Chapter Text
3175110N.
That is his official designation; the series of inputs on a keyboard that the Labcoats back on Earth had to fill out when filing their reports. It’s rather an unwieldy thing to say though isn’t it? ‘Three-One-Seven-Five-One-One-Zero-N’ just doesn’t roll off the tongue very easily. Not that it mattered all that much when most of his instructions came from a robot instead of an organic. The speakers in the test chambers never had any issues running through long strings of numbers and letters, flawless machines that they were. But, as with most expies unfortunate enough to survive past incubation he also received a nick-name.
A title for his fellow test subjects to cherish and their enforcers to sneer. Usually the guards would pick something simple, identifiable, and demeaning. Twitchy, Feral, and Mutt were all relatively common pseudonyms, such that they were often preceded by the colour of their fur. In his time at the labs he had known many a “Brown-Mutt”, “Coal-Mutt” and even one particularly unlucky specimen to be dubbed “Yellow-Mutt”. That last one didn’t live long. In a twist of fate however, the chain of symbols that made up his serial number happened to be close enough to a human name already. Even luckier was the fact that a scientist smart enough to actually recognise the word had been present. Undoubtedly, if he had been left alone with the usual grunts upon his awakening he would have joined the army of ‘Mangey’s and been none wiser.
Instead, a bespectacled woman had looked down at the datapad in her hand where, presumably, his ID tag was listed and let out a small huff of amusement. The smile was gone by the time the scientist locked eyes with him and gave the order, “Epsilon, prepare for testing.”
Epsilon.
All in all it isn’t a bad name. It had almost made him feel special at first. Sure some of the slower expies had struggled with it initially but it was nice having something that made him stand out. It wasn’t until he was chipped and hurtling toward a planet that had made corpses of thousands before him that the dark humour behind that scientist’s cheshire grin was revealed. For it was with what limited access he had been given to the database embedded in his skull that he had been able to file a query as to just what his name meant.
‘Epsilon: an infinitesimally small positive quantity.’
What a perfect summation of his existence. The chances of him succeeding in the mission he had been bred for aren’t technically zero, after all. In theory, he could fight his way through the hunger and the pain; past the monsters and the traps that awaited him around every corner. If he was perfectly logical and impossibly lucky, there was the smallest sliver of a chance that he could reach the technology his creators had misplaced in the depths of the hellpit he’d been sent to.
But Epsilon wasn’t stupid enough to believe that any more. For he had already spent too much of his luck on getting a name that wasn’t ‘Shit-Mutt’. If he’d known that good fortune was such a precious commodity he’d have traded out his moniker in a heartbeat; anything to give him a higher chance of survival than an epsilon. It was too late for wishes now though, not when he’s already been irradiated after leaping down a pit he couldn’t climb out of.
And he had been doing so well up til that point too! No major fractures or injuries, mostly just bruising from a couple hard falls. Sure, he hadn’t managed to find or craft many tools to help him out, but he’d been wily and observant enough for that not to be a problem. All that mattered was reaching the payload after all. He just had to dig deep and dig fast so that the bomb in his skull didn’t go off. No use wasting valuable time over hypothetical dangers when the most imminent one was as everpresent as it was inescapable.
Fat lot of good that mindset was for him once he gambled on a jump that landed him in a cave full to the brim of toxic-rock.
By the time he had clawed his way out, Epsilon’s paws were battered and bleeding while his health chart helpfully informed him that his rad-levels were far above optimal. It was all he could do to stumble his way to an abandoned drop-pod before the rapid cell decay rendered him practically immobile.
Epsilon. Technically it could fulfill its function, but a single negative value was enough to send a success cascading into failure. Now, at the end of his life, it was at least something to hold onto. No matter the bitter irony, it was still his name. They couldn’t take that away from him.
