POV
Timmy/tanuki
Tommy was having a nightmare. At least, he was pretty sure he was. With the lights off, he couldn't see anything, but the metal he was lying on was cool under his cheek and palms. But he knew exactly where he was.
He was back at The Lab.
There was no doubt in his mind; the stale air that was constantly contaminated with the sickly scent of bleach and disinfectant was a trademark of only one place, as far as Tommy was aware. The smell drowned out most other scents in The Lab, leaving the air feeling recycled and bare. It made the air itself seem lifeless and cold, as much as everything else in this place.
Except it's weird that the lights are off, he thought numbly. The lights were rarely turned completely off, causing there to always be a faint, persistent buzz at the edge of his hearing. He went to sit up and his shoulders hit the unforgiving top of something. He reached out a hand and his fingers brushed cold metal rods. It's my cage. I'm back in my cage. He shuddered against the metal bars. I must have done something wrong. Made them mad, somehow. Failed a test or something. Lying down again, he curled into a tight ball on the floor of his cage, trying to use his own body heat to keep warm. This has to be a bad dream. It has to be. I just need to wake up…
But as far as nightmares go, this isn't too bad. It's cold and dark, but that is kind of a good thing. It means that no one is here…
As soon as he had that thought though, he heard footsteps approaching. The Doctors are coming, the thought went through him like a live wire. With a whimper breaking past his lips, he pushed himself against the bars farthest from the door of his cage, shoulders and back pressing into hard metal. They are coming for me. He didn't know what they would want today, but it was always bad and painful.
He flinched as the too-bright lights kicked on, throwing out harsh shadows. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, as if he couldn't see them, then they couldn't really be here. It's not real, it's not real. There were two voices, going on about medical stuff. There was the sound of a jangle of keys, followed by the door to his cage opening. "Come here, Tommy." The voice was as cold as the metal under his hands.
Tommy pressed farther back, ignoring the protest from his back and shoulders. His hands were clenched, to try to stop them from shaking. But they weren't shaking from the cold now. "No...no…" His throat hurt; it was tight with fear, making it harder to talk than normal. He kept his eyes tightly closed. It's not real, it's not real—
"Oh," the second doctor's voice was whisper-close, right by his ears. He must have leaned down to the bars. "Well then, if you won't come, then I guess we'll go get Timmy instead."
Timmy. Not Timmy. Tommy didn't want to get hurt, but he certainly didn't want his brother to get hurt either. He would do anything—go through anything, no matter how painful—if it meant that Timmy would be spared. The name was like a hypnotic charm; it caused Tommy to obey. He opened blurry eyes, to allow himself to half-crawl, half- drag himself forward to the edge of his cage, until he was outside and able to stand upright. He stared at the ground and at the doctor's black shoes, blinking back tears. "Good boy," the doctor praised—a gloved hand descended between his ears, ruffling his hair—before the shoes turned away. "Come along now." Tommy felt a hand on his back, propelling him reluctantly forward. He dragged his feet after the doctors, sniffling and wiping at his eyes, sure that whatever new test that they had come up with would be hard and bad and painful. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real—
There was a sudden, brilliant flash of light, followed by a loud, rumbling boom—
Tommy jerked awake, as the thunderclap faded. His eyes flew about the room, trying to remember where he was. His bedroom—it was his bedroom, the one that he shared with Timmy. Timmy! His eyes darted in the direction of the second bed. Timmy was still fast asleep—the storm hadn't woken him. Which was a surprise, because it was quite the storm.
There was another flash of lightning, causing temporary blindness, before the thunder sounded again. Tommy could easily forgive the storm though, because it had dragged him out of his nightmare. Tommy draped one of the blankets over the top of his head and ears, to hopefully block out some of the noise, before sliding off the bed. He was awake now, so he might as well go get some water for his dry throat.
He walked down the hall to cross the main living area on the way to the kitchen, but froze when the lightning caused a shadow to be cast across the floor. Before he had a chance to be afraid though, he recognized whose distorted shadow it was. Tommy raised his eyes to see Mr. Nook was standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back, watching the storm.
Biting back a grin, Tommy padded across the floor as silently as he could. With the storm, he might be able to actually sneak up on his caretaker. Before he was able to reach him though, Mr. Nook's ear twitched in his direction. "You're up late, Tommy," he said simply. "Or I guess it is up early now, hm?" Without bothering to look, he reached a hand out and placed it on the back of Tommy's head, pulling him closer. "Storm woke you?" he asked, eyes not leaving the window. Tommy nodded against the hand, and settled closer to his new dad in contentment.
Mr. Nook didn't like to be called "Dad". Timmy had tried to, in the first few weeks, desperate to try to establish a link between them. Something familiar to cling to, this new person in a new place, that was the first to well, not be horrible, in a long time. Mr. Nook would be quick to stop it though, not letting it slide. Tommy had noticed the lightning-flash quick look of panic that would come into Mr. Nook's eyes, when Timmy would try to sneak it in, before it would fade and he would quietly and calmly remind them that he was to be called "Mr. Nook". He doesn't want us, Tommy had thought at the time. He is going to give us away. But he did and he hadn't, and it turned out that the Great Tom Nook—the "Wonder of Wall Street" as Raymond said that he used to be known by—was scared of being a dad. As if the word alone was what made him one.
Silly, he thought happily. We can call him what he wishes, but it doesn't change what he is. Or how we feel about him. Or how he feels about us. Tommy turned to look up at Mr. Nook confidently, all fears about him long gone.
Mr. Nook must have felt his eyes, because he looked down at him. The hand moved to his back, pulling him in closer. "Sorry the storm woke you. But there is nothing to be afraid of. Remember what Blathers said: lightning is just electrical discharge from the sky to the ground, caused by an imbalance of charges. It's electricity, just like the type in our walls that power the toaster and TV. Just a lot bigger."
Tommy nodded. He remembered. He wasn't scared of lightning. Lightning was part of nature, caused by the clouds. It was wild and uncontrolled. Regular, tame electricity could be made to do things… "Hurtzzzzz," he said simply.
Mr. Nook's eyes softened. "I'm sorry that you know that," he said soberly, as he rubbed sympathetically on Tommy's back. "But our electricity is good electricity; we don't use it in that way."
Tommy knew that. The few times that he had gotten a painful sting—little bites of discharge—from messing around with bad cords, or being impatient with an appliance, the pain had been nothing compared to the memories that had been jolted back up. It was like the familiar pain was hardwired into his brain to bring up the much more painful, terrible times in the past. He didn't fear the electricity, but those memories; he wished that they would fade as quickly as the little sparks did.
"There is one good thing about the storm at least," Mr. Nook grumbled. "No one—not even Redd co.—can travel in this storm. It will give Alex time to recover and prepare."
