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So much goes so wrong so fast.
It’s almost comical how quickly Amphibia falls apart. How fast Marcy goes from near top of the world (she hasn’t quite reached the heights she’s hoped— Sasha’s betrayal knocked her down a peg. But… with them traveling the multiverse… they’ll be able to fix things) to drowning in the deepest abyss. Everything has shattered into rusted little bits, raining glass down on both skin and soul.
She’s sinking. She’s shaking. She’s breathless and messy and confused because she just had to dive out of a window to save a child who wasn’t even a teenager after the man she trusted most dropped him. Betrayal, so much betrayal courses through the air of the battleground— and yet this atmosphere is all her fault, is it not?
Way to go, Marcy. You have single-handedly ruined Amphibia.
She wants to cry.
But the time to cry has passed. She can’t dwell on her mistakes, not yet.
The ground hums with energy beneath quivering feet as the Newtopian palace, once breathtaking and beautiful, now crumbling and cold, hovers thousands of feet in the sunset sky. Her sides heave with effort and the oncoming exhaust; by now, most of Andrias’ robots have been destroyed, but a quick glance out the window tells her that there are so many more on the way. Where did they come from? She can’t take a minute to ponder. Too much is at stake to slip away.
There’s no time to think. Anne is on the floor, Sprig is okay— he’s alive, Marcy did one thing right and saved him, but Andrias is over them and frog what can she do—
The box.
No time to plan. No time to consider. Get the box, get it away from here.
Sucking in a breath, Marcy pushes her body as far as it’ll let her go and snags the box from its stupid glowing pedestal, scurrying across the room far away from the king. The castle shudders and groans without its power source, but she pays it no mind; whispering pleads as her fingers dance across the gems. She can fix her mistakes here— get everyone home, take the box with them— it just needs to turn on.
“Please work, please work,” Marcy begs. It’s sparking and smoking, something’s bound to happen, and then it does.
A portal.
There’s a moment of dumbfounded silence that takes place in her brain as the teen stares at her work— holy frog! She did it! She didn’t just zap herself back to Earth (the thought of that happening hadn’t crossed her mind until now— yikes, that would have been a nightmare) and now they can—
“The box!”
Andrias’ yell cuts through her joy, and in a second Marcy whips her head back to stare at the scene playing out. Look, a giant evil dictator traitor (hypocrite) newt with a giant flaming sword barreling towards her— oh crud. Her hands move before she’s conscious of it, gripping the box and rearing back. Pandemonium erupts in the throne room— Sasha’s got her swords and is sliding in front of Andrias, Anne is running towards her, (Marcy feels like she’s going to be sick), and—
Too much is happening. Why is the box shaking?
Brown eyes blink to find a rapidly flickering light, twitching like a faulty projection as the room’s brightness twists and dives. Is this stupid thing not working? her mind flares, panic alarms ringing in her ears. “C’mon!” Marcy yells, pressing her fingers in the same places she did before. Again. And Again. It won’t come back. The portal fades away, why is it fading, why won’t it work??
“Marcy?” Anne croaks, and wow, she looks wrecked. Must be tough having two ‘friends’ and a king betray you in about the span of two hours, then watching your best friend (in this world, or any other) (shut up, brain) fall to his death. Are her eyes blue? What? That’s not—
“It’s not working!” she says desperately, snapping out of it. “It was working before! Now it’s just— it’s just—“ She’s so frustrated. “Okay. New plan. We get out of he-RE,” her words are cut off by her shriek as a resounding thud is accompanied by a limp figure flying across the room, smacking into a pillar and collapsing to the ground. “Sasha!”
Andrias wastes no time in knocking Grime back with his lieutenant, and then runs.
Marcy freezes. He’s terrifying.
So much for a kind, jovial old mentor-dude. Why hadn’t she seen this in him before? Why had she let him trick her? Why was she so, so stupid?
(Why did it hurt so bad?)
“Move!” someone shouts, and Marcy clutches the box tighter. There’s nowhere else to run, less she wants to be impaled (would he really hurt me)? She stumbles backwards, away from the heat, away from him because he wants the box held tight in her palms and the look in his eyes says he’ll do anything to get it—
No one moves fast enough. Anne is already weakened, and the Plantars are tiny, so they’re all shoved behind him as well.
Marcy’s back hits a wall. There are no windows nearby. The shadow of the king looms over her, caving her and him into their own little world with nothing but the light of his flaming sword to illuminate the fear in her eyes. Here she is, 4’9 and terrified, facing the living legend of a thousand year old newt who burns with anger and scorn. Gloveless fingers pull the box closer to her chest, unable to say anything through the pounding of her heart.
