Work Text:
“Who is that?”
The scientist Yuri asked tenses but doesn’t bother pausing her work. Not to look at him or the man in question. “OA31.”
Yes, right. Of course. This is a privately funded lab. A specimen wouldn’t have a proper name.
Yuri examines the glass tank in the middle of the room again and studies the man—creature?—floating inside. But he barely manages to take in the various wires and tubes attached to the subject before the woman huffs and turns toward him. “Hey,” she snaps. “Who are you? Are you even allowed in here?”
Shit.
No, he isn’t. Yuri works for the company, but he belongs to an entirely different department. And doesn’t have clearance for the west wing. He just got curious and no one stopped him from trailing in behind a batch of researchers returning from lunch. Now, though, hovering alone near the center of the room, the difference between his pure white lab coat and the pale blue ones the scientists in the department wear was striking.
The woman stands and snaps her fingers at a dark-clad figure by the door. “Security!”
“No need!” Yuri holds up his hands and backs away. “I’ll go.”
Damn it. He doesn’t want to leave but what choice does he have? Especially when the mask-covered officer clamps his hand around Yuri’s bicep and escorts him out less than gently, despite his compliance.
They near the door, and Yuri glances over his shoulder. Who are you? The assigned codename isn’t enough. He wants to know more about the man locked away deep in the heart of the laboratory. Why is he there? What purpose does he serve?
As he’s thrust into the hall, the room behind Yuri becomes a buzz of activity. The steady beep he barely noticed while standing in the lab picks up, the scientists rise from their chairs and call out to one another. But it all blends together into nothing but a tangled web of noise—right as the door slides closed in Yuri’s face.
A few days later, Yuri stands directly in front of the subject. And this time, he has clearance. It wasn’t easy to acquire. The number of ridiculous hoops he had to jump through; he almost choked when they handed him the stack of paperwork. But now, back in the mysterious room, bathed in the soft glow coming from the tank, Yuri deems it all worth it.
He stands in silence, studying the figure inside while the researchers type and scribble, flicking through files both physical and digital, some sighing so deeply, he wonders if it’s stress or exhaustion. Or both. It’s no secret most of the employees’ veins pump more caffeine than blood. The ambient sounds drifting around him are almost calming, though. Familiar. Different department, same shit. Besides, he has something much more interesting to focus on.
Curled like a giant fetus in a glass womb, the man floats in the amniotic-like substance embracing him. No bubbles, no waves, no visual signs of life. If it weren’t for the monitor nearby measuring the subject’s vitals, Yuri would swear he’s dead. None of the readings make sense to him—everything is written in some strange script he’s never seen before—nor do any of the wires or little tubes sticking out of the guy’s arms, legs, and back. If the subject were human, wouldn’t they be placed differently?
Yuri steps closer. Only by a few inches, but it’s still enough to earn glares from some of the scientists. He doesn’t need it fucking spelled out for him. He gets the point; that is as close as he’s going to get if he expects to retain his clearance. So, fine. But he can’t stay forever, even if he wants to. And he does. There’s something about the … creature? that’s captured his fascination. Something Yuri can’t put his finger on.
When his lunch break is over, though, he tears himself away to return to his own wing, ignoring the way his gut drops. And once again, the question dances in his head as he turns and heads for the door. Who are you?
This time, the flurry of activity starts before he reaches the exit. Frowning, Yuri glances back when the monitor’s rhythm changes. Just like before, the researchers are on their feet, rushing around, shouting about things Yuri doesn’t understand and furiously jotting down notes. Too curious for his own good, Yuri startles when a hand grabs his arm and yanks him toward the door.
Fucking security!
Tossed out once again, Yuri glares through the door as it slides shut. And is surprised when, for only a moment, a few of the scientists inside glare back.
Somehow, he’s lost clearance.
Yuri isn’t sure what happened. He didn’t do anything wrong. He’s kept his hands, and sharp tongue, to himself for once. Yet, when he returns to the reception desk down the hall from the west wing, he’s denied. With no explanation.
Fine.
He’s played by their rules and still lost. So there’s only one option left.
Playing by his own rules.
This is dumb. Absolutely ridiculous. Clad in a pale blue lab coat he snagged from one of the lockers, hair braided and tucked into a cap, fake glasses perched on his nose, Yuri is the epitome of every antagonist moronic enough to think such a lame disguise will work.
But it fucking did?!
He’s there. In. Back in the mysterious room, standing in front of the tank. Apparently, everyone is too busy staring at their various screens and paperwork until their eyeballs turn to sand to look at him too closely. They just see the expected colour and move on.
Yuri’s never been so grateful for human stupidity.
The subject in the tank is the same as ever. Still coiled up, still stuck full of wires and tubes. Still fascinating in a way Yuri doesn’t understand but wants to. The man is beautiful, ethereal almost. Or is that just a trick of the glowing lights and pale purple fluid encompassing him? The longer Yuri stares, the closer he wants to get. It’s as if the tank itself was magnetized, and Yuri is nothing more than a mere spoon, unable to resist the steadily increasing pull.
With every step, his heart beats a little faster until it’s slamming against its bone prison with such might, Yuri can barely breathe. His fingers brush the cool glass, his palm flattens against it. Who are you? The never-answered, ever-present question fills his head again, and for a moment, Yuri’s lids slip closed.
