Chapter Text
Mumbo startled when someone sat across from him in the cafeteria- anxiously realizing that he hadn't noticed the stranger approaching at all. Suddenly, he was there, and suddenly, he was dryly swallowing the food in his mouth to avoid choking on it.
He didn’t recognize this person at all.
He wasn’t his short and scary cellmate- the type of guy to make him not want to return to his room, despite needing to go back every night. He wasn’t the type to try and intimidate him with a steady, angry glare shot from across the room. He didn't seem like the type to subtly- but not quite so subtly- try to get something from him with a clear tone of intimidation threading it.
But apparently, he also wasn’t the type to ignore him and coexist with him peacefully.
So, basically, he was unlike anyone else that was in that prison.
But that wasn’t the only thing that threw Mumbo off. It wasn’t the fact that he sat down near him, grinning at him like he was an old friend of his, despite never seeing him before. It wasn’t just the overall bright and cheery persona he’d put up- looking just a little too genuine, instead of having the noticeable edge of something slimy, or distrustful.
The thing that initially caught him off guard, despite the brief confusion over someone sitting with him, was the fact that he was human. Not humanoid- nothing like Mumbo, with a similar build and look, but so completely unhuman with his features that it’d be insane to suggest anything otherwise. He had no extra eyes, limbs, or any sort of exaggerated features. He was human, as far as Mumbo could tell-
And it wasn’t like humans weren’t allowed at that specific prison. It wasn't something so unlikely that it was practically impossible. It was just… so exceedingly rare.
Their home planet, a cozy little place called Earth, had spent so long living in isolation, and their populous only just recently found their place amongst the stars- somewhere in the last couple thousand years, or so- and so far, the main thing that everyone took note of about these people was how quickly their civilizations adapted once they realized they were behind with everyone else in the known universe.
It only took a couple of years or so before humans started popping up everywhere around there. And, since then, they’ve popped up in unexpected places- some speaking Common, and languages from planets that were concerningly far from Earth. Everyone else came to the consensus that finding a human was unexpected, for the most part, but not impossible- like finding money under your seat, or dirt behind your ear. It was neither good nor bad. Just… strange.
And even though it wasn’t impossible for a human to be stuck in a prison in the middle of nowhere alongside him- since no one was entirely saved from breaking a few laws, known or unknown- it still made him blank. As far as he knew, they were far from Earth- very far- so he could easily guess that this was either someone that somehow found himself really far from home… or he was just a seasoned explorer that likely got himself caught up in a huge mess.
Either way, they sat in front of him, and before Mumbo could even ask, the human's face changed a little. He leaned forward, elbow resting on the table, and he tapped his fingers against his closed, tight-lipped smile. He finally squinted before he said something-
And he quickly realized that he wasn't speaking in Common.
Instead, it was a language that Mumbo was likely supposed to be familiar with- one he's heard amongst people like him on his home planet- but he never took the time to learn it himself. Thanks to his own life experiences, he could only understand bits and pieces of what he was saying.
(The language was perfect, though- or it sounded familiar, at least. The words rolled over his tongue like they belonged there. And maybe it'd sound bad if the man didn't look as confident, or sounded more unsure, but as far as Mumbo could tell… it was perfect.
He was a seasoned explorer, then- if not just somebody who was smart. Because the man also looked young, and unless he was only taking his time to learn that one specific language, Mumbo guessed that he probably knew a lot more.)
"...What?" He asked, and the man's face fell.
"Oh." He frowned, but it looked more like a pout, than anything. Something playful. "And here I was trying to show off."
"It was probably good? It sounded correct, if that means anything." And, immediately, that smile was back- but it had an edge to it that unsettled Mumbo a little. "Did you need something?"
Fingers drummed against his lip.
"Where have I seen you before?" The human asked, and Mumbo guessed that it was the same thing he'd said before. Same infliction, same look on his face, as if he were trying to restart the conversation he wanted to have with him.
Mumbo's eyes looked around the room.
Nobody else in the cafeteria was eyeing them. Not the guards posted in the corner near the door, or the ones by the windows- showing a plethora of stars, mixed with the inky, black nothingness of space- none of the other inmates, who would usually try to stare Mumbo down if they wanted to approach him…
Nobody but this human.
"You've probably just seen me around here." And, because he didn't know where this conversation was heading, or what this man wanted from him, Mumbo's hand lightly started to tug and pull on the cuff of his sleeves.
Beneath his gray sleeves were a pair of handcuffs. Lightweight, but chunky metal wristbands that molded perfectly over his wrists, as if they were made to fit there. There was a thin, translucent line connecting them- one that was just for show, seeing that his hand could pass right through them if he wanted them to- but the whole point of the cuffs was to keep him from moving his hands around too much. After a certain point, his wrists couldn't move outward. And every time he ate- along with everyone else in that prison- one hand would have to uncomfortably sit close to the food just so the other could help him eat.
The human had cuffs on too. While one arm was propping up his head, the other was tucked in the crook of his arm- trying to stay as comfortable as possible while maintaining the pose.
"No…" The human said, "You have a very memorable face…"
"I don't think I've seen you before.”
The human looked down at himself, and at the front of his own gray uniform. Then he laughed a little.
"No, I don't think we've met personally…" Then, the human snapped his fingers, "Oh- I know! You were all over those wanted posters in Phorihiri for the longest time! The man with the weird spots on his skin, and the- well, it's not one, but the skin around your upper lip looks like…" And he trailed off, with his hand touching his own lip.
"Looks like what?"
"Facial hair." His thumb pressed against his chin, showing off the tiniest bit of hair on it, and the man smiled. “Like a mustache.”
Mumbo's eye twitched a little. Not out of annoyance, for once, but instead from slight anxiety.
He bit, "What were you doing over in Phorihiri?"
"Oh, I lived there for a little while. I’m something of a traveler…" He gestured towards himself, as if it was supposed to mean anything, "But, uh, you know- I'm not really a space pirate, or anything, beyond technicality. I don't think my life's ever been quite that exciting." He leaned closer, and smiled further, "What's it like? Traveling, with these people constantly being on your back, hm?"
"I wouldn't know," Mumbo said coldly.
The man's head turned a little, "You wouldn't?" He asked, "But that's what you're here for, right?"
There was something in the look on his face- Mumbo couldn't quite describe it, but throughout their whole conversation, everything he said left Mumbo with a bad taste in his mouth. He was unsettling, even if it was unintentionally so- but because he was being polite for the time being, Mumbo decided to be polite in turn as he was leaving.
"Did you want something from me?" He asked, point-blank, and the man seemed surprised.
"...nothing but a conversation." He punctuated it with a smile. "If you're willing to share that with me, anyway."
"Right…"
He nodded, muttered some sort of excuse, and took his tray still full of food to another spot in the cafeteria.
He didn't turn around to see if the man was following him or not. There was no scrape of a chair sliding out from under a table, or the sound of footsteps, or words- just silence left behind him. Nobody even looked at him as he walked away, and he was quietly thankful that it wasn't a friendly conversation under the guise of something much more menacing.
Mumbo relocated to another empty table, and quietly finished the rest of his lunch in peace.
-
Mumbo expected to see the man again.
The prison wasn't all that big, and if he was already spotted once, it'd be impossible not to get spotted again if the man was looking for him. But the way they met again was just… unexpected.
Just an hour or so after meeting him, Mumbo walked back into an empty cell.
There was no unkempt, unmade bed. No magazines in languages he couldn't understand spilled out across the floor. The cell's shared radio- a small, boxy sort of thing that sat on a stand at the very end of the room between the two beds- wasn't blaring news channels at uncomfortable volumes- doomed to play constantly, as the two of them were in the same room together, and disturbing Mumbo's otherwise perfect sleep. It was switched off for once.
It was as if nobody ever even lived on the left side of that cell- and even though Mumbo knew his way to his own cell like the back of his hand, and he could see his own meager belongings still in his area (pushed further into his area, since his cellmate insisted on having much more room than him), it was still jarring. And, even if for a moment, he wondered if he was really in the right cell, or if he accidentally wandered into the next one over.
But then, seeing that it was his cell, Mumbo hesitantly sat down on his bed, and went about minding his own business. He wouldn't condemn this small miracle just yet- he knew, even if he hadn't been there for very long, that he was either getting the cell to himself, or he was going to end up sharing it with someone different. Someone better, he hoped, but he also knew better than to get his hopes up in a place like this.
And just like he expected, it wasn't very long before the peaceful silence was interrupted.
