It feels like you've only just closed your eyes before Six is frantically shaking you awake.
"Stop-" you groan. Didn't she understand that you need more than a single minute of sleep-?
Glass clinks: a noise neither you nor Six made. It instantly signals to you that there's something else here. You understand, then, why Six woke you, in the way prey understands, and all is instantly forgiven. There isn't time for petty quarrels about something so trivial.
Quietly, you reach to Six; she pulls you to your feet. Her shadows are out, coiled defensively close. In turn, you draw your carving knife. Might have to be ready for a fight. Might have to be ready for anything. In unspoken agreement, the two of you shuffle closer, back to back. She watches one half of the room; you watch the other. Both alert. Both waiting for disaster.
Within a nearby jar, a shapeless pulpy mass twitches. Somewhere else, glass clinks again. However, no creature or monster comes crawling from behind the shelves, mouth slavering, eyes spelling your doom. Nothing at all comes. The seconds drag on, and nothing happens.
Nothing happens.
Against every wall the severed limbs cast weird shadows. In every jar bobs some grotesque specimen. They do nothing to soothe your unease. The silence yawns on, and the hairs on your arms prickle. Your heart pounds so loudly in your ears that any other subtle noises are drowned out.
Nothing… happens.
You want to ask Six what she might have seen or heard prior to waking you, but you don't dare speak.
Nothing
Happens.
Maybe it isn't anything after all… Maybe-
Then glass shatters. A scream sticks in your throat and you whip your head left and right. Infuriatingly, nothing. What's in here with you? Why can't you see it -
Another glass shatters. Both you and Six flinch and bump against each other awkwardly. You don't like this. You don't like this at all. Your knuckles are white on the knife handle. You want to look everywhere at once.
It's in this frantic search that you realize something disturbing. Many of the jars contain eyeballs - that little detail you'd noticed before, but there's something different now. All of the eyes, every one, now has its gaze fixed imminently upon you. They weren't like that when you entered the room. They weren't like that at all. They're staring. You're about to grab Six's attention when chaos erupts.
Jar after jar tilt off the countless shelves and shatter on the floor below, each with a sound like a gunshot, each releasing sprays of glass shards and small tides of formaldehyde and fluids. Specimens splat wetly out of their confines: organs, eyes, sometimes sopping bundles of teeth and hair. As soon as they land, they begin to move. All across the room, swollen flesh twitches, jerks, rises.
There isn't one single monster, like you first feared, but a collection. Your back strikes the crate behind you as you recoil. Six throws her gaze up at the vent, considering escape, but it's much too high up now. In her distraction, a grotesque hand stretches bloated fingers towards her bare ankle. Your response is instinctive: putting all your weight behind it, you pierce the carving knife straight through its maggot-white flesh. Rotten brown guts ooze from the wound. The smell emitting from its ruptured flesh is putrid. Gagging, you wrench the knife out, and the hand doesn't move anymore.
Six throws you a look of gratitude. Except that creature isn't the only one. There's hundreds. Six recovers quickly from her surprise, and assumes an offensive position. Her shadows skate across the floor, hunting. And they find what they hunt. The finesse with which they skewer and rip to pieces their targets amazes you, not that you're given much time to dwell on it when more and more of those things are encroaching. Well, you're not gonna be chopped meat yourself. Especially not when Six exhausting her stores of energy leads to a hunger she can't control - a hunger that leaves her incredibly vulnerable. The sooner you can bring this to an end, the better. So you launch into the fight yourself, slashing your knife across any abomination that gets too near.
Problem is, these things aren't the real enemy. They're just screwed up pieces of people. And Six might be content using all her power to one by one mutilate them all, but you know she should be more careful with the limited energy she's got. As for you, you'd rather not fight if you can avoid it.
Only there's no way you can reach the vent again. There's gotta be a different way out. While Six battles on one front, you examine your surroundings. The only escape you can find is a door across the room. You'll have to make a run for it.
"Six!" You yank her sleeve. Time to move. Now. She doesn't question your judgment for a second, and follows hot on your heels as you leap over a pile of dead flesh. The silver blade flashes, fending off attackers. Any that your knife fails to deter, Six's shadows make quick work of. The path you leave is strewn with oozing chemical-bloated body parts. Some you step on accidentally, and they squelch disgustingly underfoot. Together you slam into the door, and burst into a place dim and empty, crammed with old cracked machinery and defunct equipment. Her shadows crash the door closed behind you, and you slump against it, exhaling heavily.
