Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

  It was one thing to hear of a festival in the making. It was another thing when that same festival is exclusively for bounty hunters and you can only enter once in your lifetime.

And so, as any sensible 17-year old teenager would do, Oliver made his way to the somewhat shady raffle, paid for a ticket with the money he was going to buy groceries with, and booked it back to base.

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t really thought about what he was going to do if the whole thing had been a scam, or if James told him they weren’t going to enter, and maybe he could already imagine the scolding he would get if they found out he wasted money on a ticket (which was incredibly overpriced) instead of paying for groceries that would make them tonight and tomorrow’s dinner. Oh well; Esther says there’s nothing wrong with a little faith, though she probably didn’t mean for him to waste all his money on hopes and dreams. His mother would probably have an aneurysm if she knew.

The base was an old building, the outsides and insides turning to rot on their foundations, but that was the point. The less conspicuous, the less suspicious. At least, that’s what Oliver assumes James would say based on the mock-James that takes the place of the somewhat sensible voice in his head.

Finding the rundown building wasn’t much of an issue, not anymore. With how much he spent his days here, Oliver can’t bring himself to be surprised when his body automatically turns down the filthy, dark alleyway and leads him straight to the door. Fumbling the key from his pockets, he shoves the small metal item into the keyhole, turning the knob the opposite way that normal knobs were supposed to be turned. 

Sylvie short-circuited when he realized he had bought and installed the wrong one, but the rest of the team didn’t mind. As long as there was a functional knob, it was acceptable.

Pushing the door open and stepping in, the first thing he was greeted with was the clamor of multiple voices, seemingly discussing something. Curiously, Oliver makes his way to the main room. A shabby thing, but somewhat homely and comforting.

 The couch, covered in punctures and losing stuffing by the minute, was occupied by one Spider, the walls around the room lit by old holiday lights and the ceiling strung with thick netting for Spider’s enjoyment. In the kitchenette, James was shuffling papers and files, things that Oliver would rather not bother with. He’s grateful James is responsible enough for all of them, but he supposes that’s just the older male’s job as the leader… and an adult. Esther stands in a secluded corner, still talking about whatever she had been before Oliver entered.

“. . . exactly why we should join. This is a special thing, James; we can’t just pass up the opportunity because you think it’s a waste of time!” She exclaims, arms wildly flailing in such a dramatic manner that Oliver thinks she’d fly off if she tried hard enough.

James sighs, turning to her minutely before going back to his files. “I’m just tryin’ ta play it safe, Esther,” he says with his deep, accented voice, “there ain’t no need ta put us out there. We’re established enough. Plus, we went through this last year. It’ll be the same next year, too.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Oliver standing near the main hallway, when Spider notices him and lifts himself from the couch to approach the much taller *Seeker. He examines him for a moment, looking him up and down confusedly, before looking up at him. That mask the *Shadefur wore was somewhat emotive now that Oliver knew how to read it.

“Where’s the groceries?” Spider questions, his arms lifting for a minute before falling back down as if he were shrugging.

Oliver reaches up to grasp the back of his neck, glancing away. “Well, I-”

“C’mon, man! Are you seriously just going to… to….. I DON’T KNOW! But there isn’t any harm in at least trying! There’s a good chance we’d make it in, too. Maybe we’d win some extra money for stuff like repairs. This event is sort of a big deal in the community,” Esther tries again, interrupting Oliver before he could get his probably inadequate explanation out. 

Oliver takes this as a moment to chime in, still not understanding the conversation. “Hey, uh, what’re you guys talking about? What’s so important?”

Spider shakes his head, probably still wondering where Oliver had put the groceries before Esther responds to the *Nightfur’s question, giving him a smile. “Oh, hey Oli. We’re talking about the Hunter’s Communal Festival that’s coming up. It’s a festival of competitions hosted by bounty hunters for bounty hunters. If we can get tickets, we’ve got a good chance at winning.”

Oliver blinks a few times before going to speak, reaching into his pocket for the tickets he had bought earlier with errand money, but Spider beats him to the punch. “Cap is adamant we don’t join, though. Thinks it’s a waste of money and time, but won’t dare tell us why.”

Oliver watches James’ ears lower more than they already were, pressing backwards and making the white fur on the back of his head look wrinkled. “Hopefully,” he emphasizes exasperatedly, “this whole thing passes soon. It’s not as big a deal as some make it out to be.”

Upon hearing this, Oliver feels his stomach drop and fear sting his nerves, the kind of fear you feel in your butt and makes your rear clench. Spider takes note of his suddenly odd stance, regarding him suspiciously with a hint of some sadistic amusement, though Spider can’t place why exactly he finds Oliver’s reaction funny.

Esther sputters, appalled at what James has said. “‘Not a big deal’?” James, are you sure you’re right in the head?”

Spider nods, nodding his head at Oliver, crossing his arms. “Yeah, Cap… you’ve got Oliver looking like this whole scene was originally part of a short comic panel and he was drawn with the author’s left hand.”

Oliver makes a noise that lacks true definition, but the general pronunciation would be, “Buh”. Shakespeare would truly be amazed.

James makes a strangled noise akin to a groan, turning to face all of them with squared shoulders. Oddly enough, the white mimicratus seemed more irritable recently, especially today. Oliver isn’t sure if it’s a result of stress or some other reason, but he is struggling to form a coherent thought at the moment so he settles on not stressing over it until the middle of the night when he can’t sleep.

“Look,” James starts, his voice teetering on a growl, “we aren’t joining. If you really want to know, we can’t. I’ve already joined once in my life. It’s impossible for you all ta participate without having someone in your papers signed as ‘Leader’.”

This certainly serves to get the group’s attention, Sylvie choosing that moment to walk in. He has his metallic paws raised in a greeting, likely about to say something to match the gesture, but stops when he garners the tension in the room. 

Esther stares at James as though he’s grown another head or two, and Spider looks on with the posture of a newborn giraffe. Oh heck nah… Spider thinks, a frown situating itself on his face despite the porcelain covering it.

Oliver shivers, gaining his consciousness again despite the initial butt-clenching and system shock. Confusedly, he decides to ask, “Why can’t we participate without a leader?” Maybe in the future he’d think this a stupid question, but at the moment his thoughts are thinking about what he’s going to snack on later and how much he doesn’t want to do laundry, not what is a pitiful inquiry and what is not.

Spider turns his head to him, and James mirrors the action. “Because, ‘a group without a leader. . . ’” begins Spider. “‘. . . is a group that is lost.’” finishes James, but there’s a sort of dejection in his tone.

Esther frowns, seeming disappointed. Oliver’s mind trails back to the tickets in his pocket, suddenly very much regretting his decision. He should’ve just gotten groceries.

Sylvie curiously, almost cautiously, speaks up in that slightly filtered voice of his. “Uhm, may I ask what we’re talking about?” 

Esther leans over to whisper in Sylvie’s chrome ears like she were a teenage girl spilling all the gossip she just learned about her family’s private life. It takes a few moments but Sylvie’s visor progressively grows more horrified, and eventually he lets out a horrified, disgustingly dramatic gasp that was too in-character.

Esther just nods understandingly at Sylvie’s reaction, likely feeling the same. James groans, putting a paw on his nose bridge and pinching it. “... I’m sorry,” he sighs for the umpteenth time, “I shouldn’t have gotten all upset jus’ because you wanted to participate in a festival.

“It’s just.. I didn’t want you to get yer hopes up about joining only to find out that you can’t.”

The room is quiet, tension having dissipated and left an air of bitter disappointment. Oliver, unable to return the small pieces of paper that weigh down his pockets like dumbbells, decides to reach in and remove the things.

Agonizingly slow, he pulls the tickets out, holding them up in between his index and thumb, careful not to puncture them with his claws.

“...Is this a bad time to say I may or may not have bought tickets with the grocery money you gave me..?”

Utter silence. The longer it goes on, the more dread Oliver feels building in his ribs. All that he wants to do is bury his head in the sand like an ostrich, but the sand is waterlogged so he drowns in the most pitiful manner one can fathom. Unfortunately, there is no sand around to commit to such an action, so he opts to awkwardly stand there with the collective stares of his peers burning through his flesh.

