Chapter Text

(click)

The camera turns on to a small, bland room, with black walls that feel like the void Is all around. In a chair sits a person with red skin and hair, accompanied by beady black eyes and odd orange facial markings. They wear what could only be assumed as a lab coat, but it has some cheap floral pattern on it, which is the result of a shipping mishap far too close to date. Covering their lower half is a large desk, with black legs and a wooden surface, glossed but pertaining a couple cracks and a few stains from mugs and glasses with condensation or spilt liquid. Now there are coasters doing their best to hide the marks that would reduce the resale price, and a singular cup of tea is entrapped on one, scolding hot and just brewed.

“Alright,” They momentarily look down at a clipboard they’re holding. The papers are unreadable from where the camera is recording from, but it’s assumed they are important and pertaining information they aren’t allowed to show, and that we aren’t allowed to know. They flip one over and then resume talking, focusing their vision on the camera.

“I am professor --REDACTED--, and today I’m here with Sean Mustard, more publicly known as Forgelabs. We’re going to be discussing the incident that occurred on the 27th of July, 20–, specifically the happenings that took place within Winterwood power plant.”

As they talk, the recording flips to a separate camera, viewing the other side of the desk. In a wooden chair of lesser quality than the professor’s, is a man of medium build. He has his arms crossed, and is wearing a gas mask, using it as an excuse to breathe heavily. Underneath the makeshift goggles which had been glued to it, he bores an irritated expression, staring right at the other. He has likely been awake for a few minutes now, silent, but the timing itself is and never has been specified verbally, only in document.

“Mr Mustard, could you please state a bit about yourself?” The professor asks, sitting up straight in the chair and wrapping one leg over their other. It goes unseen but the shuffling of the position change is heard.

Mr Mustard, or Sean, looks at him with his expression morphing to one of incredulous nature. It’s clear that he isn’t happy to be here. The only reason he speaks up is because he likes to hear his own voice. At least, that’s what the papers say. In reality, he just wants to pass the time to get whatever he’s here for over and done with as quickly as possible.

“Listen man, you clearly know my name,” He points out, “which means you already know too much about me for my liking. I should really out your personal details to whichever smug soul is watching this right now-” Note down that he seems to know the professor, which could make the interrogation difficult if he chooses not to comply, “-but it would probably be censored or cut out of the footage.”
Sean’s voice is loud and neutral, but it’s clear that he’s a bit confused, per the small hesitations in his speech. No surprise there, for he was brought here through receiving some head trauma. The man can put up a fight, too, so it’s a risk that he isn’t tied up. He doesn’t even notice that he isn’t as the meeting progresses, anyways. There's blood dripping down the side of his head, indicating an injury from the blow he received by the blunt instrument. Similarly, because of the context he’s found himself in.
He nods his head towards the camera pointed at him and grips the fabric of his hoodie tightly, “That’s what these are for, right?”

“They are.” The professor coughs and balls their hand, patting their chest lightly to help their voice appear clearer.

“It’s just standard procedure, Mr Mustard. We need to be aware that we’ve gotten our facts right, and nobody knows you as much as yourself. Don’t lie to us please, it’s pretty useless.”

It wasn’t as if Sean would have lied anyways. Sure, he was always great at it, and he had a large history of manipulating and blackmailing people so that he’d get what he wanted, but that was within competitions and dangerous situations where it was every man for himself. Here, he knew it was pointless. That life was behind him, anyways. He hopes he gets his own facts right.

“Well then,” He pulls down a switch beneath the seat of his chair so it rises in height, and leans back in it, involving putting his feet up on the desk. This is much to the professor's dismay, but they make no physical attempts to stop Sean from doing anything, so he starts, “I’m Sean, and I’m a crocodile hybrid. Or at least that’s what I’m led to believe, but I couldn’t tell you which type, so go with saltwater. I’m basically an adult now, despite what anyone will tell you, and I’m here to discuss blah blah blah.”

His tail swishes behind him, tapping the ground.

“Thank you.” It isn’t the information the professor needed, but they shouldn’t have expected any more without specifying. It was unlikely that Forge even knew his own general practitioner, let alone an address or any properly useful information for the watchers. The camera bats back and forth between the two in varying areas of the video, providing information on any physical quirks, at best.

They speak again, signalling with their hands for the interviewee to not interrupt him.

“You were found in Saply Woods, which borders the town of Winterwood, where your residency is.” Sean looks almost surprised to find out the name of the mass of trees he often walks through, despite living there a good half of his life.
“We’ll return you there when this interview is done, and I’m sorry for interrupting your evening stroll like this. However, this timing was required.”

He seems more offended at this notion than anything, and looks to the red man in what could be described as bewilderment.
“Couldn’t you have found an easier way to get my attention, like messaging me online and setting an actual time and date to make it easier for both of us? I do love the dedication to the bit, don’t get me wrong, but I would have preferred my neighbour not seeing me get beat up and taken somewhere.”

The professor just shrugs, contrary to their persona, and lifts up the mug of tea by the handle. They swish the liquid and look at the ripples on the surface.
“I can assure you, Mr Mustard, that nobody saw a thing, and if they did they won’t remember it after all of this is over with. As with you.”
“The reason we didn’t just send you a message is because we wouldn’t be able to give you any information for privacy reasons. So, should you have come of your own will, your partner would have gotten suspicious.”

“I don’t have-”

“That isn’t the topic I wish to discuss with you today, though.” They interrupt Forge, and then take a sip of the drink that lasted almost half a minute. They keep their eyes closed and only open them when they have finished. They put the mug back down, only to reveal that barely any of it had depleted; they dragged that on for effect.

“I want you to take a look at this.”

They open a drawer that is attached underneath the desk, pulling it out in their direction and taking another second to rifle through it. Really, they should have prepared this beforehand, but they had arrived to the location late and nobody had set it up for them. Them and their obvious large number of helpers.
From within the desk they pull out a chunky newspaper and close the drawer, then sliding it over to Sean.

He picks it up and inspects it, reading the first few lines. The paper is about the powerplant, as the first page describes, and includes a large picture and brief statement in regards to its closure. Little was known, so little was said.

“What’s this for? This news article is over twenty years old, it’s practically worthless.” Sean huffs, flicking through the pages and finding nothing that catches his eye. “The journalists who wrote this slop had no clue what they were writing about!”

“Only a handful of these were printed, and this is one of the few that remain. You have your own, I’m certain, and have done far too much research on the matter to consider yourself sane. That’s why you’re perfect for us.”

“Us?”

