Webber's POV

We followed Wilson, although confusion was starting to tinge our senses. We had long since left any forested area behind, and we were now walking through grassland. However, we still followed him, certain that he at least had a purpose for bringing us out there.

We jogged to catch up to him. "Wilson... um... what are we doing out here?"

We noticed that he pursed his lips and let out a low hum, but he didn't actually respond. His face was creased in an unrecognizable expression. What did that even mean? Did we do something to anger him? A wave of frustration flooded over us. Why couldn't he just tell us?

Finally fed up, we dug our feet into the ground and refused to move. Wilson almost immediately noticed that we were no longer following him and turned around, a scowl planted on his face. "What are you doing?"

"You won't tell us why we went out here."

"To get wood," he said as if we were the dumbest child he had ever encountered. It took all of our strength not to flinch back.

"If... if this is about yesterday, then you can just say that. We were emotional and transparent. That's not how we usually are. If you want to... pretend it never happened, then you can. You can go back to seeing me as the dumb, incompetent child you think we are."

"This has nothing to do with yesterday," Wilson snapped.

"Then what is the deal?"

"You'll know when we get there."

"Get where!?" We knew that our voice was pitching with frustration, but he wasn't giving any answers.

Wilson only looked away. "It isn't far now."

Our whiskers twitched. We knew we could take him if he attacked us. It would be that hard-

a sharp gasp escaped our throat as a length of something scratchy and thick wrapped around our throat and tightened. Immediately, terror washed away all of our senses, but we quickly realized that we could still breathe, albeit a bit uncomfortably. Wilson held the other end of the rope, glaring down at us while holding it high above his head. Our claws brushed over the knot he had formed. A noose...

"Where did you get this?" I hissed, afraid now of him tightening it. We hadn't seen it at all on the way here... he must have had it hidden, but already knotted.

"Doesn't matter. Now you have to follow me." He pulled on the rope meaningfully, and it tightened ever so slightly in response. The smallest of whimpers escaped our throat. Whatever Wilson had planned for us, we had walked right into his trap and with no backup. We stumbled after him, a quicker pace now that he knew he couldn't lose us. We were unable to contain another whimper and we barely managed to swallow back the tears threatening to rise in our eyes. He had planned this all along, a voice whispered in the back of our head, but whether it was my own petrified conscience or Webber himself, I couldn't tell.

The ground started to become wetter, as if this particular area had experienced recent rainfall, but the trees around were completely dry. Awful, gurgling sounds came to our attention, as well as what sounded like distant growls or grumbles, and not from any spiders. We gripped the rope around our neck with all of our claws stretched out, trying to worry away at the material, but it didn't even look frayed no matter how much we clawed at it. This was much stronger than any ropes any of us had woven to get simple jobs done. This was a rope designed for something else.

Soon, the ground changed abruptly again to a hard, surprisingly clean marble. Wilson's shoes clicked against the flooring like a deadly clock, counting down to our inevitable maiming or worse. Our footsteps were much softer in comparison, both shoeless and muted by coarse fur, but to us, they were far too loud. Our heart was struggled to climb out of our throat and run, but somehow, it stayed put.

In the very center of the marble was what looked like a destroyed machine. It was made out of wood, but carved so finely that the wood it was built around would be fit for the dinner table of a king. The mud itself seemed to fear the machine, keeping a wide berth around it and creating a large spot of completely clean tile. The nearness to the machine immediately put us on edge, and we once again began to struggle.

This time, Wilson didn't even seem to notice the extra burden of our movements. He made his way straight for the machine and placed a hand on it, before withdrawing a long, perfectly carved knife made out of flint and wood. It was such a well-made weapon that, if we didn't know any better, we would've expected it to have come from Maxwell's calloused hands themselves.

He twirled the knife in his hand for a long moment before looking at us with a murderous glint. There was something deeply off about him now. His eyes, once gray and kind and caring, were now as hard as stone and betrayed nothing but his intent to use that knife on us. His body movements, his posture, it was all different. His grip on the rope loosened very slightly, something we tried to take advantage of, but a quick twist in order to make a break for it tore it free from his hand and opened it up to his foot.

