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The white corridor stretched out before them, giving the impression of endless passage. Multi had never been in this part of the building, so he tried to memorize every new smell and sound, and ran his fingertips over every surface he encountered.
“This part of the corridor contains the rooms of our research subjects.”
The heavy metal doors were marked. Each one had a unique code and number:
‘K7B-04997002’
‘DK-04985461’
‘A-04991030’
‘PRS-04992983’
‘R01R-04955899’
‘GR-04989606’
‘Q-04954731’
The boy analyzed the signs one by one as they calmly passed each door. He moved closer to some of the entrances, but the walls and doors were too thick; he couldn’t hear any sounds. “The rooms are usually empty at this time,” the man said when he noticed the boy was intently listening for any sounds.
When they reached the end of the corridor, they encountered a massive door that could be opened with a special access card. Cucurucho pulled it out of his suit vest pocket with a swift movement and opened the passage for them.
“This is where the isolation wards are located. Unstable, dangerous, or those in need of quiet are kept here.”
The smell was different from before, a bit suffocating with a hint of something unpleasant, as if rotting. Multi ran his fingers along a smooth wall, they were like all the others in this facility. He pulled his hand away when he encountered a change in the surface. It was a glass wall, giving a perfect view of what was happening in the isolated rooms. The other walls in the room were completely white, upholstered in soft material.
No one was in the first and second room. In the third, someone laying down with their back turned, not moving or reacting in any way when the boy gently tapped on the glass. “No reaction, no breathing,” Multi immediately knew what had happened. “They’re dead.”
“Ah, yes,” the man didn't even stop walking. “I'll notify someone to take care of it, but first, let's finish the tour. I want you to start coming here next week; after all, we want to make progress, not sit stuck in one place, right?”
“Yes, Cucurucho.” The boy didn't spare another glance to the dead body; he continued down the corridor.
Most of the isolation cells were empty. ‘Nothing interesting,’ the young scientist thought. He quickly changed his mind when, in one of the last isolation cells, he noticed something that caught his attention.
The person had their back turned to him, leaning against one of the soft walls. There would have been nothing unusual about them if not for the large, golden wings that gently draped themselves over the floor. Instead of ears, there was a second pair, in a smaller version. Something made the boy unable to look away. He watched, momentarily forgetting the world around him and Cucurucho, who was waiting for him by the door that led to another corridor.
With a very slow movement, the person turned their head towards him, likely because they sensed someone's gaze on their back. They made eye contact, and Multi felt his heart skip a beat.
The boy had a tired gaze, dark circles under his eyes, his hair disheveled, and his clothes wrinkled. He looked like the polar opposite of little Multi, whose clothes and hair were impeccably tidy, and his face clean, devoid of any trace of fatigue.
The clash of these two worlds was sudden, uncomfortable, but also incredibly interesting.
Cucurucho calmly walked up to Multi and stood beside him. The boy glanced at him for half a second, but when he looked back at the person behind the glass, their back was turned to him again.
“Beautiful, isn't it? It's one of my favorite subjects,” the mask obscured his face, but his voice made it clear that he was smiling.
“Is… is it an angel?” Such an innocent, childish question made Cucurucho laugh. It was the same as always, mechanical, seeming slightly artificial.
“No, it's not an angel,” the man crouched down to match Multi's height. “Subject Q is a human-duck hybrid. It's a rather unruly experiment, but also very interesting.” Without turning his head, he focused his gaze on the boy. “Right?”
“Right,” he replied obediently, but also truthfully. “Why are their feathers clipped? Without them, they can't fly.” Multi always paid close attention to detail. “Is that part of the experiment?”
“You still have a lot to learn,” Cucurucho rose from his crouch. “Experiments can't have too much freedom. We don't want them to cause problems, you understand?” Multi lightly nodded. The man extended his hand. “Shall we go?” Multi nodded once again and grabbed his hand. He didn't take his eyes off Q until they passed the glass wall.
-
“It’s cold!” Quackity squealed as the stream of water touched his wings.
“Sorry, you have to hold on. Blood comes off best with cold water.” Multi subtly took the feathers in his hand, running his fingers along them, trying to wash away the crimson liquid. “It won't come off, it won't come off,” he muttered under his breath. “Are you sure it's blood? It won't wash off of the feathers or your hands. Clothes are ruined, that’s for sure, but why would even skin be stained?”
