Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Empire of the Antarctic really does live up to its name. 

Next time they took refuge somewhere, Cellbit hoped it would be less cold than this fucking place. Although the cold did not affect him, the stares at the scars on his arms went from intimidating to inconvenient in a short period of time. Rumors had it that people were preparing for a lot of snow in the coming months, and the coldest season had not even begun.  

It took him and Baghera days to find suitable clothing without multiple patches. It took even longer to find the perfect resting spot - an alley filled with abandoned wagons on the edge of the Empire and a culvert that was almost always full of water. They used water from a lake to clean their wounds and fabric from stolen clothes to cover them. The infected wounds began to shrink, causing an unfortunate itch that disturbed him when he tried to sleep. Baghera said that when the wounds began to peel, it meant they were healing. His beloved masks slept beside him, but he was never fully asleep until he put them on. 

The toxic fog never came. Not there. They were too far away for it to reach. Only the open and badly treated wounds remained as a constant. 

But he had experienced worse pain, so to be so shaken by the cold was an outrage.

He literally came from a place where no one asked twice before shooting you in the head, where most of the time he had only the clothes on his back to protect him from the weather. And constantly hearing ghostly whispers that came to him like a spiral, consuming his every moment. As he and Baghera traveled the borders, following the direction of the wind, through the long fields that preceded the Empire's borders, Cellbit already expected to use more logical thinking than physical strength. 

If the blue sky wasn't a clear sign that he was no longer there, the moment he stepped in and saw people walking around without weapons, the tiled streets with intact buildings, and the fresh mountain air filled with the scent of wildflowers, it was one. 

It was the most civilized place he could remember, which was saying a lot considering his life before the war was a mystery even to himself. But, as far as it goes, and unlike their gas mask, survival remains like his only and primary goal. 

He and Baghera stole and hunted food from the nearby forest, took clothes and sheets from clotheslines, and made risky escapes to escape their angry owners. The last time, Baghera bit the woman who owned the house, who tried to grab her by the collar and let her go with a disgusted scream. Cellbit had bought him a red blanket for that occasion - whenever he could, he chose black, sometimes an earthy and discreet color to blend in easily, whether on the streets or in the forest, but he was glad that he had chosen something red for himself. 

Anyone who gave him a questioning look received one in return. He didn't know how eye-catching Baghera's pink hair could be, but he tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. As close as possible to how he had looked before, it reminded him of where he had come from and what he accomplished. 

However, he was drawn to the combination of red and pink, whether it was in clothing, blankets, or people. Not in the bold shades like Baghera's hair, but in the delicate carnations on the balconies and in the sky at dusk that leaves the world in a purple hue. 

He couldn't recall seeing that color in Purgatory, where the ground changed with the cold and the sky was an eternal red that blurred vision and stained the world with blood. Nor could the smell of the flowers be anything more than a stark contrast to the sulfur and rot of bodies.

What's also missing in this place is that particular shade of red, because, apparently, there are legal consequences to slitting someone's throat. 

Sometimes, he pauses when sees a crow land on the top of a lamppost. In fact, it didn't matter what type of bird it was. The sound of flapping wings made him turn toward it as if the bird could materialize in front of him. It was as if he had fallen from the sky again, recalling a time when he was hungry and alone and a duck girl insisted on his presence.

As if he still needed him. 

But he turned anyway, mistaking the silhouettes in the dark for a pair of spreading wings, staring for a long time at a man with blond hair until he saw his face and dropped the costume by showing that he had a face, because the Angel never showed his face. 

If he allows the memories to pull him back to the Blood Sky World, he will undoubtedly end up killing someone again. 

And if they knew his body count, people wouldn't bump into him. If they knew he'd seen and pulled out more intestines than those hanging in the corner butcher shop, they wouldn't dare yell at him while he was running with a stolen object. If they knew he had developed an aptitude for the paranormal, for blood, knowledge, death, and energy, they wouldn't look him up and down.

His body was scarred, torn and burned, yet still intact. He hears the paranormal trying to make him lose himself, but he still there. 

All it takes is a little push for him to put on the gas mask with crimson lenses for the world turns in his red. They would know that Cell wasn't fooling around and that he'd seen more shit than he cared to. 

And he survived.

He just wouldn't admit that he didn't want to see it. But it was never about what he wanted, it was about what he was capable of.

— — 

His business was not focused on stealing. If it was necessary, he had people to do it for him. Stealing reminded him of those two fools, so he preferred to leave it alone. Who knew if they were still alive, with the other children, or serving as food for the vultures. 

He tried not to think too much about it before. When he realized that none of the people he had known for months came with him, the best option would be to leave them there. A perfect balance of when to be practical and when to use his brain. 

Instead of remembering people who shouldn't even be alive anymore. 

They also didn't flee that hell to starve to death on those streets. Where half of those kids who made fun of their goggles with cracked lenses wouldn't last a day without waking up tomorrow with their guts hanging out.

Luckily, Baghera had the same desire. And she continued on his side, more because they had gotten used to it. So he had to admit that he understood the advantages of working together. More because he was used to acted at his own pace, with his own desires.

Then he came, and he brought Baghera, and Baghera had nothing to lose as much as he did, and because even Cellbit felt the weight of isolation weighing his shoulders. 

So he reluctantly had to admit that he understood the advantages of working together.

It was good to have her by his side. Like filling an empty space in a half of him he didn't know existed.

(He wished the Angel was there too.)

With Baghera watching his back, he once managed to break into private property by climbing over the balcony. Instead of breaking the glass, he picked the lock and slipped inside, careful to keep his feet light and his breathing low, until he found a vault in one of the rooms, hidden at the bottom of a drawer.

The logical thing to do would be to look for things of more value and in plain sight, but the safe looked at him with defiance. Maybe because his mind was buzzing with a mystery, maybe because he wanted to feel the sensation of getting things his way.

If a vault was locked and well hidden, then there was wealth there that would be a source of sustenance for a long time. Cellbit lost himself in solving. As he watched the clicks follow each other, the lever mechanism moving, pride exploded in his chest. Savoring the taste of a job well done, reminding him once again that he had won, yes, he had done it himself and figured it out. The clicks must have been loud for the residents of the house, who eventually chased them to the corner of the street. Since then, Baghera and Cellbit had agreed that breaking into the house was too much of a risk, especially since guards had been patrolling the streets for days in search of the thieves.

This place prioritized security too much for his taste.

The next night after the invasion, he stared at the sky. Baghera had argued with him about blowing up the vault, and fell asleep quickly. He looked to the side, saw your sleeping form, and wished he could talk to someone about his findings. He wondered if he had done that before... Whatever had happened to make him the way he was. But it was him, himself, and the journal.

Scratched, scribbled and dirty, just like him. Baghera had stolen a pair and walked a long way to give him one. That day he questioned the importance of having a diary, but discovered that it was very useful in the hands of a boy who had a lot to think about.

Nothing better to keep his secrets and occult theories that he heard in his drowsy state, which was when he heard the supernatural? magic? of the Other Side best – as he liked to call it… Whatever it was. Or it was his way of believing, and the way he chose and made the most sense was that there was world? some place origin that came to his world Reality.

There was a way to see what that knowledge was, and a reason why it came as it did. During his nightly vigils, when sleep did not come and he dared not leave his hiding place, he learned to distinguish different elements. Only then would it be possible to explain why some whispers made him sorrowful and others brought out his deepest emotions.

Deciphering it was part of his obsession, and contradictorily, it began to clog his mind, but he didn't care. Even if he knew a lot, he didn't have much to lose.

As soon as the people in the square became aware of a thief reaching into their pockets, Cellbit understood that he had two choices: run away or get back into the fight. Denying that he wasn't the thief wouldn't work, given his appearance. He wouldn't fucking be behind bars again. 

But his modus operandi changed when he was confronted by a taller, better dressed boy, even angrier about his stolen clock, who chased him through the streets to a dead end. 

And then Cellbit reverted to his original state. Overloaded with adrenaline, ready to hunt, refusing to be the predator this time. Before he knew it, he had his knuckle in the boy's eye and the pocketknife in his other hand. 

His heartbeat covered his ears. Something dormant flooded his blood, piercing the dome he didn't know existed around him. It was as if he had washed away the sleep by washing his face with water, taking away the sleep he didn't know he was in. It was like entering the cold air of the empire after experiencing the heat of purgatory. Like the feeling of fresh air hitting his nose when he lifts his gas mask a little, when the air is free of toxic particles. The freshness of finding water in an unoccupied well after days of dehydration, a masked angel pouring water from the canteen into his mouth and coming back with more and more until he never left him.

He survived. And he wasn't there anymore. The Angel flew away, never to return. He didn't let the air in for more than a minute before returning to the enclosed, stuffy air of the mask. For Cellbit to act more rational, he must face reality. 

This time it was the boy who ran away, and he stood there, panting, stuck in place, his vision not reddened by the sky, but clear, and the air came and went without difficulty. Without the gas mask covering his face, he felt the cold air hit his cheeks and freeze the tip of his nose. Time, which used to stretch indefinitely, came to an end when his rational side spoke louder. 

Either way, he was trapped by the reason he lived in that place. There was no wildness, no urgency to survive.

That's why his eccentric, drawn-out laugh sounded out of place. A genuine sound he hadn't heard in a long time. He must have dissociated too, because he didn't remember the whole way back to the alley.

