Work Text:
Another winter morning with the scent of coffee wafting through the kitchen. Fresh powder blanketed the neighborhood overnight, coating walkways and rooftops with clinging ice. The sun refracted crystalline snow like chrome, transforming dawn into a cascade of white. Each stretching branch of oak was crusted in glitter, and nearby houses donned strings of blinking, festive bulbs. They coiled up railings, embraced gables and wove themselves between the wire framework of reindeer lawn decor. 7n7’s own yard was pristine, velvet and glistening.
He hated it. He knew it was cliché, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth. More acidic than the dark roast that kept him going through the day. The world had no right to be so cheerful, not when it had stripped the purpose from his life. Every carol on the radio, every present still hidden in his closet, every family warm in their homes, casting shadows that danced across windowpanes. They were a reminder of his failure. The perfection outside his house should have been trampled, covered in bootprints and the aftermath of a snowball fight. Instead, 7n7 was alone at his dining room table, surrounded by unsolved documents.
He pulled a file closer. He had to have read them all a thousand times, but an itch in his brain told him there had to be something he’d missed. And as the time dragged on, that’s all he found himself capable of doing: digging in his nails to scratch, burying himself deeper into the case as its trail went cold. He couldn’t pinpoint the last time he’d done anything else around the house. Despite the frigid temperature, his pajamas were tinged with sweat and musk. It had been some days since he’d changed them, even longer since he’d bothered with laundry. Clothes had piled up in the hamper and dishes brimmed the sink. It was savings alone keeping him afloat after being let go, and they would run out eventually. 7n7 dragged a hand down his face, unshaven stubble scratching across his palm. He had fallen apart alongside his home.
’Please,’ his thoughts begged to no one, summoning a screen beside himself with a flick of the wrist. The c00lgui’s interface cast red across the woodgrain, and 7n7 took to the keyboard. Digital versions of the records spanned the monitor, flashing as they cross-referenced text with the day’s newest articles. He highlighted keywords and matched dates like he was in university again, pulling another all-nighter to complete an assignment due the next morning.
www.FlashFeed.com: 10-Year-Old Son Reported Missing by Father Was Actually Held— no.
www.LocalLens.com: Remains of Young Boy Discovered, Aged 12-13 with— not it.
(SECURE)https://internal.ropd.local/CasePortal/casefile?ref=RO-2024-1184&session=91af93jfae88f:
> File
> Version History
> 7 Dec— nothing new in the case file.
(UNSAFE)http://depasteon6cqgrykzrgya52xglohg5ovyuyhte3ll7hzix7h5ldfqsyd.onion/show.php?md5=0a5c6e136a98a60b8a21643ce8c15a74:
Package
0.35 BTC (Escrow Available)
Shipping: Secure, nationwide options
Profile: 10, M, fair skin, quiet temperament—
He slammed his arm down, dismissing the projection. It took clamping a hand over his mouth to settle the nausea churning in his stomach. No. The description didn’t fit, but he still couldn’t stand to think about it. Having to imagine any child under those circumstances, let alone his own son, made bile rise in his throat. Maybe it wouldn’t burn so much if he’d managed to eat recently, but any appetite he had was tarnished.
7n7 held his breath when re-opening the page. Just looking at it made the nearby air feel tainted, but it couldn’t go unreported. Sending a 0-Day attack was nothing compared to the level of code manipulation he was used to. The hardest part was waiting for the target to view the modified message, but once they did, the program would fetch their information, dispatching it to whatever department was closest. It was the same methods that took government elites days, even weeks, done in minutes. People always said he could have been a star among their ranks if not for his criminal record. That never would have mattered, though. He didn’t have the patience for warrants or greenlights.
The c00lgui shut down again, and 7n7 sank into the chair with a creak. At least he could play hero for someone else’s kid.
Tears stung behind his eyelids. Fuck. He should have been there, should have been paying more attention. The house was so empty without the echo of feet racing through the halls. He’d give anything to hear those joyous shouts and mischievous laughs. Even another kitchen fire would be better than this. 7n7 couldn’t dare say it aloud, but the odds of a safe return were ever dwindling. Months rolled by without mercy, calendar pages marked in red ink and withering hope.
