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The hallways are empty. They’re always empty. Somehow that ends up being unnerving. It’s never bothered Purpled before. It’s never bothered him that despite how many people had found work at the facility it always seemed empty. His feet echo in the haunted hallways, they ring clear. A pristine sort of shine is left on hospital white walls. He can smell the overwhelming stench of cleaning chemicals.
There’s a buzz under his skin, he’s not sure he can identify what it means. It should be excitement. He should feel excited. He knows why the supervisors have summoned him. He knows what to expect when he arrives. Yet he finds the feeling more akin to an adrenaline rush, to that feeling right before he gets a kill. He finds not the excitement of what’s to come, but rather the dread of what’s to come after that.
He stares down at the watch that’s fastened tightly to his wrist. It cuts into his skin, and he thanks that pain for grounding him when his thoughts start to spiral away from him. He has to be present. He’s expected to be vigilant, bordering on paranoia as he makes his way through his life. Purpled knows what’s expected of him. He has to stay aware.
There’s a whistling in the air. He knows that the low hum of the vents is something that’s normal, it’s always there in the background, but there’s something new. Tommy left and the world turns on its head. Purpled laughs under his breath. He hates to admit that, he hates to admit that Tommy was somes sort of crucial member, but he was. There’s uncertainty in the group, though no one really liked him much.
They all know what Purpleds next task is. They know he’ll be handed a gun, they know that Purpled has to be the one to take down the traitor. They know that Tommy isn’t their ally any longer. Though he held a gun and fired at Ranboo, no one could hold him against that. They’re all just trying to make it through life.
He swallows back an odd lump that forms in his throat. He nears the supervisors office, as if on cue he stands up straighter. He walks with some sort of purpose. It’s as if the world has shifted. Nothing is set in stone. Tommy had been the best of them. He had been obedient to a fault, loyal until his dying breath. He left nothing behind. His watch was destroyed and those in his age group left to scramble.
There’s no certainty anymore. If Tommy can abandon them, who else could? Purpled shakes his head. It’s not the time to think such treasonous thoughts. Insinuating that anyone else in their age group would attempt mutiny is unthinkable. It sends his stomach into knots. Bile rises in the back of his throat and he shakes his head as if to chase thoughts of rebellion from his consciousness.
Purpled is content working for Hypixel. It’s better than struggling to survive on the streets, and it beats the foster system in their forsaken city. Three meals a day, he’s physically and mentally fit, there’s nothing else to life. He has people who he considers loose friends, sure no one in the age group is particularly close, but they’re all each other has.
Hannah and Punz’ office comes into view. Purpled’s chest tightens. It’s never done that before. He finds it hard to breathe, like something had wrapped around his throat, strangling him. His arms feel heavy and his tongue feels numb. He waits outside the sliding door, patient for the meeting to come.
Dread looms over his head. He breaths it in, trying to quell his begging lungs. It seeps into his bones and his soul. It overwhelms his senses. Like a giant nothingness he prays for a light to show him out. Instead, the bone rotting feeling is dissipated by the small whir of engines. The door in front of him slides open with a huff of air and Purpled’s blurry vision drops to the ground.
He walks forward, only seven paces as is required. There is silence. The only noise is that same hum of the vents and a slight scribble sound as Hannah writes away at who knows what. Purpled trusts the supervisors, they’re the closest thing he has to family. They’ve raised him, basically. And for that he’s eternally grateful.
“En!” Hannah snaps.
Purpled lifts his gaze from the tiled floor to meet his supervisor's gaze. As always Hannah is sitting at the desk, her hands steepled. Punz has leaned against the wall behind her. However his eyes shine with something that Purpled has never seen before. They shine with what Purpled can only describe as a twisting sort of pride.
That’s all he’s ever wanted. Punz was the one who had found him on the street, taking him in and giving him a real purpose. Punz was the one who gave Purpled his first gun. He had only ever wanted to make Punz proud, to see respect and admiration in the subtle movements of his supervisor.
Purpled’s stomach churns. It’s uneasy– the way that Punz levels Purpled. It’s uneasy. His throat dries, and his thoughts start to spiral. It’s all he’s ever wanted. He still wants it, he realizes. He’s not happy with the pride. It feels hollow, like it was manufactured. Part of Purpled knows that it is, that he has never once had a genuine conversation. A part of him still wants to do anything to please his supervisor.
“Congrats, One,” Punz says. It throws Purpled off kilter. It’s weird. Tommy was always One, Tommy was the best. But Tommy’s gone now.
Purpled is One. Purpled is the best.
“Thank you, Sir.” Purpled stands straight, hands pressed behind his back. That doesn’t stop his fingers from curling into fists. Tommy always thought himself better because he was One. It’s weird to think that the handing off of those ranks could happen so easily. One moment life makes sense, the next Purpled is left to tread water.
“I think you know what your next task is?” Hannah sits expectantly. Her foot taps against the linoleum. Her head tilts and a cruel smile dances across her face. Purpled nods. “Hypixel now has a traitor, and we don’t take kindly to traitors.”
Punz walks forward, spinning what Purpled has no doubt is a loaded gun. “Don’t let us down, One, it’d be a shame if something bad happened.”
Threats are never empty. They’re loaded, they’re real. They send primal fear shooting through his head. They make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They’re dangerous. They mean anything from lunch duty to death. Though most likely it’d end up as torturous training. He wants to itch at the scar that crosses his face, but he stands stock still,
“Of course, sir.”
Hannah laughs, it rings like fairy bells, though promises pain all the same. “I always liked you more than Tommy. I told the boss man we were taking him in too old. You though…” Hannah writes something on the folder in front of you. “You were the first one weren’t you?”
Something about that makes his stomach drop, he doesn’t know what though. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Tommy might have been the best, and Tubbo might be the smartest, but Purpled is the first. He was the first of his age group to be pulled from the streets, to be given sanctuary. He watched the others arrive. He trained before they did, only to watch as they gained their own spotlight while Purpled was left in Tommy’s shadow.
Punz nods his head and Purpled holds out a single hand. The gun Punz was twirling is placed in his palm. His own hand wraps around it, eyes squeezing shut. Punz whispers in his ear. It’s low and grating. It’s dangerous, a reminder that Hypixel isn’t to be messed with. “Find that motherfucker, and show him why you’re the favorite.”
He leaves the office in a stupor. His mind is dizzy and he’s nauseous. The world has been placed on his shoulders. He’s to be the one to take Tommy’s life. Can he manage that though? Despite the curling jealousy of the years, Purpled has grown fond of Tommy. Once you know Hypixel’s game it’s easy enough to figure out when they fabricate the truth. Tommy never thought he was better than everyone.
Isolation. He laughs under his breath, stumbling his way through the halls. He wonders how they’ll isolate him. What lies they’ll spread, what rumors they’ll conjure. He wonders what it’s like to be hated. To have everyone he had once befriended turn on him, ready to feed him to the wolves. He waves his watch and his room door opens.
Once it closes he slides his back down what ends up akin to a fourth wall. He wonders how Tommy stood it. The spotlight peering into his life, the expectations that threatened violence if not met. He wonders if anything he did for the previous best even meant anything. His chest feels light as he can finally breathe. He gasps for air between unhinged laughter.
He presses his palm to his face, running his fingers through his hair. He hates it. He hates how he knows exactly what will happen. He hates even more how he knows he won’t fight it. And perhaps most importantly he hates himself because he still wants Punz or Hannah or anybody to tell him he did a good job. To pull him into what he knows would be an empty hug, and tell him that he’s done enough, that they’re proud of him. He wants to please, and he’ll murder who could have been his best friend just to get that cold and distant “good job”.
