Chapter 1
Notes:
Small warning for the end of the chapter:
Reader does death by Void-Mass to heal his sprained leg.
Reader can revive, but he doesn't know how or why he can do it. A092 cannot revive, and is just very careful.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The metallic clank of a vent cover being kicked open greets you and A092 as you reach the next room.
“Over here,” Sebastian calls, his voice echoing through the opened airway.
A092 is quick to smirk at you, opening her mouth to land a teasing remark about your… attachment to the shopkeeper.
You met eight runs ago: her, the sole survivor of her original team; you, a lone Expendable coming to terms with your supposed immortality. Your first encounter with one another was when you’d scrambled into the same vent she was in, both parties intent on escaping the sight of an incoming Pandemonium.
There was a period of hostility before you both recognized each other’s competence and grudgingly agreed to team up. But all friction dissipated the moment you shoved her into the only available locker to hide her from an Angler— sacrificing yourself and dying right in front of her, much to her shock.
Said shock only doubled when she saw you the next day, completely fine and not suffering from any sort of neurotrauma (as any variant of Z-283 tends to inflict on its victims.)
She’d never given you a moment’s peace since then. Now, the only sparks of tension between you arise when she feels inclined to annoy you… as evidenced in the current situation.
“Not now,” you say in a low voice, seemingly calm. But anyone who listened closely would be able to spot the hint of pleading in your tone.
She shrugs as if to say ‘fine, whatever,’ then flicks off her flashlight and clips it to her belt. Thank the world for small mercies. You gesture for her to enter the vent, and she crawls in without missing a beat. You follow her in. This was standard procedure for the two of you: she always goes first to get a scope of the layout, while you keep an eye out and handle whatever’s left behind— be it a rebounding Frogger or a Wall Dweller in silent pursuit— because you’d revive anyway.
Sebastian’s lure light flickers on as both of you make it out the vent. Self-consciously, you brush dust off your clothes as you stand up, ignoring A092’s knowing gaze.
“Ah, if it isn’t my most frequent customers,” is Sebastian’s acknowledgement as you look up at him, his lips curving into his usual polite smile. “I’ve got a good selection for the two of you today: feel free to take a look.”
You look to A092 then jerk your head in the shopkeeper’s direction, motioning for her to go ahead. She whistles as she skips over to Sebastian, pleased at getting the first pick.
Meanwhile, you take off your diving gear, sighing with relief as the burdensome weight leaves your shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut as you roll your neck to get rid of the stiffness that’d formed from hours of strain. A muted clang on the other side of the room indicates that A092’s taken off her gear as well.
You intertwine your fingers and raise your arms in an overhead stretch. The joints along your spine let out cracks and pops as you lean backward, your uniform riding up and exposing your stomach, hip bones jutting out the waistband of your pants. You let out a long, satisfied groan, feeling your body decompress. You sense the light flicker for a second, and crack an eye open in confusion.
“Got some electrical issues there, fishstick?” A092 asks as she pries a hand-cranked flashlight off of his tail.
“…No,” is his reply. You continue to stretch, bending down to reach your toes. The light flickers again, but you ignore it. “Your friend… I mean, the two of you seem quite comfortable.”
“Who wouldn’t be? HQ can’t keep tabs on us here, thanks to that beauty,” she points at the portable SCRAMBLER he constantly carries. “So this is the only place we can breathe without having our gear primed to blow our heads off at the slightest hint of insubordination,” A092 finishes, and shrugs. “And cause, you know. You’re you.”
Sebastian makes an inquisitive noise at the back of his throat.
“You’re the biggest cock on the block, man.”
“I see,” Sebastian says so calmly that you can tell he actually does not.
You look over. “What she means to say is that anything with half a mind’s worth of instincts knows better than to hunt on whatever area you establish as your territory,” you explain. “And if they do try, you’re strong enough to scare them off. Or kill them— I don’t actually know what you do.”
Sebastian lets out an ah of understanding. “Naturally. Can’t let two of my highest-spending customers die on me now, can I?”
You gracefully do not bring up the time he silently watched a Wall Dweller kill you the second you entered his shop. It had been your second time meeting him, and on the first you’d left without buying anything, so you guess it was deserved. “Sure.”
Finished with your stretch, you walk closer to survey what supplies remain after A092’s selection. It’s not a lot. You click your tongue, sending her an annoyed glance. “You couldn’t even leave me at least one good thing?”
She shrugs as she tucks her purchases into her diving bag. “Vidi, Vici, baby.”
“That’s not how you use it,” you mutter, grabbing a handful of batteries from the table. Looks like you’re going to have to cross your fingers and pray you get lucky enough to find something in the following rooms.
As you pocket the batteries, you hear Sebastian say, “I have something that might interest you.”
You look up at him, surprised. His smile widens just a bit before he turns to the left. He reaches for something behind the table on the edge of the fenced platform by his side of the room.
After a few seconds, he has a Blacklight in his hand. He bows down slightly to present it to you. “I put this in the back because one of the lenses is shattered,” he explains, turning it over to show you the damaged section. “But the lights work just fine. If you want it, I’ll sell it at a generously discounted price of three hundred ninety-five files’ worth of data.”
If you were in your right mind, you would disagree with calling a 1.25% discount generous. But you are not in your right mind— so your heart lets out a traitorous thump at this special treatment, unable to even muster a thread of outrage at being so blatantly swindled. The only thing that runs through your mind is: does he do this for every Expendable who complains about not getting anything? You hope not. You hope you’re special.
