Chapter Text
'’You need to listen to me.”
The voice cleaves through the underwater ambience currently reverberating through the tight metal walls around you. The expendable you share the submarine with looks tense as she leans back against the cold wall of the aquatic vessel, her arms crossed in front of her. Her dark skin looks perfect, void of all the grime and scars that come with a lifetime in prison. Like she just took a shower.
Which doesn't make sense. Your current group of expendables (who are replacing all the deceased members of the first batch of inmates) haven’t had the privilege of a shower in… a while. Urbanshade had shipped off all the expendables to a remote facility, which had no showers, for a few weeks as a precaution in case the first attempt at the crystal failed. Just as Urbanshade had prepared for, the expendables had all died in their attempts to retrieve the crystal. Now here you are.
You give her a stiff nod to let her know you're paying attention.
“I've been stuck here,” —She zips open her duffle bag, which is yet another inconsistency you note because you're not allowed to bring bags— “for a while.”
She pulls out a few manilla folders and extends them towards you, her lips forming a thin smile as she speaks. “These are files on the creatures you'll find down here. I advise you read up.”
You take the files from her, your brow furrowed with confusion. Before you can vocalize your questions, she begins to speak again.
“I… whenever I die, I end up back here.” She zips up her duffle bag, her gaze trained on it for a moment before switching to you. “Here as in, well, typically the facility. Never the submarine. Never with someone else.”
She purses her lips, deep in thought. There are many questions you want to ask, all pertaining to her revival and if she’s just lying to your face, but you decide to ask the one that seems most important:
“Why now?” Your voice comes out crackly with misuse, the back of your throat itchy with the vocal vacation it's been on. You haven’t spoken much all day.
“I don't know.” She admits, her words punctuated by a long sigh. “None of the other people in my group revived. I think my being here on the submarine has to do with your group's arrival.”
She opens her mouth to speak, before closing it. She scrunches her nose in frustration. “Dammit, I really don't know. Every idea I have doesn’t lead anywhere.” She laments, turning her head upwards towards the ceiling of the submarine.
“Then let's not focus on that.” You lean forward in your seat, clearing your throat to rid it of any vocal fry. “How do you revive? How long have you been here?”
She turns her head back downwards to look at you as you ask one more question.
“What's your name?’’
She lets out a dry chuckle.
“Upreppa.”
—
Upreppa knows a lot.
The entirety of the forty-minute long submarine ride to the Hadal Blacksite is spent reviewing information, going over survival tactics, and running through what-if scenarios. You take the time during your aquatic ride to what might be your final resting place to take out the belt you'd hidden in your pant leg and tighten it around your waist.
Upreppa had asked what you needed it for. You replied you were terrified of the potential possibility of you getting a uniform with a pair of pants too big for you. Since you were assigned a jumpsuit, all of your fears have been negated.
Your seemingly immortal companion glides through each room, taking charge of looting and alerting you as to which lockers you shouldn’t enter. Her tips don't stop you from double-checking every bullet-proof container you enter.
In rooms one through ten, your adrenaline heightens your senses and leaves you flinching at every sound you hear echoing in the facility. By room twenty, you fall into a comfortable rhythm with Upreppa that leaves you looting and her scouting. At room thirty-two, you miss the extra pair of footsteps behind you and her.
You open a drawer, snatching from it the keycard you had been looking for. You turn back to Upreppa, who is in the back half of the room looking through an item locker—
—when you see something behind her.
Something is armless and grotesque, with ridges, holes, and awkwardly angled legs accompanying its pale body. Its large gaping mouth opens wide as it leans forward towards Upreppa, one of its legs moving towards her knee to kick her down. You spring forward and yell a warning out to her, your movements feeling slow as you watch the creature creep up behind her.
Her eyes widen as she takes a few steps forward, beginning to whip around to face the entity. The monster abandons the idea of kicking her weight out from underneath her and propels itself forward, its teeth latching onto the crook of her neck. It tears skin and flesh away from her neck, the inner workings of her throat visible for you to see. The creature stumbles backwards away from Upreppa, stares at you, and flees.
