Chapter 1: Deluge
Chapter Text
Loveshot wondered how long it had been since he felt safe on the surface.
The answer, logically, was a year ago. A year before the Bunkers finished construction, a year before the mass exodus of Civilians, and a year before everything went to shit spectacularly. Back then, he had just been one sheriff out of many, not the sad trio they were now. Gunslinger and Revolver had gotten injured fighting off Harken the last time she bumped into an excursion, and still hadn’t recovered. Punch was helping train new refugees, so that left them as the best option. Usually they’d have two more people with them for safety’s sake, but Cloak and Peel were helping Bouncepad and Bonuspad repair the vents, Dash and Adrenaline were trying to get Block’s run speed up, and Caretaker had roped Taunt and Hotdog into helping them fix up the injured. That left him all on their lonesome.
Loveshot tried not to begrudge them for it. He was usually the best option for scouting parties or supply runs, being able to heal themselves as well as stun any foes along the way.
Besides, the Government didn’t stop sending supplies just because people were busy, and if the Civilians didn’t get to it first, something else would. They had learned that lesson after delaying a supply run because most of them were injured, and when they arrived the next couple of days it had been torn apart and anything edible devoured, leaving behind fluttering scraps of bandages or crushed painkillers for the Civilians to sift through and see if they could find anything intact. Caretaker had recognized the marks as the one that Pursuer made, and the realization that they were on a time limit for more food or bandages was sobering. It was only logical that he would have to go without backup. They prided himself on how much they were trusted, and now he had to live up to that.
He took a long breath in, savoring the crisp air and lush smell. While the garden at the Bunker was trying its hardest to be a temporary reprieve from the same grey walls, nothing could beat reality. The air was thick with oncoming rain, reflected in the grim clouds hanging in the sky. They had to be quick if they wanted to get back before the downpour started.
Loveshot wound through the dense foliage of the forest, slowly watching it fade away into the city’s concrete and rubble. This sector of it had been destroyed, long since turned into a battleground against the threats that menaced the Civilian population. It was also the closest settlement to the Bunker, so it was where most supply drops went.
He drew their revolver, finger resting on the trigger. Please don’t let them run into any killers. They did not have the firepower, nor the numbers to take on someone like Killdroid or Badwear. Those were the most common threats in the city, but he had the supreme misfortune of getting chased by Pursuer through the abandoned desks of Headquarters more times than they would like to recall. A particularly nasty encounter with Harken had happened here once as well, leaving him nursing a massive stomach wound for days after. He expected Caretaker to freak out and chastise them for being so reckless, but they had just stayed eerily silent the whole time they were treating Loveshot. That was how he knew it had been close.
They duck behind a miraculously intact concrete wall, ignoring all the steel beams reaching for the sky or piles of broken-down bricks. Baseplate was one of his least favorite places to be even without the looming threat of death; something about the way the dark, churning water would swallow up anyone, Killer and Civilian alike, put them on edge. A drizzle had started. In a place like this, that could spell disaster if the rain got any heavier. Nevertheless, Loveshot pushed forwards. The sooner he got those supplies, the sooner they could get out of here.
Something clinked. They froze, hunkering low being a crumbling wall. Just a place without maintenance falling apart, or something more sinister?
A creak, this one distinctly wooden. There was a pop followed up by a thud. Damn. Something had gotten to the supplies first. Could he frighten them away without getting themselves murdered? What if it was another Civilian? What if it wasn’t? Their grip on the gun tightened. Only one way to find out.
The rain helped mask their slow footprints as they rounded the corner, seeing the now-familiar sight of someone in a vest and hat bent over, slowly and methodically waving his wand. The screws keeping the crate closed rattled and began to float outwards, making the plank moveable. Loveshot felt his heart beat faster. Artful.
They had skirmished even before the Bunkers were built, before the Government ripped open portals or built death machines and upturned the whole world into chaos. A wanted criminal, slaughtering an entire audience because of their rejection, and the dogged sheriff, hunting him down between the city streets to bring justice. Cops and robbers. Justice delivered. Simple as that. So why was he out here?
Artful had managed to elude capture through his tricks, summoning walls or puppets or music boxes to buy himself enough time to slip away. By the time the Bunkers had gotten constructed, Artful had become a distant memory of a life before apex predators prowled the once-safe streets, of malevolent malware infecting any bit of technology it could burrow inside. Then, he began popping up again.
Loveshot remembers the day Artful was back in action. It was around the third month when a wounded supply party came back, a wooden crate still clenched defiantly. As one of the Civilians who knew how to fix people up, he and the rest of the medical crew had spent a lot of time puzzling over the unfamiliar injuries present. Eventually, they managed to pry the story from Dash and Adrenaline, who only suffered a couple bruises.
A freak malfunction had caused the portal to temporarily get shut down, making the scouting party wait a day to retrieve their supplies. Once they had reached the supply drop, they had found Artful in the midst of looting it. Punch and Carepad had initially tried to negotiate something, but the sight of Peel seemed to send him into a violent frenzy, resulting in those three distracting Artful long enough for Dash and Adrenaline to make off with the supply crate. Everyone made it back alive, but Peel and Carepad were put on bedrest for two weeks, and Punch had broken her arm when Artful threw a brick wall at her.
“Alright, asshole. I want to see your hands in the air now, and if you make any sudden movements this bullet is landing directly in the back of your skull.” Loveshot spoke clearly and calmly despite the rage boiling beneath his skin. Was it not enough to kill Civilians? Did he have to steal from them as well?
Artful muttered something underneath his breath, slowly turning to face them with his hands in the air. The wand clattered to the floor. Loveshot was pretty sure that was a curse word. His face was twisted into a sneer as he spat, “Of course even in a time like this you’d still be hunting me down. Bonjour, sheriff. Do you have nothing better to do than chase me?”
“Cut the crap, Artful. You know damn well why I’m doing this.” Using their free hand, Loveshot gestured to the crate. “Step away from the supplies, and maybe I’ll let you go without injury.”
“This crate is for Civilian use. I am a Civilian.” Artful smiled widely, one that might have been charming had it not been for the condescension in his voice. “Ergo, I can use it.”