“Marcy,” he starts, and she doesn’t respond, only tucking the box further. “Give me the box.”
“Go to hell,” she replies quietly.
Andrias’ face clouds, but he doesn’t try to convince her. It’s not like she can stop him. This is the part of the story where the heroes lose— is she a hero? Or is she just a pointless twist villain? Does it matter? No, no it doesn’t matter, because this isn’t a game, and she was foolish for thinking so in the first place. Tears bubble up in her eyes. Idiot.
What have you done?
Before she can react, the ground falls away from her feet and Marcy yelps, kicking and squirming as he plucks her up as easily as he did Sprig. He’s injured— she can see that now. Bruises and blood stand out against blue skin, a similar weight hanging exhausted in his eyes. What the frog had she missed while saving Sprig? Is he going to drop her out the— no, that’s stupid, he knows she has Joe.
“Let me go!” Marcy manages, feeling a corner of the box press into her chest. Ow.
Andrias chuckles, but it’s humorless. “Y’know, I liked you kiddo. I really did. I don’t want to hurt you. So I’ll give you one last chance.”
She blinks, attempting to clear her blurry gaze. It’s obvious she’s crying. Faintly, she hears people calling her name below them, but there’s not much anyone can do for her now. What is she? The third person Andrias is about to kill? The first time he’ll succeed? The calls of her friends grow louder, and the former ranger winces, ducking her head.
“Don’t hurt them,” she begs. “I’ll give you the box if you let them go.”
There’s a shriek of protest at her words from the ground, but Andrias only laughs. “You’re not in any position to make demands, Mar Mar.”
“I’ll help you,” she tries again, desperate. “I’m— you like me, right? I— I can be useful to you. Wouldn’t help be nice? Another strategist? And— And I’m connected to the box, please, let them escape. Don’t kill them.”
Andrias stares down at her. A distanced expression crosses his gaze, but who would she be if she could figure out what it meant?
After a moment of silence… “No surprise you make a good argument,” he chuckles. “It’s a deal then, kiddo. Do what I ask of you.”
He drops her, not harshly, but it’s enough to leave her collapsing on the ground from impact. Ow. Whatever. She’s used to falling. Groaning softly, she staggers to her feet, bringing the box up with her as she moves. She can run, now. She can sprint to Anne and Sasha and everyone else and sob and escape, but Marcy knows she wouldn’t make it a step before a sword gets shoved through her side.
So she stands there, eyes wide, meeting their gazes.
Anne’s eyes are still blue. She leans against Sprig for support.
Sasha looks angry. Injured and angry. Both are probably her fault. Are they both crying? Huh. She can’t really tell through her own tears.
“Go,” Marcy whispers, hoping they can hear her. “He’s sparing us.”
“What did you promise him?”
“You heard what we said. Please.”
“We’re not fucking leaving you Marcy!” Sasha yells, stepping forwards. The action is immediately met with the raised, loaded arm of a robot. There’s too many of them. They took too long, and now they’re surrounded and overwhelmed. Nothing can save all of them now.
“Would you rather we all die?” Marcy fires back, glancing down at the box. Fingers move and press against it, seeming to react to her touch for just a moment. Alas, the light fades away, leaving Marcy with a defective portal machine and a wave of guilt on her shoulders. “It doesn’t work! It doesn’t listen to me! This is the only way we all live.”
Anne starts to say something, but Marcy doesn’t listen, turning her back on the two. “Take Joe. He— He can get you out.” Her voice catches in her throat, and she struggles to speak through the emotions clogging her voice. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I dragged you into this, let— let me fix it.”
A beat of silence.
“Marcy, you—“
“That’s enough,” Andrias cuts them off. “Robots! Take them away.”
Calamity erupts behind her as shouts and screams break loose, but Marcy can’t bring herself to watch. They’re not in pain. They’re going to live. Slowly and steadily, she makes her way over to the pedestal and gently places the box on top of it. The action’s rewarded by a faint humming sound— a new breath of life in this creaking old castle. Mechanical energy rumbles beneath the floor, kicking the boosters back to life and returning the palace to the sky.
She stares at the green gem until the sounds stop.
When she finally turns, everyone else is gone. Anne is gone. Sasha is gone. The Plantars and Grime are gone. Andrias stands by the window, Lady Olivia and Yunan near his side. They’re both looking at her… both concerned, but one much more hostile.
