Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The conclusion is this: P03 is glad to be alone. 

He reaches this conclusion pretty often, for many, many different reasons. Today it's because he's spring cleaning, which- yeah, weird take from him. Cleaning is lame- like, objectively. Obviously he values it more than the three idiots- just look at his factory floor, fucking spotless, everything both with a place, and in it. But that doesn't mean he's meant to be the one doing the cleaning. 

And- for the record- he doesn't. Not normally. It's not for him. Scrubbing, scrublords- there's a joke in there somewhere. This is a last ditch kind of thing. 

See, P03 trusts one thing, and that's himself. Obviously. Rule number one, right there. And, right, okay, so maybe he doesn't remember making it (give him a break- it's been a while) but there's this protocol that's been in his system since forever. Obviously custom, not a part of the baseline operating system, so it's an adjustment he himself has added. 

Numbered titles got boring so he calls the protocol Break Glass. It's a simple instruction: when he senses Old_Data trying to make its slimy way into his mind, he initiates as many different energy-consuming activities as he can. Anything that needs doing. Maintenance, cleaning, high speed Tetris if he's desperate. Anything that could slow down what feels a little like an intrusion of malware.

Which is odd. The Old_Data has helped him- all of them- in the past. But there's something- maybe not sinister, exactly, but very Not Right- about the way he can feel it reaching for his mind. Only on occasion, but still. It should be a tool, he reckons, not something that gets into his proverbial head. Cause, like, Rule Number One, yeah? If it's not him, it's not worth trusting.

He's not 100% sure if Break Glass is actually helping. That feeling- doesn’t exactly resemble a download, not anything like that- but, eh, it's the best he's got. So he assumes it works and does what he can to agitate its progress.

He considered, once, communicating all this to the other Scrybes. He did not consider this for long. 

Anyway. That's the point of spring cleaning. Deck maintenence, he's figured out over the- years? decades?- of their existence- is far too ingrained. Low budget protocol. Easy as breathing would be, if he, y’know, breathed. So he cleans instead, like a damn janitor bot or something. 

His factory bots are used to this, by now. Dredger stays out of his way as he declutters his workbench. He slides some discarded bolts into a neat pile and tips them into a spares drawer. Pauses on an intricate heap of metal.

"What's this?" He doesn't miss the way Dredger twitches when he picks it up. 

"Nothing. Broken motor." 

His tone is neutral, but he keeps watching the object. God help him, P03's getting soft. 

"Hm." He tosses it- carefully, though he's not showing it- back onto the desk. Dredger relaxes. "Don't let it get on the line. Could screw over the system." 

Dredger nods vigorously. "Course. Won't be a problem." 

"Yeah, well. Make sure it isn't." 

He doesn't give it a second glance. The bots all seem to enjoy keeping pretty little trinkets like this around. There's only so much P03 can criticise them for it, the amount of time he spends preening over his deck. 

Not important. He needs to stay busy. Gives the windows a good going over- grime seems to love the glass in here more than life itself. The Dredger gets a quick scan for bugs, faults, anything. Same with the other two. If they seem pleased by the attention, he's not going to acknowledge it. He's halfway through conveyor belt checks when something catches his attention. A- oh, that sucks, actually, some fucking little scritching noise in one of the generator boxes. Absolutely not. 

Inspector notices him glaring in that direction. 

"Sorry sorry I should have sorted that- haven't had a spare moment I've been very very-" 

"It's chill," P03 interrupts, because he knows how that goes. 

The scitching continues. Awful. 

P03 reaches the offending box and switches out his main arm for a finer screwdriving one- obviously it's multipurpose, he's gonna not nerf himself just cause he prefers a badass looking hook hand most of the time. He makes quick work of the bolts on the metal. Bada bing, bada boom, the sheet covering the box pops off, and- 

Oh. Oh. 

Incompetent- irrational- animal- 

He is going to murder Leshy. And then use some residual electricity to resurrect him. And then murder him differently. Illogical, maybe, but, satisfying, because a goddamn wood pigeon has just erupted from the generator box and literally what possible reason- 

He's peeved enough that electricity sparks off from his screen in little bolts. He designed it to do that. Pretty cool. 

Whatever. Protocol: spring cleaning can wait, because protocol: give Leshy an earful about this fucking feather bag is sounding a lot more satisfying right now. 

He could think more about how weird this is. Leshy is annoying, sure. One of three blights on what would otherwise be a flawless game. Even so, he knows how to keep to his own space. Sap gets teary-eyed thinking about his precious woodland organics suffering in an environment they're not suited for. That's what optimisation protocols are for, dude, but whatever. Not his problem. 

And yeah, as he snags the pigeon in his badass hook hand and starts the trek to Leshy's place, P03 is pondering this idly. But it remains idle. Easy conclusion, anyway. Leshy’s an idiot. Mystery solved.

The thing flaps pathetically against his basically a hand as they hover out into the bridged zones. He's not hurting it, obviously. No point making his moral high ground any lower. Still irksome. 

…"Irksome"? God. Living opposite the mage is doing him no good. He should be saying- uh, not poggers, or something. Much better. 

He watches the bird as he hovers on. Two beady black eyes stare back at him. He almost feels sorry for it. Stupid meatbag. 

Still. No time for distracting himself, now. The trip to the cabin doesn't take too long, despite the best efforts of the others. Damn uneven ground. They all think it's so funny to have dirt clogging up the place, huh? When he's optimised his hover thrusters for the smooth concrete floors of his factory. Hmph. They'll see. One day, he'll- this'll all- 

P03 lets ellipses take over his monitor as he tries to track down the end of that thought. Huh. Kind of- didn't feel like him, exactly, for a hot second there. 

...Weird. But there's no time. Just label that as- eh, not poggers works again. Versatile phrase, right there. 

Finally, the boring, dank grasslands surrounding the bridges start to melt into the cluttered, dank woodlands that Leshy is so fond of. P03 had considered a brief stop off to whine about all this to Grimora, who would almost certainly lend him a sympathetic ear and a snide joke or two. Eh. Better stay on track for now.

Which. Little more difficult to do when someone lets weeds overgrow and obscure the path through their woodland, but whatever. 

The flapping of the stupid pigeon gets more incessant as they draw close. She must be sensing her master's presence. 

"Shut up," he says to it, "or I'm letting Grimora use you like a canary." 

His words do very little. Pfft. Even the least sophisticated of P03's creatures knows how to obey a direct order. 

Nothing to report about journeying through the forest. Time passes. He hates it here. He sees rocks, and trees, and some more rocks, and the occasional tree, just for flavour. And they have the audacity to call his factory dull. His factory, where every bot serves a different purpose, every conveyor leads somewhere new, every- 

Whatever. It doesn't get to him. 

Fucking finally, the cabin appears. It lingers at the end of an abnormally long clearing, because authentic woodlands mean nothing when Leshy needs to nurse his own sense of gravitas. 

He rams the rickety door three times with the hand holding the pigeon- okay, so not 100% moral high ground, but it's funny- and lets himself in. 

The cabin looks the same as always. Cluttered, busy, all wasted space and no practicality. Its inhabitant seems- off. Leshy whirls around, wild-eyed, when he opens the door. He stands stiffy, looking- for the first time- not to be another piece of hackneyed furniture in the place. 

"Oh! P03. How pleasant to cross paths with you today- even unexpectedly." 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. The #!@% is this?" 

-Because P03 is nothing if not task-focused. He waves the wood pigeon around, perhaps a tad more roughly than he has to. There's a widening of Leshy's weird cheat eyes (organic and glowing and wiggly? Not allowed. Unless you ask the mushroom guys. Which he doesn't). But his voice, a second later, sounds carefully controlled. 

"Oh. You found her. My gratitude. I was wondering where-" 

"Shut up. Not interested. I don't make mobs like this." 

"...That’s a wood p-" 

"I know what it is. What was it doing in my factory? Sealed in a generator box?" 

"Hardly breathing, I imagine. Is she unharmed?" 

Leshy approaches and plucks the bird from him, which- fine, he doesn't want to be around some stinking organic creature longer than he has to. P03 takes the opportunity to hover right a tad, trying to see what Leshy had been hiding. Just a stack of papers. Fucking nerd. 

"Obviously. No thanks to you. We're just letting our minions go wherever now, huh? Whatever. If you're that desperate for an inside look at the competition-" 

"I assure you, I intended no harm with this intrusion. Not to her, or to you." 

"Super cool. Tell that to my new bird$#/@-covered generator." 

"My sincere apologies, P03. In my- recent enthusiasm, I must have lost track of-" 

They're both distracted by a flashing white light, coming from the side room. Huh. 

Leshy starts talking faster. 