“I told you it was pointless.” The man sat on the edge of the bathtub. The wings were very delicate, reacting to the slightest stimuli. When another wave of cold water washed over them, a shiver ran down Quackity's spine, which only irritated him further. "Enough!" He turned the valve with his hand, not waiting for Multi's answer or reaction.
They sat in silence for a moment. They preferred to remain quiet rather than admit that their time was up and they should say goodbye.
"Sorry, that was a bad idea,” Multi said, completely ignoring the voice at the back of his head. “Would you rather take a bath? I'll fill a bathtub with water for you. Warm water." Silence again. Multi waited for a moment for a response, accompanied by the sound of dripping water.
"...Do whatever you want."
He didn't need to be told twice. He plugged the bathtub drain and began filling it with the promised warm water. He even poured in some body wash, thinking that a little, fluffy bubble bath would make the time more pleasant. Quackity didn't move, still staring at a single spot on the floor that kept his gaze locked in the same place for a good minute.
"Do you need help?" Even the question didn't make him move. Multi waited for a moment, but received no response. He took the initiative, firstly removing the man's beanie. When he heard no objection, he continued. He stripped every clothing he had left on him, folded it and placed it on the nearby cabinet. Quackity didn't move once; Multi felt as if he hadn't even blinked, but he didn't comment. When the tub was filled with water, he turned off the valve and slowly helped him go in. Quackity languidly sank lower until the water covered his mouth, and he exhaled, causing a series of bubbles to form on the surface. Multi smiled faintly at the sight, but the corners of his mouth quickly gave way and returned to their previous position, forming a rather grim expression.
For a few minutes, they remained silent.
Multi sat by the bathtub, his head resting on the edge. He glanced at the other man from the corner of his eye. ‘You don't want to part ways? Ha, I knew it, you are so clingy.’ ‘My eyes are up here, you know?" That foam doesn't cover much… '- that's what Multi imagined Quackity would say. In the past, maybe that's how it would go, but now it's completely different. Quackity stared dispassionately into space, never making a single comment, not even glancing his way.
"I'll help you wash up before the water gets cold," Multi said and rose from the floor. He grabbed a sponge and some of the shower gel Nacho usually used. Quackity didn't respond, expressed neither consent nor objection. Multi helped him sit up and gently began washing him. First his chest, then his arms and hands, from his neck to his back, and finishing at his wings. He subtly moved the sponge from top to bottom, still believing that somehow the beautiful feathers could be saved.
Any fool knew it was completely pointless; after many years of experiments and escaping attempts, the wings were in a terrible state. Clipped, burned, in some places forcibly ripped out, leaving empty space behind. Multi would give anything to see what they looked like before the Federation's influence. He could only imagine how majestic and beautiful they might have been, how happy Quackity looked as he soared through the sky, seemingly without a care or worry.
"What if I… what if I created a drug that could make your wings regenerate?" His feathers fluttered gently. Multi took it as a good sigh, so he continued: "Then… then you could fly again. You could fly anywhere you want, you could-"
"Multi," his voice was monotonous, a bit hoarse. "Stop," Quackity turned his head slightly, making eye contact with Multi. His gaze was tired, dark circles under his eyes. Multi felt a strange sense of déjà vu. They stared at each other for a full minute until Quackity spoke again. "You know we'll never see each other again," he said quietly, then turned his head away again, unable to look at him. He couldn't watch him bite his lip when his watery eyes were still glued to him. "So please stop."
Multi gripped the sponge tighter, but said nothing.
They were both aware of it, they knew this would be their last meeting, but hearing the words aloud hit them with even greater force.
"No matter what you do, it's pointless," he pulled his knees to his chest and buried his head in them.
Silence filled the room, and Multi turned his back on Quackity. He didn't want to admit to himself how much he hated losing him, how much he longed for him to be free again. Deep down, he knew it was too late. All Quackity wanted now was for Cucurucho to die. He wanted to make amends for the years of torture, to make sure he will never hurt anyone else. But that foolish wish came with a sacrifice.
Multi couldn't stop him, knowing that was all Quackity truly wanted.
"Despite everything," he whispered. “Despite everything, I will keep my promise. If I manage to reach to the top of the Federation, I promise you that every single mention of you will disappear from their records. You will finally be free,” he said the last sentence almost inaudibly. “That's all I can promise you.”
Quackity was silent for a long moment. He hugged his knees tighter, digging his nails into the skin. He clenched his jaw and barely managed to whisper: “Thank you.”