“You, Sean Mustard, have been in the powerplant since it’s closing. Despite the many signs, clear dangers, and rules telling you not to, you went ahead anyway. Why? Because you’re determined.”
“I am not,” They continue, flicking a strand of their red hair out of their face. “So it’s a miracle that you have.”

Forge mutters several things under his breath, such as there being a lack of signs and how it was anything but a miracle for him to end up there the way he did. The professor ignores this and just grins at him. They lean forwards, clasping their hands together and resting them on the desk, staring straight across at Sean with wide, anticipating eyes.

“I need you to make a personal statement… Don’t worry, this isn’t for a job or anything. Whilst it would help if you could pay rent for once, that’s not happening. This is just for safekeeping, see.”
He twirls his wrist.
“Should anything happen to you, we need all the information we can have documented and in safe keeping, to prevent this happening again.”

“That’s it?” Sean tilts his head. He’s tempted to just punch the other in the face, but it probably won’t do him any good considering he doesn’t know how strong they are.

“Yes, that’s it. Then you can be on your merry way. Wouldn’t you like to get it off your chest?”

Forge takes a second, eyes wandering to the tea. Somewhere in that conversation, it had become empty. He doesn’t remember the professor picking it up once since the first time.
He sighs.

“Alright. It went as follows.”

—-------

My footsteps crunched beneath the leaves, instantly wrinkling and falling apart under the weight of my boots. It was Summer time, and the trees were bare. Only here, though. The rest of the town’s nature was now draped in bright greens, pinks, and yellows of each shade variety. A beautiful sight, but here it was as if death loomed over the property radius. Odd indeed. I gripped the walkie talkie in my pocket and hummed, staring up at the large building in front of me.
It was what I was expecting, having read the newspapers on it and reading information about the thing for several years now. Still, it didn’t dispel the overwhelming feeling that loomed from its sheer height and dull, concrete atmosphere. Any joy and happiness had never been here in the first place, I could tell that much.
The surrounding trees were huge, too. Sure, the leaves weren’t shielding it anymore, but the sheer length and amount of branches that looped around was impressive, and still managed to complete the job of obscuring the place from view, as if mother nature, although weak and decaying, wanted to keep the place out of view in her last breaths. The vines and foliage that wrapped around it gripped tightly in a feeble attempt to reclaim it by weakening the already forming cracks in the stone. It almost seemed like a warning to the human eye.

I wouldn’t classify myself as human. I took that opportunity and ran with it.

“Are there any entrances around this place that won’t collapse on top of us?”

I turned my head around once Pix broke the silence. He had insisted on joining me, for some stupid reason. Didn’t want me to get hurt, how ironic, and I’m still annoyed about that.
He had asked the question somewhat rhetorically, his brown hair being pushed back by a small gust of wind. He took a second to shield his eyes as I responded,

“Statistically,” I started, “probably none. This place is old. See up there, just above that main doorway? You can see through the gaps in metal fencing, that there’s little up thrust keeping gravity from pulling the entire place down.”
I pointed upwards as I spoke, directing Pix’s attention towards the few metal beams that held up a larger entryway. The door itself was closed and sealed off by many wooden planks, but the doorframe and surrounding wall around it was slightly eroded by the hinges.

“So let’s make our own, eh?”
I looked back at him with a grin, which was hidden by the mask that encased my face. My breath clogged up the vision for a second. From my pocket, I took out a craftsman's hammer and twirled it in my hand, a glint in my eye. Men's pockets truly were the world's best creation for times like this.

Inhaling, I walked right up to a nearby window and smashed it in (In case you’re a lawyer, this was fully legal, I promise).

“Et, viola! Other than just a few shards of glass which definitely don't litter the floor, safe entrance guaranteed!” I put on my signature salesman smile.
Slightly disheartening, but Pix didn’t notice, and instead seemed to question my skills and definite genius by sparing me a quick glance, eyebrow raised.
He walked up next to me and peered through the gap I made. Contrary to my obvious lie, glass littered the floor in hundreds of small shards. Whilst my boots were designed to tread horrific surfaces, I knew that Pix wore shabby shoes designed for male school teachers, so pardon me if I was concerned for his soles.

The room that he peered into wasn’t that dark thanks to the natural light that seeped in, but the lights were either off or long out of power, and it would have helped if there was sun shining today. Instead it was hidden behind greying clouds.

“Gentlemen first?” I tried to shoo him inside, because he needed to learn a thing about leadership and bravery. I was promptly shut down and hushed with a quick,

“No.” My soul was crushed and I huffed.

“I think it would be significantly more logical for the radiation expert to go first,” Pix suggested, or rather urged, taking a few steps back and looking at me in expectation. It was fine. Spiders didn’t scare me, even huge 10ft tall ones, and if I could defend against something like that, this would be a breeze. It was just a few dark rooms and scattered papers. Nothing more, nothing less.

“-I’ll only end up trailing after you, anyway.”
Something about that phrase still makes me feel uneasy. It’s harmless, but makes me think about history repeating itself. I don’t know why, because we’ve only visited the plant once. Still though, sometimes I’ll wonder what would have happened if he went first.

“Don’t say that.”
“No,” he repeated with a shake of the head, “I know you. I don’t want to risk you running off to look at something whilst my back is turned. It’s not emotional, just logical.”

Logistics ran everything in Pix’s life. That’s how it was for a good several years since I met him. We’ve known each other since pretty young, I’d say, although I haven’t really been keeping track of just how long or how we even met. What I have been paying attention to, however, is how that fact has been changing recently. He’s been more emotional as of late. I doubt he’d say it though. Maybe it started here, but I don’t want to dig too deep into things.

“Suit yourself.” I concluded. “I think you’d quite like the view, though.”

There was no fantastical view. I stepped in, careful to avoid treading on any larger shards of fallen glass, but used more of my attention to glance around the room I was in. I patted myself down to get any dust off my trousers, before noticing a desk. The room itself was long and looked like one of many offices that were probably in the building. It was generic all around: blank walls, and lots of cubicle desks. Papers all over the floor, none of which I kneeled down to bother reading. Somehow, a wall was caved in, blocking off the second half of the room and making the place seem a lot more closed in that it would be. The ceiling, too, was surprisingly high, littered with broken lights and empty pipes. Each one hovered over a pile of a dried up, unknown substance.

“Oh look here,” I grin. “We found your desk!”

I pointed to the one I initially noticed. It was messy, with many scrapes and marks from ink soaked through. There was a mark that something, maybe a PC, had been there, but all that remained was some stains.