He wore the clock on his left wrist, the pocket knife held high with the other. "Look at the beauty I got," not that Cellbit had any appreciation for this thing or any other fancy accessory that the aristocracy seemed to like so much, but this clock gave him a taste of victory.

The taste of euphoria that made him want to laugh again and show off to his friend and, who knew, drive away the dread that had been planted inside him.

The same euphoria was reflected in Baghera's gaze when she met his eyes.

"Cool. Look what I got too”

She pulled out a chainsaw.

— — 

One thing Baghera liked about the Antarctic Empire – apart from all the freedom, the successful escape, the blue sky, no one wants to cut her throat in her sleep, blah, blah, blah... – was the cold. 

Which is funny when she thinks about it; she dreamed of the coldness of the laboratories and how her clothes barely protected her from the early morning wind during the first few days, after she had spent the whole night huddled against her own body, waking up the next day with stiff limbs and cold feathers. 

So it was time for her to adjust. She and Cellbit learned to rely on each other, taking turns watching while the other slept and fetching warmer clothes from a clothesline. 

Once there was a way to combat the cold, Baghera saw it less as an inconvenience and more as a comfort. 

As the strong northerly breeze blew, she opened her arms to embrace the wind, causing her fading pink hair to shake and leaving a tangled mess that she brushed with her fingers. As if the year hadn't been cold enough already, she overheard conversations on the street about the snow season approaching in the next few days. Rather than looking at her with concern, like Cellbit, or like a homeless child with no home or warm bed to look forward to, she smiled. 

The day after the news, she hummed around a lamppost and hopped near a group of pigeons, who flew around her in front of a very excited duck girl.

"Why are you so happy?" Cellbit asked with a frown, removing a white strand from between his eyes, but a twinge of curiosity at the whole spectacle.

Baghera turned to him, "I never thought I would see snow” 

To be honest, she didn't even know what snow was not long ago. 

Things that didn't exist in the biome where the labs were built were partly unknown to her, partly a picture out of a children's book. For a long time, she knew more about the smelly white and gray walls of the facility than what existed outside. What she knew was only what the scientists allowed her to know. At some point, a decision was made by the superiors (whom she never saw), by the order organized among the nurses and caretakers (whom she hated), they decided to create a recreation room. 

"Half an hour break," a caretaker informed her gently, but added firmly, "If you do well on the tests in the coming months, we can increase the time. Who knows, maybe I can bargain and give you an extra golden apple potion."

It was a garden around a small fountain of gray stones, darker than the walls, with green grass, bushes with little blue dots that she would later discover were blueberries, yellow roses ("like my feathers," she said), and white roses that had a very strong smell that she only recognized as artificial when she saw a real one. Baghera was not suspicious enough with the guards watching her from the door, writing something on their clipboards as she moved. A little space outside the facilities would appease any escape attempts. 

In hindsight, this proved to be a double-edged sword.

They still had days before the snow covered everything. Days until Baghera could have a little joy, because at the very moment she was walking through the streets, a bag of stolen red apples dangling from one of her hands, Baghera was busy observing the atmosphere of this unexplored area of the neighborhood. Blue banners adorned some corners, something about a celebration in the streets. She had seen those Imperial flags ever since she arrived, and yet she never saw who the rulers of this place were. Something about a prince? - A king, no, an emperor? Did it make a difference if it was one or the other?

Were they like the laboratories? Because that was what was most important to them.

His only contact with this nobility was the sight of the castle. From a distance, it looked simple yet opulent. Baghera had never seen a structure so large and tall; she was used to sheltering in caves, with as much contact with the earth as possible, and the Labs existed inside a mountain. Although her biology indicated that she would have one foot on the side of flight, she never imagined herself in heights. It was never possible to dream of flying anyway, with scientists constantly plucking her feathers. 

The Angel was the only creature she saw that could fly. His wings left her in awe, she liked to see them cut through the air with grace and mortality. Baghera praised them once. She never saw his face behind the bird mask, but she had a feeling that he had a smile on his face. 

Looking at the street around her, she concluded that things might be a little different. A woman was sweeping the floor of the balcony facing the street. A wagon was parked at the corner and people were carrying boxes into a building - none of the food supplements, as far as Baghera could tell - and, narrowly avoiding the wagon, a herd of children ran down the street one after the other, groups of teenagers huddled in a corner sharing something, which Baghera kept more distance from. She wouldn't admit it, but with Cellbit by her side, she had more courage, knowing that he had her back and he had hers. 

But she couldn't always rely on him when she wanted to venture out. She could never predict if there would be more 'Labs' out there, because who couldn't guarantee that there really was one, and those people were living their lives without knowing it? Just as she once heard directly: "You are the only one left".

"So it's true," Baghera stared at her bandaged wrist, prepared for the scowl her superiors would give her if she asked a specific question. "There are more like me"

"There were other tests before you," the doctor on the other side of the stretcher corrected, "but you were the only one who gave results. You should be proud of that," something in the firmness of his voice made her frown deepen.

"But I'm still here." When she turned her face back to the nurse in time to see the syringe in her hand, Baghera caught her arm. She realized too late that her attention was being diverted from the other nurses in the room. "No, please. I'm tired. DON'T PUT THIS ON ME."

The restraints tightened and she struggled against them again, never taking her eyes off the syringe except to bite the nurse's hand and dig her teeth in until she was pulled away. Baghera spat saliva and blood onto the floor. More restraints, more people around her, closer the needle got. 

She woke up not knowing how much time had passed, her feathers cut and the area sore. Baghera was immediately sent for testing and only stopped when she reached exhaustion, which was fast with all the blood loss.

The next time she had blood tests, they put a muzzle on her, but until the muzzle was put on, Baghera was able to pinch and bite the nurses. At one point, she was so strong that she broke one's midsection, and she was pulled out by her hair and not allowed to eat for two days and the caretakers had all agreed to make the muzzle obligatory. 

She escaped her own memories of the one time where she woke up early and saw many tubes filled with her blood, and the nurses had to sedate her to stop her crying, when one of the children running around pointed at her, their mother at side. Baghera frozen.

"Look, I want my hair to be like hers. It's pink, just like the prince."

Several heads were about to look in her direction when Baghera quickened her pace, hearing no response. The word 'prince' echoed in her head.

There would be no Laboratories there, but she did not want the attention of any authority. 

People there heard about a war, but that was it. Rumors that came from who knew where, but were just that. Not a whiff of poisonous air, one more reason for her to appreciate the cool, icy wind of the Empire hitting the skin of her face.

She could tell what day it was and how many had passed. She didn't have to wake up at every sound when they needed to sleep to catch up, although she did anyway.

It felt like a dream reversed. A real place, but it didn't look like it.

That made her a little frustrated.

Because she was doing it anyway; stocking up on food, looking over her shoulder, sleeping with her gas mask on, writing down her days in her diary, a list of what she needed and what she was missing, always having something she was missing. And some of these things were beyond her control and could not be obtained by theft or threat, they were not even things. 

The Angel was her guardian, perhaps something more, and now he was an emptiness that Baghera, who grew up in the emptiness of the corridors of the Laboratory, had become accustomed to. 

Frankly, it was exhausting to have to reshape the way she saw the world when it had been easier the last time.

She knew how to run fast, as she learned as she ran through the halls. She knew how to swim, as she did when she paddled off the island. She knew how to bite really hard to draw blood. So it was efficient for her to run fast while carrying the weight of the chainsaw. In the midst of the savagery of the toxic fog, the heavy breathing in the gas mask, she filled in the cracks she had learned to find beautiful. Blood ran between them in vivid rivulets, turning their feathers from yellow to orange, but keeping them attached.

She also cried a lot when no one was watching. But what's wrong with a few scratches and missing feathers?

The Laboratory had made her strong for the Blood Sky World.

Despite everything.

Some of the children ran toward her, dodging her as if she were another obstacle, and kept running down the street. Baghera also considered running to shake off the stiffness in her bones. Baghera hoped no one would see her as prey. The cold didn't seem so inviting now.

She decided to do something because she was missing something.

– – 

"Hey, what are you doing?"

Baghera turned and smiled at the employee, possibly a mechanic. He wasn't that tall, but from the look on his face, he wasn't happy at all "Hi".

"Where are you going with that, young lady?" The man lifted the counter and took a step towards her, and, wow, he's a lot bigger than she expected. How much strength did an average smith have?

Baghera looked at him and giggled. How hard were those apples and what percentage would it break her nose if she threw one?

Was it really worth it? 

One look at the chainsaw in her hands and Baghera decided yes.

"Je ne parle pas votre langue"

"What are you talking about?"

"Sorry, I don't speak your..."

"Put it down," the man pointed at the chainsaw. Baghera tightened his grip and took a step back. Now the people turned toward her, and the man marched toward her with conviction. She kept her smile despite the tremor in her voice.

"We can't solve this..." when the man was less than two meters away, her smile crumbled like ink, "Oh, va te faire foutre" and darted out.

Baghera raised the chainsaw to clear the crowd, the jagged blade reflecting the sunlight, both hands supporting the familiar weight. She approached the corner laughing, pink strands of hair hitting her eyes, when she heard the shop door open and slam with a bang, a scream following behind her.

Baghera shook her head to brush the strands from her eyes. The laughter died.