Blood burbles in his lungs and he turns over onto his side. With heaving, agonising coughs, Epsilon expels what viscous liquid his weakened body could eject before flopping pathetically onto his back. It isn’t comfortable, nothing is comfortable anymore. Not with the radiation eating its way through his muscles and setting his nerves on fire. But, at least with his chest facing the ceiling what pressure that gravity exerts on his failing torso diffuses just a little bit more.
Not ‘painless’ but ‘less painful’. Somewhere in the failing parts of his brain a neuron fires, connecting his errant thoughts to the memory of an older Expie teaching him the difference between prefix and suffix.
They never let expies co-habitate for long, but for some reason Epsilon always remembered the one that taught him how to speak more than any of the other revolving teachers he had. Her voice had been soft - too delicate for the type of life that they led - and whenever he got an answer correct her paw would card gently through the fur on his head. She was gone before Epsilon could even learn to savour it and for the life of him he can’t remember her name. If he closes his eyes just right though, he can almost envision how it used to feel. The concept of one’s life flashing before their eyes has never felt more appealing to him.
A harsh blaring sound tears its way through Epsilon’s consciousness before he can slip any further into half-forgotten memories. It is with a frustrated snarl that he dismisses the warning his implant is so urgently trying to send. I already know I’m irradiated, you stupid fucking chip! The least you could do is let me die in peace.
Despite his protestations however the damage is already done. No longer is he anywhere close to falling unconscious; not while there’s an AI embedded into his skull that will do anything to scrape out another minute of life from him. Instead, all Epsilon can do is stare blankly to the side, keeping a fruitless watch over his surroundings. It’s pointless. Epsilon knows it's pointless. Even if he does spot a predator on the prowl, there wouldn’t be anything he could do to fend it off, not anymore. If nothing else though it is something to do and so he keeps vigil over the darkness that waits just outside the lifepod’s doorway.
It is on this rubber death-bed, breaths wheezing out of his chest that he spots it. If he hadn’t been so desperately in search of distraction from his own approaching demise he almost certainly would have missed it. A pair of white eyes glow in the distance, fixed unerringly on himself.
“Who-” The word is cut off as Epsilon’s throat catches on air. A round of shaking splutters forces the expie’s eyes shut as a shot of pain causes him to curl defensively into his chest. By the time the spasm ends he’s lost sight of his stalker. Twisting his head back and forth as much as he is able, no matter where he looks it appears as though he is alone once more. If it weren’t for the fur on the back of his neck rising, Epsilon would almost believe it.
Once he’s regained what little breath he can, Epsilon tries again. “Who’s there? I know you’re still around somewhere.”
At first there is only silence. Then, like a stealth field running out of power, a obsidian furred creature unveils itself. The shock is enough to send a spike of adrenaline through Epsilon’s veins and he rolls onto his feet on instinct. With teeth bared and claws unsheathed, he presents the image of a threat convincingly enough for the rodent-like alien to flinch back in terror. Moments later however, his body’s natural stimulant fails and Epsilon collapses muzzle-first onto the ground again. The impact forces out a whine from his abdomen as an ache flares through him somehow even sharper than before.
From his vantage point on the floor, Epsilon can see through squinted eyes how the creature transitions from the coil of a prey animal about to flee to the tentative curiosity of a young beast. His bio-chip helpfully informs him that the entity is wholly unknown to The Company and that further examination is required. While there is no historical data for his company mandated AI to pull from, at the very least it can provide an analysis in real-time given sufficient exposure.
Not that I’ll be alive long enough to make use of it. Epsilon thinks grimly but all the same he keeps his bleary vision focused on the animal as it tentatively approaches him. Even if it won’t do him any good, maybe it’ll be helpful to any of the poor sods that might come after him.
Its stature is hunched and although it’s standing on its hind paws there is little doubt that it could run on all fours if it needed to. Nose raised to the air, its snout twitches before it takes several slow half-steps towards him. Small grasping paws inevitably find their way to what it's already scented. Rifling through his foliage bag, it makes quick work opening the packet of chips Epsilon had been saving for dinner before ending up in such a wretched state.
