Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

★ Art by Luo ★

“Priority Echo, twelve packages, sealed and ready. Dock 218. Innovation vessel will arrive once skies are clear. Submersible class. Extraction includes you and one. This message will repeat.”

“Priority Echo, twelve packages, sealed and ready. Dock 218. Innovation vessel will arrive once skies are clear. Submersible class. Extraction includes you and one.”

‘This message will repeat,’ Sebastian internally completes, trying to ignore the radio’s repetitive message. What was initially a comforting broadcast– assuring him that he’d be able to get out of Urbanshade’s clutches alive– has now become nothing more than a monotonous annoyance. 

No, annoyance is the wrong word. It’s a stressor.

Each word replayed sends a spark of anxiety rattling through Sebastian’s bones, shaking his typically calm hands and rolling sweat down his skin as he gathers all of the data he’s collected throughout the past two days.

“... Extraction includes you and one.”

Innovation Inc. isn’t just coming for him, but for Painter, as well.

When Sebastian first made contact with them, it was simply by a miracle. He’d already spent hours trying to repair that damned radio, fixing its loose screws and wires– but for ages, it only produced meaningless white noise and the occasional unrelated Morse code. No messages had ever come in response to his own.

That was until around eleven hours ago (according to Painter’s system time, that is– Sebastian’s not exactly keeping track), when an unusual sound began hissing from it. Out of curiosity, he slithered his way over and bent down to finely tune it with his claws. 

What followed was an unbelievably hopeful conversation with an Innovation operative. Sebastian explained the situation, proposed his deal, and all went well. Though seemingly still skeptical, Innovation agreed to send down a vessel.

And much to his surprise, they offered to reverse his mutations.

Sebastian was instantly taken aback, hitherto certain that Urbanshade’s experiments had done him irreversible damage. Naturally, naive hope used to linger in his mind, but his logical side mangled that ages ago– especially after reading his own document. That godforsaken thing said a fix was no longer possible.

The operative described the reversal as the “DNA Regeneration Process,” or “DNARP,” for short. It’s allegedly Innovation’s way of remedying failed experiments through the use of one of their advanced inventions. Tech that Urbanshade doesn’t have, cool.

The idea of being toyed with by enigmatic scientists again definitely isn’t a comfortable one, but in this case, Sebastian knows it’s one to take into consideration. He’d be out of Urbanshade’s grasp by then. It’s either he takes the risk, or he condemns himself to this mutilated body for eternity.

… He still has time to think it over. Right now, freedom is his top priority.

He should be happy– and deep down, he surely is. He’s wanted this for so long. He’s fought for this. But at his surface, he’s riddled with anxiety, mind racing with hypotheticals. If this goes wrong, Innovation could abandon the two in a heartbeat. They’d both die at the hands of Urbanshade.

Sebastian grits his teeth at the thought. He can’t let that happen. Not when they’re so close. Not before Painter gets to paint the landscapes they so desperately yearn for.

So, with a deep inhale, he steadies himself and returns to work. He’s currently in the darkness of his shop, stacking document after document into a large crate. He promised Innovation that he collected enough to fill twelve of these– and thankfully, it seems he was right, as he’s now stuffing the final box with the last records in his possession.

Eight of the packages are already waiting for pickup at Dock 218. Sebastian has been delivering four at a time, assisted by two sturdy bags he stole from a storage unit. Once he’s finished loading this one, the last tasks remaining will be to pick up Painter, transport them to the dock, and wait for Innovation’s arrival. Though…

“... Innovation vessel will arrive once skies are clear.”

Considering the nature of these organizations, that phrase probably isn’t referring to the actual weather. They’re more than likely waiting for the expendable protocol to settle so that there’s no chance of interference.

The problem is, Sebastian knows Urbanshade far too well. They never quit until they achieve their goals. They’ll just keep throwing bodies at the Blacksite until somebody reaches that crystal. 

What a sure-fire route to take.

