(uno)

Crab presents an idea to Ram: "I've a new escape plan. Want in?"

Ram cranes his neck curiously. "This is the tenth one now, oi. How are you so sure it'll work this time?"

Crab rubs his wings together conspiratorially in response. "A hundred-and-ten percent. So, about the rusted section of the fence…"

Chuuya is absolutely convinced this will not work.

His full attention is on Dazai, who carefully outlines yet another possible escape route. They are stuck in a poultry farm, of all places, and the noise of the squawking chickens were supposed to conceal their quiet footsteps, but the guard caught them anyway and threw them into the old barn.

The bed made of hay is quite comfortable to lie in, but still.

"As I was saying, I need you to grab the old shears from the outpost, two rows back," Dazai continues, ignoring Chuuya's grunts of protest. As insufferable the damn mackerel is for making him do all the work yet again , they both need to get out of here— preferably before midnight, so they can get enough sleep before starting on the paperwork the next morning.

That last part is false, of course, because they'll only end up continuing that damn-unbeatable stealth game Dazai had randomly gotten his hands on from the rental shop last week. Finding the right console for it had been tedious as hell, but the game had unexpectedly been… enjoyable so far, all things considered.

Having only played mostly fighter games before, though, Chuuya had easily been defeated every time. And Dazai would only read from the official guide in silence, shaking his head at "a brutish, idiot chibikko who can't beat a stealth game to save his life." The condescending smirk at the end certainly didn't help things, either.

He won't let Dazai be reminded of that now , so he ends up folding, so to speak.

"And cut through the rusted wires your oh-so-sharp eyes caught when we were hauled in here?" Chuuya smoothly continues Dazai's train of thought, because for all their incompatibility when playing co-op games aside, they are still Double Black, and they have a reputation of sorts to uphold.

Dazai is mildly miffed at having his spiel cut off, but he nods in agreement. They really need to get out of here, pronto. "Right. Now that we're both clear on that, kindly get going already, dear chibikko . I want to be home before midnight."

Insufferable mackerel bastard.

Chuuya does as he is told, quietly floating onto the roof of the outpost and reaching his short arm into the small vent there. He successfully extracts the old shears from its hiding place in full view, and smirks at what an absolute idiot the guard on duty must be.

Objective accomplished, he lands on the ground nearby, feather-light on the tips of his toes. Now, to just-as-quietly make his way back to the barn and collect Dazai before he gets bored.

For a moment, Chuuya wonders if the mackerel has ever realized that the rusted section they will cut through is only big enough for small people. It's a very good thing to be a chibikko during these times, he silently harrumphs.

He accidentally steps on a dried leaf, the loud rustle it makes immediately followed by an ominous growl. Chuuya's eyes widen frantically; who in seven hells uses bulldogs as guard animals?

Nevertheless, he has been caught off-guard now, and the idiot guard-on-duty catches him red-handed.

Dazai is sorely disappointed when Chuuya is hauled back to the barn, no shears in hand and dripping in dog drool. "Brutish, idiot chibikko who can't be stealthy to save his life."

That wasn't his fault at all, but he's too tired to argue. "Shut up, mackerel."

(dos)

"Good job destroying the fence," Ram dryly comments. "How long do we have before they notice?"

"Uh-uh," Crab clucks back, "One thing at a time, fellow fowl. Patience is a virtue."

"You do realize it's over for us when they notice their chickens escaping, right?"

"Hah, glad you asked. You know how Mr. Tweedle hangs his old clothes out to dry?…"

This isn't a fucking video game, for the love of God.

Chuuya's on the lookout once more, waiting for the damn bulldogs to turn around before he quietly darts towards the rusted polearms. Once he's near enough, he uses his Ability to levitate two of them, sending them flying into his and Dazai's arms.

That takes care of the basic frame— now, to gather the other pieces of their disguise.

There's a reason why Chuuya hates fetch quests so much.

The damn chicken stealth game made him despise them even more. Dumb animals.

Nonetheless, the current escape plan calls for exactly that, if they are to get out of here before midnight, so he sucks it up and goes with Dazai's crazy instructions, which he suspects were only directly lifted from the official guide the mackerel thinks he's hiding well underneath his damn conspicuous coat. Who's the flashy one now?

They tiptoe their way into the backyard, Dazai's heavier footsteps giving him mini-heart attacks. Chuuya pulls them both behind the tall bush there, and they lie in wait until the caretaker sighs and returns inside the house.

They both sigh in relief.

Dazai spies the way-too-large tunic on the clothesline, fluttering gently as the night wind blows at it. He makes a soundless whistle— on three .

On the go signal, Chuuya makes a mad dash and uses the rusted shears to cut the rope. The tunic takes too long to flutter onto the ground, and he impatiently scoops it up and runs back to Dazai's side, who makes a low, approving whistle at the accomplishment.

