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“I’m—”
“Wilford Warfstache. I know.”
Wilford looked around frantically, straining at the ropes. Poofing wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working? “You know who I am?”
“Of course I do.” A series of thunks, just out of the reach of the light. “You and Darkiplier and the Doctor—” it was sneered, and a shiver of something akin to fear ran up Wilford’s spine, “—all live together, do you not?”
“Yeah.” Wilford struggled at the ropes again, binding him to a chair in the middle of the room. A spotlight on him, and the corners dark. The feeling of something watching, out of sight. “Yeah, we have a little house—”
“Shut up.” The words came with a stab of light, a red pinprick, and Wilford watched as it hovered on the floor at his feet. “You have a house two streets away from mine. You rarely leave, and when you do, you try pitifully to ensure you are not followed.”
Wilford’s knife wasn’t in his pocket, and gone was the spare strapped to his leg. He was defenseless, immobilized, and the magic refused to come. Wilford tried not to panic, tried to sound collected. “And?”
“My question is not who you are,” the voice said, low. “It is what.”
“Not until you tell me who you are.” Wilford raised his head, hair falling into his grin, horribly forced. “Come on, now, it takes two to tango.”
The red dot on the floor moved up, quivering on his knee. A click, in the shadows, of the safety being taken off. “Start talking, Warfstache.”
“What do you mean, you’ve lost him?”
“Look,” Dr. Iplier snapped, “I was getting groceries, and he just vanished. I’m as worried as you are. Help me find him before you kill me, would you?”
Dark drew back an inch, still bared teeth and black eyes. “If you’d kept a closer eye on him, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“You wouldn’t shoot me,” Wilford said, tone light, fingers still squirming at the ropes. “I’ll never tell you anything if you do.”
The laser sight moved down again, and Wilford breathed for all of a moment, sensing what he thought was hesitation.
A bang, and the bullet cleaved through his ankle with the horrible snap of bone. Wilford doubled over as much as he could, tied to a chair, fighting a scream.
“Tell me what you are, and we can end this peacefully.”
“Fuck you,” Wilford hissed, clenched teeth. The wound would have been superficial, if the magic had been there to fill it. Just now, all he could feel was the warmth of his own blood seeping through his shoe.
The red dot reappeared on his knee, unwavering. “What did you say?”
Wilford took a breath before sitting straight, leg beginning to tremble from the pain. “How much do you know?” he shot back, eyes narrowed. There was no movement from the shadows, no indication of a breath or quiver.
The words came with cool efficiency, a practiced list. “You three are identical, in a way that is nearly impossible for triplets, even if you were human. You and Darkiplier seem to be able to manipulate energy, something the less observant would call ‘magic.’” A huffed laugh, as Wilford’s leg throbbed. “I have blocked that manipulation, here. Few, if any, others know about you.”
“Plenty of people know about us,” Wilford managed, strained.
The shifting of metal. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” he bit out, somewhere between angry and desperate. “Someone more observant would call us famous.”
There was no warning for the second shot, white-hot pain through his knee, and Wilford could only half-stifle his scream.
“What the fuck,” he panted, trying not to watch the bloody hole in his pants begin to spread, “was that for?”
“The less you lie, the easier this will become.” The voice was still cool, as if Wilford’s jerk of pain meant nothing, that the blood staring to pool around him meant nothing. “Start again.” The red dot found a place near Wilford’s hip, tracing his arteries. “What are you?’
Dark ran a hand through his hair, practically growling. “We shouldn’t be outside like this.”
“And Wilford shouldn’t be missing,” Dr. Iplier snapped, eyeing the humans glancing at them. “But here we are.”
“Was this where you saw him last?” Dark turned away, pacing restlessly over the sidewalk. The sun was beginning to go down, long shadows against an orange sky.
“I told you,” Dr. Iplier muttered, crossing his arms. “We were walking, he said something stupid, and then he was gone.”
“He can’t have gone far.”
“I know.”
“He has to still be close.”
“I know.”
“We’re called ‘figments,’” Wilford said, holding his breath against waves of pain. He couldn’t move his leg, could barely even breathe. “That’s all I’m telling you.”