Sebastian’s smile grows strained as you continue to stare at him dumbly.
You snap out of it when you feel something hit the side of your head— A092 throwing a battery at you. “I. Um. I’ll take it, thanks, thank you,” you stumble on your words as you take the Blacklight, hastily backing away to head for your diving bag. A092’s shit-eating grin is blinding. “I’ll get the— the medkit, too.”
Sebastian fixes his smile, standing back up to his full height. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he says.
As you rummage through your bag to get the required amount of data, you hear A092 whisper, “Hey. Speaking of business, I’ve got a suggestion for you; guaranteeing a massive rise in income. Meteoric,” she emphasizes.
Oh fuck, what is she up to now?
“Oh? Do tell,” Sebastian says, a note of humor in his tone.
“If you put yourself up on the market, my friend over here would snatch that up in a heartbeat,” she says. “Customer for life.”
You stand up so fast your knees crack. “Ninety-two—”
“On the market? Me?” Sebastian repeats, puzzled. “What does that mean? My organs? I’m not selling my organs.”
“No, not your organs, man, does it look like anyone here can do a kidney transplant? It’s, you know. The– activity.”
There’s nothing but confused silence on Sebastian’s end. A092 makes a noise of frustration.
“You know– horizontal locomotion,” she forms a hole with her thumb and index finger, then starts pumping a finger into it. “Taking the skin boat to tuna town. Edging that Searchlight till you get hooked. Sex,” she says with a flourish, waving her hands.
“Oh, wow,” Sebastian says.
“Ninety-Two—”
“He would buy it. He would buy it everyday,” she continues. “He’d have it for breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Don’t forget the midnight snack. He’d build a shrine to it. He’d make an excel spreadsheet calculating his earnings to see if he’s got enough for it for the rest of his life. He’d toil for it. Live for it. Die for it,” she says.
“Ninety-two!” You yell, enraged.
She sticks her tongue out at you as you stride towards her, files in hand. “Untapped market potential right there, I’m telling you,” she says right before you kick her in the shin. “Ow, motherfucker! Ow. Ow!” she squeals when you pinch her in the arm and vindictively twist.
Sebastian chuckles, a little awkwardly. “Not on the table, sorry. But for two thousand… perhaps I’d consider a kiss,” he teases. It’s a joke. It’s obviously a joke, so why does excitement still fill your chest at the statement?
A092 shoves you away, cheekily grinning up at Sebastian. “You could charge higher and he’d still buy it, seaslinky. Don’t underestimate how bad he’s got it for you.”
Your jaw clenches, hands clenching the files in your hand so tightly that they start to crumple. “We should get going. Are you done? I think you’re done.”
“Oh, I’m just getting started, baby. Ticking you off like this is hilarious.”
“Hysterical, I’m sure,” Sebastian interjects. “But let’s stop torturing the poor thing and focus on business, shall we?” He says, discomfited by your anger. Or just worried for the documents in your grip moments from being used to slap A092 upside the head. “I’m all for a good show, but I’d like it if no violent murders went down in my shop— which, by the look on your friend’s face, we are coming veeery close to.”
"Ha! Don’t worry, he’s all bark. He's just pissed cause he can't deny it, not to your face," A092 jeers, clapping you on the shoulder. You immediately throw her hand off. "You'd give up every scrap of data on you just to hook up with the guy, wouldn't ya, champ?"
You don't respond. Her grin widens the longer you say nothing.
There's a significant pause as Sebastian realizes that you don't intend to refute her statement. The smile on his face disappears, making way for flattered disbelief.
"Oh," Sebastian breathes, voice high with surprise. He pulls back slightly, ears twitching in his confusion. Fuck, why does he have to be so cute? "You would. You–?"
You stomp over to the table and slam the stack of documents down. "Ninety-two, get my medkit. I'm gonna go ahead and scout the next room," you mutter, picking up your diving gear and crawling into the vent. A092's mocking laughter follows you the entire way out.
—
“Dammit, Ninety-Two,” you mutter to yourself as you trudge along a hallway that— at your hobbled pace— seems endless. You exhale as another twinge of pain travels up your leg, careful not to move your dislocated ankle. You gained the injury four rooms ago: the aftermath of having opened the wrong door and barely dodging Z-96’s enraged swipe. The apology on the navi-panel only added insult to injury.
You haven’t made such a rookie mistake in a long time. It pains you to admit it, but you’re off your game.
Ever since A092’s insensitive reveal of your attraction to the shopkeeper, you’ve been distracted. Absentminded. Not to mention highly irritable.
When A092 caught up to you after you left the shop, you’d verbally lashed out at her in a fit of anger: spewing a ten-minute diatribe that consisted mostly of the phrases ‘fuck you,’ and ‘how could you do this to me?’. Once you were finished, she’d laughed in your face. You proceeded to completely ignore her after that.
After an hour of her trying to apologize, and receiving nothing but sullen silence from your end; she’d decided to leave you be, stipulating that she’d rejoin you when you were, and you quote, ‘finally ready to get over it and stop being such a pussy, man, god, it’s not like the world’s gonna end now that he knows you kin The Deep,’ and grouped up with another set of Expendables who’d probably die within the day, so fuck you, Ninety-two. She’d have to come back whether she liked it or not, because there was absolutely nothing to get over, you were not kinning The Deep, and you were not a p—
Your foot gets caught on a piece of rubble smack dab in the center of the hallway, a few paces away from the next door. You take a few staggering steps forward, attempting to regain your balance— but end up putting all your weight on your swollen ankle, sharp stabs of pain traveling across your foot.
