Trigger Warning: Severe Torture, Gore, Guts. Unless otherwise specified, Severe Torture does not include Gore, Guts, or Dismemberment. Severe Torture always includes blood, bruises, screaming, and begging in varying degrees. Severe Torture may include Dislocation, Bone Fractures, Systematic Choking, Psychological Torment, Starvation, Humiliation, and other similar triggers. Please proceed with caution.
It was hard, being the last man standing, watching everyone and everything he ever cared about fall beneath the weight of a massive, cold-blooded corporation. It was terrifying, standing with his back against the doors to the radio station—his radio station—and watching as the men in black suits walked closer. It was chilling, the way the dead eyes stared back at him without a single shred of emotion, their sickeningly wide smiles going no further than the chipped and bloody teeth that formed them.
It was like a nightmare, and he didn't know what to do, but he knew he had to wake everyone up. He had to protect the one shred of truth and integrity his home had left. He had to do something—anything—to send a message across the dessert that would rouse the dazed, absent-minded people his neighbors had become. Maybe he would send for help. Maybe he would make a call to war. Maybe he would just cry and scream and beg the yellow helicopters and black suits what his beloved Desert Bluffs had ever done to deserve such torment.
"You can't have this station." Kevin pretended his voice wasn't shaking, arms spread against the closed doors, chest heaving as his anxiety swelled. "Desert Bluffs has the right to know the government-approved truth about itself and what you intend to do with it." Sweat soaked his brow and dripped down into his shirt, the fabric quickly dampening as the sun beat down on him. "This is a good town full of good people. They work hard, and they just want to be happy, and it's my job to bring them smiles and laughter and encouragement every day. I won't let you take this away from them."
The black suits were only a few feet away now, the group splitting apart to allow a petite, busty woman in a bright yellow suit to step through, her own face twisted into a grin that was more malicious than mirthful.
"Oh, but Kevin, they need us to do this. As it is, they aren't reaching their full productive potential, and a foolish man's ideas about friendship and community aren't going to fix that. They need to work harder, work more often, and work for StrexCorp." Her smile expanded, which he honestly hadn't thought possible until that moment, and she spread her arms as if to gesture to the town as a whole. "Desert Bluffs will be a new town—a perfect town—and everyone will smile all the time. Don't you want that?"
Kevin pounded his fist against the glass pane of the door, fire lighting his golden eyes. "No, I don't! Desert Bluffs is perfect the way it is, and I won't let you—"
He never got to finish his sentence.
The yellow-suited woman snapped her fingers, and the suits rushed at him, physically tearing his body from the doorframe and throwing him to the ground. His head smacked against the cement, the rough concrete scraping his face open as he was pulled up by the back of his shirt.
"Boys, why don't you soften him up to the idea of us owning the station?"
Kevin tensed immediately, knowing from both the euphemism and the tone of voice that he was in for a very unpleasant experience. His suspicions were confirmed when the first fist sank into his gut, followed by another, and another, and another. He grit his teeth, trying not to whimper as his arms were held in two vice-like grips, preventing him from offering his stomach any sort of protection from the blows.
Then he was pulled backwards, the suits dragging him towards the street where he could only assume a vehicle of some sort was waiting to take him away.
"No!" He pulled his feet back, planting them on the ground behind him and pushing himself forward as hard and as fast as he could. "Let me go!"
Fingers clawed at his skin, tearing his shirt and scraping their way down his neck as they struggled to hold him back. Two arms wrapped around his waist, a hand grabbed a fistful of hair, and still he fought, and punched, and bit, and kicked, and screamed.
"Get away from my radio station!"
Gunfire.
Kevin froze on the spot, but only half willingly. Pain blossomed from his lower back, the red stains on the front of his shirt telling him the bullet had come all of the way through. He collapsed, though not from pain, crumpling to the ground with the jarring realization that he could only feel half of the injury. His spine was screaming, fire surging to his brain and blinding him from the sheer force of the agony, but everything from the waist down was numb.
Suddenly, he couldn't remember why he was there. He couldn't quite recall why the radio station—his radio station—had been so important, or why he was fighting StrexCorp so hard. In fact, he didn't even know how he fought as hard as he did, given that he had never been an exceptionally strong individual. He knew it had been adrenaline, sheer passion and love for his home driving his actions and giving him the strength he needed, but those sensations were lost beneath a flood of fear and agony.
He didn't know what to do.
Kevin let out a startled scream as another gunshot rang out, the noise quickly dissolving into muffled cries as he realized he hadn't felt the second shot at all. There was intense pressure in the small of his back, but apart from that, the deafening bang was the only way he knew another bullet had just ripped its way through his insides.
"Get him out of here. We need him compliant as quickly as possible so we can get him back on the air."
He choked, struggling to draw air and not sand into his lungs, vision blurring and swirling with black splotches. He watched a pair of business heels the color of sunshine click and clack their way into the radio station—into his radio station—and then he was laying on the floor of a van. An engine roared to life, a side door slid shut with a bang, and the world started to move beneath him. That was the last thing Kevin remembered, and then everything went dark.
"No!"
Kevin sat up in bed, throwing himself in the opposite direction of what he thought was a bloodstained van door. He met nothing but air behind him, his torso dropping to the ground and dragging his legs down after him. He hit the floor with a thump and a whimper, the latter bred more from fear than pain, fingers clutching at the sandy boards beneath him.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
Kevin pushed himself up onto his elbows and tried to move his legs, letting out a muffled cry when he was unable to so much as twitch. He dropped his forehead to the floor and took a deep breath, struggling to keep the panic from rising in his chest. Just think happy thoughts. He slowly looked up at his nightstand. Just work as hard as you can. He reached up and grasped the edges, pulling with all of his might in a futile attempt to get his legs beneath him. Just keep smiling.