Tommy frowned. News traveled fast in the village and any news about The Human even more so. Everyone had heard about Leif and Alex and what had happened. Tommy tilted his head back to look up at Mr. Nook, pushing the blanket off his eyes. "Waaatttttssssss…going…toooooo…." he made a frustrated sound in his throat.
"It's alright," Mr. Nook said gently. "Sign it out if you need to."
Clutching the blanket one-handedly, Tommy freed his other hand. "WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN?" he spelled quickly, getting faster.
Mr. Nook frowned, turning back to the window. "I don't know. But don't worry; no matter what, I will keep you safe. I won't let Redd co. hurt you anymore." The hand on Tommy's back tightened slightly.
Tommy frowned. That wasn't really what he had been asking. "WHAT ABOUT ALEX? I DON'T WANT THEM TO GET HURT EITHER," Tommy signed with a shudder.
"I know," Mr. Nook sighed. "No one wants that. But that's not something you have to worry about. Particularly at this time of night. Come on, let's get you some water and back to bed. You can sleep in tomorrow—I mean, today. The storm will be bad for business anyway," Mr. Nook grumbled. Tommy snickered as he was led to the kitchen.
Tommy curled back up under his covers, as the storm rained down. Mr. Nook was so smart; the smartest person that he ever knew, even smarter than his old mom and dad. If there is a way to keep Alex safe, Tommy thought as he drifted back to sleep, then Mr. Nook will find it.
POV
Alex/human
Later the same morning
Alex woke up feeling absolutely terrible. They had a splitting headache, which pounded and throbbed behind their eyes.
Ugh, what happened? They thought groggily, as they reluctantly came more awake. Where am I? They forced their eyes open, and after a few seconds of glancing around in the dimly lit room, Alex recognized the laboratory section of the Museum. They were lying on a cot, covered with a blanket. But Alex had no memory of why they were here. Did I hurt myself…somehow?
Alex went to go rub their eyes, and felt that something was intertwined with their fingers of one hand. They looked down to see Isabelle asleep next to the cot, her head resting on her arms at the edge of it. She had her fingers laced between theirs; she had fallen asleep clutching their hand. Hm, that's weird. Sweet…but weird. Why is she here? Alex was starting to get a little concerned. What exactly happened to me? They went to gently pull their hand away, trying not to wake her, but the movement disturbed her enough. Taking a deep breath, her dark eyes fluttered open. She looked at them groggily herself for a few seconds before she sat up with a gasp. "Alex! How do you feel this morning? Does anything hurt?" Her hands hovered restlessly over Alex's body, unsure of how she could be the most helpful. Alex winced at the questions.
"My head," Alex moaned. Isabelle was speaking at a normal volume, but everything felt so loud and bright. "I feel like a bomb went off behind my eyes." They pressed both palms against their eyes, trying to block out the light.
"Sorry," she said apologetically. "Let me go get Blathers. I will be right back." She left, leaving Alex in the darkened room.
Alex went to sit up, but a wave of dizziness caused them to change their mind. Nope. Never mind. Gonna just lie here. Alex lay in the dark. Thankfully, besides the splitting headache, nothing else really hurt. What happened? they thought again. Oddly enough, they couldn't really remember why they felt this bad, but the headache wasn't helping their concentration either. I'll just ask Isabelle when she gets back. Bet she knows what happened…
Isabelle wasn't gone long before she returned with Blathers in tow. "Good morning, Alex," Blathers said, but he kept his tone subdued, much to Alex's appreciation. Isabelle must have told him already about how Alex was feeling. "Let's see about getting something for that migraine." As he sorted through the cabinets, Isabelle came back over and sat down.
"So, Alex…do you remember what happened yesterday?" she asked gently.
Alex frowned. "Actually, I was hoping you could tell me."
Isabelle nodded; she wasn't surprised. "Well, what do you remember? I think we have pieced together enough to figure out any gaps you have."
"Well…." Alex turned their eyes to look at the ceiling. "I remember doing a bunch of stuff around the village. There was a storm coming. Oh, Leif was here; he helped with the garden—What?" Isabelle had made a disgusted-sounding snort.
"Don't mind me. Keep going," she said, with a dismissive wave.
"Okay…well, then, I…went to Nook's Cranny. I left with Fauna to help with Ankha's house really quick…and then when I went back to Nook's Cranny, Zucker was gone—that's right, he went to Resident Services to turn in some Bells for my loan." Alex dropped their eyes back to Isabelle. "Did he?"
"He did." Isabelle nodded. Blathers came over then with some pills and a cup of water.
"Sorry to interrupt, but here is something for the head of yours."
"Thanks." Alex continued as they slowly sat up, with Isabelle helping to prop them up. "Um, well, I went back to Nook's Cranny and Leif said that Zucker had gone to the beach. I went to go find him and he tagged along." As Alex took their meds with a mouthful of water, they missed the look that passed between Isabelle and Blathers. "We were looking for Zucker, and…and, I think that's it?" Alex winced and rubbed at their head. "Everything gets kinda fuzzy once we get to the beach. We did drink the juice from some fresh coconuts…I think I remember something about dolphins…and really, really tiny people, and a fine lady riding a white horse." Alex frowned. "That last bit might have been a dream though."
"That does sound most likely," a new voice chuckled humorless. All eyes turned to see Mr. Nook entering the room. Alex recognized the yellow raincoat that he was wearing from the first time that they had seen him. "But it does answer one question. I would say that the coconut juice was how he administered his drug."
Alex had gone to take another sip of water, but they quickly jerked their head back up, forgetting their headache in the moment. "Drugged? What do you mean drugged? Leif drugged me? Why would he do that?" Alex asked horrified, and then winced as the pain caught up to the sudden movement.
"Yes; based on Blathers' examination," he nodded at the owl, "you were most certainly drugged. And also based on what you and everyone else have said, it seems safe to say that Leif was the culprit. As to why he would do so," Mr. Nook paused slightly, "well, to see if you were human, for starters. As for anything else, we had hoped you could tell us."
Alex shook their head. "I don't remember anything else," they murmured. I hate this. I hate not being able to remember. I hate not knowing what happened. "Does he know?" Alex asked faintly.
All eyes looked at them, with different amounts of solemnness and sadness. "Yes." Isabelle was the one who answered. "He does."
He knows. Alex dropped their eyes to the glass that they were holding, hands clenched tightly around it. So Redd co. knows. "So now what?" they asked miserably. They stared into the remaining water, as if they could scry answers from the liquid.
"At this exact moment, not much," Mr. Nook answered. "The best thing to do is for you to rest up and then plan to leave tomorrow—"
"Tomorrow?" Alex cried, looking at him in alarm.
"Yes. It's Saturday." Mr. Nook stated practically. "Even if Redd co. doesn't make their move tomorrow, Slider should still be coming."