You inhale sharply, gripping the straps of your diving gear. Calm down. Calm down. Calm dow—
“Fuck!” You scream, turning around and (with your good leg) kicking the offending piece of concrete so hard it goes flying. At your sudden movement, the Wall Dweller that had been creeping behind you lets out a frightened chitter, running away.
“And fuck you too, you dried-up, sponge-like, trypophobia-inducing bitch!” You yell at its retreating figure. “You’re the pussy! Fuuuuck you!”
Somewhere behind you, someone pointedly clears their throat, the voice echoed as if the sound had passed through a vent.
You freeze like a deer in the headlights. Too caught up in your invective-ridden tirade to the fleeing Wall Dweller, you’d failed to notice the door to the next area sliding open.
You swallow. You contemplate ignoring him and just moving on to the next room. You had a code breacher. Sebastian would probably take it in stride.
But your ankle lets out another throb of pain, as if to say ‘don’t forget about me, asshole. Buy a medkit.’ And, despite the massive amount of lingering embarrassment from yesterday, you still find yourself wanting to see Sebastian.
Pride won’t splint your ankle, dammit. It’s not like Sebastian’s going to treat you any differently. You were, and still are, a paying customer. That’s all that matters to him.
The court has declared its decision: you’re going in. Who’s the pussy now, Ninety-Two? Not you, that’s for sure.
You turn around and march to the next room like a man facing execution. You gingerly shuffle into the vent, mindful of your injury.
“Oh.” Sebastian says when your head pops out of the opening, tugging on his lure and filling the room with light. “Hello.”
Oh? You stop crawling midway.
Did he… not want you to come in? Oh god. You want to find the nearest Void-Mass infested locker and bury yourself in it. You plant your face down on the floor.
“...Hi,” you mutter into the concrete, not moving from where your lower half is stuck in the vent, like a jack-in-the-box with performance issues. “I’m just here to buy a medkit.”
You can feel Sebastian’s stare. You don’t budge. He hums, and you can hear his tail scraping against the floor as he slides it closer to you. When you look up, his tail is inches away from you, the medkit right by your face.
“Thank you,” you say quietly, reaching for it.
“Your friend not with you today?” You hear him ask. “Ninety-Two, was it?”
“Hm? Yeah,” You mumble, too focused on unstrapping the medkit. “Yeah. No. She’s tagging along another group today cause she… felt like it,” you say, which is technically true. Sebastian didn’t need to know how you threw a tantrum so severe that A092 had to physically remove herself from your presence to get you to cool off.
“So the two of you do spend time apart,” Sebastian remarks. You’re still not looking at him. “And here I thought you were attached at the hip.”
“I guess,” you say. “She’s good at surviving, and it’s nice to work with someone who isn’t stupid. But it’s not like we’re inseparable.”
“It’s good to have someone who can watch your back,” he says.
“Actually, I’m the one who watches-”
“Sorry but could you get out of the vent?” Sebastian says. “It's kind of hard to talk to you when you look like a deflated whack-a-mole.”
“Shit, the way I’d let you hit it, I might as well be,” you mumble as you remove yourself from the vent.
“What?”
“What?” You say, wide-eyed and innocent. You stand up, leaning on a nearby crate for support. “What did you want to talk about? If it’s about the payment I have a couple vials in my pocket, but if you want documents…” you reach for your diving bag.
“No. It’s about yesterday.”
“Ah,” you say intelligently, suddenly very interested in the floor. Shit. Shit. Shit. “...Yesterday. Right. Listen, um… the stuff Ninety-two said, don’t take it—”
“Three thousand,” you hear him cough from above.
“What?” You say, rearing your head back to stare at him.
Sebastian doesn’t meet your eyes. His face seems pinker than usual. He looks around, ears fanning wide: you noticed he does that to hear if there’s anyone in the vicinity. It’s how he always knows when customers are about to arrive.
The area seems to be empty; he turns to you, slouches down until you’re eye-to-eye, and whispers, almost nervously, “Three thousand to spend the night with me.”
You blink.
He smiles at you.
The words register. You feel a pit dropping in your stomach: that’s your heart, sinking. Your brain feels like it's filled with static.
This… he was this desperate for data? You’d read his file; you knew why he was collecting documents with a dedication that bordered on obsessive— he was looking for someone who could get him out of this hellhole. But to the point that he’d— he’d let some stranger fuck him just so he could get more of what was, essentially, his only chance at survival?
Your throat tightens up, a helpless feeling overcoming you as you realize just how dire his situation was— and how there was nothing you could do to help him.
You open your mouth, about to stutter a refusal— but you shut it.
Has he— has he offered this to anyone else? He wouldn’t. You don’t like to think he would.
…Wouldn’t he? Like you said: you’re not special. You’re just one of the many nameless EXR-Ps sent down to die; just another prisoner for him to deceive; just another customer. How many others looked at him like you: with interest, with desire? It’s definitely not a nonzero sum.
It’s not a question of how many others he’d offered this to… but how many had taken him up on it.
Your mouth feels numb. A prickle of sweat forms at the back of your neck as your hands tighten into fists, nails digging into the flesh of your palm. Something dark and ugly burrows into your chest, tightening it up to the point you feel like it’s hard to breathe. You recognize it for what it is: jealousy.