"Now, we put it on." Dazai inserts one polearm into the holes of the sleeves, before letting his head poke through the frayed collar. "Shall we go, chibikko?"

The expectant look Dazai has on ticks Chuuya's irate nerves more than it should. "Now what?"

"Your back," comes the matter-of-fact explanation, and Chuuya's irritation gets worse. "I navigate, you run. It's the only way."

The hell it is. "A damn beanpole. Riding on my small back," he confirms with a deadpan, and Dazai nods impatiently, wondering how it took Chuuya so long to get it.

"Hurry up already," he snaps with a whisper, making a signal to turn around and crouch. "I want to get my beauty sleep before midnight."

"You know what, fuck this, and fuck you." Chuuya does as he is told, wincing at the annoying extra weight on his back, on top of the lack of vision as Dazai buttons the tunic. "On three," he repeats.

Chuuya counts, too, in his mind— two, one, go .

They run for their lives, with Dazai giving short commands to speed up or slow down, and how many degrees to turn. Chuuya faintly hears the squawk of chickens as Dazai opens the animal pens with the polearm— yet another bid at distracting the guard dogs. He feels himself getting tired more quickly, but the extra weight does relieve him, in a way, since it means Dazai has been eating.

Finally making it outside, Dazai pulls the metal door shut, leaving the angry mutts to scratch at it from behind while the chickens violently assault them. Chuuya drops onto the floor from sheer exhaustion, pulling the ensemble down and apart.

"What the hell, chibikko." Dazai is nursing his ass from the impact of the fall, too tired to even get angry. Only a little, though, since phase one of the escape plan is done.

There's still phase two and phase three and phase god-knows-how-many after that, but that's for later. For now, Chuuya lets himself smirk at Dazai's misfortune. He so had it coming.

(tres)

The Crab's at it again.

Ram looks over the crudely-drawn blueprint. "Fireworks, a seesaw, and… a trolley?"

"It's a catapult , you brutish bird-for-brains," comes the disgruntled reply. A good thing birds have beaks and not mouths.

Ram sighs. "Okay, so I get to choose which one we're going with?"

Dazai, being the fucking slave-driver he is, doesn't give him a choice, of course.

He makes Chuuya do all three.

They have set up camp in yet another barn, this time far away from where their captors are. There's no hay to lie on this time, but they're both too wound up to even think of sleeping at this point. Dazai is completely serious as he draws up the next phase of their escape plan, blatantly copying from the guidebook in his pocket, panel per panel.

So Chuuya, too, makes himself useful, making several round-trips to and from the main compound to gather the materials, one at a time. He devises tricks to get the dogs to ignore him as he passes by— nothing his Ability can't do, really.

This whole endeavor is making a better stealth operative out of him, all things considered. If Mori wants to promote him to squad leader, now's more than a good time, thank you very much . Training with the Black Lizard Ops and being partnered with Dazai all the time has already lost its novelty and merits after so long.

Now, if only it would help him beat the stupid chicken game when they get home later, everything would be just perfect .

That is, if they get out of here safely first.

Look both ways, scuttle on tiptoes, pick up things. Wash, rinse, and repeat.

Chuuya almost throws down the broken tennis racket onto the pile of junk, a good ninety minutes later. The air around Dazai flares for a moment, but his expression remains nonplussed. "Good job with the scavenging," he dryly comments. "Now come help me build these— we don't have all day."

He really hates Dazai, the slimy insufferable bastard.

They set to work, constructing the threefold distraction that would end up self-destructing as they quietly hightail their way out of there. All they need to do is light the single dynamite to activate the whole contraption, and the fireworks would be catapulted in quick succession over the wire fence into the main compound. Lots of combustibles there— they'll have a hard time putting out all the fires.

A perfect plan, really.

It makes Chuuya want to question what joint Dazai had been smoking prior to this mission, and what crack he had been snorting to go along with it.

"Alright, then." Dazai looks everything over, satisfied at their handiwork. Chuuya nods, too; about time the mackerel pulled his own weight, really, after making him do all the work.

"You'd better get out of here," he warns Dazai, two pieces of flint in his hands. "This might be messy."

"I can take a little heat," Dazai waves in dismissal. "I'm worried about you, though, chibikko."

Ri—ght. And the night sky is pitch black.

"Unlike your skin and bones underneath bandages, I can float," Chuuya snarks back. Stupid plan is stupid as hell, but he might as well see this through to the end, stupid enough as he is to go along with it. At least he and Dazai are on the same page about this.

It makes him a little warm inside, to be honest, but now's not the time for that.