The buzzing of his phone drew him from his thoughts, and he sat up in his seat with a sigh. Most likely another spam call, he figured. People wouldn’t start checking in now. 7n7 reached to dismiss it, but stopped when he processed the caller ID.
RO Police Department.
He scrambled for the phone, hurriedly clicking the green accept button. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Mr. 007n7?”
“Yes, speaking,” his voice croaked. It was raw in his throat. When was the last time he’d talked to anyone?
“This is Detective Sunny with the Missing Persons Unit. How are you this morning?”
He tightened his grip on the phone, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. No matter how desperate he was to hear from them, it made dread pool in his gut. He never knew if their updates meant they’d found clues or a body. “I’m hanging in there. What has you calling...?”
“We have some new information regarding C00Lkid’s case. We’d like you to come down to the station so we can discuss our findings.”
A sharp inhale, and 7n7 grit his teeth. “You found something? Now? After all this time, can’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
“I promise, if we had details about your son’s location, you’d know right away. But this is more nuanced, and it’s going to be a lengthy discussion, so we prefer to do this in person. I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear.”
He’d lost track of how many times they’d used that phrase. It was nothing close to what he wanted to hear, yet he had to hold his tongue. “I can head there now.”
“That’ll be just fine. We’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll see you.”
The call ended, and he pulled the phone away, placing it back onto the table with trembling hands. 7n7 was ready to march out the door as is, but he was still in filthy pajamas. It was one thing to walk around the house, but another to enter the police station this way. His heart raced awkwardly in his chest, making his throat taste of copper. Surely he should shower before leaving, but that would mean prolonging the time it took to finally get answers. He found himself on autopilot before it could become a debate, donning a pair of shoes left by the entryway. It barely crossed his mind to grab a jacket from the closet, sliding his cell and keys into his pockets, then slipping outside.
A rush of frigid air met 7n7’s face as he tugged on the coat, and he pulled the fabric close. He’d barely made it to the driveway when the sight of his car made him stop in his tracks. Ice had crusted over the windows, thick and opaque from neglect. He clenched his jaw with a groan. It was a tasteless joke dressed in irony, the targeted kind that makes an audience wince.
With a concentrated breath, he unlocked the divider’s side and turned on the vehicle to warm the engine. Heat slowly drifted from the vents as 7n7 dug through the map pocket, retrieving a plastic scraper from underneath the mess. He shovelled excess snow from the hood with his arms until he could see the paint again, then dragged the scrapper against rigid frost. When the windshield was half cleared, he deemed it roadworthy and climbed into the car. The fans streamed warmth through the interior, sending pins and needles to his numbed fingertips as he peeled from the driveway.
Despite all the times he’d preached road safety when C00lkid was with him, 7n7 could barely refrain from speeding. Those memories were salt in the wound now; little lessons about the meaning of road signs, when and when not to get behind the wheel, and the importance of seat belts. He’d press hypocrisy to the pedal, but sheets of verglas marbled the pavement, and losing control put too many people in danger. So he drove slowly, the sound of crunching beneath his tires grating in his ears.
He’d memorized the route to the station, though that wasn’t a recent occurrence. C00lkid’s shenanigans had landed them there several times. If he hadn’t paid for all the damages out of pocket, he was certain someone would have pressed charges. It was probably his fault, though. He gave his son the original c00lgui, and he never should have trusted a child with such a powerful piece of technology. Really, he still didn’t know what he was thinking. Something about C00lkid learning from his mistakes and being able to protect himself. Of course, it backfired in the end, all failure and shrapnel. He should have handled it like a normal parent, taken him to some kind of therapist for his outbursts, signed him up for that one karate class downtown so he could learn discipline and self-defense.