And then: “You WHAT?!!” James roars, his fists smashing on the countertops. There was the communal uproar of 3 very upset *mimicrati, Spider trying his darndest not to laugh. He’s lifted his mask just barely off of his face to slap a paw over his snout, his body quivering. Oliver hopes he dies due to lacking oxygen.

Esther just about strangles him, her paws reaching up to do so but stopping short of his neck and shaking violently in the air like she’s just barely managed to stop herself. “Oliver, why would you waste money like that?! I wouldn’t be as upset if we were able to use the tickets, but we can’t even enter! We NEEDED groceries.”

Sylvie’s visor displays a shocked face png, his arms limp at his sides and his tail having fallen to the floor. If he had his other pair of arms out, Oliver imagines they’d be gripping his head in horror.

James is pacing about the kitchenette, files and papers having been forgotten in favor of trying to calm himself down. He puts his face in both paws, digging his claws into his forehead in a desperate attempt at managing his anger because pain definitely helps do that. He’s muttering something, possibly prayers, but Oliver can’t place whether they’re prayers for James’ or prayers for himself.

“Look, I- I didn’t know we couldn’t enter! I bought them hoping we could since I’ve never even heard of this festival thing before. I.. I thought you guys would know, and you do , but.. AhhhHHHh it’s all gone horribly wrong!”

Esther begins almost strangling herself, her screams muted behind the grimace of her mouth but not unheard. James snarls, his *flux wanting desperately to activate if the flickers of glowing white eyes were anything to go by. “Do you know how STUPID you sound, boy?? You’ve wasted our money on tickets more useless than a bed-ridden vegetable.”

Spider, unable to control his laughter anymore, falls to the ground with a resounding thud, clenching his abdomen. His mask was abandoned on the floor beside him, his scarred face in full display as his eyes water from his desperate gasps for air. Personally, Oliver didn’t think the situation was comedic at all, but Spider was a convicted sadist so this checks.

James has to scrunch up his face to loosen the tense muscles, working his jaw and brows. He reaches up, adjusting his fedora. He groans again. “You will not be running errands anytime soon, if ever.”

Oliver sighs, dejectedly looking at the ground. He screwed up, he knows this. It was like receiving lashes for attempting to grab a candy bar from the countertop, except that candy bar was actually a pure diamond and he was in a heavily secured bank. It was… almost like being scolded by a dad. Such a notion hurt enough to make him shudder, though Oliver can’t put his claw on why.

It’s silent in the base for a good while, Spider finally having ceased his incessant laughter and Esther walking over to the couch to clutch her head while she watches a romcom. Spider makes a leap with his arms up, grabbing onto the ceiling’s nets and worming his way onto them like his name sake. James sighs, turning away and tending to his files, no longer wanting to deal with the mess in front of him.

Sylvie glances around, his paws brought up to his tin chest and wringing around each other in a nervous gesture. Then, through his voice box, he speaks the words of a prophet, almost like that of the Messiah,  that came down from the heavens to save Oliver’s weary soul.

“We can still apply.. can’t we? I mean, we don’t have anyone to fill the Leader slot, but what if we did?” He tries, biolights flashing subtly as he speaks and his words fill the minds of the team.

Spider tilts his head from where he hangs upside down, mask now in his hands and being put back on his face. “And who do you suggest fills that role, Big Bird? It’s not like we have anyone-”

“You’re overlooking something,” Sylvie interrupts, “we have Oliver. Technically, this group has no need for him. There isn’t a designated role he’s been given. Therefore, I believe Oliver can fill in the Leader slot.”

Esther makes a face. “Really? You think that Oliver, the same kid that got expelled from his school and wasted our food money on overpriced tickets, can lead us? Sylvs, he’s barely got any experience in the field, let alone leading a group.” It stings, but Oliver knows she’s right.

Oliver can’t help but nod, harsh facts having slapped him in the face. “Esther’s right. Sylvie, I- I appreciate the faith in me, really, I do. But I’ve already been given a chance to do right and I screwed it up. I don’t think it’s me you want to lead you.” And it’s awful to say out loud. If he had a tongue, he imagines the words that left his snout would taste bitter and dry, like sand and licorice in some unholy combination.

Esther gets this small frown on her face that proves she probably feels a bit bad for exploding on him, though the expression vanishes the second it’s made. Spider glances away similarly.

Sylvie shakes his head, ears bobbing with the movement. A resounding click leaves the bot’s body as he releases his second pair of arms, the limbs sprouting from his back. One pair of arms splay themselves like someone asking for a hug while the other places their servos on Sylvie’s hips. “You aren’t understanding me. Oliver is perfect for the role because he has a ways to go; he needs this opportunity to grow as a person and a hunter. If we never have him do anything, he will never learn.”

The chrome-colored droid turns to where Esther sits manspread on their beaten-up couch. “Esther, you were the one who wanted to join this event in the first place. You’re right, the festival is a great opportunity for repair money and whatever else we need. We usually aren’t low on cash, but what we earn in the field is what we set aside for everything except this building. Plus, it’s meant to be a good time for everyone involved. We’ll have a nice bonding experience.”

He turns to Spider next, one of his hands making a gesture towards him. “Spider, you may not even want to participate, but we need you. Whether we want to admit it or not, you’re good at your job. We would really need your help if we were to join the festival.” Spider, subtly smug, gives him a deep nod. He doesn’t seem to realize that Sylvie purposefully skimmed on his section.

Finally, Sylvie looks at Oliver, the latter having been silently wondering what inspirational words would be thrown at him for him to light a fire with. “Oliver. This festival could be a chance for you to prove yourself worthy of something more than what we already have you doing. You messed up, yes, but it was an honest mistake and you’re still legally a child who has way more hopes and dreams than the rest of us,” Sylvie’s visor displays a smile emoticon, which was a little unnerving, but Oliver got his point.

 “Don’t beat yourself up. I know how you are. Now that you’ve made that mistake, there’s no going back, but you can prove yourself better and never do something like that again. And, maybe, you really are leadership material and none of us gave you the chance to shine. We can find out.. If you give this a shot.”

Oliver watches Sylvie smoothly walk up to him and place a metal hand on his bicep. The appendage is cold, and he can almost hear Sylvie’s fans working to cool his systems, but it’s sort of comforting. It was a nice gesture, which Oliver appreciated from the bot.

And then, the tin can does something that seals their fate. Turning to all that he sees in the room aside from the quiet, near frozen James, he spreads his four arms in a welcoming stance. “If we all give this a shot. Just one chance is all we need. So.. what do you all say?”

Esther very loudly groans, but she’s failing to hide her smirk. “Ughhh. Darn it, Sylvs, you’re too good at these emotional speeches. I’m all fired up now! What article did you read to get all o’ that?” The woman jumps up from the couch, teeth bared in a smile, and claps Sylvie’s shoulder.

Bashfully, Sylvie shrugs and looks away. “Oh, just a few I found while browsing..”

It’s Spider’s turn to join the hopeful posse, crawling on the ceiling towards them before angling his body in a way that allows him to gently set himself on his feet. Now standing upright, he crosses his arms. “You’re all crazy if you think we’re actually going to win this thing..” he says, giving them all Looks from behind his mask, “..but crazy is my thing too. Let’s do this.”

They all turn to Oliver expectantly. His ears lower for a second before pushing themselves back up. He takes a moment to breathe before speaking. “I just.. I want to say I’m sorry. For dragging you all into this, I mean. I wasted money on an unwise and split decision to buy these… WAY overpriced tickets. That’s my fault. But,” he takes a breath again, looking at them hopefully, “if you’ll all give me another chance, I will gladly join you and try my best to be your leader.”

Esther and Sylvie cheer, Spider yawning. It was then that James made himself known again, a somewhat gentle smile on his face despite his earlier anger. “I’ll be there. Y’know, ta cheer you on. Can’t have my team going in without some sort of support.” Oliver briefly wonders if he’s on his *flux cycle (AN: this is a joke. Only female mimicrati have a flux cycle ); the white mimicratus’ emotions had been all over the place.