Kevin recoiled as the nightstand toppled over, retracting his body as much as he could but still getting clipped on the shoulder by the falling furniture. He yelped, grasping the wounded joint and taking a few moments to hiss curses under his breath before turning his eyes back to the wreckage.
Still moaning, he reached out a hand and clawed at the floor, dragging his cell phone closer to himself. He fumbled with the keys, hands shaking as he pulled up his contact list, which wasn't really a list, but simply a shortcut to the only contact he had. He pressed the green button and pressed it to his ear, hands trembling.
It rang once... twice... thrice...
"Hello?" a groggy voice replied, slurred by lack of consciousness.
"Carlos?" Kevin practically squeaked out the word, his free hand wandering back to his aching shoulder. "Is that you?"
There was silence for several moments, and then a quiet sigh. "Kevin..."
"I know," the host said quickly, hearing the undertones of annoyance in the scientist's voice. "I know. I wasn't going to call you. I wasn't going to bother you ever again, but I really... there's something I didn't tell you about when you were… and it's..." Defeated, Kevin slumped on the ground and heaved a heavy sigh. "I need help, Carlos."
There was another brief pause. "Help with what?"
Kevin bit down on his lip, looking down at himself and his useless, crippled legs. "I just... I really need help. I... I'm stuck."
"Stuck?" Carlos' voice had gone from annoyed to incredulous, though still showing displeasure. "Stuck where? Stuck how?"
"Please, Carlos, just come here!" Kevin swallowed hard, startled by the fact that he had actually shouted. He hadn't shouted since the day he saw the light of the smiling god. "Sorry. Please, just come here. I can't... I don't want to tell you, just... please, there's no one else. I just need help."
For a moment, Kevin thought he had been hung up on, but then Carlos spoke, his voice considerably softer. "Alright, Kevin, just calm down. Let me wake Cecil up, and—"
"No, you can't bring Cecil." Kevin whispered the words, if only because he was afraid speaking at a normal volume would result in another shout. "He hates me. He can't—I don't want him to see me like this. Please, Carlos, just you."
"Kevin," the scientist started, his voice firm but not at all angry. "You need to calm down. Whatever the problem is, getting anxious is only going to make it worse. Just take deep breaths, and I'll be there as soon as I can. Okay?"
Kevin nodded wordlessly, subconsciously aware that a nod couldn't be heard, and the line went dead a moment later. He didn't move the phone from his ear, though, sitting in stillness and silence without moving a muscle. His shoulder ached, but he didn't rub it, choosing instead to let the pain distract him from the unfeeling nerves in his legs and hips.
I didn't ask him how long it was going to take... how far away is Night Vale?
Of course, the distance was only relevant if Carlos was actually going to hurry, and that was assuming he came at all. He could have said what he thought Kevin wanted to hear without actually intending to do anything for the psychotic outcast.
Kevin sighed, resting his head on the ground and staring under his bed at the darkness. It beckoned him, whispering his name, calling for him to come and hide in the shadows where no one could find him or hurt him or take away his smile.
My smile... I have to keep smiling... Reaching out, he grabbed the foot of the bed and dragged himself beneath the wooden frame, pulling himself into the calming embrace of warmth and darkness. I have to keep smiling... just keep smiling... keep smiling...
"You can't... have... my town..." Kevin pushed against the cold, metal floors. "You can't... have my... radio station..." Blood slickened the surface beneath his fingers, and as terrifying as that knowledge was, it was the only thing he knew for certain about his situation, and that was oddly comforting. "You can take my legs... and my eyes... a-and my teeth... but you can't have Desert Bluffs." He grit his oral implants, swallowing the blood and bile, snarling in the direction of the crisp clacking of business shoes. "I won't let you... I won't let you have my town!"
Kevin was struck in the side by what he assumed was a foot, toppling into a heap on the ground and letting out a groan. Tears—or was that blood?—rolled down his cheeks, drawing sticky tracks on his face and matting his hair to his skin.
"Kevin, you aren't reaching your full productive potential right now. You could be out there improving the state of this wonderful little city, but instead, you're curled up on the floor and fighting a fruitless battle against the most powerful industry in the country. You're being incredibly useless, which really is such a waste of your talents."
He didn't know who was talking to him. In the beginning, it had been a man, and then he thought it had changed to the yellow-suited woman somewhere along the way. Then there was another man, but his voice had been cold and mechanical, detached and broken. Then it changed again, and whoever was speaking now had a voice that was too gender ambiguous and inconsistent to be described as anything but chaos.
"Look at you, Kevin. You're so unhappy. You're scared and angry and hurt. You could be smiling. You could be smiling all the time, but instead you're unhappy. We really can't have that, especially not in such a sweet little town. You need to smile more, Kevin."
Running his tongue over his lips, the battered young man felt the gashes in his cheeks and winced. They hadn't cut him all the way through, but they had gone at least halfway, if not further. It hurt to talk, to spit at their feet, and he imagined that was the idea. He couldn't even resist with his words without feeling prickles of pain traveling across his cheeks, the flesh tugging at itself with every movement. Not to mention the purple splotches that colored his skin before the cuts were even made, heavy fists and metal rods knocking out each and every tooth as brutally as they could while his face was still somewhat intact.