“You forfeit any Government aid the moment you killed those people. Back off before I make you.” Loveshot took a step closer. The rain had begun to fall faster and thicker. Their hat shielded them from most of it, but a couple chilly drops had sunk into their clothes.
Artful’s smile sunk into a snarl, “You have no idea what it’s like in this place without a Bunker to cozy on up in. How hard it is to survive out here.”
A startled laugh spilled out of Loveshot’s mouth. “Am I supposed to feel bad for you? Oh, poor little Artful, not allowed in because he’s a serial killer. Cry me a fucking river.”
Artful didn’t reply at that, merely glaring back at him. Loveshot took that as a cue to continue. “You had no reason to attack that patrol, and now you want to whine about how hard surviving is? Try that when you’re looking out for dozens of people who are constantly getting blown up, impaled, and bludgeoned. Try that when the only place keeping you safe is constantly on the verge of falling apart. You can at least defend yourself. Some of us don’t get that option.”
“You can too! What’s the point of that fancy little gun of yours if you aren’t using it?”
“Shut the hell up! Have you ever watched someone you care about die in front of you, knowing that you could’ve saved them?” Loveshot had blurted his words out without thinking, too angry to worry about a filter. “Have you ever held someone’s dying body and tried your hardest to fix them up, and it resulted in nothing? Or have you been too busy running from your crimes to think of anyone but yourself?”
“Don’t you dare assume that I’ve never cared, Loveshot. You know nothing about me.” Artful’s chest began to heave with anger, wand sparking slightly on the floor.
The sparks were snuffed out immediately by the large puddles had begun to form on the dark concrete. Unbeknownst to the two arguing, the red display that recorded the capacity of the floodgates was slowly rising. The dam hadn’t been upkept in months, with anyone who had the knowledge of how to do so either dead or in hiding. The Government couldn’t afford to dispatch anyone to fix it either, all of the different crises dragging their attention to more pressing problems. Combine that with a major storm, and the floodgates would fail.
“Fuck this.” Loveshot spat. He was ready to do what they should have done the moment they saw Artful here. One threat taken care of. Justice finally restored to his victims. He was about to pull the trigger when a blaring alarm echoed across the Baseplate, catching both of their attention. The flood walls had dropped, releasing a churning mass of water into the gully. He was too late. Instinctually, Loveshot took a couple steps back. Their grip on the gun tightened.
The water level rose and rose, slowly pushing a chunk of floating debris up. This was nothing new. It was actually quite useful, allowing an easy way to cross the gap if anyone did get caught out here. Icy horror gripped their stomach as he realized that it was still rising, water beginning to soak through his boots. Artful seemed to be no better, frozen in shock. The water was rising higher, and it wasn’t stopping.
“Run!” Loveshot yelled, more out of instinct than worry for Artful. That seemed to snap the magician out of his stupor, swiping his wand and turning tail. Loveshot had done the same, gun stowed away on his belt. The bitingly cold water slowed him down as he ran, making them feel as if they were walking through molasses. It had risen up to his waist by now.
Loveshot only had a couple seconds to ponder the sudden roaring in his ears before a massive wall of water slammed into him, yanking them off their feet and into the tumultuous world beneath the surface. The air was knocked out of his lungs, but it was almost impossible to swim upwards. Dark shadows swirled past him; broken bricks or metal shards carried along by the flood. He burst desperately to the surface, getting a precious gulp of air, only to sink right back down. Loveshot was dragged along heedlessly by the unforgiving waters, barely breaching the top all the while. Finally, his desperate hands grabbed on to something floating.
They hauled themselves upwards, gasping desperately. It was the scrap of debris used as a bridge back in Baseplate. He white-knuckled the sides, still getting tossed and turned. Foul-tasting spray smacked them in the face, and the scrap occasionally sunk below the water for a couple terrifying moments. Rain pelted them all the while, and sharp flashes of lightning lit the sky.
Loveshot didn’t know how long he had spent clinging, terror overriding any timekeeping abilities, when they noticed how far from the city he was. They were surrounded almost entirely by overgrown stone ruins dotted with trees inbetween. He scarcely had time to ponder that, however, before the water up ahead began to pour downwards. Desperately, he searched for a safe space. The water had pushed him to the side of the flood, but there was nothing they could grab on to that would help them pull himself out. The dirt walls were too wet, sloughing away whenever he tried to grab on to them. The flood pulled him closer, closer to the edge when-
There! A ledge on the side of the drop. Loveshot has one chance to make it. Using the last of their strength, he hurled himself forwards.
For a moment, nothing but weightlessness and the roar of the storm in his ears.
Then, a painful collision with the ground. He wheezes for air gracelessly, shivering like a dog on the cold, wet ground. Blades of grass poke at their face as they curl onto their side and retch up water. The moment he’s done doing that, they fall on their back, staring up at the angry sky. The waterfall sounds outraged that he managed to slip away, howling endlessly below. A giddy laugh escaped Loveshot, quickly turning into a hacking cough. He’s exhausted, waterlogged, and wounded, but they’re alive.
Trembling, they crawl forwards into a stony cave hidden away from the elements. From the mouth of the cave, he can see more ruins, a wooden bridge and… a giant teapot? Huh. Loveshot was perfectly content to close his eyes and never move again, already halfway to doing that when they heard exhausted panting and squelching footsteps. With an exasperated sigh, he drew his pistol. “Who’s there?”
“S’il vous plaît, Loveshot- please, mercy, I beg-“ Artful looked utterly awful, probably as bad as Loveshot felt, clinging to the cave wall for support. A wet cough interrupted his pleading; he sank to the floor soon after. As much as they wanted Artful dead, he didn’t think he had anything left in them for a confrontation.
“Okay,” Loveshot mumbled, still shivering. “Truce?”
“Truce,” Artful agreed, shuffling towards the back of the cave once he saw that they stowed their revolver away. There were no words exchanged between them, just attempts to catch their breaths and stop shaking. Damn. If they didn’t get warmer soon, they’d both freeze. With a sigh, Loveshot beckoned Artful to their side.
“C’mere.”
