain the same.

Before Cellbit had even fully woken up, he could feel fingers on his neck. Instinct tells him immediately that they're not his irmã's hands. They're too… soft. Too furry. They aren't caked with dry blood and mud and don't feel at all like flesh. They don't have the same scars he'd come used to feeling as Baghera's do and they don't shake when they press against him. Most damning evidence of all though is that he can still feel Baghera's feathers against his stomach. They hadn't moved since he passed out.

"Baghs?"

His words are barley mumbled, barely even said, but the way her hand grips his shirt tells him she definitely heard him.

"Someone's here,"

Her hand tenses and even despite her previously sleep dazed state, he's certain she's more than awake now. He can feel her weight lift from his lap and a clatter follows almost instantly. Cellbit opens his eyes and is met with Baghera, tackling a bear to the floor, a walkie talkie laying further away from them.

A white bear.

Of course they couldn't escape the Federation. Even in actual hell that stupid fucking bear seemed desperate to make their suffering worse. Cellbit could almost imagine the blood that would pour from it's body as he tore it limb from limb. Or maybe being able to stop it's laughter entirely as his blade sliced through it's chest.

He could kill it. Tear through it's back with a chainsaw, making sure to hit bone, just like it had with him. He could push his hand into it's chest and tear out it's heart, to see if it even has one. Maybe it's too small, barely there at all. Maybe it doesn't have one at all. He's sure he could find some way to force it to stay awake while he pulled off it's fur. He could make a jacket out of it, just to shove it into it's face that he won. The Watcher would probably help him out, it always liked a good show. He could force it's respawn anchor here, and do anything he wanted. Torture it so badly it take days to wake up. And when it does? He'll be there, waiting.

Perhaps he wouldn't get as much satisfaction as he'd hoped, on second thoughts. After all, he doubted that he would be able to see the light drain from it's eyes. To watch the life slowly drain from it's face as it realised that he wouldn't remain it's prisoner anymore. That it could do nothing to stop his rebellion. It was a nice dream, regardless.

When Cellbit looked back to Baghera, she was already standing again. Hunched over, sure, but standing. And also covered in blood, for that matter. How the workers don't scream out in agony when they're being torn to shreds is beyond Cellbit's knowledge. It's almost like they couldn't feel the pain. But, that couldn't be true. He'd seen how they flinch away or try and get away from the pain before. So they must feel it in some capacity. And it's not like they were robots, no matter how much they looked and acted like it. Cellbit was sure he'd seen flesh when he tore them open.

"Hello."

At the sudden voice, Cellbit's head jolts upwards, almost meeting the eyes of Cucurucho itself. Because of course it had to be there too. Couldn't leave him to rot in piece, apparently.

"What the hell do you want?" Cellbit spits, narrowing his eyes at the white bear head. It only stares back, tilting it's head to the side. Bastard. It didn't seem to be able to say much else, anyway, so he doesn't know what he was expecting. But it was still annoying as all hell. A paper dropping down in front of him is… expected, really. It doesn't ease the annoyance either way though. His gaze flickers back up to Cucurucho before snatching the paper from the ground. Baghera steps over the now dead worker on the floor to stand next to him, looking over his shoulder to read the note.

"We are here to bring you home."

He almost wants to laugh at the statement. The Federation, helping him? Yeah, sure, he'll believe that when pigs fly. Baghera lets out a scoff, snatching the paper from his hands as if she doesn't believe the words herself. After a moment, she scrunches the paper into a ball and throws it off to the side.

"Yeah right. Why would you ever want to help us?"

The bear barely takes a moment to write, moving through the motions as if they're programmed into it. A new piece of paper is dropped at their feet and Cellbit barely has time to read it before Baghera's tearing it up.

"Your E.G.G.S are at home."

A dry, humourless laugh breaks from Baghera's throat and Cellbit probably would've done the same if not for the fact that he was completely lost for words. Sure, The Federation were cruel, but to joke about their kids being alive? Their children. Sure, they might tempt fate with their lives a bit, but they'd never joked about them being alive when they weren't. They were always the type to just say it as simply as that.

"This-this is a joke, right? You're fucking with us,"

Baghera's voice shakes slightly as she speaks, and he can hear her take a step back, as if even being near the bear is something so horrible she can't even stand to. He doesn't blame her, not really. But he knows there's not much point in trying to get away. Cucurucho can catch them all the same.

"No."

Blunt and to the point. Possibly the only thing Cellbit appreciated from Cucurucho. Not that it mattered since half their other answers were cryptic messages that he could spend days thinking of possible meanings for. But… it couldn't be telling the truth. He watched Richarlyson be buried under the rubble of the collapsing building there was no way he was alive. Hell, the image has been all he could see when he closed his eyes since he woke up on this island.

"What- What the fuck do you mean no?! We watched them die!"

There's a moment where Cellbit almost expects Cucurucho to laugh. To laugh in that stupidly monotone voice of theirs and say 'Yeah! We're just fucking with you! Have fun in hell' and then turn around and walk away. But they don't, because they just had to keep messing with them. It had to give them false hope, to make them believe their children were alive to take them back to that prison cell of an island. Well, for as much as their current island was hell rebuilt, at least they could be free here. There were no rules, no expectations other than be insane. And hell if Cellbit couldn't do that.

"They are alive."

The paper is dropped alongside a photo and Cellbit wants to simultaneously rip the photo to shreds and guard it with his life. In the photo, Pomme and Richas. Both are dirty and look almost dead on hospital beds but they're alive, flashing wide grins to the camera. A low growl rumbles through Cellbit's chest as he bares his teeth at the white bear. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Baghera reach down and snatch the photo from the floor, not tearing it, but holding it tight enough that she probably could.

"You're lying to us. You're lying to us you cruel bitch."

"No."

Fucking bitch. He had honestly forgotten how annoying the bear was, somehow. Like, surely The Federations had it in their non-existent budget to give it a few more voice lines. Or hell, a text-to-speech console- or just ANYTHING. Anything other than the same four or so voice lines over and over again.

It was barely there, more of a flash if anything, but out of the corner of his eye Cellbit spots a flash of orange, far to bright to have been anyone who'd spent even a few hours in Purgatory, and that's all the push he needs to spin around and shove the worker to the floor.

"Neither of us, are returning to that prison without our children. So unless you can prove they're alive, physical proof, we won't return,"

His voice is more of a low growl, threatening enough if the slight shiver of the bear in his hold has anything to say about it. Cellbit can feel the familiar feel of blood pooling around his claws as they dig into the worker's flesh and a thump to his left tells him Baghera is probably doing the same with another worker.

"Ha, Ha, Ha,"

Piece of shit. Really, he'd kill it if he could. But the barely there sound of feet padding against the stone floor tells him he has big issues to deal with than tearing that bear to shreds. So, he spins around, ripping through worker after worker until his hands and forearms are painted with wet blood, till the gray floor is stained a deep red, till he's hunched over and panting for air. Until a sharp prick in his arm makes him flinch- wait what?

He darts around to look to his left where a worker stands, hands behind their back. But he can see Baghera scrambling away from a worker, and needle discarded on the floor where she once stood. There's pure terror in her eyes, a sight he never thought he'd have to see again, and he wants to run over and comfort her, protect her from anything and anyone that dare try and hurt her.

Yet when he takes a step he stumbles. He tries to take another, but the ground is so much closer than it was before and-

THUMP.

Silently, Cucurucho stepped out of the wooden boat, hands automatically moving to clasp together behind it's back. The white bear had already began walking forwards by the time the other workers had managed to heave the two islanders out of the boats. For as much as it would've been easier, none of the Workers had had the foresight to bring warp stones with them, figuring that the other two would've been able to walk to Spawn at the very least. Bus, as it was becoming evidently clear, the pair would not be walking anywhere anytime soon. So they were left to drag the two Islanders to the nearest way point without alerting any others of their arrival.

