Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The name of the game was Faces. 

Someone would call out a cover, then they’d shake their fists and throw out a number - as if they were rolling dice. 

Get the right number, that’s your face. 

Some people played to lose - not liking the option that was thrown out - others played to win, if it was their strong-suit. 

Techno usually won things like ‘body guard’ or ‘thug’, winning anything else with his frame would be a struggle to pull off, though he had made an impressive ‘rich a-hole’ a couple times. 

Wilbur was known to pull off just about anything - to the point the others weren’t even sure if he actually tried during Faces. He’s pulled off playboy, orphan, pauper, and tailor, youngest child, oldest child, social worker, and even interpreter. 

But this one.

This was just impossible.

“Hybrid?!” The brunet’s hands clutched at his hair, yanking at the strands in distress, “how am I supposed to do that?!” 

“The tech department will set you up,” their current overseer assured, though she didn’t sound like she particularly cared. Overseers came and went - either getting re-assigned or thrown out all together. Their job was to make sure the Esca agents had everything they needed to pull off their deceptions. 

Esca agents were both the most valuable resource in the organization, and the most frequently disposed of.

Never by the agency, of course. Failure on their missions meant they never came back; their job was to lure in targets, get close, and get information. That kind of deep trust they yank out of their victim’s hearts isn’t taken lightly. 

“How do you expect me to fool anyone?” Wilbur threw his hands up, his concern morphing to anger.

“We’ll pick a rare hybrid, something that will make it easy for you to get away with, since no one can question you on it and know the answers.” 

Somehow, that wasn’t comforting. 

Wilbur scowled, going off to the side as the others tossed. He’d never been nervous before, always taking his time to think over the face and how to be it- but this… what mission would have him be a whole different species? 

And how likely was it to get him killed? 

Maybe he could get Techno to come, watch from the sidelines, make sure he didn’t get hurt. He’d always thought Techno was more of a Fieldy anyway - one of the brutes who took care of the things that needed urgent and violent attention as opposed to the Esca’s slow but profitable tactics. 

The brunet looked over, but Techno had already won his assignment, so Wilbur really was stuck alone with this. 

Before he could fall further into his pity party, he shook his head, as if he could physically clear away his anxieties like an etch-a-sketch. This was going to be fine - the more he doubted himself, the worse it would go. He was the best Esca agent they had, they were probably betting on him to get this cover.

He wouldn’t let them down. Whatever mission he was given, he was sure it’d be something simple.

-   -   -

It was not simple. 

It was so far from simple. 

They needed someone on the inside, to divert a local businessman’s attention away from some other business tycoon, who apparently was responsible for feeding their organization a lot of money. 

It could be simple - it almost sounded like it would be. Wilbur had become advisors before - placed in board meetings and juries, swaying votes and pushing whatever agenda the organization wanted him to spout. 

But this man didn’t have advisors or meetings or even assistants - which meant that if Wilbur was going to get the organization’s input into this man’s head he needed to take a personal approach. 

A personal approach. With an elytrian. 

A hybrid known for two things - protectiveness and possessiveness. 

That meant Wilbur was going to have to be more careful than ever, and even then there was still a slim chance he was ever going to get close to the man, close enough that the guy would take business advice from a nobody. 

And then, if he managed to pull that off, where would that leave Wilbur? Stuck by the side of some bird, wearing a mask for the rest of his life, praying the guy never finds out? 

Or he slips away, and the man goes looking for him, and what does he do when he finds Wilbur at some gala pretending to be a personal assistant? Or in a casino as some CEO’s idiot son who’s eager to throw away his inheritance? 

There wasn’t an outcome, that Wilbur could see, that went well. 

But he’d passed the point of no return when he’d let his hubris get the best of him.

If he made it out of this, Wilbur decided, he was going to start actually pay attention during Faces - maybe even start going after certain ones. He was pretty good at the performance ones, maybe he’d snatch any street performer, band musician, and roadie mask from here on out. 

He nodded to himself, agreeing with his own decision, as he was led to the Butcher’s Bay. 

“The Butcher’s Bay” was part of the Esca’s center - their entire base of operations was dedicated to preparing them for their roles they were going to play. Workout centers, tailors, hairdressers, makeup, there was even a special floor dedicated to learning niche tasks on the chance they needed it. 

Techno had learned how to shoe horses there. That’d been a fun assignment he’d said, turns out he’d never known he liked horses before he had to be a ranch hand. 

But Butcher’s Bay - as they’d dubbed it, the organization probably wasn’t crazy about that title - was where you went to get cut apart and sewn back together. 

They’d give you scars, take away scars, adjust body parts, or add new ones. Anything surgical was done there. 

It was also where they fixed you if something went wrong on your mission - or you had to do something on your mission. A lot of tattoos got removed in Butcher’s Bay, more than they gave. 

Wilbur stopped in front of the door, taking a moment to compose himself. He had a mission, he was too far to turn back, he’d been given his objective, now he was going to get his cover. 

There was no use wishing he’d headed to the clothing racks, or the skill pick-ups. He was here now, and he’d take everything head-on, like he knew exactly what was doing.

A mask before he even started. 

Chapter Text

“Wilbur!” Sally beamed after the door slid open with a whish of air, the lab being immediately colder than the hallway as Wilbur stepped in. 

“Hey,” he smiled, the eneterance automatically shutting behind him. Sally was a lab tech, she designed any technology they’d cram into the Esca agent’s bodies before removing it again after the mission. 

And since she was the one greeting him, that meant it was finally Wilbur’s turn to become a cyborg. 

“I am so excited! You won’t believe what I’ve cooked up for you,” the red head practically skipped over, wasting no time as she started to look Wilbur over, scribbling things down on her clipboard, “I’m so glad you ended up with this! I don’t get to see you nearly enough!” 

A fact he was pretty content with. 

“You don’t happen to know what exactly you’re turning me into, do you?” He smiled, lopsided, bashful. 

He knew he didn’t have to trick her into telling him, but it made a part of him feel better, that he could trick the people who were about to put him under and put who-knows-what in his body. 

It’s the little things. 

Sally blushed, ducking her head just slightly and poorly hiding it with her clipboard, “we decided on a phantom hybrid, they’re not only extremely rare, but they’re thought to be endangered; which should hopefully get you some advantage in getting close to an elytrian - whose species is also in the critical population mass.

