Chapter Seventeen: Solitary Confinement

"I see now that Mac has too much of an influence over you," she said, high heeled boots clacking together. Bloo, once again hot glued to the wall in a straitjacket, watched loathsomely. He longed to spit in her face, but thanks to the facemask, he could speak but do little else. Fury shook his jacket and body; how he hated her. Nonetheless, whenever she turned her beady eyes upon his face, he froze. Every cell in his body might yearn for his release and her torture, but he wasn't foolish enough to admit it, not when she'd killed imaginary friends before his eyes. The memory induced a shudder.

"We shall have to work on that," she continued as though he'd received a poor mark in school and she was merely suggesting he study. Somehow, he doubted her next sentence would contain (a), anything he wanted to hear and (b), anything vaguely resembling sanity. Her moods fluctuated, murderous intent entering oftentimes, and he had the sinking feeling she was about to assign him to a task he'd rather slit his wrists than accomplish. And there were very few things Blooregard Q. Kazoo would kill himself over. Nothing, short of ordering him to assassinate Mac.

The stump of Herriman's ear one of the members had tucked away into his pocket as a keepsake lay on the floor, its former owner staring open eyed at the ceiling. Bloo glanced at him, swallowed hard, and willed himself to pretend the imaginary friends and people were sleeping. Lying to himself was infinitely preferable to recognizing she'd murdered them in cold blood and he'd watched helplessly. Still, even the stump reminded him he wasn't entirely Foster's material anymore. He hadn't cut it off as a souvenir like that sick bastard had, but he'd been an accomplice.

"It is your fault that fucking rabbit still lives," Berry snarled, rounding on him. He cringed, but before he could snap a retort, she glued his mouthpiece shut. Muffled protests echoed, but nothing discernible reached her ears. Another few seconds later, she'd glued shut his nose hole too, leaving only the tiniest bit open. Bloo continued to declaim, then stopped, unable to breathe. Wide eyed in terror, he whimpered piteously and she waggled an admonishing finger.

She ran her finger over the still hot glue, stifled a wince, and then rubbed her nail down his stitches. He squirmed as the adhesion substance touched the hard plastic and screamed when a drop slipped beyond the barriers. It hardly helped the mask had begun to collapse and steaming plastic was leaning in, about to press against his skin. It was inches away and he was certain she'd leave it there, let it stick permanently to his skin, when she ripped it off. Cool air rushed onto his broiling face and he gulped oxygen greedily, stopping when she looked at him disapprovingly. Nonetheless, he found a way to swallow large quantities and marvel at its live giving properties.

"My disappointment hurts, Bloo. Don't fail me again. You need more training than a few hours can provide. Until you can perform a task to my satisfaction, you are delegated to solitary confinement."

"For…how long?" Bloo murmured, unable to stop himself.

"For however long it takes until you see things my way."

Bloo stared at the same, dull white wall he'd contemplated for nearly two weeks now. Other than periodic feeding, removal for toiletry purposes, and Berry addressing him and trying to force him to see things her way, he'd been completely alone. The hand that pushed food through a slot on an electronically locked belonged to a member instructed never to speak to him, regardless of how tempting the prospect or how he ranted. Gripping his 'knees' with shaking arms, he wondered if he truly had gone mad in here.

The only thought that kept him sane was contacting Mac. Unfortunately, until he understood the fundamentals of their mental bond, his efforts went awry. So far, in the past two days, he thought he might have the glimmer of a prospect. If he clenched his eyes shut, flung out his mental senses, he swore he sensed him. Today, he'd gotten closer than before, to the point where he felt intelligence just out of reach of his mental arm. If he extended it enough, maybe his 'fingertips' could brush his consciousness. Starving, faced with the prospect of another less than satisfying meal, Mac was all he had.

Please…I'll do anything to feel him again…he thought, emptying himself of any unwitting blocks or, indeed, the pride that normally prevented him from bonding properly. He was like a battered climber, scrambling onto the outcrops by putting one bloody hand after the other. The mountain's top loomed portentously overhead and shone like a homing beacon. One last desperate snatch, a grope in the darkness, and he plummeted.

Damn it, he thought he'd done it that time. He'd been inches, no, centimeters from hearing his creator's voice again, albeit telepathically, and his chance tumbled into an abyss. Frustration, self anger, and misery encircled him like a vulture; he whimpered, burying his face in his hands. Hot tears coursed down and he wept selfishly, ineffably irritated with himself and his utter inability to accomplish what Madame Foster and Mr. Herriman had performed countless times. What made Mac and him so different? Why couldn't he do something as goddamn stupid as opening his mind to him?