“—ey. Hey.”
There’s a hand on your shoulder. You jolt, exhaling shakily.
Sebastian smiles at you as he pulls his hand back. He’s keeping himself at a farther distance, something insecure about his posture. “Too expensive?” He jokes, moving back to his usual spot in the room. “You don’t have to take it seriously, it was just—”
“No,” is all you say. “I’ll take you up on that.”
Sebastian blinks. “O– oh.” His ears wiggle, and he scratches the side of his face. “Uh… now?”
“No,” you say again. “I don’t have enough. Give me a couple of days.”
You’ve made up your mind. Sebastian needed data? Then you’re going to scour this entire goddamn Blacksite clean. By the time you were finished, not a single paper, vial, or flash drive would remain on the premises. If you had to make a choice between staying alive or catching a falling vial, you’re going to catch that fucking vial like your name was Odell Beckham. If the Crystal were right in front of you, you’d ignore it in favor of a stack of files. You would stick a flash drive up your ass if you had to, just to make sure you wouldn’t lose it if you died. You’re going to make those Urbanshade executives weep blood.
“Be safe out there,” Sebastian says as you exit the shop. You grunt in acknowledgement, opening the door to the next room.
You look down at your swollen ankle. You need to take care of that first.
Your eyes scan the room, and land on a locker whose grates reveal a purple glow. Perfect.
Be safe, Sebastian said. He doesn’t really mean it— it's just a standard farewell to all of his customers. But you take it to heart. It’s just too bad you have no intentions of doing as he says.
You walk over to the locker. You can hear the muffled breathing of the entity inside it.
Without hesitation, you open it. The Void pulls you in.
Notes:
Excerpt from the next chapter:
[WHAT ARE YOU DOING.] She thinks at him, realizing his odd position. She peers into the room from above. [THEY ARE NOT DEAD. YOU ONLY COME WHEN THERE ARE DEAD PEOPLE WITH MANY THINGS FOR YOU TO TAKE.]
FUCK OFF Sebastian mouths again, with feeling. His scowl deepens when he spots A092 sling an arm around your shoulder.
[OH. I CAN SMELL YOUR PHEROMONES. YOU ARE SURVEYING A POTENTIAL MATE.] Eyefestation says. [IT SEEMS YOU HAVE A COMPETITOR.]
Sebastian ignores her.
Chapter 2
Notes:
This is only the second draft, so forgive any errors or inconsistencies.
Side note: I love the new update. He is so... ill-tempered, for lack of a better term. I love it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Hey,” A092 calls from the other end of the hallway, where she’s rifling through a drawer. “Lantern or flashlight?”
“Flashlight, thanks,” is your mumbled reply, preoccupied with emptying a row of item lockers.
She mimics the sound of a game show buzzer. “Wrong! It’s a lantern,” she says, bringing it out with a flourish.
You slam the locker shut and walk over to her. “Then why the hell would you ask me that?”
“Have you never played a guessing game before?”
“You phrased it like you were giving me a choice,” you retort, grabbing the lantern when she holds it out to you. “We’re clear, by the way. No Dwellers.”
She plants her hands to her knees as she stands up. “Thank fuck,” she says. “Those guys annoy me to no fucking end. I get a heart attack every time.”
You snort. “You complain a lot for someone who doesn’t even bother to check over their shoulder anymore. I’m the one who has to deal with them.”
“A Wall Dweller might give me a heart attack, but having to see your face everytime I turn around would actually kill me,” she says, adjusting the straps of her diving gear, rolling her eyes when it gives off a warning beep. “Don’t forget, I was surviving just fine before I met— turn around,” she says sharply, eyes wide.
Startled, you look behind you. There’s nothing.
You flatten your lips and turn back to her, unimpressed.
“Sucker,” she jeers, heading towards the previous room. “Hey. You wanna check the drop-off points today? I’m in the mood to make some hapless newbie shit themselves.”
You follow her at a leisurely pace. “Need I remind you that every single prisoner sent down here was lined up for death row? They’re not exactly easy to scare.” You pause. “Except that one guy. The one who—”
“The one who pissed his pants when I told him that the Void lockers were portals that took you straight to hell? Yeah, that was golden. Literally.”
“And… pungent,” you say, wrinkling your nose as you recall the smell. “I think he had an infection or something— why am I talking about this? No, we can’t go to the drop-off points. I need to collect a shitload of assets. I might die, so I need you to hold onto my stuff. Just in case that happens.”
She stops walking. “You saving up? For what? Fishstick got some new merchandise I don’t know about? Or—” she blinks rapidly, mind connecting the dots. You can already feel your blood pressure rising.
Her face splits into a wide grin. “Holy shit, did he actually take my advice? Oh fuck, he did!” She crows, seeing the embarrassed flush on your face. “And you took him up on it! Oh my god! How— how much did he ask for?”
You scratch your neck, caught. “...three thousand.”
She cackles, and continues walking. “Oh you poor, wrung-out bastard. At least the guy knows his worth.” As you pass through the doorway, she adds, “Well, you do you. Just stay safe, and don’t forget to use a condo—”
“I’m not actually gonna sleep with him, Ninety-two.”
She pivots on her heel to look at you, still walking. There’s a frown on her face. “Huh. I’m not following.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, deliberating. After a moment, you explain to her your plan: to amass an excessive amount of assets and gift it to Sebastian, so he doesn’t have to resort to giving out… favors.