“A figment is a thing that someone believes to be real but that exists only in their imagination. You—” a growl, metal scraping on metal, “—are not a figment.”
“Well, I don’t know if there’s a name for it,” Wilford scoffed, clenching his jaw. “That’s just what we call it.”
“Right. You, the Doctor, and Darkiplier.”
“And—well, yeah.”
“And? And who?”
“Author?” Dr. Iplier listened to the phone ring endlessly, directed to voicemail each time. “Will is missing, and we need help. Call me when you’re able.” He hung up, glaring at Dark. “He’s not answering.”
Dark threw his hands up, pacing faster. “Well, what’re we supposed to do, then?”
Dr. Iplier looked up at the sunset, shaking his head. “It’s getting late, we can look in the morning—”
“No.” Dark stopped dead, staring at the Doctor. “You don’t understand, Doctor.”
Dr. Iplier frowned. “It’s not as if Wilford can’t be left on his own—”
“If he’s not on his own?” Dark kicked at the grass, watching the clouds gather, night starting to fall. “This has happened before, Doctor. There are people other than fans who know about us. There are people that would give up everything to find us and shoot us. There are people—” Dark’s eyes flashed black again, meeting Dr. Iplier’s stare, “—there are people that have.”
“If he’s with those people…”
“He’ll be dead by morning. We have to find him.”
“How?”
Dark looked up at the sky again, clouds obscuring what was left of the light. “I have an idea.”
“Four of you?”
“I’m not telling you anything else.” Wilford scooted forward experimentally, the chair shifting a fraction of an inch. “Not until I know who you are.”
“Tell, me, Wilford,” the voice came again, with the air of switching tack, “how do you expect this to end?”
Wilford considered the question for a moment, wiggling his mustache. “I was hoping you’d untie me and we could go out for a romantic candlelit dinner by the beach, but something about your tone tells me that’s not what you had in mind.”
“I am going to kill you.” The words were steel, and Wilford’s breath stopped in his chest. “I am going to extract every bit of information from you, and then I will kill you. It can be painless, or you can spend a month starving to death in your own filth. The outcome depends on how quickly you tell me.”
“Someone would find me.” It was with a hint of defiance, a hint of despair. “Someone will find me.”
“You hope.” The voice finished the thought for him. “No one will ever find you.”
Wilford thought twice before speaking, a snarl. “Fuck you.”
The gun went off again, finding it’s mark through Wilford’s hip. He couldn’t stop himself from screaming, now, his entire leg drenched in blood, pain making its way up his spine like electricity.
“You screamed,” the voice mocked, the sound of the gun being reloaded. “But nobody came.”
“This is stupid,” Dr. Iplier muttered, following Dark around the corner. “This is really stupid.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Dark shot back, leading them off the sidewalk.
“No,” Dr. Iplier muttered, glaring at the back of his head. “But this is still stupid.”
“Then shut up.” Dark paused, looking around, then gestured to the fence in front of them. “After you.”
Dr. Iplier gaped, looking up. “That thing is eight feet high, and Mark is not a tall man. What do you expect me to do?”
“Climb it,” Dark said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll show you.” He found a foothold a few feet up and jumped, scrabbling against the wood until he caught the top. Dr. Iplier watched, eyes wide, as Dark hoisted himself up and over, disappearing with a loud “Oof!”
“You okay?”
A click, and Dark swung open a hidden gate. “Easy.”
Dr. Iplier sighed before hurrying through, Dark closing the gate behind them. “Fine. Easy. Where are we?”
Dark pointed. “That building, and be quiet,” he hissed.
Together, the two of them darted through the bushes to reach what looked like an abandoned truck stop, lights still flickering as twilight fell.
“I don’t understand,” Dr. Iplier whispered, hushed, as Dark slid open a window. “Why are we here?”
“Just get inside,” Dark snarled, crawling through the window. His heart in his throat, Dr. Iplier slid through.
“How did you stop my magic?” Wilford demanded, listening to the room creak around them. It had to be night—or maybe it was morning? How long had he been here? “What are you?”
A low chuckle, and shuffling, whoever it was walking around the room. Wilford twisted his head, trying to get a glimpse, but saw nothing.