“Just what are you insinuating, Forge?” Pix sighed and climbed through the window as elegantly as he could, which wasn’t at all, and instead he almost tripped over his own laces. He caught up to me quickly though, choosing to ignore his near misstep. I wasn’t sure if he could see as well as me, and I knew as much because he almost stumbled into the desk, squinting. I had wanted to laugh but kept it to myself.
“My desk is perfectly organised.” To which I almost protested, to be interrupted before I could even speak, “To me.”

My shoulders slumped and I groaned. “Yes, to you.”

“Your desk looks like as much of a mess as the wasp’s nest hidden under it. Don’t think I haven’t seen that, by the way.” I didn’t know why he had a wasp nest, and I don’t intend to find out if he still has it. Wouldn’t be surprised if he had an ant farm. I knew he had weird obsessions, okay? Bones, for one. I found out in such a stupid way, too. I get scared every time I reach into a bag now, so don’t even get me started. One of many, one of many. All I know is that Pix hasn’t invited me into his room since I accidentally found out, and I dread the day he does. Knowing how antisocial he is, though, I think my luck is faring well.

“Unlike mine, of course.”
I still stand by that comparison.

I rummaged through the lookalike desk and a couple others, picked out a few bits and bobs and shoved them in my bag. Once happy with my small findings, I opened the door and peered out. Pix followed, not bothering to filter through the drawers himself. They were pretty easy for me to spot, so who was I to complain if there was more variety for me.

“No. Your desk has to be worse.” I let out an offended gasp at the accusation. “Yours is like an entire sewer infested with rats. Lots of rats. And nuclear radiation.”

Bold claim considering this place worked mostly in radiobiology rather than atomic, and by extension that’s what I was interested in. No green goo. Maybe I should keep that info to myself next time. Hey now what are you writing down-

“I spilled makeshift slime on that wooden desk one time and you still won’t leave me alone about it. Grow up, Pix. It’s perfectly tidy. Is it so bad to like my journals and blueprints organised in a spread out way?”
I stepped into a narrow corridor. Pix followed behind, true to his word.
He sighed,

“I just don’t think you’re in a position to insult me.”

I clicked my tongue and took out the torch that I had been keeping in the pocket of my hoodie, for such occasions as one does. I shone it down the hallway, which appeared to be long and narrow. Maybe it was the main passageway of this floor? The place had many. Lots of ground to cover.
There was a lack of cobwebs or any debris where we were, which left me to assume that, as it would make sense to be, most of the damage was further inside, where things were more dangerous. I walked across it without looking back. I could hear Pix’s footsteps, so there was no need to check.
“And when has that ever stopped me, really? That’s rhetorical.”

Silence followed, and I groaned, letting my head drop behind me.
“My man, Pix, lighten up!” I shone my torch in his face.
“We've got the past ahead of us!”

Maybe that didn’t sound as cool as I thought it did, because he only hummed as a response and shielded his eyes with his hand. I scoffed rudely and let the light lead us again.
We wandered several minutes, finding nothing interesting. Not even a single door, and that initially creeped me out, I’ll be honest. The architecture there was the scariest part.

“When do you suggest we put these masks on?..” Pix asked, fiddling with his bag. The bone bag, I could safely assume.

“Whenever It should make you feel safer. It’s really up to you.”
“There shouldn’t be any reason to need them anyways, as they don’t protect against the effects of ionising radiation.” I whispered to myself. I heard him gasp and mutter something. I wonder if he heard me or was just offended at his own lack of knowledge.

Eventually the hallway spread out, with separate tunnels appearing as soon as the doors did. I opened one, to reveal a small flight of monochromatic stairs that went back and forth. I couldn’t see where they led, only that a small, flickering light was the only source of life. It struggled to find the electricity to keep itself going and illuminated the wall opposite, but even its effect was as lifeless and dull as a corpse that could have been rotting a few floors up. I chose to let the light struggle and closed the door on it, carrying on.

“Me personally,” I fiddled with the straps of my mask (Forge Labs breathing industries, trademark pending), loosening it a bit in an effort to both feel less claustrophobic and be more comfortable.

“The need to feel safer is always. But just when you suspect that there could be an unnatural gas around works too.” Not as if I was predicting it.

I looked back to see Pix having strapped his on. It was a spare of mine, so it looked weird, like seeing a cheap knockoff version of myself in the mirror. I wasn’t a fan of seeing Pix with any form of mask covering his face. He looked around, making sure to keep me in his sight, no doubt. No harm there, but my torch dealt with illuminating me easy enough.

“I can’t help but wonder where a place like this could get power from nowadays.”

“Backup generators?” I theorised, flicking a switch. A couple lights in the hallway came to life, shedding us in a sickly white hue. All it did in that moment was remind me of a hospital, even though the walls here had greyed or were covered in mould. Nothing felt sanitary. I thought Pix was more freaked about the grime than I.
“Most places, even if talked about as being abandoned, are still owned by larger companies even if they’re not in use. It can be an obligation to keep measures in place, such as emergency red lighting, backup generators, and security.” I listed off the facts while counting on my fingers. “Most places due to that will always have reserves, even if not in use.”

My footsteps from that point on.. Weren’t my own. They were lighter. I felt lighter.

“I suppose that makes sense.” Pix seemed happy with my explanation. I was relieved I could prove my knowledge of this to be useful.
He continued, “I still wouldn’t risk coming here without a torch of my own, though.”
I just nodded and kept walking.

I didn’t have a problem with how empty this place was, personally. No police on standby, security alarms (at least not silent ones that I could have accidentally set off), or traps. What I did find unsettling was the distinct lack of vandalism. For somewhere abandoned that was pretty popular within a town full of teens who vandalise property often, the place was dry of it. Graffiti was to be expected, but it was just bland. Unsettling.

“And that’s why we brought them.”
I held my torch in my grip tightly. Then I stepped on something sharp, cursing to myself and causing the hairs on the back of my neck to prick up. I bent down and inspected the scene. It was a few needles and a piece of fabric, stained in something that looked brown. It was hard to tell in the lighting and with my shadow looming in the way, but it would make sense to be human blood considering any commotion that would have happened in evacuation, right?

But workers weren’t evacuated.

“Pix, who did you say were the last people to go exploring in the town suburbs?” I asked in trepidation.
The forest that hosted this place was just on the border, after all. It wasn’t too far.

Pix considered for a moment as he caught up. He looked down and inspected the fabric. I’m fully certain that he didn’t take textiles or any creative course at school, so I didn’t have much faith in his knowledge on stains, but he did do the washing at home so he still probably knew more than me. I let him inspect it.

“If I recall, two boys and a girl. Denis, Purpled, and Stress. A very odd trio of very different backgrounds and differing interests. I don’t know them personally, but people were discussing it in that group that Jimmy Solidarity made.”