7n7 gripped the steering wheel, palms clammy as he pulled up to a stoplight. Builder Brother’s Pizza stood to the left, and his gaze lingered on the building. Warm lights buzzed inside, and silhouettes of customers sat around the tables. Meanwhile, his family’s faces were still plastered on the front with text reading BANNED. That’s what his flyer said, at least. C00lkid’s had been replaced at some point, and the glass now bore a missing poster.
The light turned green, and he continued.
Animosity aside, Elliot couldn’t turn a blind eye to a lost child. 7n7 didn’t expect him to; he’d always been the helping type, but the simple sacrifice made him feel… human. He wanted to thank the other man when he first saw the change, but ultimately figured that the best thanks would be to respect his wishes and stay away.
7n7 remained lost in thought for the rest of the drive. With head in the clouds, he eventually pulled into the station. Only a few other vehicles were parked alongside him, all of which were police issued, aside from a run-down pickup and a silver crossover. ’Low traffic, just like the roads,’ his mind provided as he stepped into the slush outside, locking the car behind him and heading towards the entrance. Crossing onto the curb, 7n7 stood before the twin glass doors. This was it. The update he’d been waiting months for. They’d told him it was nothing substantial, yet his mouth had gone dry and his chest was tight. He said he’d take anything, so here he was.
Steeling his nerves, he pulled on the handle and walked inside. Instantly, he was greeted with the hum of fluorescent lights, the lobby an onslaught of tiles and brutalism. It smelled of Folgers and pumpkin Febreze, something trying to be inviting but masking hints of sweat and thirdhand smoke. The receptionist turned from her computer, brows knit slightly as she assessed his dishevelled condition.
“Hello, sir,” she said. “Is everything alright?”
7n7 cleared his throat, hoping to appear presentable in his speech if nothing else. “I’m 007n7, I’m looking for Detective Sunny…? I got a phone call about an update regarding my son’s case. His name’s C00lkid?”
Recognition dawned on the woman’s face, taking the place of suspicion. Her tone shifted, and she rose to her feet with a nod. “Of course, he told me you’d be coming. I can show you to his office.”
“Thank you…” He managed, slipping his hands into his pockets as she led him through the corridor. They took a right past her desk, crossed an ingress with a label he didn’t read, and pivoted down another hall before finally reaching their destination.
“Office 118,” she informed, knocking as she spoke. “Detective Sunny, you have Mr. 007n7 here to see you.”
“Come on in,” he greeted from inside.
The woman opened the door, and he saw the same beige walls that haunted his dreams. He sat in that room when the investigation first started, and he sat there as they told him their leads had gone nowhere. Today was supposed to be better, but the sight still made his blood run cold. It was microscopic ice crystals catching in his veins, over and over.
“I’ll leave you to talk.” Sympathy laced the receptionist’s voice, and she bowed her head before retreating down the passageway.
Sunny waved him inside, and 7n7 forced himself to cross the threshold. He took a seat across from the detective, watching as they leaned forward in their chair, focusing their attention on him.
“It’s nice to see you again, Seven. I wish it were under better circumstances, but I’m thankful to be able to share some updates with you.”
“Thank you,” he murmured, wriggling his fingers inside his pockets as he took in his surroundings.
It was a cordial place to be dismayed by. The filing cabinets were aptly labeled, tucked neatly behind Sunny’s desk, and topped with potted ivy. Polaroids were clipped to his computer monitor, and art lined his walls. Some abstract metalwork pieces, as well as mechanical diagrams for patents that 7n7 couldn’t quite understand. Hardware had never been his forte, and he never had the energy to truly analyze pieces. Still, he could faintly recall Sunny explaining a thing or two about them. It was a hazy memory, facts shared in passing to shift focus from his despair.