Upreppa gargles out a whimper of pain as she slumps to the ground, her blood pooling around her. Her black duffle bag is soaked in a coating of sickly red. She places a hand on the gash in her neck, her blood slipping through the gaps between her fingers.
You rush over, coaxing her gently to the ground as you remove her hand from her neck and replace it with your own, trying to apply pressure against the wound. It isn’t helping. Oh fuck, why isn’t it helping. You bite back the memories of blood from your time before prison and try to speak.
“It's fine.” You lie, voice cracking under the weight of her pained gaze on you. “You'll be okay—you just—pressure, you—I need to put pressure.” You stammer, her blood seeping into your jumpsuit. Looking at the cut, you bite back an involuntary gag reflex. The gash in her neck is deep enough that you wonder how she’s still breathing. How she's even still alive.
“Different.” She sputters between deep wet breaths, her eyes flicking around the room before landing on you. “Hurts. This is different.” She lets out another gargle of pain and you try to push your hand deeper against her wound in response. You feel the texture of her serrated flesh against your hand. Your stomach churns.
“Sebastian. Fifty. Take the bag.” She manages to speak as a few tears slip down her cheeks as she holds back a strangled sob. “You'll be okay. Th…thank you.” She takes a deep breath in, before continuing to speak.
Her next words don't make sense. She makes noises and calls them sentences. Her words are tinted with fear, shock, adrenaline, and blood loss. She says a series of wet words and gargles that sound nonsensical to you and looks at you with an expression that begs for a response.
You manage to tell her that she is lovely and the nicest person you've met in years.
She stops breathing.
You sit frozen in place, stunned with the loss of her life. The blood that seemed so eager to exit her has fallen into a measly trickle. Her distant eyes seem to stare through you. Her skin is cold, her head heavy in your hand. You whisper her name softly, the noise barely managing to squeeze past your chapped lips. She doesn't stir.
You take a deep breath in and out in an attempt to calm your fastly beating heart. You steel yourself the same way you did back on the oil rig prior to your sentence to prison. Before you were in line for lethal injection. You had blood on your hands back then…this is no different. A body is a body. Blood is blood.
You tell yourself this, but you still vomit when you stand back up.
You slip the blood-soaked duffle bag off of her shoulder, and onto your own. You need to get going.
Fifty. You can only assume she was referring to the room number. You're in room thirty-two. Only eighteen rooms left.
You swipe the keycard to the next room with shaky hands. You keep tabs on every locker and side-room you can find. Sweat glistens on your forehead as your stomach churns for food. You're starting to regret throwing up.
Fourteen rooms left. You find a vending machine and manage to shake it enough to make a two-pack of poptarts fall out of it. You only eat one, and you place the other in the duffle bag for later.
Eleven rooms left. The lights flicker and you grip the handle of the locker tight as you wait for the Angler to get closer. You panic and enter the locker sooner than you should've. You try to quell your panicked breathing as you hear the lightbulbs swell and pop. Once you see the blur of the monstrous fish fly past your hiding spot, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.
While fumbling in the darkness, you manage to find a Flash Beacon.
“It's basically a flashlight gun.” Upreppa's voice reminds you. Among the details she shared with you in the submarine were useful descriptions of handy tools. “It has twenty charges. Careful where you point em’.”
Nine rooms left. A red bead on your head is what greets you as you enter room forty-one. You run to a nearby locker and scramble inside it. Your fingers fumble to shut it closed as gunfire rattles your metal enclosure.
Turrets.
As soon as the gunfire ceases, you stumble out of the locker and behind a nearby stack of crates. Bullets attempt to penetrate your cover as you lay eyes on a nearby switch.
The moment the turret whirrs to reload, you dart out of your cover and sprint to the power switch, your haphazard running causing you to slam your full body weight against the wall. You flip the switch with more force than needed. The sound of the turret powering down is music to your ears.
"BOOORIIING!” A grating voice says over the PA speakers. It sighs. “The security in this place sucks.”
Thankfully, you think in response. You take a moment to catch your breath before continuing.