“I see.”
I didn’t know these people, but Pix at least knew about them. He spoke fondly about Mr Solidarity and his friends often, but always refused to go up to them. I assumed he was closer with him. Old friends, maybe. I felt my stomach twist for some reason.

The fabric was tinted in the gaze of my mask, a red, making it tricky to decipher whose it was, but I could make a guess based on the recklessness scale of everyone. Clearly, there was a reason for the lack of post-everything human involvement here.

“Well, I guess they had an adventure of their own.” I commented mindlessly, letting the fabric fall to the floor and pushing myself back up with my tail.
“Way to spice up an expedition.”

“I sure hope you don’t plan on ‘spicing up’ this exploration, Forge.” And yes, he actually assumed that. I didn’t like walking into danger just for a thrill, mind you. I liked being safe, contrary to popular belief.
He switched on his own torch. Now our lights weren’t lonely either.
“Do you have a goal in mind?”

I answered honestly, “Not really. I’ve just been curious about this place for years. It’s been on my doorstep my entire life; I have to take the chance before it isn’t there anymore, you know?”
He nodded, but I wasn’t sure he understood.
“I want to find something fascinating before it gets ruined by the media. Maybe I’ll come back in the future if we come across something that just sparks questions. You love questions, right?”

“Hm. Noted.”

He didn’t answer me properly, and I just shrugged and marched ahead. Pix lacked behind me, I think. His footsteps got quieter, further away. At the time I didn’t notice, though. The buzzing of the lights above me was all I could make out for a while.

Naturally, I was a man with a goal. It was why I was even there in the first place, after all. The scientist's mindset is a cruel thing, ok? I felt as If I had to deeply search each and every single room, corridor, and cabinet, leaving no stone or piece of rubble unturned. I was to explore the place head to toe. So that’s what I set out to do.

So, should Pix have paid more attention to me over the next twenty odd minutes instead of staring at his shoes blindly, he would have noticed the increasing gap of separation between us position wise.
Within what could have been under an hour, I had completely separated from him, at complete opposite ends to the large room we were positioned in.

It was wide and stretching up another two floors as if space was needed to breathe. Like multiple houses were lined up next to each other and then gotten rid of simultaneously, leaving an empty space. Cement walls surrounded us, but we were unable to notice any of this due the dust in our eyes, clogging our view. It was good that we had put our masks on previously, as it was stuffy; I couldn't see through this at all. It was all in a state of demolition, seemingly, and I was having a field day running off in random directions to figure out which would be safest or lead me to another room to explore. The place seemed like a maze, however, which made that hard to do.

By that point I had, regrettably, forgotten that Pix was with me. It went against my initial plan, afterall, an anomaly in the experiment. I found somewhere to carry on to, so with struggle, I opened another metal door. It was located around a corner from where we first entered, so I was out of view no matter the clearness of the air. I peered through. It was dark, so I re-equipped my torch.

I stepped in, glancing around and staring silently in awe at the multitude of broken electronics and pipes which littered everywhere, from the floors to the walls to the ceiling. I hadn’t expected to find such a combination of electronics and industrial power sources kept in one place. This room was definitely a fire risk, should these wires rub together and cause a spark.

“Forge… which way did you go?”
Pix’s static-hued voice sounded out from the walkie talkie embedded in my pocket, causing me to jump and at first question where it came from. He sounded worried, I could hear it. It took a few seconds for me to respond, my line otherwise filled with static for the other to pick up. I replied a bit strained, although my mask did muffle it a bit.

“Uhm, whichever way was left? You were behind me, weren’t you?” I tried to think back, although to no avail. I couldn’t remember seeing or hearing Pix behind me.

I hummed, stepping through the room and observing everything. It was warm in here, and I now took notice that the heavy door had closed behind me instantly. It must have been relying on sheer force to keep it open, so having moved, it let itself fall back into place. I couldn’t see a handle on this side, so I rendered the most viable option to continue going. I hoped there was ventilation somewhere in here; a gas mask wouldn’t help me if there was no oxygen to filter through. These things had many disadvantages.

I stepped over a few wires, noticing that several were already in poor condition and the outer layer of plastic was shredded for many. This wasn’t a good idea.
Then, I heard a crack beneath my shoe. I lifted it up to inspect the damage, only to see that it was a metal plate, labelled ‘chlorine disposal unit’ and was like that of a licence plate. Was this meant to go somewhere?
I stood up and looked to my left. I was face to face with a rusted valve. There were two, one label-less, and the other indicating it controlled water. It was such a precarious and stupid room to put such contrasting controls in, and I could immediately make out from the infrastructure that this had been here long before the fried electronics. I could only feel aggravation towards whichever architect or electrician thought this layout was a good idea.

I held up the walkie talkie to my mouth and spoke again, lifting up the plate to the pipe without one.

“Hold on, Pix. I think I think I found something.”

I tilted my head and pressed the plate against the pipe. It stuck in place fine, but then my hand slipped.

“It’s-”

Seconds too late, I felt searing pain in my hand, and I moved it away as a quick involuntary response, yelling an obscenity. I bit down hard on my tongue, then felt the disgusting feeling of blood dripping down my throat. I felt like gagging, but I refused to open my mouth and instead focused on pulling my sleeve down to press the fabric of the cuff against the burn. It was a feeble attempt at lessening the pain, and I realised only afterwards that, in the commotion, I dropped my only form of communication, considering I left my phone at home. The walkie talkie lay by my feet, broken. I was not in the mood to try to fix it, so I didn’t bother picking it up. Pix would be fine.

I Sighed and shoved the hand in my pocket. I tried to recall if I had any bandages on me, but I knew I had none. Pix always carried around anything medical, because usually he’d be the one to apply them and help the wounds seem less bad. Usually, I’d be grateful for less weight in my bag, but now I just skulked.

In an attempt to reconnect with the more reasonable of us, I located another door at the end of the room. Yet, before I could get close, I tripped. Maybe it was over my own shoelaces, or the multitude of knotted wires below my feet, or something else. I landed on the floor with a harsh thud, damaging the bottom of my spine most likely. I remember being able to see in a wider range for a second. It made sense, seeing that my gas mask was on my right after having skidded across the room. It must have fallen off in my tumble. I shouldn’t have loosened it.

And then I was ambushed.

Not by a human, no.

Now, Pix didn’t tell me what happened when we got separated - I’ve refused to ask and he’s only brought it up to make me feel horrible since - but I can only hope that either these walls were soundproof, or that he was not near enough to hear my pleas and screams, a wish that I’d soon regret making.

