Chapter Text
It was ready.
After reproducing the negation formula exactly as his memories recalled it so vividly— despite all the time that had passed—, he was able to transfer it to an injector and prepare for the direct confrontation and the greatest risk he would ever face in his life.
Well, one of them.
Although, in theory, it was suggested that this could weaken and destroy the poppy gel and its effects— and therefore to the Prototype and its Poppy Gel-based structure— He wasn't sure if that solution was real and to what extent they weren't just risking their lives in vain by getting so close to the Prototype.
He set off toward the laboratory area where Quinn was located, though he hadn't seen him on camera for several minutes, and this was making him nervous. Experiment 1006 was consciously avoiding being shown, as if it somehow knew he was alive again and wanted to keep the tension as high as possible. This was inconvenient.
He had to hurry. Before he decided to act without explicit certainty of his return, but to guarantee future psychological damage. To leave no possibility of saving him, at least not unscathed.
Just thinking about it made his hands tremble.
He finished attaching the injector to a syringe sharp and long enough to pierce skin and veins. The problem was going to be the metal; they would have to distract the Prototype to the point where it wouldn't see him approaching from behind, allowing him to plunge the needle into some remaining organic tissue of that metallic, fearful body the Prototype possessed.
He turned his gaze to the cameras to see where he needed to go, but only found a dense cloud of smoke covering most of the cameras in a certain section of the laboratories. His mind immediately processed what kind of fog it was: Red Smoke.
NO.
NO. NO. NO…
NO.
¡QUINN!
He had no time to lose.
Quinn hadn't been exposed to the red smoke since he'd taken him from Playcare after adopting him and permanently brought him to his office and the more scientific areas— but not the experimental ones, nor the conditioning areas— and therefore hadn't been exposed to the smoke. It had been ten long years during which he'd tried by all means to prevent him from wandering into areas where those dense clouds of nightmares could torment him.
To be exposed to that condensation again could only be catastrophic. It could affect him mentally— because he knew that could happen—; or, just as it had caused the former employee to faint, it had weakened him physically, made him temporarily lose his sense of space and time, and above all, made him nauseous. But since he had nothing in his stomach, he hadn't been able to vomit.
The routine was monotonous, but with Quinn in his office it was slightly more relieving. Because when he was exhausted and frustrated from writing so many reports and responding to so many tasks— including Leith's, which left him with no will to live at all— he could simply put everything aside to do a little observation and visual assessment of what Quinn was doing. And he had a perfect excuse, because no one was going to reprimand the boy for 'bothering' him and 'interrupting' his work. After all, he was just a child.
From watching what he drew to trying to understand what his colourful and varied ideas could create— fantasy worlds that only children could understand. On that occasion, he was drawing, and because of the predominance of purple, black, and red throughout the drawing, it seemed that he was drawing Catnap. That caused a sudden doubt to appear in his mind. A perfect excuse to stop working for five minutes.
Something unacceptable and intolerable, but given the circumstances, he also had to put effort into his 'self-imposed work' as a father interacting with his son. That felt so strange…
He wasn't used to it yet. He hadn't even been fulfilling his duty of caring for an independent living being besides himself for a week— sometimes negligently due to his chronic lack of sleep— he needed time.
“Have you ever been in contact with the red smoke, Quinn?” He immediately raised his head, genuinely confused by the question, also because he hadn’t expected him to ask him anything.
He firmly believed he was so engrossed in his work that he hadn't even noticed her. A small spark of calm and relief made him smile as he realised he was indeed paying attention and that he appreciated his presence. Of course it liked him. He wouldn't have become his father if he didn't.
“Sometimes they used it to make us fall asleep…”
That was a yes…
“Did you have nightmares?”
“Sometimes…” he admitted, still colouring Catnap’s wide, open mouth, which was blowing red smoke. “Once I stole the spare mask in case of emergencies…” he smiled proudly. “But they took it from me before nightfall… So it was useless…”
No one had mentioned that, nor had I heard of a report from the caregivers… It was clear it was an isolated incident with no further repercussions. Although it would have been interesting to see how much less.