In the end, he retained more about the other’s history than any technicalities. He knew Sunny was an engineer prior to joining the agency; their body holding evidence of the trade even years later. Calloused hands littered with marks, overstrained joints, and scar tissue taut across their right eye. The lattermost injury hadn’t exactly been a workplace accident, but rather the result of a hostile client lashing out when Sunny refused future service. They’d kept the story vague, but explained that narrowly escaping the ordeal was the wakeup call they needed. They’d made a terrible mistake during their time as an inventor, gotten involved with matters they shouldn’t have, but ultimately dedicated their life to saving people as an amends, of sorts. He was fairly certain they’d shared the story due to its relatability— two individuals with a checkered past, trying to atone for their misdeeds. 7n7 couldn’t help but feel Sunny was doing better than him.
Pulling him back to center, Sunny reached aside and procured a stack of portfolios. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time, so I’ll get right into things if you’re ready.”
Taken aback by the brevity, he could only nod before finding his words again. “I— Yes, please.”
“I want to be direct with you as we start. Do you understand that we still don’t have specific leads about your son’s case? That’s not what this meeting is about.”
Although he was aware, the extant clarification made his heart sink. He didn’t need the reminder every time they spoke; he saw it for himself each morning when he secretly accessed C00lkid’s case file, only to find it hadn’t changed. “Yes, I understand. You said so on the phone. Please, just tell me what you found.”
The detective’s gaze was soft, words gentle yet still too practiced. “We’ve had an increased number of disappearances in the area. There didn’t seem to be a correlation at first, which is why we didn’t call you in before, but a pattern began to emerge over time…”
Sunny slid the top file his way, and 7n7 took it into his hands, eyes darting across the pages in an attempt to absorb everything all at once. Squares of black obscured certain details, dates, and defining features scrubbed from the document.
“We couldn’t give you some of the private information, but stay with me,” Sunny continued, and 7n7 shifted his attention back to the detective.
The horrors wracking his mind made everything spin. If this was a part of something bigger, if whatever happened to C00lkid was planned, if others were involved— he couldn’t bear the thought of what that might entail.
“These missing citizens meet a certain profile, and their cases all have an unusual progression. They just… seem to vanish without a trace. No signs of struggle or forced entry in homes, no known plans to travel, no external reports. We would usually expect someone the victims know in these situations, but we’ve found no evidence of suspicious activity, and affected families are from all over the map. They reportedly aren’t in any of the same online groups, either.”
He tried to take everything in, but the word victims was scalding. When had the terminology changed? Where was he when they made that decision? 7n7 tried to move on and swallow the lump in his throat, burnt and dry.
“So… what? You think it’s a team or something? And they’re targeting people who fall into certain categories?” He raised his arms, elbows resting on the desk to grip his hair. “We don’t know anyone who would do this...”
Sunny extended a hand to place atop the documents. “Nobody thinks someone they know could be involved in something like this.”
“No, we… We don’t really know anyone, Sunny. It’s been just us for so long. No other family, no close friends. He has some he sees sometimes, but their parents don’t trust him anymore, and he notices that. I can’t even find a school that will keep him enrolled...”
He swore he’d cried enough for a lifetime, yet untapped words wrung a tap behind his eyes. Grief was bubbling over faster than he could carve the space for. “Look, I swear to you, he’s a good kid. I know he’s got issues to work through, but he’s sweet, and smart, and he loves Christmas, and reindeer, and the Oreo dirt cups I make on holidays— and god damnit! He would be here right now if it had been his choice!”
The detective was silent for a moment, a frown stretching across his lips. People made mistakes, staggered over poor decisions, especially when they were young, but sorrow didn’t bend to reason, and it wasn’t the time for debate. “I hear you. I’m sorry, Seven.”
7n7 felt heat rise to his face, shame abruptly smothering his temper. “...Right.”
“Would you like to move on, or would you prefer a break?”
“I’m fine, keep going,” he managed wearily. “You said everyone met a certain profile, right…? What is it?”
Sunny seemed uncertain about continuing, but complied with the conditions he set. He slid another paper forward for 7n7 to read, message clear despite the redacted text. “Everyone involved, or someone close to them, had been dealing with trauma or loss before the victim went missing. Be it incidents of violence, the death of a loved one, financial or legal troubles, they were all already struggling and susceptible.”