It should've been easy. It would've been easy if The Federation had listened when Cucurucho had suggested they employ robots in the workplace instead of people. After all, you could program a robot, make it do all you want with no room for failure. You couldn't do that to a person. Or, well, you could. It just took more work than most were willing to put in. So it was stuck with a pathetic excuse for workers who seemed to fail at almost every order given.

Cucurucho wasn't upset about this in the slightest. Not a chance.

A short radio crackle alerted Cit to one of the workers beginning to speak and without looking back the bear tilted it's head to the side, a silent permission to begin speaking.

"B-" Cucurucho's head snapped around to look at the worker as they spoke, even while the rest of their body continued moving. The worker nodded, taking a breath before starting again. "007 and 637 were not… this violent before becoming trapped on that Island, correct?" A short, almost unnatural nod is all the confirmation the worker needs before continuing. "And other Islanders have made reports of their violent and erratic behaviour on Egg Island,"

Another speaker crackles to life, further behind than the other worker. "Get to the point WB_55," They huff, radio turning off before they could begin to complain about how absolutely annoying it was to drag 637 around and how they should just leave him out to be fed on by the vultures like Prometheus.

"Are we certain it's safe to surround 007 and 637 with the other islanders in this state? Much less the E.G.G.S?" Cucurucho paused for a moment, pondering the thought. WB_55 had a point. When the pair had killed others without reason, was it truly safe to let them near something as fragile as the E.G.G.S? Much less when they were already convinced the E.G.G.S were not alive?

"We will contain them in Federation Hospital rooms until further notice," Cucurucho answered, it's voice leaving no room for argument. "Until we are certain they are not a danger to others, they shall not be allowed to come into contact with the other islanders"

As their robotic voice shut off, the bear found itself stood outside of the stone structure housing the main way stones the islanders frequently used. One furry hand reached out, tracing over the runes they'd been forced to familiarise over time. Before the purple stars began to spot over it's vision, Cucurucho looked over it's shoulder and met eyes with what it believed to be an islander. They couldn't be sure, because it found itself within the quartz halls of The Federation headquarters all too soon.

Chapter Text

Roier, despite popular belief, was not stupid. Yes he might act a bit dumb sometimes or do stupid things, and there was no way he was as smart as his husband, but he wasn't stupid. He'd seen the looks that others would cast his way when they thought he wasn't looking. The pity in their eyes, the way way they'd whisper about him. He might've taken offence to it, if it were a few months ago. If he had the energy to care. If they were still here.

It was weird, really. Despite it only being a few months at best, he'd gotten used to the constant presence by his side. He'd gotten used to the feeling of small hands hitting his legs when he said something too out of pocket, to a whine in his ear when he'd tell Richas it was time to sleep.

He'd gotten used to a a warm body lying on his chest at night, or to the bitter taste of black coffee on his husband's lips. Roier had grown used to finding his jackets gone in the morning, instead found on his husband while he worked downstairs. He'd gotten used to waking up at ungodly hours of morning and stumbling out of bed to find where his husband had fallen asleep. He'd gotten used to him.

So, imagine his surprise when he wakes up one day and suddenly he has a new kid! Crazy, really. But it's not like that's not what The Federation did the first time they decided to bestow upon the islanders a bunch of children. Or the third time. Or the fourth time. Or-

Right. The kid in front of him. Or- Pepito, was his name. Supposedly. Apparently, he was meant to be taking care of him along with Carre, who he hadn't seen since Purgatory, Rivers, also not seen since Purgatory, Mariana, also not seen since Purgatory, Quackity, who he didn't think he'd seen since Purgatory, (Was it even him in Purgatory? It didn't seem like it, but who was he to judge?), and German who… when even was the last time he'd seen him? So, you know, now he had to take care of a kid and himself. One of which he was already struggling to do, the other being one he hadn't even attempted. Of course, he could've tried- Pac had messaged him a few times. Apparently Richarlyson and some of the other eggs were alive and some were already out of the hospital- but he didn't really want Richas to see him like this. He didn't want Pepito to either, but he didn't have much of a choice now.

…No, actually. Fuck this. He couldn't do this. Pepito's smile was so bright, almost as bright as the sun was at sunset. His grin was always large with sharp teeth, and his eyes always had a curious spark in them, like he was just itching to go adventure. He looked just like Bobby.

Well, that was unfair. Pepito wasn't and wouldn't ever be Bobby. But he couldn't help but think the kid had been given to him like a shitty distraction. Like The Federation had gone "Hey! Sorry about your husband. Here's a kid to distract you from it! Please don't look too deep into it," Because really, anyone who cared for his or Pepito's well-being would not have entrusted the kid to Roier. But, again, when had The Federation even cared for anyone on this island? Never. That was when.

He sighed, leaning his head back slightly and closing his eyes in exhaustion. Really, all he wanted to do was curl up in bed and die. Join his husband in heaven and get to see his son again. Yeah, that sounded good. But no, he just had to have another kid to take care of all of a sudden. When he opened his eyes once more, his eyes caught sight of a tall (understatement of the century, really) statue off in the distance.

Maybe he did have a choice.

Surely Foolish would understand that he couldn't take care of Pepito, right? I mean, surely he knew that the boy would be better off with his grandma, no matter how busy he was, right? He did kind of feel bad suddenly dumping a kid on his father, but he knew he couldn't do this. He knew he couldn't bear to spend today out and about like the kid probably needed, and would likely just spend the majority of the day in bed, like he had most days. And if that wasn't healthy for him. it wasn't healthy for Pepito, either.

Roier turned back to Pepito and gestured for the boy to follow him before beginning to walk to the Titan, slowing only slightly so the kid could catch up. Pepito managed to easily, even if he stumbled a bit, and the two were off.

They weren't getting better.

It was a simple fact that anyone with eyes could see. As a matter of fact, they were getting worse. Despite the attempts made to separate the pair, 007 and 637 had been intent on staying together. So much so that when some workers had attempted to pry them away from each other for a moment for some injections, 637 had bit them. And not the harmless bite of a small cat, either, more like that of an abandoned dog, tearing through skin with sharp canines and with the force of months of built up anger and fear. And, for the record, 007 looked pretty fucking close to doing the same if not for the fact that all workers had been immediately removed from the room. No one tried to separate them anymore. Not even Cucurucho dared try. Not that it ever tried to help out with their case anyway.

So, no, better was not a word they could use to describe the Egg Island pair. In fact, it was probably one of the last ones they would ever use.

Since the incident, there had been a few changes to their cell. For example, 637 now got the gift of a metal muzzle around his jaw and an IV dripping nutrients into his arm three times a day.

They'd initially tried with soft foods that could fit through the gaps in his muzzle but to no one's surprise, he couldn't get those down. Really, WB_68 wasn't sure why they'd even tried the soft foods idea, (They knew why. Cucurucho was nothing if not a sick bastard,). After all, the entire point of the muzzle was to stop 637 from opening his mouth, so it wasn't like he'd even be able to get the foods they tried inside of him. Apparently, someone had brought this up to Cucurucho who, in response, told them to just "Make it work.". It didn't really matter. WB_68 was only meant to follow it's orders, not question. Even if those orders were stupid and also lead to… really, really gross mental images.

It was… tragic, really, watching 637 try and eat the food. It was messy, gross, and they were pretty sure there was still mashed banana on the floor of his cell. It wasn't a fun report to write, to say the least. Really, they wished they didn't need to go as in depth into the results as they did. But no one else was willing to write the report and goddammit they were itching for that rank promotion.

Eventually, a higher up intervened, demanding an IV be brought in for him instead. Of course, her orders were almost instantly obeyed. Whether or not it was just because she was a higher up or because everyone else thought that watching a grown man try and eat food like a toddler was disgusting they'd never know. They had a feeling it was a mix of both, though. Cucurucho wasn't pleased, arguing with her about getting involved with his case but after a while, they came to an agreement. WB_68 didn't know the details, but essentially 637 would get the IV and the higher up would have to help work with 007 who had apparently been causing some issues with other workers.