Mumbo was reading when he heard the clicking of multiple footsteps coming down the hall- and, immediately, he knew that they were likely headed towards him. Seconds later, with a quiet hiss, the transparent door to his cell opened up, and three people stepped inside. Two guards, dressed in their signature navy blue uniforms, followed by another prisoner dressed completely in gray-
And, upon seeing Mumbo, the prisoner's face lit up. "Well, hello there!"
It had only been a couple hours, at that point, since he first met that strange, human prisoner.
And yet, here he was- being escorted to his cell with a fresh pillow and blanket, and whatever they let him bring along with him. After he was in, and after he sat down, the guards escorting him took a couple of steps back, and closed the door behind them as they left. The exit was suddenly blocked by a translucent sheen, and Mumbo knew from experience that if he tried pressing his hand up against it, then he’d get zapped by it.
When he looked back over, his new cellmate was hugging the folded blanket and pillow close to his chest, and he was smiling at him. No traces of anything malicious.
"I didn't know you were new here," Mumbo said.
"Well…" The human set his pillow aside, near the front of the bed. “I also just have trouble finding good cellmates. You understand.”
“Through no fault of your own, right?”
The human hummed.
Then he looked over at him, and the expression on his face was incredulous as he said, “What, me?” At Mumbo’s resounding silence, he laughed a little, “I’m just a human- what am I going to do, paired against half of the people in here? My last roommate had an exoskeleton!” His eyes narrowed, “You have bones sticking out of your body, I don’t know what you’re so worried about!”
There were protruding bones on his collarbones, neck, and on his back, near his spine. Not that the prisoner could see half of them- but if he really has seen people like him before, then he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw any stranger formations. Those specific bones were hardly bones at all, and meant to protect one of the more important parts of his body. (On top of all of that, his skull was nearly impossible to break from any sort of blunt force trauma. This prisoner could break his own hand trying.)
But the spot where some of his more important organs were- near his stomach area- was entirely unprotected, like an achille’s heel. And if this human was so knowledgeable, then he’d know that. At the same time, he could understand where the human was coming from- every part of him was squishy, and unprotected, and if Mumbo bashed his own forehead against this human’s, the brain in there would turn to mush, and he’d die in a matter of minutes.
“You’ve made it this far.” But if he made it out this far in the known universe- so far away from his own home- Mumbo knew better than to underestimate him. Anyone that could survive so comfortably and for so long was someone that knew what they were doing.
“I had my gang. Without them, I barely would’ve survived out here..”
“Right.” And yet, without them, he exuded the kind of confidence that Mumbo would’ve killed to have.
Even in this dreary cell- with blankets so thin that it did nothing to block the chills coming from the windows, and pillows that were heavy and hurt Mumbo’s shoulder- the human didn’t even look the slightest bit phased, or scared for what was coming next. Instead, he was calmly making his bed, and making polite conversation with someone that looked scarier than he did.
He had reason to be confident, Mumbo knew, but it was only a matter of time before he figured out why he thought it was so warranted.
-
He soon learned that his new cellmate's name was Scar.
Mumbo didn’t know if it was his real name or not, seeing that he could’ve gotten some inspiration from the thin, pale skin blemishes that were covering the most of his face- but even then, he had no way of proving otherwise, and no urge to do so…
So, he was Scar.
Unless he wanted to refer to him by his number- prisoner 077- but even if it was fake, the name weirdly suited him, so Mumbo didn’t question it much.
In turn, Mumbo introduced himself by his own name- and, from there, a weird sort of… partnership started.
They weren’t friends, by any means. Mumbo didn’t think he was ever going to make such a thing in such a place- but they were cellmates. They spent every night together, keeping to themselves, and sleeping without a radio being on for once- the room being so quiet that Mumbo kept his breathing quiet and slow as he drifted off, keeping an eye out for anything that might’ve been off-
But Scar was always just as quiet. If Mumbo listened carefully, he could listen to the sounds of his slow breathing from across the room. When they got ready for the day, they took turns crowding around their prison’s only sink, and they left together. Sometimes Scar slinked away during breakfast, and lunch- but for dinner, every time without fail, he was sitting across the table from Mumbo, and making some pleasant conversation.
Sometimes, while they were out in the yard, or while they had some free time outside of their cells, Mumbo caught Scar hanging out with all kinds of different groups of people. During those times, Mumbo would usually busy himself with staring up at the sky- marveling at the picturesque sight of tiny stars dotted in the sky, and constantly needing to remind himself that it was just a projection, and not the actual night sky. Where they were situated, he knew, the planets surrounding them would’ve looked significantly more imposing.
And despite how much time passed, it would always look like they were awake in the middle of the night.
Then, like clockwork, Scar would make his way back over to him.
In this sort of routine, it was easy to pick up things about him.
Scar was a social butterfly (In fact, out of anyone he's ever seen him approach, there was only one collective group of people that didn't react so well upon seeing him again. And- upon inquiring, since Mumbo was completely shocked by the sudden switch up- he just sheepishly said, "It's my old crew." Before his hand came around, and scratched the back of his neck, "I- don't think they want me talking to them anytime soon- so… I'd be careful around them.")
But, aside from that group, it seemed like he could make friends at the drop of a hat- walking up to them, talking to them like they were old friends, and always ending up without any sort of confrontation, or bad news. That sort of skill was important, in a barren place like this- and it was one that Mumbo lacked considerably.
Scar was messy. While Mumbo’s mess was more organized, and he much preferred to have everything cleaned up when he was done, Scar didn’t. The pillow he was given was moved all around the bed, and in a different spot every time Mumbo looked over- it was rarely being tucked under his head, and instead being tucked under his knees, or his feet. His blanket- and another blanket, along with another pillow, after Scar realized that the guards were unfamiliar with how to care for a human, and he could get them to do just about anything as long as he asked for it sweetly enough- were practically piled on top of him every single night.
Sometimes, when Mumbo looked over in the mornings, it was almost comically messy. When Scar read anything, it’d end up being tucked into different parts of the blanket, instead of under the bed, like Mumbo had it. And even as they left, Scar didn’t seem bothered with making his bed, and instead left the mess behind him-
But he never encroached onto Mumbo’s side of the cell. He and his things barely even left the bed he slept on. He had the radio on during the day, playing the news in languages Mumbo didn’t understand from planets that were likely nearby, but Scar constantly kept it at a reasonable volume.
And, despite the initial introduction, Scar didn’t talk much when he was in their cell. He was never much of a bother at all.
Until that radio broke.
Scar flicked it on as Mumbo was washing his hands in the sink. And, despite the loud rushing of water, he could distantly hear the fuzzy click of Scar turning the radio on, followed by an empty silence. A series of clicks followed, like Scar was constantly turning the knob and trying to get it to play, but nothing had.
After Mumbo dried his hands off on his own shirt, Scar clicked his tongue, and switched the radio off for the final time. “Radio’s busted.”
“Really?” As Mumbo approached the small stand it was on, he easily picked the radio up, and turned it over. He popped out the hatch on the back, and carefully prodded his finger through its back- trying his best to see with the bright lights of his cell still shining in his face. He spotted something- a stray wire, he guessed, from the looks of it- and he had the feeling that he knew what to fix. “Hold on.”
Mumbo sat on the edge of his own bed, hunched over the radio on his lap, and he slowly started twisting the wire back into place. He didn’t notice until later- right before he was about to test out whether or not it was working again- but Scar had spent the entire time watching his hands intently. And when he looked up to face him, Scar quickly met his eye.
He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “So, you’re a tech guy?”
“Of sorts.” He muttered, noncommittally.
He switched it on, and after that pleasant-sounding buzz, the news soon followed. Some lady chattering on about something Mumbo couldn’t understand- tone bored, despite it, and Mumbo couldn’t find it in himself to blame her. With how high their technology was, the only people listening to radios these days were delivery drivers that were in the area, people who were bored, or, of course, prisoners that had nothing much more to do with their time. The lady on the other end likely wasn’t getting paid enough to care.
He handed the radio back over to Scar, and the human only looked back down at it for a second. Mumbo watched him switch it off, set it back down on the stand it was once on, before turning back to Mumbo with that same pleasant expression on his face.
Mumbo grimaced in turn.
“Were you the tech guy on your crew? Do you know how to, uh-" He stuttered in his words, as if he couldn't remember the word at first, "Hotwire- ships?"
"...sure?"
“Did you drive your ship?”
“Sometimes.” He relented, and Scar grinned so wide that it seemed to split his face.
