Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

COVER ART

Forsaken was over.

No more static skies. 

No more looming death. 

No more killers vs. survivors—just people again.

Elliot clocked in to Builder Brothers Pizza like he’d never left. The oven beeped, customers were demanding, and the shift manager still couldn’t fix the soda machine. 

But it felt right. 

He texted Chance during slow hours. A little heart emoji. Chance would always reply with a picture of his winning hand at the blackjack table. His luck hadn’t run out after all. Turns out, the casino welcomed him back with open arms—after he pulled a coin from behind the boss’s ear and won them all over.

They talked every night. 

Sometimes, they’d laugh about Forsaken. 

Sometimes, they’d fall asleep mid-call. They didn’t say “I love you,” but they didn’t have to. (yyyet.)

Shedletsky, Builderman, and Dusekkar disappeared from the public eye. Word was, moderation duties took them far beyond the mortal realm. 

But they kept in touch. 

Sort of. 

And 1x1x1x1? She hadn’t tried to kill Shedletsky in weeks. That was progress.

Instead, she wandered, doing… whatever she pleased. 

Less rage, more thought. 

Still unsettling, but quieter now. Sometimes she’d just sit beside Shedletsky in silence. 

They didn’t talk about the past. They just let the silence heal it.

Two Time returned to the cult—religion. 

The Spawn was different now. So were they. Their sermons were softer, their voice warmer. 

Sometimes, in the moonlight, they thought they saw Azure watching. But the figure would always vanish. Still, they left offerings.

John Doe resumed doing whatever glitchy, broken legacy AI do. He was last seen vending soda. People left him alone. Maybe that’s all he wanted.

Noob found their old pals: Acorn Hair, Bacon Hair, and Guest. They screamed and cried and laughed and hugged for too long. 

They still called him “Nooby.” They didn’t mind.

Noob ran across the street, arms flailing. “ACORN!!”

“NOOB!!”

“BACON!!”

“GUEST!!”

“NOOB!!”

They collapsed in a pile on the sidewalk, squealing in joy. Guest even smiled. A little.

It was weird to be whole again. But good-weird.

“You’re back!” Bacon yelled.

“We thought you were oofed forever!” Acorn shouted.

“I missed you guys so much,” Noob sniffled. 

Guest 1337 walked straight home. His wife opened the door. His daughter—older, wiser, alive—ran to him. 

“I have a boyfriend now,” she said, arms locked around him. 

“You better not threaten him.” 

“..We’ll see,” he said, trying not to cry.

Jason walked into the woods and never came out. Campers whispered of a man who silently guarded the trees, and they always made it home safe.

For 007n7, it was overwhelming.

His feet crunched softly against the grass.

There were messages from people he thought he’d never hear from again. Contacts from his past life. From before Forsaken. The screen pinged with notifications as he made his way through the forest, trying to wrap his mind around everything.

He stopped, blinking away the fog of memories, and then heard the familiar voice.

“Dad?”

C00lkidd was standing right there, his face a mixture of excitement and something more… delicate. 

“DAD! DAD!!” he ran and tackled his dad, and the smile he gave was so wide it could have broken his face.

“C00lkidd!” 007n7 bent down, catching the boy in a quick, tight embrace. “I… I wasn’t sure if we were ever gonna make it out of there. You’re… you’re okay?”

“I’m fine!!” C00lkidd replied, a tinge of pride in his voice. 

007n7 laughed, squeezing him tighter. “You did great, kid. You’re always so smart.”

“You came back!” C00lkidd’s grin grew wider. “You really came back, and I was starting to—well, it doesn’t matter. You’re here. We’re here.”

They both stood there, the wind soft and cool against their skin. 

007n7 hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the boy.

But there was more.

Off to the side, two small figures stood, awkwardly shuffling, not sure what to do. 

One was a short, blue-skinned kid with angel wings—Bluudud. The other, a pink-skinned girl with a glittery bow in her hair—Pr3typriincess. 

Both were looking lost in the middle of a world they didn’t belong to anymore.

007n7’s stomach twisted.

“Hey,” he said, stepping toward them slowly. “You two, uh, okay?”

Bluudud shuffled his feet, wings twitching. “My mom thinks I’ve been dead for a while now,” he said quietly, looking at the ground. “I don’t know what to do.”

Pr3typriincess wiped her eyes, though she was trying to look strong. “My parent’s gone, too,” she said, her voice shaking. “I don’t have anyone. No one.”

There was something about her voice that hit 007n7 hard. 

C00lkidd stepped forward, his voice soft. “You can come with us,” he offered, tail curling behind him.

Pr3typriincess glanced up, blinking. “Really?”

“Yeah!” C00lkidd nodded. “My dad’s good at making people feel better.”

007n7 could see the hope flickering in their eyes, though it was shaky. “They don’t have to go anywhere else,” he said, looking at the two kids. “You can stay with me. Both of you.”

Bluudud’s eyes lit up. “You’re sure?”

Pr3typriincess wiped her cheek with her sleeve, trying to hide the sniffle. “You don’t mind?”

007n7 knelt down in front of them, giving them a gentle look. “Of course not. We’ll figure it out. I have one demon, what’s two more?”

C00lkidd hugged them both tightly. “Yeah! We’re family now.”

And somehow, in that moment, the weight of everything seemed a little lighter.

The world outside Forsaken was different, but they had each other. They didn’t need anything else.

In the days that followed, 007n7 settled into a life he’d never quite expected to find. Bluudud and Pr3typriincess were quiet at first, uncertain, but their smiles grew with each passing day. They adjusted to their new home, to the weird, normal world they now inhabited.

But most importantly, they had a family.

And that was enough.

Chapter Text

Bluudud woke up to the smell of waffles. Not fake ones. 

Not spooky, haunted, scary waffles made from despair and robloxian meat.

Actual waffles. With syrup.

He didn’t smile. 

He didn’t not smile either. 

He just blinked a few times and slid out of bed. The sun was rising through the blinds like a soft white gradient, cutting lines across the carpet. 

The quiet was perfect.

C00lkidd was already yelling in the living room, holding a box of cereal. “This is WAYY too crunchy!”

Pr3typriincess was already yelling back. 

“They’re golden! Shut up!” She snapped back.

Bluudud walked in, silent, wings folded neatly behind him. 007n7 was flipping another waffle. He looked exhausted in a dad way.

“Morning blue,” 007n7 said, voice half-gravel, half-love. “You sleep alright?”

Bluudud shrugged. “Didn’t die.”

“Great,” 007n7 said. He meant it.

“I hate mornings!” C00lkidd shouted from down the hall, feet pounding loudly. He skidded into the kitchen, tail wagging, hair a mess, and dramatically threw himself into a chair beside Bluudud. “What’s for food?! Is it death? Please say it’s death.”

“Waffles,” 007n7 said, flipping one onto a plate.

“Close enough,” C00lkidd grinned. “WAFFLES ARE THE DEATH OF HUNGER!”

“Don’t yell,” Bluudud muttered groggily, resting his chin on the table.

Pr3typriincess arrived next, arms crossed, hair in a glittery side braid that sparkled in the light like it had its own mood. “Why are the waffles square?”

“Because that’s what a waffle is,” 007n7 said, passing her a plate. “Want syrup?”

“I want a unicorn-shaped waffle,” she huffed, taking the plate anyway.

“You get square,” he replied. “With butter.”

“…Good enough, I suppose.”

She plopped beside C00lkidd, elbowing him when he tried to snatch her fork.

Bluudud watched the scene unfold. 

Pr3typriincess pouring syrup in a slow, careful spiral, and taking delicate nibbles.

And then there was C00lkidd, who has devouring his waffle like it owed him money. (his greed sickens me….)

And 007n7 humming faintly to himself as he wiped up a spill.

It was noisy. 

Messy. Too warm.

Bluudud leaned forward, took a bite of his waffle, and exhaled through his nose.

Not bad.

Pretty good, actually.

Maybe this wouldn’t be that bad.

“SHOTGUN!”

“NO, I GET SHOTGUN!”

“YOU GOT IT YESTERDAY, YOU LITERAL DEMON!”

“YOU DON’T EVEN FIT IN THE FRONT SEAT!”

Bluudud takes it back.

He blinked slowly as Pr3typriincess and C00lkidd screamed over each other in the driveway. Pr3ty was dragging him off by his shirt.

007n7 opened the driver’s side door and sighed.

“Okay,” he said, “C00lkidd, Pr3typriincess, no eye-gouging before 8 a.m.”

“He always gets the good seat!” Pr3ty whined, tugging on C00lkidd’s tail as he shrieked dramatically.

“I wanna look at the GPS!” C00lkidd argued. “I WANNA CONTROL THE MUSIC!”

“You pick BAD music!” she snapped.

Bluudud climbed into the back without a word, wings folding neatly behind him. 

He set his backpack beside him and stared out the window, trying to detach from the chaos unfolding three feet away.

007n7 rubbed his temple as if that could somehow summon parental patience from the void.

“Alright. We’re solving this democratically,” he said, pointing a finger between the two gremlins clawing at each other on the sidewalk. “Rock-paper-scissors. One round. Winner gets shotgun, loser gets a seatbelt and silence. Deal?”

“I’m literally c00ler,” C00lkidd muttered, cracking his knuckles.

“I’m literally prettier,” Pr3typriincess growled, tying her bow tighter like she was gearing up for war.

They faced each other in the middle of the driveway like duelists at high noon.

“One, two, three—”

“SCISSORS!”

“SCISSORS!”

“…Draw,” 007n7 muttered. “Of course.”

“AGAIN!” they both shouted.

Bluudud rolled the window down slightly and sighed. The air was crisp, the morning sun annoyingly cheerful, and the argument just kept escalating.

“Rock!”

“Paper!”

C00lkidd gasped.

“NO! NOT PAPER! YOU LIED!”

Pr3typriincess stuck her tongue out triumphantly. “Ha! That’s what you get for always picking scissors, basic!”

“Ugh!” C00lkidd groaned like he’d been fatally wounded and hurled himself into the backseat beside Bluudud, arms crossed. “This car is LAME.”

Pr3typriincess slammed the passenger door shut and immediately started adjusting the mirror like she owned the place. “Don’t talk to me unless you want fashion tips or to lose another game.”

007n7 slowly got into the driver’s seat and closed the door. He gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Okay,” he said through clenched teeth, smiling like a man one waffle away from snapping. “Three lunches packed, three backpacks buckled in, and no one’s bleeding.”

Bluudud nodded once. “Yet.”

007n7 turned the keys.

The car let out a groan as it pulled out of the driveway.

Bluudud put his headphones in. They weren’t even plugged into anything.

The radio crackled with some random Kpop song(probably chosen by Pr3ty,) 

It’d started raining about thirty minutes in the drive.

C00lkidd was proudly sipping his overflowing soda, and Pr3typriincess had her face pressed to the mirror, muttering something unintelligible.

Bluudud just stared out the window, headphones in, eyes tracing the trees that passed by. 

The noise around him had started to blur—sound without meaning. Motion without weight.

It should’ve felt normal.

This was normal, wasn’t it?

School. Sibling fights. Weird Kpop songs. Kids yelling about shotgun.

But the longer he stared, the more something inside him tightened.

His fingers curled against the seat.

It doesn’t feel how it used to.

I miss my mom

There was an emptiness he couldn’t shake, a knot that refused to untangle.

He shook his head.

007n7 was humming along now, trying to pretend the drive wasn’t slowly draining his soul. He drummed his fingers against the wheel, stealing a glance at the rearview mirror.

Bluudud didn’t flinch when their eyes met. Just looked at him.

“Everything okay back there?” 007n7 asked gently.

“Yeah.”

They didn’t want to look at each other too long. Not really.

If they did, they might remember what they lost.

Keep the music on, drown out what's missing. 007n7 sighed, turning his attention back to the road.

A red light stopped them just past the turn to campus.

Bluudud watched a group of kids cross the street in front of them. Backpacks bouncing, smiling, shoving each other, laughing too loud, bearing umbrellas yet somehow soaking wet.

They looked normal.

He didn’t feel angry. Or jealous. Just—

Empty.

Like maybe this whole “after” thing was just a really long dream.

Everything always felt like a dream.

007n7 tapped the brakes.

The light turned green.

And they kept driving.

The drive was calm. Rain had stopped and passed through earlier, leaving everything damp and glassy.

When they pulled up to the school parking lot, all three kids hesitated.

Kids bustled around outside. Backpacks. Scooters. Human noise.

“We’re gonna get arrested,” Pr3typriincess muttered.

“For what?” C00lkidd snorted. “Being awesome?”

007n7 turned in the front seat. “You’ll be fine. Just… don’t stab anyone. And don’t eat anyone.”

“Can we lie about our names?” Pr3ty asked.

“No,” he said.

“I’m gonna lie anyway,” she said.

Bluudud opened the car door and stepped out. His sneakers squished in the wet grass. C00lkidd followed him. 

Pr3typriincess slammed the door harder than necessary.

Then the three of them split.

Sixth grade was boring.

Not in the ugh, I want to go home kind of way. More like everything around Bluudud was painted in the same monotone shade of “okay.” 

The walls were gray. The desks were beige. The kids in class were monochrome...on the inside.

He stared out the window. He liked clouds. Clouds didn’t ask stupid questions.

They were halfway through math when a kid named Ryan or Kyle or something generic leaned over and asked:

“Hey… do you like birds?”

Bluudud blinked. Turned his head slow, like a hawk spotting prey. "Yes,” he said flatly.

The kid nodded. Slowly. Like they had just shared a secret handshake of enlightenment. Then turned back to his worksheet.

What was that.

That was fine, it's not like Bluudud came here to make friends.

He liked the teacher though. 

She smelled like printer ink and wore big earrings that looked like planets. 

She never screamed, even when someone knocked over their juice. Once, when his pencil rolled off his desk and he just… didn’t bother to pick it up, she brought him another. 

No questions. No judgment. Just slid it over like a peace treaty.

They were learning about multiplying fractions today. Bluudud didn’t mind fractions.

Is what he would say if he understood a thing.

Apparently, getting stuck in a realm for more years he could count could do numbers.

He stared blankly at the board, the symbols dancing into unintelligible shapes.

He still finished the worksheet in five minutes. Somehow.

Folded it into a paper airplane. Didn’t throw it. He just liked the angles. 

Sharp, clean.

He went back to folding.

By the time the bell rang for lunch, he was already walking towards the cafeteria.

Homeroom was weird. The teacher kept staring at her pink skin like it was an allergy.

But the girl who sat next to her whispered, “Cool tail.”

Pr3typriincess blinked. “…Thanks.”

They smiled at each other.

By mid-morning, she’d already picked up a little trio: the girl from homeroom (Addy), a shy boy named Marcus who had an eye patch and a frog hoodie, and a talkative girl who smelled like lotion.

“What’s your real name?” they asked her.

“Pr3typriincess.”

“No, like, your actual name.”

“That is my name.”

She grinned.

They didn’t push it. That was nice.

In math, she raised her hand to answer a problem and got it wrong—by a lot. The answer wasn’t “glitter.”

But no one laughed at her.

In music class, she absolutely did not understand the recorder, but she made Addy laugh by pretending it was a wand.

And at recess, they all walked together. She didn’t really like running. It reminded her too much of Forsaken. But walking slowly in the sun, laughing about dumb stuff, talking about shows she didn’t understand? That was nice.

That was… normal.

At lunch, her new friends waved her over.

She was about to go. Really.

But then she spotted them.

Bluudud, sitting like a lump with his tray of carrots, and C00lkidd, already banned from the milk line and loudly defending himself to the janitor.

“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT."

Pr3typriincess sighed. Loudly.

“…Sorry,” she told her new friends, biting her lip. “I gotta sit with my dumb brothers.”

Addy gave her a thumbs up. 

She smiled again and walked across the cafeteria, tray wobbling in her hands.

Bluudud didn’t look up when she sat down. “You could’ve ditched us,” he mumbled.

“Yeah. But then who would throw peas at C00lkidd when he starts screaming again?”

“…Fair.”

C00lkidd sat down hard, holding a chocolate milk and a bloody mouth..

“THIS. IS. AWESOME.”

Pr3tty stared at him. “What did you do?”

“Everything.”

She had so many questions, yet she didn't want any of them to be answered.

She covered her face. Bluudud passed her a grape.

Still, despite it all, she didn’t regret it. Sitting between them felt… solid. Even if one of them was bleeding and the other was emotionally flatlining.

“Y’know,” she said, poking at her mashed potatoes, “this day wasn’t totally terrible.”

C00lkidd grinned through a mouthful of corn. “Best day of my life.”

Bluudud gave a slow thumbs-up.

C00lkidd, huh? We don't talk about that...

Let's just say whatever he did, they're not going back.

“Never again,” 007n7 muttered, driving to pick up his three newly found children.

Chapter Text

007n7 stared at the job offer on the glowing screen, the blue-white light washing over his face in the dim room. 

The cursor blinked beside his name, steady and patient—like it was daring him to press Enter. 

The text above it hadn’t changed. 

The pay, the benefits, the start date. 

Everything still sat there, clean and structured, like it belonged to a life that wasn’t his.

The offer was good. In fact, it was better than he’d expected. No scams, no tricks. 

An actual nine-to-five position with a real company. 

Health insurance. Paid time off. A desk with his name on it, probably. Breakroom coffee, awkward small talk, a printer that never worked right.

Normal.

It was what people chased, wasn’t it? 

Stability. Respect. Legitimacy. 

After everything—after the hacks, the bans, the chaos, the blacklistings—here it was. 

His reset button. His “maybe I can still fix this” moment. His redemption arc—again.

And yet…

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving. 

The silence pressed in around him, heavy and thick, broken only by the soft hum of the monitor and the distant echoes of a video game.

His stomach twisted.

He leaned back in his chair, plastic creaking under his weight, and let out a slow breath through his nose. It should’ve been easy. 

The choice should’ve been obvious. But instead, it felt like standing at the edge of a drop, unsure if the thing below was ground or sky.

He turned his head, just slightly, toward the living room.

There, sprawled across the floor like they owned the world, sat the kids.

C00lkidd was planted firmly in front of the TV, a controller in each hand, eyes locked on the screen with that sharp, unblinking focus only children and champions had. 

He mashed buttons like he was born to do it, occasionally adjusting his sunglasses with one hand mid-game, unbothered and overconfident.

Beside him, Bluudud was halfway off the rug, bouncing with every bump and curve on the track. His car careened wildly across the screen.

“Why are the controls so weird?” Bluudud grumbled.

“That’s how it works, dummy,” C00lkidd replied dryly. “Watch and learn.”

On the couch, Pr3tty_princ3ss lay belly-down, a craft table’s worth of chaos surrounding her—glitter tubes, loose rhinestones, paper scraps. 

She held a glue stick in one hand, a nearly finished crown in the other, her brows drawn together in deep concentration. 

Every few seconds, she made a quiet “tsk” sound, pressing a jewel down with the precision of a jeweler inspecting diamonds.

It was loud. It was cluttered. It was borderline lawless.

But it was theirs.

It was life—imperfect, cracked at the edges, but real.

He stared for a while. Not long, but long enough to feel it. 

The way the colors from the television danced across the walls. 

The way their voices tangled together, no real rhythm, no order—just existence. Energy. Family.

And peace.

Not the kind you meditate for. Not the kind you find in silence. This was the kind you protect. The kind that sneaks up on you, when you realize everything you thought you lost might still be here, just… louder and stranger than before.

He looked back at the screen. The cursor blinked again.

One click and he could start over. 

Get them better furniture. Better food. Better everything.

But the better life came with a cost. Time. Absence. Trust.

And trust—that was rare currency. Especially when your past was made of viruses and exploits, and your future sat barefoot on the living room floor, arguing about game physics.

“Who’s gonna watch them?” he muttered to himself.

He already knew the answer. There was no one else.

No parents. No friends from the old days he hadn’t ghosted or betrayed or been betrayed by. No authorities he trusted. No programs that wouldn’t ask too many questions. Not after what happened last time.

So naturally, he thought they should go and get some fresh air.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but steady. “Who wants to go outside?”

Three heads turned in sync.

Bluudud’s eyes lit up. “Like… outside outside?”

Pr3tty_princ3ss raised her glue stick in protest. “But my crown isn’t done!”

“You can bring it,” 007n7 replied with a faint smile. “We just need some air.”

C00lkidd blinked. “Wait. Is this a trick? Like, the last time you said ‘walk’ and made us pick up mail?”

“No tricks,” 007n7 said. “No mail. Just a walk.”

A pause stretched in the air. A moment of consideration.

Then C00lkidd leapt to his feet. “SHOTGUN!”

“There’s no car, idiot,” Pr3tty_princ3ss muttered, but she stood too, carefully balancing her crown on her head.

C00lkidd gave a dramatic sigh and stood, cracking his knuckles. “Fine.”

007n7 held the door open, letting in the cool wash of outside air.

No, the world wasn’t safe. Not really. Not ever.

But maybe walking through it together was enough.

…For now.

The park was quieter than it should’ve been for a Saturday afternoon. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful—just… thin, like something was missing.

Children still played, laughter ringing through the air, but there was a hesitance beneath the noise. 

A few parents watched from benches, distracted and tired, phones glowing faintly in their hands. 

The wind stirred the trees gently, sending flurries of dry leaves skittering across the playground’s cracked rubber floor.

C00lkidd and Bluudud took off in a blur the moment they were unbuckled, sprinting for the swings like they were being chased by joy itself.

“Bet I can go higher than you!” C00lkidd shouted, already halfway there.

“Nuh-uh!” Bluudud shot back, wings flaring out briefly behind him as he ran. “I go angel speed!”

Pr3typriincess lingered behind, her small pink hand still gripping 007n7’s fingers tightly. She glanced toward the other kids, then looked up at him with uncertain eyes.

“You can go play,” he said gently, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

She didn’t move.

“You’ll be here?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded. “Right here the whole time. Promise.”

That was enough.

She broke into a smile and darted after the others, her high-pitched giggle trailing behind like a ribbon.

007n7 watched them go, his chest both light and heavy. He exhaled, slow, and sat down on a weathered wooden bench nearby. For a few precious moments, he allowed the sun to settle over him—warm and steady—until something stirred inside him.

A chill.

Not a cold breeze. Something older. Deeper.

The kind of feeling that clung to instinct, whispering something’s not right.

And then he saw it.

Across the park. Near the edge of the trees, where the sunlight didn’t quite reach.

A figure.

Still as stone.

Draped in black.

Crown glinting faintly.

She didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

1x1x1x1.

Just standing there, half-shadowed beneath the swaying branches, her body barely more than a silhouette. 

Arms crossed loosely, white hair cascading over her face like a curtain of snow. Only the glow of her red eye betrayed her presence. That glow burned steady, trained on one thing—and one thing only.

The children.

007n7’s heart thudded once, hard. His body tensed, an old reflex he hadn’t fully unlearned.

But she didn’t move.

Didn’t take a step forward.

Didn’t summon flames or draw blades.

She simply watched.

On the swings, Bluudud was doing his best to demonstrate proper form.

“Kick out, pull back! See? Like this!” he shouted, swinging high with a proud grin.

Pr3typriincess tried to mimic him, legs flailing more than pumping. She giggled each time she tilted too far sideways.

C00lkidd spun in lazy circles on the tire swing, pretending he was piloting a spaceship.

“Okay! You’re the queen now!” he yelled to Pr3typriincess. “We’re launching to the sparkly system!”

“Wheee!!” she squealed in reply.

007n7 stood.

His steps were cautious, deliberate. The crunch of gravel beneath his shoes seemed too loud in the thinning air.

When he was close—just a few feet away—she spoke, without turning.

“You’re not here to… do anything, are you?” he asked, careful not to let fear bleed into his voice.

“I am doing something,” she replied quietly, as if the words didn’t belong to the wind or the world around them. “I’m watching.”

There was no threat in her voice. No malice. But also no softness. It was flat. Distant. Like something remembering how to speak.

Her gaze never shifted.

“They were like me,” she murmured after a long pause. “Lost. Weaponized. Broken.”

007n7 followed her stare to the playground.

“To them… this is normal,” he said. “Slides, swings, pretending they’re astronauts. They’re trying to be something else.”

1x1x1x1 tilted her head, just slightly. Her eye flickered.

“That’s hard.”

“Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “It is.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. Just stood there. The wind moved her hair like strands of silver thread. Her body remained perfectly still, as if stepping forward would crack something delicate inside her.

“I start a job next week,” 007n7 said at last, voice low. “Nine to five. No one to watch them while I’m gone.”

She turned, just slightly—enough to glance at him sidelong.

“You’re asking me to babysit?” Her tone wasn’t sarcastic. More like… genuinely baffled.

He scratched the back of his neck. “I mean… yeah. Maybe. You’re already watching them.”

A silence followed.

Then:

“I don’t know what to do with them.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “Just… be there. Make sure nothing happens.”

She didn’t answer.

But her eye flicked back toward the playground.

C00lkidd had fallen over and was laughing, arms sprawled out like he’d just won a battle. Bluudud hovered next to him, flapping his wings proudly. Pr3typriincess climbed onto the slide backwards, declaring herself the ruler of gravity.

1x1x1x1’s shoulders lifted, just barely, in what might have been a sigh. Or the start of something else.

“You trust me not to kill them?”

“If you wanted to,” 007n7 said quietly, “you already would’ve.”

That made her pause. Her head turned further now, finally facing him.

Her red eye narrowed—just a fraction. Not in anger. In something else.

Amusement?

“…Fine.”

He blinked. “Wait. Seriously?”

“I’m not babysitting,” she corrected. “I’m witnessing. It’s different.”

“Sure. Witnessing.” He smiled. “Whatever works.”

They both looked back toward the park. 

Bluudud had fallen off the swing and was laughing in the grass. 

Pr3typriincess offered him her paper crown. 

C00lkidd tossed leaves in the air like confetti.

1x1x1x1 tilted her head, watching them more intently now.

“They remind me,” she murmured. “Of something I was.”

007n7 glanced at her. “Maybe you can remember more. Being around them.”

Another pause.

“…Maybe.”

The light shifted. A breeze carried laughter through the air.

And for once, she didn’t feel like a monster.

She just looked like a very old shadow, standing guard at the edge of something new.

When the kids finally ran up, out of breath and glowing with sweat, they noticed her.

Pr3typriincess froze. “Is that…?”

C00lkidd waved. “Hi 1x1x1x1!! Wanna play tag?!”

Bluudud hesitated, then offered a shy smile.

1x1x1x1 stared at them for a long moment.

She didn’t answer right away.

Her gaze drifted over each of them—their flushed cheeks, scraped knees, leaf-filled hair. 

The messy joy of children playing too hard for too long. 

Something flickered behind her eye again. Not the dangerous kind of flicker. Just… a quiet one. 

Like embers that hadn’t known they could still glow.

“I don’t play tag,” she said flatly.

Pr3typriincess pouted. “Not even sparkly tag?”

1x1x1x1’s eye narrowed slightly. “That sounds made up.”

“It is made up,” C00lkidd said proudly. “We make stuff up all the time! That’s what playing is.”

Bluudud flapped once. “It’s really fun. You don’t have to run or anything if you don’t wanna. You can just… watch. And pick who’s ‘it.’”

Her head tilted again, considering this strange offer.

007n7 said nothing. 

Just watched. Waiting.

Finally, 1x1x1x1 stepped forward. Her movements were slow, deliberate—like every motion needed to be tested first, proven safe. 

The children instinctively parted, leaving her space. Even now, they could sense the weight around her, like gravity pressed a little harder where she stood.

She pointed at Bluudud.

“You’re it,” she said.

Bluudud gasped. “I knew it!”

Then he bolted, giving chase with delighted shrieks. C00lkidd yelped and darted away, laughing, while Pr3typriincess ran in spirals yelling.

And just like that, the game began.

1x1x1x1 stayed at the edge, unmoving again—but now her arms were uncrossed. At one point, C00lkidd ran too close, smacked into her leg, and bounced off laughing. 

She didn’t flinch.

She just watched.

‘Witnessed.’

“Thanks,” 007n7 said quietly, stepping up beside her again.

“I didn’t say I was doing it for you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She said nothing.

But as C00lkidd collapsed onto the grass in a pile of exhaustion and Pr3typriincess climbed on top like a victorious queen, 1x1x1x1 let something faint curl at the edge of her expression.

Not a smile.

But not far from one either.

A memory, maybe.

A permission.

For a moment, she wasn’t the ghost of hate. 

Not the monster in the binary, not the weapon forged in pain.

She was just someone being.

And for the first time in a very long time,

That was enough.

Shedletsky was already at the HQ, crouched beside a half-assembled sentry. 

His sleeves were rolled up, grease smudged across his hands as he adjusted a stubborn bolt with slow, methodical turns. 

The metal shell of the sentry twitched occasionally, whirring softly like it wanted to wake up but hadn’t yet been given permission.

Behind him, a shimmer in the air. A faint pulse.

He didn’t turn around. “You’re early,” he muttered, voice low.

1x1x1x1 had materialized in the center of the room, her form settling like a glitch correcting itself. Her steps, as always, made no sound. 

Her presence carried a static hum, like a memory of a power outage.

“I won’t be available today,” she said.

Shedletsky let out a slow exhale through his nose. 

He didn’t flinch, but the set of his shoulders shifted. A subtle brace.

“You never are available,” he replied, his tone dry. “Unless it’s for murder. Or one of your dramatic monologues.”

She ignored the jab. As usual.

“My nieces,” she said simply.

He paused, turned just enough to look at her over his shoulder. “…You don’t have siblings.”

“They call me ‘Auntie,’” she said flatly. “That’s how it works now.”

He stared. “You’re babysitting.”

Silence.

Then, in the kind of tone that made Shedletsky regret asking: “I’m witnessing.”

“…Right,” he said slowly, turning back to the sentry. “Just be back before that exploiter starts messing around again.”

“I will,” she said.

And without a sound, she vanished.

The door creaked open.

She didn’t knock. She never knocked. 

She simply arrived. 

Doors were a thing she had learned to tolerate, not understand. 

They had rules. She didn’t. (shes too good for doors)

The smell hit her first: something toasted. 

Floor cleaner. Wax. Chaos in aerosol form.

Inside, the living room had been repurposed into a fortress.

Pillows stacked like sandbags. 

C00lkidd’s head barely visible behind the barricade, eyes narrowed like a war general. 

He was wearing one sock on his head and holding a cardboard tube like a telescope.

Above him, Bluudud floated upside-down, a sock on each hand. 

They were having a conversation with each other, complete with high-pitched voices and increasingly violent plot twists.

To the right, Pr3typriincess had acquired glitter glue and was using it to draw what may have been a unicorn devouring a waffle—on the actual wall. (she never did get that unicorn shaped waffle)

1x1x1x1 stood motionless in the doorway.

They hadn’t noticed her yet. 

Not really.

Then Pr3typriincess turned, bright eyes lighting up. “Auntie X!!”

The name had been shortened days ago. 

She hadn’t approved of it. It had stuck anyway.

The other two spun around. C00lkidd practically launched himself out of the pillow fort, landing with a chaotic thud. “You came back!! Did you bring a laser cannon?!”

“No,” she replied.

“Aw, lame.”

Bluudud waved both sock puppets at her from midair. “We’re hungry… 007 left cereal but I don’t want cereal, I want grilled cheese.”

1x1x1x1 blinked slowly. “You are not allowed near fire.”

“…That’s what he said.” Bluudud muttered, flopping to the floor.

Pr3tty_princ3ss skipped up and tugged on her scarf, smearing glitter onto the dark fabric. “Can we go outside later? I need leaves for my royal crown.”

“We will see,” 1x1x1x1 said.

In truth, she had no plan. 

No itinerary. 

The extent of her knowledge on childcare was: don’t let them die. 

Everything else was guesswork.

She would adapt.

The morning stretched on like taffy.

1x1x1x1 sat awkwardly on the couch—too still, too quiet, like a statue whose eyes were alive. 

The kids buzzed around her like static, each lost in their own brand of chaos.

C00lkidd darted back and forth, shouting orders at imaginary troops. “Bluudud, flank left! Pr3tty, cover the rear!”

Bluudud complied with exaggerated solemnity, while Pr3tty_princ3ss added another glittery streak to the wall, humming a tune about sparkly cupcakes.

1x1x1x1’s eyes flickered over to the kitchen clock. 

10:15. 

“Isn’t it supposed to be a babysitter’s job to feed them?” she muttered to herself, the words feeling strange on her lips.

Pr3tty_princ3ss caught her muttering and bounded over. “Do you want to eat? I can make you a sandwich!”

“No glitter,” 1x1x1x1 replied flatly.

“Okay, no glitter,” Pr3tty nodded solemnly.

Bluudud drifted closer, voice small. “…I don’t want grilled cheese anymore. I want pancakes.”

“Pancakes require fire,” 1x1x1x1 reminded him.

“Then can we have cereal? I don’t want to be hangry anymore.”

She nodded. “Cereal is acceptable.”

Pr3tty_princ3ss clapped her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Yay! Breakfast!”

But the kitchen was a battlefield of its own. The countertops were cluttered with half-opened boxes and spilled crumbs. 

The toaster was smoking faintly—clearly forgotten mid-cycle.

1x1x1x1 stood, moving with deliberate grace. 

She didn’t know how to cook, but she knew how to fix things.

The toaster got unplugged first.

Then the boxes got opened properly.

And slowly, one cereal bowl at a time, the chaos began to settle into something that looked a little like peace.

After the last spoonful of cereal was swallowed and the kitchen floor was mostly crumb-free, Pr3tty_princ3ss tugged at 1x1x1x1’s scarf again. “Can we please go outside now? I really need leaves for my crown.”

1x1x1x1 glanced down at her, then up at the bright morning sun filtering through the windows. She nodded, voice calm and deliberate. “Very well. Outside it is.”

The three kids scrambled to gather what little they had—a small backpack, a pair of mismatched shoes, and some random trinkets they insisted on bringing.

As they stepped outside, the air was crisp and fresh. 

The world beyond the HQ looked larger than they remembered—roads lined with trees, distant hum of cars, and not far away, the gleaming glass of a mall.

1x1x1x1’s eyes flickered, calculating. 

She had no idea how to prepare food herself—cooking was a mystery she hadn’t solved—so she decided on a new plan.

“We will eat at the mall,” she said firmly.

The kids’ faces lit up instantly.

“Laser cannon?” C00lkidd asked hopefully.

“No laser cannon,” she replied, “But food. Real food.”

“Awesome!” Pr3typriincess bounced on her toes. “I want cupcakes!”

Bluudud gave a small smile.

As they made their way toward the mall entrance, something shifted.

The public space suddenly grew tense.

Whispers.

Sideways glances.

People pulling their children a little closer.

One mother tightened her grip on her toddler’s hand and hissed, “Get your kids away from that… thing.”

1x1x1x1 noticed immediately. 

The subtle recoil of those around her, the way her unnatural presence set alarms in every passerby.

She stopped.

Her voice dropped, colder than before. “This is my charge.”

The children looked up at her, wide-eyed but unafraid.

A burly man crossing the plaza hesitated, then muttered under his breath and hurried away with his family.

1x1x1x1 didn’t move.

She wasn’t here to make friends.

She was here to keep them alive.

—

Inside, the mall was loud—too many lights, too many voices echoing off polished floors. The kids were practically vibrating with excitement, darting between signs and food court menus.

C00lkidd pointed at a neon sign above a stall. “That one! They have burgers with lava sauce!”

“That’s just sriracha,” Bluudud said wisely. “I want the pasta place! Or maybe ice cream!”

Pr3typriincess was already spinning in circles, chanting, “Cupcakes-cupcakes-cupcakes—”

1x1x1x1’s scarf swished as she stepped forward, scanning the stalls. 

There were too many choices. 

She didn’t eat. Not like this. 

Calories, carbs, proteins—those things were irrelevant to her. But the children were waiting.

The mall’s food court shimmered with fluorescent lighting and the smell of too many things at once—frying oil, cinnamon sugar, soy sauce, melted cheese.

1x1x1x1 stood still for a moment, absorbing it all like a foreign language. Noise. Movement. Humanity. 

It was overwhelming.

But the children had already scattered forward like released balloons.

1x1x1x1 approached the nearest counter—a burger stand, run by a tired-looking teenager in a paper hat.

He blinked when he saw her. “Uh… welcome to Burger Valley… can I help you?”

She stared at the menu above the counter. 

It was a mess of options: combos, value meals, kids’ meals, supersize buttons, chicken nuggets, shakes, items that had numbers but no logic.

She pointed at a combo. “This one.”

“Which one?” the teen asked, squinting.

She didn’t blink. “The one with the cheese.”

“That’s… all of them.”

Her head tilted slightly, expression flat. “Then the one with the most cheese.”

He stared.

She stared back.

“…Okay. That’s probably the triple melt combo,” he said, tapping the register.

“I will take three of those," she replied, figuring it was best to double up on whatever seemed the safest bet. “And something sweet.”

“Uh, like a cookie? Pie?”

“Sugar in a soft, circular form. With frosting.”

“…Cupcake?”

“Yes.”

He punched in the rest of the order with the stiff desperation of someone trying to get through a dream where the laws of physics no longer applied. 

“…Any drinks?”

1x1x1x1 paused.

Drinks. A variable she hadn’t yet calculated.

Behind her, Pr3tty_princ3ss was spinning in slow circles, chanting “Cupcake! Cupcake! Cupcake!” while Bluudud clung to the railing with both hands and leaned over. 

C00lkidd was making laser sounds at a trash can.

“…Yes,” she finally answered. “Three… fizzy drinks. Non-lethal.”

The cashier blinked. “So like… soda?”

“Yes. But not the green one.” She remembered that much from somewhere, green meant glitch. Or maybe that was just her.

He selected three root beers and tapped the screen with the resigned focus of a man who had accepted that this wasn’t even his weirdest shift.

“Name for the order?”

She hesitated. 

A strange tension passed through her like static.

The name she remembered wasn’t meant for public use.

“…X.”

“Letter X?”

“Yes.”

He gave a slow nod, printed the receipt, and slid it over like passing a contract to a ghost. “Okay, X. Your order will be ready soon.”

1x1x1x1 turned away just as Pr3typriincess came bounding over. “Did you get a cupcake? Did you say please?”

“No,” she replied.

Pr3typriincess gasped.

“That’s rude!”

1x1x1x1 stared down at her. “I threatened no one.”

“But you have to say please! That’s manners!”

There was a flicker of confusion in the killer’s eye—then something stranger. Guilt? No. Just recalibration.

“…Please,” she said, turning back toward the counter.

Pr3typriincess beamed, satisfied.

C00lkidd returned from conquering the trash can. “Did you get ketchup? I wanna dip my fries in it and then throw one at Bluudud.”

“No throwing food.” 1x1x1x1 said, her tone carrying an odd edge of authority that made C00lkidd wrinkle his nose.

The food arrived moments later, trays stacked high with grease and sugar, a beacon of modern chaos served in cardboard wrappers.

1x1x1x1 carried it all herself, arms perfectly still, posture flawless—like a sentinel ferrying offerings to gods of noise and glitter. The children scrambled to a table near the window, already vibrating with anticipation.

“Triple melt combooo…” Bluudud cheered, immediately unwrapping his burger.

Pr3typriincess reached for her cupcake like it was sacred treasure. “It’s pink!” she declared. “It matches my soul!”

C00lkidd dumped his fries onto the table like a dealer tossing down a hand of cards. “That looks good,” he muttered, then promptly ate his in one bite. (his greed sickens me….)

1x1x1x1 sat across from them, untouched soda in front of her, eyes scanning the food court. So many people. So many glances. 

The air around her seemed to shimmer slightly, like a heatwave made of discomfort. 

A security guard stood at the far end, not intervening—but watching. 

Always watching.

Still, she didn’t move.

She was… learning.

Bluudud took a small bite, muffled through the food: “Auntie X, what do you eat?”

She looked down at her tray, then at him.

“I do not require food,” she said flatly.

“That’s sad,” Pr3typriincess replied with genuine concern. “Eating makes me feel all good inside. It fills the empty void in my stomach.”

1x1x1x1 looked at her drink. The carbonation hissed softly. 

She considered sipping it. She didn’t know what would happen. A chemical cascade? A system error? Nothing?

Still…

She picked up the cup.

Raised the straw.

Paused.

She took a slow sip.

The children stared.

She blinked. Once.

“…Acceptable,” she admitted.

They wandered the mall for a while after eating—past rows of shops with blinking signs and mannequins in unnatural poses. 

Pr3typriincess insisted on window-shopping for tiaras. 

Bluudud asked too many questions at the gadget kiosk, poking at everything.

1x1x1x1 followed close, the eternal shadow

And for a fleeting moment, it was peaceful.

Until she turned.

And C00lkidd was gone.

The spot where he’d been seconds ago—empty.

A silence crashed into her like a system freeze.

“Where is—” Her voice sliced through the air.

Bluudud blinked. “He was just… here?”

Pr3typriincess whirled around. “C00l?! C00l this isn’t funny!”

Then they heard it. Not close. Not far.

Screaming.

A child’s.

His.

The sound shattered something inside her.

She ran.

Like her body was nothing but speed and coordinates. 

Past kiosks, down a hallway, between panicking civilians parting like water. 

One woman screamed just from seeing her face.

She didn’t care.

Her hearing tuned in like sonar. Echo. Echo. Metal. Cry. Cloth. Movement. Pain.

She found the corridor behind the arcade.

A man—tall, sneering, holding C00lkidd by the collar like a misbehaving cat.

C00lkidd kicked, but he was just a kid.

1x1x1x1 stepped into the corridor.

The man turned, startled. “What the hell—”

Then she was on him.

It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t cinematic. It was brutal.

A single step forward, and her hand gripped his arm. 

He screamed—something crunched—and she slammed him into the wall hard enough to crack the paint. 

He tried to strike back.

She took his other wrist.

Bent it wrong.

He collapsed to the floor with a moan, whimpering.

She didn’t even breathe hard.

C00lkidd stared up at her, wide-eyed, then burst into tears the moment she touched his face.

“I know.” Her voice was still monotone, but it was softer than it had ever been. “You are safe now.”

She didn’t speak to the man again. 

She just turned, C00lkidd wrapped in her scarf like a weighted blanket, and walked away as mall security arrived to chaos and confusion.

As they left the chaotic scene behind, C00lkidd clung to her, feeling the relief in the unwavering strength of her presence.

6:00 PM

The chaos of the day finally gave way to quiet.

C00lkidd had fallen asleep first, curled up like a cat on one end of the couch. 

Bluudud lay half-on, half-off a beanbag nearby. 

Pr3typriincess clutched her half-finished glitter glue leaf crown and had dozed off with her head against 1x1x1x1’s side.

And 1x1x1x1 remained still in the center of them all, eyes dim, cloak draped gently over the children like a weighted blanket.

She didn’t know when her head had dipped forward.

Didn’t register the exact moment her body relaxed—when she stopped being a sentinel and started being a shelter.

They had all piled against her like ducklings to warmth, and despite herself, she had not moved away.

The front door creaked open.

007n7 stepped inside, arms full of grocery bags and a bottle of soda under one arm. 

He kicked the door shut and opened his mouth to call out—

Then stopped.

He stared.

There they were. All of them. Fast asleep.

Pillows scattered. Crayons spilled. One of Bluudud’s socks was dangling from a lampshade. But in the middle of it all: peace.

And 1x1x1x1, sitting like a dark sentinel wrapped in the softest chaos.

Asleep.

With a very faint… smile?

007n7 blinked. He slowly set the groceries down, careful not to wake them.

Then he leaned on the wall and smiled—soft, tired, fond.

And for once, all was still.

Chapter Text

007n7’s fridge is empty.

Not just “we should order takeout” empty—comically empty.

A single, desolate slice of pizza sits on the middle shelf like it’s been banished there for crimes against humanity. Mold blooms across the crust in shades of green and grey, looking more like it’s preparing to conquer a civilization than be eaten. 

Beside it, half a Bloxy Cola leans against the fridge wall like a worn-out soldier—flat, warm, and visibly sticky. And nestled comfortably in the crisper drawer, in defiance of all logic, is a rock.

Not a fancy rock.

Not a mineral sample.

Just a rock.

007n7 stares at it in silence. His hand rests lightly on the fridge door, unmoving. His eyes squint.

“…Why is there a rock?” he asks aloud, his voice teetering on the edge of concern and existential dread.

From the living room, a high-pitched voice chimes sweetly:
“It’s my pet!”

007n7 closes the fridge. Slowly. As if letting go any faster would cause something in the universe to explode.

He exhales a sigh that feels ancient—drawn from the bones of his very soul. The kind of sigh that belongs to war veterans, tired teachers, and parents who just found slime in the laundry machine.

“…Time to go grocery shopping,” he mutters.

Under any other circumstance, that wouldn’t be a big deal. He’d throw on a hoodie, go down to the supermarket, buy enough supplies, and be back in twenty minutes. Maybe even grab a snack on the way out. Easy.

But there’s a problem.

1x isn’t available.

She’s off having bonding time with Shedletsky. Apparently, Shed had insisted on it—some “we need to talk” thing. They were in semi-good terms, but still, it meant 007n7 was flying solo.

Which means—

He turns around.

And there they are.

Three.

Tiny.

Menaces.

C00lkidd is standing in the middle of the room with a dead rat.
Just… holding it. Like it’s a perfectly normal Wednesday thing to do. He looks unbothered, even proud.

C00lkidd proudly held it up like he was waiting for applause. “Look what I found! He’s stiff!”

Bluudud sits on the couch with a thick book in his lap. He’s paused reading it just to glare at 007n7 like he’s already predicting the coming disaster.

Pr3typriincess is in the corner, happily tying glittery pink ribbons to something.

It takes 007n7 a second to realize—

They don’t even have a dog.

“Please,” 007n7 said slowly. “Please tell me you’re not tying bows to the toaster again.”

“It’s not the toaster,” she chirped innocently.

He leaned forward. Saw movement.

“…That’s a dog.”

“We don’t have a dog.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Then whose dog is this?”

The dog barked.

He closed his eyes. Counted to five. That didn’t help. Tried counting backward from ten. That made it worse.

“Alright,” 007n7 says, pinching the bridge of his nose with the weight of every bad decision he’s ever made. “You’re all coming with me.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then—

“YES!”

“I CALL RIDING IN THE CART!” C00lkidd shouts, dropping the rat instantly.

“Yay…” Bluudud cheered groggily. 

Pr3tty_princ3ss gasps. “NO FAIR, I wanna ride in the cart!” She storms over with a stomp that shakes the glitter off her sleeves.

“You got to ride last time,” C00lkidd argues, already clambering up onto the kitchen counter in what appears to be some kind of victory dance. “Remember? You tied my shoelaces together and pushed me into the soup aisle.”

“I only did that because you said you were gonna eat the free samples with your feet,” she fires back, crossing her arms. “Like a gross little monkey.”

“I wasn’t gonna do it!”

“You were!”

“I wasn’t!”

“Why,” Bluudud mutters, dragging a hand down his face, “do I have to deal with this every time you two breathe near each other…” He shuts his book firmly and rises from the couch like a tired old man who’s aged a decade in one afternoon.

007n7 is already regretting everything.

He grabs his keys. “No one sets anything on fire. No teleporting into the freezer section. And do not feed anything to strangers.”

“Even if they look hungry?” Pr3typriincess asks with a tilted head.

“Yes. Especially if they look hungry.”

“Can I ride on Bluudud’s shoulders?” C00lkidd asks, STILL holding the rat for some reason.

“I will bite you,” Bluudud replies flatly.

Within ten minutes, 007n7 is herding them all into the car like a low-budget daycare on wheels. 

He’s already calculating how fast he can get in and out of the store without the building being declared a war zone.

He knows it won’t work.

But a man can hope.

At the supermarket, chaos begins almost immediately.

Pr3typriincess wanders off into an aisle. She disappears the moment 007n7 blinks.

“Where did—? Pr3ty?!”

Too late. She’s gone.

By the time he turns the corner, she’s standing in the baking aisle, cradling a jumbo-sized container of pink frosting like it’s a sacred artifact.

“There you are,” 007n7 huffs, relieved.

“I found my destiny,” she whispers, eyes wide. “Do you think this would look good as eyeshadow?”

“…It’s frosting.”

“Exactly.”

Meanwhile, Bluudud is being weirdly mature.

While 007n7 frantically darts between aisles trying to keep c00lkidd from stacking energy drinks into a precarious tower and prevent pr3tty_princ3ss from bedazzling the fruit section, Bluudud is off in his own little world—serene, dignified, and gliding through the grocery store like a tiny, floating grown-up.

He calmly steers a shopping cart half his size, wings fluttering softly to keep him airborne as he navigates the tile floor with purpose. Unlike the chaos surrounding him, he moves with a strange sort of poise, almost like he’s done this a hundred times before.

As he passes the canned goods aisle, he notices an elderly woman struggling to reach the top shelf. 

Without a word, he gently lifts off the ground, flapping up to eye level with the dusty can of green beans she’s been eyeing. With both hands, he plucks it from the shelf and descends, landing softly in front of her.

“Here you go, ma’am,” he says with a quiet, well-mannered voice that seems entirely out of place.

The old lady blinks, surprised, then beams at him. “Oh, aren’t you just the sweetest little thing!” she coos, reaching down to pat his head. “Such nice manners.”

Bluudud just nods solemnly, as if this sort of thing is part of his civic duty.

Across the aisle, two employees have stopped mid-shelf-stocking to watch the scene unfold. One, a tired-looking young cashier nudges her coworker.

“Did that blue kid just… help a customer?” she whispers.

“Yeah,” the other murmurs, still staring. “And he didn’t knock over a single display.”

With a mix of curiosity and newfound respect, she steps away for a moment and returns holding a cold bottle of chocolate milk, condensation beading on the sides. She crouches slightly and offers it to him with a smile.

“For being such a good helper,” she says.

Bluudud blinks. “For me?”

She nods. “You earned it, kid.”

He takes it with both hands, staring at the bottle like it’s some ancient treasure. Carefully, he peels open the straw and sips it with reverent delight. A soft hum of satisfaction escapes him.

Unbeknownst to him, he’s already become a local favorite. 

The grandma is quietly deciding between three yarn colors for the sweater she’s going to knit him.

Bluudud continues shopping like nothing happened, sipping his chocolate milk and occasionally putting things in the cart that seem oddly practical for a child: batteries, toothpaste, a head of lettuce.

Meanwhile, 007n7 peeks around the corner, catching sight of Pr3typriincess smearing glitter onto a watermelon.

Bluudud doesn’t even flinch. He pushes the cart forward with the quiet confidence of a being who knows full well he’s the only sane one here. (not wrong)

At some point during the chaos, 007n7 glances behind him and feels his soul leave his body.

C00lkidd is gone.(again….)

“C00lkidd?” he calls, spinning around in a panic. “C00LKIDD?!”

No answer. No red blur. No screeching laughter. Just the unsettling silence that comes right before a disaster.

007n7 sprints down the aisle, nearly colliding with a pyramid of cereal boxes. He peeks behind displays, crawls under the produce table, and even checks inside a freezer, despite knowing full well that C00lkidd hates cold things and once tried to fight a snowman out of spite.

His panic escalates to full-blown “lost child in the store” mode.

He grabs a nearby employee. “Have you seen a red kid? Tiny? Demonic energy? Says everything’s a game? He answers to C00lkidd or sometimes just makes weird noises when you try to talk to him?”

The employee blinks. “Uh… no?”

“HE’S LOOSE,” 007n7 declares, darting away before they can ask follow-up questions.

He rushes past Bluudud—still calmly sipping chocolate milk and comparing bread brands—then skids through the toy aisle, the snack aisle, the seasonal aisle, and nearly slips in front of the seafood counter.

Then, just as 007n7 is about to check the store intercom to request a Code Red, he hears it:

A soft flutter.

And giggles.

Rounding the corner into the garden section, he finds C00lkidd, completely enthralled, leaping through a beam of sunlight that filters through the skylight.

He’s chasing a butterfly.

The insect—clearly as confused as anyone—flutters just out of reach, dipping through potted flowers and over racks of seed packets. 

C00lkidd follows with determination, arms outstretched, tail swishing behind him as he makes a running jump and nearly knocks over a bag of mulch.

“There you are!” 007n7 gasps, doubled over and catching his breath.

C00lkidd doesn’t even look at him. “Shhh. I almost got it.”

He pounces again, landing face-first in a display of discounted succulents.

“You’ve been gone for ten minutes! I thought you were summoning demons—again!” 007n7 wheezes.

“But it was pretty,” C00lkidd says simply, eyes wide as the butterfly lands briefly on a daisy before taking off again. “I think its name is Gerald.”

“You named it?”

“He told me.”

007n7 just sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay.“

C00lkidd doesn’t respond—he’s already climbing the shelf after the butterfly again.

Back in aisle six, the old lady who got her can of beans earlier turns to Bluudud and whispers with a chuckle, “Your brother’s got quite the imagination.”

Bluudud blinks. “He’s chasing Gerald.”

“Oh, that’s the butterfly’s name?”

“Yes.”

“…Right.”

Bluudud takes another calm sip of chocolate milk.

Behind them, a crash echoes from the garden section.

“GERALD, NOOO!”

Somewhere between frozen foods and a precarious wall of instant noodles, 007n7 turns a corner with Pr3typriincess lazily spinning a bag of marshmallows and C00lkidd making suspiciously stealthy grabs at unguarded candy displays. 

That’s when they nearly collide with another cart.

Chance is leaned dramatically over the handle like he owns the aisle.

Elliot is standing beside him, visibly exasperated, clutching a shopping list and looking like he’s been stuck in hell since aisle three.

007n7 cleared his throat awkwardly, “Uh, hey guys. Fancy seeing you here.”

Elliot’s gaze sharpened as he recognized 007n7. “Oh, you. The guy who keeps accidentally dying on me during matches.”

007n7 rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah… sorry about that.”

“Wow, small world,” Chance says, flashing a grin like he didn’t just try to block the whole cart with his arms. “007! I’d recognize that awkward smile anywhere.”

“Please move,” Elliot says without looking at him, shifting his cart an inch forward, just enough to gently shove Chance’s stomach. “Some of us have things to do.”

“We’re buying pasta,” Chance clarifies, as if it’s a mission of international importance. “He wants whole wheat. I said penne that’s shaped like little clocks.”

“I did not say that,” Elliot replies flatly.

“You glared at it like it offended you.”

“I did no such—” Elliot stops, notices 007n7 still standing there with his kids, and blinks. “…Why do you have two.”

“Three, actually. Bluudud wandered off.”

“I was hungry,” C00lkidd says.

“He brought us!” Pr3typriincess adds brightly, holding up a bag of gummies.

Chance raises an eyebrow. “They’re adorable. Are they yours now, or…?”

007n7 hesitates. “It’s complicated.”

Elliot gives him a look. “Of course it is.”

Chance smirked, leaning even closer to Elliot with an exaggerated wink. “Well, 007, if you ever need backup with the kiddos, I’m your guy. I can keep up with the chaos—got plenty of experience.”

Elliot rolled his eyes. “Please, Chance, the only thing you keep up with is flirting and losing track of what you’re actually supposed to be doing.”

007n7 shifted uncomfortably as Chance’s grin grew wider, clearly enjoying the banter.

“Ah, come on, Elliot,” Chance said, waving a perfectly manicured hand. “You know I’m just trying to lighten the mood. Besides, you look way too tense holding that list.”

Elliot shot a glare sharp enough to slice through metal. “Someone has to keep you grounded. Unlike you, I actually read the ingredients before buying.”

Pr3typriincess, still lazily spinning the marshmallows, piped up, “Are you two going to fight, or can we get past this and go find snacks?”

C00lkidd slipped another candy bar into the cart with ninja-like stealth and gave 007n7 a pointed look that said hurry up.

007n7 cleared his throat again, trying to steer things back to sanity. “Right. So, Chance, Elliot—what are you guys buying? Maybe we can help.”

Chance gave a theatrical sigh. “We’re on a quest for the perfect pasta, and Elliot here refuses to deviate from his boring whole wheat penne nonsense.”

“Whole wheat penne is healthy,” Elliot said, crossing his arms.

“And that’s why it’s boring,” Chance said smoothly. “Life’s about taking risks, not eating sad noodles.”

Elliot rolled his eyes. “Sure, until your ‘risks’ leave you starving.”

Chance leaned in again, voice low and mock-serious, “You know, Elliot, you should really let me cook for you sometime. I could spice up your whole wheat life.”

Elliot blinked, unimpressed. “Save it, Chance.”

007n7 snorted quietly, but caught himself immediately.

C00lkidd tugged on 007n7’s sleeve. “Are they dating? They fight a lot.”

Pr3typriincess gasps, eyes sparkling. “They’re boyfriends?”

Elliot turns red.

Chance doesn’t miss a beat. “We’re not just boyfriends. I’m trying to elevate us to dramatic rivals with romantic tension.”

“You’re trying to get left in the parking lot,” Elliot snaps.

Chance winks at the kids. “He loves me.”

“You’re barely tolerable.”

Chance leans toward 007n7 and says in a whisper-laced smirk, “He gets so feisty when he’s annoyed, it’s adorable.”

Elliot groans and shoves the cart forward. “We’re leaving. We’re leaving. Before someone throws cheese again.”

007n7 raises an eyebrow at Chance. “You’re actually dating him?”

Chance gives a sly grin. “I like a challenge.”

Then he struts after Elliot, flicking his coin into the air again, almost slipping on a rogue packet of frozen peas—but catching himself with a ridiculous flourish like he meant to do that.

007n7 watches them go, then turns to the kids. “You guys are never dating until you’re 40.”

“Never,” says Pr3typriincess.

“…What’s dating?” asks c00lkidd.

007n7 sighs, turning the cart back down the aisle. “Something that makes people fight in grocery stores.”

As they rounded the corner near the dairy section, 007n7 spotted Bluudud standing by the refrigerated aisle, happily sipping on a chocolate milk carton with a monotone look plastered on his face.

“Bluudud!” 007n7 called out, approaching quickly. “Where did you get that milk? I thought we only grabbed snacks.”

Bluudud looked up. He shrugged. “The nice lady gave it to me. She said I was polite and helped her reach something on a high shelf.”

007n7 raised an eyebrow. “…You helped someone?”

Bluudud nodded. “Yeah, I helped an old lady get her cookie jar. She smiled a lot and said thank you.”

007n7 couldn’t help but grin. “Well, look at you—local favorite already.”

“Tastes like victory.”

Pr3typriincess spun in place, clutching a bag of gummy bears. “See? Being nice pays off! Maybe I should start being nice too.”

At the checkout line, chaos simmered just under the surface.

007n7 unloaded the cart with the steady pace of a man who knew any hesitation could result in marshmallows going airborne.

Pr3typriincess was already stacking bags of chips in a pattern for some reason.

C00lkidd, now wearing a pair of sunglasses he definitely didn’t enter the store with, was whispering to the credit card swiper.

Bluudud stood beside the conveyor belt, just… standing there.

007n7 handed over the payment with a sheepish look.

“Rough day?” the cashier asked.

“Define rough,” he replied as Pr3ty tried to convince C00lkidd to do something probably very stupid.

“Don’t worry,” the cashier said, handing him the receipt. “They were honestly better than most adults I deal with.”

That earned a surprised chuckle from 007n7. “Good to know.”

With bags loaded and kids in tow, he gave a small salute. “Alright. Mission accomplished. Let’s go.”

Pr3typriincess did a twirl. “FOR THE SNACK THRONE!”

Bluudud gave a polite wave to the cashier.

C00lkidd pressed a single button on the card reader and whispered, “Goodbye,” before sprinting for the exit.

007n7 sighed fondly. “I’m never shopping without backup again.”

Chapter Text

It was raining that day.

Not a scary kind of rain—just soft and endless, like the clouds were whispering bedtime stories to the roof.

Bluudud was little then.

His mom had declared it an Official Cozy Day. No errands. No chores. Just them.

She’d piled every pillow from the house into the living room. 

