Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The city resembled an old, decrepit arena more than an actual place of residence— dried blood collected in splotches and trails along the asphalt, chunks were taken out of buildings, half-eaten corpses laid strewn about. The air reeked of violence, of iron and flesh that was just starting to rot.
There were no survivors visible in the carnage. At least, not at first.

Artful sat inside the breakroom of a now-abandoned shop, breaths shallow and vision swirling. Blood dripped from various open wounds, staining his suit and marring his makeup. Bright, shining crimson stood out against white foundation, spilling out of his mouth, the worst of it seeping from a particularly nasty bullet wound in his chest.
He pulled his legs up, burying his head into his hands. This was just great. Not only was he unable to leave safely in this condition, but the creature he was killing with wasn’t distracted by the civilians anymore.

Only one prey remained.

…

He could hear footsteps. Heavy, slow; trying to make themself known. They were growing louder as whoever it was approached.
Artful reached for his wand, ignoring how his body screamed in pain from the straining of injured muscles. He lifted his head, vision caught in a vortex of spinning colors— like melting watercolors being mixed together with no rhyme or reason. It only got worse as he found himself forgetting how to breathe. Fear infected him like a virus, only worsening symptoms from what was likely major blood loss.

He pointed his wand where he thought he heard the entity, even as he could feel his body shutting down, even as his consciousness was slowly leaving.

The last thing he heard was a light thud as his wand fell out of his weak grip, rolling to a stop as the flimsy weapon reached Pursuer.

—————

..silence, for a while. His ears felt like they were blocked with cotton, ambient sounds of the forest remaining muffled. Alongside the crunching of grass, he felt trembling arms wrapped around him, securing him in place as he was carried.
Wait. Carried?

Who was…
Artful forced his bleary eyes open, only to wish he hadn’t at the sight of familiar slateskin. His heart leapt into his throat— he immediately closed his eyes again, trying to feign being asleep. It seemed to work for now.

Where was Pursuer taking him? Why didn’t he just eat him?? His head spun with unanswered questions and the remains of recent injuries. He could taste his own blood in the back of his throat.

Eugh.

A cough escaped him as he tried to rid the taste from his mouth, quiet but still managing to alert the beast.

Putain.. Artful opened his eyes again, only to notice that they had stopped moving. This wasn’t good. He still didn’t know of Pursuer’s intentions, whether they were good or bad. Most likely bad, especially considering how it was tearing into the body of a civilian back in the city with its teeth—

Ah?
One moment he was in Pursuer’s arms, and the next Artful found himself laid gently on the grass. He looked up at the person looking over him, a staring contest that he was primed to lose.

“..hello… monsieur..?”
His voice was horribly cracked and raw, producing an audible wince from the magician. He almost wanted to apologize for sounding so awful, but that would require even more speaking. A shame.

Pursuer knelt down, pausing before beginning to gently prod at Artful’s wounds. He stopped after a hiss of pain alerted him to how he wasn’t exactly helping.
He let out a quiet growl as he inspected the magician’s injuries with his eyes instead. Deep in thought, his words were picked carefully.

“You… are hurt,” he replied, each consonant uttered slowly and clumsily. His voice had a certain rasp to it, one that was gained naturally from not speaking much.
“I. Want to.. want to help.” He offered a toothy grin in an attempt to be reassuring. Humans smiled at each other all the time, right?

It… didn’t seem to work.

Artful found himself feeling both relieved and horrified. On one hand, he likely wasn’t about to be eaten. On the other… Did Pursuer even know how to perform basic medical care?
And was that blood on his teeth? Mon dieu…

He managed a stiff nod, angling his face up towards the sky. His hat had fallen into the dirt, but he was too woozy to care.
“If you wish.” It was either this or bleeding to death, after all.

Pursuer immediately got to work, though his lack of experience was incredibly obvious. Ripping off chunks of moss from trees, he pressed the foliage against the other man’s wounds. Trying to stop the bleeding, he applied what was definitely a bit too much force, considering how Artful squirmed away from the makeshift bandages.

Bright teal eyes narrowed, his expression falling.
“What am I. I… What am I supposed to do?” He leaned closer, still holding onto the chunks of bloodstained moss.