7n7 sat with jaw set, not yet allowing himself to speak. He knew that if he did, he would derail the conversation into woe once again.
“Perpetrators usually go after those who seem vulnerable, but this is more than that. We pulled together psych evaluations from everyone who has been affected, looked back at incident logs, and individual records. These things were all recent or longstanding and significant. Even if these people don’t know their victims personally, they’ve been observing. They know enough about these people’s lives to manipulate them.”
His face grew ashen, a sickening flair of dread shooting up his spine. “They were stalking us…? Watching my baby?”
Sunny’s tail flicked behind him, an innate manifestation of angst that directly opposed his calm expression. “I’m so sorry.”
An apology as confirmation was dismal, though there was no kinder answer. “God. I— for how long?”
“We don’t know…”
7n7 lay his head in his arms, his breath shuddering. “I should have been more vigilant… If I were a better father, this never would have happened. I would have noticed— fuck, I wouldn’t have had to notice. We wouldn’t have been targeted if I’d handled things properly.”
“You’re a fine parent, and you’ve done your best,” they corrected. “Nobody noticed any other suspicious activity before the disappearances occurred.”
He paused, looking up just enough to meet Sunny’s gaze before speaking. “Out of everyone who’s gone missing… have any of them been found?”
Sunny folded their hands, shifting slightly in their seat, and 7n7 braced for their inevitable no. “We’ve only recovered bodies.”
“...What?” That wasn’t their line.
“Most individuals are still missing, and we don’t know their status. We… do want to be realistic, Seven, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible for…”
Sunny was still speaking, but the words no longer met 7n7’s ears. They were far away, a buzzing unreality that couldn’t possibly concern him. The worst-case scenario was meant to be a not-yet; that’s what they’d always said before. That unknown was hope, no matter how torturous, and he couldn’t dare lose it.
7n7 pushed himself from his seat, chair scraping against tile. “I need to go.”
They blinked, jolting up alongside him. “Hang on, wait—”
“I can’t do this,” he cut in, voice wavering. “I’m going home. Call me when there’s news about my son.”
Rounding the desk, Sunny followed after with hand outstretched. “You just got some really intense news. We have people you can talk to here. Please, don’t leave just yet.”
“No, I need to go.” He repeated, words leaving his lips without thought. As he turned towards the door, unsung decor came into view. Dark shelves proudly displayed a series of Sunny’s investigative achievements. Delicate keepsakes, each symbolizing a case with a successful reunion among families. He’d always imagined giving them something exceptional to add to the collection when this was all over, then putting this behind him forever.
7n7 exhaled slowly, skull full of cotton. He left without further comment, retracing his steps down the corridors and through the lobby. Sunny had contended his departure, and the receptionist may have reiterated their point, but he was no longer there. Their voices spoke in detachment, separated from space. Outside, his keys were weightless in his palm, and the perspective of his car was warped, but he paid it no mind. He swore he was viewing his body from a distance, dull and vacant.
He watched himself crank the ignition, not bothering to let the windscreen defrost before returning to the road. Gravel crackled beneath rubber, smoothing into frigid pavement upon entering the lanes and exiting the lot. The world had never been so surreal. 7n7 expected to wake up at any moment and for the nightmare to finally, finally be over.
The next time he stopped at a light, he pinched himself. Fingertips gripped his forearm and squeezed, again, again, and again. Each attempt harder than the last, until nails pierced flesh, and blood had begun to ooze from parallel crescents. Every time it stung more, but that wasn’t the proof he wanted. Pain was corporeal, and that had too much finality. He had been sleepwalking for long enough, had he not? This haze, the nonsensical autopilot, and the rationale that only made sense in dreams. When he awoke, it would all fade away.
A blaring horn from the vehicle behind him snapped him back to reality, and 7n7 realized the stoplight was green.
He let out a shaky breath. His arm was still bleeding.
It had been green for a while, hadn’t it?
