Chapter 11: Carbon Paw Print (Part 2)

"Ugh… What…?"

Barista felt like her head was spinning as she slowly opened her eyes, her mind clouded and her vision initially hazy. She felt so weak, to the point where she couldn't bring herself to move. As her vision slowly cleared, she realised that she was in an icy cave, which confused her; the last thing she could recall was being out in a blizzard.

The blizzard! She had been caught in it. Alpha had warned her about blizzards and she had gone and gotten herself caught in one anyway. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Barista gave a little moan of shame, feeling monumentally foolish. How could she have thought that she was fit to meet the frigid wilderness head on armed only with a backpack containing minimal supplies that she had to share with a Titan, both of which were now long gone? She had almost died, for goodness' sake!

In fact, how hadn't she died? How was she still alive? How did she even get here?

Glancing around, Barista saw that the cavernous chamber was illuminated by a campfire that burned brightly in the centre of the room, a rusted cast-iron pot of something hanging over the flame. Beyond the fire pit, a number of wooden crates were stacked up before the adjacent icy wall, an inactive oil lamp resting atop one of them. Some of the crates were open, revealing their contents to be things like tins of vegetable soup, a number of thermoses and several jackets, pairs of earmuffs and boots that she recognised as part of the Evil Public School uniform.

Oh, no.

Had she been found by her fellow Brat Girls already? Was she now their prisoner, to be taken back to Evil Public School for reconditioning, if not disintegration?

The sound of something clinking caught Barista's attention and she watched as a figure emerged from behind the stack of crates… and it sure wasn't a Brat Girl.

"What…?! You?!" the defecting minion exclaimed in a voice that was barely above a whisper as she stared at the anthropomorphic bandicoot before her. "N-No, that's not… You're not… him," she then realised, coming to the conclusion that this marsupial boy was not, in fact, Crash Bandicoot, though the resemblance was uncanny. Save for his creamy white fur and green shorts, this fellow could certainly pass for Crash in a dark alley. He even had the same tribal tattoos on the backs of his hands.

The white-furred bandicoot locked eyes with Barista for a moment, the expression on his muzzle unreadable, and then he made his way over to the campfire, taking hold of the wooden spoon that rested in the pot and giving the contents within a thorough stir, the smell of cooking vegetables permeating the chamber's cold air, the scent of tomato being particularly pronounced. Right on cue, Barista's stomach rumbled. On top of how weak she felt as a whole, she now realised that she was also starving.

"H-Hey," she managed feebly, the bandicoot boy looking up from his cooking at the sound of her voice. "Just who are you and… and why have you—?"

'Rest now, speak later.'

"Wh-Whuh…?!" Barista exclaimed, bewildered. She stared warily at the white-furred bandicoot, sure that she hadn't seen his mouth move, and even if it had, how could he have made his words softly echo inside her own mind?! "H-How did you—?!"

'Rest now. Speak later,' the voice repeated more firmly, again seeming to come from within Barista's already dazed head. Was she losing it? After everything she'd been through, it honestly wouldn't surprise her, not that the notion was comforting either way. Confused and understandably spooked, she decided to keep her mouth shut, not that she liked the idea of willingly obeying a voice that was, for all intents and purposes, disembodied. She continued to watch the bandicoot boy in silence as he proceeded to spoon some of the pot's contents into a small wooden bowl that he had been holding since he had emerged from behind the crates, suggesting that he had acquired it from one of the boxes in question. Once the bowl was just over half full, he looked up at the bat girl who sat propped up against the wall, barely able to keep her head aloft. Barista's apprehension increased twofold; Just what was this guy thinking?

Barista's ears drooped as the white-furred bandicoot began to make his way over to her, bowl of soup in one hand and wooden spoon in the other. It took her a moment to connect the dots and she gave a little moan of displeasure.

"N-No, that's okay, you don't have to—" she began as the marsupial teenager took a seat on the cave floor before her, giving her a reassuring look with his luminous green eyes before the voice in Barista's head spoke up again.

'You require sustenance. Do not be irrational,' it said in a calm yet firm tone. Was this the bandicoot boy's way of communicating with her? Was it some sort of telepathy? Regardless, she didn't like the idea of what was coming next… until her stomach rumbled again, a twinge of pain accompanying the sensation this time. The bandicoot boy lifted up a spoonful of chunky soup before her and Barista, with another displeased moan, swallowed what little pride she had left, slowly opened her mouth… and allowed him to feed her.