Esther grins knowingly, “What happened to ‘It’s a waste of time! It’s a waste of money! I’m so existential and melancholy for no apparent reason today’?” she dramatically says, flailing her arms and tail and poorly mocking James’ accent. It makes him grin-snarl, his lips curling upwards but his snout wrinkling and his brow furrowing. Oliver thought it was a pretty accurate impression. “Watch it.”

Wow, Oliver thinks, that didn’t take a lot. It’s almost like the author ran out of ideas at this point and decided to go with the all-knowing Power of Friendship trope.

Spider stares at Oliver, scandalized in some regard. “That was MY line….” he mutters, depressed. This earns him more than a few odd looks.

Ignoring the previous statement, the team all gathers close, giving looks of reassurance and a few kind pats like the typical “well gang, gather round” manner because this is becoming horribly stereotypical don’t worry it improves. Oliver looks at James a bit questioningly, debating if he’s been forgiven or not for his earlier blunder.

“Soooo, am I still able to go get groceries? Because I’ll do that now if I can..”

James guffaws, clapping him on the shoulder with a humongous paw. “AHAH! Yeah, no, you’re never going to the market unsupervised again.”

“Well shucks.”

Oliver, still standing awkwardly in the middle of it all, sighs and looks down at the tickets in his hand. He contemplates what to do with them before simply stuffing them back into his pocket.

He was going to hear about this for weeks.

Chapter Text

It doesn’t take long for things to grow from there. After Sylvie makes a trip to the market, they all have their suppers (Oliver was in fact not given dessert as punishment), and go off to sleep, the days seem to mix and mingle. It’s confusing for Oliver, how waiting for an event can either make the days seem longer or unfathomably faster, and like any teen he struggles with the concept of time.

However, in those days that blending and frappe’d, James and the crew went out for a few hunts. James instructed Oliver to stay near him and listen to his every command, even letting him dish out a few. Oliver found himself grateful; the more experience he gets in bounty hunting, the easier this festival will be. Though, like all things in life that the young mimicratus is discovering, nothing is easy. 

Doing work as a bounty hunter was probably a lot easier if you were an adult who didn’t need to return to a family, but it was also easier to Oliver since he no longer went to school and was managing to hide that fact from his concerned mother under the guise that he’s living in the school’s dorms. It made him feel bad, to lie to her like that and pretend he was getting good grades, much less making grades at all, but he knew he had to do this to earn money to pay her back. It was the least he could do.

Getting into the event itself wasn’t hard. After already having bought the tickets, all the team really needed to do was sign up. The fear Oliver felt as he watched Esther put his name in the leader slot was something he’d never wish on his worst enemy, but he swallowed it down like the shabby cereal he had that morning. He imagines that the fear tastes like the same cardboard the cereal was composed of, and it makes him laugh.

The underground city system established by hunters of the past served to house all of their events, but the festival itself was being held in a rented stadium of large calibur. It makes him wonder how they managed to keep bounty hunting under wraps and secret from the public, sparking him to question James. The best answer the *Feeder can make is somewhere along the lines of “I don’t even know” and “why don’t you go ask Esther” to which he did not go ask Esther as she was busy demolishing a punching bag and all of their gym equipment and frankly he did not want to get in the middle of that.

The underground society, referred to as Blade City, housed more than a few interesting characters. Multiple markets for buying things like weapons, outfits, and other goods for hunting were set up along the streets like it was the most normal thing in the world. Booths for Wanted posters were around almost every corner, reminding you of what made you money in the first place.

If the citizens of the actual city knew what was beneath their paws, there would be a riot attempting to get in and tear down the government wondering why it had been hidden for so long. Thankfully, Oliver muses, such a thing isn’t likely to happen until the main story is being written. Somewhere, Spider is hit with a sudden sense of wrongness.

Aside from the occasional lesson James not-so-gracefully offers, Oliver invests his free time in buffing up his thin arms, paying special attention to his biceps and thighs. Thankfully, James and the others are more than willing to help. James offers a workout regime, Esther gives tips on form and supervises him while he works, Sylvie makes him healthy, protein-packed meals, and Spider offers him a cold water bottle every so often when he’s in their gym room. 

It was nice, really. It made Oliver feel warm and soft, but there was still the unridden guilt that held him at a leash and choked him while he wake. Oliver wasn’t one to cry easily, more so liable to explode in a fit of rage when his emotions got the better of him. Esther helps with calming those feelings, though they would never go away even when he graduates from childhood. That’s what he gets for being born with too much of his flux, though he can hardly blame his mother. The process of reproduction was hard and he doubts he’d ever be truly angry at her anyways.

Oliver blinks himself awake as his alarm startles him from sleep, bringing him back from his dreams that recounted the last few weeks. 

Sooner than Oliver would like, the day of the festival had arrived. He’d barely bulked up, though his stamina and training was much better than it had been before. Hopefully, he thinks, he’d be able to utilize the natural strength that came with his body’s size and overpowered flux.

Sighing, the Seeker drags himself from his warm covers, stretching for a long few seconds before lifting himself up and towards his closet where he throws on his uniform, a sleek-fitting bodysuit that came with a separate mask, hood, and other nice accessories. He’d thanked James many times for what seemed like such a luxurious gift to the considerably poor Nightfur, but the leader had just shrugged it off as if it were a normal day and he was used to spending so much money on clothes. 

Oliver wouldn’t doubt it, considering all the male wore was formal suits and nice garments, but still.

He slips into his baggy cargo pants, fastening his belts and situating his straps with whatever weapons he needs, hiding them under his thick jacket. It was an outfit of pure black, common for bounty hunters, but the black-furred teen found himself wishing for another color. Being entirely black without markings of any sort usually meant that darker colors didn’t look the best on him, and even though the suit did, he still felt some sort of disdain for his own fur color.

Finally, he stuffs his paws into hefty boots, making sure he ties the laces tight before moving to go to the living room where the others were either waiting or just waking up.

He opens his creaky door, shutting it behind him with a click and careful not to get his tail caught in it like all those other times.

Oliver had decided to leave his hood and mask off, not wanting to overheat in their ugly, not at all little, comfortable base. His shoes clomp against the concrete floors, likely alerting the others of his presence before he even gets to the living room. 

He had asked James, once, why he chose such robust boots as a part of their group’s uniform when their entire schtick as bounty hunters was to be sneaky. To that, James puts on his own clunky shoes and barrels into him, nearly knocking him over; he runs about, jumps up and down, even does cartwheels and jumping jacks, but not once do the boots make a sound louder than that of someone gently tapping a claw on a sound-proof wall. 

“It’s not the boots that matter, it’s the hunter. Plus, I like the brand.”

It was a very humbling experience, to say the least.

Making a beeline towards their little kitchenette was like second nature, his paws immediately reaching up to snatch at the cereal in the opened pantry. The stuff was liable to kill him someday, or render him paralyzed from the waist down, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at his ripe age.

One time, a curious Spider had read the contents of the flakes aloud, and that resulted in Sylvie overheating and shutting down out of pure shock. The fleshier mimicrati did not fare much better, James having worn a horrified look as he clutched his chest, Esther holding a paw to her large mouth as she tried not to vomit, and Spider holding the box away from him like an inconvenient *newborn that he was prepared to chuck across the room. 

Never again did they attempt to eat his cereal, but they still bought it for him so it was a win-win.

Sitting down at the little bar with his freshly made bowl of absolute terror, Oliver activates the one part of his flux that didn’t breathe scorching flames of fury and began to eat the breakfast that could take out an elephant.

James enters the room clad in his own suit, a similar bodysuit with a poncho-like cloak, several strapped weapons, his signature fedora, those same clunky boots, baggy cargo pants, and a mask. The latter sat underneath his chin, resting on his collarbones for another time. 

