Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Every muscle in Fletcher’s body ached with the dread that weaved heavy on his shoulders, dragging his body through the halls of the Hadal Blacksite. The stench of blood had never been something that he’d been so aware of before, his own blood or others, with the thick liquid dropping down from his cheeks and staining the blue of his uniform with a deep crimson color. The demands from HQ rang through his mind and made his ears ring with every step he took, eyes wide in silent shock.

   The flickering of the lights had been the only thing to briefly take Fletcher out of his dazed state, his nerves suddenly sparking with the all-too-familiar instinct to duck and hide . Acting almost on his own, stumbling and nearly tripping over his own feet with his footsteps echoing his rapid heartbeat before he’d thrown open the doors to a locker, his back pressing against the metal as he shut the doors. Bracing. Whether it was that rotten mass of flesh or just a fish, he didn’t know. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything.
    The screeching fell past.
    Just an angler.
    Jesus, how bad could someone get to just brush something like that off? What was he doing? What did he do? WHAT DID YOU DO?!
    He felt his legs finally give out under him, some horrible sound choking up from the back of his throat sounding like some kind of sob as he finally slumped down against the back of the locker and curled up right there. The dark made it harder to see the bloodstains, tears burning his cheeks and eyes as he was forced into finally confronting the reality of his own actions. This time, with no one around him. No hint of consolation in sight.
    A burning in his throat rose once he finally let himself scream.

    That loneliness is what you always wanted. Now look where it’s left you.

   Now isn’t the time for grieving. You need to get up.

    Now.

     “-Fletcher.”
    The sound of his own voice nearly startled him as he cut the man off who was sitting across from him in the interrogation room. An older man, one with a bushy appearance with a beard and some kind of dark, brimmed hat that shadowed his already dark eyes, giving him an almost eerie appearance. A moment passed, a moment that made Fletcher’s skin crawl, before he inhaled sharply and let out a sigh to try and keep his composure, despite his fidgeting hands. “My…My name is Fletcher, sir. Not Th- Not what’s on the file, there.” The man stared for a moment, as-if mulling over what Fletcher had said, before continuing;
  “Fletcher Davis,” the man in front of him read from a file, his gruff voice nearly grating at Fletcher’s ears as he listened to him speak. “16 years old, born October 14th, 2009 in Anderson, Texas. Charged with the capital murder of 3 people and the injury of one by means of arson, as well as several accounts of trespassing on private property and the destruction of that property.”
    A pause came from the man, the black voids making up his eyes staring right into the rich brown eyes of Fletcher as they narrowed. “This isn’t even half of it. Even if most of them could be chalked up to you being a kid, this all seems a bit excessive for someone your age, don’t you think?”

    Fletcher scowled in response, brow furrowed as he kept his posture rigid in the uncomfortable, hard chair he was sitting in. “Two of those people I had no intention on gettin’ dragged into that mess-”
    “But, they were,” The man retorted. “You’re responsible for the deaths of three people, and the critical condition of another. You can’t change that.” Fletcher fell silent, his face scrunching in the same way it always had in the past to convey the burning feeling growing within himself, threatening to erupt into a yelling fit.
    He didn’t need to be told that. He knew what he did was stupid, wrong, all of it. And he already fucking hated himself for it. That old prick didn’t need to rub it in!

    “No matter.” The man brushed off the topic. Fletcher’s shoulder dropped slightly as an exhale left his nose, although the tension in his body hadn’t fully left as he watched the suited man take a thick piece of paper from a guard sporting a logo Fletcher couldn’t quite make out. It definitely wasn’t the police force, that’s for sure. The man then approached him with it in hand, placing the paper in front of him as Fletcher instinctively shifted his body slightly away from the man once he spoke in that monotone voice once again. He’d waited for him to step back again before he leaned forward to look over the paper, keeping the man in the corner of his eye. He couldn’t see much of him, but there was a sinking feeling in his gut that something was seriously wrong with him with that stare. 

     When was the last time he blinked?

     The cross around Fletcher’s neck made a small clinking sound that was drowned by the sound of the chain on his cuffs as he placed his hands on the desk. The paper had this off-white color, looking almost like a lighter gray than a white, with black letters typed onto it stating something along the lines of an expedition and people needed with a blank sign-off at the end of it, awaiting his signature. Then, there was the logo branded onto the paper; An upside-down pentagram with some kind of crystal in the middle. Now, Fletcher was nobody to rip on another’s beliefs, and he’d never dream of it. He’s seen upside-down pentagrams being used by plenty of good people, and he’d never infringe on that.
    But, something about this felt cynical.
    Fletcher’s brow furrowed in thought before his gaze was brought back up to the man in the room with him. “What’s this supposed to be, exactly?”
    “A way out. For you, at least,” The man started. “The details of which are irrelevant at this time. All that you need to know is that you’ll have your chance to be free by the end of it-”

    “Bullshit,” Fletcher snapped suddenly, his light brown hair falling in front of his eyes for a moment as he snapped his head toward him. “If you wanted to get your volunteers so bad, I bet there’d be plenty of people out there willin’ to do what you might need a prisoner to for whatever reason! This is sketchy as hell. ‘Sides, ain’t like it’s hidden knowledge that it’d be useless to let out at this rate. Ain’t got a family to go back to anyway, not one that won’t gut me the second I walk through the door, at least. They’d just kick me out into the streets!”
    “I wasn’t finished,” The man calmly cut Fletcher off. It only made him bristle more in reply. That’s until he heard what was said next;
    “We can make arrangements to give you a more stable home, clearing your name in the process.”

