Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Just another day in this nightmare of a “job”. Another day of being forced to cause harm to innocent people. Another day of being called a monster. Just another day…

…God, I hate this.

Every day as far back as he could remember, Updike had woken up in the Greater Good’s care, one way or another. Whether that care was for pure reasons was a different discussion. But I’m sure you, dear reader, are not here for that. You are here to find out what’s so interesting about his personal life, behind the scenes. Perhaps you want to know why he stays with the Greater Good, even though he hates it so.

Well, all of your questions are about to be answered.

It was an average day for the man, aged around 26. He had done his daily routine, he had gone in to get his current assignment of his target for the day, and he had gone to the streets in search of the person. He’d done this all so much in this exact way that it was almost muscle memory. The entirety of it was constant. Nothing ever changed.

Day in and day out, for the past 15 or so years, the mostly-human man only ever worked. Was this out of his own choice? No. Some days instead of a target, he was assigned on checking in on the imprisoned nonhumans, and instead of causing harm, he did his best to attempt being someone who was a lesser evil in this hellscape of a facility. He never once stepped out of line, doing his best to stay as under the radar in the company as possible.

Even with the low position he had, he got enough attention just by being partially nonhuman. So to prevent further torture to his already crumbling mental state, he just had to make sure to keep everything in place. Not a single misstep or he’d surely be put back into a cell again.

It was taking a toll on him, but he didn’t have the time or the ability to take care of himself or fix it. He was treated as lesser than the other workers simply because of the fact that when he was a child it was discovered that his “hair” was far more like clouds than actual hair, though there was a human underneath. This already made him a mark for the Greater Good, as he wasn’t fully human because of it, but it only got worse for him the first time his emotions created a storm. Or better yet, the time he caused a tiny lightning strike to shoot off of him and onto someone else around him.

He knew it wasn’t right to do any of the things he was being made to, but he was to scared of once more being used as a guinea pig or being put back in the cell he lived in for a long time, when he was still only a child. He was about 11 when it happened in the first place.

ELEVEN, for christ’s sake. He was a child… not even children are spared or shown mercy by these horrible people. They were the real monsters… Not the nonhumans they were so insistent about. Updike didn’t understand how bad magic or supernatural beings, even just average nonhumans like Kapi, could be as bad as the higher ups say. There’s no way it was all true. He’d seen so many people with families and lives be put into these cells and locked away… He wanted the company to see its downfall. He knew it would never happen, but he really wished it would.

Sometimes he wished he could just run away. But he knew if he did, he’d just end up being hunted like a wild animal, the same as everyone else the Greater Good wanted out of the way. Best to just roll with the punches the best he can, and drink away what he can’t as soon as he’s off work for the day. God, he really hoped they didn’t make him do anything emotionally taxing today…every day was taxing emotionally, but the days he had to chase Whitty and the days he had child or teen targets…those were the worst of days.

Chapter Text

This chapter begins in a run down, dingy apartment somewhere in Newgrounds City. The lights were on, though it was very hard to see as they were dim and didn’t work quite right. There wasn’t much in the room, save for some broken looking furniture.

On a worn out couch laid a living bomb. Whitty’s eyes were closed and he was smiling to himself, relaxed for once.

Overall, it had been a really good day. He had been worried he’d ruin it all, but in the end it was a great day and a really special night.

Today, he’d gone in a date with Carol, the woman he loved. It went really well, and though he was shy (and terrified of being found by…them…) he had a wonderful time. Still giddy from the rush of joy and emotion from the events, he was taking a moment to revel in the happy feeling.

When you’re on the run from the Greater Good, happiness doesn’t exactly come often. When something like this happens, you have to make the most of it, even if it’s only a little.

Sighing to himself, Whitty replayed the day in his mind, enjoying every detail. For once, he felt content. At peace.

That is until a sense of dread started to creep in on him, chilling him to the core. He tried to ignore it at first. And he did! Until he heard someone walking outside the trashy apartment. Something told him he was in danger.

He got up from the couch, slowly making his way to the door, picking up the bat he kept by it in case something like this happened. He wasn’t sure if it was just some rando or if this was going to be a problem.

This better not be who I think it is… I don’t want to deal with the Greater Good right now.

He cracked the door open just enough to see. Unfortunately for him, it was exactly who he thought it was. The white clothing gave it away immediately, no normal person in their right mind would wear white in this area of the city. That’s just begging for those clothes to end up needing to be thrown out.