“Plus! They’re nocturnal! So you’ll hopefully be able to conceal your more human habits under the cover of night!” 

Wilbur blinked. He forgot how much Sally talked. 

“Don’t worry!” She seemed content to carry on the conversation without him, “we’ve got a ton of research - and anything we weren’t able to find, you should be able to avoid or fill-in something that makes enough sense. It’ll be a bit of memorization and work - but you’re practically the best there is so of course I know you can do it-“

“What are you going to be doing to me?” Wilbur cut in, not un-kindly, trying his best to mask his desperation with curiosity. 

However it came across, Sally perked up, somehow managing to smile wider, “oh! Well, the surgical team is going to be tweaking your vocal cords just slightly - nothing too crazy! Just enough to make things like trills come a lot easier to you.” 

They were probably going to have Wilbur memorize sounds - mimicking was something he could do and was familiar with, since he’d played a bird researcher once. They’d had him learn all these calls, which he still recited for fun sometimes. 

They were probably going to do a similar class here, though where they got phantom sounds he couldn’t even begin to guess. 

“And I’m here for your tail!” 

What. 

Wilbur’s brain screeched to a halt as he looked at Sally, the scientist having not picked up on the fact she just broke him. 

“It’s my baby!” She flipped a few pages over on her clipboard before turning it around to show off a blueprint, “we’ll attach it at your tailbone and it’ll move like it’s yours! Now…you won’t be able to control it like a prehensile, but it will respond to your emotions!” 

“Like a dog?” Wilbur frowned. He’d already figured this was going to be his hardest mission yet, but now he was going to have something attached to him that would give away his every emotion? 

Sally turned sheepish, “well…a little. It won’t wag-wag, but when you're happy it should curl up a bit and sway.” 

Greaaaaat. 

“Anything else?” Complaining would be useless, but he hoped it didn’t get worse than that. 

“Well, phantoms have wings, but we can’t give you those - so the scar team is going to give you some nice looking gashes! It will be very sad-backstory of you! So apart from your vocal cords and tail, everything will be cosmetic from here on out!” 

Everything Sally said sounded so happy and excited, it really made him realize just how removed she was from everything. It’s not that he hated his job - he loved it some days - but it was his life on the line every time. 

And missions like this, which seemed infinitely more risky than usual, they made him see people like Sally in a whole new light.

He was going to what seemed like certain death, throwing himself to the piranhas and hoping he had enough fake fins to fit in, and she was filled with nothing but delight at him testing out her little invention. 

It may not even get returned to her. 

“Sounds great,” he forced his face to smile, though his shoulders still held some of the tension they’d had since she’d mentioned the tail. 

• -   - 

Waking up after the lab was done with him was not fun. 

He was laying on his stomach; his chest ached, his limbs were all itchy, and his throat felt sore. Had he already gone on the mission? Was he recovering from a vicious elytrian attack he was lucky to escape with his life from? 

It sure felt like it. 

Wilbur looked up, a relieved sigh leaving him as he recognized the teal walls of his dorm room. He’d slept through the recovery period then, good for him. He’d rarely ever had to stay in the Bay’s beds for recovery - only after scarrings and consequential scar removings - but he never liked it. 

The hospital bed, the beeping, the nurse. 

It was all too…. Dystopian novel. He preferred living his super-spy adventure. 

He took a moment to just be in his dorm, appreciating the color of the walls. Techno’s were pink and-

Wilbur froze.

Something…touched his leg. 

He moved, the skin of his back pulling weirdly as he bent to see….a tail. 

He’d forgotten about that.

He turned back, not wanting to look at the foreign appendage anymore, and made the executive decision that Techno was never allowed to know that the thought of him made Wilbur’s cyborg-empathetic-tail-thing wag. 

Nope. In fact, that never happened. 

He sighed as he got up, carefully avoiding having his tail touch anything. It was alien and weird, and now that Wilbur was horribly aware of it, he realized he could feel it feel things - not like with a leg or an arm, but when it touched his leg he felt a weird presence at the base of his spine; almost like someone was touching his lower back. 

Wilbur walked over to the full-length mirror on his wall, his eyes looking down at his hands. They’d been dyed a dark, desaturated blue, with the color fading past his elbows.

When he looked up at the mirror, he saw his feet were the same - the coloring fading out past his knees - and when he twisted he saw the same coloring on his lower back, fading into the tail which became slightly transparent. 

He squinted at the new appendage, seeing a skeletal structure in the transparency. He had to hand it to the design team, it really did look like actual bones - and the tail was moving so naturally, it was becoming off-putting. 

Wilbur looked back at the mirror, up at his face, and couldn’t help his sharp inhale as his own reflection startled him. 

His…eyes.

He didn’t know how they changed eye color - it wasn’t injected dyes or tattoos. Maybe some sort of light exposure? 

However they did it, he knew they’d undo it, but it was still disturbing, especially with how…natural it looked. Like they’d been like that all his life.

The whites of his eyes were now slightly tinted a light blue, his once-brown irises now a toxic green. They’d even desaturated his hair color - again, not dyed, he doesn’t know how they do it - but it was a dusty almost-gray brown. 

He wasn’t even sure Techno would recognize him like this - at least not at a glance. He was just so …different. 

Behind him, his phone went off - the familiar chime of his learning schedule. He’d have two weeks to figure out how to not only be a phantom hybrid - but be the kind of phantom hybrid that could get close to his target. 

Easy, he reminded himself. Just pretend it will be easy. Doubt left room for failure, and he would not fail.

He couldn’t.

Chapter Text

Wilbur smiled as he heaved a sigh, causing a small cloud of condensation to puff into the air. He’d been given a coat - something big, but ruffed up and slightly tattered at the edges, meant to look worn and old - along with some gloves that had had the fingertips worn out of them. 

His jeans were in similar tatters, ripped but clearly on accident, with old boots that had a small coating of dried mud; the bottom of the right one coming off just enough for him to notice. 

He was supposed to look pitiful, and recently homeless. His target funded special hybrid shelters across the city - really nice places that provided food, and actual separate rooms for people. Not full-on apartments, but walls between beds and clean sheets. 

He was headed to one of them now, one closer to the city-center. Supposedly, the guy visited the closer ones regularly. His first objective was to get into the shelter, make friends with the workers, and hopefully establish a report with his target over time.

Something that would, hopefully, build into a friendship. 

