Work Text:
“Thank you, miss – please come again if you ever need anything.” And smile.
“Thank you, sir – looking forwards to seeing you again.” And smile.
“Thank you, sir – anytime. It’s our pleasure.” And smile.
And smile. And smile.
The girl yawned mightily, leaning back away from the register and rolling her eyes up to the ceiling, flipping her hair out of her eyes. She was about bored out of her mind, and if she had to wish one more customer a thanks before her lunch break, she thought she just might lose her marbles. She’d expected it to be busy, after all, they were the only gift shop in the whole of the park, but damn, this was busier than even she had expected. They just didn’t stop coming, and she was trying to juggle all of them while also keeping shelves stocked and presentable, keep kids from running wild in the store and climbing on the shelves, mopping spilled drinks and re-sorting shelves when she inevitably failed in controlling the children after all.
It was just a matter of watching the clock until her break.
God, please. It surely can’t be here any slower than it’s already taking.
If only she was equally as robotic as the park’s animatronics, it might be easier. Unfortunately, she had a functioning mind, forced to endure each waking moment of the intense tedium. Watching and waiting… waiting … until the clock on the wall over the door struck three.
“Finally,” she groaned. By the time her relief arrived to take over the shift, she was almost already to explode and die from the sheer boredom of it – and the incessant aching in her feet didn’t help any either. Really, would it have killed this whole park business just to buy their cashiers some kind of cushion mat for them to stand on? Or a seat… in her dreams.
“It’s okay, I’m here now, you can stop complaining.”
“Can it, Edgar,” she snapped. “You’re late again, like always, so it’s not I have no right to complain.”
“Late,” he said. “Okay.” He did not seem impressed (what else was new?) and so she dropped it as he pulled his red vest on and took her place behind the register.
She rolled her eyes – but was still impossibly grateful for the relief. The little door back to the back hall towards the break room had never been more appreciated till days like now.
Once she was past the threshold there, the endless canned music of the lobby faded away, replaced by a distant mechanical hum echoing faintly through bare concrete walls stretching long and low along a dimly lit hall. The lights in here were not bright and cheery, supplemented by tall windows – instead, it was kind of flickery, a harsh blue florescent sort of light bleached one’s skin and sapped one’s energy.
Except for her, right at that moment, because anything was better than being behind that counter for one more second. The breakroom was small, a little concrete box with one too many posters about workplace safety and company dress codes. She sat down with a satisfied groan, stretching violently and becoming almost comatose for a minute before the stiffness had subsided enough for her to stand and open the mini-fridge she’d stocked her lunch away in this morning. Nothing fancy, two peanut-butter-banana sandwiches and a single can of ambiguously ‘fruity’ flavored juice. (Zero percent fruit juice.) The sounds of eating were quiet and unhurried – and, mostly gloriously of all – undisturbed. No kids. No customers. No phones ringing because someone had been watching through the security cameras and seen her leaning on the counter trying to catch her breath. There were really too many security cameras around here. She needed to find a blindspot where she could safely sit herself down out on the sales floor, if there was one at all. There usually was one at places like this, right? There had been at the fast-food restaurant she used to work at.
Instead of actually doing that, though, she kicked up her feet onto the table and leaned the chair back, exhaling heavily up and staring into the ceiling before her gaze drifted lazily down and she began reading the workers’ compensation poster for the thousandth time, probably. Blegh.
This state of mind persisted for only about five more minutes before her the clock in the room had ticked out the whole of the twenty minutes she was allotted, and it was time to go back, unfortunately – deal with Edgar for the rest of her shift.
Leaving the breakroom, just about to head down the hall to the salesfloor again, she was suddenly interrupted by what sounded like a loud thump from the other direction – distant voices, as if in alarm.
Her eyebrows raised. “Is everything okay?” she asked aloud. Her question echoed, but there was no answer. It was probably none of her business anyway, but… it was an excuse to not have to go back to work so soon, and if she got caught, well, she had a reasonable explanation for it, too.
Suck it, Edgar.
She jammed her hands in her pockets and slouched down the hall in the direction of the thump. There were many more doors down in this direction – and most of them were locked, save for one, that opened into some kind of janitors’ closet. The smell of bleach was strong in the little cubbyhole.
The end of the hall dipped down into a flight of stairs and she wondered where they went, exactly – she hadn’t been shown anything this far in her workplace orientation. The hallway seemed almost like it never ended: but it had been a trick of the eyes, for there was a set of double doors blocking her progress at the bottom of the stairs. They weren’t visible from the top of the flight.
‘KEEP DOORS LOCKED AT ALL TIMES’ was imprinted on them in bold, block letters. She pressed one hand against the door and it swung back, revealing … more hallway. Was this where the thump had come from? Nothing looked out of the ordinary, per se. Then again, what would an extraordinary concrete hallway even look like?
The walls now were not bare, though. There were corkboards with more workplace information posters (‘In case of emergency, buzz a Park Manager immediately.’); advertising posters (‘Starr Park! Keep your soul bright!’); and even newspaper clippings. Some of them were new-ish (‘New Theme Park Opens Doors’) and some were kinda old (‘Scientists Discover How To Power Your Home From Atoms’). None of it was that interesting, though. Was this where the management offices were, then?
