Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“A11,” A voice scolded. They paused in front of the glass. The tiny body halted their jerking, freezing in place. “You know better. You squirm too much, you die.” They don’t know what ‘die’ is, but it sounds like something bad coming from the voice’s mouth so they stop. They reached a hand out onto the glass, weightless in the water, searching for something. There was some sort of longing in their chest. The voice leaned closer into the glass, close to their hand but not close enough.

‘Why?’ They wanted to ask. They reached for the glass again, closer to the voice. Like they could feel. ‘Why will I die? Why am I here? Why do I know better? Why am I?’

But they can’t. They don’t. They shouldn’t. 

“No visible defects,” The voice called. “Seems like this one is in near perfect condition as is.” The voice moves and they watch, turning to see where they go. They reach again, but the voice steps away. Further. Further back. They reach again. “Sight doesn’t appear to be defected. It tracks my movements just fine. It responds to verbal prompting, although there is no intelligence behind it.”

They want to ask ‘why? Why am I?’ But they can’t. They reach, but the voice doesn’t look at them.

“It isn’t ready to be removed,” The voice was saying. “Not developed enough. But as it is now, it’s near perfect. Same with most of the first A-batch. It would be a surprise if it died right out of incubation.” The voice came back and tapped on the glass. The voice removed it’s hand before they could reach for it. “Animal instincts. It will likely be feral like the rest of the 0-batches before it.”

Those words mean nothing to them. They don’t understand. There is a longing in their chest, reaching for the voice as it moved. Gone. Empty. It’s dark and empty and alone. Words that don’t mean anything to them but the feelings do. The emotions are there. They don’t want to be alone.

The time was endless before they were taken out of the tube. It was bright and cold and uncomfortable and too much. It’s too much. They twisted and turned and squirmed and there was a tight feeling in their chest and a horrible sound that they could hear that won’t go away. The voice is there and they reach. They reach so far. They squirm and twist and move.

“A11,” A voice said. A different voice. “A11. Stop.”

The horrible sound is them. They stop squirming, shivering and cold and it’s too bright and there is a tight feeling in their chest. Voices move and they reach and there is no voice for them.

“It can’t breathe on it’s own,” The different voice said. “It’s struggling to breathe. We should get it on oxygen.”

“It will likely have the same reaction as when we put the last batch on oxygen,” The voice said. They reach, fear curling in their chest. The longing is still there. “There’s no point of putting it on oxygen if it will fight it the entire time and still die. A waste of resources.”

“This one is pretty docile,” The different voice said. They sound so much louder out here. They shiver. They’re wet. It’s cold. “A11, look at me.” They react to their name, twisting their head that feels too heavy. “It likely won’t fight you. It’s terrified.”

“Then maybe it’s scared enough to learn how to breathe on it’s own,” The voice said. “Move it to the bed. It can at least die comfortable that way.”

Die? But they aren’t moving. They aren’t. They were told not too. Why are they dying? Why am them? What did they do? The feeling isn’t going away. They panic as the world closes, it’s dark but not quite, before they are weightless again. Weightless, comfortable, but there’s a sharp pressure around them and it’s not quite right.

Chest hurts. Heavy, exhausted, scared. A longing in their chest, but they reached and find nothing. The voice moves again, far from their sight.

“A11, don’t you cry,” The different voice said. They reach for that voice instead. “This is just how creating life is. Sometimes they live, sometimes they die. You can never tell which ones it will be until then. You won’t die alone. I’m right here.” They reach again, searching for the voice and something touched their hand. Fingers closed around it immediately.

“I’m here. You won’t die alone. I’m right here. I’ll hold your hand and brush your hair. You’re not alone.”

‘Why am I?’ They want to ask. They can’t.

Eyes forced open. Bright. Scary. Tired. Why? Why am them? They turn and squirm. Sound by them. “By some miracle, it lives,” the voice said. They reach out for the voice, but there is nothing. Everything is strange and wrong and different. They don’t like it. They want to go back. It’s cold and shaking and moving and there is a horrible sound and that’s them. “It’s vitals are showing normal, aside from the breathing. It’s still irregular.” There are hands. Cold. Hands on their body and the voice pokes and stings and wrong. “The body developed with minimal error. One of the best out of A-batch.” There was more poking and another horrible sound. “Chest is slightly translucent, interestingly. Perhaps that is the reason for the difficulty breathing. Look. You can see it’s lungs moving. Fascinating. It would make a great test subject.”

They reach. They find something. A hand pushes their hand back down. A horrible sound and it’s them.

“Stop crying. You know, it looks an awful lot like your subject,” The voice said. “Perhaps a bit too much of a dna match.”

“Hush,” A different voice said. The different voice. They reached for that voice instead. That voice held their hand. “Don’t start. It made it through the night. That should be more than enough to assign it to the others that did.”

“Less deformities too,” The voice agreed. “Although I don’t have much hope that it will live. It seems like the last eight have something with them. Three with skin mutations, the two with glitches, the leg on one, hearing on two, and the last two are relatively unresponsive. Health problems unseen prior to now in all.”

“So would you recommend placing it with the second?”

“That seems to be the best option as of now. Perhaps we can learn a bit of what does work and what doesn’t.”

Changes. Cold. Fingers that poke and probe. Someone will shout “A11-S3!” And they will jump to attention. The word ‘why’ is on their lips but they can’t spit it out. Someone will poke at their body, always had before they could even sit up, and they will squirm and cry until they are told to stop.

“Why?”  They managed to get out one day. Words don’t feel right on their tongue yet. The scientist, the voice tilted their head from where they stood observing in the corner.

“Why what, A11?” The scientist asked. No one moved closer, no one came to them.

“Why am I?” They asked, their knees up to their chest. They rested their head on their knees.

“You’re a weapon,” The scientist replied. “A creation. A tool for the Federation to use. You’re here because we made you for us to use. You specifically are here to operate on. Something still isn’t right and you’re going to help us fix it. That’s your job.”

They are here to fix something. They have a purpose. Something for them to do. They have a job for them to do. “I am for you.”

“Yes, you are.”

A11-S3 is their name. They have an identification. Something that they are. They are there to be a tool for them to be used. A11 knows how it works. The scientists will grab them from the cage they stay in and set a mask over their face and then they wake up with some odd mark in their chest. They can see through it. It’s something that the scientists seem fascinated by. They pull her into rooms to see it and A11 lets them because they have no reason not to. They are for them. A tool. A weapon. They are meant to fix a problem the scientists can’t solve. The scientists poke at things and stick them with needles and they are supposed to sit still and listen.

Sometimes they hear that horrible sound. Sometimes their chest hurts. Sometimes they can’t move because it’s wrong. Sometimes they curl up in the corner and wish they were back in that tube again and there’s that horrible sound and their chest burns. They have a longing in their chest they can’t explain because they have a purpose.

Suddenly, A9 disappears. A11 wasn’t supposed to talk to the others and they never have. A9 kept to themself, in the corner and in a small ball. They were weak on their legs, long ringlet curls the color of their eyes down their back. They couldn’t hear well. The scientists always had to shout before they heard the calls. And they had disappeared. Gone. One moment they were asleep in their cage, the next, they never came back.

A11 isn’t stupid. They don’t ask where they went.

When A10 disappeared, it was different. A10 with the tight curls around their head and the missing leg. They would drop to the ground, sometimes shaking, others completely still. A11 would call for them sometimes. They were the closest to them, after all, but they never responded.

When A10 disappeared, the scientists tore apart the place to look for them. They pulled all the others out, pulled them to different rooms and asked questions. Lots of questions. A11 was told to never speak. To keep quiet. When they stayed silent, they were grabbed and pulled and hit.

There’s that horrible sound. Their chest hurts. They can’t see past the blurry world in front of their eyes. There’s a longing in their chest.

“I’ll ask you again, A11. Where is A10?” The voice hissed in their ear. In front of them. That horrible sound is there. A11 reached out for something, but they never got it. A hand slammed against their cheek. It’s a horrible sound. “Where is A10?”

When they didn’t answer, because they weren’t supposed to, the scientist locked them in a new cage. A11 curled up in the corner. There’s a horrible sound. They are shaking. It is wrong. When they were pulled back out, the scientists were wrong. It’s wrong. Everything is wrong.

‘Why?’ They want to ask. They don’t. They can’t.

Something is wrong. A tight feeling in their chest. No. No. No! And for the first time, they break a rule. They fight back.

The W-group used to fight. Before they all disappeared. They don’t ask questions, but they do now. They ask ‘why’, they push back. They fight. They scream.

And when the scientists had enough of it, A11 found themself locked up in a new cage. And this time, no one came back for them.

“I’m sorry,” They whispered. They hid their face in their knees. “I am sorry. I’ll be good.” But no one is coming back for them. They had tried. They thought they were everything they were supposed to be. They had a purpose. They had one before. They don’t have one now. They aren’t needed. They were left.

They sniffled inside the cage until there were voices outside of it. They sobbed and called out, something small and weak. They shouldn’t talk, but they just want out. When the wall gave way, there was someone else on the other side of it. Wide blue eyes, blonde hair down their back. A face that A11 can see.

“Oh, darling,” The voice cooed gently. They pulled themself into the wall beside her. “Shh, you’re alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Their chest hurts. They feel wrong. There is that longing in their chest again. That horrible sound before they could stop it. But they reached out for something and the voice reached back.

“Shh, darling, shh,” The voice said. They picked up A11 and held them close and for the first time ever, A11 felt like they could make that awful sound. “You’re okay, darling, you’re okay. I’m here. I got you. You’re fine. You’re okay.” The voice pressed their lips to A11’s head. “I have you. You’re here with me. I’m not going to let you go.” They’re moving, rocking. The voice is rocking them. A11 could cry. They are crying. It’s that horrible sound.

