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Multi would consider himself a pretty observant person.
He had always been driven by a need to research, to map out every corner of the island, to dissect its inhabitants until their lives held no secrets from him
Many things are heard from the grapevine (which usually meant Graf), and others have slipped out from Ewroon during their calculated talks. Nexe had proven to be useful, too, finally deciding with their conversations that Ewroon was not a man to be trusted.
Yet, despite Multi’s nature, Quackity remained an unsolved mystery.
When Multi had first seen him, the guy seemed clueless. He had a charm that made you let him in more than most would be allowed to, a cheekiness he’d quickly get comfortable enough to use, and a carefreeness that radiated from his very being.
Quackity was a free soul.
Yet not a free person.
It hadn't taken long for his dark past to surface. Back when he had been kidnapped, he merely thanked those who searched for him, offering no explanations for what had actually transpired.
But Multi had also learned something important from other islanders. It was probably his first week here that he had heard something about a second Quackity: a counterpart that had terrorized the first islanders, making them wary.
Then came a vital detail from the other islanders. Within his first week on the island, Multi overheard mentions of a second Quackity: a ruthless counterpart that had terrorized the original islanders, leaving them permanently on edge. Later, while discussing the avian's kidnapping with Nexe and Ewroon, the subject resurfaced. Max remained overtly cautious, scared of this "other side" and what its return might bring. Philza, by contrast, was entirely relaxed, deeming any variation of Quackity utterly harmless.
Multi was forced to confront this reality head-on days later. Analyzing a sample of strange, freshly extracted DNA, he realized it was a fusion of two distinct individuals.
So what if, when Quackity asked him to destroy it, to delete such a groundbreaking mystery, Multi secretly stashed it beneath the floor of his laboratory instead?
So what if, during the wedding they both attended, Multi slipped a pair of scissors from his coat, cut a lock of the avian's hair, and kept it as a cherished keepsake?
So what if he killed his own employee, simply because the man had seen more of Quackity over the last month than Multi had, right after handing Multi a photograph of the hybrid smiling in the Nether?
So what if he was currently designing a special tracker for him? A device impossible to remove or destroy, granting Multi the godlike oversight to monitor Quackity's precise location, his heart rate, his sleep, and his waking moments.
And, yes.
Maybe it was abnormal to collect the discarded cigarette butts Quackity left behind, or to play audio recordings of his voice when the aching longing became unbearable, or to keep detailed blueprints of his house and northern bedroom. And maybe he took some stuff.
(It wasn't as if he had installed cameras without his consent; he wasn't that unhinged.)
Really, so what if he did all of this?
There were still boundaries Multi refused to cross. There were personal journals, letters, and picture albums containing Quackity’s deepest secrets dispersed through his chests, but Multi would never see them.
If Quackity wished for him to know, he would share it himself.
And Multi could wait; he would simply entertain himself with other methods in the meantime.
Quackity had a habit of claiming he was fine when he was clearly suffering. Everything Multi did was rooted in care. It was driven by deep concern and affection.
Maybe, he might privately admit, it was rooted in love.
So when he makes Quackity follow him down into the underground room, where he will be kept under observation until Multi approves of the new tracker's functionality, it really is out of love.
—
In a way, and in Quackity’s defense, he’s pretty sure it’s Jeremy’s fault.
That day still lives vividly in his memory. He remembers he had been going around having fun while Multi was marked offline in his communicator.
A fake wall had accidentally given them a step directly into Jeremy’s mind, and what a fucked up mind he had.
It was crazy, surreal: walls lined with photographs, pinned documents, and pages covered in frantic scribbles. A total maniac, truly. The hidden room felt dark and suffocating, yet thrillingly intriguing and exciting.
As Quackity, Ewroon, and Duncan scanned the hidden room above the Dutch Cafe, a dark rush ignited within him. He was simultaneously disturbed and utterly fascinated.
As he got home, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
It was so weird what Jeremy was doing, what he had been hiding. To just watch people, to dissect them, to map out their entire lives without them ever knowing. It was crazy how no one suspected a thing. Jeremy seemed like such a chill dude on the surface, which made the revelation even more intoxicating.
And then, Quackity started thinking. And watching.
Building planes was fun, but it’s never bad to get into new habits, right?