Artful audibly sighed in relief as his wounds were re-exposed to the chilly air, wrapping his arms around himself. For protection or for warmth, that was a mystery.
Perhaps it was both.

“…they might get infected,” he murmured, gesturing to his various deep scrapes, though avoiding the biggest gash in his stomach. He shifted, wincing as he could feel the bullet sliding against split open sinew. “Usually I keep bandages on me.. I must have lost them.” He patted down his pockets just to make sure, confirming that they were empty.

Pursuer stared in response. His gaze followed the rise and fall of Artful’s chest, tail flicking lazily behind him. The magician found himself staring back.
It was strange. Normally Pursuer’s body was just plain gray, resembling stone. But as he looked closer, he could see small bits of red through cracks in the slateskin. Not only that, but his leg seemed to be bent at the wrong angle.

Perhaps he wasn’t the only injured one here.

Though before he had much time to really think about it, Pursuer had gotten up, glancing back the way they came.
“I will find.. things. To fix you.” He dragged his leg behind him as he moved, taking a few uncertain steps away.

Was he just leaving Artful alone?? He didn’t want to be by himself-! At least the entity currently making his exit was some form of company. Besides, it’s not like Pursuer would make it far. The town was probably crawling with police by now…

He didn’t want it to get hurt.

“Wait—“ Pursuer paused as Artful forced himself to sit up.
“Shouldn’t you be… taking care of yourself first, mon ami?” Briefly, he considered reaching out in an attempt to assist— but the sudden retraction of its pupils caused him to hesitate.

The entity said nothing in response, picking out bits of moss from its claws. The surprisingly peaceful silence stretched on for a while, occasionally interrupted by shallow breaths and the whistling of the wind.

And the… footsteps of another?

Pursuer noticed it first. In an instant, he had darted closer, barely disturbing the forest floor as he pulled Artful to his feet.
“Wh—“ Pursuer replied to the magician’s confusion with a shushing motion, slinging his arm around its shoulders and stumbling further into the forest. Artful tried to protest, of course; pulling away and muttering curses under his breath. But Pursuer didn’t listen. If anything, it sped up.

Its teeth were bared. The sight of those sharp canines, weapons used to rip apart civilians like they were just another piece of meat, sent a shiver down the magician’s spine.
He didn't want to die. He didn’t want to be left alone. And he sure as hell didn't want to be locked up for the rest of his life. Conflicting feelings left him frozen for a split second, only to be pushed forwards by a sharp tug and a small growl. A wordless plea to keep moving.

Despite their efforts, the stranger was growing closer. Their footsteps were louder, faster— had the killers been spotted? Artful noticed Pursuer try to start running, only for him to slow down with a quiet hiss. Whatever happened to his leg was taking a much more severe toll now that they were escaping from something.

Just great.
Artful didn’t know if the two of them could fight another civilian like this. What if they had a gun? One more shot and he would be dead, with Pursuer likely not too far behind.

They had to get away. There was no other option.
The magician took a deep breath, and started tugging Pursuer along. Adrenaline was an excellent motivator that kept him at a constant pace.
He could tell the creature was trying to help. His working leg was supporting them as best he could, but there was only so much he could do.

There was only so much both of them could do.

A single fallen branch is what halted their momentum entirely.
Artful wasn’t looking at the ground. His foot was caught on the old wood, and in the blink of an eye, the two were sent sprawling.

He laid on his side, reaching out for his wand. It had fallen a few feet ahead.
The stranger was visible now. A faint silhouette. If he could summon a wall, buy some time, then maybe—
Pursuer was growling now, trying to get up, only to fall silent. A faint thud could be heard as it fell back into the dirt next to him.

What happened? He couldn’t see. There was no way to tell, not when he was laser-focused on getting his weapon back.

The wand was in his grasp now. His hands were growing numb, pins and needles wracking his extremities with discomfort that he barely noticed.
The instrument of destruction was raised—

…
Something had lodged itself into his side.
Looking down, he saw a… dart of some kind?

A tranquilizer dart.
Oh.
The wand rolled out of his reach once again. The last thing Artful saw was the sleeping face of Pursuer next to him as everything went dark.