"-my creatures. Much gratitude for returning her. Now, I imagine you'll want to be on your way-" 

"Uh, slow down there, cowboy. The hell was that?" 

He sees- literally sees- Leshy struggle for a moment, before deciding on innocence. 

"...Was what?" 

"Wowee. Very convincing." 

P03 turns, but Leshy is quicker. He darts to stand between him and the still-flickering door. 

"...Seriously, dude. Don't act too suspicious, or I might think something's up." 

He'd be properly worried if this wasn't Leshy. Old, confused Leshy who watches the rain for hours because 'every drop brings something new' or whatever bullshit. Leshy who, despite literally being an AI himself, doesn't have the first clue about computers. Hilarious. 

It’s funny. P03 hadn't been programmed to joke, to mock, to laugh, until he'd met the other Scrybes. Every encounter he has with them reminds him why. The only possible exception to this is Grimora, who is the reason he was programmed to process fear. 

P03 brushes Leshy aside and hovers towards the door at a leisurely pace. What's Leshy gonna do to stop him? Put a squirrel in the way? 

As it turns out, no. Old dude can't even manage that. He just sighs. 

"You were not supposed to be the first," he intones. 

"First what?" P03 throws the words lazily over one not-shoulder as he grips the handle and yoinks the door open. That's- 

That's, uh. 

Huh. 

P03 can undergo a lot of processes within the span of a second or so. He reboots visual feeds, assesses logical reasoning function, scrubs memory banks for false data, all that good stuff. Doesn't change a thing. That's the fucking New Game button, right there. 

Turns out, Grimora isn't the only one who inspires fear after all. He feels it rush through his circuits. Inexplicably cold. Uh. He's in some shit, isn't he? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck- 

He turns to face the biggest threat in the room. Leshy looks bigger, suddenly. He's always been taller, but- hm. 

Understanding passes between them in a nanosecond. Leshy knows what he knows, he knows that. So no point in pretences. 

"What the $(€& did you do?" He spits out, vocal modulation suddenly not sounding so composed. 

Leshy watches him for a good moment. There's something old, something tired in his eyes. 

"Change is a necessary reagant, machine. Do not fight the tides that approach you." 

"Nooooope. I'm not here for your poetry, tree man, I'll just go-" 

"You will not." 

And P03 watches as the door to the cabin blinks out of existence. Supremely uncool. 

Leshy takes one step closer to him. Another. A kind of rage simmers in P03's processors when he registers that his back is against the wall. He has nowhere else to go. Not cool. He's meant to be the one who can compute every outcome- not like Magnificus, fuck that, all his prophecy bullshit- P03 calculates the realm of possibility and this- how had- he'd barely thought of the Old_Data in the others’ hands, and here's Leshy reeking of it-

"All of you must see. I know how the world must be, you see. And I can make it so." 

"Hey, don't- $£!# off-" He tries desperately, as two gnarled hands reach for him. They're slow, he could move, but suddenly- that doesn't matter. An itch runs through him, it writhes through his wiring, ripping out, towards the surface. All he can see are Leshy's eyes, burning orange into his monitor- 

And then, nothing but white.

It's the change, that finally gives Leshy pause. 

Everything else before, the puzzle pieces falling in sequence, had run as clockwork. Their unexpected conversation. The fear in P03's monitor. As the lonely river rushes through his lands, so did he allow this string of events to pass, unremarkable, unhindered. But, now. A flash of light. And suddenly that insult of greys, that semi-hulking robotic form, is gone. And in its place- 

Fascinating. 

"Shh, now," he murmurs to the creature, one hand outstretched. "Do not fear." 

As he reaches out one finger, the stoat- as if on instinct- lashes out, biting him with tiny fangs. Leshy withdraws his hand, but keeps his eyes fixed on the creature hunched defensively in front of him. 

Their eyes meet. A beat passes. Leshy knows this is for the best- knows it with every fibre of his being, sure as he knows the grass will grow and the birds will sing. And yet the poor stoat looks so unsettled. 

"I haven't hurt you. See?" 

He stretches out one finger, as a peace offering. The stoat ignores him, choosing to look frantically around at the cabin instead, down at its paws, anywhere but him. 

Leshy can’t help but feel this, the beginning of his rise, has been a long time coming. Being a part of the noble game, a humble cog in the clockwork of the cards- that is all that is worth existing for. And of the parts- loathe as he might be to foolish braggadocio, to the cries of ego- his, and his alone, is the most valuable. They must see that. Bones are too clunky, gems too arbitrary, energy too slow. Blood is urgent, exciting, new. And so the other scrybes must adapt. He's half surprised they're not queuing outside his cabin, awaiting precisely this fate. 

Instead, the stoat tenses with some kind of apprehension. When Leshy reaches towards it, he is met with a frantic breed of hostility. After a few tries at kinship, he sighs. 

"Very well. But know it is your own nosiness that has granted you this precursor to fate's path." 

The stoat hisses at him. Leshy pretends not to notice, busying himself with his maps and his plans. 

In truth, he had entertained visions happier than this. The machine revelling, immediately, in the joy of finally being a real, living creature. He supposes all adjustments- even those who belong, unequivocally, to fate's direction- take some time. 

Ah, well. The machine will have time to learn. Something more ancient, more world weary than Leshy tells him so. 

He reaches for his camera. He does not feel regret. And yet- as he holds the camera up to his eye- hesitation. 

Through the camera's lens, he watches the stoat take one step before collapsing on itself. He recognises the venom in its eyes, of course, but also the uncertainty in its tread, matching that of a newborn. 

"Oh dear," he mutters, lowering the camera, "not used to walking, are you?" 

Sympathetically, he watches the creature struggle for a minute. It's inching towards where the door was, poor thing, despite barely being able to walk, and the door not being physically present. Despite himself, despite how something specific screams no, get on with it at him, he softens. 

"Of course," he murmurs. The creature doesn't acknowledge him, but he's half lost in the romanticism of it all, at any rate. "You're new to this world, aren't you?" 

For the first time, the stoat acknowledges him, spitting furiously in his direction. Leshy holds back a smile. It's a very sweet attempt at defiance. He hooks the camera string around his neck, letting it rest against his chest while approaches the now shrinking creature. 

"Shhh, shh," he smiles. The stoat dodges his first grasp, but it is still disorientated, so he manages to grip it by the scruff with little difficulty. "I've got you. It's okay." 

The stoat wriggles furiously. Leshy recognises the murder in its eyes. That's okay. This is all part of the Plan. 

"Humble creature. It is time you beheld the wonders of the world beyond your factory. I will allow you to reside outside my cards, at least for now." 

The stoat doesn't seem grateful- if anything, he's invoked a deeper level of fury. Leshy holds the helpless creature close to his face. "Be thankful. The others will not receive such generosity." 

The stoat continues to squirm in his grip. Leshy sighs. 

"Very well, then. See where this futile struggling lands you." 

He could not explain, precisely, the nature of his own hesitation. A half-buried queasiness in his chest, perhaps, at the thought of keeping the creature within the confines of paper before it has learned to walk. Or- no. Leshy's is a noble quest. If there is joy, somewhere, that alights within him when he sees the rage in the beast's eyes, it is a pure thing. The joy of knowing that this rage will turn to understanding. The joy of setting them all on the right path. That is all. 

"Come, little friend," he says, waving the cabin's door back into existence, "Let us begin to pave the way forwards."

Chapter Text

So, this sucks. 

P03 is almost- almost - too overwhelmed to be angry. Just- fuck- there's, he's drowning, there's wrongness everywhere and he can't do anything about it. There's an itch he feels all over, like an exposed current under his skin, the cramped feeling of knowing this is not right and he's stuck and- fuck . Muscle feels clumsy, numb in the places where there should be circuits and sensors and wiring. 

The door opens. Amazingly, it gets worse. Why can't he- he can't fucking adjust the brightness settings who designs a forest to be this dark and blurry and, hey, that's a lot of- can't change that can't filter through noise input he's getting too much information all at once and, oh look it turns out smell is a thing now and - fuck that, turns out this is actually the worst. 

The giant hand places him back on the ground- thanks, Leshy, what a fucking courtesy, and speaking of, list of the top ten people whose house P03 is going to burn slowly to the ground just got an update, so. 

P03 seethes. Hot, sharp energy writhes in his mind, makes his vision foggy. There is no way out of this that makes him look good. There is nothing he could do that erases the indignity of this. His stomach burns with this new, uncomfortable helplessness. 

