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Deals with the devil don’t always go as you plan.
That might seem obvious; devils double deal, they wheedle, they swindle. Bargains with them are layered and vicious, with hidden clauses and fine print. The devil sticks to the letter of the contract, not the spirit, and sometimes the letters can be smudged.
But when someone knows the devil very well, they might think they can play against the house, and still manage to eke out something of a win.
They’re mistaken. But they think they can do it.
It starts like this; a man named Felix comes back from the dead and seeks revenge. He was betrayed, and so he died, because that is how men like him die. Parasites, cruel for the sake of cruel, mean for the sake of boredom, evil for the sake of proving that he can.
He goes to his old partner, the one who betrayed him, to gloat, because he is Felix, formerly known as Isaac Gates, and that is what he does.
Locus has been broken a thousand times over, many times by Felix himself. He offers himself up, a sacrifice to save the others.
There are ten of them, and one of him. It seems like a fair trade. He will betray them, and go to Felix, and he will let Felix do whatever it is he wants.
Grif, Simmons, Lopez, Sarge, Donut, Doc, Carolina, Washington, Caboose, Tucker.
Of course, betrayal does not always go easily.
In one world, he leaves without a trace, a perfect execution of his betrayal.
But this is not that world.
Variant I: Tucker
The last night, Locus does what he knows will convince them.
He breaks into the room that Washington and Lavernius Tucker share while they sleep.
The two of them look peaceful, limbs tangled together and with the sheets, Washington’s head against Tucker’s chest, Tucker’s dreads spread out across the pillows. No nightmares are disturbing them tonight, and Locus drinks in this sight, knowing he is intruding, but unable to make himself care.
There had been a time that Locus remembers, when Tucker had not slept peacefully. His nightmares had been haunted by Felix, among other demons. They had spent many late nights, drinking coffee or tea together, not speaking about the contents of their dreams, but instead talking about silly, banal things, both of them ignoring the dark circles under their eyes or the way that their hands trembled when they picked up their mugs.
Locus might not be able to protect Lavernius Tucker from every evil that the galaxy can create, but he can spare him this.
“Sam?” Tucker says, his voice blurred with sleep. “Sam, what the fuck are you doing in our room?”
Locus chokes on any reasonable explanation.
“I’m sorry,” he says instead. “I just—I needed to check on you.”
It’s the wrong answer; it’s an answer which will cause suspicion later.
But he flees the room, leaving the sword under Lavernius Tucker’s pillow.
Because of that, Caboose never tells the others about the cave.
They never find their answers about why Locus left.
And when they find the house that Felix has been keeping Locus in, they think it is a trap set by a traitor. They do not go inside.
Felix does die in the inferno, but Locus dies too.
They wonder about the second body, but they find no satisfactory answers.
But that is then, in the future.
He goes to the beach, where Felix is waiting in the pelican, hovering above the water so that there are no marks on the sand to tell of his method of departure.
“Is it done?” Felix asks, holding the sword that both of them are bound to in his hands. He’s wearing his old armor. It’s dented and broken in places, and the paint is peeling. Felix has made no repairs, and the effect on Locus is visceral. He does not want to look, but he knows he must.
“Yes,” Locus replies, the words like ash in his mouth.
“Good. Then get in, and take off that armor.”
Variant II: Washington
Washington meets him outside, after Locus finishes his goodbyes. Washington is in armor, and is carrying his gun.
“Leaving so soon?”
“You don’t understand,” Locus says, only realizing too late that he’s echoing himself from Chorus.
But Washington remembers, and his eyes harden, having decided on Locus’ betrayal.
The butt of the gun slams into Locus’ head before he can react, and the world goes dark.
“You really suck at this,” Felix tells him when he wakes up.
The world has been slathered in red, and Locus stares at him blankly.
Variant III: Lopez
He finds Sarge, asleep in his workshop. Lopez stares at him suspiciously from his position in the corner, but Locus just puts a blanket over Sarge’s shoulders and moves away, closing the door behind him. Even if the robot tells them what happened, none of them will understand him, or believe him if they could. Sarge will believe that Lopez did it, in his fondness and delusions.
“¿Qué estás haciendo?” Lopez demands, following him into the hallway.
“Quiet,” Locus says. “You’ll wake them.”