He grit his teeth trying to think on how to get out of here unseen. He really didn’t need this today. He was doing fine, he was doing great! So why did they keep sending Updike after him?

”…Whitmore. I can see you. You’re not very stealthy… and your eyes glow.” The human called from outside. His “hair” was in a ponytail, and little puffs of cloud floating in the air around his face. He looked uncomfortable, as always. Whitty noted that uncomfortable seemed to be Updike’s default facial expression a long time ago.

Shit, stealthy escape’s not an option now…

”Please, Whitmore. I just need you to cooperate. Come outside, I don’t want to come in.” 

“Absolutely fuckin not.” Whitty called back to him, bat firmly in hand, “I know what you want. I’m not dying without a fight.”

”I’ve told you before, this won’t end in death! Not for me, not for you, not for anyone in Newgrounds.” Updike said. He looked even more uncomfortable at the mention of death…so maybe he was telling the truth? Or he’s a very good actor. Either way, Whitty didn’t trust it.

He didn’t trust anything that had to do with the Greater Good. They’d been chasing him his whole life. He’d heard horror stories that were most likely fake, but he didn’t want to risk anything. Especially not his own life. Moving away from the cracked part of the door, he held his head in his free hand. He didn’t need this right now, he didn’t NEED this, this was bad.

This was bad, this was SO bad— He could feel the build up of emotion, represented by the rising heat and the pressure on his head. He needed to get out of this quick, before he lost himself to the anger and ended up leveling the damn place. 

“I’ll trust you when HELL FREEZES OVER!” He yells back at Updike, feeling himself heat up even more. He’s never gone ballistic in front of anyone who works for the Greater Good, and he really doesn’t want to today either. He’s got to hold his anger by a very short leash right now.

In the end, Whitty didn’t end up going ballistic that day. But he didn’t end up escaping either.

Inside a sterile hospital-smelling room, he was tied to a chair with a cloth in his mouth so he had something to bite down on. Updike just wouldn’t stop apologizing and he hadn’t even done anything yet.

He’d been warned it was going to hurt. He didn’t want the procedure done if it was going to hurt, but considering what the procedure was… If he was just given some painkillers, he would honestly appreciate that it was being done.

He took a deep breath as he saw a scalpel being picked up off a table next to him.

”I am so, so sorry. It’s…Its for them. For the Greater Good.”

”Shht mp nnd do ih lrehdy!!” (Shut up and do it already!!)

“R-Right, right-”

And before Whitty knew it there was a furious pain in his wick. It wasn’t just hair, for him, like some may believe. This was more like cutting off a piece of flesh. Of course, a piece of flesh that burned whenever he got too angry, but a piece of flesh.

He bit down hard on the cloth, holding his breath so he didn’t scream. His vision went white and he nearly blacked out, but he didn’t.

What felt like an eternity later, Updike was done with the cutting. Through his still fuzzed out sight, he saw the chunk of wick on the table where the scalpel was. He almost threw up.

He felt something cold touch the bed where the wick once stayed, and he flinched, before he realized it wasn’t another knife. It was some sort of…paste?

“…It’s, um… to seal it up. So-so that… Ah, sorry, you probably don’t want to know— It’s just, it’s to seal up the…hole left behind-”

And this time, Whitty really did black out. Not from pain, but from an adrenaline crash due to how much there was in his system from when Updike showed up in the first place, along with how much was added during the “surgery”. He had burnt it all out.

When he woke up again, he was home once more, back on the couch, with a written note in fancy handwriting and a cup of water next to an unopened bottle of painkillers.

“…what the fuck…”

Chapter Text

Carol hadn’t even made it home from her date when it happened. She didn’t have time to react. It happened in a flash of movement, under the flickering light of the dying streetlamps.

Someone had tackled her to the ground. They grabbed. Not at skin or flesh or even the fabric of her dress, but at an odd mixture of what acted like bone but felt like metal.

Her halo cracked. Then it cracked some more. And then it broke in two.

The second she registered something was happening she had feared she was about to be killed or worse, and though this was far from either outcome, it hurt just as much. Tears still fell, just as they would in either of the other cases.

She screamed as her attacker made another grab, this time at her back, but opted instead for shutting her up.

She saw the silhouette of her attacker in the glow of the streetlamp, but in her panic she didn’t get that good of a look at it as she struggled to get away.

In her struggle, she felt her wings being grabbed, feathers being shoved out of place and even plucked from the harsh grip.