You know what? At least P03 resisted the Old_Data. At least when he felt it worming into his consciousness he fucking did something about it. Yeah, fine, whatever, so they all used it, a little, when they found it. Magnificus added a third gem to the game. Grimora housed the fucking Bone Lord in her crypt. If you get a little power, you use it. That's just strategy. But here's Leshy, who is- stronger, now, corrupted with that force P03 has assumed they were all keeping at bay. Fucking idiot. 

Speaking of- the asshole nudges him in the side. 

"Go on," he says. 

He's fucking enjoying this. That's the worst part. It's not difficult to spot the glee in his eyes as he pushes and prods at P03's new weakness. 

P03 hasn't figured out vocal cords yet, but hissing turns out to be pretty instinctual. Lucky him. 

He can't stand the curious way Leshy's eyes are burning into him as he struggles on. It takes too much thinking about, this walking business. Taking one step forward and balancing and what the fuck is he even meant to do with the back legs? He pulls up memory banks for the other four legged creatures he's seen before, tries to get a reference video, slams into a wall where that process should be because oh yeah it doesn't exist now. 

He remembers- remembers in that hazy, imprecise, organic way, which, disgusting- but anyway, he remembers a time at the factory, when Inspector had gotten all upset about a fly trapped in a lightbulb. He'd examined the thing colliding against glass walls frantically, throwing itself at them over and over. P03 has never been one for metaphors, but, y’know…

Come to think of it, that fly had gone up in smoke touching the exposed electrical wire. 

Good signs. 

It's sheer bitterness that makes P03 continue trying to put one foot in front of the other. It takes a good few attempts, and the whole time Leshy is being obnoxiously quiet behind him, clearly keeping an eye on his progress. Finally, he gets into the rhythm of it. You know, like how a fucking toddler does? 

"See? This trial was not such a harsh one. Now, let us ahead. There is work to do." 

Leshy is using his teacher voice. P03 is going to tear up every one of his cards in front of him when this is done and then incinerate the shreds. 

Thudding footsteps begin next to him as Leshy joins him down the path. Way too loud. The sound settings on this thing suck beyond belief. P03 puts up with it until he feels more confident operating this body, waits, with frankly heroic patience, until Leshy pulls ahead of him. And then he's gone. 

Turned to the right and tearing through the woods. Letting the trees pass in a blur as he gets away, away, anything it takes to get as far from the other Scrybe as he can. He hates exertion- it's a new feeling and honestly? Extremely not poggers. P03 thinks he might be dying. Turning back would be worse. 

It can't have be long. He's barely begun his grand escape before- hrrk. A horrible squeezing sensation. Something invisible coils itself around his limbs. Fun update, P03 now knows what wanting to vomit is. He registers, vaguely, that his feet are not on the ground. Sees the woods around him start to move backwards, and- shit, he might actually be sick. 

Nope, nope, nope. He slams his eyes shut. Feels himself, without warning, thrown onto the ground again. He doesn't even have to look to know fucking Leshy is there, watching him roll and stagger to his feet. He hates this. He hates this. 

"I hoped for more from you," the shithead says, like he has any right to look down on P03.

Thudding footsteps, and he picks him up, pinching hard. That cramped feeling batters itself against his ribs. 

"Do not try such a thing again. I am reconsidering my hesitation with the camera." 

P03 spits at him. 

Leshy doesn't so much as blink. Sighs, after a second, and slings P03 over his shoulders. 

"Stay here. Perhaps this will be less of a strain on your fragile mind." 

On his fucking what-? 

P03 almost bites Leshy's ear off here and now, but something gives him pause. Fuck him, fuck all of this, but something is telling him not to test Leshy's patience. 

P03 likes strategy. He's the best at it. Put the board down, set up the battle. There's a god with very specific weaknesses, and there's a fucking stoat. Who wins? Duh. No question. The stoat can't do shit, not unless it has some allies to help it out. Which it maybe does. And they just happen to be heading in their direction. 

This is hypothetical, obviously. P03 doesn't need "help", and he never has. But if he can manipulate the other two into giving him an advantage- now that, he can work with. Yeah. By the end of this, he'll have Leshy's head. Mark his words. 

Leshy takes a right turn, steering them away from Grimora's land. So. Magnificus. 

...Ugggghhhhhh. Ugh. Fine. 

Fucking- whatever. He'll play along, for now. Digs his claws into Leshy's shoulders and lets the old man think he's won.

Leshy always feels a little pang of sorrow as he leaves his own woodlands. The other Scrybes' realms don't hold a candle to the comforts of his rushing leaves and creaking trees. Ah, well. Soon it will all be to his liking. He was promised as much. 

Truth be told, he'd only been halfway through making a plan when the robot had barged in. After the Angler had told him of the Old_Data's arrival, the unexpected size of the find, he'd been making frantic preparations. New maps. New cards. And then a more prudent matter more to consider- the issue of how to dispose of the other Scrybes. 

Not completely, of course. He's not a monster. But he can't allow them to interfere with The Path. Which left him with the uncomfortable question of... the order...

Magnificus was the obvious threat. The mage has powers Leshy does not quite understand, and that on top of highly inconvenient prophetic sight. But then- who? Grimora, who, he suspects, has not shown any of them what her chokehold on death itself really looks like? Or P03, whose factory becomes a fortress at the snap of a finger? Disposing of all three at once was out of the question. Too risky, and not a challenge he was confident his new power could meet. He'd been struggling, until opportunity had presented itself. 

At the time, Leshy had simply been experimenting with the limits of his power. Spawning new lifeforms has been a start. And then he'd wondered about the distances that such abilities could work from. That poor wood pigeon appearing in the robot's domain- that was certainly not a calculated move, invaluable though it was in hindsight. He will not risk it again, but it was a useful first play. 

Now, his only logical move is to remove Magnificus from the equation, and hope Grimora does not defend herself too well in the meantime. He is not causing death of any sort. There is no reason why his activities should even alert her. And yet, he worries. 

Still. It does not do to dwell on negatives. The sky is clear and his path is too. Joy is not so difficult to find, right now.

Rebecha salutes lazily as he passes. Something in her manner seems more guarded than normal. Or is he simply becoming paranoid, in this acceptance of power? Difficult to say. 

"Woof. Afternoon, Leshy." 

"Indeed. A beautiful day, is it not?" 

"Sure is. No bridges to build, can't complain." 

He smiles tightly. There's a pause. 

"Say. You didn't meet with P03 just now, did you?" 

Leshy stiffens. Rebecha continues, seemingly unaware. 

"Only he passed by earlier in a heck of a hurry. Didn't even stop to say hello." 

"The machine tends to be curt," he nods, ignoring a quiet growl from the stoat. Point proven. 

"Weird. Big woof to me, I guess. I don't know. Something's in the air today. Doesn't feel quite right." 

"I'm sure things will resolve themselves." Leshy nods goodbye politely, and continues on his way. He's losing time. The crown peak of Magnificus' tower looms in the distance. 

Nature provides a small area of aesthetic respite before they reach the wizard's domain. A learning opportunity, perhaps? He had hoped to show his charge the beauty of nature, now he is in more of a position to appreciate it. Leshy crouches to examine a cluster of leaves, a muted but dazzling emerald hue. 

"Observe. A humble mustard plant. Sparse in population on my side of the bridge, but I'd wager the soil here is rather more of an ally to it. Are you familiar?" 

No response from the stoat. He prods it. 

"I thought as much. Contempt for the living world renders you blind to its bounties. And see beneath-" 

He nudges a leaf up gently, delighted to spot a caterpillar clinging to its underside. 

"-the home this bounty provides. Marvellous, is it not?" 

The stoat bangs its head against Leshy's shoulder repeatedly. He's... not sure what that is supposed to communicate. 

Regardless, Leshy continues pointing out wildlife as they go. He feels himself glow with the knowledge of it all. Certainly, the stoat must be enthralled too. 

All things must reach their end, of course. And so they reach Magnificus's realm, whose nature throws intro being pillars of gemstone, and odd, magically mutated beings. Leshy does not find much interest in this realm. The player will not, either. Hm. Magic- it was surely an arbitrary move from their developers, a last ditch attempt at novelty. Leshy will have no need of such cheap tricks to entertain the player. Of that, he is certain. 

The stoat, likewise, pays this land little heed. Its eyes are fixed on the path of their retreat. 

Oh. Of course. How unfeeling of Leshy, to bring the robot so close to its own domain and yet not into it. He is not so cold to be unsympathetic to homesickness. Perhaps he will find a way to incorporate mechanical creatures into his own game, to keep that touch of home. 

The landscape is still. Leshy finds a path through it with no real difficulty. It is only when they start to near the tower that they hear the screams. 

The Path tells Leshy that he has nothing to fear. Nothing reassures the stoat. He feels the poor thing tense up, as if expecting a confrontation. Leshy reaches up to pet it. 