He immediately stomped on the end, yanking us backward and tightening the rope even further. Now, we were struggling to breath. It pinched the skin around our throat and tore at the skin there, as well as obstructing our windpipe and forcing us to take small, quick breaths.

"What's going on?" I cried. I was able to notice that the spidery growl had completely fled it, leaving nothing but my own small, scared voice behind.

"After much deliberation, I have decided to accept a deal with someone," Wilson said. He ran his finger along the back of the knife, never taking his cold eyes away from us. "A deal that scores the freedom of two of us. A deal that involves the sacrifice of the third."

"Sacrifice?" I whimpered. It was the best I could manage. He intended to sacrifice me? To who? Why? What happened to Wilson?! Tears welled up in my eyes again, and I swallowed several times to keep them back. "Wilson... papa..."

"Shut it!" He snapped. "I hate to hear you beg."

"I'm not begging, I just wanna know what happened to Wilson!"

I could barely register anything other than the pure, fierce heartbreak that was ravaging my insides. I could see his shoulders rising, but whether defensively or offensively, I couldn't tell, nor did I care to.

"The Wilson you thought you knew never existed!" He barked, his voice sharp and angry. "It has taken me a long time to gain your trust enough to bring you here. I mean, really, have you looked at yourself? No self-respecting creature would dare call you their own, human and spider alike."

My heart was torn to shreds. I could barely breathe, but now it wasn't even just because of the rope. I could feel my chest heaving with sobs that I only barely managed to swallow back before they could fall down my cheek.

"No wonder someone as young as you is out here. Your parents must have thrown you out as soon as they saw you."

I couldn't help it now. It was all I could do to cover my eyes to hide the first tears that wetted my fur.

"All that matters to me- all that ever mattered to me- is escaping. I want to leave this godforsaken land behind, and all of its creatures." I almost didn't register the way his eyes narrowed at me as he said that- he was referring to me. "Saving WX is a bonus, one that I didn't expect." He waved his hand as if it was a trivial subject. "But I always knew you would be useful to keep around. Useful to keep around and to soften so much that he can barely stand up for himself, even when he's being actively attacked."

He was right. If I was who I was when we first met- was that almost a year ago?- I would have easily torn out of my restraints and fled as far as I could, probably taking Wilson's life with me. Now, I wasn't even sure my legs could hold me up long enough to stand, let alone to fight or run.

And not Wilson. Especially not Wilson.

"Th-this isn't y-you," I sputtered, choking back another fresh wave of tears. "Wilson wouldn't d-do this! You're lying!"

He finally seemed to notice the change in my voice, or something of the like, because his mouth turned upwards in a sneer. "Even Webber abandoned you. I guess that means I'm talking to no one but Tyler, aren't I?"

"D-Don't use that n-name." My voice was so small, yet it took all of my energy to speak. The sheer amount of effort it was taking to not fall apart before his very eyes was killing me far faster than any wound could.

"Why not? Does it bring back too many painful memories?" He jeered.

"Wilson... Wilson can use that name. Not you..."

He let out a frustrated roar and lashed out with the knife. Immediately, a line of fire seared across my face, just barely missing one of my eyes. Against my will, a cry of pain erupted from my chest and I fell back. I felt Wilson's weight shift away from the rope, but before I could even attempt to stand he grabbed the loop that was around my neck and pulled at it, pulling me up with it.

Now, our faces were only inches apart. The person I was looking at... there was no way it was Wilson. This was not the same person that had let me call him my father only a day before.

"Please," I whispered.

He let out a sort of scoff before dragging me towards the machine. My muscles locked with terror. Even if I had the energy to run, I just couldn't...

But then his head turned, as if he had heard something. The second his gaze left mine, I struggled free and tried to run, but before I could even get my footing I was being dragged back. This time, Wilson's eyes were alight with fire. "How dare you!?" He snarled. "There will be no escape!" To punctuate his words, the knife came back at me, but it didn't go for my face. Instead, white-hot agony seared through my entire arm as he pinned me by my hand. My first thought was that it was a stab wound, that there was no way it was any worse, but when I finally managed to tear my gaze away from him, I could see that the knife had been thrust straight through my hand and out the other side before burying solidly in the wood. I was completely pinned in place.