Shifting forward, 7n7 continued down the road. His grip tightened around the wheel, lips pressed into a thin line. Breathing was to be done without thought, yet suddenly, it was a trial. With lungs too small, the air was unsatisfactory, no matter how he tried to gulp it down. Keeping the route in focus until he made it home was a challenge in itself. When he eventually pulled into his driveway, his chest was rattling, cavity a pit of lead rather than organs.
’Maybe I shouldn’t have left,’ his thoughts supplied, though the possibility of returning never truly crossed his mind. It was all bombshells and rapid breaths, shallow and quaking. Overcast was rolling over the horizon, breeding tension through the atmosphere. The clouds were onyx clusters, like those of thunderstorms or blizzards, but darker still. Deep within their crux, they almost appeared intertwined with crimson. At least the weather was finally appropriate.
“Tₕₑ ₐᵢᵣ ᵢₛ ₕₑₐᵥᵢₑᵣ ₒᵤₜ ₜₕₑᵣₑ, ᵢₛₙ’ₜ ᵢₜ?”
He jolted, jumping from his seat in search of whoever had spoken to him. The vehicle was empty, but it still took a beat to process that the sound hadn’t come from any direction. There was no Euclidean voice, simply a low static broadcast within his head. 7n7 cracked open the car door, peering around hesitantly. He wasn’t sure which was worse: the idea of hallucinating or of someone watching him again. The man wasn’t in a state to handle either, and after ensuring no one was nearby, he raced up the porch and into the house. 7n7 practically slammed his back against the entryway, nearly dropping his keys in his fraught state.
“Wₕy dᵢd yₒᵤ ₗₒcₖ ₜₕₑ dₒₒᵣ? Cₐₙ yₒᵤ fₑₑₗ ₘₑ wₐₜcₕᵢₙg?”
The vocalization from nowhere sowed the question into his bones. If it had come from anywhere else, he would have gone digging for mics and cameras. There would have been rage, tearing his home apart until he found whatever devices those monsters had been using to spy. But it was unmistakably all between his ears, a visceral thought not his own. The keys clattered to the floor, and for the third time that day, tears began to form in his eyes.
“Yₒᵤ bᵣₒᵤgₕₜ ₜₕᵢₛ ᵤₚₒₙ yₒᵤᵣₛₑₗf. Yₒᵤ cₐₙ’ₜ ₑₛcₐₚₑ ₘₑ.”
“Oh, god—” Barely commanding his own limbs, 7n7 slid down the wall, desperately fishing for the phone in his pocket. Once he retrieved it, however, he froze. He needed help, but there was no one to call. He’d said so himself. He couldn’t imagine anyone in his life who wouldn’t look at the state he was in and pass the problem off to an institution. With blurred vision, he frantically scrolled through his contacts. Some dated back over a decade, with 7n7 never having had the heart to delete them. He told himself he’d reach out to the people he’d wronged one day, but years passed, and most of the numbers sat untouched, especially the ones who deserved an apology most of all.
He paused over Noli’s name. The photo was long outdated, taken back in his Sophomore year of college. 7n7’s breathing wavered as he stared at the profile. Noli was still himself, then. He’d always been an archaic force, a mesmeric showman and a lover of chaos, but there was repose behind the mask once. Late nights talking about life, with the other man always behind on trends. They laughed for too long about schemes and inside jokes that were never that funny, all because they had planned them together. Sharing dreams, secrets, passion; they called each other best friends, but friends didn’t live the way they did.
He knew calling him would be selfish, and Noli had no obligation to speak to him, let alone forgive or assist him. He’d pressured him into stealing a relic and coerced contact with corruption. The power they’d sought was parasitic, necrosing body and soul in its need to consume, and it had ruined him. Remnants of his warmth decayed alongside him, void star melded into the flesh of the man 7n7 once loved. Leaving felt like the best option at the time, and perhaps, to some extent, it was, but what plagued him was not staying long enough to find out. His lack of penance, not even trying to fix what he’d broken. If someone had been there when Noli needed it most, maybe he wouldn’t have fallen so far. Reaching out now would be more than hypocritical; it would be egregious.