She quickened her pace, almost hitting a pole and cutting between two people walking side by side. Seeing a crowd of people on the sidewalk, she ran into the middle of the street, wondering too late if the road was clear of horses and carriages. Looking over her shoulder, Baghera saw the blacksmith pointing at her, the words "Thief, thief" and "Stop that little kid" echoing.

Her fingers felt for the starter handle and pulled it out. Baghera's own mind tricked her for a second, waiting for the sound of the engine starting and the small shake of the stand. The noise was not at all ideal for sneaking up and going unnoticed, as Baghera had wanted to be for most of his life. But, like the cold, she learned to love the sound.

But it didn't come. And that was very disappointing and embarrassing.

They must have called her crazy at some point, because Baghera turned around and decided, oh well, she should have thought a little more about this plan. She should also have paid more attention to the road, because the sound of the horses' hooves came too late for her.

Her body struck the side of a horse, which whinnied and backed away as the rider pulled on the reins, his mane swaying along with the Imperial flag that adorned his saddle. Baghera turned and walked the rest of the way, just in time to see a wagon approach and use it for cover. The same group of children running down the street crossed her path, taking a drastic turn when they saw the chainsaw. They were still screaming as she disappeared down an alley and around a corner, mostly due to her own laughter erupting.

That it was what she calls nostalgic. 

"How?" Cellbit stared at her in disbelief.

"To be honest, Cellbit," Baghera brought a hand to smooth her sore cheek. It must have been from the horse. "I think it was luck."

"And does it work?"

"No," Baghera replied regretfully, removing her hand from her cheek and smoothing the jagged blade even more gently. Cellbit's eyes didn't leave the bruise, "The tank is empty." 

"And how will you use it if it doesn't work?"

"I haven't thought about that. In fact, I doubt I've thought of anything," her eyes fell to the clock, "Where did you get that?"

"Ah, that," Cellbit cringed, "Nothing, I just took it. The guy came after me and I hit him. But I think he saw the knife and ran away."

"Nice."

Chapter Text

Cell had never seen such a beast before in his life. 

He didn't dare come out from behind the rock. He could have had a better view, of course, but the boldness that woke him up in the morning, previously escaped from a hunt, vanished when he saw that the thing was flying. A pair of wings as dark as night, supporting a small humanoid body that might or might not be human. Few things in this place were human, and those that were, were extremely human; the roulette wheel between life and death spins uncontrollably. Survival as justification, question and answer.  

At the moment, his survival consisted of hiding . Whispered so deep into his soul that it made it impossible to hear any other option. 

And no, it wasn't because fear commanded his instincts. Never . But because he needed to analyze and prepare for the flying, faceless beast. 

The face did in fact exist. With more time to analyze the winged beast head, he recognized the outline of something covering it, a different color than the skin. (Easier that way, when he couldn't see their eyes. He would get used to watching them lose their lives over time. He would learn to love it). 

He could see strands of hair blowing in the wind that premeditated the storm, short at chin length. A dark, wide-brimmed hat, which looked like a few lighter stripes, remained on his head despite the wind. But the eyes were hidden behind large, reddish lenses; the chin, the cheek, the forehead, the jaw, behind some the fabric of a mask; the nose and mouth covered with a beak that reminded a crow.

That’s it . That's right, a crow. A crow man, everything about him screamed that. He must live to honor his trademark, for even the crows themselves flew above him before going their way. 

Peak character design. 

Cellbit jumped in fright when the winged beast turned its face, which was previously sideways. A scream stuck in his mouth, one he wouldn't be proud of. He gathered himself and looked back, for half a second regretting turning his back on the beast. Far to the west, the gray clouds came with a silent threat that wouldn't be just any storm, but the storm, whatever that means. That had been his main concern before he saw the winged crow beast. He hoped that, further west, the rocky hills would form a hiding place.

There were only the two of them in this arid field, and very little he could use as a shield and weapon, except for the group of rocks. The largest of which he was leaning against, and the half-high one behind it, and the sand, which would blind the winged beast's eyes if thrown. 

That's how Cellbit learned. The opponent is huge and tall and is lunging in your direction? Throw sand in the eyes, knock their knees, put the knife in the belly… 

Ah, caralho, he doesn't even have that. How are he going to throw sand behind his mask, Cellbit, idiot. 

And what does he have? A canteen strapped to his waist, which held two fingers of water that he allowed himself to drink once a day, and the gas mask he found while scavenging corpses under the vultures, which was in the best condition of all the ones he looked for. The vultures must have damaged it to have so many holes, he didn't even know if it would protect him well from any toxic gas. 

What does he have to attack? A tiny pocket knife, the only weapon left, with a trail of dried blood that pierced the throat of a burglar who tried to choke him against a tree. 

He didn't want to admit he was fucked if he be seen. He didn't . No matter what the sweat in his hands could say. He learned too much from experience to be taken down for an abnormal figure just because it has wings. 

Cellbit learned to pay attention to all his surroundings, just as he also learned that, sometimes, silence is not always a good thing, maybe never. Sometimes both or everyone in the arena wants to do the surprise hit. 

He thought that was why he had a chance to react to the lunge of the winged beast. The crows were silent. 

Cellbit threw himself to the side, knife in hand, half of his body suffering the impact that would have been complete if he had not reacted. He didn't even notice that the tip of the pocketknife cut into the exposed skin of the winged beast. He would have been immobilized, lying on the ground and completely vulnerable. He had time to let anger compete with fear. 

Anger at himself, for being distracted, and at that motherfucker. But just as water and food were a source for the body, anger was also fuel for an out-of-control heart. The infestation of energy in his veins left embers behind, rising from head to toe so quickly that it seemed like it had always been there, just waiting. 

It's better to feel anger than panic. The fear of death will always be there anyway, but what fun would it be if it wasn't?

If he had ever been someone's son, someone's brother, someone's loved one, they would have said he had a creative mind. Because it was easy to turn things into entertainment. 

Cellbit moved first, to attack before the wings curl, but his body reacted otherwise when he caught the glimpse of claws. He dodged to the right and stepped back, putting his arms in front of his eyes. The beast may not be blinded, but he can, so he kept stepping back until he noticed how big the wings were. How much they could consume him if he got too close, how easily they could block him from the outside world completely. Not even the red line running down the winged beast arm satisfied him. 

Cellbit jumped back, his waist hitting the surface of the smaller rock. He took the opportunity to throw himself onto his back, rolling over and landing right behind it.

A plan, a way out, something. He needed something . Where are the whispers when he needed? Fuck the fucking predator analogy, he was the prey now if he didn't think of something … 

From that distance, however, he had a better view of the situation. He realized that the tension was missing a note, as if time had changed its rhythm, carrying no energy to sustain Cellbit. And that was because the winged beast had done nothing. 

Literally, he hadn’t done anything . 

'Done', in this case, the beast did not throw himself into the air, exposed the claws of his feet towards his shoulders and pinned him to the ground — or plunge his claws straight into his larynx —, because it was obvious he was capable of doing any of these things. Nevermind that Cellbit would do the same if he could. The beast could do it even faster, and Cellbit wouldn't stand a chance, no matter how much it hurt his ego to admit it deep down. 

But the beast turned, in the same flash of attack as before, and in the next second the frenzy drained from him. The wings curved in a strange way, and the hand holding the sword flexed its grip, but its shoulders dropped slightly as its neck stretched.

"Oh shit"

The expressionless mask didn't help. But he felt their eyes on him, and Cellbit saw the moment when something changed behind.

"You're a kid. I thought it was a wild cat"

It's a kid. 

Well, a teenager, to be exactly. He thinks. 

To be honest, it would be easier (‘easier’, because those lands were starting to become scarce) to find a vulture, a wild boar, or, well, even a mouse. The kid behind the stone, teeth grinding and growling like fangs, his gaze sharper and fiercer than the knife he wielded. Despite the trembling in his hand, reminded him of one of those wild cats with pointy ears. 

The kid didn't seem to like the comparison by his stare, so he kept the rest to himself. 

“Gato teu cu. Tá achando que é quem, seu merdinha?”  

He didn't understand a single word, but he takes it as confirmation.

Before he could reflect about how complicated it would be to communicate with someone who spoke another language, the wild cat kid growled from behind the rock. “Who do you think you are, shithead? Are you gonna stare at me like an idiot or what?” 

Well… This changes a lot of things. 

The Angel did not answer. He barely heard it, in fact, he just processed the fact that it was spoken in slurred English, and in a voice that betrayed youth. There was no chance he was older than 18. His light brown hair was trimmed, but his bangs were beginning to grow with a whitish strand sticking out between them, beneath lensless glasses that resembled those of an alchemist. A bruise above his eyebrow looked like it was about to get infected, the fingers wrapped around the knife had healed cuts, and he could see one crossing his lip. 

“Well, this makes things different” he muttered to himself, before raising his voice. He noticed the kid gulping at the sigh of his wings “I ask for forgiveness” Angel raised his hands in surrender very slowly, letting the kid follow the movement. He took note of the gas mask hanging around his neck, too small “I don't usually meet other people so easily, every noise I hear I expect to be an animal” 

“Look who’s talking. The fuckin birdman”

Angel laughed at that, and it was incredibly genuine. It surprised even himself. “That’s fair. You look like you need help though”

“Eu não preciso… I don’t need help ” The boy snarled, correcting himself in mid sentence, and Angel didn’t stiffen because of the harsh tone, but because he already knew the answer. It would get nowhere if the other party was on the defensive ready to draw its blood. It's been a long time since he chosen diplomacy to deal with a problem.