"Do they still need to go?" Isabelle turned to look at him. "If Redd co. knows, then there is not much point to them leaving when Slider comes."
"That assumes Leif told him." Mr. Nook rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "Leif is such a wild card; it's hard to predict what he will do. But while he is loyal to Redd co., he isn't particularly loyal to Slider. So he might not have informed him about Alex yet.
"Either way, I think it is best if Alex isn't here when Slider comes, even if it turns out that it is just Slider. In a worse-scenario, it will give Alex a head start, if Slider is intent on hunting them." Alex shuddered at the use of those words.
Isabelle gently touched their arm. "We won't let him, Sweetie. We will stop him."
"We will try," Tom amended. "We will do what we can to slow him down at least. The best-case scenario would be if Slider doesn't know yet. That would at least give Alex a few more days to get as ready as possible."
"Ready for what?" Alex asked.
"Leaving." Mr. Nook said gently, but there was quiet conviction in his eyes. "Permanently. Because in the worst-case scenario, if Redd co. is intent on taking you away from us, you can't stay here in the village. We can't protect you from them. You will be better off hiding in the forest."
"But—"
"But that is not important right now." Mr. Nook cut them off. "We can discuss it later." His eyes flickered to Isabelle, and Alex could tell from her expression that she most certainly would be discussing it later. "We can't do anything in this storm, but thankfully, neither can Redd co."
"Storm?" Alex thought back "You mean the one that Lucky predicted? It's not over yet?"
Mr. Nook raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh, it's still storming. You can't hear the rain against—oh, sorry. I keep forgetting how…insensitive…human ears are." He chuckled at Alex's expression. "My apologies, Alex. I meant no offense. But even though the storm will make returning to your house…inconvenient, it is a blessing in disguise. For now, the best thing you can do is rest."
Isabelle insisted on walking with them back to their house, no matter how much Alex protested. With the storm raging, they both ended up getting soaked. Isabelle left quickly, partly to get out of the rain herself and partly because she could tell that Alex needed some space.
As Alex showered and got cleaned up, their mind was distracted by what Mr. Nook had said. I have to leave tomorrow, Alex thought as they towel-dried their hair. Maybe for good.
The thought gave them mixed emotions. Sure, they were itching to get out and explore, but not forced out like this. It was one thing to leave just for fun and adventure; it was entirely different to leave because the village itself had become too dangerous to stay.
Alex gave a sigh as they plopped down on their back on their bed. They gave a regretful glance around their house. I was just starting to get used to it. I didn't even get to use my new kitchen all that much…
But Mr. Nook was right that they couldn't do anything about the situation right now. However, that just left Alex to be antsy and restless. They kept pacing around the room—much like a caged animal—as their thoughts likewise kept going in circles. The fact that Redd co. knows can't be that big of a deal. After all, they have my sailboat. If they looked up the registration, then they would have found out who owned it anyway. If they really cared, then they would have acted sooner. Wouldn't they? Maybe they don't—
Alex jumped at the pounding at the door. For a split second, they thought that it was Redd co. coming for them, before they remembered that with the continuing storm, that couldn't be the case.
But that also meant that whoever was out there was willing to risk going through the storm themselves.
Worriedly, Alex hurried over to the door. They opened it to see none other than Zucker standing there—being drenched by the storm—looking wide-eyed and frantic. "Zucker! What's—" That's as far as they got before Zucker launched himself at them.
"Alex!" he cried, throwing his arms around them in a tight hug—never mind the fact that he was dripping wet. "I'm so sorry!"
"Sorry? For what?"
"Well—no one has come right out and said it—but Raymond keeps acting like—if I hadn't—but Leif said—"
Alex freed a hand enough to place over his mouth, cutting off the stream of words as one thought bled into another. "It's not your fault. I don't blame you. I don't think it's anyone's fault." Alex winced. Except maybe mine… "Leif is just really smart. Much smarter than he acts." Alex carefully detangled themselves from the wet embrace.
Zucker nodded. "Ya, he is." He still kept looking at Alex nervously, as water dripped down his face. "You sure you aren't mad though?"
"Yes," Alex assured him. "Don't worry about it."
"Oh, that's a relief," he said with a sigh, his shoulders sagging. "I was so worried you were mad at me. But, Zucker asked hesitantly, "I guess I should go now?"
"No, please don't." Alex said, shaking their head. I don't want to be alone right now. "You can stay. But only if you want to." Alex suddenly remembered that Zucker might have other places to be or things to do.
"Oh, no; I can stay," Zucker said quickly.
"Great." Alex turned to their bathroom area. "Here. Let me get you a towel or something." And it looks like I need to change into a dry shirt again anyway.
While Alex didn't have shorts that would fit Zucker, they did have an extra tee-shirt that would work. His gi uniform shirt was hung on the partition by the bathroom, where it could dry. "So…now what?" Zucker asked from where he sat on a towel on the floor to help absorb some of the water from his shorts. Zucker's hair looked even more disheveled in its semi-dried state as it stuck up in all directions.
"Um. Not sure." Alex sat in front of him on the floor, arms wrapped around their legs. I didn't actually think through what we could do. It's not like I entertain all that often. "What do you like to do when you are trapped indoors?"
"Me?" Zucker paused. "I like to eat. And sleep. And talk to the bugs in my floor—oh, wait! Here." He reached into the pocket of his shorts. Alex was slightly concerned by that last comment, but Zucker just pulled out a damp-looking deck of cards. "I like to play cards. Do you want to play?"
"Sure," Alex said, scooting closer. "What do you want to play?" Rummy, Crazy Eights, Golf, Schnapsen, Speed, Scopa, Spit and Malice—there are a lot of good two player card games
"I know a great one," Zucker said as he shuffled the cards. He plucked one off the top. "Okay, I made my choice. What kind do you think it is…heart, diamond, spade or club?"
"Oh." Ya, in retrospect, I shouldn't be surprised. "Hm…a red heart?"
Zucker's eyes flickered to the card, just to double-check. "Correct! Wow, you are really good at his game."
Alex smiled as they looked at their friend. "Well, it is just luck and probability," they said, but their tone was kind. "Do you play it a lot?"
"Sometimes…" Zucker said as he absently shuffled the cards again, "when I am bored and by myself. I like to see how many I can get right. Other times, when I can't decide on what to do, I use the cards to try to make a decision—what? Why are you staring?"
"Sorry," Alex broke their stare. They gestured at his hands. "You are just really good at that." He's actually really good—like really good—at card shuffles. I'm pretty sure I haven't seen some of those moves outside of a casino. "So you like to use the cards kind of like flipping a coin?"
"Yup," Zucker nodded, still looking pleased by Alex's comment. "Red for one choice, and black for the other. Sometimes, it's better to trust the cards, and hope for the best. Then you don't have to worry about if it's the right decision. Because you are just following the cards."