“Shh,” The voice whispered gently. “Shh. I’ve got you. Do you speak French, my darling? Or English?”

“I thought-“ A11 sobbed. “I thought no one would come for me.” The voice hushed them again, pressing their lips against their head again.

“Oh, my love,” The voice continued. They kept rocking them back and forth. A11 hid their face against their body, trying to breathe. They don’t want to leave. They don’t want this voice to leave. Something is so good with them. “You’re alright. I have you now. I promise nothing will ever happen to you again.”

A11 felt that longing in her chest disappeared when the voice squeezed them tighter. It felt like being back in the tube, safe and warm. Only this time, they’re not alone.

“I had hoped,” A11 cried. They aren’t supposed to talk, but they are tired of being alone. This voice didn’t seem to want them to be quiet. “I had just hoped that someone would come for me.” All the words that they understood but could never use. This voice held them close and didn’t hurt them. “That someone would save me. I had hoped that someone would love me too.”

Love. Such a funny word. They hadn’t know what it was supposed to mean when it was first thrown in their face. When A10 had escaped and they were held down on the bed and asked questions and hit and hurt and stuck with things. ‘No one will love you out there,’ A scientist had said. They had no idea what it meant then, but the longer it had lasted, the more it felt like that longing in their chest. If the scientists said they couldn’t have it, they had wanted it anyway.

“Baghera, don’t get too attached,” Another voice said. “She’s probably going to die.”

Die? They can’t die. They don’t want to. They don’t know what that is, but they don’t want that. They were called a she. They’ve never been called a she before.

“Don’t say that!” The voice scolded. The voice pulled them closer and pressed their lips to their head again. It’s gentle. It’s nice. A11 found they liked it. “Of course you’ll be loved. You’ll always be loved while I’m around. Ignore Etoiles. He doesn’t know what he says.” They were moving, closer to the outside of the wall. “She’s so small. She’s so tiny. Who shuts up a kid in a wall like that?”

“The Feds have been leaving kids in our care,” Someone else answered. “She’s probably another one of the dragon eggs that had been abandoned.”

Dragon. They had no idea what was being talked about. But there is something calming about being held right now. Like they could sleep and no one will be over them with a needle when they wake up.

“Do you have a name, darling?” The voice asked, brushing the hair from their face. Blonde. Just like this voice. They reached out. “My name is Baghera. That’s Etoiles, Pierre, Antoine, and Kameto. We just crashed on this island. What’s your name?”

They have a name. Identification. A11-S3. But it sounds so strange compared to the other names just said. They found they didn’t want to be called A11-S3 anymore anyways. They blinked up at the blue eyes staring back and shook their head slowly, reaching up for their face.

“Baghera, don’t get attached,” The voice scolded again. Etoiles, Baghera had called them. “She looks fragile. She’s probably not going to make it much longer.”

“Let’s call her Pomme,” A third voice said.

Pomme. She. They, she, found she liked it. 

Baghera cradled her in their arms, keeping her tucked against their body. They carried her around for the rest of the day. Pomme, a beautiful name that she wanted to keep, didn’t want Baghera to let her go. Didn’t want to be put down anymore. By the time the sun was going down, Baghera had claimed Pomme as hers, because Baghera is also a her, and the others she was with eventually warmed up to her as well. By the time their camp was set up, Baghera eventually relented her grasp on Pomme and handed her over to Pierre.

“You have to keep a big secret,” Baghera whispered softly, kneeling down in front of Pomme. “You can’t tell anyone this.”

Pomme snuggled against Pierre’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and rested his head on top of hers. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Okay,” Baghera smiled gently. She brushed her fingers over Pomme’s face and Pomme couldn’t help but lean into the touch. So gentle and calm and no one has stuck a needle in her yet. “Darling, I have wings. They broke in the crash. I can’t let anyone else know about them.”

It was that night that Pomme laid curled up in someone’s arms, listening to their heart pound against her ear. It was comforting. It was soothing. Etoiles and Kameto helped Baghera reset her wings and Antoine finished the camp. Pierre held her close, asking her small questions, but Baghera whimpered and whined and cried and Pomme eventually heard that horrible sound again and reached for her.

“I’m alright, darling,” Baghera soothed, reaching for her back and holding her close. They adjusted another bone in her wing and she groaned. “It’s okay. Don’t cry. It happens. I break so easily.”

“She’s so little,” Pierre commented. “Makes you wonder how long she was trapped behind there.” It’s the sound of pain Pomme can’t stand. Baghera hissed this time and buried her face against Pomme’s hair, pressing her lips against her head again. A kiss, Baghera had called it. Pomme decided she liked those.

“Long enough that she shouldn’t eat solid foods just yet,” Etoiles shrugged. “She should probably get a bath or something. Baghera can do it. I’d probably be shit.” He sat down next to Baghera and Pomme on the chair and Pomme snuggled closer to the arm chest she was being held against.

“In the morning,” Baghera mumbled. She ran her fingers over Pomme’s cheek again. “I don’t want to scare her. The way she is scares me.”

Pomme can’t recall the rest of the conversation. Baghera was mumbling something but the sound of her voice and her heart was comforting. The gentle rocking back and forth was soothing. Pomme felt her eyes slip shut in time with the fingers on her cheek. She shouldn’t be trusting these people so quickly, but she had never asked for anything in her life before. She is so good. She’s perfect. She does what she is told. There’s no reason that she can’t just have this simple moment.

In the months ahead, she’ll be forced to confront those early feelings. The fear in her chest when facing the reality of what had actually happened to her in the Federation. When Chayanne pulled her aside the next day to introduce her to everyone else, she’ll realize that she’s still a tool to the Federation the same way they all are. They don’t escape the island.

But Pomme is Pomme now. She has a family. Maman, Papas, a dad. Brothers and sisters. And she gets to fall asleep listening to her parent’s heart. The world is dangerous, but it’s fine. Pomme would prefer it to the cold loneliness of the Federation cages any day.

So when she woke up the next morning tangled in the same blanket as Baghera, Pomme didn’t find herself afraid at all.

Chapter Text

It was very early on that A10 knew they were messed up. A fucked up limb, a voice had called it.They have no idea what that means, but they tapped on the glass anyways. They reached for the voices in front of them, talking about different things that mean nothing to them, and no one seems to bat an eye at them.

They reached anyway.

“A10, you’re fine,” The voice said. The voice stepped away, walking around them. They turned with them, trying to follow before a pain shot through their system and forced them to stop. They wanted to move, do something to make the pain stop, but they are stuck.

“That leg isn’t going to make it,” The voice noted. “It can’t move without bothering it. A10, look here.” They turned to look at the voice, to follow the command, but stopped short and the pain flooded their system again. “See how it spikes? Seems to be in a lot of pain. It had another episode again last night. Something seems off about this one. That other one as well. A13, I believe it is. They should be explored immediately after incubation. That should have stopped after the 0-group.”

Episode? Explored? Incubation? 0-group? They have no idea what that means. They likely never will. They can’t turn to follow the voice. They can’t reach out for the voice. They watched from the corner of their eyes until they couldn’t see any of the voices anymore.

It’s so lonely. They’re alone.

Coming out of incubation was foggy. They don’t remember anything except for the overwhelming pain. Searing hot up their leg and through their back. Their head crashed back against the floor and they felt their arm twitching against the floor. They thought they heard someone say “it likely won’t survive this”. They can’t move. Moving hurt. Everything hurts. They heard some awful, grinding sound in their ear and something against the ground and the burning pain through their body and they blacked out.

When they woke up again, there was still that searing pain up their leg, but it wasn’t all consuming anymore. They breathed out, unused to the feeling in their chest, and groaned. An awful sound and a voice was by their side.

“A10,” The voice said, holding something above their eyes. “Good. You need to breathe slowly. Somehow you managed to survive that. You’ll be quite the resilient subject, no?” The voice disappeared from view and they reached out for it. Their hand felt heavy and wrong. Every small movement made their stomach turn. An awful sound is flooding the air and turns out, it was actually coming from them.

“It’s disoriented. It’s in a lot of pain,” Someone said. “A seizure and an amputation and somehow it lives. That should be a sturdy subject.”

They blinked in and out of consciousness for what felt like hours. Days. Maybe minutes, moments, or perhaps it was months. Who could guess? Who could have known? They got used to responding to the name of A10. A10-S2, to be exact. They had one and a half legs, seizures nearly daily, episodes on the regular, and by the time they could process more than the indescribable pain they were in, they were locked in a cage beside others.

The first time an episode happened, A11 whispered that they had dropped to the ground. Completely still, they explained under their breath. Until they twitched and it was wrong. They aren’t allowed to speak to each other. A10’s leg still hurts, despite the fact that they don’t really have one. A9 can’t be whispered too and A11 kept curled up. A10 can’t see anyone else from where they are but there had to be others.

A10’s days are filled with being dragged from the familiar comfort of their cage to the sterile world of a lab. Somedays there are needles in their arms  and others, there are wires. They are held down and shushed and told to stop whining and crying and that their pain is for the good of the Federation. That they run all these tests and trigger these seizures to learn more about what they did wrong to fix for next time.

“Why?” A10 finally managed to spit out one day. “Why do I?” They pushed against a hand trying to strap them down. “No more.”

“You’re here for us to learn,” The scientist said. “You came out of that tube wrong. You were never meant to succeed. If we had wanted one that would, we would have terminated you and started over. This is your job. You’re here to teach us what goes wrong. So that we don’t do that again.”

So this is their life? To be in pain all the time? To be used to find all the mistakes that were made? The scientists already knew that they wouldn’t be successful before they came out of the tube. Why create them? Why make them this way? If their existence is only to hurt, is it much of an existence to begin with? It’s not like A10 is the only one they do this too. They know they aren’t, but everyone else just seems to let them. If A10 can get out, somehow, maybe they can stop it.

