CELLS A2 AND A3
She stepped into the hot jetting water. She lowered her head and breathed deep through her nose. Jenn could detect his smell, his sweat...
Holly was sitting outside, right by the door, nibbling her day's ration of food. Jenn watched her through the steam. She turned both of the faucets off. Water dripped down her limp ears, down her whole body. She shook off what she could
Like every day, she waited as long as possible. Leaving the bathroom was much harder than entering it. She flicked her hands upward, propelling droplets all the way up to the ceiling.
Holly stood immediately as she exited. "Feel better?"
Jenn nodded.
"You look dry enough," Holly said, inspecting her from top to bottom. "I'm going now, if you don't mind. Will you be all right alone?"
"Yes, I'll be fine." Jenn passed Sabrina's bed on the way to her own, seeing her friend's black and white fur poking out from under her covers. Under her was Buster's bed, still mysteriously tidy from the morning. He had been gone all day. Robotnik, the voice, had been true to its word.
… Robert… Robert, where are you?
"-hahahaha!"
High-pitched laughter came from over the bunks, most of the loud noise from Shirk's mouth. Jenn sighed deeply, wondering why anything was funny anymore, and followed the imaginary path to her bed.
"Heh. Did it really happen?"
"Shit, did it happen, he asks."
Durango looked over Shirk's shoulder. Tristan was watching the A1 group. He indicated what he saw to Shirk. "What's his deal?"
Shirk followed the gaze. "Eh, some crap about one of theirs being missing for two days, too. Like that shit ain't happening here, but big deal, right? Good riddance to all of em, I say-"
"Keep it down!" Durango hissed, looking wildly about. He gripped Shirk by the hair on his shoulder. "You looking to start trouble or something?"
"Start trouble nothin, you kidding? What's got you all uppidy?"
"I'm getting real tired of your bullshit. That kid Buster might deserve it for fucking with the girls right in front of us, waving his prick around like he was king shit, but right now I'm a little ashamed that I know you." He tightened his grip. "There's no place to run away here and you can't take all of us on."
"You'd side with these pussies!"
"I've been putting up with you ever since this all started. Start shaping yourself the fuck up or I swear-"
Shirk shoved Durango out of his face, pushing the cougar against the mirrored wall. The loud bang caught the stares of the cellmates. The cameras. "Balls!" he yelled, his hands clenched in tight fists. "Fuck ya'll then!"
Shirk tore into the empty shower, kicking and punching wildly. The barred window caught his eye and he jumped as high as he could, trying to reach it. He tried again. Something smelled sweet, something he remembered from the Great Forest. He backed off and took another run at the wall, scratching and clawing upward. Out, out, out, he needed out-
"Take the hit inside, like it's part of you."
The berries are liquid, practically. Kern taps the insertion tube free of debris. I can't help but feel worried. "Shouldn't you have done that first?"
"Relax."
Remember.
It's starting to gel, the hit or whatever. A deep, heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. My feet turn into boards of lumber, sinking into Kern's floor. My eyes turning rubber. Itching under my claws. Wet, wet fur. "Like hell… relax, he says."
"I told you to take it in, areyoutakingitin?"
The worst things in the world that could happen at this moment: getting stabbed with a spear through the stomach, dumping acid on my head, going blind, going deaf, going mute, losing my dick, my fingers up my ass when a girl walks in, the embarrassmentSHHHHshh, relax, relax, take it in …………………………….
"There… there… ya see?"
Narcotics.
Kern cultivates the berries with Book's medical supplies, because he's an assistant on weekends and he is trusted trusted trusted yes he is toxic berries like hell bob's your uncle pal it's a simple process through fire and wires and tubes, what a chemist kern is, if this is wrong then why is it so readily available? "i cant feel my chin."
"Normal."
"or my left leg."
"Also normal. You're halfway there. Now you need to find the boy."
"the… boy?"
"He's in your veins, where you took the hit. He'll be headed towards your heart. Are you looking?"
look for the boy the boy the boy look for the boy in in deeper deeper the boy the boy "there he is… yes, there he is…"
Balderdash.
"You feel him? You see him? Look at the boy. He's so small, he's just a child, just a scared little child inside of you-
can help him, you can get him out of there, and you'll feel good, and it'll come easy after this, but you have to try-"
"-Help him grow up."
Get out of here.
I'll miss this.
"Help the boy grow up. Big and strong and bigger than you. There?"
"therrrrrrrrre."
