Chapter Text
For once, when The Federation arrive, the sky isn't painted a dry red colour and is instead almost the same as the night sky on Quesadilla island, if a bit darker. The stars still seemed to twinkle in the sky, shinning down on the sandy beach even if they seemed to shine a bit dimmer. The atmosphere is still weirdly humid, just uncomfortable enough to be a bother, but not unbearable. You couldn't cool yourself down without freezing, yet it felt too warm to not try. They were beginning to understand why so many of the islanders who had returned had shed their over layers. WB_68 was kind of wanting to shed their fur themself. Not that they could. Not anymore, at least, but it was nice to imagine it. Perhaps that's why they called it Purgatory. A place of suffering before the end was the kind of atmosphere the place gave off. And if the stories they'd overheard were to be trusted, it certainly sounded like Purgatory.
"WB_68,"
The sudden robotic voice in the silence is almost enough to make them jump out of their skin. Yet even still, almost instantly their head jolts towards Cucurucho and is met with, to no one's surprise, soulless eyes and a smile to big, too… everything, to be genuine. It seemed the longer WB_68 knew it for, Cucurucho just seemed to get more unsettling. Wasn't it meant to work the other way? Cucurucho was weird like that. Maybe it's just what it wanted. They could see that. After all, it seemed that Cucurucho wanted the islanders to fear it, so it would make sense if it wanted it's workers to also fear it.
Even despite the voice in their head telling them to run, flee, get away, WB_68 didn't listen. It's not like they have much of a choice anyway. They're on an island in the middle of nowhere, escape is impossible without someone noticing. A search party would be sent out within minutes, if they cared enough. They'd be caught instantly! And if Cucurcho caught them…
Well, they'd rather not dwell on that now.
Or, more likely, The Federation wouldn't care. And given the… lack of life, on Egg Island, they doubted they'd be able to get away easily. If that was the case then they'd be trapped here, on this island with the vultures. WB_68 wasn't stupid. No matter how much The Federation tried to sweep the incident under the rug, they'd heard the stories. Seen how some workers seemed to cower at the mere mention of 637's name. They'd seen the shake in the hands of the workers sent to clean the scene when they returned. Seen the blood painting their fur.
And well, that seemed like a fate worse than working for The Federation.
So, they quicken their pace, almost jogging in order to catch up to where the rest of their group of workers had gotten to. A few weird looks are sent their way, but WB_68 finds themself walking at the usual pace, arms behind their back and head held high. It's uncomfortable, sure, but after annoying Cucurucho already? They didn't feel too eager to mess something else up, lest they get sent as fodder for the vultures.
Ah. The vultures.
The vultures were what they'd come to call the pair who'd been left on Egg Island, based purely off the stories that other islanders told. They were said to be violent, ravenous, with a thirst for blood no amount of death could quench. Supposedly, someone had supplied them with every weapon they could dream of, the best armour one could acquire. They were undefeatable.
That's what the islanders said anyway. And with the blood covering them and the stone floor below them. Well, they were willing to believe the stories they heard, that was for sure.
"Low Rank,"
The workers steps forward on instinct, though the slight bit of hesitation in their steps is obvious. WB_68 couldn't blame them. After all, the only reason Cucurucho was sending the Low Rank workers first was because they were expendable. They weren't even worthy of their 'names' so if they died, it wouldn't matter. WB_68 wanted to feel bad for them, really, they did! But them doing it meant they didn't have to get torn to shreds. And, selfish as it was, WB_68 found that they quite valued their worthless life, thank you very much.
One of the workers looks back at it, like maybe if they stared long enough, WB_68 would feel enough pity and offer themself in it's place. It wouldn't though. Not with Cucurucho practically burning holes into their back, even when their certain that it's eyes would still remain the same.
Before Cellbit had even fully woken up, he could feel fingers on his neck. Instinct tells him immediately that they're not his irmã's hands. They're too… soft. Too furry. They aren't caked with dry blood and mud and don't feel at all like flesh. They don't have the same scars he'd come used to feeling as Baghera's do and they don't shake when they press against him. Most damning evidence of all though is that he can still feel Baghera's feathers against his stomach. They hadn't moved since he passed out.
"Baghs?"
His words are barley mumbled, barely even said, but the way her hand grips his shirt tells him she definitely heard him.
"Someone's here,"
Her hand tenses and even despite her previously sleep dazed state, he's certain she's more than awake now. He can feel her weight lift from his lap and a clatter follows almost instantly. Cellbit opens his eyes and is met with Baghera, tackling a bear to the floor, a walkie talkie laying further away from them.
A white bear.