“No,” A10 bit out. They snap at the worker next to them and earned a backhand to the face. “No more.”

“You don’t get a choice, A10. This isn’t a choice. This is your purpose.”

“Stupid fucking purpose,” A10 growled. They yank at some chains. They can swear they can hear someone else crying. A13, they think. They do a lot of work with them as well. Pulled them out of the tube wrong so they would be able to do this as well. A10 has never seen A13 but they talk through walls sometimes.

“It is your purpose. This is what you are here for,” The scientist repeated forcefully. “I’m not above forcing you to submit again, A10. I would calm yourself down if you don’t want to hurt.”

So they will bide their time. They bit their tongue and pretended to be so good. They practice moving around their cage, trying to increase their speed so they can move out of sight. Get as far away as possible before everyone knows they are missing. It’s painful to leave the others behind. A9 has disappeared for good and A11 cries to themself all the time. It’s a horrible sound that A10 realizes that they make as well. They can hear A13 through the walls more often than not and they knock their hands against the wall to let them know they are there.

A scientist pulled them by the hair one day and dragged them over to a chair screeching and screaming. They were already having an off day, stomach turning and easy to anger. Eyes blurry and head hurting and now they do this? Once A10 found themself picked up and strapped down, the scientist disappeared behind them. A needle in their neck that they started thrashing for immediately, but the hand in their hair halted their movements.

“A10 should be considered a flight risk,” The voice called. “It should be monitored more closely to ensure that it doesn’t find a way to interact with the residents. A10, enough with the fighting. I’m trying to help you. We’re trying to find a way to curb your seizures for you. Cut it out.”

“The residents are far too attached to those things already,” Another voice said. “A9-S1 has been put there for less than a week and has wrapped quite a few of them around its finger. It was smart to let it live with them after all.”

“A1-W1 has it in its sights all the time. A1 is quite protective over all of them. It’s the opposite reaction than we expected,” The scientist continued, distracted. The needle was pulled from A10’s neck and it didn’t help curb the nausea. They thrashed in the chains again.

“A10 is being difficult. Can we find a way to sedate it without any sedation? Perhaps getting a chance to see the others or something?”

They need to bide their time to make this work, to get out of there. There is something out there, something waiting for them. A9 is out there. Sounds like A1. Perhaps the entirety of the W-group is out there. W-subgroup? The scientists say a lot of things they think they don’t understand, but they do.

A10 is pulled by the chair and walked down the hall. They kicked and fought and struggled, that awful mood continuing to follow them all the way until they stopped by a cage. A small body sat inside. Pale, dark hair, slumped against the back wall in a clear message of having only just finished an episode. A10 stopped their fighting immediately.

“A13,” The scientist from behind them said. A13 ripped their eyes away from A10, a slight glance back to indicate that they wanted to stay with them. “A13, look at me. Come here.” The body scampered over from the back wall, clumsy but alive, and slammed against the bars in front of them, reaching for the scientist’s hand. They got it, holding it tight and A10 felt the pang of hurt bury down deep in them in that moment. “A13, this is A10.”

“Oh.” Is the quiet response. A13 released the hand in theirs reluctantly and crept over more carefully this time. They aren’t allowed to speak, certainly not to each other, but these two are a little different. They call A10 ‘feral’ and ‘difficult’ and ‘trouble’. A13 doesn’t seem to be any of those things. 

“A10 is going to come visit you for a little bit,” The scientist continued. “You two are the same here. You’re both messed up. You have the purpose of finding what’s wrong. I want you to remind A10 of how to behave and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you see each other again.”

A10 is lonely. That is true. They haven’t been this lonely since the tube. A11 makes good company, but only when they are allowed to see each other in their cages. When they are taken, it’s at different times. They hardly overlap now. A10 is so lonely.

Chains are unlatched and A10 lets themself be scooped up and moved to the floor of the cage. A13’s eyes are wide when they drop down in front of them and hands reach out to touch, curious. Hands on their cheeks and face that snap back immediately before they reach again, right back on. A10 reached back, hands wandering all over their face and cheeks too.

“Hi,” They whispered to A13. A13’s eyes trailed over, wide and shocked. “I’m going to find a way out of here.”

“That sounds stupid,” A13 whispered back. They ran their fingers down their cheeks and neck. “But I’ll cover for you if you do. If you promise to find a way to get us out too someday.”

“Yeah,” A10 agreed. The scientist has left them alone. Probably thinking they won’t be stupid now that they have A13 with them. “I’ll find a way to get you out of here too. Then they don’t hurt you with needles any more.”

“They told me that there might be a reason for them to take A12,” A13 whispered. They sat on the floor in front of A10 and wrapped their arms around them. They were shaking, but at least they were shaking together. A10 can see A12 through the bars of the cage. “They came out wrong too, but not badly. Skin condition and partial eyesight, but other than that, it is fine. It shakes too. Not like us. I think it’s scared.”

“I can tell when I’m gonna have a seizure,” A10 whispered back. A13 released the hug just enough to look up at them.

“Me too.”

Three weeks is what it took for them to finally manage to slip away. By then, A13 told them that they had taken A12 through the wall after a particularly bad day. A10 has had enough. They are smart and clever, but they are also feral and difficult and trouble. They leave without a trace of ever being there, to the frustration of the guards and scientists. It’s honestly not as hard as they thought it would be. After all, all they have to do is keep quiet in the vents and everyone walks right by them. A10 is so good at being sneaky. They can get almost anywhere. And anywhere does include outside.

The hunt for A10 started almost two hours after they left. They know because they can hear people looking for them. They’d go for the cages and get everyone else out, honest they would, but it’s the first place the guards checked and the guards pulled A11 out and beat them, looking for answers they won’t get. Because A11 doesn’t know, A13 does. But A13 won’t snitch because A10 promised to get them out someday. A10 didn’t exactly know what a a promise was but they did know that you shouldn’t break it.

It was maybe a day when the vent led to somewhere that didn’t have white walls. The colors felt overwhelming at first. A10 sat and stared through the grate, trying to adjust to the sight of bright greens and blues and pops of color everywhere. Then, they pushed out the grate and stared a little longer. If they can find someone else, someone who isn’t a scientist or a guard, they might be able to help them get the others out. They might help them find A1-W1 and A9-S1. There’s no reason for them to trust anyone else, but the scientists talk like they don’t understand what is said and the scientists said that the other two were out there somewhere.

A10 promised A13 that they would come back for them. There’s no doubt that the guards have already gone to beat A13 for answers too. A10 can only hope that A11 is okay despite getting caught up right in the middle of it all.

In the distance, A10 saw movement. They stared, waiting, confused. It looked like a group. Could be scientists. Could be guards. But they don’t look like guards and they don’t look like scientists. They aren’t the right colors. A10 hesitantly lowered themself to the ground and jerked back from the feeling of the ground below them. But no hints of an episode. No seizure either. And there was those not guards as well. They shouldn’t trust them but then again, they’re always getting into trouble.

Carefully, quickly, because the Federation could find them and use them to hurt again, they followed the wall towards the group. It’s hard to trust them, but they might know A9. And if they know A9, then they might be willing to help someone named A10 too.

They are all gathered in a building. A lot of noise, they can swear that they hear some of that horrible crying the scientists always tell them to stop doing. They stay close to the wall, just in case they should disappear again, and peer inside. They don’t recognize anyone, not at first, but then little bodies start running around, throwing themselves at the taller ones. They aren’t ones that A10 recognizes, until one of them jumps into the arms of a person in green with blonde hair does A10 realize that is A9. They glance up, only for a moment, and that moment is all it takes for A9 to see them too.

Someone started to turn around and A10 threw themself back behind the wall. The sound of feet don’t move faster, but they watch as they turn their direction anyway. Boots, like a guard, but these are not black. Brown. They almost match A10’s skin. Blinking up, a person dropped down, blue eyes and brown hair. Pale, like A13, paler than A10 for sure.

“Who’s kid is this?” The person called over, reaching a hand out for A10. They flinched back, curling up into a ball and the man hesitated. He reached again, this time slower and with two hands and when he picked them up, it was under the arms with the gentlest touch he’d ever felt. A10 felt the cry bubbling in their chest, face falling against the man’s shoulders. And if it’s the only gentle touch they’ll ever get, they want to keep it forever.

“Looks like yours,” Someone else said. A10 clung tightly and the man began to hold him just as tight back. “Not a kid we’ve seen around before, but the Feds have given everyone one so far. My guess is they left him there for you.” Another brief pause. The man moved. “He’s missing his leg.”

“I can see that,” the man said. “Felps? Pac? Mike?” When A10 dared to raise their head up, they saw A9 peeking back at them. Their head still rested on the shoulder of the man in green. They look… better. More light in their eyes. They off a small smile before tucking their head back into the man’s shoulder.

“Kid, you’re fine.” A10 was set down on a ledge and the man ran a hand down their cheek. A10 was already reaching for the arms to be back around them again.

“What? What happened? Who is that?” Someone else said, showing up beside the man.

“The residents here don’t know who this kid is,” The man kept down next to them, a hand on their knee. The other person reached out to pull A10 into a hug. “He was just sitting outside. Apparently the Federation has been giving them kids.” A10 buried their face in the shoulder of the blue hoodie. The blue hoodie hugged him back. A9 is fine. A sentiment that the Federation had made clear when they thought that they couldn’t understand them.

“Has he said anything?

He. Such an odd word. These people use it for them. To talk about them. A10… he found he liked it. It felt right to hear. Like it belonged to him.

“No, he hasn’t. I just found him. Kid, do you have a name? Where are your parents?” The voice, the first one said. And he doesn’t have a name. He has A10-S2. Some way to identify him. But not a name. He doesn’t get one of those. He shook his head from the hoodie and peeked out just enough to see out of. No one seemed angry with him. Just… just like the way A13 had looked at him.