“You know, I’ve always wanted to be a space pirate- I always thought that it was the sort of lifestyle I was born for.” He gushed, and he felt his hands up to the ceiling- as if there was supposed to be something up there for the both of them to look at, “Running from the law, living the rest of my life constantly traveling from planet to planet… It’s the dream! My, uh, home planet- is very beautiful, but once you get a taste of what everything else has to offer, it’s very easy to leave.”
“Why not just travel then?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” He sighed, “Or the money? You can’t make money by doing nothing.”
“There’s more legal delivery jobs that you can take. It’s the same benefits, but it’s more legal.”
Scar pouted, and looked at him with bored, half-lidded eyes.
“It’s not the same.”
“Well… it’s not all that glamorous.”
Mumbo, personally, didn’t care either way- he got paid a lot more when he was delivering stuff that wasn’t entirely legal, and he had to be a lot more careful when passing through checkpoints- but for the most part, it was fairly similar.
The only reason he got so swept up in it was because of an old coworker turned business partner, and because it was all too easy to persuade him to get involved with anything he wasn’t vehemently against.
“I want to be the first human space pirate.”
“You wouldn’t be the first.”
“Then I’ll be the best.” He swore, “Hey, maybe when we both get out of here, we could work together.”
Mumbo hummed, but didn’t agree to it. Nor did he disagree. Because knowing his luck- and knowing how tight knit their circles were, if he really was going to be pursuing a similar path- he had the feeling that he was likely going to see Scar again, once they were both out.
And he didn’t know how to feel about it.
At first, he was incredibly on edge around him- but after a while of being in the same cell as him, and seeing that he was just a friendly guy- Mumbo had gotten… quite comfortable around him. Not completely- there wasn’t a trusting bone in his body for anybody that was too friendly to him- but at the very least, they could coexist without Mumbo constantly wondering if he was going to kill him in the middle of the night.
And, well… along the way, Mumbo might have also been friendly with him. Entertaining questions and listening to his rambles, instead of outright ignoring him, and letting him follow him around if he wanted to. (Some part of him argued that it was just out of necessity, and that since Scar presumably had a large social group, it wasn’t wise to cross him, or get on his bad side. But deep down, in a spot that would never admit itself, Mumbo knew that he was also likely just happy to have some kind of companion of sorts in a dreary place like this.
Someone he could be friendly with without compromising himself. Someone he could forget months after he left, and not have to worry about- even if, somehow, they might cross paths again.)
So, after a pause that felt like more than just a few minutes going by- something that felt much, much longer, with Scar himself even laying down, and intending to keep to himself- Mumbo spoke up again.
“That’s if we get out at the same time.” He said, almost coyly, and Scar’s head immediately perked up.
“What’s that?”
“We could work together. If we’re getting out at the same time.” Then, Mumbo pretended to look bored- busying himself with a book, as if he were just making a light observation, and not intending to make any sort of conversation.
“Well… when do you get out?”
“After eight cycles.” He’s spent one of them in there already, and he was set to ride out the next few cycles until he was done, and he could finally be released.
Scar sucked a breath in sharply, making a hissing noise through his teeth, “I’m set for 13.”
That told Mumbo mostly what he needed to know. Clearly, if Scar was anything too dangerous, he’d either be set in solitary confinement, or put in a more high-end prison of sorts- but if he was only set for 13… he did something pretty bad, but not bad enough to warrant any unwanted attention. (In turn, Mumbo stating his own meant establishing themselves on a similar boat. They did something illegal, sure- illegal enough to have them contained in this specific area, since being outlawed all across the known universe was ridiculous and impossible for a petty crime- but it wasn’t that bad. For the most part, they were safe.)
“What happened?”
“Ah- well…” Scar scratched around his ear, “I was with my gang, trying to do this whole space pirate thing, but they… sort of just left me in the dust.”
“They- betrayed you? And you got caught?”
“Oh, no, all of us got caught. We’re all here.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, “But they tried to get away. And now they’re mad that they’re stuck in here with me- they got mad when they tried putting all of us in the same cell, y’know. That’s why I’m in here. With you.”
Hm.
"Did your crew get caught because of you, by chance?"
"Of course not!" He said, incredulously, "I mean- they might think so, but I was helping. If they’d listened to me instead of arguing, we could’ve been halfway to another galaxy, by now! Instead we’re just… stuck in here.”
“Hm.”
“What about you?”
“Er… same thing, I guess.”
“Is your crew here?”
Mumbo’s frown deepened. The parts of his mouth near his cheeks pressed together tightly as he said, “No.”
“Oh… so you’re more of the self-sacrificial type….”
“I guess?”
Mumbo watched Scar slowly roll from his back to laying on his stomach. He used both of his cuffed hands to hold the weight of his head, and one of his legs even kicked up in the air. He never broke eye contact with Mumbo, and as he seemed to check him out, his head tilted a little.
“Hey- you and I have been friendly for a while, haven’t we?”
“...yeah?”
“You don’t look all that malicious to me.” He said, to Mumbo’s utter surprise, “And, maybe it’s not the best idea… but I trust you.”
“You trust me?”
“Somewhat.” His smile grew just a little wider, “Enough.”
Mumbo’s eyes shifted around the room, briefly, before he quieted down as well. “How much?”
Scar looked over to the front of the cell- at the clear, translucent wall currently keeping the two of them from just running out of their cells. One touch would shock them, he knew, but Scar didn’t even seem to be slightly intimidated by it.
“Mumbo…” He said, quietly, “How do you feel about breaking out of here?”
-
Mumbo knew that the consequences wouldn’t be as dire as his head was trying to make them out to be.
According to the laws keeping him in there in the first place, he couldn’t get arrested if he was out of the solar system he committed the initial crime in. And after his trial- after they couldn’t find any evidence of him going anywhere else- they deemed that he was only in trouble for that one particular solar system, and he was charged with that one crime.
Anything higher than his smuggling charges would make the scale much larger- but nobody deemed him as a threat, and so long as he steered clear of that solar system, there was virtually no way of him getting caught. (And, as far as he knew, if he did get caught, all he would have to do was serve the remainder of his sentence with little to no hassle. Maybe a cycle or two in solitary confinement to discourage him from trying again, but otherwise, nothing serious.)
So hypothetically, if he did agree to Scar’s silly plan, there wouldn’t be enough repercussions to make him steer clear of it. They were just petty thieves, and if they found a way out, the worst case scenario was them getting caught with nothing more than a slap on the wrist.
But Mumbo was cautious. And rightfully so.
He didn’t know what Scar was thinking, offering that sort of thing to someone he just met. For all he knew, Mumbo could’ve been a snitch, or just the type to go along with it, and end up betraying him in the end! He put the crux of this- seemingly- important plan into the palm of his hands, and now…
Mumbo told him he’d think about it, but he really didn’t have any means to do so. Because, realistically, even though it was an incredibly low-budget prison with minimal security (the type of place that would actually have the chance for escapees, unlike your max security prisons), Mumbo’s been there much longer than Scar has, and he knew better than to get his hopes up for a hypothetical escape plan from someone that was… new.
But Scar didn’t quit. He was stubborn like that, Mumbo found, and because he didn’t really disagree with it, Scar stuck to his sides like a burr would stick to someone’s clothes, and when it was just the two of them, he would talk about his plan.
While he was brushing his sharp teeth, with a mouthful of paste, Scar would tell him that the security wasn’t all that high because the pay wasn’t good- something he could’ve learned from socializing with any of the security guards, he found. If the pay wasn't great, the dedication wasn't great, either.
While they were eating- Mumbo keeping to a diet of plain protein bars that the cafeteria offered, while Scar’s plate was piled high with anything green, and anything that would’ve tasted better if it hadn’t been grown under an artificial light- he continued to try and convince him-
But to no such luck.
"I think you're bugging the wrong person about this." Mumbo stated in the middle of their meal, plain as day.
"Come on." Scar pressed, further and further, and Mumbo didn't have the slightest clue why.
"It's comfortable here. I can stick around for a few more cycles." Scar groaned at the response, but otherwise went right back to eating. He, almost bitterly, murmured some rather unsavory things under his breath- but when Mumbo looked at him, Scar's palm was pressed firmly against his mouth, and he was looking back at him with a pleasant expression on his face.
Mumbo's hand dropped down onto the table, unceremoniously. "There are hundreds of other prisoners here that would happily jump at the opportunity."
"Yeah, but I've met the majority of those hundreds of other prisoners-" He repeated in a low, almost mocking drawl, "I've met all kinds of different people, and different personalities, And I've already made up my mind. If I want to escape with someone, I want to be with you."
