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The first thing Multi noticed wasn’t his voice.
It was the message on his radar.
In his cameras, a familiar silhouette appeared near the waystone, weaving an erratic path toward the laboratory. He frowned at the screen. The small mam lurched left, stopped entirely for several seconds, then continued forward before veering sharply into one of the concrete walls surrounding the decontamination entrance.
Then it nearly stopped moving again.
Multi abandoned the blueprint spread across his desk.
Nacho’s room could wait another night. He’d spent the last few hours making insignificant adjustments anyway, moving furniture by half a block and debating where another lantern should go. None of it felt particularly urgent right now.
The radar announcement appeared once again.
By the time Multi reached the entrance, he’d silently counted three near-falls.
The heavy doors opened.
“Hii Multii!” The greeting echoed through the laboratory before Quackity himself stumbled inside.
“…Wow.”
The word escaped Multi before he could stop it the second he saw him face to face.
Quackity’s shirt had somehow become half untucked. One sleeve was rolled neatly to his forearm while the other remained buttoned at the wrist, as though he’d changed his mind halfway through. His wavy hair looked windblown, sticking out in every direction like he’d spent the evening repeatedly dragging his hands through them, covering parts of his face.
And perched proudly atop all of it, a cowboy hat. Crooked.
He leaned heavily against the wall to steady himself, blinking at Multi with glassy eyes that somehow still carried that impossible spark of mischief.
“Thank you!”
Multi chose not to question what exactly Quackity believed he’d complimented. Judging by the grin spreading across his face, whatever interpretation he’d come up with seemed to have made his night. Sometimes it’s better just to let it slide.
“Sorry it’s so late,” Quackity continued, words slurring together around an obvious amount of alcohol. “Are you up to something?”
“Not right now.”
It wasn’t even a lie.
The moment he’d heard Quackity’s voice drifting through the decontamination chamber, every remaining thought of work had quietly left his mind.
The reports from his workers could wait until morning. The reactor diagnostics weren’t going anywhere, nor was the footage he regularly checked.
Nacho’s room had already been unfinished for days. One more night wouldn’t make a difference, the main stuff was done already.
Quackity had come to see him.
That, somehow, felt infinitely more important.
He could've gone anywhere on the island. Instead, he had come here.
The answer earned him a devilish smile from the avian.
Quackity triumphantly presented two bottles from behind his back as though unveiling the night’s greatest accomplishment. One was nearly empty vodka. The other, an unopened beer.
“Join me!”
Multi stepped aside without protest, letting him once again.
Quackity wandered into the laboratory like he already belonged there, boots dragging lazily against the floor. The reactor filled the room with its steady mechanical thumps, soft emerald light washing over the walls in slow pulses. Quackity made himself comfortable against its base without asking, dropping on it using it as a chair with far less grace.
The beer hissed open beneath practiced fingers.
He held the vodka toward Multi.
“Don’t the Polish drink this as if it is water?” A crooked smile tugged at his lips. “Show me.”
Their fingers brushed as Multi accepted the bottle.
The glass was pleasantly cool against his palm.
Without ceremony, Multi drank it. The vodka disappeared in one smooth swallow. It had been a long time since he has had any alcohol. Long before the island, probably.
The burn never came. His expression hardly changed as he lowered the empty bottle.
Across from him, Quackity’s eyebrows climbed nearly into his hairline.
“…Holy shit.” His grin only widened. “I knew it.”
Multi set the bottle beside the reactor.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The reactor hummed steadily behind them, filling the silence before it could become uncomfortable. Green light rolled across Quackity’s face every few seconds, catching in the dark of his eyes whenever he looked over, making them look green.
Multi found himself looking back more often than he probably should.
He hadn’t realized how long it’d been until now.
The last time they’d actually spent time together had been the wedding.
Since then...
Nothing.
Nothing except absurd secondhand stories delivered by his own CNE worker.
Ridiculous, really. His own worker had somehow seen Quackity more recently than Multi had, took him pictures and adventured with him. The realization irritated him more than he’d like to admit.
It’s really been too long.
He cleared his throat. “We need to talk.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Quackity wrinkled his nose.
“Oh, c’mon…” he groaned dramatically, taking another sip from his beer. “What about?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you this for weeks.” Multi starts, trying to gather the correct words. There won’t be a better time if they keep meeting every once in a blue moon.
Then he notices. Something shifted, subtle enough that Multi almost missed it.
Quackity stopped fidgeting. His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the neck of the bottle.
“…Yeah?” Gone was the exaggerated confidence. Gone was the teasing smile. His voice came out softer now, higher. Almost careful. “What is it?”
His knees drew together, one leg tucked behind the other.