"That can work," Alex said diplomatically. Pretty sure that using cards like that is a sign of low self-confidence though. But I could already tell that about him. Hmmm, I bet that he would like games that involve more luck instead of memory or strategy then. "Hey, Zucker, do you want me to teach you a game that I like to play?"
"Sure, Alex." He eagerly held the deck out to them.
"Cool. And don't worry, it's easy. It's called War," Alex began to explain as they started to divide up the cards. I can work on building the self-confidence later. Well, assuming that there is a later…Alex pushed the depressing thought away before it had a chance to show on their face. Right now, we can just play something together that won't make it any worse. We can just enjoy being together. Right here, right now.
POV
Marshal/squirrel
About three weeks ago
Marshal woke slowly. He felt…weird. Besides feeling incredibly tired and weak, there was this deep ache in his bones. But nothing really hurt. A faint sound of turning pages caught his attention, so with a deep, shuddering breath, he blinked his eyes open.
There was someone sitting in a chair, reading. But it was more of who it was that confused Marshal. "Mr. Redd?" Marshal asked, his voice faint. Why is he here?
Mr. Redd looked up. "Oh, good, you are awake, and you do remember me. We were worried you might not." He shut the book, looking pleased.
"What? Why? What happened?" Marshal asked groggily.
"You don't remember?"
"No." Marshal rubbed at his eyes, as he looked around the sparsely decorated room. White walls, white floor, and white ceiling that were scrubbed bare. And there was a heavy scent of bleach or something. There was a sterile feeling to the room. "Am I in a hospital?"
"In a way," Mr. Redd said. Putting his book down in the chair that he had been sitting in, he came over to sit on the edge of Marshal's bed. "How much do you remember?"
"Not much." Marshal touched his head. But why is Mr. Redd here? Mr. Brewster is listed as my emergency contact. Where is he? Or Sally, or any of the others? "No offense, Sir, thank you for coming to see me, but where is Brewster?" Marshal glanced over to the bare desk next to the bed. You would have thought that someone—Sally, at least—would have left a card. Marshal moved to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, causing him to lie back down.
"Take it easy," Mr. Redd said, patting the sheet over Marshal's leg. "There is no rush. But to answer your questions, yes, there was an incident. Thankfully, we have a full medical center available to help you." Mr. Redd chuckled. "Consider it one of the benefits of being employed by Redd Biotech."
"Oh. Thanks. I guess." Marshal winced. At least I don't have to file through my insurance. He had this nagging feeling that Mr. Redd was leaving out something though. "So what exactly happened? Did I pass out or something?"
"Sort of. There were…complications." His eyes narrowed in consideration. "You know, instead of trying to explain, it might be best to just show you." Before Marshal could ask him what he meant, Mr. Redd stood up and, taking Marshal's hand in his, pulled him upright.
The dizziness returned, but Marshal closed his eyes, trying to push through it. He felt all muddled and confused, and the dizziness wasn't helping. Mr. Redd didn't really give him a lot of time to adjust however, as he pulled Marshal to the edge of the bed.
Marshal went to go stand up, but he lost his balance, causing himself to crash into Mr. Redd's side. "Don't worry," Mr. Redd soothed, as he steadied him. "Your equilibrium will come back."
"I don't know why I am so clumsy," Marshal grumbled. As Mr. Redd dragged him forward, he stumbled along as much as a toddler would. Marshal gritted his teeth, hating the unbalanced feeling. Everything felt slightly out of kilter. But as he clung to Mr. Redd for balance, he made an odd observation when he glanced up at his guide. "Hey, did you get taller somehow?" Even as he asked it, he knew how stupid a question it was, but there was no denying it. Mr. Redd had always been taller than him, but Marshal barely reached his chest now.
Mr. Redd gave an amused smile down at him. "No," he said simply. "I didn't get taller."
Marshal frowned at the emphasis, but before he could ask about it, Mr. Redd stopped. "Here." Placing a firm hand on each shoulder, Mr. Redd turned Marshal around so that he was standing in front of him. "There. I think it's best to get the shock over with all at once."
Marshal stared in the direction that Mr. Redd had pointed him. The image in front of him didn't make sense. Mr. Redd was standing in front of and facing him, but that couldn't be right. Marshal was positive that Mr. Redd was standing behind him; in fact, he could feel his hands on his shoulders. But there was some…thing…standing in front of the second Mr. Redd, wearing a hospital gown. It looked vaguely familiar, but also not at the same time. The brown eyes were sunken and dark in their sockets, the skin around them a sickly shade. The hair was cream colored, with recognizable streaks of brown mixed in. But that was where the familiarity ended, because sticking out above the hair were two cream-colored ears, with a matching tail curling in an arch over the creature's head. Oh, and the creature was short. Even with the tail, Mr. Redd stood head and shoulders over him.
What is this? Marshal thought through his throbbing headache. He was tired and his head hurt and he couldn't make sense of what Mr. Redd was showing him. He reached up to touch his head and the creature in front of him did the same, copying his movement. The creature had horrible, ragged scars around his wrist and elbow. How did he get like that? Marshal thought. He glanced at his own wrists. It's as if he got cut over and over….
Marshal stared at his own jagged scars encircling his wrist, before jerking his head back up to look at the creature. Marshal saw the thing's eyes widen as understanding dawned, making them wide with horror. "Yes, Marshal," Marshal watched the Mr. Redd in the mirror say, "it's you."
The creature—Marshal's reflection— slowly, shakily reached up to touch one of his ears, his mouth dropping open in mute horror as he felt the fur under his fingertips. For a long moment there was nothing; no sound, no movement.
Then Marshal exploded. A scream suddenly broke through his shock, before condensing into just two words. "What happened?"
"Like I said, there were complications. Your body didn't handle the procedure very well at all. You were very obstinate, even when unconscious. Instead of using the nutrient solution in the healing vats, your body kept robbing itself of the minerals it needed to grow your new tail. It kept stealing calcium from your bones." Mr. Redd tapped him in the center of his head. "That's why you shrank. You ended up losing several kilograms of bone mass. You lost about fifteen centimeters of height altogether, give or take one.
"Thank goodness most of your internal organs adjusted, or we might have had a real problem on our hands. The only real issue was your skin. It wasn't adjusting as fast. That's where the scars came from." He reached down and grabbed Marshal's wrist. "He had to remove the extra tissue as best as he could. Otherwise, your skin would literally hang off your skeleton.
"But like I said, you are very stubborn. Under the doctor's guiding hand, your fighter's spirit pulled though," Mr. Redd praised. "After all, you are no quitter."
Marshal's eyes narrowed, as Mr. Redd's wording finally clicked a memory. "No…but I was. Is that why I am like this? Because I quit?"