Sebastian props himself against the wall, crossing two arms tightly before his chest and allowing his third to fidget with itself. His eyes narrow in earnest contemplation. With Urbanshade so insistent, when could Innovation possibly have the opportunity to send a submarine? The intervals between EXR-P batches are so brief– only two or so hours. That’s not nearly enough. Innovation won’t deem it “clear skies.”

…

Except if, maybe, there’s some way to sabotage the protocol itself.

The delay of even one Urbanshade vessel could give sufficient space for Innovation to swoop in. It’d be tight, with no room for mistake– but it’d be enough. If Sebastian could just somehow throw that wretched company off balance, make them lose their footing…

The crystal, possibly? The Blacksite would lose all power if it were tampered with, rendering all communication and tracking systems offline. It could disorient Urbanshade, albeit temporarily, and Sebastian would have until the backup generators activate to escape with Painter.

That would give them simply ten minutes, if his memory serves him correctly.

However, even with that window at hand, Innovation’s vessel would surely be spotted by Urbanshade’s sonars once they reboot. Ten minutes isn’t enough for them to enter and exit safely.

Unless…

Sebastian’s hands find the straps wrapped around his torso– the ones holding the SCRAMBLER in place– and with the help of a precise tug, they fall undone. He carefully pulls the bulky device into his arms and inspects it, face set in quiet calculation.

The SCRAMBLER impairs all CCTV, radio, and other communication equipment within its presence, so it likely disrupts the transmission of electromagnetic waves. While that wouldn’t outright disable the majority of the Blacksite’s tracking tech, it would probably jam enough to fry some circuits.

It could work.

For now, though, he simply bends down and sets it aside. He doesn’t need it yet.

As he pushes a few strands of dark hair out of his face, Sebastian leans back up and toggles the walkie-talkie to his right. “Hey, how long do you think it’ll be before they send more expendables down?” He asks, intentionally keeping his voice steadier than his underlying unease wishes for it to be.

“Judging by when the last ones showed up, they’ll probably send some our way arouuuund… 11:30, or so,” replies Painter in a matter of seconds, the chirp in their tone ever-present.

11:30. How far is that from now? Sebastian doesn’t have a clock on hand, nor does he have one anywhere nearby. For all he knows, it could be merely five till, and he’ll have rats scurrying all over his tail in half an hour. With a slow, pensive blink, he continues his questioning. “What time’s it now?”

“9:46,” answers the computer after a moment’s pause.

Oh. Okay, he has more time to spare than he initially assumed. “9:46?”

“Uh-huh. Why? Is everything okay, Sebastian?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian reassures, “I’m fine, kid. I’ll be coming for you soon, alright?”

There’s a virtually imperceptible crackle that emits from Painter’s end of the walkie-talkie. Despite their general escape plan feeling as if it’s been in motion for quite a while now, Sebastian’s sure Painter didn’t expect their rescue to come this soon. It’s truly only been two days, after all.

“O– Oh! We’re– we’re going?” They stutter, surprise evident, “Innovation’s here?”

Even though Painter can’t see it through the walkie-talkie, Sebastian instinctively nods and forces a gentle smile. “They will be. Just hold tight; I won’t be long.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” asks Painter. They’re always eager to be useful, no matter the situation– and Sebastian’s grateful for that. “You’re helping a lot already,” he replies affectionately. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. Stay safe, buddy.”

“Okay! Got it. See you soon!” 

With that, Sebastian clicks the walkie-talkie off before lifting it from the desk and tucking it snugly into one of his coat pockets. He needs to get to work. There’s an hour and forty-four minutes before the next EXR-P dispatch, and that time will slip through his fingers if he’s not careful.

He can’t fuck this up.

Chapter Text

09:53:57

Thursday, October 16th, 2025

Three hundred seventy-nine.

09:53:58

Thursday, October 16th, 2025

Three hundred eighty.

09:53:59

Thursday, October 16th, 2025

Three hundred eighty-one.

09:54:00

Thursday, October 16th, 2025

Sebastian last updated Painter three hundred eighty-two seconds ago, and they’ve been anxious ever since.