“He needs a name,” A third voice chimed in. “I’ll bet he has that dragon mother for a parent then as well.”

“Richarlyson. Why don’t we call him Richarlyson? What do you think of that? You like that name?”

Like it? He’s never had a name before. He doesn’t know how to like it if he’s never had it. He tried it on his lips anyway. “Richarlyson,” He repeated slowly. One of them smiled, teeth showing, but it didn’t invoke a feeling of fear and dread like the scientists do.

“Yeah, Richarlyson. Richas,” The man agreed. “Like the football player.”

Oh. Oh. Oh! Richarlyson. A name. For him. Something to call him. He was okay with that. Richas. He liked the sound of that. He felt a small smile slowly start to creep on his face despite himself and when he reached for the man in front of him, hand tight on the hoodie, they held his hand back.

“That’s Pac,” The man said. “Next to you. I’m Cellbit. That’s Mike and Felps. You can hang out with us while we figure out where you’re supposed to be.”

“We just crashed on this island,” Pac added. “Guess we’re all new.”

Richarlyson. That’s his name. It belongs to him. He’s got people who want to keep him around. People who don’t want to hand him back over to the Feds. Not a single one of them had tried to strap him down or stick a needle in him or hurt him at all.

Maybe he could get used to that. So long has he kept that promise in his head. Someday he will go back for everyone else.

But right now? Richarlyson sounded like a nice name.

Chapter Text

A1 remembered the tube. They long for it, when they are on their own. It curls up in their chest and they feel it calling for them, but they miss the tube. So badly. They dream about being back, only to get a cold feeling down their spine when they wake up in the cell again. They long to go back, searching for words they aren’t sure even exists.

“A1, pay attention,” A voice snapped at them. A1 whirled their head back to look over at the handler and tried to blink the memories of the safety of the tube back from their head. “It’s distracted. Easily. Are we sure we didn’t miss anything in a scan? A2 and A3 have far better focus. This is incredibly similar to A13.”

“Then you haven’t met A13,” The scientist said. The scientist wrestled A1’s arm away from their body and the only reason they didn’t bite them is because their handler pulled them back by their hair. “A13-S5 has been incredibly difficult to keep present. Something went wrong badly with it. We’re still trying to place why.” A1 watched with a sense of boredom as their arm was locked into place for ease of access, a hand still in their hair to keep control over them. They watch with mild interest as a needle is pushed under their skin and dark blood gets pulled from their veins.

“A10 is just as bad as A13,” The handler was saying. “A10 barely survived those first few days as is and now is just as bad. Lost that leg too.”

A1 shouldn’t care about the voices around them. They listen to it all with a slight fascination but it doesn’t mean anything to them. If they are A1, then A10 and A13 must be others like them. Like A2 and A6 are. A1 can see them. They aren’t allowed to talk, but sometimes they do, when they don’t feel like listening.

“A pity, really. I said that we shouldn’t have saved it’s life. Probably would have gotten a lot more information out of it if it had been an autopsy. It’s one thing to do a brain scan, it’s another to see what the hell is going on in it. A1, look at me.” A1 looked up again, lazy eyes focused on the spot they had quickly learned was the correct place to look at the scientist with the blank faces. Unlike them. Unlike A2. “I’m going to remove the needle now. After that, I will remove the restraints on your arm. If you try to bite me again, I will hurt you. Do you understand?”

A1 really wanted to bite the scientist. Something about it felt good, sinking teeth into the soft flesh of the skin and making the scientist pissed off and hurt. A1 also knew that they would get hurt themself. The handler yanked at their hair again, pulling them back and flat against the table and that took away the desire instantly.

“You might be onto something with how silent it is.” The scientist pulled the needle from A1’s arm and they watched the dark blood taint their skin. “It’s not focused and it’s not chatty. It feels like it lacks a personality. The others all have traces of one. A2 is loud. A3, 4, and 5 are all disruptive and co-dependent. A6 is fierce and determined. A7, 8, and 9 are all mellow and meek, although 8 is becoming more engaged and 9 is showing signs of shut downs. A10 is… A10. That thing is a nightmare to work with. A11 is anxious. A12 is reserved and timid. A13 is incredibly eager to please. A14, 15, and 16 are too young to have distinct personalities yet. I still think we should have left them in incubation longer, but no one listens to the science guy.”

The restraint was removed and A1’s arm was tossed back over at their body. The grip on their hair only tightened. They gritted their teeth.

They missed the tube. The calm, quiet comfort of the tube. They want to go back.

“A1 had always lacked a distinct personality,” The handler said. A1 turned and batted at the scientist, trying to force them away from where the hands were pulling off their gown. The handler slammed their head back down again and used their other hand to punch their stomach. A1 groaned, biting their tongue and stopped moving all together. “Aside from being on the borderline of feral, but it usually only occurs when it is in this sort of situation.”

The gown was removed. Cold hands began their inspection and A1 bit their tongue until blood flooded their mouth.

“I don’t see what the higher ups see in it,” The scientist agreed. A cold hand smacked against some body part and A1 didn’t realize they were even moving until then. “But they see something. Like hell do I know. I’m just the guy who sees them every day. A1-W1, if you do not stop, I will shock you. Do you want that? I don’t think you want that. This thing is stubborn. Maybe that’s it’s trait.”

A1 ended up back in their cell later that day. They pressed at the freshly bloomed bruise and watched as A6 fought with their handler. A hand in their brown hair to slam them against the bars before another guard dragged them into the cell and swung punch after punch until A6 stopped moving. Stopped making noise. A1 moved closer, wincing at the small sound that was made once the guards had left. A2 was already reaching through the bars for them. They miss the tube. The tube never made them hurt. It was warm and calm and not like this.

When A6 could finally bring themself to move, they were disoriented and bruised. A1 poked at their own bruise again and leaned their head against the bars. “I told you to stop it,” They whispered out a hiss. “Fighting them is only going to get you more hurt.”

A2 finally caught A6’s hand and held it tightly. A6 curled against the bars with a horrible cry that the guards would beat them for if they were here. “I can’t help it,” A6 whispered back. They sounded like they were going to choke. “They hurt me anyway.” 

“You need to stop reacting,” A1 replied. “The less you react, the less interesting they find you. They think I don’t have a personality.”

“What’s a personality?” A2 whispered. They ran their thumb over A6’s hand. 

“I don’t know,” A1 hissed back. They ran their fingers over their body, seeking out another bruise to press down on. “But they don’t think I’m interesting because I don’t have one. I think that’s a good thing. So 6, you need to stop. For your own good.”

“I can’t help it,” A6 sniffled again. “I’m trying. I’m trying so hard. And then they grab me and I just have to do it.”

“It just takes practice,” A2 soothed. “I promise. You’ll get there. You just need to learn how to float too. It will help.”

“I miss the tube,” A6 sniffled into their free arm. There’s blood down their neck. Their gown is stained red. A1 pressed down on their bruise again to remind them why they need to stay angry. “I want to go back.”

“We all do,” A1 agreed. “We miss the tube. But we’re here now. You need to just act like they don’t make you angry. Then you won’t get beat up. I promise. It’s better.”

“I saw A13,” A2 whispered. A13 seems to be an important thing here. A13 and A10.  Every scientist, guard, and the like are obsessed with them. “A13 looked bad. I only saw it for a second but it wasn’t moving. It was pale and it might have been bleeding and it was surrounded by scientists.”

“I saw A10,” A6 whispered back. “We were in the same room for a while. It looked bad. It was shaking and it couldn’t stop shaking. They had stop with me to help stabilize it. I hope it’s okay.”

“They are a lost cause,” A1 said, realistically. “They only want A10 and A13 to do things like that to them. Something went wrong badly with them. They don’t know why. It’s better to worry about the rest of the W-group. The ones like us.”

“I know,” A2 whispered back. “But I worry about them anyway.” A1 knew that they did, deep down. They worried for them too. But realistically, they can’t have the time to care about them. They have to worry about themself. They have to worry about A2 and A6. They have to worry about the W-group.

A1 gets dragged in a lot. Over and over again. It’s minor things. Blood draws, physical examinations, shots. Their mouth is pried open and their teeth are inspected once. Then twice. There’s a lot of times where they are asked simple questions. Do this. Do that. Move there. Move this body part. A1 bites their tongue to keep from getting angry during and presses down on bruises when they are in their cell to stay angry.

“I can’t tell if it lacks intelligence or if this persona is on purpose,” The scientist hummed one day. It’s another physical examination. A1 can’t stand how long the cold hands are on them. They bite their tongue. Blood seeps down their throat. “A1, look at me.” They draw their eyes over to look, blinking slowly. Deliberately. “It isn’t flinching like A13 does. A10 doesn’t either. It’s a unique thing to A13 and A12.” The hands are removed from their body and the gown is pulled back over. The hand in their hair started to loosen. If A1 can just time it right…

“Are you sure it’s not just them being skittish?” The handler asked, guiding A1 to sit up. Just a little longer. They haven’t tried in so long. “A13 has been operated on multiple times in the past month. It could be a product of that. A12 is nervous and jumpy. Mixed with the whole partial blindness, I can see that causing reactions.”

“But A11 doesn’t,” The scientist disagreed. Just a second more. One more. The hand loosened more. “A11 is very skittish. But when given the same examination and the same prompting, it gives the same reactions as A1. Something is happening in Block 5 that I don’t like. Shut it- A1!”

A1 had managed to bite down hard enough to break the skin. The scientist pulled back. The handler grabbed their hair and slammed their head down, holding them down to the table. “You should fucking know better. No biting. No fucking biting.”

They slammed their hand over A1’s body, over and over and over again. They were blurry and in pain by the time they came back, but it was worth it. It was so worth it. A6 gave them a knowing look from where they sat against the bars of their own cell, head wrapped and eye bruised but it looked liked it was better than usual.