“Huh?” The rain had washed most of the makeup off, leaving Artful’s face fully exposed except for the masked part. He was confused.
“Unless you’ve got a spell for drying off clothes in that wand of yours, we’re gonna have to conserve our warmth somehow. So, c’mere.” Loveshot opened his arms. Artful blinked.
“Are you sure?”
“Artful, does it look like I would ask to cuddle with you if it wasn’t a life-or-death scenario?” Even with the dim lighting of the cave, Loveshot could see a faint flush on his face as Artful nestled into the crook of their neck. It was only now that the reality of the situation began to sink in: he was miles away from the Bunker, left valuable supplies behind, and was cuddling one of Robloxia’s most notorious criminals.
…Revolver and Gunslinger were going to kill them.
Chapter 2: Cliff
Notes:
Did not realize there were so many Artshot warriors out there, thanks for all the comments! Hope you enjoy this chapter!
Chapter Text
Artful woke up wrapped in a garishly pink overcoat, looking at the ceiling of a cave. Hm. So that wasn’t a dream.
He was still cold, but his clothes were just damp instead of dripping wet; he’d take what he could get. His eyes trailed to where Loveshot was sitting by the mouth of the cave, bathed in sunlight. Artful still didn’t know what to make of their temporary truce. Just one day ago, the sheriff had been ready to shoot him in the head, and now they had spent the night wrapped in each other’s arms. Surely they wouldn’t go back to being enemies now, at least not until they were back in the city.
The truth was that Loveshot’s affection, even if it was only for survival, had a bigger impact on Artful than he’d like to admit. It came as no surprise that being on the run for murder meant you missed out on the more intimate moments of life; even something as minor as brushing hands with someone would fill him with warmth for a couple hours. The Civilian mind was not meant to be alone for long periods of time, and Artful had spent the last two years trying to have as little contact as he possibly could. To have someone let him rest against them, to curl their arms around him and pull him close, so close he could feel the rise and fall of their lungs against his chest… well, it was something he wasn’t going to forget anytime soon.
A soft clinking noise finally drew Artful to walk to where Loveshot was sitting. In his hands was a metal can, slightly dented but otherwise unharmed. In his other hand was a rock, and on the top were numerous scratch marks. Loveshot greeted his appearance with a slight nod and a sarcastic remark. “Sleep well, darling?”
“Like a lamb,” Artful replied, determined to retain some of his dignity despite last night’s pathetic begging. “I have come to return your coat.
Loveshot snorted, but quickly wrapped himself back up. They were perhaps the only person who could make that eyemelting shade of pink work. “Aren’t you a gentleman?”
He sat down beside them, watching as he tried to pry open the can. The sunlight was pleasant on his skin, a nice contrast from the storm. Last night, he had been too preoccupied with not drowning to observe his surroundings. Floating islands dotted the place around them, a still-swelled waterfall pouring down into the abyss. Robloxia was a strange and magical place, with the more dangerous areas often being less popular. Half-crumbled pillars reached up to the sky, with some surprisingly well-maintained wooden bridges allowing for people to cross without risking a trip into the void. “What on earth is that giant teapot?”
“Oh. That.” Loveshot paused his task to stare at said giant teapot. It almost appeared to have eyes, although Artful was sure it was just his mind playing tricks on him. “I have no idea. It doesn’t seem to be a threat, though. It didn’t stir an inch when I managed to rustle this up.”
With that, they tapped the can on the head. It was the kind kept in supply crates, ones Artful had become very familiar with ever since the Bunkers were made. There weren’t a lot of food sources present aside from them, so he had resorted to opening them up and storing them in various safehouses across the city. It must’ve been carried by the same waters that dumped Artful and Loveshot here.
“How fortuitous.”
“Yeah, if I can get the damn thing open in the first place.” Their face was screwed up in frustration as he bashed the rock against the top one more time. “If only a can opener had washed up as well.”
Artful extended a hand. “May I?”
Loveshot frowned, but after a few seconds passed the can into his hands. With a flourish, Artful summoned his magic wand. He drew a circle around the top of the can before tapping on the lid three times. It creaked open, revealing the contents within. “Voilà.”
Loveshot looked impressed, something that most definitely did not send flutters through Artful’s stomach. How long had it been since someone looked at him with awe instead of fear or disgust? “That’s some nifty magic you’ve got there. Think you could spell us back to the city?”
“If only, sheriff. If I had the ability to teleport, you and I would not have met so often back then.”
With that, they lapsed into silence as they picked at the canned peaches. It wasn’t the worst meal, but it was far from either of their favorites. All of yesterday’s excitement meant that they had worked up quite the appetite, and in only a few minutes the can was empty. Loveshot sighed. “I’m gonna do a sweep of the area to make sure there aren’t any I missed, and then we can set out. That sounds good?”
“We?”
Loveshot looked at him as if he had just grown a second head. “Unless you want to hang around this place and starve, yes.”
“I… very well. I just thought… nevermind.” Artful looked away. Wasn’t there a saying about not looking gift horses in the mouth?
“What?”
“It’s nothing, really.” He swiftly walked past them, pretending to be very interested in the scenery. Lots of stone. Lots of teapots.
“Clearly not nothing if you’re acting so weird about it.” Loveshot placed his hands on their hips, sauntering in front of Artful. He leaned forwards, patiently waiting his answer.
“I just thought you hated me.” Artful admitted. Loveshot’s expression was unreadable as they peered into his eyes, tilting their head slightly as if trying to evaluate the truth of his words. Something squirmed in the pit of his stomach.
“I do.” Loveshot leaned back and turned away, starting to walk downwards. Artful let out a breath quietly, watching as the sheriff set off. “I just like being alive more, and if we work together we can stay that way. Maybe get back home as well. Now, you coming or not?”
+++
“I’m telling you, we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
“And I’m telling you that Loveshot’s probably dead by now!”
Taunt and Block were currently engaged in a heated argument, one that didn’t go unnoticed by the other residents of the Bunker. There wasn’t much private space and in a place as big as this sound traveled pretty far. A small crowd had already gathered, silently watching the two.