Mumbo's eyes narrowed. His mouth open, slightly, but nothing came out. The gall- the audacity, the gumption, or whatever word he was looking for- of this man to decide something so detrimental to a plan that, allegedly, was so important to him… Mumbo had his guard up when he was around him, sometimes. He couldn't imagine making an escape plan, and trusting that plan to someone that he met just recently.
Not unless he needed them to tag along, of course.
But then the question was… why? What about Mumbo made Scar so sure that he would willingly go along with everything?
He was just about to ask. The questions on the tip of his tongue- but right before he could say anything, he noticed multiple things at once. First, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps- the shoes of the guards clicking incessantly against the smooth floors of the prison. Multiple footsteps, far in number, walking straight toward the cafeteria. Then, right before he turned around to see what it was, he noticed the way Scar's playful expression had fallen, and he watched him settle back into his seat. Suddenly, he was miserable, and quiet, and much more interested in his food than he had been just seconds ago.
Mumbo twisted around and over his seat to get a good look. Behind him, a few guards filed into the room, and moved to stand alongside their coworkers. Around him, he could see the other inmates keeping an eye out for the rising number of guards, waiting tentatively to see if they'd announce why there were so many of them, now-
But they were silent. All of the other inmates moved on fairly quickly, but Mumbo kept his eyes on the increased number of guards for just a few moments longer.
"What's with the security?" He asked, mostly to himself, but his voice carried across the table, and into the ears of his beloved cellmate.
"It's a prison." Scar muttered, as if it wasn't already the most obvious part, possibly annoyed that it didn’t even seem like Mumbo was listening to him and his crazy ideas for an escape plan. Mumbo clicked his forked tongue, and it almost sounded like a hiss.
The prison they were in was on something that almost looked like an asteroid, and it was so small and uninhabitable that the atmosphere had to be artificial. And even though it was incredibly spacious, and you could likely walk for hours at a time before reaching its jagged edge, there was still… nothing. Aside from the prison, and the parking lot, it was all one giant wasteland floating around in the middle of space. And even if those horrible prisoners somehow found a way out, and did manage to escape, they couldn't go anywhere without a ship.
As far as Mumbo was concerned, the security might not have been necessary at all, except for where the parking lot and the actual prison was.
And yet, here they were.
"You know what I mean." Mumbo pressed quietly.
And, thankfully, Scar came with an answer.
"They think there's some very bad people in this prison. Some people who don’t deserve to be hanging out in a place like this." He answered, almost solemnly. There was a smile present on his face, but nothing about his face seemed… happy. Not from what Mumbo could tell, anyway. "So the security is going to be steadily increasing, just in case. And if I had to guess, they're probably going to be keeping a closer eye on the inmates." Then, when he looked over at Mumbo, his eyes were half-lidded, and his smile became much more playful. "From what everyone's saying, anyway- and what's on the radio."
"What do you mean they think?"
"It's not a high security prison, Mumbo. Just somewhere they like to put petty criminals like us. They're not going to be as organized as you think they are." Scar's eyebrows raised, "I heard a rumor going around that everyone's sentences might be extended, if they can't find anything."
Mumbo frowned.
"What kinds of people are they looking for?"
"Not us." He said, vaguely, but keeping the repetition up to really push that idea. "We're just petty thieves. We won't even be missed, if we leave now."
"And… you're using that to your advantage, I assume?" Mumbo asked quietly.
Scar chewed. Paused. Smiled.
"You know there's a blind spot in the cafeteria, with the cameras. Since there's usually guards watching us while we eat." His gaze turned over to their right, and Mumbo turned his head as well, "As far as I can tell, anyway. And it's small- but it could be enough for the plan I had in mind.”
Mumbo sighed deeply.
“And what is that?” He asked in a dull monotone, and Scar was more than happy to indulge-
Every guard, from what he could see, had keycards that could lead them all across the prison. Even to the outside, maybe. If they were lucky. If some big commotion happened- if, in the middle of everything, there was a crowd near that blindspot, and if a guard was in there- then it’d leave a major opportunity for them to be able to grab that card, and use it to get out.
“And… well.” Mumbo watched Scar forgo the eating utensils given to him, and instead roll up the leaves with the small fruits trapped inside, eating it all in one go, “If the security’s amping up and we want to go, then we’ll need to leave as soon as possible, won’t we?”
"Unless the security loosens up." He muttered, mostly to himself, but Scar's ears seemed to perk up at the sound of his voice anyway.
"Unless?" Scar repeated.
"We can also leave once the security’s gone. Or if they caught the guys. Right?"
Scar tapped his chin thoughtfully.
"And if they don't? If it gets worse, we'll be stuck in here… for a really long time."
Who knows when they’ll get another chance- Scar planted in his mind- what if the security only gets worse from then on? Or, better yet, what if they never get the chance to leave at all? (But Mumbo didn't want to go, he thought bitterly.
…
Did he?
The prison was… lackluster, and boring, and left him with minimal stimulation. There wasn't much for him in that solar system, anyway, and he wouldn't be bothered to skip it if they had a delivery- or, if worse came to worse, all he would have to do is keep his head down when passing through it, and he wouldn't be looked at twice. And, above all else- admitted with his sharp teeth denting the soft tissue of his cheek- he missed his crew.
He missed having someone that could keep an eye out for him, and watch his back- even if, at the last minute, they lacked just enough to have him arrested. He missed the company of friends. And maybe, even if it hadn't happened yet, there would come a day where he would become so unbearably sick of prison that he'd want to hatch an escape plan- but at that point, because of whatever had been happening behind the scenes, it would be too late.
And, without someone like Scar willing to help, it'd just be plain impossible.)
Mumbo chewed his own food thoughtfully.
The rest of the day was spent with Scar pitching the idea to him at random points. Going to the yard, the library, to dinner- walking through the halls along with other prisoners, and sometimes politely shushing him when he didn't seem to care about how loud he was being. (Not just from a safety standpoint, of course, or not wanting to be reported- and it's not like he didn't care for anyone else stepping in to get in on this plan- but heads would turn with interest, and Mumbo knew that it was wiser for Scar to keep it down.)
Mumbo listened, but he didn't say much. It wasn't until later that same day- when the two of them were in their cell, and keeping to themselves- when Scar let out a quiet, low whistle. He was laying down on his bed and his stomach- upper body laying against the spot that he'd usually rest his legs on- and he had a hand near the radio.
He was turning one of the knobs, and though Mumbo couldn't understand what was being said on the other end, he knew that Scar was likely turning it to make the audio clearer.
"The rumor's spreading to the news." Scar muttered, quietly. "It keeps changing from a group of dangerous people, to just one person hiding out here. They can't get their stories straight." Scar frowned, "They're saying that we might be here for a while."
"Is it just a rumor?"
"I don't know." He said noncommittally. "Probably- I don't know how reliable the source is."
Mumbo thumbed the pages of his book, almost thoughtfully.
"Still no word on who they're looking for, specifically?"
Scar paused. The thoughtful, static words of the newscaster filled the silence of their room, and Mumbo waited with anticipation for Scar's answer. He tried to look busy, and tried to sound like he was hardly listening to him- hardly caring, just as he had throughout the day- but the silence was interesting. It almost looked like he was listening to the radio intently.
"Nothing solid." After another minute, Scar turned to face Mumbo again, and he cracked a little grin, "They're saying that there might be someone laying low to prevent a worse sentence- isn't that crazy?"
It wasn't that crazy. If Mumbo had a worse sentence- something truly horrible enough to warrant more than just a few cycles- he'd do anything in his power to avoid it as much as possible. Whether that be avoiding certain planets or avoiding serving jail time in the first place, by any means necessary. It wouldn't be too outrageous, seeing horrible criminals trying to hide along with some people that were serving lesser crimes- if they could manage it. Somehow.
"I just wish so many people weren't affected by it."
"Well." Scar's head turned to the radio, "I can understand why they want to take some precautions with this- but if they want to lay low, won't they just keep their heads down in prison? Why act like they're- I don't know, a ticking time bomb?"
"It's what they do on the outside that matters." Scar hummed. Then, Mumbo said, "You know… because of the way the system's set up, I wouldn't be surprised if there were more people like that in here. Hiding under false names."
"Looking for looser sentences." Scar muttered thoughtfully, "But why care now, if it's already ongoing?"
Mumbo already knew what kind of people were being protected. That much was obvious- money made the world go round, and anyone who could afford it could skip out on sentences they likely deserved.
"Maybe they need to set an example. Or, maybe, it's all just for show, and they aren't actually looking for anyone."
