Chapter Text
"Do you have the body?"
The question made him roll his eyes and snort; Foolish had his back turned and didn't see him carrying a semi-transparent trash bag containing a body that could pass for human, were it not for the sky-blue liquid pooling at the bottom. Quackity dropped the bag onto the filthy floor; the sound of the plastic made the scientist spin around completely, grinning broadly at the new test subject. Quackity stood with his arms crossed and his weight resting on his right leg, waiting for Foolish to finally feel like paying him—or to ask for something else. He hoped for the latter; being in the Burrow made him feel stifled, though that was only natural—after all, he was avian by nature, built for the open sky rather than underground shelters. The worst part of staying would be Juan yelling at him for not contributing anything to the Burrow, followed by a lecture until he finally did some work alongside the other idle omegas.
"No clue what the hell happened to him" Foolish picked up the bag and carried it to the only clean operating table in the makeshift lab—set up inside the kitchen of an old, abandoned cafeteria on the outskirts of the city. "I found him miles outside the city, over on the west side, so your informant lied to you.".
"Hey, my informant thought he was going to flee to the south—it’s not his fault." Foolish refused to reveal who his informant was, and although he didn't blame him, there were times he wished he could force the name out of him. After all, he and Aldo were the ones risking their asses the most by infiltrating the city, and they needed an ally who could keep them from ending up back in Purgatory. But he wouldn't do that to Foolish—not while he still needed a place to live.
"Sure, but tell him to be a bit more precise." Quackity walked over to the operating table where the shark was working, wiped away some cyborg blood with a rag of questionable cleanliness, and hopped up to sit on the table. "Flying at night makes me invisible, but it also makes the corpses on the ground invisible—and this one wasn't exactly fresh."
"If he’s too accurate, they might send him to purgatory for potential treason against the Federation, and then we’d be left without an informant." His voice betrayed his amusement at the whole situation.
"So, are you going to pay me, or do I have to charge extra for my delightful company?"
"Ew, as if I’d be into omegas like you." The duck’s immediate response was to make a retching gesture.
"You’re disgusting, you mangy asshole."
"You were the one who brought up charging for company!" Foolish—who was currently holding an arm—accidentally tore it off while pointing it at Quackity; his white latex gloves were instantly soaked in the cyborg's blue fluid.
"I am not offering sex, you animal!"
"what did you want me to think?!"
"Well, I don't know!" Quackity hopped off the table and got as close as he could to the trapdoor in the corner—the entrance to the Burrow from the lab. "But I'm not stupid enough to flirt with the alpha Vegetta is obsessed with!" He fell silent for a few seconds. "Plus, you're Roier's dad—that's fucking gross!"
"Listen-!"
"Foolish you are gross!"
"Listen, thats not-!" Foolish stopped dead in his tracks, clutching his arm with both hands this time, and a goofy smile spread across his face. "Is Vegetta obsessed with me?"
Quackity remained silent, and the look of disgust on his face deepened for a few seconds before he took a deep breath, clasped his hands in front of his face, and pointed them at the shark.
"Look, if you’re trying to make things awkward so you don’t have to pay me, it’s not going to work—because I’ll come back tonight, steal all the Kelpamine, and sell it in the city so they track you down and send you to Purgatory." Foolish’s smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and he finally dropped the cyborg’s arm onto the table. He turned to a drawer at the side of the desk, filled a small pouch with gold coins and a couple of bills, and tossed it to the duck, who caught the bag effortlessly. "That’s more like it."
"Go on, you rascal"
"Oh, those little words of yours..." And with that, he tucked the bag into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, opened the trapdoor, and jumped through.
The stairwell tunnel was narrow and lacked clear lighting; in fact, he had slipped while descending it more than once. That was why Juan had placed a couple of old mattresses at the bottom—after the third time he slipped, his right wing had been immobilized for at least three weeks, causing him to miss assigned missions and, consequently, delaying several other missions for the rest of The Burrow. This time he didn't slip; in fact, he managed to land on his feet on the mattresses. Unlike the tunnel, the underground base was well-lit, and thanks to Juan—much as he hated to admit it—it didn't feel quite like a post-apocalyptic wasteland (even though that’s exactly what it was: an expanded nuclear shelter); it felt almost like home. Almost. For Quackity, ever since his secondary gender had manifested, no place had truly felt like home.