“Yes, yes, of course. I don't want to fight, mate. And I don't think it would be beneficial to you either..." 

The kid snapped "I don't give a shit about what you think, birdman" 

"I know, you're right" he carefully said “I'm actually looking for shelter from the next storm that's coming. It wouldn't be beneficial for me to fight anyway. So we can both come to an agreement. What do you think?”

The boy slowly stood up and oh, he really is a teen. A teen who shouldn't be in that kind of place, with that kind of look. 

But not fooling him enough to not notice how his body retreated. How many things must erupt inside that head.

“Then go away”

The Angel softened his voice, keeping it loud and clear like that of an emperor in an Antarctic kingdom. “Your mask” He nodded at the stolen thing. “That doesn’t look like it’s going to protect you from the toxic fog very well” 

“Why do you care?” His shoulders shrugged defensively.

There was a second of silence, without reaction, that seemed like hours, waiting for the angel to make a decision. An easing of his conscience. He didn't think he would forget the wild look of the kid so soon, and that also would mean he is just another pawn. Because he will continue to question why . Why he is there, why that teen is there, why he can't leave, why he had to hunt, to kill, to survive... 

Too many whys . 

The Angel grabbed his backpack with one hand and tossed it at his feet. The boy flexed his grip on the knife as he moved, ready to run or fight, he didn't know, eyes following him as he opened it and took out a larger gas mask that covered his entire face. 

“I had found an extra one around” he held it up high for the boy to see “But it’s not my style” and threw it at his feet.

The boy bent down, watching the mask roll in the dirt as if it were a snake.

“If you stay where you are, I can bring you more water, mate” The Angel proposed. Since the boy didn't move, he kept talking. “Or I can leave it here, under this…” he looked around, stopped at a rock, and returned to it “From this rock. I’ll leave it here, along with other things just for you before the storm arrives, okay?” He spread his wings “Take care, kid”

He took off before giving the answer. Whether the boy agreed or not, there would be a bottle of water and a handful of fruit that he could get from the top of the trees.

Whether the Angel hopes that the boy will accept his help or not, it will never depend on him. Just like the boy wasn't his responsibility, and he had to remember that.

But the Angel wasn't just instinct, as much as that treacherous place wanted it to be. Seeing a kid in a world the color of blood, rotten and violent did not throw him into a frenzy, but into the instinct to protect. To care. 

This was repeated three more times, and each time the Angel found the pot and the canteen empty. The second time, the Angel listened to his expectations, counted his supplements, and left another supply. It was out of pure spite that the Angel checked a few days later, finding not only the pot and the canteen empty, but also written in the dirt next to it, on the tip of a pocket knife, 'thank you'.

And the storm came.

It was the second time he had filled the canteen and not even close to the last that the Angel knew he was being watched from the other side of the lake. 

He flew over the lake, watching his surroundings of the forest dance to the rhythm of the wind. The treetops blocked the light from reaching the ground, the lake reflected the silhouette of his dark wings and the pink clouds in the red sky. The curious thing was that it wasn't always just red. Sometimes he was pleased with an orange dawn, after a night dreaming of northern lights over freezing mountains.

Some of the aquatic plants floating on the shore had grown near the roots of the trees. His own backpack held the fruits he had gathered and packages of fish meat, enough to keep him from worrying about dinner and breakfast. The last tilapia he had caught was sitting on a rock, near the circle of coals where he had built a fire earlier. On the other side, the Angel had conveniently laid out to dry the ripe plants he had been able to find: arrowheads, acmella oleracea leaves, and purple gervao. 

The moss did a good job of covering open wounds, and there was plenty of it, leaves covering a burn on his shoulder. The next day he would drink another herbal tea for his infection, reflecting to himself that this place was not just luck. It felt more like a reward. 

Maybe the boy would like another replacement after all.

Finally, a place to land and rest, or partially rest, after days of flying over damp forests and fields with no signs of life, having to stop for shelter when the winds picked up. Sometimes he couldn't see anything when the toxic fog got thick and he couldn't see more than ten feet.

With his equipment cleaned and his bandages checked, he could spend the next few days without worrying; a week even, if he rationed his food. It made sense that someone else would want this place for themselves. The Angel planned to leave to seek shelter from the storm anyway, but no one would stop to ask him.

Solving things diplomatically was a rarity that most people he encountered didn't choose. Including him. And he would be content to live in that routine as long as it kept him alive — until he managed to escape.

Escape from what? He had no idea, but the uncomfortable feeling of having his steps watched and counted reinforced the need to escape before returning home.

It couldn't be a coincidence that his head was all messed up as if he had lost the signal from a radio, to the point where remembering his home required effort.

After minutes of flying over the lake, the Angel conveniently decided that he needed more plants. He didn't like at all the way the dark clouds were growing closer and closer towards him, how the wind was slowly starting to pick up. The air itself seemed heavy with humidity, even behind the gas mask. The calm before the storm ended. 

He landed on the shore, wading into the water below his knees. His eyes scanned the submerged grasses, behind them a handful of leaves poking out of the water, white flowers blooming from the stems. He leaned toward them, searching for the ones that looked ripe. There were plenty of arrowheads there, and the Angel made good use of them by gathering as many as possible.

Then, after minutes of pretending to look for more, he turned back to his camp. The knife slipped out of his shirt and was wrapped around his claws, thin and versatile enough to reach meters away and hit the throat.

The blade never hit the target. And neither was the target left to be hit by the blade. The little bird project made a shrill sound, jumped to the side with its claws, dropped the stolen tilapia and — is that a fucking chainsaw ? — threw itself into the water.

Now, in the seconds of action and reaction, a line of reasoning overcame the Angel and Baghera. Respectively;

Is that another child? 

Shit! I can't swim.

"Take it easy, little one. You'll end up drowning again"

Baghera delayed her drinking, but she was thirsty for too long to finish the entire bottle. It was only after she took it out of her mouth and felt the lightness of the canteen did she bother to take notes of her surroundings. And the chainsaw she found a few days at her side. 

“Sorry…  J'ai passé beaucoup de temps... à chercher de l'eau. Pour longtemps” She coughed and took a deep breath. That crow didn’t speak French. “Sorry, I drank it all” 

“It’s okay. We have a whole lake to fill” Somehow, Baghera felt his smile behind the mask. She preferred to believe that there was a smile behind the mask.

It was impossible not to smile back, especially when she paid attention to the last part. Us. Just as it aroused a sense of uneasiness. Us? Is it us now?

Since when did it become me and only me for us ? Me and this unknown angel? Me and this guy who was going to kill me minutes ago? 

And strangely enough, it was the first time she had bitten someone's hand without being sedated afterwards. 

Baghera though she was going to die, for the third or fifth time since she had been on this strange island. Never had fully submerged herself in the water, not even in the small bathtub she had had when she was younger. She had been prepared for what would happen when she escaped with the boat, accepting that this would be a better way out than staying in the Labs. 

What she had not expected were hands grabbing her, pulling her up, and thr old habits overcame her acceptance of that stupid death. She sank her teeth into a wrist and  the taste of blood. The person’s instincts kicked in as well trying to push the hand away and pushing her head away when couldn't. 

For a second, Baghera was free, but the hand grabbed her sweater collar and pulled her out of the water. She was coughed and squawked, unable to bite whoever was behind and holding her as if she weighed nothing. 

Meanwhile, the human voice muffled by the mask mumbled something like ‘Easy, easy, EASY. Stop it, I’m trying to save you” 

Or among the lines of “Where did these kids come from?’ 

Jumping down a few minutes later, they dried themselves on the sand. For the first time in days, Baghera drank more than two sips of water. Her sweater and shorts were soaked. The force of the wind hitting her  would dry them quickly in time, but it made her body shiver. 

Sitting there, she realized that it had been a long time since she had simply… sat down. Despite the huge winged and masked figure right there that could kill her at any moment.

Well, she was already an easy target with her best attempts to survive. If he wanted to kill or hurt her, he would have done it already instead of saving her and giving her food and water, when he had a bite mark on his right wrist. Heck, he even offered to see her feathers. 

She refused the latter. Self-preservation made sure to resurface. 

Baghera preferred nobody seeing her poor, damaged feathers, especially not from someone with large, strong, robust wings.

In truth, she should be terrified. Part of her must be, but another part was suffocating from exhaustion. As soon as the water killed the fatigue of dehydration once and for all, she could think more calmly, calculating the best way to interact, since a physical fight was out of the question. 

“Do you feel better now?” The strange crow man with the strange bird mask asked. In addition to the muffledness of the mask, the softness of it came as a surprise to Baghera. 

The scientists were friendly too, when they wanted something from her.

Baghera nodded.

I could die now , she thought. There was no way to escape.

Her eyes fell on his wrist, where the crown man took a strip of cloth from his pocket and began to clean around it. With enough force, would she be able to dislocate the bone? 

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked, pulling it off his head. Baghera jumped involuntarily. The Crow stopped the bandage and looked at her. “I won’t hurt you” his voice softened through the mask. His hair was blond, she noticed. When he looked down, his pointy mask looked funny. “I just want to know if you’re okay”

Baghera guessed that she must have looked like someone who was injured. She hadn’t gotten to see what she looked like until she saw her reflection in the lake. Her hair was still pink, but it seemed to be losing its saturation, either from time or the water. The orange on her nose and forehead also seemed to be fading. 