Six rooms left. There are duplicate doors. You place your ear against the both of them and settle to choose the one without the audible breathing.
“The Good People.” Upreppa had told you, her index finger tapping against the open file in your hand. “Try to open the door while against the wall. That way, if it's the wrong door, you have better odds of not being seen.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and open the door, your back placed flush alongside the wall next to it. Your blood rushes in your ears as you try and listen for any odd noises inside the room.
Water dripping. A weird creaking from the vent. Gunfire in the distance. The sound of (what you hope is) a whale from outside the facility. A faint scream echoing through the thick rebar of the walls. All typical creepy-facility noises.
Peeking in the doorway, you see a normal room. A few desks, lockers, and a room across from you with the sign ‘48’. Your whole body releases tension as you enter the room. This much adrenaline can’t be good for your health.
Speaking of health, you find a first aid kit. You clip it onto your belt. ‘That would've been handy sixteen rooms ago’, you think grimly.
Two rooms left. The lights flicker again. You grip the locker handle as you look down the winding hallway towards the direction of the Angler's screaming. Lights begin popping close to you, and you glance at the Angler before opening the locker—
—and you make eye contact. It sees you.
Panic overcomes you as you enter the locker and shut it tight with your hands. Anglers can't see you. Upreppa told you that! Out of sight, out of mind. You try to ignore how its eyes seemed to center on you, and the fact that its maw outstretched more. The detail of the eyes in its mouth glowing brighter upon meeting your gaze sears itself into your memory. These details taunt you in a ‘you-can't-run-from-me’ way.
Which doesn't make sense. Anglers can't see you. Upreppa said even the variants can't… shit.
Pandemonium. Your brain helpfully supplies, much too late. You're fucked.
You hold the locker doors so tight your knuckles pale. The Angler— Pandemonium— slams against the door, causing the whole locker to rock and threaten to tip over. You grit your teeth as you try to hold the doors closed.
Your muscles scream in protest. After running on pure adrenaline for so long, your body can barely handle itself as is. Now factor in a crazed fish trying to eat you…again, you’re fucked.
You can't hold the locker doors together long enough for it to get tired of you and move on. While you can’t see past the horrifying creature in front of you, you can vaguely remember the layout of the room. If you can get into a nearby side room, you might have a chance.
Using your hand that doesn't have the duffle bag slumped over its shoulder, you grab the flash beacon off of your belt and fling the locker doors open. Pandemonium recoils from the doors hitting it, which is just enough time for you to ready the Flash Beacon and pull the trigger. Arm outstretched, you squint your eyes to try and dim the blast from affecting your eyes when teeth sink into your arm.
A strangled cry comes out of your throat as you feel your flesh rip. Your arm is almost completely engulfed by Pandemonium's maw, and your hand loses the grip of the Flash Beacon inside. You feel searing hot pain as teeth and burning liquid rip and tear your arm inside, your screams falling onto nobody's ears but your own.
Pandemonium twists its head, your whole body being ripped out of the locker with the action. You feel your arm for a whole two seconds until you're thrown across the room, your back hitting the wall with a harsh thud. You blink with bleary eyes as you make out the harsh figure of Pandemonium still facing the locker you were in.
You see something sticking out between its teeth as it chews. You make out torn fabric, flesh, bones and blood. So much blood. You bring both of your arms forward against the ground to try and push yourself upright, only to see one of your hands. Slicked with blood.
You try to move the missing arm. Nothing happens. Looking back up towards Pandemonium, you recognise the torn jumpsuit fabric it’s chewing. Your arm. It's eating your arm.
You try to hush the scream that boils in your throat as you fumble around the room, your own blood threatening to cause you to slip. You try to apply pressure on the raggedy remains of your arm, only for your pain to spike tenfold when your exposed muscle makes contact with your hand. You bite back a whimper by pressing your teeth against your tongue.
Using your one hand to support you against a wall, you find the door to the side room. Perfect. Once inside, you look around for a desk. You lay eyes on one and stumble towards it, your hand hitting the cold hardwood of the desk as you lean your weight against it. You nudge a rolling chair away with your foot and take refuge underneath it.