In that same moment, the *Brightfur catches sight of the cereal Oliver (General Munchkin Man) is indulging himself in and immediately scowls, sticking out the tip of his tongue in disgust. The moment doesn’t last too long, the white-furred male opting to ignore what sat at Oliver’s paws as he took a seat beside him on one of barstools that looked equally as raggedy as the rest of their base. 

He brings a giant paw up to clasp Oliver’s considerably smaller shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he offers a gentle, surprisingly warm smile. “You ready for today, kid?”

Oliver swallows, audibly gulping for dramatic effect as he deactivated his flux and looks at James to answer him properly. “Well,” he says, “I suppose I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. You and the others did your bests to train me, so I’m going to do my best too.” Oliver nods, a bit more confident in himself as he says those words, his posture straightening and ears lifting subtly.

James nods, his furrowed brow softening into something more… proud. He takes his paw off Oliver’s shoulder, moving to get up as he hears Sylvie approaching from down the hallway. “You’ll do good, twig. You hear? You’ve got this.”

Before Oliver can respond, Sylvie enters the room to make James something for breakfast. The leader would do it himself, he insists he can cook, but he has been banned from the kitchen after *The Incident. Sylvie is, thankfully, patient enough to make him what he needs to get the day started, which usually means something like bacon or sunny-side up eggs. 

Oliver can’t bring himself to look at the fantastic, protein-packed, greasy foods; not after putting what he did into his stomach. Decidedly, he gets up, quickly putting his bowl in the sink and heading to the couch to watch something boring like one of Esther’s cheesy romcoms or Spider’s horror series. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be greeted by Sylvie’s genuinely interesting science and astrology documentaries or James’ country rodeos.

Sooner or later, the crew begins piling into the room, each wearing their own unique suits with the same bodysuit, cargo pants, and chunky boots base. When everyone has had their fill of breakfast, they give each other pats and “We’re gonna win this!”s and “We’re all cooked but okay”s. It made Oliver feel like he had somehow made it into a dysfunctional functional family.

Such a feeling was warm and bubbly. He didn’t know why, he already had a family: his mother and sister.. And maybe his father if you counted the 4 years he spent in Oliver’s life before being killed. Originally, Oliver had believed that was all he needed. But now, if he tried to imagine himself without the bounty group, he just couldn’t. Thinking about not being with them made him feel somewhat dreadful now, and he wasn’t sure how exactly he was supposed to take that. Oh well, best to shove it down until he actually has time to process and contemplate his emotions.

Esther taps him on the shoulder, bringing from his thoughts. She leans down, grinning at him. The red markings on her cheeks stretched with the action, moving as she spoke. “You ready to go, Oli? We’re heading out.”

A sort of dread filled Oliver’s ribs, but something about the female’s smile made the fear more bearable. Putting on a brave face and making himself grin, he nods, hopping up from the couch to gain the height advantage on her. “Sure am,” he responds as he begins walking towards the door where the others stand. He takes a deep breath, determinedly joining the group. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Text

Looking back now, Oliver realizes he was very much not ready. The teen doesn’t think he had ever seen more bounty hunters in one place, considering the profession was so scarce, but a crowd to this degree was almost taboo. 

James looks uncomfortable, his mouth wound into a grimace. “I ain’t never liked these blasted things. Too many people for it ta be a “Bounty Hunter Festival”. If you ask me, the whole thing’s a scam.”

Esther glances over, having previously been looking around and examining all the vendors lined up at the stadium. “That’s right, James, you’ve participated in one of these before, right?”

“Sure have,” he says dryly, probably itching to take a swig of booze that he doesn’t have. “It’s a waste. The festival is supposed ta be “fun for the whole crew” but truthfully it can be a nightmare both in terms of what you gotta do and paperwork.”

Spider nods, chiming in. “Since hunters are supposed to remain under the radar, we don’t record these things. Anyone who wants to enter goes in blind, and only those who have participated before or have watched in person know what to expect. And like we said: you can’t participate twice.”

“Not to mention that the games change every year,” says Sylvie, the bot having been trailing in the back and ignoring the stares of passing hunters, “so even if you have a general idea of what is going to happen, you still don’t KNOW. It’s smart, methinks.”

“Yeah?” Oliver asks, his head tilting as his eyes squint slightly. Sounded like a nightmare, for sure; James really wasn’t exaggerating. He was probably going to regret joining this stupid competition later. “That’s nice then. Thanks for telling me I’m essentially chopped liver.”

James then laughs, clapping his shoulder in a way that was typical for James but also somewhat painful since the male clocked his limbs way too often and left bruises, but Oliver knew he meant well so he didn’t mind (secretly he meant it and wanted to bruise him). 

“It’s not THAT bad, kid, c’mon. If you were going ta die or somethin’, trust me, You wouldn’t be participatin’,” says the Brightfur, shaking his head while grinning at Oliver. Spider shakes his head, quietly saying, “You act as if people haven’t been seriously injured in this festival. We’d be lucky to make it out with a few scratches and a broken bone or two.” 

It’s silent for a few moments as the group slowly walks around, checking out stockage of the many vendors. It leaves Oliver to his thoughts, his own mind becoming less relaxed and more wary by the second. Was he going to get really hurt? How would he explain that to his mom? Would he have to tell her he was an illegal bounty hunter, that he had been expelled? What would she think, now that he’s disappointed her and ruined her plan to get him a better life-

Esther taps him on his other bicep, abruptly dragging him from his spiraling thoughts, and he looks down to find her holding a type of kebab. It looked like some type of chicken that had been thoroughly roasted over a grill, shoved onto a skewer, and shoved into a bucket of honey thick enough to kill a *Landshark.

“Hey,” she starts, “calm down.” She lifts up the kebabs, offering one for him to take. It was almost as if she knew he needed a distraction from his own head.

When did she go get those? Oliver questions, but obliges and holds out a paw for her to place one of the sticks in. She reaches up as they continue walking, setting one of the treats into his open paw. It feels warm, fresh, and surprisingly wet since she sat the meat directly onto the white of his pads.

He stops walking to stare at her, and she stops walking similarly, probably confused as to why he stopped.

Very quietly, somewhat disappointed, he says, “You got it all over my paws.” Esther sweat drops.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugs, activating his flux with a quiet warping noise and lifting the sticky treat up to bite into and absorb. “Thanks for this.” Distantly, he hears a female vendor call out “Fresh snacks!” but he ignores it in favor of devouring his own little food.

Esther then looks around, a frown on her face. “Where did the other boys go?”

The question causes him to look up from the stick, one of his ears flicking. His eyes catch movement at one of the stalls, and he sees a shiny Sylvie and one Spider ordering something. Sylvie appears appalled at the treat, while Spider’s tail twists in a delighted way; evidently whatever he was buying was going to be good.

Oliver takes another bite off the kebab, ripping the honey-glazed meat off and letting his flux absorb it when he swallows. Surely whatever the Shadefur was buying couldn’t be better than what Oliver currently had.

“There’s Spider and Sylvie,” Oliver points, offering Esther the direction of at least them. “Who knows where James went, though.”

Esther sighs, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “Probably off illegally buying laced booze from a drug dealer or something. Sometimes, I wonder if he just likes doing stuff to get him in trouble. I love the man, really, but it’s hard to tell sometimes if he’s stupid on purpose or if he’s just like that.”

Oliver snorts, nodding. “You couldn’t be further from the truth.” His eyes widen, and he turns to her while waving his hands, a now stripped stick in between one of his claws. “A-Ah, but don’t tell him I said that..”

It’s Esther’s turn to laugh now, her grin making her face seem brighter as she giggles. “Hah! Sure, I won’t, as long as you don’t tell him what I said!”

Oliver brings his non-sticky paw up to rub the back of his neck, his eyes squinting into a smile. “Yeah, sure. You got it,” he says with a lilt in his voice.

Spider and Sylvie walk up to the two of them, Spider having activated his flux through his mask and using his glowing mandibles to munch on whatever he had bought that was probably overpriced. His brown tail curls around his legs. “Hey,” he starts before swallowing, “what’re you two talking about?”

“You, snotwipe,” Esther snarks, her however-long somewhat-rivalry with Spider making its way into light. Spider continues eating his food, throwing up his middle claw at the Flamefur. 