She pulled her knees up to her chest, one of them skinned, and shook her head.

“I’m fine. Just cold”

The Crow nodded and went back to bandaging his wrist. “You gave me quite a bite”

She gave a shy smile. “Sorry”

“No worries,” he said, “Why did you think of jumping into the water if you couldn’t swim?”

“That’s the question, Mr. Crow, I wasn’t thinking”

He laughed behind his mask. The mask looked at everything red and it must have terrified her more than she felt. But she found herself constantly conflicted. It hadn’t even been an hour since she met him.

Baghera suddenly felt something she hadn’t felt for anyone in a long time; guilt.

“I’m sorry for trying to steal you”

“Law of survival, kid. Don’t apologize for trying to survive” he sighed as if something weighed him down. “You’re too young" 

Maybe because Baghera wouldn’t be if he were a cold-blooded man like the ones she’d seen so far, or the one-eyed strangers, or the sadists who teamed up with other sadists. But she was, because he’d shown her the first and only act of kindness she’d ever encountered.

She wondered if that would turn out to be wrong.

Another sigh from the Crow pulled her back. “Though this place is full of things that would make us regret it”

Baghera didn’t quite understand what that meant, but she nodded anyway, even though he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the lake with a depth that hadn’t been there before, even though she couldn’t see his eyes. 

It would be nice if she had a mask too, one as cool as that one.

“Where did you get that mask, by the way?” Baghera ventured to ask. “Is it because of the toxic fog?” 

“The toxic fog? Yes,” he replied. “Have you ever come across one?” Baghera nodded. “Well, since I came across one when I was about to fall asleep, I’ve decided never to leave my face exposed for too long” he replied. “But this particular one was made by an old friend of mine” It may have been his imagination, but she heard a small murmur, “I owe Slime this one”

“I only saw it once, but I ran away and hid in a cave. I was lucky I didn’t inhale much” Baghera hugged her knees. Her gaze laid to the lake, where small ripples were forming in the wind “Where did this toxic mist come from?”

“I wish I knew too, but I have no idea,” he replied. “All I know I don't like it, just like I don't like this place and what it’s doing to us” Suddenly, he looked at her. “Do you mind answering a question, kid? If you feel comfortable?”

Baghera nodded, because what else could she say?

“How did you end up here?”

Oh

She swallowed.

A part of her wanted to know, the other didn’t know if her own memories could be trusted.

She knew the pain of having her feathers plucked, of needles missing her vein more times than they should have been and having to put them back in. Even though she’d spent her life in the labs, so many things blurred when she tried to visit them.

For someone who loathed the emptiness of her bedroom walls, all Baghera could think about were them. Before and during and after she’d rowed the boat away.

What did she have to lose? The pink of her hair? The last of her feathers?

“I don’t know how to answer you,” and yet, Baghera tried. She felt she had to give something in return. She kept her gaze on the lake while she felt his gaze on hers. “But I ran away from a place. And I ended up here. I don’t know exactly how or when, but I remember I was on the boat”

“Did you end up here after running away from your home?”

“I don’t have a home” Baghera rested her chin on her knees.

Luckily, the Angel didn’t ask. He just turned his attention back to the lake.

Baghera had the slight impression that he wanted to ask more. She lacked answers to her own questions. Only the sound of the trees swaying filled the silence, reminding her of a painting. There was one of a forest in the Laboratories, above some motivational phrase that she couldn’t remember, and whenever she looked at it, she dreamed of being among trees like that.

She liked the sound of the trees in the breeze, despite the chills that froze her bones. She liked the moment of almost peace she was having, despite the fatigue of days numbing her body. Was this what it was like to have luck on your side?

“Actually, I have a theory” The Crow looked up at the red skies “But a very risky one”

“What is it?” 

He shook his head. “It’s not a safe place to talk about it”

Baghera pondered the meaning, really tried, even followed his gaze to the sky to see if the answer was there.

“Something could be responsible for everything”

Baghera squinted, looking for something there that no one would notice because it was right above their heads. Except, well, the part about the sky being red.

She needed to know more. And the way to get answers might be with that Crow.

The Crow looked down at the clouds on the horizon. Or at least that was what Baghera assumed he was looking at.  Did that mask have peripheral vision?

“Do you know of any place to take shelter from the storm?”

Baghera followed her gaze, and saw that the clouds were frighteningly close. The cold had gained an  intensity beyond comfort. Must be her impression, but the world was getting dark. 

“No, I don’t know. I was going to look for a cave to shelter in”

“That’s a good start.” He looked at her. “Do you want to come with me to look? Unless you have another place”

They had reached the rocky hillside when the Crow extended his arm in front of her. He signaled for silence with his index finger.

“Stay here,” he whispered before taking light steps toward the entrance. Baghera crouched behind a tree trunk, the chainsaw clung to her chest. She watched the Crow crouch and peer toward the entrance, his hand on the hilt of his sword in case he had to draw it. 

She heard another voice, one that was not muffled by the mask. The Crow’s wings lifted in what Baghera thought was a surprise.

“Hey, it's you” The Crow didn't let go of the sword. Baghera craned her neck to cough a glimpse of a boy, with brown hair and a white streak in his bangs and — wait what — a gas mask around the neck. Why does everyone have cool masks but her? “Hey, hey, mate, remember me, right? Seems like we had the same idea”

“You’ve got to be kidding” Cellbit said, “Are you following me?”

“We were looking for shelter from the storm” The Crow looked at the entrance of a cave, which was some rocks above and where the boy tried to climb. “Need help?”

“Us? Are there more bird people out there?”

Assuming this was her cue, because she was indeed a bird people with a small portion of golden fish, Baghera rose from behind the tree, still holding the chainsaw, and received the boy gaze.

She stared back at him. 

Huh, what a weird guy. 

His eyes widened “What? There really is other…  Are you two trying to stalk me?” 

“I have a chainsaw. Why the hell would I stalk you?” To prove herself, she raised the chainsaw. 

The Crow exasperated sigh interrupted any further interaction. He sounded tired, even nervous, the way a nurse would when he realized Baghera was going to 'play hard', according to his words.

“Look, teens, we can help each other, don't you think? Look at our situation” The Angel said “There's a storm about to hit our heads that will hardly last a few hours, best case scenario an entire day, and even that is my optimism talking for me. I’ve got supplies here with me and a way to get more” the mask looked at Baghera and back at the boy “With all due respect but not really, you don't seem to have much on you” 

“I literally have a chainsaw”

“I can handle myself just fine, birdman”

“Of course” he sighed “Of course you both do, silly of me”

The Angel looked up at the sky and then at the horizon, which was getting darker with each passing second. The cold began to bother him, unlike it usually did. He was as suited to the freezing wind as he was to his wings. But everything he felt in that place tried to mold him in a different way, drying up the last memory of his life, his home, his people. It was important that he anchored himself in these small fragments of memory. 

“But why don’t we come to an agreement, just until this storm passes? Do you want to rest? Because I’m very, very, tired” he said. “Aren’t you both exhausted too? Of all... This? Doesn’t this place tire you?”

Yes . Baghera thought. I don’t remember the last time I slept a whole night, the last time I ate, and my bones hurt as if I was experimented on . 

She was waiting for anything outside the Labs, except to miss it. And she refused to feel that.

“That’s a good idea” Baghera shrugged. “I have nothing to lose, anyway”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Shit, fine. But if you lay a finger on me, I’ll rip yours off, got it?”

“Got it, kiddo.”

“I have fangs, just so you know. And a chainsaw”

“Cool, interesting. See how diplomatic agreements can be a good way out sometimes?” The Crow looked at her. “I just realized I didn’t ask your name”

“It’s Baghera” She said. “I don’t know yours either, Mr. Crow”

“Exactly, what’s your name?” The boy retorted.

The sigh that Crow let out seemed lighter. “Well, my name…” he didn’t know how he felt about names here, but… “You can call me Angel. I’ve been called that before”

The boy snorted. Baghera smiled, thinking it was as strange as Mr. Crow.

“Do you want to say yours too?” The Angel looked at the boy, who was looking from one to the other with clear uncertainty. 

"Call me Cellbit" He wasn't supposed to be in that situation again. Accepting the things the beast left on the rock had led to this moment, and he didn't know how to read it. He'd already paid the price for reading it wrong, for thinking beyond himself, and for believing that there would be hope for him. Cellbit doesn't even know anymore, he's been dreaming about Death for too long. "Some call me Cell too"

The Angel — internally, he was still the winged beast and Mr. Crow — nodded, pulling on his wide-brimmed hat. 

“Cellbit, Baghera,” he greeted, and marched toward the cave entrance with his head held high. Taking firm steps that weren’t afraid to leave marks in the earth, one hand resting on the hilt of the sword sheathed in its sheath. The contrast the Angel imposed was strong, crossing the mixture of fear and envy

Cellbit refrained from stepping back as he passed by, but not to look at the dark wings. They lifted slightly as he climbed the pile of rocks and stopped at the entrance.

There was another momentary tension as Baghera gaze met Cellbit. As if he was waiting for their cue, waiting to see who would go first.

“It seems safe enough” the Angel’s voice called.