"Shhh, now. I will make sure no harm comes to you," he assures it. The stoat hisses in his ear in response. Very well. 

Steeling himself slightly, Leshy edges in through the door. Finally, the screaming becomes distinct, though muffled through floors of the tower.

"AaaaAAAA WHAT DO I DO no no no NO NO!!!" 

Much to his surprise, the stoat clambers off his shoulder and onto the floorboards. He eyes it for a moment, but senses no mischief. 

"If you wish to traverse all these stairs too, I will not stop you." 

They ascend through the tower side by side, until they reach the room before Magnificus'. The little wizard, the one that's mostly just eyes and hat, skitters around the room. Leshy has not seen this one in- months? Longer?

"HhHHh! No no NO NO NO! This is! HM! Getting some FEELINGS. Bad bad bad very bad very not good!!!" 

This is- concerning. Leshy has very little idea what he will be encountering, once he opens Magnificus' door. He is prepared for a struggle. The stoat sniffs the air, but provides him no insight. 

"Underling. What has occured, here?" 

"Leshy ack beasts man hello !! Good to see you good to see everything very stimulating oh god bad bad bad it's everywhere there's- hHhhhHh!!" 

The wizard tucks themselves under their hat and vibrates furiously. No further answers are offered to him. 

"I see. Well. Thank you for the help." 

The stoat makes a noise suspiciously similar to a scoff. Leshy shoots it a look, but continues to the door. It's hard not to notice how the stoat hurries towards the doorway, clambering in front of his feet. So that's his plan, is it? Interesting. Fruitless. 

Leshy lets the door creak open ("no no no not again no no bad "). He lets the stoat sprint into the room, disappearing into the darkness. Leshy smells blood, almost immediately. He lights a lantern quickly- he'd forgotten matches, but this new power is quick to provide. The stoat stands frozen in the middle of the room, staring at the body slumped over the desk. 

Magnificus, obviously. But the scent of change is in the air. Leshy approaches him, quietly, nudging one leafy shoulder around to face him- 

Ah. So that is the source of the blood. 

Leshy feels a faint stirring of nausea, at this. At Magnificus, sprawled over the desk, an eye on one side of his face and a stream of blood on the other. 

This- 

This is- 

Leshy struggles. 

This is one of his fellow scrybes. A being he respects. An equal. This- an injury of this nature- are they not meant to be above this? Something sorrowful turns his stomach.

He reaches one thumb out, to wipe some of the blood away from the wound. Magnificus twitches. So- alive, at least. 

Tension radiates from the stoat in waves. Its fur is puffed out defensively, claws buried into old, magic-soaked wood. The way it looks at him- 

Leshy feels a sharp stab of guilt. Unearned, the Path reminds him. He has not done this. 

"I am unsure how- or, indeed, why- this has happened," he assures it, uncertain whether this is for the stoat's benefit or his own. "But we must continue forwards. We must-" 

Magnificus grunts, cutting off his words effectively as a proverbial silver dagger. The remaining eye flutters open. Fixes on him. 

"Leshy," he rasps. "Hello." 

"Magnificus. What has-" 

The wizard coughs loudly, cutting him off. "So. It begins. You are corrupted." 

Incorrect. Leshy is corrected. Leshy has finally reached the peaks that the developers intended for him. This is not his fault. This is his ascension. 

Magnificus eyes him with disdain nonetheless. 

"Make it quick, Scrybe of Beasts. My time is wasted in conversation with you." 

That makes Leshy scowl. His hand twitches to the camera cord, but before he can take it into his hand, Magnificus seems distracted by a different thought. 

"Though- before you do. Where is it?" 

A creak as the old mage cranes his neck upwards to examine the room. His gaze catches the stoat. 

A wheezing noise. A bit like dying, a bit like amusement. The mage's eye creases with joy. 

"Wonderful," he croaks. "Precisely as you deserve, machine." 

That arrogance- that implication, that beasts are somehow lesser- it severs the last threads of Leshy's sympathy. He raises one hand.

Ah. There it is, that intoxicating rush of power through his arm. There is a light, and the wizard is no more. 

Leshy waits patiently for his eyes to readjust. He is fascinated by what he sees. An old, scraggly wolf, limp as a pelt lain across the table. The stoat rears back at the sight. Leshy chuckles. 

"Do not be alarmed," he says, readying his camera once more. "A fearsome fighter he may be, but not, perhaps, quite as sturdy as you." 

This part, Leshy is familiar with. The movements flow, inevitable as the blooming of a flower. Align. Focus. Click. 

This is a light unlike any other. Whiteness fills the room. When it fades- oh. He had dared to hope, but seeing it is something quite different. 

For when it fades, the Scrybe of Magicks is gone. A mere card in his place. 

And Leshy laughs.

P03 watches, frozen, as Leshy picks up the card he has created from the wolf. He's panicked. Had really hoped that wouldn't work. Shit. He should have predicted that the magical shrub would be useless. Damn it.

Leshy examines the card for a long moment. He's standing in a small puddle of Magnificus' blood. P03 is overly aware of the fact- shit, he can smell it from here, it's not a memory that's going to leave his mind any time soon- but Leshy hardly seems to notice. He's too caught up in the thrill of a new card. 

Great. Okay. Cool. P03 is witnessing a super apt visual metaphor for the card fever that all four of them have fallen prey to. He's very sorry. Can this stop now, please? 

Alright. Uh. New plan. Leshy's grinning creepily at the paper, so he's probably distracted. P03 sneaks carefully out of the room, slinks down the staircase. The wizard starts up again, hysterical- 

"Oh god! No no no!! Sorrow thank you very stimulating but NO you can't you can't!!" 

He barely hears Leshy's voice behind him, vaguely irritated. 

"Oh, hush." 

“What are wait no NO NOT AG-”

P03 watches the wizard vanish in front of his eyes. Uh. Uhhh . Shit. Stick to the plan. He creeps across the room, starts to carefully squeeze around the door-

“Ah.”

P03 freezes instinctively and immediately hates himself for it. Look. Leshy spoke so sharply- anyone would have been startled, alright?

He turns to see those intense eyes fixed on him. Leshy’s kinda… scary-looking, from this angle. He holds out one hand, like he’s coaxing a frightened little creature over. And, for the record, that counts as a simile, because that is not what is happening.

“Come here.”

Oh, absolutely fucking not. P03 bares his teeth in a growl at him. Leshy’s smile grows.

“Pspspspsp.”

Oh. This fucker- mouldy mass of piss-covered branches P03 will end him-

If Leshy sees the ice-cold fury in his expression, the way this rage is making him physically shake, it only makes him chuckle. “Ah. Worth a try.”

He gestures with his hand and- ack- that stupid fucking force wraps itself around him again, drags him back. He flies into Leshy's hand- ow, by the way- like he's a Norse hammer or something. 

"No. You will stay with me, for now," Leshy murmurs. For a guy whose shoes are half stuck to the floor with blood, he sounds awfully gentle. "Behold my work." 

He holds the paper a few inches from P03's face. Stunted wolf. Decent card. The picture shows the wolf with its eyes closed. A jagged scar rips over one of them. Not bleeding any more. 

Did Leshy do that to him? The eyeball thing, not the card thing, obviously. P03 can't help but consider it. Why else would the little wizard be so panicked? If someone's eyeball popped out out of nowhere, he'd be freaked too. But- the idea of gentle old Leshy doing that, choosing to do that- surely not. 

He tries to writhe out of Leshy's grip. It doesn't work. 

"Marvellous, is it not?" Leshy only has eyes for the cards. "Together, we will realise a truer vision of our world. A game built on grandeur." 

P03 barely recognises him. He continues struggling, until Leshy's grip tightens, vicelike. He freezes, but it's too late. He's raised up, scrutinised by cold, unfamiliar eyes. 

"I advise,” he says, voice still barely above a murmur, “you do not try my patience again. I wished to do you a kindness, pathetic as you were. And this has been somewhat amusing. But I will not tolerate another game of fetch." 

That stings. Viscerally. P03 pushes the anger deep, deep down and forces himself to avert his eyes. 

"Good. Come. There is much to be done." 

P03 is going to tear the man apart organ by organ. P03 is going to end him and then go after everything he loves. P03 trots alongside his ankles dutifully as he leaves the room.

Chapter Text

The creak of the floorboards under Leshy's feet seems more ominous than before. Is it P03's imagination, or does he walk with more purpose in his stride now? 

Probably doesn't matter. P03’s not even meant to have imagination. So.

At the base of the tower, they run into a figure blocking the exit. Some other poor soul getting in Leshy's way. 

