Chapter Text
The baby screamed like it knew.
Not hunger–not really. Not pain. It was the sound of something too new, too raw, dropped into a world that had already decided it didn’t want it.
The girl stood in the dorm hallway with shaking hands, knuckles white around a thin blanket. The fluorescent lights made everything uglier: the peeling paint, the scuffed floors, the baby’s skin. Too red. Angry red. Blotched and marked like someone had tried to erase him and failed. It sickened her; she was perfect but made such a sickening creature.
People stared. People stared through her pregnancy, people stared when she held the sickly looking thing in her hands.
She’d heard them whisper before he was even born. Wrong. Broken. Sick. She couldn’t afford doctors. She couldn’t afford the looks. She couldn’t afford the way he cried harder when she held him, like he knew she was afraid of him.
So she did the only thing she could live with.
She set him down.
Door 3B. Two names etched into the plate near the door, an extra
007n7 / Noli
“I’m sorry,” she whispered–to the baby, or maybe herself–and knocked once before running.
The crying echoed long after she was gone.
|⚘|
Noli was the one who opened the door.
They stared down at the bundle like it might explode.
“…007?” Noli’s voice went small. “There’s–there’s a baby.”
From inside the dorm room, 007n7 didn’t look up from his laptop. Code scrolled fast across the screen, red text bleeding over black.
“That’s a prank,” he said flatly. “Close the door.”
“It’s breathing.”
That got his attention.
007n7 stood, irritation sharpening every step, and looked down. The baby looked back–wide eyes, red-rimmed and glossy. His skin was warm through the blanket, flushed and patterned like something unfinished.
For a second–just one–007n7 froze.
Then his face hardened.
“No.”
Noli blinked. “No?”
“This is a dorm,” 007n7 snapped. “This is college. This is–” he gestured vaguely, “–illegal. It’s a liability. C’mon, man, you know what we do.”
The baby wailed louder, fists bunching.
Noli instinctively scooped him up.
“Hey–hey, it’s okay,” Noli murmured, rocking gently. The crying softened, not gone but quieter, like the baby was listening. “He’s scared.”
“That’s not our problem.”
Noli looked at 007n7 then, really looked. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” he said. “We’re already on thin ice. If they catch us doing anything, a single noise complaint from the crying of that thing–”
“Baby,” Noli’s grip tightened, correcting him.
007n7 glared, but continued, “We’re outta here. They won’t hesitate; we had to spend half our savings to keep them from snitching on us to the admins, dude. We don’t have the money, and frankly? The time to take care of a baby.”
“He didn’t choose this.”
007n7 turned away, huffing. “Neither did we.”
They argued in whispers that night. About cops. About social services. About whether the marks meant he was sick, cursed or dangerous. About the possibilities of admins being sent down, the dangers of a baby.
The baby fell asleep on Noli’s chest sometime past 3 a.m.
007n7 watched from across the room, jaw tight. Turmoil swirled in his mind.
“…If we do this,” he finally said, voice low and defeated, “it’s temporary.”
Noli didn’t smile.
But he didn’t argue.
|⚘|
They named him c00lkidd, after looking around the room and naming random objects. “Table– spoon– mirror–” “Dude, seriously? We are not naming a baby spoon.” “You try!” 007n7 grumbled, pulling up the c00lgui to search up baby names. When a thought lit up in his head. “How about c00lkidd?”
College became… different, to say the least.
As the quarters of the school passed, Noli stopped hacking entirely. Dropped out of illegal underground chats. Deleted scripts. Took extra shifts. Learned how to warm bottles in dorm-approved ways, making friends with the women next door. He learned which lullabies worked and which made c00lkidd cry harder.
007n7 pretended this didn’t affect him.
He still hacked.
Just quieter.
It became unbearable, like he was sitting through a class that wasn’t required. He felt limited, watching as the news programs announced the disappearance of famed hacker 007n7. It was like an itch. Due to Noli’s pleas, he stopped terrorising public spaces. Stuck to cyberbullying, tapping into email accounts, and blackmailing randoms.