The terror I felt previously exploded into utter panic. I gripped the handle of the knife and struggled to pull it free, but my already-diminished strength was quickly failing me. Blood pulsed out of the wound, hard and fast to the pounding of my heart. A moment later, a blade was biting into my neck, smoothly sliding through skin and sinew until blood poured from it as furiously as from my hand. A keen, wailing sound developed in my throat, but I couldn't do anything else.

My awareness shifted to the fact that Wilson had vanished only long enough before it was slammed back into the pain.

I had felt pain before- quite often, in fact. But there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could possibly compare to this.

I gasped desperately for air, the noose around my neck preventing me from getting more than the smallest breath at a time. My vision was quickly turning black, but whether I was going to pass out from blood loss or from my inability to breathe was both unknown and unimportant.

I couldn't pass out. There was a lot of things that shouldn't happen, that would only make this worse, but I prayed to any force looking down on me to keep me awake.

I heard voices, but I didn't know who they belonged to. Raised, angry voices, belonging to people that I should recognize. Unfortunately, whoever had come had come far too late. I didn't need to be a medical expert to know I was only seconds away from going into full-blown shock. I was going to die here, far from my family and alone.

I had to stay awake. I couldn't let myself fall into shock, I couldn't pass out. The thoughts paced in my mind in a sluggish circle, so different from the speed of my racing heart and aching lungs.

Those thoughts, the ones attempting to prevent this very thing, followed me as my vision went black, and my muscles fell limp.

WX-78's POV

I knew immediately that I was too late.

Popsicle, despite being a puppy, was called a hound for a reason, and was easily able to find the trail of his owner. However, it was much slower moving than I would have liked. Pyrite slowed us down as well, since it took half of my effort to keep her from setting anything on fire. Literally anything could be happening right now. For all I knew, Webber was perfectly fine and all of this was just my mind finally snapping under the pressure. Yet somewhere, deep inside, I knew that my presence would mean life or death to the boy.

I heard them before I found them. Well... more like I heard Webber. It wasn't until I was closer that I was able to hear Wilson's low, angry, and quick speaking, but what I had heard from Webber was a kind of pain I had never inflicted nor seen inflicted on him. It was a cry of pain, but overflowing with so much heartbreak it would be impossible for even the most callous of individuals to ignore.

"WILSON!" I called out, unable to keep the rage out of my voice. A moment passed before there was another pained cry, though this one was more of a screech. It carried despite the muddy bog and bore directly into my chest. I closed my fists around my spear, which may or may not have been hastily crafted into a halberd at some point, and pushed through the mud until I was able to find solid ground.

That solid ground happened to be marble. For me, that meant it was completely impossible for any kind of sneak attack. A human would cause a ruckus walking on such well-kept tile, someone of my composition and weight would be deafening.

Which is why I wasn't surprised to see Wilson already waiting for me in the center. There was a large wooden object that he was next to, but my eyes immediately skipped over it in favor of staring at the boy who had been pinned against it. I had to physically tear my gaze away from him in order to rest it on Wilson.

The scientist had been staring steadily at me as if gauging my reaction. Upon seeing what must have been the most raw, unfiltered rage he had ever seen, I saw his eyes narrow. Fine. He wasn't going to back down. At least I wouldn't feel bad about killing him again.

"Make your choice now, WX," Wilson said before I could even get close to him. He flashed a weapon at me, and it surprised me to realize that it was the top half of his morning star that had been destroyed when we fought the dragonfly. Except now, it looked much closer to a mace in size. There was no way he snuck that out of camp.

Because he didn't, my mind supplied glumly. Because it was waiting here for him.

"CHOICE?" I was deeply surprised by how tight my voice was. I almost saw the scientist falter under the sound of it. It took me a moment to control it, before attempting to speak again. "YOU ARE RIGHT. THERE WAS A CHOICE. AND YOU MADE THE WRONG ONE."