“Yeah sure, just help yourself to my hard earned food, why don’t you?” Epsilon mutters weakly, but even as he complains he knows it doesn’t really matter. He was too sick to eat them before and he’s not going to recover enough to eat them later. They might as well feed someone. Better his snack goes to an alien that isn’t overtly hostile than one of the myriad of threats that’d happily bite down on him.
Tilting its head to the side, the rodent pauses almost as if it understands him before chittering animalistically. Were the circumstances not so dire the sight would almost be cute.
“You got any anti-rads? Maybe a chest pump? You know, it's rude to steal from a friend without giving them something else in return.” Epsilon chides absentmindedly. His idle musings draw the obsidian furred creature’s attention yet again and one of the little ears on its head angles itself horizontally. Hunching over, the rodent bobs its head back and forth a couple of times before vomiting onto its own hand. While it disgusts Epsilon, the creature looks unbothered by the momentary sickness it has been afflicted with. Standing upright again, it presents a slimy, saliva coated paw for Epsilon’s inspection. The smell alone makes his snout wrinkle but within its grasp he can now spot the strangely smooth ball the creature is showing off. The spherical object would almost be pretty if he didn’t know exactly where it had been stored mere seconds ago.
“Uh thanks for the offer, but you can keep it.” Epsilon declines. The creature shrugs before sticking the shiny rock back into its mouth and swallowing. Gross.
With a beep audible only to his brain, Epsilon’s bio-chip informs him that a rudimentary analysis is available. Still keeping an eye on the creature steadily making its way through his rations, he gives a mental affirmative to accept the report. Transparent green words overlay his field of view.
Temporary Designation (pending administrative approval): Slugcat.
Threat Assessment: Class B (Benign). Natural Defenses limited:
- Dental structure implies omnivorous diet. Canines present but underdeveloped. Jaw strength insufficient for regular consumption of mammalian tissue. Preferred food source likely insect or fruit based.
- Claws: small, good for breaking carapaces, bad for perforating fur.
- Opposable thumbs: Tool usage possible. If armed proceed with caution
Nutrient assessment: Insufficient data available. Trace amounts of genetic splicing detected. Consumption is not advised until a toxicity report can be compiled.
Not the most useful dossier but better than nothing I guess. Most of the information he probably could have figured out on his own but at least he now has a name for the thing. Probably also good to have confirmation that it isn’t a predator too.
In retrospect it had been foolish to assume it was harmless. Just because something is smaller than him doesn’t mean it can’t hurt; he’d seen more than enough dead expies already to prove that. But to be fair, it had been a while since he’d seen something mammalian like himself. Maybe that was all it took to get his guard down. Or maybe the radiation had fried his brain more than he thought. Not like it matters, he’s dead either way. At the very least, it’ll be nice to die with some company, weird alien or no.
Seeing no reason not, Epsilon lets his drooping eyelids close in the hopes that his bio-chip will actually let him rest. His internal machinery isn’t what prevents his descent into unconsciousness this time though. Instead, it is the staccato tap of carapace lined legs steadily increasing in volume. Understanding dawns on him in the time it takes for the sound to register. Fear swells, but as his eyes shoot open he can see that his erstwhile companion is none the wiser, far too distracted by looping the strap of his foliage backpack over its shoulders.
“Run!” Epsilon growls out with as much urgency as he can muster from his parched throat. The slugcat looks at him in surprise and drops the bag but it is clear that his warning isn’t registering. Pushing his shaky arms underneath him, Epsilon staggers to his feet waving his arms in an attempt to scare it off. “Go on, scram!”
By whatever mechanism it is able, the slugcat camouflages itself once again, only its eyes remaining visible, twin stars in the dark. Rather than fleeing wholesale, for some reason it only moves to the outer edge of the lifepod before looking back at him hesitantly. The burst of strength Epsilon had used to stand up is failing him already and he catches himself on the doorway before sliding down the wall. A tugging sensation pulls on his arm but there is not enough strength within it to move him. The clockwork pattern of footsteps has only gotten louder and Epsilon can no longer resist glimpsing at their impending doom.