“Loveshot’s tough. They probably just decided to hunker down for the storm and come back later.” Block leaned against the wall, staring down Taunt with stone-cold confidence.
“But what if he isn’t? What if they’re out there right now, injured? We should at least send a scouting party to go check! It ain’t right to leave a teammate hanging.” Taunt yelled back, stamping his foot as he glared at Block. The two butted heads often, but it was usually never this serious.
“Look, I’m as worried as you are. Loveshot is my friend as well, and one of our only medics. You think I don’t want to go charging out there right now? Bonuspad and Carepad just said that the portal’s on the fritz, probably because of the flood. If we go out there-“
For a moment, there was a groan of metal so loud it silenced both of them, lights flickering ominously before going out. Everyone held their breath for a few seconds before they shuddered back on. The hum of machinery continued shortly after, but it was a cruel reminder of the damage the Bunker had suffered in the storm. Places like this required a lot of maintenance to stay operational, and the storm had managed to damage some of the finer workings of the Bunker.
Block looked out at the small crowd of Civilians loitering by the door. Scared refugees seeking anywhere safe they could get. Her voice softened as she turned back to Taunt. “Right now we need all hands on deck to keep this place in working order. I swear to you, the moment the portal is safe for usage again, I’ll be the first person out there looking for him.”
Taunt seemed to deflate a bit at that, anger giving way to worry. “…You really think they’ll be alright?”
“I know they will. Give him some credit. For now, we should help Hotdog make sure the supplies haven’t spoilt.” The pair walked off to the staircase leading down, leaving the crowd to disperse. Amidst them was Caretaker.
Truth be told, they had wanted to ask Block the same thing. Loveshot had worked alongside them many times to help save wounded Civilians, and with him gone and Carepad trying to fix up the portal, the Bunker was down to a single medic. More than once, they had opened their mouth to ask Loveshot if he could grab a fresh roll of bandages only to remember that they were gone. Caretaker nervously fiddled with the hem of their scrubs.
The sad truth was, death was a common thing in this world. While their particular Bunker had held strong so far, the occasional cluster of refugees from another would turn up. Maybe they had run out of food. Maybe the electricity was shaky at best and there was no one left to maintain it. Maybe something had found its way inside, and the Civilians coming to them were barely standing.
They reminded themselves of Block’s words. He could stun any killers! They could heal himself! Why, they’d probably walk in the moment the portal was fixed with a crate of supplies, and everyone would tell them to be less reckless but in the end, no one would really be mad. How could they when he’d be alive, ready with apologizes and fresh supplies to make up for it?
It did nothing to quell the worries brewing in Caretaker’s mind. Oh Loveshot, what have you gotten yourself into now?
+++
“So, you can apply makeup with your wand but you can’t teleport?”
“You can patch up a wound but you can’t cure cancer?”
“Touché.”
Artful and Loveshot were currently staring up at the cliff wall, still completely lost. They had spent some time gathering cans, four in total that were swiftly stored in Artful’s “pocket”. Loveshot reluctantly handed them over, but they ultimately agreed that it would be safer in his care than just holding on to the cans normally.
The main issue was that neither of them knew how to rock climb. They searched the Teapot Paradise for another way out, but they would either have to try their hand with the river again, which would only bring them farther away, or go up the steep cliff leading back to the city. There were no handholds present, and even if there were they would be too wet to use properly. Neither of them wanted to slowly starve to death, but neither of them wanted to take their chances with the river again or fall and break their back.
“Those music boxes of yours speed you up, right? Could you do something with that?” Loveshot asked, crossing their arms.
“I don’t think so, sheriff. That’s only if I repurpose them first, and-“ Realization suddenly hit Artful. “Je suis bête comme mes pieds! My implements! We can use them to gain height!”
“Mind explaining for those of us that don’t speak French?” Despite his dry tone, Loveshot’s face held a flicker of excitement.
“The walls I make, they’re thick enough to stand on. If I can stack them on top of each other, we’ll slowly but surely reach the top of the cliff!”
“Hah! I’d say you’re a genius if you hadn’t taken so long to realize that.” Loveshot smiled widely. He couldn’t tell if it was mocking or not.
“Oh, hush! You didn’t remember that either.”
“Only kidding, dear.”
Artful pointedly looked upwards, recently-applied makeup thankfully concealing the blush that was no doubly beginning to spread on his face. “There is one more thing required for traversal.”
“Shoot.”
“In order to maintain our balance… we should hold hands.” Silence. Loveshot slowly raised an eyebrow. Artful hastened to explain further. “That way if one of us stumbles, the other can support their weight and stop them from falling.”
They made a low whistle. “First the cuddling, now this? If I didn’t know any better, Artful, I’d say you were falling for little ol’ me.”
Artful scoffed, hoping that they thought he was unaffected. “You were the one who first proposed it. If there is any blame for this situation to be put on, it is you.”
“No need to get cranky.” Loveshot raised their hands in the gesture for surrender, taking Artful’s free hand. His grip was firm, betraying the easygoing nature he had put up so far.
With a deep breath, Artful began to wave his wand. Casting Implement, like with any magic, required a buildup. The gestures he made, contrary to what most people believed, were not merely for show, instead to help channel the magic out of his wand and into the world. Artful made a final, powerful swing downwards. The earth rumbled as white bricks began to push their way out of the ground. They were wide enough for both of them to stand on, but not much bigger than that. He was practically pressed up against Loveshot’s side, hands intertwined as they slowly went upwards.
Around the third casting of Implement, Loveshot spoke. “This ain’t half as bad as I thought it’d be. Kinda like riding the Bunker elevator.”
“I aim to please, sheriff.” For a moment, he was going to sink into a bow just like he always did at the end of a show. The distance from the ground made him pause. What was he doing, tripping over himself to impress someone who had only tried to jail him?
“I’ve been meaning to ask, actually; what’s with the bricks? They’re not very magical.” Loveshot gave him a casual smile, but Artful didn’t miss the hunger in their eyes. Any bit of knowledge could be turned against him when their truce ended, back to hunter and hunted all over again. It was easy to forget between the teasing remarks or warm hands, but the undeniable truth laid beneath the surface: Loveshot was fiercely loyal to the Citizens he felt like they were bound to protect, and Artful was a threat by taking supplies.