But it grew. Email accounts turned into bank accounts, and soon he was siphoning tix and robux into their account. Blackmailing randoms turned into blackmailing and terrorising popular people. Noli hadn’t noticed until it was too late.
|⚘|
Noli came home one night, laughing as he bid 118o8 goodbye, fumbling with his keys to enter Seven’s and his shared door. c00lkidd cooed from where he was strapped onto Noli’s chest. Noli reached his free hand to pat him.
“Seven, I’m home!” he called, listening as his voice echoed back to him.
Maybe he was busy with schoolwork again.
He slung his bag down onto the floor near the door, removing his coat. c00lkidd started to mumble, sticking a little fist into his drooling mouth. Noli made his way to their room, opening the squeaky door.
Seven wasn’t anywhere to be seen. It struck a pang of fear in Noli’s gut when he looked around the dark room and saw a reddish screen illuminating part of the bed. “Shit,” he cursed, because he knew what that meant.
He pulled up his own version of the c00lgui, the purple border glitching slightly. c00lkidd squealed at the sudden panel appearing behind him, reaching out with a slobbery hand to try and touch it.
“Nah- no, not right now, kid.”
His panel glitched and smelled like staticky metal. The screen didn’t show any of the few scripts he had left, just showing text with a red outline.
5022y! c4n'7 137 y0u f0110w m3 m4n Xb
“Seven! Damnit– shit!” Noli cursed, brushing away the panel.
He turned on the cheap television, fumbling with the remote for the news channel. And just like Noli had guessed, he saw the stupid idiot he had raised a child with.
Seven stood cackling over a burning Builder Brother Pizza, face hidden by a black and red panel, a red XD displayed on the screen. His hands were clawed, skin fading to black at his wrists, and his tail and horns were sharper, more ‘terrifying’, according to 007n7.
In the background of the frame the news reporters had, Elliot, the poor soul who worked overtime there, kneeling, sobbing as he watched his father’s building burn down. Mia and his father are nowhere to be seen.
Noli cursed, running outside of the dorm building and grabbing the old bike he used in case the scripts didn’t work.
He steered with one hand, clutching a now-crying c00lkidd to his chest tightly.
The night air cut through him. Cold, sharp, unforgiving. Dorm lights blurred past as he pedaled harder than he ever had before, breath tearing from his chest in ragged pulls. The baby cried louder with every jolt of the bike, little fingers fisting into Noli’s shirt like he could anchor himself there.
“I know,” Noli whispered frantically. “I know, I’m sorry–just–just hold on.”
The sirens were already starting.
Red and blue lights fractured across the pavement ahead, reflected in storefront windows and wet asphalt. Builder Brother’s Pizza loomed at the end of the block like an open wound–fire licking up the sides of the building, smoke curling thick and black into the sky.
And there–standing dead-center in the chaos–was Seven.
He looked unreal.
The panels masking his face glitched violently, the red XD stuttering like a broken heartbeat. His posture was loose, almost lazy, like he hadn’t just crossed a line they’d been dancing around for months. Data static clung to him in the air, crawling over his limbs, warping the space around him.
Noli skidded to a stop.
“Seven!” he screamed, voice cracking as c00lkidd wailed in response. “Seven, stop–please–!”
Seven turned.
For a moment, the world stalled.
Even through the panel, Noli could feel him lock onto the sound–not the sirens, not the shouting, not the admins’ presence.
The baby.
Seven’s shoulders stiffened.
“…Noli?” His voice filtered through distortion, thinner than it should’ve been. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“What are you doing?” Noli cried. “You promised–! You said you were done with this!”
Seven scoffed, but it didn’t land right. “I kept it small. This is–this doesn’t count.”
Behind him, the air shifted.
Builderman, in all his might, descended like a verdict.