On the topic of 007, she also hadn't been getting better. She refused to move away from 637 and consistently reacted badly to sedation whenever it was attempted. That's not to say she was any less violent than 637, either. In fact, with 637 muzzled, she seemed to almost triple how violent she was, constantly lashing out at workers and even attempting to bite a few. She hadn't succeeded yet, so she had yet to be muzzled, but everyone was on edge around her. They kind fo hoped it stayed that way. Personally, they didn't feel like trying to struggle a muzzle onto her as well, while being hit and scratched by both of the Vultures.

So, this was a big issue. Mainly because the entire reason they had been brought into The Federation was to become less violent. And, while technically they could keep the pair in their cell forever, Cucurucho was losing patience. Cucurucho's patience was like a rope tied onto a car and a tree. Sure, it could hold for a while, but the more it was pushed the sooner it would snap and speed straight into oncoming traffic. That is, to say, that they were running out of time to find a solution.

And so, WB_68 found themself in the conference room, surrounded by scientists, a few other workers like themself and even a few higher ups. They'd been lucky enough to snag a chair around the table and they were very thankful for it. You couldn't blame them for wanting to sit down for once- especially not when they'd spent practically the entire day on their feet!

A few different conversations were happening around them, one about the Island pair, one about the lunch meals today and… one about something one of the islanders had said? Something about someone washing up ashore from Egg Island? It didn't really matter, WB_68 had only been able to pick up pieces of the conversation anyway.

All conversations came to a sudden halt as the conference room doors opened and in stepped Cucurucho, looking about as dead inside as ever. His movements were robotic as he took one seat at the head of the table, clasping his hands in front of him. Behind him, one of the few human-looking workers (most of whom were higher ups) walked in. She wore a lilac hijab and one of the Federation assigned bear masks on her head, covering her face from view. Her white button up was paired with black dress pants and a matching lilac tie and in her hands was a clipboard.

She took a seat beside Cucurucho, placing the clipboard down in front of her. Cucurucho's eyes stared blankly ahead before it stood up once more. It's decision to initially sit down seemed, admittedly, somewhat pointless now, but it began to speak before WB_68 could question it's decisions further.

"Good Morning, Everyone."

Cucurucho didn't talk much. Ever.

This meant that getting the point of this meeting across to the workers would be entirely up to Elena. So, when it stopped speaking for an uncomfortably long amount of time, Elena took that as a hint that it was her turn to step in.

"As I'm sure you're all aware, we've been housing islanders 007 and 637 inside one of our holding cells," As she begins to speak, her eyes briefly scan over the clipboard once again, making sure she knew each point she needed to make by heart. "And I'm also certain you're aware that they are not making any progress in their recovery,"

Various sounds of agreement settled over the room, with each worker having some kind of comment to make about the pair. She could only pick up a couple, but some of the main comments being made were along the lines of: "007 tried to bite me when I went in this week!" or "Some of us haven't even fully recovered from 637's attack!" All the comments were made in the same judgemental tone which was… understandable, as much as Elena hated to admit it.

Really, Elena expected it. She'd seen the reports made about their retrieval, heard others talking about what they'd been like on Egg Island. Hell, she'd even seen some of her coworkers entering the med-bay after the incident with Cellbit a few weeks ago. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt to hear her baby being spoken about like that. ( Not her baby something in her mind reminded her. Never yours. Not anymore. You lost that privilege long ago.)

So she cleared her throat and stood up, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. It was nice, really, to be listened to for once, especially when The Federation had paid her no mind in the past.

"Our team of scientists have come up with a few possible solutions, which, we have narrowed down to a select few." Her jaw clenched as she looked down at the first note made, her grip on the clipboard tightening. "Our first option, and our least preferred, is to kill them, permanently," She almost wanted to look up, to try and gauge any sort of reaction from her coworkers, however, she knew she wouldn't find any.

"This is less than preferable, given that we've used so many resources on the pair already and we'd prefer to not waste resources where possible. In addition, this is more likely to provide more stress for the Island residents which could lead to them making more attempts to investigate further into the island,"

She could feel Cucurucho's eyes boring into her, even through his mask as she spoke. For once though, she knew why. She knew Cucurucho wanted the pair dead. He'd wanted Baghera dead almost since she first met him. The first time. It was stupid really, she was a baby. How could you hold a grudge for that long against a baby? And he'd wanted Cellbit dead from the first moment he started digging more into The Federation. Hell- it'd been the first course of action he'd even suggested. She was glad they didn't end up going through with it, not fully anyway, because for as much as Cellbit's life didn't mean much to her she knew it meant something to Baghera. Maybe not as much then, but certainly now.

"Alternatively, our scientists have been experimenting a bit. Supposedly, they have come up with a serum which will be able to, in a way, repress their instincts. Given the fact that their violent outbursts seem to stem from an instinct buried deep inside them, we believe that this could work to limit and hopefully stop their outbursts fully,"

A murmur of conversation sparked around the room, clearly considering the options. Elena spared another glance at her clipboard, ultimately deciding the last two points weren't worth mentioning. Not when they wouldn't really make a difference. She looked over to where Cucurucho still remained standing, and for a moment, she could almost see a flicker of emotion on his face. Annoyance, sure, but it was there. It was gone before she could blink though, and he looked away from her. Conversation never had been his strong suit.

Eventually, when the conversations around the room began to die out, Elena began to speak again. "When you all return to your desks after this meeting, there will be a poll waiting in your email. We-" She paused, coughing to cover up her slip up. cucurucho didn't want to be involved in this. Not unless it meant taking drastic measures. " I will be looking at the polls tomorrow morning and will alert you all of the decisions made. Any questions you have can be brought up to WA_ 75 who will be in their office till 5pm. This meeting is dismissed."

She sighed quietly, shoulders relaxing as conversations began to bubble up around her again, workers beginning to file out once more. No matter how often she had to, she never would get used to addressing a full room like she just did.

Chapter Text

Better was… a generous term for the island pair, all things considered.

Better is healing. Better is learning how to cope with an event, or learning how to accept it. Better is not ensuring that someone couldn't do anything. Better is not taking away someone's right as a human.

…But they'd already done that, hadn't they?

In reality, The Federation was killing them. The Federation was making sure they would obey their orders in the only way they knew how. By removing any idea of rebelling completely. By altering their minds as a whole to ensure they would never have a thought of their own again. The island pair were being put to slaughter and there was no saving grace to free them.

WB_68 felt insane, all things considered. Everyone else acted like this was completely normal, like the pair doing nothing all day other than the bare minimum needed to survive (sometimes not even that,) was completely normal. The way they stared blankly at the white walls of their cell like they were the most interesting thing ever was normal. Like the fact that their teeth were only ever used for biting through the occasional hard or chewy food was normal.

While sure, maybe once upon a time it was, it certainly wasn't anymore. 637 and 007 shouldn't have been able to stop their biting completely in a week. 637 shouldn't have lost his muzzle within a week of having it.

It was unnatural. It shouldn't have been possible. But nothing about what The Federation did was ever natural, was it?

…Now that they thought about it, WB_68 hadn't seen a single flick of 637's ears in a week. Usually, they'd perk up at every small noise and he'd be quick to spin around to glare at the source of the noise too. Usually, his tail would constantly be puffed up, standing almost directly upwards. Now, it lay limply at his side, never moving just like he didn't. 007 supposedly didn't have instincts to begin with. Apparently she'd been a failure because of it. WB_68 wasn't completely sure of it, given the fact that they'd noticed changes in her behaviour too. While subtle, whenever she woke up her wings would usually rustle, almost like they were waking up too. But now, just like her, they remained unnervingly still when she awoke, lying uselessly on her back. Usually, when a worker came close to her, she'd squawk and back away in fear. Now, she didn't even look at them.