Wilbur stuffed his hands into his pockets, his right hand picking at the small hole in the pocket’s seam. Even if the sun had set, and no one else was on the street, he still made an effort to shiver despite his coat, and shrug it up higher onto himself.

Phantoms, he’d been taught, got cold pretty easily. 

It was almost midnight, so the shelter should still be open - they stayed open 24/7 incase of nocturnal hybrids. Like him, now, he supposed. 

But they had strict mealtimes, apparently, and dinner ended at eight, which meant he’d have to go without unless they had leftovers. His stomach squeezed at the thought, mourning the loss of food since he hadn’t eaten all day; to make sure he was realistic.

He saw the shelter coming up, the lights in the windows were out, but the door had a lantern by it with one of those fake light-bulb candles in it. 

He picked up the pace slightly, before pausing at the door, seeming to question if it was okay. He let some of his genuine apprehension sneak into his face, and felt his tail curl anxiously around his ankle. 

The past two weeks he’d realized he’d need to let a bit of his real emotions out, at the right times, to help emote his tail the way he wanted. He’d spent hours drawing up memories to feed his emotions like a flame, watching as his tail flicked angrily and swayed happily on cue. 

The door, at least, was not terribly foreboding. It was hard to tell the color at nighttime, but it had a small sign on the window, a “we’re open - come on in!” with a smiling bat hanging upside down.

He figured this must be the nighttime sign. Wilbur wondered if the daytime had a bird. It’d certainly match the owner. 

He sighed one last time before putting his hand on the handle, the chill from the metal seeping in through his thin gloves. He squeezed the latch, the door being surprisingly heavy as he pushed it open, hunching down to try and make himself smaller.

He was pretty tall, but he was aiming for meek, self-conscious, and pitiful - so he was going to have to try and at least seem somewhat short.

Luckily, he’d been able to pull stuff like this off in the past. The organization was not above adjusting heights - and he really didn’t feel like getting bone segments taken out. 

A small bell jingled above him, and Wilbur genuinely flinched at the noise. Maybe he was a little more wound-up about this than he realized. 

“Oh!” He looked up at the voice, and saw a woman with pink hair behind a counter.

The first floor seemed entirely open, in front of him were rows of tables with stools bolted to the floor. At the very back was something reminiscent of a diner’s window, with a large kitchen visible through it. 

A bit in front of the kitchen window was a counter, but where normally would be a cash register was just a bell with a laptop next to it. 

Wilbur stepped forward, hands clasped and tucked under his chin as he tried to get some warmth back into his genuinely-half-frozen finger tips, “hey…um…hello,” his voice was purposefully soft and slightly-strained from disuse.

He’d gone on a talking fast for a couple days, just to help his voice fit the part of someone who’s been alone for a couple weeks with no one to talk to. 

“Hi!” The pink-haired girl smiled at him as he weaved his way through the tables to get to the counter, “I’m Niki - do you need a room for the night?” 

“Oh is it…only one night?” He felt the pressure on his ankle tighten as anxiety leached into his brain. Was it? They hadn’t said anything about a one-night maximum. 

“Oh, no no,” Niki’s face became a bit guilty, “people here can stay as long as they need - we even have a program if you’re here for over a month to help with school and jobs and things. Stuff to help get you into your own place.” 

The wound up pressure that’d built in his chest lightened, and Wilbur gave a relieved smile. This place seemed nice, genuinely. And it all looked very clean and well taken care of. It was nice they had something like this in the city.

Even if he was about to use it for unintended purposes. 

“So, what kind of hybrid are you?” Niki pulled up something on the laptop, already starting to type.

“Uh-“ Wilbur froze, his anxieties rushing back. He knew his answer, of course, but what if this was all wrong? What if she’d met a phantom before? What if he answered and was immediately caught? 

His tail squeezed him almost painfully. 

“Don’t worry,” Niki’s voice yanked him out of whatever spiral he’d started to go down - he’d never been like this on a mission before, he really needed to get it together. 

She had a soft look on her face, her eyes holding a pitying look Wilbur was all too used to, “don’t worry,” she repeated, “it’s just for data purposes, as well as making sure you’re well taken care of. If you have any diet restrictions or room requirements we need to know - we have special rooms for hybrids; like piglins who need warmer temperatures, and avians who need bigger beds.” 

“I, um,” Why wasn’t his voice working? He tried again, but all that came out was a small squeaking noise, courtesy of his new vocal cords. 

“You could nod? If you want?” Niki didn’t seem to get annoyed, luckily. Wil felt like he had already ruined the conversation, “I’ll just ask you some questions, you nod or shake your head, I’ll narrow it down.”

Wilbur nodded, unable to help the flush on his cheeks from embarrassment. Why was the world suddenly falling apart? He was supposed to be in control here. 

“Okay, first up - nocturnal or diurnal? Or- just - are you nocturnal?” Niki’s slight awkwardness made him feel a bit better, even if this was probably her job, it made him feel like he wasn’t the only one floundering out here. 

Wilbur nodded, taking a deep breath to try and calm his actual nerves. If nothing else, it made his tail loosen slightly, which he’d take. His foot had started to get a bit tingly. 

“Okay…nocturnal…” Niki clicked around a bit, before looking back up at him, “and do you have wings?”

Wilbur shook his head, before realizing his mistake and nodding, only to decide to backtrack and shake his head again. Technically phantoms had wings, but Wilbur did not, but Wilbur was supposed to have once had wings, but he didn’t want to make her think he currently had some.

Somehow, she must’ve gotten the message, as Niki wilted a bit, “you had wings, then?”

He nodded with a frown, his gaze caught on the floor. Why was he feeling genuinely ashamed? Maybe it was her tone, like she was mourning someone she never knew. 

But part of an Esca’s job was making people feel bad. He shouldn’t start having regrets now.

Maybe they’d messed with his head in the Bay? Done something with his emotions when they did whatever-it-was with the tail? 

“Okay…” Niki’s sentence trailed off as she started to click a couple more things, then she started typing, “so, you’re not a bat.”

It wasn’t a question, but Wilbur still shook his head. He watched as Niki bit her lip in concentration, seeming to try and find something.

“I don’t know if we have any other….oh….” This ‘oh’ was different from the other one’s. The other ones were surprises or realizations, but this one came softly, close to the tone she’d taken when she’d talked about wings.

