Chapter Text
You couldn’t leave B-12 behind. You tried at first. You really did. You thought the control room would be an appropriate grave, like a mausoleum or a tomb. Protected from the elements, you would have the option to come back and visit if you ever passed by again. A comforting thought when you had finally left the building, climbing up the stairs to freedom.
A melancholic thought now as you sat at the top of the stairs leading down to the bunker shutters, ears folded flat and soaked to the bone.
You didn’t particularly want to go back, but you weren’t sure what else to do. Your family was nowhere to be found, even after searching and calling for days and days and days. Weeks? Time hadn’t been all that important since you’d woken up as a cat. What mattered was your little family.
But now your family is gone
As are all your friends
And B-12
You are so, so lonely. Like when you’d first fallen off the pipe into the drainage ditch leading into the bunker, only this time is somehow worse. You don’t quite know how to explain it. All you know is you hurt and you can’t fix it because everyone is gone and you’re all alone.
You are also very wet.
The pouring rain creates little streamlets that run past your feet and down the topmost set of stairs to create pools of water at the first level. Despite the pounding rain and the flashes of thunder, you can’t bring yourself to go down. There’s nothing waiting for you inside except soulless helpers and B-12’s corpse. Is a powered down robot a corpse? Or would that be a husk?
Existential questions for another time.
You sigh as a particularly bright flash lights up the alcove ahead. This time, the flash is accompanied by a particularly loud boom and a sudden gust of wind blowing toward the shutters. The cat instinct part of your brain demands a small hiding space and you’re halfway down the second set of stairs before you even realize what you’re doing. You pause at the landing to look back at the pouring rain. Another crack of thunder chases you further inside, but even so you still don’t want to go back in.
It feels like a betrayal to the Outsiders and all they’ve done for you.
There’s no one waiting for you inside.
B-12 is gone and not coming back.
Clementine locked you out of Midtown.
Momo closed the sewer gate behind you.
.
.
.
Excuses. You could list a thousand reasons to stay outside, but none of them will keep you dry, and you are very, very lonely. You miss listening to Clementine talk to herself while she plans, and you want so badly to listen to Momo excitedly ramble about what the outside must look like.
A flash draws your attention to the opening. The following boom makes you jump and cower. Another gust of wind rushes in, as if urging you to go inside. It’s the final push you need and you slink to the shutter. The massive shutter groans and metal shrieks briefly before it smoothly slides open for you.
The inside is as you remember. White. Sterile. Clean. And here you are, dripping water all over the floor and leaving dirty prints as you trail further in. A helper from deeper in senses the mess you’re making and quickly approaches with a mop. You watch as it drops the mop onto the floor and starts scrubbing behind you. A couple minutes pass before you lose interest and walk away with a flick of your tail. You can’t hear the storm in here, which is nice, however you are still sopping wet and the room is colder than outside.
You do your best to shake off as much of the rain from your coat as you can. Thank goodness you aren’t a long haired breed. That would be an absolute nightmare. Still, you aren’t a dog so you can’t shake off nearly as much as you want before you hop onto one of the seats. A line of soggy pawprints is left behind and you trail your way across in search of the perfect spot to sit and groom the water out of your fur. You paused to knead a cushion, very slightly softer than the others, when a heavy fabric drops on you and cuts out the light.
“HEY! What gives!” You claw at the fabric to try and break free, only to be scooped up and carried. “Let go! Put me down!” You hate this. You hate this! Too small to do anything, your brain screams to run away.
And then you’re dropped onto a solid surface and almost blinded by sudden light. As you blink and adjust, you catch movement and quickly hiss at the oncoming intruder. It’s one of the helpers from the lounge area and it does not care about the impressive display you put on, hissing and growling and arching your back. It just cares that you are dripping water everywhere and that is Not Allowed. Before you can swat at it, it flips a towel over your back and begins to scrub aggressively.
You shriek and howl and flail, try to climb up the helper’s arms, try to jump off the bathroom counter, and even try rolling onto your back in one of the sinks. Except the sinks have sensors apparently and you end up just as wet as before. And every time the helper just gently scoops you up, sets you between a pair of sinks, and resumes scrubbing you with the towel. Eventually you just give up and let it work.