They'd ran through a couple tests with the pair, placing a scientist who just so happens to look a lot like a certain islander in the room with the pair. It lead to nothing but blank stares and little to no movement. 637 had seemed to become somewhat more alert as the scientist had walked in, but the spark had died out almost as soon as it arrived, almost like despite his zombie-like state, he knew it wasn't who he thought it was. A regular worker, one wearing a bear mask being placed in the room lead to nothing. Even Cucurucho itself being placed in the room lead to no response.

So they were scheduled for release in 3 days.

They were to be monitored by workers for a week after their release, but after that freedom was theirs.

It didn't feel right. Not really. WB_68 was fairly certain The Federation just wanted their holding cells (which were barely ever used) back. Maybe the smell of mouldy food and dried blood had finally gotten to them and they needed the cell deep cleaned. But even still, why not just move them to another room? It was stupid. It was brainless, and WB_68 really wanted to have a conversation with whoever decided it. But it wasn't like they could do anything. They were just a worker, after all.

Panic rang out throughout The Federation in a flurry of fast footsteps and shouts. Not many workers were working this late and distantly Elena was thankful for it. Very few workers- mostly higher ups- were aware of the situation regarding the avian islanders. Namely, the four who they had been tracking for years now. They'd somewhat laid off the 'watching their every move' part, but the four were still being watched consistently. So when someone just so happened to be watching the tracker map and watched all four dots blink out, they'd been quick to panic.

No one should even know about the trackers unless they were part of The Federation, and they shouldn't even be able to get to them. So there was no logical reason they should've gone off. More concerning was the fact that they still hadn't come back on. She could hear Cucurucho's yells in the distance, the first time in forever that she'd even heard him speak. Apparently, the subject's safety only mattered when it was his subject on the line. Funny how that worked.

3 days. That's all she had left with her baby. Her baby who, really, was already gone and who had been gone for a while now.

Elena had been following Baghera for a while now. Or, well, she hadn't been, but she'd been reading the reports of the workers who had been. And, from what she could tell, she was doing fine! Sure, there were absolutely lingering traces of her time in The Federation, times she couldn't and would never remember, yet even still the affects lingered. But she had adjusted well despite not remembering the first few years of her life.

But somewhere along the way, they'd lost sight of Baghera. Somehow, someone had managed to grab her along with all the other island residents and whisk them off to some island in the middle of nowhere. Purgatory, the islanders called it. But like always, Baghera failed once more. Another failure to add to the growing list, Elena could only assume. Even if she saw the fact that her baby had grown to have the same instincts of a mother, despite not having one of her own, as a success, The Federation did not. Apparently, it wasn't enough of an avian instinct for them to care.

The majority of the islanders had returned a few weeks later, brought home on a ship that had been self driving. It was charted to return to Quesadilla Island, but there was no evidence of it's starting location. It was weird, really, and completely useless to them. But out of those who were missing, the most notable were all of the avian subjects. Elena doubted that Cucurucho would've agreed to help her if not for this little fact because, to put it simply, Cucurucho did not care for the islanders.

Of course, that wasn't entirely true. After all, as much as he didn't want to admit it, he did care a little bit about 637. He did not care for 637 like she cared for Baghera, not in the slightest. It was more that he cared because 637 was a problem who could very easily get in the way if they didn't keep their eyes on him. But, he did happen to care for one islander like she cared for Baghera, namely, Bluebird. And she also happened to be missing.

So, after a bit of digging, him and a group of workers ventured off to visit the island where they assumed they missing residents would be. And, well, they were half right. Kind of. They'd managed to find two of the islanders, 637 and 007. Of course, neither of them were who Cucurucho had hoped to find, in fact, she was certain he'd rather leave them to die. But they'd made a deal so he ended up dragging them back, begrudgingly, might she add, and brought them into The Federation holding cells.

Because of this, it wasn't that huge of a surprise when she found out that he had convinced The Federation to go against protocol and let the duo out early, as long as they didn't do anything too horrible in the next few days. Elena almost wished they would, if only so that she could keep an eye on them for longer. After all, anything could happen in a few days, especially when it came to the unpredictable world of science. What if they suddenly started showing symptoms of the serum not working properly? What if they began to lash out at the very experiments they'd been trying to protect, namely, the E.G.G.S? She almost wanted to march up to the upper offices, demand that they let the pair stay longer for further observation. But she had a feeling her demands would be met with a roll of eyes and a "We'll think about it," she knows isn't true. They had gotten sick of her long ago, likely stemming from how insistent she'd been about keeping Baghera in their project when she'd already been deemed a failure. So she knew it was pointless to even bother asking.

Perhaps it was the scientist in her speaking, but she couldn't help but think that the experiment wasn't done. Or maybe it's the motherly instinct she thought she buried so long ago screaming that she couldn't lose her baby again, not this soon.

But maybe, it was also the mother in her that knew that she'd already lost her. That this time, there would be no Baghera reborn from the ashes of her dying baby. That she would remain an empty husk until she died. And she could only hope that death would be soon.

The waves rocked the dingy wooden boat from side to side, both propelling Jaiden forward and holding her back. She wearily eyed the last cup of tea placed across from her in the boat. The last cup she'd drank made her ill, and she hadn't even been able to keep most of it down, so she wasn't exactly excited to drink another. It made sense, really. The radiation probably had some kind of affect on it, making it not safe for human consumption. No- scratch that, the radiation it had been subjected to had undoubtedly made it unsafe for human consumption.

Luckily, Jaiden had just spent two weeks in hell, where all she could drink was radiation tea. She was also not fully human, as she was coming to learn. Point was, she could get away with drinking some of it. Which was enough for her. And hopefully enough for her survival.

Unfortunately, she was beginning to see the downsides of drinking radiation tea. Namely, the man sitting across from her.

A single leg was crossed over the other as he leaned back slightly on the flimsy plank he sat on, exuding an aura of casualness and uncaring. His jacket clung to his frame, black and with a large white spider and spiderweb covering the back. Despite some of his hair falling in front of his eyes, she could still see the bright glint in them as he waved a hand in front of her face, a grin painting his features.

"Jaaaiden??" He drawls, leaning forward and tilting his head to the side curiously. "You awake in there?"

She blinks, meeting the eyes of the man. He wasn't quite right, not really. Last time she'd seen Roier, the jacket hadn't clung so tightly to him, no doubt the affect of the lack of food in purgatory. His skin hadn't been quite as tan- not that he was, but he wasn't as pale as Cellbit, who somehow managed to stay almost sickly pale during purgatory despite spending the same amount of time under the harsh sun rays as everyone else had. The ever present sparkle in his eyes had seemed to dim in purgatory, unlike the version in front of her, who's eyes were as bright as ever. So maybe it wasn't him. But maybe she could imagine for a little while that she wasn't alone on this boat.

"Shit- sorry, yeah, I'm here," She answers quickly. Jaiden wasn't quite sure how this hallucination would work, and, really, she wasn't game to experiment with it. What if she went too long without answering, and it disappeared?

"Man, I was beginning to wonder if that nuke, like, knocked out your hearing or some shit! I've been trying to get your attention for the last twenty minutes!"

Twenty minutes? Surely she couldn't have ignored Roier for that long. After all, he was the only remotely interesting thing to focus on on this stupid boat.

"Soooo... seen any… interesting fish?" He hummed, chewing on his inner cheek as he looked out across the water. It almost reminded Jaiden of one of those overly aesthetic pictures that she would use as art references sometimes. It was the exact kind of picture she could imagine Cellbit taking and putting on the back of his communicator… except for the fact that Cellbit was most likely dead. Right. The question.

"Uhh… no not really. They don't really… jump out of the water, you know? So I don't really see them. The water's been kind of calming, though,"

It wasn't a complete lie, not really. Sure, the sound of waves hitting the boat had been nice to listen to initially however, as most things do, it got boring after a while. And with nothing more to focus on, she was stuck drowning in her thoughts. Ironic, since she was on a boat, and if she got too stuck in her thoughts she could very easily fall overboard and, you know, drown for real. It also didn't help that the only thing she was able to focus her thoughts on was on purgatory.