The duck waddled through the area, trying to make as little noise as possible; he didn't want to run into Juan or Vegetta and get roped into doing chores. That was the reason he had joined Aldo’s team in the first place, though he quickly realized it wouldn't help him avoid those detestable tasks at all. According to Vegetta, anyone not outside The Burrow had to be working inside it until midnight; there was still half an hour left before the deadline passed for them to force him to clean, cook, or—worst of all—look after the pups. The mere thought of being assigned that task made his skin crawl. He wasn't good with children, but Vegetta and Juan couldn't have cared less about that.
“We all have to work together so we can live in harmony”—that was what Juan always told him, and it was far kinder than Vegetta’s “because I say so.” That didn’t stop him from shying away from those chores as if they were the plague itself. He would have vastly preferred tasks usually assigned to alphas—repairs, engineering, machine maintenance—but those weren't very common; in fact, many alphas ended up doing work typically meant for omegas because those jobs were endless, whereas the tasks he enjoyed were—unfortunately for him, but fortunately for The Burrow—few and far between.
He reached his room's door and took a deep breath as he prepared to open it. The metal always made too much noise—to everyone's misfortune—but if he did it slowly and carefully enough, perhaps…
"What's up, Quackity?" Roier appeared in front of him from the ceiling, making him jump back, scream, and cover his face with both hands. "Hey, man—I'm not that ugly, what the hell?"
"Don't do that to me!" he shouted, glancing down the hallways to make sure Juan wasn't around. "Get inside—quick."
The slam of the door echoed through every corridor of The Burrow, though Quackity had shoved Roier inside as if that might mask the noise of it opening—and especially closing; the metal door to his room was exceptionally heavy. His theory was that Juan took particular pleasure in messing with him, and the door’s weight and clamor served to alert Juan whenever Quackity was in his room. At least with Roier there, he’d have a better chance of getting out of whatever task was demanded of him; being friends with the leader’s heir did have its advantages, after all. Once inside, they both took off their shoes, and Quackity turned on the light, adjusting it to keep the glow dim—just enough to navigate the room without tripping over the clutter that mirrored the state of his own mind.
"Did I scare you?" Roier asked with a sly, mocking grin.
"Did I scare you?" Quackity repeated, mimicking Roier’s voice. "Well, yeah, asshole—normal people get scared when spiders drop from the ceiling, especially ones that are six feet tall."
"Skill issue," he said with a shrug, letting himself flop onto the room owner's bed. "What did my apá ask of you this time?"
"A cyborg escaped the city and asked me to take him in so I could study him," he replied, taking off his leather jacket and lying down on the bed beside Roier; his back cracked as soon as it hit the mattress, and he sighed with his eyes closed, feeling a wave of relief. "I think he wants to help your other dad with his transformation—but using robotic parts."
"Well, that’s kind of tricky; my dad hardly ever leaves the greenhouse since he was almost captured. He thinks that if he manages to concentrate enough lupine essence, he’ll be able to turn back into a wolf—plus, you know, he doesn't really get along with technology."
"Things that happen when you're getting on in years." Quackity hugged his pillow and turned to face Roier directly. "I assume you didn't come to see me because I'm your best friend in the whole world, right?"
"You guessed it" Roier sat on the bed and pulled a map from his pocket—battered, yellowed, and so creased it barely looked like a map. "Look, do you remember what I told you a few months ago?"
"You’re going to have to be a bit more specific, because we do talk every day…"
"About that castle I found in the biome way out in the middle of fuckall nowhere—back when I was investigating the desert's expansion..." Quackity nodded quickly. "Well, I still haven't figured out the cause of the desert's spread, but I know the crimson tree biome seems to resist the corruption, and I managed to triangulate the castle's location."
"Do you think that could help reverse the corruption here?" Quackity—who until a moment ago had seemed exhausted—quickly sat up in bed and turned up the light using the dimmer switch on the wall against which his bed was placed.
"I think there’s someone living there"—both omegas looked at each other, sharing the hope of this new discovery, their hearts racing so fast it felt as though they might burst from their chests—"and that someone is going to help us, whether they want to or not."
