Chapter Text
They were entering the reactor.
They had already gone through decontamination, and now only silence accompanied their footsteps as they walked through the laboratory.
Quackity kept his eyes fixed on the raised platform in the center, where the uranium emitted its familiar green glow.
No matter where he looked, everything was green.
Green.
More green.
Strange machines, scientific equipment, and devices that were undoubtedly incredibly important.
The truth was, he had no idea what any of them did.
And he didn't want to know.
All he was trying to do was avoid looking at the person walking a few steps behind him.
Because he knew that if he did, he wouldn't be able to control his own reactions anymore.
At that point, he didn't know whether the numbness consuming him from within would win... or his anger.
Maybe, when he looked at him, he wouldn't feel anything at all.
Just an unbearable emptiness.
Or maybe he would erupt like a volcano, screaming until his throat gave out.
Why? Why? Why? Traitor. I hate you. I wish I had never...
But even in his own thoughts, he couldn't bring himself to finish that sentence.
Because this was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be different.
Quackity had been hurt his entire life. That was how he'd learned that pretending could save his life.
Because if you showed even the slightest sign of weakness, the piranhas wouldn't hesitate to devour you.
So he pretended everything was fine. He pretended he was in control. He pretended solitude was what he wanted. Because why trust someone who could stab you in the back at any moment? Why let someone become such an obvious weakness that others could use them to destroy you?
The Federation had taught him how to play that game ever since he was a child. But he had never learned to play it the way they wanted him to.
That was why he always ended up being punished.
He was too calculating... or too emotional. He knew how to plan. He knew how to stay one step ahead. But when the time came to carry out those plans, doubt always found its way in.
The first island had been the final lesson. It had left him with two truths he would never forget. His freedom mattered more than his own life. And he was meant to be alone.
The dawn. Death. Trust no one. And never let anyone control you. Those were the only absolute truths Quackity had ever learned about life.
So when he woke up aboard that cruise ship, even though he couldn't remember everything he'd lived through, his body, and something deep within his mind, already knew how to act.
That was why he slipped so effortlessly into a role that had never truly belonged to him: the Host. He greeted familiar and unfamiliar faces alike without hesitation.
Interaction after interaction, he carefully crafted the image of a boy who was a little foolish, but kind, harmless, and easy to like.
Even around those who looked at him with suspicion.
When they finally reached the island and people almost immediately began splitting into factions, ¿And wasn't that just typical? Not even a single day had passed before everyone started showing the ugliest parts of themselves, Quackity chose to stay out of it.
He watched. He analyzed. He learned who held power, who wanted it, and who simply followed everyone else.
Thanks to the friendships he'd built, he managed to join the North almost immediately.
Of course, his attitude didn't earn him much respect or goodwill. He spent half his time disappearing and barely helped with building the mansion.
But respect, titles, and camaraderie were ultimately useless when it came to his real goals. So ignoring the comments was surprisingly easy.
Then there were them.
The people who, despite everything, still held a place in his heart. Schlatt. Roier. Luzu. Bittersweet memories.
Every moment filled with genuine laughter and easy conversations was tainted by forgotten memories and betrayals that, while erased from his mind, remained carved somewhere deep within his soul.
It was like drinking a sweet cocktail. He took sip after sip without really noticing the effect until he felt like he was floating among the clouds. Then morning came. He would wake up feeling miserable. His body heavy. His mind exhausted. And with an overwhelming urge to go back to sleep.
That was why Multi had turned his life upside down.
At first, he wasn't anyone particularly important.
Or especially well-known. The only remarkable things about him were his reputation as a scientist... and his involvement with the Polish Hussars.
So Quackity had never expected their first encounters to leave such a lasting mark on him.
There was something unique about the way Multi treated people. With Quackity, he could call him an idiot straight to his face and somehow never make him feel small.
Around him, Quackity couldn't pretend. He didn't know why. It just happened. Somehow, Multi's presence made all the weight he carried disappear for a little while. He felt light. Far too light. So light that he could barely hold on to the last shred of his self-control.
Now that everything had come to this, as he replayed every memory over and over again, Quackity believed he had finally found the exact moment when there had been no turning back.
It was when he saw that village.
That altar dedicated to God.
When they traveled to that private island while everyone pretended to be happy, gathering to watch movies, laughing, and acting as if they were perfectly ordinary, harmless people.
He believed that was where, for the first time in a long while, he had truly decided to trust Multi.
Even if he spoke of gods, glorious purposes, and a destiny Quackity could barely begin to understand.
Because, in the end, Multi's goals weren't what mattered most. Well... they were.
But they weren't what had finally torn down the walls Quackity had spent years building around himself. What truly mattered was the way Multi treated him.
He accepted Quackity's conditions, even when they were completely irrational. Even when Quackity himself knew they made no sense.
He saw him when no one else did. He looked beyond the mask. Beyond the lies. Into the depths of his soul. And even then, everything he found seemed to fascinate him. Every idea. Every passing thought. Every small achievement. To Multi, all of it seemed to shine.
But above all else... He accepted him as an equal. Not like someone who could be controlled. Not as someone to be used. Not as someone beneath him. But as someone who stood at his side. Someone with the same rights. Someone worthy of trust. And that was the most absurd part of it all.
Because, objectively, Quackity couldn't do even a tenth of the things Multi accomplished on his own in that laboratory. And yet... Not once did Quackity feel that Multi was looking down on him. Not once.
And yet... here he was.
Standing there, in that very moment.
Nothing more than a supposed lab rat to that very same person.
Cucurucho's mocking words still echoed inside his head. A failed experiment. Him? A failure? Never.
Quackity could be many things, but if there was one thing he was absolutely certain of, it was that he had been the most important experiment that ridiculous organization had ever created.
That was why the speech itself didn't affect him all that much. He had heard worse. He had lived through worse. All thanks to that miserable bear cruel and indifferent.
But then he heard almost the exact same thing come from Multi's mouth. That he needed him for his research. As if he were an object. As if he were just another tool. And that... That struck something deep inside him.
It didn't matter whether those words were the truth or nothing more than a desperate excuse to get him out of there. What truly enraged Quackity... What made him sick... Was that Multi was still keeping things from him.
When they had promised to tell each other everything, that promise was supposed to mean everything. Not just the convenient parts.
He knew he hadn't exactly been the best partner, either. He spent far too much time asleep, even when Multi needed his company. But that wasn't something he could change. He was exhausted. Completely, utterly exhausted. And he didn't want to think anymore.
Pepino had stopped him from dying, and not knowing what had become of him was the only thing still keeping Quackity on his feet. Because if Pepino had survived... Then he had to help him.
After all, he was in danger because of him.
But more than anything else... He wanted to sleep.
Just... sleep.
—"Quackity".
The quiet sound of his name, spoken from somewhere behind him, reached his ears without warning. His eyes snapped open. He couldn't remember when he had closed them.
His entire body tensed as he remembered where he was. And, more importantly... Who he was with.
He took a slow, steady breath. Then exhaled quietly through his nose. He couldn't keep avoiding this.
So, with almost painful slowness, he turned around and finally lifted his gaze to meet Multi's eyes.