Roier shrugged, turning to look at her again. "Makes sense. You used to listen to ocean sounds when you were trying to sleep didn't you? Why'd you stop?"

She sighed, her eyes shifting away from Roier to look behind him instead. It was a lot easier to focus on the statue slowly coming into view. Especially when Bobby came up in conversation.

"…I don't know. They reminded me too much of Bobby… well, you know," She explained quietly. There was a sudden, unwelcome feeling of unsafety inside of her as she looked out across the water. This was the same place Bobby had died. Well, not exactly, obviously, but he'd still died in the ocean. Even if she wasn't there, she could still get a good enough picture based purely on how Roier had described it to her the night after it happened.

In the distance, a flicker of green and black hovered in the sky, various binary codes appearing with it. Her eyes widened, breath caught in her throat as she stared at the creature. There was no way that was real. They hadn't… no one had seen a code entity in months! Why were they suddenly back? And… was that Pomme stood below it?

"Pomme!" She screamed, surging forward, despite knowing it wouldn't do anything. Suddenly being closer to the pair revealed that it was, in fact, Pomme, stumbling away from the binary monster. Her scythe was held loosely in her hand but her skin was littered with fresh wounds still dripping blood. She looked exhausted, and Jaiden could already see the small cracks appearing in her armour.

She refused to acknowledge the way she'd thrown herself through Roier, nor would she acknowledge the fact that the man was now sat behind her. Because even if she knew he was a hallucination, she didn't want to admit to herself that she'd just spent the last…. however long practically talking to herself.

…Maybe being alone for so long really had gotten to her.

"Ay! Jaiden! You gotta row! You're not gonna get over there if you don't bring the boat with you too!"

Right. Right. She was still in a boat. A boat that required her to put in effort to move. A dingy, weak wooden boat. And if she wanted a chance of getting over to Pomme in time to save her, she'd have to actually move the boat.

She blindly reached behind her, fumbling in an attempt to grab one of the oar's handles. Yet they were further behind her than she thought they would be and she fell backwards, rocking the boat forwards.

"Ay! Jaiden! Be careful! You're gonna fall overboard!"

But even still, his warning came as too little too late as she pushed herself up, putting in far too much force for the boat to handle. And as a result, the boat tipped, taking her down with it. The last thing she heard before falling overboard was Roier's screams.

"JAIDEN!!!!"

Chapter Text

Sand spilt from her throat as she violently coughed, settled on her hands and knees. She glanced up at the tall dragon statue piercing the sky. Home. She never thought she'd see it again. Slowly, she shifted to sit on her knees, eyes tracing over the familiar landscape. Even with the feeling of sand prodding into her skin and cool air on her face, she still couldn't quite believe it. It didn't feel real. Nothing did. Days surrounded by nothing but sea had her feeling insane, and nothing felt real anymore.

"Jaiden?!"

The crunch of sand under feet approached her as she looked up to be greeted by golden skin warmed by the sun's heat. She barely got the chance to look at the totem before he was crashing into her, knocking her onto the ground with a puff of sand. It felt nice to be hugged, to even see another person after weeks of being alone with nothing but endless ocean, half poisoned cups of tea and herself for company. Well, there was the occasional hallucination of Bobby or Roier in her boat, but they didn't really count, did they? They weren't real, and, really, she was just talking to herself the whole time.

Foolish was solid and about as real as can be as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to his chest. Two pairs of footsteps followed after him, though, she couldn't see who they belonged to with her head buried in Foolish's shoulder.

"Holy shit, Jaiden, I thought you were dead!"

She clings tightly to the totem, digging her fingers into his back like if she didn't he would disappear. Jaiden can hear sand crunching as someone settles into the sand beside them, gasping when they see her.

"Jaiden?!"

She almost thought she was hallucinating it again when she hears his voice, yet when she turns her head he's knelt right beside them. He's almost like she remembered- perhaps the bags under his eyes had gotten a bit deeper and his hair was a bit messier. Maybe his skin was a bit paler, but it's him. It's him, and he's real this time. He's not drenched in water or relaxed on a tiny boat just here. With her.

Jaiden sits up, bringing her hands up to cover her mouth. Foolish sits up beside her, laughing breathlessly, though she hardly cares. She barely gets the chance to think before she's lunging forward and wrapping her arms around Roier, pushing him to the ground with the force.

They're both laughing, and it almost feels okay for once.

"Holy shit, I didn't think I'd actually make it home! I thought I'd be stuck travelling across the sea till I died!"

She's grinning. For the first time in a while she can feel the grin on her face and she knows it's genuine. It doesn't feel real. Getting to be with her family and feeling their arms around her again, it doesn't feel real. But she knows it is, because no hallucination had ever felt as real as this.

Roier sighs, breaking into a few small chuckles at the end. He's the first to pull away, because they both know if someone doesn't they'll be stuck here till the tide takes them in and the sea becomes their home. He seems to look around the beach when they pull away, almost like he's searching for something. Or perhaps someone. When he doesn't find what he hoped, the grin on his face seems to dim slightly. Even still, he looks to her, and Jaiden already knows what he'd going to ask.

"Did you see Cellbo at all? He hasn't made it back yet, and I figure he should've made it home already if you had,"

She can feel the smile on her face fade, falling into something more neutral as she sighs, shaking her head. The wide grin on his face disappears as well, replaced with a frown she hates to see.

"No, sorry Roi. I don't… he wasn't on the island and if he was trying to get home, I should've passed by him at some point. I don't… I don't think he's coming home,"

Its almost like those words completely dim the remaining light inside of him, making him curl in on himself slightly. It's barely enough to be noticeable, but Jaiden knows her best friend. She knows her other half well even after being separated for weeks. Looking at him now, she can see the exhaustion on his face, no doubt from worrying to death about his family not making it home. She almost wants to ask about it, ask him if he's okay, but quick footsteps and a tug on Roier's sleeve distracts her.

"Apa, who's this?"

The pair both turn to look at the kid, and Jaiden's eyes widen when she looks at him. Who the fuck was this? She turned to look at Roier, but he was looking at the kid instead. Roier seemed to hesitate for a moment, clearly debating something internally before reaching over and picking the kid up, placing him in his lap. Jaiden couldn't help but wonder why an action, usually so normal and natural for Roier, was suddenly something he hesitated over. But even still, she didn't have much time to ponder it as Roier was already speaking.

"Pepito, this is your tia Jaiden, Jaiden this is my…son. Pepito,"

She could see the slight flicker of pain in his eyes as he said the word son, and she barely has to think about it to know why. Because Pepito was his son, and Pepito was meant to be a replacement for Bobby. Richarlyson was different. Richarlyson, regardless of how many parents the kid actually had, was the child of the Brazilians first and foremost. The only reason Roier was his father was because of Cellbit. Pepito was different. Pepito was his first and foremost. Pepito was his because Bobby no longer was. There was nothing forcing them to be family, hell, The Federation could care less if they were (assuming The Federation are the reason he has a kid, that is,). But they had to be family, because no one else would look after Pepito otherwise. And Roier had no one to help him, either.

But Jaiden would make sure that changed. Because even if Cellbit wasn't here to help, she was. And she would make sure Pepito was well taken care of, if only to take a bit of weight off Roier's shoulders. She would make sure he didn't have to shoulder what must feel like the weight of the world alone and make sure he didn't crumble under it all. So she gives the kid a small wave and smiles as kindly as she can before speaking.

"Hi Pepito, it's nice to meet you!"

And the kid grinned, wide and brighter than the stars that would appear at night. He was missing a tooth- one towards the centre of his mouth, and the grin made the dimples on his face just that more prominent. Pepito waves back, fast enough that Jaiden struggles to make out the actual shape of his hand as he does. She doesn't need to. She knows what a hand looks like, obviously, but the point still stands.

"¡Hola, tía Jaiden!" He chirps back, pushing the large red glasses on his face back into place with the back of his hand. Yeah. Okay. The kid was fucking adorable. She doesn't know why she didn't expect that.