Sylvie gasps, throwing out his arms and violently smacking Spider’s paws, squealing out, “Oh, put it down!!” to which Spider yelps as his food is smacked out of his grasp and his limb is attacked by pure metal with a dexterity akin to that of vibranium. 

It was a downright tragedy, really, and the whole scene was almost like one of Shakespeare’s plays. With the combo of Spider’s wretched sobbing over his lost food and throbbing paw, Esther’s incessant laughter at Spider’s disdain, and Sylvie’s desperate apologies for hurting Spider but not for ruining his snack, Oliver finds himself wondering why he even decided to associate with this group anyways.

“What in the WORLD happened.” James says, bringing Oliver back to conscious thought and making him remember they were still technically in public and making a scene. James is holding a bottle of some dark looking liquor, the type that a seasoned alcoholic would grimace at the taste of. James takes a swig of it, smacking his lips obnoxiously without making a face other than the frown he had already worn at the sight of his team.

“Spider and Sylvie went off to buy something while me and Esther talked; Spider came back and asked what we were talking about; Esther sasses Spider, causing him to throw up a middle claw; Sylvie was upset with that and smacked the crap out of Spider’s paw, causing him to drop his food and get himself hurt; now Spider is sobbing on the cement, Sylvie is attempting to make amends, and Esther is currently coughing up a lung from laughing so hard,” the dark teen recounts, watching as James’ face grows from confused to slightly amused to horrified in a matter of seconds. The range of emotions on the Brightfur’s face was truly amazing.

“Right…” their leader says slowly, bending down and hoisting Spider up, slapping him on the back of the head as a form of reprimand. Spider sniffles. Esther begins laughing again before receiving a Look from James, prompting her to throw her paws up in surrender. Sylvie’s visor is working to make an adequate representation of whatever he is feeling at the moment, but the thing glitches and sputters so it must be pretty intense.

James sighs, pulling his phone out of his pocket. His brow muscles shoot up when he catches sight of the time. “Shoot!” he exclaims. “We’ve got ta get goin’ now if we wanna have enough time to prepare.”

Sylvie reboots with a cheery, company issued jingle. “Let’s hop to it, then! There is no time like the present,” he says, already striding towards the direction of the stadium.

The team trails behind the bot, loosely following in formation with James at the head, Esther on his right, Spider on his left, Sylvie in the back, and Oliver just behind the artificial mimicratus. Together, they made a fat, disfigured arrow, but it was their disfigured arrow and Oliver thrived in the familiarity of it. Maybe , he thinks, entertaining the thought that just made itself known, his seniors found doing the standard procedure comforting. Found having a role in the group fulfilling. He wouldn’t blame them. After all, the mimicratus was a pack creature. At least, his teachers had said so, but that was before he was booted. He never really trusted them after they were bribed by a student (or a dozen) to help get him expelled.

“Hey, kid!” James beckons him over, catching Oliver off guard and making him momentarily stumble before he jogs up to James’ position. James smiles at him, horizontal ears relaxing subtly, though it was hard to tell with the bounce of his gait.

“You’re Leader today, yeah? So you belong where the Leader does. Go ahead, twig,” the Brightfur says, clapping Oliver’s shoulder and falling back to behind Sylvie. Confusedly, Oliver looks back at the- HIS team, each offering some sort of encouragement like a dual thumbs up and a flashy grin from Esther or the nonchalant nod from Spider.

Confidence building in his chest, Oliver grins, his eyes squinting, and he turns around to lead them into the future. Or, well, the festival. Same difference.

“Hey, Danny Phantom, you’re leading us the wrong way.”

Spider breaks Oliver’s easy stride, forcing the Nightfur to turn around in confusion. The team has stopped, Esther chuckling and James shaking his head behind a dumbfounded Sylvie. Spider crosses his arm, pointing to what should be a very obvious entrance to a stadium. “We’re going there, Albanese World’s Best 12 Flavor Gummi Bears Ⓡ , not wherever you’re trying to take us.”

Oliver takes a second to comprehend the noise that just left Spider but eventually laughs, walking in the right direction now. The teen can only hope he doesn’t make such a simple mistake while he’s fighting for his life.

Chapter Text

James often finds himself regretting things he’s done. It isn’t a healthy habit, for sure, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. That didn’t stop his team from caring, however, and that simple fact was enough to make James keep going strong.

Sylvie had always hated how much alcohol he drank regularly. It wasn’t enough to make him an alcoholic, but it was enough to make his flux act wonky on bad days. The robot was always fussing over something that he had done, usually pertaining to his health or his kitchen fails, and James entertained the idea of a world where he actually listened to advice. Maybe if he did, he’d have kept some of his relations.

Despite the fact that he was stubborn, hard-headed, and about every size too big, there were still people that wanted to be around him. Spider, for example. Sure, James had brought him out of a dark place, but he never forced him to stay. Esther was the same; nobody was ever obligated to remain by his side even if he had benefited them in some way shape or form. 

Sylvie was expected, though. The chrome mimicratus had nowhere else to go. He had been abandoned by his previous handlers. If he returned to his manufacturers, he’d be torn apart and studied in the name of science. It was funny, James thinks, how a robot making decisions for itself garnered the attention of everyone and anything bad.

The cute denim hat that sat on Sylvie’s titanium cranium was a gift from James, as were the upgraded weapons and the fresh plating. And the recharge station. And the spare parts. And everything Sylvie currently possessed. There were many perks to being one of the best bounty hunters on the market, but James will always refuse to use any extravagant funds he has to fix up the base (Esther was right, however, it needed some love).

In other words, Sylvie was stuck with James and James was stuck with Sylvie. Not that the Brightfur cared. He enjoys the robots' presence, and James can’t cook to save his life, so just maybe Sylvie was keeping him alive as well.

Oliver, however, was a sort of mystery. The kid was one of the rare few to be born with an abnormal flux, and it was because of that that he was almost as tall as James and could melt through most types of steel with his flames (if his flux was working properly.. Most of the time, the poor teen couldn’t produce more than a short burst of fire. Useful depending on the situation, but not his max potential). Not to mention the pure, unbridled rage that the Nightfur could have at times. Yeesh, that alone was cause for concern.

Even so, James had found himself oddly fond of Oliver. The kid was an oddball, sure, but maybe that’s what drew James in. And the rest of the team. 

So maybe that was how he found himself awkwardly squished in a stadium full of other bounty hunters, all of them pitifully smaller than him. That was to be expected, of course, since James was recorded as the tallest mimicratus within the city, not just the underground hub. At least, if you disregarded all of the scowls and looks of fear, people left him alone.

When he really thinks about it, it’s no wonder he managed to keep his identity a secret at that stupid school he had worked as the secretary at;  nobody wanted to risk upsetting the man that was over 8 feet tall. James finds himself grateful Oliver got kicked out of that circus anyways, even if the teen himself was going through the wringer financially.

James sighs, readjusting the felt fedora adorning the top of his head and making himself as comfortable as he could be in the cramped seat, which included him manspreading and forcing his entire row to move a seat away from him since he took up three on his own. He takes his paws to his cheeks and fluffs his fur before settling his arms on the tops of the stadium chairs. 

Take that, kindness and sympathy for people other than those he likes!

James almost snorts, but his current situation isn’t funny no matter how much Sylvie’s filtered voice berates him in his thoughts. 

Tilting his head downwards and leaning forward a bit, James examines the wide field of the stadium below, remembering what it was like to be down there and in the moment. The teams were due to come out any moment now, the Brightfur reckons, so he’d hold out just a little longer on making fun of how tiny they are from up in his seat.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, reminding him that he even had the shiny white thing in the first place. He twists, plucking the phone from his suit pants and examining the notification.

Olive Garden: [ image ] hey old man we finna head out 🎉

James smiles when he sees who it’s from, reading the name on the screen with fondness. He presses his finger onto the message, looking at the image. 