“You said to stop reacting,” A2 scolded in a whisper. A1 grinned.

“I know. I had to do it.”

Time moved slowly until A1 is dragged out of the cells to meet the higher ups. The one that speaks to him is completely white, much like the walls. There are ears on the head and a mask that has a drawn on face that A1 wants to punch in. Their handler is nearby. A1 has to be watched every time they are out of their cell now. They don’t always attack, unlike many of the others, but they are more unpredictable that way. No one can decide if they lack the intelligence behind what they do or if everything they do is some kind of calculated malice attempt.

A1 knows it’s the latter. But they keep calm and bite their tongue to keep themself from getting angry and poke at their bruises to keep them angry later.

The others sit in the back. A1 has seen some of them on occasion but none of them make them as angry as the one in front of them. They lack a name, but everyone calls them Cucurucho.

“I have a job for you,” Cucurucho starts. A1 blinked up at them with mild interest, the hand in their hair tightening to keep them from biting again. A1 isn’t supposed to talk, they know the rules. But the cameras don’t pick up their voices if they are quiet enough so they can. A1 has a feeling that the higher ups know that. They stay silent anyway.

“You better be right about this,” One of the other higher up says, leaning back in their chair. A1’s eyes flicker over but a snap in front of their face drags them back to Cucurucho.

“Stay focused,” Cucurucho snapped. A1 had to bite their tongue because they couldn’t bite them instead. “I have a job for you. One of the others is inconsolable.”

A1 tilted their head back against the hand in their hair. They stare up at the fake face and swallow the blood pooling in their mouth. The higher ups are staring. Like they want A1 to respond. The less reactions they give them, the less they expect from A1. That’s exactly how they want it.

“Right now, A12 is being brought over. It is inconsolable. That means it is crying and cannot be stopped,” Cucurucho continued, like A1 had answered. They struggle to figure out how this is relevant to them. What are they asking from them? A1 kept that silent stare, tongue tight between their teeth. “You can put A1 in the cage now. A12 is nearby. We only need an hour with it.”

It’s a smaller cage than A1 is used to. They can’t stand up all the way and their legs are just barely short enough. They aren’t sure why they are being watched, what they need from them, but it’s not long before A12 is shoved into the cage with them as well.

A1 has never seen A12 before. Perhaps the higher ups know that. They have no connection to them like they do to A2 and A6. Maybe that’s the point. A12 scrambled into the corner, chest heaving and making that horrible sound. A1 can’t see any damage, no injuries that could be hurting, but the cries sound like they hurt anyway. They want to reach out to help. They aren’t supposed to. They aren’t supposed to talk. If the guards catch A2 and A6 holding hands, they will smack their hands until they let go. A1 knows, they know so well, what is expected of them.

Whatever test this is, A1 knows they will fail it regardless. A12 is terrified. A1 knows that feeling very well.

“A12,” A1 finally whispered after minutes of nothing. “A12, it’s okay.” The higher ups sit to attention. A1 feels like the center of the world. They don’t want to feel like that. They aren’t reprimanded for talking though. A12 twitched at the mention of their identification, but otherwise kept crying.

“A12,” A1 tried again, a little louder. “It’s okay.” A12 flinched towards the sound of their voice, a hand uncurling from where it was clutching the bars tightly. “A12, look at me.” A1 doesn’t have to remind A6 to look over at them anymore. A6 knows. A12 turned their head, eyes wide and searching. An unclenched hand, shaking but free, reached out blindly. It’s close enough that A1 can hold it.

They aren’t scolded. It’s strange. A1 doesn’t like this test. The higher ups watch them and A1 has a feeling that all this will come back on them, but right now, they just want A12 to calm down.

“A12, you’re okay,” A1 whispered, grabbing their hand. A12 clutched it desperately. “It’s okay. You need to not react so much. It makes you less interesting to them. Did you know that?” A1 shuffled closer at A12’s tugging. The other thing, because that’s what they are called, things, has blinding white hair and skin. Like they weren’t given any color. Not like them. Not like A2 and A6.

A12 blindly reached for them and A1 was reminded very briefly that they had something the scientists called partial blindness. And when A1 cried too much, they couldn’t see very well either. “It’s okay. I have you.” A12 pressed closer to them and A1 grabbed them and realized that they actually didn’t want to let go. “It’s okay. You need to calm down before they find you interesting. Interesting means you get hurt more.”

A12 sniffled against their side and A1 realized they have never been so close to another thing before. “They already think I’m interesting,” A12 whispered back with a soft cry.

“I know. They did with A6 for a while but they stopped now. I told A6 the same thing. This is safer.”

A12 sniffled against their side for minutes but stopped making the horrific sound that gets them beat. A1 stared forward, at the higher ups who stared back, but none of them made a move to take A12 from them. A1 doesn’t like how intently they are being watched but perhaps if they make themself more interesting, it will keep the interest off of everyone else. Now that their facade is broken. A1 isn’t lacking intelligence, they are masking it to be able to work undercover for everyone else.

When A12 is silent and no longer shaking against A1’s body, A1 held them tighter, away from the door of the cell so that it was harder to reach them, and stared at Cucurucho, who finally turned away.

“Like I said, A1-W1 is intelligent. It works to keep A2 and A6 under the radar. I have been saying that for months. It has a way with words and is able to calm the other A-group subjects. You can see it in the way it has been able to calm A12 despite never interacting before. It would be one thing if it calmed A2 and A6, but A12 is vastly different then anyone A1 has interacted with before.”

With their cover blown, A1 can feel the nausea building in their stomach. They haven’t seen anyone who’s gained the major interest of the higher ups, unlike how they know A10 and A13 have, but they have a feeling they don’t want to find out. They have heard things about A10 and A13. They don’t want to end up like that. They can worry for the two others without becoming one.

A12 can feel their anxiety. They move closer. A1 ignored the discussion about them because they found that they don’t want to know what their fate will be.

A1 never sees A12 again. They know it’s because it was some kind of test but A1 can’t help but feel like they had something to do with it. They proved something, some sort of importance. It’s not long after they are given their official job. The Federation, that’s what the higher ups are called, is getting a group of people to live here. The W-subgroup is responsible to spy on them and report back. It’s a bunch of words A1 knows nothing about. Cucurucho says that it will become more clear as they get to see the actual mission but A1 doesn’t want to participate at all. They want to focus on the other things, the subjects they are getting called now, because they understand what they can do to support them. How they can help. Their tricks have been revealed because they couldn’t stop themself from helping A12 and now they aren’t allowed to see them anymore.

”You will report back regularly,” Cucurucho informed them. He was mostly talking to A1. The rest of the W-subgroup has been informed of this job. It’s not just A1 that has to do this job alone, but A1 is responsible for keeping them in check. They report to A1 and listen to them. If any of them were to reveal their actual purpose, the Federation has no use for them. They will be removed. Eliminated. Dead. That scares some of them. A1 worried that they would end up like A10 or A13 and maybe that’s the scariest part of it all.

“You will report what you know about the residents. You will find their weaknesses, what makes them hurt, and you will report back to us. Do you understand that?” Cucurucho is talking to A1. A1 doesn’t want to end up like the S-subgroup. Doesn’t want to let the others under their care get hurt. So whatever the Federation is asking of them, they will do. They will make sure that they are doing what is told.

“Why?” A2 asked, ever defiant. They tilted their head up to stare Cucurucho in the eyes. Their false eyes. A1 pressed against a bruise underneath the shirt shoved over their head.

“Because you are made to do what we tell you to do,” Cucurucho answered. “Your entire purpose is to do what we tell you to do.”

“Pretty dumb fucking purpose,” A2 spit out.

“A10 said that too,” Cucurucho answered. Everyone knows what that means. They know now. They all shut up. “The doors will open. You will be taken home with two of the residents. You will not be together. You will tell them that you are dragon eggs and that your mother will come back. You will gather information about your caretakers and report back. Do you understand?”

He’s looking at A1. A1 tilted their head up and stared forward at him. They bite down on their tongue. “Yessir.”

“Good. I hope you enjoy the island.” Cucurucho left. The doors to the room opened. A1 threw themself back in the corner and waited.

They don’t want to do this. They don’t have a choice. A man in green and a man in blue stopped in front of their new cell. A1 tilted their head up and pressed on a bruise. Be angry. Stay angry.

They missed the tube.

Chapter Text

“Hey,” A6 had said one day, dropping down next to A1 and A2. They had pulled away from their parents for the moment, grouped together to discuss what the hell they were supposed to do. “I’m not feeling good about this plan.” A6’s parents were fighting in the background. They are always fighting. But Chayanne loved his Tios anyway.

It’s a shame they have to spill all their secrets and weaknesses.

“I’m glad you said it because I agree,” A2 sighed with relief. “I don’t like that we have to tell the Feds everything about our parents. I like my mom and dad. They give me paints and take me places and they sing me songs at night.”

“We don’t have a choice,” A1 replied. “We have to do this or else we’ll end up like A10 and A13.” It’s the only threat that keeps everyone in check. They all have differing opinions on what dying is and how that would benefit them, but threats of A10 and A13 keep them scrambling back in line.

“No, I know,” A6 sighed. “I know that. But I don’t like this. I kinda like being Juanaflippa. I like going home with my dads, even if they fight. They do love me.”

“I like being Bobby,” A2 agreed. “I like painting with my mom and going on adventures with my dad. I like having family time. I like seeing the sun. I don’t want to tell the Feds anything bad about them.”

A1 thought about it for a moment. “Flippa?” They tested. A6… no, Juanaflippa turned their… no, her head to look over.

“Yeah?” She asked, tilting her head to the side. A brown braid slipped over her shoulder, one that her dad put in lovingly that morning.