"You got it. There's the hit. Nice?"
Withdrawals. Shakes. Gibberish.
i don't want this to end i don't want this ever to end don't
End
so much better than
End.
Shirk's fists left prints all over the walls, but he didn't care. Come next morning, all traces of it would be gone.
And they'd all be stuck there. Still.
Outside, mindless Mobians covered in metal worked and worked and worked.
Next day, Tristan pressed his forehead against the lukewarm shower walls, mentally easing back his raging hard-on. When it was unnoticeable, he turned off the water and exited.
Simon was over by the bunk beds, as usual, watching a returned Buster and a contented Sabrina sleep together on their bottom bunk. The bobcat had been returned that morning, no strings attached. He looked fine, only a little shaken up. Tristan didn't think anyone cared about the details. They were just happy to have him back.
"Where's the ball?" Tristan asked.
"Under the covers." Simon smiled mischievously. "Took it from them when they weren't looking, sir. I've noticed that they get agitated when it's in plain view, like they feel they're being forced to play against their will."
"They're a competitive lot, all right." It would have been nice to see some color. Above him, Tristan felt the hot lenses of the video cameras burning a hole into his head. "Any problems, concerning yourself?"
"Myself, sir?"
"Any at all. You can tell me."
Simon blinked, drawing into himself. "Well… nothing specific, sir. That is, nothing I can think of, offhand-"
"Are any of your friends from Knothole here?"
"No, sir, not on this floor."
"Aha. Are you having trouble fitting in?"
"… Forgive me, sir, but I don't consider 'fitting in' as very important. Our number one priority should be…" Simon lowered his voice. "Escape, sir-"
"Yeah." Tristan cut in, his brow furrowing. "Yeah… right… but Robert hasn't come back yet."
Simon reluctantly nodded.
"He's supposed to soon, right?"
"It's what he said, sir."
"He's late."
"Yes-"
"Until then, until he comes back, what do we have?"
"… Sir, Robotnik's watching us."
"I'm not so sure it's him, anymore…" Tristan said, thoughtfully. Then, "I've been watching you, Simon. You look at them, but you don't participate. You just talk to me."
"Sir, I-"
"Holly and the girls keep to themselves and they don't bother anyone. My concern is that you're choosing sides."
"But-"
"I like talking with you, Simon, I always have. You're a good fighter and I like your loyalty. Don't make the mistake of thinking that you and I are allies. There are no sides here. Save it for when we get out."
When, not if. Still, he liked this. He liked trying to hurt the poor kid, catching him off guard, feeling superior-
Tristan cleared his throat. "You have a girlfriend, Simon?"
"… No, sir."
"No one?"
"No. Sir."
He leaned in close. "You ever had sex?"
Simon tensed up. He tried to look away but couldn't escape Tristan's piercing gaze, real or reflected. "Once, sir."
Tristan failed at stifling a chuckle. "Not all it's cracked up to be, is it?"
"S- I… I don't know."
"You can barely feel anything. Weren't sure why you liked it, still, but you did. On some primal level, it was still nice. Do you get why it works the way it does?"
"Not really."
"Couldn't wait to get there, and then you do, and you don't care for it."
"… Yes."
"It's detestable when you aren't doing it."
"Yes."
"You still want it."
"Yes."
Tristan smiled. "Isn't so hard not calling me sir, is it?"
Sudden, high-pitched shrieks came from A3, snapping Tristan to full alert so hard that he felt his nerves catch fire. Without knowing it, the same thing had happened again: he had gotten comfortable. On an unconscious level, he never thought anything could go wrong in this cell.
His legs carried him to the source of the cries, the center cluster of bunks on the opposite side. Sabrina's face was frozen in terror. Her final shrieks died and faded when she ran out of breath and retreated out of the bottom bunk. Tristan noticed that she was covered in blood.
Without the noise, he finally heard it: guttural retching, followed by muffled splashes. Durango and the others gathered around Tristan, frozen in place by what they saw on the bottom bunk. Buster was vomiting blood. A lot of it.
The sheets had turned completely red by the time Tristan won the battle to move. His hands shot out and gripped Buster by his heaving shoulders, pulling him to a sitting positions. The others took two steps back when a geyser sprayed outwards and landed at their feet. Tristan almost fell trying to pull Buster to his feet.
"Help me!"
Durango and Shirk slipped over themselves getting under Buster's arms. "Get him to the shower!" one of them said over the roar of gushing fluid. Sabrina backpedaled out of their way, her expression the same.