Yeah, okay. So you don't just have to worry about the nurses, or the doctor. In case those alone weren't bad enough, you also have to worry about any limbs that aren't attached to anybody. Great.
"Think they can make it under the door?" You mutter to Six; she returns a look that says she wouldn't be surprised no matter what weird contortions they might pull off. Lovely.
"Let's keep moving."
As you navigate through the old machinery, half-wondering what all this was even used for, you absent-mindedly comb your fingers through your hair, only to realize there's no bag on your head. You took it off to sleep, then ran without thinking about it. A swear slips through your lips, one that has Six smirking with her new knowledge.
"You're not allowed to spell that out. Ever." You tell her sharply.
She sticks out her tongue and rolls her eyes.
"Ever."
Prancing ahead of you, she throws out her arms and in midair pitch letters form, ~ F U K ~
"SIX!"
She cackles wildly. There's no way you'll tell her she misspelled the word: it's way funnier with her not knowing. You shake your head, smiling faintly.
Too bad about the paper bag, though. Maybe it's dumb, but you felt some sentimentality towards it, perhaps because it was something Six had given you. Not to mention it came seriously in handy with the televisions. From here, you'll be headed (more or less) straight to the Signal Tower, and not having the bag sets you on edge. Still, there's nothing to be done about it now. You're not willing to go back into that nightmare.
Six, meanwhile, entertains herself by plastering the word fuk on random equipment and in midair.
"You should use your shadows less," you scold, brushing aside a fuk. "Never know when…" You'll be able to eat again, was what you were going to say. Except that implies she'll be eating another kid, and that you're not going to stop it. You might even help, like last time. (Might even want to). Guilt twists in your gut. Has it really gotten that easy for you to consider something like that?
Unaware of your sobering mood, Six nods, and crosses her heart. A promise to be more careful about using up her energy, although you somewhat doubt she'll follow it. Not because she'll deliberately break the promise, but because she's so used to being reckless with her powers. She never thinks ahead to the eventual hunger that will come. It's bizarre to you. In some ways, she's so calculated and reserved. In others, she's careless and wild. Has she ever regretted her kills? Not for their impact on her friends, but for the impact on the people she's murdering?
Agile and lithe, she slips and dodges and ducks around the labyrinthine collection of items, her own mind not at all burdened by the questions you have. More slowly you follow, the size of your carving knife as well as your greater height making the going more difficult. At some point, there's so much junk piled everywhere that the floor disappears, and the two of you are crawling over furniture and machines and boxes and twisted metal bed frames - seemingly everything under the sun, precariously stacked in such a way that there's often only tiny tunnels and passages to creep through. Six takes to the challenge like a pro, maneuvering left and right and up and down, while you get flustered just trying to keep up with her.
Within the piles of junk are dead televisions - the sight of these sparks some hope back in your chest. Are you getting closer to the Signal Tower? You had expected to sense the Tower, like you often could sense it when you were younger. You expected its influence to be heavy and dizzying. So it's surprising at this point, so close to the Tower, that you have yet to experience its hypnotic effects. You doubt there's any protective influence of the Factory itself, meaning the change might just be… from, well, you. Maybe they don't affect you anymore? Is that something that's possible?
You crawl over many of the dead TVs, musing at the change. "Do you think we're close?" you whisper-call to Six. She doesn't reply, but you can still hear her clattering about, so at least she hasn't gotten too far ahead…
Would be nice if you could see a window or something, though: some indication you're going in the right direction.
"Yoof!" There's a thud, a yelp: your heart skips fearing that Six might have been crushed under something.
"Six!" Tearing after her, you end up bodily falling out of the junk pile and into a brightly lit room, nearly landing directly on top of her. Six snorts, and shoves you off, like c'mon, I got this!
"None of that sass," you snark, shoving her right back. "You can't go scaring me l-"
Six's eyes drift to the side. She's noticed something behind you. Whipping around and scrambling to your feet, you come face to face with -
With a group of children. Clean, well dressed. Each with a pair of shoes and a washed face, all surprised to have you two suddenly drop out of nowhere. In contrast, you and Six are shoeless, dirty, spattered with blood and other liquids you'd rather not guess about. Although you're just as shocked as them. These kids are old enough or brainwashed enough to be receiving their masks. That's probably what they're here for. Milling about, waiting to be called into the next room, waiting to be irrevocably changed. They won't like runaways. Won't like disobedient, rebellious children that have no place being loose in the Factory.