I was terrified.

This gas, at first I thought was chlorine gas, like the pipes labelled. Maybe it was just excrement for the experiments that took place here, and would make the most sense as to why it was stored in such a large quantity. But I think the magic of this town, or at least some other contributing factor, affected it and what it could- can, do to people.

I remember laying on my back in slight annoyance towards myself for tripping. I was ready to push myself up, only to be interrupted by a green smoke crawling over me like fog rolling over a city, shrouding my body and head in it until it felt like it was attempting to cook me alive. I could have linked it to a spider’s web, like a dangerous but beautiful silk, but this was more like a zombie fungus, making its way to my head to try and kick me out of my own consciousness. It covered me like in chains and wrapped around my ankles harshly. To keep me down the best it could. They burnt as much as the rest of my body, and in my shock and sudden pain, I screamed out.
Thinking about it now, that was the worst thing I could have done.

I didn’t know what it was, because nothing that was dead or had never been alive in the first place could have a goal in mind. Was the gas sentient? What did it want from me? How could I have known? Really, tell me. I’d love to know, because this was the only damn possible outcome I wasn’t prepared for.

It seeped into my mouth and crawled down my throat, gripping onto the sides of my veins and pulling them apart like the wires that so uncomfortably were poking into my spine. The only thing I could hear was the loud buzzing of the battery in my chest, until I added to that. I coughed harshly, continuously, in an attempt to exhale and throw this thing up. It was a natural reaction, but I was horridly aware that it wasn’t working, that I was failing.

There were tears in my eyes, blurring my vision. They were green, too. I didn’t realise it then, but everything was that sickly neon green.

I struggled to hold up my hands in front of my face, to find that I could only see a green blur, so I silently cried into them. Saliva dripped down my chin as I gagged mid-breath, struggling to find the oxygen in my lungs to wail. It was painful, as the coughing in between my chokes only forced me back into the ground as air escaped my mouth.
I tried to call out- maybe Pix could help me?
I yelled his name as loudly as I thought possible, but I didn't hear him respond. I didn’t hear anything, except for the loud shrieking that escaped my lips. I would have never thought I was able to make such a sound.

I’m scared, I realised.

What if Pix ran away from me? Was I really hiding that monstrous voice from him, from myself? I couldn’t even trust myself to stay alive. I was losing.

I called out to him again, desperate, and my neck grew weak trying to keep my head upwards. It crashed back into the wire-littered floor and my jaw locked in place, open wide. Perhaps what was more painful was the sinking realisation that Pix wasn’t coming. That I was going to choke in nobody’s company except for my own and my captor’s.

Fearful, I dug my claws into the wires and pushed myself up, trying to assume that I would come to my senses and make a logical decision if maybe I made a stand. I found no use in doing anything but running, so despite the burning in my joints and blisters starting to litter my body, I turned on my heels and headed in a random direction as fast as I could. It didn’t get me far, and I crashed into the same metal door that I originally came through, head receiving the initial impact.

Blood trickled down my forehead and dripped into my ear, and I shuddered and it continued to dribble downwards until it soaked into the fabric of my hoodie. Sliding down the door and settling on the floor, I reached my hands up again, only this time with a different plan in mind. I trembled, but didn’t give myself enough time to hesitate or rethink my intrusive thoughts. Within seconds, my own hands were grasped around my own neck, and I had never felt so claustrophobic.

I couldn’t see. The tears that had been drowning my own eyes were now invisible, covered by the gas which continued to replace the only things I could see. But, as I rested my head against the door and looked upwards, I noticed many black spots taking over my vision, the only thing more prominent than the green which was driving me to my end. I knew that I didn’t have long, I knew that my options were limited.

I pressed down hard with my thumbs and dug the claws of my other fingers into the back of my neck, the skin turning red from pressure. The coughing masked the choked sobs and was only getting worse. By now I was sure that If I kept this up, I would be in the grounds to throw up a lung. Maybe that, as disgusting and unsightly, would rid me of the pain in my chest.

I still couldn’t close my mouth, and every intake, every sharp breath that my body forced me to take, only let more of the wretched gas enter my system. I didn’t even realise how much more severe the situation was getting; everything near my head was starting to feel numb.

My actions started to catch up with my body, for it detected my own suffering and focused on that instead of the difficulties breathing, as if it has priorities. I could feel my grip being forced to loosen, because my body was keen on staying alive. It was yelling at me not to go through with this, to just let myself slip into a peaceful state of unconsciousness instead of struggling. That there was nothing else I could do.

But I was determined, and I wouldn’t let myself give up like that, to this thing, not when there was a chance that I could be saved if I held out just a bit longer. I did my best not to let my body dictate the energy I used, and carried on. Still, each second that passed, I found it harder to differentiate what I focused on.

And then the spots got worse, until I physically couldn’t continue anymore, despite my inner pleads. Despite my attempts to cry out to Pix again, despite it all. I thought for a final time, and I used it to blame myself, because my only friend was probably lost and worried sick, and it was going to be entirely my fault, all because I couldn’t be a bit more spatially aware and empathetic. There was a chance that I would die, and that he wouldn’t find me. That he’d be searching forever, or give up. Or worse, that he would locate me, but only when it was too late. He was going to have to deal with that by himself.

I could tell that by this point, I must have been crying; my eyes stung, and they felt dry simultaneously. Lines marked under my eyes where tears fell and dripped down my chin to mix with blood, but I hadn’t noticed, only assumed, because that was a rational outcome of this situation, of the self deprecating thoughts. I knew I wouldn’t otherwise feel this way, and that I was only admitting it because I was on death's door, most likely. And I was ashamed, truly, because this wasn’t like me.
I thought back to my old friend group; they were all probably having the time of their life right now.

But I couldn’t even reminisce for long, because I was too weak to even think, and instead my gaze lingered downwards. All that captured the last spot of my vision was the green smoke, and it was laughing at me. It laughed at me until I couldn’t tell it apart from the silence, and I sat there in despair, utterly useless to do anything against it.

A fuzzy feeling overcame my thoughts instead, a replacement to testify all I had been through, and for once it sounded like a good idea, something that I deserved.

It told me to go to sleep.

I knew why sleep was on my mind, and I dreaded the realisation that seeped through my bones and creeped up my spine in a chill, despite the blaring heat that I found myself trapped in. I knew.
I couldn’t remember if it was because I got injured, because from then I was unable to recall ever receiving an injury. I couldn't recall anything, even. Everything was warm and cosy, rather. It was inviting, a distraction to the pain plaguing my livelihood.
Or maybe it was the lack of oxygen getting to my lungs, which would make more sense. But I had even forgotten about that anguish, forgotten how to breathe, how to keep my eyes open, how to live. I didn’t want to, it was too much effort, and the warm comfort of the gas was just so inviting.

