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100. 99. 98. 97.
A soft chime echoes against the back of your skull. You do not look for the source. Not anymore.
96. 95.
The metal of drawer handles is colder than usual when you flick some open to look for a card. You flex your fingers to chase the chill away after letting go.
94. 93. 92.
The lights flicker, the starting cue for your next long dance with death. You wait, hide in a locker, a well-rehearsed reaction, and hardly flinch as the monster roaring past deafens you.
On the way out of the locker, a chivalrous and frigid hand needlessly helps you down. No words are said, but a pleasant chill runs down your spine from the touch, and you unsuccessfully suppress a grin. Glowing eyes crease slightly in return.
It isn’t clear when exactly Lopee became a semi-regular presence for you. The many, many times you have walked the same halls blend together all too easily; was it just five loops ago that he first showed up? Ten? Has he been here even longer than you could have realized? You wouldn’t be surprised.
Previously, each time you met him was for a reason- ones often deliberately created, but some kind of excuses nonetheless. Walking far too slowly and allowing your team to abandon you, or oh-so-unfortunately slipping and falling into an infinitely empty chasm to fuel your odd (and surprisingly requited) little fascination.
Something has changed, obviously, since then. As if, maybe, you are the only one left to observe, the only one still turning the wheel.
Now that you think about it, it has been a while since the last time you had living, human company. Strangely, you don’t seem to miss it.
The next flicker comes around unusually fast. Front. You duck into a sideroom, scooting aside a tall potted plant to cram yourself into the corner it had occupied. You know it's safe there, but you still shut your eyes and pray momentarily to the unwatching Almighty that you will open them again alive. You do.
Not that you would admit it, but having an audience- one who does not have to fight to survive, thus surely giving you his undivided attention- makes you need to show off a little. Even if you remember that ending poorly before, when you misjudged just how quick Froger is. But it had gotten the slightest amused huff out of him, so maybe it was worth it anyway.
You open the door to a dark room, and are startled out of your brief reverie by Lopee's stark bright eyes ahead of you there already. You envy it, being able to skip wherever in the Blacksite he pleases in less than the blink of an eye. But where would be the fun in that? He wouldn’t, or can’t, simply skip forward with you, you know that, and you’d never ask. It’s your job, and yours alone, to continue the story. You hold that privilege dear.
Most of your time together is spent in comfortable silence. You perform your usual survival routine, and he follows, loosely, a comforting presence in the corner of your eye. Rarely, you make a comment to him on a particularly special find, or even more rarely, he initiates with a thought instead. Most often, you interact without needing words at all.
A gauntlet turns up. Eyefestation's pull isn't quite as intimidating as it used to be; you manage to keep your eyes open as you jerk your head away from her again and again, albeit squinted. Through the burning rays filling the corridor, you catch a glimpse of Lopee standing some ways away from you, apparently unaffected, gazing calmly out at the massive shark as if this was an aquarium exhibit. Lucky.
When you glance back after fumbling to open the door, he is gone.
More rooms, more anglers pass. By the navi-path number, it's about time for the first of two challenges to show up.
Firewall. God damnit. You hold a special hatred for Firewall out of all of the Blacksite's tests. A pit forms in your stomach as you slip mechanically into a jetsuit.
“See you on the other side,” you tell Lopee, partly expecting not to.
“Good luck.”
You wonder if he’s ever tried the baby-punching cabinet.
You juggle your weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the gate to open as Navi repeats her explanations. You and Painter pull faces at each other when it hijacks the screen at the side. There is a friendliness, you think, behind the teasing, despite its full intent at the moment to fry you alive. At the very least, there is familiarity.
The entirety of the course passes in an adrenaline-infused blur. By the time your shaking hands shove the jetsuit back into a locker, you can barely remember any of it apart from the blatant fact that you fell, several times (god damn those monkey bars).
The adrenaline high fades, leaving only rubber in your muscles, and the burning pinpricks in your sides as thoughtful reminders of your failures. Unwillingly replaying the thought of the little extraction needles themselves makes you even more sick. Well, you're not dead. Just walk it off, just keep moving as usual until… oh. Lopee is there.
He approaches with… awkwardness, almost, and wordlessly offers you an arm. Salvation for you. A bit too woozy to speak, you cling miserably to his suit, waiting for the nausea to dissipate enough to walk and use the provided medkit. His cold helps, a slight, soft numbness seeping through your whole body.
While he cannot technically help you, either by making you aware of, or preventing, any danger, there are fortunate loopholes like this.
