Work Text:
There was always a light at the end of the tunnel.
And for a reason he knew but could never name, his flicked and buzzed, iridescent as if the battery were running out.
He was no stranger to the dark. But alas, when one finds that much coveted flame the cold can feel so desolate. He hated the cold. More than he despised the cold he despised the feigning of heat before having it snuffed away amidst an uncontrollable force. Always uncontrollable, because seldom if at all did he let something malleable in his hands slip away.
He knew he was going to die.
It was less of a revelation, more of a means to an end. He thought, as everything should be eventually.
He didn't want to die, he had simply inferred that if he were to, it’d have to be on his own grounds. And that if Bad shared a virtue of his, who better to pull the trigger. The line had begun to blur on who held the gun and who called the shots. Did it matter? For the end would still remain.
He held a strong belief that everyone had a purpose. Some less than others but nonetheless a vessel. This belief did of course, apply to himself and perhaps himself the most. If you inhabited a body as complex and profound as the human one, Lukey failed to see at which point one should cease to use it.
His purpose was one as fading and flickering as the tunnel light. He found himself betwixt two streams, cross with which he should follow.
Everything had to come to an end eventually, no story could begin without another reaching the crux. He knew that. It was selfish of him to wonder otherwise, if he could tell the story a moment longer. If he could stay beneath the stage light and let the warmth linger.
But the cast continued to dwindle, and this story was not yet over. His purpose, as a vessel, was to ensure the story could end. The consequences of which were his to face after the final act.
He and Bad would dance around the lab in shared rapport, a joint venture towards a story they once shared a page on. They would once more when the arrow was drawn.
Lukey wondered if the corruption he could feel radiating off of Bad like a heater born within was merely a fabrication of his mind–some sort of justification–or a result of the sculk he surrounded himself with. Needless to say, nothing felt normal inside of the lab.
Despite that, the scene carried with it a certain enmity. The source of which lost considering there was plenty to go around. But the world seemed to pause when you knew you were going to die. You knew not when but held the heavy weight of soon and even if it was something you knew you wanted the fear never stopped aching.
The fear, yes, that's what it was. That’s what caused his hands to shake on the crafting table. An act he could feel the burn of Bad’s eyes on. Fear was easier to blame. But he was–unfortunately–too self aware to not notice the things that made his throat sting.
Even with Pangi’s presence alongside their own it might as well have been him alone with a lethal weapon laid out in front of him. He wasn't suicidal, but part of him wondered if suicide was also this frightening. If when the gun hit the roof of someone's mouth did they feel the same tremble he did as Bad towered over him like the branch of a willow.
How comforting such a thing would have been just a short while ago. A weapon that would have never truly been pointed in his direction now he had in the loose grip of his hands. He had always known the detrimental effects he had inflicted upon the ecosystem of the world with his fall here. He knew little of the world before and yet everyone found it vital he knew just how much he left in ruin.
It didn't bother him, not until now. Would Bad be this way had he never come? Pili would have no incentive, would anyone?
The thought was distasteful but he couldn't shake the image of an entirely corrupted Pangi working with the person he knew now as an acquaintance to keep at arms length. He was selfish for being revolted by that. Their relationship wasn't his to ascertain. And yet, Pili’s perusal with him remained.
He didn't want to give all the credit to Pili, besides, Bad was the one carrying the bow and he was the one who would ultimately let it breach, but his involvement was so deliberate Lukey was honestly appalled that something like this hadn't happened sooner.
Lukey smiled to himself, himself and Pili were similar in that way. Always making the most efficient use of his surroundings. He had been outplayed, and now he had captured the pawn that threatened his demise. A kicked dog bit the hardest afterall. But then again, what did Pili know of dogs?
When Bad asked to repair his armor he almost refused, instincts beat into him by his much revered Pangi immediately made the act seem unforgivable. But it soon occurred ignorance was a relatively full proof excuse to fall into. Pangi wouldn’t understand his goal, in a way, he felt like no one would, but he could spin the web into something easily digestible and that was more than enough.
Digestible, what a hoax. Nothing in the place was digestible.
Lukey didn't know the extent of the effect his actions would have on Pangi. But he was betting on a dog with a mean streak and a fondness for him. Life was no good without risk, if this could be called that. He continued to tell himself he was the vessel being used here to further a purpose far grander than himself. But in reality, it relied so heavily upon the actions of others when the rope was eventually cut and when it was he would not be there, he would reap the fruits of the aftermath, whatever it was.
This was something he had to do.
His armor slipped off. He put the boots in a chest, a sentimental item he’d rather not risk ending up in someone else's inventory. He could hear the sounds of the elevator but his heartbeat was louder.
If he didn't, who would?
He watched as Bad levied the crossbow. The sound of it loading was so familiar his heart lurched as if it were too an arrow. He could hear Pangi’s voice. He wanted to apologize to him. Not just for this, but for how he felt. The isolation wasn't anyone's fault, he couldn't keep anyone here, he wouldn't want to, and yet it was still so cold.
Lukey really hated the cold.