A092’s eyebrows inch higher as you continue, the corners of her mouth steadily curving upwards.
By the time you’re finished speaking, A092 is turned away from you, shoulders subtly trembling. “That…” she bites her lip, hand coming up to grasp at her quivering jaw. “That’s a good plan,” she chokes out.
You frown, grabbing her shoulder to look at her face. “Wh— are you laughing? This is serious! He shouldn’t have to do that kind of thing just for— for information,” you say, spitting the last word like it’s rotten.
At your outraged splutter, her expression crumples. She shrugs your hand off her shoulder, stepping away, taking deep breaths. “No! No, I’m not laughing at you. It just think— you’re actually really— it’s just so sweet that you— you want to— fuck, I can’t do this,” she says, and breaks into a fit of hysterical laughter. She stumbles backwards, leaning onto the wall for support as she cracks up so hard tears start streaming down her face.
You stare at her, unamused. She takes one look at you and breaks into laughter all over again. It takes her a good five minutes to calm down; she relapses every time she sees your face.
“Oh, god,” she gasps when she’s finally finished, face flushed a spotty red. Her voice is hoarse. “I haven’t laughed that hard since I was sixteen.”
“That was what, a century ago? What was the Great Depression like?”
“Shut up, you are two months younger than me. If I was alive during the Depression then your ass was right there with me. Don’t you remember it? Those cold winter nights when we slept on the street? The things we had to do just to get by? Do you remember when you were so hungry you ate a pile of shit? No utensils, nothing. You ate that pile of shit. Do you remember?”
“Oh my god,” you groan.
“You started it.”
“Are you taking my bag or not?”
“Yeah, sure. Anything to help you on your,” she pauses to snicker. “Endeavour. I want a cut, though. Call it a service fee. That extra weight isn’t easy to carry.”
“Okay. You can take two hundred every time I die.”
“Five. Remember, I gotta bring it all the way back to you.”
You click your tongue. You need her to do it. The Blacksite is enormous: even if you found a good hiding spot for your bag, there was no guarantee you’d find it again. Drop-off points were different each time; with more and more paths getting blocked off (or just absolutely decimated) every time Urbanshade sent in a new batch of Expendables.
Just as you’re about to agree, A092 opens her mouth to wheedle, “Come on. Have some compassion. You don’t want me to labor for a mere pittance, do you? Don’t you remember? The hard times we went through? When you had to eat a pile of shi—”
“Fuck, will you stop with the pile of shit!” You shout. “You can take five hundred, just stop with the pile of shit.”
“Nice working with you,” she says, satisfied. “A092, professional courier at your service.”
You sag, feeling like you just lost years off your life. “Fuck.”
“Don’t be like that. Your bag’s in good hands,” she says, patting your back. “By the way, when do you plan to pop the balloon? Just so I know to steer clear when it happens.”
“I told you I’m not sleeping with him.”
“I meant the proposal. Get your mind out of the gutter,” she chides, whipping out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. She’d found it hidden under a couch cushion in one of the side rooms. She snaps her fingers at you: you take out the lighter you’d picked up a couple zones ago.
“What? I’m not proposing,” you say, striking up a flame and bringing it up face level.
She leans in, igniting the cigarette. Then she leans back, counting off her fingers, “Okay. You give him a fuckton of the thing he likes most. Then you ask him to stop sleeping with other people for the foreseeable future. Sounds like a proposal to me.”
You sigh, and decide to humor her, knowing that any sort of argument with her always ends with you teetering on the edge of sanity. “Sure, whatever. A week from now, maybe earlier. I’ve got a reservation at this seafood bistro with an amazing ocean view. Reviews say it’s like you’re literally underwater.”
A092 chuckles. “I bet.”
“I already bought the ring. The band is made from whatever metal they use to make the lockers. You wanna know what rock I’m gonna slap on that bad boy? The Crystal. You heard that right. The Crystal. It’s fucking huge but I think Sebastian can manage.”
“Are we still talking about the ring?”
“Shh. For the wedding, I’m thinking: ocean motifs.”
“Shut up, no way. Over florals?”
“Yeah. It’s an unexpected choice, but what can I do? I want to pay homage to Sebastian’s origins,” you sigh, grabbing her cigarette and taking a puff. “You wanna be the flower girl, Ninety-Two? I’ll tell you in advance, you’re going to have to wear teal.”
A092 is trembling, eyes shining with suppressed mirth. “No can do,” she says, taking her cigarette back. “Teal washes me out. Can’t you pick another theme? I hate the sea.”
You widen your eyes, and make a show of looking all around you, at the windows showcasing the miles and miles of seawater surrounding you. A092’s nostrils flare.
“Well tough shit,” you say, and she bursts into laughter.
Discreetly tucked behind a naval mine, Sebastian frowns as he watches the two of you laugh together. He’d just been passing through, having successfully scavenged a group of unfortunate Expendables that’d succumbed to an Angler. Then, he’d spotted the two of you, talking by the windows of a hallway, merry as anything.
What could A092 be talking about, to have made you smile so brightly? And why did you have to choose such an inconvenient, soundproof place to have a conversation? Sebastian’s lip impulsively curls when he realizes the two of you are sharing a cigarette.
Before he can do something stupid, like swim closer to get a better look, he notices a familiar green glow wading into the corner of his vision.