"Let's try this."
Kevin didn't even have time to process what had been said or formulate a question before he was writhing on the ground, white-hot currents running through his body. He screamed, grasping at the collar around his neck and pulling as hard as he could in his weakened, spasming state. He felt the skin of his lips begin to tear, and he suddenly understood why they hadn't cut all the way through.
Stop... make it stop... stop... stop... please, make it stop... please...
Black, soulless eyes flew open at the sound of footsteps, phantom pain still lingering on the surface of his skin as he was pulled into the realm of consciousness. He held his breath, subconsciously noting the fact that his shirt was damp with sweat, and waited to see who was approaching. The thudding footfalls were too soft to be any of the giants, but there were definitely two distinct sets, and he had asked—pleaded with—Carlos to come alone.
"Kevin?" came the harsh whisper. "Kevin, where are you?"
Clearly, Carlos hadn't listened to him, and as the sand-caked work boots entered the room with a pair of purple converse on their heels, Kevin found himself wondering whether or not it was a good idea to come out of hiding.
"Carlos, the nightstand is overturned." Well, that rumbling, baritone voice could only belong to one person. "There's a lamp on the floor, too."
Kevin watched the purple sneakers, breathing as quietly as he could, afraid to turn his head towards the work boots in case the movement was heard. There was a creaking, no doubt from someone shifting their weight, and the purple shoes turned their toes towards him.
"There you are."
Kevin startled at the voice, smacking his head against the underside of the bed and letting out cross between a groan and a whine, both hands coming up to cover the quickly forming bump. "Ow..."
"What are you doing under there?" Carlos' voice came from behind, his hand closing around the cowering man's upper arm and giving it a gentle tug.
Kevin finally turned his head, meeting the scientist's eyes and glaring weakly at him. "I asked you to come alone."
"Maybe so, but scientifically speaking, I never actually agreed to do it." Carlos gave him a warm but clearly concerned and somewhat unsettled smile. "Come on out, Kevin. You're a little too old to be hiding under the bed, don't you think?"
Kevin just stared at him, mouth slightly open, struggling to find a response in the hazy wasteland of his brain. He hadn't actually thought about the part where he would have to explain his predicament to his friend.
"Here, let me help." There were footsteps, and then the purple shoes joined Carlos before Cecil dropped down to the floor and met his double's eyes. "I'll take one arm, and you take the other."
Kevin shrank underneath the vacant gaze, feeling a twist in his gut when he realized Cecil was staring at him but talking to Carlos.
Swallowing, the desert dweller looked between the two townsfolk and tried to decide which of his options was worse. Being manhandled out of his security by a man who didn't trust him and a man who didn't like him, or trying to get himself out and plainly showing his weakness to a man who didn't trust him and a man who didn't like him.
Cecil and Carlos didn't really give him much time to think about it, though, each of them grabbing one of his arms near the shoulder and pulling him out as carefully as they could. Carlos may have pulled a little more carefully than Cecil, but if he did, Kevin certainly didn't notice. He also didn't notice the cold glint in Cecil's eyes—the one that may or may not have been imagined—and if anyone had asked, he certainly wouldn't have been able to tell them that Carlos most definitely did not hate him as much as Cecil did.
"W-wait!"
Both of the rescuers did as they were told and froze on the spot, but it was too late. Kevin could feel the hot air dancing across his lower back, his shirt pulled up by the tugging to reveal the source of all his problems. Soon, the questions would come, and any lies he could possibly come up with would be thoroughly debunked the moment they realized he couldn't stand.
"Kevin, what's on your back?" Carlos lowered the young man to the floor and reached out, cautiously prodding the flesh around the small, metal panel. "Is this connected to you? Is it—are you wired into it?"
Kevin winced at the floor, acutely aware of the fact that Cecil was still holding his arm. "It's wired into me... it just needs a little maintenance, that's all..." He swallowed. "I just want to go back to Desert Bluffs and get it fixed. I swear, that's all I want."
Cecil spoke up then, and Kevin could hear the creased brow and slightly pursed lips in his voice. "But why did you need Carlos to get to Desert Bluffs?"
"Because," Kevin started, his voice dropping below a whisper. "I can't walk."
"What?" Carlos leaned in, turning his ear towards the fallen man.
"I can't walk." Kevin repeated himself with a fraction more force and clarity, keeping his eyes on the floor at all times. "I wouldn't have called you for anything less than that. I know you don't... want to be around me, and that's fine, I just... I don't have anyone, and I... I can't get up by myself."
"You can't walk?" Cecil echoed the words back at their speaker, his hands slackening just enough to let Kevin's arm slide free. "But... how?"
Kevin felt his throat tighten, his nails digging into the wood flooring. "That doesn't really matter, does it?"
"Did someone attack you?" Carlos looked around the room. "Was it one of the giants? I mean, I know they were upset about you not liking the pasta salad, but…"
Kevin let out a heavy sigh and said nothing, keeping his face to the floor and silently willing them to stop pressing him for answers. He didn't like to talk about his injuries, or the way StrexCorp had emotionally, mentally, and spiritually broken him down into teeny tiny pieces before putting him back together in their image. It made him sad, and sadness made his smile fade.
Carlos gently took Kevin's arm again, pulling up on it slightly and continuing to speak as though he hadn't been completely ignored just seconds earlier. "Alright, let's get him up on the bed. We can take turns carrying him back to Night Vale."