He brandished the weapon again, although this time in a more battle-ready stance rather than just showing that he had it. "A choice to free us both," he snapped. "You never heard what the plan was, WX. It was going to end with us finally free to go home."

"AND HOW WAS IT GOING TO END WITH WEBBER?"

He shrugged and motioned at the wooden machine. "The way it's ending now."

That did it. Before I could even think out my next action, my spear was colliding with his morning star. I could immediately tell that his weapon was the stronger of the two, if not the heavier, but the opposite was true for us.

Disarming him was easier than it should have been, though that should have been a given since his weapon was far from properly weighed for something of its current size. It was designed to be held as a long weapon, and shortening the handle did not make an equally competent but shorter weapon. No longer than a few seconds after engaging him, he was at the mercy of my halberd. He bared his teeth at me as if he were some sort of animal. "Do it then. Kill me."

"Don't." The voice was so tiny that I would not have noticed it if it weren't for the complete silence otherwise. I turned my head in disbelief, meeting Webber's gaze. His white eyes were completely glazed over with pain, and I could see him wheezing from here, but he was staring at Wilson. "Don't- kill him. Not him..."

I stared at Webber for only half a second before sensing Wilson's movement again. I grabbed his fist as it came and used it to push him back, if only slightly. "I WILL NOT KILL YOU. NOT YET. I WILL KILL YOU WHEN HE SAYS SO." Wilson's eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything or retort at all, my other fist came down hard and fast on his elbow, bending it the wrong way with a definite crack! of snapping bone.

I could immediately see surprise and agony wash over his expression, but as soon as I dropped his arm, my aim was for his face.

The second my punch landed, he crumpled. Blood welled up under his nose, and I could see his chest rising and falling with his breaths, but he was completely incapacitated... for now.

Which gave me time to turn my attention to Webber.

He was slipping in and out of consciousness, but I couldn't help but feel relieved that it didn't seem as if he had gone into shock.

Yet.

I crouched down to his level, examining his face. His fur was damp with sweat and his chest was moving rapidly up and down, but I could hear him wheezing loudly. There was a rope around his neck, tied much like a noose, that was painted red with the amount of blood pooling from his neck. Luckily, it seemed Wilson had not cut his carotid artery given it was a steady flow rather than a hissing stream of blood.

The worst of it was definitely what had happened to his hand. It was his left hand, which I knew by experience was his dominant one. He was slumped against the wooden machine awkwardly, the pinned hand held high above his head. At least it's above his heart, I thought. That will slow the blood flow a bit.

I glance behind me to make sure Wilson was still unconscious before turning all of my attention to the knife. I couldn't imagine the strength it had taken to stab the knife straight through. "SORRY," I murmured before taking a hold of the grip of the weapon. I braced myself for a moment, then yanked it free with all of my strength.

Webber let out another heartrending cry as he crumpled under the weight of his own body. I caught him before he could hit the ground. He was a complete deadweight in my arms, his fur unnaturally warm with a fever already setting in. I hesitated for a long moment, simply staring helplessly at the unconscious boy in my arms. I may have stopped any immediate threat, but the truth was, there was still a very real chance of dying if I didn't staunch the blood flow and keep the wounds clean.

I stood, still holding Webber in my arms, and stared at Wilson. Webber hadn't wanted me to kill him, and he was in no condition for me to ignore his wishes. And yet, this was so deliberate, so precise, that it terrified me. Had something really possessed Wilson? How were we going to get him back, if so?

Webber let out the smallest of whimpers, which forced my attention back to him. Wilson could wait until later. The first thing I had to do was staunch the blood flow.

We didn't have anything for a wound like this. Grass, maybe, but that would definitely cause infection to set in...

There had been someone who had helped Webber before. Someone who had bound and healed his wound without question, and had done it so efficiently it had barely scarred.

"HOLD ON, WEBBER," I murmured. "WE'RE GOING TO FIND ERIKA."