You don't know how long you hide there. You hear Pandemonium shuffle around the main room (is it looking for you?), and eventually move further on to other rooms. Tears well up and fall down your cheeks as the pain begins to set in. Your teeth break through the skin of your tongue, the taste of copper overwhelming your senses.
You take many shaky breaths until you can think again. You try to calm your pounding head.
You're in a side room. Two rooms away from the destination (you assume) Upreppa gave you. 'Sebastian’ is important. Whether or not he's down here, or if he's a loved one of her's that she wants you to find, is unimportant. He’s important enough to be in her last words. So he's important to you.
You arm— er— lack of arm— flares in pain as you shift slightly. Right. You’re now one-handed. Not good. You pat yourself for any other injuries.
You feel bruises all along your back, face, and a sharp pain in your ribcage. You still have the duffle bag, and the first aid kit still remains intact on your belt. Thank goodness. You can't imagine going any further without one.
The thought reminds you of your old supervisor at the oil rig, whose bluntness was only outmatched by her thick scottish accent. “Toughen up!” She had scolded you once, after you had tripped and fallen down a flight of sharp metal stairs. It had just rained, and every surface was slick to the touch. “Put some plaster’ on and work n’ cabin maintenance.”
Cabin maintenance essentially equaled a day off. You had given her a ‘yes sir!’ and put bandaids on the larger cuts on your body. The rest of the day was spent changing light bulbs and cleaning AC filters.
Ah… you think you miss her. All of your old coworkers would have laughed at such a notion of missing your cranky boss, so you guess the Hadal Blacksite is really doing a number on you. Right. You're still in the facility. Bleeding out. Best do something about that.
You open up your medkit and quickly dress your arm, deciding to fully stitch up whatever remains of it once you reach room fifty. You can't stop the groans of pain that exits your lips with every movement you take. Once done, you close your eyes and lean your head against the desk.
This sucks.
Your body feels sluggish and overexerted. The eyelids on your face feel like foreign objects with how heavy they are, and how they threaten to close. You want to sleep. Badly.
You don't sleep. With a shaky inhale, you push yourself onto your feet and try to steel yourself. You won't let this facility break you. If Upreppa could handle dying repeatedly, you can handle the loss of a limb. There are worse things in this facility that you're determined not to lose to.
Attempting to open your duffle bag has you cringing as you see and feel dry blood encrusted over the zipper. You can't decipher whether it’s your’s or Upreppa's. At this point, it's probably both.
You bring your last poptart to your lips and you take a few bites from it, before placing it back into its wrapper in your duffle bag. It's small, stale, and you think you might throw up from the mixture of processed food and your adrenaline-pumped anxiety, but you need the energy.
One room left. There's a bathroom. You don't have the confidence to relieve yourself, but you turn one of the faucets and drink as much cold water as you can from it. The blood and grime covering your hand leaves the sink bowl a dirty brown. You look back over your shoulder as much as you can to avoid a repeat of Upreppa's fate.
You open the door to room fifty.
You freeze.
There's nothing.
It's just an old mechanical hallway, lined with red light. Your eyes dart around frantically as you try to find anything that might help you. You come up with nothing.
You bite your lip as you try not to freak out. You never knew for certain Upreppa was talking about door fifty. Fifty could've been her age. How many times she died. Her wage at an old job. The age she wanted to be. Fifty has no meaning towards your stay here at the Hadal Blacksite. There's no saying ‘Sebastian’ has any relevance either.
You can't afford to mess up. Not now. You take a few deep breaths, steel yourself, and begin making your way into the next room. You cross the threshold into room fifty-one, your body whining in protest. Every muscle strains and sluggishly complies with your movements.
Blink. Breathe. You stretch the muscles in your hand. You can do this.
Hand slamming down on the large lever, the door slides open. At the far end of the room, is your next destination, room fifty-two, locked by keycard. What draws your attention, though, is a large industrial light pointed at a vent—
—SLAM! The vent cover flies off, skidding across the floor before uselessly hitting the other wall. Something blue slithers away from inside the vent, only granting you a glimpse before exiting your field of vision.