Stacked chairs and couches into walls. 

Draped blankets into ceilings. The whole world had disappeared into a fortress of softness and string lights.

“Do you have the secret password?” she asked, kneeling at the entrance with a flashlight under her chin.

He giggled. “No monsters allowed!”

“Correct,” she whispered, scooping him up and tucking him inside.

The fort smelled like laundry and popcorn. 

“You’re gonna be amazing someday,” she said.

“Like a superhero?”

“Better.” She booped his nose. “Like you.”

At some point, he dozed off in her arms.

And when he woke up, she was humming again, that soft song with no words, ruffling his hair teasingly with the gentlest, warmest hand in the world.

He hadn’t known, then, that time could take things away. That voices could go quiet. That arms could disappear.

All he knew was warmth.

All he knew was her.

Wrapped in fleece and love, in a castle of pillows and flashlights, Bluudud whispered into her shirt:

“I don’t ever wanna grow up.”

She kissed his forehead and smiled.

The rain wasn’t falling, it hung in the air, like time itself had slowed to a crawl, too afraid to move forward. 

Trees stretched high and thin, silhouettes of black veins against a deep navy sky. The world was still, except for the sound of wet footsteps on soft ground.

Bluudud walked barefoot through the tall grass. It brushed against his legs like whispers. His halo flickered with each step, casting pale light onto the ground, but it wasn’t enough to guide him.

He didn’t know where he was going. Only that someone was waiting.

There, beneath a gnarled tree, was a small house. The kind that looked like it had been made from memory, too perfect, too wrong. 

The door was already open. A soft hum drifted out. Not a song. Just a voice.

He stepped inside. The wood creaked like it was sighing beneath him. The warmth hit him like a forgotten hug. 

There were toys on the floor. A blanket folded on the couch. A chipped mug with something still warm inside.

And then he saw her.

Back turned.

Hair loose.

Humming.

She stirred a pot at the stove.

Bluudud’s breath caught. His wings trembled.

“…Mom?”

The woman stilled. Slowly, achingly slowly, she turned her head. 

But her face—

He couldn’t see it.

There was no shape. No features. Just blur. Like someone had smudged her out of the world.

He stepped closer. “Mom… please…”

She tilted her head. Her voice was gentle, muffled.

“Sweetheart, you’re late. I made your favorite.”

He blinked. His throat tightened. “I… I don’t remember what it was.”

She turned fully to him. Her arms opened.
“Come here, baby.”

He hesitated.

He wanted to run into her arms.

He wanted to bury his face in her shoulder.

He wanted to cry.

But—her face—why couldn’t he remember her face?

It wasn’t fair.

He remembered the blood.

He remembered the fear.

He remembered how cold the pavement felt.

But not her.

But not her eyes. 

Not her smile. 

Not her scent.

Not her voice, not really. Just echoes. Like a pit in your stomach.

He took a step back. 

"Why can’t I see you?” he whispered. “Why can’t I remember you?”

The figure didn’t answer. 

She just stood there, arms outstretched, like a statue waiting for a son who no longer knew how to cry.

“I didn’t mean to forget,” he said softly. "I'm sorry."

He doesn't even know if she had freckles.

Or if she was nice. 

Or if she comforted him. 

Or if she used to hold his hand when they crossed the street.

The pot on the stove hissed. Boiled over.
Steam rose into the rafters like a ghost.

Her arms were still out, still waiting.
He took another step back. The floor groaned again, but now it sounded like a sob.

Outside, the sky turned darker. Not the kind of dark that comes with night, but the kind that comes with forgetting. The kind that swallows.

“I tried to remember, I swear I did."

The figure tilted her head, as if confused. 

Or maybe sad.

Maybe both.

Then:

“Did you forget me too?”

The kind of question a child asks when they already know the answer.

"I miss you. But I don't even remember what you look like."

Bluudud woke up with a jolt.

The room around him was coated in black shadows, ones that felt taller, more cornering. 

It was still night

He blinked hard. His cheeks were damp.

His halo buzzed faintly above him, flickering like it had been crying too.

His breath caught in his throat.

His fingers dug into the sheets, clutching at it—needing to feel something.

But the warmth was gone.

So was the house.

So was she.

He turned his head.

A few feet away, c00lkidd lay sprawled on his side, mouth slightly open, breathing slow and steady. He was still wearing that dumb red hoodie, his chest rising and falling with each breath. 

One hand twitched like he was dreaming of running. Or maybe chasing.

Next to him, Pr3typriincess slept tucked in neatly. 

Her brows twitched like she was frowning. Maybe she was having a nightmare again. Or worse.

Of home.

Bluudud didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe for a second.

He just stared at them.

He should’ve felt comfort. Or safety. Or something. Anything.

But all he felt was hollow.

Like he’d been scooped out from the inside.

why dont i remember her face

her laugh

her face

her laugh

her warmth

why why

He sat up slowly. The bed hissed beneath him.

One hand touched his face. 

He tried to remember the dream.

Not the house. Not the pot.

Her.

The shape of her hands. The smell of the room.

The voice.

The smile. Never remembered it.

His brain had skipped that part.

why

He hugged his knees to his chest again, but tighter this time. Like he was trying to hold himself together.

Bluudud rested his forehead on his knees.
And whispered to no one:

“Why can’t I remember her face?”

No answer.

Just soft breathing from two sleeping kids.

He didn’t wake them.

they wouldnt understand

They never asked about his mom.

No one ever did.

Bluudud didn’t know how long he sat there.

Long enough for the fog to thin.

Long enough for the trees to stop whispering.

Long enough to start feeling like maybe the sadness wouldn’t kill him—just sit with him.

Forever. Quietly.

He heard a crunch behind him.

Not loud. Careful.

He didn’t look. He knew who it was.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” 007n7’s voice was soft. He always spoke like he was trying not to wake something up. 

Bluudud didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the ground, where a small beetle was struggling to turn itself over.

007n7 sat down beside him with a sigh. 

He didn’t say anything for a while. Just sat there with him.

That was the thing about 007n7. He knew when silence was the only thing that helped.

Eventually, Bluudud spoke.

“I forgot her face. I keep trying and it’s just gone.”

007n7 didn’t flinch. Didn’t pity him. Just nodded.

“Yeah. That happens.”

Bluudud turned his head a little, not looking at 007n7, but… almost. "Does it ever come back?”

Another pause. The beetle finally flipped over and scurried away. The silence it left behind was louder than its struggle.

007n7 leaned back, resting on his hands, gazing up at the sky that was finally beginning to pale. "Sometimes,” he said. “But not the way you want it to.”

Bluudud frowned. “Then what’s the point?”

007n7 shrugged. “You remember other things. Little stuff."

Bluudud stared down at his knees.

Then, without saying a word, 007n7 reached into and pulled something out—a wrinkled napkin, folded twice over, with something inside. He held it out.

Bluudud blinked at it.

“It’s just toast,” 007n7 said. “Kinda cold. Sorry.”

Bluudud didn’t take it. Not at first.

Bluudud stared at it.

It was cold. But the gesture made it warm.

His throat closed.

The steam rising from it wasn’t much. But it was enough.

Enough to bring back the image of that chipped mug on the counter.

The smell of something cooking.

The shape of a woman’s back turned.

The hum.

It hit him like a punch in the gut.

But soft.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t sob.

He just sat there. Still.

007n7 didn’t look at him.

Just reached up—gently—and brushed a bit of dirt off Bluudud’s cheek with the back of his hand.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

Bluudud hesitated, then obeyed.

A pause.

A hand on his head.

Not ruffling his hair. Not rough.

Just… resting there.

Comforting. Steady.

Like a weight he didn’t know he missed.

It wasn’t her hand.

But it was a hand.

And right now, that was more than enough.

Just there. Just real.

Bluudud’s shoulders shook once, then stilled. He didn’t cry, but something like crying passed through him. 

And Bluudud thought, maybe he did remember something after all.

Not a face.

Not a name.

But the feeling of a voice saying “Come here, baby.”

Like he was still worth something.

Even now.

Even here.

Even after everything.

Chapter Text

007n7 paces in the hallway, phone pressed to his ear, one hand gripping a half-folded paper towel like it’s a stress ball. 

A red alert flares. Someone—probably c00lkidd, definitely not Bluudud, maybe Pr3typriincess in a mood—has turned the server logs into a 600-page PDF. Again.

He’s due at his job in twenty minutes. He can’t take the kids with him. He doesn’t trust the vending machine there not to radicalize Bluudud further.

“Hey,” he starts, phone wedged to his shoulder. “Hey, Elliot?”

“No,” comes the voice on the other end.

“I didn’t even ask yet.”

“Didn’t need to. No.”

Click.

Next call.

“Chance,” he asks hopefully. “You think you could take care of the kids while I’m gone?”

He gets laughter. Loud, crackling, five full seconds of it.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Chance says, clearly walking away. “Tell me how it goes!”

Now slightly more panicked, 007n7 scrolls down his contact list. There’s only one name left. One he’d been avoiding for a reason. 

He sighs and presses Call.

Noob picks up on the second ring. “H-hello?”

“Noob, hey. Buddy. Pal. Friend. Do you still have that… uh… functioning living space?”

Noob blinks at the question. “Um. I mean, the lights work again. What’s wrong?”

“You love kids, right?” 007n7 says, talking fast. “They like bright colors and screaming, you like bright colors and screaming—it’s synergy!”

Noob’s already trembling. “Whose kids?”

“Mine.”

“Your ki—wait—you mean the killers??”

“They’re not killers, they’re children. They’re just… in a phase.”

“They set my hair on fire the last time I blinked near them!”

“They said it was symbolic!” 007n7 argues. “Listen. It’s just for tonight. I’ll be back before the sun comes up or before Bluudud convinces you to start a religion, whichever’s sooner.”

Noob makes a soft, gurgling noise of dread.

“Fine…”

007n7 stands awkwardly at the front steps of the mismatched brick-and-wood rental that Noob shares with Acorn, Bacon, and Guest. 

It smells like pizza, incense, and microwave anxiety. 

He knocks, twice, then opens the door himself—mostly because Pr3typriincess is already trying to kick it open from inside his arms.

Guest is sitting cross-legged on the floor flipping through a vintage Magazine. 

Bacon is trying to flip something in a frying pan and failing. 

Acorn is sharpening a spork with grim purpose.

Noob peeks out from behind a half-assembled fort of pillows, sees who’s arrived—and instantly tries not to die.

“Oh hey!” they squeak, voice cracking at the top like a haunted kettle. “Haven’t seen y’all since that one round where C00lkidd vaporized me. You’ve grown!”

“I still remember that,” C00lkidd says, eyes lighting up. “I laughed so hard.”

Noob gives the smile of someone who’s faced death several times and only survived out of spite. “Ha ha! Yeah. Good times. Good vaporization!”

Pr3typriincess leaps down from 007n7’s arms, lands in a perfect pink twirl, and points dramatically at Bacon’s frilly “KISS THE COOK (OR DON’T, IDK)” apron.

“YOU cook?! That’s ADORABLE.”

Bacon blinks. “Uhh… thanks?”

Acorn stares from the kitchen table like a predator eyeing a glittery mongoose.

“…Who let a Lisa Frank sticker book into our house?” she mutters.

Bluudud floats in last, silent as ever. He sees Guest. Guest sees him.

They share a nod. It’s subtle, respectful. 

007n7 clears his throat. “Okay, cool, everyone’s friends now. Great. I’ll just—be gone now.”

Noob grabs his sleeve. “Wait—waitwaitwait—you said two, this is three. This is three.”

“Consider the third one a bonus,” 007n7 says, prying their fingers off. “You’ve got this! You’re great with kids! They’ve only killed you more than once each!”

“That is not a comfort—!”

The door was shut.

Noob turns around slowly.

Pr3typriincess has climbed halfway up the bookshelf.

C00lkidd is fiddling with their router.

Bluudud is just standing in the corner. Watching.

Noob sighs. “Okay… okay. Ground rules. No summoning, no going in the air vents, and—”

“Can we make slime?” Pr3typriincess chirps.

Noob sighs.

In the kitchen, Bacon calls out, “Hey Noob! Want me to make extra grilled cheese for the children?”

“…Please,” Noob says, already slumped onto the carpet. “Make it triple.”

Guest silently offers them a juice box.

It’s been 45 minutes.

The slime is somehow on the ceiling. 

Bacon is sobbing over a burned grilled cheese (“It had potential…”), and C00lkidd is attempting to troubleshoot the router again.

Acorn’s locked herself in the bathroom muttering about “child-proofing the knives,” 

And Guest has retreated into his blanket with the unspoken energy of “I warned you.”

Noob sits on the couch, eyes glazed, juice box half-empty in their hand.

Then.

Silence.

Which, in this house, is the worst sound of all.

They blink.

Bluudud is sitting in the corner.

“…Where are the small ones?”

Pr3typriincess is wearing sunglasses and dragging a backpack full of glitter bombs. (Where she got it, no one knows.)

C00lkidd has a screwdriver, a sock full of Robux tokens, and the swagger of a boy who’s deleted firewalls for fun.

“The arcade’s open till 10,” C00lkidd whispers, eyes scanning for security cameras. “That’s at least seven rounds of Death Racer 2 before anyone notices.”

“Do they have pink slushies?” Pr3typriincess asks.

“They have seventeen types of slushies.”

“Oh my gosh. I’m gonna commit something.”

C00lkidd fist-bumps her.

They make it halfway down the block.

Then, from behind:

“I can smell chaos,” Noob calls, deadpan.

Both kids freeze mid-sprint. Pr3typriincess drops her glitter bomb. It pops in a sad little puff of lavender sparkles.

Noob approaches from the shadows like a tired parent. Judging.

“I gave you three rules,” they say, pointing at the kids. “No summoning, no getting in the vents, and don’t. Try. To leave.”

“But we were gonna be back!” Pr3typriincess whines.

“I was gonna hack the crane machine,” C00lkidd adds, helpfully.

Noob pinches the bridge of their nose. “…Y’know what? Fine.”

“Wait what?”

“We’re going. All of us.”

Once inside, the group fans out like a tactical unit.

The arcade buzzes with neon light and low-poly soundtracks. 

Machines ding. Tokens clatter. Noob clutches their forehead like they’re warding off a vision.

“This is a bad idea,” they whisper.

Then Bluudud tugs on their sleeve, silently pointing to the claw machine.

“…Okay. One game,” Noob says.

Five wins later.

“He’s cracked,” Noob mutters, awestruck, as Bluudud wordlessly hands them a plushie shaped like a pizza slice.

At the back corner, the Mortal Bloxbat machine lights up with flashing red letters: “FATALITY ROUND.”

Acorn leans forward on her stool, eyes locked in a combat trance. C00lkidd sits cross-legged like a gremlin, mashing buttons at the speed of spite.

He wins the first round.

Acorn says nothing.

Just exhales. Repositions.

Next round: flawless victory.

By round four, C00lkidd is being the gremlin he is and Acorn has quietly recalibrated her life goals.

Across the arcade:

Guest and Pr3typriincess face off at a rhythm game, the kind with glowing arrows and a bassline that could rattle your fillings.

Pr3typriincess is screaming. “I’M NOT LOSING TO A MUTE!”

Guest doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch.

Just hits every note. Perfect. Score climbs. Rainbow S-rank.

When the final round ends, he turns and offers a small shrug.

She throws her glitter tiara at him.

He puts it on.

Meanwhile, Bacon runs between the clusters like a frantic dad at a birthday party.

“Don’t lick the light-up flooring!”

“That’s not cotton candy, that’s insulation!”

“Stop trying to ‘liberate’ the prize counter!”

He is sweating through their apron.

He deserves a raise.

Wait, he doesn’t even get paid.

Eventually, they regroup at the exit, all sticky with cotton candy and victory.

Bluudud clutches twenty-two claw prizes.

Acorn holds a keychain shaped like a spork.

C00lkidd got vampire teeth and is already biting things with them.

Pr3typriincess has a grudge.

Guest just has a rubber duck. No one knows where he got it.

Noob checks the time.

“Alright, let’s get home before someone thinks this is a field trip.”

The house, once filled with chaos, is now dim and soft. The lava lamp bubbles gently. Blankets and floor pillows form a makeshift nest in the living room—a sleepy fort of warmth.

Pr3typriincess, once a caffeine-fueled tempest, is now curled up in Acorn’s lap like a pink cat that finally ran out of rage.

Acorn sits still. Very still.

She doesn’t look down, doesn’t speak. Just gently adjusts the sleeping girl’s hair so it stops poking her in the eye. Her expression is unreadable.

Maybe thoughtful.

Maybe soft.

Definitely scared to move.

In the kitchen, where the overhead light hums softly:

C00lkidd swings his legs from a stool, nibbling on the corner of a cookie Bacon gave him.

“You ever wonder if you’re doing it right?” he asks, voice unusually quiet. “The taking-care-of stuff.”

Bacon leans against the counter, sipping warm soda out of a measuring cup.

“Just feed ‘em and don’t be evil,” he replies, half-yawning. “It’s not hard.”

C00lkidd nods, slowly. He doesn’t say it, but he hears it. He really hears it.

In the corner by the CRT, Bluudud gently sets one of his claw machine plushies—a tiny dinosaur — into Guest’s lap.

Guest blinks. Looks down. Then up.

They share a look.

Guest doesn’t smile. But he keeps the plushie.

That’s all that’s needed.

Noob pads softly through the room, tucking a blanket over Pr3typriincess’ knees, draping one over Bluudud’s shoulders. C00lkidd’s already snuggled into a corner.

The nest is full. Peaceful. Not perfect, but warm in a way Noob hadn’t expected.

They stand in the center of it all, hands on their hips, surveying the weirdest sleepover.

Then, quietly, before switching off the lamp:

“Y’know,” they whisper to no one in particular, “you guys are alright. You’re weird, but like… good weird.”

They grin faintly, teeth crooked but honest.

“Don’t explode anything, yeah?”

A small snore from C00lkidd. A sleepy sigh from Acorn.

Even Guest has relaxed.

The lava lamp bubbles on.

The sky is still soft with dawn, washed in pastel blues and grays. 

The birds are chirping. 

007n7 steps up to the porch with cautious footsteps, hoodie wrinkled from an overnight at the terminal.

He raises his hand to knock, but the door creaks open before he touches it.

Noob stands there, wrapped in a blanket. Their hair’s even messier than usual.

They stare at him with bleary eyes.

“You owe me,” Noob says flatly, “like, twelve sodas and one kidney.”

Pause.

“But they were good.”

007n7 blinks. “…You’re alive.”

“Physically.”

He peeks inside.

The nest of floor pillows still stands. The kids are scattered across it like dropped plushies — Pr3typriincess tucked under Acorn’s arm, Bluudud cuddled up with Guest, C00lkidd asleep upside-down with a blanket over his face.

It’s calm. Safe. Soft.

007n7’s shoulders finally lower. His expression softens.

“Thanks, Noob,” he says.

Noob shrugs, stepping aside to let him in. “No prob. But next time bring snacks. Acorn almost killed me over the last cookie.”

They add, “I feared for my life.”

007n7 chuckles under his breath and closes the door behind him.

Under a vast blue sky, John Doe perches silently atop the house roof. His glowing red eye flickers softly in the dark, the corrupted right arm resting limply on his knee.

His voice is barely audible, a fractured whisper carried on the still morning air:

“Ｔ̷Ｈ̷Ｉ̷Ｓ̷  Ｉ̸Ｓ̸  Ｎ̵Ｉ̵Ｃ̸Ｅ̴”

The trees rustle quietly, untouched by the world below.

Silence stretches. Peace lingers.

The sun had already began to rise, casting gentle beams across the tranquil scene.

Chapter Text

The front door creaked open, its rusted hinges groaning like they were begging for retirement. 

Static hung in the air, faint and uneasy—like reality itself hadn’t fully finished loading. 

007n7 stepped inside cautiously, his shoes scuffing against the warped floorboards as he made his way into the room.

At the center stood a towering figure, swathed in darkness and flickering digital fire. 

Dark flames licked lazily at her shoulders, illuminating the cold chains coiled around her limbs. 

Her lone glowing red eye turned toward him, watching, waiting.

“Okay, look,” 007n7 began, raising his hands. “I know what you’re gonna say.”

1x1x1x1 didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. 

She stared at him with an expression that could only be described as indifference.

“But I really need you to watch them again,” he continued. “Just for a few hours.”

The silence that followed stretched so long it made the walls feel like they were pulsing. 

Her eye dimmed slightly—not out of mercy, but thought.

“…You mean those three,” she finally said.

No names. She didn’t need to say them. The disdain in her voice was thick enough.

Another long pause.

Then, with a slow exhale, she shut her eye, and for a moment, it was as though she released several murder fantasies all at once.

“Tch. They’re not my responsibility.”

007n7 hesitated, then offered a weak smile. “Yeah. But… they like you.”

“If they try to offer me glitter sandwiches again… I will delete one of them.” 1x1x1x1 said, her voice was razor-thin, cold, and a hint of… exasperation?

“Understood!” 007n7 squeaked, already backing away. “You’re the best—BYE!”

And with that, he was gone, the front door creaking closed behind him.

1x1x1x1 stared at the spot where he’d stood, then slowly sat back into the shadows. Her flames hissed and flickered.

“…Glitter,” she muttered with disgust.

She stopped at a large reinforced door marked with faded stickers: old memes, sword decals, and one peeling image of a smiling chicken leg. 

With a flick of her wrist, the door creaked open.

Inside, Shedletsky looked up from his cluttered workbench, a wrench in one hand and a half-assembled Dispenser in the other. 

His shirt was stained with oil and soda, his expression already teetering between tired and annoyed.

He blinked.

“Let me guess,” he muttered, wiping his hands on a rag. “Again?”

1x1x1x1 stepped inside. “He dropped them off. Again,” she said flatly. “All three.“

Shedletsky groaned and leaned back in his chair until it creaked. “You keep saying you’re going to delete them. But then somehow you’re always still watching them when I check the cameras.”

She didn’t answer.

He raised a brow, smirking faintly. “You secretly like them, don’t you?”

Her glowing eye narrowed. “Finish that sentence and I erase this room.”

Shedletsky raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright.”

1x turned, cloak sweeping the floor like smoke. “Tell 007n7 he owes me. Again.”

“You say that every time.”

She vanished mid-step, leaving nothing but cold air. Shedletsky sighed and turned back to his workbench.

“Definitely likes them,” he muttered, tightening a bolt. 

1x1x1x1 stood rigid in the corner of the cluttered room, like some dark gargoyle who got lost on their way to a goth convention. 

She didn’t move a muscle, just glaring into the chaos like she was judging their life choices on a cosmic scale. 

The faint hum of restless energy filled the air, mingling with the smell of something suspiciously like burnt plastic.

Pr3typriinc3ss was having the time of her life, practically vibrating with excitement as she tossed glitter into the toaster. 

“Shhh! This is gonna be the most sparkly breakfast ever,” she chirped, barely able to contain her giggles. “Do you think it’ll explode? I hope it explodes!”

1x1x1x1’s red eye narrowed. “If any of you explode, I am not cleaning up. Again.”

“Again?” Bluudud muttered from his perch by the window, slouching like a bored statue painted blue. “You made me clean the last mess. I’m not your maid.”

“Oh, please,” C00lkidd muttered, still crouched over a half-empty cola can, stabbing it with a fork like he was performing some weird exorcism. “You’re the one who broke the vacuum cleaner with your wings last week. Spoiler alert: angels aren’t that fragile.”

Bluudud gave him a glare that said, I’ll haunt you forever, but stayed silent.

Pr3typriinc3ss clapped her hands. “Ooooh, can we make a game out of this??” She bounced excitedly on her toes, nearly toppling a precarious pile of miscellaneous junk. “Winner gets—”

“Not a lifetime supply of glitter,” 1x1x1x1 cut in deadpan, “because that’s exactly why I’m this close to snapping.”

C00lkidd finally paused his fork stabbing and looked up. “Honestly, I think you’d snap faster if we didn’t have glitter everywhere. That stuff gets in places no one should ever touch.”

Pr3typriincess gasped. “Hey! Glitter is a lifestyle, not a hazard!”

Bluudud rolled his eyes. “It’s both.”

There was a sudden pop and a tiny spark in the toaster. Pr3typriincess squealed, “See?! It’s starting!”

1x1x1x1 took a long breath and said slowly, “If this toaster turns into a house fire, I’m burning all the glitter.”

“Traitor!” Pr3typriincess wailed.

C00lkidd leaned back on his elbows, smirking. “You know, if you all just calmed down, I might actually get some cola.”

Bluudud yawned loudly. “Can’t wait for this to be over so I can nap properly.”

C00lkidd had somehow found a bat—where from, no one dared ask.

Pr3typriincess was kneeling next to 1x1x1x1’s leg, lovingly draping her hair in pink ribbons and whispering.

And 1x1x1x1?

Still.

Stone-faced.

Static drifted off her shoulders like embers from a smoldering rage that refused to commit.

She told herself it wasn’t her problem.

Again.

Until—

A flicker.

A sound.

A lack of sound.

No bat whacks.

No monologue.

No ambient humming.

1x1x1x1’s eye glowed like a dying star with opinions.

“…Where is the blue one.”

Pr3typriinc3ss looked up, glitter clinging to her face like a failed makeup tutorial.

“Oh! He said something about, uh…” she scratched her head. “…‘My Destiny’ and then he walked out the back door dramatically.”

The glow in 1x’s eye pulsed like a warning light.

This wasn’t panic.

This was pattern disruption.

The household algorithm was corrupted.

Noise: gone.

Glitter: contained.

Energy: focused.

Bluudud, the emotionally uninvested background character, had… self-directed.

He left.

On his own.

Silently.

Something was wrong.

A bunny shouldn’t be out there.

A child shouldn’t have followed it.

And she definitely shouldn’t have noticed he was gone.

But she had.

“I don’t care.” 1x1x1x1 muttered quietly, to herself.

Her fingers twitched like they wanted to clench but hadn’t received the proper emotion flag.

Pr3typriinc3ss, still decorating the chain with an increasing sense of bridal commitment, looked up again. “You sure? ‘Cause, like, he was mumbling something about voices. And then he smiled.”

The rain poured like an insult—steady, uncaring, and far too fitting for the mood that hung over the alley.

The warehouse was silent.

Dead silent.

Not the good kind of silent either—the kind that followed a successful hit or a well-negotiated truce. 

No. 

This was the kind of silence you get after something has gone terribly, irrevocably wrong.

Inside, the gang stood in a loose semicircle around a makeshift pedestal: a worn wooden crate, cushioned by an old handkerchief and shreds of velvet.

Empty.

Mafioso stood at the center, black-gloved hands clutching his pocket watch like it held the key to reverse time. 

His black fedora tilted forward just enough to shadow his face. 

The only sound in the room was the tick… tick… tick of that watch.

Caporegime coughed into his hand. “Boss. You, uh. You want us to put up flyers?”

The silence thickened.

“We can shake down that pet shop again,” offered Soldier, tapping his crowbar nervously against his boot. “Maybe she got… rabbitnapped.”

“Nobody rabbitnaps Lulu and lives,” Contractee muttered, gripping his nailed board like it had just declared war.

“She was so small, boss,” Consigliere said quietly, removing his tophat and placing it over his heart. “But brave. The way she chewed through those cords…”

“She was just… out for a hop,” Soldier muttered, voice hoarse.

“No witnesses, no paw prints,” Caporegime added stiffly. “It’s like she vanished.”

“She had gumption,” agreed a henchman from the back, voice cracking.

Still, Mafioso said nothing. The ticking watch snapped shut.

Then, at last, he spoke.

Voice low. Gravelly. Dead calm.

“She was a bunny,” he said.

The gang nodded solemnly.

“A bunny who believed in this crew.”

Another nod.

He turned slowly to face them, black trenchcoat shifting with every step, then raised his chin, composed and cold.

“We don’t cry over fluff.”

A beat of silence.

Then a sniffle.

And another.

Someone choked.

Caporegime pulled his sunglasses off and rubbed his eyes. “It’s just… the way she used to hop, boss…”

“She thumped at me,” Contractee whispered, voice breaking.

Consiglieres wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Boss, she was the tiniest one…”

“She always fell asleep in your hat,” said Caporegime, choking up.

Mafioso stared at them.

Then exhaled slowly. The breath caught.

He looked up, jaw tight.

They cried.

They all cried.

Even the boss.

Bluudud’s shoes crunched against gravel.

He followed the soft thump-thump of tiny paws.

The bunny was perfect. 

Round. White. The color of untouched snow or blank canvas. Its ears flopped slightly as it paused, turned, and looked up at him.

Its eyes—unblinking black dots—felt too calm.

Bluudud blinked slowly. “I’m gonna regret this,” he murmured.

The bunny turned and hopped again.

He followed.

Not because he cared. Not because he was curious. But because something about this rabbit felt important. Or maybe because following rabbits was just better than watching C00lkidd invent his own sport out of drywall.

Either way, he trudged along, the thought of a bunny keeping him warm against the cold wind.

The mafia hideout was now officially the saddest place in the world. Somewhere, a violin played itself to death.

Soldier was curled up on the floor, rocking back and forth while muttering “We were gonna teach her to high-five…” under his breath.

Caporegime had taken off his sunglasses, eyes glassy. “She bit my baton once. I let her.”

Contractee was in a corner, furiously nailing carrots to a board like he was creating modern art therapy. “Maybe… maybe this is what I deserve…”

Consigliere stood atop the table with his sword unsheathed, dramatically pointed at the ceiling. “I WILL AVENGE HER.” he shouted, even though no one asked him to. He then immediately tripped over a mug and fell off the table.

In the center of it all, Mafioso sat like a deflated balloon in his big boss chair, trenchcoat wrapped around him like a security blanket. One bunny ear drooped. He had taped a tiny picture of Pippin to the side of his pocket watch, and every time it clicked, he gave it a slow nod.

It was a certified flop spiral.

And then—

BZZZZZZT

The elevator dinged.

Out stepped Eunoia: glowing pale skin, sleek light blue hair, soft-heeled boots. Graceful, elegant, and slightly out of place among a crowd of grown crime bunnies crying like they just lost their favorite anime plush.

“…Oh no.” She paused at the carnage of sadness. “Did someone eat the last biscotti again?”

“No,” Soldier sniffled from the carpet. “Worse.”

Contractee wheezed. “We lost… her.”

“Lulu,” Caporegime added, holding up a single, suspiciously pre-gnawed carrot like it was evidence in a courtroom.

“Floppiest ear in the gang,” whispered the Consigliere, now bandaged poorly from his mug fall.

Eunoia stared at them. Blinked. Blinked again. Processed. Calculated. Recalculated. Tilted her head.

Then softly said:

“…You guys know she’s a bunny, right?”

Mafioso stood up slowly, dramatically, like a haunted scarecrow rising from a field of regret. His voice was grave.

“She wasn’t just a bunny.”

“She was family,” hissed Soldier.

“She pooped shapes,” added Contractee.

Eunoia stood in silence. For exactly 2.7 seconds. Then she carefully sat down in the middle of the room, crossed her legs, and clapped twice.

“Okay, everyone. Group grief circle. Let’s process this like emotionally immature adults.”

They instantly gathered around her. Mafioso curled up next to her like a trenchcoated onion. Caporegime was already halfway into her lap.

“I made her a tiny fedora,” Mafioso mumbled. “It had a feather. She never wore it, but I knew she appreciated it.”

“She kicked the consigliere in the shin once,” Eunoia noted.

“She did!” Consigliere gasped, eyes wide. “My god, she was brave.”

“I miss her tiny judgmental eyes,” Caporegime sobbed into her sleeve. “They always said, ‘You’ll never be enough,’ and I needed that.”

Eunoia smiled gently. “Okay, okay. New mission. We find the bunny. We bring her home. We restore morale. We repair whatever this is.” She motioned to the consigliere holding a carrot funeral.

Mafioso sniffed. “You’d do that… for us?”

She reached up and patted his head like a solemn king who just needed a nap.

“Of course. Who else is going to keep you all from forming a cult around a rabbit?”

The entire mafia nodded. In eerie unison.

She paused.

“…You didn’t already form a cult, right?”

Mafioso avoided eye contact. “Define… cult.”

She stood. “That’s it. I’m leading this mission now.”

“YES MA’AM,” the bunnies cried in unison.

New Blox City wasn’t a quiet place. Even in the dark hours when the neon signs flickered like dying stars and the streets lay mostly abandoned, it hummed. The buzz of distant trains, the hollow clank of pipes in forgotten alleys, the never-sleeping sigh of a city too broken to dream.

But tonight, Bluudud only heard one thing.

Thump-thump. Thump.

Pawsteps.

Small. Measured. Purposeful.

The bunny had appeared near an alley by the noodle cart. No announcement, no dramatic entrance. Just… there. Sitting. Watching him. Tilting its fluffy head with those strange, uncaring eyes.

And he—killer, monster, child—followed.

He’d been trailing it for over an hour now. It moved with unnerving intent, stopping only to let him get close before continuing on. Each time he thought it was cornered, it would vanish—under a fence, behind a dumpster, or simply gone around a bend—and yet somehow reappear just ahead, waiting.

“You’re weird,” Bluudud muttered as he passed a puddle reflecting broken neon.

The bunny didn’t respond.

Of course it didn’t.

It was a bunny.

“…But I get it,” he added under his breath. “You’re leading me somewhere. I know this trick. Classic misdirection. It’s what I’d do.”

The bunny thumped once. Then took a few more hops, tail bouncing behind it like a metronome of madness.

Bluudud adjusted the red bandana around his neck, now loose and slightly soggy from the city air. His wing flicked behind him in mild annoyance as he walked.

CLINK.

CLINK.

CLINK.

“You’re lucky I’m bored.”

1x1x1x1 stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, glowing red eye twitching.

The couch was overturned. There was green slime on the ceiling. Pr3typriincess had somehow gotten a full jar of glitter inside the microwave and was now using the control panel as a diary.

“Dear Journal,” she said aloud, “today I learned the inside of a microwave smells like broken dreams and marshmallows.”

C00lkidd ran by wearing a colander on his head and wielding two plungers, screaming, “FOR THE TEAM!!” before crashing into the wall and exploding into laughter.

And 1x1x1x1… was trying not to notice that Bluudud was gone.

She stood still. Arms crossed tighter. Face unreadable.

“He’s just out,” she said aloud, to no one in particular. “Probably got distracted by a bug or a trash can or something.”

No one responded. C00lkidd was now chewing on the colander.

“…I don’t care,” she added, her voice slightly higher than usual. “Let the little blue rat vanish. I’m not his parent. Not anymore.”

The room rumbled slightly as Pr3tty_princ3ss microwaved glitter.

Bluudud continued following.

The city twisted oddly in the bunny’s wake. He was starting to feel like he wasn’t in New Blox anymore—but in some ghost-layer of it. The bunny led him past shuttered diners and crooked buildings, places no one remembered anymore.

“Where’re you even from?” he asked the bunny, tone casual, like it was just an old friend on a walk. “You a ghost? Hacker? Fallen admin? Or maybe you’re a big metaphor and I’m in a coma right now.”

The bunny stopped at a puddle that reflected no lights. Then blinked, turned, and continued on.

“…Rude,” Bluudud muttered, stepping in after it.

As he moved, he realized he’d begun narrating his feelings. Out loud. To the bunny. To himself. It didn’t matter.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m even… real, y’know?” he said, casually hopping over a fence. 

He kicked a soda can. It bounced into the shadows.

“I’m not mad about it. Not mad mad. Just… bunny, are you listening?”

The bunny paused again, now perched on a low wall. It looked back at him.

For one moment.

Longer than usual.

Then it blinked and hopped down the other side.

“…K. Thought so.”

Back in the apartment, 1x1x1x1 was at her limit.

“ENOUGH.” she shouted, voice echoing with corrupted code and god-complex trauma.

The room went still. Glitter paused in midair.

C00lkidd blinked. “Are you okay, big sis? You look like you’re gonna explode and turn into a volcano made of knives.”

“I’m not mad,” she said, fangs gritted. “I’m just…”

She glanced at the door.

Still no Bluudud.

“…fine,” she hissed, red eye twitching harder. “Totally fine.”

The kids looked at each other.

Then C00lkidd raised a hand. “Do you wanna… go look for him?”

“No.”

“Should we… wait for him at the window?”

“No.”

“Should we pretend he’s dead and write a sad poem?”

“I SAID NO.”

A long pause.

Then, quietly, Pr3typriincess asked, “…Are you worried?”

1x1x1x1’s chains rattled.

Her eye glowed brighter.

“…No.”
(She is.)

Bluudud ducked under a drainpipe, chasing the bunny down a steep stairwell of crumbling stone. There was moss on the walls. Old graffiti that read things like 'BLOX IS A LIE' and 'GUESTS NEVER DIED, THEY JUST SHIFTED.'

He wasn’t out of breath. He didn’t get out of breath. But his thoughts were racing.

“Are you even a real bunny? You’re too clean.”

The bunny stopped at the bottom of the steps, staring at a rusted door with no handle.

“…Is this therapy?” Bluudud asked. “Are you my emotional support rabbit? That’d be hilarious. That would make 1x so mad.”

He chuckled to himself.

“…She’s probably mad.”

The bunny didn’t move.

“I always thought she hated me,” he continued. “She calls me a brat. A moron. She lets me fall off buildings.”

He shifted his weight.

“But she caught me that one time. When I actually fell.”

Silence.

“…I don’t think she hates me.”

Still silence.

“…I think she’s just scared.”

A long moment passed. Then the rusted door creaked open slowly on its own, revealing only darkness inside.

The bunny looked up at him. Then inched forward into the dark.

Bluudud blinked. “Wait. This is like, actual spooky stuff.”

The bunny was gone again.

Bluudud groaned. “Ugh. You suck.”

And stepped in.

Bluudud emerged on the other side of the dark corridor.

The city had shifted again.

There was a soft breeze, and no source.

The bunny was sitting in the center of a plaza that had no name. 

Waiting.

Bluudud approached slowly.

He looked around. No signs. No lights. Just the bunny. And… something in the air.

He sat beside it. Let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“…Y’know,” he said, voice low, “You could’ve just said you wanted to hang out. I’d have come.”

The bunny wiggled its nose.

Bluudud smiled. Tired.

“I think I needed this.”

The bunny stood. Hopped once in a small circle.

Bluudud closed his eyes.

The bunny stopped again.

It tilted its head up at Bluudud, eyes dark and unreadable, twitching just once.

“…You’re weird,” he said softly. “You remind me of that one plush 007 gave me. I think it got burned, though.”

The breeze shifted.

“You ever think you forgot something important? Like, you shouldn’t have forgotten it?”

The breeze stirred again, carrying with it a faint whisper that seemed to almost brush against Bluudud’s skin.

He opened his eyes slowly, eyes tracing the empty plaza as if the answer might be hiding in the silence.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “Like there’s this thing you’re supposed to remember… but every time you try, it just slips away. Like it’s hiding in the back of your mind.”

He glanced at the bunny, whose dark eyes reflected something deeper—maybe understanding, or maybe something harder to grasp.

“I don’t know how to feel anymore,” Bluudud admitted, “Maybe it was someone I let down. Or maybe it was just a moment I should’ve been there for and… wasn’t.”

The bunny twitched its nose again, hopping a little closer.

Bluudud rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe remembering is worse than forgetting. Because when you forget, you lose a part of yourself. But maybe remembering means facing things you don’t want to. Facing what you lost.”

Bluudud’s gaze lingered on the empty plaza, the weight of those words settling over him like the breeze itself.

“Maybe,” he said after a moment, voice almost a whisper, “remembering means you have to be brave enough to face the truth of what you lost.” He looked down at the bunny, whose dark eyes seemed to hold no judgment—just quiet, steady presence.

The bunny twitched again, then hopped up onto Bluudud’s lap, pressing softly against him.

Bluudud’s fingers twitched slightly, unsure whether to pat the bunny or just stay still and let the moment linger.

The quiet was thick but not uncomfortable. It felt like the weight of a thousand forgotten things, pressing gently, asking to be noticed.

Bluudud exhaled slowly, the ache inside settling just a bit.

“You know,” he said, voice softer now, “sometimes the hardest part isn’t forgetting or remembering. It’s just… being here. Even when it hurts.”

The bunny’s dark eyes seemed to soften just a little, like it understood.

Bluudud reached out and absentmindedly brushed the bunny’s ears. “Thanks for sticking around, even when I don’t make much sense.”

The breeze carried a faint scent, like something old, something lost but precious.

The plaza stayed silent, empty, waiting, but somehow less lonely now.

Bluudud’s lips twitched into a small, tired smile.

“So… what now?”

The bunny gave a tiny hop, nudging his hand.

Maybe, Bluudud thought, that was the answer. Just keep moving forward, one step, one hop, one breath at a time.

The bunny twitched her nose and gave a tiny bunny sneeze, startling Bluudud out of his reverie.

Just then—

CRASH!

Mafioso rounded the corner, with Eunoia close behind, spyglass in hand.

They bumped right into Bluudud. Mafioso froze mid-step, his trenchcoat billowing dramatically. Bluudud froze with equal awkwardness, his wings twitching. The tension could have sliced through a carrot.

The bunny in Bluudud’s lap sneezed again, breaking the silence.

Eunoia, crouching on the warehouse steps, slowly lowered her spyglass.

“Gentlemen,” she said, voice calm but amused. “I think we’ve found our fluff.”

Caporegime didn’t hesitate. He charged at Bluudud with the speed of a caffeinated bunny, tackling him mid-step.

“BUNNY THIEF!” he yelled, wielding his police baton like a sword.

“I AM NOT A THIEF,” Bluudud protested, wings flapping wildly as he was dragged to the ground.

Crowbars were raised. Nerve-wracking carrot-boards swung. Wings flailed.

Amid the confusion, the air shimmered—and suddenly 1x1x1x1 appeared, emerging from a swirling green-black haze, eyes blazing red.

With terrifying speed, 1x1x1x1 threw hands, deftly knocking Caporegime off Bluudud and forcing the henchmen to back away.

“ENOUGH!” 1x1x1x1 hissed. 

Mafioso stepped forward, eyes locked with 1x1x1x1’s. A tense silence stretched between them.

And then—

The bunny jumped from Bluudud’s lap straight into Mafioso’s arms.

The world stopped.

Every weapon lowered, every breath caught, every ear stood on end.

Mafioso blinked down at the fluff ball, whose twitching nose was a perfect mirror of his own.

The bunny looked up at him, eyes wide with innocent mischief.

The bunny sat on a velvet pillow in the middle of the room, basking in the glow of mafioso worship. Her ears twitched once. The mafia burst into applause.

“She’s doing the twitch!!” Contractee cried, choking on tears and pizza crust.

Bluudud stood awkwardly near the doorway, wings tucked politely, as if unsure whether to stay or dramatically vanish. Mafioso approached him, trenchcoat swishing with that signature “boss with business” swagger. 

He pulled out a pouch of studs—the kind you could only get from loot crates and crime—and handed it to Bluudud.

“For your service,” Mafioso said, straight-faced but… softer than usual. “You followed the fluff. You respected the fluff. You didn’t eat the fluff.”

“Yeah,” Bluudud shrugged, catching the pouch like it was no big deal. “She looked like she knew where she was going. So I followed.”

Caporegime suddenly turned around, wide-eyed:
“Wait a second… was he even a suspect?”

Contractee frowned, halfway through building a little bunny-shaped shrine. “Was who a what now?”

Consigliere squinted at Bluudud, leaned in… then turned back around. “Nah, doesn’t ring a bell.”

They all continued cheering like nothing ever happened.

1x1x1x1 stood silently off to the side, red eye glowing with pure existential judgment. Her arms were crossed, her body language screamed “I am too ancient and powerful for this nonsense,” and yet—her eye twitched. Just a little.

“You lost a rabbit,” she growled, scanning the room with unfiltered contempt. “You made a mission. You cried. You made maps.”

“She was family,” someone whispered behind a mouthful of carrot cake. No one claimed it. They all nodded solemnly. Even Eunoia, sipping tea out of a USB-port shaped mug, nodded.

1x1x1x1 scowled, muttered, “Disgusting,” and turned, cloak swishing, leaving behind a small cloud of bitterness and burnt pixels as she stormed out.

The city glowed in a peaceful dusk, buildings outlined by neon, and pigeons absolutely not carrying knives for once. The Mafia had gone back to business-as-usual (mild extortion, community gardening), and Mafioso sat with Lulu on his lap like she was a tax write-off.

But outside of that cozy peace, one being did not glow—she radiated with irritation.

A vortex of corrupted data glitched open at the edge of 007n7’s apartment complex. 

Out stepped 1x1x1x1, cloaked in static and sheer exhaustion. In each hand, she held chaos incarnate.

Holding her right leg: C00lkidd, now covered in spaghetti, glitter, and what might be mustard.

In her arms: Bluudud, asleep.

Behind her, clinging to her leg like static cling: Pr3typriincess.

007n7 opened the door mid-bite of a cold burger, blinking slowly.

“Oh. Hey. You’re early.”

“I am never early,” 1x growled, dropping the three into his arms like mismatched luggage. “They started a cult. The Blue one disappeared for a bunny. In the span of four hours.”

Pr3typriincess beamed. 

Bluudud, still asleep, mumbled, “Praise the Fluff.”

007n7 sighed, setting them down like used Roblox gear. 

“Thanks again, 1x. I know it’s a lot. My shift goes late.”

1x1x1x1 stared him down, red eye twitching.

“These two,” 1x1x1x1 gestured to C00lkidd and Pr3typriincess. “Summoned THREE eldritch horrors when I was gone.”

C00lkidd proudly raised a paper crown. “We almost conquered the spirit realm!”

007n7 laughed nervously. “Ah… kids, right?”

1x didn’t respond.

She turned around, muttering: “Next time, I’m charging. Or emotional compensation. Or a vacation.”

As the door shut and the kids scurried off screaming about bunny warlords and pasta, 007n7 paused.

He walked over to the table, noticing something left behind.

A small, handmade green crochet bunny keychain.

No note. No explanation.

Just one stitched red eye.

And a single label on its back:

“Fluff stays.”

Chapter Text

007n7 sat cross-legged on the floor of his small apartment, surrounded by an absurd amount of food laid out like a feast fit for a king—or a very hungry family of four. 

Sandwiches stacked taller than his forearm, crates of juice boxes, a pile of assorted snacks, bags of chips in every flavor imaginable, and a mountain of sweets formed a colorful, chaotic mosaic on the floor. 

He was a man on a mission.

“Okay, so that’s three sandwiches per person, plus extras,” he muttered to himself, double-checking his list as he stuffed a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into the picnic basket.

C00lkidd was crouched nearby, eyes wide with excitement, but every time 007n7 turned his back, the kid slipped something weird or outright dangerous into the basket. “Hey, don’t put the bottle of hot sauce in there! And no, I don’t think the rubber snake belongs in the chips.”

“But it’s funny!” C00lkidd protested, grinning mischievously.

From the corner, Pr3ttypriincess tiptoed around the basket, clutching a tiny jar of pink glitter she was determined to sneak into the sandwiches. “It’s just a little sparkle, no one will notice,” she whispered, eyes gleaming with the kind of innocent mischief that had led to many a prank in the past. 

But before she could add a pinch, 007n7 caught her hand mid-air.

“Not this time,” he laughed, ruffling her hair gently.

Bluudud sat quietly in the corner, clutching a well-loved, slightly squished bunny plush. 

He looked up with thoughtful eyes and asked softly, “Are we really gonna have a family day, 007?”

007n7 smiled, feeling a warm swell in his chest. 

But lately, he realized how much time was spent just surviving—running errands, doing jobs, and working late shifts. He had barely spent a single full day just being together.

He stood, clapping his hands. “Alright, everyone, today is Family Day. No babysitters. No work. No running around. Just us.”

C00lkidd grinned, bouncing up and down. “Finally! I get to see the lake! Can I bring my grenades?”

“No grenades.“

The picnic basket was packed—maybe too full, but it didn’t matter. They piled into the old, creaky car, with Bluudud clutching his bunny and Pr3ttypriincess whispering secret plans.

The drive to the lakeside picnic area was filled with laughter and chatter.

The car rattled and groaned as 007n7 pulled into the crowded lakeside parking area. 

The bright spring sun gleamed off the shimmering water, where a handful of Robloxians had already claimed patches of grass, picnic blankets, and grills. 

It was the kind of day that seemed to promise peace and laughter.

“Okay, team,” 007n7 announced, juggling the overloaded picnic basket, a cooler, and a big bag of blankets. “Let’s stake our spot before the place gets any crazier.”

Pr3ttypriincess skipped beside him, eyes darting around for potential mischief. 

Bluudud followed quietly, bunny plush in hand, dragging a suspiciously sticky cooler.

“Bluudud, what’s in the cooler?” 007n7 asked, already bracing himself.

“Grapes,” Bluudud said innocently.

C00lkidd peeked inside. “Dude those are not grapes, that’s like, one grape and six frogs.”

Bluudud just shrugged.

C00lkidd bounced impatiently, already itching to explore.

As they neared the lake’s edge, 007n7 spotted familiar faces scattered around the picnic spots, each with their own brand of controlled chaos.

“Alright, kids. We’re here. Remember: no fire, no glitter in the water, and nobody gets left behind.”

“Unless they deserve it,” C00lkidd added helpfully, popping a gum bubble.

“No,” 007n7 said firmly. “No one.”

Bluudud raised a hand. “What if a duck tries to steal our food again?”

“We negotiate,” 007n7 said grimly, grabbing the picnic basket with both arms. “But we don’t negotiate with geese. They’re chaos incarnate.”

Pr3ttypriincess leaned forward with narrowed eyes. “What if I see someone wearing clashing colors? That’s an emergency.”

“You can mock them, but from a distance,” he allowed.

They claimed a spot near a slightly lopsided picnic table under a tree, set their basket down, and began unloading.

"Okay, hear me out,” Chance said, adjusting his fedora and leaning ever so slightly toward Elliot, who was halfway through setting up a modest picnic of his own. “What if after sandwiches we skip stones—just the two of us—then maybe a walk by the lake, and then maybe—”

“You try to flirt again, and I’m throwing you into the lake,” Elliot replied without looking up.

Chance grinned, undeterred. “You’re so shy. It’s charming.”

“I’m not shy,” Elliot said, voice flat. “I’m mentally preparing for your inevitable bad poetry attempt.”

“So,” Chance said, flashing what he hoped was a charming smile. “I’m statistically the most attractive person here.”

“You’ve done statistics?” Elliot asked, arching a brow.

“No. I just assume the numbers would agree with me.”

Elliot gave him a look. “You’re drinking out of a juice box with a bendy straw.”

...

“Elliot,” Chance said, swirling a juice box with two fingers like it was a fine wine. “Are you from heaven? Because you must be the slice of pizza I ordered on accident and then fell in love with.”

Elliot stared at them blankly.

“…That didn’t make any sense,” he said.

“Wasn’t supposed to,” Chance said, flashing a grin. “It’s abstract. Like our love.”

“I’m gonna hit you,” Elliot replied flatly.

“Hit me with your number—OW, okay, yeah, I deserved that one—!”

Mia suddenly popped up behind Chance like a tiny goblin. She wore massive shades and held a plastic water gun like a sniper rifle.

“Why are you here? I thought this was a public space, not a ‘flirt until everyone dies of cringe’ zone.”

“Ouch! Betrayed by my own future sister-in-law!” Chance clutched his chest. “Mia, you wound me.”

“Good. I aim for the heart.”

“Are you bothering my brother again?” she asked.

“I’m literally just breathing,” Chance protested, raising his hands in surrender.

Mia turned to Elliot.

Elliot, without looking up, waved a hand. “Just don’t drown him.”

“You’re all monsters,” Chance muttered as he was instantly drenched in a cold spray. “I’m being bullied by two generations of customer service.”

Elliot finally looked up, biting into a triangular sandwich with mechanical precision. “That’s what you get for hitting on someone during sandwich time,” he said, chewing.

Chance flopped back onto the picnic blanket, soaked and melodramatic. “I hope this blanket absorbs heartbreak. And water. Mostly water.”

Mia reloaded her water gun with a menacing click. “If he tries any more of his ‘charm,’ give me a signal and I’ll handle it.”

“I’ll whistle,” Elliot said dryly.

“I am right here,” Chance said, pushing wet bangs from his face. “You know, some people might call this jealousy.”

“I call it quality control,” Elliot replied, checking the crust on a second sandwich.

Chance leaned up on one elbow, water dripping off his sleeves. “Alright, alright—truce. No more flirting.”

“Thank you.”

“Until after dessert.”

Elliot sighed. “You brought dessert?”

“Chocolate chip cookies. From a bakery. Fancy ones.”

Elliot paused. “…You brought cookies?”

Chance brightened. “Statistically speaking, cookies increase your chances of tolerating me.”

Mia squinted from behind her sunglasses. “Bribery won’t save you.”

But Elliot reached for a cookie anyway, inspecting it like he was suspicious it might be rigged with a proposal.

“…It’s not poisoned,” Chance offered.

“Too bad,” Elliot muttered, taking a bite.

Chance watched him. “Good?”

Elliot didn’t answer right away, but a corner of his mouth twitched. 

“Acceptable.”

Chance beamed. “High praise.”

Mia sighed. “This is going to be a long picnic.”

A few yards away, Guest 1337 stood over a small grill, flipping burgers with the kind of military precision that suggested he was cooking in formation. 

“Dad, are you a food ninja?”

“I served,” Guest 1337 said solemnly, “in more burger battles than I can count.”

She stared at him. “So… yes?”

“Yes.”

His wife Daisy sat beside him, handing him paper plates with all the poise of a seasoned family coordinator, while their daughter—determined, and in full tactical gear—was carefully lining up water balloons like ammo. She was mature—but not mature enough to let go of water gun wars.

“Target acquired,” she whispered.

“Sweetheart,” Guest 1337 said without turning, “only launch if the enemy declares war.”

“She brought glitter,” she said grimly, watching Pr3ttypriincess from afar.

“…Fair,” Guest 1337 conceded.

Two Time ambled slowly down the lakeside trail, hands folded behind their back, tail flicking lazily. 

They wore a sun hat much too large for their head and watched the scenery with quiet interest. 

They walked pass, nodding politely to a duck that waddled by.

“Greetings, small vessel of feather and wrath,” they intoned.

The duck quacked.

Two Time paused. “Ah. A worthy adversary..”

Back under another tree, Shedletsky and Builderman sat on a bench, both sipping on coffee from cups. 

They were talking shop like old coworkers who had seen a thousand bug reports and twice as many betrayals.

“So, what’s the verdict on that new update? The one with the customizable shoulder pets?” Builderman asked.

“Unstable,” Shedletsky muttered. “They start flying when you crouch.”

“Feature, not a bug,” Builderman nodded.

Nearby, 1x1x1x1 stood knee-deep in the water, hands raised like a swamp cryptid summoning lunch from the void. 

She slapped her palms into the shallows, came up with a flopping fish, and held it up triumphantly.

“If we don’t look, she won’t try to give us a fish,” Builderman muttered, avoiding eye contact.

“Too late,” Shedletsky said grimly, “She’s already walking over here.”

Sure enough, 1x1x1x1 stood and strode over, her glowing red eyes fixed on them.

“You,” she said with eerie calm. “I have acquired sustenance.”

“I’m allergic to trout,” Builderman said flatly, not breaking eye contact with his screen.

"Liar."

“Fantastic,” Shedletsky said without blinking. “I’ll… mount it on the wall.”

Near the vending machines, a red-tinged figure hunched low, sniffing at the coin slot like a confused raccoon.

John Doe tilted his head.

“…Grrrrrrnk.”

He pawed the buttons.

“Crrkk… Snaccckk…”

With a metallic thunk, the vending machine spat out a single bag of potato chips.

John Doe cradled the bag like a prize. He looked around, noticed Bluudud staring at him from a distance, and slowly raised a clawed hand in a wave.

“Hi,” Bluudud said, clutching his bunny tighter.

“Friennnd,” John Doe rasped, then chewed the bag—plastic and all.

007n7 jogged up quickly. “Okay, hey buddy! Let’s not eat polymers today.”

John hissed softly in disappointment, but obediently dropped the chewed plastic.

007n7 gave him a Capri Sun.

John looked at the straw. Then at 007n7.

Then back at the straw.

He ate the straw.

007n7 had finally managed to lay everything out. Sandwiches (glitter-free), juice boxes, cookies, and enough chips to drown a server farm.

C00lkidd immediately perked up.

“Can we dig a moat?” he asked.

“No,” 007n7 said automatically.

Pr3ttypriincess flopped beside Bluudud, who was showing his bunny plush the view. “I love today,” she sighed. “So much potential for arson."

“You mean memories?”

“No, I meant what I said.”

007n7 rubbed his temples. “Let’s not set anything on fire today. That’s the one rule.”

“Fine,” Pr3ttypriincess groaned, already tugging out a sparkler she’d hidden in her hair bow. “But you’re stifling my creativity.”

Bluudud looked up. “Can we not explode things this time? I'm still recovering from last time."

“I’m making a trench now!” C00lkidd declared. “Moat was denied, but the trench… the trench lives.”

“Stop.”

“You’re not my dad,” C00lkidd said, then paused. “Wait, you kind of are. Okay, I'll stop."

C00lkidd slumped in defeat.

Lunch was… a disaster. But a tasty one.

The sandwiches were a little soggy, thanks to the lake duck that had once again launched itself at their picnic basket.

Chance wandered over with two juice boxes, and a grin. (Which is never a good sign)

“Your family seems… chaotic,” he said, sitting cross-legged beside them.

“You’re dating Elliot,” 007n7 said. “You have no room to talk.”

“Touché.”

From across the hill, Elliot called, “I see you talking! Are you embarrassing yourself again?!”

“I’m killing it, actually!”

"Lies!”

Mia wandered by, grabbed one of their cookies, and whispered to C00lkidd, “He tried to wink.”

C00lkidd spat out his soda. “Did he live?”

“Barely,” Mia replied.

By the end of the afternoon, everyone was sunburnt, exhausted, full, and inexplicably a little damp. Pr3ttypriincess was watching the ducks.

C00lkidd was curled up on a towel, asleep, arms wrapped around a towel like it was a teddy bear.

007n7 sat back on the grass, arms folded behind his head.

Across the lake, Guest 1337 was helping Elliot drag Chance out of the water (again). 

Shedletsky and Builderman were trying to find a discreet place to bury the cursed fish. 1x1x1x1 was now building a fortress out of driftwood and gravel.

Two Time sat alone on a bench, watching the horizon. A sandwich had been left beside them. They didn’t eat it. But they didn’t leave either.

“This is the worst picnic we’ve ever had,” 007n7 muttered.

Bluudud sat down beside him and smiled slightly. “I liked it.”

“Yeah,” he agreed after a beat. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

The morning sun spilled like warm syrup across the kitchen floor.

The house wasn’t quiet—quiet was a myth—but it was peaceful, in its own chaotic way. 

The kind of peace that existed only in fleeting moments, nestled between clattering dishes and high-pitched laughter, somewhere between “don’t lick the outlet” and “why is the fridge humming spooky scary skeletons?”

007n7 stood over the stove, flipping a pancake with one hand while the other wrestled with a small, glitter-encrusted plastic horse lodged inside a syrup jar. Its eyes stared at him judgmentally through the amber goop.

“Princess Sparklegust deserves only the finest syrup bath,” Pr3typriincess had declared at some ungodly hour before sunrise. 

That same hour, 007n7 had groggily mistaken the shrieking of a cannon for the smoke alarm and nearly called the fire department.

“Why do you call it syrup bath,” he muttered, teeth gritted as the toy made a slorping noise and flopped out, sticky and defiant.

Behind him, a chair scraped across the tile with a sound like a demon dragging a rake through a chalkboard.

“C00lkidd, don’t put another fork in the toaster.”

“I wasn’t!” C00lkidd said instantly, hands frozen mid-motion, one gripping a suspiciously shiny fork about two inches from the appliance. 