He glanced toward Multi, then quickly looked away again, only to steal another glance a second later. The corner of his mouth twitched into something unexpectedly shy.
Hope looked strangely delicate on Quackity.
Like something he’d only allowed himself to hold because he’d already had too much to drink.
Multi frowned. He’d expected annoyance. Maybe curiosity.
Not... Whatever this was. Quackity seemed to be expecting some sort of confession Multi can’t even fully fathom.
He should wait. He knew he should.
Tonight was a terrible time to tell him, in this drunken state.
But every time he’d tried over the past weeks, something interrupted them. A meeting. A mission. Another emergency. They were running out of moments that belonged only to them.
And if Multi was going to continue any deeper with the Federation…
Quackity deserved to hear it from him.
Not from someone else.
Not after everything.
He took a slow breath.
“I’m working with the Federation.” He doesn’t soften it. The sentence leaves him as plainly as any other observation, steady and unflinching, his eyes fixed on Quackity’s.
Silence, for what it feels like forever. Only then does he understand why normal humans hesitate before speaking.
It wasn’t the words that unsettled Multi.
It was watching them land.
The reaction doesn’t come immediately, for a heartbeat, Quackity simply stares.
Then, little by little, the warmth drains from his expression.
The shy smile disappeared first.
The drunken haze lingering in his eyes clears with alarming speed, pupils sharpening until the green glow of the reactor no longer reflects in them. His lips part, but no words come. It’s as though the confession wedges itself somewhere inside his throat before he can force out a response.
For one awful second, Multi wondered if Quackity had simply stopped understanding the language.
The hopeful softness vanished beneath something hollow.
Not confusion.
Not disappointment.
Betrayal.
A chill crawled up Multi’s spine. A faint ringing begins behind his ears. Disgust dripping out of him, impossible to conceal.
He’d never seen someone look at him like that. Not to this extent.
Certainly not Quackity.
“I was going to tell you—” He tries to save it, to avoid misunderstandings. The words come out more desperate than intended, more guilty than he wants it to.
“What?” The avian’s voice sounded wrong. Thin and strained.
The younger jerked to his feet so abruptly the beer slipped from his hands. Glass exploded across the laboratory floor, making a mess.
Quackity didn’t even seem to notice.
His eyes darted wildly around the room. The drunken sway is gone. He’s looking for something.
Searching. For exits. For somewhere to run.
“Wait.” Multi tries once again.
He’d found the decontamination doors.
The disgust remains, but something much sharper settles over it.
For the first time since entering the laboratory, he looked afraid. Terrified even.
His fear is raw enough that Multi instinctively takes a single step forward. To calm him.
Quackity recoils.
Steel sings as his sword leaves its sheath.
Everything inside Multi goes strangely quiet.
His mind continues cataloguing information: the blade, Quackity’s stance, the distance between them. The conclusions blur beneath the relentless ringing filling his head.
If he still possessed a heartbeat, he imagines it would be deafening.
Instead, only the sound in his ears remains. He feels like he’s going crazy. But the view in front of him reminds him there are more important matters at hand.
“Wait.” The scientist immediately steps back, both hands rise into the air. “Let me explain.”
Quackity has folded into himself. His back presses against the humming reactor as though he’d rather melt into the metal than allow Multi another step closer. Still checking his surroundings frantically.
“Please.” He begs.
The word finally reaches his partner.
Quackity looks up.
His grip tightens around the sword, though the weapon trembles almost imperceptibly.
“I’m not a part of them. Not officially. They’re interested in my research. I’m interested in their power.”
Multi lowers his hands slowly, making each movement deliberate enough not to startle him. He has handled frightened animals before, normal humans should be similar. Avian types, too, always watched the hands first.
“Why are you working with them?” The venom in Quackity’s voice almost hides the exhaustion beneath it. His body looks tense, and his wings look rigid as stone.
“To be a God—“
“Are you stupid?” The interruption comes so quickly it almost startles him. Quackity lets out a sharp breath, his fingers finally slipping from the sword’s hilt, finally letting out some stress. “They will never see you as an equal.”
Each sentence grows more frantic.
“You’re probably being used by them.”
“I did it for—”
“Did you give them something?” The question is almost casual. Almost.
Multi hesitates.
Only for a second.
It is enough for Quackity to guess the answer.
“Oh my God.” Quackity buries his face in both hands with a groan that sounds almost painful.
His fingers disappear into his already-disheveled hair, pushing the cowboy hat clean off his head. It lands beside the shattered bottle with a dull thud. He seems more relaxed, but still annoyed.
Multi doesn’t answer.
He waits.
He has learned that Quackity always fills silence eventually.
This time, though, the silence stretches long enough that he begins wondering whether he has finally found the exception.
When Quackity finally looks back up, there is something almost pleading in his expression.