Of course they couldn't escape the Federation. Even in actual hell that stupid fucking bear seemed desperate to make their suffering worse. Cellbit could almost imagine the blood that would pour from it's body as he tore it limb from limb. Or maybe being able to stop it's laughter entirely as his blade sliced through it's chest.
He could kill it. Tear through it's back with a chainsaw, making sure to hit bone, just like it had with him. He could push his hand into it's chest and tear out it's heart, to see if it even has one. Maybe it's too small, barely there at all. Maybe it doesn't have one at all. He's sure he could find some way to force it to stay awake while he pulled off it's fur. He could make a jacket out of it, just to shove it into it's face that he won. The Watcher would probably help him out, it always liked a good show. He could force it's respawn anchor here, and do anything he wanted. Torture it so badly it take days to wake up. And when it does? He'll be there, waiting.
Perhaps he wouldn't get as much satisfaction as he'd hoped, on second thoughts. After all, he doubted that he would be able to see the light drain from it's eyes. To watch the life slowly drain from it's face as it realised that he wouldn't remain it's prisoner anymore. That it could do nothing to stop his rebellion. It was a nice dream, regardless.
When Cellbit looked back to Baghera, she was already standing again. Hunched over, sure, but standing. And also covered in blood, for that matter. How the workers don't scream out in agony when they're being torn to shreds is beyond Cellbit's knowledge. It's almost like they couldn't feel the pain. But, that couldn't be true. He'd seen how they flinch away or try and get away from the pain before. So they must feel it in some capacity. And it's not like they were robots, no matter how much they looked and acted like it. Cellbit was sure he'd seen flesh when he tore them open.
"Hello."
At the sudden voice, Cellbit's head jolts upwards, almost meeting the eyes of Cucurucho itself. Because of course it had to be there too. Couldn't leave him to rot in piece, apparently.
"What the hell do you want?" Cellbit spits, narrowing his eyes at the white bear head. It only stares back, tilting it's head to the side. Bastard. It didn't seem to be able to say much else, anyway, so he doesn't know what he was expecting. But it was still annoying as all hell. A paper dropping down in front of him is… expected, really. It doesn't ease the annoyance either way though. His gaze flickers back up to Cucurucho before snatching the paper from the ground. Baghera steps over the now dead worker on the floor to stand next to him, looking over his shoulder to read the note.
"We are here to bring you home."
He almost wants to laugh at the statement. The Federation, helping him? Yeah, sure, he'll believe that when pigs fly. Baghera lets out a scoff, snatching the paper from his hands as if she doesn't believe the words herself. After a moment, she scrunches the paper into a ball and throws it off to the side.
"Yeah right. Why would you ever want to help us?"
The bear barely takes a moment to write, moving through the motions as if they're programmed into it. A new piece of paper is dropped at their feet and Cellbit barely has time to read it before Baghera's tearing it up.
"Your E.G.G.S are at home."
A dry, humourless laugh breaks from Baghera's throat and Cellbit probably would've done the same if not for the fact that he was completely lost for words. Sure, The Federation were cruel, but to joke about their kids being alive? Their children. Sure, they might tempt fate with their lives a bit, but they'd never joked about them being alive when they weren't. They were always the type to just say it as simply as that.
"This-this is a joke, right? You're fucking with us,"
Baghera's voice shakes slightly as she speaks, and he can hear her take a step back, as if even being near the bear is something so horrible she can't even stand to. He doesn't blame her, not really. But he knows there's not much point in trying to get away. Cucurucho can catch them all the same.
"No."
Blunt and to the point. Possibly the only thing Cellbit appreciated from Cucurucho. Not that it mattered since half their other answers were cryptic messages that he could spend days thinking of possible meanings for. But… it couldn't be telling the truth. He watched Richarlyson be buried under the rubble of the collapsing building there was no way he was alive. Hell, the image has been all he could see when he closed his eyes since he woke up on this island.
"What- What the fuck do you mean no?! We watched them die!"
There's a moment where Cellbit almost expects Cucurucho to laugh. To laugh in that stupidly monotone voice of theirs and say 'Yeah! We're just fucking with you! Have fun in hell' and then turn around and walk away. But they don't, because they just had to keep messing with them. It had to give them false hope, to make them believe their children were alive to take them back to that prison cell of an island. Well, for as much as their current island was hell rebuilt, at least they could be free here. There were no rules, no expectations other than be insane. And hell if Cellbit couldn't do that.
"They are alive."