"On three," Chuuya counts, flint stones on the ready. Dazai opens the door from behind him to step out. "Two—"

"Wait, Chuuya," Dazai sounds oddly panicky for a reason, "the guard is here—"

"One—"

Only then did what Dazai shout at him register in his mind in full, and he misses his cue—

The resulting explosion is very messy, to say the least, and they would both have been blown into bits, too, had Chuuya's magnetic force field not activated in time to shield them from it. At least that's one less guard to worry about now, he consoles himself, as they prepare to face the rest, guns and Abilities and projectiles of all sizes a-blazing.

An all-out war suits them better, after all, Dazai nods in agreement, as they prepare to unleash the hell that is Double Black on them all.

(cuatro)

One cluck, two clucks, three clucks. "... At least they didn't slaughter us?"

Ram is tempted to peck at Crab's feathers until he's naked. "I hate you, stupid bird-for-brains."

"Hey, that's my line," Crab protests, but says nothing more. How did the mood get so sour, all of a sudden?

Three more clucks, then Ram waddles to the makeshift table there. Back to the drawing board.

"Gimme that," Chuuya snatches the official guidebook from Dazai's hands. He's far from patient at this point, and would definitely have wreaked havoc on everything, had Dazai not stopped him at the last minute.

While he is grateful that Dazai had saved him from Corruption yet again, their ticket out of there had also vanished, as a result.

They were simply, in a word, unlucky.

At least they're back in the barn with the bed made of hay. Small mercies, really.

It irks Chuuya so much how everything about this mission reminds him too much of that stupid chicken game and its dumb-as-hell stealth mechanics. Had it been made on a better software engine, perhaps, the missions would have been easier to accomplish through finer movement controls and stuff. He hated how one tug at the joystick moved the chicken a bit too far than he wanted, resulting in one-to-many run-ins with the guard dogs.

Look at him now, griping pettily about a stupid video game not made for his generation. How low he has fallen.

In any case, he volunteered to make the plans this time. Of the three blueprints Dazai had come up with, the catapult one seems to work the best for their purposes this time. The wire fence is a bit lower on the south side, and it's far enough from the main outpost to attract much attention, if anything. They both just need to be very careful on how they go about it.

Chuuya hated the catapult mini-game the most among the three, and he's definitely not a fan of catapulting himself out of there, either. At least he has his Ability to help him cope, but Dazai, on the other hand—

This, too, is going to be really messy, he can feel it.

"Are you done yet," Dazai yawns sleepily, making himself way too comfortable on the single hay bed there. Unhelpful bastard.

He does look exhausted, though, Chuuya thinks, biting back his own retort for now. Maybe waiting for morning would be the better and more rational choice, after all. They won't be able to gather the materials they need now, while the guards are on high alert from the ruckus they had caused.

Chuuya narrows his eyes, making repeated marks on the parchment with his pencil. There has to be a way to get Dazai out without getting his Ability nullified somewhat, but how ?

"Come to bed, chibikko," Dazai murmurs again, the words sending warm shivers down his tired spine. It makes him feel sleepy, too— they've had more than enough excitement for one day, already.

Putting away the parchment for now, Chuuya wordlessly joins Dazai on the bed, his eyes immediately closing as soon as his head hits the soft hay. He may or may not have dreamed of gentle hands running through his hair, but any dream is better than dreaming of stupid chicken games at this point.

They'll kick its ass first thing tomorrow morning as soon as they get home, post-mission paperwork be damned.

(cinco)

"Friends and foes, roosters and ladyhens — lend me your ears."

Ram flaps his wings, like the dutiful friend he is. No one else is convinced, it seems.

"Today, we reclaim our right to freedom," Crab orates, preening with a passionate appeal. "Join us in this most noble crusade as we fight our way — to the outside world!"

That gets the rest of the chickens clucking in excitement, and Crab beams in delight. Success.

Ram crows loudly, too — time to get this show (and themselves) on the road.

It's D-Day.

That had been yesterday, actually, but now's as good a time as any.

Three hours of sleep had given Chuuya's mind the clarity it needed, and opening his eyes to the galvanized iron sheets that served as the barn's roof made everything click together all at once. He sits up with a jolt, mentally drawing up plans to adjust the dimensions of everything to accommodate the new parts, before throwing off the blanket and getting out of bed.

Dazai is already awake, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up and dirty. It makes Chuuya do a double-take, as he looks back to the hay bed and realizes what the blanket over him really was.

"You sleep way too long, chibikko," the mackerel says, by way of greeting. "The catapult's already waiting outside. Guards have been knocked out. You have thirty minutes to dismantle the roof."

He raises his eye, as if to prompt Chuuya for any questions. Well, someone's large and in charge today. Suits him just fine, though.

Dazai really is better at stealth between them both, despite being such an insufferable beanpole. He willingly concedes defeat for now.

Escape first, gripe later.

He's good at playing co-op games, at least, especially when his partner is as willing to play dirty as him.

Time to end this long-running show.