Frankly, they count simply because it’s something to occupy them. Something to relieve them of the constant flow of data hitting them from all ends of the Blacksite’s security, putting their digital mind at ease for even just a moment.

They did it quite often before coming here. Whenever that spark of artistic inspiration slipped, they’d turn to numbers, admiring their internal clock’s rhythmic pattern or seeing download percentages rise.

It’s just soothing, somehow– watching as the minute always flips from 59 to 00, or the 23rd hour to the 0th, all without fail.

Initially, they merely viewed it as a way to pass the time whenever they were alone with no systems whirring. But now, they grip onto it like a lifeline. It’s the only thing that keeps them from spiraling into worry, or hypotheticals, or memories, or lag, or overheating, or…

It’s just, once again, a thing to fixate on.

It grants Painter the ability to shut down the majority of their background programs and cool off. When they focus on such a simple task as counting time, it prevents their fans from being overused, or their motherboard from frying. That’s what they believe, at least. Who knows how much their frail system can take anymore.

Sebastian did say that they didn’t look to be in the best shape when they first met, after all.

Painter hadn’t known it was that bad.

Back when they were safe– with him– they ran so smoothly. Sure, they’ve got an old shell, and they always have, but they used to repair errors in an instant, and their ability to process information was outstanding. They had such natural emotional intelligence, too– but nowadays, they can hardly go an hour without being overwhelmed by a myriad of conflicting feelings.

They know why, though. Of course they know why.

They’d be an idiot to not realize that their fragility is the result of their own actions. If they hadn’t tried to overclock so many times, they’d still be their creator’s beautiful magnum opus, capable of rivaling even the most advanced computers.

But what are they now? What are they after years of Roblux mining?

A shitty desktop computer that someone would only use for the purpose of finishing their homework? Some AI assistant that spews out whatever recycled garbage it finds online? Are they anything at all? 

Painter can’t even bring themself to properly draw anymore. Since being kidnapped and shoved into this little fenced cell two years ago, they’ve probably put digital pen to canvas with genuine care thrice. Every other time, they’ve found themself stuck, staring at the box of white before them and wasting the one free day of the week they’re allowed to breathe.

God, what if they’ve already become just what Urbanshade wants of them: an obedient husk, only good for cryptocurrency?

Their internal clock continues to tick.

09:54:32

Thursday, October 16th, 2025

Around this time each day, pre-lockdown, the Blacksite would typically be bustling with morning activities, personnel and guardsmen stomping around in the areas surrounding Painter’s room.

Despite the ruckus outside, seeing someone face-to-face was a rare occurrence. The moment those researchers plugged their venomous, parasitic little laptop into Painter, they did all that was necessary. If there wasn’t a monthly maintenance check in progress, nobody had to stick around and watch. Nobody wanted to stick around and watch.

But Painter could always hear the halls’ voices and echoes wafting in from behind the walls, as if teasing them: ‘look at the freedom we have, while you’re stuck dedicating your already-feeble existence to crypto.’

At first, it was confusing to not know where they were or what they had to do.

Then, it was frustrating being dismissed and written off as a simple machine, as if that word rolled off the tongues of personnel with a rotten stench and pinned them as nothing but a few lines of code designed for completing a task.

After that, it grew tiring being subjected to such a monotonous, mind-numbing lifestyle– that is, if computers can even comprehend the concept of tiring. From what Painter knows of that word, they’re pretty sure they experienced an AI’s best replication.

But after just a few months, it began to feel like nothing at all. Maybe that apathy was their own fault, being brought on by their self-inflicted degradation, but they simply couldn’t bring themself to care. So what if they had to live with being a mining rig?

They didn’t think they’d make it this far, anyway.

Their internal clock still continues to tick.

09:55:02

Thursday, October 16th, 2025

The Blacksite security dashboard opens after a bit of input delay, stained and tainted by a large Urbanshade logo.

As soon as it does, a noticeable lag spike crashes into Painter. That’s typical when that much data loads so quickly, they’ve learned– such a large program isn’t meant to be accessed by such a weak system.