"But then they would need a scapegoat. If they were looking for someone to blame." Scar looked, suddenly, a little alarmed, "And that could be anyone."
Even someone like Scar, Mumbo realized- the smiley, sociable prisoner that could make a friend at the drop of a hat- could be thrown under the bus. Blamed, and sentenced. So long as he didn't have any powerful connections, he was at risk for getting in much more trouble than what he deserved. (And, distantly, Mumbo knew that it applied to himself, as well. Even if he's rubbed shoulders with some powerful people before, it wasn't anything personal, and it was never enough to help him with getting out of sticky situations.)
"Yeah." Mumbo said.
"Hm." Scar then, finally, switched the radio off. "Well- just some food for thought, hm?"
Their nightly routine continued, just as normal-
But that night, Mumbo found himself unable to go to sleep.
His hands practically itched at the thought of being able to leave. Because, before Scar, his mind was solely set on survival, and keeping his head down- but ever since Scar became his cellmate, and publicly stuck by his side, nobody really… picked on Mumbo anymore. It helped, it seemed, having someone that charismatic as a friend- but if Scar went ahead and left, then that meant that Mumbo would be back to square one. (And even though his sentence was longer, and Scar could always escape right after Mumbo was gone, he didn't think he could make Scar stay as long as he needed him to.)
Besides that…
He just missed being outside.
It was the sort of longing that he'd constantly push to the side- always keeping himself busy, and always worried about something else happening all around him- but now, with the sort of peace that came with Scar, it was the one thing that was on the forefront of his mind. He hated it there, and he wanted to leave as soon as possible.
And in the quiet of their shared room, knowing that Scar wasn't asleep just yet, he finally conceded.
“If you have a solid plan, I’ll help get the both of us out of here.”
And, at his statement, Scar’s head immediately shot up in excitement.
-
Thankfully, the plan was quite simple and laid out plainly during their next lunchtime.
And, at Scar’s request, moving along quite quickly.
"I need you to pick a fight with Tiny over there." And, when Mumbo looked over, he was quickly (and unexpectedly) greeted by the sight of his old roommate.
"What?" He'd almost forgotten about his old roommate. He just knew that he was short, and rude, and it wouldn't take much for him to get set off about something and take it all out on Mumbo. (Even if it wasn't for very long- not a comfortable amount of time, anyway- Mumbo had practically been spoiled while bunking with Scar, and not having to deal with an obnoxious roommate.
Well- Scar was obnoxious in his own, special, completely tolerable sort of way.)
"He's right in the blind spot- if you could find some way to mess with him, and start a scene, we could get a guard over there, and they'll just lose a keycard in the process!"
"Then?"
"Then we leave. I get the card, and we run out of here as fast as we can- and we can steal one of those fancy buses they brought us in on."
“There’s one parked outside? You can guarantee that?”
“I saw one that wasn’t being used. Look- we don’t have a lot of people coming in on the daily, right? Besides that influx, it's kinda empty. I’m sure there’s one that’s been left behind.”
"I don't like the sound of that." Mumbo hissed.
"Come on, I need you to trust me." Scar seemed to pout, tilting his head down and his eyes up in an obvious attempt at begging him, "You trust me, right?"
"No."
Scar clicked his tongue, "Come on, what's the worst that can happen?"
"I get stuck in solitary confinement, and you skip away with your brand new keycard."
"I told you I can't leave without you." Mumbo's face twisted. "He's been in isolation before, Mumbo! If it all goes wrong, we can just say that he started the fight, and we'll be fine."
"With so many eye witnesses?"
"Just- don't." Scar sighed, "Isn't he short tempered?"
"He's short, as well."
Scar continued on as if he didn't hear that, "If you verbally pick a fight, he might escalate it, and you can claim that he threw the first punch- because he would've."
Mumbo's hands began to itch, and he found himself relentlessly scratching at his thick skin. "Why don't you start the fight?"
"Are you going to steal the keycard?" Scar challenged, and all Mumbo had to offer in return was an annoyed grumble.
Mumbo ended up following along with it anyway.
The whole plan, Scar said, just hinged on him getting that keycard. And he assured him that he couldn't leave without him. (And, internally, Mumbo knew that it was the best chance he was going to get. Scar couldn't be fully trusted, but then neither could the rest of the inmates in that prison. And, if he wanted someone to break out with… Scar was his best shot.)
So he did as he was told. He approached Tiny from behind, continuing on even after his group stopped to stare at him, and he gently tapped his shoulder.
Tiny only glanced at him. Apparently, the one look was enough for him to spot and see that Mumbo wasn't worth his time. Because he returned to the conversation rather quickly- and soon after that, the whole table was ignoring him.
Mumbo glanced over at Scar, and saw that the human seemed to be… a little disappointed, upon seeing that Mumbo wasn't as confrontational as he'd hoped for him to be. (Which was all on him! From even the small time they've been together, Scar knew that Mumbo was more introverted than he was. And even though he stood tall- only slightly taller than Scar, but much taller than Tiny, and more than half the prison guards- he was not the intimidating type.)
Then, Scar seemed to notice Mumbo staring. He gestured for him to continue. And when Mumbo kept standing there- awkwardly, motionless- Scar's hands moved in a 'go ahead' sort of gesture, as if his word was the main thing that was keeping him there, and not the fact that Mumbo didn't know whether or not to go through with it.
Mumbo inhaled, exhaled, and tried again. This time, he was tapping Tiny's shoulder repeatedly, and with so much force against his fingernail that it was undoubtedly painful against him. Even if he wouldn't talk to him, he figured, he'd be at least a little annoyed.
"What?" Tiny asked, with a tense edge to his voice. When Mumbo realized that tapping his shoulder annoyed him much more than anything Mumbo could ever say to him, the taps shuddered slightly before they continued. Incessant. Annoying. "What?" Tiny repeated, turning his body around more, but Mumbo just kept tapping. (Because, really, what was he supposed to tell the guards once this was all over with? That Mumbo was annoying him? Was that justified?)
And, even before Mumbo could get a word in, his hand was grabbed, and a conflict of sorts had been started. Tiny stood up and, with his hand still over Mumbo's, he glared at him with that familiar sort of glare he'd give him whenever he asked him to keep it down late at night. Mumbo's mouth twisted into a sheepish grimace.
Then he shoved Mumbo. And because of the force being used, he almost completely tumbled over. Mumbo looked over at Scar- who was very close nearby, and watched the whole scene unfold right in front of him with a tense look on his face- before he looked over at the guards- who were, unsurprisingly, not very caring about anything that was happening. (He swore, in a place that he wasn't directly looking at, there was at least one guard that was telling them to knock it off- but it was futile.)
Tiny shoved him again, and Mumbo barely caught his footing. Mumbo shoved him back, light enough to not do so much, but that only escalated it. (Well- if he was being honest, it was hardly a shove. Mumbo pressed his hands against him, and he moved- but it was done with so little strength that it was… a little pathetic, honestly.)
Within seconds, a full fight broke out- with Tiny wailing on him, and Mumbo just doing his best to block it-
And, if he was being honest, Tiny wasn't doing much in terms of damage. Mumbo naturally had thicker skin, and bones in place to protect him. And, even if he didn't, the only thing that Tiny could hurt was someone that was just as fleshy and soft as Scar was. At some point, he ended up on the ground, and someone (Scar, likely) was yelling about two inmates fighting- but it was all mostly white noise. As far as Mumbo was concerned, if it were just the two of them, all he'd have to do was wait for Tiny to tire himself out, and he'd be the clear winner.
Other inmates got involved. One came up from behind Tiny- one from his table, Mumbo recognized faintly- to restrain him. In turn, Scar came up from behind Mumbo to help him up- one hand on his elbow, while the other was at his lower torso. To his surprise, Despite his stature, Scar had lifted him up quite easily.
"You okay?" Scar quietly muttered in his ear, and Mumbo nodded harshly.
It wasn't long before the guards made their appearances. Tiny was quickly apprehended, multiple guards all rushing in at once to keep him still, and prevent him from pushing the conflict any further- but he noticed that the ones headed towards Mumbo weren't rushing as much. Scar already had him apprehended, and he was quick to hand him off to one of them. Mumbo felt Scar's hands- one placed near his lower back, to his surprise, catching him more off guard than he'd like to admit- while the other slipped away from Mumbo.
In a second, both hands were gone. Scar tried talking to a guard, and telling them that his beloved roommate would've never started something like this, and that it was all Tiny's fault-
But they were hardly listening. And before Mumbo could check out what Scar was doing, he was suddenly being led away.