Chapter Text

[ LOG 1. ]

[ We’ve finally gotten our hands on two individuals of interest. For simplicity’s sake, this journal will refer to them as Subjects 1 and 2. ]

[ Subject 1 was first spotted in an unmarked cave around two years ago, photographed by an unknown individual. The polaroid was found bloodstained in the forest after officials were sent out on a missing person’s case. Subject 1 is an apex predator and a carnivore, with natural slateskin and a bite force of roughly 1200 PSI. Spikes cover its neck, shoulders, and other parts of its body; this is thought to be a self-defense mechanism, protecting important areas of the body from harm. Subject 1 is also suspected to have camouflaging capabilities, but this will require further research. ]

[ Subject 2 is a civilian. His name is Jean ”Degaré” Fromage, though he has a more popular stage persona known as “Artful”. He has demonstrated magical capabilities in the past, using his wand as a conduit. We’ve tried to obtain this wand in the past with less than ideal results. Currently the wand is to be held in the Armory until further notice. ]

[ Subject 2 is, as of now, unable to cast spells without his wand. He is currently no longer needed. ]

[ We have placed the two subjects in the same confinement cell. Hopefully Subject 1 will display further cooperation after it has eaten. ] 

—————

His head was pounding. It felt like hundreds of tiny chisels, taking bits and pieces out of his fragile skull until nothing remained. The cold, hard floor he laid on wasn’t exactly helping matters.

Where was he? Last he remembered, him and Pursuer were in the forest when…

They got caught. He forced himself to sit up, holding his head as pain lanced through it like a bullet. He observed his surroundings with blurry vision and muddled thoughts.

He sat in the center of some kind of cell, complete with walls on every side. A door colored the same as the walls was visible in the corner, the only break in the monotony. Despite that, he still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, of eyes boring into him from every angle. One-sided mirrors, perhaps..? Everything was gray and dull, fluorescent lighting buzzing above their heads. He could feel bandages covering his wounds as he shifted in an attempt to alleviate some discomfort.

At least he was patched up.

A darker mass laid curled up in the corner of the cell. The slow rise and fall of his chest confirmed that he was still breathing, dieu merci— he instinctively went to grab his wand, only to pause when he realized he couldn’t find it.

Did they take it? Why? Well, he knew why. Keeping a captive armed wasn’t exactly a smart decision, after all.

Still, he found himself internally panicking.

He— no, they had to get out of here.

Artful stumbled over to Pursuer, dropping to his knees as he reached the sleeping entity and hesitantly placing a hand on its side. He tried to lightly shake it awake, muscles tensed in case it decided to end their temporary truce.

..didn’t work. How heavy of a sleeper was he??

“Come on now…” he shook with more force this time, voice low just in case of prying eyes. Pursuer let out a faint snarl in response, tail gently whacking Artful’s side.

“Wake up..!” He leaned closer, whisper-shouting into its ear. That seemed to do it.

Pursuer’s eyes shot open, and he darted away from the magician, hackles raised and gaze sharpened. Growling as a silent threat, it didn’t take long for him to quiet down as he recognized who had disturbed his slumber.

Unfortunately, it also didn’t take him long to realize that they were in unfamiliar territory. The spikes lining their neck and shoulders stood on end like fur as he crept closer, an attempt to make himself look bigger and more threatening.

Yet Artful couldn’t ignore the fear present in its eyes.

It made sense— he was scared too, though he’d rather not admit it.

“Where..” He stood next to Artful now, head on a swivel as he inspected their surroundings. His injured leg dragged behind him as he turned.

The magician took in a shaky breath. Best to collect himself, to be level-headed. 

“I do not know, monsieur,” he replied. His voice was precise and picked clean of any imperfections, a stark contrast to his appearance. He wasn’t stupid— he could see the way Pursuer looked at him, how its gaze lingered on red-stained bandages and his own dried blood on his lips. He already looked weak, he didn’t want to sound weak too.

“We were both caught at the same time. I do not—“

“Why is.. why is it so bright?” Pursuer glanced up, baring his teeth at the industrial lights.

“..eh?” Now that it was pointed out, the retraction in its pupils made sense. A creature made to lurk in the shadows probably didn’t have eyes built for fluorescents. Artful himself was already nursing a headache, and he wasn’t the one with sensitive vision.