He blinked, wide-eyed, pure innocence incarnate. “I was just seeing if it would toast faster. With metal.”

“Yeah, that’s how we get the electricity gods mad,” 007n7 said, snatching the fork and replacing it with a pancake like some kind of breakfast bribe. “Eat this. No fire experiments before 9 A.M. or without adult supervision. Which, by the way, I barely qualify as.”

“I like fire experiments…” C00lkidd grumbled, slouching into his seat and immediately coating his pancake in a comically excessive waterfall of syrup. 

Within seconds, his hands looked like he’d been finger-painting with molasses.

Bluudud padded in next.

His halo was askew, his wings drooping like wet towels. He looked like he’d fought the sandman and lost.

“Mornin’, little guy,” 007n7 greeted as he handed him a pancake.

Bluudud said nothing. He climbed into a chair like a sleep-deprived monk returning to the monastery. 

With solemn care, he added a single blueberry to his pancake, then stared into the void beyond the syrup as though pondering the secrets of the universe.

“He’s doing the Ritual of the Breakfast Blessing again,” Pr3tty_princ3ss trilled, cartwheeling into the room with enough glitter trailing behind her to blind a man. “Bluudud’s gonna ascend to syrup heaven~”

“No more glitter before breakfast,” 007n7 said, catching her mid-spin and depositing her gently in her seat.

“Too late,” she beamed.

He turned toward the toaster—and stopped. “C00lkidd. Is that glitter in the toaster.”

“It’s art,” C00lkidd said proudly.

“It’s arson waiting to happen.”

The toaster made a faint clicking noise. Everyone froze.

“Don’t—” 007n7 began, but it was too late.

With a small, dramatic fwoomp, a puff of glittery smoke erupted from the appliance, and a tiny fireball hissed out the side and singed the edge of the curtain. 

The fire alarm immediately began screaming its full-throated protest, causing Pr3typriincess to shriek in harmony and Bluudud to slowly, solemnly place his face into his pancake like a bot who had simply had enough.

“I got it!” C00lkidd shouted, launching himself at the window with the speed of a caffeinated ferret.

“Don’t jump out the—!”

Too late. He was gone.

007n7 raced to the window just in time to see C00lkidd land in the front lawn, roll once, and triumphantly spray a tiny fire extinguisher at the sky like a victorious action hero. 

Foam splattered the bushes. A passing neighbor, walking their dog, waved awkwardly.

“Morning!” 007n7 called, trying not to sound like a man whose toaster had just gone supernova.

“Your curtain’s on fire again!” the neighbor called back cheerily.

“Yeah. It’s seasonal.”

Back inside, the fire alarm finally gave up and died with a final pitiful chirp. 007n7 slumped back into the kitchen, smacking the toaster a few times until it gave up its smoky, sparkly rebellion. He handed Bluudud a juice box without comment.

Pr3typriincess was now trying to glue googly eyes onto a banana. “He’s gonna be our new brother,” she explained.

“Of course he is,” 007n7 said.

There was a knock at the door. Sharp. Rhythmic. Almost musical.

“Who is—?”

The door burst open, not dramatically, but with the force of someone who knew they were allowed in and was bored of waiting. A tiny whirlwind of sarcasm and sneakers barreled into the house.

“Ugh,” Mia said, planting her hands on her hips as she stepped inside, “this house smells like syrup and poor decision-making.”

007n7 blinked. “Mia?”

“You weren’t at Elliot’s so I followed the scent of fatherhood.” She squinted at the scene. “Wow. It’s like a daycare for gremlins.”

C00lkidd stuck out his tongue. “You’re one to talk. You smell like coins and sadness.”

“That’s Chance’s fault,” Mia shot back. “He wouldn’t know fashion if it bit him. Who wears three layers of black in May?”

From the hallway, Chance peeked in, holding two grocery bags.

“I wear it because it matches my soul,” he said solemnly. “Also it hides syrup stains.”

“Yeah, okay, Emo James Bond,” Mia snapped. “Nice hair gel. What is that, maple flavored?”

“It’s called aesthetic,” Chance retorted, deadpan. “You wouldn’t understand, being twelve.”

“I’m thirteen!” Mia shrieked.

“And yet still shorter than the syrup bottle.”

“I WILL END YOU.”

007n7 stepped in between them with the grace of a dad who had seen this exact argument 400 times. “Okay, okay, let’s channel this energy into not destroying my house. Pancakes for all. Mia, help yourself.”

“I would,” Mia said, walking to the table and flopping into a chair. “But I’m morally opposed to food that was made in a house where someone tried to toast a fork.”

“Again, art,” C00lkidd said.

007n7 sighed, pouring another round of batter onto the pan. “Chance, are you staying for breakfast?”

“I only came to drop Mia off,” he said, setting the bags down. “Elliot’s busy. Something about being ‘chronically underpaid and legally obligated to restock milk.’”

“Minimum wage supremacy,” Mia muttered.

Chance glanced at the mess, then at 007n7. “You good? This is a lot of chaos for one man.”

“I’m used to it,” 007n7 said with a tired smile.

Mia watched him. “You always say that, but like… you’re not, right? You’re just pretending you are.”

“Pretending is part of the job,” he replied, not unkindly. “That, and knowing which smoke is glitter-related and which is fire.”

The toaster wheezed.

Everyone turned to stare at it.

C00lkidd had the audacity to look proud. “It’s making music now.”

“That’s smoke,” Chance deadpanned. “That’s what smoke looks like.”

“That’s the sound of innovation,” C00lkidd argued, then gave the toaster a reassuring pat. It sparked.

“Absolutely not,” 007n7 said, walking over and yanking the plug so hard it coughed. “This toaster has now been demoted to… to a brick. A countertop decoration. No one is allowed to feed it glitter. Or forks. Or their dreams.”

Mia raised an eyebrow. “You named it?”

“I didn’t name it,” 007n7 said, with the tone of a man who was very much lying. “I just… assigned it moral limitations.”

“Sounds like you named it,” she whispered to Bluudud, who nodded wisely.

Pr3typriincess, meanwhile, had somehow turned the banana-with-googly-eyes into a full-on diorama involving two napkin dolls, three sugar packets, and a precariously balanced bottle of syrup acting as a castle tower.

“Princess Banaria is under siege by the Sugar Knights,” she announced, gesturing dramatically. “Only Sir Stickyhands may save her!”

“That’s me,” C00lkidd said immediately, standing on his chair and wielding a fork like a sword.

“Sit,” 007n7 commanded.

C00lkidd slowly sank back down.

Chance pulled a chair out for himself despite his earlier protests. “Well, I can’t leave now. I need to see how this war plays out.”

“Yeah, you’re invested,” Mia said, already halfway through a pancake despite her earlier vow of culinary boycott. “Syrup of the mind. It gets in your brain.”

“You’ve been hanging out with Two Time again, haven’t you?” Chance said. “This is how they talk when they get philosophical after two energy drinks and a pizza slice.”

“They are wise,” Bluudud murmured, placing a final blueberry onto the diorama like it was a holy relic. “They speaks truth. And coupons.”

There was another knock on the door. This one was softer. Hesitant.

Everyone went still, including the toaster.

007n7 walked over, opened it a crack—

—and Elliot stumbled in, clutching a stack of pizza boxes and a gallon of milk.

“I brought supplies,” he gasped, cheeks flushed. “Did… did someone set the toaster on fire again?”

There was a pause.

“No,” everyone said in unison.

Elliot stared at the smoky toaster.

“Okay,” he said, very slowly, and handed the milk to Bluudud like it was an offering. “I’m going to pretend I believe you.”

“Blessings be upon you,” Bluudud whispered, cradling the jug like a sacred artifact.

“Why do you always bring pizza?” Mia asked, grabbing a slice and adding it to her pancake like it was garnish.

Elliot ignored her and plopped into a chair next to C00lkidd, who was now dual-wielding syrup bottles and muttering something about tactical sweetness.

After the pancake feast and a twenty-minute clean-up involving two rolls of paper towels, four washcloths, and one hose, the kids were ushered into the backyard for a scavenger hunt that Charlotte had volunteered to organize.

Charlotte had arrived quietly, as she often did—just appearing like a breeze. Taller than the others, with calm eyes and a worn denim jacket with a patch of Guest 1337’s emblem sewn onto the back. She was the kind of teenager who never raised her voice, but somehow made people listen anyway.

“Okay,” she said, handing out small printed cards. “One point for every item found. Three points for anything shiny. Five points if it’s alive and doesn’t bite.”

“What if it does bite?” Pr3typriincess asked.

“Then we call it ‘lunch’,” Charlotte deadpanned.

Bluudud raised his hand. “What about rocks that look like animals?”

“Two bonus points.”

C00lkidd ran into the bushes shouting, “IM GONNA FIND A ROCK THAT LOOKS LIKE ME.”

“Don’t pick up anything that screams,” 007n7 called after him.

The sun climbed higher. Laughter echoed through the yard. The tension from earlier faded, replaced by the warmth of togetherness. For a while, nothing bad happened. No fires. No kidnappings. No glitches or forest whispers.

Just kids being kids.

And 007n7, watching from the porch with a cup of coffee, letting himself believe—just for a moment—that maybe things were finally okay.

But peace has an expiration date.

While everyone was focused on the scavenger hunt, Mia wandered off—just a little, not far, just to the edge of the trees that bordered the property.

She squinted at the tree line, head tilted, brows furrowed.

Something moved.

Not fast. Not loud. Just enough to make her pause. Enough to make the hairs on her arms raise.

A flicker. A shadow.

“Mia?” Charlotte called. “You good?”

Mia turned slowly. “Yeah. Just thought I saw something.”

She didn’t say what it was. She didn’t know how to describe it, anyway.

Not yet.

Charlotte crouched to inspect a smooth rock shaped vaguely like a turtle.

“Three points,” she murmured to herself, brushing it clean and tucking it into her bag. She stood up, scanning the treeline.

A sound had caught her attention.

It wasn’t threatening, exactly. Just… unfamiliar.

A soft crackle, almost like static. Not the crunch of footsteps or the rustle of an animal—more like something pressing through the air itself. 

The way TV static might sound if it were wrapped in cloth and thrown into a forest.

She stood still for a moment, eyes narrowing toward the trees.

Another sound, lower this time. Like a breath. A not-animal breath.

Charlotte’s fingers tightened around her bag strap.

Then C00lkidd’s voice rang out from the other side of the yard, loud and cheerful:
“GUYS I FOUND A LIZARD WITH A HAT!”

Charlotte flinched, then shook her head. “Animals,” she said to herself. “Probably deer. Or one of C00lkidd’s weird projects escaping again.”

She turned and walked back toward the group.

Behind her, the treeline stood still. But something deeper in the woods blinked once. Slowly.

007n7 was helping Mia untangle a vine from her hair while Chance tried (and failed) to convince Pr3typriincess that moss did not count as a living animal.

“I named it Glorb,” she insisted. “He is my son.”

“That’s not—he’s not even—moss doesn’t have a mouth!”

“I have a mouth for him.”

“You’re a menace,” Chance muttered.

“Thanks~”

Nearby, Bluudud wandered just a little off-course, head tilted. His halo had gone slightly dim, not from danger, but from thought.

There was something in the shadows that hadn’t been there before.

It was small. Not moving. But it had shape, and that was enough to be strange.

He stepped closer. Quiet. Curious.

It looked like… a person, but not really. More like an outline, sketched in dark chalk on light air. He blinked once, and it was gone.

Bluudud didn’t panic. He just tilted his head again, as if trying to make sense of it.

Behind him, Charlotte called, “Bluu? You okay?”

The little killer blinked once more, then turned back.

“I saw something weird,” he said as he rejoined the others, voice quiet. “It was standing, but… wrong.”

Charlotte raised a brow. “Like a deer?”

Bluudud shook his head. “It looked like a person made of… nothing. But it left.”

Charlotte knelt down. “What kind of ‘nothing’?”

He just shrugged. “Empty kind.”

007n7 stepped in quickly, clapping his hands. “Alright! Five points for weird ghost sightings—now let’s keep this hunt moving before someone ends up in an alternate dimension.”

Charlotte shot him a look.

“…Kidding,” he added quickly. “Mostly.”

The scavenger hunt pressed on, but the mood had shifted.

The sun was still out, but it felt dimmer. The sky too bright, but the woods too dark. The air pressed differently against their skin now, like the ground itself was holding its breath.

The trees were tall and wide, old with gnarled bark. They were still in the yard, still safe technically—but they were all aware of the line they hadn’t crossed yet. The boundary between backyard and woods.

Even C00lkidd had stopped running ahead.

The wind changed direction.

Charlotte felt it too. A shift. Small, but real. The kind of change that only kids and animals pick up on before adults call it “coincidence” and brush it away.

She found herself watching the treeline more often than the ground.

Chance walked beside her for a bit, looking up at the sky.

“Something feel…off to you?” he asked softly.

Charlotte nodded once.

“Yeah.”

Mia squinted toward the woods again.

The same shadow that had twitched earlier was gone. Nothing there now but branches and sunlight.

But she didn’t like how quiet it had gotten. Like the world had leaned in to listen.

Pr3typriincess skipped ahead, oblivious. “I’m gonna find a squirrel. Or adopt one. Name it Sergeant Sparkle.”

Bluudud followed slowly, staring at his feet.

007n7 kept a close eye on them all. He felt it too. Something was wrong. But he wasn’t about to scare the kids.

He smiled anyway.

“Let’s wrap it up soon,” he said. “Syrup’s wearing off.”

“Nooo,” C00lkidd whined. “Just five more minutes! I wanna see if I can find a rock that screams.”

“No screaming rocks,” Charlotte said. “That’s how horror movies start.”

Chance added, “Or court cases.”

Charlotte turned back for a moment. That sound again. Static. Soft, distant.

She couldn’t shake it. It was like a whisper without words. Like something forgotten had remembered her.

She looked toward the trees.

Just for a second, she swore she saw a shape—thin, leaning, long arms, unmoving.

A blink.

Gone.

She exhaled sharply. “Definitely deer,” she said, almost like a prayer.

The pizza shop buzzed with the usual noise—kids yelling, arcade machines beeping, and the oven timer chiming like a desperate alarm. The smell of garlic knots and burnt crust clung to the air like wallpaper.

Elliot stood behind the counter, sweat dampening the collar of his uniform. The dinner rush was dying down, but the dishes were still piling up. His eyes were glazed in that post-shift trance—body moving, brain buffering.

A customer stepped forward.

Elliot barely looked up at first. “What can I get you?”

Silence.

Then a voice.

Soft. Tired. Like someone remembering how to speak.

“…Do you still sell… the kind with circles?”

Elliot blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Then blinked again.

He looked up.

The man standing there wore a long, weather-worn coat, draped oddly over his frame. His hands were wrapped in cloth, too long to be gloves. His face—

His face wasn’t visible.

Not like it was hidden by a mask. More like… the shadows around him refused to let it be seen. 

Wherever his features should’ve been, there was just a gentle dark blur, like a smudge on reality itself.

Elliot straightened. “Uh… pepperoni?”

The man tilted his head, slowly. “Yes. That’s the one.”

Elliot typed it in, trying to keep calm. 

The man fumbled with his coat. When he pulled his hand out, it held a small pouch. He dropped it on the counter. 

It clinked, not like coins, but… like something harder. Something not currency.

Elliot didn’t move.

The man looked around, eyes unreadable beneath the shadow. He spoke softly again.

“…This place has changed. A lot of you have. The ones I knew are… scattered.”

He didn’t sound angry. Just… confused.

Elliot hesitated. “…Sorry, have you been here before?”

The man tilted his head again. “Once. Maybe twice. It’s hard to tell. The trees don’t remember me anymore.”

Elliot’s fingers brushed under the counter, where the emergency baton was kept.

“…Right. Well. Your pizza’ll be ready soon. You can take a seat if you want.”

The man didn’t move.

“You don’t smell like him,” he said suddenly, still facing Elliot. “Not the one they’re waiting for.”

“…Who?”

The shadow’s voice softened into something almost apologetic.

“I hope you’re all ready,” he said, backing away. “I really do.”

Then he turned and walked out.

The bell above the door didn’t ring.

Elliot stood still for a long moment.

“…What.”

Then the oven timer screamed again, and the world resumed.

The firepit crackled softly. The sun had dipped below the trees, smearing the sky in deep orange and purple. The group lingered around half-eaten marshmallows and quiet conversations. The mood was fragile.

Mia crossed her arms, standing a little apart from the others, glaring at the dark tree line. She’d been quiet all day. Not anymore.

“Okay, no,” she snapped. “They’re not going back there. I don’t care if Bluudud ‘saw something weird’ and shrugged it off. That place’s off-limits.”

007n7 looked up from where he was packing up snack wrappers. He sighed. “We already talked about this.”

“No, you talked,” Mia said. “You keep deflecting. What’s out there, huh? Why does the air feel weird? Why did Charlotte keep glancing at the trees like they were about to bite?”

Charlotte, sitting on a log, blinked. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

007n7 closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple!” Mia snapped, voice sharp. “You’re good at that, right? Mr. Hacker Dad, Mr. Nothing Scares Me. But this? You’re scared.”

That silenced everyone.

Even C00lkidd looked up from prodding ash with a stick.

007n7 looked over at Mia. His face wasn’t angry. Just tired. Old, in a way he rarely let show.

“I am scared,” he admitted. “But not for me.”

Pr3typriincess blinked. “Then who?”

007n7 didn’t answer.

Charlotte stood. Her voice was gentle, but steady. “Y’know… my dad—Guest—he was always the strongest person I knew. But strength isn’t always about fighting. Sometimes, it’s just… knowing you can’t stop something. And staying anyway.”

There was a silence that lingered too long.

C00lkidd stood up, awkward and twitchy. “I’m bored,” he muttered. “Gonna look at the trees.”

“No, you’re not,” Mia snapped.

He smirked, stepping toward the woods. “What are you gonna do? Trip me with your gremlin legs?”

“I’ll do worse,” she hissed, grabbing his sleeve. “If you go near that forest, I will tell 007n7 everything. Even the thing with the gun and the chimney incident.”

C00lkidd gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” she said flatly.

He sat back down in defeat.

Across the fire, Pr3typriincess kicked a stick. “Everyone keeps acting like I’m not here! I can be scared too, y’know!” she snapped, eyes shining. “I don’t get what’s going on and I don’t like it and you’re all ignoring me!”

Her voice cracked at the end, and her fists clenched.

Bluudud reached out a hand, but she pulled away.

007n7 stood slowly. His voice was low, calm, frayed at the edges. “Hey… hey, it’s okay. It’s just been a weird day. Let’s… let’s all just go inside, alright?”

Nobody moved.

Then Mia turned, stalking away. “Yeah, whatever. Enjoy lying to kids. That’s a great look for a dad.”

A little later, after everyone’s inside.

Chance stood beside Mia as she leaned against the railing, arms crossed, face scrunched in barely-hidden frustration.

“You did good,” Chance said softly. “You caught the little chaos demon before he launched himself into the trees.”

She didn’t laugh. “He’s gonna do it anyway. And you know it.”

“…Yeah.”

A pause.

Then Mia exhaled. “I don’t like this.”

“I know.”

“I don’t like not knowing things. I don’t like that you’re calm.”

“I’m not,” Chance said, fiddling with the coin in his pocket. “I’m just good at pretending. Comes with the hat.”

“…He’s hiding something.”

“Yeah. But he’s also protecting something. You. Them.”

Mia’s voice got quiet. “I don’t want to lose anyone.”

“You won’t.”

“Promise?”

Chance flipped the coin.

Heads.

He smiled, soft and honest. “Promise.”

The wind rolled like breath through the crumbled halls of the dead.

Two Time stood at the edge of the broken altar, bare feet pressing into the mossy stone. Their cloak clung to them, the night air thick with the scent of copper and wet soil. Insects buzzed, but none dared near them.

They had not spoken in hours.

They were listening.

The ruins of the old shrine stretched behind him like a corpse pulled open—torn pillars, shattered effigies, bones gnawed by time. The Spawn’s mark—their mark—had been scratched off every surface, scoured away by something sharp and bitter.

Something had been here.

Something else.

Two Time kneeled, placing a gloved hand against the cracked ground. It trembled beneath their fingers—not from seismic shift, but something stranger. Wronger.

The rival cult.

They were active.

They could taste their work in the rot that lingered like smog. These were not the humble mistakes of misguided zealots. This was surgical desecration. Intent. Precision. Hate.

“…They trespass,” they whispered, to no one. “Uninvited. Unchanged. Unknowing.”

They traced a small circle with his finger into the dust—their version of the emblem. The real one. The original. Not the warped mimicry the other cult had been spreading like a disease.

Something snarled behind them.

Not a beast. Something older.

They did not flinch.

“I know,” they murmured. “They twist your name. They borrow the rites and spit them back as curses.”

The shadows in the broken arch flickered. A shape formed. Loose. Skeletal. Eyes glowing with mirrored flame—two flames, flickering together like binary suns. It said nothing. It did not have to.

“I will fix it,” Two Time promised. “The others… they don’t see yet. They chase forest ghosts and fireflies while the true threat gathers.”

They rose slowly, gaze sharp and unblinking.

“Let them play.”

The thing in the arch crept closer. Not walking. Flowing. 

Wrapping itself in the shape of something remembered.

Two Time turned toward it, face calm but gaunt with calculation.

“I will burn their false shrine,” they said. “I will take back what they think they claimed. And I will make them remember whose bones paved the path first.”

Their hands curled at their sides.

“I walked the veil and returned.”

Their voice dropped lower.

“They will not.”

They traced their fingers along the cracked altar, feeling the cold pulse beneath the stone — the faint heartbeat of a crossing, a boundary breached and sealed. The veil was the thin line between worlds: the forsaken, the living, the forgotten.

They had been to the edge of oblivion and come back — a resurrection granted by forbidden rites, a price paid in fragments of soul and time.

Most did not survive such a crossing.

Most did not return whole.

But Two Time did.

They remembered.

They bore the mark, but not as a curse. As a weapon.

Two Time’s eyes flickered, reflecting unseen stars in the dark.

“I crossed beyond death’s reach, but the others… they will not. Their bodies will break and their spirits will shatter like glass. This false cult… They think they have power, but their grasp is weak, desperate.”

They turned, cloak rustling like whispers against ancient stone.

“They will be undone before they even begin. Because I will be the storm that burns their lies and razes their false sanctuaries.”

Two Time clenched their fists, knuckles white beneath worn gloves.

“They mock the rites, twist the faith — but I carry the true essence. The original oath. The unbroken cycle.”

Their voice softened, barely a breath.

“I am the revenant. The echo of resurrection. I do not belong fully to this world anymore — neither shadow nor flesh, neither here nor gone.”

Their gaze hardened, sharp as obsidian.

“And I will make them remember what it means to cross the veil… and fail.”

The skeletal figure flickered beside them, an eerie twin flame burning brighter in response.

Two Time exhaled, a slow breath carrying the weight of centuries.

“The war will come. Not with fire or sword, but with the tearing of souls. The breaking of bonds.”

“I will stand at the center.”

The sun had long vanished beneath the horizon, surrendering the world to the quiet embrace of twilight. The sky above was a tapestry of bruised purples and cold blues, smeared and blended like a watercolor left to bleed, signaling the end of day and the creeping approach of night. 

Shadows stretched across the yard like restless fingers, crawling slowly, stretching longer with each passing minute, clutching at the edges of the clearing and snaking into the forest beyond. 

From the treeline came faint whispers, the gentle rustling of leaves, the soft sigh of the wind weaving through branches, a chorus of hushed secrets shared only with the night.

Inside the house, a fragile calm held its ground, a thin veil of peace in a world that often seemed anything but. 

The muted glow of a single lamp spilled from the living room, casting warm pools of light onto faded wallpaper and well-worn floorboards. 

Somewhere behind closed doors, the sounds of childhood—soft giggles, whispered voices barely above a breath, and the comforting rustling of blankets—floated like fragile melodies on the still air. These sounds were reminders that for now, all was safe.

007n7 moved quietly down the hallway, his footsteps deliberate but soft, a practiced hush born of years spent tiptoeing around sleeping children. 

His mind, however, was anything but still. 

Every creak and sigh of the old house seemed amplified in the silence, each small sound setting nerves on edge. Yet he pushed the unease down, focusing instead on the rhythm of his steady breath and the measured pace of his feet.

He paused at the doorway of the first room. Inside, Pr3ttypriincess lay curled beneath her blankets like a sleeping kitten, the soft rise and fall of her chest the only movement. Her hair was a tangle against the pillow, and the faint glow from a nightlight painted gentle shadows across her peaceful face. She was so small and vulnerable in sleep—an island of innocence amid a sea of uncertainty.

Next, he stepped softly into C00lkidd’s room. 

The boy was sprawled across a thin mattress on the floor, clutching a small, well-worn toy—a ragged stuffed animal with threadbare patches and a missing eye. 

The sight tugged at something deep inside 007n7’s chest, a mix of protectiveness and sorrow.

Further down the hall, the glow of candlelight spilled from beneath a partially open door. 

Peering inside, 007n7 saw Mia settling in beside Charlotte, who sat cross-legged on the bed, a book open in her lap. 

The older girl’s face was thoughtful, illuminated by the flickering flame, eyes scanning the page with a quiet intensity. 

Mia’s small hands clutched the edge of the blanket, her eyes wide and tired but safe for now in Charlotte’s calm presence.

Everyone’s here. 

The words echoed softly in 007n7’s mind, a reassurance he desperately needed to believe. His voice, when it came, was low and steady, mostly spoken to himself—an anchor in the shifting tides of worry and hope.

Then, just as he was about to move on, a sudden stillness arrested him—a pause in the rhythm of the night so subtle it was almost imperceptible. He stopped dead in the hallway, heart tightening. Something had changed.

?

One door stood ajar—the one leading to the back porch, and beyond that, the forest.

007n7’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at the doorframe, then shifted his weight slightly, steadying his breath. The faint creak of the old house settling filled the quiet.

He stepped closer, fingers brushing the edge of the door as a cool draft slipped in. Outside, the wind stirred the leaves just beyond the porch, making soft rustling sounds.

He glanced back down the hall, then toward the empty room just beyond.

Bluudud’s door was closed, but when 007n7 pushed it open gently, the room was empty. 

The bed was made, untouched since earlier. A small toy lay on the floor, forgotten.

“Bluudud?” 007n7 asked, scanning the shadows.

He stepped back, shutting the door softly, then looked again out the porch. The forest stretched dark and silent, swallowing the last light.

He hurried through the house, urgency pushing his every step. His voice was low but sharp as he gently shook Mia awake with insistent whispers. “Mia, wake up. We need to find Bluudud.”

Mia’s eyes fluttered open slowly, confusion clouding her gaze before dawning realization crept in. She blinked a few times, sitting up and rubbing her face. “What’s wrong?” she murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

“Bluudud’s missing. We have to go,” 007n7 said, his tone tight with worry.

Charlotte was already stirring, shifting beneath the blankets in her room nearby. She sat up quickly when 007n7 entered, eyes wide but steady. “Did you check his room?”

“Yeah. He’s not there,” 007n7 replied, trying to keep his voice calm even though his heart was hammering.

The kids didn’t hesitate. Mia slipped into her slippers, Charlotte grabbed a jacket draped over a chair, and they followed 007n7 down the hallway. 

Their bare feet made soft, uneven thuds on the wooden floor, the sound almost swallowed by the thick quiet of the house.

007n7’s mind raced. Where could he have gone? Bluudud wasn’t the kind to wander off alone, not without telling anyone. Something didn’t feel right. The open door to the back porch seemed like the only clue—a quiet invitation to whatever waited outside.

Together, they stepped onto the porch, the night air cool and crisp against their skin. The familiar scent of pine and damp earth filled the space, but tonight it felt heavier, charged.

“Bluudud!” Mia’s voice cracked as she called into the thick darkness beyond the yard, trembling slightly. “Bluudud, where are you?”

Charlotte’s voice followed, steadier but no less full of worry. “Bluudud, come back.”

The night seemed to hold its breath in reply. Only the wind whispered, swirling around their ankles and tugging at their clothes.

Then, from just beyond the treeline, a low, unnatural sound rippled through the air. It wasn’t a growl or a cry—no animal they knew made that noise. It was a deep vibration, like the forest itself was humming in warning.

007n7’s stomach clenched. He forced himself to stand taller, jaw tight, scanning the shadows where the trees loomed like silent watchers.

Something moved.

Eyes gleamed briefly in the dark—too many to count—and disappeared almost instantly.

A subtle, swift movement brushed the edge of the woods, barely perceptible but enough to send a cold prickle down his spine.

“Did you see that?” Mia whispered, clutching Charlotte’s sleeve.

“I did,” Charlotte replied quietly, eyes wide, voice barely more than a breath.

007n7’s fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. “Stay close,” he warned, voice low but firm. “Don’t wander off.”

The forest seemed to lean in, swallowing the last light and hiding whatever had taken Bluudud deep within its grasp.

He swallowed hard, the weight of responsibility pressing down. I have to find him. I can’t let anything happen.

“Alright,” 007n7 said, forcing calm into his voice. “We’re going to move carefully. Mia, you take my left. Charlotte, you’re on my right. We’ll call out again when we stop.”

Mia nodded, swallowing her fear, while Charlotte gave a small, determined smile.

With one last glance back at the darkened house—empty now except for silence—they stepped off the porch and into the cold, uncertain night.

They had gone back inside the house, but the weight in the air hadn’t lifted.

Outside, the sun was dipping low, streaking the sky with bands of orange and purple, like a fading fire.

The park beyond the clearing, usually alive with the sounds of laughter and carefree chatter, had grown uneasy, quiet in a way that made the hairs on the back of 007n7’s neck stand up.

He paced back and forth in the small living room, jaw clenched tight, the pressure of responsibility pressing down on him like never before. Not just for himself — but for the three kids who looked up to him now, who trusted him to keep them safe. And now, Bluudud was missing.

Mia stood close by, arms crossed defensively over her chest, trying to hold herself steady. Her eyes flicked toward 007n7, sharp and searching beneath her carefully controlled expression.

“You think Bluudud just wandered off for fun?” she asked, voice low but edged with the worry she tried hard to hide.

007n7 rubbed the back of his neck, jaw tightening further. “Not fun,” he muttered, “probably trouble.”

Charlotte lingered near the edge of the group, quiet but watching. Her voice was calm, measured as she spoke. “We need to focus. Panicking won’t help him.”

The moment stretched, tension tightening like a coil — until footsteps approached.

Pr3typriincess and C00lkidd emerged from their nap, blinking sleep from their eyes as they shuffled into the living room. C00lkidd stretched exaggeratedly, flashing his usual crooked grin, the kind that barely masked his darker humor.

“Did I miss the party?” he joked, voice laced with sarcasm. “Bluudud’s gone? Again?” His grin twitched. “Maybe he just wanted some alone time. You know, ‘special mission Bluudud’ style.”

Pr3typriincess stood quickly, fixing her hair with sharp movements and shooting a fierce glare around the room, protective as ever. “If anyone hurts him, I’ll—” she started, but 007n7 raised a hand to cut her off.

“We don’t have time for jokes. He’s really missing.” His voice cracked just a little, betraying the tight knot of fear twisting inside him.

Without hesitation, the group split into a search party. 007n7 took point, calling out Bluudud’s name with more hope than confidence. His voice echoed faintly, swallowed by the growing shadows outside.

The forest edge loomed, thick shadows stretching long and dark, swallowing the last glimmers of daylight. Bluudud’s disappearance wasn’t just a small problem anymore.

007n7 stopped and turned back, locking eyes with the others. “We stick together. We find Bluudud.”

The edge of the forest was swallowed in creeping shadows, the last slivers of daylight fading ever so slowly. The sky, streaked with muted purples and cold grays, seemed to stretch endlessly above, as if holding its breath in anticipation of nightfall. 

Every little noise—the soft crackle of dry leaves beneath cautious steps, the gentle sigh of wind threading through branches—felt unnervingly sharp, as though the darkness itself listened.

Near the boundary where trees stood thick and foreboding, the group gathered quietly. 

Their breaths mingled in the cooling air, the fading light casting long, uncertain shapes around them. 

No one spoke at first. Instead, a nervous shuffle here, a quick glance there, and the weight of unspoken worry settled heavily among them.

Then, from behind, the sound of footsteps broke the silence—light, measured, steady. Elliot appeared, jogging forward with a tired but genuine smile pulling at his lips. Behind him, Mia darted ahead and threw her arms tightly around his waist, holding on like she wouldn’t let go.

“—Hey! Easy there, Mia,” Elliot said, steadying her with a firm hand. His voice was warm but edged with exhaustion. “You nearly knocked me over.”

007n7’s face brightened visibly with relief. “Elliot! You’re back. We were starting to get worried.”

Elliot’s gaze swept over the group and the darkening woods beyond. His eyes, sharp and watchful, caught every tense expression, every flicker of unease. “What’s going on? Why does everyone look so grim?”

Before anyone could reply, Mia pulled back slightly, her small face set with a determined but shaky courage. “Bluudud’s missing,” she said quickly. “We’ve been looking for him.”

The lightness drained from Elliot’s smile. His brow furrowed, and he shifted uneasily. “I think I saw something strange earlier today.”

All eyes turned to him, leaning in as if to catch every word.

“At work,” Elliot began, voice low and cautious, “a guy came in to order food. Hoodie up, face mostly hidden. He kept glancing around like he was scared—like he was trying not to be seen.” He paused, swallowing before continuing. “He said weird things… something about ‘the dead not staying dead’ and ‘faking the cycle.’ Then, before I could even get his order ready, he vanished.”

007n7’s brow tightened, a knot of unease settling deeper in his chest. “Sounds like trouble,” he muttered.

From the shadowed edge of the trees, Two Time stepped forward, their expression dark and serious, voice low but steady. “That’s someone from a rival cult,” they said carefully. “They’ve been trying to mimic our resurrection ritual.”

Mia blinked, confusion mingling with worry. “Rival cult? What does that mean?”

Two Time’s eyes darkened further as they considered the question. “We don’t know much about them. Only that they’re desperate and reckless. They believe they can cheat death, like we once did. But their attempts have been rather… disastrous.”

Pr3typriincess crossed her arms, her tone bitter and sharp. “Great. Just what we need.”

Charlotte stepped forward, taking a slow, steadying breath. Her voice was quiet but resolute. “If that cult is nearby, it could explain Bluudud’s disappearance. We have to be careful.“

007n7 nodded slowly, the weight of the situation sinking in deep. “Alright. No rushing. Stay close. Watch everything.”

Elliot glanced back toward the dark. Then at 007n7.

“I’ll help.”

007n7 blinked, staring as if trying to make sure he’d heard right.

“Wait… what?” he managed, voice shaky.

Elliot looked him in the eye.

“I don’t care about the past. Right now, we find your son. Together.”

The group exchanged long, silent looks.

The forest was unusually quiet. No wind, no birdsong, just the crunch of leaves under cautious feet. Night was creeping in fast, and shadows curled against every tree like watching eyes.

They didn’t get far before Charlotte raised a hand. “Stop.”

The group halted, eyes scanning ahead.

Scrawled onto a wide tree trunk in some kind of dark, burnt residue were unfamiliar symbols.

“Ugh,” Mia muttered. “That’s… gross.”

She took a step closer, then stopped cold. Her hands clenched into fists. “I don’t like this.”

Elliot, standing beside her, gently put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” he said softly. “We’re here. It’s okay.”

Mia looked away, but didn’t move any closer.

Charlotte approached the markings, her voice low. “These aren’t random.”

Two Time stood beside her, quietly observing. “This isn’t our scripture,” they murmured. “It’s similar, but wrong. Rewritten. Deliberately twisted.”

007n7 stared at the marks with dread crawling up his spine. “Do you think this is that rival cult? Are they trying to…?”

“—call something,” Two Time finished. “Or keep something in.”

Before anyone could reply, C00lkidd stepped forward.

“I’ll go check it out,” he grinned, already halfway toward the thicker brush beyond the marked tree.

“No.” 007n7’s voice cracked like a whip. He grabbed C00lkidd’s wrist, tighter than intended. “No one goes alone.”

C00lkidd blinked, surprised by the fear in 007n7’s voice.

“I can handle myself,” C00lkidd argued. 

“That’s not the point,” 007n7 snapped. “You don’t go alone. Not this time. I can’t—” He cut himself off, eyes glassy for a moment before he composed himself. “We stick together.”

There was a long silence.

“…Fine,” C00lkidd muttered, glancing away.

Pr3typriincess wandered toward a nearby bush, staring at the ground. She bent down slowly and picked something up between her fingers.

“…Guys?” she called out.

She held up a single white feather. It shimmered faintly.

Two Time’s eyes narrowed the second they saw the feather.

“That’s not a bird’s,” he said flatly.

Charlotte stepped closer. “How can you tell?”

“It’s smooth. Manufactured. Like… ceremonial,” he replied. “We used feathers like that during high ascension rites. But they were never white.”

Mia stepped behind Elliot, watching it uneasily. “Do you think Bluudud dropped it?”

Pr3typriincess shook her head. “Bluu doesn’t shimmer.”

The silence returned. Even the bugs had stopped.

The wind returned—but it wasn’t the kind anyone welcomed.

It whispered through the trees like breath on glass. Thin, cold, wrong. It made the white feather tremble in Pr3typriincess’s grip before she finally let it float down, almost relieved to be rid of it.

Two Time crouched and inspected it with narrowed eyes. “If they’re copying rituals, they’re doing it sloppily… but deliberately. White is a color of falsity in our rites. Rebirth without balance.”

Two Time stood back up slowly, their usual theatrical politeness absent. “Whatever they’re doing… they don’t care about consequences. Or they don’t understand them.”

Charlotte scanned the treeline. “So what happens if they succeed?”

Two Time didn’t answer right away.

“…They won’t,” they said.

That was not an answer.

The air shifted long before anyone noticed. It was subtle at first—a barely perceptible ripple, like the faintest static crawling across the skin, a cold wave that traveled through the dense woods. The kind of silence that presses down, thick and expectant, leaving an unspoken warning hanging in the stillness.

From the shadowed edge of the trees, she emerged.

1x1x1x1.

Tall and imposing, her form almost fused to the darkness itself. 

The faint moonlight barely touched her, swallowed instead by an unnatural void that seemed to follow her every step. 

No one spoke as she stepped forward, but the atmosphere shifted again, heavier now, as if the very space between them contracted.

“Disturbance detected,” her voice finally broke the silence. It was low, hollow, devoid of warmth, yet strangely commanding. “I have come to assist.”

Mia didn’t hesitate. Folding her arms, she stepped forward to meet the chilling presence with steady eyes. “You’re always a little too intense,” she said bluntly, the edges of her words sharp with frustration. “Like… seriously, could you chill for once? We don’t need a shadow looming over everything.”

The faint flicker of 1x1x1x1’s single red eye sparked briefly, sharp and cold. “Intensity is necessary,” she replied, her tone final, unyielding. “You wouldn’t understand.”

The words lingered between them.

Charlotte raised a hand slowly, voice calm but strained, cutting through the tension. “Enough,” she said firmly, her gaze steady but weary. “We don’t need to fight. We have bigger problems right now.”

Still, unease rippled through the group like a slow, spreading poison.

007n7’s eyes dropped to the ground, the weight of guilt twisting deep in his gut.

Have I failed them? 

What kind of parent lets this happen? 

Before anyone could respond, Two Time’s voice sliced through the stillness, cryptic and sharp as a knife’s edge.

“The forest does not forget… and it takes what it needs.”

Heads slowly turned toward them, absorbing the gravity of his words, the ancient warning hidden beneath the cryptic phrasing. 

A chill ran down every spine. The forest was watching. 

Waiting.

The night was far from over.

1x1x1x1 moved with purposeful grace, her glowing eyes scanning the underbrush, tree trunks, and the faintest disturbances in the dirt.

Two Time followed silently, their own gaze sharp but weary, flicking between the strange symbols and the surrounding woods. Together, they combed the area with an almost ritualistic precision.

Meanwhile, a few paces away, Pr3typriincess and C00lkidd were locked in a heated exchange.

“You never listen!” Pr3ty snapped, crossing her arms defiantly. “Why do you always have to do things your way? It’s like you don’t care about anyone else!”

C00lkidd rolled his eyes, arms flailing exaggeratedly. “Oh, please. Like you’re perfect. You just want to boss everyone around, like some glittery dictator!”

The argument grew louder, their voices fracturing the eerie silence of the forest.

1x1x1x1’s red eye flickered, glancing toward them. “Distractions waste time.”

Two Time’s voice was colder now, sharper. “Focus on what matters. The signs grow stronger.”

Pr3ty threw a frustrated glance back toward the pair searching for clues, then hissed, “Fine. But if this goes south, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

C00lkidd snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just find whatever creepy secret this forest is hiding so we can get out of here.”

But as their bickering faded into murmurs, 1x1x1x1 suddenly stopped, crouching low.

“Something here,” she murmured, tracing a faint footprint in the dirt.

Two Time nodded. “Not just footprints… a path.”

The group fell silent again, the weight of the moment pressing down like a thick fog. 

They formed a loose half-circle around the strange markings etched into the ground.

The air felt heavy, charged, as if the earth itself was holding its breath.

1x1x1x1 stood just beyond the others, a dark silhouette blending into the shadows. 

Unmoving but watchful, like a guardian lurking at the edge of awareness. 

The others seemed restless—Charlotte’s calm voice tried to thread reason through the growing tension, but her words barely grazed the charged atmosphere. 

Two Time’s footsteps shifted nervously as they paced back and forth, their eyes scanning the darkened sky as if trying to find hidden constellations only they could see.

Mia’s gaze flicked nervously around the clearing. Her brow creased in sudden realization.

“Wait…” she said, voice sharper than before, cutting through the stillness. “Where’s Elliot?”

Heads snapped toward her. A cold prickling sensation ran down the spine of the group.

Elliot was nowhere to be seen.

“Elliot?” Mia’s voice rose, bouncing off the trees, breaking the quiet like a ripple across still water. She spun around, panic tightening her face. “He wouldn’t just—he wouldn’t wander off, right?”

Only silence answered.

Then—

A voice broke through from just behind her.

“I found something.”

Mia jumped, startled, and turned sharply.

There was Elliot, standing at the edge of the trees where shadows pooled thickest. 

The fading light caught his face in an eerie half-glow—his expression calm, but chilling in its unreadability, like something was wrong but he was holding it back.

In his hands, something small dripped slowly.

White feathers, slick and wet, glistening dimly in the moonlight.

The group held their breath, eyes locked on the dripping feathers in Elliot’s trembling hands. The dampness pooled dark on the earth beneath him, stark against the cracked dirt like a silent warning.

The group held their breath, eyes fixed on the dripping feathers in Elliot’s hands. 

The silence stretched taut.

Two Time stepped forward, voice low and steady. “Those feathers… they’re a message.“

Mia blinked. “Why? Bluudud’s not even an actual angel.”

Pr3typriincess scoffed, crossing her arms. “Yeah, this guy’s about as angelic as a war crime.”

“They don’t know that.” Two Time replied quietly, eyes darkening. “Our rivals… they think Bluudud is some kind of celestial being—something powerful, pure. But the truth is, he’s just… him. Confusing as hell, and nothing special.”

A bitter laugh broke from 1x1x1x1 at the edge of the group. “Perfect target then.“

The forest around them seemed to press closer, the shadows thicker now, like a silent audience waiting for what would come next.

007n7’s jaw clenched. “What do they want to prove?”

Two Time’s gaze drifted toward the darkness beyond the trees. “To perform their own ritual. They believe capturing Bluudud will summon something—something that can rewrite death itself.”

“But Bluudud isn’t special,” Charlotte whispered, almost to herself. “He’s not all that—”

“Exactly,” Two Time interrupted. “That’s what makes this so dangerous. They’re desperate, reckless. They’re willing to gamble everything on a false hope.“

C00lkidd sat criss-cross on the grass. “So we’re just sitting ducks out here?”

Before anyone could answer, Elliot stepped forward from the tree line, holding the wet feathers tightly in his hand. 

He looked at the group and then back toward the forest.

“They’re close,” he said quietly. “Watching.”

Now, only one question remained.

Since the ritual wouldn’t work.

Who was next?

Chapter Text

The trees loomed tall, their bark etched with strange, twisting symbols. 

Shadows danced along the grooves as the group trudged through the forest, silent except for the crackling of leaves beneath their feet. A cold wind cut through them, and Mia—small, wide-eyed, and hugging a cracked medkit to her chest—huddled closer to Elliot. 

Charlotte walked at the rear, her gaze sharp and wary, one hand clutching the knife strapped to her belt.

The air felt heavier here, every step pulling at their lungs, the oppressive quiet broken only when 007n7 muttered, “This place gives me the creeps.”

C00lkidd, restless and fidgeting, glanced around like a caged animal. His tail twitched as he peered at the symbols. “We can take ’em. Let’s just go in already.”

“No,” Two Time’s voice snapped, sharp and brittle as a cracked bone.

They had stopped suddenly, frozen in place before a gnarled tree, its trunk covered in markings—loops, spirals, lines converging in jagged patterns. 

Two Time stood before it, their frame tense, one clawed hand trembling as they traced a finger along a twisted curve.

Elliot watched cautiously, keeping Mia behind him. Two Time’s shoulders were stiff, their breath uneven.

“They thought they found the key,” Two Time muttered bitterly.

“What key?” Charlotte asked, voice hushed but firm.

Two Time’s head tilted slightly, as if hearing something distant. Their voice dropped, quiet and dangerous:

“A child shaped like the Above.”

They turned, face pale, black eyes glinting. “They kidnapped Bluudud. They think he’s some divine figure. He’s not because he apparently looks like it. That’s all. But they’re desperate. They want to force him into something he’s not. They need him to be more.”

Charlotte’s grip on her knife tightened. Mia’s eyes widened.

“Their insane,” 007n7 muttered, glancing nervously between them.

C00lkidd’s fists clenched, sparks of red code flickering in his palms. “Then we go now! We get him!” He stepped forward, but Two Time blocked his path, their body rigid.

“No,” Two Time’s voice cracked. “You don’t understand. This cult… They’re a splinter of what I once believed in.” Their breath hitched, anger rising like a storm. “We believed in the possibility of return, of life after data deletion. They—” They jabbed a claw at the markings on the tree, voice rising. “They perverted it. They twist it into desperation and lies. They gamble with the soul.”

Their posture shifted, arms tensing, tail lashing. The air around them seemed to ripple, their eyes dark and wide, barely blinking.

Elliot watched the change with growing alarm. Two Time’s voice, normally quiet and obscure, sharpened to a frantic edge. They weren’t just explaining. They were unraveling.

“We—” Two Time’s voice rose, cracking. “We believed in The Spawn. In cycles of death and rebirth. But they… they used it. They—”

Their hands were shaking violently now, claws flexing like they were about to tear through the bark.

“Hey.”

Elliot stepped forward, placing a careful hand on Two Time’s shoulder. His fingers were warm and steady against the cold, rough fabric of their shirt.

Two Time flinched. Their breathing was ragged, as if they had been holding something in too long. Elliot’s grip was firm but gentle, anchoring them.

“You can be mad,” Elliot said softly, voice a quiet tether in the storm. “But we get him out first.”

Two Time’s shoulders sagged, trembling. They looked at Elliot—really looked at him—and for a moment, the anger in their gaze flickered into exhaustion.

Slowly, they nodded.

Mia, still holding onto Elliot’s side, peered up at Two Time with wide eyes. She’d never seen anyone so terrifying—yet so sad.

C00lkidd shifted impatiently, arms crossed, but even he seemed slightly tempered by the tension in the air. His tail flicked.

Charlotte, standing a little apart, watched Two Time with a wary frown. She didn’t understand half the cryptic things they said, but she understood the sharp edge of desperation.

007n7 glanced between them, chewing his lip nervously, his fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to type out a hack or an escape route.

Even 1x1x1x1, silent at the back of the group, their glowing red eye faintly pulsing, seemed to lean in, their chains softly clinking as if listening.

Two Time exhaled, a long, slow shudder. “They tried to copy what we once had. They think by sacrificing the ‘divine child,’ they’ll break the cycle of death. They’re wrong. They’ll just kill him.”

Charlotte’s voice cut in, sharp and cold. “Then let’s stop them before they do.”

“Agreed.” C00lkidd grinned, already pacing forward again. “Let’s crack some heads.”

Elliot sighed, ruffling Mia’s hair gently as she peeked out from behind him. She clung to his hand tightly, her small fingers gripping his glove.

Two Time straightened, their expression still tight, but the storm in their eyes dimmed—just slightly.

“Come on,” they said, voice low, a quiet growl in their throat.

The group began to move, feet crunching over leaves, following the carved symbols deeper into the woods. The wind whispered through the trees, and the darkness felt like it was breathing around them.

Mia kept close to Elliot, her eyes darting nervously between the shadows. Charlotte walked ahead, knife in hand, while C00lkidd hovered impatiently at her side, fingers twitching.

Two Time stayed near the front, scanning each mark as they passed, their voice soft, muttering fragments of warnings: “Spiral… means warding… This cross—binding tether… These runes—they’re trying to hold something here.”

007n7 tried to distract himself, muttering under his breath, “Just another cursed forest. Just another day in hell…” He kept an eye on C00lkidd, ready to step in if the kid lunged.

Behind them, 1x1x1x1 followed silently, their chains dragging softly, head slightly tilted, like they were amused by the scene.

It was Charlotte who finally spoke, voice low but cutting through the silence. “When we find Bluudud… what then?”

Two Time’s gaze darkened. “We take him back. If they resist, we burn their hope to ash.”

Mia’s small voice piped up, barely a whisper: “But… if they think he’s special… can’t we… I dunno… talk to them?”

Two Time turned, sharp and cold, but when they saw her—just a child, clutching a medkit too big for her arms—their face softened for a fleeting second.

“No,” they said quietly, but without venom. “They won’t listen. They’ve already decided he’s their salvation. And salvation, in their eyes, demands a price.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, dark and choking.

The group continued on in tense silence, the path narrowing as the trees grew closer together. The symbols on the trunks glowed faintly now, like embers in the dark.

Two Time’s hands flexed at their sides, their tail twitching. Elliot kept pace beside them, his hand briefly brushing theirs—a quiet reminder.

“We get him out first,” Elliot repeated softly, steady as ever.

Two Time nodded once, a sharp, precise motion.

Ahead, the trees thinned, and in the distance, faint chanting rose—warped voices echoing in the dark, like a broken choir.

Charlotte gripped her knife tighter.

C00lkidd grinned, the red in his eyes glowing brighter.

Mia shrank back behind Elliot, clutching his sleeve.

007n7 inhaled sharply, pulling up his hoodie, face tight with nerves.

Two Time’s expression darkened, their claws flexing.

And 1x1x1x1… just smiled.

The forest seemed to hold its breath.

Inside the hollowed-out heart of the forest, deep where the trees thinned into an unnatural ring, the cultists gathered. Hooded figures, their faces shrouded in patchwork masks, circled in slow, deliberate steps around a glowing formation of symbols—an intricate pattern carved into the ground, pulsing with dim blue and purple light.

At the center of this shimmering design sat Bluudud, cross-legged and fidgeting, his small frame illuminated by the flickering glow. His wings twitched, and his halo hummed faintly. His bright blue body, usually the color of mischief and boundless energy, now seemed oddly muted in the shifting light. He squinted at the robed figures chanting in unison around him.

“This child bears the shimmer of the Above,” the cult leader intoned, their voice a rasp like static, layered and unnatural.

“We call down the veil,” the others echoed, swaying as if caught in an unseen tide.

“We tear open the sky.”

The words rippled outward, a vibration that tingled in Bluudud’s bones. His eyes darted from one cultist to another, a mixture of confusion and mild annoyance flickering across his face.

“Uh… you guys are weird,” he muttered, frowning. “But also kinda cool. Mostly weird. I have no idea what that means though.”

No one answered him directly. They continued chanting, the words building in intensity, weaving tighter around the boy like a noose of sound.

The ring of sigils flared brighter, crackling with unstable energy. Symbols writhed in the dirt—shifting, morphing, as if trying to rewrite themselves. The air shimmered unnaturally, folding in on itself.

Bluudud blinked at the lines twisting beneath him. “That’s not supposed to happen. I think.” He tapped a sigil with his finger. It sparked under his touch, sending a small shock through his hand. “Ow! Hey, not cool!”

“He is the beacon—we summon the shard of code unseen!”

Bluudud tilted his head. “What’s a shard of code? I’m not a computer program.” He paused, blinking. “Wait… am I?”

“This child bears the shimmer of the Above,” intoned a voice cloaked in gravel and reverence, rising above the chant.

Another answered, slow and sure: “We call down the veil. We tear open the sky. We reclaim the lost code.”

The words hung like a spell, wrapping around Bluudud’s heart in a strange mix of awe and dread.

Bluudud blinked, his expression flickering between bemusement and irritation. “You guys are weird,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough to be heard but drowned in the chanting.

One of the cultists, a tall figure with a hood that swallowed their face, glanced down at him. “The veil is thin, child. You are the vessel of what was lost, the key to resurrection’s dawn.”

Bluudud’s wings fluttered faintly, uneasy.

But Bluudud wasn’t special. He was just himself—fast, angry sometimes, and really tired of being caught in the middle of things he didn’t understand.

The chanting rose again, louder, the rhythmic cadence pounding through the chamber like a heartbeat.

“We tear open the sky,” the leader repeated, voice shaking with fervor. “We reclaim the lost code.”

A trickle of cold sweat ran down Bluudud’s neck. He glanced around, eyes darting to the faces hidden beneath dark hoods, mouths moving as one.

One cultist stepped forward, a slender figure holding a carved staff topped with a glowing crystal that seemed to drink the torchlight. The staff hummed softly, casting shifting patterns on the floor.

“This ritual will restore what was shattered,” the figure said. “Through the child’s essence, the lost data will return. Resurrection, rebirth, the cycle complete.”

Bluudud’s gaze hardened. He flexed his fingers and tail, the words feeling like chains around him.

“I’m not a key or a vessel or anything like that,” he said quietly but firmly. 

The cultists paused briefly, their chanting faltering for a fraction of a second.

“Your essence is tied to the Above,” the leader said, stepping forward, voice low and urgent. “You carry the light they seek. To unlock it… to transcend death.”

Bluudud swallowed hard. The truth was, he didn’t want to be any of those things. He wanted out.

“Hey,” Bluudud said, voice rough. “You all need to chill.“

Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught his eye—a shadow shifting at the edge of the room.

“Focus your will,” the leader commanded, voice cutting through the chaos. “Let the lost code flow through you.”

“Why me?”

The forest grew thicker as twilight waned, shadows lengthening like creeping fingers between the ancient trees. Leaves whispered underfoot, soft but urgent, as a lone figure slipped silently along the narrow path.

She moved with the fluid grace of someone who had long learned to disappear in plain sight—steps light but sure, breath even and controlled. 

Her cloak, deep midnight blue and trimmed with silver threads that caught the dying light like faint starlight, flowed behind her, barely rustling. A hood shielded her face, but even beneath the shadow, the faint glint of sharp eyes scanned the trees—watchful, calculating.

The air was heavy with a damp musk: earth, moss, and something older—something buried deep beneath the surface of the world, waiting.

The woman paused, fingertip brushing a twisted branch carved with strange symbols. The runes pulsed faintly beneath her touch, cold and dark, resonating with a power she neither welcomed nor feared but acknowledged with a measured nod.

Her voice was low, barely above a whisper, weaving ancient words that blended with the wind.

“They think the veil can be torn,” she murmured, tone edged with something between bitterness and warning. “Foolish hands clutching at shadows, desperate to rewrite what was never meant to be undone.”

She traced the carved symbols with deliberate care, reading the fractured language of a cult born from broken faith and twisted hope.

Her gloved hand tightened around the worn hilt of a slender dagger, hidden beneath her cloak. The blade was unassuming, but it carried the weight of untold stories—of battles fought in silence, of secrets kept from those who would wield power without understanding.

Ahead, the path narrowed, the trees growing closer, almost clawing at the sky. The faintest glow, like an ember struggling against the night, flickered deeper in the forest—signaling the heart of the cult’s domain.

She allowed herself a slow breath, steadying her resolve.

They did not know she was coming.

Her mission was not one of mercy.

With a final glance toward the whispered symbols, she stepped forward—into the shadows where the ritual waited, where the fragile threads of destiny wove tight around a child who carried the shimmer of the Above.

Her eyes flickered with quiet fire, unreadable and relentless.

The trees seemed to lean in closer the deeper they went, branches arching like bony arms reaching for them. The air thickened, growing damp and strange, as if the forest itself were holding its breath.

Elliot kept close to Mia, his hand gently guiding her shoulder when the path narrowed. 

Charlotte was walking ahead but glancing back often.

C00lkidd paced ahead, fists clenched, tail lashing the air behind him. His pace was quick and impatient, boots kicking through the underbrush as if he could force the forest itself to yield the way.

“They took him,” he muttered, voice low but hot with anger. “They took Bluudud. I’m gonna smash their faces in.”

Pr3tty_princ3ss, walking close beside him, glared at nothing. She then turned to the red kid. "Let’s break ‘em, C00lkidd. Just—smash them up, tear them down.” She swung her arms dramatically, fingers curling like claws. 

C00lkidd grinned wide at her words, the red glow in his eyes flashing brighter. “Yeah. They’ll see. They can’t take what’s ours. They’ll pay for this.”

Pr3typrinc3ss grumbled. “They think they’re special? Think they’re in control? We’ll show them who’s in control.” 

Charlotte shot a sharp glance at the two of them, her eyes narrowing briefly in disapproval, but she didn’t say anything.

The path ahead seemed endless, the ground beneath their feet uneven and damp. 

Branches scraped across their arms and legs, some snapping like brittle bones beneath their boots. 

The forest pressed in, the symbols on the trees glowing faintly, pulsing with a sickly, greenish hue.

C00lkidd’s muttering had slowed to a frustrated growl, barely audible over the shuffling of their steps. 

Behind him, 007n7 walked. His expression was tight—eyes distant, mouth set in a hard line. Every time Mia stumbled, he glanced over, but his eyes always darted back down, guilt shadowing his face.

“I shouldn’t have let this happen,” he muttered under his breath, too quiet for most to hear. His fingers twitched at the edges of his sleeves. “I should’ve stopped him… I’m his dad… I was supposed to stop this…”

Two Time’s head tilted slightly, as if catching the words on the wind, but they didn’t respond. They walked steadily at the front, tail flicking in tense, deliberate movements, their black eyes fixed ahead—searching. Their claws flexed occasionally, a silent, simmering tension that radiated like heat from a furnace barely contained.

Elliot watched them closely, his hand resting lightly on Mia’s shoulder as they moved. 

Mia, small and quiet, kept her eyes low. The  symbols scared her, and the whispers of the wind seemed to say her name. 

She pressed closer to Elliot, fingers clutching his jacket sleeve. The air smelled strange, like metal and moss, and her heart beat fast in her chest.

Charlotte broke the silence after a long stretch, her voice sharp and thin like a blade. “This isn’t just a forest.”

Two Time answered without turning. “No. It’s a memory. A scar.” Their voice dropped, almost inaudible. “The cult etched their will into it. It listens. It watches.”

Charlotte frowned but didn’t question further. Her grip on her knife tightened.

C00lkidd huffed and kicked at a gnarled root, sending a scattering of damp leaves into the air. “Then let it watch. I’m not scared of some trees.”

Two Time’s tail flicked once, sharp and quick, but they said nothing.

007n7 sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. 

His eyes were hollow, sunken. His thoughts spiraled. He should’ve seen the signs. He should’ve protected Bluudud. Instead, he’d let himself believe the kid was safe, that they were safe. His gut twisted, shame pooling in his chest like tar. 

I’m a bad father. 

I wasn’t there. I didn’t stop this…

His fingers clenched, nails digging into his palms.

