CHAPTER SEVEN: ~Association~

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TW/S: Cussing, Panic, Sleep deprivation 

Fun fact: In most cases, second-degree burns hurt more than third-degree burns because third-degree burns burn the nerve.



(Blackhats POV)

I made a deal with that thing.

I don't know what it is or what its intentions are, but I don't care. Business is business.

Flug's recent disappearance is a minor inconvenience, as there aren't many good evil scientists these days, and although I wouldn't admit it, he is incredibly smart for a mortal. But his disappearance is priority number two.

I told Demencia to try and find him anyway. Not like he can just 'disappear' off the face of the earth.

But when he comes back, he will regret leaving the building. Because If he continues to cause trouble, I have a few ideas I would like to test on mortals that would be sure to make him 'obedient', if he survives them.

Right now, I need to keep the company going and keep it happy. I'm not downright stupid, and I know when something is more powerful than me. And right now, that thing is.

But 505 has been a pain ever since the doctor went missing. I'm surprised I haven't killed him yet. The only thing he is useful for is cleaning, and sometimes he can't even do that right!

Ugh... I'm fucking ranting again.


(No-ones POV)

The doctor's lab was a mess. Everything was everywhere. Papers sprawled across the floor, books were scattered everywhere, machines had broken pieces in piles in the corners, and every cabinet was open. An exhausted bear-looking creature lay in the middle of it all, desperately trying to look for a lead on his dad's disappearance.

He read over everything in an attempt to find anything—anything—that could help his case. But his efforts were to no avail. He had flipped the room upside down, but there was nothing.

Surely something would help...? It has to! His dad couldn't just disappear, right?!

He took some deep breaths as he sat down.

What if he never comes back...?

He wasn't used to feeling like this... 

His eyes hung heavy, his fur ruffled up, and worry on his face. he wasn't exactly in the best condition...

He slowly grew more and more exhausted... 

It was much harder to look for anything after Demencia absolutely destroyed the place as it was organised before. So it wasn't all to pleasant...

Oh how he wished he would get answers...

The only plausible piece of evidence that could correlate to Flug's disappearance was the bag of stuff Demencia found. And they hadn't dared to look any further than the page she had read.






But 505 was getting desperate.






So he opened the plastic bags.

He was extremely hesitant. This was not the best time to be nervous though...

Why couldn't his dad comfort him right now?

Why couldn't everything be okay?

Why couldn't his problems just go away?

But he had to suck it up and keep going, so he flipped over the papers.

The drawings were a sight to behold, but not in a good way.

They looked as if children had drawn them because of the scribbled and messy nature of the drawings.

They were eyes, towers, a long, thin man, and-

In the background it was flesh. Everywhere. Displayed in the front was a girl with a yellow raincoat next to a young boy, but the side of the drawing where the boy's face resides was ripped off.

The back of the drawing read in messy handwriting: Tяᗩꀤ𝐓Oя

But why were some ripped off? Maybe it was a clue? What didn't he want them to know? Why did it say that?

His curious nature got the better of him, So he decided to search for the ripped-off part of the paper.

Maybe he has glossed over it when looking for evidence?

Or had Demencia ripped it when she was on her rampage?

Maybe it's gone for good?

Or... his dad's room! How had he not thought of it earlier? He was too overwhelmed and overlooked it. So he ran towards his dad's room as fast as his little legs could carry him.

He entered the room, but it is in a decrepit state. The wallpaper was scratched down in some parts; stuff was pushed over. Basically, the whole room was a mess. But the worst part was the blood. Something had gone wrong.

505's face dropped.

What had happened? Why didn't he hear this destruction? Who did it? He was a bit off recently...

One thing was for certain: He'd do anything for his dad, that's for sure. And this bear had questions, so he was determined to get answers.

He kept scrambling around the room, like a desperate puppy, trying for anything to help his dad; it was making him stressed, anxious, and scared.

Where was it?!

He searched high and low for it, refusing to give up on his dad.But it felt like everything was repeating. Like whatever he did would make no progress to help his dad.

His body hurt from looking for hours...

By the end, you could barely recognise the once neat room. It was somehow worse than when he came in. Everything was everywhere. But 505 still stood in the middle of all the mess, on his pursue to find the page.

It's quite sad really, a child's desperate attempts to help their parent. And the miserable reality of this is that, more often than not, they make it worse.

But I guess this time was different.

His breath quickened as he snatch the paper. The second half of the drawing, It fit perfectly.

But what he found surprising was that the child in the drawing wore a bag, just like his father.

Just, like, his father... But what if...

His... dad? But who was the kid with him?! Why was it 'traitor' on the back?!

Questions flooded the stressed bear's mind. He expected to get some answers out of this. But he was left with confusion then before.

It was all too overwhelming for the poor bear. He just wanted his dad back. He just wanted his normal, fun, absolutely chaotic life back.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

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.

.

It was dark. Too dark for his liking considering the situation.

The wind howled. The once pleasant air now plagued with a foul stench.

He was alone... until he wasn't. 

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