I stared, even though there was nothing to see. Maybe the membrane covering my eyes should have helped me, but it had continually proven time and time again to be useless.

I didn’t realise when it happened, but mid-discontinuing, my hand loosened and fell to my sides. My head dropped in tandem, without the pressure of my triumph to keep it upwards, and lost all concept of force, using my shoulder as leverage. I couldn’t bring myself to think about that anymore. I knew I was unable to.

It ached for just a split second, before that pain went away as well, and I felt like I was wrapped up in a blanket back at the apartment, watching a movie with my friend and falling to slumber in comfort as the background noise of the television was drowned out by the battery in my chest buzzing one last time. My mind raced at the thought, but then it stopped.

And then, with much sorrow and regret for so many things, the spots covered my vision, until I wasn’t around.

I couldn’t tell you when I came back, or how long it had been. I didn’t think I would, in all fairness. I thought that was it: ‘Sean Mustard, dead before the prime of his life, because he refused to stick to the canon and got too curious for his own good’. Some hero's tale, right?

But I wasn’t a hero. I never had been, man. It would be dumb of me to think so. Good people don’t regain consciousness, covered in blood. The first thing they see shouldn’t be their friend’s eyes staring at them in fear. That’s not something anyone would want to experience.

Pix was laying in front of me, in an awkward position consisting of trying to shuffle away, but his arms trembling and too weak to let him move much, so he remained using his elbows to hoist him up a bit. He just stared at me, and it felt like I was being watched by some omniscient, omnipotent being. I swore I could see wings on his ears, and they were beautiful and pretty just like him and his shining eyes, oh so many of them. But then I blinked, and my vision had become just that bit less blurry, and then all those features were gone. I was disheartened. I wonder if I ever saw them at all, or if it was my mind playing tricks on me. If the gas was.

My face ached, and I realised that my jaw had retracted over a period of time, thank goodness, but also that everything was unfortunately still in the green hue that I remembered from what felt like mere moments ago. Difference being, it was just a tint now. I could actually see, I realised. I had never been so happy to see.
Somehow, I must have found and put my mask back on. Only last I remembered, I had been too tired to even breathe, and would have been unable to see said mask. The thought, coming back to me, made me sink down a bit. I could breathe now, couldn’t I? I was alive. Unable to control my own actions for a time, sure, but alive. Maybe whoever had brought me back had made a mistake.

“Forge?”

I filled my lungs up with as much as I could and coughed into my lap, keeling over.

I had been so close to ripping this man’s face off, and my hand even still hovered a bit too close to him for comfort. And yet, all I managed to respond with were raspy breaths as I tried to make up for all the air that my lungs had been deprived of.
I lifted my head to stare back at Pix, and I couldn’t seem to look away. For once, I wish I could, because I felt like I was watching my own downfall play in slow motion.

I had been reaching forward, and I noticed the few swipes I had already made on him, because the result littered his arm and face, looking like he had been in a battlefield. I forced myself to move away, and for once my body complied with my plea. Instead of ripping off the mask off his face, that I could still see him trembling through, I dug my claws into my own palm instead to replace that frenzying feeling of bleeding a limb dry. My claws felt sharper, for usually I’d be unable to penetrate my own skin. I knew that.

I retracted my hand till it lay in my lap. My head was ringing, and it hurt, as did my throat. Like I just dealt with some contagious flu that attacked my immune system and left me scarred. I already missed that feeling of cosy numbness I experienced before I woke up. I wanted it back, but I knew this wasn’t the time. I had to regain my thoughts.

Pix’s hair was messy, and it stuck behind his collar and draped over his face as if he had just been on a run. Usually it would be a bit messy, like his desk, but it was always tame and manageable in comparison to mine. There was a reason I kept it short.
Pix forced himself into a sitting position and smiled. It looked painful, and it made my heart clench. How could he be smiling at a time like this? Something terrible must have happened. How could he try to be optimistic looking like that?

I continued to take some heavy breaths before using a free hand to push my head back so that it wouldn't droop, and also so that my spine was straight and my neck wasn’t strained. It felt as if my chest was collapsing on itself, so I hit the battery in my chest two times until I could hear it buzzing again. I didn’t want to think about its implications, so I haven’t till now.
I didn’t like how heavy Pix’s breath was, nor how loud it seemed to be in my ears. It was as if it was the pinnacle of keeping him alive. I must have caused that, caused pain to him. It made the most sense, so I put the pieces of the puzzle together instantly. He wouldn’t be proud of me for it this time. Not in a million years. I’m sure he’d much prefer if I never figured it out, so he can keep that trauma bottled up. I tell him it’s unhealthy but he doesn’t listen. He’ll never listen.

Instead, I talk.

“Pix?”

I coughed again, and it felt like a strange sense of repetition. Maybe the universe was toying with me, mocking me because I lost the mask before, the only possession of mine that I would have never let out of my sight. Because I was careless.

Pix nodded in confirmation. He sighed, which only made me feel worse in all honesty. He sighs a lot, but this felt like disappointment was radiating off of him. He gently shifted his legs, managing to bring one more upwards and close to his chest. Like on a string, it was unable to do so all the way, held back by the other leg, which was stuck in place. I glanced down, and it was then that I noticed my tail was wrapped around his calf tightly, the spikes of the hard exoskeleton getting stuck in his linen and cotton blended trousers, only furthering the dramatics of the wrinkles in the fabric. I wasn’t even able to feel the strain that it pulled on my own body, but it must have ached, so with a heavy heart, I slowly loosened my grip and released it so he could move.
Once doing so, I let it slide back behind me before shuffling away, biting my tongue. It was already a bit sore.

Pix didn’t move any closer, but he didn’t move further away, either. He drew both legs towards him, as if he were curled up in a ball, and spoke quietly. The silence that hung over us made it easier to hear him, but he sounded hoarse, like he had been crying. I frowned.

“It’s not safe to go back that way…” He pointed behind me, as if he could see something I couldn’t. I didn’t rip my unblinking gaze away from him. Instead, I shook my head. Doing so made my neck ache, and I put a hand up to it, only to freeze when the skin felt tender and sore. Sticky, like dried blood. I put my hood up to hide the fact from Pix, in hopes that he hadn’t already noticed.