“I used to work as a construction worker.” Loveshot would have done extensive research on him before setting out to arrest him. This was nothing new; it was safe information to give away. “Got into a bit of an accident on the job, and while I was on my paid leave I decided to work further on my magic. It had always been a hobby of mine before then, but it was just the garden variety of tricks. Rainbow handkerchiefs, pulling rabbits out of hats, that sort of thing. With a lot of practice, I went into a more advanced field. That’s where the makeup spell came from, actually. Something small but undeniably magical.”
“Why do you wear it now, then? Just habit?” The brick wall climbed ever higher, Loveshot looking down below at Teapot Paradise. What went on in their head? Was it mere curiosity, or something much deeper than that?
“Well, at first it was to help me hide. It’s harder for cameras to pick up your face when you’ve layered it in powder and a mask. Then I learned that it keeps Pursuer away.”
Loveshot let out an abrupt, barking laugh so intense it nearly knocked him down. Artful had to scramble to stop them from falling off the wall. “Wha- really?”
“Yes, really. I had managed to find some unspoiled meat in a ruined supermarket when the power was still active in the city. I had been so pleased to find a decent meal that it wasn’t until I realized I was cornered did that ghastly thing reveal itself. I tried to run, but it knocked me to the ground; I was certain that was the end for me, but it recoiled with disgust when it smelt me. In the end, it settled for snatching the meat with its jaws and devouring it whole, giving me enough time to run before it changed its mind. Ever since then, I’ve always made sure to have a fresh coat on when I go out of my safehouses.”
Loveshot snickered again. “Who knew all we had to do to avoid Pursuer was get all dolled up before going out? I’ll have to bring it up to the… the others…”
Quiet had shrouded over them again, with Loveshot slipping into a sullen silence. Artful looked up; they were about three quarters of the way to the top of the cliff. A soft wind whistled in both of their ears, thankfully not strong enough to disrupt their balance. He spared another glance to his traveling partner, eyes obscured by the shadow their hat cast over his eyes. Loveshot’s grip was tight, just like it had been all of their trip. His chest rose and fell with a certain kind of heaviness that was more than just exhaustion. “…why’d you do it?”
“Pardon?” It was a cowardly thing to say, and both of them knew it.
For a moment, it seemed like Loveshot was going to let it go until they were on solid ground, but they just gritted their teeth and repeated, “No. Why did you do it?”
The same question had haunted Artful ever since that day when he heard their cacophonous jeers and decided to shut them up once and for all. His mouth felt dry as he opened it to speak, but the wind snatched all the words out of his mouth. What could he even begin to explain? What was the right thing to say? “I don’t know.”
“…you don’t know,” Loveshot echoed back at them, words sounding hollow and empty as if someone had cracked them open and dug out the marrow. Their hands were still entwined. Fear spiked in Artful’s heart. What could he do if Loveshot let go and pushed him off? “You don’t know why you killed an entire crowd of people.”
“I wasn’t thinking back then.” It feels like a confession. Over the years, he had few opportunities to mull his actions over, too busy running to stop and ponder such things. On his rare moments of rest he was usually too exhausted to bother with them. “I just wanted all of them gone. Magic reacts to its user’s emotions. You always have to have a clear state of mind when you’re using it for a large crowd, otherwise something could go awry. You can’t let yourself get distracted by anything. By anyone…”
Some distant part of his brain was aware that he was still on the wall, holding hands with Loveshot. The rest of it was far away, red curtains rising to reveal him standing there. He remembers the night in blurry snapshots. Blinding spotlights shone into his eyes as he walked on stage to the roar of the crowd. Their shrieks of delight slowly morphed into grumbled between themselves, for reasons he could not comprehend. Wasn’t this what they wanted? A muffled voice asked his name, soft and concerned, a hand, wrapped tightly around his own. Oh, Lizzie, he’s so, so sorry, he never intended for things to end like this, for her to get hurt… Was his best not enough for them? What if this was his future from now on? It felt as if a great hollow pit had opened up in his stomach, plummeting down as-
“HEY!” All it took was Loveshot’s shout and the distinct realization that his vision tilted at an unnatural angle to snap Artful out of whatever spiral he had been going down. Indeed, the only reason he hadn’t fallen to his death was because the same sheriff that looked as if they were going to push him of themselves had yanked him back, crushing him tightly against their chest.
“Don’t you dare,” Loveshot whispered directly into his ear, shivers erupting down his body. “Not like this.”
There was nothing but the endless rise upwards and the wind in their ears, as the walls finally stopped rising and deposited at the top of the cliff. Loveshot released him and stepped off, walking firmly towards the woods at the top. For a couple moments, all Artful could do was stare. How did he go from teasing banter to icy justice in such a short amount of time? If they truly hated him so much, then why didn’t he just let him die right then and there?
In the end, all Artful could do was follow after them, regardless of what it brought.
Chapter 3: Flee
Notes:
Once again thank you for commenting!! I appreciate it a ton :) WHOOOOO’S READY TO FIGURE OUT WHY LOVESHOT IS THE WAY THEY ARE??????
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Got any threes?"
"Non. Go fish."
Loveshot shifted slightly in place, legs still crossed as Artful took a card from the pile in front of them. Neither of them wanted to risk traveling in the dark, so when they stumbled upon an abandoned church Artful proposed they stay for the night. They had split a can that might have been a nice, warm chicken noodle soup if they had a fire to heat it up on.
"Got any sevens?" Loveshot asked. The sunset shone through the stained glass, casting enough light for them to see. That would change once it dipped below the skyline, but for now he was easily able to make out their cards.
¨Yes, actually. Here." Artful handed over two cards. Admins above, what was he doing? Loveshot was a sheriff, duty-bound by law to bring Killers like him to face justice, and here they were sitting patiently, playing cards with a murderer while the other Civilians risked their lives.
After a bit of deliberation, Artful said, “Do you have any eights?”