In truth, it probably wasn't as humiliating as she had built it up to be in her own mind, but there was still something a little embarrassing about being an adult who was having her dinner fed to her by some teenager. Sure, she was too weak to move and feed herself at present, but that just made it seem all the more shameful to her, knowing that she was just so… vulnerable. All of her fellow Brat Girls had always told her how incapable she was, and if they could see her now… The thought made Barista screw her eyes shut, a tear running down her furry cheek.

'You're doing well. You needn't feel ashamed,' the bandicoot boy's telepathic voice assured her, prompting her to open her eyes in time to see him flash her a toothy smile - a big, silly grin worthy of Crash himself. In spite of herself, Barista giggled before opening her mouth once more, awaiting the next spoonful of soup. The tomato flavour of the broth was rich and the vegetable chunks were soft and easy to chew, and it was at the perfect temperature; hot, but not too hot. She was starting to relax into the routine of opening her mouth, accepting the spoon's contents, chewing and swallowing before starting over again. She still didn't know who this bandicoot boy was or why he was helping her, but she was already starting to feel that she could trust him.

Heh. A Brat Girl like herself, whose species was infamous for being irrationally paranoid, putting her trust in the very manner of creature that she had once been sworn to destroy. That was one for the history books.

After several minutes, the bowl of food was empty and Barista felt much more at ease, having relaxed into the mahogany robe that was wrapped around her, having only noticed said garment while she was eating. It was a little battered and aged, yet wooly and warm.

'Better?' the bandicoot boy's voice asked as he set the bowl aside, the spoon resting within.

"Yeah, I… I mean… Thank you," the bat girl managed, her voice sounding less frail now. "I still don't understand, though; why did you bother to help m—?"

A white-furred finger was gently pressed against Barista's lips, the bandicoot boy giving her a look that clearly told her not to worry about that right now. 'You are still weakened. You need rest.' On that note, he raised his left hand, the black ink of the tribal tattoo starting to glow an electric blue. Barista's eyes widened at the sight of it, her expression only growing more livid as the bandicoot boy started to move his hand towards her.

"W-Wait, what're you—?!" she started nervously, not taking her eyes off the shimmering ink on the marsupial's appendage.

'If I had wished death upon you, I would've left you out in that blizzard,' the bandicoot boy's voice told her calmly. That made Barista's unease waver, but not completely disperse. Regardless, she put up no resistance as the marsupial teen moved to gently place his palm against her forehead. As soon as his furry appendage made contact, Barista felt the discomforting haze in her mind start to rapidly ebb away, and yet, instead of her mind becoming sharper and more focused, she found herself sinking into a curious sensation of bliss, feeling almost as though she were floating. It was profoundly pleasant, her thoughts just drifting away and she along with them. After a few seconds, her eyes slowly rolled back into her head and she started to slump backwards, her eyelids half closed, only the whites of her eyes visible. She distantly felt the bandicoot boy put his free hand on her upper back to support her and she positively melted into his hold and a second later, she was completely detached from the world around her, her eyelids finally sliding shut as she fell into a deep, deep sleep.

The bandicoot boy gingerly removed his hand from Barista's forehead, the glow of his tattoo fading away. He gently lay the bat girl down on the cave floor, making sure her head rested in the robe's thick hood and not against the cold ground. He moved her a little closer to the fire, careful not to bring her too close, and then left her to her much needed rest. With that done, he got up and walked back over towards the stack of crates, at the base of which a dark green sleeping bag awaited. He flopped down upon it, not even bothering to get inside, knowing that his fur would keep him warm enough for the time being. He gazed at Barista's sleeping form from across the room, his last thought before closing his eyes and dozing off was the same question that she had tried to ask him:

Why had he bothered to help her? Every Brat Girl he'd ever encountered had been aggressive and stupid, with no self-preservation instincts whatsoever, and each and every one of them had wanted to roast him on a spit, or make a handbag out of his fur. He'd seen many a Brat Girl wander cluelessly to their demise, with him having often swooped in afterwards to pick their pockets and even strip them of their clothes before dumping their naked bodies in the sub-zero waters to feed hungry orcas. To him, Brat Girls were just irrational, overconfident idiots who bit off more than they could chew, and he felt no pity for them. After all, out here, it was survival of the fittest.