Bloo? Mac's voice murmured, faint at first, but growing in strength. Bewildered, Bloo searched the tiny, white padded room, but imaginary friends couldn't imagine creators, no matter how badly they desired it. Yet if he wasn't physically talking, then what was going on? Could it be? Could he finally have forged the telepathic bond between creator and creation? A surge of happiness burst through the upset like a dam and he grinned widely.

Mac? MAC! he cried, trembling either out of excitement, nerves, hunger, or a combination of the three. Were the connection powerful enough, Bloo might have noticed the wince when his voice literally exploded in his head. Nonetheless, relief flooded both (since feelings were, like before, shared, but now much more easily identified and stronger because he'd deepened it). Nonetheless, regardless of the other emotions floating freely between the two (including Bloo's hunger pangs, his resentment towards Berry and DIE, guilt over Herriman's condition, loneliness, doubting Mac's love for him, and self blame versus Mac's anxiety, exhaustion, and weariness); they managed to keep their heads straight. At least, Mac tried, but he was having a hard time fighting against the flood of emotions Bloo simultaneously experienced.

…Bloo? What's going on? And how on earth do you manage to deal with all that at once? You're suffocating me. I mean, I had a vague sense, but not like this… He was rambling, but they hadn't yet learned how to keep private thoughts private and only send what they wanted, so everything reached everyone. Still, Bloo wasn't troubled or complaining. He hadn't heard his creator's voice in weeks, much less had him fill his mind like this. He felt complete, the other half of his soul within his grasp finally.

Outside, if he craned his head and squatted by the hand opening, he could hear an argument brewing. He nudged the crack open to see a towheaded teenager wearing a pink transformer snapping furiously at one of Berry's subordinates, one of the few who reported directly to her. Those sickening pink boots he knew intimately halted at his mountain boots and the resounding crack as she slapped him across the face echoed in the empty corridor. Anyone meandering casually in the hall soon took off as if Cerberus himself pursued them. Their footsteps faded away quickly.

"Do you have a problem with my leadership, child?" she sneered, hoisting him by his lapel and slamming him against the wall. Bendy smirked, thin, brittle, bony figures squeezing her wrists. He increased the pressure until, emitting a shriek, Berry released him. Bendy slid, then stopped, brushing himself off noncommittally. His cunning brown eyes scanned the perimeter to see who would come to his aid. No one dared.

Bloo?

Flashing her a rather nasty smile, he replied, "As a matter of fact, I do. You let your heart dictate what should have been an easy decision. Bloo failed you- you should have killed him for that. You've killed others for less."

Bloo gulped, praying neither heard. Berry, enraged at the mere suggestion, whipped out a gun before either blinked. She pointed it at first at his crotch, stomach, heart, and finally, at his head. Meanwhile, her other hand idly keyed Bloo's door's unlocking in ten minutes. He lifted his head, hardly believing his luck. Why was she doing this? Especially after Bendy challenged her like that?

"And if you don't watch your mouth, cadet, I will kill you. Bloo has my utmost trust," she lied, inwardly questioning his integrity. However, she couldn't afford another slip up, not when morale was obviously low. Besides, two weeks in solitary confinement ought to have convinced him who the real ringleader was. He ought to be capable of a patrol around town. And if he was and did well, she'd reward him.

It was on the tip of his tongue to retort, but the gun silenced any objections. Glaring, retreating without turning his back on her, he left. Berry watched, eyes narrowed disdainfully. Bloo was so caught up, he disregarded Mac until he bellowed in his head. Then, he was forced to listen, doubled over in pain.

BLOO! ARE YOU IGNORING ME? BLOO! he yelped and Bloo whimpered, eyes tearing. Outside, the pink boots stopped and he swallowed hard, wondering what she had in store for him. He wished Mac would shut up and realize he wasn't consciously overlooking him. He just had a serial killer lurking on the other side of his door. Suddenly, the tiny room felt a hell of a lot safer.

…ow…Mac, stop… he pleaded. Just hold on for a few minutes…that fucking hurts…

The door zoomed open and Berry flung a pink transformer belt at Bloo's 'feet'. Unnerved, he hastened to fix it around his middle, where it immediately latched on, regardless of the fact he lacked hips. The familiar pinching sensation gripped him until he had an actual waist to support the belt. Gritting his teeth, he nudged the knob in the middle until it rested on his human form, which was the same regardless of which belt he used. Like always, burning, like flesh oozing into a new form, accompanied his shapeshift, but because he'd grown accustomed to it, the pain was minute.