“This,” and it was said with a touch of pride, right into Wilford’s ear. A shove, and a humming machine the size of a desk slid into his peripherals. It glowed with a touch of pink, something Wilford could recognize, and he grit his teeth.
“How?”
“Easily.” The voice was back, and so was the laser sight, centered on Wilford’s heart. “It blocks your power, whatever it is, and any other power within a ten-foot radius. You really are quite obvious, despite how much you try to hide.”
That stung, though not as badly as the bullet holes through ankle, hip, and knee. Wilford breathed, trying to hold onto some semblance of calm before he blacked out. Already, the world was starting to spin, his head light.
“Now, stay awake.” There was a glint in the shadows, and Wilford had time to flinch before something painfully familiar shot past his ear. “I trust your knives are entertaining enough to keep you conscious.”
“Those are mine,” Wilford hissed, anger finding its way into his limbs, stiffening his back. A breath, and he forced a monotone. “You’ll ruin the blades.”
“Will I?” A screech, honed steel on concrete wall, and Wilford could feel each twinge in his leg like needles.
There was a near-audible smirk from the shadows, the self-satisfied grunt of a job well done, waiting for a reaction. Wilford, for once, held his tongue.
“Good, good,” the voice muttered, the sound of his knife clattering carelessly to the floor. “You learn quickly.”
“Here.” Dark thrust a gun into Dr. Iplier’s hands as the lights flicked on. “Take that, grab a bag and some bandages, and don’t forget bullets.”
“What is this?” Dr. Iplier looked around, mouth open. The room looked like a stronghold, stocked with enough supplies to survive the apocalypse.
In all fairness, that was probably what Dark had intended.
Dark stood by the window while the Doctor stuffed a roll of gauze and a few cartridges into a knapsack, arms folded. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Dr. Iplier said, a little breathless. “But what about—”
“I’ve got her,” Dark muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. His shoulders relaxed for a moment, and his aura poured out of him, filling the room with inky blackness.
Dr. Iplier looked around at it, feeling the weight on his lungs. “And you’ll be safe?”
Dark took a deep breath, and the twitching smoke seemed to curl back into him, shrouding him in a cloud of miasma. “Oh, don’t worry, Doctor. I̵̟'͙͙l̟l̩͉̱̯ͅ ̜͕̠̜b̧͍e̜̙͍̼̫ͅ ̡̞͇͈̦͖̳͍j̰us̬̳̪͍͇̖̫t̠͠ ̮f͓͠i͕̗̣̭̠͚̘n͓̦͇̮͓̙ͅe.̰͖̲͙̻̼͢”
“Where did you come from?”
“I’m not telling you any more.” Wilford looked down at the red dot over his heart, expecting it, any moment, to explode into flesh and blood. “It’s dangerous,” he almost whispered, quiet.
“Why is it dangerous?” The dot wavered for a moment before moving down, closer to his stomach. “This shot would never kill you,” the voice growled, warning. “It will hurt, and you will scream, and you will give me the information anyway. Where did you come from?”
“I’m not keeping my mouth shut because I feel like it,” Wilford said, voice low. “There are people I need to keep safe.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“The other reason is fuck you.”
The bullet cracked a rib, gunshot reverberating through the room, and Wilford screamed.
Outside, Dr. Iplier shivered. “We have to find him soon, Dark.”
“I know,” Dark snapped: no malice, only urgency. “I’m going to try this, and it’s going to suck.”
“Wait, what?” Dr. Iplier took a step back, watching the smoke above Dark’s head grow into solid shadow, coiling around him. “Why is it going to suck?”
“Whatever you do,” Dark said, voice muffled, “just follow me, and don’t let her—” his words were cut off as he was engulfed entirely, replaced by a high buzzing.
“Dark?” Dr. Iplier reached out, hesitant, to touch Dark’s shoulder. The shadows snapped, and he pulled his hand back as though it had been burned.
Dark looked over at him with eyes of black, veins standing out across his face. “Fo̴͈̗͙̟l̡̼͉̣̳̩̹͔l̺̣̲̘̰̣o̗̳̰̫̭w̙̠̬̪̬͜.̬̟͙͔̜̪̣”
With that, he took off, aura around him like the wings of a bat, like so many bloodhounds, searching. Dr. Iplier hurried after him in the moonlight, barely able to keep at his heels, too distracted by the weight of the gun in his waistband to notice that Dark’s feet were floating inches above the ground.