As though, somehow, Multi can still say the one thing that will make everything alright.
He cannot.
So he says nothing.
“Okay. Just… God. It’s my fault too I guess. I should’ve warned you. I knew you were insane, after all.” Adrenaline seems to be gone, allowing Multi to get closer without him getting scared.
Multi raises an eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me like that, you are. I’m not saying I don’t like it.” The last sentence dissolves into drunken slurring.
Multi blinks.
Alcohol lowers inhibition, it does not make up thoughts.
The observation remains filed away before he can decide why it feels important. Multi decided he would have to revisit that statement later, preferably when Quackity remembered saying it.
“Is there something they did to you to hate them this much?” Carefully, the scientist asks. The question stills Quackity almost immediately.
His shoulders draw inward again, the brief spark of irritation fades into something quieter. He kneels beside his bag, fumbling for several seconds before producing a small Ender chest.
From inside, he retrieves two photographs.
He doesn’t look at them before handing them over.
“This is where they took me. That time I kept dying to lava. Cucurucho left me in a sky island where I had no blocks to move around. I tried to jump to the void, but I kept appearing up. Alone.”
The pictures are worn around the edges.
“I’m sorry.” The apology escapes before he has time to evaluate whether it is appropriate. Even so, Quackity accepted it with a faint nod, his eyes never leaving the floor.
He simply stares somewhere beyond the photographs, as though he is no longer inside the reactor at all.
Multi lowers himself beside him. Not too close, just close enough that conversation doesn’t require raised voices.
Silence settles between them again.
Eventually, almost without thinking, Multi lets one hand rest on the floor between them. Near enough that Quackity would only have to move his fingers to touch him. Far enough that the choice remains entirely his.
He had suspected the Federation for a long time.
He had simply chosen not to believe it.
Pepino worked for them. It never made sense that they would imprison one of their own, so he’d forced himself to bury the suspicion whenever it surfaced. Trusting his own instincts had seemed harder than believing blindly there had to be another explanation.
Now he wondered if ignoring that feeling had only made him complicit.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the unbearable weight of the silence stretching between them.
Whatever it was, Quackity spoke again.
“It’s not just that…”
His hand shifted away before Multi could even think of reaching for it. The movement wasn’t fearful. It was more like shame.
His fingers twitched restlessly in his lap, nails scraping against his skin as if he needed something tangible to anchor himself.
“On the first island, I was kidnapped. It happened after a wedding, no one really liked me back then.” He let out a humorless huff of laughter. “I can’t really blame them. I was jealous of how much fun everyone was having while I felt completely lost. After following Cucurucho, under false promises, he took me to a place…”
His voice faded.
His shoulders stiffened, every muscle locking into place.
He stared somewhere far beyond the room, deliberately away from Multi, as though looking at him would force him to relive it more vividly.
Multi swallowed, feeling a bit nauseous.
Every sentence landed heavier than the last.
Quackity had always seemed impossible to silence. Loud, animated, constantly moving. Hearing him speak like this, quiet enough that every word felt dragged out of him, made something tighten painfully inside Multi’s chest.
“I tried to escape. I really tried to.” His fingers curled tighter. “But the blocks kept disappearing every time I placed them.” His voice cracked.
He inhaled sharply, trying to disguise the sob that escaped him as nothing more than a shaky breath.
“I tried to scream, but because my head was underwater I just choked and—”
The sentence broke apart.
For several long seconds, all Multi could hear was Quackity trying to steady his breathing quietly. Finally, taking a deep breath.
Then, almost startlingly calm, he continued.
“No one looked for me.” There wasn’t any bitterness in his voice. “So I think they just kept me for a month… and let me out once they decided I wasn’t useful anymore.”
His thumb rubbed absentmindedly against his fingertips.
“Back then I didn’t even know how long I’d been gone.” He laughed once, sounding small and empty. “I didn’t really remember anything. I don’t know how they did it, but I forgot how to read and write.” His eyes stayed fixed on his hands.
“I forgot everyone.”
Another pause.
“I forgot everything I knew about the island.”
The room felt unbearably quiet.
Multi had no words left.
Every question he wanted to ask suddenly felt selfish.
Instead, he watched Quackity continue rubbing his fingertips together, over and over, as though he were trying to remember the feeling of holding onto something that had long since slipped away.
Without thinking, Multi moved his own hand forward, the last few inches separating them.
He didn’t take Quackity’s hand, he simply let the back of his fingers rest against his.
It was barely a touch, just showing his presence. So light it could’ve been accidental.
He expected Quackity to pull away.
He didn’t.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The quiet no longer felt uncomfortable.
It simply lingered between them, filled only by the reactor’s distant hum and Quackity’s uneven breathing.