"You are to patrol the town and report back to me in two hours. That belt will tell me if you have located an imaginary friend and your task is then to bring them to me. If you fail, let's just say your scar will be the least of your worries."

Mac? Can you meet me by the convenience store in five minutes? Please…I miss you so badly… he whispered. He licked his chapped lips, marched out of his room and down the stairs for the first time in days, and shuddered at Berry's dominating eyes scrutinizing his exit. Keeping his head down, he ignored any nasty comments, hugged himself, and glared stoically at the floor. Mac hadn't replied yet.

Bloo, what's going on? Where have you been these last few days? Why do I keep getting all these feelings from you that I shouldn't? Where were you when Mr. Herriman was attacked? Are you part of DIE? he inquired, the questions bursting out. Bloo swore profusely, startling several fledgling imaginary friends, who huddled together against the madman. He flipped them off.

Just shut up and meet me there. he snapped, uncharacteristically cold. I can't tell you anything.

With that, he wedged a mental wall between the two and headed off to see his creator.

Mac buried his hands in his pockets, paced back and forth, and pounded the already compact snow beneath his rubber boots. Annoyed, he checked his watch and scoffed. So much for meeting him here. He hadn't liked the tone of mental voice his creation had taken with him, but the emotions he'd sensed underlying their conversation worried him more than anything else. If Bloo wasn't here soon, something might have happened to him. His stomach churned.

He pivoted, ready to leave, when a black thing skittered behind him, slipped on the ice, and used him to prop himself back up. Irritated, Mac opened his mouth to snap that he wasn't railing when somber, anguished blue eyes gazed deeply into his. The serious expression on his face and the scar might not match his memory of him, but he'd know those eyes anywhere. Yet the volumes of unspoken, tumultuous grief unsettled him. This was his imaginary friend and lover, yes, but not the one he'd last met.

"Mac…" Bloo breathed, awestruck by his good luck and the fact he actually had his arms wrapped around his waist. Mac's hand flew to his scar to trace its length when Bloo narrowed the distance between the two and kissed him desperately. This was not a "it's been a long time", but "I'm going to die in a few hours" type of kiss. Once again, Mac was unnerved.

So disturbed was he that he couldn't do anything else than stare blankly. Bloo looked like he was falling apart at the seams, particularly thanks to the aberration that he found himself fingering. Berry had removed the stitches, but it didn't prevent the upraised skin from sticking out oddly. The reaction was instantaneous- he shoved him away and tied his hood over to hide his face. With his black attire, he blended into the night perfectly.

"Don't touch me," he spat, recoiling like a wounded animal. Coming from someone who had five seconds ago pressed himself against him, his behavior was highly erratic. Mac once again stared, uncertain what to do. All he'd done was examine the scar, nothing more.

"Who did this to you?" Mac whispered, but he meant more than the superficial injuries. Wave after wave of anguish cascaded out through their bond and the blue haired imaginary friend sniffled. A few uncomfortable moments passed, followed by him shifting closer, unable to resist his proximity. He flung his arms around his neck and sobbed, his mood swings completely unpredictable. Mac awkwardly hugged him back.

"Mac…don't hate me…" he whispered, kissing his neck. "Tell me you love me."

Shades of the nightmare they'd unwittingly shared struck the teenager and he shuddered, wondering what the dream's impact had been on him. Tentatively, Mac's trembling fingers stroked his uninjured cheek and Bloo lifted his own to hold it. Haunted azure eyes swam with tears. Guilt swept through the anguish, but he didn't understand why. He was so confused, bewildered by his desperation to keep him nearby but shoving him away at the same time.

"I love you, Bloo…" he replied, frowning. "But why are you crying? What's going on? Who gave you that scar? Who's hurt you?"

Bloo froze, shoving him away again. Mac skidded over the icy patch and barely stopped himself from falling down. Shocked and dismayed, he watched as Bloo exploded, nearly slipping himself.

"It's none of your damn business! It's my fault, okay? It's my own fucking fault! I took too many chances and I got fucked over, okay? I…I hurt him…" he trailed off, glancing away.

"Hurt who?" he murmured, befuddled and haunted by his odd outbursts. "You're talking in riddles."

"Forget it, Mac! Forget me! I shouldn't have come here! Fuck it! I don't need your help to get myself killed!" he snapped, shoving him into a pile of garbage. Wasting no time, he took off, leaving Mac completely confused and smelling in an alleyway.