Niki looked up from the laptop with a frown that made Wilbur anxious all over again, “are you… a phantom?” Why did she sound so sad?

“I…” Wilbur swallowed, “yes…um….” He didn’t know what to say, but at least his voice was back. 

Niki didn’t ask anything else, going back to her laptop with a new look on her face. Something…determined. 

He took the moment to look around, taking in more details than he had when he was getting scared by bells and dodging tables. 

It smelled like freshly sprayed cleaner, probably because they’d just wiped up for the night, and there seemed to be a hallway around the corner to the right - stairs possibly? It was pretty dark - the lights were still on, but they’d been dimmed considerably. 

The front door’s wall had posters plastered all over it, though he couldn’t make out what any of them were, from across the room in the low-light. The walls on either side seemed to have large painted murals - but they also had any detail in them stolen by the shadows. 

“Okay,” he turned his attention back to Niki, who was smiling again.  It wasn’t the over-active beams Sally gave, these were more soft and friendly. He felt less like he was about to get eaten. “So, you’re a phantom hybrid. Do you have a name and age?”

Was it common for hybrids not to have those? “Uh…Wilbur….” 

Esca agents didn’t keep track of age well. There were levels, but the missions changed their ages around so much that now he was being asked…

“18, I think?” She’d made it sound like not knowing was at least possible, so hopefully that wouldn’t make him stand out more than him being a phantom was already doing.

Plus, the one thing he knew for-sure was he was at least 18. 

Niki seemed unfazed, nodding as she continued to type, “Wilbur - W - I - L - B - U - R?”

He nodded, twisting his fingers. His empty stomach churned anxiously, he’d never been questioned like this on a mission, it was always casual. And even if this wasn’t some interrogation, with him tied to a chair, and the room was pretty dim, he still felt like a tense spotlight was shining over him. 

Niki opened her mouth, about to say something else, but was cut off by a low noise.

Wilbur’s stomach.

He wrapped his arms around his middle, like hiding it would make it any less guilty, and gave her an apologetic look, “sorry, I haven’t really eaten.” 

He knew phantoms were carnivores; he’d spent the last two weeks on a phantom-friendly diet. Though, occasionally, he’d been given something over rice or with mashed potatoes; tests that had him picking at his food to get around the grains and veg. 

Niki frowned, “we closed up the kitchens a while ago - but don’t worry, we have an exception for nocturnal hybrids. We’ll have two meals hot and ready for you tomorrow night at 9 and 5.” 

He let shock slip onto his face, even though he already knew that, “two?” 

“Yes! Someone will save your portions and heat them up, just be down here on time,” Niki seemed to get back into her element, her pleasant smile back on her face, and her eyes looking less sad than they had been. 

“Thank you so much,” Wilbur gushed, wringing his fingers. 

“Of course! Let's get you to a room,” Niki grabbed something from under the counter, and Wilbur heard the jingling of keys, “we have the perfect one empty! A bit small, but no window!”

Something else he’d been taught was that phantoms lived in cramped spaces. Similar to how avians nested and bunnies burrowed, phantoms liked to have small nests, with shiny trinkets, in enclosed roosts.

They weren’t as social as avians, so their nests tended to be one-or-two-phantoms big; preferring to sleep in their own separate nooks. 

“That sounds great,” he felt his tail squeeze his ankle again. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur woke up on his stomach with a content sigh. He stretched his hands and arms above and behind him, and stretched out his legs while wiggling his toes. 

His tail brushed the back of his calves as it swayed, the end curling up into the air. 

It was day three at the shelter, and by now his genuine nerves had settled, as it seemed he was playing his part perfectly. 

Of course, he was still the shy, slightly-wary phantom-hybrid to Niki and the couple other shelter staff he’d met. But now, under his mask, he was having to warn himself not to get too cocky.

He hadn’t even met his target yet.

Still, he couldn’t help but smile as he got up, no longer so paranoid about his tail that he got out of bed like he was trying to keep it from attacking him.

Now it was graceful, one fluid motion like he’d been doing it his entire life. 

His room was pretty simple. A low bed with gray sheets, tucked into the back corner, next to it a small wooden table. It didn’t have a drawer, but there was a small, rubber battery-powered lamp that he squished to turn on. 

The room was deep enough that there was room between the bed and the door - so it could swing fully open - but width wise, he could almost touch both sides with his fingertips, if he held his arms out either side in the middle. 

Which he did, every day for the past three days, because he found the small size amusing. It made his tail sway, and his face broke into a smile, and even though it was something so small and simple, he let himself enjoy the novelty while he could. 

There was a shatter-proof mirror bolted to the wall above his little table, and Wilbur took the time to look into it as he combed his hands through his desaturated hair.

He bared his teeth at his reflection, a gargling growl starting up in the back of his throat. He tried, as discreetly as possible, since he didn’t know how thin the walls were, to practice his sounds as much as he could so he didn’t forget them. 

He planned on busting them out in public soon, small whirring sounds or even a trill or purr. Somewhere it would fit around Niki, to give her the impression he was warming up to her. 

She seemed to practically run this shelter, so he figured she’d be the one to get close to first. A rung on the ladder to the big guy. 

Wilbur ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, feeling around the bases of his canines. The caps looked real, and he couldn’t feel anything that made them seem like they weren’t, the only evidence there was even something glued to them was his own knowledge that he didn’t have fangs a month ago. 

Since this was a long-term assignment, everything they’d changed had been permanent, or at least, permanent until they changed him back. 

He poked at his pointed ears, feeling up them. It wasn’t latex - that’s short-term stuff - but they weren’t about to just cut his ears.

The surgical team was good, but they weren’t ‘magically regrow cartilage and skin’ good. 

No, this was something that was added - maybe real? Maybe bio-engineered? He didn’t know, but he could still admire the handiwork. 

Wilbur swiped one more hand through his hair, straightening up from where he had to bend-over to use the mirror. It was almost 8:30 - PM of course - which meant he was ready to go down to breakfast. 

He’d been going a bit early so he could talk to people, though of course he disguised it as just being anxious and not wanting to be a burden and make anyone wait for him to show up. He was the only nocturnal hybrid currently at this shelter. 

He pulled on his gloves, even though he wasn’t going to go outside. Niki had purposefully given him one of their smaller rooms, meant for smaller sized hybrids, due to his phantom-ness. Because phantoms were so rare, they didn’t have any phantom-specific rooms, like they did for avians and piglins.