_________________________
Purpled hates suits. It’s a very visceral feeling too. He hates how restrictive they are. He hates the way it clings to his skin, the way that it doesn’t give enough movement. If he cannot do a flip in it, he considers it bad clothing. He fiddles with the cuffs of his sleeves, that same suffocating feelings wrapping itself around his throat.
He clears it, he tries to take a deep breath, he tries to satiate begging lungs to no avail. It’s fine though. He’s fine. He has a job to do. He has to focus on that job. Purpled takes another breath before walking through the doors.
The doors swing open, leading into the large lobby of Craft Family Emporiums. After all, the Craft Family was Tommy’s last mission, so it seems an apt place to begin his search for the traitor. The lobby is bustling with busy businessmen and women. They’re all dressed formally, with not a single hair out of place. They carry themselves with confidence, easily talking to the receptionists.
It’s then that Purpled remembers how lost he is. How he’s unaware of the rest of the world. He lives in his own little bubble. He’s detached, floating. He grits his teeth and follows the mob to the reception desk.
The tiles are shining with brilliance, polished as to show the peoples reflection. Purpled’s in awe at how they gleam despite the many busy feet that must walk across the floor daily. There’s couches scattered about, with a small coffee shop, stand, thing, tucked into one of the corners. He’s dazed as he looks up and watches people climb the stairs. There’s a skylight directly above the lobby. He sucks in a cold breath.
“Hi,” Purpled says. He passes potted plants that come up to eye level. The receptionist looks almost bored. Purpled can’t blame them.
“Name?”
“Purpled Pixel.”
He looks around, eyes watching every movement. He catalogs every person who walks in, he keeps track of anyone important that walks out. He bites his lip as the receptionist presses buttons on their computer. Scrolling, typing. Purpled waits with bated breath. He thinks he did everything right. He had one job and if he couldn’t do something that basic right then he’s a failure.
“Right, you’re the new security detail for the bossmen.” They click their tongue, pressing a few more buttons before writing something down on a notepad. “I assume this is your first time here…” Their voice trails as they rip off the paper and hand it to Purpled. “You’re young, don’t let the Crafts scare you. They might seem big, but they’re all softies. The paper has instructions to the meeting room. If you can’t find it then that sucks for you because you’re paid based on how long you’re actively working.”
Purpled takes the paper, hesitant, reluctant. He half expects the receptionist to grab his arm and shank him in the neck. That doesn’t happen, and after they flashed Purpled a kind smile, he set off.
The place is huge. It’s bigger than the Hypixel facilities, he wonders how anyone can find their way through the twisting hallways. He mutters under his breath as he stares at the elevator numbers. Which one does he press? What floor is it on? He curses under his breath and bites down on his thumb nail. He’s supposed to be gathering information, it’s recon to find Tommy. He doesn’t have anything on him and is relying on finding the meeting room.
A well dressed businessman steps into the elevator flanked by two lackeys. He presses one of the buttons and raises an eyebrow at Purpled as the Elevator whirrs to light. Purpled shrugs off the inquisitive glare. He’s simply just going to ignore the man. He huffs out something akin to a half laugh.
The man who pressed the button is wearing black suspenders and a white button up. The only splash of color is the red tie that’s fastened around his neck. He’s not wearing his suit jacket and instead it hangs off of his shoulders, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He wears a matching red beanie, wisps of black hair falling tactically out of the woolen material. The guy mimics Purpled laugh, golden canine catching in the light. It’s only then that Purpled notices the scar that runs down through one of the guy's eyes.
His associates are just as eccentric. They both wear matching outfits, though without suit jackets. One is set ablaze in warm oranges and reds, the other wears shades of dark green and rectangular glasses. They both stick close to the main guy.
Purpled looks them up and down, sizing up the competition. He knows that if any of them have a gun on them and a fight breaks out then he’s screwed. The elevator provides an easy way to kill him. He’s relatively safe since as far as he can tell, Craft Family Emporiums is hyper vigilant about security. They have cameras that observe every inch of the buildings. There isn’t a single dead zone.
“Where are you going, kid?”
“Not a kid,” Purpled mutters. He looks down at the paper. “I’m trying to find this room,” he holds up the paper.
The main guy, the one with the golden tooth, smiles something that he can only call genuine. It’s hard to believe that anyone is genuine, but there’s no extra lilt, there’s no darting eyes. Purpled furrows his brow, unsure of what to make of the three figures he finds himself in company of. The red haired one, the one wearing orange, looks almost bored. The green shaded one pays attention to the main guy with a little too much eagerness.
“We’re actually on our way there,” the main guy replies. “I’m Quackity, CEO and founder of Las Nevadas.” He sticks out his hand.
Purpled eyes it. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Quackity, it’s that he doesn’t trust anyone. It was drilled into his head the second that he earned his place in Hypixel. Even if you’re raised together you’re still to distrust them, no one is to be trusted. The only person you can trust is the supervisors, they have the best interest of Hypixel in mind, which directly correlates with their best interests.
So Purpled doesn’t take Quackity’s hand. He sticks his own into his pockets. He scans Quackity once more, trying to locate any noticeable weapons on his person. There’s plenty of places he could hide something if he really tried. Though there wasn’t anything obvious, no hidden knives, no guns that stuck out.
“Have some respect,” the red haired guy mutters under his breath.
“You’re Dutch?” Purpled plays it by ear. Unsure of if he pinpointed the accent correctly.
The red haired man crosses his arms. “Do we have a problem?”
Quackity holds out his hand. “Fundy.” It’s a warning. Purpled knows that tone. He knows what it means, it makes his lungs grow tight. His breathing shallows for a moment before he forces the deep breaths that remind him that oxygen is getting to his lungs. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Purpled.”
Fundy rolls his head, whispering something to the last unnamed member. Quackity seems to consider Purpled for a second. He knows what Quackity’s doing, he’s examining Purpled. It’s the same thing Punz did when he came across Purpled on the road. It’s a look akin to a predator. It’s curiosity that drips with venom. It’s Quackity scrutinizing everything from how Purpled stands to how he breathes.
It’s familiar, welcoming almost. It’s a twisted sort of normal. Purpled purses his lips. He feels light, and heavy. He wants to get out of the spotlight. He hates the attention. He hates having expectations. He hates being analyzed. He hates being read as if his life was a book for others to read.
He wants nothing more than for the doors to open and for freedom to bless his dying heart. He wants to be able to say he did his job. He wants to find his way back to his room. He wants to get the pain of the mission done and over with. That can’t happen if Quackity is hovering over his shoulder.
Quackity snaps his fingers, the green guy stiffens to attention. “Charlie?”
“Here you go, Quackity from Las Nevadas.”
There’s something off about the Charlie guy. He spoke in stilted phrases. It was choppy, staccato. Purpled narrows his eyes but says nothing about it. Charlie hands Quackity a small card, which Quackity hands Purpled.
It’s a business card, with Quackity’s number on it. The elevator stops rising, sending Purpled’s stomach twirling. It doesn’t sit right in his body. It twists, he’s not sure if its from the business card or the sentiment attached to it. What the fuck did Quackity see in him? The doors slide open. He’s nothing. Punz’ taunting voice in the back of his head proves him right. So what in that conversation made Quackity think that he’s worth it.
Quackity walks out first, followed closely by Charlie. Fundy motions for Purpled to go next. Purpled shifts his weight. He’s not part of Las Nevadas, he doesn’t want it to come across that way. Fundy rubs the bridge of his nose, “We’re heading to the same place, man, just go.”
