The sound of gunfire echoed throughout the cold lobby of the museum. Brewster glanced at the patrons of the Roost from behind his dark round spectacles, but was unsurprised to see that no one in the café batted an eye at the sounds.
No one except Gala, that is.
The pink pig had been cutting up a fine white powder into thin lines at her table using the edge of a Nook Miles Ticket, and as the shots echoed, Brewster saw a smile crack across her lips. She leaned down and snorted two of the lines at once before letting out a deep exhale, eyes closed. "Much better," she muttered, pulling out her hot pink 9mm. "Let's go make Bacon."
She rubbed her nose as she sauntered out of the café towards the sound of gunfire, Brewster polishing a dirty mug in his hand all the while. Blathers - who was now sitting comfortably in a booth with his makeshift bodyguards - had promised him an easy life as a Barista if he had moved to this island and started a café at the museum. He had made good on his promise, too. For a while.
But then the world changed.
Ever since the museum became the last bastion of their civilization, The Roost had become the café that held it together. It took little time for people to begin demanding more than coffee to cope with the horrors their lives had become, and Blathers had reasoned with him that if it kept the peace and sanity, why not comply? It started easily enough with beers and liquors, but by now Brewster had become the town's barista, bartender, and drug dealer. He didn't want to think about how Blathers got his hands on the things he supplied Brewster with, but he reckoned that if he asked the old owl wouldn't answer, anyways.
A small red hamster staggered to the barstool at his counter, shakily pulling herself up to a seat. "G-gimme a - *hic* - cranberry vodka, cheekers," Apple slurred, leaning unnaturally far over the counter. Even from a couple feet away, she smelled like a brewery. "'Nd it's been a long day, s-so make it strong."
Brewster sighed. "You're cut off, Apple," he replied calmly. He watched her face slowly contort into a look of disgust as the words took their time processing in her brain. "I'm WHAT?!" She said loudly, nearly falling of her stool. "I'm not cut NOTHING. Pour the damn drink, I - *hic* - I'm not payin' you for lip."
"I can serve you water."
Apple swayed in her seat. "Could you put vodka in it?"
Brewster sighed. At this point, it was easier to give her water and say there was vodka in it than to continue the fight. She'd be too drunk to notice, anyway. In another world he would have judged her for falling so deeply into the bottle, but he remembered the look frozen onto Apple's face after Lobo had sacrificed himself to save her from a group of zombies. The look she had for days after seeing him torn limb from limb while still alive. She wasn't a broken woman. She was shattered.
"Drink up," he cooed softly as he placed the water in front of the hamster. She grinned smugly, taking a gulp.
"S-see? Tha's not so hard, is it?"
Before Brewster could reply, a panicked voice rang out in the café.
"B-blathers!"
A soaking wet duck stood at the entrance of the Roost, her cheek bright red from a recent hit. In her arms, she clutched a brown duffel bag tightly. Brewster knew the duck as Ketchup, but didn't know her well. Ever since she made it to the museum, she'd kept to herself and away from large groups.
The patrons all stared at Ketchup, who was shaking in place as she scanned the crowd. She finally spotted Blathers in the back booth and ran over, only to be held at bay by Bruce's arm.
"What's your business, gruff?" The blue deer said in his usual deep, grumpy voice. "Blathers ain't seein' nobody right now."
Ketchup swallowed. "F-Fauna made it back from her mission. She got the goods. Delta team, they…" Ketchup shook her head. "…They didn't make it. They're at the gate right now… being fought off."
Low murmurs erupted throughout The Roost at the news. Apple's mouth hung, slack-jawed, in shock - or perhaps because she forgot how to close it. Brewster knew this kind of news wasn't going to end well. Best to clean the dishes and stay invisible.
"Is that the package?" Blathers asked calmly, despite the look of annoyance on his face from the murmurs.
"Yes - "
Wolfgang stood up from Blathers' booth and snatched the duffel bag from Ketchup's arms. As she went to protest, the blue wolf snarled.
"Thank you, Ketchup," Blathers said politely. "You may leave. That will be all."
Ketchup stood frozen in place. The duck looked terrified, but she also looked like she was more terrified of leaving.
"I - I'm told by Fauna that she wants to be here when you open it."
"I see."
"She said - "
"Ketchup," Blathers interrupted. The pleasant tone of his voice had sank, his words dripping with warning. "Does Fauna run this museum, or do I?"
"You do, Bla - "
"Does she give orders, or do I?"
"You do, Blathers…"
"Good. I see you understand. I trust we'll never have this conversation again."
Ketchup stood frozen in place, looking as if she was ready to cry. The café had grown eerily silent as the patrons waited to see what would happen next. A shame, Brewster thought - it had been almost three days since the last bar fight, and he was hoping they could make it a week.
"That will be all, Ketchup," Blathers said curtly. "You may leave. You may ALL leave. I need to speak with my team in private."
Brewster showed no emotion on his face, but his heart sank. He knew he could trust Blathers. He was one of the owl's foremost confidantes - they'd been friends since they were kids. But since the incident, the bird's demeanor had changed. Blathers watched in silence as the patrons filed out, Apple staggering along in the back while clutching her water. Blathers nodded his head towards the door, and Brewster complied.