Mumbo's handcuffs were temporarily snapped together, pressed wrist to wrist, and he was quickly led away by two guards holding him up by his arms. When he looked back around- trying to turn his head, despite how difficult it was to do so- he saw Scar for just a moment. An uncharacteristically tense look had settled over his face, and even though it was Mumbo helping him out, Scar wasn't even looking over at him. Instead, he was distracted, and his empty hands hung near his sides. No card in sight.
And, even briefly, he wondered if agreeing to do this whole thing was just a bad idea to begin with.
-
Mumbo was soon placed in solitary confinement.
It was only temporary, until the guards could be sure that he wouldn't pick any fights with anyone, but Mumbo had a feeling that it'd be a while before that happened.
And on the outside, with a name like that, Mumbo almost expected something… scarier, than what it actually was. It was just like the rest of the cells in that prison- same space, he noticed, and similar furniture- but there were a few key differences. It was one person to one cell, instead of two inmates having to share. Instead of a translucent door, Mumbo saw that the door was made of metal, and that the only windows to the outside world was the small slot at the bottom of the door, and the barred window sitting at the top.
Because the door was blocking the light of the hallway, the room was much darker. He tried turning on a light, but the small thing almost broke trying to keep itself on, so Mumbo left it alone for the time being. (The dark was much preferred anyway. Besides the fact that he hated the times that the guards would turn off all the lights- constantly going to sleep whilst feeling like it was much too late, and silently complaining about the other inmates staying up for as long as possible- Mumbo could also see quite well in the dark. It took his eyes a bit of time to adjust, but when they had, it was near-perfect.)
There was still a radio on its little stand, probably playing the news if he tried turning it on…
But Mumbo was just trying to make the best out of a bad situation. He was in solitary confinement, and he didn't know how long he was going to be in there at all. Scar said he would be back for him, once he got the keycard- if he got that blasted keycard- and if Mumbo was being honest, the only thing that was keeping him from losing it entirely was knowing that there was a chance that everything would be righted by morning. Even if Scar didn't come back for him, the fight wasn't his fault.
When the guards finally decided to poke their heads in on the problem, he was clearly being attacked- and surely, he could use something like that in his favor.
But that would be a while.
And, in the meantime, he was just waiting. Either for Scar or a guard to show up.
-
When he did see Scar again, he looked different.
Instead of the muted gray and whites that the prisoners were usually forced to wear, Scar was dressed in a navy blue suit. Colorful badges adorned his breast pocket, and the suit was lined with gold- and to top it all off, there was a hat placed squarely on the top of his head. The brim of it was pushed down, and from where Mumbo was looking at him, it almost made it look like his eyebrows were constantly furrowed underneath that.
The furrowed eyebrows, mixed with the grin- it only spelled out trouble.
"Hello, my fair-weathered friend." His voice was clear because of the slot in the door.
"Was it worth it?" Mumbo asked. And at Scar's cheeky smile, he pressed, "Did you actually need me to-"
Scar held up a finger to the little window, and Mumbo immediately cut himself off.
Then, Scar's hand flicked. And, almost like a stupid little magic trick, that same security card he was pointing out just hours ago appeared almost out of thin air, laminated and shining a bit in the minimal light he had in the adjacent room. He only showed it off for a few seconds- using that time to wave it around smugly, as he watched Mumbo's eyes go wide- before that card was tucked away in his sleeve again.
"How did you get that?"
"I have a friend in here that's got really sticky fingers. And while you were out distracting everyone and getting the guards' attention, he managed to get one when I couldn't. I promised him a fully functional escape plan by tomorrow, and he let me hold onto the key for him."
For a moment, Mumbo's heart sank. Because, sure, Scar was the brightest and most vibrant shade of red that any sort of flag could ever be, but Mumbo had some hopes that he could get him out of there early. Even if they split off right at the end, and even if they never saw each other again- all Mumbo had to do was get through the main doors, and he would be more than ready to go. He was expecting to get- somewhere, at least.
But before the feeling of utter betrayal could settle in, Scar's eyes trailed downward. Then there was a low beep, and with a quiet hiss, the doors to his confinement opened wide.
"So we'll leave tonight."
Mumbo poked his head out from the door. He looked left, right, and before he could do anything, Scar's hands were grabbing at his arm, similar to how the guards were holding him, and Mumbo was then being led down the hall. They passed other prisoners first- just the ones in the solitary confinement chambers, peeking out through the clear windows on the door, and glaring at him through it. As if it meant anything.
But Mumbo wasn't on his way back to his cell. No- if everything was going according to plan, then they were on their way out.
But still, even as they were on the verge of escaping, Mumbo couldn't help but feel overly cautious about everything.
"Why didn't you take the other prisoner with you?" At Scar's inquisitive hum, he pressed, "The one that gave you the key card."
"He seemed like he was going to double-cross me, anyways."
"How do you know I'm not going to?"
"You did what I asked you to. You're reasonable. So, for the time being, we'll be sticking together, hm?"
Mumbo's arm shifted around to get more comfortable. Scar's grip loosened. "And how do I know that you won't double-cross me?"
"Wh- I'm saving-!" As soon as his voice raised to sounding incredulous, he immediately cut himself off, as if he was just remembering where they were. Then, quietly, he said, "I'm breaking you out right now. I could've just left you there, and I could've been on my merry way by now-"
Mumbo's eyes narrowed, "Why did the other guy trust you with the key card, then?"
"What?"
"The one you crossed. Why did he trust you?"
"Maybe I'm just… incredibly charming. Ever thought of that? Maybe he trusts me."
"Or- and this is just a guess." He said quietly, but confidently. "You said you needed something from him, and he only trusted you because he knew that you couldn't leave without him."
"..."
"Am I right- what was it? You need someone that knows how to work a machine- do you know how to drive a spaceship?"
"I know how to drive, Mumbo." Scar sighed. "Have you ever considered… that I might just enjoy your company?"
"No." He said, honestly, and Scar pouted a little.
"But you're such a fun character!" They passed by guards- some of whom Scar was smiling at, and greeting, without any trace of something sinister, and in turn, the guards smiled and waved back- as if it was normal, even despite the fact that he was human.
They didn't even notice the cuffs that were still on Scar's wrists.
“...”
"We bonded, Mumbo!" He said the minute they were out of earshot, voice just barely above a whisper, "Would it make you feel better if I said I did need you?" He asked condescendingly, and Mumbo scowled, "Mumbo- without your charming, sociable personality, we never would've made it this far-"
"Since you can so easily betray someone, who's to say that you won't betray me?" He said defiantly.
"What, do you want me to let them go with me instead?"
"I want to know what you want from me. If you want something, and I want something, then it's a whole lot easier to go with you."
Scar paused. Mumbo watched him bite his lip, and continue onward- and Mumbo played along until he finally started talking.
"Okay- okay, maybe there were a few, little, minor details that I've… forgotten to say." He said, rather dramatically. "When I was making the plan, originally- I thought… well, you're a tech guy, and… well…"
They turned another corner. Mumbo had no idea where they were going- too distracted with the way Scar was admitting everything with such a nervous energy that the tension was slowly starting to affect him as well.
"Well?"
Scar bit his lip. He smiled at Mumbo, but with his brows upturned, and with an entirely guilty look on his face.
"I didn't grab any keys for the vehicles we're supposed to be escaping on."
"You what?"
Scar leaned closer to his ear, and spoke quietly as they started making their way past some of the normal prisoners- all types of species, and people just glaring at them from a distance. Clearly, even they weren't seeing through the disguises. "This was a very sudden escape, I didn't have the time to grab anything more than a key card-"
"And a full uniform?"
"I'm blending in, Mumbo, did you see how many people we're passing-"
"And you didn't grab any keys."
"Can you hotwire a ship or not?"
"I can-"
"Then that's what we're doing.” He waved his arm around, “Come on, hop to it!"
"I can if it was made before a certain year-!" Scar continued trying to push him, closer and closer towards their supposed exit, but Mumbo started dragging his feet, "Scar- there were security updates made to some ships, and some don't have those certain features-!"
With a swipe of his keycard, Scar managed to get through a couple, bigger doors, and out of the rooms with cells in it. They were instead led to a series of rooms that Mumbo remembered seeing from the first time he was in there- the walls and floor all painted in dull, neutral colors as if they were the walls of an office instead of a prison. Just a few more doors, including that of a wide exit, and they were out.