Purpled follows Charlie not because Fundy told him too, but because he’s heading that way anyways. He tucks the business card into his suit pocket, mind still reeling. He’s nothing. He’s only worth something because he has Hypixel’s name behind him. Without them he’s nothing. He’s worth less than dirt. If he’s not doing then he’s a failure. He’s a mistake in the system, but Hypixel doesn’t care. Only Hypixel can do anything with him, no one else wants him.
Right?
Fundy shoves his shoulder into Purpled’s. Purpled stiffens, clenching his jaw as his hands ball into fists. He can’t fight, not when he’s close to planting a bug to find out what Tommy’s doing. He just needs to get close enough to the Craft’s to plant something on their coat collar.
“Relax, dude, the meetings are stuffy, nothing interesting ever happens.”
Quackity raises his hand and calls towards them, “That was before the old fucker got a new kid. He’s got fucking spunk .”
“Haven’t met him yet, personally,” Fundy says. He laughs under his breath, “But Wil talks a lot about him. No one even knew Phil was adopting.”
Purpled bites his tongue. He knew about Techno Blade and Wilbur Soot, not some mysterious third child. That might throw a monkey wrench into his plans. It’s fine, he can think on his feet. He’s done it before, there’s nothing different about this mission. There’s just a lot more riding on the death. There’s suffocating pressure pressing down on his shoulders. There’s a spotlight on him that wasn’t there before. But yeah, he’s got this.
They come up to a large pair of double doors at the end of the hall, a golden plaque above the door reads ‘Crows Perch’. Purpled tilts his head, though he doesn’t dare question it. He’s not paid to question the eccentricity of his targets… he’s not paid. He shakes his head.
Quackity throws open the doors, “I’m here!”
Purpled files in with the rest of them. The room is fairly simple. There’s a single oval table in the middle of the room. There’s a projector on one wall and a whiteboard on the one parallel to it. The wall parallel to the door has a large window, it lets natural light filter into the room. It’s a breath of fresh air compared to the facility, which is so far underground that there’s no hope for any sort of natural light.
There’s a few potted plants scattered around the room. It’s a splash of color in the otherwise white and beige room. It’s painted in a bunch of neutrals, unassuming. It’s soothing, almost. Purpled allows himself to relax a second too early. He scans the people in the meeting room, picking out Phil seated at the narrower rounded edge. His heart drops to the pit of his stomach.
Tommy swats at Wilbur’s shoulder, laughing loudly at something the hipster looking heir said. Purpled swallows back the confusion. He doesn’t need to plant a bug, at least. He knows exactly where Tommy is. The only question that remains is ‘Why?’ Why is he at the meeting? Why is he still with the Crafts? Why is he here? He’s supposed to have disappeared. He’s right here.
Purpled slinks to the back of the group, letting the Las Nevadas crew cover him. He’s not sure how Tommy will react to Purpled being there, and he’s not excited to find out. He’d rather fall through the floors. He doesn’t have a weapon on him, other than the knife that’s pressed against the heel of his boot. It’s not like he’s going to pull it out and stab Tommy in front of a bunch of witnesses anyways.
He’s supposed to be smarter than that.
“Big Q! Come to be fucked up again,” Tommy says. He smiles.
It knocks the wind out of Purpled. It’s genuine. Purpled doesn’t think he’s ever seen Tommy smile. It’s something so rare at Hypixel. A genuine, real smile is not something that someone just does. Yet Tommy slides into one so easily. It seems right on his face. He bounces on his spinning chair to the left of Phil.
“Shove off,” Quackity takes a seat across from Phil.
Purpled doesn’t move from by the door. He’s still reeling from seeing Tommy. Because it sounds like Tommy. It’s a little weird because he doesn’t quite look like Tommy, not as Purpled knew him. His outfit is still loose, as Purpled doesn’t think anyone from Hypixel can be comfortable in tight fitting clothes. He’s twirling a swiss army knife, one that’s red with letters emblazoned in gold that reads “Craft Family”.
Tommy’s hair looks a shade lighter, and his eyes are a blazing blue. They seem to scream with a dangerous fire, one that still threatens to burn down the world. Previously Tommy had been a quiet brewing storm, one that pulls ships under the waters and drowns them slowly as they beg for air. He seems like a bright sunny day, one that brings joy to the world. That or a quick acting lightning bolt, waiting to strike and just as brilliant.
He has on a collared shirt under a tealish crewneck. Almost matching what Wilbur is known to wear. Purpled bites the inside of his cheek, feeling more uncomfortable in his black suit by the minute. If it came down to it then Tommy would be able to beat him in a heartbeat. Purpled’s at multiple disadvantages.
“I’ll one up you again, you’re not all too great at the whole running a business thing, innit?” Tommy leans forward.
“You only did that because I didn’t know what to expect from you, new kid. I know your game.”
Tommy licks his lips, like a lion staring at his next piece of prey. Purpled is reminded why Tommy was the previous best of their age group, why he was allowed in Hypixel even after having been picked up much later than is normal. He’s dangerous. He makes the air fill with static, you get in your own head. You’re afraid.
It’s only after Fundy and Charlie sit down on either side of Quackity that Tommy’s focus shifts, it shifts onto Purpled. They make eye contact, something that Purpled isn’t eager to break. He tries to quell his racing heart to no avail. It’s a silent dare, what choice will you make, Tommy? Will you out him?
“You’re not part of Las Nevadas,” Tommy says. There’s nothing in his voice that leaves room for anyone to interpret it other than just pure confusion.
Purpled knows it’s a silent promise that the conversation isn’t over. He knows that despite Tommy acting as if they don't know each other, that their bonds were created with blood. He knows that Tommy couldn’t forget what happened in Hypixel. He’s not just revealing who Purpled is. It’s a power move. Purpled swears under his breath. He’s in no position to make any moves. Tommy is holding his knowledge over Purpleds head. He’s laughing deep down.
“No, sir. I’m the new security.”
Phil smiles. “Great! You got the debrief email?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Allow me some quick introductions before we continue then. It looks like you’ve met Quackity’s crew. I’m Philza Craft, my sons Wilbur, Techno, and Tommy.” Phil smiles as he says each name.
Tommy leans back in his chair. Purpled fights his brain. Tommy is Phil’s new kid? He’s a Craft? How the hell did that work? How the hell did he end up the son of the bitch he was trying to kill? That’s a story to tell, he bet. Fuck that though, did Phil know that Tommy had been tasked with killing his whole family?
“Who the fuck screened this guy?” Tommy mutters.
Purpled wants to flip him off. Purpled wants to stick his tongue out and laugh in Tommy’s face. He’s not going to because he is a professional. He is a professional, and undercover, technically. He’s mature enough to resist childish urges. He knows that they’re childish because when he used to do such things in front of the supervisors he’d get put on lunch duty.
“The three of us did,” Wilbur looks between Techno and Phil. There’s confusion contorting his face. Tommy waves him off, a silent promise that they’ll talk about it later. It didn’t matter. Purpled had got the information he was seeking, he’s never going to set foot in this building again for a job.
“Shit job.”
“Shut,” Phil hisses. Purpled expects the raise of a hand. There’s no malice, only a half laugh as Phil clasps his hands together. “Without further ado, I think we should start this meeting.”
The meeting is boring. Purpled doesn’t pay attention to it. He instead watches Tommy argue. He’s good. He has the perfect rebuttal for everything Quackity tries to negotiate for. Las Nevadas should have been screwed. Quackity matches Tommy beat for beat, a tongue like quicksilver. He’s poetic in his retorts.
Purpled finds himself lost in thought. Hannah and Punz argue often. They’re not perfectly in sync with each other, despite the facade they put on. They’re opposing forces working together to teach and train the age group they’re assigned. While Punz is small words that leave you paranoid for days, Hannah is false encouragement. Punz is brutal, breaking you down piece by piece. Hannah is right there to build you up. And though they hate what the other does, they work as some sort of perfect duo.