Kevin grasped at whatever was within reach, which just so happened to be Carlos' sleeve and Cecil's forearm. "Wait, not Night Vale! I can't go there." He stopped as he was hauled up onto the bed, the duo still holding onto him for fear he would fall without their support. "Everyone in Night Vale wants me dead. You can't take me back there."
Cecil snorted. "Well, we don't want you dead, and we're from Night Vale, so clearly, you are wrong. Which, I understand why you might think we're all the same, seeing as you lived in Desert Bluffs, which is so very bland and lifeless compared to all the wonderful diversity found in Night Vale. For example—"
"Cecil." Carlos gave the other man a look. "This really isn't the time or the place."
Cecil harrumphed but said no more, turning around and crouching down in front of his fellow radio host. "Well, get on then," he prompted, tapping his shoulders to make the directive clear.
Kevin wet his lips and reached out carefully, glancing at Carlos for reassurance before wrapping his arms around the crouching man's neck. He saw the tattooed arms reach back as Cecil started to stand, but that didn't stop him from squealing in protest.
"Wait!" Kevin clutched at Cecil's frame, pressing tightly against him, heart hammering on the inside of his chest.
Cecil attempted an over-the-shoulder glance. "I've got you. It's alright."
The dark-haired desert dweller screwed his eyes shut, locking his arms and refusing to provide even the slightest bit of slack. "Yeah, okay." He swallowed, tucking his chin over the albino's shoulder and clinging to the slender frame. "Just don't drop me."
"I carry my niece all the time. I think I can handle this." Cecil took a few steps towards the door and then stopped to look at Carlos. "Do we need anything else?"
Carlos responded by looking to Kevin. "It doesn't look like you have a whole lot here. Is there anything in particular you want me to get?"
Kevin shook his head wearily, tired and anxious and still unable to feel Cecil's arms supporting his weight from below.
"Then I'll just grab whatever I can find and throw it in a bag."
Kevin gave a nod that was just as half-hearted as its negative predecessor and then let his head drop back down onto Cecil's shoulder. He heaved a sigh and closed his eyes, grabbing a fistful of purple shirt and rootsing himself a little bit higher on the other's back.
"I won't drop you, Kevin." There was a smile in Cecil's voice. "Just relax. Carlos and I have got this."
Kevin almost opened his eyes, but then he decided against it. As much as he wanted to look into Cecil's face and look for any signs of deceit, he wanted just as much not to worry about anything. Ignorance was bliss, after all, and while in that particular moment it could also be death, Kevin was willing to make that trade off.
Just close your eyes, Kevin... just keep smiling... just... keep... smiling...
"Please... please, no more..." Kevin heaved, barely managing to push himself up from the ground before a sickly mix of blood and bile came up his throat. "Please, stop... please..." He gagged and heaved again, pressing his forehead against the metal floor and letting out a congested sigh at the minuscule relief its coolness brought. "I can't take it anymore... please... please, no more... I'll work for you... just... please, please stop..." Tremors racked his body, his surgically implanted teeth clacking together as he tried for what had to be the hundredth time to pull himself from the floor.
Two hands slipped gently beneath his arms and pulled him up, dragging him away from the mess he had made and carefully lowering him back down to the floor. "Don't try to stand. Just take a deep breath, and let me help you."
Kevin blinked slowly, staring up at the blinding lights and trying to distinguish even a single feature about the man who was helping him. He knew it wasn't Sunshine Heels, and it wasn't Mechanical Man, and it wasn't Gender Ambiguous Voice of Chaos. It was something unfamiliar, something new, something... warm, something soft, something kind. It was the kind of voice that carried a smile from the lips that formed it to the ears it landed on.
"Now, I hope you're not afraid of needles, but even if you are, you have to let me give you this. It will make you feel better, I promise."
There was a prickle of pain, so faint among the sea of agony that he could barely feel it, and then something was pushing its way into his veins. Honestly, after all he had been through, he couldn't imagine that whatever it was could do him worse. They took out his eyes and poured alcohol over the holes, insisting that if he waited long enough, they would grow back in a different color and be company approved. They beat out every last one of his teeth and put him under, spending hours screwing perfectly white, perfectly aligned, perfectly smiling implants into the gums they had damaged. They beat him, they electrocuted him, they froze him, they burned him, they starved him, they dehydrated him, they tore his face open, they took everything away and left him so sick and wounded and alone that he couldn't help but surrender.
They broke him.
"Just a few more seconds, and then the Solaris will take effect."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kevin recognized the name. It felt like he had heard about it before—maybe even talked about it on the radio—and it felt like there had been a warning somewhere in the words from back then. He was missing something, something important, something huge...
...but then it kicked in.
Kevin laughed, unable to stop the noise from bubbling up in his throat. He covered his mouth with a bruised and bloody hand, giggling and smiling from ear to ear despite the pain it caused him. He couldn't stop himself. He was just so happy. He was warm and fuzzy, and his brain was bussing from the ecstasy trip it was on. Everything suddenly seemed so bright, and so wonderful, and so full of a vibrant hope for the future. He was going to have a brand new job, where he would do brand new things and meet brand new people. Yellow would be a part of his everyday wardrobe, and his favorite color was already yellow, so it was totally a win-win in that respect. He would get to know more about Sunshine Heels, and then he could stop calling her Sunshine Heels and refer to her by a name. He would have a new radio station family, new interns, new producers-it was all so exciting! How could he have been so upset and scared before? How could he have been so sad when everything was so wonderful?
"How are you feeling, Kevin?"