The towel is nice at least. Surprisingly soft and fluffy. You would have thought there wouldn’t be any left in this area, since humans had been dead and gone for a very, very long time. Or maybe not as long as you thought. You had no way of knowing, really. But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was that the towel was soft and now that you were calming down you could appreciate that.
The helper is also surprisingly careful. It scrubs your body roughly but quickly switches to a gentler touch as it moves to your head, carefully wiping the water from your forehead and even dabbing at the insides of your ears. You’re still damp when it finally carefully wrings the water from your legs before it takes a step back to observe you. You huff and begin to lick the remaining water from your fur.
“Still wet.” You look up in surprise when the helper speaks. Oh right. These ones still spoke English. “I will return with a dry towel.”
It won’t understand you, but you still reply, “Thanks.” You may be a cat, but you’re still polite.
The helper leaves and you resume grooming. Paw. Butt. Paw. Lower back. Tail. Foot. Tummy. Other foot. Man, that helper sure has been gone a while. Chest.
You manage to give yourself a very thorough grooming by the time the helper finally bothers to return, by which point you don’t need the towel. You’re still damp, but the towel isn’t going to do much more than muss up your fur. Still, the attention is nice, and this new towel is warm.
Like, ‘heated in a microwave’ kind of warm. “Did you take so long because you were drying the towel?”
“Hold still,” is all you get as the helper gives you a final rub down. “All done. Please do not drip on the floors next time. Be kind to your neighbors; don’t make a mess.
Wow, okay. Rude. “Not my fault it rained,” you call out. There’s no response and the door shuts. “Aaaand you’re ignoring me. Great.” You sit down, sigh, and start the process of grooming your fur back into place.
Somehow you’re even more lonely than if you had just stayed outside in the rain.
ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡₍^. .^₎⟆
By the time you emerge from the bathroom, your fur is mostly dry and you’re no longer shivering. The air is still uncomfortably cool, but you know you’ll warm up soon enough. You trot over to where a helper is trimming a tree and paw at it. The helper doesn’t even look at you as it says, “Inside Walled City 99 organic life forms require special care.”
“Looks like you’ve been taking good care of this tree,” you say politely. You receive no response. “Okay. Um, good talk.” You hop off the couch and approach a different miniature tree. It’s not much, but you think it might be just sturdy enough to sharpen your claws. You tap it with your paw and press. No movement. Excellent.
You manage a few seconds of scratching before you find yourself suddenly scooped up and deposited a few feet away. “Please do not damage the plants,” the helper says before it turns and walks back to the other tree.
₍^. .^₎⟆
You spend hours hassling the helpers, napping around the room, and just being a general pain. You don’t bother trying to talk at anyone. No one ever responds correctly - if they respond at all - and you just end up frustrated. Instead you find something to knock over or purposely get underfoot when you want attention. It’s not the attention you want, but it’s attention nonetheless.
No, you aren’t trying to delay anything. You are a cat. There’s no time table for what you do, no need to rush around, and certainly not anything you are purposely trying to avoid.
Okay, that’s a lie.
The door to the control room seems to always be in the corner of your vision, waiting for you to come closer. The panel you knocked off so long ago is still on the floor and the destroyed wires in the box stick out.The room beyond calls to you, but you can’t bring yourself to venture over. Every time you start to get too close to the door, your chest tightens and you feel sick.
But hours have passed and you want to check on the weather, and the only ways to check are to either leave through the shutter and risk getting drench or look out the massive window in the control room.
Even now, you stare at the door while sitting just outside of the motion sensor range. You really want to go through and check on things. See what’s changed and what remains. Maybe knock some papers off or break a mug.
Visit B-12.
Your chest tightens at that thought and you almost walk away again. The thought of just walking through the shutter crosses your mind, but no. You can’t put this off forever. And you have wanted to come back and visit so many times. You want to say hello, and goodbye, and I’m sorry for leaving you behind.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
Your chest hurts and your stomach twists and there’s so much emotion trapped in your stupid, fuzzy, little body and no way to release it because cats can’t cry and all you want to do right now is cry until you pass out. But you can’t. So here you are avoiding a stupid door because the thought of crossing the threshold makes you feel bad.
A helper walks past, distracting you for a moment. You follow it with your eyes until it reaches its destination and begins to sweep the already spotless floor.