“Tell me what I want to know.” The voice was circling now, echoing around the room as Wilford doubled over, gasping, blood pooling in his lap.
“Stop,” Wilford whispered, hating the word as it passed his lips. He was tired and hurt enough to beg, but never to back away.
“Tell me, and it will stop.” There was the flash of the red dot up his chest, and Wilford knew it was centered between his eyes. “It will all stop.”
“They’ll come for me,” Wilford spat, and found his voice hoarse from the pain, something hot dripping down his face. “You can’t keep me here forever.”
“Forever is a long time.” The dot flashed down again, resting on his heart, and Wilford knew that it wouldn’t move again. “Killing you is much quicker, and rest assured, I will kill you.”
“Not if you want me to tell you everything.” Wilford was bargaining, stalling for time. Trying to catch his breath while the blood ebbed, fighting to stay awake, keeping the machine in the corner of his vision. If he could disable it—
“The Doctor and Darkiplier can always fill in the gaps, if you refuse. Do not force me to bring them…here.”
Wilford breathed, teeth grinding against each other, fingers stretching for the cool metal of the machine. “Don’t touch them.”
The sound of a gun cocking. “Then talk.”
Dr. Iplier followed Dark’s trail of smoke across town, until it swarmed towards a construction site with blackened windows, the stench of tar and rust hanging thick in the air. There it stopped, hovering, until Dr. Iplier caught up, panting.
“This is the place?”
“She certainly seems to think so.” Dark’s voice was suddenly back to normal, and Dr. Iplier looked up in time to see him fall to his knees.
“Dark—”
“I’m fine.” Dark shook the Doctor off, staggering to his feet. “It’s just… a lot.” Dark squinted towards the buildings before Dr. Iplier could respond, voice hard. “She won’t—or can’t—go in. There’s something stopping us.”
“Then this must be the place.”
“Fine,” Dark growled, looking around a final time before letting his aura drain out of him, the outline of a dog made of shadows. “She has to stay here, I think.”
Dr. Iplier held the gun out, but Dark shook his head. “Dark,” Dr. Iplier started, insistent.
“You need it more than I do,” Dark huffed, walking forward. “Let’s go, we’re wasting time.”
“But—”
Before Dr. Iplier could say any more, there was a muffled sound, too familiar, too close. He and Dark shared a look before they set off running, Wilford’s scream still echoing through the lot.
“Markiplier?”
“Don’t ask,” Wilford sighed, sagging against the ropes.
“Amusing.” The voice didn’t sound the least bit amused. “What about the channel?”
“It’s growing, but slow,” Wilford said, raising his head ever so slightly. There was a movement in the corner of his eye, and he tried to look, quietly, subtly. “This October hit four million, with likely five million by the end of the year.”
“And the more people watch…”
“…the stronger we grow.” Wilford’s heart pounded, wounds throbbing, still bubbling with blood and hot flashes of pain. The machine was no longer glowing pink with his trapped power, but pink with streaks of black, electric blue. Dark and the Doctor. “I’m not telling you any more.”
“You will tell me more,” the voice said, smooth. “You have no choice. Your friends are not coming.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“Watch. I will shoot, and you will scream, and nobody will come.”
Wilford screwed his eyes up, hoping against hope that Dr. Iplier knew how to bring him back. “Fuck you.”
Dr. Iplier looked in a window, finding only black paint and the murmur of voices. Dark leaned against the wall, breathing deep.
“Are you okay?”
“No,” Dark snapped, slumping a little. “But I’m fine. Is he in there?”
Dr. Iplier leaned closer, listening. A voice, saying ‘Markiplier.’ “He’s in there.”
“Then let’s go.” Dark pushed himself upright, trying and failing not to stagger, and made for the door. Dr. Iplier pulled the gun out of his waistband before he followed, clicking the safety off.
Dark reached the door first, and opened it with all the gentility of a bull in a china shop. “Wilford!”