"Open it up," Blathers said angrily to Bruce. Brewster stepped out from behind the counter and closed the sturdy doors to The Roost, pulling out a key and locking himself inside with the owl and his security.
Wolfgang raised three fingers to Brewster, who understood the sign and complied. He got to work making their usual - a cold brew for Bruce, hot drip coffee for Wolfgang, and a piping hot skim latte for Blathers. As he worked away, the silence of the now-empty café made it all too easy to hear.
As the zipper of the duffel bag came undone, Blathers immediately shot his hands inside. The sound of shuffling papers and books filled the air as the duffel bag's contents poured out over the booth's table top.
"What is all this, anyways, boss?"
Blathers lifted up a piece of paper, his eyes darting along the lines. "… A paper trail."
Bruce went to grab some of the paper only to have his hand swatted away by Blathers. "Watch it. If you read this, there's no going back," the owl warned. "You'll know too much and you WILL be a target. In the wrong hands, this could make everything so much worse."
"How could it…?"
Blathers clucked his tongue, rubbing his forehead with his wing. "Do you think all this was a random accident? Dumb luck? No," he spat. He shoved the paper he'd been reading at Wolfgang, who took it in confusion. The wolf studied the lines before his eyes widened.
"Is this…?"
"Correspondence with the American government," Blathers confirmed. "We can't let ANYONE know about this, or the panic will risk destroying the survivors we have left. These people trust me. I can't…" The owl's voice trailed off as Brewster walked over with their drinks. As he placed them down, Bruce continued. They'd grown so accustomed to the barista's presence in The Roost, he might as well be invisible.
"Why would Nook be communicating with the U.S. Government?"
"Because it looks like Nook wasn't giving away houses on these islands out of the goodness of his heart," Blathers murmured. The owl placed down a map of the ocean he'd pulled from the duffel bag, and as Brewster walked away, a glance seemed to indicate it showed dozens - if not hundreds - of islands around theirs.
"He got this island and so many others by brokering a deal with them. Didn't you ever think it was odd how willing he was to give people homes and have them pay later? How he would give you exorbitant amounts of money for fruit, fish, and bugs? He wasn't doing it out of the goodness of his heart. Nook Inc. isn't an island getaway company…"
Blathers pulled out a thick packet which he slammed on the table, the nook inc logo clearly visible on the front.
"… It's a bio-organic weapons manufacturer."
The wolf and deer stared at the packet in disbelief. "A… what…?"
"In these documents, it's shortened to B.O.W.s. Bio-organic weapons are instruments that can be used to create living, breathing weapons for war, population decimation… even eugenics. Those things? Those zombies? They're a weapon made by Nook inc… And these documents show that Nook was finalizing a deal to sell it to the U.S. government."
Wolfgang and Bruce stared at the documents while sipping their drinks.
"…So what, he infected everyone with it to have weapons to sell?"
"Not quite," Blathers murmured, rummaging through the papers. "The weapon itself is a deadly virus he'd concocted - the T-virus."
"T-Virus?"
"Short for Tanuki Virus. It reanimates dead tissue and is spread through any contact of an infected person's bodily fluid. Typically, that means a bite."
"If the virus is the weapon, why would he infect people then?"
Bruce and Wolfgang continued sipping their drinks, but Blathers seemed too impassioned to have even bothered touching his.
"My guess…? Because the government needed combat data about just how effective this weapon could be. Our lives - our friends' deaths - are nothing but a sales pitch. And he seems to be certain that none of us will make it out alive to spread the news."
"So the islands…"
"An easy way to isolate and quarantine the spread of the virus. He had been infecting local flora and fauna with it slowly for months, and was paying for them to be returned for additional observation. It apparently was a novel, discreet method of mass infection. Based on the results… it worked."
Wolfgang rubbed his temple, eyes closed. "All this… All the death, all the carnage… It was because he needed to prove his weapons worked."
Blathers nodded as Bruce leaned forward, holding his head in his hands.
"All the villagers passed background checks demonstrating they had no major connections in life - nobody who would miss them - before arriving. The use of bells as currency kept them from making enough money to leave the system once they arrived. If it wasn't so evil, I'd say it was genius."
"Boss…" Wolfgang said slowly. Blathers turned to the blue wolf only to see Wolfgang collapse over the table. Across from him, Bruce was slumped over next to his drink. For a moment, Brewster thought he had finally seen Blathers scared.
"Clever handiwork," Blathers murmured.
Brewster stared at the owl from behind his dark, round glasses, continuing to clean a mug. All these years of friendship… and it had to lead to this. Part of him was pained by what would come next.
The other part of him could see the bigger picture.
"Not a fan of lattes, I take it?" He cooed softly.
Blathers smirked. "So they got to you, did they? After all we've been through, and you'd turn traitor now?"
Brewster stared at the owl calmly, cleaning his mug. "Blathers," he cooed. He saw Blathers' eyes dart towards the locked exit, followed by the realization setting in on the owl's face that Brewster alone held the key.
"To be a traitor, I would have had to be on your side in the first place."