Then, almost absentmindedly, Quackity broke it.
“Have you seen Nacho around? The egg that was staying in the concert stage?”
Multi blinked.
He hadn’t told him about Nacho, about the fact that he’d begun thinking of him as his own.
The realization sat heavily in his chest.
“I’m sure you heard about this, but many of us used to have eggs.” Quackity’s gaze remained fixed on the floor. His expression softened into something painfully distant.
“At first, it was a competition. We had to take care of them until their dragon mother came back. If you forgot about taking care of them, they’d lose a life.” He explains.
A chill crept through Multi’s body.
He had never seen Nacho die. Never watched him respawn.
The thought had never seemed strange before. Now it did.
“For some reason, I didn’t have a pair. Everyone else went with their eggs to do their tasks and build their homes, but I was all alone.” His smile was small, self-deprecating “I was really jealous, so I didn’t really take care of my daughter, I just kept looking for a pair. She lost a life because of my negligence… so I let Roier take care of her.”
Multi found himself wondering if everyone had once looked at their eggs the way Quackity spoke about his. Like they had become the center of their world before anyone noticed.
His thoughts drifted to Nacho. To the way he insisted on following him, the tiny gifts he’d leave behind, the admiration he showed him.
The realization settled over him with quiet horror. He was becoming too attached, far more attached than he had ever intended.
“After the first egg died, I decided I was going to step up.” Quackity’s boot absently moved a shard of broken glass across the floor, watching it scrape softly against the metal. “Be a father, for real this time. I promised her I’d change for her.”
A faint smile crossed his face.
“She was so happy.”
It disappeared almost immediately.
“Then the next day, I found out a friend took her out and accidentally killed her.”
“I’m so sorry.”
The words sounded painfully hollow, there was nothing else Multi could offer.
“I’m not…” Quackity shook his head. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, he looked directly at Multi.
His eyes glistened beneath the reactor’s green light.
Not quite crying, but trying very hard not to.
“I had another kid, a son, with Roier and others.” His words stumbled over one another, thoughts arriving faster than his mouth could shape them. “Pepito.”
His voice softened around the name. “He was everything to Roier and me, after everything that happened.” His breathing hitched. “He saved me, and—”
“Quackity.”
Without thinking, Multi reached forward, both hands settling carefully on his shoulders.
Not to restrain him, only to steady him.
Quackity barely seemed to notice.
“They were an experiment.” His voice had become little more than a whisper. “A Federation experiment.”
His eyes remained unfocused.
“They were just kids. But the Federation used them against us.” His jaw tightened. “They took them away as soon as they accomplished their objective.”
“Why would they do that?” The question escaped before Multi could stop it. His thoughts raced, research files. Nacho. The data he’d willingly handed over.
Pieces that refused to fit together no matter how desperately he tried. He wanted answers. He wanted to tell Quackity everything now. He wanted Quackity to tell him everything.
Instead, all he could do was wait.
“I don’t know.” Quackity let out a hollow laugh. "They’re sick.”
His fingers rubbed absentmindedly against the sleeve of his jacket.
“That’s why… when I met this worker, Pepino…” His voice drifted away, several seconds passed before he spoke again. “I realized they’re still the same organization.”
He blinked slowly.
“Nothing really changed.”
Another silence.
“Sometimes I slipped and called him Pepito, they are so alike.”
The confession came so quietly Multi almost missed it. Multi’s throat tightened.
If this was his stance, then he would understand his bond with Nacho.
Before he could force himself to speak, Quackity lifted his head.
There was still exhaustion in his face, grief showing.
But beneath it burned something more.
Hope.
Fragile enough to disappear if either of them breathed too hard.
“That’s why I don’t think they’re all bad.” His eyelids drooped. “They can’t all be bad.” He smiled faintly.
“But…” His voice barely carried anymore. “If you choose to work with them regardless…”
His gaze found Multi one last time.
“I think I’d rather you’d just kill me.”
The words weren’t dramatic, like his usual ones.
They were quiet. Like a matter-of-fact. As though he’d already accepted that possibility.
“That’d be better, I think.” His eyes finally closed. “Goodnight, Multi.”
Within moments, his breathing deepened. Finally losing against his tiredness. Even asleep, a faint frown remained etched across his face, stubborn enough to survive exhaustion.
Multi watched him for a long time.
Then, almost hesitantly, he brushed his thumb across Quackity’s brow, smoothing away the crease as though it were something he could simply erase. He wiped the dampness left beneath his eyes, tears falling quietly.
Quackity stirred. Still asleep, he leaned instinctively into the touch, turning his face against Multi’s palm with quiet familiarity.
Multi didn’t move.
He let him stay there.
Just a little longer.