“One.” Loveshot handed it over. That was the problem with Artful, they decided. He was unlike the cold, mechanical systems of Killdroid and Badware that made them target Civilians in the first place, he lacked Pursuer’s bestial drive for prey, and didn’t have Harken’s frenzied attempts to get rid of you before you got rid of her. He made it too easy to forget that he wasn’t just another Civilian until you were already calling him pet names, holding hands, and slipping into banter like the kind he usually reserved for Taunt, Block, Caretaker, or any of the others back in the Bunker. They supposed a stage magician had to be charming, but the confident man he had once been before the apocalypse hit was almost gone. In his place was a skittish, clingy murderer who seemed to not even know why he had killed his victims in the first place.
Jean Degaré Fromage, or as he was better known as, Artful, was a strange individual and an even stranger criminal. There were none of the usual signs that could have revealed a killer’s disposition lurking beneath his surface; he came from a loving and supportive family, he had quit his job out of his own free will and chosen to pursue magic, and aside from the inciting incident that caused him to become a criminal in the first place, no signs of turmoil with the crowds. They seemed to adore him, actually.
Back before the apocalypse hit, the sheriffs of the city put their heads together and tried to figure out why he lost it. Had he just been better at hiding the rot within his heart, or had it been a spur-of-the-moment decision? Was it some sort of magic thing, or just an emotional reaction? It was a frustrating mystery, one that they had never solved. Well, until now, Loveshot supposed. It was unnerving to believe that someone could go from a beloved member of society to a murderer in a single day, a thought that made his skin crawl.
There was more than just an old sheriff's grudge that made him weary of Artful. Loveshot, among the other more experienced Civilians, were kind of the unofficial bosses of the whole place. The Government hadn't given any leadership figures, so it fell to them to keep the place intact. Themself, Dash, Block, Caretaker, Bonuspad, Taunt, Punch, Carepad, Cloak, Adrenaline, Banana Peel, Revolver, Gunslinger, and Hotdog had formed an unofficial counsel that led scouting missions to find stranded Civilians, retrieve and salvage supplies, and keep everyone alive. Their Bunker was one of the bigger ones, as they had learned from a group of new refugees that had decided to take their chances with a different Bunker after their old one fell into infighting. This was the safest place for a Civilian. It was their duty to keep it that way.
Above all else, what had permeated Loveshot's desire for justice was a deep, deep exhaustion. It was hard to cling to rage for Artful when they were constantly trying to salvage supplies, tend to wounds, and fight off the more aggressive killers. Moreover, worries sprouted and grew endlessly between excursions, spurred on by small talk with the others. What would happen if the Government fell? Then how would they get supplies? What if someone vital to the team like Bonuspad or Caretaker died?
It was all too easy to imagine a catastrophic spiral in which one missing part led to a total collapse. One person dead, no matter what they specialized in, would cause more work and stress for the others. More stress made people sloppier. A small mistake could lead to a missed stun, and a missed stun could leave you vulnerable to attacks. Getting attacked could mean that there wasn't enough supplies to clean and treat a wound. An unclean wound could lead to infection, and not stopping the bleeding could lead to death. A death would lead to another death, an endless, inevitable domino chain until they all fell down.
Their Bunker was running on fumes, and all of them knew it. It was only reasonable that they’d be the same way.
Loveshot looked around the church again. In the very back, where the pulpit would have been, was a message scrawled in black paint. It didn’t seem recent, some of the letters having been worn down with time and the environment, but there was enough to make out the message. God has abandoned us. Whether he died or betrayed us, it doesn’t matter. Humanity is just another toy left behind.Inspiring. One of the exits by the back had been barricaded in by a stack of pews, but had since toppled over in a way that suggested something had broken in. Civilian or Killer? They had no way of knowing.
“Hey, Artful? You mind if we put the game on hold for now? I want to investigate the church a bit more. This place might have been a shelter once, and if it was then maybe there’s some supplies lying around.” There it was again. That light, simple tone that suggested none of the conflict running through his mind. Some part of him had shifted ever since they saw Artful shivering violently, begging them not to shoot. The reminder that he was just like the rest of the Civilians he had sworn to protect, had it not been for one small, crucial detail. The murders. If that hadn’t happened, would Artful have ended up in the Bunker? Loveshot shook the thought off. No use dwelling on what ifs and what could have beens.
“Ah- of course not, sheriff.” With a tap of his wand, the cards neatly flew back into the case. It was stowed away in that strange dimension where cans, colorful scarves tied together, and the occasional brick wall were kept. Boy, would that be handy for someone like him. If they didn’t have to worry about bottles breaking when they fell, he would have stocked up on a lot more medicine before setting out. As it was, they only had a single bottle. It carried five doses inside, none of them used yet.
The two of them poked through the innards of the church. It was bigger than most, with the windows further down being boarded up. A couple rags turned frayed and mothbitten suggested that the pews had once been used as makeshift beds, and the lack of any books, regardless of what religion this church followed (Loveshot was pretty sure it was of the Great Skybox, given the ceiling’s damaged mural) paired with a circle of stones flecked slightly with ash could have been for cooking. All in all, it was a pretty decent spot for a base. “See any dead bodies around, Artful?”
The magician choked. “No? I… is that something we’re looking for?”
“I wanna figure out why they ditched this place, and if we should ditch it too. Think about it: they’re deep in the woods, nearby the mountains with plenty of food and water, and they’re probably far away enough that they don’t have to worry about any big threats. So what was it? No supplies? The construction of the Bunkers?” Loveshot backed up a little.
“Maybe it was that.” Artful pointed near the ceiling. There- a large hole in the topmost part of the left third window from the pew, and the right third window from the pew with a matching hole, just lower. As if something had been hurled through it. Shards of glass littered the floor below the left third window, but there were none underneath the right third window.
Loveshot squatted down to investigate further. The glass here was sharp and clean, contrasting the other, dustier windows near the back of the church. A small puddle was here, just like the puddles in the front where the roof was gone. “It’s a recent break. Too large for a rock, and a branch wouldn’t have the strength to make it through both windows.”
“I take it that means we have to check it out?” Artful looked hesitant, but didn’t outright reject the idea.
“Yup.” Loveshot drew their gun and turned the safety off. “Cover me, will ya?”
