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Day 225 fighting for survival in the Blacksite.
And Sebastian can finally say he has the luxury of feeling bored.
He hasn’t seen an Expendable team in over twenty-four hours. It must be a civic holiday above ground. Urbanshade only halts their operations for major holidays such as Christmas or Thanksgiving. Not for the sake of their prisoners, but for the submarine captains and other crew on the expeditions.
As a result, there is quite literally nothing for Sebastian to do to keep his mind occupied. No fresh corpses to scavenge for supplies, no new research to pour over. And no new data to transmit on his cobbled-together radio setup.
He could always activate an Imaginary Friend remote? No, that feels too pathetic, even for him. Best to go for a walk instead. Is it still technically a walk, or is it a slither? Ugh, walk sounds less… gross.
Sebastian carefully moves through the halls of the facility feeling like a ghost. Even the escaped entities are taking advantage of the downtime to rest. He creeps past the slumbering giants listening to their rumbling snores. It reminds him of crossing the street in front of an idling eighteen-wheeler.
Doors open in front of him and Sebastian follows without registering the path ahead. NAVI could be leading him into the meat room again, for all he knows. If he still had legs, he’d kick the walls and hope she felt it.
Perhaps NAVI is taking him to an air lock? He’d love to stretch out and go for a proper swim. See if Eyefestation is up for some company. Does she feel loneliness? Or is the solitude preferable for her? She tolerates Sebastian- the old bull shark can feel the pain of his troubled mind.
To Sebastian’s surprise, the next door opens into a dimly lit server room. He looks down at the long rows of densely packed server racks and tugs on his esca. He’d prefer to avoid another tumble down the stairs.
Slowly, he makes his way down to the main level. The floor lights cast long shadows on the wall. Painter is not far from here. He probably owes the little guy a visit. Normally when Sebastian leaves the safety of his shop, his trips are quick, dedicated to trailing the latest Expendable team to recover his inventory from their bodies. He can’t leave for too long. Bad for business. And he doesn’t trust the Expendables to leave his research unattended.
Painter’s hopeful little voice will occasionally crackle through the walkie-talkie on his desk (when Sebastian remembers to charge it). The AI would appreciate an in-person appearance from his supposed escape partner.
“Hey, NAVI?” Sebastian’s voice echoes against the high ceilings of the server room. “Mind if we make a detour to heavy containment?” Sebastian taps his stolen card against the next door and waits for the cheery beep.
He steps through the door and feels something soft along his ventral scales. He launches himself backwards like a disgruntled cat, retching at the sensation.
“Dammit, not another meat room!” he snaps at the AI. The lights flicker in response, as if someone was shaking with laughter.
Screw it, he’ll go through the ceiling.
Sebastian punches through the grate after fifteen minutes of cramped, dusty crawling through the vents. A metallic voice gives a soft ‘oh!” of surprise. He lowers his long body through the opening and stretches his back. His long spine crackles at the sensation.
“Hi, Sebastian!” chirps Painter.
“Hey buddy,” Sebastian saunters over to the heavy containment door. The bloodstained card is pressed against the reader and the Saboteur enters the cell. “Whatcha doing?”
“I’m drawing a sunset,” the AI proudly responds.
Sebastian bends down to look at his screen. Colors he has not seen in years streak across a sky he has long forgotten. Painter has never seen the ocean, but he has managed to capture a pastoral quaintness that reminds Sebastian of his own childhood. “Looks great.”
“I know- I haven’t been interrupted by an Expendable in hours! It’s nice to dedicate my full attention to a piece.”
Sebastian curls up in the small space, letting Painter continue to speak without interruption. The AI’s voice is pleasant white noise. Sebastian’s body is warmed in the little space by the heat of Painter’s fans. His eyes feel heavy as a comfortable fatigue settles over him.
“Do you have any updates, Sebastian?”
Sebastian blinks wearily at the sound of his name. So much for his nap. “On what?”
“On escaping?” Painter’s voice raises at the end and his face briefly appears on screen; one brow quirked in confusion. “I assume that’s why you are here.”
“Oh. Nah, I got bored.”
“And you… came to see me?” his voice is small. Hopeful, if Sebastian had to put a name to it.
“Yeah. Shop’s closed today. I’m declaring it a holiday.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“I dunno. International Find Me A Cigarette day.”
“I’m not familiar with that holiday.”
Sebastian waves his hand dismissively. “It’s new.”
Painter makes a noise of understanding. There’s so much he does not know about the world. He’s grateful for Sebastian’s guidance.
Sebastian loops the rest of his tail inside the cramped little cell and feels the wire dig into his back. Ugh, this is why he limits these visits. It’s so cramped in here. Reminds him uncomfortably of his old cell.
Painter’s eyes dart uncertainly back and forth, overlaying the beautiful sunset on his screen. “So… uh. What do you want to do?”
Sebastian shrugs. “I dunno. I thought I’d watch you draw.”