With a sigh you drag yourself to your feet. Let your head hang and ears droop with the weight of your emotions. The door slides open with a soft swsh as you approach. Your stomach twists until you think you might be sick, but you force yourself forward one step at a time. one, two, three, four, one two three four… Until you hear the second door close behind you.
You walk carefully, taking the long way around to get to the window so you don’t have to see B-12. You aren’t ready. Not yet. Let the tension work its way out of your system first. Instead you make your way to the window and sit down in front of it, curling your tail around your feet as you look out.
A light rain still drizzles down. Much better than the storm from earlier. The clouds are less intense, too, which is nice. The clouds have a red hue forming from the setting sun. You must have been playing around longer than you initially thought. Or it was later in the day when you finally came to the walled city.
“I wonder how everyone is handling the weather.” No one’s actually had the opportunity to experience real weather before. “I bet Momo likes rain. He seems like the kind of guy to play in puddles and dance in the rain.” You lower your gaze to the city below and try to locate the slums. “What do you think his first experience with rain was like? I bet it was funny.” Ah, there it is. Aaaaaaaand there’s the obnoxiously big sign above his window. You scoot closer until you can press your nose against the glass. “I bet Doc hates the rain. And Seamus likes it. Probably plays in the rain with Momo.”
The silence is oppressive. “I wonder how Zbaltazar is doing. I hope the rain doesn’t mess up his meditation. And Clementine…”
Silence
You dip your head and stare at the floor. “I’m sorry I left you behind,” You say at last. “I should have taken you out long enough to see the outside. You were with me for so long, but I left you behind at the very end.” Your heart clenches as your body tries to process the hurt and loss you feel. “It’s not fair that I got to leave but you didn’t,” you say after a long moment. “But I didn’t want you to get damaged by the weather, or stolen by some other animal. I… I don’t know what I’d do if…” You trail off as you turn to look at B-12 only to find an empty space. “B-12?” Stupid to call for them, they’re dead. Even so, you get up and look around the spot where the little bot should have been.
“B-12?” Maybe under the terminal? No. Not even dust. Did they get kicked by a helper? “B-12?” You hop onto the terminal and look around from above. Nothing. “Where are you?” Ignore the desperation creeping into your voice. Did… Did a helper see the body as trash and just… throw them away? No. No, surely not.
You hop down and start looking through the various trash bins in the room. Nothing but papers and the broken ceramics from your last visit. Deep breaths. Stay calm. “B-12? Did you wake up?” Ignore the desperation in your voice. “Did you go outside?” Don’t yell. “Did someone steal you?”
Silence
B-12 was gone.
Someone or something had taken B-12.
And you had never come back to visit or take them outside even though you promised!
B-12 was gone forever and your family was gone and you had left everyone behind and now there was nothing left. You were alone. Forever.
No.
No.
Nonononononono-
You can’t do this. It’s too much. Everything is too much. You can’t-
You can’t-
You can’t-
YOU CAN’T-
Nope.
You make your way to the door.
No thanks.
The doors open and close behind you. The too-clean space is too big and you make a hard turn. Walk past the helps toward the subway.
You’re done.
Someone had made it to the control room. That’s the only thing you can think of. Someone had made it to the control room and stolen B-12. Which meant there was a way back to Midtown. And if there was a way back to Midtown, there was a way to Clementine. Clementine would welcome you back. Clementine would keep you company. Clementine would love you and make sure you were never lonely again.
Right?
And if she didn’t want you, then you would go back to the Antvillage. Zbaltazar would tolerate you. You could bother him while he meditated. And if that didn’t work, then you’d just go back to the slums. Everyone in the slums liked you. Momo would be more than happy to share his home with you. And Doc and Seamus would welcome you back with open arms. The Guardian would keep you safe from the loud thunder and any scary noises.
The subway car was gone. Someone had been to the control room. And they had taken the subway back. This was… inconvenient. Walking back through the tunnel was very possible, but there was no guarantee that whoever had taken the subway back wouldn’t decide to take it again. If that happened, well…
You’d rather not think about that.
The dim lights created an ominous atmosphere, but you couldn’t stop now. Your stupid cat brain finally decided that the too-big emotions had to go somewhere, and the best way to get rid of them was to get angry. So with an angry huff you puffed up your fur and hopped down to the rails. The tunnel stretched ahead into darkness. With nothing left to lose, you started forward.
Next stop: Midtown