Mr. Redd hesitated before answering. "Well, I couldn't just let you go." He placed hand on Marshal's head between his new squirrel ears. "I have grown fond of you after all."
What the heck! Marshal twisted out of Mr. Redd's hand and stumbled away from him. His brain wasn't used to his new size but was frantically trying to keep up, as Marshal scrambled to a corner as far away as he could get from Mr. Redd. "What's wrong with you? How could you do this to me?" Marshal started to feel pricks in his eyes. It was too much, too fast. "I was going to graduate in two months. Two! All my hard work, the stress, the long hours, the money—it was all finally going to pay off. I was almost done!" Marshal stared accusingly at Mr. Redd as tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. "I was so close, and you ruined everything."
"Marshal, I know that it does feel like that, but that's not true. Everything is going to work out," Mr. Redd said, walking over. Crouching down, he reached a hand out to his trembling employee.
Marshal recoiled from him. "Don't touch me." Marshal slapped a hand at him. "What do you mean— how exactly do you plan on fixing this?"
"Now, I never said that I would fix it," Mr. Redd replied. "I just said that it will work out. You can still work as a barista; I am still prepared to give you the café of your dreams. I know that you didn't really mean that you wanted to quit— you were just under a lot of stress lately. But I am willing to be the bigger person, and let bygones be bygones. I am willing to just forgive you, and to move forward into the future we planned."
Marshal stared at Mr. Redd. Oh. My. Gosh. He is crazy. "You think I'm still going to work for you? After this?" Marshal reached up and grasped at his ears. "After what you did to me?"
"Marshal," Mr. Redd used a tone that Marshal instantly recognized. It was the same one he used at the café when he was being particularly stubborn. It was the tone he used when he knew that he was going to have his own way. "What other choice do you have?"
Marshal stared at him, finally realizing how bad this was. "I…I…." he started as he tried to think. He won't let me leave. I'm trapped here. He thought back to Redd Biotech and how everyone seemed to be afraid of something. There was definitely something to be afraid of.
"They will look for me," he said, his voice not much stronger than a whisper. He was aware that the tears were flowing more freely now. "My crew will. Brewster will. They will find me."
"They can try." Mr. Redd shrugged, unbothered. "But in the meantime, I have work for you to do."
Marshal shook his head numbly. "No. I'm not working for you."
"You will." Marshal hated that smug tone. "But fine, have it your way. You can stay in here. It will give you time to adjust and stabilize, and to finally come to your senses." Mr. Redd's smile was magnanimous. "And to realize how generous and forgiving I am being."
With that, Mr. Redd turned and, picking up his book from the chair, went to one of the walls. A hidden door slid open at his approach, before closing behind him to leave Marshal alone and shaken, as he tried to wrap his mind around what had happened.
()-()
"How's he doing?" Mr. Redd asked as he approached Dr. Shrunk.
"He has barely moved." The doctor said, not bothering to look up from the camera feed of his tablet. "He's still in shock." He glanced over his glasses at Mr. Redd. "Your method of telling him was rather…abrupt."
Mr. Redd shrugged. "Best that he gets through it as fast as possible." He gave a grunt of disapproval. "Pity he remembered that he quit."
Dr. Shrunk gave a longsuffering sigh. "I could put him back under. It's not my specialty, but I think I could erase his most recent memories. But it's not a guarantee." He pulled up Marshal's file. "It would be easier if I just erased it all. Would you rather have a clean slate to work it?"
Mr. Redd shook his head. "No, his skills are what makes him desirable. He would be useless if you did that. Don't worry; I'll mold him into what I want him to be." He chuckled. "Besides, I assume you want him out of your Lab quickly?"
"Yes. I want the little failure removed as soon as possible." Dr. Shrunk looked down at the tablet again, frowning as he flipped through the file. "Six weeks. Six long weeks, with numerous emergency procedures and surgeries to just keep him alive. All my time and effort wasted on a pet project. He has completely thrown off my data, by the way," he fumed. "I'm not going to count him as one of my experiments, but as an outlier. I only took him on as a favor to you. I would never try my serum with so many uncertain variables in the mix."
"I thank you for your indulgence," Mr. Redd soothed. "I am sure you are the reason he is still alive."
"Not that he will thank me for it," Dr. Shrunk griped. "They never do."
"Well, I do." Mr. Redd said, placing a hand on Dr. Shrunk's shoulder. "I appreciate your genius and dedication."
The doctor was still huffy, but the praise did work in calming him down slightly. "So how are you going to get your little pet to warm up to you?"
"Oh, I think letting him cool his temper in there for a few days should do the trick. He's an extrovert, and I highly doubt he has Nook's mental fortitude to handle solitary confinement very well. Particularly if he is used to having constant stimulation from people and electronics, as most young people are now. I think being alone, with only his own thoughts for company, should do wonders for his attitude."
"Well, he's your pet. Do with him what you will. I want no part of the little mistake," Dr. Shrunk said. "I'll have one of the lab techs keep an eye on him, just to make sure he doesn't try anything too desperate or insane. Beside the guards bringing him his meals, I'll instruct everyone to let him be and keep interactions to a minimum."
()-()
Day One passed slowly. After Mr. Redd left, Marshal went through a range of emotions. How could Mr. Redd do this to me! What's wrong with him? I hate him, hate him, hate him. I'll find a way out and make him pay. His fury fueled him as he stumbled about the room, looking for some means of escape. He could now tell that one major reason he was feeling so unbalanced was because of the added weight of his new tail. He kept having to adjust his stance, as he explored his room. The room was disappointedly bare though. There was the bed, a partition that gave the bathroom section a semblance of privacy, a small desk-table thing at the edge of the bed, and the chair and mirror that Mr. Redd had left. And that was it for the furniture of the room. The door was flush to the wall; he could see the faint seam of it, but running his hand along the surface didn't find any catch or switch to open it. But being righteously angry was tiring, and once his energy ran out, it left him feeling exhausted and depressed.
Marshal wanted to believe that Brewster would rescue him. He was certain that the old man would look for him at least, but he didn't know if Brewster could really find him. Marshal had worked for Redd co. for months, and he didn't suspect anything this insane. Even if Brewster deduced that Redd co. was responsible for Marshal's disappearance, he certainly wouldn't think of anything as crazy as this. Marshal pulled the covers over his head as he cried. He had noticed the cameras in the two corners of the room and didn't want to give Mr. Redd the satisfaction of seeing him cry. I was almost done, the sobs shook his body, as he wept for his lost future. I was about to be finished. I had two months left. I was about to go be on my own.
Eventually, the sobs left him drained enough to fall into an uneasy sleep. He woke though when the door to the room opened. He bolted upright, terror seizing him. A black guard—like one of the ones he had seen back at Redd Biotech came in. Marshal watched with wide-eyes, as he placed a covered tray on the desk by the bed. Walking over to the chair that Mr. Redd had left, the guard picked it up, before going back to the door. The door slid open at his approach before closing back behind him.