And even as droplets of rain begin to fall, she can't find it in her to care. Not when she's surrounded by her family. Especially not when, for the first time in what seems like a month, they're all smiling.

Drop

Drop

Drop

Baghera can barely focus on the sound of rain outside. The white wall across from her is oh so plain, and the sheer whiteness of it hurts her eyes, but she can't bring herself to look away. She knows that if she looks to the side, she'd find Cellbit curled up with his knees to his chest, head resting on his knees, staring at the same wall she was. He'd have the same dead look in his eyes she's certain she shares. And he wouldn't look at her back even with those eyes. So there wasn't much point.

Food was dropped off a while ago. The worker had been someone who was dressed in lilac, and she lingered in the doorway far too long for it to have been a regular food drop. She stared at her from the door before turning and leaving. Baghera thought so, anyway. She wouldn't know though, because even then she couldn't will herself to look away from the wall. She could still feel the discomfort of knowing someone was watching you, even if you couldn't see them, creeping up her chest.

Baghera knew how this went. Neither of them would eat. At most, they'd flick food around their trays before someone would walk in to collect said trays. They'd sigh at the still full trays, mumble something about them failing again before walking away. She didn't know what happened to the food after that. It could be the same tray of food she receives tomorrow. She'd never know. She doesn't want to know.

Her wings lay unmoving on her back, an extra weight that she also can't bare to care about. She thinks they're injured. She heard mumbles about there being a lot of blood staining the wall behind her. When she would occasionally move to eat, her hand would accidentally rest of a feather, and she'd instantly lose her appetite. She wouldn't lose feathers if she wasn't injured.

Distantly, she can remember wings. Not her own. After all, she barely has wings at this point, just weights on her back that exist solely to make her hurt and bleed. No, instead she remembers wings dark as night. Wings that would wrap around her and keep her warm and safe like she was something worth protecting. She knows now that she really wasn't. That they should've just left her to die on her own, but she will never not appreciate it. Baghera would sometimes wonder what happened to the owner of the wings. She would never remember their name, remembering them only as dad. She'd also remember them as a liar, who would make false claims about a merciful goddess who was anything but.

It is not always the wings of death's reincarnate that she remembers, however. Sometimes, she'll remember wings blue as the sea. She'd remember the unpreened, fluffy wings on a bird who'd never fly. Of a sister not forged through blood but through the undeniable acknowledgement that they were the only ones who understood each other. But even then, Baghera's not sure she understood them. She's not sure they understood her, either. Yet still she misses them. Because there is always something comforting about knowing you are not alone in what happened to you.

Sometimes, Baghera would remember small, child-like hands gripping tightly to her hand. Of a girl who was everything Baghera had ever wanted to be and more. Who had everything she could ever ask for. She'd remember blonde hair much like her own once was, soft and easy to brush though while she would sing a simple song. She'd remember lying down next to a body smaller than her own on nights the child couldn't sleep. Baghera would hold her against her chest and let her listen to her heartbeat until she at last fell asleep. Baghera would remember eyes of the deepest blue and the red of a ripe apple staring at her, terrified. She'd remember holding a hand up to the glass with her friends, people who would only remain as vague memories, by her side. She'd remember naming her, yet not knowing what she named her. There would be memories of whispered assurances, telling the girl that she would love her forever. That she would never be alone.

Baghera would also remember her, covered in dirt, even if she couldn't picture her exactly. She'd remember her, so broken and small, pleading for someone to save her. She'd remember hitting on glass until her fists bled and watching her be crushed by the falling remains of a facility, much like the one she was currently in. She'd remember screaming and crying, being pulled away by her family in a desperate attempt to make sure they wouldn't lose her too.

She'd remember sitting on a hill, watching people run for a boat stationed on the coast. She'd remember saying a final goodbye before her eyes shut. She'd remember hearing screams before all she could feel was pain. Maybe she was screaming too. She wouldn't know. Maybe she cried. Maybe it was both. Maybe she was quiet. Even if she was, she knew it didn't last long.

Baghera wanted to cry.

But she didn't.

Instead, she would continue to stare at nothing until she was forced to look away.

Pomme blinked awake slowly, instinctively bringing a dirt covered hand up to cover her eyes. Everything hurt, for one. And all around her she could hear the beeping of heart rate monitors. The bedsheets under her were scratchy and irritated already scratched skin to the point it was unbearable. But she couldn't will it in her to move, not with the ache tugging from deep within her bones. Everything was loud and too much for her still dazed brain to handle and it only added to the discomfort she experienced.

She wanted to go back to sleep. Really, really badly. Yet even still, she forced herself to not succumb to sleep. According to Bad, it wasn't smart to fall straight to sleep after sustaining a really bad injury. Or maybe she was remembering it wrong. Maybe it was only just after sustaining the injury. She wasn't sure. But she still wouldn't take the risk.

It wasn't hard to not fall asleep. Not without someone by her side. Usually, her maman would lay beside her, singing her a lullaby or telling her stories as she drifted off. She could rest her head on her chest and listen to the gentle beat of her heart.

But she wasn't here right now.

So she slowly sat up, wiping the sleep from her eyes. After a while, her ears became used to the beeping of the heart monitor next to her, becoming more of a background noise than anything else. Her surroundings were… sterile. Extremely white as well. Too much white, in her opinion. Federation levels of white.

And, all things considered, it probably was a Federation building she was in. After all, one of the last things she remembered was seeing Cucurucho, leading her and the other eggs home in various wooden boats. It was almost comedic, in all honesty. Someone who constantly acted as a threat to their lives saving them? It was weird. But she had yet to die and she could only hope no one else had.

Besides, no one on the island was rich enough to have this level of medical equipment. Pac and Mike might've been good at what they did, but they couldn't have this much spare equipment lying around, much less have enough time to build this entire facility. So, it was almost certainly a Federation building.

Her right arm was hooked up to an iv and to her left was a heart rate monitor. Her pulse was steady, and apparently had been for a while now which was a good thing. She hadn't been cleaned yet- still in tattered, dirt covered clothes that clung to her skin with a mixture of dry blood and sweat. Her skin felt sticky to touch, yet also dry at the same time- and when she scratched her arm a caking of dirt fell from her skin. Her hair was knotted and tangled, and she so desperately wanted to feel her maman gently brushing through her hair while telling her a story or asking about her day. She knew her dads would be able to too, but it wouldn't be the same.

While not being able to see them, Pomme could feel the scars in her skin and in the membrane of her wings. Poorly healed injuries were badly stitched shut with golden thread, courtesy of the golden apple Cucurucho had given her when she was on her boat. She could still remember how hard it was to bite into it- even with her sharper dragon teeth. No doubt her teeth had began to weaken after weeks of not being able to brush them. And despite the taste of the apple being heavenly, she could barely take more than two bites before she was full. Weeks of living off nothing but health potions would do that, she supposed.

She could barely remember what happened before she was saved. One moment, she was asleep at home, the next she was in some… cave, she could only assume.

It was one of the few times she'd slept without her maman there and she was beginning to regret it. She'd been asleep and when she woke up it was dark. Too dark. Pomme had her suspicions, sure, but she thought that maybe her curtains had found a way to block more light than usual? Looking back, it wasn't that smart of an idea, actually. Regardless, when she stood up and stumbled to where she knew the light switch should be, there was nothing there. Instead, her hand fell onto cold rock and the darkness refused to let up. The carpet she expected to feel under her feet was not, in fact, carpet. It was instead mushy and wet and she could feel her feet sinking slightly into the ground with every step she took. Dirt, she realised eventually. The rest was… hazy, at best.

She could remember a hand reaching out to grab her, dragging her away from the wall, and when she turned around to be met with glowing white eyes, she knew it was Dapper. They sat together next to the few other kids who had woken up, quietly making conversation. She could remember sitting next to Lullah as well, talking about music and flowers and anything else that came to mind. They did it for a while, days Pomme could only assume. She could remember the feeling of a scratch in her throat, no doubt from talking so much without water. As more and more started feeling the same, silence overcame the group.