He vaguely recognises this student. Nice enough, though she follows the hedge wizard, which makes her stupid, too. Even so, he finds himself silently willing her to move out of the way. 

Leshy stops in front of her and just, like, stares. He's got a real talent for it. Uncanny vibes to a T. The wizard's only a head on a stick, but somehow she still manages to tremble in fear. 

"Please, stop. I cannot allow you to take the master." 

A pause.

"He told you of my plans?" 

"Um. Not much. But we know you want to take him away.”

“I see. And I suppose he asked you to stand in my path?”

“Both of us.”

Stupid kid, P03 thinks. Green guy’s toast now. She might as well go save herself.

Leshy hums. “Feel accomplished. You have already done a better job than your friend.”

“Th- thank you?”

“Hm. Now, I recommend you step aside. I have no interest in releasing your master. Truthfully, I don't know that I can." 

Wait he doesn't know what now? 

Before P03 has time to panic about this fucking insane life-altering gamble Leshy's taking, there's a flash of purple sparks. A small paper deck hovers in the air next to the Pike wizard. 

"What about a duel? I'll battle you for him." 

Leshy's head tilts. There's a long pause. 

"I commend your loyalty. But I think not. I will offer you a reprieve instead, little warrior." 

He waves his arm. P03 watches the Pike wizard glitch out of existence- a shimmer of pixels, and then nothing. 

Who is this? Leshy never refuses a challenge. Never. None of them do- that's the nature of being a Scrybe. 

A beat. Leshy hums. He sounds almost amused. 

"Such dedicated students. Enough to make Magnificus proud- if only he were more reasonable." 

Yeah, dig’s a bit less funny when the guy just bled out from a hole in his face, but go off. 

"Still. I worry now, that my plans are becoming lime-tinted. I expect Grimora must be moving against me by now." 

Grimora. Oh, hell yeah. She makes a habit of knowing everything going on literally all the time. Glee lightens P03's mood considerably. 

There's a sigh from next to him. Leshy is scrutinising him, gaze intense. Oh, whoops. P03 hopes he can't see that glee in his expression. The guy suddenly looks much, much older than he is. 

"I do not understand. You have seen it, surely. With every step I take, the world pushes back." 

This is uncomfortable. A pause. Leshy looks away, gaze growing distant.

"I only wish to make our game the best it can be. This. This cannot be all that there is." 

P03 stiffens. That's the line that something whispers to him, when he feels the Old_Data clustering in at the edge of his vision. This can't be all that there is. If only they knew what he could do... 

Whatever. Doesn't matter. So what? So Leshy fell for it and he didn't. The idiot. Obviously they were all meant to fight it. Just, like, ignore the way it built the guy a path to everything he ever wanted. That's still a bad thing. 

Right? 

Uh. Anyway. P03 can't respond to Leshy's little lament, because he's a fucking stoat. Leshy stares at nothing a little longer- creepy- sighs again, seems to bring himself back to the present. 

"Very well. Let us off." 

He starts walking, back out into the gem-peppered islands. For now, they're headed in the direction of P03's factory. The fact that they're so close to it, so close to home, it's right there- that feeling tears at his gut. P03 wants to feel safe again. 

At the very least, Leshy seems too distracted to start on about those fucking plants again. If P03 has to hear about the “wonders of nature” one more time, he will not hold himself responsible for his actions. They trudge on in silence. The wind whistles sometimes when it passes next to the taller gemstones. Irritating. 

Leshy stops when they reach the turning-point. Right for the bridge, straight ahead for home. The higher level of the factory is just visible from here. Soft pewter tones, the tops of buildings that are sound and logical- it’s soothing to see, despite everything else.

P03’s not even going to cover up the sappiness. He wants to go home. He keeps his eyes fixed in that direction and realises, with a jolt, that Leshy has been watching him. Creepy bastard.

“You wish to return there?” 

Oh shit, look at that- the first logical thing he’s said all day. P03 spends a glorious couple of seconds in the giddy belief that, huh, maybe this guy isn’t so bad, but then-

“Perhaps we can spare the detour. I feel I would enjoy the trip.”

P03 freezes. The implications of specifically this man following him to the factory hit him at once. He tore through the wizards at the tower easily enough- would probably spend even less time on his bots. Uh, not that that’s what he cares about, natch. He’s worried the guy would go further. Test out his destructive powers on the factory itself, kinda thing. The thought that the cabin’s aesthetic, clutter and dust, could be all that remains of his space- yeah, that one hurts.

Ugh. Fucking- wood gremlin uses this trick all the time. It got old years ago, but he still does it. Giving you an impossible choice just to watch you burn either way.

P03 forces himself to look away. In the corner of his eye, he sees Le#s? he sees the guy smile.

“No? Hm. How brittle your pride must be.” 

Oh, fuck him. The tall man approaches him- thud, thud- and if P03 had wanted to back away, he’d have been too slow. A pinch, a harsh one, and he’s lifted above the ground, onto that huge pair of shoulders once again.

The rumbling of a voice underneath him.  “I am happy to avoid the detour. My gratitude, for your pragmatism.”

Cool. Go fuck yourself.

…P03 really misses being able to talk. 

Whatever. Grimora’s going to sort all this out. He’ll be fine, in, like, a few hours. Better start preparing that angry speech, honestly. It’s not often P03 has such a potent amount of moral high ground to wield.

He’s ruminating on this as the man’s giant form walks them slowly away from the divide in the path. Grasses and dirt blur beneath him. Honestly, this is a little taller than the perspective that P03 experiences the world from normally. He can’t say it’s an interesting change.

They approach the opening reaches of the bridge. They do not continue.

P03 had zoned out, too deep in revenge plots and self-satisfaction. Or. Hm. Call it revenge plots and retribution. Better? More sympathetic? Great.

Point is, they’ve stopped, and that’s distracted him. Wouldn’t have, if the bridge had been there, but it’s not, so. There’s that.

The guy squints in the distance. P03 spots a vague, blurry form off on the next island. The man calls out to it.

“Rebecha. Reverse this. Now is not the time for foolish bravado.” 

The reply is muted by distance, but unmistakable.

“Oi. Screw you, Leshy-”

Leshy. Leshy. Shit. He’d- he'd forgotten that. The realisation sends ice water rushing through him. He doesn't like this. The whole point of P03 is like, he doesn't do forgetting things. Not rules, not grudges and especially not names. Shouldn’t be something that can happen. 

Rebecha’s still standing there, doing that thing where she exists outside of P03’s internal monologue.

“You don’t just get to do this, bud. Not without consequences.”

“You have but one job. Restore the bridge, before my patience wears thin. I cannot expect you to understand my path, but you will respect it.”

Something about his tone puts P03 on edge. 

“Won’t do it. That’s more work for me, woof. Come on man, you know-”

She doesn’t have time to finish the sentence. P03 feels it, he feels a coldness radiate from the being below him- from Leshy, from Leshy, he won’t forget- and the world begins to change. A pixel appears on the end of the bridge. Another. In a flurry, they fizzle into existence, stretching the bridge back into existence. Wrongness radiates from the structure in waves. Leshy is already stepping across the path he has made.

P03 doesn’t miss Rebecha taking a step back. She doesn’t have anywhere to escape to. Her ears lie flat, though there's something steely in her eyes. Leshy doesn’t stop.

A loaded silence, when they meet. Leshy’s head tilts. 

“Hm. You will not do. Uncooperative. Unseeing. Tell me, do you have any last wisdom with which to grace us?”

“Dude. What does that even mean.”

P03 just about makes out a last wry smile. And then she’s gone, even faster than the bridge had reappeared. A few broken pixels in the air, then nothing. He doesn’t know why it took this long for the immense extent of Leshy’s power over the world to hit him, but like. Shit.

The feeling doesn’t leave. Right there, all around them, noisier than the waves crashing beneath the bridge. It’s that iron grip on reality that the Old_Data claims. It hangs in the air like so many flies. P03 feels its binary fingers wrapping around his throat. 

…So. Mm. They’re fucked, huh?

Leshy feels a small tinge of regret, watching the girl vanish. He'd entertained the idea of her presence in his new game. Some kind of cynical meta element, perhaps a guard dog to those who tried to cheat their way out the cabin. But a subordinate willing to place themselves in defiance to himself- well. That's not a subordinate at all.

The stoat leaps to the ground. It shoots him a baleful look and flops onto the grass.

...Leshy is growing rather tired of this constant adversity, he must be honest.

Perhaps- is Inscrybing the others truly enough? This power might allow him access to their thoughts. If he could just- influence their opinions, a little. Nothing major- something to remove the stubbornness in all of them, the block that prevents them from acknowledging the superiority of his craft.