Only once the guard had left did Marshal kick himself for his stupidity. I should have made a break for it or something. Marshal eyed the covered tray distrustingly, before curiosity got the better of him. Removing the lid only revealed that it was just food. Actually, it smelt and looked like regular chicken noodle soup. While Marshal was hungry, he wasn't sure if it was safe to eat. What if it makes me grow extra fur or limps or something? Marshal had no limits to what this place was capable of. But I do need to keep my strength up…. Marshal ate the food—which also tasted like regular chicken noodle soup—but he didn't have much of an appetite.
After that, he set out exploring the room again, paying better attention this time. The bed was bolted to the floor, same as the partition screen and desk. The toilet and sink were both likewise fixed in their places. There were the two cameras in opposite corners, which Marshal found concerning, but he wasn't sure what he could do about it. There was also a small speaker set up high on one wall. Finally, there was the mirror that Mr. Redd had left, but Marshal avoided it. He didn't like to be reminded of what he looked like.
Pacing about the room gave him practice to walk if nothing else. Marshal used the time to practice walking from one side of the room to the other, then jogging, and then sprinting. He was tired though and emotionally exhausted, so he didn't do it long before going back to the bed to rest.
The guard came back that evening with his supper, but Marshal was waiting for him this time. "Hey, what's going on? What's going to happen to me?" Marshal demanded. The guard didn't say anything, but just came and replaced the old tray with a new one. "Hey. I'm talking to you. Hey!" The guard continued to ignore him, but when he went to the door to leave, this time he pulled out an ID. He slid it into the slot next to the door, causing it to open. It slid shut once he left.
Oh. So you can open the door with an ID card. That's interesting. But he didn't use it the first time, so how…Marshal slid a suspicious eye up to the cameras pointed at him. Hmmm, that is concerning. That will make escaping much harder then.
Marshal ate the food but without much interest. But it had been a long day, and with nothing really better to do, Marshal curled back under the covers and went to sleep.
Day two began when the lights in the room suddenly clicked on. I guess it is morning now, Marshal thought groggily as he came more awake. Weird how time seems to stand still here. But honestly, Marshal wasn't too surprised. There was no way for him to keep track of the time in here with no clocks or windows. The only way Marshal could tell that time was moving at all was by the regular action of the guard bringing him his meals.
Except this time, when breakfast came, there were two guards. One went to replace the tray of food with a new one, while the other walked over to the bed with a bundle of clothes. He—Marshal wasn't entirely sure it was a he—placed the clothes on the edge of the bed, along with some basic toiletries. "Are these for me?" Marshal asked. Neither one responded. "Thanks." Marshal called as they both went to exit, one scanning his card. They won't talk to me. I wonder if they can. Marshal never really had a chance to interact with them at Redd Biotech, not that he wanted to. Marshal found them creepy then, and more so now. It suddenly occurred to Marshal that he didn't even know if it was people under those masks and suits. Maybe they are like me or robots or…something else entirely. He shuddered as he ate his toast and eggs.
Once he finished breakfast, he examined the clothes and items left for him. There was shampoo, one bar of soap, one towel, one washcloth, and a toothbrush with toothpaste. Nothing really special there. Marshal turned to the clothes. A basic shirt and shorts, but Marshal couldn't help but notice how small they were. He suppressed a depressed sigh. They will probably fit perfectly. There was even a hole sewn into the back of the shorts for his tail.
I guess I should get cleaned up. Besides, if given the chance, he didn't really want to try to escape in a hospital gown. Gathering up his items, he went to the bathroom section. He had already noted that every spot in the room could be seen by one of the two cameras, but he couldn't do anything about it. Still the idea of showering made him uncomfortable. "Don't look." He addressed the camera, feeling like an idiot, but also a little better at the same time. He faced the wall as he showered as fast as he could. He discovered that trying to not get water in his new ears was going to be a trick he would have to master, and there was waayyyy more fur on his tail then he estimated. I'm going to need more shampoo. Like a lot of shampoo.
But he finished quickly and got dressed. Now that he was clean, he wasn't sure what he should be doing. How long is he going to leave me in here? Marshal paced around the room. As much as he hated the idea of going back to work for Mr. Redd, being in here was much the same as being in a prison. Is he going to just leave me in here? Like until I die or come back to work for him? He gritted his teeth at thought. I need to get out of here, but how? He kept glancing at the mirror as he paced, the movement of his reflection catching his eye. Finally, with nothing better to do, he slowly approached it.
It was weird. It was his reflection—it was him—and not at the same time. It was like someone took an image of him and overlaid it with something else. Marshal held his hands out. His hands looked the same, but just smaller. Marshal knew that he should be grateful that his body and all its proportions shrank down together. It would have been so much worse if, say, his legs shank but his feet had stayed the same size. That would have been awful. Besides the jagged scars at his wrists, elbows, and other major joints, his body looked much the same. His face looked better today, less like on death's door and more alive. Oh, he still looked sickly, but Marshal could tell that it was fading. He reached up to finger his hair. My hair just looks thicker and blond now, with my old brown mixed in. You can't really tell it's different unless you touch it. Hmmm, I bet if I wore a really big hat, I could hide my ears. Then no one could tell I'm a squirrel now.
But the tail was a problem. Marshal turned in the mirror to better see it. He had tried to ignore it, as he just focused on walking, but it was startling every time he felt it move or flick in response to his movements or emotions. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel the bones and muscles shifting as he moved it. It was unnerving. Maybe once I escape, I can have it cut off… Marshal backed away from the mirror, having seen enough.
Except there was still the problem of having nothing to do in here. Nothing to do, other than plan on how to escape. So how to go about getting out of here? Marshal lay on his side, letting his tail finish drying. The best chance was to wait for the guard and try to escape when he brought him food. Hm, what would he do if I tried to take his ID? The guards have only ignored me so far. Would he even do anything? Only one way to find out.
He waited until the guard showed up to bring him his lunch. Thankfully, there was only one. Marshal watched and waited until the guard was close. Then he tried to snatch the ID card attached to his belt.
The guard was fast though. He dropped the tray with a noisy clatter and grabbed Marshal's arm. "Hey! Let go." Marshal tried to jerk away, but the guard was strong and had a grip like iron. Feeling slightly panicked, Marshal kicked at the back of the guard's knee. "I said let go!"
Without hesitating, the guard unhooked something else from his belt. With a flick of his wrist, it extended into a long, metal baton. He raised it over his shoulder. "Wait! No, I—"
Pain exploded on the side of Marshal's head. He gasped as his vision blacked out for a second. As his vision faded in and out, he realized the guard must have let go of his arm, because he was slumped on the floor. He was alone. The guard had just simply left after striking him. Okay, Marshal thought numbly as he crawled back to his bed. That did not work out like I thought it would. That…this…sucks. He lay down, closing his eyes against his throbbing head. I will have to come up with something better.