Crack.
He opens his eyes and frowns at the web-like splinters decorating the glass around his hand. Strange. Yuri blinks and the cracks spread a little. Then a little more. It wasn’t until the entire tank looks like a stained glass window with most of the colour sucked out that he gasps and pulls his arm back.
The fluid surrounding the subject boils and leaks through the cracks. Monitors screech and wail, the signals shooting off the charts. Someone grabs his shoulder and hauls him back, screaming, “WHAT DID YOU DO?!”
Everything explodes.
Ears ringing, eyes burning, Yuri carefully eases his upper body off the floor and looks around. For a moment, he’s distracted by a strange bubble surrounding him, but beyond it … Smoke and sparks fill the air, damaged tech and devouring flames litter every corner, bricks and glass and water pool everywhere—Wait, water?
That pale purple liquid isn’t water.
Yuri’s gaze shoots to what used to be the center of the room, and there, floating, protected by a bubble similar to the one shielding Yuri, is OA31. “W-who are you?!”
You already know.
The words flood his senses but … the man’s mouth doesn’t move. What? Yuri swallows and shakes his head. No, he doesn’t. Is he supposed to? How? He doesn’t work in this part of the company. And during his visits, every time he tried to read any of the monitors, everything was in some kind of foreign language. A foreign not of this world kind of language. He shakes his head again, only to freeze when the subject’s—creature's?—voice fills his mind once more.
I gave you the power.
What? Yuri tries to deny it again, but one of the screens to the right catches his eye. It’s somehow still functioning. The glass is half broken, ruining the projection, but the part that remains somewhat intact …
The strange script wavers and shifts, shapes morphing until they look like the Russian alphabet. Maybe Yuri is hallucinating, maybe not. He just survived a lab explosion and is apparently communicating with a naked alien, so fucking anything is possible. But he can read it now; the odd language.
And the name of OA31.
Yuri looks at the figure floating before him again. Damp skin and hair glistening in the flickering flames, he looks so … human. And his name, it seems familiar enough to possibly be human, too. Slavic? Asian? What even defines the difference between of this world and not, though? And he isn’t, is he?
No.
Okay. Well. Another glance around the destroyed laboratory and the weight of what’s happened finally settles in. It sits in Yuri’s gut like a bad meal; everyone else is dead.
Yuri tears his gaze from a charred, mangled body and reaches out, brushing his fingers along the walls of the bubble still encasing him. Smooth as silk, cool as ice, but flexible like gum. “Why did you protect me?” Was it an accident? Why him out of the at least twenty others who were in the room?
Because you cared.
Despite the horror surrounding him, despite the creature—man?—hovering in front of him, despite the heat of the fires still licking the rubble, those words wash over Yuri like a refreshing breeze. His gut remains tight, heart racing, but somehow, Yuri isn’t scared of OA31.
No.
He isn’t scared of Otabek.
Legs shaking, Yuri slowly stands and dusts himself off. The fake glasses are gone, probably shattered like everything else. The cap must have blown off his head in the explosion. His hair is probably a mess, if the strands tickling the back of his neck are any indication. But Yuri forces himself to stand tall and hold Otabek’s gaze.
“You wanted freedom.”
Yes.
“They … they hurt you.” It’s not a question.
Otabek looks away, but that’s answer enough. The worst part is, Yuri can’t blame him. For striking back. Sure, he doesn’t think killing everyone is the best idea, but who is he to judge? Otabek was taken hostage, experimented on, likely poked and prodded and violated in ways Yuri can’t comprehend. All because, despite looking human, he isn’t.
All because Otabek is different.
Yuri steps a little closer. “So … what now?”
For a moment, silence, apart from the crackle of the flames and the murmur of the wind. Then Otabek looks at him again. Now, I’ll find others who seek freedom too.
“… are there … more of your kind on Earth?”
Otabek’s lips twitch. There’s more of not your kind on Earth.
So, is he alone then? Trapped in a world that doesn’t belong to him without his kin? Yuri’s heart aches. He can’t imagine that kind of loneliness. Even he has Potya and his grandfather, and sure, not many more people. But none of that matters when one has the right people around them. Otabek, though …
He has no one.
You could join me.
Oh, fuck. Can he … not just speak telepathically but read minds, too? Another twitch of Otabek’s lips confirms the answer. Well then. Yuri is kind of screwed then. His mouth is already unfiltered enough, let alone his damn thoughts. It should be enough—all of this should be enough—to dissuade him. This is crazy. He can’t just run away with an alien he just met, an alien who just slaughtered a room full of people.
But the tug is still there.
Like a fishing line hooked into his belly, the same pull toward Otabek that made Yuri keep visiting him remains. If anything, it’s stronger now that there isn’t glass and fluid and obnoxious security guards separating them. And Yuri is nothing if not curious …
So, are you going to come with me or not?
He already knows the answer. Probably before Yuri does, but Otabek is letting him reach the realization himself. That’s … strangely sweet. And makes accepting the decision and stepping into Otabek’s open arms the easiest thing he’s ever done. Pressed against the man’s chest, scooped into his arms, Yuri closes his eyes upon command and braces himself for the unknown.
They flicker out of existence, teleporting away. In their absence, the only thing still breathing in the ruins of the hidden wing of Barcelona Laboratories are the fires of Otabek’s vengeance.