This is bad.
Six waves. It's more social obliviousness than strategy, but you have to get past the kids to reach the next door, anyway. So you smile nervously. Maybe friendliness will work. "Um. Hi?"
Six glances at you; only then does she pick up on your nervousness. Her own brow furrows. Her fingers tighten around yours. Danger?
"You're runaways," someone whispers, at once frightened and awed.
"Yes, um-" Obviously.
"Traitors," someone else says, colder.
"No, no, no- um-"
You raise up your free hand as a demonstration of good-will. "We - we just want to get by. Th-that's all. Like we were never here."
You inch closer to their crowd, towing Six behind you. She's gotten tense. Feeding off your fear. And maybe remembering Olly; remembering that kids can't always be trusted, especially not in the Factory. The faster you get out of here, the better. Only thing is, you don't want to startle anybody. Don't want to cause trouble.
The nearest children part for you, their expressions a mingling of disgust, like you're filthy and if they touch you, they might get contaminated; and reverie, like you're something they can't fathom, a character of fairy tales. It's a weird mix of flattering and embarrassing, tied in with all the fear they'll betray you. Someone even reaches out and touches your coat, like petting a particularly gross animal at the zoo, which really doesn't make you feel too great. You keep smiling, hoping that it comes across as friendly and not strained like it really is. Six's fingers are practically crushing yours and it's getting frankly painful.
"Where are you going?" someone small asks, a little mousey-haired girl that sticks her head inquisitively in your path. She looks much too small to be getting a mask. You halt. How dangerous is it to answer truthfully?
"We just want to escape," you decide on.
"Why?" The girl side-steps right into your path. You nearly bite your lip, while Six's nails dig into your palm, and a low growl rises in her throat.
"Um." Words. Excuses. Explanations.
"The doctor can fix you," she chirps. "If you've got something wrong in the head."
"Nnh," you reply noncommittally, attempting to wriggle around the mousey-haired girl.
She slides into your way again, shaking her head. "We can't let you go. Right?" She surveys the other children watching, as if to get their affirmation. Most are pale, hesitant. Undecided.
"There's only two of them…" one kid dares to peep. "They're not doing any harm…"
"No." The girl's eyes blaze. "That's what they want you to believe."
"Really, we'll just be on our way," you try.
"We don't have to tell on them-" says another.
The girl clenches her fists. "See?!" She turns to the child who had spoken up. "They're already infecting you. You were picked to get your mask. Best of the best. And you're still susceptible to their disease!" The girl turns back to you. "I know all about that sickness," she says. "My brother was a runaway. And he tried to get me to join him. But it's a horrible life. And you all end up dead."
"Rather be dead than soulless," you mutter. A flash of your mother's memory passes through your mind, accompanied with a twist of anguish.
It wasn't the right thing to say. The girl crosses her arms. "We're not letting you past. It's for your own good."
All right. You open your mouth to attempt to sway her one final time before just making a run for it.
Not a single word has a chance to escape.
You don't touch her. You don't lay a single finger on her. But her head snaps to the side with one sharp, awful, crack. Her eyes stare blankly. Dead, instantly. She's just beginning to fall when unseen hooks violently tear black shadows from her body. Overhead the lights flicker and shudder.
Her body hits the ground with a dull, heavy thud. The shadows coil around Six like a favored pet.
You… you stare. At the girl's crumpled body. Processing. Slowly. So Six doesn't need to touch someone to take their soul. Not when she has enough power. But why-
The other kids surge away like a tide. Screams erupt. The fluorescent lights explode, raining down shards of glass. All of the children's screams are cut short in their throats. Their small bodies contort like puppets with deranged puppet masters. Bones crunch and snap; necks twist, mouths open in silent agony. Freezing air buffers around you, suctioned towards Six. Inhaled. Consumed.
One by one the bodies drop.
Then it's done. Silence. It took mere seconds, and now all the children in the room are dead. All except you and Six. Your breath is stolen. Your limbs are trembling. It all happened so insanely fast, so fast you could barely process it. And yet the bodies are there. Piled up. Just like how the adults stack them at the Market.