And yet, he had never seen one come this far out into the frigid wilderness, and so underprepared at that. When he had found Barista, she had been literal moments away from death… and he had saved her.

Why? What did he have to gain from being a good samaritan, from saddling himself with another mouth to feed? What did he have to gain from being a hero, like that orange idiot and his friends who lived on the outskirts of Wumpa Jungle?

He decided that the answer could wait until morning, and with that in mind, he quickly nodded off and began to snore, soon starting to shake his left leg like a dog and whine in his sleep, his dreams plagued by memories of a dark and foreboding scientific laboratory, in which he was strapped down on a cold, metal table, a laser device aimed directly at his heart…

The journey back to Evil Public School had been one filled with an uncomfortable silence. It hadn't escaped Wimp's notice that Alpha had seemed more on edge than usual. At one point, the timid Brat Girl had opened her mouth to say something, but she hadn't been quite sure of what she had wanted to say to her commanding officer, or indeed if she should say anything.

"You got something to say, soldier? Then spit it out."

That was what Alpha had said to Wimp upon noticing that the latter's mouth was hanging open uselessly. "I…" Wimp had started, only to then close her mouth and cast her gaze downward. "Nothing. It doesn't matter," she had mumbled meekly, saying nothing more as she had walked in stride with her commander, Screwball following along behind them, the less civilised Brat Girl biting her own fingernails while making primal, animalistic noises.

Now back in her patrol's dormitory, Wimp was sitting on her bed, wondering what to make of what had transpired at the Ice Prison. BG-2187 having jokingly(?) inferred that she was going to desert the cause of evil before apparently disappearing, leaving Wimp to endure a harsh scolding from Alpha as a result before Crash Bandicoot had stormed in with his hijacked Ratcicle and wrecked up the place, leaving the entire platoon unconscious and on the floor. It had been insane. It had been terrifying. It had been… a blur, because that's what Wimp now remembered it as - a blur that she could barely wrap her head around. The strangest thing about it all, however, had been the aftermath.

After having gotten her teeth kicked in by Crash along with her fellow Brat Girls, Wimp had awoken to find Alpha crouched over her, patching up her wounds with gauze and rubbing alcohol. Wimp had been completely and utterly confused by this, and she had opened her mouth to ask her commanding officer why she was patching up the lowest of lowly soldiers, only for Alpha to bark at her to be quiet and sit still, which she did, now terrified as well as confused. She had said nothing as Alpha had bandaged up her leg, helping her to her feet and asking her if she could stand. Wimp had nodded, still bewildered, and Alpha had told her to go and help Screwball while she herself tended to the other Brat Girls. To reiterate, the tough-as-nails, no-nonsense commander of the Brat Girl platoon had been helping her fellow minions, whom she viewed as worthless and pathetic, to literally get back on their feet following an embarrassing defeat at the hands of a meddling marsupial.

…Why? Why would Alpha suddenly act almost compassionate (key word, 'almost') towards her subordinates? Had she gotten hit in the head too hard by a punch from Crash's tattooed fist? Had his Ratcicle mount frozen some part of her brain? Had something happened in the time between Wimp falling unconscious and coming to that had caused the commander to see her fellow minions in a different light? Had the sheer magnitude of their failure to protect the Ice Prison from a bandicoot break-in caused Alpha to re-evaluate… everything?

Wimp didn't understand. She just didn't understand what had happened at all. The idea that Alpha actually cared about any of her fellow minions, let alone Wimp specifically, was surely absurd, and yet… there had been something in Alpha's eyes that Wimp had noticed as she was being patched up by her superior. Something that, in spite of Alpha's trademark scowl, had made her seem… different, almost as though she had been humbled somehow.

It was as though something had driven her to feel compassion towards her fellow minions… but that was impossible.

It was impossible… wasn't it?

Deep down, Wimp knew what she had wanted to ask her commanding officer on the trek back to Evil Public School. She had wanted to ask Alpha if she was alright, because for as troubled as their shared history was, some part of her cared about Alpha, especially now that she knew there was a chance that she, Alpha, cared about her subordinate as well, and yet, the timid Brat Girl couldn't bring herself to speak up. She was just too cowardly.