Which meant his room was about as cold as a normal room, at least he assumes, but that would make a phantom feel chilly, so he wore his coat and gloves at all times. 

Except for sleeping, where he took off his gloves and balled them up, clutching them in his hands. He liked grabbing things when he slept, it was a comfort, like hugging a stuffed toy, even if he was probably a bit old for it. 

Techno, when they shared a dorm at a lower level, had always let Wilbur grab him - fists twisted into the other’s t-shirt as they collapsed after a long day of training. 

He unlocked his door and opened it slowly, pulling his mask on as he trained his face into a look of passive worry. Enough for him to look reasonably anxious about the world, but not so much so he looked like he was trying to hide something. 

He turned around to close his door, looking over the little sign that let people know ‘occupied!’. He couldn’t lock it from this side, and it was just a twist lock inside; Niki had the skeleton key to everyone’s rooms, in case she ever needed to get into them while they were locked. 

His room was at the very end of the hall on the fifth floor, and this particular shelter didn’t have an elevator - apparently it was one of their smallest ones. The fifth was the top, and everything above this was apartments for the employees, and a couple shops. 

He passed all the ‘vacant’ rooms, and Wilbur wondered if he was purposefully put on a vacant floor, or if the only phantom-friendly room just so happened to be up here.

He smiled internally as he started down the stairs, planning how to best ask Niki if she’d put him on an empty floor because she was scared of him. The fastest way to the heart was through pity, afterall. 

Wilbur picked at the open ends of his gloves as he started down the last stairs. They were straight down from the second to the first, and none of the stairs had doors to hide them from the hallways.

The past two nights as he’d come down he’d been able to hear Niki humming to herself, or even her having light small-talk with a janitor, but tonight-

“What’s that for?” 

Wilbur’s steps slowed, his head tilting as he tried to hear better. He didn’t recognize that voice.

“It’s for our newest guest!” He knew Niki’s voice.

“But it’s half passed!” A younger new voice whined, “why can’t I sneak food too?”

Wilbur hadn’t stopped coming down the stairs, only slowed, he didn’t want to just stop and be caught listening. As he neared the bottom of the stairs, he could hear the first mystery voice sigh.

“It’s not sneaking, he’s nocturnal,” Niki said, with a fondness that had Wilbur’s tail uncurl from his leg slightly, almost threatening to start swaying. 

The younger voice did an exaggerated gasp just as Wilbur landed on the first floor. Just a few more yards down the hall and he’d be in their sight. 

“That’s so cool! Is he like a bat or a zombie or an owl ?!” 

The older voice snorted at the younger’s excitement, and Wilbur decided he wasn’t going to get anything useful from this conversation, so he went back to regular pace, quickly coming out into the open. 

He looked back down at his gloves as he did, making it seem like he had no clue the other people were there as he rolled a loose string between his finger and thumb. 

The room had gone silent, Wilbur looked up once he’d fully rounded the corner and came up to the counter, ready to give his usual, “good morning Niki…I’m not late, am I?” Only for him to freeze once he saw the people behind the counter.

Niki, of course.

Some blond kid.

And… his target.

Philza Craft. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur was pretty proud that he didn’t break character. His hands moved to clutch beneath his chin - an anxious tic he’d kept for his mask after he did it the first night - and his tail curled so tight he could already feel his foot get staticky. 

 He ducked his head, curling in on himself slightly, “uhh I can go if I-“

“No no, you’re not intruding!” Niki rushed, a little more frantic than necessary, to assure him. 

He’d had a similar reaction to the janitor, worriedly asking if he was interrupting something, so Niki was just trying to be quick to comfort him. It was sweet, though that wasn’t a surprise, from the little he knew about her. 

“It’s nice to meet you, mate,” Philza smiled, Wilbur peeking at him with his head still lowered. 

“I…uhm…” he took a step back, reminding himself of his role. As much as his mission was to get close to Philza, his role was the skittish phantom hybrid who’d been essentially thrown away at every pass. 

He wouldn’t warm up to people easily. 

“It’s okay, Wilbur,” Niki came out from around the counter to come up to him - something he’d let her do once now. 

He let his worry, that he was taking his friendship with Niki too fast, travel down his spine and to his tail, even though it was already doing its job. It didn’t hurt to make sure it stayed looking scared. 

The faux-phantom gulped, lifting his head more to look at her. Niki’s hybrid-ness was subtle, little gills that her pink hair tended to cover on accident, and slightly pointed ears. 

He made sure she saw he was looking there as he tried to calm down slightly, giving her a show, letting her think seeing another hybrid helped calm him as opposed to how humans made him want to run. 

“Yeah, deep breath Wil,” she encouraged, leading him through it. 

Once he wasn’t as curled up anymore, though he was still tense, he launched into an apology.

“I’m so sorry Niki, I didn’t mean to-“ 

“You’re fine, Wilbur,” she put her hands up, and when he didn’t flinch, she set them on his shoulders, “new people can be scary.” 

The bit of confidence he’d woken up with was forgotten, as he remembered some of his fears from when he’d first been given this mission. The fact Philza was an elytrian. The territorialness of them. That if he even managed to get close to Phil, how likely it was he’d get torn to shreds if the man ever found out about his treachery.

A blond head popped up next to Niki, stealing Wilbur’s attention as some kid looked up at him like he’d just done something amazing.

“You’re nocturnal - right?” The kid was practically bounding, “so you get to stay up super late? Wayyyy past bedtime?” 

“Uhhhh,” Wilbur’s mouth opened and closed a couple times. He’d never really had a mission involving kids, he didn’t even know how old this one could be. Nine? 13? 

“I guess? But, I go to bed in the morning so my bedtime is different from yours. Past your bedtime, but not past mine,” he rambled, his hands wringing behind his neck anxiously. 

“Tommy,” Niki’s hands fell away as they all turned to look at Philza, who was smiling fondly at the kid, “maybe introduce yourself before playing twenty questions?” 

Wilbur looked back at the kid, now noticing the fluffy wings puffed up behind him. They were light grey and covered in frizzy down feathers.

Something clicked in Wilbur’s mind, the part that was a honed Esca agent - and had been MIA for most of this mission.

The kid was Philza’s kid. 