“No.” I say plainly, pushing myself to stand. My legs were wobbly and I swayed a bit, but I didn't fall, using my tail grounded behind me as a crutch. I brought my hands up to my mask wearily, tracing my fingers over the rough fabric and metal that made it up. Choking out a reply, I pointed behind Pix this time, and his hand lowered as I did.

“You need to leave, Pix.”

I commanded him, looking at him with a mixture of desperation and anguish.

“I’m not going anywhere without you with me.” He said.

I wasn’t sure he got the memo.
It could have been a touching statement, had it not also been a really stupid thing to say. I couldn’t imagine why he’d be so damn keen on it, because he kept pressing on, despite my splutters of astonishment.
Pix stood up as he spoke, and it looked like it hurt. It did, and I didn’t need him to clarify that for me; his leg was clearly sustaining an injury. I knew it due to the very visible picture of the few holes in the torn fabric and the blood pouring down from his knee. The ankle wasn’t in much better condition, and I wondered if he sprained it when I grabbed him.

His eyes wandered around, and I used the time to take off my mask and stared down at the floor. My own hair fell over my eyes and got caught in a lash uncomfortably. I wished I hadn’t grown my hair out, for now all sticky and greasy and clinging to my neck and face. I held the mask in my hands, rubbing my fingers over it and looking at my own eyes, dull and pupils dilated, in the reflection. The lens was red now it was off, and I could see in colour once again.

“That’s.. Stupid.” I complained.

“It’s every man for himself, Pix. That’s what I say, right? That in case something bad happens, we shouldn’t let attachment dictate us. Everyone is responsible for themselves. Now is the time you should listen to that.”
He gave me a small, sympathetic look, but I didn’t raise my head to meet it.
“It’s not safe to take me with you. I’ll just hurt you, and I think you know that. I don’t know what's wrong with me, but clearly something is, and because of that you mustn’t-”

Pix interrupted me, “It’s not stupid. All we have is each other, you know that. I want you to come with me.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t bring myself to.

“Please?”

What was I to say to that? All it did was make me feel worse. To hear the stutter as he spoke, to hear the emotions flowing through his words as if he were begging. As much as I wanted Pix’s safety, it would be so hard to compete with his comfort if he wasn’t budging.
I had begged Pix to help me, and he hadn’t come. Now there he stood in front of me, asking for me to stay with him despite the pain he was in. He knew I was responsible, but he held tightly onto the hope that we could fix the mistake I made of giving up. He was telling me that he wouldn’t give up on this. On us.

My reflection was tainted, and my face was littered in little scrapes and a few burn marks. I looked like shit. How could anyone love someone like that?
I couldn’t find it in myself to swallow and rid the horrid feeling of dried blood from my mouth.

“Maybe you want me to. But you don’t need me to.”

Frowning, I lifted my head up and shoved my mask into his hands, for I couldn’t be trusted to hold it. He would take better care of it than I would. The muscles in my face hurt, and my own words seemed to sting. I didn’t move.

“That’s not true.”

Pix just held the mask out in front of him in the position that I had handed it to him, arms still extended. His voice was more audibly modulated and matter-of-fact.

He repeated, “I want you to come with me.” It sounded more like a command. “I'm not leaving you here.”

Of course, the options were that I leave, or I would be confined to this place like a ghost. Maybe then, I would have become one with the gas that had possessed me once before.
I glanced around, finding no sight of it. Had it been my imagination, did I just choke on my own saliva and sleep-walk? Surely not.
Tears pricked at my eyes again, but this time I couldn’t even bring myself to feel ashamed. They streamed down my face and I shuddered, the breath that entered my lungs being cold and pricking at it. I was happy to breathe again.

I gave in, “Alright.”

“You’re an idiot, Pixlriffs.”

He smiled, ever so slightly but enough for me to pick up. It was infectious, and I found myself doing so too, despite the context. It was nice to see him smile again.

“So I’ve been told.”
He looked a bit surprised at his own words, before that was quickly wiped away and he turned his head behind him, down a corridor. At the end of it was a room, which held the window we initially came through. We must have gone in a full circle, as coincidental as it was, unless Pix led me here on purpose (but I wouldn’t have given him that credit even if he did). He began to walk down the corridor, and I was compelled to follow, so I did.

My feet hurt, and yes, any blisters that had developed hadn’t gone away. If anything, a few may have popped in unfortunate circumstances, such as chasing down my friend, and now my socks were uncomfortably rubbing against the raw skin. I reminded myself of an earlier dilemma, and thought about asking him if he had any plasters. I didn’t bring it up, though. We could do that later, if he was feeling up to being near me. I would do the same.

“Let’s just get out of here,” said he, and I nodded, shoving my hands in my pockets in hopes my claws would retract. I didn’t even know they could do that. Maybe I had some cross ancestry? Yet another thing to research. Here’s to hoping it wouldn’t lead me to another potentially dangerous situation. Granted, that’s exactly what interviews were.

It occurred to me that I didn’t know if I sustained any other injuries, so I counted in my head the ones I was aware of, trying my best to think back: a hand burn, blisters over the rest of my body that may have just been a mental illusion, and a head injury. Anything else was a blur, including how I sustained the injuries. Part of me was glad for the amnesia.

I reached up to scratch my neck whilst I thought, as an itch had formed, only to end up hissing and holding that hand out in front of me again, staring at it bitterly. It felt like deja vu in a sense, and the thought of why that was, made me feel sick. It was even staring at me in the face. There was blood on my hands now, and this time it was my own. How could I forget for the second time? In my attempts to rid myself of the gas choking me inside out, I only ended up speeding up the process of dragging myself to unconsciousness. Some fool I was.

I needed to stop being selfish.

That was the problem.

None of us were talking though, so at least nobody would see me as so, not till now.

I forgot how long the corridor seemed to spread on, in either direction, so the journey back felt like it dragged on, as if our shuffling wasn’t leading us anywhere. When we did get to the window, I was glad. My feet ached still, as did my whole body, and it made me wonder just how much of the gas got into my lungs. I knew that chlorine could dissolve on the surface of the eye, so I was lucky that my body was able to deter it with tears. Had it not, I may have gotten an acidic eye injury, and I wouldn’t ever want to figure out what happens in that case.
Now, instead of focusing on my eyes, I focused on my other senses. I could feel the way my hair clung to me, how my feet felt trapped by my socks and boots, or how I heard the creases in my jacket form when my arms moved side to side. I could identify how heavy the battery felt in my chest, ever so happy that I could hear it buzzing again too. I also managed to figure out the utter annoyance at the place around me, and how I felt unsafe and exposed without my mask on. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I ever found my bag.