Elliot’s voice, soft but firm, cut through the dark weight of the group’s silence. “We’ll get him back. We’re not leaving anyone behind.”

It wasn’t a grand speech, but it was something. A thread of resolve weaving through the tension.

Two Time glanced sideways at Elliot, their dark gaze lingering a beat longer than usual. They didn’t speak, but their posture shifted—shoulders lifting, back straighter, the trembling in their hands slowing.

Mia looked up at Elliot, her wide eyes full of quiet hope, and tightened her grip on his sleeve.

Charlotte’s expression remained unreadable, but she gave a small, curt nod, her eyes narrowing as if steeling herself for the path ahead.

C00lkidd just snorted, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. We’ll smash ‘em.”

They moved on.

And at the back of the group, 1x1x1x1 walked with slow, deliberate steps, the chains at her wrists brushing the ground like a quiet drumbeat. She tilted her head slightly, the red glow in her eye pulsing faintly.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
She was listening.

The air grew colder, the symbols more erratic, as if the forest itself were shivering.

The woman pressed forward, deeper into the woods where the trees grew gnarled and skeletal. The path twisted under her boots, uneven and treacherous, roots clawing like fingers at her ankles.

Her breath remained steady. Each step deliberate. She knew where she was going—though the path had long stopped making sense. The symbols she traced earlier still burned faintly in her mind’s eye, guiding her through the dark, winding passages like a thread only she could follow.

The deeper she ventured, the more the air itself seemed to change. It thickened—buzzing faintly, charged with a static that tugged at the edges of her senses.

Her eyes narrowed beneath the hood, catching glimpses of faint marks on the bark: spirals, slashes, lines that branched and weaved together.

Her gloved hand ghosted over one.

This place was steeped in old rituals—broken faiths.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she moved silently between the trees.

A flash of movement caught her eye.

She stilled instantly—every muscle tensed, listening.

The woman’s breath caught, her pulse quickening.

She stepped closer, the ground softer now, damp with moss. The air buzzed louder here, as if the very atoms strained to hold themselves together. The veil—they were reaching for it.

She reached a clearing, half-shrouded by branches, and froze.

John Doe crouched low to the earth, a dark shape half-shadow, half-corpse against the roots of a gnarled tree. 

His clawed fingers scraped at the soil, tracing the symbols carved deep into the bark—marks that were carved faintly.

His head tilted, spine arching unnaturally as he leaned closer, nose barely inches from the tree. 

He inhaled deeply, a rasping sound, like an old machine taking in air, like static crawling across dead code. 

His corrupted right arm, the one with the spike-shaped deformation, twitched slightly.

John blinked slowly, his glowing red eye narrowing into a sharp slit. 

“Smell… wrong,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly.

He sniffed again, the spiky limb twitching as if picking up the vibrations in the air. The scent of the markings lingered on his tongue—something sharp, something desperate, something that tasted of fear and old code, but not quite the same as before.

Curiousity. (Is that your compass?)

John licked the air once, thoughtfully, then crouched back down, claw-tips tapping lightly against the wood in a rhythmic pattern. The symbols hummed faintly under his touch, whispering in code too old and fragmented to fully parse.

He spoke softly to himself, a half-garbled string of binary mixed with old English, voice low and unhurried:

“Fractured faith… broken loops… error… recursion… no recursion…” His glowing eye flickered erratically, the light dimming and flaring with each whispered word.

The forest seemed to lean closer, watching him watch the marks.

John glanced up suddenly, head jerking toward the path the others had taken—his posture alert, body low, like an animal catching scent of a pack. His corrupted limb curled, claws flexing.

He sniffed once more, huffed softly, and muttered—almost cheerfully, in his strange, glitchy way:

“Friends ahead. Smell like worry. Fear.” His eye flickered. “But not for me.”

He chuckled under his breath, a strange, guttural sound, and with a flick of his claw, he scratched a small circle into the dirt—a spiraling mark of his own, crude but intentional.

Then he moved, head tilted, eye scanning the trees.

Something dangerous stirred in the air, but John wasn’t afraid.

He was curious.

And he was going to follow.

John Doe prowled through the darkening woods, his movements jagged and precise, a blend of corrupted code and predator’s grace. 

His corrupted limb twitched faintly, binary lines flickering along the spike-like deformity as he followed the faint scent trails—the sharp tinge of desperation left behind by the others, the heavy musk of the cult’s carvings, and something else.

A new scent.

He slowed, pausing at the base of a twisted tree. 

His glowing red eye flickered, narrowing as he sniffed the air in long, deep pulls. The scent was faint, barely a thread—but distinct. A mix of cold metal and old paper, faint traces of incense, the tang of something ancient that made the static hum along his skin.

He growled low in his throat. It wasn’t wrong, not like the cult’s stench—but it wasn’t familiar either.

His head tilted, posture tense. 

He crept forward, weaving through the underbrush, letting the scent guide him. 

The forest pressed close, branches clawing at his tattered frame, but he moved through them like a wraith.

And then he saw her.

A lone figure ahead, half-silhouetted against the dying light. 

Cloaked in deep blue, silver threads catching the dim glow like stardust, she walked with a quiet certainty, her steps measured and soundless. 

Her hood obscured her face, but the edge of her jaw caught the faintest hint of light—sharp, determined, unflinching.

She was moving toward the source of the symbols—toward the cult.

John froze, crouching low. His corrupted hand clawed at the dirt, binary sparking faintly across his fingers.

He watched her.

The woman paused suddenly, as if she felt him—a flicker of instinct, maybe. Her head turned slightly, scanning the trees, her posture calm but alert. One gloved hand drifted to the hilt of a blade hidden beneath her cloak.

John sniffed again.

Her scent was strange. Not corrupted, not like him—no rot, no infection—but sharp, precise, layered, and… sweet…?

“…Not like the others.”

The woman’s head turned sharply toward the sound. Her eyes, though mostly shadowed, caught the dim light—a sharp, unreadable glint. She did not speak.

John tilted his head further, crouching like a feral thing, claws flexing in the dirt. His voice crackled again, like a broken speaker.

“Not theirs… not ours… alone.”

He inched forward, movements twitchy and uneven, the binary in his body pulsing faintly. He wasn’t threatening—at least, not exactly. 

Curious. Cautious.

The woman’s fingers tightened on her blade’s hilt, but she did not draw it. Instead, she spoke.

“You’re not part of them.”

John froze, still crouched. 

His corrupted eye flickered, a faint, warbling sound rattling in his throat. His expression twisted slightly—confusion, amusement, something caught between a snarl and a grin.

“No… not theirs. Not mine either.” He tapped his chest with his claw, the corrupted limb sparking faintly. “…broken.” His eye dimmed.

The woman’s gaze remained steady, unflinching. She seemed to study him—sharp, analytical, but not unkind.

“You’re… part of something else,” she murmured, as if to herself.

John twitched, his head cocking further, an almost dog-like tilt. His breath came in ragged, static-laced huffs.

“Not part. Just… here.” His claw traced a circle in the dirt at his feet, slow, deliberate. “Watching. Smelling. Waiting.”

He sniffed again, the strange scent of the woman’s cloak making his binary glitch faintly along his skin.

“You… smell like… lost things.”

The woman’s mouth tightened slightly, as if his words struck a nerve. She didn’t respond. Instead, she stepped forward once—deliberate, unafraid—her hand still on the hilt of her blade, but she didn’t draw it.

“What do you want?” she asked.

John’s gaze twitched, unfocused, scanning her from head to toe—assessing, calculating, some broken instinct at work. His claw scraped the earth again, marking symbols in the dirt that glitched and flickered as soon as he finished them.

He spoke slowly, voice distant, like half-remembered code.

“Want… to see. Want to know… what they’ll do.” His eye narrowed, glowing faintly. “Call things… they… wrong. Wrong.” His voice sharpened into a static snarl on the last word, claws flexing.

The woman watched him silently, eyes sharp but still—like she was deciding whether he was a threat or an ally.

John huffed a breath, then straightened slightly, his posture loosening. His corrupted limb flickered once, then dimmed.

“You… going to stop them?” he asked, voice quieter now, curious, almost childlike.

The woman’s gaze hardened, her voice low and certain.

“Yes.”

John’s smile returned—small, flickering, edged in static but faintly genuine.

“Okay…”

She gave him one final, unreadable look, then turned, her cloak billowing faintly as she continued forward—deeper into the woods, toward the cult’s lair.

John watched her go, breathing in the scent she left behind.

John watched the woman disappear into the trees, her cloak shifting like water under the moonlight. 

He sniffed the air again, catching that scent—cool metal, paper, incense… and something sweeter, buried under it all.

It hit him suddenly.

Ice cream.

His head jerked, his corrupted limb twitching with a stuttering pulse of red binary. His breath hitched—a static-laced rasp—and his spine straightened, tense, alert.

Ice cream.

That scent stirred something fragmented deep inside him—a flicker of a long-lost summer, faint memories buried beneath layers of code and corrosion. Laughter. Warmth. A paper cup in his hands. The taste of vanilla and strawberry and something cold and sweet.

It didn’t make sense.

But it hooked into him all the same.

Like a tether.

So John followed her.

John Doe trailed behind her, low and quiet, half-shadow as the trees closed in around them. His footsteps were barely sounds at all—just faint, glitching shuffles, the static hum of corrupted code folding into the forest’s stillness. The binary along his right arm flickered faintly in the dark, like little red fireflies trapped beneath his skin.

The woman didn’t speak. She didn’t turn, either. Her strides were measured, sure, like she’d walked this path a hundred times, like she knew exactly where it ended—even though John could tell she didn’t.

John moved like a hound at her heels. His head low, nose tilting toward the faintest scent trails she left behind—cool metal, parchment dust, a strange whiff of dry petals and something like ash. His corrupted eye flickered, tracing the shape of her cloak as it shifted over her frame, the silver threads catching the dim light like glimmers of old code.

He let out a quiet, glitchy whine.

The woman finally stopped. She turned her head slightly—just enough for John to see the sharp edge of her jaw, the faint shadow of a scar near her temple, a flicker of expression: wary, but not unkind.

“You’re following me,” she said simply.

John froze. His corrupted arm twitched, the binary crawling faintly across his body. He ducked lower behind a tree, peeking out with a half-glitching smile, his glowing red eye fixed on her.

“You smell like ice cream,” he rasped, voice a fractured whisper. “Cold. Sweet. Like… before.” His head tilted, sharp enough to crack, but he grinned wider, jagged and static-laced. “I like it.”

The woman turned her head slightly, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her face—sharp jaw, dark eyes, a faint crease in her brow. Her expression was a mixture of mild surprise and weary understanding, like she’d encountered stranger things before.

She didn’t draw her blade. Instead, she spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’m not ice cream,” she said, and there was the faintest flicker of something dry in her tone.

John’s grin didn’t falter.

“Smell says otherwise,” he muttered, almost to himself.

She exhaled slowly, as if deciding how much to say.

“Why are you following me?” she asked, voice calm but firm.

John blinked. His corrupted eye dimmed briefly, a flicker of static sparking across the exposed circuits in his body. His claws scraped the dirt softly, almost nervously, as he considered the question.

He looked at her—really looked—and in that moment, the feral edge in his posture eased, just a little.

“Because,” he said softly, voice crackling with static, “you’re going… there.” He gestured in the vague direction of the cult’s lair, a sharp tilt of his head. “And… I want to see.” His eye brightened, curious, hungry for knowledge.

The woman regarded him silently, her expression unreadable. Then, after a long moment, she spoke—her voice lower now, the edge of command softening into something closer to… thoughtfulness.

“I’m going to stop them,” she said. Her gaze turned distant, as if watching something only she could see. “Or try to.”

John’s corrupted limb twitched. The binary under his skin pulsed in slow, spiraling patterns.

“Why?” he rasped, almost childlike, tilting his head.

Her eyes sharpened, focusing on him fully for the first time. She didn’t step back. She didn’t flinch.

“Because they’ve been playing with power they don’t understand,” she said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried—like a steady thread in the dark, unwavering. “They think they can crack the code of life and death. They think they can make themselves gods. But they don’t know what they’re inviting in.”

Her fingers tightened slightly on the hilt of her blade, but she didn’t draw it.

“I’ve seen it before,” she continued, her voice low, almost a whisper now. “What happens when people chase the impossible. When they rip holes in the world to reach for what they were never meant to have.”

Her tone was measured, but John caught it—something buried there.

Grief. Regret. A deep, brittle edge of loss that hadn’t healed.

He tilted his head, curious, his claws idly tracing circles in the dirt. His voice was quiet, almost soothing.

“Did you lose someone?”

The woman stilled, her face going still as a mask.

“I lost… a lot,” she said after a long pause, her voice tightening around the edges. She glanced away, her shoulders tense. “That’s why I’m here. To make sure no one else does.”

John nodded slowly, his eye dimming and brightening in a slow pulse, like a heartbeat made of static.

“Good,” he rasped, the word glitched and uneven but clear enough. “Good… stop them. Don’t know.”

His voice trailed off, and he sniffed the air again, the binary flickering faintly under his skin.

“I’ll follow,” he muttered, almost to himself, like a code looping in the background. “You smell like ice cream… I follow.”

The woman glanced back at him, her gaze still sharp but thoughtful now, as if weighing whether to shoo him away or let him trail after her.

She didn’t tell him to leave.

Instead, she turned and kept walking, the forest swallowing her figure once more.

The air hung heavy in the forest, the scent of damp earth and old bark filling their lungs.

The group moved as a loose formation, following the faint trail of symbols carved into the trees—lines curling into spirals, symbols etched with a rough hand.

1x1x1x1 walked ahead, silent but imposing, green flames faintly flickering along their blackened limbs. Elliot trailed beside them, his worried expression darting between trees, hyper-alert. Mia kept close to Elliot’s side, clutching his sleeve whenever the wind stirred too hard or a branch cracked underfoot.

Charlotte walked just behind Mia, biting her lip. She wasn’t used to forests like this, and it showed in the tightness of her steps.

007n7 kept to the back, his eyes darting left and right, murmuring to himself.

And in the middle of all this, C00lkidd had stopped listening completely.

The little red menace had slowed his pace, sniffing the air with a wide grin. His tail twitched like an excited cat.

He drifted away from the group with casual ease, his small figure bobbing between the trees, humming to himself.

“C00lkidd, stay close!” Elliot called, voice strained.

“YEAH YEAH,” C00lkidd replied, dismissive, waving his hand without turning. “I’m just looking. Smells funny here.”

“C00lkidd—” Elliot tried again, but the kid was already gone.

They didn’t notice at first, too caught up in their own worry.

It was only a few minutes later—after they stopped to regroup, pausing by a particularly twisted tree—that Mia glanced around, squinting into the undergrowth.

“…Where’s C00lkidd?”

The question fell into the air like a dropped stone.

Everyone froze.

Charlotte spun around in a full circle, eyes wide. “Wait—he was just here!”

“C00lkidd!” 007n7 shouted, voice cracking. Panic scraped raw in his throat. “This isn’t funny!”

“C00lkidd?!” Mia’s voice pitched high, trembling. Her hands clenched at her sides.

1x1x1x1’s head tilted slightly, their expression unreadable. The flames along their body flared brighter, casting sickly green light over the bark.

007n7 let out a sharp, panicked noise, practically vibrating in place. “He’s gone, he’s gone, we lost him, we’re gonna die—”

“Shut up!” Elliot snapped, more out of fear than anger. His hands clenched into fists.

The trees seemed to close in around them, the shadows pressing tighter.

For a moment, it was just the sound of their own ragged breathing, the distant rustle of wind in the branches.

Then Pr3tty_princ3ss muttered, her voice a faint, dreamy lilt:

“He’s… chasing something.”

Everyone turned to stare at her.

“What?!” Elliot asked, almost demanding.

Pr3tty_princ3ss blinked slowly, her gaze distant, almost hazed. Her tail twitched, and she smiled faintly.

“He smelled something fun,” she murmured. “He went to find it.”

Elliot’s heart dropped through the floor. He turned, scanning the trees, frantic.

“C00lkidd! Get back here!” he shouted again, voice ragged and breaking.

No response.

1x1x1x1’s eyes—bright, jagged green behind the blackened mask—narrowed faintly. Her hands twitched at their sides, the flames pulsing irregularly.

“Stupid child,” she muttered, almost more to themselves.

Mia grabbed onto Elliot’s arm, her eyes wide and scared.

“We have to find him,” she whispered, barely holding it together. “We have to.”

Elliot nodded, swallowing hard. His hands trembled slightly.

“Everyone—fan out,” he said, voice tight. “We don’t split far, we stay in sight of each other. We find him before it’s too late.”

His voice faltered at the end, the unspoken thought—before they find him first—hanging heavy in the air.

And the group—shaken, hearts pounding, eyes darting into the dark—started moving, calling his name, hoping desperately that C00lkidd hadn’t wandered too far.

The gang fan out through the trees, their voices echoing into the dark.

“C00lkidd!”

“Where are you?!”

“Come back, you little gremlin!”

The forest seemed to swallow their calls, muting them beneath a low, steady rustle of wind and the distant creak of branches.

Elliot’s heart thudded painfully, sweat trickling down his neck. His breath came fast, shallow. He turned to check Mia—she was gripping his sleeve, her small face pale and wide-eyed. Charlotte stuck close to Mia, her own small fists clenched.

007n7 trailed behind, muttering frantically.

And 1x1x1x1… hovered at the edge of the group, silent, their form flickering like an unsteady flame—green sparks flashing in the corners of Elliot’s vision.

The tension in the air tightened, taut as a wire—

—and then the snap.

A low, guttural growl rolled from the shadows ahead.

Everyone froze.

A massive shape lurched from behind the trees—a bear, its dark fur ragged, patches missing, foam clinging to its mouth. Its eyes glinted with a sickly yellow gleam.

“B-bear?” 007n7’s voice cracked.

“Bear.” Elliot’s voice went flat.

“BEAR!” Mia screamed.

The bear lunged.

It was fast—faster than they could react.

It swiped at Elliot first—he barely dodged, throwing himself backward as the claws tore through the air. Mia shrieked, stumbling. Charlotte froze, wide-eyed.

Pr3typrinc3ss giggled, darting aside, but a branch tripped her and she went down with a yelp.

Elliot grabbed Mia’s arm, shoving her behind him, hands outstretched.

1x1x1x1 moved—just a flicker, a twitch of green fire down their limbs—but they didn’t strike. They watched, standing still, head tilted in eerie, unnatural calm. Their flames crackled faintly, waiting.

The bear slammed into Elliot, knocking him back—he hit the ground hard, air knocked from his lungs. 

“Stay away!” Mia shouted, trembling.

The bear swung its head, roaring—then lunged at Mia, claws raised—

—Elliot’s instincts screamed, but his body couldn’t move fast enough.

And that’s when it happened.

A blur of red and sharp edges—a flash of movement—

“RAHHHHH!”

The bear jerked, stumbling—there was a knife sticking out of its side.

Everyone turned—

And there he was.

C00lkidd, grinning like he owned the world, standing on a branch above them. His tail twitched, his little horns twitching faintly.

“SURPRISE!” he shouted, gleeful. “What’s up, guys?! I got it!”

The bear staggered, roaring, trying to swipe at him—but he just stomped.

“What the HELL, C00lkidd?!” Elliot shouted, scrambling up.

“Where did you go?!” Mia squeaked, clutching Elliot’s shirt.

C00lkidd dropped from the branch, landing with a thud, giggling.

“I smelled something cool, okay?! Then I saw this bear, so I stabbed it! No biggie!”

“No biggie—are you kidding me?!” Elliot’s voice cracked.

The bear growled, swaying, but then it collapsed with a heavy thump, the knife still stuck in its ribs.

Everyone stood frozen for a second, panting, hearts racing.

Then C00lkidd clapped his hands together, grinning so wide it almost split his face.

“Okay! Bear’s dead! Let’s go find Bluudud now!”

1x1x1x1 finally moved—turning their eerie gaze toward C00lkidd, her expression unreadable. The green flames around her pulsed once, a low hum in the air, as if she’s allowed this play to happen.

Elliot could barely breathe. He bent over, hands on his knees, trying to regain composure.

Mia just stared at C00lkidd, wide-eyed.

Charlotte let out a small, disbelieving laugh, half in relief, half in shock.

“Don’t ever wander off again,” Elliot muttered, voice hoarse, shooting a look at C00lkidd that was part exhaustion, part disbelief.

C00lkidd only grinned wider.

“Let’s gooooo!” he shouted, skipping ahead, already acting like none of this had happened.

Elliot sighed, straightening up.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Let’s get moving before we run into something worse.”

1x1x1x1 drifted after them, their flames crackling faintly, and for a heartbeat—just a heartbeat—Elliot swore she smirked.

The forest shifted. Branches twisted in the breeze. The air grew still and dense, like it was holding its breath.

John Doe followed the strange woman, staying low, his limbs skittering along the ground like an animal, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. His right arm—jagged, spiked, and oozing thin lines of red binary—twitched and flexed with every step.

He sniffed the air again. The scent of ice cream lingered on her like a trail of static. His head tilted, almost curious, a low hum vibrating in his throat.

The woman didn’t turn, but her pace slowed. Her dark cloak brushed the undergrowth, and her boots left soft prints in the dirt. Her scent was strange—sweet but cold, like vanilla spiked with frost.

John Doe took a breath—ragged, digital noise hissing faintly from his core. His corrupted body twitched, the binary in his right eye flickering.

“…You… smell… like ice cream….”

His voice was warped—glitchy, like it had been torn from static and half-repaired. His posture was half-crouched, one hand dragging along the ground.

The woman stopped.

For a long moment, she didn’t speak. Then, her voice, low and steady, drifted back:

“…I suppose I do. That’s what he said, too.”

John Doe tilted his head, the binary hum rising in a soft pulse.

“Who…?” he asked, or at least, he tried to. His words dragged, caught between static and speech. He reached up, tapping at the side of his head like it might clear the glitch.

The woman didn’t turn, but her tone sharpened—quieter, yet edged.

“Does it matter? He’s gone.”

John Doe blinked, his eye glitching faintly. His clawed fingers flexed at the ground.

“…Gone?” His voice cracked, warped into gonegggggg…nnn. He flinched, muttering code beneath his breath—fragments of old scripts, broken variables spilling from him like water:

“x=IceCream…no…x=Friend…n-no…x=…”

The woman finally turned. Her face was half-hidden beneath the shadow of her hood, but her eyes glimmered—cold, calculating. 

“I need to stop them from attempting this ritual.”

“That… good… but… Why?”

Her cloak stirred as she turned fully, the edges fluttering in the still, oppressive air. Her boots pressed into the soil, leaving faint impressions as if she were light, almost unreal.

John Doe stared up at her from his half-crouched posture, the binary hum rattling through his chest. His corrupted hand flexed, spiked fingers curling into the dirt, tearing small lines in the earth. His head twitched, tilting further, like a broken marionette.

The woman exhaled softly, her breath forming a thin vapor in the air—an unnatural chill that seeped into the trees.

“Because they’re playing with something they don’t understand, that’s all.”

John Doe’s claws dug deeper into the dirt. 

His head twitched again, a sharp jerk like static skipping a frame.

“…Playing…” His voice crackled, dragged like a corrupted file, the word slipping in and out of pitch. 

The woman regarded him quietly, her silhouette rigid against the dim glow of the forest’s filtered light. Her breath fogged the air again, curling like frost.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” she said after a moment, her tone low but not unkind. “But they’re tampering with something…old. Something that should remain buried.”

John Doe shifted—his movements jerky, halting. He tilted his head the other way, the glow in his eye flickering, an odd mechanical whirr underlying the sound, like a disk spinning too fast.

“…They…” His claws flexed, binary seeping from the fractures in his arm, twisting like threads of smoke. His voice fractured across frequencies. “They… who? They… code? They… script? They… friends?”

The woman’s gaze didn’t waver, but her brow furrowed, almost imperceptibly. Her cloak stirred again, brushing softly across the underbrush like a sigh.

“They call themselves seekers,” she said, her voice dropping even lower, almost like she was sharing a secret. “But they’re desperate. They’ll tear apart the ground beneath us if it means they can reach beyond the veil.”

Her hand, gloved in black, drifted briefly to the edge of her cloak, fidgeting—an almost involuntary motion, like she was grounding herself.

“I need to stop them,” she continued, her tone steady again, sharper. “Before they break something they can’t fix.”

He shifted closer, the scent of ice cream like a beacon in the static haze of his mind. His claws raked shallow lines in the dirt.

The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You’re…not like them, are you?” she murmured, voice soft but cautious, like a blade sliding back into its sheath.

John Doe’s posture jerked, the question sending a shiver through his corrupted form. His claws tapped a fractured rhythm into the dirt.

“…No…not…like…them…” His voice fragmented, lower, almost a growl. His head tilted again, too far, joints popping. His exposed eye flickered wildly, binary spilling out like a bleeding wound. “No…made…test…broken…left…alone…”

A soft, almost imperceptible glitchy whimper echoed from him—static warped into something that might have once been longing.

The woman’s expression—what little of it could be seen—shifted minutely, her gaze sharp yet thoughtful.

“Left behind…” she echoed quietly.

The wind stirred around them, a low hiss through the leaves, as if the forest itself was listening.

John Doe’s corrupted hand twitched, digits clawing into the earth, and he breathed in sharply through what remained of a mouth, the sound warped by static and code.

“You want…to stop…them?” he asked—almost a question, almost a plea.

“I need to.” Her voice was firm now. “They don’t understand what they’re invoking. If they succeed, it won’t just be this place that suffers. They’ll break what holds this all together.”

John Doe’s head twitched again. His claws clenched into fists.

“…Break…hold…together…?” His voice stuttered, the words slow, dragged out, as if testing them. Then softer, almost a whisper: “Like me…?”

For the first time, the woman turned—fully turned—and looked down at him. Her eyes, sharp and cold, met his, and for a heartbeat the air between them felt heavy, dense, like static waiting to burst.

“You’re…damaged,” she said, voice low but even. “But you’re still holding on, aren’t you?”

John Doe’s breath hitched, a static glitch lacing the sound. His form twitched, shaking slightly, the binary lines across his limbs pulsing red.

“…Holding…on…” he echoed, voice small, as if tasting the words.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The trees whispered. The wind shifted.

Then the woman spoke, her tone steady, like an oath:

“I don’t know what you were before. I don’t know if you can be fixed. But you’re here. And right now, that’s enough.”

John Doe stared up at her, head tilted, the binary flickering like static-filled tears across his face. His corrupted hand flexed, clawing lightly at the earth, as if anchoring himself to her words.

“…Enough…” he murmured, voice soft, glitching, but hopeful.

For the first time, his posture eased—slightly—and he sat back on his haunches like a lost animal, the air of tension in him still taut, but less sharp.

The scent of ice cream lingered, like a tether.

The woman’s gaze flicked forward again, her cloak whispering softly as she turned back toward the trees.

“Stay close,” she said, her voice quieter now.

John Doe twitched, then followed, the corrupted lines across his body pulsing softly in the dark.

The ritual snapped.

The symbols seared bright like the afterglow of a dying star—before shattering. 

Bluudud felt himself lifted, weightless for a terrifying instant, before he was flung like a ragdoll, tumbling across the dirt until he landed with a bone-rattling thud against a tree.

The breath whooshed out of him in a wheeze. His halo dimmed, his wings twitching, a sickening pain blooming along his ribs. He lay there, coughing weakly, blinking as the world swam in and out of focus.

The cult leader had been thrown back too, mask cracked in half, revealing an aged face with hollow eyes and streaks of black code-like veins trailing down their neck. They struggled upright, one hand pressed to their chest, staring at Bluudud with disbelief.

“He… he is not the beacon.”

One of the other cultists, eyes wild, hissed: “He is a child. We wasted the ritual!”

“…Owwwww,” he groaned, cradling his side where a sharp shock had left a painful welt.

But the crackle of unstable energy still lingered in the clearing. 

Stray arcs of code flickered across the dirt, hissing like dying sparks. The ground beneath Bluudud felt wrong—glitching, unstable. He tried to push himself up but collapsed again, wincing.

The leader’s voice dropped to a low growl, words shaking with fury:

“Kill him. End this mistake.”

Bluudud’s eyes widened in horror.

The cultists advanced, some limping, their chants replaced by the sound of footsteps through dry leaves.

Bluudud tried to crawl backward, wings dragging uselessly. His halo flickered desperately, casting a dim, uneven light across the ground. His voice was a thin, panicked whimper:

“Wait, wait, wait, no—no no no, I didn’t ask for this—”

The forest was eerily quiet in the aftermath of the bear attack—just the ragged sound of breathing, the rustle of broken branches, the faint thrum of fear still hanging heavy in the air.

Mia clung to Charlotte’s hand, both of them glancing around nervously. 

Elliot tried to steady his hands, the exhaustion in his bones made every breath a little harder. 

C00lkidd clutched to 007n7. Pr3typriincess kicked the dirt, grumbling softly.

Then—1x1x1x1 stepped forward.

Silent. Deadly.

Her glowing red eye gleamed in the half-light—sharp, hungry, angry.

Without a word, she raised her clawed hand to her face. Her fingers flexed once—then dug into her eye socket.

The noise—the wet, tearing sound of corrupted data and flesh—was sharp and jagged, a mix of static crackles and digital screeches.

Mia and Charlotte screamed—a raw, panicked sound that cut the air like a knife.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Mia shouted, her voice shrill and cracking as she lunged forward, trying to stop 1x.

Charlotte, wild-eyed and panicking, practically tackled 1x’s leg, grabbing at her waist, desperate to stop whatever this was.

But 1x shoved them both off—effortless, uncaring, like they were nothing.

Her voice was low, hollow, empty, echoing like a drone through static.

“They can’t hide anymore.”

Blood—thick and dark, mixed with lines of corrupted binary, dripped down her cheek in slow, heavy lines. The world seemed to glitch around her, the air itself stuttering like a broken video.

And then—with a wet, final tear, she ripped the core free.

The glow—blinding, pulsing, wrong—erupted from her hand like a miniature black hole. Her body spasmed, shaking as if caught in a violent current.

Mia and Charlotte stumbled back in horror, clutching each other.

The world around her—twisted.

The trees warped, lines breaking into pixelated shards. The ground pulsed, data streams bleeding through the earth. Static crawled over everything, shimmering like broken glass.

1x’s vision was fractured—split, fragmented into sharp, mirrored shards. But through those shards—she saw them.

The cultists.

Their shapes flickered, revealed in the distortion—hidden no longer.

With a raw, glitching screech, she lunged.

She tore through the trees, through the data streams, a nightmare in motion—glitching blurs of black and green, chains rattling as she moved.

The others—frozen for a beat—watched in stunned silence.

Then Elliot—heart racing, mind spinning—found his voice, sharp and urgent:

“FOLLOW HER!”

The group snapped out of it—Mia grabbing Charlotte’s hand, 007n7 stumbling forward, Pr3typriincess bolting with a wicked grin, C00lkidd humming excitedly as he followed—and they ran, chasing the trail of static and blood in 1x’s wake.

The hunt had truly begun.

Bluudud tried to back up, but it was no use.

Bluudud was staggering backward, his wings dragging behind him like torn paper. His small, battered frame trembled as the cultists slowly advanced—robes dark as tar, voices whispering in harsh static, their twisted hands reaching out.

Bluudud’s breath hitched, every step feeling like his legs were giving out. He clutched at his side, blue essence seeping between his fingers. His halo tilted, cracked and flickering.

“Stay back!!”

The cultists’ voices surged, reaching a fevered pitch—until everything shattered.

BANG.

The door burst inward with a crack like thunder. A figure surged through—118o8, breathing hard, her eyes wide, wild, desperate. Her dark cloak flared behind her, boots skidding across the ground, and in her hand—a knife, gleaming wickedly in the low light.

She screamed—a raw, furious sound, sharp enough to cut the air.

The cultists turned—startled, unprepared.

She lunged. The blade flashed, carving through the first robed figure. They stumbled back with a ragged cry, and chaos erupted.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!” she bellowed, her voice shaking with rage.

The chanting collapsed into shouts, panic, scattering figures scrambling back as 118o8 tore through them. Her movements were sharp, frantic, desperate—every strike of the blade wild but precise, born of pure instinct and terror.

John Doe had crept after her, low and half-feral, but now paused just inside the ruined entrance. His glowing eye twitched, head tilting sharply as he watched—curious, animalistic, waiting.

The cultists scrambled away—some retreating, some shouting at each other in fragments of code and prayer.

118o8’s chest heaved, her breath ragged, her knife gripped white-knuckle tight in one shaking hand. Her cloak tangled around her legs as she stumbled forward, eyes locking on Bluudud—

—And her heart stopped.

“Baby…”

Her voice broke, cracking like glass. Her knife dropped from her fingers, clattering against the stone. She took a step, staggered, then another.

“Is that…you…?”

Bluudud froze. His wings shifted, halo tilted askew, tail curling in on itself. His eyes widened, blinking rapidly as if trying to place the sound, the face—her.

Her scent hit him like a wave—ice cream, vanilla, faint frost. A deep, aching memory stirred in him, a flash of a car spinning, headlights blinding—her screaming his name—then darkness.

“…Mom?” he whispered, voice trembling.

The room seemed to hold its breath.

118o8’s face crumbled, the fierce, cold mask shattering under the weight of grief, relief, everything. Tears welled up, slipping silently down her cheeks. She reached out—fingers trembling, half-afraid to touch him, like he might vanish into static if she did.

“Oh, God… Baby, you’re—”

She fell to her knees beside him, hands hovering over his small, confused form, like she didn’t dare grab him but couldn’t stay away.

Bluudud’s wings fluttered nervously. His head tilted, his little fingers twitching in his lap.

118o8’s breath hitched, her hands finally grasping his—gently, reverently, as if he were made of glass. She pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes, her breath shaky.

“I thought you were gone.”

John Doe stood nearby, watching. His head tilted—slowly, too far, joints creaking softly. His spiked, corrupted arm twitched, binary flickering in his eye.

He sniffed the air again.

“…Ice cream,” he muttered softly, a glitchy, static-laced hum vibrating beneath the words. His claws flexed absently against the floor, not sure why this moment felt like a puzzle piece slipping into place.

The binary in his right arm pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.

But then—a sudden movement.

A cultist lunged from the shadows, swinging a jagged blade with ruthless intent. The glint of steel caught the dim light as the attack arced toward Bluudud’s neck.

118o8’s sharp cry shattered the fragile silence as she threw herself between them, barely dodging the blade. 

The cultist’s strike sliced through the air where her body had been moments before, missing by inches.

The peaceful moment was destroyed.

“No!” she hissed, eyes blazing with fury. “You’ll never have him.”

She swung back wildly, fists and knife flashing in a desperate dance of defense. 

Around her, more of them closed in, their faces twisted with fanatic determination.

Cornered, 118o8 fought with everything she had—each strike fueled by fear and fierce love—but her movements began to slow, breath coming ragged, a stab of pain flaring in her side. The cultists pressed harder, their numbers overwhelming.

Nearby, a shifting shadow stirred—John Doe, lurking at the edge of the clearing. His corrupted body twitched, binary streaming faintly from his spiked right arm as his glowing red eye flickered.

He crouched low, muscles tense, eyes darting between friend and foe.

A low whimper escaped him—a sound almost animal. His body shivered with hesitation and fear.

Then he began to lunge forward—then froze, panic flooding his corrupted mind.

His head snapped back; he staggered, retreating slowly into the shadows, eyes wide and wild, like a lost puppy cornered by its own terror.

Just as the cultists closed in on 118o8, a sudden rending sound cut through the night.

1x1x1x1 erupted into the clearing like a storm of shattered code and raw fury. 

Her every step fractured the ground beneath her feet, as if reality itself warped to her corrupted will. 

The faint, flickering green flames licking her skeletal torso cast eerie shadows that danced in time with her savage assault.

Without a word, she lunged forward—her movements jagged yet fluid, like a corrupted video skipping between frames. Claws materialized on her hands, long and razor-sharp, as they tore through the thick fabric of the cultists’ robes as if they were nothing more than brittle paper. 

They barely had time to scream before she slammed her hand through his chest, fingers clawing at his ribcage until bones shattered like glass.

Her glowing red eye burned with unrelenting hatred, scanning for the next target amid the chaos. 

She moved with a terrifying grace—sometimes disappearing into a haze of flickering pixels, only to reappear behind another cultist, sending them crashing to the earth with a brutal swipe.

She spun, using their weight like weapons, wrapping them around an assailant’s limbs and yanking viciously, ripping him off his feet. 

Another charged, blade raised high, but 1x1x1x1 slammed her limb into his skull, a sickening crunch echoing through the clearing.

Static hissed and crackled around her, the air thick with the tension of corrupted data unraveling in real time. 

When a group of cultists closed in together, she didn’t flinch. 

Bodies fell, some convulsing with corrupted energy, others lying still, broken.

Blood and static mingled in the air as 1x1x1x1’s guttural, hollow drone echoed. “They can’t hide.” Her voice was fragmented, like corrupted data breaking apart, yet filled with cold finality.

Then, she shoved her eye back in.

She didn’t need a sword, not this time. Just pure, unadulterated rage.

118o8 stood frozen in the aftermath, her breaths sharp and ragged, each inhale a cold mist in the ruined air. Her knife trembled in her grip, knuckles white, blood dripping in rivulets down the blade. Her heart pounded in her ears—loud, chaotic—and for a moment, she didn’t realize the cultists were gone.

Then she looked up.

1x1x1x1 stood in the center of the chaos, like a monument of ruin—tall, still, and shrouded in static. Her chains hung low, dripping corrupted data like ink, and her skeletal chest still flickered with residual green flames. The flickering, broken red eye socket pulsed faintly in the dark.

Slowly, 118o8’s breath steadied. She lowered the knife, her shoulders slumping in exhaustion. She stared at 1x1x1x1 for a long, breathless moment before swallowing and nodding faintly.

“…Thank you,” she said quietly, voice hoarse. The words felt strange, bitter almost, but they were honest.

1x1x1x1 tilted her head—a subtle, almost mechanical motion—as her eye reformed in flickers, patching itself together in fragments of data. The corrupted glow sharpened, stabilizing with a faint, eerie hum. She met 118o8’s gaze with a slow, heavy nod of her own—acknowledgment without words. Her voice rasped, low and hollow, barely audible:

“…Necessary.”

As 118o8 wiped blood from her cheek, the sound of footsteps and breathless voices echoed through the trees.

The group burst into the clearing—007n7 panting hard, gripping his knees, wide-eyed at the scene; C00lkidd bounding in at full speed, only to skid to a stop and stare; Pr3typriincess clutching her glittery knife, expression a mix of awe and confusion; Mia holding Charlotte’s hand tight, both of them wide-eyed; Elliot clutching his satchel, trying to catch his breath; and Two Time lagging behind, eyes darting between the figures and the carnage, tension wound tight in his shoulders.

For a moment, there was silence—just the sound of wind rattling the leaves, the aftermath humming with static.

007n7’s voice broke through first, loud and shaky:

“Uh… what happened here?”

C00lkidd’s gaze shot between the cultists’ battered bodies and 1x1x1x1’s glitching form. His grin was wild—part impressed, part nervous. “Yo, what the heck did I miss?!”

Charlotte clung to Mia’s side, whispering under her breath, “Is she… is she okay?” as she stared at 1x1x1x1, eyes wide like saucers.

Elliot swallowed hard, forcing himself to step forward despite the pit forming in his stomach. He glanced at 118o8, noting the blood on her clothes, the tension in her frame—and then he turned to 1x1x1x1, whose form still pulsed faintly, data slowly stabilizing.

“…Are you okay?” he asked softly.

1x1x1x1’s red eye flickered, locking onto him for a moment before returning to its dull, dangerous glow. She didn’t speak, but her posture straightened—still intimidating, but less volatile, as if the raw violence had been temporarily spent.

Two Time, still catching up, slowed their steps as they approached the group. Their gaze lingered on the corpses and the torn sigils glowing faintly on the ground. They glanced at 1x1x1x1, expression tight with a complex tangle of feelings—resentment, curiosity, and perhaps a flicker of something else.

“…That was messy,” they muttered, voice low and sharp.

The group collectively turned toward 118o8, who straightened under their gaze. Her voice was steady now, her eyes sharp.

“I’m looking for someone,” she said, gripping the knife tighter. “A boy. They took him.”

The group exchanged looks—Mia and Charlotte whispering between themselves, Elliot glancing at 1x1x1x1 for any sign of recognition, C00lkidd tilting his head in curiosity, and 007n7 frowning, arms crossed.

C00lkidd spoke up, brows furrowing. “Wait… Bluudud?”

118o8’s breath hitched. She stared at him, her lips parting slightly as if the name knocked the air from her chest. Her voice dropped, barely a whisper:

“…You know him?”

"Yeah, he's my bro!" C00lkidd enthusiathically said, waving his arms. "You know him?"

C00lkidd didn’t wait for an answer. The moment the name was spoken—Bluudud—his eyes lit up like a kid seeing candy, and he sprinted forward, arms outstretched.

“Bluuuuuuu!” he shouted, practically leaping across the clearing.

Pr3typriincess wasn’t far behind, her small, fierce frame bouncing in a blur of pink and glitter. “HUG TIME!!” she squealed, voice high-pitched and chaotic.

Bluudud blinked, dazed, his body trembling from the ritual’s aftermath. His wings twitched, head spinning, trying to process everything—but he had no chance. They slammed into him, a pink-and-red blur of chaos and joy, wrapping their arms tight around him. C00lkidd practically tackled him off the ground, squeezing with all his might, while Pr3typriincess chattered a million miles a minute.

“BLUUUUUUU!! I MISSED YOU SO MUCH! YOU’RE ALIVE! WE THOUGHT YOU WERE—DEAD! WHAT HAPPENED?"

“C-Can’t… breathe,” Bluudud wheezed, barely able to get a word in.

007n7, standing a few steps away, crossed his arms and sighed, shaking his head.

“Alright, calm down,” he muttered, voice dry and exasperated. 

C00lkidd loosened his grip—barely—and grinned sheepishly, rocking back on his heels. “Oops. My bad. But you’re okay! That’s all that matters, right?!”

Pr3typriincess finally released her iron-grip hug, stepping back with sparkles in her hair and a giant grin. She clapped her hands together, practically vibrating with energy.

Bluudud swayed slightly, dazed, his body aching and his head spinning. He looked up at them, eyes wide, and whispered, almost like he didn’t believe it:

“…You guys came for me.”

C00lkidd beamed. “Of course we did! We’re your team! You’re not gettin’ rid of us that easy, bro!”

Pr3typriincess giggled and twirled around, arms flung wide like she was announcing to the sky. “Group hug foreverrrrr!”

Bluudud smiled faintly—small, a little worn-out, but real. His eyes softened, and he let out a shaky breath, relief flooding his exhausted frame.

007n7 sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his nose, but there was a faint, reluctant grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The chaos of the moment seemed to still, if only for a breath. C00lkidd and Pr3typriincess’s laughter still echoed, the sound of glitter and joy after the storm. 007n7 kept a wary eye on them, quietly making sure Bluudud wasn’t too squeezed to death.

Elliot and Mia had already went home, Eliot carrying a sleeping girl on his back. Charlotte already went home after recieving a text, waving bye to the others.

That’s when 118o8 stepped forward.

She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling with every ragged inhale. Her blade—now stained with the blood of cultists—hung loose at her side, forgotten in the rush of adrenaline and sheer disbelief. Her eyes—sharp, calculating, normally unreadable—widened, shimmering with something raw and unguarded.

She stared at Bluudud, who was now standing a little steadier, though his wings twitched nervously under the weight of the hugs. His gaze turned, almost as if sensing it, and locked with hers.

The world seemed to collapse in on that single moment.

“…Baby… is that… you?” she breathed out, voice cracking like thin glass.

Bluudud froze. His eyes widened, the confusion and exhaustion in his face softening into something more vulnerable. His lips parted—then trembled.

“…Mom?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse and quiet, like he wasn’t sure he was saying it right.

118o8’s breath hitched, her knees buckling slightly. For a second, it was like the weight of years slammed into her—memories of loss, of a little boy’s laughter, of a car accident that tore her world apart, of a grave she had visited and wept over.

She took a step forward, then another, until she was close enough to see the small lines on his face, the way his wings trembled, the disbelief in his wide, shining eyes.

She dropped her knife.

Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him in tight, holding him as if she could somehow keep him from ever slipping away again. Her breath shuddered out in a half-sob, half-laugh.

“My baby… my baby… you’re alive… I thought you were gone—”

Bluudud’s hands shook, but he slowly, hesitantly, raised them and hugged her back. He buried his face in her shoulder, his breath hitching.

“I thought you were gone too…” he whispered, voice cracking.

For a long moment, the group stood in stunned silence—watching a mother and son reunited after years apart.

A shuffling noise.

From the corner of the room, John Doe emerged. His movements were slow, cautious—his glowing red eye flickering as he blinked in the dim light. He had been cowering, barely visible behind a pile of shattered wood, but now he stepped out like a dog peeking its head out after a storm.

He tilted his head, the soft binary hum radiating from his body in faint pulses. His clawed hand twitched at his side, the corrupted, jagged edges of his form crackling faintly.

He sniffed once—low, like an animal—then blinked again, tilting his head the other way. His voice, when it came, was a soft, garbled static:

“…Family…?”

118o8 turned, her tear-streaked face softening as she saw him. There was no fear in her gaze—just understanding, maybe, as if she saw something fragile in the corrupted figure.

Bluudud blinked up at John Doe, still held in his mother’s embrace, and tilted his head curiously. He didn’t seem afraid.

John Doe’s body tensed for a second, but then he blinked again, almost like he was resetting. His jagged form seemed to lower a little, his shoulders sagging, and he muttered in low static, voice flickering in the air:

“…Family… is… good…”

Off to the side, Two Time lingered in the shadows, arms crossed tight, face a stormcloud of conflicted emotions. Their gaze was locked on the ruined ritual circle, the broken symbols scorched into the ground. Their fists clenched so hard they trembled, knuckles white.

They weren't looking at the reunion. They were staring at the shattered remains of the cult’s work—the other cult. Their rival cult. Their failure.

They stood there, silent, as the others hugged and smiled and whispered in disbelief. A single, bitter thought pulsed through them:

“They thought they could recreate it… They thought they could fake what we believed in…”

They swallowed hard, lips pressing into a thin line, jaw tight. Their eyes burned, but they didn’t say a word. They just watched, shoulders tense, simmering quietly in the corner of the room.

Bluudud stood there, his wings trembling, caught between two worlds.

118o8—his mother—still had her hands on his shoulders, her face flushed from tears, her breath unsteady as she tried to memorize every detail of her son’s face. Her fingers, stained with dirt and blood, clung to him like she was afraid he’d slip away again.

But behind him, 007n7, C00lkidd, and Pr3typriincess hovered like a chaotic, makeshift family. C00lkidd was still buzzing with leftover adrenaline, tail swishing back and forth, while Pr3typriincess kept poking at Bluudud’s wing like it was the best thing she’d ever seen. 007n7, trying to stay calm, quietly muttered under his breath, “C’mon, kid, make a choice…”

Bluudud’s gaze shifted between them—his mother’s tearful face and the bright, chaotic energy of the others. His heart pounded in his chest.

“I…” he started, voice small.

118o8’s breath hitched. “Bluudud…?”

He took a step back—toward 007n7. Then another. His small hands trembled as they brushed against C00lkidd’s, who grinned like a wild animal. Pr3typriincess practically yanked him into a side hug, all glitter and chaos.

Bluudud looked up at his mother, guilt and pain mixing in his wide eyes. His voice cracked when he spoke.

“I… I think I need to go with them.”

There was a long pause. 118o8’s breath shook once, a soft inhale, but then she exhaled—a soft, almost wry smile forming. Her eyes glimmered, still shining from tears, but there was a quiet understanding there.

“You always were a troublemaker, huh?” she said softly, voice shaking with a bittersweet edge. She glanced sideways at 007n7, her expression suddenly shifting into something half-smirking, half-dangerous.

“You take care of him… or I’ll gut you like a fish. Got it?”

007n7 raised both hands, exasperated but a little amused, like a man who knew he was in over his head. “Yeah, yeah, lady. I got it.”

C00lkidd grinned wide, tail flicking playfully. Pr3typriincess just giggled like she’d heard a joke no one else understood.

Bluudud’s small, uncertain smile grew a little as he leaned into the chaos of the group, letting it wash over him like a warm, strange wave.

118o8 stepped back, her gaze soft, her voice quieter now—almost wistful.

“I’ll find you again, Bluudud. You’ll see. I’m not going far.”

Her dark cloak billowed as she turned away, slipping into the shadows between trees. She moved like a phantom—there one moment, gone the next—but her presence lingered like a cold breath on the wind.

John Doe sniffed the air where she had been, tilting his head. His claws twitched, a faint hum buzzing from his corrupted frame. But he didn’t say a word.

The gang watched her vanish, the sounds of the forest slowly returning around them.

007n7 exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Great. Just what we need. Another weirdo with a knife making threats.”

Bluudud looked up at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“I think… she’s my mom.”

007n7 paused, then gave him a look—half-surprised, half-sarcastic.

“Figures.”

C00lkidd burst out laughing. Pr3typriincess tackled Bluudud into another glitter-filled hug.

Bluudud laughed too, a little nervous, a little unsure—but he didn’t let go.

Bluudud sat quietly on a rock, the adrenaline slowly draining from his small frame. His wings drooped as he tried not to wince while 007n7 carefully wrapped a bandage around a scrape on his arm. 

The older Robloxian muttered under his breath, tearing tape with his teeth, working with gentleness.

“Next time, don’t run off like that, okay? You almost gave us all a heart attack.”

Bluudud nodded, looking down at his hands.

C00lkidd sat cross-legged nearby, occasionally tossing pebbles into the trees, and Pr3typriincess was still humming a weird, sparkly tune to herself, wiping off smudges of blood with her sleeves like it didn’t bother her at all.

Once 007n7 finished, Bluudud flexed his arm, testing the bandage. It was a little loose, but… it was okay. It was fine.

Then his eyes shifted—drawn to the figure standing apart from the others.

1x1x1x1.

She stood like a shadow barely stitched together, the glow of her single, torn eye casting long, strange shapes across the forest floor. She looked… drained. The glitching lines of her body pulsed faintly, like a dying signal trying to reassert itself in a void.

Bluudud stared, hesitating. Then, slowly, he pushed off the rock and stumbled toward her—limping slightly but determined.

1x1x1x1’s red eye tracked him, a faint hiss of static buzzing under her breath. Her clawed fingers flexed once at her sides, like she wasn’t sure if she should flinch away or catch him.

Then Bluudud threw his arms around her.

It was awkward—small wings folding in, his arms barely reaching around her glitching, angular frame—but he didn’t care. He held on tight.

For a long, frozen moment, 1x1x1x1 stood completely still. The static flickered, pulsing faintly, and something in the corrupted data that made up her form shifted. Almost like she let out a breath she’d been holding for years.

Then, slowly, so tentatively it was barely there, she lifted her jagged hand—carefully, carefully—and placed it on his back. Her claw didn’t dig in. It just rested there, steady and cold but present.

The others watched in quiet awe. Even C00lkidd, still bouncing with energy, hushed up for once.

007n7 sighed softly, looking off into the trees, his hands in his pockets. Pr3typriincess giggled softly under her breath.

And as the forest settled, the moonlight glinting faintly through the branches above, the group stood in a quiet, fragile peace—an unlikely, patchwork family formed in the aftermath of chaos.

A moment of stillness in the storm.

And for now… that was enough.

Chapter Text

After everything—the cult, the bear, the fights, the tears, the weird dream where Shedletsky was tap-dancing on a giant Bloxy Cola can—007n7 just… snapped. 

They needed a break. Like, a real-deal, no-missions, no-hacks, no-codes, no-warping-through-walls day off. 

No missions, no danger. Just… a day.

So, with a sly grin and a rare glint of mischief in his tired eyes, he suggested the perfect idea:

“Let’s run a lemonade stand.”

It was so unexpected that the others just stared at him.

“Lemonade?” Pr3typriincess blinked.

“Lemonade.” 007n7 confirmed, crossing his arms like it was the most obvious solution in the world.

C00lkidd immediately lit up. “Can we make it explode?”

“Not too much,” 007n7 warned, already regretting the idea.

Bluudud tilted his head, wings twitching curiously.

Pr3typriincess tilted her head, tail flicking behind her, visibly trying to understand the why of it all. “…Like, sell it? To who?”

“Anyone,” 007n7 replied.

Bluudud, still clutching his side where he’d been hurt—bandages wrapped around his ribs, little smudges of red seeping through—shifted awkwardly on the couch. His halo tilted slightly. “But we don’t even have lemons.”

Pr3typriincess pounced on that immediately, hands on her hips. “Yeah! And what if someone tries to steal our stand? Or… like… what if they throw rocks at it?”

“Or what if they throw rocks at us?” Bluudud added, looking even more worried.

“Then,” 007n7 declared, folding his arms with a smug grin, “they’ll get charged extra.”

C00lkidd snickered, bouncing in place, his little demon horns gleaming under the overhead light. “Or we throw rocks at them! Like… BOOM!” He mimed an explosion with his hands.

007n7 groaned, rubbing his face. “No rocks. No explosions. Just… lemonade. Normal. Relaxed.”

C00lkidd’s grin twisted slightly. “…But maybe like… a little boom?”

“No!” 007n7 snapped.

Bluudud, quietly watching this unfold, slowly raised a hand like a kid in class. “So like, do we have cups? Or a sign? Or, you know… lemonade?”

A beat of silence followed.

Pr3typriincess tapped her chin with one finger. “…You know… we could make it cute. Like… pink cups. And glitter on the sign! And I could draw a cat on it—”

C00lkidd’s eyes sparkled. “Oh! Oh! And we could call it the ‘Boomy Lemon Dream!’”

007n7 looked like he was going to have an aneurysm. “No boomy. No dream. Just… ‘Lemonade.’ Plain. Simple. That’s it.”

Bluudud, glancing nervously between them all, whispered, “I think I have a packet of lemon juice—under the sink.”

They all turned to stare at him.

Bluudud flinched, looking down. “From… uh, last time. We tried to make pizza.”

C00lkidd cackled. “Oh yeah! That was hilarious! The cheese exploded!”

007n7 let out a long, exhausted sigh, muttering under his breath, “I need to stop letting you two cook…”

Pr3typriincess crossed her arms and smirked. “Well… if we’re doing this… I am in charge of the sign.”

007n7’s head dropped onto the table with a dull thunk.

The kids found it while wandering around the park, half-limping and half-arguing about how many lemons you could squeeze out of a single packet of lemon juice. 

It sat in a forgotten corner, beneath an overgrown bush: an old, rusty cart with crooked wheels and peeling paint, the words “FRESH TASTES” barely legible across the side.

Pr3typriincess eyes lit up immediately. “It’s perfect! It’s like… fate or whatever!” She practically tackled the thing, dragging it out from under the bush as C00lkidd cheered, clapping his little red hands.

007n7 just watched from the side, arms crossed, a resigned look on his face. This is happening, he thought. This is my life now.

Once they had the cart propped up, the decorating began in full chaotic force.

Pr3typriincess dumped a bag of glitter all over the top—pink, silver, and sparkly. “It’s magical!” she declared, grinning. She drew swirls, hearts, and little cat faces with a chunky pink marker, adding “BUY LEMONADE OR ELSE <3” in huge, loopy letters across the front.

Bluudud quietly set down a small, lopsided bouquet of daisies and weeds he’d picked from the grass. He tucked them into an empty jar and placed it carefully at the corner of the stand. No one said much, but the tiny gesture brought an odd softness to the setup.

Meanwhile, C00lkidd was experimenting. He had a plastic cup half-filled with flat soda, a packet of lemon juice, and a spoonful of sugar—and he was furiously stirring them together, muttering under his breath.

007n7 narrowed his eyes. “What… are you doing?”

“Science,” C00lkidd replied, grinning wickedly. He poured a little of his concoction into another cup, added baking soda (where did he even get that?), and the thing fizzed up in a frothy mess.

“BOOM!” C00lkidd cried, watching it bubble over. “It’s like a party in a cup!”

Pr3typriincess immediately grabbed a cup and tried it. “It tastes… weird.”

“Like a piece soap,” Bluudud murmured, wrinkling his nose after a cautious sip.

007n7 pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “No. No exploding lemonade. Just… regular. Safe. Not poisonous.”

“Ugh!” Pr3typriincess pouted. “You’re no fun.”

Bluudud, quietly busy, tied together some fabric scraps to make little flags. They fluttered gently in the breeze, a mix of pink, yellow, and faded blue, giving their strange little stand a strangely inviting vibe.

C00lkidd leaned back with a satisfied smirk. “Okay… but maybe just a tiny explosion for the first customer.”

007n7 gave him a warning glare so sharp it could slice through Admin Commands.

But for a moment… with the cart gleaming under the soft afternoon light, the flowers arranged neatly, the glitter sparkling, and the flags waving lazily above, it all felt almost… normal.

Almost.

007n7 rubbed his temples and looked over the chaos in front of him: glitter everywhere, a bouquet of weeds, and a bubbling cup that threatened to overflow onto the already grimy wheels of the cart.

He turned, locking eyes with Bluudud, who was quietly fussing over his flower jar, pressing a drooping daisy back into place.

“Bluudud,” 007n7 said, tone measured but firm, “I need you to do something for me.”

Bluudud froze, looking up with wide eyes. His halo tilted slightly, like it was listening too. “Uh, okay?”

007n7 pointed down the path. “Go find lemons. Actual lemons. Not lemon juice packets. Not yellow leaves. Not… I don’t know… random yellow things. Actual, real lemons.”

Bluudud blinked, glancing between the group and the quiet park stretching beyond.

“But where am I supposed to get lemons?”

007n7 exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “There’s a corner market, like, three blocks down. Just… ask. Nicely. And don’t…” He glanced at C00lkidd, who was now shaking a bottle of soda with a wicked grin. “…don’t let him distract you.”

Bluudud’s gaze slowly, and I mean slowly, drifted to C00lkidd, who was currently trying to balance a spoon on his nose while pouring sugar into a cup with the other hand.

“…Okay.” He deadpanned.

007n7’s expression softened slightly. He nodded, voice lowering. “Good. Just… be careful. Don’t talk to anyone weird.”

C00lkidd chimed in immediately, eyes sparkling. “If you see a guy in a purple robe with no face, definitely talk to him. He might have a pet frog or something cool.”

“No!” 007n7 snapped, glaring at C00lkidd. Then, more gently to Bluudud, “Just… lemons. That’s it.”

Bluudud nodded slowly.

Pr3typriincess called after him, waving a pink glitter pen. “Get pink lemons if they have them!”

“I don’t think those exist.”

007n7 groaned under his breath, already regretting everything.

C00lkidd and Pr3typriincess were at it again, arguing about the dumbest thing imaginable—this time, whether the cart should have a theme song.

“It has to have a theme song!” C00lkidd insisted, bouncing in place with barely-contained energy. “Like—BANG! POW! LEMONADE IN YOUR FACE!” He strummed an imaginary guitar, voice cracking slightly from sheer excitement.

Pr3typriincess, arms crossed, rolled her eyes so hard they nearly fell out. “That’s so dumb! We’re not making it sound like we’re throwing grenades at customers! It should be soft! Like—‘Sippin’ lemonade, in the sun, so sweet, so yum!’” She twirled, sending a shower of glitter into the air like a miniature fireworks show.

C00lkidd stuck out his tongue, fangs glinting in the sunlight. “Boring!”

Pr3typriincess glared, clutching her glitter pen like it was a weapon. “Violent!”

“Boring!”

“Violent!”

“Boring!”

007n7 let out a deep, exhausted sigh, one hand rubbing his forehead while the other pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh my—please stop. I’m begging you—”

That’s when the lemon hit.

A perfectly aimed, slightly soft, very yellow lemon that bounced right off C00lkidd’s head.