But the headache was persistent and not conducive to planning escape attempts, so he just opted to rest for the reminder of the day.
Day three was just as boring. Marshal felt better—fine, in fact—but now he was getting restless. Marshal decided that there was a special kind of torture to this. He had paced the length of the room—he could cross the room in 15 paces, and walk the perimeter in 47—more times than he cared to count.
When the two guards came into his room later that morning, Marshal nervously withdrew to the far side of the room. One swapped the trays like normal, while the other brought a fresh towel and washcloth to replace the old ones. They took the used laundry plus the discarded hospital gown with them when they left. They didn't interact with him, as if yesterday hadn't happened at all.
Marshal moodily ate his breakfast, before examining his room again. There were 6 fluorescent lights in the ceiling, and a small crack near the corner high in the wall opposite the door. There was an air vent high in one wall, but Marshal could tell that it was bolted shut, even if he could get up there. If he was going to get out of here, he would have to get more creative in his escape attempts. However, he didn't have much to work with. Besides the towel and washcloth, there was the bar of soap, the bottle of shampoo, the toothbrush—the toothbrush! Marshal turned it over in his hand. I have heard of people making shanks out of these. So…maybe? Then there was the tube of toothpaste and the bedding from the bed. That was it.
Oh, and the mirror. Marshal noticed something different in his reflection as he paced. Turning his head, he could see a large purple and blue bruise on his temple by his eye. The jerk! I probably got concussed from that. Marshal clenched his fists, as his frustration grew. I didn't even do anything to him. I just wanted him to let go of me. I just wanted to get out of here!
In a fit of anger, Marshal grabbed the edge of the mirror and threw it sideways to the ground. It shattered in a fantastic display, leaving shards of glass everywhere. Marshal froze, uncertain of what would happen. He glanced guiltily up at the cameras. But nothing happened. No guards came. Nothing.
Marshal carefully approached the glass, examining the mess. He hadn't been given any shoes, so he had to be careful to not step on the shards and slivers. Some of the pieces were tiny, but there were several large shards, as big as his hand, with sharp edges…
Marshal felt his lips twist into a smile, the first one he had had since waking up three days ago. Bingo. I got myself a weapon.
But Marshal knew better than to pick it up with the cameras watching. Besides, he couldn't ambush the guards very well, if they could just see him lying in wait by the door. Marshal retreated back to the bed to think. Hmmm, I need to get rid of the cameras. He eyed them slightly from where he was sitting. But I can't reach them. Even if I stood on the desk, I still couldn't. Marshal fingered his sheet. What if I cut up my sheet into strips and hung them over the cameras. Sure, they would know something was up—
Marshal froze as the door opened. But it was only the guard bringing lunch. Marshal was concerned that the guard would be upset about the glass, but he merely crunched over the pieces in his thick boots. He left without saying anything.
Marshal shook his head. Maybe they really are some kind of robot under those masks. But anyway, if I covered the cameras, then they wouldn't know what I was up to. I would just have to stab the guard quickly when he comes to investigate, and then bolt.
Marshall pulled up the top sheet. He looked at the camera from where he was standing on the bed. Hm, might be better to just use the whole thing. I don't want to give away what I can use the glass for until I am ready to escape. Marshal bounced on the mattress, trying to see if he could get some height before jumping towards the camera. He would have to try to throw the sheet out and up, to get it to hang over the camera. Maybe if I jump high enough, I can be a flying squirrel. Marshal chuckled at his own joke, until he realized how pathetic that was. I need to get out of here. I'm losing it. He gave a few good more bounces, getting ready to leap.
"Stop that."
Marshal almost fell off the bed at the sudden voice, he was so surprised. He glanced around the room reflexively, but no one was there. His eyes drifted up to the speaker in the wall. Did someone just…or was that my imagination? Marshal waited a few tense seconds, but nothing happened. The voice didn't repeat itself.
Okay…Marshal turned back to the camera. Maybe I am going crazy faster than I thought. He got ready to jump again.
"I said stop that." The voice was buzzy with static, but was clearly coming from the speaker.
"Oh, someone is there!" Marshal cried, turning from the camera to the speaker. He kind of hated how excited his voice was, but after three days of absolutely nothing from anyone, it was refreshing that someone was actually talking to him. "Um, hi!" He felt a little stupid talking to an inanimate object, but technically it was an inanimate object with a person at the other end. "So what's going to happen now?"
Nothing.
"Oh, come on," Marshal complained. "I know you are there. You already spoke to me once—twice, actually!—so what's stopping you now?"
Nothing.
Marshal frowned at the continued silence. "I'll start jumping again if you don't talk to me." Still nothing. "Fine, here it goes." This is a dangerous game, Marshal thought as he started to jump again. But I want to know how far I can push this guy. Oddly enough, the voice stayed silent. Marshal turned back to the camera, and acted like he was going to try to jump at it again.
"Stop that. Leave the cameras alone," the voice commanded. "Last warning, or I am sending in the guard to deal with you."
"Alright, alright, I got it," Marshal said, flopping back on the bed. He turned the side of his face to the camera. "I already got a vivid mark of being 'dealt' with; I don't need another." As Marshal put the sheet back on his bed, his mind was racing. So someone is paying attention, but they are only responding if I do something blatant to escape. That means I will have to act really fast when I attempt to do so.
Waiting by the door to ambush the guard was out then. He would just have to rely on the element of surprise to stab the guard as he grabbed the ID before racing for the door. Stab, Grab, Run. That's a good enough plan.
Marshal glanced over at the glass shards. Of course, if I just go over and pick one up, they are going to know…
Marshal walked over to the shower area. "I'm going to take my shower now, so don't look. No one likes a Peeping Tom," Marshal said with a glare at the cameras. Marshal turned on the water and got undressed, still facing the wall. Marshal waited a few seconds; hopefully, the person on the other end had enough decently to look away for a few minutes. He then raced across the room to the shattered mirror.
Still being very careful of the glass, he quickly looked for the largest piece that had the longest jagged edge. Finding a good one, he carefully picked it up, before running back to the shower. He hid it under his clothes as he finished his shower.
As he got redressed, he was careful to hide it in the pocket of his shorts. It fit, but just barely. I will have to be really careful with my movements. Otherwise, I will end up stabbing myself. Marshal went back to his bed, trying to not reveal the shape of the shard in his pocket.
"Hey, Wilson—can I call you Wilson?—not that I'm complaining about the room, but it is very minimalistic. Very lacking in the…well, everything department," Marshal addressed the camera. "I don't suppose I could get a puzzle or a book or something?"