There have been days where Purpled is left reeling. Head spinning, out of breath, fingers bleeding. He didn’t know what to believe. He didn’t know who to trust. Punz sits on one shoulder, and Hannah on the other. He stared at pictures on the walls until he went cross eyed and that still wasn’t enough. It still left whispers in the air. Hannah reassures him that he’ll get it eventually, luring him in for the trap to snag around his leg. Punz was right there, reminding Purpled that he is nothing.
He is nothing, and yet Tommy stares at him as if Purpled is an actual threat. As if some nights he doesn’t cry himself to sleep, hands numb unable to hold anything. He is nothing without Hypixel, and yet Quackity doesn’t know anything about Purpleds skills and still gave him a business card. A single conversation…
He is a failure. He’s not skilled enough to claim the title of number one, of the best. He’s a mistake. He’d be scavenging the streets if it wasn’t for Hypixel. He wanted them to tell him that he’s worth something more than a gun. His worth is defined by his effectiveness. He is nothing without Hypixel.
The business card sits heavy in his pocket.
Hypixel lies. Purpled knows that they lie. His worth is tied to how many bullets end up killing someone. He is a failure, but maybe– Quackity sends a look behind him to check on Purpled– maybe that’s a lie too. But it can’t be. Right? It can’t be a lie, because Hypixel does a lot but it’s insistent that the only reason any of them have any skill is because of their training. If it’s a lie, then Purpled’s whole life is a lie.
If it’s a lie then maybe he could have actually found a home. Maybe he didn’t have to turn to the streets, and then to Punz. God fucking damnit. He presses hands together, trying to keep from thinking about those few weeks that led up to him getting his watch. He wants to forget it. He wants to forget how fucking naive he was. He wanted to forget believing that Punz was going to take him in and be his brother.
Instead of hugs and a warm house, Punz put a gun in his hand and told him to shoot.
He sucks in a cold breath, waiting to be dismissed as the meeting concludes. He waits and waits and still nothing comes. They chat, idly gossiping about one thing or another. Tommy doesn’t participate, he stays still. He only speaks up to whisper something in Purpleds ear. He smiles as he gets a nod from Phil.
He stands up. “Purpled! I wanna talk to you for a second, wanna step into the hall with me?”
Purpled bites back the question that sticks to his tongue. It’s a taunting question. He never told Tommy his name. At least as far as the rest of the group is concerned. “Of course, sir.” It’s a lazy response, one that’s unimpressed and bored. It’s drawled. Tommy sneers, leading Purpled out of the room and down the hall a fair way.
Tommy’s twirling his knife in his fingers. Purpled ducks out of the way as Tommy throws it. As he dodges Tommy lunges at him, grabbing onto the bowtie that’s choking Purpleds neck to subdue him. Purpled tries to twist out of the hold, but Tommy forces him to his knees. The asshole keeps behind him the whole time. He grabs onto Purpled arms and twists it.
There’s silence. Purpled grunts in frustration. Pain swells as Tommy wrings his wrist. It’s a stinging sensation that buzzes across his forearm. The dick. Least he could have done is wait until Purpled was in his element before they fought.
The velvet carpets rub against his suit pants, making the most irritating and aggravating sound. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters.
Tommy pulls back on the bowtie. Purpled uses his free hand to claw at Tommy’s hold. He’s gagging, struggling to breathe as Tommy refuses to let go. He’s choking. He’s trying desperately to breathe, to grab air– to hold his head above storming water.
“Why the fuck are you here? What the fuck does Hypixel want?”
Purpled takes a deep breath and flings his whole body weight backward. It’s at least enough to get Tommy’s grip to relent. He pulls his bowtie off, spitting at it as it lands on the ground. “Real fucking smart there, yeah, let’s choke a bitch so that he’s unable to answer my questions.”
The suit cuffs at least made it easier on his wrists, though they were still a bit red. He rubs his neck, coughing and spluttering. He takes a deep breath. Adrenaline pumps under his skin, an itch that he can’t reach. He’s going to have a few bruises. Purpled has no clue how he’s going to explain them if anyone asks; he’s praying that no one asks.
Tommy crosses his arms. He’s watching Purpled like a hawk. Every movement is identified, every slight twitch is scrutinized. Tommy needs to back the fuck up and give Purpled space to breathe. He means that literally, by the way.
“Start answering, color boy.”
Purpled is once again reminded of the danger that Tommy exudes. It’s different. Shifted somehow. Tommy’s presence used to be subtle, a danger that you knew was there yet couldn’t be identified. It was the subtle, stalking presence that refused to show itself. He camouflaged into the rest of the crowd. Yet he stands, a confidence that no longer reeks of fake. It’s true confidence. He is the predator, and this is his territory. Purpled is in his territory.
“Color boy? That seriously the best you got?” Tommy pulls the knife out of the wall, spinning it in his fingers. Purpled holds up his hands, “I don’t have weapons on me. I was here for recon.”
“For what?”
“To find you.” Tommy tilted his head. Purpled rubs his temples. “They want you dead. They want me to be the one who brings your head back to them on a silver platter. It just so happens that no one knows where the hell you went. So I came here to bug one of the Craft’s.”
“Stay the fuck away from them,” Tommy all but snarls.
“Or what?” Purpled takes a step forward. He’s not sure why. He knows that Tommy doesn’t make empty threats. He clicks a button on his watch, recording the conversation to report back to Hypixel. His confidence is shaky at best, but Tommy doesn’t need to know that.
“I’ll slit your throat. No hesitation. I’ll do anything to keep them safe.”
There’s a flicker, for a single moment, a single second… Tommy drops his guard. He softens as he speaks, some sort of odd fondness oozing from his breath. It’s sweet, disarming. Like a rose, it promises sharp and dangerous thorns.
“You’ve lost it.” Purpled laughs under his breath. He can’t believe it. The great number one, on a tight wound leash.
A voice in the back of his head whispers of hypocrisy, he ignores it.
“They care about me, you know.” Tommy stops twirling his knife. “They actually care about how I am, physically, mentally. They love me. It’s weird, but it’s nice. I don’t know how to explain it to you, but it’s real. I wouldn’t lose it for the world. I’ll fight heaven and hell to keep this. You’re not going to get in the way of that.”
“You know they don’t, you know that Hypixel–” The words catch in his throat. They don’t even sound real to him. He knows that Hypixel lies. Maybe the Craft’s could care about Tommy, beyond his efficiency. It’s not something that sits right in Purpled’s stomach. No one cares about them. They’re useless without Hypixel.
“Hypixel spews a lot of confident bullshit. They rely on the fact that we don’t know anything else. They use that to their advantage.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Purpled whispers. He knows, he knows that they play with their minds. It’s weird hearing it admitted out loud. It’s not right. He can’t deal with his own suspicions voiced aloud. He can’t do that. Hypixel is all he knows, killing is all he knows what to do. Who is he? If he’s not who Hypixel says he is, then who is he?
“Purpled…” Tommy takes a step forward.
“Shut the fuck up,” Purpled repeats. It’s louder, harsher. It’s bitten out of anger, confusion. His brain pulses with pain that he can’t quite place. He’s grasping at straws, unsure of what to say, what to do.
“I still have the keychain you got me,” Tommy turns back towards the door. He’s leaving his back exposed. Purpled can grab his knife, finish off the job. He can return with news that in a single day he got rid of the traitor.
His hands are numb, he can barely feel them. The wind is knocked out of him. He’s struggling to breathe. Tommy still has the keychain. He cares enough to have the keychain. The air is too still, too dry. He needs out. He needs an escape.
