Chapter Text
“…shit. Jaren, Unsafe!”
The command snapped Smitty back to reality, body ramrod straight in his equally stiff chair—his usual Position during his residence in this new Home.
Something clicked active in his brain, forcing him to blink a few times from the usual disorientation, watching through hazy vision his Supervisor talking fast before departing from the room.
Only, then the Supervisor was speaking to him, and he shook away the mental image of moments soon to pass. “…stay here, press this button if that light—” he was saying, gesturing upwards to the wall, where an inactive siren light was perched, “turns on, and don’t leave until I come back. Got it?”
Press the red button on the left only when the alarm goes off. Got it.
Smitty nods, determination gleaming in his chest as his Supervisor’s eyes gave him a once-over, looking towards the door before standing and striding out, a tight-lipped smile plastered on his face.
He smiled at me!
Beaming, Smitty hurries to burrow into the softer Supervisor chair, immediately spinning with it around in circles, giggling to himself.
Matt would love this! Maybe they would make an exceptio— a distant scream cut off his train of thoughts, his mind scrambling to provide an identity for the voice when the scream finally pierced through the air in the present day, and his heart dropped.
The Supervisor…that was him. That…was him.
A heavy feeling settled in his chest, drawing his legs easily onto the chair to hug them to his chest, focusing intently.
Expand…expand…see what’s happening Next.
And what’s happening, well, definitely wouldn’t be shown to a kid his age.
Or done by kids his age, usually, either.
Four of the Home’s subjects were racing through the halls, the bloodcurdling growls and the chilling firing of energy almost enough to overwhelm the sheer amount of guard screams bouncing in his skull.
Red painted the walls, the murderous noises never ending even as the screams were, one by one, silenced.
He barely paid attention to the characteristics of the murdering subjects, missing how one of the ones not growling or killing was sobbing, or how the other was muttering reassurances under his breath as he gestured towards which room to (search) massacre next.
His focus was busy cycling through the rooms they cleared, looking and looking and froze .
The Four were going to approach the ground floor’s Testing Room, where he knew Matt and John were “Stationed.”
He always frowned when he heard that word. Matt and John weren’t like him. They were Subjects, not Workers. They were kept for research, not for use.
And yet his skin prickled with cold blooded fear. They were Subjects, but trusted ones. They may fight back, they may die.
They’ll hurt them, too. They’ll kill them, leave nobody else left but me. Alone.
A second present-day scream almost seemed to explode through the walls around him, and Smitty nearly screamed himself at how much his heart jumped.
Only the second on e , he reminded himself firmly, clutching his chest and nearly heaving. I can stop more from being hurt—be of good use .
Blinking and shaking his head firmly to clear the future sensory inputs, Smitty let his wavering vision refocus on the buttons, and the flashing red alarm.
Panic rekindling anew, Smitty scrambled towards the button, finding the red button on the left with ease and moving to hit it—but a noise stabbed at his brain: the sobbing Subject wailing , a horrid sound only distinct from the other screams by its youth.
His finger hesitated, breath stuttering.
More cries, more pain, more shouting and growling and crying from more youthful voices—the first voice not heard again.
In the time it took for him to try and blink it away, his fingers found a different red button on the left, and pressed it.
Darkness fell, a sharper alarm sounding.
Red lights would break through the darkness, in the hallway, running along the bottoms of the walls until a door aglow in the same light came into view, the neon green Fire Exit sign above.
Distantly, he sensed the four taking the now-unlocked exit, slumping down in his seat with a whimper as he released the vision.
He knew seconds before the Intern Supervisor charged through the doors, already screaming at him.
He knew he needed only one second to steel his expression, which he did just in time, delayed only by the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
The Intern glared at him, the scrutiny absolutely blistering even without holding eye contact. He stood still, chair forgotten, arms crossed behind his back and head dipped in practiced silent apology.
Later, though, he’ll hug Matt and John again. Later, he’ll be sent on a Mission for disobeying.
But later, they won’t be dead.
And that’s enough.