Chapter Text
In a world like this, rumors only spread so far.
But they were some type of a legend among others, not for their speedy delivery or even the quality of their deliveries nor some form of inhumane cargo capacity. No, it was the fact that no matter where and how far apart they were from each-other, they always manage to find a way back. One could not die without the other, it was their thing: how they repel BTs like salt to snails. Was that their DOOMS? Even if one claim to only see them and not sense them, the other with the exact opposite ability, was that really it?
Osama Express saw it fit to separate them until their deliveries were safely in their respective destination, it wasn’t a choice that went through without discussion; both of them figured it was one way to keep each-other safe, distance was something they could cross, but death? No one would be that lucky.
“Sometimes, I dream that we have the same Beach.” One of them said, having arrived earlier than their partner to a waystation. “I don’t want an afterlife where I’m alone. Without him.”
Fantasies like that kept you going in this bleak, dying world. Desperation was the only thing keeping them together, if not kindness. They were young enough for fantasies, old enough to only ever indulge themselves and not believe in it, even if they didn’t understand why it was bad to believe or to hope when those are the only things that kept the world going; they wouldn’t understand, they were so young– born after Japan fell into ruins. Couldn’t hope to know what it was like before Death Stranding happened.
But they’ve thought about it. Life before Death Stranding, one like in the movies they’ve watched from David’s movie collection, (swear to God, that man is like a walking archive of relics from the old world) or reading from his collection of books; both fiction and nonfiction. They indulge, of course, you only get so few moments of them. They never knew that people could dance in the rain like that, never knew rain could be so romantic. Little buildings made out of wood, colorful houses made out of bricks.
All their life, the only things they ever known are timefalls, BTs, and how to avoid them. One was a sun-loved boy of a Porter, it rarely ever rained when he was on the road. Even if it did, it was short and light timefalls, the BTs few and unmoving. He was the one usually tasked with the disposing of corpses to the Incinerator. One was a hell of a Porter, always knew how to survive in this desolate world like it was his God-given right, like he’s done this before. He could see them, that was why his tracks were almost always some form of straight line. BT territory never scared him, he trampled through them with no hesitation.
In exchange of separation, Osama Express allowed them two days off to spend with each-other. It wasn’t a sentimental decision of bringing two boys who clearly loved each-other, no, they would literally go into a withdrawal state after being apart for so long. BTs would swarm around them, not because they were an open target (they were always an open target) but the amount of chiralium they exuded when they’ve been far apart for too long was ridiculous. They couldn’t control BTs, so the reason they exuded chiralium was an anomaly, only those who control BTs would have some sort of chiralium substance on them– never on ones who could only sense or see them.
When they enter the withdrawal phase, BTs would start following them. Not touching, just… hovering above or behind them. It was catastrophic when the Osama Express first found out, two of them dragging an army of BTs into their base. It was a stroke of luck that Ophelia was around, they managed to avoid anyone getting a voidout by pelting hematic grenades and having the two boys lure the BTs away.
Cleanup was a bitch, though. All that blood. The number of hematic grenades they used had put a certain someone bedridden as well. Too much blood loss, had to recover for a week or so to get the blood level back to normal.
That was in their early days of joining Osama Express, when the company itself barely knew anything about them.
They showed up one day, hand-in-hand and white clothes tattered, covered in black tar and handprints and traces of chiralium in the air; looking like the sun and the moon.
They showed up one day, hand-in-hand and demanded to be Porters if nothing else, two contrasts of each-other but never clashing; bitter determination and sour desperation.
They showed up one day, hand-in-hand and a conjoined BB in its’ pod at their feet.
Their names were Solar and Pyotr, one sun and one moon, chasing a dusk or a dawn that will never exist; a place where both can exist at the same time.
-
Svaha was deaf.
That made the BTs louder.
He hated that sound, the wailing and the ghastly voice that sometimes he could make some sense of. Names, mostly, words that are never finished and far in-between. It was just confused wailing most of the time, like children who can’t find their way home.
As the shower turned off, Svaha slicked his wet hair back to see where he was going. His back ached, he took too many loads at once yesterday and almost broke his spine add-on. Stepping out of the shower with only a towel around his waist, he took a moment for himself just to stare at his BB.