“Tommy–” Anything he wants to say dies on his tongue. It sticks to thick briars that line his throat. They’re trapped behind bars. They’re locked away, feelings that Purpled has to kill off. He has to kill them. They’re useless, he’s useless. They’re a weakness he can’t indulge in. He’s weak.
“Feel free to leave, I’d tell you that the money will get transferred to your account, but you won’t get it. I bet it’s a fake account.” Tommy shoves his hands into his pocket.
“Watch your back, Tommy.”
Tommy turns around, walking backwards as he speaks. “Same to you. Constant vigilance, Big P.”
____________________
He deleted the recorded message. He’s sitting in the cafeteria, Tubbo and Ranboo ranting about some regular at the cafe they work at. They’re only allowed to work there because it’s a hot spot for reliable gossip and news. Purpled sighs, the thought of a silly little keychain being something Tommy kept when he threw away his Hypixel life sits uncomfortably in his head.
He’s playing with his food. He’s rolling his peas around on his plate, the spinach like ash on his tongue.
“If I had a nickel for everytime Aimsey fucked stuff up for us, I’d be able to buy a yacht,” Tubbo throws his head onto the table.
“That’s fun,” Purpled replies. He doesn’t actually care about Tubbo and Ranboo’s troubles at the cafe. It’s all for recon. It’s not anything more. Their life is never anything more than mission after mission.
“Purpled, are you okay?” Ranboo asks.
It gives Purpled pause. He’s been waiting for the pin to drop. He’s been waiting for glass bridges to break, for that insignificant fragile thing they consider trust to disappear. He knows it’s not worth it to continue to be friends with people who will hate him as soon as the full moon shines. It’s easier to start distancing himself.
It hurts. It hurts so much to have to isolate himself. It’ll hurt less if he’s the one who does it. It’ll hurt less if they hate him for what he actually did, rather than some fucked up bullshit. He wonders if this is what Tommy had done, why he hadn’t tried to clear the air. It’s better to believe you’re alone because it’s your choice then remember that you don’t have anyone else there for you.
“Fine, don’t worry about it.” He keeps his words distant. He keeps emotion clear from his voice. It strains him. Is this really the right thing to do? “It’s not something you could understand anyways.”
“No need to be so pushy about it,” Olive says. They’re mostly quiet while the group eats, it’s odd that they would speak up. It’s a sure sign that he’s doing something right. “Ranboo was just trying to help.”
Purpled chews on the inside of his cheek. He wants so badly to explain everything that’s been going on. He wants so badly to admit the confusion. It’s not worth it. It’s not worth it because he knows that there’s no true loyalty between them. They’ll just so snitching to their supervisors about the treasonous thoughts that brew somewhere in the back of his head.
The lunch room is busy. The sounds of trays being dropped against tables, of shuffling feet and muffled conversations. The white noise is something easy to get lost into. The lights buzz, the floresents are something to be detested. He craves the sour moonlight, craves that disonant spotlight. He craves the hum of cars across the city streets and the gentle buzz of the bugs living in nighttime beauty.
He wants to reach for the stars. He doesn’t want to have to stop halfway up the ladder. Yet he only moves when he’s allowed to. He only craves attention when it’s granted to him. He only wishes for more when that’s what his supervisors want from him. He dares to dream of a world and yet is given a snowglobe. His aspirations are quelled under a forceful hand and a cold pat on the back.
Purpled is nothing. He is an empty shell. He takes the words that Tommy had spoken, that taunting idea of something more than his pitiful life, he throws them away. He burns down the bridge, imaginaing himself laughing as the ashes fall around him. He pretends that it doesn’t hurt like a knife to the heart. The knife twists, panging with empty emotion. He is whatever Hypixel needs him to be. No more. No less.
The confusion still doesn’t leave him. Empty promises of grandeur ring in his ear. There is nothing to be contested. He puts on a fake face of confidence, of dripping arrogance. He takes one last bite before standing up.
“Sorry,” it’s bitter. It’s not a real apology, though he means the word with all his heart. “I’m going to hit the gym early. I’ll see you all there.” He pretends to ignore the middle finger that Tubbo throws his way.
If he can’t ignore the conflicting thoughts that wage war deep in his heart, he’ll simply do some mindless activity. There is nothing more mindless than hitting up the shooting range. He walks across the sticky floor of the cafeteria. The sharp smell of B.O mixed with the flavorless food that they feed them infects his lungs. He knows what’s expected of him.
He keeps his eyes on the floor, ignoring the boring dark gray colors of the tables. He ignores the older age ranges. He pretends that he’s walking down an empty street. This is the busiest the facility ever seems. Purpled rolls back his shoulders, trying to stop the treasonous thoughts from spreading anymore.
It’s because he's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize he’s run into someone until his tray clatters to the ground. Purpled mutters an apology under his breath as he bends down to pick up his tray. There’s not much mess, which is nice. It’s just enough that it looks like something happened, but not enough for him to bother to clean it up.
As he goes to stand up, a boot finds its way on his back. He’s forced to the ground. Of fucking course he had to run into this dumbass. “I want a proper apology, little guy.”
Dream is about three age groups above Purpled, he thinks he’s so cool for that. He’s good at what he does, but so is everyone at Hypixel. The weak are weeded out early in the program. Dream’s as good as Purpled might be if he stays… if he stays? When he stays, when he gets to Dream’s age. He frowns, unsure if he can trust his own thoughts anymore.
“I already apologized, lay off man.” Purpled tries to remain disarming. He’s not looking for a fight, at least he doesn’t think he is.
Purpled’s flying across the floor, skidding against linoleum tiles that have seen far too much use. The pain barely registers after Dream’s foot connected with his side. He grunts out, ignoring the flaring bouts of pain that shoot across his body. He scrambles to stand up. He clutches at his side. Dream and his dickwad group stalk up to him.
“He said he wants a proper apology.” George takes off his glasses and latches them against his red colored uniform shirt.
“And I already apologized.” Purpled isn’t having it. His blood boils, anger from years of repression rises to the surface. He takes a deep breath. He tries to quell the buzz under his skin, he tries to ignore the call for blood that echoes in his thoughts.
Sapnap cracks his knuckles. Jesus christ, they weren’t leaving without a fight were they? No matter. It’s not his fault if they leave with more bruises than it’s worth. Of course a three on one isn’t fair. He’s handled worse situations though. He has one thing that they don’t, a need for a distraction. He grunts in pain, shaking off the impact from Dream kicking him when he was down. He raises his fists.
“You don’t want to do this,” Sapnap warns.
It’s a futile attempt. “I do.” And he does. He wants to feel the grounding sting of pain. He wants everything to make sense. There’s nothing more sensical than a fight. The only objective is to be the last standing. “I really fucking do.”
The Dream Team, their self appointed name, aren’t actually that skilled. Compared to the rest of the workers at Hypixel, they’re as average as the rest of them. They exchange a look. In that moment when they’re silently plotting, Purpled sweeps George’s feet from under him. He falls to his back with a dull thud.
The fight is a blur. Purpled dodges a punch from Dream, getting rocked in the jaw by Sapnap who’s waiting for him to avoid Dream’s attack. George hops back onto his feet, attempting to take Purpled to the ground as he stands up.
There’s a distinct lack of energy. Everything is moving too slow. There’s no comforting buzz of adrenaline in his veins. He dances around the three of them. He punches Dream in the gut. There’s not enough going on. He needs more. He needs pain. He needs to cause pain. There’s an emptiness, one that he can’t quite process. Something’s missing, in his soul, in his mind. Something off. Something’s not right.