Dr. Iplier, cursing under his breath, dashed in after him. He had all of a moment to take in Wilford, tied to a chair in a pool of blood, before a shot went off.
Dark wrested a gun from someone’s hands, pushing them into the shadows. He was pale, trembling with the effort of staying upright, but his hands were steady. “Who the fuck are you?”
Still obscured, there was a laugh. “I believe you already know.”
“What do you mean?” Dr. Iplier leveled the gun at the same spot that Dark was, shooting glances towards Wilford, slumped dead in his chair.
“Go help him,” Dark muttered, still glaring over the barrel of his gun. “I got this.”
“Dark, are you su—”
“Now.”
Dr. Iplier gave them both a glance as he dropped his gun to his side, dashing to Wilford. “Wilford? Will, can you hear me?”
Dark kept his gun on the shadows, eyes flashing. “What are you?”
“One of you.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” A rustle, and the person stepped into the light, blue ‘G’ shining on his chest.
Dr. Iplier turned when he heard the gun clatter to the floor, the front door slamming. “Dark?”
Dark was on his knees, fists curled against the ground. “I’m okay,” he bit out, stopping the Doctor from running forward.
“He—”
“He got away.” Dark’s tone dared him to say more, and Dr. Iplier didn’t press the subject. The three of them were together, and that meant it would be okay. He waited until Dark had stood up again, unsteady against the wall, before turning his attention back to Wilford.
“Wilford, it’s me, shh.” Dr. Iplier cut away the rope with shaking hands, seeing where it had cut into Wilford’s wrists for too long. “Don’t—"
Wilford collapsed forward, fingers curling around the Doctor’s shoulders. “Doc?” he muttered, raising his head.
Dr. Iplier caught Wilford, helping him off the chair and onto the floor, still covered in sticky blood. “Dark, too,” he affirmed, starting to pack rolls of gauze into Wilford’s wounds, trying to stop the bleeding.
“You have to—have to—” Wilford’s head rolled, and Dr. Iplier’s stomach sank for one heart-stopping moment.
“Have to what? Will, I’m here, what is it?”
Dark shuffled forwards, looking down at the two of them. “Is he okay?”
“Darkipoo,” Wilford managed a smile, looking blearily up at him. “Took you long enough.”
Dark rolled his eyes, even as he let out a breath that he shouldn’t have been holding.
“The machine,” Wilford whispered, fingers reaching for it.
Dr. Iplier looked up at it for the first time, flashing pink and black and an all-too-familiar blue. “It’s what’s creating the dead zone, isn’t it?” Wilford nodded, and Dr. Iplier looked up at Dark, still staring at Wilford’s wounds, the blood, with an unreadable expression. “Dark, can you—”
Dark turned away, hiding his face, and stalked over to the machine.
“There’s an off switch—” Dr. Iplier started, seeing the control panel on the side, but it was already too late.
Dark shattered the bulbs on top first, the light swirling around the room and back to their respective owners. As the aura returned to his shoulders, Dark began to kick the machine into scraps and loose wires again, smoke ripping and tearing at the box with some kind of untamed fury.
Dr. Iplier felt the magic return to him, a weakness that he didn’t know he’d been missing. He clasped his hands around Wilford’s, giving him a tiny jolt of the power. “Don’t you give up now,” he whispered, half to himself.
Wilford’s power returned last, almost all the pink having been sucked into the machine. It flooded his face with color again, returning the ruddy to his face and fading his mustache from gray to pink again. Wilford breathed a little easier, and the magic started to do the Doctor’s job for him, staunching the blood and knitting skin back together.
Dr. Iplier carefully pulsed jolts of power into Wilford’s leg, watching the flesh remold itself. It would be sore, but this was good enough. Wilford was saved, and right now, that was all that they could hope for.
“Are you done?” Dr. Iplier hefted Wilford to his feet, ginger, as Dark finally punted the machine across the room, panting.
“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Dark took one of Wilford’s arms over his shoulder, helping to support his weight. “Ready to go home?”
“I sure am,” Wilford mumbled, head lolling, still woozy.
Dr. Iplier chuckled a little, pulling the two of them towards the exit, where stars still sparkled overhead. They had magic, a little determination, and despite everything, they had each other. For now, that was enough.