“That can’t be fun for you.” Painter rolls his eyes.
“Try me.”
(What he does not say is that anything is better than being left alone with his thoughts. Sebastain will go to great lengths to keep his mind occupied.)
“Do you want to try drawing?” Painter clears his screen and the little stylus falls on its side, clattering gently on the tablet in front of him.
“Oh god, I’m a terrible artist,” Sebastian snorts dismissively.
“No such thing. Everyone can draw. All humans have the capacity for creative expression. Even ones with extra features.”
“Okay,” Sebastian maneuvers his long body in front of the table and gently picks up the stylus. “What do you want me to draw?”
Sebastian gets as far as two circles and a line before Painter immediately clears the screen. His face appears in a deep, disapproving frown. “Not that.”
“You’re no fun,” Sebastian grumbles. “Fine. I’ve got another idea.”
Sebastian selects the blue paint bucket tool and fills the canvas. He switches to black but forgets to switch back to the paintbrush. “Dammit—”
Painter helpfully undoes the accidental fill of black.
Sebastian continues drawing, his forked tongue poking out from between his teeth. His lines are shaky and child-like. The tiny stylus is uncomfortable in his large grip. Soon, the shape of a crudely drawn shark begins to appear. He switches to the fluorescent green and selects the circle tool.
“Oh! It’s Z-317!” Painter exclaims. Sebastian continues to add eyes on the body and nods in response. “I’ve drawn her before, too.”
“Yours probably looks a lot better than mine,” Sebastian chuffs a laugh. He adds a row of uneven, light blue circles indicating bubbles. He switches to the spray-paint tool.
“What’s that?” asks the computer, watching Sebastian add streaks of red along the bottom of the canvas.
“The exploded people.”
“Oh.”
“Done!” Sebastian proudly announces. It looks terrible, but he can’t deny that it was fun.
“Great job!” Painter compliments. Sebastian snorts. That has to be sarcasm.
“Your turn, kid.” Sebastian sets down the stylus and gestures at the computer.
“I can draw any time. You go on.”
Drawing was fun for a brief respite, but holding the stylus for an extended period of time would cramp his hand. Sebastian smoothly deflects. “How about a game instead?”
Painter’s face appears over Sebastian’s terrible drawing. “What on earth can we play?”
“Ever played hangman?” Sebastian twirls the stylus between his fingers.
“What’s that?” his drawn on face tilts to the side.
Sebastian takes a moment to explain the rules to the AI. Painter clears the canvas and Sebastian draws the little gallows, followed by seven blank spaces.
“A?” Painter guesses.
Sebastian makes a noise similar to a gameshow buzzer and draws the head of the stick figure.
“B!”
Sebastian draws the body.
“Oh my. C?”
Sebastian hesitates. “Uh, normally people start with common letters like ‘S’ or ‘E.’ If you’re gonna go in alphabetical order, this guy is good as dead.”
“Ohh.” Painter makes a noise of understanding. “S!”
Sebastian draws the arms of his stick figure.
Painter’s face appears with a frown that looks more like a pout. “Hey! You said—”
Sebastian grins. “What, you think I was giving you a free hint?”
Painter growls in frustrating and clears the canvas. The stylus is yanked out of Sebastian’s grip by the will of the AI and Painter writes four lines. “My turn.”
“Okay,” Sebastian chuckles, full of misplaced confidence.
Sebastian goes through three stick figures before he can successfully complete the puzzle.
“What else can we play?” Painter erases the canvas filled with long, angry black lines from Sebastian fighting to regain control of the stylus.
“Ever played tic-tac-toe?” Sebastian stretches in the little caged area.
“Yes!” Painter seems to perk up, excited to finally recognize an activity. He draws the grid and places his first X in the center. Sebastian draws an O in the top right corner.
The pair go back and forth until Painter has blocked all possible moves. Sebastian adds an O to the outside of the grid and draws a long diagonal line.
“Hey!” Painter’s small face appears in the corner with a deep frown. “That’s cheating.”
“That wasn’t established beforehand,” Sebastian shrugs.
“You’re incorrigible,” mutters the computer.
“We’ll call it a draw.” He yawns. “I should start heading back soon.”
Painter pauses. “Sebastian?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Can- never mind. You’re in a hurry to leave.”
Sebastian stoops low to crowd the computer’s space. “Oh, no you don’t. Now I have to know.”
“Can I draw you?” the little metallic voice is meek.
Sebastian blinks, taken aback by the request. “Sure? Dunno why you need to ask my permission, I don’t mind—”
“Will you sit for me while I paint?” he blurts out the words, as if he is afraid Sebastian will turn him down.
“Oh. Yeah, okay.” He fidgets with his ring. “Where do you want me to stand?”
“It might be easier if you’re on the other side of the fence. I can see more of you.” Painter’s gaze tries to peek around Sebastian’s broad chest.
“All right,” Sebastian exits the cramped holding cell and sits close to the fence, following Painter’s very strict directions. Funny how quickly he’s regained his confidence.