“Need some help, friend?” A low chuckle echoes through the vent. “Come inside. I don't bite.”
You frown. Those few words manage to ring every alarm bell in your mind that whoever this is, is trouble. It is, although, someone, and you'll take whatever help you can get. Moving so that your back is pressed to the wall next to the vent, you lean forward and speak into the large duct.
“Who are you?” You ask, your voice low and gravelly with exhaustion.
“Pay me a visit and I'll tell you.”
Not a good sign. You press your tongue against the back of your teeth in thought, but wince when the cut in your tongue stings at the movement. You’re too beat up to survive another encounter.
Although the voice in the vent seems to be more rational than the other creatures. You could strike a deal. Firstly, though, you have a question;
“Do you know Upreppa?” You ask.
“I…” The voice pauses. Hesitation. There's your answer. “...no. Never heard of them.”
You take a glance at the remnants of your arm, the bandage covering it slowly turning into a sickly shade of red. You might as well bite the bullet. As stubborn as you are, you doubt you'll make it much farther with your blood actively seeking a way out of your body. You need to lick your wounds.
Shuffling into the vent, you slowly crawl on your knees through the tight space. The bruises covering your body flare up in protest as you make your way through the air duct. Your hand falls outside the vent, and you feel around the empty space as you cautiously enter a dark room. Your legs threaten to buckle underneath you as you stand up.
“There you are.”
The voice is much louder and more intimidating now that you're so close. You ball up your fists (and find that only one moves, which leads your feigned confidence to falter as you had forgotten about your missing limb) and tilt your head towards the source of the voice. Click.
Light floods the room. You blink blearily and rub your hand against your eyes as you adjust to the change of lighting. You quickly re-open your eyes, wanting to face the potential threat that's speaking to you.
The potential threat is tall, fishy, and disturbingly humanoid. He has a tail that trails around the room, making this space seem smaller underneath his large figure. He’s equipped with an angler lure that is the source of the illumination through the room. Compared to Upreppa's death and your arm being ripped off, the creature before you seems friendly. You steel your expression as you try to hold yourself straight.
“Solace,” the creature in front of you introduces himself, “Sebastian Solace.” He takes a faux bow as he tilts himself slightly forward, his matte black hair sweeping in front of his face. He raises a hand and tucks it behind his fin.
You catch the sight of a third eye on his face before his greasy hair covers it again. “Despite what you may have seen or heard, I have your best interests at heart.” His tail flicks.
“In exchange for the useless data you collect on your venture through this lovely facility, I'll grant you a trade with my wares.” He gestures to his tail, and you move your gaze towards it. Belts strap various items to his limb, all varying from code breachers to lanterns.
His gaze flicks between your face and your missing arm, his smile twitching slightly. You can't tell if it's growing or thinning. “Seems you're in need of a medkit.” He says coyly. You ignore him in favor of not losing your temper.
“Sebastian.” You try to hide the hope in your voice as you say his name. Turns out Upreppa's final words were helpful after all. “I have a question for you.”
“I have one for you as well.” He clasps two of his hands, his third hand twitching underneath his coat.
“I— oh. Uh. And that is?” You furrow your brow as you speak, concentrating on trying to stop your voice from wavering. Might as well be courteous to the giant monster fish and let him go first. You'd rather not face the consequence of not conceding to the wishes of a deadly creature.
“Why do you have that bag?” He raises a hand to gesture towards it. Your built-up confidence falters. Why would he ask you that?
“A friend gave it to me.” You respond, the words calculated in your head before being vocalized. “The, uh, blood on it is mine.” And her's.
His eyes squint as he tilts his head slightly. “Who sent you?” His voice is low and irritated, the question coming off more as a statement than anything inquisitive.
“I thought it was my turn to ask a question.” You reply stubbornly, your one hand moving to grip the duffle bag strap.
He splays his hands out, his clawed fingertips glinting dangerously in the mellow light from his esca.
