Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Their chanting tramples my thoughts. They’re all saying the same thing, yet I can’t tell what the one thing is.

My senses are melting.

Even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t be able to protest, my throat sore from useless begging.

OJ holds my hands behind my back like I’m a federal criminal. He grips my shoulders tightly as he leads me forward. My head hangs low, but I soon look back up again to see the gates. 

The gates that, for so long, were illegal to leave through without strict permits. 

But here I am.

About to be thrown into the unknown.

OJ leans in, his harsh whispers penetrating the noise of anger all around me;

“If one of us falls, we all fall.”
“You’re dangerous to keep around.”
“This will benefit everyone.”

With that, Cabby and Suitcase go are signalled to go in front by him, beginning to open the gates. It’s my first time getting a good view of what’s out there. But now? I’ll be out there forever.

OJ walks me a few more steps forward, stopping when my feet are on the line between my home and my new home.

He steps backwards, and the chanting grows louder.

Until.

Until.

I feel a force launch me forward right outside, falling over onto the ground. I look up, eyes wide with shock.

OJ, Suitcase, Cabby.

They all look at me with disdain.

Order, Safety Cooperation.

I have failed all thirds of their motto.

I failed them.

What did I fail in?

The gate shuts behind me.

Chapter Text

I sit up on my knees. I hear the big three usher the cheering crowd away, but I can’t stand to look back. I can’t meet their eyes again. I can’t.

Instead, I dust the dry dirt off my clothes and slowly rise to my feet, walking down the path.

I have no idea where it goes.

But if I have any idea.

I know it doesn't go nowhere.

And that knowledge is the only stability I have left.

The voices slowly fade into the background as I decide to check what was saved in my bag after my phone was taken out and destroyed.

My water bottle,

My antidepressants,

My now useless wallet,

And my dear dear dear diary.

My dear dear diary.

Do I even have a pen?

I check.

No, I don’t.

I guess I forgot my pen.

Does Knife have it?

I quickly interrupt that thought by realising I have no food, either.

Fuck.

I dig through my memories

The History of Man, as taught by Tea Kettle

“A long time ago,”

She’d say.

“Humans used to have to go out for their own food, or even hunt over animals.”

This was so long ago. I don’t even remember how old I was.

“We’re lucky we have access to equipment for farms!”

My luck has run out.

I begin to walk off path to look for fruits, or berries.

The trees are so tall. I never noticed, they never let me notice. I look up as I weave around them.

What would it feel like to be up above?

And then what would it feel like to fall all the way back down?

I eventually find one with fruit, and grab at it after a hop, taking five or maybe six. I walk back my own steps back to the path as I begin to eat one. I haven’t had anything since.. eight hours ago? I find the path and go down it again.

I see a few critters leap out of bushes and the occasional bird swooping down to prance around on the forest floor.

I know what they are, but.

I've never seen them in person.

It's.

I just can't describe this feeling.

Only now do I realise how much we miss out on because of.

Them.

The OSC.

The big three.

Why do they do this?

I don't get it.

Which animal would be Soap’s favourite?

No.

Don’t think that way.

Thinking is useless when you need to survive.

Wait.

What’s that in the distance?

I walk faster.

It's right on the path, it's there.

I can't tell what it is.

I squint.

I speed up.

What is that?

What is that?

I begin to make it out

A roof, two windows and a door.

It’s made of wood, presumably.

It’s a little house.

A cabin, probably.

But what the hell is it doing, just.. stuck in the middle of the dirt road? In the middle of nowhere, around no services?

And it's way too well kept, too.

Doesn’t seem like anywhere to live there for anyone to be cleaning it regularly.

I check around the corner, and..

The path just.

Continues.

It doesn’t even stop.

It’s almost like it just… appeared here.

No person builds a house this way.

It’s a trap, must be.

But.

I can’t just leave it unchecked.

I can’t.

But curiosity kills the cat.

But nobody would care if it killed me.

But what about them?

No. No.

Before I know it, I’m already turning the bend and going back again, approaching the door.

A perfect, wooden door.

Nice and cozy.

Too perfect. It’s too perfect.

My first instinct is to knock.

…

…

…

No answer.

I pull on the handle, and it opens wide.

Inviting.

A trap.

But I sure as hell can’t turn away.

Not like there’s anywhere else to run to.

I go in.

There's a comfy looking arm chair, a small wooden table with a vase of flowers on it, two more windows on the back, and a photograph of a beautiful sunset between those windows. A round, velvety carpet has been draped carefully on the floor.

I stay there in the doorway like an idiot for a bit before actually entering.

It’s nice, sure, but..

Why the hell is there no bed?

Just that arm chair.

Who the hell would live here?

“I feel a disturbance in the air.”

Chapter Text

What?

“Who is there?”

WHAT?

“No one should be here. Not now.”

The voice rings out the entire house, bouncing off the walls and into my poor, confused ears.

“Who. Is. There?”

But I've gotta respond, don't I?

“Microphone. Microphone from the OSC.”

“The OSC. I assumed so, but.. you shouldn't be here.”

How the voice itself sounds only seems to register now; a feminine, posh accent like in the old movies.