It’s the team, his team (technically Oliver’s for today), all crowded around Oliver’s phone from where he holds it high in the air to capture all of them. Esther has an arm wrapped around Sylvie and Spider, holding them close while intertwining her tail with Sylvie and grinning wildly. The bot leans into the pose, a heart on his visor and his digits held in a peace sign, while Spider seems to be leaning away. The Shadefur’s mask had been taken off and was in his right paw, his scarred face scrunched up in a tightly wound grimace as if he had been forced to smile and his brown tail uncomfortably straight.

James smiles softly. He remembers a time when Spider had a considerably beautiful face, only to get mauled and torn, permanently ruining his left eye. He still had nice features, James thinks, but the other male was rather insecure about his injury and hid himself behind a masked facade. Not that the mask didn’t suit him, it was very spider-y, but he wishes Spider was more comfortable in his own fur.

The Brightfur reaches up and fixes his hat once more, horizontal ears flicking once to readjust. He peers down at the photo, smile still present on his face. He saves the image to his gallery and presses the camera option, sending back a crude photo from below his face of a thumbs up. Some of the mimicrati around him stare. He glances at his side minutely, raising a brow muscle and making them back down just as easily as one could.

He focuses his attention back to his phone, typing in his intended message.

Me: Does everybody have their earpieces in 

A few seconds later, he’s met with a response.

Olive Garden: locked and loaded boss. open the link when ur ready :)

Nodding to himself, James pulls the hidden earpiece from his pocket and shoves it in the divot of his ear. It was white to blend in with his fur.. Cheating was totally disqualifiable and whatnot but the entire team decided they had better chances at winning with a teen as the Leader if their actual Leader was assisting. He wouldn’t call the shots, of course, that was up to the kid, but he would make suggestions and give guidance where he could. 

Tapping it twice, he quietly speaks. Thankfully, the speaking of every member of the audience around him drowned out his words and made it easy to cover up what he was saying.

“Everyone hear me?” he says into the comm, keeping one claw pressed to his ear under the guise of resting his head in his palm.

“Loud and clear, Cap.”

“Good to go, James!”

“Armed and dangerous.”

“Is it too late to go to one of the vendors?”

James snickers, watching the green field below him. The lights in the stadium dim while the lights overhead the arena brighten and the speakers play some weird marching band tune, signifying the start of the show. The giant screens floating above the audience on airships began to light up, displaying the face of a grinning Shadefur feeder male with lopped ears and bright red streaks above his brow, likely the commentator.

“Get ready, looks like you guys are heading out,” James says, activating his flux with a quiet warping noise. Oliver Nightfur, seeker, 17 years old, he thinks as input for his Search and the five gloweyes all move in different directions and rapid speeds. Their gentle white glow intensifies as they all lock onto one location, the image of a fidgeting Oliver appearing in his mind. He and the team were located behind cellar number 25 out of 30. 

James nods, content with his newfound info. He probably could’ve just asked, but he doubts Oliver or the others really know. Deactivating his flux, he keeps his body angled towards cellar 25. He wants to see them when they walk out, the camera pulled up on his phone and poised for quick pictures.

The team had all deactivated their comms, so he had no feed to go off of. If he wanted to make assumptions about what they were doing, Oliver was probably panicking (if the fidgeting he had been doing meant anything when James located him), Esther and Spider were likely arguing, and Sylvie was doing rocket science in his processor. Just a wild guess.

Finally, the grinning commentator began to speak introducing himself as Arthur Shadefur, welcoming one and all to the “grandest showdown in Blade City”, making James scowl. What an utter load of bull. This whole thing was a huge scam, just like it had been before when James was young and naive enough to think that participating in this event actually meant something. Why people actually enjoyed this type of entertainment was beyond the feeder.

“We’ve got a ton of teams bursting with potential, ladies and gents. There will be tests, trials, and of course, explosions that shouldn’t be permitted!! So let’s not waste anymore time.. All teams are permitted to leave their chambers!” exclaims the announcer, making James’ want to cover his ears at the sheer enthusiasm. 

One by one, the doors open and teams walk out. James keeps his gaze on door 25, instantly snapping at least 50 crummy photos when it opens and Oliver leads the team out. Once he’s done, he examines the other teams. Oliver is the tallest mimicratus in that ring, which doesn’t surprise him, but he may also be one of the skinniest. Only one other team seems to have a bot like Sylvie in their ranks, a polished gray-black model with white accents and glowing yellow biolights. 

James hopes they don’t prove to be an obstacle. He knows how Sylvie feels about other bots, and this one moves so differently from Sylvie that he can tell the thing still runs on orders and base programming; likely didn’t have any real weapons either aside from its limbs. 

James subtly presses a claw to his ear, grinning and furrowing his brow once he turns his attention back to his team. “Lookin’ strong, guys. Give ‘em hell.”

“Ooh, look at all these contestants. Some strong looking ones we’ve got here, don’t we, folks?” asks Arthur to no one in particular. “I’m excited for what’s to come.. Plenty of new faces to ruin and souls to torture, amiright?” A few people in the audience laugh. James didn’t think it was funny at all .

Quietly, James speaks into his comm again. “This announcer guy is a nutjob. Don’t let him or anyone else’s words get to you. Oh, and try not ta break any of yer bones while you’re here. Just ‘cause I can pay the hospital bill doesn’t mean I want to. Oh, but other peoples’ bones ain’t off the menu.”

He attempts to lighten the mood. Oliver gulps loudly into the speaker, and Esther laughs at his expense. This would be an interesting event, that’s one thing James can be certain of.

Chapter Text

 “This announcer guy is a nutjob. Don’t let him or anyone else’s words get to you. Oh, and try not ta break any of yer bones while you’re here. Just ‘cause I can pay the hospital bill doesn’t mean I want to. Oh, but other peoples’ bones ain’t off the menu.”

Oliver gulps, Esther turning to him and laughing at the noise. He couldn’t help it, really, it just happened. The lights above him felt too bright, the chatter of the audience around him too loud. Now that his peers have mentioned more than once the breaking of bones, something settled into his gut and curled up and died. He was beginning to get the aftermath of that thing’s rotting carcass, the stench filling his head and putting a bad taste in his nonexistent mouth.

Oliver suppresses a shudder, trying not to look like fresh meat to the other teams. Based on several people’s stares, he had already been singled out just because of what he assumes is his height. Why, oh sweet mother, WHY had he been born to suffer? 

Sure, he had no issues reaching the tops of shelves for little old ladies or lifting his sister onto his shoulders to make her infinitely tall, but he hit his head on every other doorway and now he was being set up for total and utter failure. 

“Contestants, go ahead and line up at the center of the field. We will begin our first event once everyone is ready.” The announcer says over the speakers, getting up close and personal with the camera that displayed his face around the arena. 

Oliver’s team looks at him expectantly and he begins making his way to the center as he was instructed, ending up next to an average-height Mistfur seeker with a clean face, shortish fur, and vertical ears. The seeker turns to him, whispering something.

“You’re awfully tall, aren’t ya? Be careful. A monkey may climb on your back,” they giggle, and Oliver very awkwardly stares straight ahead of himself, sweat running down his brow. If he could ignore the creep, he would for as long as he could. Hopefully the guy is eliminated before he can seek Oliver or anyone else out.

“Alright, now we’re ready to rumble! Officially– and hopefully for the last time– welcome to Blade City’s once a year, one time participation, exclusive festival! Smile and wave,” exclaims the announcer, rather excited for someone that is likely to lose his voice the next day.

In front of where everyone had lined up was a giant screen displaying group names and a smaller line of zeroes, likely where their scores would be displayed. Thankfully the freak next to him had stopped staring at him, so Oliver tries to let his nerves even out as he examines the names on the board.

The screen switches, a cartoon-y slot machine making audible racket as some invisible force pulls the lever on its side. All three of the rapidly spinning lanes stop one by one, forming an image of an unidentifiable bone being split in two. When it stops, the screen plays a jingle eerily similar to some of the ones Sylvie likes to make.

Oliver barely has time to process that as a thought before his ears are assaulted with the horrific screech of a cockatoo that was imitating a death whistle. In simpler terms, the commentator, since that was a word that worked too.