He pressed the dial button, anyway. It took a few tries with the way tremors seized his form, but the line began to ring. His phone cycled through chimes, and 7n7 held tighter for each toll unanswered. He feared he’d crack the screen at the rate things were going, but after 20 seconds, the call went to voicemail. The robotic answering machine was nearly enough to send him over the edge, and it was all he could do to let out a broken sob and fall into his knees. That was the response he expected, but it didn’t ease the crushing weight in his chest.
A distinct beep concluded the mechanical speech, indicating it was now possible to leave a message, and 7n7 stared at the device in his hands. Briefly, he debated hanging up then and there; preserve what little dignity he had left and end this with silence.
“Hey, Noli…” He couldn’t help himself. He knew he must have sounded pathetic, crying and snivelling like a child.
“I uh, I don’t actually know if you’ll listen to this. Or if this is even your number anymore. God, if it’s not, please ignore this, I—” 7n7 shook his head, trying to physically clear his thoughts.
“I’m sorry for bothering you. I’m sorry for so many things. I never should have pressured you, and I shouldn’t have abandoned you, especially not after everything we went through. I really should have apologized a long time ago. At this point, it was probably better to stay away, huh? Not dig up old wounds. But here I am, and— and—”
Another sob, and he pressed a hand over his mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound. Smothered lamentation, humiliating and violent; it warped the words on his tongue.
“Everything is falling apart,” he croaked. “I lost my job, I’m hearing this fucking voice out of nowhere, and my son— Oh, Noli, he was my life. He’s gone. I think he’s really gone. I can’t handle this anymore. I just— I think I’m going to do something really stupid. I don’t know what to do. I understand if you hate me, or just delete this, but—”
You have reached the maximum recording time. To save this message, press 1. To record a new message, press 2.
7n7 went still. His ears were ringing through his stupor, and he could only laugh. Mirthless and wet, he was snickering through gasps. Clicking 2 on the keypad, the recording reset, and he sank against the door.
“I just realized this is the wrong number…” he said, thumb tracing the screen. “I’m sorry.”
7n7 ended the call, setting the phone aside with a shuddering breath. The universe had given him plenty of signs. Nobody needed to hear his nonsensical rambling now, least of all Noli. Stumbling upright, he dragged his feet forward. Muddy boots trudged across carpet, passing the couch and turning down the hall. He couldn’t help but hesitate in front of C00lkid’s room, lingering in the memory of naïveté. His door was still embellished with signs and stickers, name scrawled in red across a cardstock placard. Idealism had collected dust, and 7n7 grimaced at the tainted preservation before pressing on.
He continued to his bedroom, making a beeline for the closet and sliding it open. Kneeling, he found himself eye level with a safe. It held their most important documents: passports, insurance policies, amended birth certificates, and adoption records. The newest addition, however, was a pistol. He’d purchased the firearm after C00lkid went missing, determined to avoid future threats by any means necessary. It almost seemed excessive when he had access to programming capable of so much, but that hasn’t been enough before. And, as he took the weapon into his hands, he concluded that security may not have been the only thing on his mind.
7n7 loaded the gun. He’d lost before. There’d been friends, lovers, even his mother and father, and he’d found his way through the tunnel. But now, as he reclined against his bedframe, it was finally irreparable. In his youth, he never understood what people meant when they said there was no love like a parent for their child. He swore he’d adored many things with all of his being. But then C00lkid came into his life, and as he grew, it was like watching his heart walk around outside his chest. The day he first smiled up at him, hand wrapped around his finger, there was no going back. He’d do anything for him, for as long as he lived.
A gunshot rang through the house, echoing across the expanse of winter.
…
…
…
With a groan, 7n7 opened his eyes. Blurred planks formed the ceiling above him, and a fire blazed in the hearth to his right. The air was tense, filling his nostrils with burning logs and mildew.
“I’ᵥₑ bₑₑₙ wₐᵢₜᵢₙg fₒᵣ yₒᵤ.”