Wilbur opened his eyes to a dark room, his feet sticking out into the cold air under his little gray blanket.
He listened for his roommate, Phil and he waited for their morning to start.
Wilbur had never talked to Phil.
The foundation prohibited anyone from speaking to each other, except to the guards.
Wilbur couldn't talk to Phil.
He wasn't allowed to talk to Phil, but even if he could, he didn't know what he would say.
Phil was 35.
Wilbur knew this because he had looked at his ID when he had accidentally left it on the table, the singular white table that stood in the corner of their little room.
Phil was 35, but his blonde hair that fell to his shoulders was streaked with gray.
On his card, it had said he was a villain and a RECRUITED.
There were two types of villains and heroes.
RECRUITED and TAKEN.
Your type was stamped on your card in big block letters.
Wilbur's read: TAKEN.
He was Taken because he only remembered a cold white room and guards and guns and didn't remember living and playing and loving.
He wondered why Phil came to the foundation.
The reason why you became a Recruited was because you had nothing left to lose.
Wilbur wondered what Phil had lost.
But he didn't wonder too much because it was dangerous.
Wilbur waited again.
Phil had a routine every morning.
A rap on the wooden bed frame.
And then Phil would draw up curtains and let the morning light in.
When Wilbur had first started to live in the foundation building, he would wake up late.
Waking up late meant missing breakfast, and missing breakfast meant being hungry till lunch.
Villains and heroes are would eat at singular desks. Talking was prohibited to not promote attachment.
To help him get his foundation-issued microwaved sludge, Phil had started to find ways to wake Wilbur up earlier.
Wilbur didn't wake up late anymore.
But he still laid in bed and watched Phil go through his routine until he finished.
But today, Phil didn't do his routine.
Today, Phil sat on the edge of his bunk-bed, his legs dangling off the edge.
The thought of Phil falling off the bed and smashing his brains on the gray carpet flashed through Wilbur's mind.
He swatted it away annoyingly.
And then, Phil climbed down the ladder.
Wilbur watched through the veil of darkness.
Phil looked at the closed blinds and sighed.
"Well, kid." Phil's voice was deep, raspy, and gravelly. "Guess this is the last time I'm doing this."
Wilbur's eyes shifted to Phil in surprise.
He had never heard Phil's voice before.
It wasn't how he had envisioned it.
A lot of things weren't how he had envisioned them.
YOU ARE READING
𝖈𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 - a dream smp au
Fanfiction"𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞 𝖎𝖘 𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊." Wilbur Soot is a villain, and Tommy Innit is a hero. In a world where villains and heroes work for the government, there is no right or wrong. And there certainly is no loyalty and no friends...