…
  “What?” His voice was almost like a meek whisper compared to what he’d used before.
  The man simply nodded. Silence and indecision stirred in Fletcher’s gut in those few heartbeats of silence. An escape from not only this prison, but the prison he was forced to call his home?
    All for the cost of a sketchy proposal. God, think rationally, Fletcher!
  “We’ll leave you to think about this,” the man said, his gaze unyielding as he spoke. “But, do know, your execution date is coming up. You won’t have much time to sleep on this.”
  A sharp pang of adrenaline stabbed through Fletcher, making his heart sink and his eyes widen before his gaze turned to a scowl again. This time, toward nobody but himself. He watched from the corner of his eye as the man turned to leave
  Until he stopped just outside the door.
  Fletcher’s gaze turned toward the man after noticing him stopping where he was, making uncomfortable eye contact for a moment before his eyes flicked toward the cross around Fletcher’s neck. “Are you religious?”
  His throat went dry at the question, before he reached up one hand to grip onto the cold silver of the necklace. “Not really, sir. My folks were, but I ain’t too deep into it myself.”

    Lying’s not a good face for a god-fearing man.

   The man simply stood for a moment, his expression as blank as before, before moving out of the interrogation room and shutting the door behind him. Now, he was alone. Just hum, a desk, a pen, and a piece of paper staring him right in the face.

   God, forgive him. But, he needs that way out. Desperately.

Chapter Text

    Stepping away from the arrival point, Fletcher’s mind was nothing short of overwhelmed by the sights around him, the sounds, everything. The blue jumpsuit he’d been made to put on had to be refitted in order to accommodate for the long limbs accommodating his build, the feeling of the fabric beforehand sticking uncomfortably to his skin like a too-tight tourniquet, specifically along his longer arms and legs, still lingering despite the changes. Now, the sleeves were looser, allowing for much easier movement of his arms and legs as he continued to move toward the lobby. Hundreds, if not thousands, of other ‘expendables,’ as he’d heard the guards describe him and some of the other people arriving with him, gathered across the area in groups. Colored paths lay at his feet as he glanced downward, labeling the capacity of each surfacing submarine, the distinct ‘bell’ sound each echoed out being accompanied by the loud sound of the voice over the intercoms, echoing throughout the area. From the open, rocky entrance distant from the port, Fletcher felt the cold and bitter air blowing through and biting at his face, a shiver going through his whole body and nearly making him freeze in place. If it weren't for the guardsman nudging him forward to snap him out of it, he probably would’ve stayed in place.
  He almost wished he did. Wasn’t like he was going to be given a choice whether or not.
  A muttered prayer left his lips as he followed after the guard, the irony of the cross clutched in his grasp not being lost on him every time he’d look down at his arms to be greeted with a stitched-on armband holding that same upside-down pentagram as before. God, he could almost imagine how pathetic he looked; some lanky kid with a half-assed attempt at putting their hair up, leaving strands of unkempt, brown hair sticking out awkwardly in different directions. Hell, some people even went as far in the past as to outright say he looked like some stray dog instead of a person sometimes. Normally it never went farther than that, either due to them being bored or Fletcher punching them in the jaw. Well, once he did that. Since he missed and ended up going for the face instead. Sure, it left them bleeding, but it left him with broken knuckles. The memory still made him wince.
    Looking off to his right, Fletcher evidently made eye contact with one other prisoner, a blank-faced woman with light green hair whose face switched to what Fletcher could barely make out as a scowl before he watched her glance over her shoulder and make a break for a staircase leading downward. A loud ”HEY!” snapped him from his daze as he watched two other guardsmen run in after her. He quickly looked back forward afterward.

     So much for getting out of here, he thought.

    Fletcher kept his head down, an annoyed scowl crawling up his expression with each attempt by the guard to get him closer to the emerging submarine, only stopping once the hatch opened.
    “Get in,” the guard ordered, monotone. “The rest of your team should be arriving in a moment.”

     Fletcher gave no argument, despite the words threatening to claw their way up nonetheless. The dark gray, bordering on black, color of the submarine’s interior clanked under Fletcher’s unsteady feet, the impact of his boots making a small clank sound as his form was lit up by the red lights within it, the only way of light in this entire machine, Cautiously, Fletcher sat down on one side of the submarine, glancing between the entrance, what looked to be a red remote or button near the side of the entrance, and some strange red panel in the back of it. That damn symbol was everywhere.
    The grip on his cross grew tighter.

Moments later, a wheezing cough was heard from outside the submarine, making Fletcher’s attention snap instantly toward the source. From the entrance came in a man no older than at least 33, wearing that same jumpsuit as Fletcher and sporting that same diving gear. He had a darker complexion, his hair in black, two-strand twist dreads with a lighter brown color near the bottom and stubble across his chin, almost forming a goatee. Strangely enough, as well, he wore a black, brimmed hat with piercings along it. He almost looked like a cowboy, weirdly enough, which Fletcher hated himself for immediately jumping to. He never liked the idea of people taking a cowboy stereotype shown in the media and applying it to people, but here he was, subconsciously doing it. One other detail he noticed was the silver cross around his neck, not unlike Fletcher’s own. Though, it was slightly different in design. He’d save his questions on that for later, simply only taking note for his own comfort.

   “Hey,” the man simply greeted, dipping his head and clearing his throat as he examined the submarine’s interior. The fact that the man clearly had a southern twang to his accent hadn’t helped, likely stemming from somewhere in the deep south. Definitely a bit different than Fletcher’s own midwestern one.

    “Hey,” Fletcher replied quietly. He should’ve cursed himself out for that. Why the hell was he so quiet here? Surely, it can be that intimidating here.