Eight amber spotlights are the first thing he can see but all too quickly the rest of the monster is illuminated. At this distance the ground shakes with its every movement, its size alone enough to send tremors through the earth. By the time it gets close enough for the drop-pod's single lightbulb to illuminate it, his heart is almost beating out of his chest, unable to look away from the jagged blades extending from its maw.
The monstrosity is looming over them both and all Epsilon can do is hope that when it snaps its twitching, drooling mandibles over his vulnerable flesh that it bites something fatal. In the second before it lunges however several things happen that the expie cannot fully comprehend.
Firstly, the shy little slugcat launches the flimsy, makeshift, knife he’d made right into one of the elder thornback's fragile eyes. The wound is not enough to stop it - no matter the precision of the strike the green behemoth is too large for such a small weapon ever to truly damage it - but the pain of losing an eye does cause it to falter.
Secondly, in the brief window of time that the thornback takes to scream, blood dripping from its ruptured eye socket bubbling with a corrosive hiss, Epsilon feels his body lifted off the ground. The arms holding him are not suited to the task and even through his thick pelt of fur he can feel how they tremble with the weight they’re being forced to support. Carrying him will obviously slow the slugcat down but for some reason it has chosen to do so.
Selfishly, Epsilon cannot help but feel grateful for this stranger’s attempt to save his life despite the fact that he knows it will only kill them both. From over the slugcat’s shoulder he can see that the monster is already recovering, its remaining eyes focusing upon them with newfound hateful intensity. Were he more heroic, more depressed, more anything other than actively dying, he might have tried to fling himself free to buy his saviour time to escape, but all he can do is stare as their murderer approaches.
In the moment that the thornback begins closing the meager gap between them however, the third thing happens. A blue haze ripples out from behind him in shifting concentric circles until everything around him is coated in shades of azure. The air turns to molasses and all movement within the strange phenomena Epsilon finds himself slows.
Abruptly, the slugcat along with the Expie held in its grasp are lifted free from gravity’s hold. The aimless floating sensation lasts only seconds before they are spun clockwise around a fixed point in midair. It should be impossible. Epsilon is no scientist but this is not how physics should work. Wormholes don’t simply appear out of thin air. In spite of his own disbelief however, the gravitational anomaly continues to develop unimpeded. Swiftly the spinning accelerates and Epsilon feels himself become stretched by the building centrifugal force that pulls at his body. Just when it feels like his limbs are about to come undone his hind paws dip past a barrier he didn’t know existed. The rest of his body soon follows as reality folds around him.
The instant Epsilon slips through the portal he is bombarded by a kaleidoscope of colours incomprehensible to his mind. The brittle cones that reside along the interior of his eyeballs are not equipped to parse that which exists between dimensions. He can feel the bio-chip sparking at the base of his neck as it too tries to process data that cannot - should not - exist. His health chart appears in front of him, unprompted, flashing neon red errors across the whole of his vision. For once his instincts and cybernetics are in perfect synchronicity and Epsilon scrunches his eyelids shut tight enough to hurt.
It does little to help. Whatever is emitting that light does not care if it can be observed. The energy that floods through whatever realm they’ve been pulled to still batters him from all sides. His every cell shudders and shakes as though he is being disassembled and reassembled from second to second. The sensation is unfathomable and the only thing he can think to do is grab onto the slugcat’s fur. It is somewhat slick and far less pleasant then hugging another expie but it is warm and real where everything else is not.
Eventually the discombobulating ride comes to an end and Epsilon can feel some semblance of normal gravity re-assert itself upon him. There is no gentle landing pad set out for their arrival, however, and moments after they are spat out from that place between dimensions he can feel the rush of wind signifying a fall. It is only thanks to his thick charcoal fur that the impact is mildly uncomfortable instead of actively harmful. Hard won experience allows Epsilon to hit the ground in a roll without even thinking about it. Eventually he runs out of momentum and lies still, groaning as the world continues to spin despite his own lack of movement. His abdominal muscles tense as the slugcat he had been holding onto squirms out of his arms and pushes a hind paw into his stomach to scramble off.