Baghera took the first step, following suit, and Cellbit fell into step, narrowing his eyes in his direction.

“Why do you look like a duck?”

“I was born that way” She replied. “Why do you have a penis drawn on your shirt?”

“I… What?” Cellbit looked at his shirt, which had been white before and was now gray, with clumps of dirt and a suspiciously dark red mark on his left rib.

Baghera laughed.

“You really did fall for that.”

“T-the… What… HEY”

“Guys, It’s better hurry” The Angel called as they began to feel drops of water fall. He waited for them to go deeper. Baghera accepted his help to climb the rocks, Cellbit almost tripped when he managed to do it on his own, and sent an angry glare in Baghera’s direction.

The Angel took one last look at the heavens, catching a small patch of red sky before the clouds covered it. He could have sworn that one of them looked like an eye. But, as he said, he was tired.

Chapter Text

“NO”

With this scream, Cellbit woke up, facing the dawning sky with the timid appearance of the sun. His hand grabbed the handle of the knife, always left in his palm before sleeping, and stood. The sketchbook, resting on his belly after he fell asleep, fell to the side and hit his backpack.

Nothing of his was stolen, was the first thing his mind processed. It would be a thorn in his side if his things were stolen. Both to try to replace the lost items and to make the thief pay.

“Putain de merde, ce n'est pas possible”

But the voice came from Baghera. He turned to face her, prepared for possible and impossible scenarios. 

Baghera stared back at him, unfazed by his shock. She lifted his gas mask to his face, revealing the cracked red lens.

"It's broken"

It took him a moment to process what he had just seen and heard. Cellbit let out a loud groan and sat back down, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Holy shit, Baghera. Don't scare me like that, I had a really good sleep"

"The mask broke" Baghera repeated, looking down at her mask. Cellbit rubbed his eyes, the other hand still holding the knife. "It wasn't supposed to break"

"Did you wake me up for that?"

"Yours is broken too"

Cellbit ran a hand through his hair as his eyes widened. "My what?"

– – 

"Are you French or something?"

It was Cellbit, who spoke only when spoken to, looked around as if he had an owl's neck and slept with a pocket knife in his hand, who asked. It was just the two of them  left to gather supplies from the cave while the Angel took advantage of the less intense rain to get what he could from the outside.

If it had been the first few days, Cellbit would have had his doubts about whether it was a good idea to be alone with the duck girl while the winged beast did whatever it wanted outside. Six days later, confined to the cave, he didn't even have to weigh his options.

"Yes, I am" Baghera replied. They were both kneeling in the deepest part of the cave, where roots protruded from the ground and sturdy rocks could be placed around the fire or held in traps. "What is yours?"

"I'm Brazilian," he replied, "But somehow I know how to speak fluent English"

“Me too” Baghera said. “Where do you think the Angel is from?”

"I have no idea" he murmured. He looked from side to side, even though they were alone, he doubted that he and Baghera were the only ones listening. "I heard him talking to himself about some frozen kingdom. He also has a strange accent"

"Yes, I noticed. A bit too proper, isn't it? At least compared to the English I speak. Like," she punctuated certain words with an accent, "I think the storm is going to last longer than I expected"

"This guy is weird"

"Very," Baghera shrugged. "But he saved my life"

Cellbit waited for something behind the genuine tone, but found nothing. Baghera's feathers sometimes arched and bristled like the skin of a skittish cat. The pink hair was made of the same material. Perhaps that explained why it was pink? Unless Cellbit's vision was faulty from distance, since he hadn't gotten close to anyone there, her roots didn't betray any other color, nor did the white streak of his bangs.

He couldn't deny it, a half-human, half-duck person was cool. Top character design, in his opinion.

Hm, he wanted to look cool too. He liked to have drops of blood dripping from his white shirt to make it look like he was careless in not cleaning up the crime scenes, but it had been a long time since he had spilled one (six days). He even decided not to try to slit their throats while they slept (also because it seemed impossible - the Angel wouldn't take off his mask, and Baghera curled up in a ball in a corner that required a lot of effort to pull his hair and reach his throat).

Also, and less importantly of course, it was the first time in a long time that he... talked to anyone. Civilly. Without threatening after every sentence or cutting off their tongue. 

He slept with his back to the wall and the knife under his hand, waiting for Baghera to fall asleep and keeping an eye on the angel, who also had his back and wings to the wall. He did something strange that he had seen vultures and crows do from time to time; he folded his wings and smoothed out the feathers, putting each one in its place, removing any dirt that was stuck. He only did this when it was his turn to keep watch.

Last night, his mask turned in the same direction as Cellbit while he had his sketchbook open. His hands stopped working, and Cellbit felt himself itching to touch the handle of the knife.

"I'm cleaning them" the Angel seemed to read his confusion. "It's the first time I've done it since I ended up in this place"

It seemed so casual. Something only people with wings were used to.

"Why don't you fly away?" Cellbit asked, not loud enough to wake Baghera. The cave helped to make his voice echo.

"I tried, mate. I tried" he admitted, going back to cleaning his feathers, "but this place won't let me"

"Do you think it's alive?" he asked, unable to hide his curiosity. The angel seemed to notice this as well, because he looked at him again. For a moment he expected to hear a no, maybe even an admission that he went there voluntarily? But he didn't.

"Not only do I think it's alive, but I think it's watching us," he looked away, "but that's just a theory. I don't think anyone here knows why we ended up here, do you?"

He wasn't sure. 

Maybe there was a reason he was there, something or someone saw what was inside him and wanted it to break free. And when it did, it fed not only on his thirst for survival, but also on the pleasure he had. 

But Cellbit didn't know when he became a killer either, so he accepted that he had always been one.

"How did you find this sketchbook?"

Cellbit grinned. "I got it from someone" he replied. "I was trying to ambush one of those one-eyed people, and I bumped into a guy who looked like a guard from his uniform. But, at that moment, the animals went..." he stopped, thinking how to paraphrase that. "There were times when the animals went mad"

"Like they were hungry? But like, extremely hungry?" The angel guessed. Cellbit nodded. "Yes, I know what you are referring to"

"Some bears started to chase us and..." Cellbit stopped himself with a giggle, "Damn, there weren't many. But it was a terrifying, you know?" Judging by their growls, it looked like a pack. They were running with such murderous intent that would make Cellbit jealous if he hadn't been so scared. He laughed more, "We had to climb a big tree at the same time, but we were cornered. Bears are fucking strong, you know?"

"I imagine so" the Angel chuckled along "And what happened?"

"I stabbed him when he tried to push me out of the three. Give their body to the bears and run while they devoured"

Cellbit gave one last laugh, which the Angel did not imitate. Instead, he clapped his hands.

"Very well, mate"

"That was a crazy day" He sighed nostalgically.

"And what are you writing so much about?"

"Things" he replied. "My dreams, my theories. I get really bored when I'm not hunting"

The Angel made a sound of recognition.

"Theories about what?"

He hesitated. This was another point of talking civilly; he must also act civilly. One person asks and another answers, depending on the question, the answer is one he is not sure if he wants to tell. 

"It's okay if you don't want to show me. I'm just curious" The Angel continued the same cleaning with the other wing. "You seem so focused when you start writing."

He would never show it. But — he looked at the pages again — he could talk about it civilly .

"I was documenting the things I saw" Cellbit said. "Everything out of the ordinary. The animals, the poison fog, the earthquakes. And the red sky, of course” 

"Interesting" The Angel commented.

"I'm actually dissecting the reason why it's red. How each thing happens, if there's a specific time for each event to happen, if there's a time interval or a random order. And what would be the next ones"

"Which ones have you documented so far? I've come across a few" 

Cellbit flipped through a page and named each one. Earthquake, Toxic Fog , Animal Hunger, and Quicksand.

"Blizzard" As soon as he finished, the angel said "On a sunny day, a blizzard came from who knows where" Cellbit picked up the charcoal and wrote it down right under 'Quicksand'. "Burning sun too. It gets hellishly hot," he continued "it's good to write things down"

"Yeah, it helps organize the whispers... I mean, the things I think about"

Cellbit didn't look at the Angel. He refused to give in to any suspicion. It didn't matter if it was nice to share some things with someone other than himself, no one would see those symbols. 

Not until he knew what they meant.

"You're a clever one, boy"

Cellbit looked up. The surprise of the complement mixed with the surprise of feeling his cheeks burn.

"I do my best" He tried to sound firm. "Would you like to hear more of my theories, Angel? Or do you have some you want to tell me?"

"I'm all ears, mate"

– – 

As soon as Baghera finished pulling out some roots and gathering the pieces of coal, she returned to the fire and arranged the stones in a circle. It would be a catastrophe if the cave filled with smoke and suffocated her; this was one of her first direct contacts with fire, so she didn't want to make any mistakes. 

Pride exploded in her chest as she saw herself managing to learn the basics of survival in the wild. 

Making a fire? Check. Lighting a fire? Check, but it was harder than she thought, but she managed it after a lot of effort. Trapping squirrels and rabbits? So-so, her knot wasn't very good, but the Angel was patient, so she decided to be optimistic, so check.

Even though she knew deep inside that she was a failure who had escaped from her cage. Still, Baghera waited for more orders and felt her anxiety grow when the Angel simply thanked her and continued his own task.

Not even when she insisted that he could help with something, he said that it was all right, he would take care of it himself. 