At some point, when Pomme felt like she was about to die, both from the ringing in her ear and from dehydration, someone had entered the room. They looked like a regular Federation worker, yet in the centre of their face was a wide, unblinking eye. They reminded Pomme of one of the creatures Etoiles had told her about once. Cyclops.

They tossed 2 bottles of water into the room before leaving. None of them touched the bottles for a while, afraid of what they could contain. Yet eventually, Richarlyson had grabbed a bottle and shook it around. It was cloudy, had a faint, barely there red hue to it and Pomme swore she could see specs of dirt in it. Even after being told this, Richas had drunk from the bottle. In her words, "If I don't drink it, I'll die of dehydration. If I do, I probably won't. I'll die of something else, but I won't be dehydrated"

They waited for a while, and when Richas seemed perfectly fine, they all began to share the two bottles. Pomme figured that was where they had hid the health potions, considering they weren't given anything else while they were there and yet still felt the affects of one. They repeated this process for a while. For how long she didn't know.

Then, when she was beginning to think they'd die there, they were brought out by Quackity. Sure, he was acting a bit strange, but they thought they were free. They thought they were safe. Yet one wrong move had a sword held to their necks and a look that could kill. So they kept silent as they were walked up through the island. They kept silent as they were forced into tiny cells, barely big enough for them to stretch out in. They kept silent until their parents arrived.

Pomme remembered seeing the tears in her maman's eyes and remembered pounding on the glass just as hard as her maman was in a desperate attempt to escape. She could remember hearing everybody scream as they were warned of an earthquake occurring. And perhaps, worst of all, she could hear her maman's desperate cries as the roof of the building crumbled and fell on her.

Pomme didn't want to remember it all. She didn't want to be able to picture her maman's tear streaked face as the building crumbled. She didn't want to be able to hear her cries as clear as if she was still there in her head. But she did.

She couldn't sleep. Not without someone there next to her. Pomme felt so completely and utterly alone. Forgotten, even. Just like she had been before her family found her. She rolled onto her side, curling into a ball.

She just wanted someone to hold her.

She wanted her maman to hold her again.

Pomme could feel the tears brimming in her eyes and she didn't have it in her to care. She didn't have the strength to stop the tears from falling, so she let herself cry. She let herself cry and call out for someone she knew wouldn't answer.

Chapter Text

When he woke up once more, instead of being met with the blinding white of Federation halls he had become used to, he was met with black brick. It was oddly familiar, even though he couldn't remember seeing these bricks in his life. Not enough to be familiar with them, anyway. He didn't know much. He never seemed to nowadays. But what he did know was that his head hurt. It hurt like all hell.

Cellbit's head lolls to the side, and he expects to be faced with a familiar head of pink hair, tilted to look up at the ceiling. Or maybe even yellow feathers wrapped tightly around the frail form of his sister, her face hidden behind them. He is not met with either of the sights, shockingly. Instead, he is met with the empty space that she should've occupied. He turns to the other side yet is met with the same sight. It's concerning. Neither of them moved. Ever. It hurt too much to move. And they had a good view of the room from their position. So it was safer not to.

A cold gust of air brushes against his cheek, making him shiver. He might be used to cold now, after all, the Federation halls were cold all the time. But his body is warm, no doubt from the change in location, and the brush of air comes as a chilling shock. He can hear the distant sounds of a bird's chirp. It is not broken, unlike the one he had been listening to for the past… how long had it even been? He wasn't sure. It couldn't have been that long, right? Surely not. He could still remember watching a boat leave, the cries of someone he held dear carried away with it. He could still remember watching the roof of a facility crumble, taking his son, his innocent child who had done no wrong, with it. And if the memories were that clear, he couldn't have spent that long gone.

He hears their footsteps before he sees the person approaching. They seem to hesitate at some point, most likely in a doorway, signified by a sudden halt in their steps. Cellbit's eyes flick upwards, and his suspicions are proven correct. There is a man standing in the doorway. He doesn't remember his name, but he does recognise him, even if only distantly. He doesn't look right. Cellbit doesn't know what's wrong but the man doesn't look right. He's sure of it.

Maybe it's the eye bags. But he doubts it, because he's certain the man always had them. Perhaps it's just that they've gotten deeper, darker too. Maybe it's his hair? No. That's stupid. Sure it might be slightly messier, but it hadn't changed much. Is it how his hoodie no longer shows the outline of his body underneath and instead hangs loosely around him? Maybe. Regardless, he feels a brief, barely there flicker of… something inside him. It feels dangerously close to happiness, something he hasn't felt in months. Something he doesn't deserve to feel.

Even still, the man runs towards him kneeling at his side with tears in his eyes. Cellbit thinks he's crying too. Maybe. He still doesn't know. He doesn't know anything. But his cheeks feel wet, and he doesn't know what else it could be. Yet he doesn't know why he would be crying. He shouldn't be this sensitive. He doesn't deserve to cry. He's not a baby. He was a grown adult, god damnit. He shouldn't be crying.

"..Gathino?"

As the man speaks, his voice is shaking. A hesitant hand reaches up to rest on his cheek and he almost flinches away from it. No one's touched him kindly in his life. He doesn't think so anyway. Maybe he had been once. But he wouldn't remember it. Regardless, the hand is so warm, and all he's known for the longest time is cold. Cold, sterile, white rooms. So he just barely leans into it. It's not enough to fully feel the man touching him, but he can still feel the warmth of the man's skin. He thinks he feels something cold on the man's finger. Metal, like the blade he'd grasped like a lifeline for so long. It'd kept him alive. It kept him safe. So maybe it really was his lifeline. It didn't matter, anyway. Because it hadn't saved his son. It hadn't saved anyone, actually.

Regardless, Cellbit's pretty sure the same metal thing is on his own finger. He doesn't know. But there's a pressure on his finger and if memory serves right, which, usually it does, it wasn't placed there without reason. He wants to reply. Really, he does! But he can't get himself to speak, no matter how hard he tries. Or, well, he doesn't say what he means to, anyway.

"…Baghs.."

His voice comes out as more of a low whine and he leans his head back against the wall behind him. It isn't what he meant to say, but it's what comes out. And he wants her back. He needs to know she's okay.

There's a hand pulling apart the fist his hand had been in since…? He doesn't know. Probably since he woke up. Cellbit tries to clench his fist. To stop the person from getting to what he was protecting. To stop them from getting what is his. But he's too weak. He knows this, of course. He is nothing but aware of it. But the reminder is not welcome in the slightest.

The man lifts up what Cellbit was holding. A single yellow feather. It's slightly red at the tip, most likely stained. It smells of blood. Not fresh blood. Fresh blood had a distinct smell, and he couldn't say he didn't enjoy it. No, it was old. It had had the time to sink into the feather, soaking each individual part with it's gorgeous gruesome colour. Cellbit doesn't want to like it. He doesn't like it, actually. He loves hates it.

It's his sister's feather, no doubt one that had fallen into the pile of feathers that used to constantly surround her.

Cellbit doesn't remember the man saying much more. He might've. Again, he doesn't know. He remembers the man leaving. He remembers wanting to stop him. He doesn't, though. He doesn't even make a sound. Because of course, he still can't speak. He watches him leave though.

It hurts.

Cellbit misses him.

Baghera didn't know where she was when she blinked awake. It was cold. Not unbearably so, just cold enough to be reminiscent of an early evening chill. But still, cold. She didn't like the cold much. But she also didn't like the feeling of the sun's heat shinning down on her. She didn't know what she liked anymore. (She only knew what she hated. It's why she knows herself so well.) The slight increase in temperature was the first hint that she wasn't where she was yesterday, given the fact that even in a Federation cell where there should be warmth, all she ever felt was ice cold. It was like she'd been surrounded by invisible snow, making the room colder than what should be possible. She used to enjoy the cold. In the very beginning, anyway, because it was such a stark contrast to the unforgivable heat of the Purgatory sun that it was, perhaps selfishly, welcome. Because the coldness meant she wasn't there anymore.