“Oh. Erm, my apologies…” He found himself trailing off after Pursuer shot him a confused glare, eyes narrowed to deal with the light.

“Not. Your fault,” it replied with a dismissive wave of its hand. With that, he sat back down, spiked tail scraping against the ground. He remained tense, eyes wide and hands twitching.

Artful had seen him like this before, back during the carnage they had caused together. He was waiting. Waiting for an opportunity, for someone to enter the range of his claws.

It would be best not to interfere.

He slowly backed away, only to stop moving entirely as Pursuer locked onto each of his movements.

Artful had almost forgotten he was confined with a person who could rip him to shreds if he so chose. Almost.

He was frozen, uncertainty and fear clouding his judgement. He wanted to run, to get out of here, but escape wasn’t an option. Not unless that door in the corner was unlocked, but he doubted it was…

He took another step back, heart nearly jumping out of his throat as Pursuer got up and started matching his pace. What was he doing, exactly? Was he waiting for the perfect time to strike??

Back against the wall, he fumbled for the door, trying his best to turn the knob.

..locked.

Uh oh.

In the blink of an eye, they were inches apart. Artful’s breath caught in his throat— apologies and smooth talking remained stuck in his throat as Pursuer placed a claw-tipped hand on his shoulder.

“Are… you ok?” He brought the stench of iron with him as he drew closer. His own wounds seemed to have closed up nicely, but splotches of crimson still marred his skin. It was his leg that was the main issue.

Could they even try to escape in this condition? Most likely not. They wouldn’t make it far.

Artful nodded, briefly taking off his hat and holding it to his chest. Underneath was unkempt, shoulder-length hair that he messed with as he spoke.

“I could ask you the same question.” He gestured to the leg, raising an eyebrow. “Not trying to be rude, of course.”

In response, Pursuer simply backed away and sat down again.

“You’re right.” It looked at the magician expectantly. Was it wanting him to join it..?

He did want to rest. All that panic from earlier had managed to make him lightheaded again, and his legs wobbled as he pushed himself away from the door. Dropping to the ground, he crossed his legs, sat a few feet away.

This was… alright for now, he supposed. Best to bide their time until an opportunity came. He could tell Pursuer was thinking the same thing— he was still as a statue, all except for his eyes. They scanned their drab surroundings over and over again. Searching for a change.

Searching for a way out.

—————

[ Further observation has revealed an anomaly. Subject 1 seems to be passive around Subject 2. The former has refused to harm the latter so far, even when dealing with high amounts of stress. ]

[ It is theorized that Subject 1 is simply not hungry at the moment, but that still doesn’t explain its friendliness towards Subject 2. Further research may be required. I have requested 24 hour surveillance and potential questioning if Subject 1’s pacifism continues. ] 

[ Please record any new behaviors. ]

Chapter Text

[ LOG 2. ]

[ Twelve hours in, and both subjects seem to be experiencing increased amounts of stress. Subject 1 has taken to scratching on the walls, while Subject 2 has started pacing. Both exhibit erratic behaviors and sudden bouts of increased anxiety. ]

[ Continue to withhold food until Subject 1 has eaten, and log the time when it does. We want to see how long it can go without entering an aggressive hunger state. ]

[ Important note: Subject 2 has been trying to speak with the researchers. He seems to know he is being observed. ]

[ Do not respond. Do not give them any confirmation that anyone is there. ]

—————

“..the noise is grating to you as well, non?” Artful lingered behind Pursuer, wincing at the sound of nails scraping against hard surfaces. “Apologies for interrupting, it’s just…” his headache was only getting worse with each offending sound. He was starting to feel bad for Harken, if this was what she had to deal with daily.

Pursuer responded by slowly taking his claws out of the wall, leaving inch-deep indents. His hands bled, deep blue oozing out of nailbeds. He didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve heard worse,” it replied, stepping closer to the center of the room. “Need to… need to escape. Anyways.” A low, irritated growl escaped it, subconsciously moving close to Artful as the lights beamed down. It loomed over him, narrowed eyes reflecting the glow of the fluorescents.

“There has to be a better way.“ Artful leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper.