Despite everything, you can find it in yourself to feel a little contradictory heat in your face from the closeness, especially with the pat he gives you when you let go.
The next set of rooms are, thankfully, normal enough. The DiVine aren't exactly your favorite to traverse- you've been caught unable to find a locker in time in this sector more than any- but the greenery is pleasant. A refresher after Firewall's heat and loud machinery.
As expected, a vent in a dark room pops open, accompanied by a familiar voice. “Psst- in here.”
Sebastian's light blinks on, and he straightens up. “Welcome ba- ... Ahh, great. Should I be on my best behavior?” He bats nonexistent eyelashes over your shoulder with the last words.
Lopee sighs quietly from the corner he’s materialized in, and, for once, deigns to reply. “Frankly, any improvement in your behavior would be… unsettling.”
“Gee, thanks.” Sebastian blows a strand of unkempt hair out of his face to count the research you hand over. You have several hundred total, but decide to only grab the SPR-INT from his collection. His eyes follow, disappointed, as you pack the rest away, but he doesn't comment. At least you got something this time, instead of hurtling past as if you were on a timer.
“Stay safe,” he calls as you clamber back out of his shop, then adds drily, “and have fun, I guess.”
A few rooms later, and your ears perk up at the faint, wettish rustle of a wall dweller leaving its wall. You fight the urge to look back, instead pushing ahead in a slight jog. You know the things are slow and steady hunters; you can lure them a long way, as long as a locked room doesn't ruin the pace.
Just as you hope, a flicker soon ripples across the lights. It's longer than usual- even better. You slow to a stop at a locker, still resisting turning around as the dweller's footsteps tap closer and closer. They seem to falter when Blitz's scream whistles towards you.
Once you step back out of the locker, it is dead on the ground; beautiful, unblemished, and conveniently nearby. Perfect. You rip off a side of its jaw with no hesitation.
You tilt your head towards Lopee, lingering close by in the darkness left in Blitz's wake. “Did you want a piece? There's-”
“No.”
His expression doesn't change at all, but the distaste is palpable enough for you to giggle.
The second of the grand challenges inevitably arrives. Searchlights. Lopee has no need for the tram's interior handles, you note, not swaying in the slightest when it lurches forward. Must be fun.
He leaves you to it at the arena itself. Nothing special. The placement of the broken generators is unlucky this time, though; it takes a bit longer than usual to find enough without the Searchlight locking onto you. You wanted to put on a good performance, but… oh well. What matters most is that it's done.
You're curious about how it would go if Lopee stepped under a Searchlight cone (and many other things, but there's no way you could persuade him to do them all). You can only imagine that the harpoon would pass straight through. Would it even be able to see him?
Heavy containment. These are nice rooms; they lack many of the hazards most rooms can house, they're easy to hide in, and they're chock full of stuff to look at or get your greedy hands on. You control yourself this time, though. You've seen everything the cells have to offer, anyway. You think.
Your eyes light up when the next door opens to a room with a server farm in it. Painter's “home.” It appears cheerful today, screen flickering to life with a scribbled smile in response to your entrance.
“Hii! Did-” Despite being entirely unable to move, it seems to shrink in Lopee's presence, its voice softening. “Oh… hello.”
Meanwhile, you dig around for the keycard to its cell. Not here, here… Bingo. And… you head out again.
Painter snaps out of its timidity when it notices you not heading for its cell door, its face redrawing into a confused scowl. “Hey- Heyy! The door for that is here, y'know.”
You grin, tucking the card away. “Gonna use this later.”
“The security door has a keycard!”
“Eh… I like this one better.”
“You-? Alright, whatever. Actually, I'm sooo glad there's this door between us, anyway.”
You wave goodbye. It replaces its face with a rough animation of the same.
The navi-path counts down to 0 soon enough.
Lopee does not join you inside the airlock, vanishing behind its closing doors. He is there again on the other side. You take his hand to walk the long bridge together alongside the distant Angler, your fingertips going numb within seconds. It's amusingly obvious how quickly your legs have to move compared to his.
You approach the Crystal alone. It hums, bright and warm as if alive, in your hands. It's lost some of its mystique from the hundreds of times you've stood here before, but you still sense just how impossibly powerful it is. Something divine, valuable beyond money, and evidently, beyond hundreds of thousands of lives. You toss it into its carrier and reholster it at your back.
Once again, Lopee reappears in the sideroom at the start of the Ridge, where you always wait out the first Angler traffic. Your nerves are already a little more on edge from the blackout, and his silent appearance so close to you startles you to the point of a small squeak.