The banhammer manifested in his grasp, light condensing around it in sharp, unreadable runes. Telamon stood just behind him, jaw set, gaze flicking once–to Noli, to the baby, lingering a second too long.
“007n7,” Builderman said, voice carrying effortlessly over the fire and noise. “You are in violation of disciplinary probation. Strike three.”
Noli went cold.
“No,” he said immediately. “No, no–please, wait, he didn’t–this isn’t–”
Seven laughed.
It was sharp and ugly and wrong.
“Wow,” he said. “You kept tally, huh?”
The hammer lifted.
That was when Seven finally looked at Noli properly.
At the terror in his face.
At the way he was shielding the baby with his own body without even realizng it.
At c00lkidd–red skin, red marks, red-faced and screaming, alive because of choices Seven had called a liability.
For the first time that night, Seven’s voice dropped.
“…Shit.”
“Noli,” he said, fast now, urgent. “Listen to me–”
The hammer came down.
The sound wasn’t thunder.
It was static ripping flesh from code, light tearing through him in violent pulses. Seven screamed–actually screamed–as his form fractured, glitching uncontrollably. His panels shattered into shards of red light, limbs desynchronizing, data bleeding off him like smoke.
Noli collapsed to his knees.
“NO!” he sobbed. “PLEASE–HE HAS A BABY–!”
The hammer struck again.
Seven reached for him.
“Noli–” his voice broke, stripped of bravado, stripped of teeth. “I didn’t mean–”
The final blow erased him.
The air snapped back into place.
The fire still burned. Sirens still wailed. But where Seven had stood was nothing–no body, no data trace, no echo.
Just absence.
c00lkidd screamed until his voice went hoarse.
Noli didn’t remember falling forward, only the way his hands shook as he curled around the baby, pressing his face into the blanket to muffle a sound that might draw more eyes.
|⚘|
Builderman told himself he’d done the right thing.
He’d said it aloud once, in a closed admin channel, after the city finished smouldering and the cleanup scripts ran their course. It sounded correct when spoken in that flat, official register. Necessary. Procedural. Final.
Rules were rules. Tallies were tallies.
Still.
He found himself pausing over the incident report longer than required.
SUBJECT: 007n7
INFRACTION: Repeated violations, final strike
OUTCOME: Permanent ban
ASSOCIATED PARTY: Noli (Room 3B)
> UNREGISTERED DEPENDENT: Minor, designation c00lkidd
That line hadn’t been there before.
Builderman’s fingers hovered over the screen.
Unregistered dependent.
He remembered the way Noli had curled around the baby in the street, shielding him with his whole body like instinct alone could overwrite admin authority. Remembered the sound–not the screaming, but the after, when the baby’s cries broke down into hoarse little hiccups because there was no one left to scream at.
Builderman closed the report.
He didn’t think about it again that night.
But his mind had a way of making unfinished things surface.
|⚘|
Noli didn’t appeal the ban.
That surprised people.
He showed up to the mandatory reviews on time. Answered questions carefully. Never mentioned Seven unless directly asked–and even then, only in the past tense, like speaking his name too often might summon something worse than grief.
He took fewer classes. More shifts.
c00lkidd came with him everywhere he was allowed.
Builderman started seeing them in the periphery of daily logs. Not as violations–just as anomalies.
A request for housing extension was denied, then quietly overridden.
A medical clearance was approved faster than protocol allowed.
A noise complaint was logged and dismissed without review.
The baby was growing.
Not fast. Not slow. Just… stubbornly.
His skin stayed red, mottled in the same places, though the marks softened as he filled out. People still stared. Still whispered. Still used words like wrong when they thought Noli couldn’t hear.
Builderman noticed which complaints came from which residents.
He stopped approving their follow-ups.
|⚘|
The first time he spoke to Noli again wasn’t dramatic.
No sirens. No hammers.
Just an admin summons marked Routine Check-In.