Buster's legs had ceased to move, so Tristan took the initiative and wrapped his soaked arms around them. Together, the three managed to carry him as it poured and poured out of him. Buster was gritting his teeth to try and stop the flow.
At the entrance to the bathroom, Buster let loose a racking heave, knocking Tristan off balance, and he fell, knee first into the hot, bright red trail. He let go of the legs and Durango and Shirk dragged Buster the rest of the way inside, flipping him onto his back.
Tristan's vision blurred from the edges inward. Feeling woozy, he sat down. The prisoners from A1 were watching, and he thought about how he must have looked to them, sitting in a line of blood, covered in it from the chest down, not doing a goddamn thing about it.
Durango ducked at another burst, a lot already covering him. There was no sign of it stopping, and he had no way of looking down Buster's throat to see what was causing it. While Shirk and Durango tried in vain to save him, while Holly and Jenna looked on from a distance, while Sabrina cried and cowered in their arms, while Simon was nowhere to be seen, Tristan was already moving on to the next problem in his mind. He decided to wait for the chaos to die down. After all, how much more could he have left inside of him?
Not clean…
Not clean…
Sabrina had still been sleeping in Buster's old bed, wrapping herself completely in his sheets and hiding. Against Tristan's worst fears, sides were being chosen.
"Not clean."
Of course Buster's body had been collected by the following morning, replaced with fruit and clean sheets.
Durango had alienated the group by refusing to back down on the details. Tristan marveled at how quickly they had lost control. After Shirk and Holly managed to verbally abuse Durango into submission, he had spent the rest of the day trying to find the general in A5, to no avail. Things were bad, and with the first torture list's week anniversary on the horizon, it wasn't looking too good.
But what worried Tristan the most was the bathroom. The state of it. The rest of the cell was impeccably spotless as ever, all traces of Buster's blood removed. The bathroom, however, still retained a subtle tint of red, glowing pink behind his squinted eyes. This is where he had been spending more and more of his time. He studied the walls carefully, seeing a stain here, a smear there. He thought he saw mildew on the ceiling.
He especially didn't take it for granted when he examined the twin faucets, the "hot" valve in particular. The H was partially rubbed off.
Curiouser and curiouser.
A familiar clink and he was brought out of it. He heard where the screw landed, but didn't bother picking it up. He turned the valves up to full blast, shivering under the lukewarm water. All he had to do was wait.
He heard Robert's ladder bang against the window. Tristan shuffled over to the wall, waiting for the red fox's head to appear between the bars. Pink water circled down the drain.
"No Simon this time?" Robert asked.
He shook his head.
"Huh. Who are you?"
Tristan ignored the question. "Where have you been?"
The red fox looked taken aback. "Just… around. Working."
Tristan waited for him to continue, but all he did was stare at him, like it was his turn to speak. "… Well?" he finally said.
"Pardon?"
"What's the plan?"
"I'm sorry, plan?"
"… Tell me you've been working on a way to get us out."
"Oh. Yes, of course I have."
"Well?"
"I don't have one yet."
Tristan felt the anger bubble inside of him like a lava flow. "You have all the time in the fucking world to dick around, don't you?" He bit back his voice before it became too loud.
Robert, meanwhile, looked unfazed by the outburst, like he had been expecting it. "I understand how you-"
"Sounds to me like you don't understand SHIT!" he spat, his knees weakening. He felt a rush of dizziness collide into him. "You're not… helping us…"
Robert stayed quiet, watching Tristan stagger around the bathroom with his head in his hands. He halted against the showerhead wall, turning one glaring eye to Robert.
"Traitor."
That did get a reaction. As Robert's face curled back into an expression of shock, Tristan felt the dizziness being replaced with relief. To finally say it to his face, after all these weeks of nothing… it was worth it. Traitor. He waited for the cascade of bullshit to come from Robert's mouth.
"I'm sorry you feel that way…" Robert inhaled deeply, painfully. "What can I do to prove you wrong?"
That was it. No excuses. No groveling. No promises. Tristan probed the fox for emotions; his blue eyes glowed against the dark Robotropolis sky, his facial fur brushed unevenly, casting a misshapen silhouette. He had his head lowered in shame.
Inside, Tristan was already cursing himself for being optimistic, still having hope inside of him.
"I have something you can do for me, Robert."
He looked at Tristan, his face molded in an imitation of confusion, dried blood trailing down the side of his head.
"You can get me a gun."