"I feel amazing!" Kevin put both hands up to his mouth, trying not to giggle through his words and failing miserably. "I am so, so excited to start working. I have so many questions. There are so many things I want to learn. Like who are you, and where did you come from, and—" He gasped, stopping suddenly and turning to stare at the man with his defective, still recovering eyes. "Are you... are you the smiling god? Is that why they call you that? Because you make people so happy?"
There was no response, only a kind chuckle and a gentle hand on his cheek. "Boys, take him upstairs and get him cleaned up. He'll need quite a few stitches. Have surgery take a look at him again and clean up the job they did on his stomach."
Kevin leaned into the touch, the first non-painful contact he had had in days, and let out a contented sigh. "Thank you..."
"There's no need to thank me, Kevin, but if you want to show your gratitude, you can work hard and reach your full productive potential for StrexCorp. Alright?"
Nodding enthusiastically, the battered and broken but incredibly delighted young man watched the smiling god step away, the blurry form quickly obstructed by a swarm of men in suits. There were at least four of them, two of whom lifted him onto a stretcher and stayed by his side as he was carried from the room that reeked of blood.
No, reek was such a negative word. Kevin wasn't a negative person—not anymore—and he didn't want to be using the kinds of words that would bring people down. He would say the room was filled with aroma of blood.
I can't stop smiling... I can't stop smiling... I want more. I need to have more. I need to share it with my friends. Where do I get more? How do I get more? I need more. I need more.
Kevin stirred, gasping softly as he came to the immediate realization that something cool and wet was running across his forehead. Conditioned air slipped down into his lungs, pushing a soft sigh out behind them, and he quickly relaxed under the hand of whoever was offering him such a kindness.
"Well, look who decided to wake up." Cecil offered a smile, running the rag across the other's forehead once more. "How are you feeling?"
"I feel..." Lonely. Tired. Hurt. Afraid. Weak. Useless. Broken. "...I'm alright."
"Good." Cecil gave a quick nod and dipped the cloth into a bowl he had sitting on the nightstand. "Close your eyes for a moment. I'm trying to get all of the sand off of your face."
Kevin did as he was told, flinching ever-so-slightly when the fabric touched down on his eyelids. "Where are we?" He reached out and felt his surroundings, quickly identifying the collection of fabrics beneath him as a bed. "Did we get back to Night Vale?"
"Mhm." Cecil dipped the rag and dragged it across the clammy forehead again. "You slept almost the whole way here. You must have been tired."
Clearing his throat, Kevin offered the faintest of nods. "Thank you, Cecil, for… for coming to get me and… carrying me back here."
"You're welcome." Cecil didn't say anything for a moment, dabbing gently at the skin around Kevin's eyes. "You woke up once, about halfway here. You were dreaming, I think."
Every muscle in Kevin's body turned to stone, instinct prompting him to push himself as far into the blankets and pillows as he could. It wasn't unusual for him to dream, and there had been many nights he had awoken in a panic, covered in sweat and trembling. But those times, he hadn't actually been half paralyzed. He would wake up, feel his legs, realize they had become tangled in the sheets and triggered the sensation of no lower body mobility, and then he would fix them and go back to sleep.
"Easy, Kevin, it's alright." Cecil's hand brushed against the marred cheek, the rag coming back up to start wiping at Kevin's forehead again. "Everything's fine."
Kevin ignored him. "What did I say?"
More importantly, what did he do?
Most importantly, what did they now know?
"Not much." There was the sound of the rag dipping back into the bowl, and then fresh water was wiping across Kevin's mouth and nose. "You sounded like you were in pain, but Carlos examined you and said nothing was wrong. We figured it must have been a nightmare."
Kevin let silence settle between them for a moment, and then he tried to open his eyes. Cecil was sitting on the edge of the bed, toying with the rag in his hands and staring at it as if it held the answer to his deepest existential questions. For several moments, neither of them said anything, and Kevin was almost beginning to feel as though the silence were comfortable instead of tense.
"What is that panel on your back?"
Kevin bit down on his lip and turned to look at the wall in the opposite direction. "It just helps me walk."
"I know, but... how?" Cecil put the rag down and turned to the right, pulling his leg up onto the bed. "How does it help you walk? How did you get it?"
"It's just..." Kevin sighed, fisting the blanket in his hands. "I was very... headstrong... when I was young. I was quite stupid, actually, although I guess that's true of everyone. After all, if we weren't stupid when we were younger, we wouldn't be smarter when we got older." He wet his lips, hoping Cecil would take the opportunity to interrupt him.
He didn't.
"I was so adamant. I had decided StrexCorp would never have the radio station—my radio station—and I was willing to do anything to stop them. But there were so many of them, and there was only one of me, and as determined as I was to keep the radio station—my radio station—to myself, they were just as determined to take it."
Kevin felt his throat tighten, a combination of grief and fear overtaking him as he realized he wasn't talking about StrexCorp in a positive light. That was against company policy. "I mean, they were determined to take it and make it better. So, when I got in their way, they shot me. It was my fault, really. I was being so irrational about the whole thing." He offered a nervous laugh and lightly fingered the bed sheets, swallowing hard before finding the courage to continue.
"I'm no doctor, but when the first shot hit my spine, it did something to the spinal cord that caused the paralysis. Then when they shot me again, the damage to my vertebrae became irreversible. StrexCorp took all of the shattered bone pieces out and put in metal replacements. Those replacements are connected to the interface on my back, and when it actually works, it serves as a spinal cord so I can walk and f..." He choked on the word. Feel.