“Don't push your luck.” He gives you a grin full of sharp teeth.
“...I'm an expendable.” You try to focus your gaze on Sebastian, and ignore the urge to glance at the vent. As he stated, you don't want to ‘push your luck’ by trying to escape.
“One of many. Urbanshade sent us here to retrieve a crystal.” Every word you say feels like the wrong answer.
A pause. Sebasian rolls his head to the side as his grin widens.
“Sounds like you need a hand with that.” He snorts at his own joke, laughing softly to himself. You grit your teeth and bite back a snarky rebuttal. He continues.
“If you're an expendable, you have no need for lugging around that useless bag. There's nothing inside that can help you.” He holds his hand in front of him, pretending to inspect his nails (does he have nails? Are they his claws?). “I'll take it off your hands.”
‘No’, you want to say. ‘I need this data. Upreppa gave it to me. It's important.’
You put on your best smile, which strains against the weight of your wounds. “What's on the table?”
“I'm thinking any item from my wares, up to your selection.” He waves vaguely to your bag and the tools strapped to his tail.
Item? Singular?
You force out a grating chuckle as you pat your duffle bag. The wounds littering your body then decide to flare up, which leaves your hand gripping the fabric of the duffle bag tight as you try not to let out a whine of pain. It hurts. Bad. But you don't want to risk what little leverage you have over Sebastian by exposing your sorry state.
“I think the contents of this bag are worth more than one tool.” Your voice threatens to die in your throat.
“The contents? Well, that's no good.” His voice is low, layered with a growl in the back of his throat. “You can’t know about the contents. That data is classified. Unfortunately.”
He raises a hand to his angler lure and pulls.
As fast as the light turned on, it clicks off. Darkness floods your vision as you stumble backwards, squinting your eyes to try and see through the dark hues that surround you. The hair on your arms stands up as you try to remember the location of the vent. You can hear Sebastian moving.
You turn quickly towards where you think the vent is, legs threatening to buckle from the fast movement. Air is sliced by claws as a hand grabs your neck, lifting you high off the ground. Blood rushes to your face as you instinctively raise both of your arms to try and pry the fingers away from your neck.
The rugged remnants of your arm protests at the movement, a pained yelp exiting your mouth before you can stop it. Like a faulty lamp, light suddenly floods back into the room from Sebastian's lure. The warm light frames his face, his mouth drawn into a harsh sneer.
From this close you can see how sharp his teeth are, and the strong copper smell that seems to follow him. His hand grips tight— not enough to choke— but more than enough to bruise.
“Talk.” He snarls, a bead of spittle trailing down his chin. He raises one of his free hands and wipes it away.
“I have been talki—” You start, before Sebastian squeezes his hand tighter, choking your words.
“Answers, then. Why do you have Upreppa's bag? Did Urbanshade send anyone else? Where’s your gear?”
“I—I’m an expendable.” You stammer, unable to keep your voice even. You try to breathe to clear your head, but you can only perform a few shallow breaths with the hand constricting your throat. “The bag— she gave it to me when she died!”
The hand around your neck takes your words as an invitation to increase its grip, effectively blocking your airways. You frantically move your hand around his fingers, before clasping your hand on his forearm. His grip lessens at your touch, just enough to let you breathe, and you take the moment to suck in some much-needed air.
“She doesn't die.”
“I know! She said this time was different!” You look into his eyes, pulling back your attempts at a neutral expression in favor of leaning into the pained one that was threatening to overtake.
“Before she—when—” Your brain races as you struggle to speak, your body still recovering from your recent decline of air. Sebastian thrums his fingers against the nape of your neck. The touch is distracting.
“She told me to take the bag and go to you.”
Sebastian furrows his brow, his fins flicking slightly. He recovers quickly, slightly loosening his grip to allow you to breathe better.
“My mistake.” His voice reverberates through the small room, echoing back to you. Mistake? He calls almost choking you to death a mistake? No shit!