There’s a barking call from the entrance to the cafeteria. Purpled ignores it, grabbing Dream by the shirt and punching his nose until it breaks. There’s a satisfying crack and still it isn’t enough. He needs more. He needs to understand. He doesn’t understand.
There’s a hand on his shoulder, a whispered voice in his ear. “I said, Prohibere.”
Purpled goes stalk still. He drops his hold on Dream, hands trembling. Punz stands behind him, silent anger radiating as he keeps a hand on Purpled’s shoulder. It’s tight, restricting. It’s also comforting to know that something is real, that the world is still set in stone. Rules still matter. That hasn’t changed.
“Sir—“ He has no good excuse.
“If you don’t listen to my commands the first time, what good are you?”
“I understand, sir.” He is worthless, he is useless. All he is is an extension of Hypixel. He is nothing more. He should never have believed he could be more. The words soothe over the confusion that wages war in his storming thoughts. It’s the reassurance he needs.
“I’ll see you in training room B, One.” Punz turns on his heels. Leaving the room.
It’s just Purpled and Punz in training room B. The rest of their age group are in room A, training with Hannah. Purpled clutches the gun in his hand, Punz walks around the perimeter of the room, face devoid of any meaningful emotion. He can’t slip. He can’t afford the disappointment, he can’t afford failure. It’s a relief, to have a goal, to have something to work towards.
When Punz says to shoot, Purpled shoots. Each target that pops up has someone elses face. He shoots Tommy the most, pictures of his head exploding on impact. Ranboo, Tubbo, and Olive face the same fate. There’s no loyalty. He shoots until his fingers tremble. He knows that Punz can see him struggling, and yet he doesn’t stop. Each command is drilled into his head.
The once pristine room is covered in a thin layer of blood stains and soot from remnant gunpowder. It’s pungent, the musty smell of sweat clings to each surface. It’s almost never cleaned. Still Purpled trains, when bile itches the back of his throat he says nothing. He swallows it back and tries not to vomit when the smell of his own blood gets thick in his nose.
He’s berated. He stands still as he’s hit with simulated attacks. He doesn’t dodge, not unless Punz tells him too. Punz doesn’t tell him to move. The crusty, red training mats crunch under Purpleds weight when he’s thrown on the ground. He takes the moment, when he’s getting beaten on the ground, as a moment of reprieve.
There is no respite for the weak.
He’s forced up. He’s forced onto his feet. He runs laps until his lungs hurt. His throat is dry. Yet despite the labor, despite the training, despite the training, there is still a gaping emptiness. Tommy carved something out of Purpled soul– out of his mind. He doesn’t know if he can get it back. He runs until his legs give out, and then Punz commands him to continue and somehow Purpled finds remaining bits of energy.
He pushes past his limits. He climbs up the slippery rock wall. Every ounce of his being hurts. It isn’t enough. He needs to push more, do more. It’s not enough. He falls to the floor, legs no longer able to support his weight.
“I didn’t tell you you can stop,” Punz says. It’s calm, it’s simple and logical. Purpled shouldn’t be done because no one has said he can be done. Yet he can’t push on.
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t stand. I’m so sorry.” It’s pathetic because he’s begging. It’s pathetic because he’s on his knees begging for forgiveness he’ll never get. There is no mercy for those not worth walking the earth.
Punz kneels down in front of Purpled. He grabs Purpleds chin and tilts it up towards him. There’s no pity, not an ounce of remorse or sympathy. A curling, cruel smile plays on his lips. Purpled wants to gag. He hates how something warm buzzes in his chest when he sees that smile. He hates.
Something curls in his stomach. An idea is planted in his head. It’s dangerous, he ignores it. But it blooms nonetheless.
“I’m only doing this for your own good, you know that right?” Punz turns the hold until he’s cupping one of Purpled’s cheeks in his hand. It’s brotherly, though distant and detached.
He’s disgusted with himself, Purpled finds himself leaning into the touch regardless. He craves it, he craves the affection no matter how poisonous. He wishes for nothing more than to never be let go. He wants. He wants so badly for it to be real, for the affection to be more than mindless conditioning.
“I know, sir.”
“That’s right. You’re worthless.”
Purpled doesn’t need prompting. He knows exactly what Punz wants to hear. He knows why his supervisor wants to hear it too, that doesn’t stop Purpled from responding without missing a beat. “I’m worthless.”
“You’re a failure.”
“I’m a failure.” He believes it. Every word he says, Purpled knows it’s true. He knows that he’s worthless, that he’s a failure.
He’s not .
“I’m only doing this because if I don’t then Hypixel will throw you out. I do what I do because I care.” Punz brushes a stray tear from Purpled cheek, he hadn’t even realized he’s crying. “Don’t cry.”
He’s better than this .
Purpled blinks, letting the tears dry. “Hypixel only wants what’s best for me.” He takes a deep breath. “I’d be nothing without them… without you. Thank you, sir.” It’s not real. The realization crashing down around him. He’s not actually grateful, which is a first. He loves Hypixel, he loves the opportunities presented to him.
Hypixel is preying on his death .
His mind wanders to the business card he has tucked away, hidden in his room. He bites on his tongue, stopping himself from admitting to having it. That’s his own little secret. One he’s not eager to share with anyone. Watching eyes and hungry ears wait for a moment of treason to report you.
Hypixel is on its deathbed .
“You’re dismissed for the night, get yourself put back together. You have a job to do.” Punz gets up and leaves, leaving no room for Purpled to respond.
Purpled will be the one to light the match .
As soon as Punz is gone Purpled crawls into a corner, one that has seen much use. He heaves, throat raggedy and dry. He heaves, watching the remnants of his lunch leave his body. Tears slide down his face, the putrid stench making him vomit again. He wipes the spit from his mouth, trying to calm down his body. He sits with his back pressed against one of the walls until he manages to stand up on shaky legs.
He’s sick. There is something wrong with him, and he doesn’t know what. All he knows is that he is not well. There’s no medicine to fix his ailments. There is nothing that can heal his dead heart. There is nothing that can fix a soul that was ripped apart before he knew it existed.
______________
There is no life without risk. Any risk should be calculated. It needs to be worth taking. Life is perhaps the biggest risk any person can take. Living is something Purpled isn’t quite sure he knows how to do. He throws his hands into the dark purple hoodie he owns. The sun shines down above him, taunting him as another gorgeous day passes by.
Las Nevadas. It is huge. Which is an understatement. Though in broad daylight it’s hard to see the brilliant lights that the casino town is known for. It may be called a town, but that’s just to be nice. It’s like a mall, but instead of shops there’s various casinos.
Purpled passes by the gardens on his way to the doors of the main casino, the one where Quackity keeps his office. The business card is clutched in his hand, hidden away in his pocket. He feels out of place. The flowers are magnificent. A small manmade river flows through the gardens, ending in a small pool where a gazebo sits isolated by hedge walls. Bright wildflowers are planted along the cobbled pathways.
If he does this then there’s no going back. There’s no stopping what his brain will tell him if he commits. Then again, he feels like he has to. The eyes watch him, they always do. Even when he blends in with the crowds he can feel eyes trace his motions. Then again that could be simple paranoia.
The doors to the main casino have a bouncer, which not many of the other casinos have. Purpled chews on his lip. It’d be a pain to have to explain everything. The guy looks built. He doesn’t skip gym day. Purpled is more lean. He sucks in a cold breath. The guy has brown hair that ends in what seems like golden tips. His eyes are a vibrant green.
He could try to sneak in, but Purpled’s hoping for an easy day out. He swallows back his fear and approaches the doors.
“Name?” The bouncer says, automatic most likely. Purpled doubts that they’d let a minor in.