“Bobby?”

“Yeah,” Bobby agreed, face curling up in confusion.

“Nothing,” Chayanne grinned. “I was just trying it out.”

Bobby and Flippa have been dead for a while now. Chayanne doesn’t actually know what happened. Because once the body goes down and it’s evident that the residents have fucked up big time, the body disappears. It’s a difficult funeral, with deaths that shook Chayanne to his core and no bodies to bury in the ground. Because those were his friends. His closest friends. The ones he’d known since leaving the tube.

Funnily enough, Chayanne hasn’t missed the tube in a long time.

“Chay-“ Richarlyson gasped out, slamming open the door. Chayanne’s head shot up and Tallulah froze from where she was organizing their little hideout again. “Chay, I’m gonna have a seizure.”

“It’s okay,” Chayanne said immediately. He reached out to help Richarlyson into the room. “You can hang out here with me and Llulah. Lu, can you clear off that spot.” He pointed to a corner. Richarlyson clutched his hand in a panic.

“Pomme’s-“

“I know,” Chayanne insisted firmly. “She’ll be back soon. I’ll go find her the moment I know she’s back if that’ll make you feel better.” He walked with Richarlyson over to the corner that Tallulah had just finished moving all of the boxes out of and waiting until Richarlyson was comfortable on the floor before he could breathe again.

Richarlyson usually went to Pomme. Tallulah had been in the same cell block as them, but communication with her had been nonexistent because of her hearing. Pomme was attentive enough over Richarlyson and anxious enough that she had soaked up literally all the information she could find to help Richarlyson through it. Richarlyson only trusted two people with his seizures and that was Pomme and Chayanne. Although it was safe to say that Richarlyson only trusted Chayanne because everyone else trusted him with everything else.

“Richas, estas bien,” Tallulah mumbled moving move so Chayanne could crouch down next to him.

“Não,” Richarlyson sobbed softly, curling up on his side. “Não mais. Não mais, por favor.” He whimpered and whined, eyes squeezed closed. He always got more emotional right before. Panicked and ill and tossing and turning. Sometimes he threw up for hours before, sometimes he was snappish and angry. Twice he had a fever. But he always knew it was the lead up to a seizure and he went running to find one of them until it was over. Same with the episodes. Less violent, more like a general tugging, but Richarlyson went running anyway.

Chayanne asked him once why he didn’t tell his dads. Richarlyson stared at him with wide eyes, curling in on himself, and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, throat raw and eyes filled with tears. “I guess I’m worried I’ll get treated like A10 again. Get poked and prodded and cut open just to find out what’s wrong with me. Besides, Cucurucho made it sound like they were waiting for the moment that I told them for them to take me back. I kinda like my dads.” And Chayanne didn’t ask again. He sat next to Richarlyson until he could walk straight and had gathered himself enough to return home.

”Richas, you’re okay,” Chayanne whispered from where he crouched at Richarlyson’s side. “You’re going to be fine. Just breathe. I’m right here. It’ll be over soon.” Chayanne has no doubt that the Federation knew about Richarlyson’s little episodes. He had a feeling that they were hoping they would get bad enough that Richarlyson would be forced to go crawling back. Richarlyson had asked Chayanne that if they ever got that bad if he would kill him.

”I can’t go back,” Richarlyson had whispered then. “I can’t do it. It’s a dumb fucking purpose. They only kept me alive to hurt me. But I need you to kill me and cut me into all sorts of pieces or burn me or something so the Feds can’t do anything to me anymore. You know they will. They think I’m interesting no matter what I do. I need you to kill me and find A13 for me.” Chayanne had promised that he would. That he would kill Richarlyson and burn his body and hide it from everyone.

Chayanne also lied. If there is one thing he’s learned being out here, it’s that he doesn’t want to see anymore friends die. Richarlyson is out here now. He’s under Chayanne’s protection. Chayanne would rather tell his Tios and take the blame for the Federation then have to bury any more friends. A13 is a lost cause. Richarlyson is insistent that one day, he will go back for them again. Chayanne is determined to make sure that never happens.

Ramón and Leo arrive at the same time. Leo glanced over at Richarlyson on the floor before they settled down on the cushions Tallulah had set up on the ground and the two of them whispered something back and forth. Ramón was a little more interested, stopping by Chayanne’s side.

”How’s he doing?” Ramón asked. Richarlyson whimpered, eyes squeezed shut and arms wrapped tightly around him. Chayanne had half a mind to drag over a speaker or radio for Richarlyson to listen to. At least distract him somehow. Pomme was better at this, but Pomme isn’t here right now.

”He’s fine,” Chayanne answered. “He’ll be fine. He’s been here for about an hour. He doesn’t want anyone else to bother him right now.” Ramón gave a thumbs up.

”Pomme and Dapper are going to be late but they should be here soon,” Ramón replied. “Hopefully, they get here earlier than they said. Richas does prefer Pomme.”

”I want to check with Pomme about her chest,” Chayanne agreed. “She said that it got worse off hand when we were talking the other day.”

”So I heard,” Ramón agreed. “Dapper told me that. She’s pretty upset about it. Won’t let anyone do anything. She’s been pretty anxious recently.”

”Feds are being assholes so I don’t blame her.” Chayanne scooted back as Richarlyson rolled onto his back to give him space. “It’ll be fine, I think. We just need to go over everything we know. What we have to tell the Feds. What we can get away with leaving out. I would really rather not give the Feds an easy way to attack them again.”

”Fucking assholes,” Ramón agreed. Richarlyson seized at Chayanne’s side and Ramón ducked away to give him privacy, opting to rejoin Leo and Tallulah on the ground.

Richarlyson is technically getting better. By some means, he’s actually improving. The seizures happen less often, unlike at the very beginning when they were a regular occurance. His episodes are less frequent and he’s able to participate a lot more. Despite the horrors of being an interesting subject, Richarlyson is thriving. He’s a little shit, obviously. He likes to cause trouble and paint and be silly. If Chayanne didn’t know any better, he wouldn’t know anything was wrong at all. Some of the things Richarlyson says about the Feds are absolutely insane. The things that the Feds did to them. Richarlyson remains unbothered, but Chayanne thinks that Pomme said it best. ‘We didn’t know anything else. We didn’t know any better. So, yeah, it hurt and we hated it, but we don’t know any other way of life.’

By the time Pomme and Dapper dip through the door to their little hideout, Richarlyson is sitting up against the back wall. Trembling, but otherwise fine. Pomme was at his side immediately. “Are you okay? What happened? Did something set it off? How long did it last?” She dropped down in front of him and Richarlyson fell forward against her, hiding his face in her lap.

”He’s fine,” Chayanne said. “It was a couple shorter ones. He’s been alright for about ten minutes now. Nothing set him off as far as I know.”

“How long did they last?” Pomme fretted over him, brushing Richarlyson’s hair back from his forehead and rubbing his back. “How long in between?”

“Two to three minutes. I timed them and Ramón wrote the numbers down for me. I don’t know, five minutes between maybe?” Chayanne shrugged. “He was alright. Just felt sick before but didn’t throw up or anything like that.”

“No fever?” Pomme asked, leaning down to kiss Richarlyson’s head. “It’s always worse when he has a fever.”

“No fever,” Chayanne agreed. “He’s okay.” He stood up to give Richarlyson and Pomme some space. Pomme is better at it. Richarlyson trusted her more. Chayanne is the replacement for Pomme whenever Richarlyson needed someone. He didn’t take it personally. He can’t. That would require him to get angry and Chayanne has long since learned how to not be angry. His blood floods his mouth and he closes his eyes and breathes out through his nose before he swallows it all before speaking again.

When he wants to get angry, he slammed his fist against his leg or his stomach until he felt that rage again. There’s no bruises for him to press on anymore.

“Okay, we know what they will ask,” Chayanne said with a sign, dropping down on the pillows with the rest of them. Leo tilted their head up from where he had been whispering with Tallulah. “Same as always. Whatever you’re not willing to share, I can if you don’t want to reveal anything, but have to. They always ask me more questions anyway.” All of them are responsible for collecting information on the residents but the longer this goes on, the less and less they want to participate.

Tallulah is quiet. She was always quiet. Chayanne can do all of the talking for her right now. Chayanne knows the same things that she does. She rarely has more information than he did and even then, she’ll tell him just before they get dragged in for a meeting. Leo is relatively isolated language-wise, but she still talks sometimes, sharing what they do know about their parents.

”I don’t want to do this anymore,” Ramón started, leaning back against the wall. “I like Fit. I don’t want to hurt him.”

That’s the other reason they do this. Because every single one of them hates this just as much as the other. They need to complain. To each other. Because not a single one of them wants to do any of this.

”I don’t want to tell them anything else,” Dapper agreed. “I like my dad. He’s really great. We do a lot of cool things together. I don’t want to be the reason they hurt him.”

”I don’t want to,” Leo agreed. “My pa is great.”

”I like my parents,” Pomme called over from where she sat with Richarlyson. “They don’t make me do things I don’t want to do. They take me on adventures. Today I made some bracelets with my mom. I like my mom. I like my parents. I don’t want to hurt them. What if the Feds do the same thing to them that they did to us?”

Richarlyson whined from his spot on the floor, curled up in Pomme’s lap. Trembling but this time it’s out of fear. Chayanne knew that out of all of them, Richarlyson was the only one who truly understood the lengths the Feds could go. Had gone.

”I like my dads,” Richarlyson agreed. “I like them. I don’t want to hurt them.”

”I know. We don’t have a choice,” Chayanne reminded. “Just… tell them as little as you can. It gives them something and we can stay longer.”

”What happens when we’re done?” Ramón asked. “When we finish our mission? What are they going to do with us?”