He blinked, stunned, as a second lemon sailed cleanly through the air and thwacked Pr3typriincess on the side of the arm.

“Hey!” she yelped, spinning around with an angry glare.

Bluudud stood there, at the end of the path, arms full of lemons. Piled up like a wobbly tower, so many that they nearly obscured his face behind them.

He looked completely serious as he said, in his earnest voice:

“You didn’t say how much, so I thought the safest bet was all of them.”

His halo tilted slightly as he shifted under the weight of the fruit.

The cart, already a chaotic mess of flags and glitter and “theme song” debates, sank slightly under the sheer weight of the lemons as Bluudud carefully dumped them all onto it—lemons tumbling everywhere, bouncing off the sides, clinking onto the pavement.

007n7 stared.

Pr3typriincess stared.

C00lkidd just grinned, eyes wide. “Okay… now we can make an exploding recipe…”

“No!” Everyone said in unison.

Bluudud dropped the lemons on the cart with a dramatic thud, stepping back and crossing his arms like he was expecting applause.

“Ta-da. Lemons. All of them,” he said dryly, tilting his halo like a crown. “You’re welcome.”

C00lkidd scrambled to grab a lemon, eyes wide with chaotic glee. “Okay, okay, so if we mix it with baking soda and glitter, it should—”

“No,” 007n7 cut in, pointing a sharp finger at him like a disappointed parent.

Pr3typriincess, already elbow-deep in a pile of lemons, flipped her hair dramatically. “Whatever, I know what I’m doing. I watched a video once.” She held a lemon aloft like it was a royal jewel. “Step one: we crush them!”

“Technically, it’s squeeze, but sure,” Bluudud muttered, already grabbing a lemon and rolling it on the cart with an exaggerated eye roll. “Let’s all pretend we’re fancy chefs now.”

007n7 sighed, again. It was becoming a pattern.

They got to work, C00lkidd’s enthusiasm spilling everywhere—literally, as he tried to “experiment” by shaking lemons in a soda bottle when he thought no one was looking. Bluudud, deadpan as ever, gave him a slow clap. “Bravo. If it explodes, we’ll call it a lemon-ade surprise.”

Pr3typriincess squashed lemons under her fists, juice splattering everywhere, until she realized it wasn’t working quite as she imagined. “Ugh! This is so messy. Why is it not pretty?!”

007n7, who had already resigned himself to this chaos, grabbed a proper juicer from inside the apartment and set it down with a thud. “Use this. Please.”

Pr3typriincess gasped like it was some ancient relic. “Ooooh.”

They got into a rhythm—Pr3typriincess slicing lemons (with a lot of flair), Bluudud working the juicer like a tired barista with no patience left for customers, and C00lkidd occasionally throwing in “experiments” that 007n7 immediately vetoed before anything could catch fire or explode.

C00lkidd kept muttering under his breath about “lemon fizzes” and “bubbly sparkles.” Bluudud, dry as a desert, looked up from the juicer and deadpanned, “If you snort the lemon zest, does it give you superpowers too?”

C00lkidd blinked. “Wait, does it?”

“Don’t actually—” 007n7 started, but C00lkidd was already sniffing a lemon peel.

“It burns!” C00lkidd screeched, falling backward dramatically.

Pr3typriincess tossed her hair and rolled her eyes so hard they practically rattled in her head. “You’re so dramatic.” She flicked glitter at him for good measure.

Finally, after what felt like hours of chaos and banter(It was 10 minutes.), they had a whole pitcher of real, actual lemonade—cold, tart, slightly sweet, and surprisingly not (THAT) poisonous.

Chance and Elliot strolled up to the glitter-and-lemonade chaos like they were stepping into a warzone—except instead of weapons, they had opinions and stubbornness.

Chance adjusted his fedora with a cocky grin. “Alright, let me just say it right now—classic lemonade is the only way to go. None of these fancy, exploding, glittery nonsense. Just pure, simple, refreshing citrus perfection. Got it?”

Elliot’s red visor lowered slightly as he folded his arms, lips twitching into a smirk. “You mean the kind that’s way too sweet and makes you regret your life choices after the first sip? No thanks. If you want lemonade done right, it’s gotta be balanced—not a sugar bomb.”

Chance blinked, offended but trying to hide it behind a smirk. “Pfft. You’re just afraid of a little sugar rush. Where’s your sense of adventure, Elliot?”

“Adventure?” Elliot echoed, voice dripping with deadpan. “Last time I followed your ‘adventure,’ I ended up with a mouth full of soda and a headache.”

007n7 watched from the sidelines, face half-hidden behind his hands, muttering, “Can someone please stop this before I lose my mind?”

Pr3typriincess giggled, whispering to C00lkidd, “Imagine arguing about lemonade.”

C00lkidd grinned, rubbing his still-aching nose. “I wish I had someone to argue lemonade with.”

Bluudud, still leaning on the cart, deadpanned, “Guess you’re stuck with us weirdos.”

Elliot glanced toward 007n7, an eyebrow twitching. The old tension flickered briefly but neither seemed interested in stirring it up again—at least not today.

Chance puffed up, voice louder, “Classic lemonade wins. End of story.”

Elliot’s eyes narrowed, voice sharp, “Balanced lemonade wins. End of your delusion.”

They paused, the stand’s chaos humming around them like background noise, neither willing to yield, both knowing exactly what this was—a stupid, endless argument, and maybe… a little more.

007n7 sighed. “Great. Now we have two idiots arguing over lemonade. Perfect.”

Bluudud gave a smirk. “At least it’s entertaining.”

Chance and Elliot kept at it for a few more rounds—each louder and more stubborn than the last—until Pr3typriincess finally waved a glittery hand and called out, “Enough! Buy some lemonade or scram!”

Elliot rolled his eyes but reached into his pocket, pulling out a few bills. He handed a cup of lemonade over to his little sister, Mia, who was hanging back nearby with a mischievous grin and a brightly colored water gun.

Mia took the lemonade with a smirk, then without warning, squirted a stream of water right at Chance.

Chance yelped, swatting at his hat as droplets dripped down his forehead.

Elliot just laughed, shaking his head. He crouched to fistbump Mia. 

Mia grinned wide, fist bumping back. “We’re pros at this.”

Chance, wiping water from his face, shot them a mock glare but couldn’t help smirking. “You two are terrible.”

Bluudud muttered sarcastically, “Welcome to the lemonade stand, where the bullying’s part of the service.”

007n7 shook his head, the faintest smile twitching on his lips. Maybe this chaotic, weird little family was exactly what he needed after all.

John Doe shuffled up to the lemonade stand, eyes flickering red as he awkwardly cleared his throat. He held out a few bills in a clumsy way.

“L-lemonade,” he muttered, voice rough and glitchy, like a broken record trying to be polite.

007n7 blinked, then handed over a cup. “Uh, here you go. Try not to explode it, alright?”

John Doe gave a small, awkward nod, clutching the cup like it was both precious and fragile.

Just as John Doe took a careful sip, a sudden whoosh erupted from C00lkidd’s corner—an “experiment” gone wrong, a fizzing concoction that ignited a small flame near the cart.

Without hesitation, John Doe’s body lunged forward, grabbing a nearby blanket and smothering the flames with surprising care.

The group stared in stunned silence for a moment before Pr3typriincess broke out laughing, clapping her hands. “Wow, John Doe! Who knew you were such a helpful guy?”

John Doe nodded solemnly.

Bluudud smirked. “Corruption or not, you’re the best fireman we’ve got.”

007n7 gave a tired but genuine smile. “Yeah. Maybe this lemonade stand isn’t completely doomed after all.”

Shedletsky and Builderman appeared just as the stand was settling back into its chaotic rhythm, each carrying a medkit like battle-hardened veterans prepared for any mishap.

“Thought you might need these,” Builderman said with a tired smile, setting his medkit down on the corner of the cart. “Safety first, even for a lemonade stand.”

Shedletsky grunted in agreement, eyes scanning the scene—Pr3typriincess tossing glitter like confetti, C00lkidd still rubbing his nose, Bluudud looking sarcastic as ever, and 007n7 barely holding it together.

As they settled in, 1x1x1x1 slipped silently behind Shedletsky, clutching something small and dark. Without a word, the figure extended a trembling hand—and in it lay a dead mouse.

Shedletsky’s eyes flickered with surprise, then mild discomfort. He opened his mouth to refuse, but something in 1x1x1x1’s expression—quiet, patient, almost pleading—made him pause.

With a resigned sigh, he took the mouse. “Thanks… I guess.”

Builderman glanced at the offering with a raised eyebrow but wisely said nothing.

Pr3typriincess whispered to C00lkidd, “She gives gifts? To Shedletsky?”

C00lkidd shrugged, “…A really weird gift-giver.”

Shedletsky gave a small, reluctant smile as he set the mouse aside—because sometimes, even the strangest gifts had to be accepted.

The afternoon chaos buzzed at the lemonade stand like a half-simmered pot about to boil over. Pr3typriincess was still arguing over the glitter situation, C00lkidd was balancing a fizzing cup on his nose and Bluudud was rearranging his absurd collection of lemons for some reason.

That was when 118o8 arrived.

She didn’t so much enter the scene as softly ripple through it—her presence was a calming contrast to the noise, like a warm breeze weaving through a storm.

When she spotted Bluudud, her eyes softened, crinkling at the edges. Her smile wasn’t just warm—it was radiant, like the kind of smile that could make you feel safe even in a world where corrupted code and killers lurked behind every corner.

“Hi, Bluu,” she greeted softly, voice lilting with gentle amusement. 

Her gaze flicked across the chaos, taking it all in: the glitter, the lemons, the scattered signs, and the blackened patch where C00lkidd’s experiment had scorched the grass.

“Mom!”

118o8 crouched slightly to meet him at eye level, brushing a few wayward strands of hair off his face. “Look at you… running a lemonade stand.” She paused, glancing at the “exploding” cup in C00lkidd’s hands. “Sort of.”

She turned then to 007n7, holding out a neatly wrapped bundle with both hands. It was warm, and the scent of sugar and butter wafted from it.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice warm but weighted with genuine emotion. “For looking after my son.”

007n7 blinked, caught entirely off guard. He rubbed the back of his head, not quite sure how to process a thank you of that magnitude. “Uh. Well. He kind of looks after himself, really…” His voice trailed off as she just smiled and gently pressed the bundle of cookies into his hands.

“Even so.”

118o8 then turned her full attention back to Bluudud, smoothing out his hair with a maternal efficiency that could only be honed through years of practice. She quietly scanned him for injuries.

“Have you been eating enough?” she asked softly, barely loud enough for the others to hear.

“Yeah,”

“Staying hydrated?”

“Mom.” His voice cracked slightly, but the corner of his mouth twitched up, a betrayed little smile slipping through.

She hugged him for a few seconds too long.

C00lkidd watched this with a raised eyebrow, nudging Pr3typriincess and whispering, “Dude, he’s such a momma’s boy.”

Pr3typriincess smirked, but for once, didn’t say anything teasing.

John Doe approached from behind, head tilting curiously at 118o8, but something in her presence made him pause.

Shedletsky, standing nearby and still holding the dead mouse awkwardly, cleared his throat. “Well, this is… nice.”

118o8 gave him a soft smile. “Would you like a cookie?”

Shedletsky blinked, glancing down at the mouse in his hand, then back at the cookies, clearly weighing his life choices. (FATASS)

Builderman, ever the diplomat, clapped Shedletsky’s shoulder and reached for a cookie first. “Thank you, ma’am. We appreciate it.”

118o8 nodded once, warmly, before turning back to Bluudud. She tapped his nose lightly with her finger, a gesture so mom it was almost surreal, then gave his hair one last ruffle.

“I’ll be by later, okay?”

“Okay,” Bluudud mumbled.

With that, she gave a last nod to the group, picked up the empty cookie tray with a practiced motion, and headed off—leaving behind the lingering scent of sugar, flour, and the quiet, grounding warmth of someone who simply cared.

Bluudud watched her go, standing a little straighter.

007n7 looked at the cookies, then at Bluudud. “She’s nice.”

“Yeah.”

The sun sank low in the sky, casting long golden streaks across the battered lemonade stand, which looked like it had been through a small war—glitter everywhere, stray lemons underfoot, half-finished signs fluttering lazily in the breeze. 

Everyone was sticky, tired, and entirely too full of sugar.

Pr3typriincess leaned back on the cart, pink glitter smudged across her cheeks, hair a tangled mess of sparkles and straw. C00lkidd was arguing with Bluudud about which flavor sold the best (C00lkidd insisted it was “BOOMberry,” which wasn’t even a real fruit), and John Doe was sitting on the grass licking at a stray drip of lemonade on his hand.

Shedletsky was nursing a headache, Builderman’s medkit was open but untouched, and 1x1x1x1 hovered awkwardly nearby, occasionally swaying like she might offer another (dead) animal.

Elliot and Chance had already left, trailing off down the path in a heated but good-natured debate about lemonade ratios, while Mia skipped circles around them, occasionally squirting Chance with her water gun as Elliot nodded approvingly.

007n7 looked around at this mess—at them—and something inside him loosened. For a moment, the ache of lost hacks and broken promises, the weight of the world they’d been dragged through, didn’t seem so heavy.

His gaze swept across them all:

Pr3typriincess, who had taken over the stand’s design with a ferocity that left no surface un-sparkled.

C00lkidd, who somehow didn’t break the stand despite his best efforts.

Bluudud who was calm yet did the most unhinged things.

John Doe, corrupted yet… trying, in his own strange, animal-like way.

Shedletsky and Builderman, the old admins, still here despite everything.

1x1x1x1, a silent, haunting figure standing just far enough away to not make anyone too nervous, though still somehow present.

This was a family. 

A mess of a family. A weird, chaotic, sometimes dangerous, sometimes very annoying family—but family all the same.

007n7 let out a slow breath, the tired grin pulling at his face as he murmured quietly, mostly to himself,

“This is home.”

The laughter around him faded into the quiet hum of the evening, the warm glow of the sun bleeding into the deepening twilight.

Pr3typriincess, wiping a smear of glitter from her arm, happened to glance off toward the tree line—and for a split second, she saw something.

A faint, glowing figure with antlers, standing just beyond the trees. Its shape flickering like it wasn’t fully there. 

It watched her, silent, its form shifting faintly in the fading light.

Pr3typriincess blinked, rubbed her eyes, and looked again.

Gone.

She frowned, shook her head, and muttered, “Whatever,” under her breath, brushing it off like a stray thought, like a fleeting image caught between the last golden rays of sunlight and the coming dark.

The stand closed. The group lingered, talking softly, packing up the remnants of their wild little project. And above them, the stars blinked into view—silent, steady, and watching.

And that was enough.

Maybe.

Chapter Text

The afternoon had been peaceful—too peaceful, in fact.

The kids sat in a loose circle, sipping their fizzy drinks, the sunlight dancing across their plastic cups. 

The sound of the wind through the trees was lazy and soft, but the air felt wrong, heavy—like static gathering in their bones.

Then it happened.

Elliot’s voice cut through the quiet like a whip crack, sharp, raw, and shaking with frustration.

“I’m telling you, this isn’t worth it! You’re going to get yourself killed, and for what?”

His words hung there, jagged and electric, pulling everyone’s attention toward him.

Across from him, Chance stood like a statue—tall, still, shades hiding his eyes, the coin in his hand catching the fading sunlight. When he spoke, it was slow, precise, and cold enough to chill bone.

“We need it, Elliot. Sitting here, waiting for a miracle, it’s not going to save us.”

Elliot’s fists clenched at his sides, the medkit trembling in his grip. His voice cracked, raw and desperate.

“You always do this!” His shout startled the kids. They froze, mid-sip, lemonade cups trembling in their hands. Pr3typriincess dropped hers, the liquid fizzing on the ground, forgotten.

“You push things too far. You act like nothing can touch you, like you don’t care about anyone else—” His voice faltered, a tremor running through his words. “—or what happens to us when it all goes to hell.”

Chance flinched—just a twitch, barely noticeable, but it was there. The tension between them sharpened, stretched so thin it felt like it could snap with a breath. The silence roared in the kids’ ears, their eyes darting from one adult to the other.

Elliot’s next words came out low, almost a whisper, bitter enough to cut.

“Maybe if you were honest about your past, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

The color seemed to drain from the world.

Chance went still—too still. His shoulders locked, his jaw tightening until the veins stood out in his neck. For a split second, the mask slipped—just a flash of something fractured, something dangerous, like a crack running down the middle of a glass pane about to shatter.

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” he muttered, voice low, rough as sandpaper, and colder than the grave.

Elliot’s breath hitched, but his eyes stayed hard, glinting with something like fury—or maybe fear. His hands shook as he threw down the medkit with a sharp thud.

“Fine. Do it your way. Like you always do.”

The words spat like venom. Then he turned, boots crunching hard against the dirt, his red visor catching the dying light as he stormed off, leaving a cold void behind him.

Chance stood there, alone in the stillness, arms crossed tight against his chest like he was holding himself together by force. The usual confidence, the smirk, the easy shrug of the shoulders—gone. Replaced by something hollow, heavy.

The kids sat frozen, wide-eyed and silent, the air around them crackling like a live wire. No one dared breathe.

The lemonade in Pr3typriincess’s cup dripped onto the dirt, fizzing softly in the quiet.

“…Are they breaking up?” Pr3typriincess whispered, eyes wide enough to swallow a whole pizza.

“I think they’re breaking up,” C00lkidd whispered back, eyes even bigger—like saucers on steroids.

Bluudud just stared between them, looking utterly lost. His tiny blue wings fluttered nervously, like a bird who just realized it forgot how to fly.
“Wait… breaking up? Like, forever? Or just until dinner?” he muttered, voice small and confused.

The three of them exchanged looks, a silent conversation of panic and disbelief. The air around the lemonade cart (from yesterday) grew thick with awkward tension—like the moment right before someone sneezes but can’t.

Then, in a sudden burst of dramatic energy, Pr3typriincess slammed her tiny fists down on the lemonade cart with enough force to make the plastic wobble.

“We HAVE to fix this!” she declared, voice booming way too loudly for the moment.

C00lkidd blinked, startled. “Uh, how exactly do we fix that?” he asked, eyes flicking between Elliot’s retreating back and Chance’s stone-cold glare.

Pr3typriincess tapped her chin, thinking hard, then snapped her fingers. “We could—oh!—we could write a really, really cheesy apology letter. Like, with lots of hearts and maybe some glitter glue!” She smiled mischievously, already imagining the chaos glitter would cause.

Bluudud’s wings twitched even faster. “Or maybe we just make a giant lemonade peace treaty? We could draw mustaches on them if they say no.” He grinned nervously, half-hoping nobody noticed he was probably way too invested in this.

C00lkidd raised an eyebrow. “You’re suggesting we negotiate love with sticky paper and sugary drinks?” His grin cracked just a little. “This sounds like a terrible plan, but also… exactly our style.”

Pr3typriincess nodded sagely. “When life gives you lemons, make a ridiculous peace treaty. Works every time.”

The three of them exchanged a conspiratorial grin—because if this gang was going down, they might as well go down with lemonade and glitter.

Just then, a stray bee buzzed past, making them all jump.

“Great,” C00lkidd muttered, “now that drama’s gonna sting.”

Pr3typriincess bounced on her toes, hands waving like she was conducting an invisible orchestra, eyes sparkling with over-the-top enthusiasm. “We need a grand gesture—like a musical number! Everyone sings and dances and maybe we break into a synchronized lemonade-pouring routine! Imagine the drama!”

Bluudud blinked, his tiny wings fluttering nervously like a hummingbird on caffeine. “Or… we write a nice letter. With stickers. Lots of stickers. Because stickers fix everything—even broken hearts.” He pulled out a crumpled sheet covered in glittery unicorn and pizza stickers for emphasis.

Pr3typriincess’s eyes lit up like fireworks. “Stickers are definitely good. Maybe glitter too! Like, loads of glitter.”

C00lkidd leaned casually against the sticky lemonade cart, grinning with a mix of mischief and something like delight.

“Or… hear me out… we kidnap them. For love.”

Pr3typriincess and Bluudud froze, exchanging wide-eyed glances.

“Kidding!” C00lkidd held up his hands, fingers spread like a cartoon character caught in the act. “Maybe.”

Pr3typriincess gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like she’d just been struck by Cupid’s arrow. “C00lkidd! That’s crazy—and romantic! I love it.”

Bluudud nodded solemnly, his wings twitching in serious agreement. “Romantic… and dangerous. Like a spicy pepper with a smile.”

Pr3typriincess pointed a finger at him like a detective solving a case. “We can combine them! A musical kidnapping with a glitter explosion and heartfelt apology letters covered in stickers.”

Bluudud’s eyes went wide. “You’re talking about the ultimate love intervention.”

C00lkidd cracked his knuckles, grinning. “Let’s just hope they don’t call the cops first.”

Mia stomped up, hands jammed firmly into her jacket pockets, eyes narrowing as she took in the chaotic lemonade stand. Glitter clung to every surface like an unwelcome rash, half-empty cups teetered precariously, and sticky puddles glistened on the ground.

“Where’s Elliot? And why does this look like a glitter bomb exploded?”

Pr3typriincess threw up her hands with a dramatic flourish.

“We’re, uh, fixing some serious feelings.”

Mia arched a single eyebrow, voice deadpan and unimpressed. “Feelings? You mean like kindergarten-level drama or actual apocalypse-level?”

Before anyone could reply, a sudden breeze rustled the leaves—and from seemingly nowhere, Dussekar appeared, stepping forward with the exaggerated poise of a Shakespearean actor. His voice rang out in rhythmic rhyme. “I heard the winds of fate and the rumble of quarrel, So I’ve come to assist, with rhythm and laurel.”

Everyone blinked in unison, frozen.

Pr3typriincess tilted her head, clearly intrigued but also confused. “Uh… Dussekar? Why exactly are you here?”

With a theatrical shrug and a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Dussekar replied, “Because destiny calls, and picnics demand glory, Together we’ll turn this into a victorious story.”

Without waiting for an invitation, he swept to the side and began setting up a picnic blanket with sweeping gestures, arranging plastic cups, sandwiches, and an oddly shaped fruit platter as if he was preparing for a royal banquet.

Mia muttered under her breath, half amused, half exasperated. “Well, of course. Just another casual picnic with an admin bard.”

The group exchanged glances.

Pr3typriincess, practically shimmering with glitter, began with a dramatic sigh.

“Elliot and Chance had a massive fight. Like, not just a little squabble—this was full-on serious drama.“

Bluudud chimed in softly, wings fluttering anxiously.

“We want to fix it. But, uh.”

Mia’s eyes went wide, then narrowed with mock horror as she folded her arms. “Oh no. If they break up, who do I get to boss around? Who do I bully now?”

Dussekar nodded slowly, his expression turning serious yet somehow theatrical. “Fear not, young Mia, for discord’s but a test,” He said. “Through rhyme and reason, they mend the best.”

He tapped a finger to his chin thoughtfully, then cracked a sly grin.

“Let’s turn this quarrel into a quest, And bring them back—united, blessed.”

Mia smirked, crossing her arms defiantly. “Well, alright. Guess I’m stuck babysitting peacekeepers for now.”

Pr3typriincess clapped gleefully. “This is gonna be epic! Like, reality TV but with more glitter and more actual violence.”

Bluudud flapped his wings nervously. “And maybe fewer explosions?”

C00lkidd leaned back against the lemonade cart, grinning slyly. “Explosions are optional… but highly recommended.”

Pr3typriincess clapped her hands excitedly. “Okay! So, what’s the plan? Do we sing, do we dance, do we fight with lemonade cups?”

Dussekar flourished an imaginary cape. “A performance of passion, with lyrical might—We’ll dazzle them both, and set wrongs to right!”

Bluudud’s wings twitched nervously, “I don’t know about all this… Can we maybe just write a nice letter with some stickers and glitter?”

C00lkidd smirked, leaning on the cart. “Where’s the fun in that?”

After a long, awkward brainstorming session—half-baked ideas and too much yelling—the kids knew they couldn’t do this alone. 

The “Lovebird Operation” needed real guidance. So, they formed an impromptu squad: Pr3typriincess, C00lkidd, and Bluudud. 

They named it “Operation Lovebird Recon.”

Their first target? The most legendary (and FAT/nsrs) adult they knew: Shedletsky. With 1x1x1x1 attached, naturally. Because where Shedletsky went, she followed—looming like a dark storm cloud.

The trio marched down the streets toward a small, café, where Shedletsky sat outside. His yellow skin glowed faintly in the sunset light, a coffee cup steaming between his hands. His face was blank, eyes scanning a floating admin panel covered in scripts.

And there she was—1x1x1x1—curled around his arm like a serpent, her black chains clinking faintly. 

The contrast between her terrifying presence and the mundane act of Shedletsky sipping coffee was… unsettling. But that was their aunt.

C00lkidd just grinned like this was the best day of his life. “Let’s ask!” he whispered, bouncing on his feet.

They approached.

Shedletsky’s eyes lifted lazily, and he sighed, as if he knew they were coming.
“What?” he muttered, tone flat.

Pr3typriincess cleared her throat. “Um, hi, Mr. Shedletsky. We need advice!”

C00lkidd leaned forward dramatically.

“Yeah. We wanna know… how do you fix a relationship? Like, if two people are fighting and mad at each other… what do you do?”

Shedletsky stared at them. His gaze lingered for a long, long time. A heavy silence fell.

Finally, with the weight of someone who had seen too much and cared too little, he muttered:

“…If they’ve got beef, just throw ‘em into an arena. Let ‘em duke it out. That’s how I settled things back in the day.”

Pr3typriincess’s mouth dropped open in horror.
“WHAT?! That’s terrible!” she squeaked, clutching at her face like she was about to faint.

But C00lkidd’s eyes sparkled.

“Genius.” he whispered reverently, as if he had just been handed a golden key to the universe.

Bluudud stared at both of them blankly, as if silently calling them both idiots.

Then, slowly, 1x1x1x1 shifted.

“Or let them drift apart.”

The kids froze.

“But we can’t stand to watch them like this, Auntie 1x!” Pr3typriincess complained.

“If they are meant to find each other again, they will.” 1x1x1x1 said, blinking.

“That… somehow makes sense.” Bluudud nodded solemnly.

“Okay, thanks Auntie 1x!” C00lkidd said, grabbing onto both Pr3typriincess and Bluudud and running out.

Shedletsky watched them go, took a sip of his coffee, and muttered under his breath, “Kids these days…”

1x1x1x1 smiled faintly, her eye dimming to a dull glow as she turned her head ever so slightly toward Shedletsky.

“They are good kids.”

“You really like them, huh?”

“Say that again, I dare you.”

After the encounter with Shedletsky and 1x1x1x1, the trio bolted down the cracked sidewalks, the air still buzzing faintly behind them. 

C00lkidd was practically vibrating with excitement. 

Pr3typriincess was flailing behind C00lkidd. “Slow down, dimwit!”

Bluudud was just trailing behind, looking at the ground and kicking pebbles, his wings twitching nervously.

That’s when they saw Noob.

There they were—sitting cross-legged on a park bench, like some kind of chill philosopher. 

Their bright yellow skin practically glowed under the pale sky. 

A book was propped open on their lap. Around him, a small flock of pigeons and squirrels had gathered, for some reason. Boi you ain’t Snow White.

One squirrel even seemed to be peeking at the page, it seemed… dumbfounded?

The trio slowed down, hesitated, then shuffled closer.

Noob didn’t seem to notice them at first, gently turning a page, their eyes calm and focused.

Bluudud was the first to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. “Um… N—”

Noob abruptly screamed once they heard him, quickly looking up and closing the book with a nervous smile.

Bluudud blinked and stared.

Noob stared back.

“What?” Noob asked.

“…Okay,” Bluudud nodded. He then looked up, then down. “How do you make people stop arguing?”

“…What?”

“Chance and Elliot.”

“Oh.” Noob blinked then set the book down. “Sometimes, people argue ‘cuz they’re afraid of being left behind. Just let them know you’ll stick around, even if they mess up. That… usually helps.”

Silence.

The kids just stood there, mouths slightly open, as if they’d just dropped the secret of the universe in their laps.

Pr3typriincess was the first to break the silence, voice small and surprised. “That’s… actually kinda deep.”

Their voice wavered, “W-Was it really…?” They stammered.

“Yeah.” Pr3typriincess nodded.

C00lkidd squinted at Noob like he didn’t quite trust that wisdom coming from them.

But before they could say anything else, Noob slowly turned back to his book and added, almost as an afterthought.

“Also, always add a pinch of salt to your frosting.”

C00lkidd’s brain instantly latched onto that part. “For… what?” he blurted out, head tilting.

Noob looked up again, his eyes half-lidded like a sleepy cat, and just smiled faintly.

The trio stood there for another awkward beat before Pr3typriincess nudged them onward.

As they walked away, C00lkidd kept muttering, “Wait, what’s the salt for?! What does it do to the frosting?!”

Bluudud, still blushing, whispered, “I think… Noob’s a little wierd… but really nice…”

Pr3typriincess nodded slowly, her brows furrowed, replaying Noob’s words in her head.

They didn’t totally understand it yet, but… it stuck with them.

The trio wandered deeper into the park, Noob’s words still echoing in their heads. 

C00lkidd was still obsessing over the frosting tip, muttering, “Maybe it’s for balancing the sweetness? Or… texture?” 

Pr3typriincess was quiet, her thoughts tangled up in the quiet truth of it all. 

Bluudud just followed along, quietly, wings twitching.

That’s when they spotted 007n7—tinkering with an old, rusted vending machine tucked into the far corner of the park, half-buried under vines and dust.

C00lkidd sprinted toward him, practically shouting:

“DAD!! Hey, hey, dad! How do you make people love each other again?! Like, if they’re fighting and stuff?!”

007n7 didn’t even flinch.

Without looking up, he answered, voice calm, as if he’d been waiting for this question all day.

“Love isn’t like a computer program. You don’t just fix a bug and hit run. It’s like… gluing together a broken toy. You can’t rush it. And sometimes,” He paused, tilting his head slightly like he was inspecting something far away in the data of his mind. “You have to accept that the cracks stay.”

The kids went completely silent. Even C00lkidd, who never shut up, was struck dumb by the quiet depth of it.

007n7 let the thought hang for a moment, then casually added, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “But hey, as long as they’re both still trying, that’s what matters.”

For a beat, the world seemed to pause around them. The broken vending machine beeped softly, and a squirrel scampered by, as if it too had come to hear the wisdom of 007n7.

Pr3typriincess whispered, almost reverently. “You’re… so wise?”

007n7 finally glanced up, his tired eyes half-lidded. He gave a small, lazy shrug. “I’ve been around.”

C00lkidd, still wide-eyed, blurted the first question that popped into his chaotic head. “Have you ever been in love?”

007n7 blinked once. Then again. His fingers paused on the machine’s wiring.

“Nope.”

The kids all nodded slowly, like that was the most 007n7 thing he could have said.

Then the vending machine sparked once, coughed out a single, slightly melted soda can, and went dead again.

007n7 sighed, sitting back and wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Try not to break each other, alright?” he muttered, more to himself than to the kids.

The trio stood there in quiet awe for a moment, then wandered off, the weight of his words heavy in their chests.

C00lkidd finally broke the silence, muttering.

“…So love’s like a broken toy, huh?”

Pr3typriincess, still stunned, just whispered. “Yeah… but like… one you keep anyway.”

Bluudud, wide-eyed, nodded silently.

Fueled by the wisdom they’d gathered from Shedletsky, 1x1x1x1, Noob, and 007n7, the kids were fired up. They were ready. They had a plan.

So they did the only logical thing: they found Elliot and Chance—and cornered them in the middle of a cracked plaza, next to a flickering lamp post that buzzed like an angry wasp.

Elliot blinked, still holding a half-empty pizza box.

“Uh, what’s going on.”

Chance looked deeply unimpressed, arms crossed, shades glinting like they were reflecting a casino jackpot screen.

“I’m busy,” he said flatly.

But the kids weren’t having it.

Pr3typriincess planted her hands on her hips, puffing up like a pink cat ready to throw down. “You two need to make up! Like… now! Or else! Or else… uh, uh oh, I haven’t thought this far.”

C00lkidd pointed a dramatic finger between them. “Yeah! No more grudge! No more sad vibes! Just say sorry, hug, and boom—problem solved!”

Bluudud flinched behind them, holding a crayon-drawn sign that read “Make Up Pls” in shaky handwriting.

Elliot looked absolutely panicked, glancing between Chance and the kids like he was about to bolt.

Just as the chaos peaked, a faint, ominous clink of chains and a shimmer of corrupted code signaled the arrival of 1x1x1x1.

She materialized out of thin air, her eyes glowing with that cold, endless red light. Her form flickered like a corrupted hologram, the green glow of her crown pulsing.

She stared at the scene for a long, long beat.

“…What is this,” she muttered, voice low and distorted, arms folding.

The kids froze. Elliot whimpered. Chance barely flinched.

Before anyone could explain, the air shimmered, and with a dramatic POOF of admin particles, Dusekkar arrived—hovering slightly off the ground, his dark robes billowing like a theatre curtain. His voice boomed in perfectly rhymed couplets:

“Ah, love’s a battle, fierce and wild, A storm where tempers have beguiled! Yet through the trials, if hearts stay true, The flame of hope may yet renew!”

There was a collective groan.

C00lkidd whispered to Bluudud, “Who let him in here?”

Pr3typriincess facepalmed so hard it echoed.

But no one dared interrupt him, so they stood there, shuffling awkwardly, while Dusekkar dramatically finished his speech—complete with a swish of his cloak and a pointed stare that somehow felt both wise and a little condescending.

And then, just as the tension cracked again—

Mia raced onto the scene, skidding to a stop in her untied sneakers. She was holding a homemade banner that read, in huge sparkly letters:

“FORGIVE & FORGET”

She waved it above her head, breathless and wide-eyed, looking around in total confusion. “Elliot! I was looking for you! Why is everyone… standing like this?”

The kids instantly roped her into the plan, pulling her into the center of the chaos.

Mia, bless her heart, had no idea what was happening, but she beamed and waved her banner enthusiastically, shouting. “Yay! Forgive and forget, everybody! Woohoo!”

Elliot looked like he might faint. Chance just rubbed his temples and sighed deeply, as if regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.

Even 1x1x1x1 stared for a long, silent moment, then muttered, “I’m leaving before this gets weirder.”

But no one believed her.

The kids grinned like they’d just solved world peace, and Pr3typriincess gently nudged Elliot and Chance together, whispering fiercely:

“Say sorry. Now.”

It was chaos. Pure, unfiltered chaos.

Glitter everywhere—EVERYWHERE—sparkling in the dim light of the plaza like a mini galaxy had exploded. Cookie crumbs littered the cracked pavement, half-crushed under everyone’s shoes. Apology signs—most of them spelling “SORRY” wrong in some creative way—were scattered like fallen leaves.

In the middle of it all, Elliot and Chance sat on the ground, leaning back against the vending machine, utterly spent.

Elliot’s employee shirt was covered in pink glitter, a cookie half-stuck to his shoulder. His eyes were wide, blinking rapidly like he was still processing what the heck had just happened.

Chance had a crumpled apology sign—one that read “IM SORRY 4 BEING A BUTT” in rainbow crayon—stuck under one arm. His shades were slightly askew, and there was a smudge of frosting on his cheek.

They looked at each other.

Just… looked.

The tension—the awkwardness, the hurt, the stubborn pride—hovered between them, thin as spider silk. Then, slowly, it all cracked under the sheer absurdity of the moment.

Chance exhaled sharply, a surprised huff of a laugh breaking through.

Elliot blinked—then let out a breathless, almost disbelieving chuckle.

They laughed. Tired, messy, unfiltered laughter that shook them both. Like they couldn’t believe how dumb this was. How they had been so dumb.

Chance, catching his breath, glanced sideways at Elliot and muttered, low and honest, “I’m scared, you know.”

Elliot, blinking, turned to him—his voice small but steady, heart hammering in his chest.
“Of what?”

Chance rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flickering away like he couldn’t quite face him.
“Of losing you. You’re… you’re the one thing that makes all of this… not suck.”

Elliot froze. His breath hitched. His fingers trembled.

“I’m scared of trusting someone again,” he whispered, barely audible over the chaos in the background—Pr3typriincess bickering with C00lkidd about who spilled the glitter, Mia still waving her “FORGIVE & FORGET” banner like she was the world’s smallest parade.

Chance looked at him. Really looked at him. His smirk softened into something vulnerable, almost boyish.

And then, as if by unspoken agreement—without fanfare, without thinking about it too hard—they leaned in.

A quick, awkward, but genuine kiss.

Not sloppy. Not perfect. Just real.

A moment. A connection. A choice.

The second they pulled back, Pr3typriincess shrieked, flinging her hands over her eyes. “EWWWWWW! WHY DID I AGREE TO THIS.”

C00lkidd, on the other hand, clapped wildly, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. “YESSSSSS! TRUE LOVE WINS!”

Bluudud just blinked, utterly speechless, wings twitching in shock.

Chance and Elliot just… sat there.

And then, slowly, they both started laughing again—softer this time, warm and worn-out and real.

Elliot wiped a smudge of frosting off Chance’s cheek. Chance just smirked, eyes crinkling with something that wasn’t quite a smile, but close enough.

They didn’t say it, but it was there, in the quiet, in the mess, in the shared moment of glittery disaster.

They were going to be okay.

Crickets chirped. The soft glow of the moon illuminated.

Pr3typriincess lay tangled in her pink sheets. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with sleep, when suddenly she noticed it—a faint, shimmering figure drifting silently at the edge of her room.

The figure was ghostlike, translucent but glowing softly with an ethereal blue light. Antlers curved gracefully from its head, twisting like branches in a midnight forest. It hovered just beyond her bed, unmoving yet somehow full of quiet power.

Pr3typrinc3ss blinked twice and pulled the blanket tighter. She looked back up. It was gone. Again.

She didn’t know why she was so uneasy.

Must’ve been her mind toying with her.

But deep down, beneath the layers of glitter and pink bows, a tiny knot of unease twisted in her chest.

She knew.

Chapter Text

It is HOT.

Not “turn on the fan” hot. Not even “sweat-through-your-shirt” hot. This is existential heat. A sun-level heatwave that has smothered every inch of the world like an overbearing aunt squeezing your cheeks too hard. The kind of heat that makes you question your life choices.

The apartment groans under it. The walls practically shimmer. 

The AC unit lets out a pathetic wheeze before falling back into a kind of death rattle. The fan spins in lazy, useless circles like it, too, has accepted defeat.

Bluudud is flat on the wooden floor, limbs splayed like he’s been sun-struck in the desert, his face smushed against the boards.

“I am... soup,” he mumbles.

“No, you’re toast,” C00lkidd mutters, lifting what used to be a red crayon. It droops in his hand like spaghetti. “This is your brain on heat.”

“We…” he breathes, face deadpan. “…dying.”

A dramatic pause.

Bluudud groans in agreement.

Pr3typriincess flops onto the couch, one leg hanging off the edge, hair sticking to her forehead. Her glittery pink tank top is stuck to her like melting cotton candy.

“This is actual punishment,” she grumbles. “I am too pretty for this.”

She attempts to summon enough energy to snap her fingers, then gives up halfway and just lets her arm drop.

007n7, ever the designated Adult™, is in the kitchen. He’s holding a frying pan and staring at a bottle of syrup that has already begun to liquefy in the bottle.

“Great,” he mutters, placing a pancake on a plate with all the enthusiasm of someone reading a tax manual. “The syrup’s gone rogue.”

He squints, pours a little anyway. It slides off the pancake like motor oil, immediately spreading into a sticky puddle.

“…I hate this,” he mutters.

From the floor, C00lkidd moans again.

“I used to like the sun,” he whines. “It was nice. Warm. Powerful. But this? This is evil.”

“THE SUN IS A TRAITOR,” Bluudud yells at the ceiling.

There’s a beat of silence. Pr3typriincess, still on the couch, lifts her head to squint at the nearest window. Sunlight slants through it like a smug golden sword.

“Can we sue it?” she asks.

“We’d have to find a lawyer who doesn’t spontaneously combust,” 007n7 mutters from the stove. He flips another pancake with one hand while fanning himself with a rolled-up newspaper in the other.

The kids can barely function.

C00lkidd has slid halfway under the table, clinging to the cool tiles like a desperate animal. Pr3typriincess keeps sighing dramatically at regular intervals, announcing her suffering like royalty. Bluudud hasn’t moved in seven minutes and might actually be asleep. Or unconscious. Or melted.

007n7’s newspaper fan gives out with a final crumple.

“I give up,” he says, tossing the paper on the counter. “There’s no air left in here. Just regret and sweat.”

“Everything is damp,” Pr3typriincess whines.

“We should go outside,” C00lkidd suggests suddenly, which makes everyone groan.

“TO WHERE?” 007n7 says. “It’s worse out there!”

“No,” C00lkidd says, squinting up like a man with a vision, “we need to go somewhere with AC. Like… a grocery store. Or an abandoned freezer aisle. Or… or the post office.”

Bluudud rolls onto his side, dazed. “Can we live in a walk-in fridge?”

Pr3typriincess fans herself weakly with a sparkly notebook. “Do we know anyone rich with a pool?”

“No one likes us that much,” 007n7 answers. “Or if they do, we’ve probably ruined their pool already.”

C00lkidd perks up suddenly. “Wait. What if—hear me out—we build a cold fort.”

“Explain,” 007n7 says, suspicious.

“Blankets. Fans. Popsicles. We put them all in one place. Fortress of chill.”

Pr3typriincess looks genuinely intrigued for a moment before shaking her head. “That sounds like work.”

Bluudud raises a hand from the floor. “I support this… if I don’t have to move.”

Another beat of silence.

Then:

The lights flicker.

Everyone freezes.

A horrible creaking groan comes from the AC unit in the wall. It wheezes like a dying animal.

007n7 stares. “Don’t you dare.”

The AC rattles.

C00lkidd squints. “Wait for it…”

Then—

Silence.

The unit lets out a soft, final sigh.

Then nothing.

“Oh no,” Bluudud whispers.

“I HATE THIS PLACE!” Pr3typriincess screams.

007n7 slams the pan down on the counter. “I’m gonna punch the sun.”

C00lkidd turns to Bluudud and Pr3typriincess, eyes wild. “We can’t stay here. We’re going feral.”

“We already were feral,” Bluudud mutters.

Pr3typriincess, looking unusually serious, sits up. “What if this is a government experiment. Like… mind control through sweat.”

“I’d believe it,” C00lkidd says. “I’m starting to forget how language works.”

Bluudud opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Then sighs. A really long sigh.

The heat doesn’t care where you are. Mansion, cabin, dungeon, apartment, nowhere is safe.

Mia and Elliot’s parents’ house is a modest two-story buried in the quieter part of the city, surrounded by droopy trees and cracked pavement. And like everywhere else, it is broiling. Not “oh, it’s warm today” hot. No. This is “why are my bones sweating?” hot.

The kitchen fan, an old ceiling model with one broken blade, squeaks as it turns.

“We’re dying, huh,” Chance says, standing in front of the open fridge like a broken man.

“Yes,” Mia responds from the floor, her cheek pressed against the cold tile like it’s her soulmate. “We’re actually, scientifically dying.”

Chance doesn’t argue. His usually pristine black suit is rumpled and damp. He’s kicked off his shoes and undone the top three buttons of his shirt, revealing a sweat-slick undershirt and the top of a tattoo that seems to read “LUCKY.” His shades are nowhere to be found. Not even his infamous fedora is on—just sitting like a relic on the counter.

Elliot stands slumped over the sink, a paper cup of lukewarm water dangling from one hand. His red uniform shirt is stuck to his back and he looks like he’s about to cry.

“This is it,” he says flatly. “This is where we perish. Heatstroke. In my parents’ house.”

“You’ll be remembered fondly,” Mia mumbles into the tile. “I’ll carve your name into the fridge wall with a butter knife.”

Chance shuts the fridge door reluctantly and sighs. “You know, if we weren’t on the verge of combustion, this would be the perfect time for a picnic. A shady tree. Grapes. A little wine. Maybe a kiss or two—”

“Chance,” Elliot interrupts, voice hoarse. “If you try to flirt with me right now, I will evaporate.”

Chance raises both hands innocently. “I’m just saying. Sweaty Elliot is a look. I didn’t know desperation could be this cute.”

Elliot closes his eyes.

Chance continues, leaning on the counter beside him. “You know, if you faint, I’ll catch you. Then we can fall for each other.”

Mia groans from the floor.

Elliot lifts his cup and takes a long, slow sip of the not-cold water like it’s poison. “I’m too tired to hit you.”

“That’s okay,” Chance says, grinning. “You can hit me with your love.”

Without looking, Elliot swings the paper cup and bops Chance lightly in the face.

“Deserved,” Mia says from the floor.

“Totally,” Chance replies.

The three of them lapse into silence, the only sound the squeak-thump of the ancient ceiling fan and the occasional dribble of condensation off the fridge.

“Why is it so hot,” Elliot finally says, like he’s genuinely asking the universe for an explanation.

“Climate change,” Mia replies flatly.

“I think God’s mad at us,” Chance adds.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Elliot sighs.

They rotate spots every now and then like lizards trying to find the coldest tile in the room. At one point, Mia lifts a frozen bag of peas to her face like a holy relic. Chance has gone back to standing in front of the open fridge again, arms crossed like he’s guarding it.

“I had plans today,” Mia says eventually, her voice muffled. “I was gonna do laundry. Read. Function as a human being.”

Elliot groans. “I was gonna mop the living room. Now I think the mop is sentient.”

“I was gonna seduce Elliot,” Chance says.

“You’re always trying to seduce Elliot,” Mia says.

“Yeah,” Elliot mutters. “He tried it thirty seconds ago.”

“I’m nothing if not consistent,” Chance replies smoothly, flipping a piece of melting ice in his palm. “Besides, one of you will break eventually.”

“I’m already broken,” Elliot says, sliding down the wall to sit.

Mia tosses a sock at Chance. He lets it bounce off his shoulder with a grin.

“You’re still wearing socks?” he asks her.

“It’s emotional armor.”

Chance holds up a hand. “Respect.”

They descend again into the sacred quiet of people too tired to talk.

Then the power flickers.

Mia sits up instantly. “No. No. NO.”

Elliot stares at the ceiling. “If that fan stops I swear to—”

The lights shut off.

The fan dies with a deathly creak.

The fridge hums… and then whines into silence.

For one agonizing second, the house is completely still.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—” Mia screams into a pillow.

“NOPE,” Elliot says. “I am not dying in my parents’ kitchen.”

“I think this is the end,” Chance says dramatically. “Mia. Elliot. My beautiful companions. It was an honor.”

Mia throws a half-melted popsicle at him. It hits his shoulder with a wet slap.

Elliot gets up. “Okay. We are leaving.”

“Where?” Chance asks.

“Anywhere,” Elliot says, already walking.

Chance grins. “Let me get my hat.”

“NO!” both Mia and Elliot shout in unison.

“You wear that thing and the sun will personally smite you,” Mia adds.

They gather what few cold items they have—ice packs, a still-solid popsicle or two, Elliot’s mom’s emergency cooler—and head for the door.

“Where are we going?” Chance asks, following behind them.

“I don’t care,” Elliot says. “Somewhere with AC. Somewhere that doesn’t feel like a war crime.”

They step outside—and instantly recoil.

The heat hits them like a freight train. The driveway is a blinding slab of white-hot concrete. The air wobbles in waves, thick and heavy and cruel.

“Back inside,” Mia gasps.

“Are you sure,” Elliot pants. "We’ll just die slower.”

“I wanna die in a walk-in freezer,” Chance adds.

“Let’s go steal one,” Mia says.

"No," Elliot said, trying to wave a hand. "Let's just go back in."

Somewhere deep in the graying ruins of a  admin tower, where data flickers through half-broken lights and the walls groan with code older than memory—heat hangs like a curse.

Even corrupted space can’t ignore climate apathy.

Shedletsky sits on the couch, stripped of his usual smugness. His tank top is damp. His hair sticks to his forehead. A fan across the room wheezes like it’s been asked to lift a mountain.

Next to him—curled up like a corrupted housecat—is 1x1x1x1.

Her head rests halfway in his lap, long white hair draped down like a curtain. Her chains clink every so often when she shifts to avoid phantom heat spots. One leg hangs off the edge, her pitch-black form dimmed by humidity, glowing faintly green at the joints.

“I think I’m melting,” she groans.

“You can’t melt,” Shedletsky mutters, leaning back with a damp sigh. “You’re… like… mostly theoretical.”

“I can still suffer,” she hisses. “My chains are sticking to my arms.”

“You don’t even have sweat glands.”

“It’s the principle,” she snaps. “I hate this timeline.”

“You hate every timeline.”

“This one in particular.”

Shedletsky wipes his brow with the bottom of his shirt and lets out a long exhale. “This is why the ancients invented basements.”

“There are basements in the Banlands. They’re worse.”

She flops fully onto his lap. Her body glitches for a moment, then stabilizes with a low buzz of static. “Kill me.”

“Already tried,” Shedletsky mutters, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Didn’t work.”

“I know,” she grumbles. “Just let me suffer dramatically.”

He pats her head—carefully, avoiding the sharp angles of her glowing crown. “You’re already doing that.”

A long pause.

Then, like a ghost, her voice: “Why is the air so thick. It’s like breathing soup.”

“It is soup,” he mutters. “Heat soup.”

They sit in silence for a moment. The fan across the room clatters loudly before catching rhythm again.

“Where’s that haunted ice chest we looted from Guest World?” she asks.

“Turned into a mimic. Ate the freezer. Remember?”

She groans and buries her face deeper into his lap. “Useless.”

Shedletsky shifts slightly, but doesn’t push her off. Not today. He’s too tired to fight corruption and global warming at the same time.

They lapse into silence again. The fan wheezes, barely holding on.

John Doe is sitting under a cardboard box on the side of the street.

Not inside a building. Not in the shade of a tree. Just… on the sidewalk. With a half-crushed refrigerator box over his head like the world’s most tragic helmet.

His corrupted body, usually frightening in its twitchy, glitching unnaturalness, now looks pitifully soggy. His spike-arm droops. The red code that normally pulses ominously from his limbs has slowed to a lazy trickle, like a leaky faucet giving up.

He’s not dangerous. He’s not haunted.

He’s just hot.

And miserable.

The box occasionally crumples further as it absorbs ambient moisture, drooping over his shoulders like a sad tent. Every few minutes he lets out a pathetic, synthetic whimper—like an overheating computer crossed with a dying raccoon.

A fly lands on his knee.

He doesn’t move.

A moment later, a passing pigeon stops to stare at him. After a long, awkward silence, it pecks at the box. John Doe growls softly. The pigeon leaves.

From beneath the cardboard flap, two glowing red eyes peer out at the heat-drenched street with a kind of existential regret. He doesn’t know how he got here. He was following the others, he thinks. He remembers yelling. Fighting. Screaming.

And now?

Now he’s just a pile of forgotten code in a sweaty paper fort, melting like everybody else.

Somewhere, in the distance, a lawn sprinkler ticks to life. He snarls softly at the sound.

It’s just too damn hot.

He slides further under the box, whispering two bitter word under his breath:

“…too... hot…”

C00lkidd, newly inspired and sweating profusely, points dramatically to the door. “TO THE ICE CREA—”

He drops.

Just collapses mid-sentence.

Face-first.

Thud.

“C00L!” Bluudud yelps, scrambling weakly toward him.

Pr3typriincess peeks over the edge of the couch, wide-eyed. “Did he actually just…?”

007n7 sighs. “He passed out.”

“From excitement or heat?” Bluudud asks, poking C00lkidd’s cheek gently.

“Yes,” 007n7 replies.

Then—fifteen seconds later—C00lkidd groans, rolls onto his back, and blinks at the ceiling.

“…I saw the ice cream,” he mumbles.

“Dude,” Pr3typriincess says. “That was dramatic even for you.”

C00lkidd lifts a shaky hand, pointing blindly. “Tell it… I’m coming for it…”

007n7 claps his hands, startling all three kids. “Alright, new plan. This is obviously not sustainable. We’re going to the pool.”

Silence.

Blink. Blink.

“Pool?” Pr3typriincess echoes.

“Pool,” 007n7 confirms.

A beat.

Then—

Pr3typriincess explodes off the couch like she’s been reborn.

“POOOOOOOOOOL!!” she screams, twirling in place and already halfway across the room, glitter trailing behind her like a comet.

C00lkidd, previously limp as a cooked noodle, bolts upright like someone jammed a USB into his soul. “WE’RE GOING TO THE POOL!?”

Bluudud stays on the ground, wings twitching slightly. “Water. Splash. Float. Peace. Clean."

The energy shift is instant and terrifying.

Pr3typriincess is already in her swimsuit—no one knows how or when she changed.

C00lkidd is gathering towels and sunscreen with machine-like efficiency, chattering about diving like a dolphin and maybe teaching a frog to swim if they find one and is rummaging through drawers, looking for goggles he can “enhance with firepower” (which is a terrible idea, and 007n7 immediately vetoes).

007n7 watches the chaos unfold, leaning against the counter and sipping lukewarm water like it’s fine wine. The fan finally stops spinning behind him, dead and useless.

“…At least this’ll get them out of the apartment,” he mutters.

From the hallway, Pr3typriincess shouts, “DIBS ON THE PINK FLAMINGO FLOATIE!”

C00lkidd yells back, “NOOO FAIR I WANTED THE FLAMINGO!" He complains, "WHATEVER, I CALL THE DEATH CANNON NOODLE!”

007n7 shouts louder: “WE’RE JUST SWIMMING! NO DEATH CANNONS!”

"Ughhh," Bluudud groans.

The sky is blank and white—no clouds, just an oppressive dome of heat pressing down from above like the world itself is trying to slow-cook everyone beneath it. The air hums with cicadas and misery.

007n7 walks with the resigned gait of a man herding three hyperactive raccoons toward temporary salvation. He’s got a cooler bag slung over one shoulder—full of ice packs, half-melted Capri Suns, band-aids, enough sunscreen to lube a walrus, and a single, growing sense of regret.

Behind him, the chaos parade continues.

“Do you think there’ll be frogs?” Bluudud asks, holding a beach ball like it’s a sacred relic.

“I brought my glitter cannon!” Pr3typriincess announces, dragging a bag almost her size behind her.

“You’re not firing glitter into the pool again,” 007n7 says flatly.

“That was ONE TIME.”

“Technically three,” Bluudud adds.

C00lkidd is lagging behind, wearing floaties shaped like little red devils and a pair of knockoff sunglasses three sizes too big. “I demand a truce. No heat. No chores. No rules.”

“We’re literally walking in a public space,” 007n7 mutters. “There are, in fact, several rules.”

As they reach the community pool entrance, the faint sizzle of something frying on pavement makes everyone pause.

Out in the parking lot, Noob stands hunched over the sidewalk. A real egg—sunny side up—is crackling on a small piece of foil. They've crouched beside it like a chemist awaiting results.

Guest (Not 1337) looms nearby, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with the same expression someone might wear after watching a toaster eat a man.

Guest just stares.

“Science,” Noob replies without looking up.

Guest raises a questioning eyebrow.

Inside the gate, 007n7 sighs at the madness already unfolding.

Shedletsky is standing near the lifeguard chair, arms out like a weary dad at a PTA meeting.

“Don’t drink the water,” he says tiredly.

“Why not?” 1x1x1x1 replies, already crouched at the edge of the pool like a corrupted bird, staring into the surface with her glowing red eye.

Builderman is kneeling beside her, speaking with forced calm like he’s coaxing a feral animal out of a server closet. “1x. We talked about this. Pool water is not for consumption. It’s full of chemicals. And kids. And… other things.”

“But it sparkles like the void,” she says, dipping one finger in. It hisses slightly.

“Exactly!” Shedletsky pleads. “Void water bad!”

She stares at her hand, then looks up at them. “My tongue is fireproof.”

“No it’s—why would you even—”

Behind them, John Doe is drifting silently in the deep end, face barely above the surface, limbs slack and trailing like kelp. He hasn’t blinked. He might not be breathing. Nobody knows how long he’s been there.

A group of teens on the other side of the pool are taking turns daring each other to approach him.

“Is that guy dead?” one whispers.

“Probably cursed,” another replies.

Elsewhere, Elliot sits on the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water. His shoulders are tense, hair damp. He’s trying to relax.

Chance approaches like a man who’s never once been told no. He’s got swim trunks with little dice printed on them and an obnoxiously confident grin.

“Hey,” he says, slicking his hair back unnecessarily. “You know, you must be made of water, because I feel like I’m drowning in your vibe.”

Elliot stares at him.

For a second, Chance looks proud.

Then Elliot’s eye twitches.

“You’re so lucky I didn’t bring a shoe.”

From nearby, Mia, Elliot’s younger sister, leaps up and cannonballs into the water—splashing both of them with a wave of chlorine. “FLIRT LATER, LOSERS!” she hollers, then disappears beneath the surface.

“Thank you,” Elliot mutters.

Chance wipes water from his eyes. “She’s got good timing.”

007n7 finally arrives with the kids, who immediately scatter like excited gremlins.

Pr3typriincess heads straight for the pool float rack and emerges five seconds later riding a giant inflatable glitter unicorn like it’s her royal chariot. “I AM QUEEN OF THE POOL,” she declares, splashing a random toddler who looks vaguely impressed.

Bluudud gingerly toes the water before recoiling with a small “eep."

C00lkidd strips off his oversized sunglasses, yeets them onto a bench, and cannonballs into the shallow end. The impact creates a splash radius so large it soaks the lifeguard’s clipboard.

“No splash zone!” 

“This isn’t a democracy!” C00lkidd yells back, now clinging to a foam noodle like it’s a jousting lance.

007n7 plants himself under the one piece of shade he can find, pulling out a half-melted juice pouch and watching the chaos with a look that can only be described as “catastrophic babysitter fatigue.”

Shedletsky wanders over and drops into the chair beside him with a groan. “We should’ve started a bowling league.”

“I miss air conditioning,” 007n7 says, squinting out at the rippling pool.

Builderman appears behind them, holding a clipboard and a worried frown. “Who brought C00lkidd?”

Everyone points at 007n7.

“…Fair,” he mutters.

From across the pool, 1x1x1x1 rises from the water like a horror movie reveal—hair plastered to her face, arms trailing data strings, and a pool noodle now inexplicably shaped like a scythe.

“I found a jellyfish,” she says.

“That’s a water bottle,” Shedletsky says.

“Jellyfish,” she repeats.

John Doe, still floating in the deep end, slowly rotates. His glowing eye fixes on them.

“Did he move?” Chance asks.

“No one look directly at him,” Builderman warns. “It’s like feeding a ghost.”

Just as things begin to settle, a loud splash draws everyone’s attention.

Mia pops out of the water, holding a frog triumphantly.

“I FOUND A FROG!” she yells.

Bluudud gasps.

C00lkidd smiles. "Let me teach it how to backstroke!"

007n7 closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

It’s going to be a long, chlorine-soaked day.

Bluudud stands at the edge of the pool, arms crossed tightly across his chest, wings twitching slightly in the breeze. He watches the water with suspicion—as though it might jump up and splash him first.

“I’m good,” he says, barely audible over the noise of splashing and shouting. “I don’t want to mess up my wings.”

Pr3typriincess floats by on her glitter unicorn, throwing him a look. “You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“I mean it,” he mumbles. “They get heavy when they’re wet. Or… maybe I just don’t feel like it. Not today.”

“Bluuu,” she whines, spinning in lazy circles. "It's literally so hot you might die."

Nearby, 007n7 lounges in a sun chair, half asleep under a towel. “Let him be,” he calls out without opening his eyes. “Some people just don’t want to swim.”

C00lkidd, however, is standing right behind Bluudud, noodle in hand, grinning.

“You sure?” he says innocently. “Not even gonna dip a toe?”

Bluudud gives him a suspicious glance over his shoulder. “I said I’m—”

SPLASH.

