End Of Days

35: Spy

Pretending as though everything was normal was perhaps the hardest part of Wilbur's job, now that he knew the truth.

Feigning smiles and forcing himself to nod along as Landon explained more and more about what was really going on behind the scenes was taking a toll on him. He said everything so casually– explaining how they were scooping up desperate people from the edges of large settlements for human trials, recounting how many had survived the first stages and what the projected numbers for the future looked like.

His stomach churned as he nodded along, putting on a thoughtful face to distract from the nausea. "Can I see their files?" he found himself asking, desperate to make sure that nobody he knew had been unlucky enough to end up in a testing lab upstairs.

Landon didn't even ask why he was interested, he just smiled even wider. "Of course," he said, all bright smiles and sparkling eyes, pleased to see Wilbur's interest.

There were photos attached to the files. It only took a quick glance through to make determine that nobody he knew had ended up there. Part of him wished that it had just been names on paper. Seeing their faces felt like he was the one sentencing them to their deaths, each as gruesome and painful as Fundy's.

"We're doing great things here, Wilbur." Landon told him over lunch.

"Yeah." Wilbur said with a grin, nausea tugging at his guts.

-

Perhaps it was watching the world wear down Wilbur's smile that made Quackity feel the weight of the situation at hand.

Since the day he'd set foot inside of Haven he had been safe once more. Phil had spotted him in the crowd and come over quickly, offering nothing but friendly smiles and reassuring nods. He promised safety and Quackity had witnessed it come true.

The outpost had become familiar in a static, unchanging way. The creaks all sounded the same no matter how long had passed between them. He had learnt the sounds of everyone's footsteps on the old wooden floorboards. The bird in the trees chirped each morning, sunlight filtering through the drawn curtains in his room.

It was home, and he was glad for it.

But home wasn't enough to stop the longing in his heart for a world without the undead and evil empires built on greed, or the simple dorm room at a boarding school miles and miles away from here, shelves seasoned with odd trinkets and his best friend hunched over his desk with a tired smile. Quackity hadn't heard a word from Karl since shit had hit the fan.

He wanted to go out into the world and search until he found him, because Quackity just knew that Karl was out there somewhere, but leaving the house was a struggle and considering settlements like Haven was out of the question. The constant noise and the rush of people was enough to set something off inside of him, making his heart thunder in his chest and his lungs tighten as they struggled for breath.

It had only taken three guys with a cruel sense of humour to break him, in the end. Perhaps it was the end of the world that had driven them to it. Quackity wasn't sure he could even blame them, really.

It didn't mean he liked where he was; trapped in a prison of his own design, listening to the updates of the outside world from his friend who was coming back more and more exhausted every week. He tried to make himself useful, keeping logs on the radio every day while the others were away doing more important things.

Phil told him he was doing a good job. Ranboo asked every day if he'd heard anything, never without a hopeful smile. Quackity wished he had better news, wished that he could bring himself to help with something.