On instinct Epsilon brings up his health panel to assess the damage. Aside from rampant nausea and body-wide musculature damage nothing looks too out of place. All his organs are where they’re supposed to be and working well enough. Or at least as well as they were before getting pulled through that portal. Taking a deep breath, Epsilon cannot help but exhale a laugh. He may be a dead expie walking but he doubts any of the stupid Labcoats on Earth have ever seen something like that.
Wait a moment. Inhaling again, Epsilon focuses on his chest as air flows in and out without struggle. Just to ensure it wasn’t a fluke, he does it again. And again. And again until he is almost hyperventilating. No matter how fast he breaths however there doesn’t appear to be anything blocking his lungs. Nor his trachea or his bronchi or even his fallible little alveoli.
Pulling up his self diagnostic yet again, Epsilon pays closer attention compared to the cursory once over he’d given it before. Yes, his muscles are still atrophied. Yes, he’s still wildly hungry and dehydrated. Yes, his blood cell count is frightfully low. But, more important than any of that is the fact that the little symbol denoting his radiation level is sitting at a safe, green zero.
“I- I’m fine.” Epsilon whispers. The shock fades and he starts to giggle, with just a hint of manic disbelief.
Whatever mode of transportation he had been subjected to obviously had some side effects. While it didn’t fix everything that was wrong with him it seemed to have expelled the worst of the hazardous material that had built up inside him. Endorphins overflow his system at the joy he suddenly feels. Sitting up, Epsilon just stares down at his paws with newfound wonder at the miracle he has been afforded. Flexing each individual digit on his paws, he watches transfixed as pinkie, middle, pointer, and thumb curl then unfurl. It is such a simple motion but the fact that he can do so, will continue to be able to do so, is enough to set his tail wagging.
I’m alive. I was dying but now I’m not. How wonderful, that he has been given a second chance. A last stand. How terrifying, that there was a very real possibility he could have lost it all. It is in the harrowing understanding of both the life he still has and how fragile it truly is that Epsilon cannot help but spiral. Oh god. That was really it though wasn’t it. I was fucked beyond measure and would have choked on my own blood- would have been torn in half by that thornback- would have been dead in a hole on my own in the dark.
Alone in the dark.
ALONE IN THE DARK!
His laughter quickly transitions into howls as tears of relief stream down his face. Before his hysteric breakdown can truly get underway however, a tentative paw rests itself on his shoulder and interrupts him. Years of instilled terror cause him to flinch at an unexpected touch during such a moment of unfiltered vulnerability. His maw clicks shut and his tears dry but instead of a hand raised to strike, all he sees is a pair of worried white eyes.
With a small sniffle he swipes an arm across his face to clean up that pitiful display and warbles, “Haha, sorry you had to see that little guy.”
The slugcat just stares but something in his words causes it to furrow its brows. Unable to resist the urge, Epsilon lifts a paw to ruffle the fur atop its head. The distraction works and the slugcat bats away at the unwanted affection, its concern forgotten. Deciding to give his new friend some peace, Epsilon turns his attention towards his surroundings. To his utter lack of surprise, he recognises nothing.
Towering spires of grey jut out of the ground in every direction. Although similar in colour to the stone found in the Gravel Lands, the decaying pillars around him lack the slopes and curves of a naturally formed cave. Instead, every platform ends in sharp clear-cut angles as though carved by giants. In a way, it almost reminds him of the labs except on a far, far, larger scale.
“Where the hell are we?” Epsilon wonders aloud. Before the slugcat can answer or expie investigate, a much more pressing matter is brought to his attention. In the rush of escape and the shock that followed it had gone unnoticed but given a moment of relative peace his body refuses to be ignored.
Leaning over to the side, Epsilon pukes.