C00lkidd shoves him straight in.

It’s not a big push—just enough to tip the balance. Bluudud flails slightly on the way down and lands with a clean plunk in the shallow end, sending a soft ripple across the surface.

Everyone stops. For just a second.

007n7 sighs from under the towel. “Oh my god.”

The pool goes quiet. Even the lifeguard squints.

Then Bluudud surfaces slowly, hair slicked to his forehead, wings dragging soggily behind him like drenched fabric. He floats there a moment, blinking.

“…Fine,” he mutters at last, voice low but clear.

“…It’s kind of nice.”

A soft cheer erupts from the kids—Pr3typriincess claps from her unicorn floatie, and C00lkidd yells, “VICTORY!”

Bluudud paddles gently, face half-hidden but smiling just a little. Not even mad.

Just… kind of nice.

Pr3typriincess launches herself into the pool with a wild shriek, arms flailing and knees tucked into her chest.

“CANNONBALLLLLL!”

She hits the water like a glitter-wrapped meteorite, sending a chaotic splash across half the pool. One of her five floaties flies off dramatically and lands on John Doe’s head in the deep end, who doesn’t react—he just continues floating eerily on his back, his eyes wide and glowing, like some forgotten ghost of summer.

“She’s gonna drown with that much foam on her,” 007n7 mutters from the shade, sipping a juice box with the dead eyes of a man who knows this day is only getting louder.

“I’M FINE!” Pr3typriincess shouts as she surfaces, sputtering. “I’M WINNING!”

“No one’s playing anything,” C00lkidd calls from the pool steps, squinting. “You can’t just win the pool!”

“I CAN IF I BELIEVE!”

Nearby, Chance leans lazily against the pool railing, water glistening on his ridiculous sunglasses. He tilts them down to wink at Elliot, who is sitting at the edge of the pool with his feet in, attempting to recover from the heat and his eternally bad luck.

Chance grins. “It’s hot… but not as hot as you.”

Without looking up, Elliot sighs. “Mia, splash him again.”

Mia, floating innocently nearby with arm floaties shaped like tiny sharks, responds instantly: “Okay!”

She cups both hands and launches a concentrated wave of pool water directly into Chance’s face with a practiced flick.

“Worth it,” Chance coughs.

Suddenly, from beneath a pool float shaped like a giant slice of pizza, Dusekkar slowly rises like a waterlogged prophet. The float clings to his back like some divine shell.

In a voice more dramatic than the setting could possibly justify, he intones:

“The sun doth burn, the sweat doth fall,
But in cool waters, we find our all.”

Everyone stares. A beat of silence follows.

Then C00lkidd turns back to the group. “Anyway, so if we stack the pool noodles, I think we can make a throne.”

Pr3typriincess gasps. “YES. I’M THE POOL QUEEN!”

Dusekkar is left standing knee-deep in water, holding his arms aloft, awaiting reverence.

None arrives.

After hours of chaos—splashes loud enough to rival thunder, noodle fights that left minor welts, and pool games that devolved into screaming matches—peace finally settles over the waterlogged battleground.

The sun dips low, casting soft gold over the community pool. Shadows stretch out, long and sleepy. The concrete still radiates heat, but the world has quieted down into a lull of after-play exhaustion.

Everyone’s gathered in the shade near the lounge chairs, towels draped over heads and shoulders like royal robes of survival. The scent of chlorine clings to everything. Wet hair, pruney fingers, contented sighs—it’s the universal language of “we did enough today.”

007n7 cracks open a cooler and pulls out a few cold sodas, condensation rolling down the cans. “Alright, kiddos. Drink up before your brains melt.”

C00lkidd, still dripping and barefoot, grabs a soda, then promptly attempts to climb the chain-link pool fence. “I will conquer the fence. I will claim the outside realm.”

“You’re not even dry yet,” 007n7 mutters, too tired to fully scold.

“Exactly. My power is amplified.”

Nearby, Bluudud sits next to 007n7 on a pool chair, bundled up in a blue towel wrapped so tightly around him he looks like a sleepy caterpillar. His wings are damp but intact, tucked close to his back. The towel has little duck prints on it.

His eyes droop as he leans against 007n7’s side, warm and tired and… happy. Just content. Nothing hurts, and no one’s yelling or scared. Just warm sun and cool soda and voices he’s starting to think might feel like home.

Pr3typriincess, hair frizzy and sticking out in all directions like she fought a lightning bolt and won, offers a soggy fruit snack to Guest. It’s cherry-flavored and kind of squished.

Guest (Not 1337) stares at it like it’s a moral dilemma. Then he accepts it without a word, popping it into his mouth with the kind of silent solemnity usually reserved for last rites.

In the corner, Elliot and Chance sit on two deflated pool floats: a neon flamingo and an oversized slice of watermelon. Their bickering has shifted tone from sharp to soft—like well-worn banter between people who’ve realized they don’t actually hate each other.

“The flamingo has elegance,” Chance insists, pushing his sunglasses up despite the fact that the sun is nearly gone.

“The watermelon doesn’t have a face,” Elliot shoots back. “Why does the flamingo have a face?”

“To make it charming.”

“It’s unsettling.”

Mia lies nearby, doodling with a damp marker on the back of a wet pool receipt. “You’re both wrong. The best float was the shark one. It bites.”

And off in the parking lot, right on the sunbaked concrete, Noob flips the egg they've been carefully cooking all day. Somehow, it hasn’t burned.

“It’s almost ready,” they say proudly, nudging the edges with a plastic fork they found earlier.

Guest, still chewing the fruit snack, silently offers them a single slice of white bread from a sandwich bag.

Noob takes it like it’s a sacred offering. “This is going to be so good.”

The moment hangs there—quiet, absurd, and strangely peaceful.

And for once, nobody is running, crying, glitching, or fighting a rogue cultist. For once, it’s just a soft, golden evening at the pool.

They earned it.

Chapter Text

It started the way a lot of strange things do—with silence.

Not the usual kind, like when the others were napping or C00lkidd got grounded from his “chaos juice.” No. This was the kind of silence that clung to her skin like humidity, that made her glitter dull around the edges. That crawled under her floatie-strapped arms and told her, in whispers she couldn’t hear, that something was very wrong.

It had been four days since the pool.

Four days since she’d last cannonballed into something.

Four days since the last time she could ignore that feeling.

She sat on the steps outside their apartment, blowing bubbles from a cheap wand, watching them drift and pop in the hazy afternoon air. Her tail twitched behind her—an idle flick. She wasn’t even aware she was doing it anymore.

“Glitter cures depression,” she muttered, slapping a star-shaped sticker on her arm. “That’s science.”

But even the sticker looked faded in the sun. Her normal pastel pink spark had dulled.

C00lkidd and Bluudud were inside playing some broken console game, shouting things like “YOU ATE MY DATA BURGER” and “THIS IS WHY WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS.” 007n7 was on the phone with Elliot, complaining about C00lkidd learning how to jailbreak a toaster.

And she—Pr3typriincess, Glitter Queen, Sparkle Banshee of Doom, Ruler of Chaos and Bubblegum—was alone.

Again.

She glanced at the puddle beside the porch.

It hadn’t rained.

But the puddle was still there—perfectly round. Still. Reflective.

She leaned over it and frowned.

Her reflection looked… fine, mostly. Bright pink skin. Oversized bow. Big glittery eyes.

But behind her—standing in the puddle, not reflected, not part of her world—was that figure.

A tall shape in robes that shimmered like candlelight behind frosted glass. Antlers branched from its head like winter trees. Its eyes glowed white-blue. It didn’t move. It didn’t breathe.

And the worst part?

She didn’t scream.

She just blinked.

“…you again.”

The figure didn’t answer. It never did. But she felt the air around her shift—like the temperature dropped five degrees. Her stickers fluttered. The bubble wand in her hand stopped producing anything.

Then the figure was gone.

Not faded. Not blinked out. Just… wasn’t there anymore.

She stared into the water.

The puddle rippled gently, like someone had just stepped out of it.

She didn’t tell the others.

Not yet.

The last time she tried to tell them something weird, C00lkidd started handing her “ghost repellant,” which was just a water bottle with “ghosts bad” written in Sharpie.

This felt bigger than a prank or even a haunting. This felt… rooted. Deep. Like a thread tugging at the bottom of her data.

So she did what any self-respecting kid would do: she went to the only mirror in the apartment that wasn’t covered in toothpaste and 007n7’s “motivational” sticky notes.

Her reflection stared back. Big eyes. Round face. She wiggled her ears. The mirror wiggled with her.

“Okay, ghost boy,” she said, puffing out her cheeks. “Let’s talk. Are you haunting me, or are you… like, a wizard? Or my secret sparkle dad? ’Cause that would be wild.”

Nothing.

She exhaled.

“…I don’t even know who made me.”

She didn’t say it often. But it never went away.

There were days she felt like she just… appeared. Like someone dropped her in the middle of Forsaken with a bow on her head and a vague craving for pink frosting and glitter glue.

Others had stories. Bluudud had 007n7 and that whole sibling drama with C00lkidd. John Doe had his weird code-ripped past. Even Noob had that sad-but-silly energy that made people want to protect him.

But her?

She didn’t know where she came from. No “creator.” No weird potion. No “test tube baby gone rogue.” Just sparkles and instinct.

She remembered waking up under an arcade machine. Alone.

And somehow, that memory came with the scent of winter. Like frost on glass.

Like the figure’s presence.

Her tail curled tighter around her ankle.

What if this thing… knew?

What if it wasn’t haunting her?

What if it was calling her back?

She started noticing it more after that.

In store windows.

In car mirrors.

Once, even in a dropped phone screen.

It never moved. Never blinked. Never even breathed.

But it was watching.

And somehow, she knew it wanted her to notice.

Three days later, she’d had enough.

She gathered her supplies: glitter glue, cotton candy, five floaties (just in case), and her plush bunny that acted as both weapon and emotional support.

She stepped outside with purpose.

“Okay,” she called into the wind. “Show yourself, Antler Ghost. Or I’ll… throw confetti at you. It’s biodegradable!”

The wind picked up.

Leaves scattered.

She turned.

And it was standing there.

Not a reflection. Not a shadow.

Just standing, twenty feet away on the sidewalk, like it had always been there.

She froze.

The figure raised one hand. Not in a wave, not in a threat. Just… extended. Open palm. Silent offer.

Her heart pounded.

She looked down at her feet. Then back up.

The figure was closer.

Ten feet now.

She didn’t hear it move.

Her tail bristled. She clutched her bunny tighter.

“…what do you want?”

It didn’t speak.

But somehow—like an echo through her bones—she heard a voice.

Not with her ears. But in her data.

“Come and see.”

She took a step forward.

Just one.

And the world shifted.

Only slightly.

Like the shadows grew longer. Like the clouds held their breath.

She stopped herself. Blinked.

The figure was gone again.

But the words echoed.

Come and see.

That night, she sat with Bluudud and C00lkidd under a blanket fort, half-listening to their squabble about who was better at kart racing.

Her mind was elsewhere.

She sipped her juice box.

They didn’t know.

Nobody did.

But she was going to find out.

Who made her.

Why this figure wanted her.

And what it meant to be… her.

Because glitter was great.

But it couldn’t cover everything.

Not anymore.

The apartment was quiet.

For once, no one was yelling about lag spikes or how C00lkidd accidentally “set the fridge on fire with vibes.” The soft hum of an overworked box fan filled the living room, and the distant buzz of a cicada choir chirped beyond the cracked window.

Pr3typriincess moved slowly, deliberately.

The front door creaked too loudly for her taste, but she winced through it, hoodie zipped tight up to her chin, her pink crocs squeaking slightly as she tiptoed onto the porch.

Her bunny plush, Grumplestiltskin, was tucked under her arm. She’d debated leaving him behind for stealth purposes… but she wasn’t that brave. Not tonight.

She paused at the top of the stairs, breath catching.

The moon was huge—full and silver, with wisps of clouds wrapped around it like gauze. It cast an eerie glow over the street, making the pavement gleam. Every trash can looked suspicious. Every tree looked like it might start whispering.

She’d almost made it to the first step when a voice drifted from behind her.

“Where are you going?”

She froze.

Bluudud stood in the doorway, a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape. His wings were curled in close, and his eyes looked heavy with sleep—but sharp, too. Too sharp for someone who’d just been dreaming about cartoons and snack cakes.

“Bathroom,” she said immediately.

Bluudud just blinked.

“Outside?” he asked quietly, raising an eyebrow.

She turned, cheeks puffed with guilt. “Okay, not the bathroom.”

A second voice emerged from deeper in the living room, casual, laced with chaos.

“I smell drama,” C00lkidd said, stepping out of the shadows like a gremlin on spring break. He was wearing mismatched pajamas and gnawing on a glowstick like it was gum. It was already leaking.

Pr3typriincess groaned. “You guys are worse than security cameras.”

Bluudud stepped fully onto the porch, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. “Why are you sneaking out?”

“I’m not sneaking.”

“You’re in crocs.”

“They’re silent crocs.”

Bluudud didn’t even blink. “We’re not letting you go alone. Not at night. You could get hurt.”

Pr3typriincess opened her mouth to protest, but the words just dissolved into the warm summer air.

C00lkidd grinned, now holding two glowsticks like swords. “Ghost hunt?”

She sighed. Long and loud. “Fine. But if one of you screams, pees, or throws glitter as a defense mechanism—”

“That happened one time,” C00lkidd cut in.

“One time too many.”

They walked through the neighborhood quietly. The roads were quiet, empty. A streetlamp flickered lazily overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a cat yowled at something invisible.

Pr3typriincess led the way, hood pulled low, her hand clutching Grumplestiltskin a little tighter than necessary.

They passed the park. The jungle gym looked like a monstrous skeleton in the moonlight. The swings swayed gently, moved by a breeze that hadn’t touched them.

“Are we gonna die?” C00lkidd asked brightly.

Bluudud elbowed him.

They turned left at the corner gas station, then down into the hollow near the creek. This is where she’d seen it last — behind a billboard for “BLOCKY’S BURGER BUNKER” that was missing half its letters. B CKY’   URG R   NKER.

“Great,” C00lkidd said, “a haunted fast food sign.”

“This is serious,” she whispered.

And it was.

Because as soon as she stepped closer to the billboard, she felt it again—that shift.

The air went still. Crickets cut off like someone had pressed mute. The shadows got longer, sharper, wrong.

There, standing beside the sign, was the figure.

Not a dream.

Not a reflection.

Real.

The forest greeted them with silence.

Not the frightening kind—not yet—but the quiet stillness of somewhere holding its breath. Mist clung to the ground in soft layers, curling around tree roots and flicking against their ankles like cold ribbons. Even the moon seemed hushed behind a veil of clouds, peeking through in pale slivers that barely illuminated the path.

The only sound was the crunch of their shoes on dead leaves. Each step broke the hush like a whisper.

Pr3typriincess led the way.

Her pink crocs were far less stealthy than she hoped—especially when she stepped in a soggy patch of moss with a squelch that made C00lkidd snort and Bluudud visibly flinch.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, dragging her foot free.

They didn’t tease her, though. Not now.

The woods weren’t scary yet, but they were strange. That hush stretched on too long. The cicadas buzzed from far off—never nearby, always just out of reach, like the sound was bouncing off something invisible.

C00lkidd eventually stopped chewing his glowstick and started looking around like he expected something to crawl out of the trees and challenge him to a duel.

Bluudud walked beside Pr3typriincess quietly, blanket still draped over his shoulders like a sleepy hero’s cloak.

After a long while, when the forest seemed to deepen and the trail narrowed into something barely visible, Bluudud finally spoke.

His voice was quiet, kind.

“Why did you want to come here?”

She didn’t answer right away.

She could’ve deflected. Made a joke. Called him a nerd for asking such a soft question in the middle of Spooky Fog World 3000.

But the quiet was too honest. Too sacred.

And she was tired of being loud.

“…Because I needed to know if I was real,” she said.

The path narrowed further as she spoke, and the fog got thicker. Her voice wasn’t dramatic—it was small. Honest. Honest in a way that hurt her throat.

“I know I look real,” she went on. “I talk, I breathe, I do dumb stuff and eat too much glitter candy. But that’s just now. You know? That’s not before.”

She kicked a stick and watched it skitter off the path.

“I don’t remember being made. I don’t remember waking up. I just… was. One day I existed. Boom. ‘Hi, world, I’m pink and annoying.’ But I don’t know who made me. I don’t know why.”

She paused.

Bluudud didn’t say anything. He just listened.

Even C00lkidd was quiet now, unusually solemn. His glowstick hung limp from his mouth, forgotten.

Pr3typriincess pressed her hand against her chest.

“Sometimes, it feels like I’m made of scrap data. Like I was someone’s failed idea. Or a prank. Or a joke someone left in the code and forgot to delete.”

Her voice trembled at the end.

And when she looked back up, her eyes shimmered—not from crying, but from something more fragile than tears.

“I know it’s dumb,” she said. “People say, ‘you’re here now, and that’s all that matters,’ but… it doesn’t feel like enough. Not when everyone else knows where they came from. Even the bad ones. Even John Doe.”

C00lkidd stepped up beside her, squinting at the fog ahead. “You’re not dumb.”

She blinked at him.

“You’re, like, 99% glitter and crime,” he said, gesturing. “But not dumb.”

That startled a laugh out of her. It was wet and hiccupy, but it was real.

Bluudud gave a small smile. “I think you’re the bravest one out of all of us.”

She scoffed. “What? Me?”

“You came out here to face something unknown,” he said. “Most people would’ve run away. Or ignored it. You didn’t.”

“…I almost did,” she admitted. “I kept pretending it wasn’t real. I thought maybe I was just dreaming it. Or glitching. I didn’t want it to be real, because… if it was real, that meant I had to deal with it. And that was scary.”

The fog swirled around her ankles as they reached a small grove, where the trees thinned slightly, and the moonlight filtered through more clearly.

There was something oddly beautiful about it—mist rolling over old stones, moss-covered logs glowing faintly in the moonlight, like they’d stumbled into some forgotten corner of the world that time politely avoided.

Pr3typriincess sat on one of the stones with a sigh. She hugged her knees to her chest and looked up through the canopy.

“Do you ever wonder if you’re just a story someone stopped writing?” she asked.

Bluudud sat beside her. C00lkidd plopped down onto a patch of grass and immediately started poking mushrooms with a stick.

“Mhm,” Bluudud hummed quietly.

She turned toward him.

He hesitated, then shrugged gently. “I do sometimes…”

He looked down at his hands. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to find out. Or if I was meant to wonder.”

His voice grew softer.

“Sometimes I feel like maybe I wasn’t supposed to be here. Not the way I am.”

A pause.

“Maybe I took someone else’s spot.”

Pr3typriincess frowned, deeply.

“You didn’t take anyone’s spot,” she said. “You’re Bluudud. The good one. The kind one. The little hero who wraps himself in blankets and gives people extra marshmallows even when he only has five.”

He blinked at her.

“…You counted my marshmallows?”

“Yeah, and you gave me two. That’s math and friendship, idiot.”

He smiled.

And for a long while, none of them said anything.

They just sat in the misty clearing, surrounded by silence, by fog, by soft feelings that had nowhere else to go.

Then C00lkidd stood up, dramatically brushing invisible dirt off his pants.

“Well, that was enough emotions for one cursed forest trip. Who’s ready to find a weird ghost deer and throw rocks at it?”

Pr3typriincess snorted. “We’re not throwing rocks at it.”

“I’m just saying! If it’s evil, I’m prepared.”

She stood up too, stretching. “It’s not evil. I don’t think it wants to hurt me.”

“Then what does it want?”

“…To remind me,” she said slowly. “To remind me I’m not a mistake.”

They started walking again, deeper into the woods now. But it didn’t feel as scary anymore. The fog was still there, but it didn’t cling. The trees didn’t loom as much. And the hush… felt less like a threat and more like the forest was listening.

C00lkidd pulled a new glowstick from his pocket and cracked it open. Blue light spilled across the trail.

Pr3typriincess kept walking forward, more confident now.

Her voice was quiet, but steady.

“I don’t know where I came from. But maybe that’s not what matters. Maybe what matters is what I do now. Who I choose to be.”

Bluudud gave her a nod. “Then we’ll help you find out. Whatever it is.”

“Even if it’s weird?” she asked.

“Especially if it’s weird,” he said.

C00lkidd held up his glowstick like a sword. “TO THE GHOST!”

And somehow, that was the perfect battle cry.

Tall. Robed. Antlers twisting upward like barren tree limbs. Eyes glowing soft blue like ghostfire.

It didn’t move.

Bluudud stopped walking. He was staring now, eyes wide.

“…You weren’t kidding,” he whispered.

The figure raised a hand again.

A soft beckon. A welcome.

Or an invitation.

“I think it knows me,” Pr3typriincess murmured.

“You said that before,” Bluudud said, voice hushed. “Why?”

“Because,” she said, her throat tight, “it’s never hurt me. Never chased me. It’s just… watched. Like it’s waiting.”

C00lkidd, now behind her, whispered, “So what if it’s like… your weird pixel parent?”

The idea hit her hard.

She didn’t answer.

Because deep down, she was scared that’s exactly what it was.

The figure turned and drifted backward—not walking, just gliding like fog. Into the woods behind the sign.

And stopped.

Waiting.

“…I’m going,” she said, stepping forward.

C00lkidd reached out and grabbed her sleeve. “What if it’s dangerous?”

“What if it’s my answer?” she whispered. “I have to know.”

A pause.

Then Bluudud stepped up beside her, still wrapped in the blanket like a sleepy knight.

“We’ll go with you.”

She blinked.

“I—what? No, it’s dangerous.”

“You just said it’s not.”

“Yeah but you said it might be—ugh, I hate being out-logic’d.”

But she didn’t argue harder.

Because truth be told, she didn’t want to be alone.

The forest was quiet.

Too quiet.

No birds. No frogs. Not even the rustle of wind in the trees.

The glow from the figure’s eyes led them deeper. Sometimes it disappeared behind a tree only to reappear further ahead, guiding them. Never hurrying.

There was a clearing up ahead, and when they reached it, the moonlight revealed something startling.

An old archway.

Stone, moss-covered, crumbling—but unmistakably artificial.

Etched into the stone were symbols. Not letters, not numbers, but something primal and code-like. Some of them sparked faintly, like circuits.

The figure stood in the middle of it.

And finally, it spoke.

Not with a mouth. Not with a voice. But with presence.

YOU ARE DATA MADE WITH PURPOSE.

YOU ARE NOT LOST.

YOU ARE FORGOTTEN.

Pr3typriincess felt something inside her chest pull tight.

“Forgotten?” she said aloud. “What does that mean?”

YOU WERE CREATED AND LEFT BEHIND.

BY THEM.

It lifted a hand, and in the air, data fragments shimmered—pink lines, sparkles, looping code.

Her code.

A floating string of it hovered between them. It was familiar and alien all at once. Strings of emotion. Glitter. Repetition. Chaos.

And one line of broken signature:

created_by: redacted

Her knees buckled slightly.

“Someone made me,” she whispered.

Bluudud gently touched her arm. “You knew that.”

“I hoped that,” she said. “But now it’s real.”

She stared at the signature. At the word “redacted.”

“Why did they erase themselves?”

The figure did not answer.

Instead, it lifted its hands again.

From the archway, a shimmering rift opened. Just for a second. Inside was something different.

Not dark. Not evil.

Just… potential.

A hallway of mirrors. Each one showing versions of her that never got finished. A Princess of Fire. A Soldier of Hearts. A Glitched Entity with cracked code. A little kid with no sparkle but a brilliant mind.

All the paths she could’ve been.

“Why are you showing me this?” she asked.

The figure lowered its arms.

TO REMIND YOU:

YOU ARE REAL.

YOU ARE CHOICE.

YOU ARE NOT WHAT THEY LEFT.

YOU ARE WHAT YOU BECAME.

She stood there, stunned.

The glow faded.

The rift closed.

The figure stepped back toward the arch and began to fade itself.

But just before it vanished completely, it spoke one last time.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

FIND THE OTHERS.

Then it was gone.

—

The woods were quiet again.

Normal.

Crickets. Breeze. Moonlight.

Pr3typriincess stood in silence.

Then:

“…I have no idea what any of that meant,” C00lkidd said, chewing his glowstick again. “But it was cool.”

Bluudud looked at her, softer now. “Are you okay?”

She thought for a long moment.

Then nodded.

“I think I am.”

They turned back the way they came, crunching leaves underfoot.

As they walked, she looked up at the moon and whispered, “Thank you.”

To whoever was listening.

Maybe not her creator.

Maybe not even the figure.

But to herself.

Because she was real.

And that was enough—for now.

C00lkidd suddenly stiffens.

Mid-step, his tail held high, his body just… stops. Like a statue struck by a sudden storm. His head lifts slightly. He sniffs the air once.

Then again, deeper.

“…Smoke.”

His voice is different now—low, sharp, serious. All the earlier humor is gone. He’s already jogging forward before either of the others can respond, light bouncing wildly off the trees as he vanishes past a curtain of fog.

“C00L—?” Bluudud’s voice barely gets the first syllable out before—

CRASH—he’s gone through the underbrush, glowstick slicing a comet through the mist.

“Wait—!” Pr3typriincess dashes after him, Bluudud close behind. The mist parts like curtains around their legs, dew flying from leaves as they run.

They hear him grunt—then the sound of leaves shuffling, a bush being torn aside—

BANG!

A single gunshot rips through the forest.

The sound is so loud in the hush of the woods, it doesn’t even sound real. It echoes and dies into silence almost instantly, like the trees swallowed it whole.

C00lkidd drops immediately.

He doesn’t scream.

He doesn’t shout.

He just crumples.

Like a marionette whose strings have been sliced. One moment, he’s upright. The next—on the ground, a ragdoll, one hand still gripping the glowstick, which rolls away and settles in the dirt.

A dark stain begins spreading from his shoulder.

“C00L!!” Pr3typriincess shrieks, skidding to her knees beside him. Her hands tremble as she reaches out, hovers, unsure if she should touch him. There’s so much blood. It’s thick and dark and it’s not stopping.

Bluudud drops beside her, his breath already hitching.

“Oh.”

C00lkidd’s eyes flutter, then snap open—wide and wild.

He makes a choked sound, not quite a groan, more like a furious breath between clenched teeth. He tries to sit up and fails. His hoodie is torn, shoulder already soaked crimson. The bullet didn’t go clean through.

He’s breathing, but barely.

“…Ow,” he croaks.

Pr3typriincess presses her hands down on his shoulder—one hand holding the other to keep from shaking.

“You’re so dumb,” she whispers. Her voice trembles. “Why didn’t you wait? Why’d you run ahead? We don’t even know what that was—!”

“I smelled smoke,” he mumbles, eyes unfocused. “Something’s burning… someone’s close…”

Bluudud tears off his own towel-blanket, already balling it up against the wound.

“Pressure—keep pressure—just like Builderman taught—” he whispers, voice breaking.

“What do we do—what do we do—” Pr3typriincess’s voice gets higher, too fast, spiraling. “We don’t have a phone—”

“Guys,” C00lkidd mutters.

“You need stitches—hospital—do we carry him? Can we carry him?”

“Guys.”

Pr3typriincess snaps, “What?!”

C00lkidd’s eyes flick toward the bush he opened. His voice is low, hoarse.

“…Someone’s still there.”

Bluudud freezes.

Pr3typriincess whirls toward the brush—her hand moving instinctively for… what? A weapon? A glitter bomb? A floatie?

The branches rustle again.

But this time—not with rage.

With retreat.

They hear footfalls now. Crunching. Retreating. Heavy boots slamming through the forest, fast, deeper into the trees.

They’re running.

Whoever fired that shot—they’re fleeing.

“…Coward,” C00lkidd hisses, trying to sit up again and failing. 

Pr3typriincess helps him lie back down. “Stop moving. Stop talking. Just… let us fix you, okay?”

C00lkidd grits his teeth, still conscious but barely. The pain is visible across his face like cracks in glass.

Bluudud presses harder with the towel, his hands slick with red.

“There’s too much,” he mutters. “I don’t know if this is enough—he’s gonna—”

“He’s not,” Pr3typriincess snaps. “Don’t say it. He’s not. We’re not letting him.”

Her hands tremble, but her voice hardens.

“Okay. Okay. I need you to stay with us,” she says, leaning down close to C00lkidd’s face. “You’re not allowed to pass out, do you hear me?”

He squints one eye open. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“There you go,” she murmurs, brushing his hair back. “You keep being mouthy, you’ll be fine.”

But then—

THWIP!

A sharp hiss cuts through the fog like a whipcrack. Something fast. Something small.

Before Pr3typriincess can even register the sound—

Bluudud’s eyes widen. He turns sharply.

And moves.

He shoves her with both hands—just a firm, sudden push. “Down!”

She stumbles back a step, confused—then sees it:

A flash of metal, a tiny blur—darting toward them.

She hears the faintest impact:

thk.

It hits Bluudud in the side of his neck.

His whole body jolts—muscles twitching.

His wings—his soft, shining blue wings—droop almost instantly. His eyes go unfocused. Knees buckle.

“Not… again…” he whispers, slurring the words.

Then he crumples—silent—next to C00lkidd.

“BLUU!!” Pr3typriincess drops to her knees beside him, catching his head before it can hit the ground.

His skin is already pale, jaw slack. The dart sticks out grotesquely from his neck like a thorn.

His breathing is still there—but it’s shallow. Rapid.

He’s out cold.

She rips the dart out with shaking hands and flings it into the woods. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears. Her stomach lurches.

“Okay—okay okay—nope—nope—this is not okay—”

Her voice breaks. Her hands hover, helpless.

Two of her best friends are down.

One bleeding.

One drugged.

And whoever did it is still out there.

She stands up slowly, fists clenched, the hem of her hoodie fluttering slightly in the breeze. The fog thickens again, hugging the trees. The smell of smoke still lingers, curling in her nose like a warning.

Then—

A footstep.

Behind her.

Deliberate.

Pr3typriincess doesn’t turn.

Pr3typriincess is frozen.

The trees loom tall and silent around her. Her heart is pounding so hard it hurts.

She’s shaking so badly her knees knock together.

C00lkidd is limp on the ground, a dark stain soaking through his shirt. Bluudud lies beside him, wings curled unnaturally, face pale in the moonlight.

For a terrible moment, she can’t move.

She just stares at them, two of the people she loves most, broken and still.

She feels five inches tall.

Helpless.

Useless.

Everything in her screams to run, to scream, to call someone—anyone—but her voice won’t work.

Her legs won’t work.

Her lungs won’t work.

She squeezes her eyes shut.

“I can’t,” she whispers.

But then—

A breeze cuts through the fog. Cold. Sharp.

She opens her eyes again. The night feels different now—like it’s holding its breath.

And suddenly, something clicks inside her.

No. No, no, no.

Not tonight.

She forces herself to her feet.

Her arms tremble as she kneels down again—jamming her shoulder under C00lkidd’s limp body. He’s heavier than he looks, and his jacket is soaked with blood. Her knees almost buckle from the strain.

But she doesn’t let go.

Then she grabs the collar of Bluudud’s hoodie—soft, fraying cotton—and starts dragging.

“I’m not leaving you dumb idiots,” she mutters, gritting her teeth. “Not ever.”

Every step is hard.

The underbrush catches her feet. Tree roots trip her. Branches scrape her arms.

But she keeps going.

She has to.

She doesn’t even look back.

The woods stretch before her like a tunnel of shadows. The fog is thicker ahead—but at least it hides her.

Behind her—

A shape steps out from the mist.

The silhouette of the masked rifleman.

Silent. Watching.

The glint of the weapon catches a sliver of moonlight.

They don’t move to pursue yet.

Just watch.

But then—

Across the forest, past a break in the trees, two antlers begin to glow faintly in the fog.

Like cracked bone dipped in starlight.

The figure with the rifle freezes, head tilting just slightly toward the light.

The glow pulses.

And fades.

The wind shifts.

Leaves stir.

Something’s coming.

Something fast.

Something angry.

But Pr3typriincess doesn’t know that.

She’s too busy dragging her brothers into the dark, her jaw clenched so tight it aches, legs screaming from the weight.

And somewhere—far off—a branch snaps.

The chase has begun.

It starts with silence.

That kind of weird, uncanny silence that sets off alarms in a parent’s brain.

007n7 stirred in bed, his cheek stuck slightly to the couch pillow he’d passed out on, still half-hugging the bag of discount chips he swore he wasn’t going to eat at midnight. The TV, now dimmed to that eerie blue static glow, hummed in the background.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

And then frowned.

It was too quiet.

Way too quiet.

“…hello?”

No reply.

Usually by now, C00lkidd would be setting off a firework in the kitchen or Pr3typriincess would be blasting her glitter-pop playlist at max volume. Bluudud might be mumbling to himself about “wings don’t fold like that,” but there would be noise.

Chaos.

A toy being lobbed at someone.

Something.

007n7 sat up slowly, the chips rustling off his chest and into the void.

“Kids?” he called, a little louder now, glancing around the dark apartment.

Nothing.

No scurrying. No arguing. No snack wrappers being crinkled.

Just… stillness.

He stood up fully now, bare feet slapping softly against the floor. He checked the hallway.

Empty.

The kids’ bedroom?

He opened the door and flicked on the light.

Blankets were ruffled.

The window was closed.

But the beds were empty.

“…no. No no no,” he muttered, instantly wide awake.

He practically sprinted to the front door. Locked. But the lock was twisted in a way he didn’t remember. The chain was hanging off like someone had quietly undone it.

“Are you—Are you KIDDING ME?!” he blurted, voice cracking halfway through the word “kidding.”

He shoved his hands into his hair, fingers pulling at the roots.

Panic now clawed up his throat like a live wire.

He grabbed his phone from the counter—1:43 AM.

No messages.

No notifications.

“Why would they—where would they—”

He paused.

The front closet was slightly ajar.

He yanked it open.

The pink hoodie Pr3typriincess always wore? Gone.

C00lkidd’s glowsticks? Also missing.

Bluudud’s favorite hoodie, the one he claimed “helps regulate my temperature” but actually just had big pockets? Gone.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “They snuck out.”

He stared at the open closet for a full three seconds.

Then—

“THEY SNUCK OUT?!” he shouted, storming back into the living room and pacing like a caffeinated dad at a PTA meeting. “WHY—HOW—IT’S ONE IN THE MORNING—DO THEY THINK THIS IS A FIELD TRIP?!?”

He grabbed his hoodie, one hand already fumbling with his phone. He almost dialed 911. Almost.

But something told him this wasn’t just rebellious late-night Slurpee cravings.

No. Something in his gut churned.

A bad kind of dread.

A cold sweat broke across his back.

Chapter Text

The forest swallowed her.

Pr3typriincess ran, lungs burning, her body screaming in protest. Her arms locked around C00lkidd’s limp torso as she hauled him over her shoulder. Every step sent white-hot pain rippling through her thighs, her calves, her back. Bluudud’s collar was clenched tight in her free hand, his legs dragging behind like a doll too heavy for its owner.

Branches lashed at her face. Roots clawed at her ankles. Her pink Crocs slapped the ground with uneven rhythm, squelching through mud, skidding over dry leaves, thudding on exposed stone.

Behind her.

Crunch.

She didn’t dare look back.

She couldn’t see him. But she knew he was still there.

The hunter.

The person with the rifle. The one who had dropped C00lkidd in a heartbeat and silenced Bluudud like he was nothing. No face. No voice. Just boots and gunpowder and the ever-present promise of death.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She could hear it now — the way his footfalls crushed the leaves deliberately. Not a wild animal. Not a panicked pursuer. Just steady, cruel patience. He was following. Herding her.

Like prey.

She nearly tripped over a rock, barely catching herself in time. The impact jostled C00lkidd’s body and made Bluudud’s feet smack against the earth.

“Sorry—sorry—just hang on,” she gasped.

They didn’t respond.

Of course they didn’t.

C00lkidd’s head lolled against her back, his hair sticky with sweat and blood. Bluudud’s wings twitched occasionally, dragging little lines through the dirt.

“Stupid dumb idiot brothers,” she wheezed, forcing her legs to keep going. “Why can’t we ever just have… one normal night…”

The trees closed in tighter. The fog grew thicker — white tendrils curling around her ankles like fingers, trying to pull her down. She was starting to lose direction. No streetlights. No glowing signs. Just trees, dirt, and distant cicadas that didn’t care if she lived or died.

A flash of something—movement, behind her.

She didn’t look.

But she ran harder.

A burst of static rang out behind her—not a gunshot, but a high-frequency screech, like a radio tuning into a scream. A warning. A threat.

She grit her teeth.

“I’m not leaving them,” she whispered fiercely to herself. “You can shoot me, you can chase me, you can do whatever the heck you want, but I’m not leaving them!”

Ahead—a ditch.

A ravine, maybe ten feet across, cut deep into the forest floor. Probably a dried-out creek bed. She skidded to a stop, nearly falling forward.

Too wide to jump.

Too steep to climb down fast.

She turned in a panic. There — a broken tree had fallen across it, forming a narrow bridge. She scrambled toward it, nearly losing her grip on Bluudud.

“Hold on, hold on—just—please don’t fall—”

The log was slick with moss. Uneven. Rotting in places. One wrong move and all three of them would fall into the ditch, bones shattering, backs breaking.

Pr3typriincess didn’t hesitate.

She stepped onto the log.

It creaked under her weight. Wobbled. Groaned.

She clenched her jaw, adjusted her grip on C00lkidd, and forced herself to shuffle forward.

Step.

Step.

Step.

The wind blew.

Leaves rustled.

Crunch.

Crunch.

She turned her head slightly.

There.

On the far edge of the forest, partially cloaked in shadow and fog, stood the figure.

The moonlight caught on the gleam of metal—the barrel of a gun. Their face was hidden behind a mask, bone-white and eyeless. Their coat hung low, heavy with pouches and straps.

Pr3typriincess’s heart stuttered. And she ran faster.

The log shifted.

She yelped, flailing to stay balanced. Her foot nearly slipped off, but she caught herself with a desperate lurch. C00lkidd’s hand dangled down, his fingers brushing the waterless creekbed far below.

She made it across.

Collapsed to her knees the moment her feet hit solid ground.

Then scrambled up again and ran.

Pr3typriincess runs, the taste of blood sharp in her mouth. Her crocs slap against dirt and root and stone, barely hanging on. C00lkidd’s weight across her shoulders is unbearable—his small, limp body burning against her back—but she refuses to let go. One hand clutches his legs. The other drags Bluudud by his hoodie, his head bumping against the undergrowth, wings dragging uselessly in the dirt.

Her muscles scream. Her eyes blur.

Leaves snap behind her. Footsteps—deliberate, heavy—crush the forest floor in steady rhythm.

The hunter is still coming.

Pr3ty’s thoughts whirl like static. She doesn’t know where to go, just that she can’t stop. Her body runs on instinct, careening through branches and vines, ducking under twisted limbs, crashing through low ferns.

A root catches her foot—she stumbles, but doesn’t fall.

“Not yet,” she rasps, gritting her teeth. “I’m not letting you take them.”

C00lkidd is still bleeding, but faint groans escape his throat now and then—he’s alive. Bluudud’s breathing is shallow, slowed by the tranquilizer, but steady. That’s all that matters. They’re alive. She has to keep them that way.

Behind her, something snaps—loud, sharp, too close.

A warning shot?

She doesn’t look back.

She veers left, crashing through a patch of brambles that rake her arms, tearing her sleeves. She doesn’t feel it. The fear has numbed her body.

The forest is too big. Too quiet. Too loud. Every shadow feels like teeth. Every tree, a hand reaching for her.

Another sound behind her—faster now. They’re gaining.

Her breath breaks into hiccuped gasps. Her hoodie clings to her with sweat and tears. Her body feels like it’s shutting down, yet she keeps going.

She trips again—but catches herself on a tree, barely.

A voice rings out behind her—calm, male, wrong. It echoes like it doesn’t belong in the world.

“You can’t run forever, girl.”

She clamps her jaw shut and keeps going.

A glint of light flashes through the trees—was that metal? A scope?

She turns again, dragging Bluudud harder. Her shoes are soaked from mud now. A branch slashes her cheek as she barrels through another overgrown path.

She can’t think.

She can’t stop.

Every breath is fire.

Another sound—closer this time. A heavy boot crushing leaves just meters behind her. She risks a glance back—and sees it.

A dark silhouette in the fog, slow but certain, walking like he knows exactly where she’ll go next.

She turns back forward—

—And nearly runs into a tree.

She swerves. Her foot catches on a root.

She falls—C00lkidd slams into her back, knocking her flat.

Dirt fills her mouth. Her nose scrapes stone.

She screams—not from pain, but from the shock, from the panic, from the weight of two lives relying on her. Her hands tremble as she tries to push herself back up. C00lkidd rolls limply off her shoulder with a grunt. Bluudud lies beside him, wings limp like wet paper.

“No no no no no—” she gasps, scooping them both up again, blood smearing across her arms from C00lkidd’s wound.

The hunter is close now. She can feel him. Smell the metal and oil on the air. Her vision spins.

She stumbles forward again—but her steps are clumsy now. Uneven. Her knees wobble.

And then—

A sharp CRACK behind her. A bullet slams into the dirt just inches from her feet, kicking up dust.

She flinches—trips—

—and falls.

This time, hard.

As Pr3typriincess crashes to the forest floor, the world seems to collapse around her.

She hits the ground hard—knees buckling, face scraping the dirt—still clinging desperately to C00lkidd and Bluudud. Her arms are numb. Her heart is a frantic drum. Her mouth tastes of earth and panic and metal.

But she doesn’t stop.

She can’t.

She tries to rise—knees trembling, arms locking around her brothers like anchors—but her body protests. Her muscles scream. She gets up one inch—

Then sinks back down.

The footsteps behind her are louder now. Slow, steady. Measured.

The hunter.

She can hear the dry snap of a rifle being cocked.

Her vision swims. Her breaths come in short, shallow bursts. She tries to lift C00lkidd again. She tries to move her leg. She tries to pull Bluudud by the arm.

But she can’t.

All she can do is hold them close.

She clutches them like stuffed animals, like life preservers, like parts of herself she won’t let go of.

I’m sorry.

Pr3typriincess barely clings to consciousness. She doesn’t cry out. Her arms, trembling and raw, instinctively tighten around C00lkidd and Bluudud as she collapses—her body forming a desperate shield over theirs.

She hears the rustling behind her—crunching leaves, snapping twigs—footsteps too close. The hunter’s silhouette becomes clearer in the blur of her vision, a towering figure with a long weapon and no hesitation. His boots crush the earth with every step, methodical and inevitable.

She scrambles.

Her elbow slips in the dirt. Her knees buckle under her. Her whole body shakes as she tries—tries—to push herself up with her brothers still in her grasp. She gets one knee under her.

The man raises his rifle.

She flinches. She’s not fast enough.

And then—

Something else moves.

From the fog—like shadows peeling from trees—a figure emerges.

Silent. Swift. Unannounced.

They slip behind the trees like a passing breeze.

And then—her.

The hand comes from nowhere, pale and cold, and grabs the collar of Pr3typriincess’s hoodie.

She barely has time to suck in a breath.

SWIP.

And in the next instant, she, C00lkidd, and Bluudud are yanked backward into the trees—swallowed by the underbrush, pulled between the roots and ferns and fog.

The world is quiet now.

All the screaming, the sprinting, the sharp whip of gunfire.

It’s gone.

Like a nightmare half-remembered.

In its place: the slow hum of night.

Crickets in the distance.

The wind brushing through the tall grass.

Leaves rustling like whispers above them.

They’re safe—for now.

Or at least… no one is chasing them anymore.

The clearing is small and half-covered by draping moss and the crooked roots of old trees. Moonlight spills through the canopy in soft, silver shafts. It smells like earth, like damp bark and rain that never fell.

Pr3typriincess is kneeling in the dirt.

Her chest rises and falls unevenly, like her body hasn’t realized the danger is over.

Her arms shake.

Her legs burn.

She’s not sure how long she’s been running. Only that she didn’t stop—not once.

Not while C00lkidd bled.

Not while Bluudud fell.

Not while her own breath hitched and her muscles screamed.

She didn’t stop.

Because someone had to carry them.

Now…

Now she’s here.

And so are they.

The figure crouches beside C00lkidd.

Their touch is slow. Precise. Gentle in a way that doesn’t seem to match the strange, eerie glow surrounding them.

Their face is deep, shadowed, the antlers that rise from it too perfect to be natural—like something grown from memory, or grief. Their cloak drapes along the grass like water, edges flickering faintly, barely touching the ground.

Pr3typriincess doesn’t speak.

She’s too stunned for words.

She watches as they press cloth to her brother’s wound, their fingers steady even as blood seeps through. Her breathing slows, just barely, watching them move—not like a stranger, but like someone remembering how to care.

She doesn’t know this person.

She’s never seen them before.

But…

There’s something in her chest.

A pull.

A tightness, like an invisible string is being tugged.

Her voice, when it comes, is fragile.

“…Why… did you save us?”

The figure doesn’t lift their head.

They just keep working—quietly checking Bluudud’s pulse next, easing one wing out from under him with careful hands.

Then—

A voice, quiet and old and weightless, speaks:

“Because I made you.”

It’s like the whole forest exhales.

Pr3typriincess’s body goes still.

The words settle over her like snow—silent, soft… cold.

She blinks, once.

“…What?”

It escapes her before she even knows she said it.

The figure lifts their head.

For a moment, she sees their face.

Not clearly—but enough.

Their features are calm. Almost sad.

Their eyes—dim and glowing blue—rest on her like someone trying to remember a dream. 

Or maybe trying not to forget.

“I made you,” they repeat.

Their voice is slower now.

Not tired exactly—just… careful.

“You were my joy. My spark. A little piece of what I was trying to build. Before I—”

They stop.

Instead of finishing, they look back to C00lkidd. Their hand presses gently over the wound, and this time, light blooms under their palm. Soft.

Subtle.

Like moonlight woven with code.

“…Before I died.”

The silence between them feels endless.

She doesn’t know how to respond.

She doesn’t know if she’s supposed to.

Behind her, there’s a sound. A faint, wounded groan.
C00lkidd.

But Pr3typriincess doesn’t turn.

Her hand moves instead—finding Bluudud’s arm beside her, gripping it without thinking.

The figure… 226w6, maybe… speaks again.

“I tried to make a place that was warm. Where people didn’t have to be scared. Where color meant joy and not a target.”

Their voice drifts, like they’re speaking through fog.

“You were part of that dream. Glitter and sparkles and all.”

A small pause.

“I remember how long I debated giving you floaties.”

It almost sounds like a joke.

Almost.

But she doesn’t laugh.

Her breath catches as a new weight presses behind her ribs.

“…So you’re…”

She doesn’t finish.

The figure nods.

“I’m the one who wrote your code. Who built you to love what you love. Every pink pixel. Every sparkle. Every silly phrase.”

They pause.

Then:
“That may not mean much anymore. But it means I’ll always care. And I’ll never stop trying to keep you safe.”

Pr3typriincess reaches up.

Her fingertips touch her cheek—and come away wet.

She didn’t even notice the tears.

Didn’t know she’d started crying until just now.

The moonlight continues to pour down in threads.

The forest stays quiet.

Even the wind holds its breath.

Somewhere in her chest—somewhere deep, and quiet, and sore—that space that always felt hollow starts to feel… not whole, but less empty.

The forest still buzzed faintly, its sounds dulled by fog and exhaustion. 

Pr3typriincess sat hunched against a mossy root, her breathing shallow, dirt smeared across her cheeks, and her hoodie streaked with blood—C00lkidd’s blood.

She kept looking down at her brothers, her arms still locked around them protectively. C00lkidd stirred now and then, groaning, the bullet wound hastily bandaged in gauze she didn’t even know 226w6 had. Bluudud was still limp, his wings tucked tight to his body, face pale.

The antlered figure sat across from them—calm. Still. Their face was young but ghostly, slightly transparent at the edges, like they flickered between presence and absence. Glowing robes flowed like digital water, translucent but anchored in a way code shouldn’t be. Their hands glowed faintly as they pressed another wrap into C00lkidd’s shoulder.

Pr3typriincess finally found the courage to speak, voice cracked and hoarse, but 226w6 cut in gently.

“You were created with love.”

“Huh?” Pr3typriincess squinted, turning her head towards them.

226w6 only nodded. “You were created with love,” They repeated. “Not by accident. Not as a tool. Not just a ‘spawn.’”

Pr3typriincess shook her head, backing up slightly.

“No. That’s not—No one ever told me that. I don’t even know who made me. People always said I just… showed up.“

“You didn’t,” 226w6 said gently. “You were supposed to grow up in peace. With me. But I didn’t last that long.”

Pr3ty stared. Her throat clenched.

“You’re lying,” she croaked. “I never had—I didn’t—No one wanted me. People were scared of me. Said I was weird. Said I was… off.”

“You did have someone,” 226w6 replied, their voice soft and glitching faintly at the edges now. “You had me. For the first few lines of your life.”

They placed a gentle hand over her heart—then pointed to their own chest.

“I wrote your name. Pr3ty_priincess. With every ounce of care left in my hands. I wanted you to glitter, and laugh, and love. I wanted you to be free.”

The forest stirred. Something ancient and sorrowful passed between the trees, like the forest itself was listening.

“I died before I could hold you,” 226w6 continued. “Before I could teach you to ride a bike, or tell you not to put glitter in the toaster. Before I could tuck you in. But you were born. And someone tried to care for you after I was gone.”

Pr3ty’s brows pulled tight.

“I don’t… remember any of those things,” Pr3ty murmured. “I only remember being alone.”

“I know,” 226w6 said quietly. 

Something flickered across their expression—grief that hadn’t aged, grief that had been paused and preserved in whatever data they still clung to.

They motioned to C00lkidd and Bluudud. To the two bruised bodies cradled in their lap.

“You made your own family.”

A lump built in Pr3typriincess’s throat. Her hands trembled. She looked down at C00lkidd’s stupid bandaged face. His jaw was slack, a glowstick still clutched in his unconscious hand like a security blanket. She looked at Bluudud, still faintly breathing, his wings twitching now and then.

“They’re idiots,” she whispered.

“They’re your idiots,” 226w6 said, with a sad smile.

Pr3ty stared at them for a long time.

Then she asked, quietly:

“What are you?”

226w6 blinked, slow and weary.

“I’m what’s left. A shard of code. A ghost in the forest. But for tonight… I’m here. With you.”

The silence settled again, soft and heavy. The trees swayed above like a lullaby was playing in reverse.

C00lkidd groaned, turning over.

“Did I die?” he muttered.

“No,” Pr3ty said softly, brushing his hair back. “Not yet.”

He blinked up at her—then saw the glowing figure. His brain registered only one thing:

“Is that a deer? …Are we being hunted by a glittery deer?”

“No,” Pr3ty muttered, quietly but firmly. “That’s my parent.”

C00lkidd blinked again. “You have one?”

Pr3typriincess ignored C00lkidd, turning to 226w6. “I was alone until I met C00lkidd. Even he thought I was weird.”

“That’s because you are weird,” C00lkidd said before promptly choosing a more comfortable spot and passing out again right after.

226w6 laughed. Just once. A short, tired sound. Then their voice went soft again. “You’re stronger than I ever dreamed. You kept fighting even when it hurt. Even when you were scared.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Pr3ty said.

“That’s what makes you strong.”

They tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She didn’t flinch this time. Her shoulders slumped, exhausted.

“I missed you,” 226w6 whispered.

“You never even got to know me,” she replied.

“I still missed you.”

They stayed like that for a long moment. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? This whole time I thought I was some weird failed thing.”

“You were never a failure. You were meant to be free. That was the point of beauty—to choose.”

The ghost, the girl, and two unconscious disasters. The forest held its breath around them. 

And in the distance, the sound of leaves crunching.

The hunter hadn’t stopped looking.

The fog rolled in again, denser now. The trees creaked under the weight of something unsaid, as if the forest itself knew something terrible was drawing near.

Pr3typriincess shifted, her arms still locked protectively around C00lkidd and Bluudud. The warmth of their bodies was reassurance—but also a fragile thing, like holding two flickering candles in a storm.

226w6’s expression changed.

They straightened.

Their head tilted, ever so slightly—like they’d just heard something Pr3typriincess couldn’t.

A breath passed. A single pine needle dropped from overhead.

Crunch.

Footsteps. Heavy, slow, deliberate. No running this time. No gunfire.

A shape emerged from the fog.

Long coat. Masked face. Rifle in hand, slung low but ready. Tall. Still. That same awful stillness from before. The same silhouette Pr3typriincess had seen through the trees while dragging her brothers across the forest floor, her lungs tearing themselves apart with panic.

The hunter had caught up.

Pr3ty’s heart stopped. Her breath hitched.

She tensed to move, but—

A hand raised gently in front of her.

226w6 stood.

They took two slow steps forward, putting themselves directly between the hunter and the kids.

“Found her,” the hunter said, visor locking on Pr3typriincess. “And the ghost.”

A cold pause.

“Orders say neutralize both.”

The world stopped.

C00lkidd stirred behind her with a quiet groan. Bluudud whimpered softly, too limp to rise.

But Pr3typriincess stood.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Her arms spread slightly, her stance shifting, like she was trying to take up more space. She stepped in front of the boys—shielding them without thinking. The fog curled around her legs like frightened cats.

226w6 stood too.

Quietly. Deliberately.

They placed themself between Pr3typriincess and the hunter.

A strange calm in the movement. Their voice was soft.

“You do not have to do this.”

The hunter’s helmet tilted slightly. The fingers on the trigger didn’t waver.

“You don’t get to live.”

They raised the weapon.

226w6 didn’t move.

“I was like you once,” they said, voice low—tender, but anchored with steel. “I followed orders. I believed I was doing what was right. But I was just erasing pieces of what made us whole.”

The hunter didn’t respond.

The muzzle of the rifle gleamed as it calibrated—one blink, then two.

A bead of sweat ran down Pr3typriincess’s neck.

They didn’t glow with fury. No explosions. No sudden crack of lightning. Just a quiet defiance in the way their translucent robes shifted with the wind, how their antlers caught the faintest glint of moonlight.

“…You’ve done enough,” 226w6 said softly, voice layered with grief and authority. “Leave them.”

The wind shifted. The rifle creaked in the hunter’s grip.

“They were never supposed to exist.”

The words cut like frost.

Pr3typriincess stiffened. The hunter’s voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t loud. It was worse than that—it was sure. Detached. Like they were stating a fact, not an opinion.

“You know what they are,” the hunter continued. “What they came from. Who made them.”

226w6 stood motionless.

“I know,” they said. “And I loved them anyway.”

The hunter took one slow step closer.

226w6’s glow flickered—not in fear, but restraint. Their voice remained calm:

“You do not get to decide who deserves to live. You do not get to erase what you don’t understand.”

“They are corruption,” the hunter said. “Fragments. Mistakes.”

“They are children,” 226w6 replied. “And you’ve hunted them through woods and shadow like they were rabid animals.”

“They’ll break things.”

“They’re already fixing them,” 226w6 whispered. “By simply existing.”

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Outside, the cicadas screamed against the heavy summer air. Inside, the fan spun lazily above an empty couch, flickering lightbulbs cast long shadows, and the faint buzz of an old computer screen echoed through the living room.

007n7 sat at the desk, hunched forward.

He stared at the monitor—blank, waiting.

The kids were gone. He’d noticed the moment the apartment shifted—like a thread had been pulled out of the walls. They hadn’t even left a note. But Pr3typriincess never remembered to.

At first, he thought they’d snuck off for bubble tea again.

Then he checked the forest.

He’d found the crushed leaves, the drag marks, the faint traces of glitter and torn hoodie threads snagged on bark.

Then he found the bullet.

A live round, lodged into a tree. Clean. Cold. Fresh.

The kind not meant for warnings.

And that’s when the shaking in his hands had started.

Not from fear.

From something older. Deeper.

He reached for the drawer. Unlocked it.

The clunk of the key turning echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Inside: an old, dented laptop, stickers peeling, hinges cracking. But it still smelled like ozone and burnt copper. Still hummed with dormant power.

He pulled it out. Plugged it in. And pressed the power button.

The boot screen blinked.

A familiar smile crept across his face. Not a happy one.

A tired one.

A resigned one.

Lines of code flickered to life.

The terminal opened.

c00lgui: initializing…
c00lgui: corruption scan complete.
c00lgui: patching old memory nodes.
c00lgui: updating from user 007n7_Core (legacy).
c00lgui: online.
ADMINISTRATOR ACCESS: GRANTED.

The air felt thicker suddenly—like the room remembered who he used to be.

He cracked his knuckles.

Dragged a USB stick from his hoodie pocket and slammed it into the port.

One more boot.

A red window flared open.

[C00l.exe]

The terminal vibrated softly as the ancient exploit woke from its slumber. Lights on the laptop pulsed once—twice—then settled into a quiet, deadly rhythm.

He leaned back.

Breathed in.

And clicked.

“Target acquired,” the interface whispered in that familiar corrupted tone—like a child’s voice run through static.

He didn’t know who they were.

He didn’t care.

All that mattered was one thing:

They had hurt his kids.

He watched as the c00lgui began scanning metadata, triangulating recent digital footprints, pulling anomalies from weather records, surveillance cams, sound logs—assembling it all like a ghost net of information no one else could see.

In the bottom corner, an avatar of C00lkidd blinked to life. Cartoonish. Grinning.

It stared back at him from the screen, animated and eager.

“Query?” it chirped.

007n7 exhaled slowly. The words felt heavy in his mouth.

“Whoever’s out there… whoever took them into those woods…”

He pressed a key.

“Track. Trace. Wipe.”

The grin on the avatar sharpened.

“Full override mode?”

He hesitated.

Just for a second.

But then he thought of Bluudud’s sleepy little smirk. Pr3ty’s stupid floaties. C00lkidd chewing on glowsticks like they were candy.

He nodded once.

“…One more time,” he whispered. “For them.”

The room dimmed as the program dove deep into the net, firing off tracer pings, rooting out hidden IPs, connecting old blacklisted nodes from his past life.

A storm was building.

And this time, he wouldn’t run.

“Sorry,” he mutters, loading it in, “I promised I was done. But they’re my kids.”

A heartbeat before the bullet struck—

CRACK.

Something fell from the trees.

Fast as a lightning bolt.

Silent as death.

KRRSH!

A sound like steel shrieking against the world—

And 1x1x1x1 hit the ground like a meteor of hatred.

No footsteps.

No warning.

Just impact.

A blackened blade of corrupted code tore through the air, obliterating the admin dart mid-flight. It didn’t just shatter—it melted, evaporating into glitching embers that fizzled on contact with her sword.

She landed hard—one foot cracking into the earth, the other coiled, ready to pounce.

Her body—pitch black and pulsing with red code—glitched unnaturally at the edges.

Her presence bent the space around her like a living error.

Fire crawled up her limbs—flames of broken data.

Her single, burning red eye locked onto the hunter ahead.

And she snarled, voice laced with venom:

“Touch my niece again— and I will staple your intestines to the trees.”

Time stopped.

The hunter flinched—just slightly.

And in that single breath—

CRUNCH.

1x’s hand shot up and crushed the hovering drone above them like a soda can.

Scrap metal rained in all directions. Sparks ignited mid-air. Fragments of corrupted tech scattered like meteor shards through the trees.

Pr3typriincess could only stare.

“…Auntie?!”

But before the shift could settle—

THWIP!

A dart slammed into 1x’s neck.

Her body jerked.

Her mouth opened in a snarl—but no words came.

Her twin swords short-circuited—one hissing out entirely, the other dropping from her grip like dead weight.

She collapsed to one knee—barely catching herself with a shaking arm.

And still—through clenched teeth—

“I’m fine.”

She was not fine.

The hunter stepped forward.

Rifle up. Visor locked.

Target acquired.

“Priority target: terminated.”

1x wheezed, chest rattling with every breath.

