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‘Betray’
That was Nothing’s objective and Carlos Ratman had promised them that they could do the biggest betrayal that night. The other civilians seemed to agree, gently pushing Nothing out from the safe room in the sewers and up out into the auction. Nothing was secretly glad about that, although they're not sure if they should be such feeling emotions, they should probably only feel glad once they’ve betrayed.
But still, they felt glad, in some buried, traitorous part of them. The sewer had reflections on the wall and they found they really couldn’t tear their vision away from them. They had seen the civilian, the one who had left while they weren't aware, and they were sure those visions were their memories.The thought, deep down, disconcerted them, Nothing only had memories from the police and since the overload of tea, this civilian barely featured in those memories so it made no sense for him to feature in others.
In another part of them that probably shouldn’t exist, Nothing felt that the civilian was important, in a way the others weren’t, Nothing felt themself look towards the civilian every time someone asked them to make a decision, they found themself drifting closer to him, standing next to him when they could have just as easily stood next to the others and now that Nothing had seen those memories, they were sure this was some fault that they didn’t know how to fix. Betray was what he was supposed to do so Nothing hoped that betrayal would fix these broken, traitorous parts that wouldn’t stop calling out to them.
It was late afternoon, nearly tipping into evening, and the civilians had sent Nothing to the auction early, to gather more information for their betrayal and, although this was only whispered between the other three, they hoped Nothing could find the missing civilian too. They were let into the main hall easily, the civilians around them too busy preparing for the event to pay them much attention and Nothing soon found Mr Tips, his back to them, working through a checklist in his hands.
“Move those lights up, we don’t want to dazzle my guests so soon.” He called, making a vague gesture with his hand as someone to the left of Nothing hastened to pull out her spellbook, “And polish the cases again, when I open the curtain, I don’t want to find any sort of… grime on them.” Mr Tips gave a brief grimace before quick footsteps sounded from behind the curtain, drawn across what Nothing assumed was the main stage.
“Right,” Mr Tips turned around, meeting Nothing’s vision as he did, “Nothing. I’ve been wondering where you’ve been.”
“I will put them down. They hid in this house and I followed them in there and they ran into the sewers and I followed them there as well. I couldn’t put them down but I look forward to the opportunity.
“Hm. You’ve really lived up to your namesake by achieving… nothing. I thought you came quite highly recommended by the Mobgoblins.”
“I do not know any Mobgoblins.”
“Yes, you shouldn’t… but I think you might.”
Mr Tips walked closer, his cane settling on the ground next to Pete with a heavy thud and he peered up into the porcelain face.
“In fact, I think you may know more than you’re letting on.”
Mr Tips nodded to himself, slowly bringing out his firearm from his side, holding it in a deceptively loose manner, before turning his back to Nothing, a light chuckle coming from him as did.
“Oh well, I can find out your loyalty easily enough.” Mr Tips strolled forward, swinging his cane with each step until he reached the curtain blocking the main stage, with a small tilt of his head towards one of his attendants he ordered, “Pull this back, I want to show Nothing my new decoration.”
With swift movements, the curtain was pulled away and tied back and Mr Tips slowly titled his head up, Nothing following his movements with a nervous feeling that didn’t fit with his orders.
The stage had five pedestals, Nothing distantly registered the tea in the middle one, they were sure that was important in some way but any thoughts as to why fled their mind almost immediately after.
Betray was all Nothing was meant to do, the want to betrayal was all they were supposed to feel, Nothing didn’t have things like a brain or a heart slowing them down, they were a machine, brutal, cold, and unfeeling.
But as Nothing looked up, between the floor and ceiling, hung by a rope, slowly fraying from the weight, was the missing civilian.
As Nothing stared for longer, they realised that this wasn’t a civilian, this was Cheeky . Cheeky, who Nothing had sworn to free from the Krags, Cheeky who brought him his leg, even when officer 452 posed a threat, Cheeky who had rescued him, again and again, from the fighting pits and had given him all the gold coins he had in his pockets. This was Cheeky, and Pete, not Nothing, felt his heart break.
From Cheeky’s chest, where he had always complained about his ‘dicky ticker’ was a hole, letting the last shafts of sunlight shine down through him. The edges were still faintly sizzling, the flesh continuing the burn through his flesh but most of the burning was hidden by his shirt- and Pete remembered the offhand comment Cheeky made about how excited he was to get a new, good quality shirt, about how, once they were finished with the job, he’d have to avoid Magpie until he forgot about it- now hanging off his frame.
His skin, once a dazzling red that kept being Pete’s favourite colour, despite all the times he had seen it splattered over himself and others in the pit, was now drained, an almost pink, completely washed out in the lights.
Pete could still smell his blood, but he couldn’t drag his eyes away from Cheeky, the blank eyes echoing John’s blind ones, for long enough to check beneath. Pete was sure it had been cleaned anyway, otherwise the tea’s case would have been coated in it. Pete realised with desperation that didn’t want to ever stop smelling it.
Pete had never been a fan of blood, with the police it was a mess to clean up from the streets and in the pits the blood coated him and his joints in a distinctly uncomfortable way but, faced with the lingering smell of Cheeky’s blood, Pete wanted to keep it forever. Humanoids called blood a ‘lifeforce’, which Pete had always subconsciously thought of as closeminded, but now he realised what that meant and he never wanted Cheeky’s life force to leave him.
Cheeky’s hands hung loose, his head bobbed vaguely side-to-side as the breeze from outside knocked the rope around, his hat was missing and his thin hair fell into his eyes. Pete realised that he couldn’t fix any of this and, no matter the amount of liquid gold or healing potions, he couldn’t fix Cheeky.
Steam rose up in vast clouds from Pete, and he could feel the tiniest spiderwebs of cracks form across his skin as the heat put on too much pressure for his porcelain to take. Somehow, the thought of shattering where he stood felt right, the thought of walking out of this room, never to see Cheeky again, felt like an impossible reality to consider.
There was a snap of fingers from in front of him but Cheeky hadn’t moved, could never move, so Pete paid no mind. Pete continued to pay no mind as he felt brief pulls on his arm, quickly followed by shouts of pain and angry words being thrown around him. He paid no mind as he felt his arms pinned to his torso, his legs bound together beneath him. He tipped sideways, and barely felt the harsh impact of the floor, barely heard the sudden crack of porcelain, he just shifted, to keep Cheeky in his view.
Even as he started being dragged out the door, all he saw was Cheeky’s limp, hanging body and all he heard was the desperate meows from the shadows and then the sharp, strangled hiss.