It was a place that prisoners were obviously not allowed to go through. But Scar turned the corner if he heard the passing sounds of people talking, and he even picked up the pace a little.
"This prison doesn't have the budget for that."
"And if it does?" At Scar's nervous, prolonged silence Mumbo whispered, "Scar-”
Scar’s hands suddenly- nervously- patted Mumbo’s shoulders. Before Scar even opened his mouth, Mumbo’s head turned just in time to spot a guard looking at them.
“Too late now!” He hissed. And suddenly, Scar was pushing, and Mumbo wasn’t dragging his feet anymore.
-
From the outside- in the wide, expansive lot that parked the ships for the workers in the prison- it was much easier to see the false atmosphere surrounding the prison. The one that projected a false night sky above them.
The illusion was vividly clear, but there was also a slight sheen, as if looking at that same view through the distant window of a ship while the light was still on. It was hard to see from inside the prison, but Mumbo knew that it existed- the same atmosphere rattled the bus when he first entered.
And, as Mumbo and Scar bolted into the parking lot, it was the main reason why everything was similar to how it was in the prison. The front doors pushed open, and though there was a noticeable temperature drop, there was nothing else that really changed. No air change, or gravity change- creepily still, more like they were entering another room instead of going outside-
But Mumbo wasn't entirely focused on the atmosphere.
Instead, he and Scar were bolting through the prison's parking lot, almost aimlessly running past a mass of alarmingly expensive ships. All of them had closed, and heavily insulated doors intended for space travel- and that meant that they'd be incredibly difficult to break into. Behind them, when they noticed guards starting to file out the door, they immediately hid behind one of those vehicles.
Then, while crouched, and while there were guards combing through the parking lot in search of them, they began making their way towards a side lot. There was a close call at one point- with Mumbo grabbing the back of Scar's shirt, and pulling him away just as someone was passing by. There was almost a scuffle, almost the sound of Scar's shoe sliding against the lot floor, but he managed to catch himself just in time.
For the whole walk there, Mumbo almost felt like he couldn't breathe properly. Then they reached the side lot- slightly less crowded, and with less people that were dressed exactly like how Scar was- but even then, every nerve in his body was shot.
"What's the rest of your plan?" Mumbo whispered, once he was confident that they were far enough away.
"This is the plan." Scar said, his voice slightly louder than Mumbo wanted it to be. He gestured to the area around them- to the parking lot full of inaccessible ships, and very armed guards trying to find them- and Mumbo didn’t know if his poor heart could take it.
"Are you kidding me?"
His hands moved quickly, "Don't you worry- I'm nothing if not… intuitive." He frowned, "Instinctive. No- what's the word?"
"Impulsive." Mumbo said, without a beat. Idiotic was another contender, but he just kept himself from saying it.
"No, it’s not- I'm good with- improvising. Improv-iving." He tried, but the fake word sat awkwardly on his tongue, and even Scar’s face twisted up, as if he tasted something bitter.
"And was it your improvising that landed you here in the first place?"
"No- that wasn't even my fault-!"
"Ch." Mumbo hissed quickly, harshly. Scar's mouth opened, but then it closed- and he must've understood that Mumbo was just trying to quiet him down, because when he spoke again, he immediately fixed his tone.
"Well- I was kind of hoping that you'd be some kind of… tech wizard, or something. Y’know?" And, even though Mumbo must've looked completely baffled, Scar pressed, "Like- I thought that you could just hop on one of these ships, and just- easily get us out of here."
“Your confidence is- something else.”
“I saw you fixing something-”
"I fixed a radio in front of you. Once."
"And, really, what's the difference between a ship and a radio, right?" And, just as Mumbo was about to say something, he cut in, "You said you were your crew's tech guy-"
"We don't go around stealing ships!"
"You're a pirate- how was I supposed to know?"
Mumbo's hands covered his face. Slowly, carefully, he rubbed the spot of his forehead right above his eyebrows, and then moved his hands to rub his temples. He pressed into them hard- much harder than what was safe, for someone like Scar- and he willed himself to calm down.
"I'm not a pirate."
He frowned, "That's what it's called. Legally."
You smuggle something illegal once, and suddenly, you’re a pirate, of all things.
"That's- just semantics." He sighed, "I’m not robbing any ships, or stealing any ships-”
“But you can hotwire one.”
“Certain ones. Older ones. Not these.”
Scar hummed. “So we just need keys.”
“You’re saying that like it’s easy.”
“Maybe it’s easier than we might think.” He said, thoughtfully, “I bet if we put our heads together, we could come up with something great.”
Another guard- quicker, than either of them were expecting- came around the corner. The two of them quickly walked away. And even though Mumbo’s legs ached from the sudden workout, and each step burned just a little more than the last, Scar seemed to be almost entirely unaffected by it. When Mumbo turned back to look at him, in fact, there wasn’t even a crease in his brow- and when he saw Mumbo looking over, Scar even smiled.
Despite the dire situation they were in, Scar was smiling, and he seemed all too unaffected by the thought of getting caught.
Mumbo could take a page or two out of his book, he thought.
Because sure, while the hyper-vigilance was nice to keep himself safe, it felt all too overwhelming, in that moment. He could stand to gain some unearned confidence, and lead himself through that stupid lot with the utmost certainty that they were going to make it out because they had to make it out.
With Scar’s confidence, he thought, maybe he could’ve even made it out on his own- with a well-thought plan, and a way to get all the tools he’d need for that escape.
When the number of guards became too concerning, the two of them ended up filing onto a bus. While it wasn’t completely abandoned, it was clearly broken down, and not suitable to fly. But the door was already open, and they had no trouble stepping in. Without checking to see if anyone was following behind them, they crawled down the aisle, and made it down to the middle of the bus, and slunk away in the seats on opposite sides of the row- hidden from anyone just walking in.
Seconds later, someone else stepped inside- footsteps noticeably loud, and languid- as if it was just a casual inspection, and not somebody coming in to see if there were prisoners in there. Mumbo and Scar looked at each other and- quietly, almost at the same time- the two of them started to move. Slowly and carefully moving up onto the seat, just as the guard walked down the aisle. Two tall men keeping their feet from being seen below the seats while also keeping clear of the windows.
Mumbo sat curled up on the seat, knees touching the seat in front of him as he laid on his side, neck craning in an uncomfortable way to hide as much of himself as possible. Scar's sitting was more precarious- with one leg pushing against the seat in front of him, while the other was on the seat- and he was holding both of his arms out to balance himself. They were both quiet as they could be, and they waited until the guard walked off the bus again before they let any of their muscles do anything more than twitch a little.
When the doors shut behind him, Mumbo relaxed a little. Scar poked his head up- looking around the bus before he looked outside the window- and when he deemed the coast to be clear, he relaxed as well. Tension left his shoulders, and the rest of the body- all ending with his foot on the back of the seat coming down, and landing on the floor with a muted thump. And, despite Scar's shoe change from the standard slippers that every prisoner was given to something that liked to click against the ground, it was thankfully quiet enough to not garner any outside attention.
"Well-" Scar started. And even though the sentence was doomed to end with something stupid, Scar seemed to cut himself off. He paused. Then, he slinked down to sit on the floor, finally letting his back stretch a bit. Mumbo followed his lead. "Are we taking this bus?" He asked.
Mumbo ran his hands over the leather of the bus seat next to him. Then, experimentally, he ran a hand under it- but thankfully, his suspicions had been confirmed. "Absolutely not. Unless we have the time to fix it-" It was definitely a newer vehicle. One that couldn't be broken into so easily- and, in them trying, it'd likely lead to them getting caught. "But even then, we don’t have the keys for it, do we?"
"I was in a rush!" He hissed quietly. "And- where would the keys be, anyway, Mumbo? Where would I get them from?"
"Wherever your uniform came from, I assume."
He huffed. "Well- I'll have you know that I got lucky."
But now, despite himself, Mumbo's attention wavered. He paused.
"Where did you get that uniform from?"
Scar picked at the uniform in question, one finger hooking nervously around his own collar. "What- this old thing?" He brought his hand down to lower it away from his neck, as if it were crushing it.
"I'm just surprised you found that instead of any keys." His eyes narrowed further, "Or, anything actually important." He pressed further, and Scar just pouted at him.
"Does it matter?"
"It's a really simple question-"
Suddenly, Mumbo heard the distinct sound of a ship passing by the bus- something small, and likely compact. Immediately, even though they were already crouched enough to keep from being spotted, the two of them ducked further as a reflex. And while Mumbo was quiet, and calm, Scar was so startled that his shoulders came close to his ears.
“What was that?”