Noli arrived with c00lkidd strapped to his chest, expression guarded and tired. He didn’t sit until told to.
Builderman gestured once, efficiently. “Y’can .”
Noli did, adjusting the baby automatically. c00lkidd blinked up at the ceiling lights, fascinated.
“This ain’t a disciplinary hearin’,” Builderman said. “Yer not in violation.”
Noli didn’t relax.
Builderman watched him anyway. The way he kept one hand on the baby’s back, thumb rubbing small circles like he was afraid stopping would make the world cave in.
“…Y’ve maintained compliance,” Builderman continued. “Under… difficult circumstances, I’d say.”
That made Noli look up.
Just for a second.
“I didn’t do it for you,” he said flatly.
Builderman inclined his head. “Noted.”
Silence followed.
Then, quietly: “Yer eligible for a dependent housin’ transfer.”
Noli froze.
“Y’weren’t before,” Builderman added, anticipating the question. “Circumstances have changed.”
Noli’s fingers tightened in the baby’s fabric.
“…Why?” he asked, suspicion threading the word.
Builderman didn’t answer immediately.
When he did, it wasn’t an excuse.
“Because the system yer operatin’ under wasn’t designed for this,” he said. “And continuin’ to force compliance’ll result in harm.”
Noli stared at him.
Builderman didn’t look away.
|⚘|
It didn’t turn him soft.
Builderman didn’t become gentle overnight. He didn’t apologise–not in the way Noli might’ve wanted, not in the way stories liked to frame redeption.
But he started adjusting variables.
Quieter housing.
Schedules that aligned with childcare.
A mmedical specialist quietly pulled from a different district–off-record, but thorough.
He never called himself anything to the child.
But c00lkidd learned his presence early.
Builderman visited rarely at first, always under the pretence of inspections. He didn’t hold the baby. Didn’t coo or smile.
He just… observed.
How c00lkidd tracked motion.
How he calmed faster when Noli spoke softly instead of rocking.
How he reached toward bright colours, especially red.
“How old’is he?” Builderman asked once.
“Eight months,” Noli rreplied.
“…He’s small.”
Noli stiffened. “He’s fine.”
“I didn’ say otherwise,” Builderman said.
But he logged it anyway.
|⚘|
The shift happened slowly.
Builderman found himself staying longer during visits. Sitting instead of standing. Removing his gloves when he entered the room.
The first time c00lkidd reached for him, it startled them both.
Builderman looked down at the tiny hand gripping his finger, red and warm and very real. It reminded him of someone.
He didn’t pull away.
Noli watched from across the room, breath caught.
“…He does that,” Noli said quietly. “With people he thinks are safe.”
Builderman swallowed.
“‘S that so.”
He let the kid hold on.
|⚘|
The word father was never used.
Neither was grandfather.
But Builderman began doing things that didn’t fit neatly into any administrative role.
He attended one of c00lkidd’s medical appointments personally and overrode a dismissive diagnosis with a single look.
He authorised off-campus excursions without logging them.
He stood between Noli and an angry administrator once and said, simply, “This matter’s closed.”
And once–only once–he said Seven’s name.
“He was… effective,” Builderman said quietly, watching c00lkidd nap in Noli’s arms. “And reckless.”
Noli didn’t respond.
Builderman nodded. “Both c’n be true.”
That was the closest he came to an apology.
|⚘|
Years later, c00lkidd would call him Man because he couldn’t say Builderman and refused to shorten it any further.
Builderman pretended not to hear it.
But he always answered.
And when the child asked, one day, “Where’s daddy?”–voice small, careful, already bracing–
Builderman didn’t lie.
“He made ‘is choices,” he said. “And I made one too.”
Noli squeezed his shoulder.
Builderman looked at them both–this weird, broken family built from rules bent just far enough not to snap–and thought, for the first time, that maybe justice wasn’t always about balance.
Sometimes it was about staying.