“I granted your friend access to these files, not you. I'll be reclaiming them now.” He says flippantly, his third arm raising to take the bag away from you. His knuckles press against your jumpsuit as he slings the duffle bag off your shoulder, causing you to flinch.
You're still in the chokehold of someone that can kill you in seconds. Best play it safe. That being said, your tenacity still gets the better of your words.
“Some of my items are in there.” You state, not asking if you can have them. You will have them. It's not much, but a half-eaten poptart and the bare bones remains of a medkit sound awfully nice right now. A weak wish that he won’t decline you of your supplies grips your feeble heart.
Sebastian glances between the duffle bag and you, seemingly contemplative. He receives your statement as the question you don't want it to be; ‘can I please have my items back Mr.Solace?’ He moves your neck back and forth, examining your face.
It's obvious he's doing it to psych you out, so you force as much of a neutral expression as you can. Your neck flares up in pain at his movements and you bite down on your tongue to try not to make any noises.
You fail. A quiet, barely perceivable pain-induced moan escapes your parted lips before you can tug them together. How embarrassing. You grimace as you realize you've lost any leverage in your deal with him. It's as clear as day now that you're not worth any investment— you're on the verge of death.
Sebastian stills. The light flowing over the two of you grows slightly brighter. Blue eyes stare into yours, blinking once, twice, before turning away from you. Hope pumps your beating heart that you might not have lost leverage after all.
“...if I see something I like, I'm taking it.”
He drops you and the duffle bag on the floor, the contact with the hard concrete floor leading you to realize something important. You're alive. You're alive! He didn't kill you!
Sebastian moves to the corner of the room, inspecting the items on his tail. The distance from him eases your adrenaline-fried nerves. Stumbling towards the duffle bag, you take out your food and medkit.
“Junk.” You hear Sebastian muttering, his head turned towards you before returning to his busywork. You fight off the urge to stick your tongue out at him.
‘What an asshole’, you think bitterly, looking through the other contents of the bag. There's the classified data that Sebastian was uptight about you seeing. Much to your surprise, you find other items littered among the files.
You had almost forgotten that you and Upreppa had gathered data; after her death, your sole focus was survival. There are vials, storage drives, loose paper, and small manilla folders haphazardly stacked on top of one another in the bag.
“Solace,” The name rolls off your tongue easier than ‘Sebastian’, which reminds you of Upreppa too much. “How much data will let me stay here to stitch up my arm?”
“I’m not a hospital.” Sebastian replies, fiddling with one of the belts on his tail. “Two thousand. Vials are fifty, folders are ten, and drives are five.”
You definitely don't have that much.
”How about this.” You sit cross legged next to your— er— Sebastian's brand new duffle bag, your hand resting on your kneecap. “I give you all the data in this bag, and the remaining amount is discounted.”
Sebastian stiffens, his fins twitching.
“Due to your…mistake, I'm currently at a disadvantage for survival.” You gesture vaguely to your throat, watching as Sebastian's gaze follows your hand. “I think a discount is in order.”
“Discount.” Sebastian echoes. “You want a discount.”
You nod, thrumming your fingers against your knee. Sebastian's stare feels scrutinizing when underneath it, and you squirm in your resting place on the floor.
He lets out an airy chuckle as he leans against the far wall, his hair falling in front of his face. “Are you masochistic? I almost kill you and your response is to ask to stay here? With a discount?”
“Just while I fix up my arm.” You correct him.
“A favor.” He grabs one of his strands of hair and twirls it in his fingers. “I get your data and you owe me.”
An IOU. You can think of a million ways for it to go wrong, but the idea of being able to ease some of the pain in your arm sounds heavenly.
“Deal.”
He smiles as he slithers over to you, the scutes of his tail moving hypnotically in a repeating motion. He leans down towards you, extending an arm. A handshake.
Trying to match him, you raise your arm to reciprocate the handshake…only for it to be the arm you no longer have. You think you might actually kill him.
“Oops.” Sebastian giggles. “Wrong hand.”
He flicks your forehead and leans back upright, moving away from you and back towards the corner.
“Get well soon, expendable. I have a job for you.”