Initially, Quackity had considered turning his attention to Schlatt, but Schlatt’s living room was practically public property for anyone with working eyes. He spent his entire time drinking, watching baseball games (the Mets, not even the Yankees), or visibly rotting away in full view. He was predictable. Boring.
But then he turned his eyes to Multi.
Multi had a weird mystery around him. He was a mad scientist who apparently liked Quackity enough to trust him. The avian felt the same: the never-ending thrill, feeding Multi pieces of information he would’ve never shared with other islanders. Revealing carefully selected truths about himself in exchange for the trust the scientist had placed in him.
Every night before he drifted off to sleep, Quackity’s mind would race.
And sometimes, he wrote.
In his secret house, a place Multi had a waypoint to, Quackity broke a section of the wall. It’s a tiny, unnoticeable, fake panel, built just like Jeremy’s.
And there, in the dim light, he starts his own board.
He steals a few photos from Schlatt’s “Book of Faces.” He adds some of the duplicates Jeremy had accumulated. At first, it was pure copies, other people’s work.
So, he escalated. Armed with a camera, Quackity initiated his own personal project.
He knows Multi has security cameras everywhere, so Quackity simply cuts a hidden slit in his pockets, hiding the lens to take pictures as he walks with him. On late nights, when he’s bored, he finds his hands moving on their own, unconsciously tracing Multi’s profile in his sketchbooks.
He mapped out Multi's routines by watching his online status on his communicator.
Multi was generally active three days a week, following a strict schedule and a rigid sleep pattern—either turning in for the night or descending into his underground reactor to work. Occasionally, Multi went mute, treating it casually and communicating strictly through general chat. When he went outdoors, he spent his time wandering, usually accompanied by Nacho or making visits to Katie. This mostly happens whenever Quackity falls into those uncontrollable sleeps he can’t escape.
The times he visits, he mindlessly steals some stuff: a lab coat, some safety goggles. And, maybe, he puts them on a skeleton he has at home that he uses as a mannequin. And, maybe, he talks to it as if that bunch of bones is the scientist. He will not confirm nor deny whether he sleeps with the lab coat or not. An avian’s nest was a private matter, after all.
It’s easy to stalk his routine when Multi's favorite spots were so simple to access, allowing Quackity to learn even more intimate details.
Multi travels alone a lot, yet he likes staying at home the most. He wears eccentric boots, leaving footprints that Quackity has become familiar with and a bit fond of. He also seems to suffer from anemia, often fainting from exhaustion or lack of iron.
In many ways, Multi was easy prey. But Quackity watched over him from the shadows.
Should anyone ever attempt to take the scientist away, Quackity would defend him in return for the care Multi showed him.
He knew Multi stood up fiercely for those he cared about. He knew the man held deep grudges, laughed at absurdities, took loyalty with absolute seriousness, listened to music while working, and adored his child. He knew Multi wasn't actually close to his workers, that he always paused to pet the animals in Polski Cave, and that he wore a protective mask inside the reactor, only pulling it down the second he stepped into the open air.
Multi feels so familiar to him, so dangerously close, Quackity is endlessly grateful to be trusted by him.
Multi is also weirdly charming. He chuckles more than people would ever guess. He hates the Regime Leader, he hates Ewroon, and he would kill for those he considered family.
When the invitation to return to the reactor arrived, the message was brief and direct. Upon his arrival, Quackity felt a flicker of disappointment when he noticed a newly constructed room that didn't have his name whitelisted. Multi caught the subtle shift in his expression instantly and added him to the system, earning a bright, satisfied smile from the hybrid.
Before him stood a clean, white observation room. Inside, there were several articles of Quackity's clothing he couldn't recall leaving behind, his favorite plushie bear, and a television playing a song he vaguely remembered sharing with Multi a long time ago.
“Is this my new room?” Quackity teases.
Multi keeps his face neutral, but his eyes gleam with a dark, satisfied happiness. “Maybe, if you want.”
“I want.” The hybrid repeats, smiling until the edges of his eyes crinkle in delight.
Multi can only stare as the avian smiles at him, sweet and mischievous, with a flirty, dangerous spark in his eyes.
The scientist still cannot make any sense of him, but he is desperate to understand.
Across the room, Quackity finds himself thinking the exact same thing.