“They would have stopped us if we had gotten close to leaving.” 

He wasn’t stupid. Years of performing meant that he knew how it felt, being watched. Having hundreds hanging onto your every word, following your every action, waiting to be impressed. Though this place was no stage.

It was a prison.

”Hello? I know someone is there!” He called out, only to be met with his own voice echoing off the walls. 

“J’en ai ras de cul…” Adding to the musically challenged symphony, his foot tapped impatiently against the ground as he continued to mutter complaints in French.

All Pursuer did in response was blink, confused. Creeping back towards the walls, he hissed under his breath— his stomach had been voicing its growing appetite for the past few hours. That plus the unfamiliar territory was only serving to stress him out further.

They just needed to find a way out. Then he could find something to eat. Then he could rest.

Maybe… no. Artful smelled too bad to eat. He stunk of something artificial. 

Besides, the thought of the magician suffering from its hands caused its heart to twist uncomfortably. He didn’t quite understand why. Being alone was something he had grown used to at this point, the others being simply tolerated at best. Whatever helped him survive was good enough for him. At least, until now.

Surely there had to be something else to satiate his hunger…

“Pursuer? Pursuer!”

It startled, claws digging into the walls again with the shrill screech of tough keratin against concrete. The indents were deeper now. He was making progress.

Artful stood next to him now. Pointing at the damage, his expression twisted into a pained glare.

“I told you to cut that out. Please.” It felt like his skull was breaking into hundreds of tiny pieces, each offending sound chiseling more cracks into the bone. Getting punched at least 15 times in their previous bout of carnage seemed to have left some lasting effects.

“You’re bleeding. Here, show me your hands. I can try and patch them up.”  Honestly, he was surprised he was able to hold back his irritation so well. Concern had a tendency to overwhelm most other emotions.

So did fear.

Pursuer drew closer, breathing growing heavy. His pupils had retracted, nearly invisible amidst twin seas of teal; oceans of distress that now focused on Artful and Artful alone.

Its stomach growled. The magician shrunk back in response.

“Uhm… is everything alright..?”

Everything was not alright. He backed away further, wincing as he hit the opposite wall. Pursuer closed the gap between them in a few short steps, clawed talons dragging against the floor. Now that he was standing straight, he loomed over the magician, showing off bloodied fangs with each shaky breath.

Silence plagued the two. One was too terrified to speak, and the other simply didn’t know what to say. 

Pursuer didn’t know what to do, either. So he did what he was best at. Disappearing.

Lifting up his arms, he watched as slowly, his skin changed colorations to match their surroundings. It was easy for the most part. Just a hue shift to a lighter gray. The new color trailed up his arms, shimmering for a moment before settling into a different shade.

In moments, it was like he had never been here in the first place. The only indicators of his presence were the marks he left on the surfaces of their prison, jagged clawmarks serving as a reminder that he was still here.

And that he was probably still hungry.

“Putain de merde—“ Mumbling profanities under his breath, Artful took to fumbling for a wand that wasn’t there. He nearly forgot that it had been taken. Standing against the wall, his head turned on a swivel. Waiting for the camouflage to fade.

Waiting for the feeling of fangs sinking into his neck, or nails digging into his arms.

…

Time passed. The seconds ticked by slowly.

…

Nothing was happening. The air was so tense he could cut it with a knife. He wondered if Pursuer felt the same.

…

What was it doing?

Playing with its food, perhaps? But that didn’t make sense. He knew Pursuer was hungry, and likely wouldn’t want to waste time getting to a meal.

Maybe he thought Artful was a threat? But he couldn’t cast magic without his wand yet. He really had to get to practicing..

His train of thought was interrupted as a silhouette slowly re-formed in the corner of the room. Remaining completely still and facing the corner, Pursuer sat with his tail curled around his body. A pitiful sight, almost.

Artful couldn’t help but feel a little sympathetic, though that sympathy soon gave way to white-rot indignation. If it wasn’t gonna eat him, then what reason did it have to scare him so badly? What, was it just trying to have a quick laugh at his expense??

He opened his mouth to say something, but Pursuer had already beaten him to it.