“What do you think of Catnap?”
“Uhm…” he shrugged, he had no opinion about that giant feline, not even that it was scary or that he didn't like it.
Neutral. He didn't care, he didn't like it, but he didn't dislike it either.
“I prefer Dogday… He’s kinder and warmer… At least he liked playing with us…”
“What do you mean liked? He doesn't like it anymore?”
“It’s been a while since he’s been here… I think he had a fight with Catnap… That’s what the scientists we asked said… But anyway, I’m with you now…” he shrugged, a satisfied smile spreading across his lips. “I don’t have to worry about the red smoke and Catnap anymore…” he shook his head, continuing to draw.
“That’s very true…” he nodded slowly.
His head was spinning. Quinn didn't know where he was. The moment the red smoke filled the hallway, his head began to spin like a merry-go-run at high speed, and he could barely keep his balance. He had to hold onto a wall to avoid falling, because his legs felt like jelly— they were even shaking like jelly. He couldn't remember the last time she'd been in contact with red smoke, partly because his father had made sure he stayed away from those areas so he wouldn't have nightmares.
He hadn't realised when the Prototype could disperse the red smoke. That was an ability only Catnap possessed. But Catnap was gone… The intruding human had taken his life, and the Prototype had delivered the final blow, dragging him deep into the factory where his father had no eyes, no effective control: he saw him through the cameras, alongside his father. They didn't know why or what for…
Now he understood the reason...
“Get away from me!” he screamed at the distorted, monstrous hallucination.
If the Prototype was already monstrous and horrifying under normal circumstances, seeing it under the effects of the red smoke was even more disturbing and undoubtedly an image that would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life. He inevitably tried to escape its grasp, but only stumbled over everything, colliding with suddenly appearing walls that blocked his path. The Prototype grabbed his leg, its claws slashing through his ankle. Clearly, it wasn't going to use gentleness to prevent his escape. A cold, raw, deafening, painful scream echoed throughout the corridor. He tried to crawl on the floor, but there was nothing he could do against such a superior force.
The wound only opened deeper, and the smell of the blood was as—even more— unpleasant than the smell of the red smoke.
“Eh!” He heard a voice in the distance that he didn't recognise, but he wasn't in the best position to do so anyway.
Figures distorted by the dense, red mist. They were trying to attract the Prototype's attention. Not his. It was easy to see, even in his altered and weakened state; it was easy to notice, because a loud bang against the wall made everyone turn their heads. They were making a racket to attract the attention of the great, arachnid, mechanical beast. The Prototype lost interest in it and focused its golden eye on the figure in the distance.
“Come and finish me off if you dare! Finish what you started, coward!” These were the two almost simultaneous shouts that occurred.
And it seemed to have an automatic effect— a provocation that sent his anger levels soaring beyond anything he'd ever known— because the Prototype's giant body rolled right over him without its sharp claws touching or piercing him. The wound on his ankle began to bleed more alarmingly the moment the claws released him. As he regained consciousness, he began to feel intense nausea, which, in his attempt to get up, only made him dizzy.
“Quinn…” He heard a distant voice over the loudspeaker. He felt relieved. It was his father. “I'm coming, little one… I'm on my way…”
He knew he said something else, but he never knew what, because his head was spinning, his ears were ringing, louder and louder, drowning out everything around her; his vision blurred, slowly turning white, initially with spots, then the edges, and finally turning black and he ended up fainting, falling to one side with a thud.
Perhaps he heard him calling him with a shout, but he was unable to respond.
All Harley Sawyer could do was try to pick up the pace even more. Giblet was in the ventilation shaft; he'd hidden there when the Prototype started chasing the human, because he knew it would catch him because of his slowness. He gave him the compound with the formula, because Giblet could move faster through the shaft, and because his priorities lay elsewhere. Giblet asked no questions.