    It was only when the second person began to enter the Submarine that he saw him sit down, the same side as Fletcher, but a good distance away nonetheless. This new person’s presence alone was almost enough to make Fletcher evaluate his previous thoughts, their tall stature and seemingly almost constant scowl striking Fletcher with an almost accusatory glare at first as he observed his appearance. Incredibly tall, the brightest ginger hair that Fletcher had ever seen, to the point he couldn’t tell if it was dyed that way or not, almost looked around their mid or late-30’s, and a white eyepatch over one of their bright, almost orange eyes. Looking into them felt like looking right into the fiery depths of hell. Seeing them avert their gaze away was such a relief, Fletcher almost sighed out a thank you to the lord right then and there.

    Mere seconds later, Fletcher looked back to his right with a start, jumping up as what he could only process as a blur of black and green was shoved into the Submarine after what he could only guess was a kind of struggle. The figure stayed on the metal floor as the Guard stood there, the sound of his exasperated breathing not being heard by Fletcher as he focused in on the new figure. He was short, tan, had a bit broad in build with black, cat-like ears folded back in fear and a long, black, cat tail wrapped in bandages. Fletcher had guessed he was maybe around college-aged, so maybe not much older than him. But, it was hard to tell with the strange black mask over his face. The white eyes of the mask were soulless, blank circles that gave no indication of what could be going through this guy’s head, requiring Fletcher to watch his trembling form with a mix of concern and the familiar, stinging annoyance that always threatened to boil over. At least, glancing around, he was able to see that at least one of the other two in the submarine were thinking the same thing. The tall, ginger person seemed more indifferent, though. Not even a sliver of sympathy.

    Fletcher’s expression twisted in disdain. It was only returned with that glare from before. He couldn’t tell if that was just their face, or they just didn’t like him in particular.

    Whatever.
  With a roll of his eyes, something that was habit now, Fletcher turned, kneeling down by the stranger with the best attempt at a not -intimidating look on his face. He offered out a hand to them as the doors to the submarine closed, his voice lower in volume than usual, something akin to how someone would speak to an injured animal, even if it was unintentional.  “You alright?”

    The stranger’s blank, covered eyes looked up at him. The sight nearly made Fletcher's skin crawl. 

    “I’m okay,” the stranger croaked out, followed after by a quieter “yes” as if to punctuate that sentence. Fletcher simply nodded, offering an unsteady hand to the stranger to help them up with a bit of a struggle from himself. A struggle that increased tenfold as the submarine quickly descended, the tilt knocking both Fletcher and the stranger back with a clear sound of surprise. From behind him, two arms caught him, and the stranger he helped, before they reached the ground.
   “Woah -kay!” Maybe don’t stand up here for a bit, yeah?” The voice of the figure spoke, the man with the brimmed hat. He let out an amused snort as he quickly got the top of them back to their feet as Fletcher’s face burned with clawing embarrassment. Something that he knew would be the least of his worries in a few moments.

     He really, truly had no idea.

    Fletcher, with his skin still crawling from the image of that mask burned into his mind, had apprehensively made his way back to the side of the submarine to sit down, with the masked stranger following his tracks soon after. Silence followed soon after, with Fletcher’s fingers curling and uncurling into the fabric of his pants uncomfortably as he tensed. This was killing him. He wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut for long.

    Even then, he waited.
    And…waited.

    And…

    “...How long until we’re supposed to arrive at this, uh, blacksite?” Fletcher’s voice came out uncharacteristically timid, something that made his whole body tense as he cringed at himself. That crushing feeling from before weighed heavy on him as the three others in the submarine turned to look at him. He wanted to shrink away right then and there. The attention on himself felt as horrifying as it did not.

    Surprisingly, the ginger-haired one was the one to speak up first, their voice much smoother than he thought it would be before. “Maybe around five minutes,” they replied. “Maybe more. Who knows? I’m not sure any of us are exactly eager to get there.”

    Fletcher paused, his hand going up to nervously mess with his hair. “Ah. Right.”

    More silence. This time, broken by a rougher voice, but one that sounded much kinder nonetheless, ironically, and caused Fletcher’s attention to shift toward the source; The man with that pierced hat. “That at least leaves us enough time to get each other's names. Something’s telling me we'll be down there for a while. Name’s Hayden.” Soon after speaking, Hayden’s dark eyes moved to look toward Fletcher, the stare almost seering through him.
    “Fletcher,” he replied, the name rolling off his tongue like a prayer. He'd never get used to finally acknowledging his name as it was, a little too used to calling himself by his legal name around anyone else but his friends. Part of him even felt a pit in his stomach form, even when no negative reaction was roused by the group. Instead, Hayden simply gave Fletcher a quick, subtle smile, before turning his gaze toward the ginger-haired person across from them. 

    Their expression and cross-armed, impatient posture didn’t change as they flatly answered, “Finley.” 

    Next up was the fidgety and still-pin-eared man next to Finley, his black, surprisingly well-kept curls covering part of his mask as his tail puffed out. His arms were clutched at his sides, and his gaze locked right onto the closed entrance to the submarine. His answer took much longer, his voice quiet and a bit higher-pitched than expected from someone his age, as if he was attempting to swallow back his fear. Fletcher almost felt a sort of sympathy for the guy. “Matthew,” he muttered out. “Matthew Vargas Silva. Call-Call me Silva. They always called me that.”  

      Hayden, Finley, Silva. Foreboding addition to Silva’s statement aside, it at least established some kind of familiarity. He hoped that, in some way, they’d make it out of here.