The Angel confused her, but he had also saved her and was still saving her from the wild world outside. So she would try, really try, to cooperate. To have the obedience the Labs expected of her. 

After much thought, he let the Angel check one of his remaining wounds from the Labs. Stitches on her hips and feathers hurt when she moved in sleep. 

Baghera did not give details about the chaos that occurred that day in the infirmary, but it made even the most tolerable nurses lose patience with her. 

They put the muzzle on too late, and her teeth pierced the scientist thumb, who explained that she needed a fresh sample of one of the feathers as soon as possible - one that was not too small, but also not too old, that was in the growth phase and Baghera could tell from the pain that it was not the right time to take it -, and the supply of her blood bags was running low. It was the time of the semester when she constantly had blood drawn from her arm and drank a lot of orange juice. The scientist did not care, she was convinced that the results are far more important than the methods; said methods that could be made. 

In her defense, Baghera didn't mean to bite hard. It was her modus operandi, a word she heard one of the scientists say to the other about her report, to bite hard. She was stressed by the arrival of the stock period and the monotony of standing still while they drew blood from her arm, and worried when she had to find out about it, not by being told directly, but through a conversation between two nurses. She shouldn't have been told, so as not to stress her more. Which stressed her out even more. She barely slept that night, but while she was sleeping she dreamed that the grass in the recreation room wasn't artificial, but fresh and alive from a typical summer drizzle, and the scent of fresh air smelled so real that she wanted to break the alarm that woke her up.

So sue her for accidentally biting off a finger or two of the Doctor Elena.

As if Baghera could do much. She got a slap on the cheek that almost sent her to the other side of the room, from Tom, the nurse who let her take an extra serving of jelly at lunch. The needle they were inserting into her vein came loose from the tube in the bag and blood spilled down her arm. Her own nose began to bleed from the slap, and the scientist's blood dripped onto her clothes. The nurses began to argue with each other now, Marilyn didn't want to get close to Baghera like this, Tom yelled that they should have sedated her while she was still eating lunch or in one of the jellies, and Francis, recognizable by his French accent, insisted that they join forces to restrain her as Baghera began to remove the restraints from the gurney with one of her free hands, moaning with the latent ache in her cheek.

Some came to her aid, others sent someone to get the sedative, and whoever was brave enough to get close to Baghera pulled her hair and ordered someone to hold her arms. When they did, they began to pull out the still growing feathers down to her scalp, taking some of her skin with them, as the nurse who performed the operation was not qualified to do so. She stayed in that room for the next month, smelling of blood and disinfectant.

"I must have fallen from somewhere when I was running"

The Angel nodded and she relaxed, showing the marks on her arms and ribs. He gazed at her for a long time without saying a word, until he started to apply bandage to ease the pain.

Baghera noticed, however, that he looked at her every now and then after that. His shoulders hunched, his wings tucked behind his back. He looked at her for a while before going back to what he was doing. 

She felt safe, though, when he was the one standing guard while they slept. Not so much with Cellbit, who was weird and acted like a tough guy who drooled a lot when he slept. But he was much more familiar with survival techniques than she was.

Baghera was way down in the hierarchy. Far, far behind. 

But she wouldn't have to think about that if she maintained a mutual relationship with all of them, a kind of temporary peace. As long as she proved her worth, even if it was only by mining coal or turning rabbit meat over the fire, she would be included under the Angel wing and a useful thing in Cellbit eyes.

"Why the white bang?" she asked curiously as they ate roast rabbit for dinner. Cellbit cleaned the meat down to the bone and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Why do you want to know?"

"It's... Different" Everything about this place was different, but since this boy looked completely human, the streak of hair was the most 'different' thing about him. Baghera was used to his strangeness and indifference anyway. 

"Mine is different? Your hair is different" Unlike the other times he spoke, he didn't come across as harsh. It seemed to be a topic people were interested in, and so far she hadn't seen anyone with hair like hers.

"What's wrong with my pink hair?"

"None, huh, but I've never seen..."

"That's so pink-phobic of you, Cellbit"

"So pink what? Girl, you - you're a duck"

“And 1% golden fish” 

“A what?” 

"Yeah" 

Cellbit blinked. 

"Literally a human duck. Or a duck-human." He turned the piece of bone in his hand, looking for any remaining bits of flesh. "It's kind of cool, actually"

"Oh, thanks."

"But, I mean, I've never seen a duck-human, or anyone with natural pink hair"

"How do you know it's natural?"

Cellbit seemed hesitant, and Baghera's smile widened as a result of hitting the nail on the head. "Well, I guess... I mean..."

"Yes, it's natural"

"I guessed. I mean, how are you going to color your hair in this end of world? That was my first question I had"

"Yeah, yeah, that makes sense. I haven't found anyone else like me either, except for the angel." She pointed at him, a few meters away, while she organized her backpack. "You're the most normative one here, a full human, as far as I know"

"As far as I know" he said. "Your parents were like you too, like one of them was human, or..." Cellbit hesitated. "I don't even know what to think about that"

"I have no idea. I've never seen them, and I don't even know if they exist"

"Neither do I" He stared at the bone. "I don't know where this bang came from either. It's just there"

"Hmm, that seems like a pattern to me" Baghera then looked at Angel. "Hey, Angel, were you born with your wings? If you don't mind?"

The angel turned to them. The shadows of the wings on the wall behind him grew larger. The fabric of the mask was barely visible in the firelight, but it reflected the red lenses. Baghera must have read children books where beasts isolated themselves deep in a cave, and the first physical sign of them was a pair of glowing eyes.

"Yep, I was definitely born with it" he looked at Baghera, "And I actually knew someone with natural pink hair. An old friend of mine."

"Really?" Baghera's eyes lit up.

Cellbit frowned, "Hum, that seems like a pattern to me, too."

"I suppose so, mate," he chuckled and stood up. The Angel's shadows covered most of the wall with wings outstretched, like a beast approaching to examine the creature it had stumbled upon. But the closer he got, the smaller he seemed, and his steps seemed... light, yet shuffling. He held out what was in his hands to Baghera. "What do you think, Baghera?"

A gas mask, with red lenses a shade lighter than his. The beak wasn't as long as the crow, but it pointed down and had a protrusion like a nose. There were a few last-minute patches here and there, but it was the perfect size for her head. The back wasn't completely covered, though. It was held in place with a buckle, leaving her hair exposed but the face protected.

"It's pretty, is...?" She pointed at herself.

"Of course it is. It's dangerous not to have one of these around. It'll be one less thing to worry about. Here, try it on."

Baghera jumped to her feet and took it in her hands with a care she had never shown before.

A gift?  Whispered her inner self. Gifts were not usually material things. It was a chocolate candy at lunch, a rose on her birthday that wilted in a few hours because she was not given a container of water, a new board game to play alone or with a co-worker who had the time and interest to offer it, which was taken away from her soon after.

She put it on her head. It was a little tight, but nothing she could not get used to. Better that way than letting the air in and suffocating. The firelight turned red and the rest of the cave went pitch black.

"It's nice," she looked at the angel. "It's very nice. Thank you so much, Angel."

"You're welcome, mate" He looked at Cellbit. "I forgot to ask if yours worked on..."

Cellbit put his on before he finished. His had a recent patch between his eyes and the beak was standard.

"All good"

The Angel didn't seem to mind the harshness, even if he was hesitant. "Good. I feel more relieved knowing you two are safe"

Baghera nodded, not knowing what he was agreeing to. Out of nowhere, his heart warmed more than the fire warmed them at night. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cellbit looking away, but he didn't say anything.

The Angel made a chorus of voices behind his mask, which must have been a yawn from the way he straightened his spine and arms.

"Would either of you mind taking the first shift, just this once? Today was quite a day..."

"I can do it" 

"I can" 

Baghera and Cellbit looked at each other when they realized they had spoken at the same time. The Angel clasped his hands.

"Whoever is most rested can take the first. You can wake me up for the second shift, okay?"

They nodded and watched as the Angel turned his back on them and curled up in his corner. His backpack as a pillow and his wings half outstretched. It didn't take long for his chest to take on a rhythm.

Baghera sat back down.

"I can take this shift if you want. I'm not tired anyway" Cellbit picked up the sketchbook beside him. "I need to write down a few things here"

Baghera nodded, but added, "You can wake me up for the next shift. I think he's too tired, let him have some sleep"

Cellbit looked at the sleeping form of the Angel and nodded. Baghera retreated to her corner, tucked her arms into her sweatshirt, and fell asleep quickly.

Fortunately, her wounds seemed to have improved a bit, but plant leaves didn't always work miracles.

It frustrated Baghera, but she accepted the scars the Laboratories had left as part of her for the rest of her life.

– — 

Cellbit released the air trapped in his lungs. "It's only a small risk, Baghera. Do you want to give me a heart attack?"

"Did you touch it?"

"Of course I did..." a snap sounded under his fingertip as it touched the glass of the lens. Cellbit felt his heart sink and uttered a groan of pain that was indescribable.

"Yeah, I know" Baghera said sadly. "I don't know how to take care of them properly. We don't even use them anymore, they are no longer useful" 

"What? Of course they are. The poison fog..."

"But there's no poison fog here, Cellbit"

With regret, Cellbit realized that he had fallen asleep without the mask. He hadn't even noticed himself when he woke up, but only at this moment. He looked at the mask that Baghera was cuddling in her lap, like a kitten found on the street.