"I just don't understand," Wimp murmured to herself as she sat there on her bed, a tearful sniff escaping her. "She hates me. Everyone hates me. I'm worthless. Everyone knows I'm worthless. Why would she go out of her way to patch me up when it would be so much easier and more practical to just… leave me to die?"

"That's enough of that negative talk, soldier."

Wimp let out a squeal of fright, falling off her bed and onto the floor in response to the sound of Alpha's voice, quickly sitting up and gazing with wide eyes at the high-ranking Brat Girl standing in the dormitory's doorway, looking uncharacteristically calm as she stood there, her arms folded.

"A-Alpha!" Wimp stammered, her eyes looking like they might bulge out of her head as she sat there. "I… I…!"

"Save it," Alpha said simply as she lowered her arms to her sides and strode across the room. For one terrifying moment, Wimp thought that her superior was about to kick her while she was literally down on the floor, but found herself feeling bewildered once again as Alpha took hold of her furry hand in a firm yet gentle grasp and pulled her to her feet. "Stand up straight, will you, soldier? I won't have slouchers among my troops."

"R-Right. Sorry," Wimp mumbled, her words barely audible as she stood there awkwardly, averting her gaze.

Alpha let out an irritated sigh, rolling her eyes, and yet, her tone remained calm as she spoke again: "Speak clearly, 6578; don't mumble into your shoulder, and look someone in the eyes when you talk to them. You're a soldier. Soldiers don't avert their gaze from the enemy. Soldiers stare down the enemy. Remember that, 6578: Stare the enemy down by design, strike the enemy down by necessity."

Wimp nodded, still somewhat terrified and no less bewildered; Alpha was almost being nice to her. Almost. "Y-Yes, Alpha. Sorry, Alpha."

"Do not be sorry. Be better," Alpha told her, gingerly patting the lower-ranking Brat Girl on the shoulder - a gesture that completely baffled Wimp.

"Alpha, why… Why are you being so nice to me?" Wimp finally dared to ask, already dreading the answer she might receive, half-expecting her superior to slap her across the face for speaking out of turn.

Alpha didn't answer immediately, instead turning away and closing her eyes for a brief moment. "I'm not being nice to you, 6578. I am simply being a good commander. You're my soldier, and I need you to be at your best. If that means coming to check on you to make sure you're alright after getting dinged up, and giving you a low-key pep talk while I'm at it, then so be it." On that note, she made to leave the room.

"Thank you."

Alpha stopped in her tracks, allowing a small but genuine smile to creep onto her brown-furred visage, quickly removing it before turning to glance back at Wimp, who had spoken more clearly and confidently than Alpha had ever heard from her.

"Th-That is, thank you, BG-0085," Wimp corrected herself, a little of her usual uncertainty present in her voice once more. "I appreciate that you care… even if I don't really understand why," she concluded in an awkward mumble.

Alpha stared at Wimp for several long seconds, and then she did something that proved to be the most baffling thing that Wimp had witnessed of her yet:

She chuckled good-naturedly.

"It's not important that you understand the way I think, 6578. What matters is that you are able to do your job as a soldier effectively, because that means that I am doing my job as a commanding officer effectively. Now, go and fetch BG-1342; I have something to discuss with you two."

"O-Oh, okay," Wimp said uncertainly. She filed past Alpha without another word and departed from the dormitory in search of Screwball. Once she was alone, Alpha exhaled deeply.

"You're not worthless, Wimp, and I would never leave you to die," she whispered to herself. "I'm going to make things better for you. For all of us. I swear it."

And we're back after a long hiatus!

Fun Fact: I actually had this chapter most of the way done, but then I accidentally deleted the document containing it, so yeah, THAT sure jammed a wrench into things… or a 'transblooper', as Titans Coco would call it.

The 25th anniversary may have come and gone (with noticeably little fanfare from offical sources), but this fanfic is far from over as of yet. Get your pocketed mutants ready, because my passion for Crash Bandicoot is still very much alive and jacking!

…Please don't take that out of context.

Hmm. Crash Bandicoot: Alive And Jacking sounds like what they might've called a hypothetical third instalment of the Titans games.