"That sounds perfect." He got out of bed, grabbed his jacket to take out the bag Foolish had given him, and put it in his safe. "Shall we go now?"
"Now? But it's really late, man." Roier, on the other hand, stayed in bed, the map still folded in his hands. "You haven't even seen where the castle I found is."
"It’s never too late for an adventure." The duck hybrid sat on the floor to put his black boots back on.
"Oh, don't play dumb; I’m not helping you escape from Juan." He tucked the map back into his hoodie pocket and lay down on the bed again, while Quackity remained sitting on the floor; his wings—previously lively and held high—now drooped against the ground, betraying his disappointment. "We can go tomorrow when there’s daylight and all that."
"Natural light is overrated..." Quackity pouted, but he took off his shoes again and got up to flop face-first onto the bed. "If fucking Juan comes to mess with—" He didn't even manage to finish the sentence, as his door was being pounded on furiously.
"Quackityyyy!" Juan’s voice rang out from the hallway, singing his name, and Quackity simply groaned into the bed. It was Roier who got up to open the door.
Juan was a bit of an outlier at The borrow; while everyone else wore colorful, flashy—and usually leather—clothing as a protest against the Federation’s minimalism, Juan seemed to want to emulate the Federation’s own formality, and had even been heard defending it on more than one occasion.
"What’s up, Juan? Quackitin is in his bed." He let the brown-haired man—who was carrying a folder resting on a clipboard—enter, closed the door behind him, and returned to his spot on the bed, keeping his hands in his pockets to prevent the map from slipping away.
"Thanks, Roier." Quackity shifted in bed just enough to see Juan, but not enough to lift his face from the sheets. "Quackity..."
"I’m not babysitting," the dark-haired man in the cap interrupted. Juan tried to speak again, but Quackity continued, "And I don't want to cook, or clean, either!"
"Well, that’s obvious—look at this mess." Juan glanced around, gesturing with a grimace of displeasure at the scattered clothes, the empty food cans with spoons still inside, and the multiple mismatched pairs of shoes. "If you didn't bathe in liters of suppressors every day, only God knows what this place would smell like." He picked up a shoe resting on the table next to a can that still held some food and, holding his breath, dropped it onto the floor. "I ought to limit your missions outside the Burrow until you clean up this pigsty..."
"Hey, no, no, no, no—you can't do that to me." That actually managed to make him sit up in bed, laughing nervously.
"I won't have to, if you clean this place up!"
"Blah, blah, blah," the duck-hybrid mocked, though he still got out of bed to start picking up the clothes scattered across the floor. "Seriously, man, tell me what you really want—because I doubt you came over just to play mom and nag me into cleaning my room."
"You're right," Juan sighed, "but at least I'm glad I managed to get you to clean up in here. We live underground, you know? Rats are going to come and throw a party here with all the trash you've got lying around."
"Hey man, my little brother is a rat, so show some respect," Roier interjected
"You know I'm talking about the animals, not the hybrids, Roier," Juan sighed again. "Look, I've looked after Senpai and Pac since they were pups"—the otter hybrid began to raise his voice, and Roier had to stifle a laugh—"do you think I'd let the little princes walk into this biohazard?"
"Hey, man, it’s not that bad..." A spider crawled out of one of the food cans, so Quackity dropped it; the spider scurried off to find refuge with Roier, who picked it up and stroked it with his index finger.
"You moron, you're scaring it." Juan glared at him, his brows furrowed and his lips set in a straight line.
"Just tell me what you want so you can fuck off already." He went back to gathering the cans to toss them into one of the trash bags Juan had given him weeks ago—bags he was finally going to have to use.
"Actually, I came to tell you that Vegetta discovered something and needs you to verify his theory." The bag of cans hit the ground and one of them rolled out, but he quickly put it back in. "If you keep dropping them, I’m not going to tell you anything."
"You caught me off guard, you asshole, keep going, keep going!"
"Right, well, the lead Vegetta has points to the Styx City labs, and he needs someone—meaning you—to infiltrate the place and get a specific compound that could help with the synthesis he’s trying to create." Juan opened the folder and showed him a sheet with the compound written on it; it also included a description of the color and odor it was supposed to have. "I think you know how important this is to Vegetta, since he’s trying to return to his animal form, and we’re all counting on you to get it as soon as possible..."