Cecil didn't say anything for several moments, and while Kevin was mostly thankful for that, it also scared him a bit. He didn't know Cecil all that well, and they didn't exactly have a friendly history. Well, Kevin thought they did, but evidently Cecil had a different definition of friendship. Who knew strangling could be mistaken as a form of assault in some cultures?
Regardless, things between them were rocky at best.
"Huh." Cecil stared at the wall behind Kevin's head. "Interesting."
Kevin spared the man a fleeting glance. "Yeah. Interesting."
They lapsed into another silence, the quiet stillness broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Which was odd, because Kevin was fairly certain Carlos had told him all of the clocks in Night Vale were not actually working clocks.
"You're probably hungry. I'll go see if Carlos is finished with dinner yet." Cecil grabbed the bowl from the nightstand and stood up, carrying the dish over to the door and stopping just long enough to give the paraplegic on the bed a long, hard stare.
Cecil gazed endlessly, white marble eyes unblinking, with his lips drawn into a tight line, almost as if he were trying to figure out how to word a question so it would do the least amount of damage.
"Kevin, do you like chicken?"
Wide, black holes blinked in utter confusion. "Um... yes?"
Cecil nodded affirmatively. "Good. I just wanted to make sure."
Then, with a few footsteps and the click of a door, Kevin was alone with his fractured thoughts and the deafening silence.
Well, it could be worse. They could be making pasta salad.
Reaching out, Kevin grabbed the blankets and pulled them up as far as he could, leaving only his face uncovered. He stared at the ceiling, trying not to dwell on all the negativity that clawed at his mind like a savage beast, foaming at the mouth and fighting to drag the vulnerable young man down into the darkest depths of an acute depression.
Yes, things could certainly be worse.
"This is the best!"
Kevin threw his arms wide open, spinning around his newly renovated studio with metaphorical stars dancing in his eyes. Literally, his eyes were black and empty, just like every single one of his coworkers, which was very exciting but not nearly as poetic as starlight.
Gasping, the recently rehabilitated radio host dropped to his knees and squinted at the carpet. "You didn't. Teeth? For me?" He looked up at the suits who had escorted him to his old, beloved studio. "You shouldn't have. Really, this is too mu—are those intestines? Oh, and a liver!"
Kevin pressed his hands together as if he were praying and put the fingers to his lips, eyes watering as he beheld the wonderful sight in all its gorgeously gory glory.
Ooh. I like the sound of that.
"When can I start?" he pressed eagerly, briefly pondering the fact that he had never actually heard any of the suits speak. "Can I start now? I have a great idea for an opening, and I want to run with it. Like, now. Right now."
For a moment, he thought the suits were going to refuse him a response of any kind, but then one of them stepped forward and extended a syringe-wielding hand.
"Oh, already? But I just had one…" Kevin's voice trailed off, his weak opposition dissolving into giddy laughter as soon as the Solaris hit his bloodstream. "Well, if you insist, I guess I won't complain."
Once again, the suits were silent, both of them turning away from Kevin and walking out, closing the door behind them.
"So, that's a yes?" His words were more of a courtesy than anything, and his hands were on his headset before the last word left his lips. "It feels so good to be home again. Now, let's see… okay, the lungs have got to go, I really don't have room for them right here. Let me get my microphone and... whoops! It helps if you turn it on, Kevin, you silly goose."
Laughing endlessly, he went about setting up his equipment, occasionally throwing glances and cheerful waves towards his producer, Daniel, in the booth. Kevin was sure he had worked with Daniel before, but he didn't think the man had been quite so robotic at the time. Not that it really mattered, as long as Kevin got to broadcast.
"Good morning, Desert Bluffs. I know it's been a while since I've spoken to you, dear listeners, but this is Kevin." He rubbed idly at the needle marks on his arms, licking the freshly scarred flesh of his lips. "I want to start off today by talking about internal organs. We could call it a public service announcement, but it is also something personal I feel very strongly about, so I suppose we'll call it a PSABASIFVSA."
Leaning back in the chair, Kevin threw his feet onto the desk and took the microphone in his hand. "Organs are all around us, hidden away by skin but still ever-present, and of course they're always inside of us. We spend every day of our lives in the company of innards and outtards and everything in between. We use it in our speech on a regular basis with phrases like, 'I've got my eye on you,' or 'Can you give me a hand?' or 'I have a gut feeling,' or 'Did you put new kidneys on the mantel? They look delightful!'"
Kevin laughed prematurely, shaking his head at the pun he had yet to share. "In fact, listeners, you might say this topic is something I hold very near and dear to my heart." He laughed again, ignoring the displeased expression on Daniel's face. "My point is, it's time we became comfortable in our own skin, so to speak, and let the organs out. Because the fact of the matter is, we are all going to die, most likely from one too many rigorous days of hard work. Of course, this is how we all want to go, reaching our full productive potential for StrexCorp right up to the end, but the end result can still be a little scary."
Kevin doodled in the blood on his desk as he spoke, never once allowing his smile to fade, even when he had to stop to scratch his wrists and arms. "Now, I know not everyone feels this way, and several people throughout the town have been displaying a lot of… lethargy. So, I have come up with a simple solution to help our lovely little town through this destructively difficult and dystopian dilemma."
He couldn't help but smile at the innards strewn across his desk as he spoke, twirling the microphone cord around his bloody index finger. "If you eviscerate anyone who isn't reaching their full productive potential, you can give them the death they want and deserve by putting their shredded remains to good use. It's such an efficient thing to do, because you will help someone to reach their full productive potential while simultaneously reaching your own. Just a thought, listeners. Just a thought. And now, a word from our sponsor."