There was a dark splotch on the bright concrete several meters away from the doors. She stopped at it, squinting. Was it…?
Smaller droplet splotches marked a trail away from the main impact point. It was dark and vaguely reddish-black, soaking into the concrete. Blood? Was someone actually hurt? She’d mostly just been after an excuse to get out of work… but if there was an actual emergency, they might need someone to call an ambulance.
The trail of droplets lead down the hall and into another door that hung slightly ajar. This room was… tiled, not concrete, and the lights were out. There were just desks in here, thick computer monitors decorating every available square inch of space, the screens flashing and covered with stuff that she had no idea about. One of them was filled with a spreadsheet of random numbers, one was just colored bars flickering up and down – and there many more, too.
She didn’t pay so much attention to them, though – following the trail that had led her here. She couldn’t tell if it continued or not, but there were only two doors in this room, and one of them was the way she'd come in, so the other one it was.
If the computer room had been dark, this one was darker still. She nearly stubbed her toe on something that clanged like metal lying on the floor, and there was no way she could see that trail anymore, either. It wasn’t silent in here, though. Instead, the moment she’d come through the door, that distant sound of machinery that was pretty omnipresent in the back hall swelled to a fever pitch. This room was some sort of… machine room, perhaps?
Curious, and increasingly aware that she had been gone for way longer than her break and Edgar would be getting increasingly angry with her (but fuck him!), she continued forwards, just a tad more silently, just in case she needed to steal back before anyone saw.
There was someone! Only one person though. They wore a sort of white coat, a back turned to her vantage point behind a pillar strangely placed in the room. Yet another desk was in the far corner, beyond a table that lay in the center of the room. The white-coat person (looking almost like scientist, really) was hunched over it, keyboard keys clicking rapidly. Above them, more corkboard, though this one had a calendar with dates and some sort of itinerary list … and more advertising flyers, of course. ‘starr park: keep your bright soul.’
Really, did they have to put those everywhere? There had been enough at orientation… she got the idea already, geez.
It wasn’t until the thing on the table shifted that she did a double take and realized what it was.
It was a person. Not one that she’d seen before, not a coworker – where they hurt?
Forgetting about silence or secrecy altogether, she left her hiding spot and cleared the distant to the little table. It was actually a big table, much bigger than she had thought. The woman who lay on it was still as death and mostly covered by a white blanket.
The girl gasped, grabbing hold of the table’s edges and feeling it start to roll. Stretcher? Now she noticed a hole in a nearby wall, right to the computer – with a thick black-and-yellow drawing of a three-bladed fan right above it. And wheel tracks – she somehow knew instantly that this stretcher was supposed to fit in that slot.
“Wha – HEY!”
She screamed, jumping back at the sudden human voice. It was the scientist. He’d turned around – there were goggles over his eyes and his browned hair was thick and frizzy. “Who are you?!” he demanded, pointing at her. “What are you doing?!”
“I – uh –“ she stammered, stepping back. “I just thought I heard someone be hurt and so I – wait, did you – who is that?” she pointed at the almost motionless figure on the table. “Is she okay?”
“It’s certainly none of your business,” he snapped. Suddenly he was looking behind her. “Finally. Look what you let in!”
“What?” Before she’d had a chance to turn around herself, though, a powerful grip clapped down on her shoulder, like a vice of iron. She yelped in sheer surprise, almost tripping over herself, but unable to wrench herself free. It was a Park Manager.
She recognized him by the uniform, the vest, the silly little hat. He seemed upset under his sunglasses. She'd seen him before, but couldn't say where.
“I didn’t mean any harm, sir,” she said hurriedly. “I just – I heard – I saw – look!” she pointed out the body again. Why did neither of them pay attention to the fuckin’ body? What was going on here?! “Hello?!” she repeated.
“Well, what are we supposed to do now?” the scientist snarked, but she knew he wasn’t talking to her. She could tell by the tone of his voice, the way he looked.
“Uh-” she started, beginning to grow nervous. The grip on her was as strong as ever. Like steel. “Please, can you let – let go of –“
The Manager shrugged. “I didn’t see her get in. We didn’t lock the main doors coming in with the newest subject down because of the, ah, accident. I guess she just took the opportunity quick-like.”
“I see that, yes,” the scientist returned. “The question now is what we’re supposed to do about this. We can’t exactly halt production, not this late in the game – you know we’re on a deadline from corporate, but her being here?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s no telling who she’d tell.”
“Well, just put her into the production line too?”
“Wait, wait, production – what – what are you talking about – let go of me!” She was starting to become increasingly unnerved by the atmosphere in the darkened basement room. “I swear to god, I-”
“Shut UP!” the Manager snapped loudly, shaking her violently. “This does not concern you.”
She gaped, freezing in place.
“No, no, that wouldn’t work anyway,” the scientist returned. “Just look at her. There’s no way she’d survive the radiation dose needed for proper brawler production. I’m not interested in mopping up the equipment again. It was bad enough last time.”