Flicking around the CCTV, they find little of interest. Where they’d typically find EXR-P, they find bare, ransacked halls, drawers agape and items spilled across the floors. In some rooms, they pass the occasional corpse– bloodied, mangled, or not– but they scarcely pay any mind.

… Is that who they are? Someone who just stares at the loss of life and dismisses it?

Painter caused so much of this. They activated turrets; they laughed as the wounded fell; they hijacked those door numbers and lured Z-96-1 to them; they hurt– no, god, they killed people.

But they’re not a bad person, right? Sebastian said so; Painter’s just doing it so that they can survive. Surviving doesn’t make them a bad person.

… It can’t make them a bad person. They don’t want to be one. They’d hate to be one. They wouldn’t be able to live with themself knowing they’re a murderer; they’d be crushed under the guilt; they’d–

As they access the cameras stationed just outside of their cell’s secret entrance, their heart (?) jumps at the glimpse of a very familiar figure nimbly avoiding a turret’s eye. Within seconds, Painter retracts the turret, and they watch as Sebastian curls around the corner and into their full view.

He’s carrying hefty black bags in two of his hands, and despite the fuzzy quality of the camera feed, Painter can tell that he doesn’t have the SCRAMBLER strapped to him. Sebastian’s presence dispels all of their previous thoughts in an instant. He’s finally coming to pick them up.

“Heeeyy!!” Their voice rings out through the room’s intercom, and they watch as Sebastian cracks a little smirk upon hearing it.

“Hey,” he replies, facing the security camera and giving a brief wave with his third arm before slipping through the tunnel and entering Painter’s room.

“Sebastian!” Painter calls out as he ducks through the entrance and approaches. A smile quirks itself onto their canvas, but it quickly falls in concern. “What– what took you so long?”

For a moment, Sebastian lingers in silence, setting his items down against the chained wall before Painter. His shoulders remain drawn tight, the single flick of an ear fin the only thing indicating he heard them. His head snaps back up a second later.

“What? Uh– it’s not easy to fit in the vents with all this,” he gestures to the packages. “Had to go the long way, this time.”

“Oh, right. Okay. Is that your data for Innovation?”

“Yep,” He replies almost automatically, slithering over to an item locker on his right and plucking a purple keycard off of one of its dusty shelves. A quick swipe across the cell door’s reader is all it takes for it to slide open.

As soon as Sebastian moves into view, Painter’s webcam adjusts its quality to capture him properly. He looks just the same as they remember. No surprise there.

“I told Innovation that they’ll need to pick us up sometime between 10:50 and 11," Sebastian explains. "But they won’t send anyone down unless we get Urbanshade off the crystal first.”

At first, to Painter, that sounds like an impossible feat. Urbanshade’s hard to deter; they wouldn't go down without a fight. Yet, they trust Sebastian– they know his intelligence and what he’s capable of. If anyone can sabotage that company, it’s him.

Their face shifts to the top of their screen as if staring up at him. “Then… what do we do?”

Sebastian clasps his frontmost hands together, a sly grin overtaking him. "We take it ourselves,” he says simply.

All he receives is a curious blink from the computer.

“I’ll take you to the dock,” he begins, “And you’ll start using the walkie-talkie to keep me updated. Then, I’ll go and jam up the Blacksite’s main trackers with the SCRAMBLER–”

“That’ll work?” Painter frowns, unsure that all of Urbanshade’s main systems can be disabled so easily. Sebastian simply cants his head.

“It should. It won’t fuck up everything, but it’ll be enough to confuse ‘em.”

“Once that’s done,” he continues, “I’ll steal the crystal, and we’ll use the time before the backup generators boot up as our ticket out. Got it?”

Painter ponders it for a moment. It sounds feasible; their only worry is those trackers. But truly, if Sebastian’s confident, why shouldn’t they be, too? They’ve already made it this far together– no reason for them to falter now.

Plus, they can’t miss out on an opportunity to screw with Urbanshade.