      You are expendable. You are not expected to return.
    Those words rang through his mind the whole way down.

     A moment passed, and Fletcher saw Hayden shift from the corner of his eye, leaning forward slightly with narrowed eyes of either confusion or concern toward Silva. “Why’re you shaking so much?”
    Silva didn’t answer. Instead only staring at Hayden from behind that unnerving mask. Hayden sighed, giving up the subject as he sat back. Finley’s expression shifted to match that same look that Hayden had before toward Silva. Fletcher just tried not to look at him. He didn’t have the energy to ask, either.

     What felt like hours passed, before the sound of the submarine arriving at the docks was heard, the clicking of the door unlocking finally making the reality of the situation drop in before he even stepped out the door. Finley was the first to stand, his intimidating form ducking from the metal structure and out into the dock. Fletcher was next, his brow furrowed as he observed the area, Hayden coming after with Silva sticking to him like glue. At first, at least. The dock itself was much more like a giant room, stock full of metal storage containers with Urbanshade’s logo slapped onto it, item lockers along the wall and desks with drawers lining the metal floor of the dock’s platform. 

     Over the intercom came a voice; essentially just telling them to “remember their briefing.” It’s not like Fletcher would’ve had any issue with that, they essentially drilled it into his head.

     Get through the doors, get the crystal powering the facility, collect loose assets, get out. Follow the navi-path marked, which Fletcher could only assume started at the door that had the giant, blue “01” on it. Going over to test it, he quickly found that it was locked, with Finley quietly giggling at what he could assume to be him.
    Fletcher scowled.

     Moving on from that, he instead moved his focus toward the item lockers as he caught a glimpse of the group splitting up in the area, promptly opening up the locker to look through it.

      One. Nothing.

      Two. Nada.

     The third contained a stack of documents, flash drives piled next to it. He almost would have laughed from the pride that swelled in him from finding these as he promptly took it from the locker, storing them in a compartment in his prisoner diving gear before glancing behind himself to check for the others. From underneath three stacked storage containers emerged both Hayden and Silva from the small gap between them, Silva moving through almost effortlessly and Hayden having much more trouble, the pressure from kneeling down spurring a coughing fit from himself and would likely caused him to collapse if it weren’t for SIlva quickly moving to catch him and keep him up until he was able to do so himself. He could hear them talking about something, but they were damn near mumbling. Fletcher’s glare increased for a moment as annoyance bubbled within him, before his attention was quickly caught by Finley approaching, in the middle of placing some documents in the small compartment on their own gear, promptly going to fidget with a flashlight they’d picked up as well.

    “Have any of you found the keycard yet?” They asked, their stare almost dangerously calm despite the underlying sense of irritation Fletcher could easily pick up on. Silva fidgetted, and Finley’s impatient glare settled on him. Their head gestured toward the door, the movement almost making Silva visibly flinch and freeze until Hayden wordlessly placed a hand on his shoulder with a light grip. Silva kept his gaze low as he approached the door, taking a blue and white keycard he supposedly was holding and inserting it into the reader.

     Three seconds, the door was open.

Keep your trust reserved. Nothing good could come of this place, and don’t think that your teammates are exempt. 

The moon watches. Its light shines on you much more than me, now.

And it’s screaming;

“You are not alone here.”

      02, 04, 07….

    Fletcher lost count a while ago, the team almost entirely silent as they simply went through each of the marked rooms, raiding every drawer or locker they could find. This place was full of this stuff. Why hadn’t they brought the majority of it with them? All these questions, and clearly not enough time to answer them all. Empty, gray halls were all that Fletcher saw before he and his little group happened their way into what looked to previously be an…office space? The metal floor above it led directly to another keycard-locked door, forcing them all to move downwards toward the space of knocked over desks and chairs, claw marks across the walls that Fletcher could see Hayden intently looking at from the corner of his eye while he and Silva continued to go through each drawer. A tall form approached Hayden to stand by him observing the claw marks.

     “You’ve been staring at this the entire time we’ve been here,” Finley said, almost like a question. Hayden took it as one, glancing back at Finley for a moment before looking back up, tracing his fingertips across the deep scars against the metal.

     “Look at this. What kind of animal makes these?”
    “A pretty pissed off one,” Finley replied with a bit of humor, though it lacked any enthusiasm.

     Hayden rolled his eyes, focusing back in on the deep scratches. “You get what I mean.”
    Fletcher watched from the corner of his eye, opening each drawer until a buzzing in his skull drew his attention back to the drawers, seeing the familiar blue and white rectangle with the number “09” printed onto it, Quickly, he grabbed it, a small smirk appearing on his face for a moment before turning and whistling to draw the others’ attention back to him as he raised the keycard up enough to show them.

    Jumping back onto the platform and toward the door, it was Fletcher this time who led them toward the exit, a certain confidence replenished in his demeanor as he almost excitedly placed the card in the reader, the door swinging open seconds later to allow them entry. So far, nothing’s happened, lulling Fletcher almost into a sense of security as he led his group into the unknown beyond them, a flicker of the light going pretty much unnoticed by him and all the rest.

    …Except for Silva, who stood in place frozen with his cat-like ears perked up, as if listening to or for something.

 Fletcher, a few feet ahead, stopped and turned to look at him in concern, Finley and Hayden following soon after. Silva's posture was rigid, paralyzed, his gaze slowly and almost mechanically turning to look behind him. Hayden’s grow furrowed as he looked out as well, Fletcher following his example.

    What…was that sound? Muffled screaming?

     Smoke, screeching, lights promptly exploding with every room that smoke entered through.