LOOK INTO MY EYES, Eyefestation’s voice echoes through his mind. Her usual greeting.
Sebastian, currently not in the mood, mouths FUCK OFF.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING, she asks, noticing his awkward position— coiled up like a disturbed millipede. She veers closer to the building, careful not to alert the two Expendables (still engaged in their conversation— what were they talking about?) of her presence. THEY ARE NOT DEAD. YOU ONLY COME WHEN THERE ARE DEAD PEOPLE WITH MANY THINGS FOR YOU TO TAKE.
FUCK OFF, Sebastian mouths again, with feeling. His scowl deepens when A092 slings an arm around your shoulder, animatedly chattering about something he could not hear.
OH. I CAN SMELL YOUR PHEROMONES. YOU ARE SURVEYING A POTENTIAL MATE, Eyefestation notes. IT SEEMS YOU HAVE A COMPETITOR.
Sebastian ignores her, surreptitiously trailing after the two of you as you move to the next area. He lets out a hiss when he realizes there aren’t any windows.
I SUGGEST YOU SWIM SLOWLY AND POINT YOUR SNOUT DOWNWARD TO INDICATE YOUR AVAILABILITY, she advises, following him as he inspects the exterior of the building for any openings he might fit through. IF THAT DOESN’T WORK, THEN RAISE YOUR TAIL AND EXPOSE YOUR VENT IN THEIR DIRECTION. WHERE IS YOUR VENT?
Fed up, Sebastian tries a different approach. He abruptly turns to Z-137. Hunching his back, he raises his shoulders in an instinctive attempt to appear larger. He unhinges his jaw in a menacing snarl, a flurry of bubbles escaping his mouth as he displays two rows of wickedly pointed teeth. Then, he slaps his tail against the wall of the building in one sharp strike, sending a cacophonous clang reverberating throughout the surrounding infrastructure.
“What the fuck?” A092 says, looking up.
You shrug from where you’re grabbing vials out of a locker. “Ambience.”
FUCK OOOOOFF, is what Sebastian communicates, in perfect Selachimorphan body language. Whatever shark Urbanshade had spliced his gene from would be proud. If Eyefestation doesn’t leave after this, he is going to maul her, aligned interests be damned.
Very, very slowly, Eyefestation rolls each of her many eyes to show just how unimpressed she is at Sebastian’s pathetic display of intimidation. BOY, I DO NOT WANT YOUR MATE, she says, turning away with a haughty flick of her tail, off to find another set of prisoners to terrorize.
Sebastian’s form relaxes as he watches her swim away.
Then, he thinks, What the fuck am I doing.
He casts one last look towards the building, before shaking his head and swimming back to his shop, convinced that the entire situation was brought about by a temporary bout of insanity and would not happen again.
—
It happened again, Sebastian thinks morosely. He’s carefully hidden in the ceiling, lying on his front, tail spread straight to avoid overwhelming the beams with his weight. He peers at you through an opening left behind by a dislodged ceiling panel, watching you flit back and forth across the heavy containment zone, rechecking drawers and side rooms for any assets you might have missed.
He rests his chin on his hand, observing you with something he refuses to call fondness as you walk into one of the side rooms and emerge with a hefty stack of burger patties. He exhales deeply as you devour the stack of meat with the animalistic vigor of a man who hasn’t had fast food in a long, long time.
Me next, he thinks, then grimaces he realizes what he just thought. What the fuck.
Completely oblivious to Sebastian’s silent freakout above you, you check on A092, who’s sleeping in one of the side rooms, snoring away. You attempt to jostle her awake, but she just swats your hand away.
You gauge the distance between this room and the door to the next area, and decide she’d probably be fine. She was tucked securely out of sight of any entities that might pass through. You’d clear out the next zone and then wake her up.
Decision made, you move on to the next zone. As you approach the gate, a nearby pipe bursts, blowing a jet of compressed air into your face. At the same moment, the lights flicker.
“Ow, fuck,” you swear, stumbling forward, blissfully unaware of the approaching entity.
Sebastian’s ears twitch, flattening against the sides of his head as he picks up on the faint chorus of screams heading your way. He glances at you; you’re obliviously waiting for the gates to wind open, the loud whirring deafening you to the telltale noise of the incoming monster.
I’m just ensuring my investment’s safety, he tells himself as he rises, slithering along the ceiling beams toward the previous zone, positioning himself a few meters ahead of Z-367’s path. Finding no feasible exit, Sebastian places a hand on the ceiling, while another winds back and strikes, punching a hole through the reinforced steel. He pries the opening wider until it’s big enough to accommodate him, then slides out tail-first, halting his descent by gripping the panel. The metal groans as it carries his weight, its jagged edges digging into his hand; eliciting a hiss as it slices through his palm.
“The things I do,” he mutters, waiting for Pandemonium to arrive. He tilts his head, ears fanning out to get an accurate estimate of Z-367’s proximity. As it draws near, he begins to sway, gaining momentum with each swing of his tail.
As soon as Pandemonium enters the area, it locks onto him, its eyes lighting up at the prospect of fresh prey. With a screech, it rushes forward. Sebastian lets go, dropping his full weight onto the creature.
Pandemonium, accustomed to making quick work of humans, is completely unprepared. It was used to soft, slow targets— a 300-pound marine hybrid? Way beyond its pay grade. The force of the impact silences its scream— if it had the mental capacity to comprehend what just happened, it would have said oof.