They slowly crept out the back entrance, revolver and magic wand respectively at the ready. In the overgrown lawn was a small crater, in which a familiar red and black robot laid. Killdroid. Loveshot felt his breath hitch. He whispered softly to Artful, “Is it dead?”
“I don’t know, and you cannot make me find out. I don’t want to wake them up if he isn’t.” Artful had poked his head out from behind the doorway, staring at it. There was no movement from Killdroid’s body, but they didn’t exactly have a heartbeat to take. “The storm must’ve forced it to crash.”
“He was meant to be a bodyguard, right? There’s no way a little rain can keep them down.” That was the only reason Loveshot hadn’t tried to shoot it yet. They’d rather deal with an inactive Killdroid and sneak away to see him another day than wake Killdroid up by shooting it.
“I take it that means we leave?”
“Yeah. Get as far away from here as we can.” Loveshot and Artful slowly began slinking out of the building, taking as many pains to be as quiet as possible. Granted, their talking hadn’t woken Killdroid up earlier, but it was better to be safe than sorry. They were halfway through the church when there was a sickening thud, like the slam of piano keys. No. No, surely not. Here? Out of all times? They stared downwards in horror, the glowing outline of the worse-case-scenario staring back at them.
“Son of a bitch,” Loveshot spat. “It’s the Evil Scary.”
“What?” Artful said, following his gaze downwards. The moment he saw the Evil Scary, his confusion evaporated into fear. “Ah.”
The Evil Scary had gotten its name when Adrenaline blurted it out upon first seeing it, and it just kind of stuck ever since then. It was half in part because of a lack of information, and half in part because there was no better way to describe it other than Evil and Scary.
Of all the problems that led to the apocalypse, the Evil Scary was by far the biggest one. It appeared sporadically, was impossible to stun, could travel through walls and floors, and honed in on the nearest person to it, where it would then lurch towards them until either they died or a new person became the closest. Any Civilian it touched died immediately, leaving behind a trail of bodies before disappearing again. As far as he knows, it can’t reach Bunkers. He prays that it can’t reach Bunkers.
Loveshot remembers the day they first saw it, an awful, unnatural thing staggering towards their ragtag group in the Headquarters. It had been two months since the apocalypse hit, and everyone was still trying to get used to the Bunkers. The first indicator that it was bad news was Pursuer, who had previously been chasing them around, recoiling at the sight of it. The supposed “apex predator”, who refused to turn back no matter how many bullets dug into its flesh or blows to the face it took had turned invisible, leaving the Evil Scary to hunt the retrieval team instead. The collapse of the City meant that most knowledge on the threats menacing them came from either a personal account or a Government broadcast over the radio, and there had been almost nothing on the Evil Scary. It seemed like more of a rumor than an actual thing, so seeing something that matched up with the description in person tossed an air of foreboding over the entire place.
Already, he wanted to turn back. An unknown threat could never end well, but a fever had swept through their Bunker and their medical supplies were dangerously low. It seemed dangerous, yet predictable. Surely if all of them were careful, they could get the supplies and get out? He had fired their revolver to buy Hotdog and Banana Peel enough time to grab the crate, only to watch as the bullet flew harmlessly through it. That was the final straw, as Punch barked the order to retreat. A Killer was bad enough. A massive force that couldn’t be stunned was even worse.
Hotdog and Banana Peel had reached the crate already, and hefted it up. The added weight made them slow as they carried it faithfully down the city streets to where the portal was waiting. Easy targets. The four of them had been the only Civilian survivors that day. Alongside them were Dashpad, Tauntblock, Cloaktaker, and one other sheriff, Blockrevolver. They had been one of Loveshot’s coworkers before the apocalypse for about three years, and he would have easily called them friends. Why, when the Bunkers were first made there were eleven sheriffs…
Dashpad went in front of Hotdog and Banana Peel, helping build bonuspads to speed them along. It was up to the rest of them to stall for time. Loveshot reloaded their gun. Punch had lingered close to the Evil Scary, watching its slow, methodical way of moving. Every few seconds, it would lunge forwards with a jarring noise. It was currently focused on her, as they backed away. It paused for longer, breaking the preestablished patter. The sound of a ringing phone echoed around Headquarters’s deserted halls before the Evil Scary made six rapid lunges forward. Punch was unprepared for this, one touch away from death before the Evil Scary rapidly turned away. Tauntblock had ran closer in an attempt to lure it away from them, and had succeeded. Instinctually, his hands went up to shield himself from the blow.
A scream run out through the air, not belonging to any Civilian. It was as if you distilled every deep, primal fear into a singular sound. Loveshot’s hairs stood up on end as Punch took the time bought for her to run back into the building they came from, getting themself as far away from the Evil Scary as she possibly could. Tauntblock’s body thudded to the ground, dead.
Loveshot didn’t believe it at first. How could he be dead? There was a method to this thing, a standard- you didn’t die from a single touch. Nothing could do that, not even a machine built for killing or an animal evolved to do the same. None of the Killers were able to do that. It wasn’t real. Any moment now, Tauntblock would stand up and they could all leave this place.
He didn’t stand up.
Evil Scary lurched forwards.
Someone had screamed to run. It was only until they were back in the bunker, party of eight reduced to four, hearing Punch on the verge of tears explain what had happened did he realize that it was him. All of their careful strategy had been upended at this… this thing, this monster that spat in all the rules of the natural order, that killed with a single touch because it could. Hotdog and Banana Peel were still down the road, halfway to the portal.
Blockrevolver had frozen, jaw gone slack at the sight of Tauntblock’s death. The two of them had been siblings, and she took a single step forwards. The slam of piano keys didn’t snap her out of it, only coming back to reality when Dashpad had grabbed her by the arm and yanked her forward. They were lagging behind, the closest to the Evil Scary when an earsplitting, familiar howl roared into the air. Pursuer. It had reappeared and watched as the telephone rang and the Evil Scary lurched towards the two slowed Civilians, leaving their bodies to fall as well. It then turned towards Cloaktaker, who vanished.