      Something was here.
    ”Go,” he heard Hayden mumble out. “Go. GO HIDE NOW!”

       Hayden promptly broke off from the group as they all scattered. Fletcher's heart beat outside his chest. Where was it? Where the hell?-
      The screeches became louder.
      “Damn it!” Fletcher cursed out under his breath, almost coming out as a sob, his eyes frantically scanning the room as he watched all of them scurry into other directions. One. Two. Three doors down now.
    The lockers.  

     A sound of terror escaped Fletcher as he threw open the doors of a locker, throwing himself into the empty space and clambering with the doors to shut them just in time as the screaming mass of fog passed by, leaving them all in darkness.
    The air in this locker was suffocating, and yet Fletcher didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Not while there’s a chance of something still being out there. His breath still came out in short bursts, his panic almost being so palpable someone would be able to taste it. The cross dug into his palm as he stared out into the dark, the space closing in on him and only filling him with no terror. He’s never been afraid of small spaces before, so why the hell was he-
    “Everyone alright?”
    Hayden’s voice prompted Fletcher to throw himself out of the locker, damn near collapsing onto the floor trembling, his heart practically lodged in his throat as he desperately fought the paralyzing fear filling him. Something that wasn’t helped by the feeling of someone grabbing him to seemingly help him up, his arm instinctively flinging up to elbow whoever it was with a yell of “DON’T TOUCH ME!” to drill it in.

    A few moments passed, quiet aside from the sound of Fletcher’s panic until Finley finally broke that silence;

    “What the fuck are they keeping down here?”

Chapter Text

      For just a second, Fletcher was back on the surface again. A small switchblade was being fidgeted between his two hands, his brow furrowed in focus as he stared off into nothing, tuning out the two other boys he’d been with for the past two hours. Griffin; A tall boy with buzzed, black hair, awkward stubble, and dark eyes, almost giving him a doe-eyed look, and the only one in their little group rivaling Fletcher in terms of athletic ability. Though Fletcher focused on track, Griffin was a part of the school’s basketball team. That was the only thing that Griffin was known for, however. Most of the time, most people let him fade into the background. It wasn’t unknown knowledge of Griffin's contempt for that. Fletcher swore he’d never met a guy so dead-set on gaining attention toward himself before then. The other boy was Riley; A kid about his height, odd-colored eyes of green in one and black in the other and unkempt, sloppily cut, caramel-blonde hair that was somehow so soft despite the tangled nature of it, with freckles peppering across his face and arms and various piercings practically covering his ears with some facial piercings, most of which seeming fresh still. Riley was, ironically, the loudest out of the three, Griffin being the most quiet. Or, at least…that’s how he remembered it.

     Fletcher sat with his back against the worn out, graffitied wall of the abandoned building behind him, the dusk’s sunlight casting a vibrant orange glow that hit against the three boys. And, in Fletcher’s case, directly into his eyes, causing him to squint. Riley had made himself comfortable already, his head resting in Fletcher’s outstretched leg while the other was tucked up to his chest, one arm resting against his knee with a switchblade in the hand of it.

       Click.

       Click

       Click.

      Riley had interrupted his fidgeting with one hand reaching up to tap at his face to get his attention, an action that’d normally have Fletcher’s skin crawl and spur him into a cursing fit, but instead just prompted an annoyed look as he glanced down at the boy in his lap. Riley, smiling, let his hand fall, shifting himself up only to pull out two items from his pockets, A half-empty, crumpled pack of cigarettes, and a lighter covered in stickers, handing them to Fletcher before placing his head back down wordlessly. Fletcher returned that smile, taking the box and carefully opening it to place one of the sticks between his lips, flicking the lighter to start it.
    “You’re awfully quiet,” Griffin noted thoughtfully, his large eyes staring through Fletcher before he’d even looked at him. 

     A side-glance was all that he got before he’d chuckle nervously, refocusing his growing annoyance with the lighter. “That right?”
    A few more clicks. Fletcher could see Riley’s expression shift from the unfocused view beneath his hands before he felt him sit up and take the lighter from his hands. They were cold to the touch. Fletcher would’ve been lying if he didn’t wish he’d hold onto his hands just a bit longer to combat the warmth of the Texas summer air. Riley had moved himself now to block the sun from Fletcher’s eyes, the sun finding against Riley almost giving him a golden glow that had Fletcher so distracted, he barely even realized that the blonde boy had lit the cigarette for him. “He’s got a point, Fletch,” Riley said, pulling back to sit on his knees in front of him. “Normally you’re talkin’ our ears off about somethin’. What’s going on with you this time?”

     Fletcher glared. Only for a moment, however, before he’d handed the pack off to Riley and watched him light his own as he answered. “Same-old. Y’all know how it normally is with me. Ma’s got a stick up her ass or somethin’.”
    A groan of disdain came from Griffin as Riley sucked in some of the smoke from his own cigarette, the end burning as he did so before he’d passed the pack and lighter to the dark haired boy. “Swear to God, man. Doesn’t she ever let it go? What did she yell at you over this time?”
    Fletcher shrugged, his brow furrowing in annoyance as he recalled it. “I asked to get my hair cut short, I guess? It’s like she’s allergic to me gettin’ my hair cut more than like…an inch or somethin’.”

      A snort came from Riley, as if he was about to laugh, shoving the cigarettes and lighter into his pockets once again. “Damn. Is that why she won’t let me visit again? Probably thinks I’m a bad influence or somethin’.”
      “Didn’t you cuss her out after she said something about your piercings?”