“How. What. What do I.. How do I leave?” He was trembling now, tail periodically striking the ground and leaving scratch marks. The lights, the people, the hunger— it was all too much. He could feel his skin crawl with each offense to his senses. Even the faint buzzing of machinery was setting him on edge.

Everything was sharp, cold, unwelcoming. He wanted to go home. 

But he didn’t have a home. He never did.

Pursuer didn’t even notice Artful coming closer, didn’t notice as the magician sat down next to him. It only realized what was happening when he felt a hand on its back.

Pat, pat. “I’d like to apologize,” he murmured, making sure his tone was as soft as his touch. “I understand this is stressful. If I was quicker, then maybe…” Maybe they wouldn’t have gotten caught. Guilt, dreadfully familiar, left a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

“We’ll find a way out.” Hesitantly, he leaned closer, making sure nobody else could listen in.

“We are being kept here for a reason. Once we figure out that reason, it will make things easier.”

It had stopped shaking at this point. Stillness had returned, a brief reprieve. Pursuer found himself turning around. Staring at the magician, standing out in a world of gray. A mainly monochromatic color scheme was interrupted with the reddish-brown of dried blood, some still staining his lips, more of it on the bandages that poked out of rips in his suit.

He leaned closer, examining. Hands grabbing onto Artful’s shoulders, careful not to rip the suit fabric, his gaze followed the spots of crimson. 

He took a deep breath. The stale bloodsmell was sickly sweet, clashing against the stench of whatever Artful wore on his skin. Smelled like chemicals… a brief scowl formed, twisting his expression into a frown.

He lifted a hand, reaching for Artful’s face and gently dragging a finger against his foundation. Ignoring the magician’s protests, it wiped off the smudged foundation on his suitjacket.

“What are you—“ Artful tried to smack away Pursuer’s hand, but the damage had already been done. Underneath the layers of makeup was pale flesh, a faint blush deepening on exposed skin.

“Cut that out! This is not the time for games!!” He hissed, turning his head away.

Pursuer faltered. His hold loosened, and he slowly inched away.

“Sorry.” He paused. “Thought it was.. hurting you.”

He had been reaching into his pockets, trying to find his emergency supply of foundation so he could reapply. He couldn’t help but make an exasperated noise, a mix between a laugh and a sigh.

“The makeup..?” He looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Why would it be hurting me?”

Pursuer shrugged. “Smells bad.” He pointed at Artful with a blood-tipped claw. 

“Saw you… saw you put it on. Before. And I— it looked weird.” All those applicators and powders. He didn’t understand what their purpose was. So much effort, and for what?

“It does?” He thought it smelled nice. It did its job of disguising his civilian origins from the other killers, at least. Now, though.. he felt strangely self-conscious. It was stupid, but he found himself patting at his face, wiping more of the stuff away.

He’s had makeup on for over a day straight at this point. Maybe he should take it off, just for a bit.

Pursuer went back to helping. Claws made to cut and slash, rubbed off the foundation with a strange gentleness. Each movement was uncoordinated and clumsy— he wasn’t used to this. Being soft to another was something he didn’t exactly know how to do.

But he could try.

Artful had taken off his hat and mask at some point. They laid in his lap, ready to put back on at a moment’s notice. He couldn’t help but lean into the other’s touch, each swipe against skin revealing more of what was previously hidden.

It had been a while since someone had been so gentle with him. And if he didn’t look at Pursuer’s fangs, he could pretend that the person helping him hadn’t just taken bites out of multiple civilians just a day prior.

Civilians that were trying to harm them. Pursuer was violent, yes, but only when provoked. Instincts were held back by something more.

And even if Pursuer really was some ravenous beast, someone hell-bent on causing harm, he found himself not caring. His hands were warm as one cupped his face, the other tracing patterns on his skin. 

All he craved was contact. He didn’t realize how much he needed it until now.

Pursuer on the other hand, was zoned out staring into Artful’s eyes. Peace was something he didn’t think he’d achieve until he was alone. But the magician had a strange talent for calming him down.

His surroundings blurred, with Artful at its center. There was nothing wrong with just sitting here for a while, right..?

The shrieking of countless rusty hinges could be heard behind them.