The paper is dropped alongside a photo and Cellbit wants to simultaneously rip the photo to shreds and guard it with his life. In the photo, Pomme and Richas. Both are dirty and look almost dead on hospital beds but they're alive, flashing wide grins to the camera. A low growl rumbles through Cellbit's chest as he bares his teeth at the white bear. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Baghera reach down and snatch the photo from the floor, not tearing it, but holding it tight enough that she probably could.
"You're lying to us. You're lying to us you cruel bitch."
"No."
Fucking bitch. He had honestly forgotten how annoying the bear was, somehow. Like, surely The Federations had it in their non-existent budget to give it a few more voice lines. Or hell, a text-to-speech console- or just ANYTHING. Anything other than the same four or so voice lines over and over again.
It was barely there, more of a flash if anything, but out of the corner of his eye Cellbit spots a flash of orange, far to bright to have been anyone who'd spent even a few hours in Purgatory, and that's all the push he needs to spin around and shove the worker to the floor.
"Neither of us, are returning to that prison without our children. So unless you can prove they're alive, physical proof, we won't return,"
His voice is more of a low growl, threatening enough if the slight shiver of the bear in his hold has anything to say about it. Cellbit can feel the familiar feel of blood pooling around his claws as they dig into the worker's flesh and a thump to his left tells him Baghera is probably doing the same with another worker.
"Ha, Ha, Ha,"
Piece of shit. Really, he'd kill it if he could. But the barely there sound of feet padding against the stone floor tells him he has big issues to deal with than tearing that bear to shreds. So, he spins around, ripping through worker after worker until his hands and forearms are painted with wet blood, till the gray floor is stained a deep red, till he's hunched over and panting for air. Until a sharp prick in his arm makes him flinch- wait what?
He darts around to look to his left where a worker stands, hands behind their back. But he can see Baghera scrambling away from a worker, and needle discarded on the floor where she once stood. There's pure terror in her eyes, a sight he never thought he'd have to see again, and he wants to run over and comfort her, protect her from anything and anyone that dare try and hurt her.
Yet when he takes a step he stumbles. He tries to take another, but the ground is so much closer than it was before and-
THUMP.
Silently, Cucurucho stepped out of the wooden boat, hands automatically moving to clasp together behind it's back. The white bear had already began walking forwards by the time the other workers had managed to heave the two islanders out of the boats. For as much as it would've been easier, none of the Workers had had the foresight to bring warp stones with them, figuring that the other two would've been able to walk to Spawn at the very least. Bus, as it was becoming evidently clear, the pair would not be walking anywhere anytime soon. So they were left to drag the two Islanders to the nearest way point without alerting any others of their arrival.
It should've been easy. It would've been easy if The Federation had listened when Cucurucho had suggested they employ robots in the workplace instead of people. After all, you could program a robot, make it do all you want with no room for failure. You couldn't do that to a person. Or, well, you could. It just took more work than most were willing to put in. So it was stuck with a pathetic excuse for workers who seemed to fail at almost every order given.
Cucurucho wasn't upset about this in the slightest. Not a chance.
A short radio crackle alerted Cit to one of the workers beginning to speak and without looking back the bear tilted it's head to the side, a silent permission to begin speaking.
"B-" Cucurucho's head snapped around to look at the worker as they spoke, even while the rest of their body continued moving. The worker nodded, taking a breath before starting again. "007 and 637 were not… this violent before becoming trapped on that Island, correct?" A short, almost unnatural nod is all the confirmation the worker needs before continuing. "And other Islanders have made reports of their violent and erratic behaviour on Egg Island,"
Another speaker crackles to life, further behind than the other worker. "Get to the point WB_55," They huff, radio turning off before they could begin to complain about how absolutely annoying it was to drag 637 around and how they should just leave him out to be fed on by the vultures like Prometheus.
"Are we certain it's safe to surround 007 and 637 with the other islanders in this state? Much less the E.G.G.S?" Cucurucho paused for a moment, pondering the thought. WB_55 had a point. When the pair had killed others without reason, was it truly safe to let them near something as fragile as the E.G.G.S? Much less when they were already convinced the E.G.G.S were not alive?
"We will contain them in Federation Hospital rooms until further notice," Cucurucho answered, it's voice leaving no room for argument. "Until we are certain they are not a danger to others, they shall not be allowed to come into contact with the other islanders"
As their robotic voice shut off, the bear found itself stood outside of the stone structure housing the main way stones the islanders frequently used. One furry hand reached out, tracing over the runes they'd been forced to familiarise over time. Before the purple stars began to spot over it's vision, Cucurucho looked over it's shoulder and met eyes with what it believed to be an islander. They couldn't be sure, because it found itself within the quartz halls of The Federation headquarters all too soon.