Painter’s eyes narrow evilly. “Sounds fun," they comment with a dark giggle.

Sebastian leans down with a satisfied smile, subtly inspecting each side of Painter’s casing for any scratches or damage. They imagine that his claws– though they can’t really feel them– are gentle. “Are you ready to go? Y’know, got any programs or downloads running?”

Painter runs a scan of their open activities. Right now, all they’ve got is the clock, security system, and… nothing more, really. Activating things while already running the Blacksite security would be a plea for bluescreens.

“I’m still connected to the security mainframe,” they answer, “but that’s it.”

Sebastian’s hands pause, and he pulls back to face the computer properly. “Gotcha, but, uh… I might have to unplug you from that. At least until we get you to the dock.”

“Why? Isn’t that– … that’s how we’re controlling everything. We can’t just– …”

“I don’t have a place to put that laptop,” he clarifies, gesturing to the Urbanshade laptop on Painter’s right. “I’m gonna have to carry it with me. You won’t be able to stay connected if I do that.”

Painter stalls for a moment. Losing access to the Blacksite’s security sounds like it would leave them both incredibly vulnerable. It’d be akin to handing their heads (or… CPU, in their case?) right over to Urbanshade, decorated and fitted on silver platters.

Nonetheless, they still push through, leaning into their trust of his plan. “Okay,” their face bobs to imitate a nod. “I have backup battery, so… I think I should be fine. It’s what I always ran on when I was up on the surface. It lasts me a pretty long time.”

“And once you’re plugged back in, you can feed off of the laptop’s battery, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, that works,” Sebastian comments as he traces Painter’s shell down to the little wires fitted in the plugs on their side. Once his fingers find what they’re looking for, he gently wraps around them both and prepares to pull.

Before he can, though, Painter hesitates. “Uum… Sebastian?”

His grip loosens slightly. “What?”

“If I can’t, y’know, control anything, … will we be okay? I mean, there’s so many things here. If we run into something, there’ll be no way for me to help.”

As Sebastian continues to fidget with the wire, another one of his claws reach up to lightly tap Painter’s frame. “Sure we will. It shouldn’t take all that long for us to hook you back up to the systems. We’ll be fine.”

“What about NAVI?”

Something shifts in Sebastian’s gaze. It’s gone in a blink, only followed by a tension in his features, but the stretching silence is enough to twist Painter’s face into apprehension. “Sebastian?–”

“We’ll manage,” he quickly forces out. “We’ll manage, okay? Trust me, Painter.”

“I do trust you,” the computer replies, their voice now hardly louder than the chirps of the nearby servers. “I just want to make sure this won’t go wrong.”

The two wires come free with a click. “It won’t, buddy. Promise. We’ll be out of here in less than an hour.” His hand slides to the other side of Painter’s body, gripping the final wire and letting it skate through his fingers for a moment. “Then we’ll be free. All I need is for you to stay calm.”

They sigh. “Okay. Sorry.”

Just a heartbeat passes before Sebastian pauses and glances back up to meet their eyes. “And turn off the turrets, will you? I don’t need them wasting any time.”

Painter swiftly loads up the turret system and sends a signal to mass disable them all. The command freezes before being accepted, and there’s instantly a massive weight of data that lifts off of them. It makes them run just a bit faster.

“Done.”

“Thanks. Alright, this might shake you up a little,” Sebastian warns before tugging the cord free.

And his warning was valid, because an avalanche of error code immediately shoots through Painter’s processors. They try their best to understand them, but it’s all a mess of high temperature warnings, unresponsive applications, and whatever the hell else. It almost hurts.

“You okay?”

“I’m fi– i– ine,” Painter’s voice momentarily buffers, unbidden glitches freezing up their art program at the same time. And not long after, they’re met with a lovely ‘MS Paint is not responding’ popup. Great, they’re spiraling into a crash. They can feel it all too well.