He made his smile small and awkward, his tail staying in a nervous position out of pure focus. 

This kid was going to make his mission a lot easier. 

     -  •

Tommy, who Wilbur found out was 12-almost-13, was actually very easy to get close to. 

The kid found Wilbur fascinating - loving to poke and prod him, and ask him phantom-related questions. In return Wilbur would ask the occasional elytrian question. 

Nothing too pervasive, and definitely nothing that would make him look suspicious, just casual questions that were usually just a slight-rephrasing of Tommy’s. 

Small things, to fuel conversation, he wasn’t here for intel gathering after all. 

Wilbur had been at the shelter for two weeks now, and Tommy had come to eat breakfast/dinner with him almost every night. 

It was unusual, Niki had informed him on the one night Tommy hadn’t come, as usually Tommy and Philza visited to help out around dinner time only once a month. They’d come, Tommy would befriend any younger hybrids, and Philza would check to make sure everything was running smoothly. 

Maybe it was the rareness of phantoms, or the fact Tommy felt bad that Wilbur ended up having to eat alone due to his nocturnal nature, but the kid was practically glued to his side until his father pulled him away around 10. 

Unfortunately, Wilbur hadn’t had as much bonding time with Philza. The man dropped his son off some time before Wilbur woke up, and only came back to practically drag the younger elytrian out. 

The closest Wilbur had even gotten to a conversation was just watching Tommy plead with his father to stay ‘just a little ’ longer. 

Which was sweet, but it’d be sweeter if these visits were making him feel any closer to his actual target. 

It wasn’t that they were entirely useless, getting close to Tommy was definitely a step in the right direction, but because their relationship was limited to a couple hours every night, it was slow-going. 

One fruitful thing though, was all the questions and prodding was helping Wilbur with his genuine-anxiety. The part of him that wasn’t sure he was doing it right, or was afraid he’d be caught. 

It almost felt like he was getting extra lessons - bonus tests to show him he knew his stuff. 

He was even starting to get so used to his new appearance; he found himself briefly forgetting what he used to look like. He’d look in the mirror and be used to the face staring back at him, and trying to imagine himself without the fangs and strange eyes was starting to feel wrong . 

A part of him, for only a moment, had entertained the idea of trying to get another mask like this again. Something so he wouldn’t have to be wiped next mission - he could just continue being a phantom. 

As Wilbur went down the steps to the dining hall, he went over his idea he’d had when he’d woken up, shaping it into something more thought-out.

Today was the day, he decided. If Tommy was here, it’d be their 16th meeting, roughly their 25th hour together, and today Wilbur was finally going to make a phantom noise in public.

It was stressful.

Even though he’d practiced these noises for hours before he even left the base, the part of him that was worried he’d been learning the entirely wrong thing came back with a vengeance. There was so little known about phantoms, what if the calls he’d listened to and mimicked and learned the meanings of were all wrong?

What if this was the night he got caught before he was ever even able to have a conversation with his target. 

If he lived, it’d be in shame. 

That’s why he had to make sure he did it right, have as much planned out as possible, while still keeping it simple. 

Usually, Niki would hand Wilbur his breakfast, a deep plastic plate - the kind that could be a bowl if needed - that was warmed up from the dinural’s dinner.

Even if it was technically Wilbur’s breakfast, it was easiest if he was given a “late dinner” and “early breakfast” - something Niki had offered to reverse, but he was quick to insist it was fine. 

He genuinely didn’t want to put more work on her. 

After he was handed breakfast, he’d take it to one of the tables near the door. He had a usual spot now, so Tommy waited for him there, sometimes analyzing the contents of the closest wall. 

Wilbur’s eyes had gotten used to the dimness of the shelter at night, so he now knew the wall was a collage of hundreds of posters overlapping one another, hybrid bands and singers, cutout magazine covers featuring hybrids, and adverts for hybrid-run small businesses. 

He’d sit down like normal, and Tommy would launch into telling him about whatever day he’d had. Sometimes the kid would even describe things like Wilbur had never been outside before - eagerly trying to teach Wilbur what the sun was or what ducks looked like.

Wilbur played along, not enough to make him seem actually clueless, but enough that Tommy felt accomplished and Niki thought it was cute how he indulged the 12-year-old. 

As their conversations went on Tommy would get closer and closer, until recently now when Tommy would practically be smushed to his side, occasionally messing with Wilbur’s tail when he thought the other wasn’t looking. 

That’s what would spur the plan into action.

Once Tommy got close, about halfway through their meal, Wilbur planned to slip a trill in somewhere. Maybe when the kid touched his tail? But he didn’t always do that.

Maybe if their hands happened to brush? Or if Tommy made a comment? 

Tommy had started making comments too, about how Wilbur ‘seemed like a good friend’ and how he hoped Wilbur enjoyed their talks as much as he did. 

Wilbur had been so wrapped up in planning, he’d zoned out on the stairs, tripping up on the very bottom step as he went to step down an extra stair that wasn’t there. 

He threw his hands out to regain his balance, his tail lashing to try and assist as he barely held in the little noise from his throat that threatened to chirp out. 

Once he regained his footing, he took a deep breath and stood for a moment to get his barrings. It was pretty easy to get his tail to do what he wanted - he was cautiously excited about how this next move would hopefully get him closer to his target.

It’d look like he was cautiously excited to spend time with his new friend. 

With a faint smile on his face, and his hands fidgeting with themselves, he stepped into the open. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur’s name wasn’t Wilbur.

It was part of the training of an Esca - they were less trained and more… created.

The first step of that process, involved needing to start on a blank canvas.

If you wanted to truly be able to turn into anyone, they’d said, you needed to be no one first. 

Wilbur, like every other agent, didn’t remember what they did to him. He just remembered…being. He didn’t know how old he was, but he remembered standing in a blank room, a dozen other kids around him; all wearing blank white shirts and shorts. 

He remembered tall guards wearing dark uniforms, and asking them - not who they were - but who he was. 

They’d told him he was an asset. That he was important.

And they’d told him if he wanted to continue to be important, he’d work for it. And that once he’d proven himself to be useful and worthy of being their asset, then he’d get his reward.

A name. Just for himself. To call himself in the mirror when he returned from missions.

They used their names on long-term missions only, that way there was less risk of them messing up and not responding to what people would call them. 