More alarming, however, there was no heat coming from next to her. No body, no brother. It is worrying, yet Baghera cannot bring herself to search for him beyond glancing around her. It wouldn't matter, anyway. Even if she saw him, she wouldn't have been able to make her way over to him.

There was grass below her. It tickled and pricked at her skin. It felt unnatural. Not…unwelcome. But wrong. There was a trampoline in front of her. It reminds her of a kid. A daughter long since gone, buried under piles of rubble and dust. She would've enjoyed it. But that doesn't matter now, does it? Ghosts couldn't play on trampolines. Especially not when they were on entirely different islands.

Baghera can hear laughter. There's cheering and yelling and it seems so domestic it almost hurts. She shouldn't want it as badly as she does. But she always had been selfish, hadn't she? It's why she had been punished by the watcher. It had to be. She doesn't know who lives here. It's not her. She's not allowed to live here. Not allowed to have a home. There's a painting pinned to one of the trees out front of the house. She doesn't recognise the person in the picture. Something deep inside of her, a small voice, almost a whisper, says that it's the man with the black feathers who lives here. It is the man with wings that warmly welcomed her once, but who's kindness is now permanently tainted with the lies of a goddess who refused show up for her brother.

She doesn't want to live with a liar. She really doesn't.

But maybe, just maybe, he would still look at her with kindness. Maybe he would hug her once more, and it would all feel okay, even if just for a moment. Even if he was a liar, maybe she could let herself believe that he wasn't.

Baghera doesn't know how much time passes before she sees another person. The people inside had quietened down a while ago. There had been a lull of silence before she could hear the soft notes of a flute being played and a voice singing along. She didn't know what they were singing. It didn't matter, really. It still reminds her of her daughter. She doesn't like it. Why should they get to enjoy something her darling no longer could? It wasn't fair.

None of that matters, however, because there is suddenly a person in front of her, blocking her view of the house. It's probably for the best, to be fair. At least she doesn't have to focus on her darling anymore. The man in front of her is in a black jacket which she swears she recognises. But she can't quite figure out where from. She thinks she's seen it in red before. But would one person really have two colours of the same jacket? That seemed stupid. Why would you purchase two of the same thing? In his hands, the man holds out a feather. Her feather.

"Baghera? Cellbit wants to see you,"

Cellbit. Her frère. She should go see him. She wanted to go see him. She didn't know where he was. But this man seems to. She shouldn't trust him. Not really. But if he has Cellbit, she needs to make sure he's okay.

"..Cellbo?"

The man seems happy with the recognition, if the smile growing on his lips says anything. Good. She's glad he's happy with her. He probably won't hurt her now. But that hasn't stopped anyone in the past, has it? Her fault. Her fault. It's all her fault.

"Yeah. He's at our castle. Can I bring you there?"

Baghera doesn't know where that is. But if Cellbit's there, it must be safe, right? They'd be safer together, even if the place itself wasn't safe, she figures. And if they get hurt, at least they'll be together. And it will make the pain better. So she nods the best she can, and it must be enough.

It shouldn't be enough. He should expect more. She should be hurting now. He should've hurt her. Why is he not hurting her? She didn't do enough. Not for him. She never had been enough. She never will be.

"What do you mean they're gone?!" She hisses out, spinning around to face the worker. They almost seem afraid. Elena doesn't have it in her to care, not right now. Maybe it will knock some sense into them. She doubts it, though.

"I don't know! I think Cucurucho had them let out last night? Maybe? I don't know!"

Of course. Of course it was Cucurucho. It was always Cucurucho. He hated Cellbit and Baghera. So of course his first decision would be to throw the two into the wild while they were completely helpless. Two people who were completely defenceless. Who would likely die in the next week if not found. What more would she expect?

"Do you know where he threw them at least?" Because she had to have something. She needed some kind of a lead, even if it was tiny. She couldn't sit here and watch her subjects, her baby, be completely abandoned when they physically couldn't do anything. She couldn't watch them die.

The worker's silence is telling enough.

Goddamn it. Of course they didn't know. She couldn't help but sigh. It wasn't their fault that Cucurucho was holding a grudge against fucking babies. She didn't know what Cellbit had done when he was a subject, but what she did know was that Cucurucho's hatred for the man was not based purely on his investigative work. And, well, she knew well his opinion on Baghera. A hand comes up to massage her temple, but is instead met with the cold plastic of a Federation mask. She wouldn't usually be wearing it- not anymore, anyway. But apparently Baghera seemed to recognise her without it so she had to put the mask back on. She thought it was stupid, really. Baghera barely seemed to have a thought behind her eyes, barely seemed to know she was alive anymore. There was no way she'd be showing signs of recognition, not unless the Federation was absolutely crazy. Or unless she had been acting out whenever Elena wasn't there. But she doubted it. She'd seen how dead Baghera looked the entire time she'd been kept inside the Federation. That wasn't the type of thing that would disappear without reason. Aside from that, whenever Baghera would have seen her as a baby, she would've been wearing the Federation mask. So the fact that she was being made to wear the mask in an attempt to be less recognisable was foolish at best and downright idiotic at worst.

"Okay, you know what? That's fine. Can you get people to search for them? Under my order,"

Because they would only do it if it was her orders. They didn't care about the lives of these people otherwise. Silently, Elena was already mapping out different locations the pair could be. Cellbit was… relatively easy, probably. Cellbit would likely be in his castle, probably one of the towers. Not many people ever visited the castle now, and if he was hidden well enough? Not even his husband would find him. No matter how close the pair had always seemed to be. And she had a feeling, one that kept nagging at the back of her mind, that the Federation didn't want the pair to be found. They wanted a clean death, one not technically their fault and that they could easily excuse. And if the other island residents just so happened to be unable to find Cellbit until he was nothing more than a rotting corpse? That was their fault, wasn't it?

Baghera was… a bit more difficult, admittedly. Because sure, the Federation no doubt wanted her dead. After all they had for years now, but would they actually do it? Would they actually leave her out alone where no one would find her? Would they leave her for death after this long? No. She had a feeling they wouldn't. Because the Federation was cruel. No matter how clean their hands may seem, beyond surface level, the blood on their hands ran deep, sinking into their veins like second nature. And apparently, Baghera had made the Federation go through so much grief. Made them use so many spare resources, ran them dry of everything they had, all as a baby. So now they just had to find some way to make her pay it back. It was a whole lot of bullshit, if you asked Elena. If anything, she should be being punished. After all, she was the reason they had to use as many resources as they did, she was the person who pushed so hard for Baghera to live longer, no matter how much she ended up regretting it. And with the blood of so many subjects on her hands? With what she knew now? With the islander's safety at risk, more so now than ever before? With her baby at risk? Well, she couldn't exactly abandon the Federation now, could she?

Right. So, where could Baghera be? They wouldn't put her in her half built snow castle. Because for as much of a torture that would be to her- being so cold, freezing to death, yet not getting the prompts from her brain to do anything about it? She would die too soon. They couldn't prolong her suffering, couldn't tear down her entire sense of self again, if she died there. But they wouldn't put her at spawn. There was too many people there. She'd have far too many people fussing over her, and they wouldn't be able to do anything to her anymore. So where was she? Where would they even begin searching? How could they decide?

She hadn't realised it, but the worker had already left, running out in a panic. Because Elena wasn't scary, not usually. She didn't get angry at most people, she didn't rush them. She was nice. Nicer than anyone else in the Federation, anyway. So her being angry? It was enough to scare the worker into moving. She could only hope they were actually going to get help, though. Could only hope they wouldn't be stopped along the way by Cucurucho, because then they would never get to trying to find her. And Baghera would never be found.

Elena would find Baghera. She didn't care what it took because she would find her. No matter what she had to do. She was her subject, after all. And she wouldn't see her subject die after all this time.