Kevin twirled a finger in the air, and Daniel switched over to the pre-recorded ad.
Still smiling, Kevin swiveled on his chair, relishing in the sounds of the wheels squishing their way through the blood-soaked carpet. It really is nice in here. I'll still have to add a few personal touches, of course, but as far as studios go…
Leaning forward, Kevin let out a frustrated grunt and began to scratch furiously at his arms. Several small bruises, little white scars, and littler red dots decorated his forearms, all of them in different stages of healing and some of them itching rather intensely.
They had told him that he wouldn't always need Solaris. That they would wean him off of it as he learned how to be happy on his own, by working hard for StrexCorp, and that there would come a day when he would only need two doses a year.
But it was such a pain to wait.
Kevin saw Daniel move in his peripherals and returned to his microphone without giving the marks another thought. "Listeners, I have some very exciting news for you all. Starting this Monday, the Solaris serum, also known as Liquid Sunshine, will be legal in all parts of Desert Bluffs! It took the city council quite a while to come to a decision, but after some encouragement from StrexCorp Synernists Incorporated, they had no choice but to comply…"
"Sorry, did I wake you?"
Kevin blinked, staring at the ceiling for a moment before turning his head to seek out the owner of the familiar voice. "Huh?"
Carlos waved a hand as if to say, 'yes, hello, it's me,' and offered a warm smile. "I just came back to… tidy things up. Dinner was ready a little while ago, but you were sleeping again, and we figured you needed it. I can get you some, if you want."
Kevin blinked again, squinting at the bespectacled man with only one thought running through his head. "What would you need to tidy up?"
Carlos sighed, his shoulders slouching slightly. "You would be the one to latch on to a single statement and try to pick a fight."
"I'm not picking a fight." Kevin tilted his head to the side, his suspicion escalating as he took in the nervous stance of his once-friend-then-estranged-friend-now-half-friend-half-rescuer. "You're lying to me. What did you really come back here for?"
Carlos heaved another sigh and raised his hands in a show of surrender. "It was just a quick medical thing. Don't worry yourself over it."
Kevin didn't miss a beat. "You're worried. Why shouldn't I be?"
Carlos frowned. "What makes you think I'm worried?"
"Maybe not worried but definitely uncomfortable." Kevin gestured to the man in front of him. "You tap your thigh with your middle finger when you're nervous. So, what's wrong?"
For a moment, it looked like Carlos was going to try and come up with another half-baked lie, but then he slumped in defeat. Kevin waited patiently, glancing at the doorway every now and then and wondering how far away Cecil was and what the duo might be planning.
Carlos put one hand on his hip and rubbed the back of his head with the other. "I'm sure you know there's more to paralysis than just not moving and not feeling. It can cause sexual disorders, extreme fluctuations in body temperature, blood pressure spikes—"
"What are you trying to say, Carlos?" Kevin immediately wanted to retract the question, his mind running just a few seconds behind his treacherous tongue. "O-oh."
Carlos rubbed the back of his head again, giving a nervous sort of laugh and a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's no big deal. That kind of stuff doesn't bother me." His smile grew less awkward and more sympathetic, faltering in the corner. "Cecil doesn't know. It's our little secret, okay? Don't…" He ran his hands through his hair, sighing heavily as his smile fell altogether. "Don't be embarrassed. It really is okay in both my scientific and my personal opinion."
Kevin swallowed thickly, pushing himself into a sitting position and looking down at the lumps beneath the blanket. His fists tightened around the blankets, a heavy weight coming down on his shoulders as the past decade came crashing down on his finally—finally—sober mind.
"You can't have this station. This is a good town full of good people. They work hard, and they just want to be happy. I won't let you take this away from them."
He clenched his teeth and ducked his head, tears stinging the backs of his eyes as the muscles in his throat tried to choke them out.
"You can't... have... my town… You can't... have my... radio station... You can take my legs... and my eyes... a-and my teeth... but you can't have Desert Bluffs... I won't let you... I won't let you have my town!"
Carlos took a hesitant step forward, slowly extending his hand. "Kevin? Are you alright?" His voice bore more than a little concern, and his eyes were both uncertain and frightened in equal measure.
"I can't take it anymore... please... please, no more... I'll work for you... just... please, please stop..."
Kevin held his head in his hands, fingers curling through his hair and digging into his scalp. His chest heaved with incredibly valiant albeit equally futile attempts to keep himself under control.
"I feel amazing! I am so, so excited to start working. Are you... are you the smiling god? Is that why they call you that? Because you make people so happy?"
Carlos took him by the shoulders and gave him a shake. "Kevin, you're scaring me. What's wrong?" He shook him again, leaning down and trying to look up into Kevin's face. "Come on, talk to me. Is it phantom pain? Hyperthermia or hypothermia? Did I say something? Did I do something?" The concern from before had dissolved almost entirely into desperation.
"I have come up with a simple solution. If you eviscerate anyone who isn't reaching their full productive potential, you can give them the death they want by putting their shredded remains to good use."
"I heard noise, what's going on?"
"I don't know. He won't tell me."
"What? Why not?"
"I don't know that, either. Cecil, help me get him to talk."
"Uh—Kevin, talk. Talk about, uh… Desert Bluffs or something equally stupid."
"Listeners, I have some very exciting news for you all. Starting this Monday, the Solaris serum, also known as Liquid Sunshine, will be legal in all parts of Desert Bluffs!"
"Kevin!"
"Kevin!"
"Kevin, wake up!"