"They're still important, but..." She looked down "We're not in that world anymore. What are we going to do?"

"W-What do you mean?"

"We need a place to stay" she said, "I don't want to sleep in alleys and wagons anymore. I can't stand the cold, and people say it is not even a full winter. Neither can you"

"We can handle a little cold. Baghera"

"You've been coughing all night, I can hear your teeths trembling, and my fingers would be frozen if I don't put my arms inside the sweatshirt. Look as if we speak” Baghera indicated her mouth “It's already at the point where it's smoking while we're talking”

"Nonsense" Cellbit scoffed.

"Well, I don't want to get sick" Baghera straightened her spine. "I didn't run away from this place to stay in shit and feel like shit."

A layer of darkness saturated the pink hue of her hair. Cellbit himself felt this layer over him. 

The terrain Cellbit entered was unfamiliar, and he deliberately left it that way. To talk about the red sky world? To share techniques for incapacitating a person with the handle of a pocket knife? What are the best places to bite a person? Familiar terrain, safe to take a nap with one eye open and one eye closed, perhaps with a water source nearby.

But before the world of the red sky? It was both a forgotten secret and a secret that wanted to be forgotten. The latter must have been the case for Baghera, for to Cellbit, his past was a blank canvas without a pen to write on. While Baghera's was locked in chains.

Why try to draw or tear off the chains? He felt that they were above judgment and his own past, but he couldn't resist the urge to ask: "Run away from what?

Baghera stared at him. She opened and closed her mouth, only to shrug in the end.

"My past"

Cellbit nodded. A very fragile line.

"Are your past after you?"

"I don't know" Baghera answered firmly. "This is not a good place for us, Cellbit. I don't know if is safe to us to wander around this place anymore"

"And what are we going to do? Just sit here and do nothing?"

Before either of them could speak, the sound of footsteps came too close. Cellbit hand flew to his knife, and Baghera feathers ruffled as he turned to the person who appeared in their line of sight.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's going on?"

Cellbit held the knife low, out of the man's sight, and replied, "We were here first. Get out."

"This is my wagon"

"I said get out"

The man narrowed his eyes on both of them. Baghera stood still, waiting for the next move, the chainsaw lying next to his bag.

"It's you, isn't it? You're the one who bit Albert"

Baghera pointed at herself, but followed the person gaze when she noticed it fall on Cellbit.

For half a second he was confused, until he remembered that he had tried to steal money from people pockets and discovered that he was a terrible thief; someone held his hand and insisted that the necklace he had taken was of emotional value and blah, blah, blah, why the hell do people get attached to things? Anyway, he managed to get rid of him in the end. 

"We'd better get out of here" Baghera warned, picking up the chainsaw. Cellbit could see the surprise in the person's eyes when he saw it.

Cellbit also remembered that news was spreading about a girl who had run away in broad daylight with a chainsaw she had stolen from a very famous grocery store in the neighborhood. Unmistakably a girl with pink hair and yellow feathers. 

All he had to do was hear a voice shout, "Call the guards," for them to take action.

"Come on, this way," Cellbit threw his backpack over his shoulders and ran to the stairs that led to the roof. One of the reasons he had chosen this location, but not so advantageous when he felt the freezing metal under his hands.

Once on the roof, Cellbit reached out to Baghera and helped her up.

"Do you think he recognized me?"

"Definitely," he said, and they began walking between the tiles, "Next, we'll get to the corner roof and go down the busiest street.

"But there are many more guards in the middle. Which, by the way," Baghera jumped from a certain tile with accumulating white dots, which, if they paid more attention, they would notice it were forming frost, "What's this story about biting? This is my thing"

"I kind of... Look, I tried to get some money"

"In the middle of the center?"

"We are out of food. Everyone here seems to know when someone is stealing, it's a pain in the ass. And this person was a wimp, he didn't want to give me the necklace that 'a grandfather left after death' or something, and started bugging me, so I bit his hand and threatened him with my knife" 

"And you didn't even tell me? What a disappointment, did you bite enough to break? Ugh!"

Cellbit turned in time to see Baghera's shoe slide across the tile. Her ribs hit as she fell, though she kept her hands on the floor during the impact. Cellbit grabbed her wrists before she slipped off the roof. 

"Ugh, I'm okay, I'm okay..." Baghera tried to get up as they heard another voice from below. 

"There they are. It's that girl" Cellbit didn't need to look to know that a guard was nearby. Far away, he saw a woman with gray hair tied up and a cigar in her mouth. "What are you doing, your little troublemakers? I don't allow minors in my tavern"

“Ivete, 'm thinking it’s the kids who are talking on the streets” A tall, strong guy with a long grey beard said, one that Cellbit decided not to mess with by the size of his muscles. None of those people from the tavern, actually. They look like a gang. 

He helped Baghera up. "We have to go. This way"

"The masks, Cellbit"

"Oh shit, we'll think about that later"

"No," Baghera grabbed his elbow to stop him "Let's put them on. They know our faces"

"But it's too obvious" They got off on the roof of another establishment, lower than the previous one "Holy shit, why don't they leave us alone?"

Walking from rooftop to rooftop was extremely difficult. They only had an advantage because of their height, but Cellbit didn't think this was the ideal way. 

With or without the masks, people were beginning to notice. But the longer he and Bagheera stayed in this place, the closer they came to a breaking point. One of them would have to act, put down their weapons and make the first move. For Baghera, if she didn't protect herself in this place, she would end up as lost as she had been in the labs, and for Cellbit, the rules couldn't be any different. 

He didn't want to keep running. Because it never lasted long, sooner or later they would have to face each other, and he had been a prey once, too. He knew despair too well to avoid it like the plague. 

Cellbit, and Baghera, despite unknowing her origins, had gone through a lot to end up like this; running away from a bunch of people who had no idea what they had been through. 

This wasn't how he wanted to end. He had crossed bigger lands than that shitty Empire with their shitty cold. When he looked ahead he saw the castle far from the city, between one mountain and another and ostentatious as one would be. So far from those streets as if it would contaminate, but with a privileged view the entire kingdom. It would fit in its palm and squeeze. 

They're going to tell him that he knows nothing. He could feel the power of the purest and most feared hatred conjuring a ritual that would be capable of ripping off the skin in slices. Could do it manually, if he wanted, and no one would say that he knows nothing. Or simply not face the direct death, Cellbit didn't need to kill, but a well-given warning that would leave him scarred. 

Cellbit scoffed.

"Pathetic" he grunted, stopping walking and crouching down. Baghera did the same "All of them, pathetic" He pulled up his gas mask "They have no idea what we are capable of, Baghera. They have no idea what I am capable of. But we will show them"

"What do you mean?" She asked, looking curiously into his face.

"We didn't survive in the Red Sky only because of the Angel," he turned to her, "but because of ourselves. I am alive because of me and me alone".

"I-I... I wasn't so good at surviving, Cellbit. Why are you talking..."

"If that were true, Baghera, we would have been dead the moment he left us" he raised his knife, enjoying the sound of the blade cutting the air, "it was just me. Then it was just you and me against the rest. Are you still with me?"

Baghera looked at the mask, then at him. They heard increasing movement in the distance.

“You still ask me, Cellbit?” She opened her bag, still looking at him. “If there’s one person in this world I would never kill, it would be you. If you want to do that, then I’m on your side” 

Baghera pulled out his gas mask and put it on. Cellbit had a smile on his face, which was usually a bloodthirsty smile, it looked soft, before disappearing behind the mask.

He held out the blade of his knife — the knife that theAangel once found for him and told him he trusted him to handle. When he thought he could trust him. Baghera held the chainsaw, ready to pull the lever at the right time. With a wave, they both descended into an alley, leaning against the crates. Behind the mask, the world became red again. 

"It is a message for the prince" said the guard messenger. "It is in the Emperor interest that it be delivered to you"

The prince nodded, about to comment that it was still early in the morning. But if it was the Emperor wish, who had ordered it even outside the Empire, then so be it. His own sword rested in its scabbard on the sofa beside him. It was time to pay attention to the open book on his lap, most of the pages had been read, and less than half of them remained to be finished. He had begun reading it yesterday.

"They arrested two delinquents in the middle of the street..."

Why was he told about two delinquents?

"Two teenagers, wearing masks with red eyes, attacked the guards. They destroyed the sign of Mrs. Ivete Beicur tavern" Oh, he liked that tavern. Poor Ivete ", and began a chase through the entire north wing to the west, blocking the rotation of the wagons that supplied the palace kitchen. They knocked down one of the drivers and tried to escape, but were unsuccessful. They left nine guards injured, two knocked out, and one almost had his hand torn off, and were arrested with a chainsaw and a knife"

The messenger turned a page.

"Oh, and they identified their masks as gas masks," he added, getting the prince sudden attention. "The witnesses, one of them a customer at Ivete tavern, said the girl had been seen days earlier stealing a chainsaw from a store. The boy is listed in the complaint for three attacks in recent weeks and for stealing. Both are suspected of starting a fire in an alley last week. However, their physical condition seems... odd." He swallowed hard. "There is no documentation to match them. They have been taken into temporary custody and are awaiting interrogation, which we have been instructed to let you take charge of" After a pause, the guard added, "Prince Technoblade, sir."

Technoblade blinked at the guard. "They are wearing  a mask of what?"