Undeterred by the challenge of tougher prey, Z-367’s eyes blaze with renewed fury, shrieking anew as it struggles beneath Sebastian’s weight. With a huff, Sebastian swiftly coils his tail around the mass of decaying flesh, squeezing relentlessly until the thing is primed to pop.
Pandemonium thrashes in his hold. Sebastian clicks his tongue. “You’re not getting through here, friend.”
It emits an aggravated noise, a chorus of haunting wails.
“If I let you go, you’re going to find another group of Expendables to assimilate, okay?” He says in a mockingly gentle tone.
Pandemonium screeches in fury.
Sebastian tightens the coil of his tail, a low rumble building in the back of his throat at the creature’s defiance.
Cowed, the entity surrenders, eyes dimming down into nothingness as it accepts defeat. Sebastian eases his grip, allowing Pandemonium to scamper out of his hold, pitifully gathering the blobs of flesh that had detached in the altercation. It glances back at him, hesitating.
“Well go on,” Sebastian says. “Shoo.”
With a low whimper, Pandemonium scurries away in the direction it came from.
Satisfied, Sebastian turns around, intent to resume keeping an eye on you.
Wait, he thinks for the second time that week. What the hell am I doing? You were just an Expendable. Granted, you had the ability to revive, but that should have made him less concerned about your well-being, not more. You were just a potential source of assets, not someone he had to go out of his way to protect— especially not against creatures who, if not on his side, were at least against Urbanshade’s.
With a dismissive scoff, he turns away, deciding not to follow you again.
—
“Get down!” You yell as a shower of bullets head for A092. You rush forward, tackling her behind a toppled locker.
A092 lets out a manic giggle as more shots hit the locker. “This place just keeps coming up with new ways to fuck us over,” she says, scrubbing a hand down her face. She looks at you. “Was there a delay?”
You think for a moment. “...Yeah. The laser tracker blinked a few times before it fired.”
She nods, grabbing a file on the ground. You reach out to take it, but she holds it up just enough to peek over the locker’s edge. There’s a beep as the lasers adjust their aim, then it quiets down, resuming its sweep across the room.
A092 arches an eyebrow and peeks over the locker. There’s a beep, the lasers flickering as they hone in.
“Ninety—!” you shout, yanking her down just before the turret fires.
She rolls her eyes, then lifts the folder again, this time waving it in a slow, continuous motion. The lasers focus, and after a few seconds, fire a barrage of bullets that turn the folder into Swiss cheese.
“Motion and thermal-reactive, I think. Was that a two-second delay, or three?” she asks, tossing the folder aside.
“Two and a half,” you answer.
“I saw an activation panel on the other end of the room, right beside the door to the next zone,” she says, then glances at you. “Think you can make it, or are you too pussy?”
It’s moments like these that remind you why you teamed up with her in the first place. “Oh, it’s on,” you say, fighting back a grin. You take off your diving bag, carefully disentangling it from the oxygen tank and equipment straps. “Five hundred,” you remind her as you position yourself at the edge of the locker. “If you take more than that, I will know.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she says with a wave of her hand. You peer over the locker, searching for the panel. You’re quick to spot it, its circuits glowing a bright green.
“I hope you eat dirt!” A092 says as you set off like a dart, weaving through the debris and overturned furniture scattered along the room.
For someone with virtually no parkour experience, you do well enough— until your foot catches on a stray plank. “Oh fuck,” you mutter as the laser locks onto you. You frantically dive behind an upended desk, bracing for a hail of ammunition, but nothing comes.
“Still kicking, fishfucker?” A092 calls out. “I can hear my five hundred calling my name!”
“Fuck off, Ninety-Two!” you snap back, peeking around the table. To your confusion, the turret is pointing downward, its lasers deactivated. It seems almost… apologetic.
Then, a voice crackles to life over the intercom.
[I’m sorry.] comes a synthetic voice, frazzled and distorted. [I didn’t realize it was you. Please, don’t tell Sebastian. Thank you.]
The activation panel erupts in a shower of sparks, and the turret shuts down.
“What the hell was that?” A092 asks. “Is it— are we good?”
“I think so,” you reply, cautiously standing up. The turret remains inert, completely powered down. “Yeah, we’re good.”
A092 gets up, making her way to you, bag in hand. As she approaches, you recognize the look on her face— it’s the one she makes when she’s about to piss you off. “Don’t tell Sebastian, huh?” she comments, tone carefully neutral. “I didn’t realize your man was so… high-profile.”
“He’s not my man. And I know as much about this as you do, which is jack shit,” you reply. “Whatever that voice was, it must have made a mistake. Stop making that face. Stop.”
—
Sebastian drones his usual spiel as another batch of Expendables shuffle warily into his shop. Once he’s delivered the full rundown, he lets them be, tuning out the sound of their bickering and infighting. He focuses his hearing, keenly listening for any signs of you and A092’s arrival.
Ever since you accepted his offer, you haven’t returned to his shop. Whether it was to cut back on spending data, or because you were too engrossed in your search, Sebastian doesn’t know. But really, how hard could it be to collect three thousand assets? You always had at least five hundred on you whenever you visited, and that was on a daily basis. It’s been a little over half a week— what could possibly be delaying you?