“For our first competition, you’ll be playing a little game we like to call Bone Bash,” the Shadefur says, animatedly making use of his limbs. Oliver feels his stomach do a pitiful little flip at the name alone. All this talk of bones had him on edge.

“Each team will have 3 flags attached to a member of their choosing. From there, each member will take up positions to protect their flag holder. Mandated bats will be handed out to one member of the group’s choosing. The loss of all flags means immediate elimination.  Use of personal weapons aside from one’s own body and flux are prohibited in this particular challenge, sorry folks. You all have 15 minutes to plan. Our lovely assistant down there will supply you with your bats. Countdown beginning… now!”

Oliver turns to his teammates, spinning on his heel. Immediately, he tries to think of some semblance of a plan. “Uh, Esther, you get the bat. I feel like you have more experience when it comes to heavy-hitting weapons.”

Esther grins, “On it!” She begins to stalk off to where the mentioned assistant is handing off bats to several opponents. “And remember, Flamethrower, that’s Raptor to you!” she throws over her shoulder, making Oliver’s cheeks heat up. Right, yes, how had he forgotten? Codenames were a must in the bounty hunting world. No real names here.

Shaking away his embarrassment, Oliver turns to Sylvie next. “Sylvie, you’ll get the flags. You’re the most nimble of us, and I trust you’ll keep them protected.” To this, the robot’s visor lights up with a thumbs up icon, his tail coming forward to imitate the gesture. “I won’t let you down!”

Sylvie goes off to join Esther and acquire his own equipment, leaving Spider with Oliver. “Oh, yay. I don’t have to do anything special that will make me an immediate target. That must suck for them. And you, technically,” Spider tilts his head, setting a paw on his hip and readjusting the small cloak around his shoulders. Oliver can imagine an unimpressed look behind the other male’s porcelain mask.

“Yeah, me and you are left as extras. Es– Raptor is our offense and Sylvie is our main objective,” shrugs Oliver, subconsciously trying to convince both him and Spider that he had made the right calls. Spider hums, seemingly agreeing. He takes a look around, taking in all of the other hunters.

“Cap was right,” he says, “this does seem like a total nightmare. I can smell the smoke from it crashing and burning already.”

Oliver huffs a poor excuse for a laugh, fixing a strap on his shoulder and loosening his turtleneck. I have a wedgie, his head whines, but now is not the place nor the time to worry about what was up his butt.

Spider, still looking at him, focuses his gaze behind the Nightfur. “Hey, you’ve got someone staring at you. Seeker Mistfur with the lopped ears and teardrop mark,” he informs Oliver, making the teen slowly turn the direction Spider was looking. Sure enough, the described mimicratus caught his eyes and looked somewhere else. Even from this far away, Oliver could make out the eyebags under his eyes.

The guy was sticking out like a sore thumb, a filthy brown apron thrown on over an off-white polo and brown, stained trousers. There were marks of green covering his knees, likely immovable stains from grass like how one would get with jeans.

Who was that? Oliver wonders, mentally cataloguing the seeker for later review. Just as he looks away, Sylvie and Esther approach, a wooden bat slung over Esther’s shoulder and a velcro belt with 3 flags attached to Sylvie’s waist. Best not to think about it. I don’t want to get decapitated by one guy for thinking of another, he thinks, giving the two a small wave and a nod of approval.

“Alright, let’s go ahead and get into position. Anyone see a good spot we can set up?”

Spider ends up pointing them to an empty section of the field and from there, they surround Sylvie. They were down one member, so they had to make sure they covered the AI on all sides. Esther stood at the front, bat in paw and prepared to swing should she need to. Spider and Oliver stood on opposite sides, blocking whatever weak spots they could.

Sooner or later, the timer was up, a loud buzzer announcing the end of their preparation time. James’ voice crackles to life through his ear for the first time. “Alright, kid, you’ve got this. Keep yerself ready and keep an eye out for any stragglers. Remember: Sylvie is your mission. Keep him safe at any cost… and try not to lose your cool.” Oliver sends a silent prayer to his mother and whatever deity is above. 

“Alright teams, your time to get ready has expired, so I hope you’re ready! Starting in 3…”

Oliver sends a look to Spider, and Oliver can feel Spider’s eyes on him even through the mask. 

“2…”

Sylvie makes an automated chirp as he flexes his joints once more, digits poised and stance wide.

“1…”

Esther chuckles, clearly ready to put a beating on someone.

A loud alarm blares in everyone’s ears, and chaos springs to life. Several teams have begun clashing already, an unfortunate Nightfur getting walloped across the field and costing the loss of one of the team’s flags already. How the team that took them out managed to keep their own members secure was beyond Oliver, but his main plan was to remain stationary and at the ready. 

If he could help it, they’d be on the offensive this whole time. Glancing up at the clock, Oliver registers the dwindling 15 minutes on the clock. Someone is tackled to the ground several feet in front of him, making him tense further, but he stands his ground, tail lashing once.

Glancing over his shoulder, Oliver yells, “How’re you guys doing back there?”

The chaos was loud but Esther was louder. “This is fun!” She winds back, hitting some offending Flamefur and drilling them into the ground with a resounding CLUNK! Esther cackles maniacally as Spider gives his report.

“I’m doing fine. Sylvie is secured,” the scarred seeker takes a second to look at Oliver before whipping around and grabbing someone who had pounced at him by the throat, stopping them midair. He strangles them for a few seconds before throwing them off. “She’s right, though. This is fun.”

Oliver rolls his eyes, huffing as someone approaches. They get one good look at his height and attack-ready position and they immediately hold their paws up, give him a nod, and back away. Well, he thinks, at least I don’t have to resort to downright assaulting people. I’m not sure I could hold my temper if I was in a fight.

“Sylvie, how’re you doing?” Oliver grunts, shoving off a braver soul. He hears Esther clobber someone again before the robot can respond.

“Managing, boss! They are being held back considerably well. At this rate, chances of survival are rising above 50%!” Sylvie reports, body bending at an unnatural angle as someone slips a paw through and makes a swipe for one of his flags. James was going to have to work with Sylvie and his usage of words. “Chances of survival” wasn’t the best application of language. 

Oliver turns for one second to give a thumbs up, but James whisper-yells in his ear. “Watch it, kid!” 

The Nightfur whips around just in time to get a glimpse of two fairly-sized males grabbing him by the forearms and kicking at his knees to bring him down like he was some sort of giant. Oliver feels his nerves spike and his glowteeth spring to his mouth, involuntarily releasing a spark of flame before it flickers out of existence. James’ voice pierces his ears, loud even through the roaring crowd.

“Keep your cool, twig. You lose yer temper in this fight and it’s over for all of ya. Remember, hell freezes over before you burst into flames. You know what to do.”

The words are enough to bring a single train of thoughts to Oliver’s head. I need to get free. I need FREE, his mind roars, a growl tearing itself from his throat even as the two males hound on him. His team can’t help him, occupied with their own sections, and therefore it’s up to him.

Tail lashing, Oliver throws himself around one of the offenders, swinging wide and catching him off guard long enough to bring an arm around his neck. He grabs his hostage by the scruff of his shirt and yanks up, pulling him off the ground and using him as a makeshift weapon against the other guy. The teen’s knees would probably ache if adrenaline wasn’t pumping through his veins. 

Using his body weight to swing him, Oliver heaves as he throws the male in his claws towards the other, the both of them colliding and collapsing into each other like bowling pins. Taking in a deep breath, Oliver wipes his hands and throws the two away from his space and back out into the field where they scramble to get up and get back to their team.

James laughs in his ear, seemingly satisfied with his choice of action. Two more people attempt to get at the teen, seemingly not having learned any sort of lesson from the previous duo, and Oliver takes what he got from Spider and grabs them both by the throats with outstretched paws as they leap at him, stopping their attacks midair. Spider was certainly creative when it came to his moves.

Oliver spins and throws them in the direction of an awaiting Esther, the Flamefur barreling her club into their ribs with a sickening crunch that’s barely audible over the cheering crowd and Esther’s giggles. Oliver groans. At least some people were enjoying this.