A moment later, there was a floating bottle as he desperately poured medicine onto Blockrevolver and Tauntblock’s bodies. Nothing happened. A low, mourning wail escaped Cloaktaker’s mouth right as Pursuer’s sword pierced through their stomach. It was an intelligent beast, and it knew that an event like this could lead to not having to hunt for months. The bodies left behind weren’t damaged in any way, which somehow felt worse than if they had been torn apart.
The portal was open, cracking with energy as Hotdog and Banana Peel entered it. Loveshot, despite being close enough to the portal to easily make it in, refused to leave Cloaktaker alone. They raised up their gun and fired, hitting Pursuer square in the head. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough to kill it, but maybe, just maybe some good could come from the Evil Scary after all. Cloaktaker wheezed as she tried to limp forwards to the portal, the Evil Scary going after an unmoving Pursuer, Loveshot coming to his aid. They poured medicine into the gaping wound, trying to seal it up. Cloaktaker coughed and sputtered, blood falling from her mouth as he did so. Pierced directly through, the potion wasn’t fast-acting enough to heal damage of that caliber. No matter how desperately Loveshot pleaded, he slumped over.
Another scream split the air, this one coming from the mouth of Pursuer. It hissed furiously at the Evil Scary, recoiling in pain. The unfairness of it all made Loveshot want to scream as well. It could kill one of them easily, but the monster that had been terrorizing them for ages was only hurt? Their gun was still empty from when he first tried to shoot the Evil Scary, and they could see the way Pursuer was restructuring its skeleton. Pretty soon, the Evil Scary was going to be coming after them. Ice stabbed his stomach. What about Punch? They couldn’t close the portal without her, but they couldn’t leave it open and risk either Pursuer or the Evil Scary coming in. No. No one else was dying today. Loveshot couldn’t bear the thought. He didn’t have to.
Punch had sprinted forwards, landing a blow to the back of Pursuer’s head. There was a sickening crunching sound as it was interrupted, Punch running around the Evil Scary as it advanced further towards Pursuer. He didn’t remember much after that aside from entering the portal and waking up the next day with no recollection of what had happened between then.
Loveshot, however, could not explain what had happened to him, or why the Civilians had named it the Evil Scary, or why they were on the verge of a panic attack. All they could do was run out of the church as fast as they possibly could, any caution thrown to the wind. Artful ran behind, quickly overtaking him. Above his head floated a music box, a spectral thread linking them together. It was one of the tricks that had made Artful so hard to catch before the apocalypse. They ran outside just in time to hear the first movements of the Evil Scary, alongside something else.
“[THREAT DETECTED.]” A loud alarm blared, paired with a synthetic voice. “[INITIATING ANALYSIS OF ALL LIFEFORMS NEARBY.]”
“For fuck’s sake,” Loveshot groaned, resisting the urge to just give up at this point. Should they just run into the trees and hope that the Evil Scary spots something else? Go forwards towards the City?
“[TWO LIFEFORMS SPOTTED. ANALYZING… THREAT LEVEL: LOW. EASILY ERADICATED.]” There was the whirr of thrusters as Killdroid rose into the sky, the telltale beep of rockets being fired coming right after.
Loveshot threw themselves to the side. One of the small mercies that came with fighting Killdroid was the clear windup that came whenever he fired their rockets. They were able to dodge easily, pushing himself up right in time to start running as another rocket slammed into where Loveshot had one been. Artful was loitering somewhere on the edge of their view, torn between them, Killdroid, and the Evil Scary. They made a “go ahead” motion with his hands, turning to face the problems.
They took a deep breath as he raised up his revolver. Time spent before and after the apocalypse had turned Loveshot into a damn good marksman if he did say so himself, and his target was nice enough to provide a massive X-shaped indent on its face to aim at. During moments like this, everything faded away to a distant footnote. There were no Bunkers running low on supplies, no Civilians to take care of, no Killers who were more than they let on. Just them, their gun, and their target.
There was a loud clang as Killdroid slammed into the ground, bullet unable to do anything other than temporarily stun them. Bullseye. Bonuspad had once said that his stabilizers probably hadn’t been finished, so it would take some time to properly orient himself. That was what Loveshot was banking on right now; the Evil Scary going after an unmoving Killdroid, leaving them with enough time to get away.
It drew closer and closer to Killdroid as Loveshot turned tail and ran, hearing the discharge of air as a rocket streaked forwards. He hurled themselves to the ground, watching as the tree a mere ten feet away burst into flaming splinters and mulch. There- the scream the Evil Scary made whenever it got someone, followed by a different alarm that signified that Killdroid was trying to detonate itself. There was the ring of a phone, buying him barely enough time to turn over and scramble back as the Evil Scary had turned towards him. Loveshot desperately pushed themselves up off the ground, but they were too late. The Evil Scary closed in, reaching its hands forwards. His eyes shut instinctively, feeling himself get harshly pushed to the floor. Was this the end?
A scream. A Civilian’s scream. Loveshot cracked their eyes open. He wasn’t dead.
Someone else had taken the blow for them.
Artful.
Thick, jagged lines seeped blood through his clothes. He should be dead. He wasn’t. Loveshot felt their breath catch in his throat. No one was dying on his watch again.
They grabbed Artful’s hand and dragged him along, the two of them stumbling through the woods. Artful wheezed painfully, but Loveshot refused to stop running. Distantly, they heard the thump of piano keys as the Evil Scary veered away from them. Killdroid. It must’ve been recovering from detonating himself. The telephone rang. The Evil Scary shambled forwards, catching the still-limp Killdroid once before they stumbled back. It almost seemed to hesitate as his head turned from them to the Evil Scary, sensors whirring furiously as he spoke again. “[ASSESSING UNKNOWN VARIABLE… THREAT LEVEL: EXTREMELY HIGH. TACTICAL RETREAT IS ADVISED.]”
Whatever was going on back there, Loveshot didn’t stick around to see it, pushing through the undergrowth and running upwards, hands still locked together. Artful might have been wounded, but he followed them with complete and utter faith. How could Loveshot leave him behind, not when he had a duty to fulfill? The two of them pushed deeper, up towards the snowy peaks of the mountains.
Notes:
I swear next chapter will have them be happy for once!!!!!!!!!