I looked forward to seeing Pix still holding my mask in his hand. His grip on it was tight, and I wondered why he didn’t just put it in his bag to free up his hands.

When the option came upon me to leave, I hesitated. It pains me to admit it, but I know why now. I was attached to the place. The idea I gave myself, that I could have stayed behind had Pix not been so adamant, despite the terror it brought, it also came with a hint of comfort. Maybe if I remained in the place I had dedicated my life to, that I would become part of its history too. Anyone would be shocked at the idea, but I think it would be a good thing.

Pix walked around me and stepped out first. Once again, I looked at his shoes, and was happy to find that he was avoiding stepping in the shards of glass as best as he could. I did not, leaving just behind him and not caring about where I put my feet. The crunch was satisfying, at least. What wasn’t, was the blindness I received from stepping out into the sun.

I would have assumed that, per the time of day and the mood, the weather would have matched in accordance, being dreary and dull like it was when we first entered. I was wrong, and instead the sky was littered with shades of blue with fluffy, rose gold and pink clouds, which danced around the beam of light that remained the star of the show.
For a split second, when my vision became spotty, I panicked, thinking that something was grasping at my mind again. Only I wasn’t being lured to a false hope of eternal slumber, and instead I was far too alert and my eyes hurt. I blinked it away and swiped at the sky, then looked to my right temporarily at noticing Pix stood too close for comfort.

I was warm again. This time it was nice, and I was thankful to the breeze that accompanied it.

Pix finally put my mask in his bag, using the free hand to undo the straps and take his own off. He must have been hit with a similar spell of bewilderment, because he stood there stunned for a second, and looking rather dazed. He gripped the mask tightly in his hands, and once noticing the stripe of colour that outlined it, I was reminded that this one was also mine.
He didn’t loosen his grip, and kept his eyes squinted, so I figured that he was having trouble clearing the dizzy spell, but there was nothing I could do. He looked like he was trying to keep his composure to top off the facade he was doing so horribly at playing the part of, but it was obvious that he was on the verge of fainting. I could see it in how he swayed at each small howl of wind. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, because I don’t think I would have been able to deal with him collapsing onto me.

I watched him for a moment more, feeling concern soak my bones. I decided that he wouldn’t be able to lead in this state, and whilst I also didn’t trust myself to do pretty much anything, I would have to get my priorities straight. This meant being the one to direct us home. He coaxed me into coming back with him, after all, so it would only be fair if I made it worth it for him. I could drown in my sorrow when we got back.

“You… remember how to get home, right?”

We walked among the trees, both making use of the shade that the canopy provided us once we got into thicker forest. I could feel Pix’s gaze on me, as if he was trying to make something out. I would be creeped out, but he seemed to be near tripping up every second. On every rock, root, pile of leaves, small twig. It was a miracle he wasn’t face flat on the muddy ground five minutes in. Maybe he was just looking to pay attention to something. Unfortunately I was the target, it seemed. I just had to follow the ribbons tied around the trees. They should lead us back home.

I nodded, the loudness of my tone betraying the testification of how nervous I truly felt at the time. “Yeah. I’ve been around here too much not to know.” I admitted, and luckily he interrupted me before I could spill some dumb reasoning to what I said. He always does.

“Good. Great.” He dragged out his r’s, finding nothing else to fill the silence with.

I couldn’t either, and let only a repetition slip off of my tongue.
“Great.”

We said nothing else for a while.

—-

“And you say that’s all that happened?” The professor rests their elbows on the desk just like they did before, looking as if they were more intrigued to listen to Sean’s experience rather than to document it. Half of their paper wasn’t even filled, for they had put the pen down when descriptions started getting more graphic. Not as if it mattered, because the whole statement was being recorded anyways.

“You act as if you hoped there would be more blood and guts.” Sean takes a quick pause and then realises that yes, that’s probably what they were after. The more information they have, the better. Even if that means interrogating people about something insanely personal and not giving them an explanation as to why they even knew anything in the first place. Forge was still annoyed about that aspect.
“I came out of there with a friendship held together by a thin string, week-lasting heatstroke, injuries, an uncomfortable number of blisters, and most importantly two cold sores which keep coming back.”

“Right, right.” The professor purposely coughs and leans back in their chair, eyes wandering to the small paper bin at their right, and then back to the person they were interviewing.
“Thank you for that. It certainly was…”

“Thrilling? I agree. I can’t wait to figure out more.”

The professor raises a brow and blinks. “You plan on gathering more data? Several months after the first visit? What does that entail?”

“Well, if you won’t tell, I won’t either. I’m going back. Tonight.”

Sean adjusts the cap on his head and then coughs into his hand. Horrifically in character.

“Don’t worry, Mr Mustard,” The professor calms, smiling genuinely. They push themself back from the desk, and the chair scrapes loudly against the tiled flooring as they do. They stand up and look down at him, then nod to the camera.

“We only listen.”

There’s a loud crunch, and then the recording ends.

(click)

———————

The prophecy foretells of it

Sean rubbed his head and sighed, feeling the bump that lay there and rifling his claws through the strands of hair which held dried blood he didn’t know about. He couldn’t remember even walking the last mile, but here he stood, staring up at the large, lifeless building once more.

He needed some proof, something to hold in his hands and declare to the world. Something to say that he, ForgeLabs, had managed to make a bigger name for himself in the community. He needed to get something out of it, even if that meant risking his life a second time.

This time it was going to be different.

He sighed, adjusting the mask on his face in hopes that he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. For comfort, he brought his hood over his head, happy to see the familiar faux fur poke its way into the top of his vision.
Technically, coming back here was a foolish move. Pix had spent the last five months telling him that, no, it wasn’t a good idea to fixate on something so dangerous. But Pix hadn’t even told him half of the story, so was it really that bad to try uncover the rest without making him uncomfortable?

Besides, he needed some space from Pix and Mog. It felt like, since Mog had made their duo a trio, that Forge was spending less and less time doing his usual routine. Whenever he’d tried to talk to Pix, Mog was there. Whenever he messaged and thought Pix responded, it was just Mog on his phone. He loved them, truly, but it felt like he was being left out. As if those two had a bond that he was never close to having.

A bit of fresh air was a good excuse to leave the house, even if that air consisted of green, poisonous gas, and if leaving the house for a breather occurred late at night when he hoped the others were asleep.

Those were very normal people things, and other people just had to accept that they were the weird ones for not having horrific trust issues.
Not like he had those.

“Alright.”

He said out loud, holding on tightly to the straps of his backpack and walking forwards. He would remain unaware of the figure sitting on a tree nearby for a few more seconds. They stare at him.

“In, and out..”