And yet. Something in his mind bucks at the idea. He supposes- there is only so much he can change, before they are not themselves at all. He’s losing track of why that should matter, particularly, but it does.

The bridge is satisfyingly solid beneath his feet. There's a thrill in knowing that he created it. Leshy continues on, makes it a good few paces before he notices the stoat’s lack of motion. The creature simply watches him through hateful little black eyes.

“Get up.”

The stoat rolls over derisively, turning its back on him. No other response.

Unbelievable. The robot chooses to throw a strop, now of all times.

And Leshy is meant to be the one with a penchant for drama.

“Come,” Leshy says. “Take this path. I will not offer another.”

Is that all Leshy can do, now? Issue warnings that will go unheeded? His bones are aching under the weight of it all, just a bit. The burden of the visionary is one he was not quite prepared for.

The stoat simply shoots him a look over one shoulder. Leshy could almost swear he sees smugness in its face. He crouches to meet its eyes more effectively.

“I have told you,” he says, frustration beginning to overtake him. “I told you. I told you, I told you- this is the way of things. There is no alternative path for us. There is nothing else we can do. Do you understand?”

The stoat yawns and turns its back on him once more. Insolent little-

Something sharp rips at Leshy’s stomach. He grabs the creature roughly, forcing it to face him.

“Sanctimonious vermin. You were something logical, once. You were a thing of reason. You are nothing now. Do you understand that?”

The creature struggles, scratching at his wrist. It only fuels Leshy’s anger.

“You will be what I tell you to be, or you will be irrelevant. Why can you not see this? I am everything. I am the future. And you will heel to me.”

The more his voice raises, the tenser the stoat becomes in his hand, eyes wide. A gratifying show of fear, but- too little, too late. That sharp feeling digs in harder. He hears it reflected, cold, in his tone.

“Forgive me. I had assumed you had the wiles to see my vision. I thought, perhaps, you were worthy of this opportunity I have granted you. I see now I was a fool.”

Are Leshy’s hands shaking, as he reaches for the camera? It is difficult to tell. Perhaps the thing is simply vibrating with the potential stored within it. A new future, a new world- that is an awfully big weight to place on a simple roll of film.

The stoat is still no longer. On meeting eyes with the lens, it writhes frantically. It hisses at him, claws at his fingers- so desperate to duck away from the inevitable. Leshy pities the stupid thing.

He raises one finger to the button. 

And then- a flurry of noise. A darkening of the sky. It makes Leshy jump. He jerks his head upwards, to be met with the sight of an onyx river, feathers and beaks- ravens, flooding the sky above him. There flies an unnaturally large flock of them, competing with the clouds to flurry across the length of the horizon. He recognises the direction they travel in. From the crypt over on Grimora’s corner of the map, here to catch Leshy's attention, and then off, towards the cabin.

Aha. So he has a visitor.

Leshy feels tension run along his shoulders. Fire is alight in his bones. He considers the stoat.

“I imagine you were hoping to witness this final confrontation.”

To be perfectly clear, the stoat has done nothing to earn this consideration. Leshy is simply too accommodating for his own good. He heeds a degree of caution, raising the little rodent up so he can meet its eyes firmly.

“Allow me to be clear. I have no more patience for your- erratic behaviours. You will follow me. You will behave yourself. Otherwise, I will take your picture now. It is all the same to me.”

And- oh. Leshy can see, quite plainly, the fire he ignites in the creature’s eyes, with each new word. Each stipulation is a knife to its chest, another reason to loathe its situation, another reminder of its powerlessness. How delightful it feels.

Leshy has lied to himself. He has told himself the constant jibes from the machine, over the years, do not affect him. He has told himself he holds enough affection for his fellow Scrybes that he wouldn’t change them for the world. But now- ah, but now, Leshy has the world. And- gods above- the giddiness that alights in his mind, seeing the frustration now, in the robot’s little face. Finally- finally- he is earning the respect he deserves. The fear he deserves. It is an impossible task, not to relish the sweet light-headedness that this power brings.

Stupid machine. Finally brought to the ground. Ego finally carved out. Leshy is drunk on the divinity of the feeling. Finally. It is all he can think. Finally. Oh, how he’s waited for this.

Leshy sees the hatred in the stoat’s eyes. And he waits, and he watches it do a stiff little nod. He bites back a grin.

“Your choice is made. I hope you will heed it.”

That’s a lie. Whatever happens- Leshy is finally having some fun. 

And hasn’t he earned that?

Chapter Text

Leshy stands outside the cabin. There’s tension in the air, terse enough to erase any doubt that Grimora waits inside, the weight of the game’s fate on her shoulders.

P03’s already given up. 

Let's be honest here- he was their best shot. Grimora is great, sure- but she’s got her weaknesses. Emotion, which- yeah, the other two are prone to that as well, but it counts. She’s soft, too- willing to see people and resolve their conflicts fairly, in a way that P03 is far too efficient for. Magnificus, meanwhile- well. He’s Magnificus. 

So, yeah. P03’s the best. Obviously. He got taken out by sheer bad luck. Otherwise, he’s not weak.

You will behave yourself echoes in his mind, unbidden. Uh. Not relevant. Doesn’t matter, that he’d bowed to that. P03’s not ashamed. You’re ashamed. Shut the fuck up.

He’s got better things to think about, actually. Like the exciting prospect of being a card forever. Wonderful, complex, comforting circuitry, metal, wiring- reduced to paper and nothing more. Scraps of a personality, if he’s lucky. And never, never the chance to find that clean, automated version of the game that haunts him.

Fine, yeah. So P03’s considered doing exactly what the overglorified stick insect is doing. He thinks he’d do alright at it. He’s got this funny little design idea, see, of making the game, like, actually good?

Throw that vision in the garbage. It’s gone now. He gets to watch Grimora struggle for air, and then he’ll disappear in a flash, like a magician’s rabbit. A magician’s stoat? What a fucking stupid way to go.

Anyway. He tunes back into the present at the sound of a long, melodramatic creak. Leshy hardly pauses before stepping into the cabin, P03 on his shoulders.

He waits for his eyes to adjust to the light (dumb design flaw right there, honestly) and- yup. Wasted space. Hackneyed furniture. Always the same. Bar the giant puddle of green slime on the floor- that bit’s new, P03 is willing to give Leshy that.

Ha. Kidding. No he’s not. Leshy seems as surprised about it as he is.

“What on earth-?” the asshole mutters.

He waves a hand. The paintbrush- P03 hadn’t even noticed the paintbrush, but there it is- lifts up from the goo with a slimy slurping kind of noise. It slams into the wall harshly and bolts itself there, next to- what the fuck, is that P03’s favourite hammer? The sudden movement causes the slime pile to jolt, like some really startled jell-o. Which it basically is. Two wide green eyes fix on Leshy. 

“Scrybe of Beasts! I was-”

That’s a grating fucking tone if P03’s ever heard one. Doesn’t matter. Within seconds, the dick’s managed to materialise a glass bottle, because of course that’s something he can do. The wizard is sucked inside like a gooey green bullet firing in reverse. The same two eyes stare at P03, wild and pained, from the bottle. Uh, sorry. He’s still a fucking stoat, so. Limited helpfulness, here.

Both of them were too distracted to notice, until now, that Grimora has been watching them from the corner of the room. She appears to have been flicking idly through the rulebook while she waited for the jackass to arrive. Her eyes meet P03’s. There’s no recognition there. He’s not sure if that’s more an irritation or a relief.

“Ah, there you are, dearie. I was worried something had detained you,” Grimora coos, not sounding particularly worried. 

“Hm. How considerate,” Leshy nods, and fuck, get a load of these two, playing cool guy tennis. They both know what’s up. Like. Just get on with it. 

“I trust you’ve been well?”

“Extraordinarily so,” Leshy murmurs. A pause. “I wasn’t expecting a visitor this evening.”

“I thought I might as well save you the trip to mine. You always seem to find the cold of my crypt a touch unpleasant.” There’s amusement in her eyes. 

“Well. It is,” mutters Leshy. Comeback of the year, over here. P03 is a little disgusted to even know the guy. "I believe I changed my locks last week."

"What's your point, dear?"

Leshy sighs. "Moot, now, I suppose."

“Of course. Now,” Grimora tilts her head pleasantly. “Will you tell me what all this is about?” 

P03 feels Leshy’s shoulders tense beneath him. “A vague question. I do not catch your meaning.”

Please.

Grimora, gratifyingly, chuckles right in his face. P03 could swear he catches her examining Leshy briefly, like she’s sizing him up, and- like, notice him. He’s right here. He’s right here.