It’d been a while since Wilbur had failed to process his own name being said to him - back when he’d first gotten it and hadn’t yet gotten used to trainers and lab techs addressing him with anything other than ‘you’ or ‘L-J-4’.

But when he walked into the room, expecting a “Good morning” from Niki, and was instead greeted by his target standing there, addressing him by name.

He froze. 

His brain did a short-circuit, and his tail lashed in alarm. 

“I…I…I,” he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving, stuttering out not-quite-thoughts, intermitted with small noises he was sure were coming from his phantom vocal cords, as they had a more haunting note to them. Like a small mouse squeaking in alarm at the end of an echoey hall.

“Wilbur,” Philza stated again, taking a step forward. 

Wilbur was stuck in place, his fear freezing him. His tail wrapped around his ankle, providing a pressure that was becoming the only thing keeping him from completely unravelling. 

Was this it? Was he found out? Or was he just too close to what belonged to the elytrian? Had Philza’s territorial instincts finally kicked in and he was about to tear Wilbur to shreds - just because he’d shared a couple meals with the man’s son? 

“I just want to talk,” Philza continued, putting on a strained smile, “could you follow me? I’d like to take you to my office.” 

Office? Would that be easier to clean? A better place to slaughter him than in the middle of the shelter? 

“The building is just down the road,” the blond continued to talk, but Wilbur was slowly processing less and less as he tried to predict just how he was about to get disemboweled, “I’ll walk you - and get you some food after.”

Another screeching halt for Wilbur’s brain.

Food….after?

As in, there would be an after? As in he wasn’t about to be disremembered and thrown in a dumpster to be eaten by rats and maggots with no one to remember him bye except Techno? 

He let out a breath, or more accurately, his breath left him like he’d just been punched hard in the stomach. 

“You…. I’m….,” his tail lashed as his eyes watered in relief, “okay?” Was all he could croak out. 

Philza blinked, like the words had slapped him, before he breathed out a surprised half-chuckle, “yeah mate, you’re fine. It’s just a talk.”

Wilbur took a steadying breath, his hands curling around him in a self-hug that his tail mimicked, wrapping around his waist in a way he didn’t know it could do. 

It was guiltily comforting. 

• -    -   •

The walk had been silent, and about halfway through Wilbur finally came fully back to himself. He remembered his mask, his motions, his lessons. 

By the time they reached the glass doors of what looked like an extremely expensive building, he was shivering. Phantoms got cold easy, he reminded himself.

The lights were on in this building, though Philza had used some sort of keycard to unlock the door. 

They hadn’t entered through the main door, rather they’d used a door off to the side that was slightly hidden amongst the glass walls. 

They walked into a well-lit room, the bright lights after so many weeks of dimness making Wilbur squint. There was an empty front desk, and couches with tables…

It was a lobby. 

“Where are we?” Wilbur barely realized he’d said the words until it was too late. 

Philza didn’t answer. 

He led the phantom to an elevator, another one off to the side and mostly hidden, that also opened using a keycard. 

Wilbur breathed into his hands, rubbing them together as Phil turned in the elevator, giving him full-view of the action without it being obvious his attention had caused it.

“You alright?” 

Wilbur stepped into the elevator, giving Philza a nervous smile, “I’m okay…. Just run a little cold.”

Philza’s mouth made a little ‘o’ shape as the doors closed, and Wilbur conjured up some anxiety-inducing memory to keep his tail from moving.

Philza didn’t know a lot about phantoms, it seemed.

That was good, very good. 

By the time Phil was leading Wilbur down a hall, the Esca agent was having to work hard to keep his tail in-check.

His worry had dispersed since he knew he wasn’t going to die, and a bit of confidence had bubbled up at the knowledge that he knew more about phantoms than his target did. Mostly, though, he was curious as to what this was about.

When they’d left the shelter, Wilbur hadn’t seen Tommy or Niki. Was that on-purpose? But Philza wasn’t about to hurt him. The man could’ve been lying, but something about his tone made Wilbur bet he wasn’t. He’d been in situations before, where men tried to lure him off to his doom, and they’d always had an obvious tone about them that gave them away. 

Maybe Niki was watching Tommy? And they were just off someone, maybe even on another floor of this building. 

The kid could also be sleeping, Wilbur supposed as the elevator stopped at almost-the-top floor, he did stay up slightly to eat with Wilbur. 

The hallway he was led down was empty, not even a lone picture hanging on the bare walls, until they got to the end, where a single door stood. 

Wilbur had only ever seen that kind of questionable articetichural choices from the organization. 

Philza walked in, no key card needed this time, and made his way behind a rich wooden desk, leaving the door wide open for Wilbur to follow.

The office was like stepping into another world. Where the rest of the building had been sleek and modern, this office had wooden floors with dark green walls, and pictures hung in carved frames showing different species of plants and animals.

It was like someone plopped a cabin into a skyscraper. 

There were two uncomfortable looking cushioned chairs in front of the desk, their wooden backs carved with swirling designs. Philza’s chair was more akin to a throne, large and plush and comfortable looking, the bronze upholstery tacks well-polished and shining in the light. 

“I…uhm,” Wilbur walked forward, resting his hands on the back of one of the chairs, “could I stand, please?” 

He had yet to sit normally in a backed chair with his tail; he’d been warned a dozen times over he couldn’t restrain it’s movements or it’d mess up its’ calibration, and he didn’t want that.

Especially not right in front of his target, when he was so close. 

Philza raised a brow, “sure,” he said, but he came out as more of a question. 

After a moment, when it became clear Wilbur wasn’t going to be doing any more talking, the blond cleared his throat. 

“Tommy warmed up to you quick,” the man smiled, but there was a slight edge to it, like the statement held more weight that Wilbur would’ve thought. 

“He doesn’t…do that normally?” There was a bit of genuine shock there, Wilbur had figured the kid was just always like that. Talkative, sociable. 

Philza shook his head, his smiling softening to something fond, “this past month you’re all he talks about. I can hardly get him to bed afterwards he’s so excited when he gets home,” his smile turned to a frown, his eyes going distant, like he was seeing something else, “but he’s also been talking about you at school…and phantoms are rare.”

Wilbur shifted on his feet, unsure of where this conversation was going, “uh…yes. We are I guess.” 

Philza looked up at him, something like pity crossing his features - but not the usual kind Wilbur saw. Not the kind of pity where they’re sad for you, where your life is so miserable that that darkness makes others around you dim just by being near.