“¿Por qué te importa? Tus pesadillas mantienen a la mitad de ellos despiertos por la noche de todos modos.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“¡Espere! Mierda. ¿Nos estás traicionando? Les advertí que no podías confiar en ti.”
“Then I am sure you will enjoy telling them that you were correct about me.”
“No estás llevando tus armas.”
“I won’t need my weapons. Not where I’m going.”
“Algo está mal, ¿no? ¿Que esta pasando?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
“Mentiroso.” The robot tilted his head to one side. “Tienes miedo.”
“I am not afraid.”
There is a long, awful pause. Then Lopez leaps backwards.
“¡Es el malvado naranja! ¡Lo veo en las imágenes de seguridad! ¿Qué has hecho?”
The moment that he mentions Felix, Locus lunges. His fingers catch around the throat of the robot, pressing him up against the wall.
A moment later, he releases him. “It doesn’t matter,” he says to himself. “No one can understand you.”
“Grif.”
Locus closes his eyes.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He’d studied how to disable Lopez back on Chorus, when Felix had been spotted by him, and they’d had a long discussion about a robot who could speak, but not be understood.
There is a cluster of wires, located where the spine should be.
Locus rips them out, sending sparks everywhere, and Lopez lets out a horrific noise, then falls silent.
He then steps away. “You should remain here,” he says distantly. “Felix would destroy you if you follow me.”
Lopez stares at him, silent and judging.
“If I go with him, he lets the rest of you live,” Locus says, although he knows his explanation does not matter.
He takes the wires with him, and he goes to the beach.
“Is it done?” Felix asks, holding the sword that both of them are bound to in his hands. He’s wearing his old armor.
Locus glances over his shoulder.
Lopez did not follow him.
Variation IV: Sarge
He finds Sarge, asleep in his workshop. Lopez stares at him suspiciously from his position in the corner, but Locus just puts a blanket over Sarge’s shoulders and moves away.
“Mmm? Lopez, that you?”
For a moment, Locus is paralyzed.
But he turns on his camoflauge, just in time for Sarge to wake up fully.
“A… why you softie! I knew you cared!” Sarge gives a dramatic sniff. “Come on Lopez. It’s time for bed.”
He walks right past Locus, ignoring Lopez’s protests.
Locus closes his eyes. Too close.
He skips the rest of his farewells, and goes to the beach.
“Is it done?” Felix asks, holding the sword that both of them are bound to in his hands. He’s wearing his old armor. It’s dented and broken in places, and the paint is peeling. Felix has made no repairs, and the effect on Locus is visceral. He does not want to look, but he knows he must.
“Yes,” Locus replies, the words like ash in his mouth.
Variant V: Grif
He finds Grif and Simmons asleep on the couch instead of the room that they refuse to admit they share. Their limbs are tangled together, and they lean on each other in an intimacy they would refuse while awake. A movie plays on the television in front of them, and popcorn is scattered all over the ground.
Locus wishes Grif were awake. He would ask Locus what he was doing, perhaps even invite him to sit with them. He’d see right through Locus, and ask him what was wrong. But if he did…
Perhaps it is for the best that Grif sleeps on.
He does one last sweep, and then walks out, panic rising in his chest as he realizes there is now no turning back.
“Locus?” Grif mutters, as he walks through the door back into the kitchen. He’s holding a glass of water in his hands, and squinting at Locus. “What are you doing awake?”
He has not yet realized that Locus is in armor. Quickly, Locus takes off the helmet, so his voice does not come out filtered. Grif is still half-asleep.
“I’m going for a walk,” he lies, heart hammering in his throat.
“Want company?”
“No,” Locus says, perhaps a touch too quickly, but it does not matter. Grif nods and ambles back towards the couch, back towards Simmons.
Locus flees as silently as he can, hoping that Grif forgets about their encounter in the morning.
He goes to the beach, where Felix is waiting in the pelican, hovering above the water so that there are no marks on the sand to tell of his method of departure.
“Is it done?” Felix asks, holding the sword that both of them are bound to in his hands. He’s wearing his old armor. It’s dented and broken in places, and the paint is peeling. Felix has made no repairs, and the effect on Locus is visceral. He does not want to look, but he knows he must.
The ocean whispers in the normal ebb and flow of the tides and waves, and it feels horrifically loud as he moves towards it, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the sound of Dexter Grif’s voice.