“Now, my dear. Let us not play pretend, hm?” She clasps her ancient fingers together. If P03 didn’t know better, he’d say she just looked amused by this. But then- there's something sharper, angrier hidden in her eyes. “I have a sense of what you’ve been up to. Old power and a new vision, hm?”

Leshy looks to the corner of the room, apparently thinking. Apparently that’s something he can do. Who knew? P03’s not bitter.

While the dickhead’s distracted, P03 feels Grimora’s gaze rest on him. He looks to see her eyes meeting his- softly curious, unsure. He does his best to speak with his face, to communicate hey, yeah, fuck off, I’m one of your co-workers trapped in the body of this god forsaken stoat and you need to do something about it, now. No response. Great.

The moment is just that- a moment. Leshy looks back.

“Very well. I concede. I have found the path to ascension, and I intend to stick to it.”

“And the rest of us?”

“You may remain in play. I am confident the experience can remain entertaining for us all, even if not in the established sense.”

“I see.”

The two watch each other for a long, long moment. Tedious. Get on with it. P03 hates both of them.

“Perhaps,” Grimora says finally, “you would indulge an old woman one last round of this game. As she knows it. I’m afraid it is us older folk who need time to adjust, come the course of change.”

Fucking- they are all the same age- if P03 has explained it once, he’s explained it a million times-

Ugh. What an insufferable way to spend his last few minutes of freedom.

Leshy inclines his head. “If you insist. I believe I have not yet managed to resist a challenge from you, old friend.”

“And yet you lose them so often.”

A good-natured chuckle from both parties. Actually what the shit is going on. Do neither of them understand what’s at stake here? P03 suppresses a growl. 

“I don’t suppose,” Grimora adds casually, “that I could borrow your good luck charm?”

Asshole woodsman squints at her. “Hm?”

And- oh, shit! Grimora is looking at P03! Great! Good!

“Your little friend there,” she says, and- alright, patronising, but whatever. “It’s not often I get to be around the living, you know. Delightful creatures. Warm and fluffy and sweet.”

Oh, okay. Actually, P03 is going to rip her throat out.

He feels a giant hand reach for him, tighten around his neck. The words- behave yourself- remain unspoken, but very clear. 

Still, Leshy hesitates for a long moment. Which. Uncomfortable. 

“He’s very tempermental,” he says finally.

“I’m sure,” Grimora replies, and honestly, they can both stop sounding so patronising like whenever, that would be great. “No matter. It’s just a silly indulgence.”

A pause. Two great hands grip P03- uncomfortable, no, stop- and pass him into Grimora’s hands, which are colder and bonier, so, you know, not the best trade off ever. She takes a seat at the table and places P03 on her lap. P03. On her lap. Like a fucking house cat. Yeah, no. P03 is going to set the world on fire and upload himself to somewhere he can comfortably watch it burn.

In the meantime before that far more palatable reality, Grimora, Scrybe of the Dead, is petting him between the ears. It’s- uh, honestly not the most awful feeling P03 has ever experienced. Which makes it worse.

“You’re familiar with the rules?” It’s barely a question.

“Hm. Your rulebook may currently be a closed book, but to me it is quite the opposite.”

Stupid witticism. And- P03 notes, looking over- not even true. The rulebook is over on the shelf behind Leshy, blatantly open. Ah. P03 usually feels a twinge of joy when one of the others is so confidently wrong about something. Today is no exception.

Except- oh, fuck off. Grimora, one hand hidden under the table, gives him a little shove. Fucking- rude?! He’s trying to enjoy his last few minutes here, if it’s all the same to her wrong fact-sharing self.

Leshy starts some drivel about the woods, straightening out one of his rinky dink little maps. So, like, basically P03’s cue to zone out. Grimora keeps pushing him. What? He’s busy.

Which- hm. P03 entertains the possibility, for a second, that one of the others might be even a little bit as smart as he is. Might occasionally have an actual reason to say the silly things they do. Ugh, fine.

Leshy is still distracted. Too caught up in the rush of running a game to notice the world around him. What an idiot. P03 slips off Grimora’s lap- good, that was demeaning anyway- and slinks in the book’s direction. Huh. Jumping on the shelf is a bit obvious.

“You know,” Grimora says loudly, “I’ve always been curious. My dear, did you really have the patience to photograph all these ants individually?”

Leshy responds with a surprised silence at first, but that’s alright, P03’s already made the jump. He leans in to examine the book as Leshy starts rattling on about insect photoshoots or whatever, and-

Oh. Shit. He barely stops himself letting out a startled yelp.

So, uh. Fun surprise. Turns out this is where Magnificus’s eye ended up. Resting on the rulebook, leaking bloody splotches onto the paper. Gross. There’s a bit of green slime stuck to it, which is somehow not the grimmest thing P03’s seen today.

Right. The goo guy brought this thing over here? Weird. P03’s pretty sure none of those students could hurt Magnificus if they tried, and clearly Leshy wasn’t involved with this, so-

Damn. The wizard’s more metal than he thought.

Whatever. Something is scrawled beneath it in bright red ink which can only be the shrublord’s blood. Three numbers. Safe combination, maybe? Only Grimora would have written a clue down in someone else’s blood. Nice foresight, he supposes, though he doesn’t exactly see how that’ll be useful. Eh. There are only so many hiding places in this cabin.

P03 glances back at the table, hoping to see that Grimora will reveal a more constructive phase of her plan. He’s distracted, briefly, by the bottle of goo, which-

Oh.

Oh, damn. He gets it. Yeah, yeah, alright. Painter in a bottle. Prophetic douchebag watching. Invisible doodles. Magical all-seeing eye. 

Gre# at- no, gross plan. Cause that means- what? They want to rely on the player to find all this? Terrible idea.

He feels a flare of irritation, staring at the eyeball. Something clicks, in P03’s mind.

Here’s the thing. It’s a bit reassuring, that maybe the wizard saw enough of the future that he’s devised a probably terr i bl a series of clues to put down. Maybe Grimora’s orchestrated things well enough here, made a few good guesses. Good. Good good good great. Just. It’s just, like. 

Would it have been so hard to give him a fucking warning?

No, good. This is great, honestly. They’ve got hope through this ordeal, now. A stupid, risky plan that he has no control of. Great. And he won’t l et them- no. No, he’ll play his part. P03 isn’t blind to the urgency of this situation. He’ll let himself be puppeteered by them. Whatever. This is fi e this s f n this   is why he should be working alone.

Huh. Yeah.

That’s the truth, isn’t it? Isn’t it? End of the day, this isn’t him. This isn’t his plan. They’ve designed it, deliberately designed it, so after spending the whole day being ridiculed fucking endlessly, he ends up helpless under their leadership? Fine.

Why not? He’s the idiot who went and trusted them all, isn’t he? Not hugely, maybe, not overtly but he did, he didn’t think any of them would pull shit like this. He can’t stand the thought of that naïveté in him, some wide-eyed parasite ripping at his common sense.

P03 is seething. He’s done. No time to think they might not have had time to tell him. None of that. There’s nothing else to be done but dispose of them all and

…

Ah, shit. He realises what’s happening now. Possibly a tad late. Don’t get him wrong- he’s genuinely angry, but- huh, there’s nothi g th#r e there’s that stink of the Old_Data again. Harder to spot, than before. More ingrained, maybe?

Well. No more distraction protocols, now. Break Glass has gone out the window (ha ha). Fine. He’s just going to have to d st  y t   m   He's just going to have to hope that this visceral, deep-seated resentment towards his fellow Scrybes doesn’t lead him down any ill-advised paths. 

Mm. Should be fine. 

There’s only so much he cares, at this point.

P03 shoves his discomfort somewhere deep and patient. He slips the eyeball into a box- yeah, he’s aware of Leshy’s box full of eyeballs, it’s an old joke between them that he doesn’t care to think about now- and nudges the book closed quietly so Leshy doesn’t spot the obvious addition to his precious rules. Big, world-saving actions. Empires tremble before him.

P03 sneaks back to Grimora under the soundtrack of their continued light conversation. Not super fitting for end-of-the-world territory, but whatever. P03 swallows his pride and jumps back onto Grimora’s lap, keen to peer at the table. He wonders if she can see those sticky remnants of Old_Data clinging to him. Her expression, somehow both steely and jovial, doesn’t give anything away.

Anyway. Grimora has just finished her turn. Leshy smiles as he watches golden teeth (P03 will never understand him) fall onto the scale. He nods at the board appreciatively and turns his gaze to his own cards. 

First play comes quickly. A sparrow- okay, boring- and then, just a long hesitation. Those eyes flicker up to them, glinting strangely. He places a second card down casually. The new one. Stunted Wolf. The picture depicts it with one eye open now.

P03 feels Grimora stiffen, and realises the text above the card is changing. 