      “Shut up, Griff,” Riley retorted with a loud guffaw, lazily making an attempt to playfully punch the taller boy despite ultimately missing and falling back over in a dramatic fashion. It, at least, earned a chuckle from Fletcher. To him, at least, it was hard not to at least giggle at his friend’s antics.

    Almost.
    “Well,” Fletcher started, flicking some of the glowing ash from the burning stick between his fingers as he exhaled some of the smoke from his cigarette, his expression growing more distant as he went on, ”it ain’t like it’s far from the truth. You need to watch your mouth, Riley. It’s bound to get you in some deep shit someday that neither me nor Griffin will be able to dig you out of.
    “Yeah, yeah, I know.”
    “That includes mine or Griffin’s parents.”
    “I know, Fletch! Damn. Snap once and it becomes my whole personality,” Riley muttered with a poor attempt at hiding his irritation from Fletcher’s comments. He would’ve felt bad about it if his pride allowed him to be in that moment. Griffin rolled his eyes, but said nothing. It was enough for Riley’s glare to turn more stern than before. Fletcher watched as the gears turned in RIley’s mind, thoughts blazing rapidly through his bright eyes before returning back up to Fletcher once again. All he was met with was a look of indifference before it softened slightly.

    “Well,” Griffin broke the silence, a sigh leaving him as he dropped his half-burnt cigarette and stomped it out, standing to stretch soon after, “Not much you can do about it now, can you?”
    Riley simply hummed in response, stubbornness rendering him incapable of admitting his fault as he crossed his arms behind his head to prop it off the harsh concrete.

      “Guess not,” Fletcher agreed in his stead, taking a drag from his cigarette before looking out into nothing with a bit of a weak chuckle. “Can’t exactly change the past, y’know?”

       Riley snorted in amusement, reaching up to poke at Fletcher’s cheek again. “When did you become so philosophical? Who are we talkin’ to right now?”
      Fletcher’s demeanor finally broke at that comment, gently smacking away Riley’s hand with a grin across his face. “Shut up !”

What happened wasn’t your fault entirely.

Nobody could’ve predicted it.

More people need you in the present now than the past. Wake up.

     “Hey!”

      Fletcher came out of his half-autonomous state as he snapped back into attention, jumping from the sudden sound and looking at the source of it. Hayden stood to his left, a stern look on his face that subtly dimmed back at Fletcher’s alarmed demeanor. In front of him, a few paces ahead, were Finley and Silva, the ladder of which being too busy raiding each drawer and item locker he could find and the former standing and watching the two from over their shoulder with an annoyed scowl.

       Shit. Did he space out?

       “Ah-” Fletcher paused, his eyes trailing down to the broken-in chunk of the floor that submerged his foot in seawater, quickly retracting it to rest on the surface with the other before wrapping his arms around himself. “Guess I just…went autopilot for a sec there. Sorry.”
      Hayden said nothing for a second. Fletcher hoped he wouldn’t. The last thing he needed was to be pressed on…whatever just happened.
    “Uh,” Silva managed out, his voice just audible enough to catch the attention of the other three. He stood idly by the door, blank mask staring right through them as his tail flicked absentmindedly. His ear twitched before he gestured with his head toward the door. “Are we all done here?”
    Finley rose an eyebrow. “You’re in a rush. Mind splitting the data you took from every little place here with us, at least?”
      “No.”
      Well, at least he has his priorities straight, Fletcher thought, the words needing to be fought back before they escaped him as a sarcastic remark.

      Finley’s expression became that of an annoyed scowl, opening his mouth likely to chastise him before Hayden stepped forward, placing a hand on their shoulder at their displeasure to get their attention. One firm look, and their words were swallowed down, instead resting on their annoyed expression from before.

      Hayden’s gaze then turned back to Silva, still standing blankly. “Can you at least wait for the rest of us to collect some of our own?”
      Silva said nothing. Fletcher, at that point, couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Are we gonna go, or are we gonna just stand here yappin’ over a few flash drives?”
      Bad idea.

      Fletcher could almost instantly see the redhead tense up, bristling, with their eyes locked right onto him, their gaze burning through Fletcher’s sass almost instantly. He was barely even given a chance to process the sight before Finley had torn themself from Hayden’s grasp and was now rapidly approaching Fletcher.
      “Those ‘few flash drives’ could be our only ticket out of here!” Finley snapped. Fletcher felt his expression twist to try and match that scowl as his muscles burned with preparation of some kind of attack, ready to retaliate just as violently. “I don’t want to hear shit from some brat that’s only going to hold us back if all he can do is cower in-”

      “That’s ENOUGH, Finley!” Alas, Fletcher’s savior arrived, Hayden’s hoarse voice quickly cutting through Finley’s insults as he put himself between him and them. “You’ve made your damn point. Don’t act like you didn’t do the same when that thing came chargin’ through the room like that.”

      Fletcher could’ve laughed at how shocked Finley was at Hayden’s defense of him. But, his nerves were acting up too much. He wouldn’t have been able to even if he tried. It took a moment, Finley’s gaze flicking between the man in front of him and Fletcher himself, before a scowl appeared on his face and he finally backed off. Even still, that look of complete hostility was burned into his memory. What was their deal?
      The sound of Silva opening the next door followed shortly after, Fletcher’s feet moving seemingly on their own as he began to move toward the door before he was stopped by a sudden, but not painful, impact on the top of his head as something was put there.
      “Don’t let it get to your head,” Hayden said, all while Fletcher was confusingly touching the had he had placed on him and adjusting it. “They just want to get out of here like the rest of us.”
      They could be less of a dick about it.
      “Uh-” Fletcher paused, his words getting caught in his throat as he realized that Hayden was now walking away without his hat. “Do you-”
      “Nah, keep it,” Hayden waved it off, clearing his throat as he continued to walk away and back to the group, leaving Fletcher to rush to catch up. “It fits you better than me, anyway.”
      …Okay, then.