“It was probably something small. They won’t see us.”
“Is it something… that can be stolen?”
Mumbo looked at him.
His eyes trailed off for a second. Then, before he could really stop himself, he got a good grip on the dashboard- careful not to hit any sort of buttons, even though it was completely covered in them, and even though the bus wasn’t even on- and he poked his head up to see what drove past them.
Just as he suspected, it was a small ship. The type that was just meant to be driven around in lots like these- likely being driven around by a security guard, of sorts. He quickly ducked down again, hands tapping anxiously against the front panel.
“It’s not the type to really do heavy space travel…” Mumbo said, gravely. “But… since it can’t go very far, it’s our best chance without any keys.”
“We don’t need to do anything heavy. We just need to get off of here, and land somewhere else. Right? We can land on any planet in the solar system- and so long as we’re hidden, we’re basically home free.”
“Hm…”
“All we have to do is get him out…” Scar’s hands, as if working with a projector of some kind, made gestures as he spoke, “And, even if we can't start it on our own, he has the keys on him. If we can- I don’t know- take him out, or something, then we can steal the keys, and won’t even have to worry about it!”
“How do we get him out, though?”
Scar bit his lip. Then, his finger hooked onto the front of his stolen uniform, and he grinned.
“I can put this to use, I guess. Right?” At Mumbo’s look, he said, “How long would it take them to notice that I’m not one of them?”
Mumbo was sure that the only reason why they were even concerned about them was because he, quite clearly, led Mumbo out through the front doors. Then he frowned.
“You’re human.” He said, quietly, “They’ll be on the lookout for a human pretending to be a guard. Won’t they?”
“Right.” Scar looked at him. Then, slowly, his hand landed on Mumbo’s boney shoulder. “Mumbo. You trust me, right?”
“I have no reason to.”
“I intend to get both of us out of here. We’ve made it this far.” He said, as if Mumbo hadn’t interjected at all, “And I plan on seeing it through. I promise you that we’re leaving tonight.” And, when Mumbo remained unconvinced, he said, “And if it doesn't work out, or if I get caught, you can head on without me.”
“What?”
“How’s that sound?” Scar asked excitedly. Then, suddenly, he was standing up, and walking off the bus, “Wait for my signal- won’t you? Get on that ship as soon as you can-!”
“Scar!” Mumbo hissed, but Scar was already off the bus, and headed straight towards the ship. Once he was in clear view of the ship, with his head tilted downward enough to keep his face hidden from the top, Scar held his hands out, and gestured for the ship to land.
Mumbo watched Scar’s plan play out at a distance. And to be fair, he had to give credit where credit was due- even though from a distance, it looked like the worst idea that’s ever been planned on a whim, and even though Mumbo was more sure than ever that Scar would get caught, and that he actual would have to leave him behind…
The ship did land. And even though the security guard walked out with a clear key attached at his hip- and clear restraints, Mumbo realized warily, along with something that looked like a taser- he did get away from the ship.
Scar was far from the ship in no time. He could hear his voice, calling just loud enough for the security guard to listen- and once the two of them were out of sight, Mumbo hesitantly stepped towards the door.
It took a lot for him to eventually get off the bus. And thankfully, when he did end up near the ship- after looking around, and making sure that there were no guards around at all- he slammed his fist against the button to open the doors, and it opened fairly quickly.
Somehow, the inside was even smaller than it looked to be on the outside. It was nearly the size of a closet, maybe- and if the two of them stuck themselves inside of it, they’d both be horribly cramped. (But, Mumbo reminded himself, that meant that it was fairly well insulated- and that was a good thing.)
Then- as he rounded the seat, and approached the front, seeing that it looked all too promising- he realized just a little too late that he accidentally left the door behind him open.
“What’s going on here?” A serious, authoritative voice asked.
Mumbo almost jumped out of his skin-
But, seeing that it was just Scar in that stupid guard’s uniform, casually leaning against the entrance- and not an actual guard- Mumbo was quick to relax again. He needed a couple breaths to soothe his aching chest, while Scar seemed to be stupidly proud of himself.
“Don’t do that.” He just said, lamely.
“How’s it going?” He asked, tentatively, “Do I need to go back? Get those darn keys?”
Mumbo put his hand up to the front.
"I could probably get this one started without keys." He muttered, running his hand over the smooth, large panel in the front. There were screws in the side. Mumbo slotted a nail in, and began to twist it off.
"No new security?"
"Nope." And, just as he expected, when the panel came off, Mumbo was met with a face full of wires. He almost cried from the relief. “Close the door-” He said, and thankfully, he didn’t even need to be asked twice. Scar’s fist slammed against the door’s close button, and it shut.
“Thank goodness for that-” Scar said. And then, as if he owned the place, he sat down on the main seat of the ship, and leaned back against it, “I got him distracted, and I lost him, but I don’t know how long it’ll last before-”
And, suddenly- distantly- they heard the sounds of someone knocking sharply against the ship's door. The two of them immediately shot their heads up.
“Before that happens.” Scar said under his breath.
“Is it locked?” Mumbo asked, at the same time Scar stood up, and headed towards the door. Beside the ship, next to the same button that opened and closed it, there was a switch hidden behind a panel that locked the ship.
“Got it.” Mumbo immediately went back to work.
Suddenly, the whole ship hissed a little, as if it were a building trying to settle, and Mumbo understood immediately that it wasn’t just locked, but also able to fly as well. Mumbo felt it moving, and felt as the inside of it seemed to tighten up just a little- that, along with the pounding at the door, and at the fact that Scar was clearly watching him, and waiting for him to do something right- was usually an easy recipe to get Mumbo distracted, and panicked-
But he was all too focused on the front of the ship. And the ship, as it turned out, was much easier to mess with than the tiny radio was. In an instant, Mumbo had the engine roaring- and, as soon as possible, he had the gas pressed, if just to get away from the guards knocking at the door.
But then that turned out to be a bad idea. Mumbo’s back, though sturdy, hit the chair behind him- and distantly, he swore he heard Scar slamming against the back wall as well. The ship was clearly testy-
And there was only one chair.
So, seeing that it was clear who was driving the ship there, Mumbo simply sat up on the chair, and buckled himself into it. Then he told Scar to hang onto something, and he slammed on the gas.
-
The ship didn’t get as far as they needed to.
It broke through the false atmosphere- through the false sky, and showing off the actual sights of one of the many massive planets of that solar system being so close to them that it was almost deceitfully massive- and it soared through space at a speed that Mumbo wasn’t even aware that it could do. So fast, in fact, that Mumbo was confident that as long as the ship didn’t slow down at all, then they… might actually have a chance.
Scar wasn’t helping with the sudden confidence boost- constantly hanging off the back of the chair Mumbo was sitting in, and vocally sharing his own excitement over the fact that they both, somehow, made it out of there in their own respective pieces. And though they weren’t completely out of the clear, they were far enough to celebrate it-
But the euphoria of their escape didn’t last long at all. Multiple things started happening all at once.
Just as Mumbo had originally worried about, the ship they were in was not as well-prepared for that kind of space travel as they needed it to be. And even though nothing changed physically, it creaked and groaned the further they got. The inside of the ship became cold. Mumbo could feel himself physically growing tense-
“Keep going.” Scar said, somewhat loudly, since Mumbo had no plans of slowing down, “We just need to land- keep going.”
The closest planet was green, and vibrant, and beautiful. Clearly, a place full of the sorts of things that Scar and Mumbo could survive on- and if it was the planet Mumbo was thinking about, then he knew that there was a desirable village they could head towards-
Then, as they broke through that planet’s atmosphere, the worst possible thing that could’ve happened surprised the both of them.
The engine sputtered. And, quickly, the swoops of their stomach was less about the excitement of escaping, and instead coming from the anxiety of falling out of the sky. Mumbo tried his best to stick his landing, but as they got closer and closer, he realized that a solid attempt at landing it was practically pointless.
Mumbo was buckled up, in the main chair-
But Scar wasn't.
They were headed towards the flourishing planet at a high speed, and once they hit, he was going to go through the windshield, or he was going to turn to mush upon impact. He watched Scar try to hang onto something, watching the console flash red with a facial expression that was more than just a little worried- and the next decision came quite naturally to him.
He grabbed Scar's arm, even though his grip didn’t feel as tight as it needed to be for his plan to work, and he noticed that Scar seemed to be going along with it. And, as the human drew closer, Mumbo managed to carefully maneuver his cuffed hands around the human, and hold him close.
Even if just to give him the chance to make it out of the impending crash alive.