He wasn't going to answer them either… Of course.
He ran to the hallway where Quinn lay unconscious. The gas's effects had caused him to faint, and he was probably being tormented by nightmares. He didn't even want to think about what kind of nightmares he might be having.
“It’s okay, my child…” he murmured, lowering his voice, as he lifted the boy into his arms. “You’re safe now, I’m here now…” he cradled him against his metallic chest.
Everything would be alright…
The wound on his ankle was serious, progressively swelling. He wanted to believe that the combination of the red gas and the lingering pain was what caused him to faint. A dangerous combination, to say the least.
He had to get out of there and heal him.
Giblet had the injection with the compound; it was just a matter of the two of them handling the hard work. He'd already done the most complicated part— not so much, really. Returning to the impenetrable safety of his confinement of a decade, he left Quinn lying on the mattress, trying to prevent the sheet and mattress from getting stained by placing a piece of the torn fabric covering his body over them. Just enough to gather everything he needed before treating the wound.
There was no broken bone. The inflammation had merely been a temporary symptom that slowly subsided as I applied the disinfectant and anti-inflammatory.
While bandaging the wound, he noticed a subtle movement, like a spasm, and then a groan of pain.
“Quinn…” he whispered, focusing his attention on him after finishing the bandage. “Are you alright?” He moved a little closer, somewhat clumsily but hastily, feeling the stony impact of Quinn wrapping his arms around him, almost throwing him towards him, completely unaware or indifferent to the wound.
Priorities.
“You’re okay…” Harley Sawyer sighed heavily, the sigh emerging from his system like a puff of air from fans, a sarcastic and frustrated mixture at the same time.
“I am your father, and I made a promise, boy… Who do you think I am?”
Quinn stared at him, his eyes widening with increasing surprise.
He had never before referred to himself as his father.
Harley Sawyer seemed to have reached the same realisation, but it was gratifying that there was no immediate correction. Again, Quinn hugged him, but this time tighter than before, pressing himself against the metal casing until the edges left marks. Harley returned the hug, a comforting and relieving mix.
“It only took you ten years to process it…”
“Don’t make fun of me, kid…” Quinn chuckled. “I wasn’t reluctant just for the sake of it… You simply refused to call me anything else… In the end, I had to give in…”
“Yeah… Sure thing…” he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
“Don't make fun of me…”
Quinn stepped back a little.
“What happened to the Prototype?”
“They’re taking care of him now—”
The sharp impact of knuckles echoing against the tightly closed doors interrupted his words, and also the chance for Quinn to ask who. They didn't sound impatient, so it could be an attempt at intrusion and revenge by the Prototype after annihilating its irritating enemies— attackers. His eye darted toward the cameras, searching among the shadows reflected by them, until he found the one focused directly outside the room. The former employee stared at the camera, arms crossed, a sarcastic expression on his face, waiting for the door to open.
Quinn stared at him with a mixture of confusion and horror as the door opened, granting access to both the human and the toy accompanying him. He looked to his father for an answer.
“It didn’t finish him off, but it weakened him considerably… He’s escaped… We didn’t have time to follow him… And anyway, he’ll be somewhere you can’t see. His regeneration is disabled, so I’m guessing he’s desperately trying to find a way to reactivate his instantaneous restoration…” and therefore, he was dying slowly; it was going to be agonising, painful, and above all, very satisfying, but since he had no way of finding him on the cameras, he wouldn’t be able to have the pleasure of seeing it with his own eyes. “We should take advantage of this to escape now that there’s nothing stopping us on the upper floors…” Harley Sawyer lowered his gaze to Quinn’s leg.
“I think you’re forgetting one small, insignificant detail that could clearly ruin any chance of escape,” aside from the fact that he couldn’t leave the factory, which was his own problem. “Now that there’s no one tyrannically controlling the factory, there will only be chaos and the law of the strongest… In the unlikely event that you manage to restore the systems so you can return to the upper floors… What guarantee do you have that—?”