      The next room was a bit different. It was larger, a hall directly leading toward the door ahead with a large staircase leading upward on the right by the middle of it. On the left side was a large window facing outward toward the water, a railing in which drawers were lined across. It was murky, dark, almost entirely pitch black outside, for the vague silhouettes of the fauna and whatever plants were out there. Very little of it were plants he could recognize. Well, nothing he can recognize as natural. Definitely weird.
      Moments passed as Fletcher stared out through the window, scanning across what he could see of it before looking down at the grey desk he was standing at, his hand placed down onto it before locking his eyes on the drawer which he quickly opened and robbed the contents of into the compartment in his gear. It was hard to think that this place was full of people for so long, only being vacated for a handful of days. Everything, aside from the obviously destroyed walls and clawed up surfaces, looked almost entirely untouched. What incident could’ve caused this? What happened to these people? What happened here? Fletcher was almost tempted to answer his own question as he approached yet another untouched desk, the rest of his group making their ways upstairs, leaving him alone when he picked up the manila folder. In giant, red letters, the words “CLASSIFIED” were stamped across it, the color bright and keeping his attention even as he turned it over for a moment. His reddish-brown eyes narrowed in debate, his fingers tracing over the cover before he’d glanced up again.
      …It wouldn’t hurt to just look would it?

       Fletcher could practically hear his heart beginning to beat out of its chest, his hands nearly shaking before he’d forced it to stop once he’d mostly made up his mind. Well, his mind, which was now screaming at him to stop.

       If they saw this, he’d-

        “Hey!”
        A barely contained scream, sounding more like a yelp, from being startled left Fletcher, slamming the file back down and subsequently closing it all the way. Looking up, he was greeted with the blank eyes of Silva’s mask, staring curiously at him. Or, at least, he thought. It was hard to see what his expression was when relying on watching his body language.
      He cleared his throat to feign some kind of coolness as he leaned against the desk, though it lacked any real convincing factor. “What’s up? What’d y’all find?”
      One of Silva’s black, furred ears flicked, before they turned back slightly. “There’s a door down there with you, right?”
      “Uh-” Fletcher trailed off, his brows furrowing before looking back to his side, the green number displayed on the door’s Navi-path being a bright 25. He looked back up afterward. “Yeah. Why?”

       Fletcher watched as Silva turned back around from the railing, one black, clawed hand still grabbing onto the metal whilst he did so. Fletcher could only tilt his head slightly in confusion, as if that’d help at all when whatever he was looking at was clearly out of his sight. After a good 10 seconds of leaving him in the dark, which honestly made him debate giving up on waiting to begin with, Silva finally turned back around to look down on him. “You should come look at this.”
      “Look at wh-” And…he was gone. Great. A familiar, strong anger bubbled up from him for a moment following his annoyance, something that he’d attempted to swallow down for a moment but instead just took the form of him bristling as he made his way upwards toward the group. Huddled up next to what should have been an empty, unmarked door, stood the rest of his group. And…
      …A working Navi-path? With the same number as the one Fletcher was just in front of, too.
      Hayden stood in front of it, still struggling through his periodic coughing fits with Finley next to him, talking about something among themselves. Silva was at the top of the stairs, waiting for Fletcher to finally emerge, his bandaged, black tail twitching behind him as he approached Fletcher.
      “What are they doing?” Fletcher mumbled out as a question once Silva had come close enough.
      In a raspy, almost ghostly tone Fletcher hadn’t picked up from him before, Silva answered, “Hayden’s trying to figure out what’s going on and Finley insisted on joining him. They both saw the sign flicker, and Finley’s set on believing it’s a glitch due to how run down the place is despite Hayden mentioning how the door would’ve likely been a different number than the one down there.” A pause, before the first hint of real emotion he’d heard from Silva since they first got there which wasn’t fear; it was annoyance. “Personally, I think we shouldn’t even be up here.”
      “Why’s that?”

      “The door’s a trap. There’s no way it isn’t,” Silva explained, his cat-like ears folded back as he gestured toward it. “It’s the same number, but clearly malfunctioned and I swear that there’s something behind that door. It’s like a king snake compared to a coral snake.” 

      Fletcher’s brow furrowed in confusion, silent for only a moment before stammering over his words. “W-Wait. Did you even tell ‘em that?  They could be sittin’ ducks over there!”
      Silva looked at him fully, ears still turned back. “Finley’s too caught up to pay attention, and Hayden didn’t hear me. I’m starting to think he has problems with his hearing.” A knee-jerk reaction from Fletcher to open his mouth to argue was cut off by Silva interrupting him, “that wasn’t an insult.”
    He went silent, brows furrowed and his face heating up in embarrassment. He raised a hand only to push down the brim of the hat on his head to try and hide it. Right. This isn’t his hometown. He was too used to people making jokes like that, and it always annoyed him beyond repair. You have bigger problems, idiot.  

     Moments passed of uncomfortable silence, watching the other two a few paces away as their conversation had slowly turned into a full-on argument, even having moved away from the Navi-path sign and instead standing in front of the door. He didn’t really know what caused it to turn into one, but from bits and pieces he could make out, it wasn’t about the door anymore. It came from Finley initially, from what he could see. No surprise there. Probably had their ego stripped away from them and are just doing this to spite Hayden for earlier. At least, that was what Fletcher would’ve let his mind drift to. He didn’t know what was happening.
    An annoyed groan came from him after a minute or two of this going on, Silva’s only reaction being one of his ears turning toward the sound for a second before turning forward again. If Fletcher even had half-a-mind, he would’ve just left without them. He might as well have. But, alas, his nature just ended in him yelling over them.
      “Can you both just knock it off?! We-”
    Click.