“I’m not there.”
The bouncer looks up from their clipboard, quirking an eyebrow. “Then leave? Don’t waste my time.”
“I want to speak with Quackity,” Purpled tries.
The bouncer laughs. “You and every other wannabe. Come back when you’re twenty one. Don’t even try.”
Purpled sighs. He lurches forward. He whips his head around to see Fundy patting him on the back. “He’s cool Foolish, I think Q would be happy to see him. Isn’t that right, Purp?”
“Don’t call me that,” Purpled mutters. He’s not sure where he stands in the hierarchy of it all. He’s not complaining though. It’s a sweet sentiment.
Foolish, according to Fundy, looks very confused. He flips through the pages on his clipboard. “Are you sure? You know Quackity–”
“You should have seen Quackity when he met Purpled here, he like, one conversation and he was giving out his personal business card.” Foolish raises both of his eyebrows. Fundy nods through their silent conversation.
“Well then, I think the boss man is in the middle of a meeting, but it should be done soon.” Foolish smiles and opens the door for them.
Fundy smells of nicotine, cigarette smoke clings to his outfit. It’s quickly drowned out by the smell of booze. It knocks into him. He coughs, trying to clear his lungs. The ground floor is loud. The sound of dealers and players calling moves echo in tandem with the ringing sound of the spin to win machines.
“Thank you?” Purpled says, sputtering out his words as he tries to adjust to the flashing lights in the room.
“No problem. We were hoping to see you again. Phil said you quit, and you didn’t come back after talking to Tommy. Quackity was a bit disappointed with that.” Fundy just talks. And it’s genuine. He doesn’t try to sugar coat anything, he doesn’t say anything with intent of deceit. Ironic.
“Yeah, job was over. Wasn’t the right fit.” It’s a half-assed lie, one that Fundy seems to detect. Yet he continues talking, not questioning the reason Purpled felt the need to lie.
It’s nice. To have someone there that isn’t trying to get into his head. Fundy isn’t trying to convince him of one thing or another. He is simply there, talking to Purpled as if they had known each other for weeks. It gets easy conversation flowing. And though the practiced words and fake niceties feel like ash on his tongue, he enjoys it a bit more than normal.
Fundy leads him through the floors, waving at the dealers and exchanging polite hello’s. Purpled’s definitely the youngest in the building. That doesn’t come as a surprise, it is however a bit anxiety inducing. It churns his stomach, twisting it into knots. He hugs himself, providing the illusion of defense from the curious eyes.
He’s led up to the very top floor. There’s a small balcony that looks out across the casino floor. It’s peaceful, like looking upon a kingdom from the stars. Someone streams past Fundy and Purpled, in tears as she runs down the stairs.
Quackity is coughing as he leaves his office. He’s exasperated maybe. He looks tired, not bothering to carry himself with the confidence Purpled has come to expect. His demeanor changes the second he sees Purpled. He straightens up and tosses a cocky smile towards Fundy who grumbles under his breath. Despite the reluctance, Fundy hands Quackity a wad of cash.
“Good to see you again, Purpled! Come to take me up on my offer? Because I can get a contract-”
“No.” Purpled stuffs his hands in his pockets, wincing at the expected reprimanding. He interrupted Quackity, and he told him no. And yet no hand comes to sear his face. He’s safe. He’s fine. He’s not in Hypixel anymore. “Maybe. I’m not sure yet.”
Quackity runs a hand through his hair. “Alright then kid, what do you need?”
“Answers, I think.”
Worlds built on unsteady ground are destined to fall. To watch the collapse is to watch devastation, it’s an odd sort of feeling. To be part of the destruction is something separate. He is falling with his crumbling world. There is no one left to save, and he’s not sure how to feel. His head swirls with uncertainty as the ocean laps at his feet. A storm is brewing, and his land will flood. The question remains, will Purpled sink or swim?
Quackity leans against the banister, staring across the casino floor. “I’m an open book, Purpled. Ask away. I have no secrets to hide.”
Fundy tilts his head, and Quackity waves him off. Fundy leaves the two of them alone, probably off to do whatever he’s hired to do. There’s silence that stews between the two of them left. Fundy left and now Purpled feels exposed. He’s being seen and he hates it. He hates how the silence permeates in the air.
Purpled used to like the silence. He doesn’t know when the comforting nothingness turned into something so volatile. He hates how loud the silence always seems to be. He hates how much is said with no words to be spoken. The silence is some sort of torture. It used to sing him to sleep. But screams plagued his nightmares back then. In the silence Purpled can think, and he hates the thoughts that always remain in the deepest recesses of his mind. Those aren’t thoughts he wants to think, because the more he thinks, the more trouble he gets himself into.
“Why?” Purpled struggles to find the right words to say. “Why do you want me?”
Quackity laughs under his breath. He takes a deep breath. “You’re an enigma.” Purpled opens his mouth to defend himself, but Quackity continues before he can. “Like many people here. Some call me one as well. You’re hyper vigilant, more so than anyone your age should be. You know Tommy, and Tommy doesn’t even have an official government record of any kind. You managed to land a job at Craft Family Emporium and then quit. You wouldn’t shake my hand. You showed me every ounce of disrespect, but not disrespectfully. You’re fascinating to me.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Nor do I claim to. But I’m a businessman, I know when to invest, and who to invest in. And you? You’re a valuable investment. I can tell already.”
“What do you need me for? I’m sure you have plenty more qualified security than just Foolish. You shouldn’t need me.”
“I don’t.”
Purpled checks on his tongue. Biting back words that wouldn’t get him anywhere. “Then why?”
“Because I want to. Plus there may be a few backdoor jobs that I need done every once in a while. Politics are nasty when you run a large business.” Quackity tilts his head to point at teh people drinking and gambling in the afternoon. “They like to think that corporations are just that, corporations, but we are nothing if not a meritocracy, and CEO’s like me have sway. I sometimes need dirt.”
“You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
He’s ruined lives. He doesn’t pretend to be a good person. He doesn’t pretend that their horrors weren’t his daydreams. He does his job because he doesn’t know anything else. What else is there in the world? He’s killed. Rivers running red, screams, sobbing widows and orphaned children. He’s seen the same kids who he made orphans turn up at Hypixel within the next weeks. He doesn’t regret it either. He only regrets that they were caught.
“Of course I don’t. But you’ve charmed me. And I am nothing but patient, I have all the time to learn.”
“I still don’t get it.”
Quackity straightens up. “You’re a puzzle, Purpled. You’re quite perplexing. But every puzzle can be solved. And perhaps your puzzle intrigues me.”
“Why tell me this? It’s a bit freaky, you’re not scared that I’ll run?” Purpled has heard truths, he has heard lies. He knows the deepest pits that honey covered words disguise. Yet these words hold no hidden meaning. They’re sincere. They’re honest. They’re brutal, sure, but brutal and real is better than the false niceties he’s so accustomed to.
“If you run then you’re not who I’ve pegged you as.”
Purpled rolls back his shoulders, trying to appear larger than he is. “And who do you think I am?”
“You want to know. You want someone who will tell you all the information, you don’t like being kept in the dark. You want to know. And I’ll show you the way of the world, kid. I’ll show you what it means to be alive.”
Quackity is offering Purpled closure, understanding. He’s offering to clear the confusion that fogs his mind. Yet he cannot take the metaphorical hand. He cannot take it yet. There’s still something else he needs to do. There’s a few things left for him to check off of his boxes, a few things that he can’t leave behind… a few people who still need him.