Chayanne found himself asking that a lot. Really, there is a lot that could be at stake. Maybe there’s nothing at all. Richarlyson would rather die than go back. He probably will. The rest of them are capable. They might be used for something. They might end up in the cages again, closed off from the rest of the world and get stuck with needles and forced to sit still for examinations all over again. Sometimes Chayanne remembered how it felt to sit in that too small cage with A12, the higher ups staring into his soul, and knowing that he’s been caught. He’s interesting. They want him to be interesting. The fear doesn’t disappear when the vision does and Chayanne longs for his dad’s arms to come hold him and brush the fear away. Phil is very good at that.

”What if they put us back in the tube?” Pomme asked.

Chayanne hasn’t thought about the tube in a long time. He’s replaced the longing for it with the need to seek out Phil. The Federation would probably call him a name. They would probably find that interesting. Chayanne can’t put himself back into the uninteresting box.

”They aren’t going to do that,” He answered slowly. Slow. It always works to bring some kind of comfort. Like Chayanne knows what he’s talking about, but he doesn’t. He just pretends. It’s all he’s ever done. “They put in all this work to take us out. They won’t put us back in.”

By the time their meeting wraps up, Tallulah wrapped her arms around his waist and sighed. “I don’t want them to hurt Abuelito,” She whispered. Chayanne hugged her back.

”They won’t. You just stick with me when they come for us and I’ll do the talking,” He promised. “They won’t know too much. I promise.” Tallulah believed him enough to let go and walk just behind him on the way home.

Phil was expanding some part of the bunker when Chayanne and Tallulah made their way down the ladder. He turned and grinned at them. ”Have fun at your secret meeting?” Phil had discarded his robe and set the pickaxe down against his leg, back against the wall he was chipping away at.

”Mhm!” Tallulah smiled. She slipped her backpack off her back to look for something. Flowers, probably. She always had flowers. “Pomme and Dapper made it too!”

”One day I’ll have to see your secret meeting spot,” Phil joked with a smile. Tallulah pulled a bunch of flowers out and bounded over, holding them out to Phil.

”You can’t see our secret meeting spot,” Chayanne protested. A grin creeping on his face despite the fact that he did not feel very happy. “Then it wouldn’t be a secret!”

“That’s a good point, king,” Phil agreed. “Now, do you want to help me expand the bunker a little more?”

Chayanne helped his dad chip away at the wall. Tallulah helped, sometimes, but she usually just helped by organizing the raw materials and redecorating the room again. Chayanne was grateful for the busy work. The times the Feds are sent to grab them is always random. The only places Chayanne knows they can’t reach are in the bunker or in Ninho. But if they hide out there for too long, someone will begin to realize that something is wrong. Chayanne can’t have that.

It’s a rather uneventful day, where Chayanne gets to cook and Tallulah gets to reorganize her flower collection. Phil showed her how to press the flowers again for the seventh time and Chayanne almost burned his hand on the stove when he wasn’t paying attention. Chayanne liked uneventful days because then he didn’t haven’t to think. He didn’t have to think about what he was going to do when Cucurucho showed up and he didn’t have to think about the report he had to give and he certainly didn’t have to remember what it was like to stand in front of the higher ups and know that they know he’s interesting.

Chayanne liked to spar. Tallulah didn’t. So they don’t because Chayanne doesn’t want to upset Tallulah. He thought he got away with it, all the way until Phil gave Chayanne a side eye and a grin and Chayanne felt himself smile despite not wanting to because that meant that Phil will drop her off at a Tios house and Chayanne will get to spar.

It’s awfully simple things that get Chayanne excited. Maybe because he’s never had something to be excited about before.

Tallulah got dropped off at Tia Baghera’s house because they’d run into her at Spawn and Chayanne’s excitement to spar with his dad immediately disappeared the second he remembered he still needed to talk with Pomme.

“Pomme has a thing to show me,” Chayanne said. He grabbed Pomme’s wrist before she could take off or deny, just like she was always so fond of doing. “She was telling me about it at our secret meeting. It’ll only take a minute.”

“We’ll be back so soon,” Pomme agreed, nodding her head slowly. “Llulah, come on. I’ll show you too.” But the agreeable nature disappeared the moment they rounded the corner and couldn’t hear Phil and Baghera’s voices anymore. “Chayanne, I swear I’m fine.”

“You’re interesting,” Chayanne insisted. “Which means you’re not fine. If it’s getting worse, then something is wrong and you’re not fine. The Feds are going to be all over you the second they figure it out.”

“They already know,” Pomme huffed softly. She opened her door to her bedroom and shut it behind them. Tallulah jumped on Pomme’s bed before Pomme could turn around to face Chayanne again. “Can’t you just… let me pretend? For a little bit? Pretend we can just have this?”

“Pomme, you can’t pretend that you can’t see your lungs every single time you look at yourself in the mirror,” Chayanne pointed out. “That’s very real. This is very real. And if the Feds find out, it’s over for us. We don’t get to go back.”

“Chayanne-“ Pomme protested. She sat on the edge of the bed anyway and tugged at the hem of her shirt. “I just wanna pretend like these are my parents and I’m happy here and nothing bad has ever happened to us.”

“It’s not true.” Chayanne shifted in front of her. Down. On her level. He’s learned it freaked her out less. “Something did happen to us.”

“No, something made us,” Tallulah whispered. Chayanne thought she might not even hear herself talking right now, she was so quiet. “So we have to do what they say, right?”

“Just for now,” Chayanne promised. He reached for the hem of Pomme’s shirt and waited for her permission to grab it. “Just until we figure out how to get away.” Pomme relented and raised her arms, letting Chayanne pull the shirt over her head.

It’s worse. It’s definitely gotten worse. What used to be foggy and hard to see has become clear like glass. The blood that does pump through doesn’t feel nearly as dark as it should. He can see her lungs rising and falling with each soft breath she took and her heart pumping just faintly beyond that. It’s spread, infecting the space where she’s gotten injured in a fight and bandaged up herself and across to her shoulder, where he can see the muscle connecting her body together. The color of the muscle has begun to fade too.

“Pomme, this is bad,” Chayanne whispered softly. “This is really bad.”

“Chayanne, I know.” He can hear Pomme’s lip trembling. “I try to stay so safe and wear longer sleeves and it’s just worse.”

“Pomme, I don't know what to tell you.” Chayanne sat down on the bed beside her and Tallulah pulled Pomme into a hug. “Other than the fact that it’s going to get harder to hide. The Feds are going to find out, if your parents don’t find out first.”

“I keep thinking I’m disappearing,” Pomme sobbed into her hands, resting her head on Tallulah's shoulder. “You can see less and less of me and then I’ll be gone.”

“That’s not true,” Tallulah said. “You’re still here. Chayanne’ll figure out something. He’s good at that. You’re not going to disappear.”

It falls on Chayanne to fix it. Just like it falls on Chayanne to fix everything. How the hell is he supposed to fix this when he couldn’t even save himself from the higher ups? When he couldn’t even save A12?

“Pomme, I’m going to touch it now, okay?” Chayanne said. Pomme sniffled, rolling onto her back with her head in Tallulah’s lap. It’s even easier to see in the direct light.

“Be gentle,” Pomme sobbed. “It scares me.”

“I will. I’ll be so gentle.”

Chayanne is no longer in the mood to spar. Phil gave him a smile and led him out of the house with a hand on his shoulder like he didn’t leave Pomme breaking down in her bed. He left her with Tallulah, to be fair. Pomme isn’t alone. She did want him out. Chayanne felt guilty regardless. They are his siblings. He’s responsible for them. It’s his job. The Federation put him in charge. To control them, sure, but Chayanne felt like it was more to protect them than anything.

“Do you want to go dungeon crawling?” Phil asked. “Since Tallulah’s not here.” Chayanne grinned despite trying really hard not to. Got excited even though he shouldn’t. The Federation made it so easy to block out the emotions. To pick what he wanted to feel.

Chayanne also understood he was nothing there. Here, he’s Chayanne. A brother, a nephew, a child, and a son.

“I do,” Chayanne said. “Can we go now?”

“Yeah, of course,” Phil grinned. “I marked one down on the map not too far from here. It’s been raided by Etoiles already so we can break the torches ourselves.” The ‘safer that way’ is left unsaid, but Chayanne is okay with being safer right now. Given… everything this island has thrown at them.

“Tonton probably took everything,” Chayanne huffed halfheartedly. And when he thinks of Etoiles, he thinks of Pomme too. And when he thinks of Pomme, he thinks of the girl he left curled up on her bed sobbing because she’s disappearing.

“I bet he still left some cool things behind.” Phil shrugged his backpack over his shoulder. “It’s this way. Couple hundred blocks. It shouldn’t be too far of a walk.”

They spent the night curled up on the ground in a campsite. In his dreams, he could see Bobby and Juanaflippa. He reached and reached and reached and no matter how hard he tried, they fell through his fingers. He saw A12, sitting in the dark alone and no matter what he said, what he tried, he couldn’t reach them. ‘I’m sorry,’ He whispered to those he couldn’t save. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I should have held out longer.’

When Chayanne awoke with a gasp, it wasn’t the tube he cried for. It was Phil.

Chapter Text

Pomme was disappearing. She is, isn’t she? Every time she looked in the mirror, she could see her skin fading and her lungs heaving and her heart racing and it scared her. It scared her because she’s disappearing and dying and it’s never going to get better and Pomme can already tell that it’s going to get worse and it’s so bad and it’s never getting better and-

Breathe. That’s what her mother would tell her. Breathe, Pomme. In and out. She’s not dying. Not right now, anyways. If anything’s going to kill her, it’s going to be the monsters on this island that love to hunt them down. It’s not going to be this… thing that’s happening to her. And at least Pomme knows how to fight the monsters that live here with them. Besides, Chayanne promised he would help find a cure for her. He promised he would heal her. Pomme isn’t sure how he will do that yet, but Chayanne would never let her down.