She heard the flick of a knife.

She kicked and shoved at her attacker to no avail, as they brought the blade to her wings and started to cut. She opened her mouth to scream again but no sound came out, there was a sickening feeling of something warm dripping down from the injury.

Choked sobs rang out, followed by a wet tearing sound, and then quiet dripping.

Out of the corner of her eye, she once again saw the silhouette. She thought it seemed familiar…but she didn’t want to believe it. If it was true…then her attacker was another angel. If it was true, her attacker was her friend. She was shoved to the side, pushed to the ground as she caught herself before her face connected with concrete.

She could have thrown up, but whether it was from the fear, the pain, or the sight of bloodied feathers and torn off wings thrown to the ground, glistening in the still-flickering light.

She turned her eyes up to face her attacker and screamed for the final time that night as Boyfriend slammed her head back against the concrete, and then her vision went black.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t like Keith had wanted to be here. It made him think of them. Of her. God damn it. 

Casting his eyes across the floor of the local court, searching for a particular player…one in orange and white, with a number “16” plastered on his shirt. He needed him. It. More specifically, he needed the files and data held inside him. …It. The information would help him with his current goal. He needed it. So he couldn’t allow himself any distractions. He couldn’t allow himself to think about her, or her parents. Not now. He had a job to do. A very important job.

Step one, get Hex— The robot, off the court. Away from eyes.

Step two, catch him. It.

Step three, dismantle and transport back to the facility.

Step four, data collection.

Step five. Lock the robot up.

Six. Revenge.

This has to go right. He has to focus or Hex—the robot—will get away. He- It will find out his plans. It will escape. He knows the robot trusts him. The robot trusts anyone. Even people it really, really shouldn’t.

All he has to do is get him— IT. Get IT far enough away, some electronic dead zone far away from civilians…and he’s pretty much guaranteed a win. If he wants this to go his way…

He stops thinking as he spots the robot on the court floor, attempting to score a goal. The timer on the scoreboard was almost at zero though, and the robots team was, surprisingly, losing. They were too far behind for a tie, let alone a win before the count hit zero. It was almost amusing, really. It would be bitter for the robot. Losing at a game that it’s so passionate about, only to end up locked in a cell with no contact to the outside world. The last real game of basketball it would ever play. And it’s a loss.

He wanted to laugh. He knows the robot can see him, it knows he’s here, though it probably thinks he is here to cheer for it…

He—It—threw the ball, and earned his…it’s team another point. Then it waved at Keith, smiling, that stupid smile it always wore. Keith hated that smile. It felt mocking now. It used to feel pleasant.

He didn’t want to be here.

Oh, and that’s the end of the match. Go, team. Haha.

The robot met up with Keith not long after. He tried his best not to indicate anything to the robot, he knows it has the ability to see things like that, just by analyzing your moves. Like a weird and creepy Sherlock Holmes.

“Boyfriend!! Hi!! It’s been a while!! Good to see you! How have you been? Ooh is that a new hat, it looks nice on you! You haven’t come to these games in a while, whatcha doin here? I missed you!”

”Hey, Hex. Been good. Thanks. Got bored, was something to do. Missed you too, bud.”

Short sentences, in that odd language he had always known for some reason. Forced into his speech, instead of english. Made it easier…harder to convey emotions in this language. Easier to make up pure bullshit. Bonus, not a lot of people seemed to actually know it. This robot was one of the exceptions…Spoke it fluently, with hi— it’s own dialect threaded in. Sounded far different in conversation, to outsiders. Keith knew exactly what was being said, though.

“Are you still bored?? Or bored again if not?? Would you like to come on a walk with me? I don’t have any plans for the rest of my day, so we can really go anywhere!”

Oh, that lined up so perfect, no one would be expecting it to show up anywhere. No worrying about people looking for it. At least, for today.

“Sure. Have time. Nothing else to do.”

The robot made a happy sound, and clapped its lego-shaped hands together. It seemed excited, though it was always like that. No changes in behavior…good. It didn’t have any clue, at least for now. Have to keep it that way… He motioned for Hex to lead the way, following close behind. He kept a fast pace to keep up with the tall robot, even though it was trying to walk slower for him. That felt... Ugh. Hopefully he'd never have to deal with the robot again, after this. Every action and microaction felt like he— it was mocking him. The sooner he got this over with the sooner he could make that fluffy monster bitch lug the robot into a cell.