No, this was a kind of pity he’d seen only a couple times, in his more dangerous targets. This kind is almost like remorse, but not. The sort of pity where they feel bad, because they don’t feel bad about what they’re about to do.

A lion who has a twinge of guilt at the concept of death, but does not for a second regret tearing into the gazelle. 

It’s gone in a moment, but the sight of it is enough to make Wilbur’s foot numb as his tail vices around his ankle. That look shouldn’t be on his target’s face- his target was just some rich guy. An architect who dabbled in philanthropy.

He wasn’t like Wilbur, masquerading in the sun pretending he didn’t live in the shadows. 

The phantom opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn’t sure what he was about to ask, when suddenly there was a prick followed by a cool sensation at the back of his neck. 

He didn’t feel himself hit the ground, but Wilbur did register the small croon that escaped his throat as he fell.

Well. At least part of his night went like he planned. Even if a distress call was not the sound he’d originally planned to make. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur came to consciousness slowly.

He was on his stomach, on something extremely plush. Softer than anything he’d ever been on before. His arms were wrapped around something, pressing his face into it, and he squeezed into it further with a content sigh. 

For the hell of it, he let out a trill too. Something happy he’d learned, a delighted noise that helped wake him up a bit faster. 

He stretched out his legs, and felt his tail sweep over his calves happily. Wilbur didn’t know what cloud he was on, but he could definitely get used to it. 

It made laying on his stomach a lot easier, his lungs didn’t feel as squished with how doughy the mattress beneath him was. He could take deep breaths without feeling labored by them. 

Wilbur took another deep breath, just cause he could, and let out another trill as he pressed his smile into the pillow. This is what heaven would feel like, he imagined. 

So soft, and safe, and no one yelling at him - no tests or lessons or beeping .

Everything beeped at the organization. The walls, the doors, the alerts. Things beeped when they did things wrong, when they did them right, when it was time to start things, when it was time to end. If he was moving too fast or too slow. 

But no beeping was happening now. No vibrations and chimes that chipped away at Wilbur’s tolerance. 

Life without beeps was great. He could live like this for longer. 

“He’s so happy!” A young voice cut through his blissful silence, though he didn’t find it annoying. 

Did he know that voice?

“He keeps making happy noises! And his tails all waggy-ing!” 

Wilbur’s face scrunched as he thought. How did he know that voice? 

It definitely wasn’t from the organization, so he wasn’t there. But he already knew that because the beeps…

But the beeping wasn’t suddenly gone, his brain thought sluggishly, they hadn’t been happening for a while. He’d …

He’d been on a mission. What had happened? 

He must’ve done something right, to end up in all this softness. He rubbed his face into the cushion, deciding thinking was getting pretty annoying. He was in the perfect sleeping position, he could just go back to sleep. 

“Don’t worry, Dad, I’m watching him.” The voice was kind of ruining Wilbur’s great idea.

“I know, I know - but he was so lonely! I can watch him until you get back!” 

Watch who? 

As much as he didn’t want to, Wilbur forced his brain to try and pick up the pace and start thinking. What was that voice? Who was it watching? Who was Dad? 

Wilbur’s eyes slammed open, though his face was still squashed into the pillow. 

He was on a mission. 

And …and he’d been in Philza’s office…and then-

He practically threw himself off the bed, stumbling to get his footing. He hadn’t had any blankets over him, the room was at a slightly-warm temperature that didn’t dictate a need for them; it was like the air was hugging him. 

Wilbur took a slow, deep breath through his mouth as he looked around, taking in the room. The bed he’d been on was in a rounded nook in the wall - the curved ceiling resting low enough that Wilbur might have been able to sit up all the way if he was in the middle, but his hair would’ve grazed the roof.

There were no blankets, only more soft cushions, all rounded with no visible seams. And there was a lot of them, at least a dozen in differing sizes, sitting around the edges but not tumbling out due to the slight lip of the bed-cave that Wilbur might’ve tripped on on his way out. 

The bedding and cushions were all varying shades of blue and off-whites, and when Wilbur looked around he noticed that was a recurring color scheme. The walls were a sky blue, and beneath his feet was a plush deep-blue carpet that was speckled with white.

Stars, he supposed it was supposed to mimic. 

Wilbur turned in a small circle, the room was big. Bigger than any room he’d stayed in before. 

There was a cream-white bedside table, with drawers, that sat against the wall a bit to the left of the bed nook. And on the opposite wall was a desk the same color, with a chair that was more akin to a large bean-bag, to allow the person sitting in it to actually reach the desk. 

That’s where Tommy was, grinning at Wilbur like the kid didn’t realize the phantom had been kidnapped.

Maybe he didn’t. 

Wilbur looked around one more time, and the small details of the room creeped into his mind with a daunting horror.

There were star-shaped fairy lights strung up on the ceiling - covering the entire thing and giving the room a warm glow. 

The nightstand had a lamp that was round and rubber-looking, almost like the one from the shelter, but this one had more decoration. It featured a blue-to-purple sky, with a big yellow crescent moon, and more small yellow star shapes.

Wilbur looked at the nightstand again. Then the desk. Then the shape of the bednook.

It was all curves, no hard edges. And the whole room was painted in pastels. 

He was in a nursery.

He moved his mouth a little to get it to work, his voice not quite wanting to come out. “Tommy….” Wilbur managed eventually, turning to the young elytrian, “where am I?”

The kid laughed . “You’re in your room silly!” 

“Oh…oh right,” a part of him twinged at the idea of upsetting Tommy, but he reasoned it was just the part very dedicated to the mission. So play-along time it was. “So can I… is there food somewhere?” He could worry about other stuff later. 

As much as the Wilbur part of his brain, the logical, natural part, wanted to be freaked out. To look for an exit. To not be kidnapped . This was where his target was. His target had kidnapped him, which put him close. And that was his mission - to get close.

If he started plotting an escape, if he actually managed one, he had nowhere to go. Esca agents came back with results, or didn’t come back at all. And that part of him that they’d drilled deep into his skull was far stronger than whatever nonsense he’d feel if he wasn’t what he was. 

He was important, he reminded himself. But that importance was a privilege and he didn’t want it taken away. 

A good, important, useful Esca agent could turn into anyone. In order to do that, you needed to be no one first.

And he didn’t want to be no-one again.