She raised her hand, trembling, fingers twitching—summoning something ancient, something twisted with rage and agony,

It sparked.

It flickered.

It died.

The rifle whined, charging up.

And then—

Another voice.

Cold. Clean. Cruel.

“I told you to wait.”

From the trees.

Two new figures emerged.

Sleek black armor.

Enforcers.

Sidekicks.

Pr3typriincess felt her gut twist into ice.

The first one, voice mechanical:

“Orders changed. Ghost is secondary.”

The second, staring straight at her.

“We bag the girl.”

Her breath caught.

Her grip on Bluudud’s hand tightened. C00lkidd shifted—barely—beside her.

“No,” 1x hissed.

She rised.

THWIP.

Another dart.

Straight to her gut.

She gasped—then hit the ground hard. Her glitchfire erupted one last time—then sputtered out like a dying signal.

A strangled growl rumbled in her throat, but her arms buckled.

“1X?!” Pr3typriincess screamed.

The hunter moved in.

Weapons hot. Precision locked. No hesitation.

And all Pr3ty could do—shaking, choking on fear—was pull her brothers in closer.

One hand still clutched to C00lkidd.

One hand reaching out—desperate—for her fallen aunt.

There was no plan.

No power left.

Only instinct.

Only love.

The air felt like glass.

Thin. Fragile.

One breath away from shattering.

1x1x1x1 was kneeling.

One knee in the dirt. Twitching.

Glitches crawled violently beneath her skin—flickering veins of red code seething with rage.

Her red eye—dimmed, but still burning—snapped upward as the enforcers stepped in.

Weapons crackling. Blades humming with corrupted power.
Flanking her like wolves with a fresh kill.

She was cornered.

But she didn’t flinch.

Instead—

She hissed.

The sound of someone who had been built to outlast annihilation.

She rose. Slowly. Deliberately.

Each movement glitched at the edges—space warping around her limbs, fire spiraling upward from her back in black and green tongues.

The moment she stood—

The clearing sank under her weight, like gravity itself recoiled.

Her voice came low and cold, like an ancient blade dragged from the bottom of the sea:

“If you truly believed that would be enough to kill me… then you are more foolish than I imagined.”

Her swords flickered back into her hands, born from code and wrath.

She turned—just slightly—toward the nearest enforcer.

Her eye flared.

And then. A voice, clear as a bell in a burning cathedral, cut through everything:

“1x1x1x1.”

She snapped to them, eyes wide.

Her grip tensed.

The flames halted mid-rise.

Across the field, still kneeling beside Pr3typriincess, stood 226w6.

Their antlers glowed with soft moonlight, casting long shadows across the bloodied leaves.
Mist curled at their feet like smoke from a candle.

One arm shielded the girl. The other hand rested on the ground, steady.

But their voice—though quiet—commanded the world.

“Take them.”

A pause.

1x1x1x1’s head turned slightly.

She saw them.

Bluudud—face slack, wings crumpled beneath him, unmoving.

C00lkidd—awake but barely, blinking through a haze of pain and confusion, fingers curled weakly against his side.

Something dark flickered in her expression.

A rage that was no longer wild, but sharpened.

“I’m not leaving.”

Her voice was a warning.

A promise of incoming slaughter.

But 226w6 didn’t blink. Didn’t raise their voice.

“You have to.”

“I don’t take orders.” 1x1x1x1 hissed.

“You do. Go.”

A silence cracked the air.

Their eyes met. Glowing red. Glowing blue.

There was trust in it. And loss. And something that hurt too deep to name.

1x1x1x1’s breath hissed through clenched teeth.

“Tch.”

She stood straight. Taller than before. Like pain had become irrelevant.

Then—a blur.

She crossed the clearing like a living glitch.

Before anyone could react—she had them.

Both boys hoisted in her arms like they were weightless memories.

Bluudud’s head lolled gently against her shoulder.

C00lkidd made a soft, confused sound—barely conscious.

She turned toward Pr3typriincess.

But—

CLANG.

An enforcer stepped in her path.

Blade out. Crackling with code-red energy.

1x’s grip tightened. Her eye narrowed.

The enforcer struck.

Steel against glitch.

Her forearm blocked the slash, but it rattled her.

Her foot dug into the ground. She slid back.

She could fight.

She could annihilate them.

But not while carrying both.

Not without risking them.

A beat.

A breath.

Then she locked eyes with Pr3typriincess—just once.

A flicker of fire. Of fury. Of family.

“I’ll come back.”

Then—

BOOM.

She vanished in a burst of glitchfire—trees rattling, leaves igniting in her wake, grass scorched into glowing runes.

The hunter didn’t chase.

Not yet.

Their visor turned.

Red light locking onto what remained:

The girl.

The ghost.

Pr3typriincess stood frozen, heart threatening to crack her ribs.
She could barely breathe.

226w6 rose beside her.

No longer kneeling.

No longer still.

They stood with quiet purpose, body relaxed, eyes bright with eerie calm.

Three enemies.

Encircling the clearing like vultures. Weapons primed. Fog pulling in like a velvet noose.

And Pr3ty, voice small, whispering like it might shatter her—

“…what do we do now?”

226w6 didn’t look back.

Didn’t falter.

Their voice came soft. Certain.

Final.

“Now, we end this.”

Twisted branches clawed at her sides. Bark cracked beneath her feet.

Every stride left scorched grass and flickering glitches in her wake—the land itself recoiling from her corrupted weight. But she didn’t slow down.

Not for the thorns.

Not for the blood trailing from her ribs.

Not for the screaming in her limbs.

She had them.

And she wasn’t letting go.

One arm cradled Bluudud—completely unconscious, head lolled against her shoulder, limbs limp like a broken doll.
The other supported C00lkidd, slung halfway over her back, legs dragging, his body fever-warm and twitching every few seconds.

They were too small. Too light.

They shouldn’t be this light.

Her breath came ragged.

Each inhale tasted like fire and raw code.

But her feet didn’t stop.

Run.

Run.

Don’t look back.

The clearing was long gone. The shouts, the orders, the guns—gone.

Just trees now. And dark.

And a broken path that even she didn’t recognize.

She didn’t know where she was going.

Only who she had to save.

C00lkidd stirred.

A small noise. A whimper. Then:

“…uhgh… mmnn. W-what’s…”

His voice was weak, slurred, confused. His head bumped against her shoulder. One eye half-opened, glossy and unfocused.

She glanced down at him.

His small hand clutched at her cloak blindly, like a child searching for something familiar.

“…my… shoulder hurts… where’s Blu… where’s… Pr3ty…?”

1x didn’t speak right away.

She leapt over a fallen log. Swerved past a shattered admin barrier—its edge still fizzing with ghost code.

Then, as the terrain smoothed for just a heartbeat, she spoke.

Not cold.

Not cruel.

But low. Quiet. Careful. “Bluudud is with us. He’s safe. You’re safe.”

C00lkidd blinked, slower this time. He looked up—only to flinch at the red glow from her eye.

He winced. Tried to lift his head again. Couldn’t.

“Why’s it… cold…?” he mumbled. “…Why’s my arm not… moving right…?”

She shifted him slightly, bracing his body better against her. She was strong—but she did it gently. Like she was holding something fragile for the first time in years.

“You took a hit,” she murmured. “You were brave. Stupidly brave.”

“…Sounds like me…” he breathed.

She huffed.

“Yeah. It does.”

The sound of the forest grew quieter. The trees thinned.

She adjusted Bluudud carefully in her hold—his wing twitching slightly—and looked down at C00lkidd again.

“I’m going to fix this,” she said, steady and soft. “You just hold on.”

He blinked once more.

“You’re not… scary up close,” he mumbled.

That stopped her for a breath.

She kept running.

“Then you’re not paying attention,” she said.

But there was no heat in it.

Just the wind. And the dark. And the sound of broken code sparking beneath her feet as she carried both boys toward whatever safety was left.

Under her breath, “I’ll kill the bastard who touched them.”

With the boys gone, the forest feels bigger.

Every shadow stretches longer. Every leaf seems to shiver with anticipation. And in the hollow that remains, only two figures stand:

A girl clutching a broken stick.

And the ghost shielding her with their entire form.

226w6’s body flickers, fragments phasing in and out like corrupted reflections. Their antlers pulse dimly with residual energy, and their eyes burn—a calm, steady defiance that doesn’t waver, even as the woods begin to fill.

First three.

Then five.

Then more.

Each one emerging from the dark like a reset command—faceless helmets, grey armor marked with dim red sigils, rifles glinting in the moonlight.

The clearing swells with silence. It breathes like a held breath.

Then one of the soldiers steps forward.

Their voice is smooth, sterile. The tone of a machine that learned politeness just enough to condescend.

“You were supposed to stay dead, 226w6.”

A pause.

The ghost’s voice is soft. Not mocking. Just… tired.

“But I didn’t.”

A ripple runs through the line of hunters—some flinching subtly, others steady. The lead lowers their weapon slightly, as if indulging the ghost for a moment more.

“You’re not on the registry. You’re not part of any active build.”

“No,” 226w6 says quietly, “I was grief-deleted. Legacy error. Didn’t take.”

They step forward once—just enough that their cloak brushes Pr3typriincess’s shoulder, signaling silently: Don’t move.

The lead hunter speaks again.

“This girl—this anomaly. We don’t know what she is.”

He doesn’t look at her. Like she’s just a variable in an unstable string.

“She was never approved. Her existence doesn’t follow any source logic we’ve recovered. No template. No override authority. A cancelled file.”

A pause.

“And we don’t trust cancelled files.”

Pr3typriincess grips the stick tighter. It shakes in her hands. But she doesn’t drop it.

Her knees are scraped. There’s dried blood on her elbow. Her ribbons are torn.

But her eyes are burning.

“I’m not a file,” she says, voice low, jaw locked.

“I’m a person.”

The hunter doesn’t even blink. They lift their rifle a little higher.

“You’re a risk.”

226w6 doesn’t move. But their presence darkens—something ancient uncoiling behind their eyes.

“You call her dangerous. You built entire killers. You encouraged systems to collapse for power. She’s eleven. She likes glitter and bubble tea.”

The ghost lifts their hand—not to attack, but to gesture. Slow. Poetic.

“You were never scared of what she is. You were scared you didn’t write her.”

That makes some of the soldiers tense.

Pr3typriincess swallows hard. Her hand brushes 226w6’s cloak again, grounding herself.

“So what now?” she asks, almost a whisper.

226w6 glances down, then forward.

The hunters close in, rifles up. One of them speaks. “We don’t want to kill you.”

“You couldn’t,” 226w6 murmurs.

Another beat.

And in it, the wind dies. Even the cicadas go still.

Then, louder, sharper—226w6’s voice breaks the stillness like a fault line. “Don’t dare to take one more step.”

Back in his cluttered living room, the glow of four mismatched monitors bathes everything in soft blue light.

The clock reads ‘2:12 AM’

The keyboard clacks like a typewriter possessed. Dust motes swirl in the air, disturbed by the hum of an ancient cooling fan struggling for life.

007n7 is hunched in his swivel chair, hoodie thrown on like battle armor. Eyes bloodshot, mouse flying. His fingers move with the muscle memory of a retired god.

His terminal—ancient, patched with duct tape and vengeance—sputters to life with a nostalgic hiss. The C00l.exe interface opens in full admin overlay. The old GUI flares red.

A prompt flashes.

TARGET: UNKNOWN THREAT
PROTOCOL: PROTECTIVE OVERRIDE
ACTION: ?

He doesn’t hesitate. He types.

ACTION: HUNT.

Strings of command line code spill across the screen like venom. 007n7 leans back slightly, breathing hard, his jaw clenched.

“You don’t touch my kids,” he mutters. His voice is low. Dead serious.

The lights on the console pulse. Something rumbles beneath the surface—an exploit dormant for years, now stirring.

He leans in again. Eyes narrowed.

“You don’t ever touch my kids.”

CONNECTION ESTABLISHED.

The monitors flicker.

Chapter Text

The abandoned safehouse shudders as the door slams shut with a metallic echo.

Dust rains from the ceiling. Rusted chains sway from hooks above, untouched in years. The windows are boarded tight, the air stale with old, static-laced silence.

1x1x1x1 stands with her back to the door, glitching hard. Sparks twitch off her shoulder as the tranquilizer works deeper into her corrupted code. Her arm seizes once, then resets with a violent jerk. She growls through gritted teeth.

The scent of old data clings to the walls. This place—half-forgotten in time, hidden in a dead zone of admin fog—was once a fallback, a shelter built in an age of broken scripts and bloodied friendships. Only she and Shedletsky ever used it. Only they remember how to get here.

She breathes.

Once.

Then again—sharper this time.

There’s a couch shoved against one of the far walls, threadbare and moth-eaten. C00lkidd lies limp across it, unconscious. His shoulder is freshly bandaged, though the blood’s already soaking through. His face is pale. Peaceful, somehow.

Bluudud sits beside him, small and shaken. His wings are folded in tight, his knees pulled to his chest. He stares blankly at the floor, not crying, not speaking.

Just trembling.

But not from fear.

From something quieter.

Deeper.

Guilt.

“We left her…” he whispers.

His voice is cracked. Dry. Like his throat hasn’t worked in hours.

“We left Pr3ty…”

His words drift across the room, barely touching 1x.

She doesn’t respond.

She paces.

Back and forth. Fast. Erratic. Static flickers with every step she takes. The tranquilizer still claws at her spine, dragging a heavy numbness through her limbs—but she’s too furious to stop.

Her claws twitch. Her eye burns.

She’s panicking—but quiet about it. Focused panic. The kind that stinks of failure.

Then—

Flash.

A fractured, flickering memory overlays the present. Like broken TV static laced with emotion:

She’s running. Trees blur. She’s carrying both boys—her arms ache, but her eyes are locked on the girl just behind her.

Pr3typriincess, hair tangled, face scraped, still running—still so close.

1x’s hand shoots back, reaching.

Almost.

She almost had her.

Fingers brushing—

“GO!”

Pr3ty’s voice, sharp with fear, echoes louder than any gunshot.

Red laser sights dance across her hoodie, her arms, her chest.

A sniper line creeps up 1x’s own neck.

She freezes. Instinct kicks in.

Fight or flight.

She turns. Runs.

And hates herself for it.

Flashback ends.

She stops pacing and slams her palm into the wall—hard enough to dent the metal.

The lights overhead flicker.

“Damn it…”

The whisper leaks from her lips before she can stop it.

Bluudud finally lifts his head. His voice is quiet. Careful.

“…Was it the right thing?”

1x doesn’t look at him.

She doesn’t answer.

She’s glitching too badly to lie. And too furious to give him comfort.

But her silence is loud enough.

Bluudud stares at his hands.

“…I should’ve done something.”

His fingers dig into his knees.

“I just—stood there. I didn’t move. I let her—”

“Stop.”

The word comes out rough.

He looks up.

1x is still facing the wall. Her voice, when it comes again, is lower.

More controlled.

“You were drugged. And she told us to go.”

“But—”

“She made a choice.”

“…She shouldn’t have had to.”

1x closes her eye.

Her glitching slows, just a bit.

“…No. She shouldn’t have.”

A long silence follows.

The safehouse creaks around them—like even it is mourning.

Bluudud exhales shakily and brushes his knuckles against C00lkidd’s wrist—checking for warmth. Still there. Still breathing.

“I just…” he murmurs. “I thought we’d always be together.”

1x slowly turns.

Her posture is heavy now, not sharp. The weight of the night settles over her shoulders like ash.

She walks over, kneels by the couch, and rests her clawed hand—lightly—on Bluudud’s back.

He tenses.

Then relaxes.

Another small surprise: her hand is warm.

“I’ll get her back,” she says softly. Almost to herself. “I don’t care how many bastards I have to rip apart to do it.”

The fire’s back in her voice. Not a scream. Just a promise.

She stands again, steadying herself against a table.

The dart still glows dimly in her side.

And even now, her eye flickers with that same dangerous light.

She looks down at the boys.

C00lkidd, unconscious and bleeding.

Bluudud, guilt-ridden and heartbroken.

Her family.

And the one missing.

“Rest,” she says.

The door hadn’t even cooled behind her when Bluudud stood up.

Quietly. Sharply.

Like something inside him had snapped.

“I’m going back,” he said.

His voice was too calm. Too sure.

1x1x1x1 froze in her step—one foot still in the darkened hall beyond. The air shifted. She turned slowly, red eye gleaming in the shadows.

“No,” she said. “You’re not.”

Bluudud didn’t blink.

C00lkidd stirred faintly on the couch, still unconscious, arm twitching in pain—but Bluudud barely noticed. His wings were still tucked tight, his hands balled at his sides.

“I have to,” he said. “She’s still out there. We left her.”

1x stepped back into the room, glitching harder now—like something frayed inside her code every time he spoke. Her claws flexed once, then tightened into fists.

“You were drugged,” she snapped. “You can barely stand.”

Bluudud straightened his spine in defiance.

“I can walk.”

“You think that’s enough?” Her voice was rising now—sharp, serrated at the edges. “You think you can walk back into that mess and fix it? You don’t even know what’s waiting out there!”

He took a step forward.

She took two toward him.

“Don’t be stupid,” she growled. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m not stupid,” he bit back. “I’m scared. But I’m not leaving her behind.”

The words cracked something.

1x’s mouth opened, then shut.

She turned abruptly, teeth bared—not at him, but at herself. Her posture twitched like her whole system was caught in a loop. Glitches pulsed from her eye socket down her jaw, red and green code fizzing under her skin.

“I just—” she started, voice faltering.

Then she turned back.

And yelled—not out of fury, but desperation.

“I just started caring about you little idiots,” she shouted, voice shaking, “and I refuse to cry about it!”

The room went dead quiet.

The sound echoed like it didn’t know where to land.

Even the hum of old monitors seemed to cut out.

Bluudud’s breath hitched—but he didn’t speak. He just looked at her. Not afraid. Not angry.

Just… soft.

Surprised, maybe.

1x looked away sharply. Her claws clenched and unclenched.

“I’m not watching another one of you die,” she said, quieter now. A rasp behind her teeth. “Not when I could stop it.”

She stared at the broken floorboards, then at the wall, then at the ceiling—anywhere but his eyes.

Her voice dropped low. Flat. Wounded.

“We’ll go back. But not like this.”

She looked at him now.

Not blinking. Not glitching.

Just steady.

“Not dumb. Not dead.”

Bluudud’s shoulders slumped slightly. The fight in him didn’t vanish—but it softened. Like a held breath released.

He walked over—slow, exhausted—and sat beside C00lkidd again. One hand reached over, gently brushing C00l’s sleeve. The other pulled the wing-wrapped blanket tighter around himself.

“I just want her back,” he whispered.

1x turned her gaze to the door.

The fog beyond it felt miles wide.

“And we will,” she said. “But we’re going to do it right.”

Silence settled again, deep and strangely alive—like the room itself was holding its breath.

C00lkidd twitched once. Bluudud sat quiet, his eyes unfocused, fingers still gently clutching his brother’s sleeve.

1x1x1x1 stood there for another long second, watching them—her red eye dimmed slightly, the flickers of glitch slowing to a soft shimmer in her limbs. Her breathing, if it could be called that, sounded static-warped but slower now. Grounded.

Then she moved.

Not fast. Not loud. Like a shadow remembering how to walk.

She drifted away from the kids and began to sweep the room with her eyes.

Old instincts clicked into place. Shedletsky would’ve called it paranoia. She called it caution.

The safehouse was ancient. Cobwebs stretched like forgotten scripts in every corner, dust thicker than memory. 

Crates, long since rotted, lay stacked along the back wall. Rusted lockers, twisted vents, exposed wires. Everything smelled faintly like server heat and bitter metal.

1x clicked her claws softly, humming low—a private, broken-glass frequency. Sometimes corrupted code could disturb wildlife. Or… worse.

She moved to the kitchen—if it could still be called that. The counter was split, the fridge hung open like a mouth full of static. She peeked in anyway. Empty, save for a single, old can of Bloxy Cola that had fused with the shelf. She kicked the fridge door shut and turned.

She stalked the far wall next—eyeing for traps, old admin tripwires, proximity echoes. She didn’t trust even her own memories of this place. Too long. Too many years. Her corruption made certain data slippery—half-deleted thoughts clawing to stay.

She paused at the hallway.

A light flickered—one of the old green safety lamps still pulsing faintly on backup power.

She sniffed the air.

It was quiet. But not dead.

Someone had walked these halls in the last month. She knew the smell—faint, sour electricity and something else. Maybe a proxy, maybe just an animal.

Either way, it wasn’t enough to risk moving them again.

Not yet.

She returned to the main room. Her claws clicked against the floorboards—soft enough not to disturb, loud enough to feel present.

The kids hadn’t moved.

Bluudud was still cradled in his own wings, gently brushing a blanket up over C00lkidd’s good arm.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, her body silhouetted in the last sliver of hallway light, then turned back to the room.

She sat in a corner.

Cross-legged.

Facing the door.

One hand on her corrupted sword-hilt. The other twitching with quiet code.

Her red eye glowed.

Watching.

Waiting.

They were safe for now.

For now.

The woods didn’t feel like woods anymore.

They felt like walls. Closing in. Silent. Heavy.

Pr3typriincess stood half-behind 226w6, gripping a snapped stick like it was a sword—her knuckles white, her stance wide, her eyes burning with something between terror and defiance.

Across from them, the hunters stood still—seven now. Maybe more hiding behind the trees. Their visors reflected the faint green haze of 226w6’s glitch-light, casting cold, expressionless mirrors back at her.

The one in front stepped forward.

Their armor didn’t creak. Their boots didn’t crunch. They moved like code—efficient, silent, inevitable.

“You were supposed to stay dead, 226w6.”

226w6 didn’t blink. Their form flickered faintly, half-phased between presence and memory. Their eyes glowed brighter, shifting from gentle phosphor to a sharper, more unnatural white.

“Was I?” they replied.

A quiet ripple passed through the line of hunters, barely visible. Fingers tightened on triggers. Safeties clicked off. Not a single rifle raised—yet.

“You glitch,” the lead hunter said. “You fade. You were never stable. We gave you peace when we shut you down.”

“You gave me silence,” 226w6 said, tone cool. “Not peace.”

They stepped forward—not far. Just one step. Enough.

“And you never shut me down. You just forgot how to read me.”

Their voice glitched slightly at the end, like an old VHS tearing mid-sentence. Pr3ty flinched behind them—but didn’t retreat.

The lead hunter didn’t move.

“We’re not here for you.”

“No,” 226w6 agreed. “You’re here for her.”

A hand drifted subtly in front of Pr3typriincess. Not shielding—anchoring.

The hunter’s visor reflected her face. Pink hoodie torn. Dirt on her cheeks. Eyes fierce.

“She’s not what we expected,” the hunter said. “No record. No parameters. No protocols written for this kind of anomaly.”

Pr3ty finally spoke, her voice small, sharp:

“I’m not an anomaly.”

The hunter tilted their head.

Pr3ty’s grip tightened around her stick.

“I’m not a file,” she said. Louder now. Firmer. 

Silence.

226w6 didn’t look back, but something in their posture shifted—pride, maybe. A quiet weight lifted.

The hunter didn’t respond for a moment.

Then they turned slightly—to the rest of their unit.

“Tag and recover.”

The others moved.

Not with guns raised—but with cold, surgical certainty. A formation tightening like a noose.

226w6’s flickering stepped up a gear. They spread their arms slightly. Light crackled from their feet up to their shoulders, arcing like fire trapped in water.

“Don’t,” they warned.

The lead hunter hesitated. For the first time, just a second of pause.

“You’ll corrupt yourself beyond restoration,” they said. “You’re already unstable.”

226w6 smiled—but there was no warmth in it.

“I’d rather burn than let you take her.”

Behind them, Pr3ty’s knees shook—but she didn’t fall. Her hand trembled—but she didn’t drop the stick.

She whispered, just loud enough for 226w6 to hear:

“…I’m scared.”

“So am I,” 226w6 murmured.

They turned slightly—just enough to show the edge of a smile. Just enough to be soft.

“But we don’t run.”

The hunter raised one hand.

“Stand down.”

The others froze—still crouched, mid-approach.

Pr3ty blinked.

226w6 didn’t.

“Why?”

“Because this doesn’t need to be a conflict yet.”

The hunter looked directly at Pr3typriincess now.

“We don’t know what you are. But we know you shouldn’t exist. And when something exists without permission…”

Their fingers tapped the side of their rifle.

Pr3typriincess glared. “So you’re going to hurt me because you’re scared?”

“We’re not scavengers,” the lead said. “We’re protocol. The girl is undocumented code. A file that shouldn’t exist.”

“I’m not a file!” Pr3tpriincess repeated, voice cracking—half scream, half defiance.

226w6 took a half-step back—closer to her, protective still.

“She is more than what you can define,” they said quietly.

Another hunter spoke up, voice slightly modulated. “Her presence destabilizes nearby admin layers. She triggers forgotten scripts. She radiates residual memory.”

“She radiates hope,” 226w6 countered.

“That’s worse.”

Pr3ty’s nails dug into her palms. “Why do you even care?“

“You exist,” the lead hunter said simply. “And we don’t trust cancelled files.”

Silence again.

226w6 tilted their head slightly, like listening for something distant.

The hunters all slowly stepped into position—forming a wide arc around them, careful, calculating.

It wasn’t an attack.

Not yet.

But it was a warning.

Pr3typriincess whispered, “You think you can just take me?”

The lead hunter didn’t answer.

But they didn’t lower the weapon either.

226w6’s glow dimmed for a moment, then brightened again. Their body twitched slightly—a corruption ripple through their left arm. Ghosts weren’t built to stand this long. Not like this.

They breathed anyway. A habit from when they were alive.

And quietly said, “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

A branch cracked somewhere beyond the tree line.

Then another.

There were no voices this time. No commands.

Just movement.

Precision.

Then one stepped into view.

Another hunter.

Pr3ty’s breath hitched, and she instinctively grabbed a broken stick off the forest floor. It was dull, splintered, useless—but it was something. Her hands shook as she raised it like a bat.

The hunter lifted their rifle.

“Stay behind me,” 226w6 said without looking. Their form shimmered—flickering with corrupted light as a translucent shield of code shimmered around their body.

Another hunter emerged to the left.

Then another to the right.

Then five.

Seven.

Nine.

A slow, coordinated circle closing in—step by quiet step, as if the forest itself had chosen them.

Pr3ty’s knees buckled slightly. “W-We can’t fight all of them…”

“We’re not going to fight all of them,” 226w6 said, voice strange—distorted slightly by the glitches lancing through their jaw. “Just enough to make them rethink this.”

Then the rifles rose.

And all at once, the silence broke.

Crack.

A shot flew past 226w6’s head, catching a flick of hair and blowing a hole through the bark behind them.

The ghost blurred—phase-shifting like a shattered mirror, body scattering into fragments and reassembling again as they moved. They swung their palm forward—and a wall of flickering sigils exploded outward, pushing two hunters back.

“Run, Pr3ty!” they shouted.

But Pr3ty didn’t run.

She swung.

Useless stick and all.

It connected with the arm of a hunter who hadn’t expected her to charge.

The stick cracked instantly. Her hand jolted from the impact.

The hunter turned.

And backhanded her.

Hard.

She hit the ground in a heap, coughing, dirt in her mouth, glitter stuck in her eyelashes. The trees swam above her.

“Ghk—!”

Another shot rang out—this one hitting 226w6 directly in the shoulder.

Their body jolted, glitching violently. Their scream was brief—like a server crash—then they collapsed to one knee.

Two hunters moved in toward Pr3ty now. She tried to stand. She couldn’t. Her legs were jelly, her chest too tight.

One hunter reached down.

Their hand hovered over her neck—fingers twitching.

She whimpered. Then growled. Then tried to bite.

“Don’t—touch me—”

A third hunter raised their rifle to 226w6’s skull.

The ghost lifted their head slowly.

“You don’t… win,” they rasped.

The hunter’s grip tightened on the trigger.

All the trees went silent again.

A wind shifted.

No… not a wind.

A wave.

The kind of shift the code itself feels.

POP.

The sound of digital displacement.

A flash of black and purple code burst open in the air twenty feet behind them.

A figure landed in a crouch—cloaked in shadow and sparks of glitch.

Their long coat settled.

Their ancient gear beeped and hissed, lights flickering along a dusty admin terminal strapped to their back.

The hunter nearest Pr3ty turned.

The one pointing the gun at 226w6 froze.

Every hunter lifted their gaze.

And standing between the trees, posture low and face unreadable, stood 007n7.

His hands crackled with quiet light.

And floating beside him, pulsing with familiar red and blue UI—

Was the c00lgui.

Alive.

Awake.

Primed.

“Get the hell away from my kids,” 007n7 said.

His voice was tired. Rough. But sharp.

The kind of sharp that cut through protocol.

Through fear.

Even Pr3ty, still crumpled and gasping in the dirt, blinked in disbelief.

“…Dad?”

The c00lgui pulsed.

“ADMIN ACCESS: RESTORED.”

The lead hunter finally spoke.

“Target: 007n7. Status: rogue exploitant. Threat level: high.”

“Damn right,” 007n7 muttered.

Then, without lifting a hand, he whispered:

“/glitchpulse: burst mode.”

The world detonated in white static.

The trees hissed.

Not with wind.

Not with code.

But with smoke.

Pale digital mist curled around shattered bark and melted rifles. The forest floor had been scarred—lines of smoldering script burned into the dirt where the c00lgui’s command had detonated. Bits of tech armor sparked, sizzled, and dissolved into floating fragments of unrendered matter.

Silence reigned.

A cough.

Choked. Weak.

Pr3typriincess.

She pushed herself upright on scraped elbows, blinking hard through tears and static. Her ears rang. Her chest burned. But her eyes found the figure through the fog—

007n7, standing with the c00lgui still pulsing beside his shoulder. He hadn’t moved since the blast. His coat was torn at the hem, but his face…

His face was stone.

And behind him, no hunter remained standing.

Some had fled—staggering into the woods, rifles dropped. Others lay unconscious, tangled in vines of admin rootcode that slithered and bound them. One tried to crawl away, and 007n7 didn’t even look at them—he just twitched a finger.

The hunter froze in place, stuck mid-crawl like someone had paused them.

“Freeze all hostiles,” the c00lgui murmured, its voice tinny and sharp.

“Done,” 007n7 muttered, almost like an afterthought.

He finally walked forward.

Pr3ty stared up at him, stunned. “You… you really came.”

“I always do,” he said simply.

Then dropped to a crouch in front of her, eyes softening just a fraction.

“You alright, sparklebomb?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Shook her head. “Not really.”

He smiled thinly. “Good. Means you’re honest.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder—warm, grounding, careful not to touch any fresh bruises. “They didn’t take anything from you, alright? You’re still you.”

She looked like she might cry—but didn’t.

Not yet.

Behind them, 226w6’s form flickered violently, kneeling in the grass.

“Status: compromised,” they said hoarsely.

007n7 looked up.

“Status: appreciated,” he said, and walked to them.

They met eyes. Code to ghost. They didn’t speak for a moment.

Then 007n7 offered a hand.

226w6 took it—slowly. Their hand flickered through his twice before stabilizing.

“I didn’t think you’d still use that thing,” they murmured, glancing at the c00lgui.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t,” he replied. “But I promised them more.”

He glanced back at Pr3ty, who was now sitting against a tree with her knees pulled to her chest.

A small silence fell over them again—punctuated only by the hissing sparks of broken weapons dissolving into code ash.

Then 007n7 said:

“We need to get out of here. Fast. Before they reboot.”

He paused.

“Where are the boys?”

Pr3ty looked up, guilt flashing over her face.

“1x took them. I told them to run. I—I thought they’d be safe.”

“They probably are,” 007n7 said quickly, calming her with a raised palm. “If anyone can tank a few million rounds and still carry two kids like handbags, it’s 1x.”

Pr3ty huffed a broken laugh.

“I just… I wanted to be brave. I wanted to protect them.”

“And you did,” 226w6 said from behind.

“You bought them time.”

A few more seconds passed.

Then 007n7 turned to the c00lgui again, fingers twitching in command.

“/ping 1x1x1x1.”

The screen blinked.

Location found: Safehouse.

“They’re alive,” he murmured, relief cracking into his voice.

He turned toward Pr3ty.

“Come on, princess. Let’s go get your family back together.”

She nodded slowly.

And with 007n7 on one side and 226w6 on the other, Pr3ty stood—bloodied, scraped, but still glowing faintly in the moonlight.

Still herself.

Still here.

The safehouse creaked.

It had long since given up the idea of being silent—its old vents groaned, its walls hissed with the faint hum of dormant security, and a constant tick-tick-tick echoed from a busted power relay near the door. Dust floated like ghosts in the light from a cracked monitor. The air smelled faintly of copper and forgotten memories.

1x1x1x1 paced like a cornered animal.

Even after tending to the boys—C00lkidd wrapped in extra gauze, Bluudud laid across old couch cushions like a bundled-up duck—her twitching hand refused to relax. Static clung to her fingertips, sparking with every brush of her fingers against the metal wall. She kept glancing toward the shuttered windows. Waiting for the sound of boots. Of orders.

Of failure.

Bluudud had finally dozed off, still curled, wings crumpled but no longer twitching. His breathing was slow. Uneven. But steady.

C00lkidd, patched and dazed, shifted occasionally and mumbled in his sleep—gritted teeth and furrowed brows as if fighting in a dream.

1x hovered near them both, just out of reach. She hadn’t sat down once.

A sound.

The door buzzed.

Her head snapped toward it, fingers instantly curling into claws, flames sparking up her spine with a low growl.

A second buzz.

A knock?

No. A pulse.

Something scanned the lock.

She darted forward, glitching hard—poised to rip whoever stood beyond the threshold in half.

And then the door opened.

Light poured in.

And standing in the threshold, panting, hair wind-blown and eyes wild, was—

“Bluudud—?!”

118o8 burst into the room.

Her knife was still in one hand, but she wasn’t here to fight.

She saw him—

Curled on the couch, wrapped in a too-big hoodie, face pale but visible—and her entire body stopped moving for half a breath.

She crossed the space in three strides.

Fell to her knees.

And crushed him in a hug.

“Baby—my baby—”

Her voice broke as she pulled him upright against her chest, burying her face in his hair.

Bluudud stirred, dazed. His hands fumbled and found the arms around him. His brain caught up slowly.

“…Mom?”

A choked sob. She nodded furiously.

“Yes—yes, it’s me, I—God, you’re here, you’re okay—”

He blinked, confused. “How did… you…”

“Doesn’t matter,” she whispered, holding him tighter. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

1x stood in the corner, arms crossed, face unreadable. She looked away after a moment, as if privacy was a thing she’d never needed before but understood now.

They didn’t say much more.

They didn’t need to.

C00lkidd shifted on the couch, groaning faintly. 118o8 looked over just enough to check that he was still breathing, then hugged Bluudud tighter, whispering into his hair.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you now.”

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice raw.

“After… that?”

“I’m okay now,” he murmured. “Mostly.”

118o8 exhaled, holding his face with both hands like he was the most precious thing in the universe.

She was about to ask another question—about the bandages, or where he’d been—but instead, she paused.

Looked over her shoulder.

Met 1x’s gaze in the hallway.

Their eyes locked for a long, strange moment—one glowing red, one glassy with tears.

“…Thank you,” 118o8 said quietly, chuckling bitterly. “Again.”

1x didn’t answer. She simply nodded once and disappeared further down the hall.

The room was quiet again.

But this time, it wasn’t tense.

It was warm.

The safehouse door creaked open again.

No one jumped this time — no weapons raised, no powers flared.

Only stillness, and then familiar voices.

“…Whoa. This place is worse than my closet,” 007n7 muttered as he stepped inside, brushing leaves from his coat.

Behind him, Pr3typriincess stumbled in on wobbling legs, still scratched but alert, her cheeks flushed from the cold air. 226w6 hovered behind her, flickering faintly — and yet, for once, standing a little taller.

Inside, the room was already alight with quiet sounds — the scratch of movement, a stifled sniffle, a glowstick being chewed far too loudly by C00lkidd on the couch.

1x glanced up from her perch on the arm of the sofa, one leg drawn up, her eye half-lidded. She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t need to.

Bluudud looked up from where he sat on the couch beside C00l — and the moment he spotted Pr3ty, he scrambled upright with sudden energy.

“Pr3ty!!”

“Bluu!”

They collided halfway, arms wrapping around each other tight, wings and glitter and bandages colliding.

“Are you okay??” she asked breathlessly.

“I should ask you that!”

007n7 paused in the doorway.

And standing in front of him, arms folded but her eyes glistening, was 118o8.

Her voice wavered as she spoke.

“You brought him back to me.”

“I didn’t do it alone,” 007n7 said, his voice low, steady.

But it didn’t matter.

She moved in and pulled him into a hug before he could finish.

“Ack—! Jeez, woman—!” he grunted, caught off guard.

But he didn’t pull away.

She squeezed like someone trying to memorize him.

“Thank you,” she whispered, fierce and trembling. “Thank you for keeping my baby alive.”

He huffed a breath — a mix between a laugh and a sigh. “Wasn’t easy. You know how many lemon packets he tried to eat?”

“Of course he did,” she muttered fondly.

When she finally pulled back, she turned toward 226w6 — still floating nearby, their presence faint and rippling like a mirage.

Her expression softened.

“…Can I…?”

226w6 blinked. “You may try.”

118o8 reached forward—but her arms passed right through.

She laughed once, dry and teary. “Tch. Figures.”

226w6 gave her the ghost of a smile. “It’s the thought that counts.”

They shared a nod.

And then, as if the world knew what came next, 226w6 turned toward Pr3typriincess.

The room went still.

The others faded to background noise.

Pr3typriincess stepped forward slowly, swallowing hard.

She wasn’t crying, but she looked like she could at any moment.

“You saved me.”

“You saved yourself,” 226w6 replied. “I just showed up.”

“I… I thought I’d lost you again.”

226w6 drifted closer, their hand reaching — almost touching her cheek before flickering through.

Their voice softened to a whisper:

“You weren’t a mistake. Not ever. You were never just made. You were chosen.”

She clenched her fists.

They hovered in front of her for one more breathless moment, and then said:

“Don’t be afraid to shine. Even if they try to put you in a box… explode the box.”

Pr3ty laughed through a sniffle. “That’s not even a good quote.”

“I’m dead, not a writer.”

They both smiled.

Then 226w6 leaned close, resting their forehead lightly against hers—or, at least, the ghost of it.

“See you later.”

And with a final flicker.

They vanished.

Just gone.

No collapse. Just—

Peace.

The room held still for a long moment.

007n7 clapped his hands.

“Alright. Enough emotional damage for one day. We’re going home.”

He hoisted a groaning C00lkidd over his shoulder.

C00l muttered, muffled against his coat.

“Yeah, yeah. Off to the hospital, you dramatic noodle.”

Pr3ty and Bluudud followed behind, leaning against each other. 

Exhausted, quiet, but warm.

118o8 remained behind for a moment in the doorway, watching them go.

Then she smiled softly, hand on the frame.

Her voice was quiet.

“Don’t forget to visit your mother, Bluu.”

He didn’t answer out loud.

But his wings fluttered once.

The sun was rising through the trees when they left the safehouse behind—the golden light just barely reaching through the leaves as the door swung shut with a soft click.

As the door to 007n7’s apartment shut and the kids’ laughter echoed faintly down the hall, a screen somewhere deep within the system flickered to life.

Not in the city.

Not in the world.

But beneath it.

Lines of old code crawled across the black, bleeding red symbols and corrupted strings.

A buried terminal. Forgotten. Watching.

RE-INITIALIZING: SPAWN INITIATIVE…
SCANNING FOR ACTIVE SUBJECTS…
GLITCHBORN DETECTED.
RECOVERY PROTOCOL [ALPHA/RED] ENGAGED.

Somewhere, a cursor blinked.

Waiting.

Then—a file opened.

A name at the top.

And beneath it, a note written in faded text:

“Let’s fix it.”

The screen flickered once.

Then went dark.

Chapter Text

The automatic doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss, and out walked C00lkidd, chest puffed out like he’d just survived a boss fight. A white bandage wrapped around his shoulder, decorated with two cartoon ducks and a hospital smiley sticker. He wore it like a medal of valor. In one hand: a juice box, slightly crushed. In the other: a lollipop he wasn’t supposed to have taken.

“They said I wasn’t gonna make it,” he announced grandly to the world, taking a long, loud sip. “I did. I WIN.”

Bluudud followed a step behind, holding a large plastic bag stuffed with hospital snacks, crinkly water bottles, and someone’s forgotten slipper. His wings were a little ruffled from the hospital cot, but his pace was steady. He didn’t even look up when he replied, flat:

“They literally just said you had to stop licking the IV stand.”

“I was testing the flavor profile,” C00lkidd huffed, indignant. “It tasted like pain and metal. Very exclusive.”

“No one asked for a flavor review.”

Behind them, Pr3typriincess stepped out into the sun last, hoodie sleeves pulled down past her wrists, the hospital ID bracelet still hanging loosely from one. She didn’t say anything right away—just blinked at the daylight, squinting like it was the first she’d seen in years.

C00lkidd did a slow spin on the sidewalk.

“Man, I missed not-hospital air. Hospital air tastes like bandaids.”

“Stop tasting the air,” Bluudud muttered.

“Can’t stop. Won’t stop.”

The two of them kept bickering, but Pr3ty just followed a few steps behind, quiet.

Bluudud tossed her a juice box without looking. She caught it one-handed, blinked down at it in surprise.

C00lkidd tried to balance his on his head. Failed.

Bluudud shook his head.

And Pr3ty…

She didn’t laugh. Not really.

But she smiled.

Small.

Tired.

But real.

A sharp honk broke through the late morning air.

“Gremlins!”

C00lkidd nearly jumped out of his hospital-issued socks.

Across the drop-off lane, 007n7 leaned out the driver’s side of a dented sedan, one hand tapping impatiently on the wheel, the other holding a half-empty energy drink.

“Car. Now.”

Bluudud sighed and adjusted the snack bag on his shoulder.

Pr3ty gave her juice box one final sip before tossing it in the recycling bin.

C00lkidd shuffled over with zero shame, grinning. “Did you see how cool I looked in the hospital mirror though? Like, if I was a video game boss, I’d be the one with one glowing eye and a tragic backstory—”

“In the car,” 007n7 interrupted flatly.

They piled in—C00lkidd claiming the front seat before anyone else could, Bluudud and Pr3typriincess sliding into the back.

Once the doors shut and the AC kicked in with a tired wheeze, 007n7 didn’t say anything.

Not at first.

He just pulled out of the hospital lot, made a slow left turn, and drove in silence for a block.

“I should ground all three of you until the sun explodes.”

C00lkidd let out a strangled noise. “Hey—!”

“No. No ‘hey.’” 007n7’s voice was calm, but it cut deep. “You left in the middle of the night. Alone. No note. No warning. C00l got shot. Bluu got drugged. Pr3ty almost got taken. And none of you told me anything.”

Bluudud stared at the back of the seat in front of him, eyes low. “…Sorry.”

Pr3typriincess nodded slowly, the smile she had earlier now gone. “…I didn’t mean for it to go that bad.”

007n7 took a slow breath, hands tightening on the wheel.

Then C00lkidd piped up brightly:

“But like, did you see how you—”

“C00lkidd.”

“…yes, parental figure.”

“I am very close to throwing the GUI into a microwave.”

C00lkidd went quiet.

But only for two seconds.

“I’m just saying, if someone makes a movie about me, that scene should be the trailer.”

Bluudud quietly thumped his head against the window, ear wings twitching.

Pr3ty muttered, “I still think you looked like a dying worm.”

“I’m a heroic worm,” C00lkidd insisted.

007n7 grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue further. He just turned on the radio. Something calm and old and staticy filled the silence.

The kids sat quietly the rest of the drive.

And for the first time in what felt like weeks, it was calm.

The apartment wasn’t perfect. The fan still clicked every third rotation, the hallway lights flickered like they were haunted (they probably were), and someone—probably C00lkidd—had drawn on the microwave with glitter marker again.

But it was home.

And after everything, it felt like a miracle.

The front door creaked open as 007n7 waved them in with a spatula in one hand and a dish towel over his shoulder.

“You’re just in time,” he said. “Dinner’s almost… something.”

Something was right.

The kitchen smelled like overcooked noodles and aggressive seasoning. A single pot bubbled on the stove like it was trying to escape its own contents. Steam hissed out of the kettle like it wanted no part in this culinary crime.

Still, it was warm. The lights were on. The couch had new pillows, stolen from who-knew-where. The TV was paused on a game show rerun. And someone had finally patched the bullet hole in the wall.

Kind of.

In the far corner of the living room, 1x1x1x1 sat cross-legged on the floor, a thick stack of papers in her lap. The title on the cover read: “GLITCH MITIGATION PROTOCOLS: A GUIDE FOR DIGITAL ANOMALIES AND GLITCHED PERSONS IN DOMESTIC SPACES.”

Her eye twitched. She slowly flipped to the next page.

“‘Refrain from sudden phase-shifts near minors or pets.’” Her voice was flat. “…What about both at once?”

“Keep reading,” 007n7 called from the kitchen, stirring something far too aggressively. “Page thirty-four. Something about not accidentally teleporting into the fridge again.”

1x hissed.

Bluudud set the bag of hospital snacks on the counter and disappeared into the hallway. When he returned a moment later, his steps were soft—like he didn’t want to be seen.

He peeked into Pr3typriincess’s room. The curtains had been drawn back. A soft blanket was folded on her bed, her slippers neatly set underneath.

And there—placed carefully in the center of her pillow—was a new plushie.

It was some strange off-brand unicorn-dog hybrid with wonky eyes and a bow too big for its head.

But it was soft. And warm. And pink.

Bluudud stood in the doorway for a second too long, then quickly turned and walked away before anyone could see the flush in his cheeks.

Pr3ty found it later. She didn’t ask where it came from.

She just curled around it like it had always been hers.

And the house slowly exhaled.

C00lkidd, however, had other plans.

“I’m bored,” he announced, sprawled dramatically upside-down on the arm of the couch. “Let’s go outside. I wanna go back to the woods. I wanna punch ghosts.”

“You literally just got shot,” 007n7 snapped from the kitchen. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“It’s already healed. Look.” He peeled the edge of his neon bandage back.

“Don’t touch that,” 007n7 said. “You’ll start bleeding again.”

“…That’s real?”

“Yes.”

C00lkidd pouted.

“Can I at least climb the fire escape?”

“No.”

“Set off the smoke alarm?”

“No.”

“Breathe too hard?”

“Try me.”

C00lkidd groaned dramatically and dragged himself back toward the couch. “This is injustice.”

“You’re lucky I’m letting you near the Wi-Fi.”

Bluudud sat beside him and handed over a juice box in silent solidarity.

Pr3typriincess snorted quietly from the hallway.

1x, still flipping through her manual, glanced up. Her eye flickered toward the window. Outside, the city buzzed softly—honking cars, distant yelling, life returning to normal.

But in here… things were slower. Safer.

Rebuilding.

Not perfect.

But healing.

007n7 finally stepped into the living room holding a tray of something vaguely pasta-like and three slightly-burnt grilled cheeses.

“Dinner’s ready,” he announced. “Eat it before it eats you.”

And somehow, that felt like the most comforting thing he could’ve said.

As the clatter of mismatched plates and over-toasted grilled cheese filled the air, 1x1x1x1 stood.

No grand sound. No dramatic glitch.

Just the quiet shuffle of data rerouting behind her eyes.

She glanced around the room—at Pr3typriincess curled around her pink plushie, at Bluudud silently rearranging the corner of his sandwich, at C00lkidd dramatically licking crumbs off his palm like a raccoon with rabies.

Her single glowing eye flickered faintly.

“…I’m heading back,” she said, cutting through the soft chatter. “To Shedletsky.”

Four heads turned.

007n7 looked up from where he was drying his hands on a paper towel. His brows knit together, but he didn’t stop her.

“You sure?” he asked.

1x nodded once. “He needs the update. And I…” she hesitated. “…don’t stay in places like this for long.”

“Places like what?” C00lkidd asked, blinking with a mouth full of grilled cheese.

She gave a faint, near-silent chuckle. “Too human. Too warm.”

Bluudud frowned slightly, setting down his drink. “But… you could stay. Just a little longer.”

She glanced at him—then looked away, jaw twitching.

“I already stayed too long,” she muttered, almost to herself. “If I get too used to this, I’ll forget how to be the monster people expect me to be.”

“You’re not a monster,” Pr3ty said quietly, hugging her plushie close. “Not to us.”

1x’s eye dimmed, pulsed, and steadied.

She didn’t argue.

Instead, she stepped forward—hand hesitating, then lightly patting Pr3ty’s head. Her claws grazed a curl of hair, just once.

“Keep wrecking the world,” she said, low. “You’re good at it.”

Then she turned to C00lkidd. “Stop getting shot.”

“No promises.”

“Bluudud—” she paused, staring at him for a long moment, eye unreadable. “—grow up slow. It’ll hurt less.”

And finally to 007n7.

“…Keep them alive,” she said simply.

“I’ve been trying.”

“Try harder.”

No fanfare. No teleportation effect.

1x1x1x1 just turned, her body glitching into sharp edges and lines, and walked out the front door. It closed with a soft click.

Gone again.

This time, on her own terms.

There was a moment of silence.

“…She totally cried in the hallway,” C00lkidd said, breaking the stillness.

“She doesn’t cry,” Bluudud replied.

“Yeah she does. She just does it so fast you can’t see it.”

Pr3typriincess finally laughed—soft and small and warm—and took a big bite of her grilled cheese.

007n7 grabbed a plate for himself, finally sitting down at the rickety dining table. “Alright, ground rules. No talking about trauma until dessert.”

“What’s for dessert?” C00lkidd asked immediately.

“Crushed mints I found in my coat pocket.”

“…cool.”

Bluudud smiled slightly, leaning back in his chair.

The meal wasn’t great. The toast was borderline burnt. The juice had gone slightly warm.

Later that night, the apartment was bathed in the low blue glow of the television. Most of the lights had been dimmed. Someone had pulled an old blanket over the couch and half the kids. A half-eaten grilled cheese lay abandoned on a paper plate. Bluudud was dozing off in a blanket burrito, arms wrapped around a pillow, face finally peaceful.

C00lkidd snored like a broken car alarm, legs kicked up on the armrest, his bandaged shoulder rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Pr3typriincess was curled up on the floor nearby, plushie squished against her chest. Her glitter-stained face finally calm. Dreaming of something nice.

007n7 had quietly retired to his cluttered corner desk, tinkering with something small, mechanical, and probably questionably legal. He muttered to himself, half-focused, sipping cold tea.

On screen, a cartoon dog tripped over a fire hydrant. Laughter track. Fade to black. Commercial.

The remote sat untouched on the table.

And yet the screen flickered.

Just once.

A moment of static. Barely a blink. Barely a sound.

Then again, just enough to make the cartoon freeze for half a second, the colors twisting strangely before snapping back into place.

Nobody saw it.

Bluudud stirred slightly in his sleep. A faint frown.

The screen jumped again. A flicker of something in the corner. A shape. A smile, perhaps too wide. Gone.

Then back to the show. Music resumed. Laughter resumed. Everything normal.

Almost.

In the silence, behind the soft hum of the AC and the sleeping breaths of children and former anomalies, something stirred.

Watching.

Waiting.

Just beneath the static.

007n7 finally stood from his desk, stretching his arms with a grunt as his back popped in three different places. The soft glow of the desk lamp flickered, half from the janky wiring, half from exhaustion creeping into his bones.

Behind him, the apartment was finally silent.

C00lkidd was a starfish on the couch, his empty juice box crushed in one hand. Bluudud was still curled up under two blankets, breathing evenly. Pr3typriincess was half on a beanbag chair, one socked foot hanging off the edge. Even the old microwave had stopped humming.

007n7 made sure to check the door.

Twice.

Three times.

Top lock, bottom lock, then the sliding bolt. A small electronic pad flashed green and gave a quiet chime. He’d upgraded it—no one was sneaking out again on his watch.

He pulled on a faded hoodie and quietly slipped outside.

The hallway was cold and empty, and the cracked stairwell smelled like old paint and colder memories. Outside, the night air bit his skin in a way that reminded him he hadn’t slept in almost two days.

He leaned on the apartment’s metal railing, exhaling. The city was quieter at this hour, save for the occasional siren echoing somewhere far off and the buzz of streetlamps lining the sidewalk.

fzzt.

The lamp across the street flickered.

Not in the usual, tired-way-too-old-to-function way. No, this was too clean. Too sharp.

The light dimmed.

Binary floated around it like dust motes: delicate purple characters, pulsing faintly in a spiral. It danced in the air like sparks from a fire—before collapsing in on itself and vanishing completely.

Gone.

007n7 blinked.

The lamp hummed gently again. Normal.

Too normal.

His fingers twitched near his jacket pocket, where he still kept an old drive, still loaded with fragments of code from a life he thought he left behind. He frowned, eyes narrowing.

“…Don’t tell me we’re doing this again,” he muttered.

He waited a minute longer.

But nothing else flickered.

Just the hum of the city. Just the distant cars. Just the night.

Still, when he stepped back inside, he locked the door again.

Four times.

Then he turned the security panel all the way up.

Because if the binary was real, and it always was—then something had just brushed the edge of their world again.

And 007n7 wasn’t about to be caught off guard. Not this time.

Not with the kids sleeping under his roof.

The sun hadn’t even fully risen when C00lkidd’s eyes fluttered open.

He blinked blearily at the ceiling, the soft hush of the apartment washing over him. For once, no alarms. No sirens. No screaming. No hospital smells.

Just warmth. A blanket kicked halfway off his legs. The corner of a juice box stuck under his back. Pr3typriincess’s plushie snoring somewhere nearby.

He sat up, hair a disaster, shoulder still stiff beneath the neon bandage.

Across from him on the floor, Bluudud lay curled under a folded comforter, hugging a pillow like it owed him money.

C00lkidd stared at him for a solid ten seconds.

Then leaned over and poked his cheek.

“Hey.”

No response.

Another poke. “Hey. Hey Bluu.”

Bluudud groaned, eyes still closed.

“…What.”

“Are you awake?”

“…No.”

“Cool.” C00lkidd flopped down beside him and stared at the ceiling like they were solving life’s mysteries.

There was a long pause.

Then, softly:

“…Do you think we’re cursed or something?”

Bluudud cracked open an eye. “What?”

“Like. Cults. Kidnappings. Ghost parents. Glitchy aunties. Bullet wounds. That time we got chased by a raccoon with a knife. It’s been a weird month.”

“…It’s been three weeks.”

“See?! That makes it worse.”

From the other side of the room, Pr3typriincess’s blanket rustled.

“I’m trying to sleep,” she mumbled, voice still half-dream.

C00lkidd turned his head, not missing a beat. “You think we’re cursed too, right?”

She groaned, rolling onto her back. “If we are, it’s your fault.”

“My fault?!”

“You’re the chaos magnet.”

Bluudud sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “It’s not a curse.”

“Oh? Then what is it?” C00lkidd asked, flopping dramatically across a pillow.

Bluudud hesitated.

“I think… people just want us because we’re different. Not bad. Just… not normal. And sometimes people don’t understand things that aren’t normal. So they try to take it. Or break it.”

There was a silence.

C00lkidd, uncharacteristically quiet for a second, said, “That’s dumb.”

“I know.”

“Like, super dumb.”

Bluudud nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why can’t people just let kids be kids?”

Pr3typriincess curled tighter into her blanket. “Because grown-ups suck.”

C00lkidd chuckled softly. “Except n7. He’s alright.”

“And 1x,” Bluudud added.

“Even if she’s terrifying,” Pr3ty murmured.

They fell quiet again, watching the soft beams of morning sunlight creep through the blinds. The air was still warm from sleep, the silence laced with the scent of overcooked toast from the kitchen—007n7 was awake.

C00lkidd rolled onto his stomach, chin on the pillow.

“…I don’t wanna do anything today.”

“Same,” Bluudud said.

Pr3typriincess peeked out from under her blanket. “I wanna sit in the sun. And eat a popsicle. And not almost die.”

“That’s fair,” C00lkidd said.

“We deserve a break.”

They all nodded.

C00lkidd flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling fan.

“…Do you think 007n7 even knows how to make eggs without burning them?”

Bluudud didn’t look up from the blanket he was now slowly wrapping around his shoulders like a shawl. “I think he tries.”

“Trying isn’t succeeding,” Pr3typriincess mumbled from under her blanket fortress. “My toast yesterday was just… warm bread with soot.”

“It crunched like a campfire,” Bluudud added.

“It tasted like trauma.”

“Okay but—” C00lkidd sat up suddenly, wincing at his shoulder. “—what if we cooked today? Like, actually cooked? We’re competent. We’ve survived worse.”

“You put a glowstick in the microwave last week.”

“I was experimenting.”

“It exploded.”

“It glowed brighter first!”

Bluudud rolled his eyes. “I’m not letting you near the kitchen unless you’re supervised by like… three adults and a fireproof wall.”

“We don’t even have three adults.”

“Exactly.”

C00lkidd gasped. “Wow. No faith in me? In your beloved older brother?”

“I’m older than you, and you’re literally ten.”

“And already a war veteran.”

Pr3typriincess peeked out, raising an eyebrow. “Of what? Bad decisions?”

C00lkidd dramatically clutched his chest. “I’m wounded. Right here. In the feelings.”

“Should’ve worn armor,” Bluudud deadpanned.

The three of them started giggling—tired, worn-out, still a little bruised from everything they’d been through, but it felt good to laugh again. The apartment still smelled faintly of failed toast and cheap hand soap, and someone’s sock was on the ceiling fan somehow, but for the first time in days, it felt like home again.

“Okay,” Pr3typriincess said after a pause, sitting up and hugging her plushie. “But real question. What if something else happens? Like—like worse?”

C00lkidd didn’t answer immediately.

Bluudud did.

“Then we handle it. Together.”

“…Like a team?” C00lkidd asked, tone unusually soft.

“Like siblings,” Pr3ty said, giving him a side glance.

C00lkidd blinked.

C00lkidd suddenly pointed at Bluudud’s blanket cocoon. “You look like a burrito.”

“I am a burrito,” Bluudud replied flatly, “of pain and existential dread.”

“Wow. That’s deep. You okay, burrito?”

“No.”

Pr3typriincess lifted her head, hair frizzing in all directions. “You’re more like a taquito.”

“I’m a what?”

“A sad little snack.”

“I got shot like five days ago.”

“So did I,” C00lkidd added cheerfully, wiggling his toes. “We’re snack-sized trauma buddies.”

“I hate that sentence,” Bluudud said.

C00lkidd grinned. “You love me.”

“No, I tolerate you.”

“Same thing.”

Pr3typriincess stretched, blanket trailing behind her like a cape. “We should start a group.”

“For what?” Bluudud asked.

“For kids who’ve been through weird stuff and survived. We’ll call it…” She squinted dramatically. “Team Almost Dead.”

Bluudud blinked. “That’s awful.”

“I’d join,” C00lkidd said. “Do we get jackets?”

“No,” Bluudud said immediately.

“We should get jackets,” Pr3typriincess insisted. “Pink ones. With glitter.”

“I’m not wearing glitter.”

“You will if I bedazzle your hoodie while you sleep.”

C00lkidd gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

Pr3typriincess grinned. “Try me.”

Bluudud stared at both of them. “…How did I survive a cult only to end up here.”

“In the presence of greatness,” C00lkidd said proudly.

“In the presence of disaster,” Bluudud corrected.

“Same thing,” Pr3typriincess chimed, pausing. 

She spoke softly.

“…What if this isn’t any better?”

Bluudud blinked, glancing at her. “What?”

“Being out here.” She shrugged. “Being… free. Safe. ‘Saved.’ All of it.”

Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t crack. That made it worse. It was too calm. Like the thought had long since been settled into the corners of her brain, folded there like an old note.

“In Forsaken,” she continued, “we were hunted. Trapped. Hurt. But at least we knew what we were.”