Chuuya floats up to the roof from the outside, quickly identifying the looser panes from the rest at a glance. He resists the temptation to rip the best one off, needing it to be as intact as possible post-retrieval if this were to work. It's the right size and thickness to carry Dazai over, too, even more reason to not fuck this up.

Teasing out the rusted iron sheet from its old place on the roof proves to be a lot more difficult than he had expected, Ability aside. Being on higher ground also automatically makes him the lookout for any potential trouble, although he has no doubt that Dazai is more than capable of defending himself on the ground should anything happen. That, and he has to do it as quietly as possible to not alert said trouble, which, in itself, is nigh impossible, given the nature of the material he is extracting. Nothing you aren't capable of doing , he reminds himself.

Twenty-five minutes of wrangling and squeaking metal noises that grated badly on his ears, Chuuya successfully extracts the galvanized sheet, leaving a gaping hole on the roof it had been taken from. He floats back down to Dazai, bed hair sticking to his sweaty forehead the same way his clothes cling to the rest of his soaked body.

Dazai laughs quietly at him— a brief moment of respite, as it were. Chuuya allows it for now.

They place the iron sheet on top of the catapult, double-checking the overall stability of the contraption before assuming their places.

"Are you sure this won't wear you out," Dazai asks concernedly, bare hands tentatively gripping onto the edge of the iron sheet as he gets on it, like it were a floating carpet. Chuuya only barely hears the tail-end of the question as he pokes his head out from under the catapult, having set up the makeshift bomb at the base— a good thing there was still one dynamite left.

"It won't," Chuuya says matter-of-factly. "It's mainly the firepower that will send you flying across the fence. I only need to use my Ability on the iron sheet to make sure you don't crash anywhere. I'll know."

It's all the reassurance Dazai needs, so he takes his hands off the pane and dusts them off on the cloth of his pants. He can't touch any part of it with his bare hands, otherwise his own Ability will nullify Chuuya's influence over the pane and that would send him crashing towards God-knows-where.

He's actually smarter than people give him due credit for— he wouldn't have lived this long if he weren't. Come on .

Final checks over, Chuuya crawls back to the underside of the catapult, this time with an almost-empty lighter they had managed to scavenge from the drawers in the barn. His short arm barely manages to reach the wick of the dynamite, and there's only enough gas left for one light— they've only got one shot.

Make it work.

"On three," they both whisper, synchronized heartbeats like drums in their ears. "Two—"

The lighter is on, the crackling noise amplified by their own anticipation— "One."

The whole underside explodes, quickly bringing the contraption to life. Chuuya manages to get away, a one-sided force field shielding him from the damage as he watches the iron sheet carry Dazai over the fence and some fifty meters away— fifty-five, sixty, and counting.

He immediately senses the initial propelling force quickly losing its influence, so he concentrates his Ability on the sheet to make it float down slowly, reassured by the sheer weight over it. Dazai has been eating more lately, Chuuya thinks again with relief, and that takes away part of the exhaustion from the herculean effort, at least.

His ears pick up a rumble of footsteps from a few meters away, along with a cacophony of low growls that had greatly frustrated him over the hours he had played fetch quests last night. Sensing that the iron sheet is already near ground level, he releases his Ability and makes for the rusted fence on the other end of the compound.

It's a very good thing to be a chibikko during these times, Chuuya grins wickedly as he crawls through the hole he had made there, before breaking into a run to the woods beyond. Stage cleared, at long last.

?

(más uno)

"Well, congrats to us," Ram clucks, watching their fellow fowls from atop the hill as they run all over the open prairie in celebration of their newfound freedom.

"Amen to that," Crab agrees, flapping his wings, giddier than before. One would have thought that they'd be relaxing now that everything's finally over, but he's an insufferable bird like that.

Ram crows at this. "You insufferable bird-for-brains. What do you plan on doing after this?"

Crow blinks at him, confused. "Uh, wake up, I guess?"

The way the answer was posed as a question gives Ram a very bad feeling.

"Of course this is all a dream, you small-bird-for-brains," Crab adds, easily reusing what is probably the only insult in his primitive vocabulary. "You mean, you didn't realize that?"

The curtain closes on Ram's angry cock-a-doodle-doos that fade into the end credits — literally.

"... You gotta be kidding me," Chuuya sits back down, aghast.

Dazai also reaches the end of the guidebook at the same time. "A New Game Plus. Double the speed at half the time limit." He looks up at Chuuya with a sadistic grin. "This should be fun."

It makes Chuuya lose all the patience he has been holding throughout the mission, and he literally kicks the console to the floor in frustration, causing the screen to go black at once.

He twists his foot the wrong way, however, and gets it entangled with the cable of the controller, landing him face-first into the carpet floor.

Dazai laughs at him in earnest this time. "Fuck you," Chuuya growls at him, but it only makes the bastard laugh even harder.

He's never playing video games with Dazai ever again— unless it's one he's good at. Right.