“Hold your hands in front of you. Down more. Bring that third one up too. Turn your head more to the left. A little more- there! Don’t move. And no peeking.”
Sebastian stands still as a statue feeling a little ridiculous, with only the sound of Painter’s stylus scratching against his tablet. Fans and other mechanical sounds fill the dead air. Otherwise the Blacksite is unusually silent. And then, beneath the sound of an air exchange turning on, Sebastian hears it.
Painter is humming.
It’s not a song Sebastian recognizes. It must be one that Painter’s creator introduced to him many years ago. His heart twists at the sound.
Sebastian isn’t the only one in the Blacksite who clings to the memory of a song from a loved one he will never see again.
“This is nice,” Painter breaks the silence. The gentle ‘scrrch scrrch’ of the stylus punctuates his gentle declaration. He must be shading something.
“Yeah,” Sebastian swallows. “It is.”
“No peeking.” Painter commands.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Keep that third eye straight ahead!”
Sebastian rolls his eyes. “I can’t control it independently like that. Only the eyelid.”
“That’s weird.”
“Says the talking computer,” Sebastian laughs.
“Hold still.”
Painter finally grants Sebastian permission to move again after thirty minutes. His model breathes a heavy sigh of relief and drags his upper left arm across his nares. “Oh, thank god. Had an itch for the last ten minutes that was driving me crazy.”
“All done!” Painter proudly declares. His cheerful face disappears to show off his finished portrait. Sebastian has moved back inside the holding cell for a closer look. His breath catches in his throat.
To his surprise, Painter has not placed Sebastian in the middle of the canvas. He has been drawn on the left, allowing the light of his esca to cast shadows on the bare wall beside him. The bloodstains and grime are erased in Painter’s vision. Sebastian is posed like a figure from a renaissance painting. His gaze is shy and cast away from the viewer. A faint smile peeks from beneath his maw, face partially shadowed by dark strands of hair. His hands are primly clasped in front of him. To his shock, Sebastian counts four fingers on each hand. His ring is on the correct finger. Such an insignificant detail that makes his heart catch in his throat. He swallows hard.
Sebastian hasn’t looked in a mirror lately, but he knows based on the heavy, itchy feeling of his scalp that his hair does not look that soft in person. The poorly healed scars and deep shadows beneath his sunken eyes are missing in this idealized portrait. Even his inhuman traits- the esca, the long fins that grew from his ears-are drawn smaller to not pull attention from the uncertain openness of his face.
Sebastian’s smile is genuine. “This is great, buddy. Wish I could take a copy with me for the shop. I’ve never looked better.”
“Uh, th-thank you.” Painter’s screen flickers briefly between a surprised smile and a faint blush. It’s a curious reaction. Either he’s not used to receiving compliments on his art, or he doesn’t believe the praise to be genuine.
A shuddering rumble pierces the peaceful quiet of the Blacksite, and the overhead lights cut out with a low whine. Somewhere in the depths of the facility an Angler roars. The pair find themselves plunged into darkness, only illuminated by the blue light of Painter’s screen and the warm glow of Sebastian’s esca.
Slowly, the ghoulish red emergency lighting kicks in. The AI and the Saboteur stare at one another in the deep shadows across their face. The gentle moment is gone, and the two are starkly reminded of their mission.
“Guess Give Me A Cigarette day is officially over.” Sebastian murmurs, departing from Painter’s cell. He taps the purple master card against the heavy containment lock to re-secure Painter and keep him safe from the Expendables. Hopefully.
The computer’s little face is somber. “I’ll get those turrets back online. They can’t hide for long.”
“Good work,” Sebastian calls over his shoulder. He picks up the dented grate and prepares to climb back into the ceiling, when Painter calls his name.
“Do you think this will be it? Are we getting any closer to escaping?”
Sebastian pauses, not meeting his eye. He rubs a long claw along the pattern of the metal vent cover. “Yeah, buddy. If not, we’ll just keep trying.”
“Okay!” comes the cheery reply. “You should have a clear pathway back to your shop. NAVI fought me hard, but you won’t have to squeeze into the ceiling.”
“And no meat rooms?” Sebastian fully turns to shoot a playful look at the AI.
His grin flickers mischievously. “Maybe.”
Sebastian returns to his shop without encountering the dreaded meat room or any patches of rotten coral. Painter manages to lead him into one of the oxygen gardens. Sebastian suppresses the gnawing guilt at the little machine’s unwavering trust.
Sebastian notices a discarded bag in the grass, pinned beneath the foot of a DiVine. He lets out a laugh when he spots the spilled contents under the broken flashlight.
A single crumpled pack of cigarettes sits in the undisturbed grass. It's a holiday miracle.
Sebastian pockets his prize with a grin.
He spends another moment lingering in the garden before schooling his expression back into the aloof mask of his shopkeeper persona.
It's time to get back to work.