Bluudud’s brows furrowed.

She looked at him then, smile weak and crooked. “And out here? We still run. We still get shot at. And no one really knows what I am. Not even me. And people want to… take me apart to find out.”

“…Pr3ty—”

“I’m not scared of dying,” she interrupted gently. “I’m scared of not mattering. Of being this… glitch. A pretty pink problem no one wanted to make but now can’t erase. A file with a heartbeat.”

Bluudud set the bottle down.

“You matter to us.”

“I know.” Her voice cracked a little now. “I know you mean that. I just…”

She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Back there, I was treated like a killer. And here, I’m treated like a secret. I don’t know which is worse.”

There was a long pause.

Then Bluudud quietly said:

“…Here, you’re treated like family.”

Pr3typriincess didn’t answer. But her shoulders shook.

And then his arm wrapped around her. Hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay. But she didn’t push him away.

He added, barely above a whisper:

“You’re not a glitch. You’re not a mistake. You’re Pr3typriincess. You scream too loud and decorate too much and cry too hard and laugh like a sparkler. You’re real. You’re here. And I’m glad you are.”

The tears finally fell then. Quietly.

C00lkidd shuffled, he didn’t understand the whole conversation.

But he didn’t need to.

“Whatever this world is… it has snacks. And you guys. So I’m fine with it.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Bluudud deadpanned.

It’s a quiet morning.

The kind of quiet where the sun slants through the blinds in soft gold strips, dust floating peacefully in the light. Something on the stove clicks once. The hum of the fridge is the loudest sound in the room.

C00lkidd sits at the table, kicking his feet and cheerfully devouring a bowl of cereal that—somehow—has ketchup in it.

He holds up a spoonful proudly.

“Behold: spicy milk.”

Bluudud stares at it, pale and horrified. “You need jail.”

“No, I need flavor.” C00lkidd slurps loudly.

Pr3typriincess is curled up on a kitchen stool in an oversized robe, hugging her mug of lukewarm cocoa like it’s the only thing anchoring her to reality. She sips it slowly, with the expression of someone who has seen too much and slept too little.

“You both need therapy,” she mutters into her cup.

“Bold of you to assume we haven’t traumatized the therapist,” C00lkidd shoots back, cheeks stuffed.

Bluudud reaches across the table and quietly pushes the ketchup bottle farther away. “You’re banned.”

The banter is soft and familiar. Warm.

The lights flicker.

A soft buzz ripples through the ceiling lights. Once. Twice. Then a long, lingering hum. The digital clock on the stove stutters—2:43 turns to 8:88 for a blink before cutting to black.

C00lkidd lowers his spoon.

“…Did y’all pay the ghost tax?”

The TV in the corner, which had been unplugged since last night’s cartoon binge, sparks to life.

Pure static.

The microwave beeps without being touched. Pr3ty’s mug warms in her hands and then suddenly chills, like the air around them has turned to ice.

Bluudud stands slowly.

“…Guys?”

All three screens in the room—the microwave panel, the TV, the old tablet charging near the sink—glitch simultaneously. Pixels fragment. Noise crackles through the air like a swallowed scream.

Pop.

A small, almost comedic sound. Like a corrupted audio cue from an old computer game.

And there, suddenly sitting on the kitchen counter, legs dangling off the edge and arms lazily braced behind them, is—

Noli.

His crown is tilted at a slightly smug angle.

He looks… familiar, but off.

He grins.

“Hi, lol.”

The room doesn’t move.

Everyone stares.

C00lkidd sputters and spits cereal across the table. “PFFHT—WHAT—”

Pr3typriincess jolts, her cocoa nearly slipping from her hands. She fumbles and grips the mug like it’s a weapon. “What the—what—what is that—what is that—”

Bluudud doesn’t move.

He doesn’t scream.

He doesn’t blink.

He just watches Noli, eyes wide and unblinking, as if remembering something.

As if recognizing something.

Noli smiles wider, the corners of hus mouth stretching just a bit too far, a too-perfect crescent. His crown tilts with a soft metallic sound, like glass against teeth.

“Aw. You all got so cute. Little weapons. Little panic.”

C00lkidd scrambles off his chair. “I am so awake right now I think I just felt my appendix scream.”

Pr3typriincess grips her mug tighter, cocoa sloshing. “Am I hallucinating or is there a Thing on our counter.”

Bluudud doesn’t say anything. He stares at Noli with wide, unreadable eyes.

And Noli?

Noli just swings his legs.

“Wow. You guys really did grow up weird.” He pauses, squinting at Bluudud. “Especially you. Still so… soft.”

Pr3ty slowly rises to her feet. “Who are you?”

Noli tilts his head.

The glitch in the lights deepens.

“Call me Noli. Just wanted to see what you’ve all been up to before I start—” they pause, finger tapping their chin, “you know… fixing things.”

“What kinda ‘fixing’?” C00lkidd raises a skeptical eyebrow.

Noli smiles.

Heavy footsteps.

Fast.

007n7 storms in from the hallway, half-dressed in a hoodie and pajama pants, hair wild. He sees the kids huddled around the table. Sees Noli.

And his eyes go cold.

Without a word, he yanks open the drawer under the counter—pushes past takeout menus and battery packs—pulls out a compact disruptor the size of a lunchbox, its screen already glowing.

He lifts it.

“GET. OUT.”

The entire room shifts.

Noli’s smile doesn’t falter—but they do go still. Their legs stop swinging. Their posture straightens slightly.

He tilts his head.

“You’ve gotten so dramatic, man,” he says lazily. “Remember college?”

“You’re supposed to be dead.” 007n7 doesn’t lower the device. His hand is shaking—whether from fear or fury, no one can tell. “You took the Void Star. You chose this.”

Noli replies, flicking imaginary lint off their knee. “You don’t see me bragging about that.”

His tone is easy, almost teasing.

But his body doesn’t move.

Not a blink. Not a twitch.

C00lkidd has retreated behind the fridge door, peeking out like a cartoon character. “Hey, uh, I know this is like, grown-up trauma or whatever, but what the hell is happening—”

007n7 doesn’t look away from Noli. “Get the kids out.”

Bluudud still hasn’t spoken.

Pr3ty opens her mouth to ask something, but the air feels too thick—like any sudden noise will set the whole room off like glass under tension.

007n7 grits his teeth. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to exist anymore.”

“And yet—” Noli spreads their arms slightly, voice still soft, still playful. “Here I am. Real as your busted wiring and burnt toast.”

He smiles again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he says. “If I was, you’d already know.”

The lights flicker once.

Not violently, but enough.

Bluudud finally speaks, his voice thin.

“…Why are you here?”

Noli rolls his shoulders and lets out a long, theatrical sigh, as if the room was being dramatic without him.

“Dude,” he says, voice light, almost bored. “Don’t act so stiff. I’m here to help.”

He hops off the counter. The motion is smooth—too smooth—and lands with barely a sound, like he weighs less than the air around him. He steps into the middle of the room, the worn floorboards groaning faintly beneath him. His crown glitches once—shimmering sideways before snapping back into place.

He slowly spins in a circle, arms wide, turning the whole living room into his personal stage.

“I just wanted to say,” he begins, almost cheerfully, “that wasn’t the last of the hunters.”

Everyone freezes.

“They’re regrouping,” Noli continues. His smile remains, but his voice drops in tone—low, sharp, measured now. “Stronger this time. Something about your glowy little girl project pissed them off.”

His eyes flick—just barely—to Pr3typriincess.

She flinches.

Not physically. Not obviously. But her hand tightens around her cocoa mug, white-knuckled, and her gaze drops for a split second.

C00lkidd swallows hard. “…Glowy little what now?”

Bluudud’s voice is quieter: “You’re talking about Pr3ty.”

Noli hums. “Am I?” Then he shrugs. “Maybe I’m talking about all of you.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” 007n7 says, stepping forward. His expression is a cold firewall. His hands aren’t shaking now—they’re steady, ready. “Why are you telling us this?”

Noli doesn’t answer right away. He walks past the kitchen table, letting his fingers drag across the wood, smudging faint static residue where they touch. He moves toward the window and looks out—though what he’s watching isn’t clear. The blinds are shut. The city is quiet.

“Where are you getting this information?” 007n7 presses.

Still, no response.

Noli just exhales a slow, dramatic breath—and turns his head back toward them.

“You ask too many questions, dude.” He smiles.

“Just trust me.”

Silence.

Pr3typriincess speaks up, quietly.

“…Why would we?”

Noli turns fully to face her. “Because I haven’t killed you yet.”

C00lkidd chokes. “That’s not exactly convincing, man.”

Noli lifts his hands. “Okay, fair. But you’re still breathing. You think I couldn’t have ended this entire apartment in three keystrokes and a twitch?”

Bluudud’s voice is dry, deadpan: “Can you not say ‘twitch’ after threatening to murder us.”

Noli winks at him.

007n7 moves protectively in front of the kids. “You didn’t answer me.”

“You didn’t say please,” Noli sing-songs.

“Noli.”

Noli’s smile falters—but only for half a second. Just a tiny stutter in the otherwise gleaming, glitch-laced confidence he wore like armor.

He turns back toward them slowly, arms open, palms out like he’s being accused of stealing cookies rather than dropping a metaphorical time bomb.

“Look, man. I get it. Tension. Trauma. Trust issues. But I’m literally here on a warning run. You don’t shoot the mailman, right?”

007n7 doesn’t flinch. “You’re not the mailman. You’re the bomb someone shoved in the mailbox.”

“Ohhhh, poetic.” Noli beams. “I missed that sarcasm. So spicy.”

007n7 didn’t move. His hands remained at his sides, but his whole posture was coiled. “Answer the question.”

Noli tilted his head, the grin pulling wider. “Which one? You asked, like, three. You gotta pace yourself, man.”

C00lkidd looked between them, chewing the straw of his juice box like it was a survival mechanism. “Uhh… can I ask a question?”

“No,” both 007n7 and Noli snapped at the same time.

A beat.

Noli laughed first. “God, you’ve trained them well. What is this—dadcore headquarters?”

Bluudud shifted closer to Pr3typriincess, eyes not leaving Noli. “You said they’re regrouping.”

Noli glanced at him. “Yeah, glowy boy. Hunters. Labs. Government nightmares. Old cult guys with too much time and too many admin-level toys.” He spread his arms, as if performing for an audience only he could see. “They’re scared. You rattled them. You—” he pointed to Pr3ty “—especially.”

Pr3typriincess’s lips tightened. “Why?”

Noli tapped his chin theatrically. “Well. There’s the obvious: you’re powerful, emotional, a little unstable. You glow in distress. That kind of thing gets attention.”

“I don’t glow,” she muttered.

“You do a little,” C00lkidd said helpfully.

“I’ll throw your juice out the window,” she shot back.

Noli clapped once, a hollow glitchy sound. “See? I love this. Banter. Heart. Family.” He paused. “Shame none of it will matter when a drone rips through your front door.”

“Enough,” 007n7 snapped. “You’re still not saying how you know all this. You should be dead.”

“Oh, I was!” Noli chirped. “But shouldn’t you aswell?”

His voice faltered slightly.

“Sometimes things come back.”

There was a silence then. Not awkward—uneasy. Heavy.

“You’re not here to help,” 007n7 said finally. “You’re here because something’s coming and you don’t want to face it alone.”

Noli’s grin dimmed. Just a little. He looked at the window. Static flickered across the glass for a second—like a shimmer of frost, or code.

“I used to think I was the main character,” he said softly.

Then he turned back to them.

“I’ll do what I can. If that means warning you, glitching your TV, or… standing in your kitchen like a rejected Tumblr god—fine.” His gaze sharpened again. “But this? This isn’t over. You need to be ready.”

“And what if we don’t want your help?” Pr3typriincess asked, voice like a blade slowly being unsheathed.

Noli looked at her then. Really looked.

A long, silent moment passed between them. His grin was gone now. His voice, when it came, was low. Raw.

“Then you’ll die.”

He started walking toward the wall like it was a door, fingertips trailing on the air itself, leaving faint streaks of static. Right before he phased out completely, he turned over his shoulder.

“Look, they only want the pink one,” Noli stared. “But once they find out you’re protecting her, they’ll come after you as well.”

His crown flickered. His eyes burned faint.

“Why are you helping us? We’re not on your side.” Bluudud inquired, barely a whisper.

“Doesn’t mean I’m on their side.” Noli turned around.

“Tell your ghost parent I said hi.”

And he vanished. Like he’d never been there at all, leaving a room with more questions than answers.

The lights steadied.

The TV switched off with a soft click.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then C00lkidd broke the silence:

“…Dude’s got, like, charm and trauma.”

“Shut up,” Bluudud said, but too quietly to be angry.

007n7 sat down heavily on the couch, elbows on knees, eyes closed.

“We’re not safe,” he muttered. “We never were. But this just made it worse.”

He looked up, eyes sharp again.

“We have to pray he really is telling the truth.”

Shedletsky didn’t flinch when the door creaked open.

He sat at the cluttered workbench in the corner of the cabin, half-assembled mechanisms scattered around him like puzzle pieces with no clear solution. A soldering tool glowed in his hand, paused mid-stroke over a tangled circuit board. The only sound was the low hum of an ancient cooling fan beside him, rattling faintly.

The wind outside shifted. Something glitched in the air.

1x1x1x1 stepped through the doorway, quiet as static. Her coat was scorched, one shoulder sparking with torn data. Glitched fragments drifted off her frame like smoldering petals.

She said nothing. She didn’t have to.

Shedletsky didn’t even look up.

“You drag blood into my floor again, I’m charging you a janitorial fee.”

She dropped two unconscious rats wrapped in loose vines onto the rug near the door. They twitched once—admin tracker drones. Their green visors blinked out.

Shedletsky blew on the circuit board to cool it and finally turned toward her.

“…Back already?”

“Didn’t have a choice.”

Shedletsky leaned back, letting the soldering iron fall with a gentle clunk onto the bench.

“You never do,” he said, more matter-of-fact than accusatory. “That’s your whole thing.”

She walked past him toward the far cabinet—her usual corner. A glitch blanket still folded there, untouched from last week. She tugged it over her shoulder, sat against the wall.

He returned to his circuit board.

For a few minutes, there was nothing but the clicks and whirs of his tools. 1x’s breathing slowed—ragged, but steady. The glow in her eye dimmed slightly, flickering less violently.

Shedletsky clicked his tongue, not looking up.

“Do I wanna know who you punched this time?”

A pause.

“…No.”

1x moved then—just slightly, a shift of weight. Her corrupted feet clicked on the roof tiles like knives tapping glass. The flickering flame of her aura dimmed. Shed could feel her stare boring into the back of his head.

“You’re not going to ask what happened?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

He sipped again. Shrugged.

“Because you always do this. You vanish into hell, fight something stupid, drag home blood and trauma, and never want to talk about it. What do you want me to do—sit you down, light a candle, cry with you about your choices?”

She didn’t reply.

He turned just slightly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“But you’re here,” he added. “Which means you’re not done.”

1x1x1x1 stared at him—face unreadable, code flickering faintly in the deep pits of her glitch-socket eye.

“No. I’m not.”

Shedletsky turned back toward the trees.

“Then go clean up before you fry the wiring. Again. There’s soap in the old medbay. You know. That stuff you hate.”

A low, glitching growl.

“I will vaporize your bones.”

He smirked.

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

She paused at the edge of the door.

1x1x1x1 turned.

Her single glowing eye flickered in the dim light. She looked at Shedletsky—not from behind, not in passing. This time, she truly looked.

“You’ve noticed it as well, haven’t you?”

Shed didn’t open his eyes. But he stopped sipping. His grip on the cup tightened ever so slightly.

For a long beat, there was only the hum of the corrupted forest. The far-off warble of a glitched crow. A buzz in the wires. The faint sound of something waking.

Shedletsky leaned his head back, staring up at the sickly sky. And finally—quiet, almost too casual to be real—he answered:

“…The air’s wrong.”

He opened one eye, looked over at her.

“And that smell.”

Her expression didn’t change. But something in her shoulders shifted—something rigid, bracing.

“Like a decomposing body,” she muttered.

“Yeah,” Shed said. “Exactly like that.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Then 1x’s fingers twitched—like she was about to say more. But instead, she turned again, facing the trees below.

“We’ll need a plan,” she said. “He’s not gone.”

Shedletsky sighed and finally stood from his chair, joints cracking.

“I figured. People like that never stay dead. They just… wait.”

1x glanced back one last time.

And Shedletsky gave her the faintest smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“If he’s coming back,” he said, “we better make sure we’re the ones writing the ending this time.”

1x nodded once.

She was gone before he finished the sentence—her presence folding back into the shadows, her aura leaving a smear of corrupted green in the air. The wind carried it away.

Shedletsky leaned back again, cracking his neck.

The forest was quiet.

He sipped the last of his soda.

“Tuesday,” he muttered, and closed his eyes.

He stared at the spot where 1x had disappeared for a long moment, the neon glimmer of her departure still flickering faintly in his peripherals. His shoulders were heavy. Not with exhaustion—but with memory. With history.

With unfinished business.

“…Damn it.”

He turned away and walked back to the rusted hatch in the corner—pulling it open with a creak that echoed like a scream through the broken pipes below. He descended slowly, boots thudding against the metal rungs until he dropped into the dim Safehouse interior.

A flickering light blinked to life overhead. The main room was mostly untouched, cluttered with relics from an older war—busted gear, scraps of admin code, notebooks with torn bindings. It all hummed faintly with unstable energy.

Shedletsky moved with purpose now, brushing aside a dusty tarp and revealing the ancient terminal hidden underneath. It looked like junk to most—gray, cracked screen, keyboard missing half its caps. But it wasn’t junk. It was the root.

He sat, cracked his knuckles, and muttered:

“Don’t make me regret this.”

His fingers danced over the keys.

Initializing…
Verifying Root Admin Access…
Security Key Detected: TELAMON.EXE
Console Unlocked.

The screen shivered. Lines of ancient Robloxian admin code scrolled past in green and gold. As Shedletsky typed, his face tightened—not from effort, but from restraint.

Because deep in the backend, in a subfolder marked SYSTEM_OBSOLETE > DEV_RECOVERY > LEGACY_USERS, a name glowed faintly.

NOL1_V0IDSTAR.

Shedletsky didn’t click it.

He didn’t need to. He could feel it pulsing—beneath the surface, like a tumor left untreated. Like a memory waiting to fester. He could feel its weight pushing on the corners of the code, on the shape of the world itself.

But he didn’t open the file.

Not yet.

Instead, he flicked his fingers across the keys, summoning a firewall. Then another. Then a redirect trap. Then a loop of ciphers that spun around the data like teeth.

“Not today,” he muttered. “If you’re back, you’re gonna work for it.”

The terminal chirped softly. A warning flared.

External signature detected.
MATCH FOUND: c00lgui.admin.rebound_001
Status: ACTIVE
Admin Type: Ghost Runtime
Linked User: 007n7

Shedletsky froze.

His eyes narrowed at the display.

So. The old man’s still in it. He always knew. He just didn’t want to admit it.

The console blinked. Awaiting input.

He hovered his finger over the return key for a moment—then backspaced.

“…Not my business,” he muttered. “Not yet.”

The file closed with a hiss of static.

He leaned back in the creaking chair and stared at the ceiling, arms folded, listening to the hum—like it was breathing again. Like something buried in the roots of this world had finally started to stir.

He whispered, almost to himself:

“Let’s see what you want this time, Noli.”

Chapter Text

Bluudud was curled into himself on the couch, tucked under a pile of mismatched blankets that made him look less like an angel and more like a sad blue couch blob. 

His hoodie had bunched up awkwardly around his neck, half-slipping from his head, and his usually neat wings sagged out limply from the edges of the blanket like damp laundry.

His nose was red. His eyes glassy. His entire body radiated the kind of pitiful aura only achievable by being both feverish and offended at the betrayal of one’s own immune system.

He sniffled, loudly, violently, in a way that made the silence of the apartment flinch.

From across the room, Pr3typriincess peeked over the back of a chair.

“You good?” she asked, not unkindly, but not exactly filled with sympathy either. She was holding a spoon and a bowl of cereal.

Bluudud turned his head slowly. His voice was ragged, dry like static filtered through a fan.

“Death comes for me in the form of orange juice.”

“Okay,” she replied flatly. “That sounds dramatic, even for you.”

He whimpered.

007n7 appeared in the doorway, holding a thermometer in one hand and a lukewarm mug in the other. His brows furrowed the moment he looked at Bluudud’s face.

“Still burning up?” he muttered. He placed the mug down gently on the table and crouched beside the couch, pressing the back of his hand against Bluudud’s cheek.

Bluudud flinched like it hurt.

“Okay,” 007n7 said, more to himself. “Yep. Still running hot. Wings still aching?”

“Can’t feel them,” Bluudud whispered.

Pr3ty, still eating her cereal, frowned.

“Do you think he’s dying?”

“I’m not dying,” Bluudud wheezed. “But if I do, I want my funeral to be held in a giant cereal box.”

“Noted,” 007n7 said dryly, reaching for the thermometer.

Bluudud sneezed before he could get it in.

It was… wet.

007n7 sighed in long-suffering dad™. (Yes, it’s Trademarked.)

“C00lkidd!” he yelled toward the hallway. “Get the tissues!”

There was a pause, a thud, and then C00lkidd’s voice shouted back:

“Is he dead?”

“No!” Pr3typriincess shouted back.

C00lkidd came running anyway, wearing a cape made from a dishrag and holding the tissue box like it was a holy artifact.

“I brought… the paper.” He squinted dramatically. 

“Just hand it to me,” 007n7 muttered.

Bluudud had gone boneless again, nose red and leaking, breath rattling.

Pr3ty tiptoed closer and cautiously touched one of his wings. It twitched, like it was trying to curl.

She sat beside him and gently tugged the blankets back over his shoulders. “You want me to read you something? I can do a dramatic villain monologue.”

Bluudud blinked slowly.

“…Only if it ends with you being defeated by soup.”

Pr3ty tilted her head. “That’s oddly specific.”

“It’s the fever,” 007n7 said. “Just go with it.”

C00lkidd, now perched on the armrest like a goblin, poked Bluudud’s leg.

“You know you’re gonna survive this, right?”

Bluudud grumbled something that sounded like “no promises.”

Pr3ty leaned over and dropped a plushie—an old, one-eyed stuffed rabbit—onto his chest. “You’re gonna be fine, dummy.”

Bluudud stared at the plush. Then, finally, let out the smallest laugh. Just a breath. But real.

“…Thanks,” he rasped.

And though 007n7 still looked worried, he smiled too. Just a little. “Alright. Flu duty squad, let’s keep him alive until dinner.”

Pr3typriincess saluted with her spoon.

C00lkidd whispered, “If he turns into a zombie, I call dibs on naming his new form.”

Bluudud murmured faintly:

“…Cereal box funeral still stands.”

Pr3typriincess had laid out a coloring book on the coffee table—its pages already full of pink unicorns and sparkly blobs from past disasters. She leaned over it now, quietly coloring with one hand while keeping an eye on the couch where Bluudud lay, swaddled and wheezing like a dying printer.

C00lkidd sat beside her, cross-legged and furiously scribbling on a picture of a spaceship, though he had colored all the windows bright orange and given it a smiley face.

A few seconds of silence passed. Just the scratch of crayons on cheap paper. Then—

“I think it was the cereal,” C00lkidd declared, pointing a blue crayon accusingly at Pr3ty’s half-empty bowl.

Pr3ty didn’t look up. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m just saying,” he went on, very serious, “your cereal had glitter. Glitter is a known danger to society. What if he breathed some in and now it’s in his blood?”

She paused.

Then very slowly turned to him. “Do you think blood glitters now?”

“I hope so,” he said dreamily.

She threw a crayon at him.

He caught it in his mouth.

“See? Ninja reflexes. I wouldn’t get sick.”

“You literally almost died last week,” she said, flicking his forehead. “From drinking the pool water.”

“It was blue. Blue means good.”

“You’re so lucky 007n7 hasn’t installed a filter between your mouth and the rest of the world.”

He dramatically scribbled a frowny face onto a giraffe. “I bet it was the soup. Hospitals have weird soup. Poisonous soup.”

“It was literally just broth. You watched the nurse microwave it.”

“Exactly,” C00lkidd whispered. “Microwaves.”

Pr3ty rolled her eyes so hard it nearly gave her a headache. She turned back to her page and carefully outlined the wings of a cartoon dragon.

“I think he’s just… tired,” she said softly after a beat. “Like, really tired. The cult stuff. The running. The getting tranquilized. The maybe-nearly-dying thing.”

C00lkidd was quiet for a second, unusually still.

Then he mumbled, “Yeah… I guess that too.”

They sat in silence again, coloring with smaller, softer strokes.

From the couch, Bluudud groaned and rolled over, dragging half the blanket pile with him and burying his face deeper.

C00lkidd reached into the crayon box, pulled out a sparkly red one, and tossed it toward him.

“For emotional support,” he said.

It bounced off Bluudud’s shoulder and landed on the floor.

“…Thanks,” came the muffled reply.

And for a little while, the apartment was quiet again—just the sound of coloring, coughing, and two dumb kids pretending they weren’t worried.

C00lkidd suddenly slammed his crayon down like it had betrayed him.

“That’s it,” he declared, standing so fast his chair nearly toppled. “I’m gonna fix him.”

Pr3typriincess blinked. “Fix who?”

“Bluu,” he said, already storming toward the door like a tiny tornado of determination. “He needs soup. Better soup. Legendary soup.”

“You don’t even know how to cook—”

He didn’t respond. He was already halfway to the entryway, grabbing his hoodie (which was too big and missing a sleeve) and stomping into his crocs.

That’s when 007n7, who had been standing at the kitchen counter carefully pouring orange juice into a cup with the seriousness of a bomb technician, turned around.

“No.”

C00lkidd froze mid-lunge for the doorknob.

“You’re not going outside,” 007n7 said firmly, setting the juice down like a final gavel. “Not after everything. Not today.”

“But—!”

“Nope.”

“I’m gonna get SOUP.”

“You’re going to get kidnapped again.”

“I’ll bring a fork this time!”

“That’s not how—!” 007n7 dragged a hand down his face and sighed. “Listen. We have what we need here. Stay inside. Please.”

C00lkidd huffed. He crossed his arms. He tapped his foot like a petulant duck. “He’s gonna DIE of boredom and mucus.”

“He has tissues, cartoons, and juice. He’s gonna be fine.”

“No, he won’t. He’s sensitive.”

From the couch, Bluudud croaked, “I’m not sensitive…”

“You cried during that dog food commercial last week.”

“It was emotional,” Bluudud muttered into the blanket.

007n7 pointed at the couch without even turning. “See? He’s fine.”

Pr3typriincess stood now, eyeing C00lkidd warily. “Don’t be stupid. We don’t need you getting tranq’d again, or worse. Just chill.”

“I AM chill,” he snapped. Then yanked the door open dramatically.

“C00lkidd,” 007n7 warned.

C00lkidd turned back with a sparkle of chaotic defiance in his eye.

“When have I ever listened?” he said with a grin, and bolted out the door.

“C00L—!”

007n7 was already moving, yanking open a drawer and grabbing his phone, muttering under his breath. “Why did I ever teach him how to open doors…”

Pr3ty sighed. Bluudud coughed weakly from the couch.

“…He’s gonna bring back a stick he thinks is medicine, isn’t he?” Bluudud asked.

“Oh, 100%,” Pr3ty said.

And somewhere, in the apartment stairwell, C00lkidd was already planning his soup-finding side quest like it was the final battle of a video game.

C00lkidd crouched in the bushes like a goblin who’d skipped his ADHD meds.

His eyes locked onto the target ahead of him: a bird.

Specifically, a medium-sized, mildly fat pigeon pecking around the cracked sidewalk outside the apartment complex. It waddled like it had unpaid taxes and no intention of paying them. It had that smug, overconfident, urban strut—the kind of bird that’s seen a knife fight and walked away with a cigarette in its beak.

But today?

Today was its last day on Earth.

C00lkidd narrowed his eyes. “You’re soup now.”

He dropped even lower to the ground, belly nearly grazing the dirt, tail twitching behind him like a possessed metronome. He wore one croc. The other had been heroically sacrificed during his dramatic leap out the second-story window. His hoodie dragged behind him like a cape made of sadness and ketchup stains. He didn’t care. He was in stealth mode.

No—he was in hunter mode.

This was primal. This was instinctual. This was a ten-year-old Robloxian with chaos in his heart and violence in his veins.

It was fun.

Way more fun than he’d expected. The thrill of the chase. The wind rushing through his unbrushed hair. The crunch of plastic snack wrappers under his feet as he skittered through the overgrown grass like a sugar-fueled raccoon. He could hear the Mission Impossible theme in his head—except it was off-key and beatboxed by himself.

The pigeon looked up.

C00lkidd froze, mid-wiggle. Tail stiff. Eyes unblinking.

Then it looked back down. Pecked at a discarded fry.

He inched forward.

Then froze again.

Then inched sideways. Giggled. Slapped his own face. “Focus.”

The pigeon paused. Tilted its head.

He mirrored it.

It took a suspicious hop to the side.

He followed.

Another hop.

He matched it again.

Then suddenly—

FLAP.

It took off.

“Oh you wanna FLY?!?” he screeched, springing out of the bushes with the force of a jump-scare and the grace of a falling dishwasher. His arms flailed like anime windmill punches. The bird shrieked. C00lkidd shrieked louder.

The pigeon zigged.

He zagged.

It flew higher.

He grabbed a trash can lid and threw it. It missed. Horribly. Hit a parked car.

Didn’t matter.

C00lkidd was already climbing the nearest tree, fueled by a terrifying blend of sugar, spite, and squirrel energy. His limbs flailed. Bark flew. A nearby old man watching from his balcony dropped his newspaper in sheer horror.

“I AM THE NIGHT!” C00lkidd yelled while jumping as high as he could, devil tail flailing.

And somehow, against all odds, logic, and several laws of physics—

He. Grabbed. The. Bird.

“I GOT YOU, FEATHER DEMON!!”

The pigeon flailed. C00lkidd flailed harder. He fell and rolled over in the grass, clutching the pigeon like a lifeline with a triumphant wheeze.

The bird was still in his arms. Stunned. Emotionally broken. Possibly reconsidering its entire life.

He gently stroked its feathers. “Shhh. You’re fine. You’re just dinner.”

He stood up.

Covered in dirt. Missing a shoe. Holding a pigeon like a medieval offering. He looked like a cryptid that crawled out of a YouTube Kids horror video.

And he grinned.

“This is the most productive I’ve been all week.”

Somewhere, a dog barked. A baby cried. A leaf fell dramatically.

But none of it mattered.

“Bluudud’s gonna get so healed from this epic bird broth, bro. He’s gonna UN-DIE. He’s gonna EVOLVE. His fever’s gonna see this bird and LEAVE.”

And so, C00lkidd marched home. One croc on. One eye twitching. Bird leash in hand.

He caught a pigeon.

…And made it weird.

The sun was too bright. The sky too blue. The birds too chirpy.

Noli squinted up at the offending light and muttered, “Touching grass is overrated,” before dragging his boots through a flower bed with theatrical disdain. His coat fluttered behind him like a cape made of static. His crown glitched faintly with every step, flickering out of existence and reappearing half a foot higher.

He was… trying.

Trying to be normal. Trying to “connect.” Trying to do what mortals called “going outside.”

Though perhaps, in hindsight, he should have adjusted his appearance a little more.

As he walked through town, every head turned. Every conversation stopped.

A child screamed. A baby cried. A man dropped his phone and muttered something about “the March 18th Incident.”

See, most people aren’t used to seeing a tall, skeleton-faced figure with one glowing eye socket and binary leaking off his shoulders like heat distortion.

Noli, in return, gave each wide-eyed civilian a cheerful, monotone:

“Hi.”

Which only made it worse.

When a dog barked at him, he barked back. Digitally. Like an audio file playing from a dying cassette player. The dog stopped barking but whimpered and ran into a bush.

Eventually, Noli stumbled across the glowing neon sign of civilization itself.

Builder Brothers Pizza.

He stared at it for a long moment.

Pizza. Grease. Mortals in uniforms. Garlic knots.

“…Sure,” he muttered, walking in like a customer and not, say, a corrupted anomaly who once tried to unravel existence via spaghetti code.

The bell above the door jingled.

The entire restaurant went silent.

A birthday party group paused mid-slice. A balloon popped spontaneously. A pizza chef dropped his dough, eyes fixed on Noli’s floating binary.

Behind the front counter stood a very familiar face: a tired, exasperated-looking Elliot. He was wearing his signature red visor and employee shirt, one hand still mid-motion as he reached for a cup. He blinked. Squinted. Blinked again.

Then, completely deadpan:

“…Aren’t you the guy who killed me once?”

Noli paused. There was a brief flicker in his binary. A one-second delay.

“…No?” he said, cheerfully.

Elliot didn’t even flinch.

“You threw a voidstar at Guest while I was healing them.”

“Wasn’t me.”

“You hijacked my medkit.”

“Still not me.”

“You tricked Noob into doing your generators.”

“I have no memory of that event.” Noli paused. “Also, generators are evil.”

Elliot leaned forward on the counter, unimpressed. “What do you want?”

Noli tilted his head, crown flickering. “What do any of us want, Elliot? Is it purpose? Is it hope? Is it a slice of sausage-stuffed crust with extra cheese?”

“You want pizza?”

“I want to not be kicked out.”

Elliot stared at him for a long, tense moment. Then sighed and gestured to the faded, grease-stained menu.

“Fine. Order something and don’t possess anyone.”

Noli raised a glitched hand. “One of your finest triangles, good sir.”

“You want… a pizza?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

Noli considered this like it was a deep spiritual question. He hummed, tapping a skeletal finger against his chin.

“What’s the one that mortals eat when they’re crying at 3am?”

“Pepperoni.”

“Yes. That one.”

Elliot rung it up, expression unreadable. “It’ll be five.”

“I don’t carry mortal currency.”

“Then why are you here.”

Noli blinked. Then reached into the folds of his coat and pulled out… a glittery friendship bracelet, a pog from 1999, and a tiny origami frog that croaked when poked.

“I can pay in joy and nostalgia.”

“Not accepted.”

Noli looked offended. “Do you know how rare tix are now?”

“Noli.”

“Fine,” Noli sighed dramatically, and tapped the counter with his finger.

A split second later, the cash register opened on its own, dinging obediently.

Elliot didn’t flinch.

“Stop hacking my till.”

“I didn’t hack it. I just suggested it open gently with my aura of charm.”

“You’re lucky we get paid too little to care,” Elliot muttered.

Noli spun slowly, surveying the other diners like an alien trying to study a fragile ecosystem. A couple teens at a corner booth stared at him in horror. A kid dropped his sippy cup.

“I like this place,” Noli said, spinning in a slow circle. “It’s deeply haunted.”

“Not on purpose.”

“Still counts.”

Eventually, Elliot handed him the slice. Hot, greasy, and definitely too floppy. Noli took it in one gloved hand and stared at it.

“This is pizza?”

“That’s pizza.”

He sniffed it.

Sniffed it again.

“Smells… mortal.”

“It is.”

He licked it.

The binary around his head glitched faintly. “Interesting texture.”

Then he took a bite—and paused.

Elliot watched him cautiously.

Noli chewed slowly, blinking like someone just downloaded emotion for the first time.

“…It’s greasy.”

“Yes.”

“It burns.”

“That’s the sauce.”

“…I like it.”

“Okay?”

Noli blinked, then held up the slice like it was a holy relic.

“I will spare this place.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

Noli pointed a finger at Elliot’s nametag. “You have been deemed ‘Cool’ by the Entity Formerly Known As Noli.”

“I hate this job.”

The bell above the door jingled again. C00lkidd stumbled in, still holding a pigeon by the leg.

Elliot groaned. “Oh no.”

C00lkidd’s eyes locked on Noli.

“YOU,” he said. 

“C00l, go home,” Elliot deadpanned.

“I HAVE SOUP INGREDIENTS,” C00lkidd screamed, waving the bird. “AND I’M NOT AFRAID TO USE THEM.”

Noli leaned forward. “Are you aware that pigeons carry diseases?”

“I carry diseases. It’s fine.”

Noli blinked slowly. “I like you.”

“THANK YOU.”

Elliot buried his face in his hands.

Lulu pushed through the back door of Builder Brothers Pizza, holding a sauce-stained receipt in one hand and a plastic tray in the other. Her expression was the kind of tired that could only come from five hours of screaming toddlers, melted cheese burns, and minimum wage.

Then she stopped mid-step.

Then blinked.

Then very loudly exclaimed:

“WHAT. The absolute. HELL— is THAT?”

Standing dead center in the dining room was Noli: glowing sockets, flickering binary crown, tattered coat billowing from a nonexistent breeze. He was still holding his half-eaten pizza slice like it was a sacred relic, mid-spin like a Sims character whose animation had desynced.

Elliot, without looking up from the register, muttered:

“Dunno. It said it’s a customer.”

“IM RIGHT HERE,” Noli called dramatically, holding the pizza aloft. “AND I CAN HEAR YOU.”

Lulu stared. “Is that guy made of… code?”

“Mostly,” Elliot replied, deadpan. “Maybe trauma too. Not sure.”

“Why is it floating?”

“Would you believe me if I said ‘aesthetic’?”

Noli placed a hand to his chest. “This is discrimination. I am a valid pizza enthusiast. I bleed tomato sauce and binary like the rest of you.”

“You do NOT bleed tomato sauce,” Lulu snapped.

“Metaphorically.”

C00lkidd, still holding the pigeon, chimed in, “I believe him.”

“You’re not helping,” Elliot sighed.

Lulu took a step back. “Is this some new viral mascot thing? Are we doing an ARG?”

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” Elliot muttered. “I just work here.”

Noli beamed. “Then consider this my Yelp review: Five stars. Excellent crust. Would COME again.”

Lulu looked at Elliot. “Do we call… someone?”

Elliot shook his head slowly. “At this point? Probably just the manager.”

C00lkidd raised his pigeon. “Do we want soup?”

“GET OUT,” Elliot and Lulu said at the same time.

Noli just licked his pizza again and whispered reverently, “The void tastes… cheesy.”

“Why do I still work here.”

Bluudud was mid-sniffle, cocooned in three blankets and a hoodie, when C00lkidd burst in like a proud raccoon. His hands were behind his back. His eyes were wide with purpose. His smile could only mean disaster.

“I have brought you… offerings.”

Pr3typriincess looked up from the kitchen counter, where she was trying—and failing—to make toast that didn’t taste like cardboard. “Oh no.”

C00lkidd dramatically revealed his gifts: one limp, slightly ruffled bird in his left hand (thankfully already dead), and in the other, a cloudy plastic cup filled with suspiciously warm hose water.

“Step one: Protein. Step two: Hydration.”

Bluudud blinked. Slowly. “…What is that?”

“A pigeon,” C00lkidd said proudly. “It wanted to help. Probably.”

“Oh my god,” Pr3ty muttered, already moving forward.

“C00l, no. You can’t just bring in—”

Too late.

Bluudud, in a dazed fog of fever and confusion, took the bird from C00lkidd’s hand with the reverence of someone accepting a sacred relic… and took a bite.

There was a silence so loud it could shatter windows.

Pr3ty’s scream was immediate.

“OH MY GOD—NO—BLUU—SPIT IT OUT—SPIT—”

C00lkidd just stood there, stunned. “Wait. You actually ate it? I thought it was symbolic!”

Bluudud slowly chewed.

“…Tastes like sadness,” he croaked.

That was when 007n7 stormed in, holding a grocery bag and what might’ve once been an onion. He took one look at the scene—bird carcass, half-empty hose water, a spoonful of raw panic—and dropped everything.

“What—WHAT IS GOING ON.”

“HE ATE THE BIRD,” Pr3ty shrieked.

“IT WORKED FOR CATS!” C00lkidd argued.

“I AM NOT A CAT!” Bluudud howled, half-gagging now.

007n7 grabbed his phone and was already shouting into it. “Yes, hi, hello, yes—poison control? Child just consumed wildlife. Unknown species. No, I’m not joking—YES I KNOW IT’S ILLEGAL—YES I KNOW WHAT PIGEONS ARE—”

By the time the doctor called back and confirmed that Bluudud would probably be fine (somehow), Bluudud had passed out again, peacefully snoring on the couch like he hadn’t just eaten a plague vector.

Pr3ty collapsed next to him, face in hands. “I hate all of you.”

C00lkidd was still holding the cup of hose water. He gave it a thoughtful sip.

“…Huh. It’s warm.”

007n7 looked like he aged twenty years in five minutes. “I need to move out. Of the planet.”

Bluudud was cocooned in three blankets, a pillow on his head, and one sock hanging limply from his foot as he laid upside down on the couch. His eyes were glassy, but clearer than before. His wings, once slumped, had returned to their default droop, which—according to Pr3typriincess—meant he was alive, if still miserable.

Across the room, C00lkidd sat smugly, legs swinging off the counter, crumbs on his hoodie and ketchup on his face.

“I saved his life,” he declared, mouth full. “Like, medically. With nature.”

“YOU FED HIM A BIRD,” Pr3typriincess snapped, holding an empty can of soup that he had definitely not opened, just duct-taped shut and labeled “emergency feathers.”

“It had protein,” C00lkidd argued, throwing his arms up. “And feathers are nature’s napkins.”

Bluudud, voice hoarse and somehow more done than usual: “I ate a bone.”

“You’re welcome.”

007n7 walked past in the background holding a mug and muttering, “I don’t get paid enough for this,” despite not being paid at all.

And then—

The air shifted.

Not dramatically. Not thunder or glitch. Just… a stillness. Like the moment between blinks.

A soft knock at the door.

And before anyone could react, the door eased open on its own.

There stood 118o8.

Long coat still fluttering like it was wind-kissed. Her silver hair loosely pinned up. Her gaze immediately zeroed in on the couch.

“Oh, baby—”

She crossed the room in three strides, faster than anyone could speak.

“Mom—?!” Bluudud sat up, barely, blinking.

“You look like someone microwaved a cloud,” she said, kneeling and cupping his fevered face. Her touch was cool, but gentle. Soothing in a way that bypassed embarrassment entirely.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, wings twitching. “I just—he fed me a pigeon.”

“Technically,” C00lkidd said, “it was a friendship pigeon.”

118o8 looked at him. Blinked once. Then turned back to Bluudud.

“My sixth sense went off again.”

“You have a sixth sense?”

“I told you. I know when you’re being emotionally reckless or physically injured. It’s a mom thing.”

Pr3typriincess narrowed her eyes. “That’s not real.”

“Tell that to my brain. I woke up from a dream and knew one of you had a fever and bird bone in your throat.”

“…Fair.”

118o8 placed a kiss on Bluudud’s forehead. He didn’t even resist. His wings folded slightly inward—bashful.

“I brought soup. Real soup.”

“Oh thank god,” Bluudud whispered.

Pr3typriincess helped her set it on the table. C00lkidd poked at the lid suspiciously, like it might be fake.

“What flavor is it?”

“Chicken.”

“Rest in peace, your cousin.”

118o8 pinched the bridge of her nose.

And somehow, the room felt just a bit warmer. Softer. Like even the chaos was taking a break.

Outside the window, the wind brushed by softly.

But somewhere, far off in the binary-slick horizon, static flickered faintly. Something was stirring. Watching.

But not today.

Today, they were okay.

118o8 took over the living room like it was her job—because in a way, it was. She moved with swift efficiency, flicking open her emergency medbag (which, for some reason, was glittery pink and covered in keychains). With one hand, she checked Bluudud’s temperature. With the other, she was already unwrapping a packet of herbal patches that smelled like a forest in springtime.

Bluudud, buried in a fresh pile of blankets and fluff, blinked up at her. “I’m not a lost kitten,” he muttered.

“You’re worse,” 118o8 said with zero hesitation, dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth. “Kittens don’t try to ‘walk it off’ with a fever of 102 and a half-eaten crow in their stomach.”

“It was a pigeon,” C00lkidd corrected, holding a half-melted popsicle upside down over his face like a drip torture.

118o8 turned, smile instantly brightening. “Oh, you. Come here.”

C00lkidd paused. “…Why?”

“Because you’re too cute to be walking around like that.”

She crossed the room in two steps, and before C00lkidd could scream, his face was squished between both her palms like a stress ball. She smushed his cheeks together, making him puff out like an angry hamster.

“Gngggh—sthp—”

“Look at this little chaos muffin,” she cooed, completely unfazed by his flailing. “Trying to play doctor with wildlife. You’re lucky you didn’t give him bird flu!”

“Let me gooooo—”

“You bit the bird first, didn’t you.”

“C00lkidd, you bit it?” Pr3typriincess asked from the couch, sounding half entertained and half horrified.

“It was mutual!” he shouted through squished lips.

118o8 kissed his forehead anyway and released him with a laugh. He fell backward dramatically onto a beanbag, rubbing his face like he’d just survived war.

“I saw the void,” he mumbled.

“You are the void,” Pr3ty said.

118o8 returned to Bluudud, now feeding him spoonfuls of actual, non-pigeon soup. She fluffed his pillow, adjusted his wings, and wrapped another blanket around him even though he already looked like a cocooned couch burrito.

“I missed this,” she said softly. “Just… taking care of you.”

Bluudud blinked. He wasn’t great at emotions—but his hand slid out from under the blanket and gently tugged at her coat.

“…You’re really strong,” he mumbled.

“Mmhm,” she said, feeding him another spoonful.

“Like, weirdly strong.”

“Mmhm.”

“…You just picked C00lkidd up by the face.”

“He deserved it.”

There was a long pause.

“I did,” C00lkidd called from the floor, where he was now stacking cereal boxes like a shrine to himself.

Pr3ty leaned her chin on her hands, watching everything. It was weird—seeing someone else take care of them. Someone who moved with soft smiles and scary strength. Who could smother them with affection and still glare death into any threat within ten miles.

Bluudud was already half-asleep again.

“Sleep,” 118o8 whispered, brushing his hair back. “I’ll keep you safe.”

And he did. Wrapped in warmth, surrounded by chaos, and resting in the arms of the strongest mom on the planet.

Outside, the cold wind howled softly. But inside?

Inside was safe.

Safe.

For now.

118o8 was halfway through braiding Bluudud’s hair—because apparently even during recovery, presentation mattered—when 007n7 finally pulled her aside.

He waited until Bluudud was dozing again, curled up under what must’ve been six blankets and a very sleepy cat plush. C00lkidd was in the kitchen, microwaving something that probably shouldn’t be microwaved. Pr3typriincess was drawing mustaches on everyone’s juice boxes with permanent marker. It was the calmest it had been in days.

And that’s exactly why it felt so dangerous.

“Can we talk?” 007n7 asked, his voice low.

118o8 glanced up at him, her eyes immediately narrowing with motherly suspicion. “What happened?” she asked, already adjusting her stance like she was about to throw hands.

“In private.”

She followed him onto the tiny balcony. The cold air hit sharp, and for a moment they just stood there—surrounded by the noise of the city, neon humming in the distance, stars barely visible behind the haze.

Then 007n7 said it.

“There’s someone after the kids.”

Her posture snapped into alertness. “Who?”

“They call themselves hunters. Not the cult, not the usual bugs in the system. These are organized. Tactical. Armed. Not just trying to kill them—they want to contain them. Especially Pr3typriincess.”

118o8’s eyes narrowed. “Why her?”

“They don’t know what she is. She wasn’t supposed to exist, or so they say. Some canceled file. A miracle to us, but a ‘variable’ to them. She’s marked.”

118o8 went very, very still.

“And Bluudud?” she asked. Slowly. Quietly.

“He’s not their main target,” 007n7 said, “but he’s involved. They know he’s one of yours. He’s seen things. Escaped things. They’ll use him if they have to.”

There was a beat.

Then, like something tectonic shifted beneath her skin, 118o8’s jaw clenched. “If anyone lays a finger on my son—”

“They already did once.”

That stopped her. Her breath hitched, barely.

“I wasn’t there for it,” she whispered. “Back then. I thought he was gone. I thought—” She shook her head. “But I’m here now. And I’ll die before they take him again.”

007n7 nodded. “That’s why I told you.”

She looked at him—really looked. At the exhaustion behind his glasses, the way he stood like someone always ready to run or fight. A man who’d walked away from destruction before and was now parenting literal anomalies.

“You didn’t have to get involved in this,” she said. “But you did.”

007n7 shrugged. “Wasn’t really a choice, was it?”

She cracked a tired smile. “No. I guess not.”

They stood in silence again. Below, a car honked. Somewhere in the apartment, C00lkidd screamed “IT’S ALIVE” and something exploded softly.

118o8 took a long breath. “What’s the plan?”

“Lay low. Protect them. But… we’ll need help. The kind not tracked. Not registered.”

“You mean the dangerous kind.”

“The kind we were,” 007n7 said.

That made her pause. Her fingers flexed like they missed the days of command lines and corrupted root scripts.

“I’ll call in what I can,” she said. “And you?”

“I’m already working on something,” he said. “I opened the c00lgui.”

118o8 blinked. “You swore you’d never—”

“I lied,” 007n7 said simply. “For them.”

118o8 nodded slowly. “Good.”

Then she looked back at the window, where her son was curled up on the couch—his wings twitching gently, hair freshly braided.

“He’s the only thing I ever did right,” she said.

007n7’s voice was quiet. “He’s not the only one you’ve saved.”

She didn’t reply.

But when they stepped back inside, she gently kissed Bluudud’s forehead and sat beside him, a protective force cloaked in warmth.

No one was taking her son.

Not again.

In the dim glow of 007n7’s spare monitor room—really just a broom closet full of fans and humming wires—118o8 cracked her knuckles and stared down the ancient terminal like it owed her money.

She sat cross-legged on a cushion that looked like it had been patched with duct tape and hope. The old screen flickered to life with a sharp whine, the shell script crawling like veins across a dead god’s face. And then—

prompt: ./fr3shgui/init_run.exe
credentials: [override—admin-sudo level 4]
GUI key: [Accepted]
Accessing…
Opening FR3SH GUI…

“You’re opening it?” 007n7 asked, not disapprovingly.

118o8 nodded. “I will make sure no one hurts my baby again.”

The screen dimmed—then popped open into a jagged, neon-tinted interface, all twitchy cursor trails and 90s vaporwave aesthetics. Rows of data spiraled like broken helixes. 

118o8 remembered this thing when it was first forged—back when it pulsed clean and clear.

“Talk to me,” she muttered.

A glitchy voice wavered through her headphones. Synthetic, too smooth—eerily polite:

“User detected. Welcome, 118o8.
Please state your query.”

She typed:

Query: 226w6 — relational enemies — recent movements — red-tag targets — ‘Project Born’

Lines of code fluttered.

The GUI froze for two seconds. Then…

[REDACTED] faction identified.
Designation: NULLWIPERS
Status: active
Motive: Annihilation of non-tagged anomalies linked to Ghost Core 226w6.
Reason: 226w6 violated synthetic design boundaries—created code structures without a user ID or traceable genetic markers.
Target: [REDACTED]

118o8’s blood ran cold.

“They’re cleaning up,” she whispered. “Every trace of 226w6’s legacy. Every spark that survived.”

The GUI clicked. A series of images popped up—data signatures, encrypted archives, maps painted in thin red lines. One was labeled [VOID_INSTABILITY_SURGE]—a familiar flicker. Noli.

007n7 narrowed his eyes.

“So this is what he meant when he said it wasn’t over,” he muttered.

”Who?” 118o8 said while she typed, not looking up.

”Noli.”

More fragments loaded: battle footage warped by data interference, voice clips cut into garbled whispers.

[INTERCEPTED AUDIO]
“—cancelled code doesn’t deserve continuity. They’re noise.”
“—cut the branches before they root.”
“—no User, no rights.”

118o8’s jaw clenched. Her fingers trembled—but not from fear. Rage simmered in her bones.

She pulled up Pr3ty’s identifier.

A single line glitched across the screen:

EXISTENCE: UNAUTHORIZED
STATUS: LIVING
THREAT LEVEL: UNCLASSIFIED
DIRECTIVE: OBSERVE, THEN PURGE

Her hand flew to the eject lever. The console spat out a burnt datachip. She caught it midair.

“They think just because she wasn’t ‘authorized,’ she isn’t real.”

Her voice was low.

She stood.

007n7 looked up. “That bad?”

118o8 didn’t answer right away. She walked straight past him, paused only to gently adjust Bluudud’s blanket, then turned to face 007 fully.

“They’re not just hunting her. They’re trying to erase the very idea of her.”

She held up the chip.

“We’re gonna make sure they choke on it and never touch 226w6’s legacy ever again.”

Noli stood motionless at the counter of Builder Brothers Pizza, head slightly tilted, glowing sockets fixed on the soda machine like it was whispering secrets.

Elliot stared at him, unamused.

“…Are you gonna order?”

Noli blinked—slow, deliberate. “Nah.”

“…Then get out of the line.”

“Okay.”

He did not move.

Chapter Text

The city is asleep.

Or maybe it’s just pretending to be.

Skyscrapers loom, their windows blank eyes reflecting flickers of broken light. Billboards flicker advertisements for products. Somewhere far off, a train rattles past.

And iTrapped walks through it all.

His boots make no sound. His coat moves like a shadow barely tethered to his form. 

He walks with his hands behind his back, fingers interlaced. Neat. Precise. The walk of someone with nothing left to prove and nothing left to lose.

The matte-black rectangle over his eyes floats still and unreadable, as always. An erasure of gaze.

He says nothing.

Just walks. Past the shuttered storefronts. Past the walls tagged with graffiti half-decayed: fragments of protests, art, names no one remembers.

The streets are not quiet. Not at all. Bustling cars stuck in traffic. Commotion in crows passing the street. But iTrapped pays no attention to it. Like the air is holding its breath around him.

Finally, he stops beneath a flickering streetlamp. The buzz of static rattles through it with a soft mechanical whine. The pole is dented, painted over a dozen times. Someone tied a ribbon around it—blue and fraying.

iTrapped tilts his head up, staring at the light.

His lips part. The words come out slow. Detached.

“…Couldn’t free Caleb.”

He folds his arms behind him again.

“Couldn’t reach Ellernate either.”

A faint breeze catches his coat. It doesn’t sway much—too heavy with data-weight. Too anchored.

“Couldn’t get the key.”

He steps toward the wall behind the streetlamp and presses one palm flat against the bricks. 

Nothing answers.

“The Banlands stays shut.”

He lets his hand fall gently, slowly.

A pause. His shoulders lift with a breath he doesn’t really need to take.

“So…”

He tilts his head upward.

The sky is a dull canvas, streaked with faint hints of orange and purple from the city’s lights. There’s nothing in it but the endless void.

His voice is softer now. Almost conversational. Almost bored.

“…Now what?”

Silence.

It’s a question he’s been avoiding, but one that’s impossible to ignore now. The thrill of the chase, the mission, the need to move forward, it all feels so distant. All those carefully made plans, those intricate manipulations, all of it amounted to nothing.

For the first time in forever, iTrapped didn’t have a plan. No strategies. No calculations. Just… silence.

He chuckles, once. A sharp, amused exhale through his nose.

“Failure is a quiet thing,” he says to no one.

He stands in the alleyway, silent for a long moment, staring into the dark like it’s something he could reach out and touch. As if the city’s emptiness could speak to him. But it doesn’t.

Nothing ever does.

“I didn’t plan for this.” The words slip out of him, a quiet confession that means nothing and everything at the same time. “Not… Whatever this is.”

He stops, raising one hand like a conductor.

“But the code’s rusted.“

His hand drops.

His voice hardens, but it doesn’t raise.

“I spent years carving the path.“

He steps over a cracked bottle on the ground. Pauses. Nudges it with the toe of his boot. Watches it roll against the curb and stop.

“For what?”

Another pause.

“Caleb’s still trapped. Ellernate’s as well. And me?”

He gently touches the edge of the floating redacted panel over his eyes, like someone checking if their mask is still there.

“I’m starting to forget what I was even trying to fix.”

But there is no answer. No guidance.

He lets his head fall back, gazing at the broken lamp above him. The dim light flickers, the air heavy with the hum of malfunction. 

He turns his head slightly to the light. Doesn’t say anything.

Then, sharply, he slams the heel of his hand against the lamp post.

The buzzing skips.

Static distorts the light, throwing warped shadows in every direction for half a second.

Then stillness again.

He exhales.

“…Still no response. Of course.”

The streets are still quiet. But something feels… off now. As if the city is listening.

He starts walking again.

His fingers twitch behind his back.

“This world.“ He hissed.

He glances toward a darkened window where an old game update screen glows faintly.

“It keeps trying to pretend nothing’s wrong.”

Then, bitterly:

“…Maybe that’s the smartest thing to do.”

He stops walking again. This time at the mouth of an alley. The air here smells like cold copper and smoke. The kind of place that records things no one wants remembered.

The walls are covered in old sigils—marks not drawn but carved in code. His gaze lingers on them. Some are familiar. Most are wrong.

He traces one with his finger. Slowly.

“This one belonged to a sect who thought resurrection was just a matter of syntax.”

His voice tightens.

“They were wrong.”

He lowers his hand. Brushes off imaginary dust from his coat sleeve.

“Death’s not a glitch. You can’t debug grief.”

Another pause.

He speaks again, this time quieter.

“I don’t know what I need to do anymore.”

He sits down on an old crate. His posture, always so perfect, now slumps ever so slightly.

“Trying to free them would be a lost cause.”

His hands flex on his knees. “I’m just the echo of a plan that never worked,” He looks up toward the sky. The clouds are gray with memory. “I was never supposed to fix anything. I was just… clever enough to try.”

He runs a hand through his hair, eyes still hidden behind the floating void of the mask.

“And that cleverness got people hurt.”

Apart of him tells him that he doesn’t care. Believe me, he didn’t. But something in iTrapped shifted when he said that. Only a little bit.

He doesn’t flinch.

He goes silent again.

A dog barks faintly in the distance.

iTrapped finally lowers his head.

There’s no dramatic swell of music. No monologue ending in hope. No tear down the cheek.

Just quiet.

The city does not comfort him. It does not answer. It doesn’t even shift. But it also does not judge.

Just silence.

Maybe that’s all he needs.

But he keeps sitting there, beneath the buzzing, broken lamp.

“I thought this would feel more… poetic,” he says, voice still cold. “It doesn’t.”

He runs a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “What am I even doing? I’m just talking to myself.”

The wind passed quietly through the alley. Paper drifted like forgotten memories. The neon flicker of a broken sign buzzed somewhere in the distance—unsteady and faint, like a dying heartbeat.

For a moment, silence was the loudest thing.

Then, from the other end of the alley, a figure stepped out.

Calm.

Steady.

Professional.

Clad in sleek, segmented armor that shimmered with hidden tech. A black insignia curled over their shoulder—spiraling, subtle, the kind of logo meant to be forgotten. Their visor glowed faintly. They moved like a thought given shape.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even lift his head.

He only spoke. Cold. Dry. “It’s not very polite to sneak up on someone.”

The voice was clean. Mechanical. It spoke like a scalpel: without breath, without emotion.

“Been looking for you, iTrapped.”

He didn’t turn. His mask flickered, his stance still pristine, still unreadable.

“…That’s a bold opener.”

“Efficient,” the figure replied.

He finally turned his head—just enough to glance at them. “Who are you?”

“A contractor.”

“Working for who?”

“The Spiral Directorate.”

The name made the air seem colder.

iTrapped tilted his head faintly. “Never heard of them.”

The hunter stepped forward, boots leaving no sound. “That’s the point.”

They paused. And then, with the calm of a surgeon reviewing a chart, they began to speak.

“They’re not done hunting the girl. The Spiral Directorate’s making their next move.”

A silence settled, cold and hard like old steel.

“The girl?” iTrapped asked, eyes narrowing. “You’re saying this as if I know who she is.”

“I am… someone they sent,” the Hunter replied, ignoring iTrapped. “They call me The Scout.”