Breathe. In and out. That’s a good girl. That’s what her mom would say. Would hug her tight and kiss her head and Pomme had to tear her eyes away from the mirror. She glanced up at her face, only for a moment, and was met with wide, bloodshot eyes, rosy cheeks, and pale everywhere else. Puffy face. Trembling lips. She was crying. Pomme couldn’t even hear that awful sound the Federation hated. It’d become so normal to her that she didn’t even register the fact that she had been crying and now she is and now she can’t stop.

Breathe, she told herself. In and out. She can’t run into her mother’s room like this. She had to cover up first. Baghera won’t make fun of her for crying. She won’t hit Pomme until she stopped. Even if it is the middle of the night and Pomme is supposed to be sleeping. Baghera won’t mind if Pomme tore through her bedroom and shook her awake. She knew that. She knew that so well. Whatever Pomme has going on here, whatever this whole parent thing is, Pomme just wanted to keep it so bad. Keep pretending like she can have this. She can be happy like this. She has people that love having her around and no one has made her do anything that she doesn’t want to do and she can cry and whine and crawl into someone’s arms when she’s scared. She loved this life. Why do the Feds seem so determined to ruin it for her?

Would her parents even freak out if they saw her like this? If they knew? The Federation has spent so long telling her that they would hate her. Cucurucho makes her repeat it in every meeting Pomme is dragged to. Logically, she can’t seem to believe it. Baghera’s hiding the fact that’s she’s an avian and while Pomme doesn’t fully understand why that is, she does know that Baghera has been hunted down and hurt for it before. Antoine is… well, whatever he is. Antoine is interesting like that. He has his own secrets too. Etoiles is literally green and cannot hide that and he’s so good at what he does, but there is some kind of history there that Pomme knows has a deeper meaning. Pierre might be the only one to pass as completely normal, she can’t find any reason why he would be interesting like the Feds think Pomme is, but he does know all of everyone else’s secrets.

So what’s one more? What would make Pomme’s disappearing chest so different?

But Cucurucho grabbed her by the arm of every meeting they had and shoved her in a seat. He left a picture for her to look at. Her parents, all grinning and smiling and happy, and it’s one without her. “I know you know things you aren’t telling us,” He would say. Pomme would reach for the picture, for her parents, because if this is the moment they take her away for good, she would at least want to remember them by something before they’re gone for good. “They will hate you when they find out what you are.”

”No,” She defended. The picture is pulled away, just before she can reach it. Just like it is every time. “No, they won’t. They love me.”

”No, they won’t. Not when they find out. Not when they know what you are,” Cucurucho said. He kept the picture just out of her reach and Pomme did her best not to squirm when she really just wanted the picture. “You know something that you aren’t telling us. And I know that you are. They won’t want you when they know. I can tell them now if you’d like. Rip the bandaid off. They’ll hate you and you’ll have no choice but to come running back here. If they don’t hurt you first.”

”They wouldn’t,” Pomme protested. Because they wouldn’t, right? She can’t imagine it. That Etoiles who patches up scraped knees and Baghera who sings her lullabies and Antoine who gives her tight hugs and Pierre that kisses the top of her head would hate her for this. Would try to hurt her when they knew. They wouldn’t, right?

”Then I’ll get them and we’ll tell them now,” Cucurucho threatened. “Tell them that you’re spying on them for me and that you're diseased and will eventually fade and fall apart like the 0-C subgroup that came before you. You’ll be untamable and beyond saving. We can do that now. Save you the hassle of hiding it and bring you back here to be tested on and maybe we’ll find a cure before it kills you. They’ll know, they won’t be able to hurt you, and we’ll get our property back instead of letting it run rogue like you do now. How does that sound?”

”Maman’s an avian,” Pomme whispered. Because nothing could be worse than having the comfort she has now being ripped violently away from her. “And Etoiles hates being alone. He panicked when we got stuck in a cave in the dark, even if he told me it was fine. I know he wasn’t. Maman doesn’t want anyone to find out because she’s scared.”

”Good,” Cucurucho nodded. “And they will hate you when they find out what you are.” Pomme shook her head because not her parents. She can’t picture her parents hating her, even if they did. But the Federation says it. She’s supposed to believe it. She has too. Pomme is a thing to them. A tool to figuring out perfection, something Pomme isn’t. “No, say it. They will. That’s why you hide it. You know it’s true. They will hate you when they find out what you are.”

That is why she hides it, isn’t it? She doesn’t want them to hate her. She doesn’t want them to freak out on her. She’ll become a walking corpse now that she’s put her foot down and won’t return to the Federation willingly. That is why. Because it scares Pomme, so obviously, it will scare them too. 

Cucurucho always waited. That picture is just within her grasp and yet, so far away. Pomme will get to hold it when she says it. She knew it. It was the same every time. She will get to hold it and hug it and tell herself it’s better this way because the Federation says it’s better this way. “They will hate me. When they find out what I am.”

The photo is always handed over. Pomme always hugged it to her chest. And it’s not true. It’s not. Her family is full of strange people like her. But she can’t help but feel like maybe the Federation is right.

But right now, staring at herself in the mirror, watching herself fade away, Pomme just really wants her parents to give her a hug.

Breathe. In and out. That’s what Baghera tells her to do. Breathe. Pomme can go run to Baghera once she has a shirt on. She just has to remember where she put it. She just has to tear herself away from the mirror. That’s all it takes. She knows she’s interesting. The Federation won’t let her forget it. She’s always been interesting because they eradicated this thing years ago when they were still working with the 0-group. When they had a whole batch go badly and their skin faded like it is on Pomme. Pomme heard the horror stories of what happened to them. They went feral and fell to pieces and faded from existence and they just barely began to scratch the surface of what it was before they died.

Pomme had been so good. She’d been so careful. She was such a good listener. They didn’t realize it was happening to her until it was weeks later and it was all hands on deck to get it reigned in and contained. It’ll survive, one of the scientists had said over her head, so long as they were able to keep it here with them.

In and out. Look away. Find a shirt. Pomme can do that. She sucked in a shaky breath and finally tore her eyes away from her mirror. Her cheeks were sticky and wet. Her eyes felt puffy. Her stomach twisted. She just wanted to crawl into bed with Baghera and listen to her heart and fall asleep because Pomme can’t sleep. She can’t sleep because she’s disappearing and Pomme can’t stand it. It’s scary. She’s scared.

Shirt. Find a shirt. Baghera will make everything better. Pomme just has to get a shirt on so that she doesn’t find out and Baghera will make it all better. The same way Antoine makes it better and Pierre makes it better and Etoiles makes it better. Baghera is right here. She’s across the hall. All Pomme has to do is find a shirt. It will be better but only after Pomme finds a shirt to put on. Because the fading is getting worse and it’s cloudy around her shoulder for now but her chest used to be cloudy too. And it won’t stay cloudy forever and when it stops, it will go clear and then her muscle will go clear and then the blood will dilute even more and Pomme doesn’t know what comes next but it will spread again.

Breathe. Find a shirt. Baghera will make it all better but Pomme has to move in order for that to happen. Because Cucurucho is right. Her parents will hate her when they find out what she is. She’s a liar and a fake and diseased and falling apart and Chayanne was the only person Pomme could really count on to not turn on her. Chayanne and the rest of the kids because they are all like her and- Shirt. There. There’s her shirt. She had it on early because the sleeves were long enough and it was baggy enough and Pomme felt comfortable sleeping in it, even when she ended up in one of her parents' beds because it would never reveal her secret to them, even if it moved in her sleep. All she has to do is put it on and Pomme can jump into bed with Baghera and everything will be better. Even if it’s built on lies for now because it’s better than what she had before.

Pomme tugged the shirt over her head and let it hang off of her before she was sprinting into the room across the hall from her and clamoring into Baghera’s bed. The frantic movement must have woken her mother up because Baghera groaned softly and pushed herself up onto her elbow, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “Pominette, what’s wrong?”

”Maman,” Pomme sobbed before she could stop it. Baghera sat up, more awake than before, and reached out to pull her in her arms.

”No, shh, darling, it’s okay,” Baghera soothed, hugging her tightly. Pomme was eternally grateful for the pressure being hugged provided because she felt like she could breathe. “In and out, darling. Breathe. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Don’t cry. That’s my good girl. I’ve got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Pomme is bigger now. She can understand more. She knew exactly what was going on in the Federation now that she had the words for it. She knew what she was used for. She knew it was unfair for her to be treated like a tool. Because she’s not. She’s Pomme. She’s a sister, a friend. A niece and a daughter. She’s a person. She has feelings. She means something to people. She exists to be a person, not a tool.

So she also knows that Baghera can’t stop what is happening to her.

Pomme curled up in her arms and sobbed against Baghera’s shirt for what felt like hours. Baghera settled against the headboard of her bed and wrapped her wings around the two of them, hiding them away from the rest of the world. Because her mom is an avian and Pomme was forced to tell the Federation about it. About how afraid her mom is of someone finding out and hunting her down. So when the Federation eventually does, it will be Pomme’s fault. It will be all her fault. 

“Darling, it’s okay,” Baghera mumbled softly against her ear. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay. Nothing is going to happen to you. I’m here.”

Something has happened. Pomme is disappearing and fading because she’d rather die than end up in the Federation’s control again and let them cut her open. Something did happen. Pomme isn’t okay and she won’t be, but she can pretend when she’s with her parents. Something did happen because Pomme is a tool made by the Federation to be used as they want. Something they made in a tube.

It’s funny. Pomme hasn’t cried for the tube in a long time. Maybe the Federation is hoping that the fear of being thrown away by the people who made her stop calling for the tube will be enough to send her crawling back. 

Regardless, Pomme cried for Baghera to fix something that can’t be fixed anyway.