Pursuer bit back a snarl. Immediately, he darted in front of the magician, who was scrambling to put his mask back on.

The door had opened, but nobody was there.

—————

[ GOD FUCKING DAMMIT, CAREPAD. ]

[ We told you not to store the new computer next to the other ones. We still had to check it for malware! ]

[ Electronic locks have all been disabled. Organize guards to patrol each sector of the facility. Watch out specifically for Subjects 1 and 2. ]

[ Focus on neutralizing. We know of Subject 1’s camouflage capabilities now, and it doesn’t need to be alive for us to take a skin sample. As for Subject 2, we already have the wand. It’s safer this way. ]

[ All non-essential workers, make your way to the bunker. It will be closed after a headcount to ensure everyone has made it. Do not concern yourself with taking your personal belongings with you. We don’t have time to worry about that. ]

[ God help us all. ]

Chapter Text

The outside of their prison was just as drab as the inside. Windows, invisible from the other side, were obvious methods of surveillance. There was nobody here anymore though. Only ghosts of the past remained, present in the things they left behind. Open notebooks laid strewn across desks, half-empty mugs of coffee teetering on the edge of counters— this place was recently abandoned.

As Artful stepped fully out, Pursuer followed close behind. His fingers grazed along the edge of one of the desks, coming back clean. No dust. 

It was eerie, how lifeless everything felt. It was horribly quiet and strangely empty, recent memories of human life left behind in what seemed to be some kind of mass exodus.

What were they possibly running from? The question haunted Artful, sending a brief shiver down his spine. Pursuer looked over his shoulder, head practically resting on top of him as it stared.

“What’s.. what is… wrong?” An open-ended question. The magician found himself unsure of how to respond.

“Uhm— nothing! Was simply a little bit… confused, is all,” he replied, anxiously tugging on his shirt collar.

“We should focus on escaping. Who knows when we’ll get another chance like this, hm?”

Pursuer simply nodded, stepping back and further surveying their new surroundings.

The room they were in was no doubt only a small part of whatever this place was. Another open doorway nearby led to more dull gray walls, this time with higher ceilings and what seemed like an endless amount of branching paths. From far away, it resembled a maze. A very industrial-looking maze. One that needed to be traversed, preferably sooner rather than later.

Pursuer acted on instinct, sticking out a hand and wrapping his claws around Artful’s arm. With the magician secured, it gently pushed past him, stepping into the mess of halls with him in tow. 

Artful tensed up, but didn’t attempt to push himself away. A part of him felt secured by the contact somehow. A reminder that he wasn’t alone.

God, he didn’t want to be left alone here.

He matched Pursuer’s pace, wincing at every echoing footstep he made. He wasn’t as stealthy as the other, that much was obvious. But Pursuer didn’t seem to be complaining. Instead, it focused on peering down every hall, trying to gauge where an exit might be located. Spikes puffed out similar to fur as cold, tense air surrounded the two of them. Lining the ceiling, security cameras sat motionless. Turned off. But by who?

The quiet was overwhelming, save for the occasional rattling of some far-off machinery and Artful’s shoes clicking against the floor. Each noise felt unbearably loud in contrast.

“Uhm…” Artful’s wand-wielding hand twitched. He missed his weapon.

“Do you have any clue as to where we should go first?”

Pursuer shook his head, glancing back with wide eyes and fangs bared.

“No. Don’t.. don’t know where…” he trailed off, words melting into a growl of displeasure. His tail occasionally whacked against the ground as the two walked, leaving behind shallow scratch marks.

Thankfully, it seemed a potential answer was coming up on their left.

Another divergence in the path they were following. Artful had to pull back to get Pursuer to stop, the two of them staring down yet another gloomy hallway.

Except this one actually held some merit. At the end, a set of imposing double doors could be seen, easily taller than both of them. What they led to was unknown; no labels detailed what laid inside, no convenient exit signs highlighting a potential escape route. 

While Pursuer shrunk back, Artful went ahead, gently tugging it along. This had to lead somewhere promising. 

If it didn’t, then what else were they supposed to do?

Sensing Pursuer’s hesitance, the magician shot it the most reassuring smile he could muster.

“It will be alright, mon ami. We will be out of here soon, I promise.” 