He was against having one, of course, it… it felt inhuman. To put a baby in a pod and call it hardware and disregard their status as living beings; though he knew of the science behind it, Svaha felt wrong for carrying it to a hostile environment. But you couldn’t hope to survive if you don’t have one, delivering packages through BT territories would be hell without them even if he could hear them.
As he stepped closer, Svaha let his hand rest atop the pod. Right on where the BB’s head is, and let himself grieve for a world he’s never known– a world where the BB in his pod might have a future. Being born at the edge of a mass extinction puts someone in a strange mindset, you learn to appreciate things as is and you never expect to survive but you will.
Being born at the edge of a mass extinction makes someone incredibly resilient.
Svaha turned away and put some clothes on, before attaching the spine model to his back.
He had deliveries to make.
-
Dr. Chandler was an exceptional medic, Amouterus’ very best.
When the patient (a reckless goddamn Porter that took more than they could) he’s tending to started to exhibit signs of rapid necrosis, Dr. Chandler was alone when the body began to jerk uncontrollably; a voidout was inevitable. He has been close to death too many times, had seen his Beach one too many times before being yanked back by a defibrillator and wondered if this would finally be the time he’d get to stay in it and never come back.
Dr. Chandler was alone, like he always was, and he would die alone. Like he always was.
This was the first time he witnessed a voidout firsthand, black tar up to his waist and a humanoid figure with no head and in its place, two hands clasped each-other. It started to raise from the ocean of black, black tar running down its’ body sluggishly; covering something gold underneath. It raised along with fishes, crabs, dead whales all covered in tar.
He didn’t know when the timefall had stopped, probably when that thing started to manifest, but he was able to look up without the rain splashing to his face, from the end of its’ umbilical cord down to the top of its’ neck. He put his hand atop of his pod, his BB wailing loudly, gurgling. He couldn’t calm it down, not that it would matter, they would be obliterated in a few seconds; there would only be a giant crater on where he stood.
Everything was so quiet. He thought a voidout would be loud, would be like getting your senses assaulted. God knows how loud those BTs are, wailing and wailing and wailing. For something so invisible, they’re not quiet. But everything was silent, as he witnessed debris and things he could never comprehend even if he tried, started to float upwards.
A mandala. A pocket universe in its’ own.
The hands atop of its’ neck unlatched themselves, reaching for something in the sky that he couldn’t see. Then it clasped back together, and even the way it closed its’ hands felt final.
And it was. Final.
As he saw a bright light accumulating on top, gold flecks spinning wildly and despite his earlier thoughts; he turned his back to the humanoid figure, hunched himself over the pod of his distressed BB and held onto it tightly.
When everything was swallowed by a bright light, and when he woke up to a baby’s crying in an endless beach with dead fishes, dead whales, dead crabs, no one in sight: Dr. Adam Chandler realized right as he was dragged and plunged into the ocean that he was a repatriate.
-
Coming back to the world of living was shit. Dr. Chandler blinked water out of his eyes, turned to his side and projectile vomited so much black tar it was a wonder he didn’t explode just from the sheer amount of it. It was after the last retching that he realized someone was patting his back, and moving his head (slowly, slowly, God it hurts) to face who it was with thousands of questions on his tongue along with hundreds of words for gratitude.
The man was dark-skinned, has a kind smile and hair that reached to his shoulder. He had an odradek tail, which was pretty goddamn cool and unusual, that flashed orange as it whirred like a windmill to a place somewhere beyond his form.
“Take it easy,” the man said, “you just survived a voidout. But we really need to get you out of here, BTs are bound to swarm in here. I’ll carry you.”
Dr. Chandler batted the hand that hovered over him and sat up slowly, patting his chest to find his BB gone. “Wh- Who are you? Where’s my BB?” He asked in a wheeze, his head felt like it was going to explode. His throat felt both sticky and like sandpaper, his eyes stings like hell.