There was something of actual terror pulsing through her now. They were talking mostly nonsense – none of it she understood, except for words out of context, words like radiation and survive. What was a brawler? Was she about to – was she going to –
“Please, please,” she begged. “I promise I won’t tell anything. Anyone. About, uh, this. I just-” desperately, she tried to conjure some excuse for her release. “- they’re waiting for me upstairs. I have a shift I’m overdue for. I just – I just wanna work. I promise.” Her voice was trembling.
“Shut up before I make you,” the Manager repeated stolidly.
“No, no, she’s got a point,” the scientist said suddenly. “Girl, how long have you been working here?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Three – three months.”
“That’s long enough for habits to form, long term,” the scientist replied – though he was no longer talking to her. “I have an idea. Bring her over here.” He rapped his desk.
She kicked her feet against the ground, but there was no traction on the slick metal floor and it was useless anyway – the entirely normal-looking manager was far stronger than he appeared, dragging her effortlessly across the floor, towards the desk.
The scientist nodded. “Hold her. This – well, I’m not sure what’ll happen, exactly. But it’ll probably work.”
The Manager took hold of her arms, holding them tightly against her sides.
“Please-” she tried again, desperately. “What are you – don’t – I promise I didn’t see anything – I don’t know what I’m looking at!”
The scientist picked up a thick metal rectangle attached to a wall behind the desk by a thick cord. “It’s the emergency pulse emitter,” he said to the Manager. “Usually for the computer hard drives in case there’s … ever a reason to need to destroy the evidence in a hurry. But there’s not that much difference in computer memory and your memory. Probably. Should clean her right up. Mostly. Probably won’t penetrate into the center where habitual memory is – there’s a lot of liquid sloshing around in brains – but I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” He rubbed his chin.
The Manager shrugged. “Okay. If something goes wrong, it’s your responsibility, not mine.”
The scientist grimaced. “Thanks. I mean, she saw the brawlers. Can’t really not try. I would – you would – we would be in so much trouble. Better her than us.”
“Brawler?” she repeated. Was that what that - who that was on the table?
The cold metal block was pressing against her temple.
What was a br a w l e r…
fzzzzststt
Brilliant white light exploded in her field of vision, a firework show of sparks and fire, a distinct sensation of falling, and a white-hot pain that tore into her skull like she’d been stabbed instead.
She screamed.
The distinct smell of burnt hair filled the room. Her ears were full of static and pins and needles on every square inch of everything.
Everything was white – white-hot – and it burned.
Everything burned. Burned with anger until anger was no more. Burned with fear, until fear was reduced to ash. Scorched the walls and ceiling and thought and feeling and self until there was nothing left in the wake. Nothing but smoke and ash.
The floor was hard, and her body made a tremendous thump upon the tiles. It seemed a long way down.
Unnaturally whitened hair stuck in all directions from her head, held straight by lingering static sparks that still crackled among the strands when she moved, groaning.
“… brawler?” she repeated, hoarsely, unthinkingly. “Wh - what is a brawler?” She sat up, blinking rapidly as the blur of her vision slowly cleared. “I want to see one.”
“I’m sure you do,” the Manager snorted. He stooped down and lifted her to her feet again, holding her steady until she caught her balance, looking at her nametag. “Alright, Colette, get back to work. You’ve been down here way too long – costing us money every second you’re not on the salesfloor.”
“Colette,” she repeated. Colette smiled. “I work here. But I want – where are the brawlers?” She was so curious. It sounded so interesting. She had to find out. It was the only thing on her mind, as if it was the only thing she could think about.
“Yes, you work here,” the Manager repeated. “And you’ll act like it, too.”
She nodded. She did understand that, the working here part of it. It was very familiar, when nothing else really was. Her name… the brawlers… she wanted to see them. All of them. “I’m going to work, then,” she decided, stepping away from the Manager’s steadying hold and starting towards the door.
“And you-” the scientist cut in. “-get out there and lock that door before anyone else ends up down here.”
Colette looked at the person lying on the table. Not much of them was visible beneath the blanket, but she saw long blonde hair (so pretty!). “Is that a brawler?” she asked, tilting her head. “I want to – see her.”
“Later, you will,” the Manager interrupted, taking her arm and steering her out of the room while she looked mournfully over her shoulder. “Everyone will.”
Colette twisted her head around, trying to catch one last glimpse of the woman on the table – a brawler, she was sure of it. “I wooooon’t forget you,” she howled. “I’ll fiiiind you. I – I love you.” She smiled. “I love her.”
“Sure. Now get to work.”
Ah, yes. The gift shop beckoned. It was something she could remember. How to act. How to sell. How to smile. She worked at the gift shop. But she didn’t love it – she just did it because… she felt familiar in it, like she had always known how. The only true love, though, the thing that consumed her…
Who was that woman on the table?
Colette smiled and laughed.
She would find out. She would always find out. There were so many people, boring normal people – people she didn’t care about, couldn’t care about. Couldn’t think about.
Brawlers.
She could think about them.