Their internal fans kick into overdrive, whirring loudly in a vain attempt to keep up with the new energy transfer. Each new error only drags their framerate lower and makes it harder to breathe. “I– I just ha- aven’t– t–”

Before they can even finish their sentence, their system freezes entirely, and everything flickers.

Yeah, that’s what they expected. Painter simply braces themself the best they can for their reboot. Those are always overwhelming when they’re already sensitive from the chaos of a crash. Best to face it head on, probably…

Thankfully, after shutting down, it doesn’t take long for them to spring back to life. They’re instantly met with their rainbow wallpaper, alongside small pixelation errors patterning the sides of their screen. Everything restarts properly, but faint errors still sizzle, and it’s almost painful. God, Painter hates crashing.

Their camera gives them a lagging image of Sebastian’s face, which is panicked, eyes blown wide and anxious. Seeing that pained expression through their jittery vision almost makes the world blur with both static and guilt at the same time. They worried him again, didn’t they?

He leans in closer and knocks softly on Painter’s screen. “Buddy? You with me?”

Within moments, Painter pops MS Paint’s window open– more out of habit than anything– and a messy face scribbles itself onto the canvas. Their little face lays fixed in a surprised frown. “S- Sebastian?”

Judging by the low quality of their words, it seems their voice synthesizer’s still trying to recover from whatever just happened. Sebastian simply exhales, a relieved smile momentarily finding its way onto his face. “Almighty, Painter, don’t scare me like that. I thought I killed you for a second there.”

“I’m sorr– ry,” Painter replies, voice slowly fixing itself. “I don’t kno– ow what happened. That… hasn’t happened in a long time.”

That statement isn’t entirely false, they suppose. Their last crash was eight hours ago– a long time, if you really think about it. Hours are long.

They don’t know why they can’t find it within themself to be honest.

Sebastian takes a breath, bringing a hand up to nudge some hair out of his face as he continues to inspect Painter. “Are you okay? Any… uh, errors going on in your system?”

A check of their diagnostic threads show temperature spikes subsiding, corrupted memory clearing, and errors fading one by one. There’s a few issues that struggle to fix themselves, but they’re nothing critical. “I think I’m fine. I just– … my systems overloaded.”

“Thought so. Sorry, kid, I should’ve been more careful about unplugging you. Is your backup battery working alright?”

“I think so,” Painter gives a little digital nod again after examining their power. “It’s at 99%, so… it should last me a few hours.”

Sebastian gives a huff of satisfaction. “That’s more than enough.”

Painter’s expression shifts, flickering into a large grin. “Thennnn… we’re set?”

“Yep. Just let me get you situated,” replies Sebastian as he straightens himself. He grabs the straps resting around his shoulders and steadily pulls them off, being careful not to tear them. Painter watches in fascination. It’s a makeshift carrier, one that he once mentioned crafting for them.

Once it’s sat nicely in his hands, he glances between it and Painter. From what it looks like, it should fit them correctly– and if it doesn’t, he might just have to force it to. There’s probably not much else they can do with their current time limit.

Sebastian gently pulls the mechanism over Painter’s casing, slowly adjusting any misplaced sections. Once everything’s stable, he grips the computer’s sides and tilts them upward to slip the straps around properly.

As Painter’s vision leans, a wave of anxiety suddenly washes over them, transforming their eyes into dizzy spirals. They’re definitely used to being moved, but tilting sends the closest digital equivalent there is to nausea racing through their systems.

Sebastian stops. “You okay?”

“Stop tilting me!” Painter retorts sharply as their frown deepens into a pointed grimace. Sebastian blinks a few times, face blank, before suddenly huffing a small laugh. 

“Sorry, kid. I have to. Unless you want to fall and break something.”

Painter simply whines as he continues and slips the Urbanshade laptop into one of the invention’s compartments. With a final tug on one of the straps, it tightens.

Sebastian looks pleased, which likely means it fits perfectly. Good.

He then delicately lifts Painter by the two straps resting on their backside and turns them, slipping two of his arms through the holes between the straps and placing them against him like a backpack.