You side-eye him as you wait, leaned against a wall. He has tabs on the entire Blacksite- he probably knows exactly what the next Angler to pass will be. More specifically, he would know if what you're hoping for, Pandemonium, is indeed wandering this way or not. As always, of course, he is unreadable.
A metallic, thrumming whine echoes down the Crystal room. Turns out it was.
Pandemonium is a lot more… picky about how you hide, compared to any Angler. You press yourself as flat as possible against the wall, feeling the hum of scraping metal and flesh through it on top of hearing it, awfully vivid. There is a melodic quality to it, like a wailing, discordant song. Somehow, the creature feels like a friend.
It passes, and you relax somewhat. The Ridge from here should be relatively trivial. You plunge into the black.
Some rooms in, Lopee makes a rare utterance. “How you have changed.”
You quickly finish sifting through a desk for a keycard before responding, the familiar buzz guiding your hand more than your eyes in the patchy darkness. “From what…?”
His eyes glitter from the thick shadows. “Your first times arriving here. I am certain you can recall.”
Pinkie's shrill shriek rings in the distance, filling the silence after his words. You remain in the sideroom, hardly giving the sound any acknowledgement.
You shuffle the worn, golden keycard between your fingers, reflecting. Your first runs (well, those that even got this far)... It’s amusing to think back on. The Ridge is simple now- a danger, to be sure, but one easily passable. Back then, it was terrifying; unknown terrain in pitch darkness, unknown length and possibilities.
“... yeah. Guess I got a bit better.”
Pinkie screams past. You start moving again, followed by Lopee's chill.
You take your time behind a truck, leisurely waiting for the turret affixed to it to finish sweeping the room. A cane clicks once on the ground. His low voice starts again, beside you. “It was here, I believe.” A pause. “Where you first met me.”
“Oh- right, I sorta remember that.” You hurry past the turret, trying to rekindle the long faded memory. “Must have been… like… two hundred runs ago, huh?”
“Roughly.” His teeth show, faintly, in the dark as he smiles. A fond gesture. “You were… terrified. I dare say it was the most fear I have ever seen on you.”
You remember now. You had been part of an inexperienced team, separated when everyone scrambled for a free locker. Despite their best attempts to call you forward, you somehow got stuck behind, unable to tell back from front, and they moved on without you. Until: him.
How strange to imagine.
The end of the Ridge comes sooner than you anticipated, in the suffocating wake of Chainsmoker. You like running after it as long as you can, until it inevitably outpaces you and the helpful green trail fades away. It does leave you coughing more often than not, though.
You give Lopee a salute before flipping the airlock's lever. Just the final encounter left.
This one is more… fun, if you can call it that, than the previous, indoor Searchlight. It feels good to have a wider range of motion; to pass straight between the lights. You have a kind of flimsy fondness for the Vultūs, after swimming alongside them so many times. You know them very well.
You swear you see Lopee in a few places, fleeting impressions of a different color wavering in dark water. You're a bit too busy to stare for very long.
It’s over. Thankfully, water rolls off of Urbanshade jumpsuits relatively easily. You shake off as much as you can in the airlock, deaf to whatever HQ has to say, and wince a little at the twinge of pain from the SPR-INT injection you used at the finale. It’s almost saddening, disappointing, knowing that this is the end of the trip. Maybe you should ignore that internal clock and slow down a little.
You aimlessly flick open some item lockers while waiting for the submarine at the dock, until a step, a tap of a cane, sound behind you. He’s… unusually close. You struggle to find something to say, but- oh. No need.
Ever so delicately, he tilts your face up, his striking, uneven eyes boring down into yours. Oh. This isn't the first time you've done this, but it catches you off guard without fail. You nod giddily before he can even finish saying may I, and mere seconds later, he lets you go, a mix of cold and static left buzzing on your lips and jaw.
His face is dusted with a slightly brighter green, you think. “Well done.”
You blink, trying to remember how to string words together. “I- It- I mean, that was so far from perfect. Hell, I used items.”
“Those are your metrics. They concur not with mine.”
“Fine, fine.” The submarine to leave in finally bounces from the water, its bridge unfolding to the dock. You automatically start boarding it before turning back to him one last time, throat tightening a little despite knowing you'll be back. He'll be back. “... Thank you.”
He half-bows, slow and deliberate.
SUCCESS - EXR-P, with Z-2 in tow, was recovered without incident.