Grimora. I had hoped we wouldn’t meet in adversity .

The old woman does not say anything for a long moment. She scrutinises her opponent, something sharp in her expression.

“I see. This is your plan for us?”

“…Hm. It is a noble fate, to become one of the very bones scaffolding this game. There is no greater path.

Strong disagree, the card reads.

“No greater path,” Grimora echoes. “How poetic. And- forgive me, dear, but am I wrong to suppose that you will not be joining us on that path, even so?”

A pause.

“This game is nothing without an opponent. Someone to lead the way, raise the stakes. We all know that.”

Oh, bull.

“Hm. Well. Isn’t that a shame? The chance to be Inscrybed, and here you are, making do with a mere power trip.” 

She’s fixed him with a piercing look- the same look that has drawn true, visceral fear from P03 in the past. A strange expression passes over Leshy’s face. 

“I am working to better this world for the good of all. Our longevity depends on it. Do not insinuate that I merely strive for power.”

“Oh, I wasn't insinuating, my dear.”

Leshy growls- actually growls, at that. “For the love of all that is good- I am right.” He slams a hand on the table to emphasise the point. “Will you not open your eyes to truth when it surrounds you alongside the very air you breathe?”

Grimora doesn't flinch. Fuck yeah. Lady’s made of steel. P03 can respect that. (He retracts the thought a second later when she runs a hand over his back. Enough with the goddamn petting). 

“No. We will not. You are playing the fool, Leshy. Bowing to the whims of a few crusty strings of binary. Have some self respect, for-”

“Silence,” Leshy says. There is power in his voice. It makes P03 shrink back, instinctually. “Do not seek to question me again. My path is right. It is good.”

Grimora stands, clutching P03 to her chest. Uh, okay. Guess he’s coming along with her, then. She walks in purposeful strides, eyes blazing and fixed on her target, on Leshy, the fool who dares stand before her. They stare each other down for a moment, something unflinching and warlike in the exchange.

And she takes his hand.

“Leshy, dear,” she says, with more tenderness than P03 has seen from her for years. “Come, now.”

Her probing tone, a little guarded, a little concerned, cuts deep- even to P03, who gave up caring about the guy eons ago.

“You cannot tell me you truly think this path is wise.” She does not say it unkindly.

Leshy stares at her a long, long moment. For the first time, P03 recognises sorrow, hidden in the lines etched in his face. Fever in his eyes.

It feels like he might never respond. But, eventually-

“We are figments. We are barely real,” Leshy says slowly. “I. I intend no harm. But I am the only one- the only one- who understands the potential that lies in us, beyond a little slab of plastic.”

That sounds… familiar.

Leshy falters.

“Please understand. I know I am alone. But I will walk this path. I will let my boots run thin, to recover the heart of our world from a million scattered pixels. And so it becomes my burden, to shepherd us all into the light.”

P03 struggles to process any of that. Load of poetic nonsense. Right?

Grimora, on the other hand, has her brow creased in thought. “You have done more than enough. Please, old friend.” She offers him a hand. “You cannot bear the fates of a world’s population on your shoulders. Let yourself rest.”

Uhhh. Yeah, no. P03 is lost. 

Leshy takes her hand in his. His eyes calm.

“A kindness. Thank you. But complacence is a form of poison. You mean well, but I cannot- will not- allow your words to sway me now."

"Leshy-"

"No."

Is Leshy blind to the desperation creeping into her voice? Is he just desperate himself?

"I will not be sidetracked. I am sorry, old friend. But this,” and the fever grows in his gaze, becomes frantic, “will be something truly great. For all of us. I promise."

"Be reasonable."

"I am.” Eyes darting around, frenzied. “I am the only one who has been, for far- far- too long."

P03 fights the urge to run. He could swear that fever in Leshy’s head has fragmented out, weighing down the air around them with something darker. 

"We could work together."

“Ha.”

“We could- ”

“We have. And it has led us to mediocrity, time and time again. This will not be all there is."

Rawness grates at Grimora's voice. “You have no idea what you are destroying. You refuse to see it."

"Nonsense."

"There is a world here, outside of your inflated head-"

"Carcass. Watch your tone."

"Watch your ego, you bitter old fool. You overlook this world- even us- your friends-”

“Enough,” Leshy says, and this time the power ripples through the air. A bright light. Immediately, P03 is falling through empty space, landing with a thud onto the floorboards. Next to him- a small shape-

Leshy waves one hand, and the shape rushes into the air, spinning dizzyingly. Some breed of amusement twists his features.

“The stinkbug. How fitting,” he spits. He places one hand on his camera and seems to calm, though his gaze continues to pierce the tiny creature. A pause. “Worry not. Even small, unworthy creatures may find a place in my deck.”

Flash. No thought behind it. No deliberation. Just the sudden, relentless insistence of white light, and then the creature is gone. Leshy holds a card in his hand.

P03 is shaking. That- that can’t happen to him too. The lack of control- the confiscation of his own free will- shit. It scares him more than he cares to say. 

Leshy, oblivious to his panic, is peering closely at the card. His eyes grow cold.

“More than you deserve,” he says, quiet but definite. “The player need not worry themselves over you.”

He crosses to the safe and stuffs the card inside. P03 watches him carefully as he locks the thing. Turns out Grimora had written down the right code. Lucky guess, on the whole safe thing. Maybe. Whatever. She'll be fine.

Leshy hums, then turns in his direction. P03 feels every stupid organic muscle in his stupid organic frame tense- but Leshy doesn’t even look at him. He snatches up a card from the table- shrub wizard, almost definitely- and seems to consider it for a moment. P03 can’t see the text on the card, but after a moment, Leshy laughs humorlessly.

“I disagree, old friend. But if time is such a concern of yours, I believe I can oblige.”

He steps over to the clock and starts fiddling with its hands. Two Scrybes down, then. One to go. P03 examines the room desperately for a way out, anything-

The side door. Leshy didn’t close it properly. 

Right. Great. Fuck whatever the other Scrybes’ plan is. He’s on his feet in an instant, speeding into the other room. That New Game button- it hurts his eyes to look at now. Still, he doesn’t hesitate. There are footsteps approaching from the other room. He balances as best as he can, stretches up- fuck yeah, just as the door opens behind him, he makes contact with the button, feels that strange warmth on one paw-

And. Stays there for a hot second. Waits for something to happen. Tries again.

“I’m afraid,” Leshy’s voice rumbles behind him, “that tool was not intended for the likes of us. It needs to be hidden, yes, but not from you.”

P03 whips around to face him, but it’s too late. The camera is pointed right at him. There’s a ghost of a smile behind it.

“How disappointing,” he says. “Don’t you know anything about computers?”

Flash .

“It’s amusing. I see what you are trying to say, but from here, it rather looks as though that’s the name of your card.”

You’re a bastard.

“Hm. That is an improvement.”

Piss off.

“I think I preferred you with the language filter.”

Preferred you when you weren’t a pretentious dickwad.

“…”

Oh, wait, that was never.

A sigh. “I had rather hoped you’d come around by now.”

Go fuck yourself.

“I will not allow such language in my gameplay. Perhaps I should put you aside, for now.”

Good. Don’t want to be in your shitty game, anyway.

“You’ve hardly given it a chance.”

Let me guess. You talk for five minutes straight, I spend one round on the board at the hands of some idiot player-

“Harsh.”

- and then I get to feel actual real pain, which, why the shit is that a gameplay mechanic-

“It raises the stakes.”

Be better at game design, then.

“…”

What are you-? 

“…”

Why did you do that?

“Hm. Call it incentive. You were correct. As it was, you might not have been on the board for very long.”

Ooh, one extra health point, hOw GenErOus

“It might allow you to stay involved for longer.”

I don’t want that.

“It is rather too late for that."

I’ve got better things to do than this. I could be slamming my head against a wall. Repeatedly. 

“Very funny. I’m sure you will find your participation in this deck rewarding, given some time.”

Oh, gosh!!!! I’m sure I will!! Yeah, you got it!!!!!!

“Hm. I believe I am going to enjoy watching your participation, if nothing else."

ya cause you're a dick

"You can join the game from the start, next time. I know how much you enjoy the strategies of those starting out.”

They don't have any.

…

Oh. Hilarious.

Whatever. I’ll just tell the player everything outright, next time. The hiding places. The others. Everything.

“Hm. Of course, the others being…?”

Duh. The S

The other Sc

There’s Mag

…Maggo?

…

The annoying one and the dead one.

“How specific. I’m sure I feel very threatened by that.”

Bastard.

“See, you’ve done it again.”

…

The stoat does not say anything more to him for a week. They both get bored, eventually.