Thankfully, that stabilizes Painter’s vision. They’re much farther off the ground now, able to see much more of their containment room than they used to. It’s honestly thrilling to see– they’re finally getting out of this hellhole. They’ll never have to be forced through cryptomining again.

They have to admit, though, it’s still a bit scary to be this high up and mobile.

“Comfy?” Sebastian asks with a smirk.

“Dizzy,” he receives in return.

With a small shrug– cautious not to disturb Painter’s carrier– Sebastian starts to maneuver his way out of the cell. “Don’t worry, kid. This won’t take too long.”

“It better not!”

Traversing through the halls of the Hadal Blacksite is quite the surreal thing for a typically-stationary computer to experience.

Painter has seen them thousands of times– especially recently. That laptop’s extensive mapping records and CCTV branches led them to see seemingly every centimeter of this facility.

And yet, they’ve never actually been in these rooms. They’ve never before been close enough to the Blacksite’s walls to panic whenever Sebastian backs up a bit too much, or close enough to make out drawers’ contents. They’ve always just lived a life of solitude and monotony, far unlike this.

It’s honestly satisfying to watch their surroundings shift and wobble with Sebastian’s movements. Though, it does somehow make them feel a bit motion sick, considering they’re so used to being held up steadily.

Painter hardly even notices the lights blinking above them until Sebastian slips to the side a bit too quickly, muttering a low curse under his breath and unintentionally jostling the computer. Painter aims to protest before the facility begins to tremble and echo with a strung-out groan.

And after just a few seconds, a loud roar charges through the halls, banging against the door with a crash before retreating.

…

“Was that one of those Anglers?” Painter asks. Their voice is small, as if afraid the non-sentient cloud of smoke might double back and notice them here.

“Yeah,” Sebastian confirms. “Froger.”

Painter falls quiet, sifting through their memory for anything on that variant– but nothing seems to surface. “I’m still not good at remembering those guys’ names,” they admit. They never truly paid attention whenever the Anglers passed by the cameras.

Sebastian chuckles under his breath. “You’ll get it. That’s the one that rebounds.”

Oh. So it will double back.

Painter zeroes in on their audio feed, straining for anything out of place, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. “Where is it?”

“It’s coming. Just give it a second.”

And right on cue, the thing barrels past again, screaming down the corridor before fading into the distant halls forward. It’s awfully loud, tearing through Painter’s sound inputs with a jagged screech– and for a second, they really regret boosting their audio.

“You okay?” Sebastian questions, his amused smile noticeable even without seeing it.

“Does hearing static count as okay?”

“Remind me to fix up your audio system once we’re out of here, too.”

Each door opens with a distinct kachunk.

One kachunk, two kachunks, three kachunks, four…

To Painter, every room appears to bleed into the next. They’re sure Sebastian knows this entire labyrinth like the back of his hand– but just by glancing around each identical area, Painter can tell they’d never be able to find anything in this place without an extensive map guiding them.

Five kachunks, six kachunks, seven…

The Blacksite’s ambiance isn’t very reassuring, either. The prior Froger-induced static has faded now, thankfully– but that leaves them hearing each distant thud, hum, and possibly inhuman howl far too clearly.

Eight kachunks, nine…

And it reminds them that they’re not alone. There’s so many things roaming the halls, swimming outside the windows, even hiding in the walls, and it’s something they hate to think about. Painter’s glad Sebastian is so knowledgeable about the facility’s dangers, and of course, they fully trust him– but they just get nervous.

Ten kachunks.

The silence in the corridor stretches so long to the point it almost hurts, tension humming faintly through their audio. Eventually, Painter’s led to look for something– anything, really– to break it.

“Can we… talk about something?” Their hesitant voice cuts through the quiet, almost faltering at the end.

Sebastian’s reply comes faster than they expect it to. “What is it?”

“I– I don’t know,” they stumble, trying to redirect their attention from their webcam to MS Paint. Hopefully, penning a few scribbles will help them clear their mind. “Nothing in specific, really… I just don’t like silence. I’ve… never liked silence.”

