Work Text:
when the constant damp, freezing air is almost always seeping into your skin and through your flesh, then finally your bones, the inescapable rise of tiredness or burnout is bound to linger on you. no matter how energized you might feel when the submarine doors fell open, that spirit will die down after each scream and thrill you are pushed to bare. every step you take has started to slow down, and you can’t remember the many times you’ve bumped into a card-locked door with a snoozing brain.
the dark consumes the vast, unending room. at least, that’s what your eyes could perceive. in the blinding dull of the room, it was difficult to differentiate between your own eyes’ blink and the room’s own lack of light. each slow pace seemed to have you bumping into an object, that could either be a desk’s leg or a shelf, or the occasional graze against a hovering squiddle. either way, the once easy and enjoyable task of searching for the blue key card had become strenuous. a dim light illuminating behind a large glass window calls for your name. the card might not even be in that seperate room, but you gamble your thinning luck anyway.
a footstep closer to the shut door got it to open as quick as a light’s flicker. even if you could already count the amount of lockers and chairs from the other side of the glass, the reveal still comes as a surprise. dark red shines through the area outside and lights up the vicinity. though you doubt the card would be in the drawers outside even with the help of the pitiful emergency lights. your eyes landed on a swivel chair, torn and rough from use. your body couldn’t care less of what it was rested on. with a deep breath held until you finally sat and swayed on the chair, all your day’s work seemed to flow out along with the breath you let go.
as much as your already half lidded eyes begged to close and get a blink of sleep, you couldn’t help but study the office. the sofa against the wall could be the better choice, but you shake yourself out of your own daydreams. urbanshade had sent you down for work, not the contrast. scattered papers and files seemed to talk of language intelligible to you. not that it was in different letters or anything, but corporate nonsense and overly complicated strings of sentences don’t exactly catch your attention. on your right, on the extended part of a table sits a radio. it looked brand new, and its exterior shined underneath the light ahead.
you kick your feet up on the table, with your hands folded neatly on top of you. sleep doesn’t come and soothe you easily, instead you almost beg for it to grace you. as hard as you force your eyes shut and for your thoughts to fall silent, it doesn’t. it becomes a fruitless attempt. you resist the urge to get up and continue your run, but why bother wasting time and effort on something that wouldn’t even try to come your way?
as the chair swings under your restless sway, you glance to the radio’s way. it sits untouched, unmoving. music, or the idea of simply enjoying an exciting, upbeat song or a soft, melancholy sound in such a place is unsettling to you. a facility that carries itself in such overwhelming pride, has a soft place in its cold heart for music. it baffles you, and a faint smile makes itself seen. a simple apparatus, one used to play music has you thinking threads of thoughts that expand to fill the hollow, hills and crevices of your mind.
deciding it was enough rest for you, your feet fall to the ground with a thump. you brush nonexistent dust off your suit, and face towards the door. as soon as your head turns to the exit, a muffled thrum halts you in place. a faint sound, if you were to step a foot further you would have missed it calling to you. immediately spinning around to the source of the noise, you spot it as quickly as it caught your attention. your curiosity is steady as it continues to hum the same sound, a muffled static streaming smoothly through the silence.
you don’t dare to bring a hand closer to it, only listening to its continuous whine. it mimics your sudden halt moments ago, interrupting the static with a sound similar to a small crack, “—painter, solace to painter?”
the voice is muffled as it speaks, and you don’t stumble back. you recognise through the layer of thrumming, it’s sebastian unmistakable as day. you could count your encounters on your fingers. it wasn’t always, but every time you do, it was pleasant, silent and quick. you speak when he does, and he only does so when he absolutely needs to. otherwise, your time together goes as quickly as it comes. you attempt to reminisce longer, but he interrupts you, “painter, i don’t know if you’re connected to me and you’re just unable to talk back, but—”
the buzz replaced his voice and you almost rolled your eyes at his loss. “—rrets, make sure they’re not actually loaded. it’s just to scare them.”
the radio seizes the scratching, and he’s back. though as unexpected as it catches you, you still lean closer to listen. your brows are furrowed with curiosity, along with confusion blooming. it could be directed to the staff of urbanshade, ones who are still keen and determined to have sebastian in their net. or, a command to aim empty guns at other creatures roaming the facility, smart enough to comprehend a turret and its capability. you shiver at both possibilities anyway. he cuts out, and comes back a moment later, “—festation, do not call it over when— the gauntlet, alright? just lock them up in there for however long you want.”
oh, sebastian. how could a saboteur so bad at his job send an entire facility into a lockdown? out of pettiness, you could simply tune in and make yourself known, have him scratch and restart his plans. but, out of pettiness, you could also stay silent, with your hands folded on your chest and a smirk gracing your lips as you listen to him ramble on as if painter could hear him. sure, you’ll play artist.
“get this, painter. i— access to the cameras, and watching them stumble around in the dark is so funny. i know, it’s horrible—” he confesses to his heart’s desire, pouring out his secrets to the very person he is keeping it against. you could almost hear the stupid grin through his words. tired, you swing a chair closer to the table, laying your head on the table as your eyes locked on the buzzing apparatus. he seems to fall silent, almost as if waiting for a response, so you give him one with a simple twist on the radio’s knob.
“aye aye, captain.”
was all you gave him as the knob between your fingers twist again, and your laughter echoes throughout the small room. there seemed to be no response for his side as well, only the soft rustling coming through. you imagined his smirk immediately fading, or the utter rush he puts himself through as he fumbles to do the simplest thing; respond.
your voice rings through his ears over and over again, and the soft sway of his tail has come to a stop. how much have you heard? this entire time, his whole confession and carefully thought out planning had bled out to the wrong person. the person he is planning against. sebastian almost smashes the radio as he hurriedly presses every single button visible, his brain reduced to utter mush. fish body, human brain and reactions. he would crush the skull of the person who witnessed his awfully obvious blush painting his complexion. thankfully, as much as he looked around for any signs of eavesdropping, the only thing listening on were the walls that echoed your voice.
your smile reached the start and end of your face with the edges of your eyes wrinkling, adorning your grin. you stare down at the radio, now steady with its continuous whine. sebastian should be careful with which frequency he connects to. instead of formulating ways to slow you from your goal, he has completely unveiled the plans he and painter have put together. too bad, you already know them and their paths are just as easy to avoid.
the radio’s buzz comes to a slow as another voice, different from the previous one, speaks through. even though the static filters some recognisable points in one’s voice, you are still able to tell who it was from the sheer hesitance and digitalised tone it had.
“—lo? sebastian? c-can you hear me?”