Eventually, after several more minutes of throwing people off of him that wanted to climb him like he was Goliath, the speakers crackle to life and blare a buzzer that signifies the end of the round. Panting, Oliver wipes sweat from his forehead, the fur likely shiny and greasy by now. 

“Congratulations to everyone who made it out,” grins the announcer, “we’ve seen some excellent battle prowess and team work this early into the festival, so I’m quite excited by what’s to come. Teams 24, 18, 19, 14, 20, aaannndddd 5! You have been eliminated! Get out of my arena.”

Oliver feels a tiny grin grow on his face, feeling rather triumphant. Sparing a glance at Sylvie, he can see they lost not even one of their three flags. Win for them, then. Esther walks up beside him, reaching up to pat his shoulder reassuringly as she keeps her almost damaged club on her shoulder. He nods at her once in acknowledgment, catching his breath.

“To the rest of you, congratulations! You’re not as incompetent as we assumed. That’s great, good for you,” the commentator offers a half-hearted thumbs up, and Oliver can practically smell James’ disdain through the earpiece. The teen seeker may have laughed if the situation were any different. “We’ll give you 30 minutes to recuperate, rest up, and or eat. You’re all dismissed. See you soon! Or not at all, depending on who you are, ahah.”

Oliver takes in a deep gulp of air and exhales loudly, turning to look at his team. Someone had already come by and collected Esther’s bat and Sylvie’s flags, it would seem, so they were good to go back to their quarters. James’ voice picks up over the crowd.

“See you all in room numero veinticinco,” the Brightfur says with poorly accented Spanish. Taking one more good breath, Oliver begins walking towards the opened door that leads straight into room 25. He doesn’t need to look back to know the others were following him, already hearing Esther’s jovial celebrating and Spider’s requests for her to pipe it down.

As they walk, Oliver can’t help but wonder how long it would take before they were pushed to their limits in this festival. How long would it take before he finally succumbed to anger and let the flames engulf him and his heart?

Hopefully he wouldn’t have to find out. For now, however, he desperately needed a snack and a power nap.

Chapter Text

Leif wishes for a reprieve now more than ever. For the main part of the festival, he would have to leave the tree behind in his given quarters, but at least he could come back to him whenever it was time for a break.

The first match of the festival was finally complete. His incompetent, rag-tag team that Jack had scraped up for him had just barely made it, getting away with one flag left that had a tear in it the size of a canyon. He wasn’t Leader, of course, but at this point he may as well be. They were entirely oblivious without instructions on what to do, and Leif finds himself wanting to dispatch each of them. Unfortunately, he needed them to compete and complete the objective given to him by Jack.

It really was pitiful, the Seeker thinks as he takes a rag and wipes sweat off his fur, how he’d come to rely on the sadistic Brightfur. His projects were entirely supplied, even encouraged by Jack, under the condition that Leif pledge his loyalty. It was a win-win situation, the Mistfur supposes, but working under someone and being forced to separate from his “babies” for even this short amount of time was utterly exhausting.

Not even the excruciatingly bright lights or cemented walls of their shared room, cellar 4, could block out the roar of the crowd, nor did it help with his headache. Taking note of the ticking timer on the wall, he makes his way over to where he had first sat Plantifer, snatching the potted plant up with all of the care of a new father, and examines the thing to make sure it was entirely unharmed. No cracks, no holes, no chipped paint. It’s all good.

One of his begrudging team members must have noticed, as the female Brightfur begins to laugh. “What’s with the plant?” she giggles curiously, her high-pitched voice serving to further worsen the pounding of his head. “Got some sort of, uhh, attachment ?”

Leif doesn’t bother glancing back at her. The feeder wasn’t worth his time. Not only was she unpleasant to hear, but she was unpleasant to look at. No amount of fur-paint could ever save that, and her face was so caked with the stuff that it was hard to tell where it started and ended. The sweat on her brow made it much worse than it had been before.

He doesn’t give her a response, simply opting to openly ignore her, to which she groans obnoxiously. “Why’re you such a buzzkill?” she whines, flailing her arms around in the space in front of her. Her “darling” brother, the Shadefur covered in white markings, holds her close and pretends to lovingly stroke her head, casting Leif a rather impressive glare for someone whose face is only made up of a giant mouth. 

“How dare you ignore my little sis!” he blabbers, making Leif openly cringe. How dare you assault me with such a sight, the seeker thinks to himself, sitting Plantifer back down and turning to the rest of the team, a female Flamefur and another male Mistfur. The two raise their brows in questioning like he’d personally wronged him. Was it so unnatural to prefer a plant over another person? Plants make better listeners anyhow.

“What,” Leif deadpans, his voice cutting through the fake wails of the siblings. The silence bounced off of the cemented walls.

The female Flamefur, a seeker, looks at him pointedly. “We’re waiting on you to come up with a plan. You’re obviously the smartest person in here, if those two are anything to go by,” she shrugs a shoulder at the duo who begin to protest before she cuts them off again. “None of us know each other but you make it blatantly obvious that you’re better than all of us even with that little plant you carry around.”

Leif almost, ALMOST snorts. This one clearly had some sense to her. The tall, Mistfur feeder beside her who was supposed to be backing her up squawks indignately. “H-hey,” he exclaims, “I’m the leader for a reason! That Jack guy didn’t pick me for no reason.”

Leif rolls his eyes this time as the Flamefur responds. “You’re only leader because you’re the bulkiest one here. You haven’t got the smarts to lead a team, only the muscle.” She probably would’ve continued her assault if it weren’t for the whimper the Mistfur gave in response.

Leif shakes his head, finally butting in before things can elevate to the point of fist-fighting. “Well,” he hums, “I am making you the leader.” He points at the Flamefur whose brows raise. “You’ve got some brain in your head, I’ll give you that. But you’re right, I am better than all of you.”

The Shadefur brother harumphs, crossing his arms and sticking his bottom lip out, his sister doing much the same. “You act like we’re useless,” she says, and Leif is instantly reminded why he didn’t like her in the first place. “Like, c’mon, I put in the work! I even chipped a nail, can you believe that?!”

Her brother nods along like the good little follower he is. “Yeah! Her nails are delicate, y’know, so she works hard to keep them pristine. Cut us some slack, man!”

“You’re not my problem,” Leif says simply, resisting the urge to sigh. Were these people so incompetent as to not realize that he truly did not care. “You’re nothing but an insignificant fly that I put up with for my own benefit. Learn your place.”

The Flamefur’s eyes widen. Oop. Clocked. The brother-sister duo look like they’ve just had an aneurysm at the same time. They both gasp dramatically, the brother holding a paw over his heart like it had stopped and the sister pressing her forearm to her forehead to sway woozily where she stands.

Leif boredly looks back up at the clock, groaning internally when he realizes it was almost time to go back out and do poorly once more. He’s been wishing more and more often now that he had never said yes to Jack, but he had to continue his work. Not for the good of the people, but for his own peace of mind. After all, how was he to be happy if he had no Plantifer?

The whole reason he had even agreed to this stupid competition was because Jack had decided that it’d be a good idea to monitor “big brother and his pathetic excuse for a team”, Jack’s words, not his. To be fair, he’d done that pretty well so far, but there was only so much one Mistfur could do before they gained the urge to strangle a fellow mimicratus. Or two.

Speaking of, the obnoxious pair were blabbering to the poor Flamefur now, the look she was sending them impressive enough to rival Leif’s own. The most Leif could really give her was an only slightly-sympathetic glance and brow raise before he tuned them out again to daydream about what he’d do when he got out of Blade City and back to the Greenhouse.

Hopefully, Fern and Samantha weren’t too mad at him for not watering them. He’d left that job to Jack, to which the Brightfur had given him his signature smirk and promised to take good care of all of Leif’s plants, but there’s no telling what he’d really do. He was unpredictable like that. Unfortunately, however, he had a job to do: keep an eye on his partner’s brother’s team, because that sentence makes sense. 

Easy peasy.