"Look, man, if the hair on your tail doesn't stand on end at the thought of leaving my room the way it is, I’m coming over right now."
Juan looked around, seriously weighing his decision based on the amount of trash versus the ordinary clutter typical of the duck hybrid. Most of the trash was no longer scattered across the floor and furniture; Quackity had picked up almost all of it. He might regret the words that followed, but then he thought of Vegetta—of how he had been working non-stop since he stopped shapeshifting—and of all the other horrible things that had affected everyone at The Burrow up to that point.
"Pick up all the trash, and I’ll tidy up the rest..." Juan closed his eyes and exhaled, his lips curling into a weary grimace.
"LET'S GOOO!" Quackity jumped up in celebration, though this time he made sure the cans didn't fall outside the bag. "Thanks, Juan!"
"All the trash! Not just what's in plain sight." He pointed a finger at him, though Quackity kept hopping excitedly. "I want you down on your knees, clearing out all the shit you've got under your bed and all your furniture." He gestured to every dark corner of the room, while Quackity just kept bouncing in place and nodding. "When you're done, dump the trash in the incinerator and meet me in my office so I can give you all the details."
Without another word, Juan left Quackity’s room and headed toward his office. On the way, he passed the nursery, where the babies had already been asleep for quite some time. He paused for a few seconds in front of the large window used to watch over the little ones, smiling nostalgically with no clear thoughts in his mind. Then he continued walking; there was still much to do before he could go to sleep.
With a new mission in mind, Quackity moved with a speed in which he would never be caught performing such a mundane task; yet, faced with Roier’s refusal to take him to the crimson tree biome, he had lost hope of spending the night outside his confinement. The prospect of spreading his wings—and, even better, flirting with danger within the city to steal from those who had brought this world into existence in the first place—was far more thrilling. He was born that way: an avian, a hybrid who could not remain tethered to any one place for long; Quackity was, in truth, the very embodiment of freedom. And Roier was the only one who seemed to understand his restless detachment.
"Hey, man, can you explain to me again why you want to pass for a beta?" the spider asks, watching Quackity’s little duck tail sway back and forth as he gathers trash from under the bed—half his body tucked underneath it. "I mean, it’s kind of a new thing for you, right? And, well... I mean, all my siblings and I are omegas, our leader is an omega... and I don't know, it just seems a bit weird to me."
"Look"—a soft thud sounds as he pulls the last dusty piece of paper from under the bed; Roier sees him clutching his head and stifles a laugh so the duck doesn't kick him out of the room—"even though the world ended and started over, and then your dad started an underground society that resists the Federation and all that... we omegas are still viewed as incubators and relegated to domestic chores—tasks alphas ought to be doing too, but don't. It’s expected that we, as omegas, handle all that invisible labor, and—nah, man, I’m not cut out for that." He tied a knot in the trash bag and took a deep breath.
"Hmm... but that doesn't apply down here," Roier replies, getting out of bed to place the little spider—which had crawled out of Quackity's trash—near the door. "I mean, my apá was the one who looked after me and..." —he clicked his tongue and quickly shook his head— "...yeah, Dad did nothing more than what was necessary to keep us from dying when we were pups."
"Roier, if I get captured in Styx, they’ll send me to Purgatory, brainwash me, and send an alpha to knock me up." A shiver ran down his spine as he said the words aloud. "At least being a beta gives me more time to try to escape—or get killed trying."
"You’re such a pessimist, my Quackitin."
"I swear on the Virgin Mary, I’d rather go Hell than be in Purgatory a thousand times over." The two left the room and walked toward the incinerator; the bag Quackity was carrying looked quite heavy, yet he seemed to have no trouble hauling it.
“Well… try not to get caught, then.” With that, he placed a hand on his shoulder, gave him a genuine smile, and left him alone in the middle of the hallway. “And you’d better come back, because tomorrow I’m taking you to the Crimson Biome anyway!”
Quackity shouted a drawn-out “Yeeeah!” and started jogging toward the incinerator; it had been a long time since he’d entered the city directly, and the idea of defying the Federation once more truly excited him. Besides… something deep in his chest told him that, on this particular night, he wasn’t meant to be inside The Burrow—that something out there was waiting for him. And Quackity wasn’t the type to wait for destiny to catch up with him.