Nothing, not that Marshal was really surprised by it. He lay on his side on the bed, settling down to wait. Stab, Grab, Run.
Marshal sat up as the guard came in to bring his supper that evening. He tried to not look too interested as the guard moved to the desk next to the bed. Stab, Grab, Run. Marshal fingered the shard in his pocket, as he observed the ID card hanging from the guard's belt. Marshal waited until the guard went to go pick up the tray from lunch, while still holding the one with his supper on it. Then he moved.
He snatched the ID card with one hand as he stabbed with the other, plunging the glass into the side of the guard's knee, where he could see that there was a break in the armor under the black mesh. The guard grunted, dropping both trays, but Marshal had already leaped from the bed, making a mad dash for the door. The plan is going great! Marshal thought, except he had forgotten one thing.
His tail.
The guard reached out and, grabbing a fistful of tail fur, yanked. The sudden stop from his hip area, combined with the forward momentum of the rest of his body, jerked Marshal's feet right out from underneath him, causing him to fall flat on his chest. "No! Let go!" Marshal tried to kick at him as the guard dragged him back, but the guard was much larger than him, and held the advantage.
The guard made a second grunting sound as he pulled the bloody shard out of his leg, before letting it fall to the ground. Marshal tried to resist as the guard hauled him to his feet, but he was smaller and weaker than the guard. To Marshal's surprise, the guard started to drag him towards the door.
No, towards the glass shards scattered on the ground.
"No. Wait—I'm sorry for stabbing you." Marshal planted his bare feet, trying to slow the guard down. "I won't try it again. Please don't!"
"Stop." The buzzy voice of Marshal's Wilson cut in. The guard obeyed. "You try anything like that again, you can pass the time by picking the glass shards out of your bloody feet. Understand?"
"Yes, yes," Marshal said fearfully. He clawed at the gloved hand holding his wrist. "I won't."
"Good. Release him." The guard obeyed. Rubbing his wrist, Marshal retreated to the opposite side of the room. The guard left without another word.
Marshal stayed by the bed, badly shaken. Now what? he thought weakly. That was his best plan so far. But better than that, the plan had given him something to do. Now he was back to nothing.
Marshal tried to swallow the lump of frustration in his throat. He was angry and disappointed and…and…and so tired of being trapped in this room. This room that was like a prison, a perfectly sealed box to keep him in here.
Marshal curled back onto the bed, all appetite gone. He swiped under his eyes angrily, trying to wipe the tears away before Wilson could see them. Evil Wilson, he thought angrily. I'll think of something. Some way out of here.
With nothing better to do, Marshal closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep. I'll work on it in the morning.
The lights woke Marshal as they clicked on, signaling the start of another day. "No," he moaned, pulling the pillow over his head. "I want to go back to sleep." Being asleep was better than being bored out of his skull at this point.
"Really? I can go." A very familiar, smug voice said.
Marshal jerked the pillow off, turning to see none other than Mr. Redd standing next to the bed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "You!" Marshal exclaimed. It felt a little anticlimactic, but Marshal managed to put all his frustration and surprise at seeing him in that one single syllable. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to see if you are ready to come back to work now. However," Mr. Redd raised an eyebrow, "I can come back in a week or two, or a month, or a year, or however long it takes for you to get over your stubbornness."
"No," Marshal answered quickly. Too quickly, his cheeks flushed slightly. He hated how eager he sounded. But I can't stay in this room any longer. As much as I hate going back to work for him, at least I will have a better chance of escape than this empty box. "No, I'll come back."
"Excellent." Mr. Redd's smile was condescending. He pulled something out of his pocket, before tossing it to Marshal. It was his old barista visor. "Welcome back, Marshal. Redd Biotech is pleased to have you."
Author's note!
Zucker and the cards: this is a nod to how the cards are used in ACNH to get new villagers to move in (much to my frustration, lol). I know in the game that all the villagers use cards this way, but based on how I have tweaked my villager's separate personalities, Zucker is the only who makes sense to still do it. While playing card games (the ones I mentioned are real games, fyi) is a good source of entertainment on the island, Zucker is primary the only one to use them to decide his fate.
Marshal's change in body size: I believe that this is the last thing left over from the old, original creator's AU ideas. Because the squirrels in ACNH are on the smaller size, they had Marshal shrink when he was changed as well. It was such an unique and interesting idea, that I decided to keep it in my spin of this AU. I modified it to better fit my story, but, realistically, I'm going to ignore the scientific improbability of this happening. A person would die if they shrank that much.
Solitary confinement: I thought the Covid lockdowns of 2020 were bad enough, and I was in a house with people and had the internet. Even though I would place myself on the more introverted side, to be in a bare room with no internet, no books, no music, no people, no anything—I don't think I would handle it well. There are tricks to surviving stuff like this (with your sanity intact); Marshal just wasn't prepared to handle something like this.
Response to reviewers!
GhostTurtle (and friends):Thank you for your sweet review! I'm glad you think I am getting better at writing, and I hope this chapter meets the new bar, XD. And yes, some chapters are darker than others (this one is a darker one), but as we really get into what happens to Marshal, it just kind of gets worse and worse.
And the twins. The twins' backstory is nothing but sadness and pain. And while Isabelle is willing to risk everyone's safety to protect one person, Nook does not share her sentiment. He has a different set of priorities—in the form of two adorable tanuki boys.
Leif is…complicated. He is probably one of the most interesting characters to write. Glad you find him entertaining, because he is going to be a mayor antagonist for a while.
Waltersul: Thank you so much for your review! I am glad you are enjoying my fic.
GhostJohnson: Hope it was worth the wait! Thanks for your review.
Public service announcement: You probably have noticed that I haven't updated in about three months, which is a long time, even for me. The reason is that my health has absolutely plummeted over the summer (but I am NOT dying). Besides just feeling sick and tired, waiting in doctor's offices, and getting tests run, I haven't had as much time to write as I had hoped this summer. And based on all the test results, there is a high chance that I will have to have surgery in the coming months. (Repeat: NOT dying. Just certain organs aren't orgaining properly). I only bring it up to just say that my update schedule is going to be more erratic than normal. When will I post? Nobody knows, especially not me. :)
But I love this story, and don't want to stop. I also don't want to just end it because of my health. We haven't even made it to the end of the first story arc, what I would consider Season One. (sobs: I have so much more to tell…) I just want you all to know that I appreciate each and every one of you, my readers, and that I plan on finishing it. It just may take a while. You can always DM here if you get worried due to a long absence, or you can comment on AO3. (I love to hear from you. Just please don't comment on this chapter yet until I post it on AO3 later on this week.)
Thank you all for your patience and understanding! If you so desire, please leave a review (they make me smile and really do help boost me to get new readers). Thank you all again, and I hope to post again soon.