     The unmistakable sound of the door unlocking itself cut off his sentence, silence filling the area as all heads turned toward the door that just…opened itself.
      What. The fuck. Is that?
      The words got caught in his throat as his eyes landed on something behind the door, the dark room obscuring its figure. It was massive, a large mass of flesh and blood and bone, with what looked to be bits of hair matted with blood or some kind of mucus to stain it a dark red color. Obscured by the emergency lights in the room it was settled in, however, most of its body wasn’t easy to see, all but the mask that was fused onto what Fletcher could only assume would be where its face would be. The grimey, damaged, smiling mask on this snarling creature’s face as its head quickly whipped around.
    And lunged directly at Hayden.
    Panic shot through Fletcher as it all happened in an instant. The thing, flinging out one arm with a massive, clawed hand, made impact with something , his legs instantly moving on their own sprint forward toward the two of them as if he could stop it. Finley had gotten to Hayden first, the both of them tumbling to the ground and the door trying to shut on the thing’s arm. It let out a pained, animalistic cry came from it as the metal door made impact with the arm, Fletcher being forced to watch once he gotten to the two other adults as it struggled against the weight of the door. The arm pulled back eventually, leaving a red stain where its arm was and the Navi-path sign buzzed back to life, a bright white screen with a scribbled face that began to laugh at them.
    “Suckers!” It yelled out, the robotic, mocking voice making Fletcher bristle before the screen went to black. What just happened?

      “Oh my God,” Hayden’s voice caught Fletcher’s attention again, having just noticed that both Finley and Hayden had moved off from one another after Finley had tackled him. Hayden’s shocked expression was stuck on…whatever blood mess Finley’s leg was. Fletcher’s eyes were glued on it in sheer shock. “Your leg-”
      “I know, I-” Finley paused, the first time Fletcher had seen them even show a hint of hesitance as they accepted Hayden’s offered hand to try and stand with assistance. “I can see that.”
    “Shit.” That was all Fletcher could even begin to say here. Did they even have any medical supplies? Finley couldn’t walk, or at least he didn’t think they could, not with a giant gash on their leg of that size. Looking back at the door, Fletcher’s hand subconsciously rose to take the cross attached to his necklace to clutch it.
      Stop getting into your head.
      The moment of his own need to pray away whatever this was was only momentary, his head turning back to the sight before him as the scent of blood hit him like a truck. Maybe he was just too in shock to really process it earlier. Either way, the sight and smell made him gag, the clawmark so deep into Finley’s leg he swore he could see bits of fat tissue under it.
      “God-” Fletcher mumbled out, panic rising up as he finally knelt down, his hands shaking as he attempted to cycle through options of what to do. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hayden get up to walk off somewhere. He didn’t bother to look, instead focused entirely on the injury. “How can you even-”
      Finley shifted, a scowl on his face, mostly a façade to keep up that usual look of aggression to try and hide whatever fear he was feeling. It didn’t work. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Staring at it’s just gonna freak you out more.”
        “How are you even gonna walk?”

         “I’ll figure it out.”
        “What about the flooded-” Fletcher cut himself off, looking over his shoulder for anyone else as his heart rate increased with fear. “What about the flooded areas we were told about? How are you gonna-”
        “You’re just freakin’ them out, Fletcher,” Hayden’s voice cut through Fletcher’s spiraling as he emerged from the stairs with Silva. Relief washed over him like a tidal wave once he saw what was in his hands; a white, large first aid kit, a similar reaction coming from Finley as well. As Hayden approached, Fletcher moved, sitting off to the side as he watched Hayden kneel down next to the injury on Finley’s leg, his attention shifting away with a cringe once he saw the antiseptic applied to it. It always hurt him like hell when antiseptic was applied to a damn cut. He couldn’t even imagine how much it burned for that. If anything, he saw Finley’s lack of reaction as something to look up to.

        Silva had moved to stand by Fletcher as he sat off to the side, looking down to fidget with the necklace adorning him and unaware of his presence. Silva stayed silent, watching the procedure with seemingly interest as his tail flicked side to side.
        “...I guess you were right,” Fletcher commented after a moment, a light chuckle coming from himself in some attempt to lighten the mood as Hayden got Finley lifted to their feet, their arm slung over one of Hayden’s shoulders to balance themselves. Fletcher took the two of them beginning to move down the stairs as his cue to stand as well, with Silva relatively silently still and only giving a hum of agreement to his comment. The silence was uneasy. 

     He didn’t like that.

     With a sigh of relief from Fletcher, the four of them had all made their ways down the stairs ad toward the door-the REAL door this time, Finley limping as Hayden worked as a crutch for them. For a moment, he’d hoped that there wouldn’t be any issues this time. Or, as little as possible.

       The unfortunate reality had him smacked directly in the face once the door had clicked open to reveal nothing but deep darkness. Fletcher wilted with annoyance.
      He turned, his brows furrowed in exhaustion and frustration. “Which one of y’all have the flashlight?”

       Finley unhooked it from their belt, before Hayden had quickly snatched it out of their hands, a glare flashing onto his expression once Finley looked as though they were about to argue against it to quickly shut that down. Fletcher swore he could’ve felt Silva roll his eyes from under his mask.

        What a great spot they were in.