They stood right in front of the entrance now. Artful placed a hand on the cold metal, nearly recoiling from the contact.

“Wait.”

Pursuer had leaned over his shoulder while he wasn’t looking. His raspy voice had dropped into a whisper.

“Thank… you.”

Artful paused.

“Eh..?” His hand dropped from the door, and he turned around, expression softening from his usual annoyed glare.

“You don’t need to thank me. I should be the one expressing my gratitude.” He reached out, patting Pursuer on the shoulder (careful to avoid his spikes, of course).

“Now, let’s—“

Creeaaaak.

Unbeknownst to the two, Pursuer’s furiously wagging tail seemed to be enough to push the door open. It wasn’t secured at all. Unlocked, awaiting their entry.

Artful immediately spun back around, only to be met with a pitch-black room.

“…”

“..ah.”

He bit back a nervous chuckle, taking a tentative step closer.

“Let’s go.”

Pursuer trailed closely behind, the only signal of his presence being the claws that wrapped around his arm. Gentle, yet firm. Holding on just in case anything happened.

He didn’t know if it could see anything in the darkness, but Artful certainly couldn’t. Each step was a gamble, brushing past unknown objects that seemed to reach out with grasping hands. Holding him back. Making him stumble, nearly trip and fall. It was disorienting, the lack of sensory stimuli.

Wasn’t the open door behind them supposed to shed at least a bit of light? But as Artful risked a glance behind him, he saw that it had long since been closed.

How..?

Lost in thought, he was caught off guard as something wrapped around his leg. Something spiky and sharp— he yelped, free hand shooting out to try and gauge what the source could be, only to hear a faint growl from behind him.

“Was.. me. Sorry.”

Pursuer pulled his tail back, it now dragging on the floor behind them with a noise similar to nails on a chalkboard.

Artful breathed out a faint sigh of relief. His face grew warm from embarrassment; he wished he could pick up the pace and get out of here sooner, but he didn’t want to fall and make a fool out of himself.

“…it’s alright.” He blindly reached back, awkwardly patting his companion on the arm.

He didn’t voice his concerns, but something about this place gave him a bad feeling. Anything could be lurking in the dark, threats surrounding them on all sides, and yet they would have no clue. Artful could practically feel the danger grow closer with each haggard breath, pins and needles raking across exposed flesh as the room seemed to only grow colder by the second. 

His throat felt unbearably dry. His skin felt like it was on fire.

Faintly, he could hear a hiss from behind him.

Pursuer, right?

Suddenly, he could feel himself being pulled forwards, much quicker than his usual pace. The hand holding onto his arm only tightened its grip, teetering on the edge of becoming painful. 

Artful followed, of course— Pursuer was the only constant amidst a realm of unknowns. What other choice did he have?

He tried his best to keep up, even as he tripped and stumbled on uneven ground. When they finally came to a stop, he had to take a moment to catch his breath.

“..here,” it muttered. “Found it.”

“Y-you… you could see this whole time??” It made sense. Pursuer was sensitive to the light, so night-vision was expected. But still, Artful would’ve appreciated if maybe it had led the way instead of him. He cast aside his annoyance the best he could, instead moving to stand next to his companion.

“Found what?”

There was no response. Frantic clicking noises could be heard, alongside the occasional pulling of what sounded like switches. Whatever Pursuer was doing, it didn’t seem like it had any rhyme or reason to it.

“Something else.. something. Someone is here. Have to…”

Bzzt.

In an instant, darkness was replaced with blinding light. Artful immediately squeezed his eyes shut as Pursuer let out a pained shriek, one that left his ears ringing.

He didn’t know what was going on. The unknown threats were back with a vengeance— this time, the grasping hands felt all too real, tugging him backwards, trying to pull the two apart. He could feel something sharp against his spine, alongside distant shouts and demands. It dug into his back. It hurt, moments away from potentially piercing something vital.

Instincts pushed past shock. Artful forced himself into a sprint, dragging Pursuer along with him.

The light burned right through his eyelids. He could see his vision flicker before winking out like dying stars, could feel claws release from his wrist.

It didn’t take long before he couldn’t feel anything at all.

————

[ LOG 3. ]

[ They got out. ]