Obsidian eyes flew open, hands instinctively curling through the sheets they had grown so accustomed to. For a moment, there was nothing but white and blinding, fluorescent light shining down from the ceiling, but then a pair of faces started to come into view.
"Cecil, he needs to rest."
"Well, he's awake now, so…"
Kevin blinked rapidly, pushing himself up onto his elbows with a pained grunt and examining the duo in front of him. Carlos looked like he had just gotten off of work, his normally pristine coat dusted with the desert sand. Cecil stood next to him, smiling widely and holding a bouquet of flowers to his chest.
"Well? How do they feel?"
Kevin jerked his head, trying to figure out who had spoken. He quickly gave up and focused instead on the words, looking down at himself and finally noticing he was in a hospital bed.
"It might be a bit fuzzy," Carlos said scientifically, reaching out and pressing the necessary buttons to raise the back of the bed. "Just take a few moments to gather your thoughts. Cecil will wait, patiently, over there by the window, completely silent."
Laughter burst from Kevin's mouth before he could stop it, both hands quickly coming up to cover his mouth. He didn't know why he had laughed at Cecil, but it felt unusually natural, especially given the fact that Cecil most definitely secretly still hated him. But neither of the Night Vale celebrities said a word, Cecil doing as he was told and Carlos checking the machines next to Kevin's bed and casting him the occasional friendly smile.
"The surgery went really well. It won't be as immediate as it was last time, but we were able to fix the panel and remove some of the StrexCorp wiring. No one can cause you remote control pain anymore." Carlos smiled widely. "Cool, right?"
Kevin swallowed and nodded jerkily. "I…" He looked at Cecil and then back at Carlos. "So… so, it was a dream, but it was real, too?"
Cecil immediately inserted himself into the conversation, taking the existence of the conversation itself as permission to start pestering. "What was real?"
"You and Carlos… you came to get me?" Kevin looked between the two of them as he spoke, his eyes already beginning to burn. "You carried me back to Night Vale, and Carlos made me dinner, and you both… you…"
Carlos and Cecil both gave the bedridden man a sad sort of smile, the former reaching out and tousling his already messy hair. "Yes, Kevin. You moved in with Cecil four months ago, and we both promised to take care of you until you could get back on your feet—literally and metaphorically and probably scientifically speaking."
Cecil sighed in annoyance, dropping the flowers onto Kevin's lap before crossing his arms over his chest. "When are you going to get it through that thick head of yours that we came and got you out of the otherworldly desert?"
Kevin blinked slowly, taking a moment to digest the words and letting his gaze wander downwards until it was on his lap. His hands twitched—his feet did, too, he realized—brow creasing as he lost himself in his thoughts.
"Kevin! Kevin!"
"Kevin, please, you have to talk to us."
"What on earth is the matter with you?"
"Th-they took everything from m-me…"
Cecil snapped his fingers in front of the other's face. "Hey, stop thinking about it. Everything is fine now."
Kevin wet his lips and managed a nod, still staring down at the bedsheets and finding himself unable and a little bit unwilling to actually derail his train of thought.
"They took m-my legs, and my eyes, a-and my town, and my t-teeth, and my r-radio station, and my producer, and m-my neighbors—they took my h-home away from m-me… and I helped them do it. I helped them!"
Kevin startled when Cecil suddenly sat down on the edge of the bed, taking the doppelganger's face in his hands and giving him an expression that was both fond and stern.
"Kevin, stop. Look at me. It's over. Strex is gone, Solaris is gone, and Desert Bluffs is on the road to recovery." Cecil pulled the young man a little closer, still gripping the scarred cheeks in his hands. "You are safe. You are home. Well, you probably don't consider Night Vale to be your home, not that I can understand why. Clearly, Night Vale is a better home than Desert Bluffs by any measure."
Kevin giggled, a genuine laugh bubbling up in his throat at Cecil's comic distaste for the sister town. He felt a hand land on his shoulder, and while he couldn't turn his head to look, he knew it was Carlos.
"You are home, Kevin. It's over. It's really over." The hand squeezed gently. "You have a town again, you have a community again, you have friends and family again."
Cecil thumbed away the tears slipping from the corners of Kevin's eyes. "You're free. The world is full of death, and anguish, and darkness, and slavery, and torment, and horrors you couldn't imagine even in your worst nightmares for many people. But you, Kevin, are free, and you don't ever have to go back."
Kevin let out a quiet sob, lifting his hands and placing them over Cecil's as he leaned into the touch. I'm free. I'm finally free. He licked his lips and tried to blink away his tears, but it only served to send them cascading down his face. I never have to work for StrexCorp ever again. I never have to take Solaris ever again. He reached up and grasped the hand Carlos still had on his shoulder.
"Now, what on earth are you crying for?" Cecil asked, letting out a sigh of exasperation but complying with the request for contact.
"Nothing, it's just…" Kevin closed his eyes and leaned further into the hands, his own digits curling around Cecil's wrist. "It's just been so long. I forgot what it felt like."
Carlos squeezed his shoulder again. "Forgot what what felt like?"
Kevin looked up at the scientist with fresh tears in his eyes. "Smiling."
For the first time in years, it was real. It was fully genuine, entirely trusting, wholly loving, and not at all forced, or coerced, or nervous, or psychotic. It wasn't drug induced or company mandated. It wasn't out of fear that if he wasn't happy enough, wasn't kind enough, wasn't cheerful enough he would be punished or abandoned. For the first time in years, he was truly happy.
And Kevin smiled.