Marcy sniffles, wiping her eyes.
Great. From knight and ranger to pawn and prisoner.
All she can do is cry.
——
All things considered, it could be worse.
Marcy thinks this is the best way this could have ended (well, no, would have been nice if no one was hurt and they were exploring worlds together… but nobody else wanted that, did they? Would they prefer it to this? …they would always be unhappy), seeing as no one was dead. She’s fine. She spends her days working or planning or tinkering with the box, constantly under supervision.
Yeah, she’s lonely. Yeah, she misses everyone. Yeah, her hands shake near-constant and she’s totally distracting herself from everything happening by getting lost in her work, but everyone’s alive (she barely is).
And… Sasha and Anne are together. They have each other.
They’ll be fine.
With narrowed eyes and her tongue placed thoughtfully between her teeth in concentration, the teenager squints, mumbling something under her breath as her hands fly across a keyboard. It’s been about a month since that fateful day in the sky, and the creatures of Amphibia have sure shown a response. While Marcy would love to be working strategy or on the frontline (better chance at sabotage or escaping), Andrias has her in the basement most of the time.
Like now.
Marcy Wu does not get to fight the rebellion (urgh, she wants to try and mess things up within these ranks so bad). Marcy gets the technology. The projects. The stuff where she’s conveniently out of the way but consistently aiding the fight. Whatever. Works in her favor, too. Being closer with these robots will give her a better shot of learning how they work and how she can turn that into something for her.
At the moment, Marcy’s working on some kind of… okay, she doesn’t really know. All she knows is that it’s a project, and she’s shoving wires into a stupid looking helmet and playing with different programs.
Andrias hasn’t told her much of what this is, but it’s complicated. Intriguing as heck, too. Would it be wrong to say she enjoys the work? It’s something to get her mind off of everything. She’s always down here, tinkering with machines, robots, or computers. Digging closer for the secrets of this world. There’s something here, she can sense it. Someone above Andrias, and she can see it lurking in the code, and she wants to drag it out.
Marcy may be helping him, but she’s not on his side.
Muttering words unconsciously, she never notices the faint padding of footsteps that stretch other the long, darkened halls that lead to her little workspace; far beneath the surface, tucked away and under supervision. Not like she can run, unless Joe magically appeared. She hopes he never comes. She doesn’t want him getting hurt for her. Not again.
Marcy’s just about to spin in the chair (she requested a spinny one, and Andrias complied), when, rather than meeting a robot, she finds herself face-to-face with Lady Olivia.
“Ah!” she yells, flinching back in shock. The chair goes one way, and she falls the other.
Lady Olivia does not seem amused by her startle. “Master Marcy,” she begins, official as ever, “have you taken a break for yourself today?”
Marcy groans, pushing herself up to her feet. Part of her wishes Olivia would drop the ‘Master’ title. She’s no Master. She’s just a stupid kid. “Of course I have,” she grumbles, far from her typical enthusiasm. She’s become grumpy lately, believe it or not. “I took twenty minutes before coming down here after I woke up. That was, uh, err… it’s lunch time, right?”
“It’s dinner,” Olivia deadpans, reaching forwards to grab one of her arms. Oh. Whoops. She’s not even mad. Time passing is good news in this hellhole. “Let’s eat.”
There’s not really any reason to argue. Not really a reason to do anything anymore besides throw herself into the only thing that can spark something out of her when everything else is so dull. Maybe this is all wearing down on her, maybe the sudden change in mood around here is bringing her down. Maybe the exhaustion is setting in; the dread, the paranoia. There are constant eyes on her. The King doesn’t bother playing nice anymore, Yunan thinks she’s a backstabber (deserved, but it still hurts), and all the other rangers have just become similar pawns.
Hadn’t Sprig said something like this before? You wouldn’t be so excited if you were the pawn?
Marcy shoots a dull look back towards the machines as Olivia guides her away. Orange lights stare back at her mockingly. This is her life, for now. At least she played the game well enough to keep everyone alive again. At least she’s the only one trapped here.
Soon. She’ll come up with something soon.
They leave the room.
——
(Does she know what she’s helping construct?)
(Does she know that soon enough she’ll be leaving this place? Away from the basement, dawning tight armor and a billowing cape of crimson?)
(Does Marcy Wu know just who this chamber is for?)
(No. She doesn’t.)
(Amusing, how many times a human can fall all on their own.)