“Where are you going, Dumbass?”
Locus spins on the spot, mouth opening to tell Grif to—to leave, or run, or something else altogether.
He’s not fast enough.
The sound of the gun going off is the loudest noise that Locus has ever heard.
Grif, still in his pajamas, falls to the ground.
“No!” Locus lunges forward, but Felix grabs him.
“There’s nine more where that came from,” Felix whispers in his ear.
Locus can’t stop himself from being pulled back into the pelican, can’t move his limbs to stop Felix from drugging him.
All he can do is stare at Grif, crumpled on the beach, and try to see if his chest is moving at all.
Variant VI: Simmons
He does one last sweep, and then walks out, panic rising in his chest as he realizes there is now no turning back. He opens the door to exit the base, and closes it for the last time.
“What are you doing in armor?” Simmons shrieks. Locus winces; Simmons can get loud so easily.
“I’m—” Locus has never been the best of liars. Ironic, perhaps, given how often he has betrayed people, but his mind freezes, not coming up with a proper explanation.
Simmons can tell that something is wrong. “Shit! You’ve gone evil! I’m going to—”
Locus lunges forward, because he can’t alert the others.
He slams Simmons’ head against the side of the base—Simmons’ throat contains too many unknown quantities to risk a choke hold.
Simmons goes down hard, but the noise was loud. Locus checks him quickly, to make sure he’s breathing (he doesn’t know what he’d do if he wasn’t) and then runs to the beach, where Felix is waiting.
“Any complications?” Felix asks, holding the sword that both of them are bound to in his hands.
Locus swallows, wondering how Felix knows. He says nothing, just gets in the pelican.
Hopefully, Simmons will not notice that Locus had been carrying no weapons at all.
Variant VII: Donut
Donut is asleep in the room he shares with Doc, and Locus stands in the doorway, watching. The two of them are curled against each other. It is a tranquil image, the two of them surrounded by Donut’s fondness for frills and lace in interior design, Doc’s medical texts and yoga mat scattered on the floor.
“What’s the matter, Locus? Get lonely at night?” Donut asks, sitting upright.
“I—no, I just—”
“Checking all the nooks and crannies? Wash used to do that too. Gotta love that preparation!”
“I’m leaving now,” Locus says, and flees, hoping Donut thinks it’s nothing more than the usual discomfort.
But Donut follows, and Locus doesn’t know what to do.
“Tell you what, if you’re having trouble sleeping, let’s get you out of all that armor and give you a proper massage! My fingers are simply magical, you know!”
Grif and Simmons shift on the couch.
“I’m going to the beach for a walk,” he says.
“Oh how romantic. I’ll come with!”
“No.”
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Donut says. “I’ll go wake Doc, and we can make it a threesome!” He turns around, and Locus has to act, has to act now.
He slaps a hand over Donut’s mouth and yanks him back. Sarge’s constant repairs means there’s duct tape all over the base. The stuff is crude, but it will hold Donut and keep him quiet long enough for Locus to flee.
And the effect will make his betrayal all the more real.
He removes his hand from Donut’s mouth.
“Locus, really, I’m flattered, but this stuff is not remotely appropriate material—” Locus places the final piece over his mouth, then shoves Donut in the coat closet, which he wedges shut with a chair.
He hopes Donut can make a few good innuendoes out of the closet.
“Any complications?” Felix asks, holding the sword that both of them are bound to in his hands.
“They’re handled,” he says, and tries not to think of the wide eyed, betrayed look that Donut had given him when he’d shut the door.
Variant VIII: Doc
“Ahh! Locus! Oh wait you’re on our side.”
“Go back to sleep, DuFresne,” Locus says.
“You know, you’re the only one who remembers my name,” Doc says dreamily.
“Sleep.”
“You’re about to do something very stupid, aren’t you?”
Locus says nothing.
“Just be careful, okay? I’d hate to have to patch you up.”
Locus lets out a quiet laugh, despite himself.
“Don’t worry. You won’t.”
For a while, it had felt like he’d belonged here.
He does one last sweep, and then walks out, panic rising in his chest as he realizes there is now no turning back. He goes to the beach, where Felix is waiting in the pelican, hovering above the water so that there are no marks on the sand to tell of his method of departure.