Your skin crawls. You're overly aware of Six inches from your side, breathing heavily - not in exertion, but in excitement. You're aware of her shivering in the pleasure of her meal. You've seen her with teeth in another's flesh, up close and primal. Seen her eat. It's something you've rationalized to pieces. Maybe on some level it was easier to accept because it had been so animalistic, so necessary, so natural even in its unnaturalness. This… this is different. She didn't fight with tooth or nail. There was no need. She simply found them inconvenient, and ended their lives with little thought or effort. Many of the kids hadn't even been opposing them. It was cold. Distant. They never had a chance to fight.
You swallow hard.
Six turns to you and smiles. Bright, vivid. See? That was faster.
So easily she can decide an entire roomful of people aren't worth keeping alive. Yet for you, she's risked her own life and safety several times. She trusts you. Kills for your sake.
And… you can see why, in hindsight. You've accepted her where others wouldn't. You made justifications. Allowances. Forgave her. Because sure, if she didn't kill them, they might have cried out for the nurses, or the doctor. If she didn't kill the girl earlier, that girl would end up worse off. If she didn't kill the caged kid in the Market, then Six wouldn't have survived long enough to take down the Signal Tower, thus helping so many more. On some level, Six wasn't wrong. Every questionable action of hers made some sense, and did further her greater goal. And you've agreed. Gone along with it. So of course she's… of course she trusts you.
Her loyalty has never scared you before, but now it does. Deeply.
"You didn't have to do that," you utter lowly.
Her smile falters. Maybe she thought you'd be fine with it, because you helped her kill last time. You don't even know what you're okay with. You don't know what's okay at all anymore. Your fingers run through your hair. A shaky breath leaves you.
With Six, you're doing far more for other kids than you've ever done before. With Six, you've also deliberately hurt far more kids than you ever did before. Kill a few, save thousands. That has come to make some sense to you. But… where's the limit? What happens if you decide she's crossed it? If she murdered all these kids merely for getting in her way, then what would she do to you if you ever opposed her? Slowly, you recall that moment when you first entered the Factory, when you began to question her motives and she brimmed with the threatening implication she'd kill you to get where she wanted. Much as she seems to cherish you.
Six makes a soft noise. She links her fingers with yours. Every instinct tells you to flinch, but you don't. You're wooden, like the patients, like you're not entirely in control of your body. Don't know how to react. Scared to be scared. Her hand is soft and small within yours. She doesn't look dangerous, not inherently. She looks innocent, more innocent than she should. Her concern is genuine. Her care for you equally so. You're just… not prepared to deal with it right now. Not after what she just did. Maybe it's unfair to her, that you led her to believe you'd be comfortable with something like this. You don't know. You keep gazing at the dozens of lifeless eyes and crumpled bodies and it's suddenly really hard to see how this is different than the kind of imagery you've been seeing your entire life. Like you ran away from something only to run right back to it. Like runaways never really get away.
Only she's not brainwashed. She's not dragged into doing things she hates because of someone else's control. She simply... enjoys this.
Is the Signal Tower even going to make any difference?
Unaware of your thoughts, Six's smile tentatively returns, taut with worry. Pleading, almost. Maybe she's looking for words. For approval. Prying for a positive reaction you're not up to giving.
Tightly, you utter, "let's keep moving." There, you said something. Because you don't want to be in this room anymore. Anyway, it's not safe. You're glad to detangle your hand and slip out, but not for a moment do you forget what you're leaving on the floor in there. Not for a moment do you feel comfortable with Six mournfully trailing you.
So many things you've given passes to. Maybe too many things. And she had grown to believe you're comfortable with them. Which is partly your own fault. You didn't realize it would continue to escalate.
You rub your face. Is this as bad as things get? Or is she still sort of holding back? Doesn't she ever feel guilty?
This can't continue. That you decide. Because you want there to be a limit. Need there to be. Need some morality you can cling to. She can't keep shocking you and sending you into tailspins like this. Not if you're going to stay friends - and you do want to stay friends. She's all you've got left. She's the only reason you're still moving.
You halt in place, decisive. Six has more or less led this whole time, and you've let her make the hard decisions. That needs to change, at least when it comes down to others' lives and deaths. Even if she disagrees. Even if she'll turn on you.
You turn around, "Six, I-"
And then stop.
Six's isn't behind you.
You blink. Look around. "S-Six?"
Nothing.
Six is gone.