"So do you have anything going on, Bf? What made you wanna stop by for the game? Needa talk? You're really quiet today, something on your mind?" Hex- The robot asked, rapidfire questions. This was normal for it, it was prone to being so talkative that no one could get a word in. That may become an issue, but he'd be able to work through it to get what he wanted. And he WOULD get what he wanted. No other options. He needed this. So he had to get it. Regardless, the robot's questions didn't get answered, since it just kept on talking.

Surprisingly enough, the robot was actually walking itself right into where Keith had been hoping to go... This was going to be SO easy. Its like it WANTED him to capture it. Oh, he couldn't wait to see the expression on the bot's face when it realized what had happened. It would be so satisfying, he knew it. That stupid smile turning into some sad, maybe shocked expression... The thought sparked a bit of amusement, he suppressed a smile. This was going to feel good.

All he had to do was make sure it didn't realize it was going to a dead zone, where its every function would fully shut down immediately upon entering. It's a shame he wouldn't get to see its despair until after he had it in pieces. That was one of his favorite parts about this job of his, watching targets that were convinced they were his friends break down when they realized he was their captor.

It was almost funny. They must feel so stupid for having trusted him.

Anyways.

After about a half hour of walking, the robot slows to a stop, a nervous expression on his face. Keith tried to hide his annoyance—The dead zone was right there!—and thankfully succeeded, tilting his head to the side.

"Something wrong?" Keith asked, keeping his tone of voice as even and level as possible.

"Yeah, that area over there! There's something strange about it, it feels weird! Buzzy? Just weird! Maybe we should turn around and head home?"

"It's fine. Headed that way anyway. Stuff to do out of town. Come with?"

"O-Oh...Okay..." The robot sounded nervous. Ha! Good. "Sure..."

Keith watched it closely as they both continued for another step...two...three...there!

Perfect!

"Oh, how naive you are. You truly have no idea what my goals are, do you? Maybe after this you'll understand a little better." Keith taunted once the robot froze in place, exactly as expected. He knew it couldn't hear him, or at least, he was pretty sure it couldn't. For all he knew, it could still be fully aware...he almost hoped that it was, just so all of this would hit it harder when it got the chance to process what had happened.

He made quick work of disassembling the robot, monologuing at it the whole time. Once he was finished, he looked down at himself and was suddenly very thankful he was not currently in his uniform. Oil leaves stains, especially on white fabric, after all. With a huff, he wiped his hands off on the stupid shirt he had to wear to succeed in trapping the robot and acquiring the information he needed.

Now came the hard part.

Lugging all the pieces back to the Greater Good facilities.

This was going to be a long walk....

Chapter Text

I will admit, I don’t remember much of what happened that day. I don't remember how I got there, nor do I remember how I left.

I’m cold. Why am I cold? Where is my Ushanka, my eyepatch? Where’s my jacket, where the hell is my shirt?! Why can’t I move?!

I only remember waking up to the feeling of metal beneath me, and straps holding me down.

My head hurts…someone’s talking? What’s happening? I can’t see… “Vocal Log #57. The thing is finally awake. It is restrained, and seems disoriented. Likely a symptom of the method of transport used to get it here. As per protocol, we have administered no anesthetic and have prepared it for the procedure.” …That…doesn’t sound good.

My head was pounding. There was a cold voice, one I didn't recognize, doing an audiolog. They called me a "thing". An "it". I remember being gagged, I couldn’t talk even if I tried, and believe me, I tried.

“I will now begin the procedure. As for you. Hold still.” As though these restraints don’t keep me from even so much as wiggling- What the fuck that’s cold and sharp what’s happening fuck fuck fUCK THAT HURTS— “Mm!! Mm-mm!!” “Shut up or I’ll botch the procedure on purpose and leave you to bleed.”

As for what they actually did to me, the cutting stung like hell. I blacked out from the pain before anything really happened.

“…Ah, the thing is awake again. The removal of the larynx was a success and its power is no more. Fortunately for it, there were no issues with the procedure, it went smoothly. It is showing signs of aggression and will be sedated before return.” LAY A HAND ON ME, I FUCKING DARE YOU, I’LL RIP THROUGH THESE DAMN RESTRAINTS AND—OW!—A-AND…And……

When I woke up, they were doing another audiolog. They stuck a needle in my arm, I assume they injected me with something…then I woke up in an alley near the church.