“No, I shouldn't have been.”

“Yes. So, why are you..”

It goes silent for a few moments.

“..don't tell me..”

All the spiritual energy that was coating the inside of the house suddenly accumulates to a single point, forming a spirit.

A really damn pretty spirit.

Her hair flows elegantly behind her, thinning out to smouldering wisps past her shoulders. A large clock is embedded in her chest, showing the exact current time. (Presumably, I wouldn't know...). The pendulum swings behind her idly like a tail, hanging past the classic legless wisp of a ghost. She untucked her arms from behind her back, her spirit gloves folding over each other at her front.

Her eyes finally open, long lashes rising.

God, those eyes.

“..don't tell me you were banished, too.”

I snap out of my daze, gathering my words to respond like a normal person. I also realise how serious she seems.

“I.. I was. I was kicked out.”

Her expression darkens.

“..what for.”

“They said I was a burden.”

She scowls.

“Of course they did.”

“They refuse to see the worth in people past their own terms.”

She explains as she floats over to me. Her expression softens back up, and it's so damn hard not to get lost in her eyes again.

“..you can live here, with me. Away from those bastards, alright?”

“..s-..seriously..?”

I hold back the urge to slap myself for how pathetic sounding that question came out.

She smiles gently, almost motherly.

“Yes, I'm serious, dear.” 

My heart jumps to my throat, and I force it back down again with a thick swallow.

“..i-if you're sure..”

“Go on. Have a seat in the arm chair.”

I walk past her to sit down. I finally tear my eyes away from her, staring out the window instead.

She drifts over to me.

“You know… I gave up on the thought of seeing anybody else out here long ago.”

“At first I assumed that advocates for my cause would follow suit quickly, but it’s as if I had never done anything in the first place.”

“..your cause?”

“Right, yes, my cause. When I was still alive, I saw how unfair The OSC is, and decided it was my duty to rebel. I ran protests, attempted to pass multiple bills, swayed people with my smooth talking.. after years of varying success, I was finally kicked out myself. Like you.”

“..o-oh. Wow. I..”

I pause, trying to process the sudden information.

“..I always thought it just wasn’t possible. Tea Kettle had briefly taught me that some tried to overthrow the government, but she had always said it was for malicious reasons.”

“..Tea Kettle..?”

“Yes, Tea Kettle.”

“..she’s.. still alive..?”

“..um.. yes..?”

“..its.. it's been DECADES!”

“Decades!?”

“She was already old when she was teaching a much younger me! Sixty, I believe?”

“..her sixty-second birthday happened last week.”

We both go quiet.

My thoughts are a mess, both from how damn hot Taco is and the revelation that Tea Kettle has been sixty for, how long..?

“It’s been fifty years.”

Right. Fifty years. Totally knew that.

“..huh. That’s.. that’s..”

“Microphone. You’ve just flipped my world upside down, you know that?”

“..you’ve flipped mine, too.”

“Microphone. Honey. Tell me, who runs The OSC currently?”

“OJ, Suitcase, and Cabby.”

“..they were running it, too, while I was there. All those 50 years ago.”

I don't say anything.

“Who's the lead scientist?”

“Test Tube.”

“Who's the lead in advertisement?”

“Fan.”

“..they were too, all those years ago.”

I still don't say anything. None of this makes sense to me.

How could this be? How are they still alive? How are they not anywhere close to kicking the bucket?

It's been fifty years.

Fifty.

“..I need answers.”

“That makes the two of us, dear.”

I begin brainstorming ideas in the arm chair, until Taco interrupts my thoughts for the billionth time.

“I know what you’re thinking, but you must rest. You can sleep in this arm chair, if you want.”

I look out the window, realising how dark it actually is.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’. Come on, get some sleep.”

She once again seems to dissipate and dissolve into the cabin walls once again, filling the room with whispers which I have no idea how I didn’t notice before.

Quiet.

Peace?

Maybe.

But my mind nags me about my bag again.

I open it.

Reach in.

And the first thing I pull out is my

useless wallet,

again.

I open that, too.

I don’t know why.

But I do.

And a photograph falls out.

I quickly pick it up, turn it over, and realise what my brain was nagging me about.

Them

It’s a selfie I took with me and Soap and Knife.

Knife is leaning on my shoulder to the right, with his brown vest that has faint blood stains on it from his butchery. He’s wearing a lazy smile, all teeth no energy.

Soap has her arm around me on the left, with her cyan vest that has faint chemical stains from her cleaning. Her tongue sticks out playfully as she winks at the camera while holding up a peace sign.

I’m in the middle, wearing a smile of my own that’s no teeth all energy. Dimples push up my eyes, light glinting in them.

Of course, my vest is black, and not a single stain on it because

I never did any dirty work.

Maybe that’s what OJ meant by “You’re dangerous to keep around.”

And.

And they’re still there.

Soap and Knife, Knife and Soap.

The greatest best friend and greatest brother I could ever have gotten and I loved them so much and I still do...

I wonder if they think of me.

Have they forgotten me?

The whispers intensify as if Taco can sense my distress.