Sebastian wonders where you are now, what you're doing— how close you are to collecting the obscene amount of assets he’d requested, all for the chance to sleep with him. He swallows as he envisions it: your nervous, flushed face as you walk into his shop, assets in hand. You’d hand it out, and Sebastian would take it, of course— but he’d quickly set them aside in favor of pulling you close, his tail coyly winding around your legs like you were prey, making you shiver as he slowly took your—
“Hey!” A prisoner yelps, snapping Sebastian out of reverie. He surveys the room: one of the Expendables is sprawled across the far end of the room, tangled in overturned crates, curled up in pain.
Sebastian blinks, then turns his gaze to the left where his tail— clearly the culprit of the crime— is thrashing around like an aggrieved centipede. He frowns, bringing it to a halt.
“What the hell, man,” the prisoner he’d knocked over groans from his spot among the scattered crates.
Sebastian clears his throat, disconcerted by his lack of control. “Sorry about that,” he tells the unsettled EXR-Ps. “Just a momentary lapse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”
The prisoners don’t believe him— they quickly vacate the room. Sebastian waves indifferently as they depart.
With that, he sighs and zones out again.
—
“Alright, loverboy, what’s the current tally on the prostipausal?”
“The what?” You stop walking.
“Prostitution pause proposal,” A092 says. “Prostipausal.”
“Don’t say those words to me ever again,” you intone. A092 shrugs, and you continue walking. “I’m at seven thousand.”
“And the goal is…?”
“Ten.”
She whistles. “Way to make a fish feel special. By the time you’re done there won’t be anything left in this shithole.”
You smile grimly. “That’s the plan,” you say. “It’s odd, though, that I haven’t died yet. Not that I’m complaining.”
“Ugh, don’t even talk to me about that,” A092 laments, turning the corner. “Every time I think I’m about to score, you’re saved by one thing or another. It’s unfair— oh, I’m gonna take a piss,” she says, spotting a restroom.
You wait outside. “You’ll get your cut eventually,” you jokingly console as she enters the stall. “It’s only a matter of time before I— HWAUGH?!”
You let out a terrified scream as you feel the back of your knees being kicked in from behind. There’s a muffled yelp as A092 scrambles out the toilet stall, her harried footsteps pattering across the tile. She won’t make it: a jaw closes around your neck, and pulls.
You wheeze pathetically as your throat is torn open.
“Oh fuck!” A092 shouts upon spotting the Wall Dweller crouched over your prone form. It makes a gross, slimy warble, and runs off.
A092 kneels down, applying pressure to the gaping wound that is your throat. “Shit, shit,” she mutters, overwhelmed by the blood. You manage to pat her on the leg, shaking your head. She backs off, biting her lip.
“Fhgnghh... whull'dhuhlurrs,” you gurgle, speech muddled by the droves of blood spewing out your neck. You take one last, wet, shuddering breath. Then you die.
“Damn,” A092 says, staring at your dead body. She pulls up her pants, and goes back into the washroom. She rinses her hands then comes back out. Your body is gone; all that’s left of you is your equipment. She leans over to grab it, humming.
“Money, money, money,” she sings.
—
“Oh, hey,” Sebastian says when he sees A092 enter his shop, fighting to keep the excitement out of his voice. He deflates subtly when he realizes she’s alone. “...I haven’t seen your friend recently. Then again, I’ve been rather busy. There were a lot of prisoners today.”
“Oh, yeah. He died,” A092 says offhandedly, inspecting the spread of merchandise he has on display. “I’ll ask him about the influx of newbies when we meet up later.”
“He what,” Sebastian snarls, prompting A092 to look at him in alarm. Sebastian eases back, quickly masking his anger. “Sorry. Something got stuck in my throat. How’d he die?”
“Wall Dweller. I was in another room so I couldn’t see it. I didn’t even pull my pants up, I just ran out when I heard him scream,” she recounts, unclipping a medkit from his tail. “By the time I got there, he was already on his last breath. I think his last words were fucking Wall Dwellers.”
“...Wall Dweller, you say.” Sebastian’s twitch, head tilting to the side as he registers another set of footsteps making its way to the shop. However, there’s no audible breathing. “The very same one approaching you right now?”
“Oh? I thought it ran off for good. Yeah, that’s the fucker,” A092 says, surprised.
“Don’t turn around,” Sebastian quickly instructs, tugging his lure light off. A shark-like grin splits across his face as the footsteps inch closer. “Just stay in the corner.”
A092 nods, eyes wide as she scrambles to the furthermost side of the room. She watches as Sebastian silently positions himself beside the outlet.
There’s the quiet sound of the Dweller crawling into the vent. The second its head emerges, Sebastian grabs it with a swift efficiency, lifting it up into the air.
It chitters, legs flailing around. Sebastian laughs meanly. “None of that,” he tuts, his other hand clamping around its ankles while the third closes around its neck.
With a vicious growl, he rips the Wall Dweller in half, its viscera spraying across the wall in one gruesome splatter.
“Holy shit,” A092 breathes, mind connecting the dots for the second time that week. “Holy shit.”
Sebastian drops the two halves onto the floor. “My apologies for the uncivilized display,” he says, adjusting his jabot. “Was there anything else you needed?”
A092 shakes her head, mute. She shuffles out the shop, giving a cursory wave, ignoring Sebastian’s query of when you would be coming back.
The fish is into him, she thinks, catatonic as she clutches your bag. The fish is into him. God help us all.
Notes:
Teaser for next chapter:
Sebastian audibly pants at the stack of assets, his tail thrashing in his excitement. "That's..." he takes a moment to swallow. "You mean... you want to... three times...?"