The man held out a pod, the BB crying until it spotted him. To which it made grabby hands, and Dr. Chandler took it out of the man’s hands, rocking it slowly in his arms. He looked up to gave a suspicious (and a scrutinous) look towards the person that might have just saved his life, and he looks… kind. Benevolent. Forgiving. Like those prophets he’s heard in those thick books, like you could come crying to him and he’d have a solution for each of your worries then soothe your aches with a hug or a cup of tea. He unconsciously leaned closer to the other, like getting close to the man would heal the worst of his aches, somehow.
“Technically, we’re not allowed to interact.” The man gestured to the blocky letters on his uniform. Osama Express. “But I’m Svaha.”
“…Chandler. Dr. Adam Chandler.”
Then as if the man, Svaha, wasn’t warm enough– he beamed at Dr. Chandler. He didn’t get what it was that set him up like that, it was just some formal introduction and a name. Besides, it’s the least he could do for someone who dragged him out of the crater.
He started to turn his head towards where he knew the crater would be, but Svaha’s hand jerked forward to keep his head where it is. Dr. Chandler knew Svaha made it seem like he was checking for wounds, but really, Svaha just didn’t want him to look at it lest he’d go into shock or something.
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Chandler. And…” Svaha was looking at the BB clutched to Dr. Chandler’s chest, and it took only the doctor a few seconds to realize that Svaha’s cheeks were darkening at a rapid pace. He immediately took his hand off Dr. Chandler’s cheek, and muffled his laughter with it.
The BB in Dr. Chandler’s arms kept making heart-shaped bubbles at Svaha.
“BB!”
-
Later, Svaha would crowd him against the cavern’s wall. A gloved hand pressing down on his nose and mouth, he struggled but Svaha shook his head rapidly. A finger brought to rest on his mouth, and Dr. Chandler is smart enough to know that it meant he should hold his breath until the handprints moved away. Even they couldn’t catch a break from these freaky things, though it was to be expected since there was a timefall outside.
Dr. Chandler held his breath, and Svaha’s chest wasn’t moving as well. But he swore he could’ve heard the matching thump-thump rhythm of their hearts, beating a little erratically as the BT moved around the cavern.
Svaha’s odradek tail spun like a windmill, blaring orange until it receded back to its’ soft blue. Only when the odradek gave them a thumbs-up does Svaha drop his gloved hand. He didn’t step away just yet, hands settling on Dr. Chandler’s shoulders.
“Are you okay?” Svaha asked, tears leaking from one eye. Chiral allergy.
“Yes,” Dr. Chandler said, leaking tears of his own from both of his eyes. “Can you move?”
“Oh! Right, sorry.”
Fucking BTs.
-
“It’s so hard to form connections when you can’t even shake hands,” lamented Shinrai, hands going up in dark fumes. He offered one to Estella anyway, a smirk painted on his pale face as the female gritted her teeth and leaning her whole form away from a single hand. “But how about we try one, anyway? For old times’ sake?”
Estella clutched to her umbrella tighter than necessary, the glove creaked.
She never liked him. And him, her.
“Go fuck yourself.” Estella regulated her breathing, thought of her snowy Beach and the frozen black ocean, she let her grip loosened and turned to walk away from that despicable form. She stopped short a few meters away, she turned her head to the side and snarled. “Just get your job done. We made a contract.”
Shinrai put his hand back to his side, black fumes dissipating to the air and spreading into his skin. Estella heard the telltale sound of him teleporting to his heart’s wish, and immediately set her sight forward. True to her prediction, Shinrai stood after her only a few centimeters away. Her nose itched.
“So fearless,” he hissed. “Even if I have the possibility of being an Extinction Entity?”
Shinrai stared into her bloodshot eyes, unblinking and brimmed with anger that she was sure even Shinrai couldn’t comperehend. “I wonder if you’d be like this if you look death in her eye,” he said, “will you blink?”
And in the next breath, he’s gone.
Estella exhaled, the same time as her tears fell. Goddamn chiral allergy.
“Soliesha?” Estella said to her cufflink.
“Yes?” And the smooth, soft voice of Soliesha crackled to life.
“Take me home.”
“I’ll be there in a second.”
She wiped them away with a handkerchief, and walked onwards to take a hand (smaller than hers, but always stronger) into hers.