“We can go the way we went when we trashed Lei—” Harley Sawyer immediately covered Quinn’s mouth before he finished saying that name, but he still earned a raised eyebrow from the employee as he crossed his arms with that sarcastic expression of his that he didn’t think he would hate so quickly and that would drive him crazy.
“So it was you…” he quipped. Logical. He'd seen him as he went deeper and deeper into the factory. And they'd been vicious enough to leave the office disturbingly wrecked, as if someone had been fighting in there. "Was it because you couldn't kill him in the—?"
“Not a word,” he grumbled. “Quinn…” There was a brief silence. “It’s possible my systems are limited outside of here. When I went out to install the TV antenna, I noticed distortions in its operation…” How convenient to bring that up at that moment.
“Wait… Do you have a TV?” Giblet raised an eyebrow.
But he was ignored.
“And I don’t think humanity will take particularly well to the fact that someone like me is lurking among them…” the Doctor murmured.
“Not even as a joke”
“Shut your mouth,” he hissed at the employee.
“I’m just being honest,” he shrugged. “And, frankly, even though you have television and can see current events, I don’t think it would be easy for you to get used to the way people act these days…”
“What are you insinuating?”
“Quinn has no identification of any kind. He was an orphan in the bowels of Playcare. He practically didn't exist for the world… And you know it, Sawyer… And let's not even talk about you. Outside of here, you'd be considered dead from a workplace accident…”
“Workplace accident?” he questioned. “Does drugging myself with a sleeping pill and turning into this count as a workplace accident?” he hissed bitterly.
The former employee shrugged.
“It could be considered negligence, but let’s not get into technicalities…” he rolled his eyes. “You can always live undocumented and anonymously, but Quinn won’t be able to go to schools, universities, town hall, public leisure venues, or any place that requires legal documentation… Unless it’s forged, but you risk a much more serious problem… And you’ll preferably have to use false names.”
"Why do I get the impression that you have experience in that?"
Silence.
And that same silence lasted almost a full minute, during which even Giblet looked at him with concern. Harley Sawyer's eye only widened in disbelief at the tacit confirmation.
“I’m not undocumented, but I have changed my name so I’m not associated with this place…”
That's something, at least.
“That’s precisely why I could help you in that regard. Or at least Quinn, because I don’t think you should let yourself be seen around town…”
"So what do you propose I do? I'll have to be his parental authority while he's a minor. I am responsible for him, after all..."
“I can take care of that… And give you temporary accommodation in my house until I find a home for the two of you.”
“Excuse me, what?” Giblet questioned. “Would you be able to bring this guy into your house? With your family?”
“I don’t have a wife, a partner, or children. He couldn’t hurt anyone…” He rolled his eyes. “And besides, it’s in your best interest not to hurt me for the sake of your son.”
Quinn sensed an unconscious tension from his father in response to those words.
“I could consider it…” admitted Harley Sawyer. “I’ve taught Quinn everything I can and everything I know in general, but it’s not demonstrable knowledge without a written document… And I’m sure there are universities today that could expand on his knowledge and improve upon what I’ve already taught him…”
Quinn chuckled.
"Aren't you going to admit that there's someone who could teach him better than you?"
“There will never be anyone who can teach you more than I can.”
“About mechanics, yes”
“I am a mechanical body, there is no one better than me to teach you to—”
He remained silent. He had just processed the implications of Quinn's words, and making the necessary assumptions only caused his nonexistent inner self to warm with a feeling of tenderness and an impulsive urge to hug him tightly.
“Do you want to learn about mechanics?”
Quinn nodded shyly.
He could no longer hold back.
Giblet watched the human as he let out a sigh that held a tender smile between his lips and slowly moved away to give them some privacy. Giblet followed, realising it was best to leave them alone for a while. He'd never expect Harley Sawyer to have a heart deep down...
THE END