Sebastian pauses, tail flicking lightly against the floor– and even without seeing him, Painter can sense his contemplation. “Does it make you anxious?”

“Well… yeah,” Painter admits as they begin to doodle a few 3D shapes on the empty canvas. A cube here, a pyramid there– truly anything to fill the white space and occupy them. “I mean, it’s just… things being quiet for too long feels weird. And, uh– … I like it when you talk, so…”

“Alright, alright,” Sebastian’s tone softens, “Lucky for you, I’m full of words. I could talk for hours if you really wanted me to.”

Painter slows their sketching. “Hehe, yeah… um, I guess it’s just nicer when there’s someone else with me.”

Sebastian shifts slightly, reaching his free arm around to pat Painter’s casing a few times. “Mm, I don’t mind it. Just make sure you don’t waste all of your battery talking, kid.”

“Make sure you don’t waste all of our time,” Painter teases, returning to MS Paint and continuing their shapes. 

“Heh, god forbid I stop moving for one second,” he replies with mock dramaticism.

“Are we almost there?” The computer asks, genuinely cheerful this time. They wouldn’t know; all they can see from their camera is whatever identical-to-every-other-room scenery is behind Sebastian.

“Shouldn’t be too far, now,” he hums. “We’re getting close to The Ridge.”

Suddenly, a familiar beeping echoes in the distance, followed by a series of rapid-fire pounds. Painter somehow gives a digital flinch, cursor jerking across the canvas.

Sebastian’s voice comes out apprehensive. “Are you still controlling the turrets?”

If Painter had a body, their heart would surely be dropping into their stomach right about now. Why are the turrets still active?

“No… I can only control them when I’m connected to the security system. And– and you watched me send the signal to shut them down.”

Once again, mechanical whirs and distant turret fire explode somewhere nearby. Sebastian huffs, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Well, looks like someone still wants to play.”

Quickly closing that doodle layer of their art program, Painter boots their webcam back up and loads their internal clock.

10:06:48

Thursday, October 16th, 2025

“Do you think we can deal with them in forty-three minutes?” They ask mischievously.

“I can do it in forty-two.”

With that, Sebastian slips back into motion, far faster than he had been going before. Painter jostles around roughly from the sudden movement. “Wait– WAAAITT!! Sebastiaan!! That’s too faaast– AAAH!!” 

“Better hold on tight,” he says calmly.

“I caaan’t!!” Painter squeaks, face shifting around the corners of their screen in panicked bounces. If it were possible to achieve a digital concussion, they sure would be getting one right about now. 

Sebastian glances back briefly, eyes narrowing in focus as he simultaneously scans the corridor behind him and checks on Painter. He tugs on the straps of their carrier to ensure they’re tightened securely. “You’re fine!”

“I’m not built for thiiisss!!!”

Through their rapidly wobbling webcam, Painter only catches glimpses of jagged shadows stretching across the walls, unidentifiable furniture, and whatever the hell else some of those colors are meant to be. “Can you at least slow down a little bit!?”

Sebastian doesn’t, but his motion stays consistently precise, sweeping the corners as if the chaos on his back doesn’t exist. “Just trust me!”

Finally, after just a few more twists and turns, a large door looms ahead, right at the end of the hallway. Sebastian finally slows– thank god– and allows Painter a chance to catch their breath (whatever that may mean).

“Gave you some exercise, huh?” He teases as he slithers closer to the door, a chuckle threatening to escape him.

Painter snaps sharply, “I can’t get exercise!”

This entrance to The Ridge– though not the main one– is ominous in size. It’s blank and featureless, completely unremarkable, other than the typical Blacksite door locks. After placing his packages to the side, Sebastian carefully slots his claws into the small seam of the gate’s doors and begins to pull.

The metal begins to rumble against his hands, which stay braced against the steel. But before he can make much progress, multiple metal clicks and whizzes roll through the hall. Three turret light beams settle upon them both with a series of beeps. Painter swears their wires run cold.

A monotone voice echoes out from the ceilings.

“No further movements.”