“Is it done?” Felix asks, holding the sword that both of them are bound to in his hands. He’s wearing his old armor. It’s dented and broken in places, and the paint is peeling. Felix has made no repairs, and the effect on Locus is visceral. He does not want to look, but he knows he must.
“Yes,” Locus replies, the words like ash in his mouth.
Variant IX: Carolina
He finds Carolina in her room, a tablet on her chest, having fallen asleep while reading the news or something similar. Locus resists the urge to take away the tablet, and place a blanket over her, or worse, to wake her up, kneel at her side, and confess what he is doing. If anyone was capable of helping him drive off Felix, it would be her, surely. He imagines her killing Felix, freeing them all from this…
But he thinks about the sound of Felix’s neck snapping, and the way that he had straightened up right after.
Felix has become more dangerous than ever, and Locus can’t take the risk. Maybe she could handle him, even if Locus doubts it, but at what cost? Who would die before they put him down like a rabid dog?
It is much better that Locus is the only one to pay the debt that Felix demands. Locus will happily die a thousand times over, if it means that Felix never touches any of them.
Locus takes off his armor and goes to shake her awake.
She sits upright in an instant, adrenaline flooding through her veins. “Locus?” She asks. The pistol goes back under her pillow.
“I’ve—I’ve done something,” Locus says.
She stares at him, suddenly her eyes hardening into two suspicious green dots. “What did you do?”
So he tells her, confessing his sins and mistakes.
She stares at him for a long, long time.
For a moment, he thinks she doesn’t believe him.
For a moment, he thinks she will kill him.
“He can’t die?”
“He got back up,” he whispers. “I—I don’t know what to do.”
She looks at him.
“I’ll go with him,” he says.
“No,” she says, grabbing his wrist. “Don’t. You can’t trust him. He’ll come back for us anyways.”
“I—I can at least buy you time,” Locus says.
“There’s eleven of us,” she says, and for a moment Locus is paralyzed by being included. “We can take him.”
“Wrong,” Felix says, and an alien sword bursts into being a millisecond before it’s thrust through her throat.
Variation X: Caboose
Caboose is on the roof of the base, asleep in his armor. He’s sitting upright, his feet dangling over the edge, and Locus gives into his urges, and shifts Caboose, so that he is lying down in a more comfortable position.
“Sam?” Caboose asks sleepily, waking up slightly as Locus moves him away from the dangerous edge.
“Go back to sleep, Caboose,” Locus says, allowing his voice to show all the affection and exhaustion that he has been hiding these past three days. It does not matter if Caboose remembers this in the morning. The others will not listen if Caboose choses to protest Locus’ innocence, and in time, Locus’ absence will convince Caboose of the betrayal. He is no Leonard Church; Caboose will not expect him to return.
“Okay! See you in the morning!”
Nothing he could have said would have been more agonizing.
Caboose does not go back to sleep. “Can you stay here with me?” He asks.
“No.”
“Pleeeeeeeeeease?”
“No.”
“Where are you going then? I will come with you!”
“I’m—going—to the beach,” he says.
“Oh boy! I love swimming in my armor!”
“I—Caboose—”
“I’ll get Freckles! And we shall get the big umbrella, and make it a beach party, and you won’t go away!”
Fear swamps him. “What do you mean?”
“You’re going away. But you shouldn’t. You should stay.”
“I need to go.”
“But… you haven’t said goodbye yet.”
Locus turns his back. “Goodbye.”
“Oh.”
Caboose sits back down, hard.
“Goodbye Sam.”
Locus closes his eyes and waits until the sounds of Caboose’s snores fill the air before he goes back into the base. His home, were it possible for Locus to ever have such a thing. For a while, it had felt like he’d belonged here.
He does one last sweep, and then walks out, panic rising in his chest as he realizes there is now no turning back. He goes to the beach, where Felix is waiting in the pelican, hovering above the water so that there are no marks on the sand to tell of his method of departure.
“Is it done?” Felix asks, holding the sword that both of them are bound to in his hands. He’s wearing his old armor. It’s dented and broken in places, and the paint is peeling. Felix has made no repairs, and the effect on Locus is visceral. He does not want to look, but he knows he must.
“Yes,” Locus replies, the words like ash in his mouth.
“Good. Then get in, and take off that armor.”
Locus obeys.
He leaves the moon, to fulfill his deal with the devil.