'...and that's why I'm here.' Ruv scribbled down on his whiteboard, turning it around for the others to see. His expression was still as deadpan as ever despite forcing himself to recall and recount the horrors he had gone through, blinking as he looked out at the very small group. Whitty, in a chair across from him. Annie, in the corner, sitting on the floor, listening intently, though her eyes were devoid of shine and dead. A pair of faceless nobodies that looked bored out of their minds, paying more attention to their phones than the group. Clearing the whiteboard of words, he fidgeted with the fabric of his new turtleneck, pulling the hem further up over his neck for the fifth time in the past ten minutes.

Whitty, who had translated the vast majority of his story into spoken word, looked vaguely uncomfortable as he spoke Ruv's words aloud. To be expected, though, since he had heard the more detailed version of the events.

"When does this meeting end?" One of the two nobodies asked, not bothering to look up from their phone.

What is with these guys? So annoying... 'You can leave at any time, you know.' He scribbled down, standing up before putting the whiteboard in their face, between their eyes and their screen.

"What the he— Oh." They elbowed the other nobody, "Hey, we can leave."

"Oh, good, my phone's about to die..."

As both of them left, the only thoughts in Ruv's mind was about how annoying it had been to see them just sit there and ignore everyone. Ugh. Good riddance.

"Hey. Ruv. Annie." Whitty spoke up once the two were gone, their heads both snapped up to look at him, "We need to talk about—"

The door slammed open.

"THOSE FUCKING WHITE SUIT FUCKERS-" Some emo teenager started to rant and rave, throwing his arms up in the air as he walked in and closed the door behind him, "I CAN'T BELIEVE-"

"Woah, woah, first of all chill the hell out, and second of all, who are you??" Whitty asked, standing up from his seat and putting a bit of distance between them.

"THEY- What do you mean "who are you"?! You know me!!"

"Uh, no. No, I don't."

'You are unfamiliar.'

"What the hell? Are you joking?" The teen stared at him, dumbfounded, before glancing at Ruv and Annie. His mouth hung open slightly, and his brows furrowed. He sighed, a heavy and annoyed sound, "Listen to the sound of my voice. Hear what I sound like. Do I sound familiar, at all?"

"Not really?"

'A little.' Ruv scribbled down, 'But I don't recognize you.'

"Are you fucking kidding me? Alright! Alright. Fine. Does this job your memory?" The teen asked, pulling a goat skull mask out of his jacket pocket and...holding it in front of his face... "Ringing any bells now?"

"...Tabi?!"

"Yeah, it's me!" Tabi shoved the mask back into his pocket, "Fuckin finally! Bout time something clicked!!"

'What happened to you?'

"I wouldn't be here if it didn't have anything to do with the Greater Good. This IS the support group, right?"

"Yeah, but uh, you should start from the beginning," Whitty advised.

"Fine, fine, whatever," Tabi mumbled, running a hand through his hair, "I woke up strapped to a chair in a white room, some guy in a white suit called me an "it", then the guy said some stuff into a tape recorder and surgically turned me back into a human again, all while I was conscious and not under anesthesia."

"Jesus fucking Christ..." Whitty muttered.

'Wait. Was it professional?'

"He was being really careless the whole time, like he hoped he'd fuck it up on purpose. Hey, aren't support groups supposed to be bigger than this, why are there only four people here?"

'Likely the same one who took my voice from me, then. Unless they all just happened to go to the same med school.'

"Not a lot of others have shown up and actually wanted to be part of this." Whitty sighed, "Everyone else either has next to no trauma or is still stuck in the Greater Good's care... But, since you seem to actually give a damn about the whole situation and were directly affected in a severe way..."

'It's not really a support group. It's a rebellion.' Ruv wrote, being careful to make the letters small enough that no cameras could discern the words, showing it to Tabi.

"There's some others involved, too, but they were never harmed by the Greater Good directly, so they can't be here unless they want to bullshit a traumatic backstory out of thin air. ...We do actually do some support stuff, though." Whitty finished, after Tabi had read it.

Annie mumbled something from the corner, quiet affirmative words, something along the lines of "which is why I'm still..."

"Who are these "others"?" Tabi asked.

"Nene and Darnell. They watched Pico get kidnapped by some guys in white suits."

"And Pico's...?"

"Missing entirely. No one has seen him since. We think they have him contained somehow."

'I have reason to suspect they have my children in there as well. Sarv and I haven't been able to find either of them in weeks.'

"Oh, shit, you never told me that!" Whitty said, alarmed as he read from the whiteboard.

'You never asked.'