He leaves Las Nevadas that day a bit more sure, not of the world but of himself. He knows not who he is, but what he needs to do. He’s sure that finally figuring out who he is won’t come any time soon. He says his goodbyes to Quackity, promising to keep in touch. Foolish hands him a weird sort of pin on his way out. According to the bouncer it’s a vip pin, reserved for Quackity’s inner circle. Purpled hides it in his sleeve. He throws the business card in the garbage, having already memorized the information. He’s already risked too much.
_____________
Festival’s aren’t really Purpled’s thing. Then again he doesn’t have a thing. He doesn’t know who he is. He has a knife strapped to his arm, a gun in his hand. He’s walking the cat walks above live music. It booms in his ears, he can’t hear anything over the raging of the fans. He doesn’t know who’s playing, he doesn’t care who’s playing. All he needs is to catch the attention of Tommy Innit, or Craft, or whatever he goes by.
The Craft Family is putting on the concert. It’s their venue, they arranged everything. He crouches down amongst the lights. Tommy and his new family sit above the rest in a small box. They’re chatting, as if nothing is wrong. Purpled doesn’t smile. He doesn’t frown. He simply watches. Everything he wants to say floats in his head. There’s not much he can say. There’s so much he wants to say.
His words will fail him. When he most needs them, they will leave him. He walks across the metal catwalks suspended above the rest of the people. There’s no way to distinguish anyone in the crowd below him. They’re one in the same, all excitedly screaming along to the lyrics. Purpled wonders what it would be like to save up to buy a ticket, to have a favorite band in general.
It’s not that the band is bad, they’re not bad by any means. He just doesn’t understand why anyone would want to spend so much money on something you can listen to at home. He’s humming along though. He catches himself nodding his head, smiling slightly as the special effects go off. Fog machines buzz in the distance, colored lights illuminate the stage. Purpled is on a mission, and this might be his favorite one. He can pretend he’s normal for a moment.
He turns back to meet Tommy’s eyes. Tommy blinks, rubbing his eyes and Purpled knows all the thoughts swimming through Tommy’s mind. He flashes his old friend a smile. Tommy’s up in an instant.
The chase has begun.
Purpled waits until Tommy’s climbed the ladder onto the catwalks before he starts moving. He has the route already planned out. He only prays that it goes according to plan, which he knows that it won’t, not perfectly at least. His feet clatter against hollow metal. He picks up speed, rounding corners perhaps a bit too fast.
“Purpled?” Tommy calls out.
Purpled grits his teeth and doesn’t respond. The loaded gun in his hand sits heavy, like lead it weighs down his arm. One wrong move and he fires a bullet. He cannot mess this up. He has too much to lose. It’s that realization that keeps him going. He can hear muffled rain pelting the outside of the building. It’s storming.
He slides down the ladder behind the stage. He’s far from anyone else. No one can hear their screams. It’s a small back room that he’s not sure if people are aware of. There’s no door, the only entrance is that catwalk. He backs himself against the wall. There’s no machines, no people. Just Purpled and Tommy.
Tommy’s eyes flick down to the gun in Purpled’s hand. He knows why Purpled’s there. He knows what Purpled’s mission is. He smiles, as disarming as a lion can look. Purpled doesn’t buy it, not for a second. He’s gone through the same training. He knows what to expect from Tommy, he knows all the tricks.
“You’re here to kill me?” Tommy asks. There's a slight, trained crack in his voice. It’s perfectly placed.
“You know that’s my mission.” It’s a fact. Purpled’s target is Tommy. Take out the traitor. Punz’ voice whispers in the back of his head. Telling him to shoot already. He has to do his best to ignore the nagging voice.
“You don’t have too.”
Purpled’s free hand curls into a fist. It’s decisive. He’s still confused. He still doesn’t know what the truth is. He doesn’t have answers. And he needs them. Before he can be sure, before the certainty comes, he needs answers. And he’ll get his answers. One way or another, he’ll get his answers.
“What else can I do though? I only know Hypixel. I only know killing and death. I’m a puppet Tommy. We both know that. I was never like you.” It’s bittersweet as he admits it. But he has never been like Tommy, and he never will be. He can’t just drop everything he knows on a chance. He needs to be certain.
“There’s a whole world out there Purpled, and it’s filled with good people. I'm sure you can find something you like to do, someone who cares about you. And I mean actually cares about you.”
“I don’t need anyone to care about me.” He lies. He lies because it’s one of the only things he can control. Lying is something that he controls. His life is not his own. His words are all he has. And the lies he creates are the only things he has jurisdiction over.
Tommy grabs out the swiss army knife that he had last time they saw each other. He stares at it, the gleaming metal glinting in iridescent light. The gilded letters catch and are unmistakable. “It’s easy to think that, but we all need someone. I needed you, at one point.”
“I hated you.” He lies again, and it’s like ash on his tongue.
“You didn’t. I think you cared.”
“I can’t care.” He can’t care. He killed whatever part of himself that was capable of caring a long time ago. He killed it so that he could survive. Whatever Tommy thinks is a lie. Purpled lies too though.
Tommy laughs under his breath, it’s bittersweet. “I guess the world makes liars of us all then.” He stares back up at the catwalk. “They really are my family, you know. They care a lot.”
“I’m happy you found someone.” It’s not a lie. Not this time.
Purpled is glad that Tommy got out, even if only to forsake the rest of them. If anyone deserves happiness it’s the boy standing in front of him. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration as Tommy thought over his next words. He’s glad someone got out, because deep down Purpled knows that Hypixel is torture. He knows that behind Punz’ words is nothing but sorrow and pain. And still he clings onto thin and flimsy approval. He’s happy though, that Tommy found a way out.
“You could join me, you know.” Tommy sounds so genuine. He seems generally excited, as if some epiphany. “I’m sure Phil wouldn't mind! Or I bet Niki would take you in, she’s really nice.”
“Tommy…” Purpled swallows back the lump in his throat.
“That's it! Join me, the outside world is so much nicer than hypixel. Do it, leave.”
“Tommy I can’t.”
There it is, the nail in the coffin. The one thing the entire conversation had been circling around. Purpled had to have been certain that this is what he wants to do. And it is. He loves Tommy, maybe in another world it would have been like a brother rather than as an associate. But for now they stay distant. For now they are nothing more than ex-coworkers. Even if his mind tells him otherwise.
Thunder booms along with the bass of the band. It’s a weird sort of symphony being played. The melodies of nature versus the harmonies of the band and their singer. It’s dissonant. Melancholy with feelings being strung together for all to see.
“Of course you can. Purpled, leave with me, leave Hypixel.” It’s honest begging, it’s longing that Purpled will never understand. Not because he can't, but because he refuses to admit that they had been anything more than stuck in the same hell.
Tommy sticks out his hand. And Purpled pauses. He stares at Tommy’s outstretched hand. It trembles with hope, with desperation that rings thick in the air. The vibrant lights flash around them, Tommy’s eyes burning like a fire that could never be extinguished. Purpled hopes to god that it’s never extinguished. He hopes to whatever pitiful god that Tommy can continue with whatever light he carries, with whatever embers Hypixel hadn’t put out.
Purpled stares at that hand and he almost breaks. But his resolve has never been weak, and he’s never been one to shy away from a task at hand. He holds his gun up, and still Tommy does not move. Purpled slides the safety on, and hands it to Tommy. Tears well in Tommy’s eyes, already aware of what it meant, what Purpled means to say.
“I don’t know who I am.” Purpled starts out, his voice shaking more than it had in his entire life. “I don’t know my favorite color, or my favorite season. I am nothing without Hypixel, and I’d love to know who I actually am… but I can’t leave Tommy. I can’t do what you did. If I leave then- then Olive gets the shity title and the poison words and the training until they vomit and the hatred from the others and that noxious attention and then what? They’ll die as slowly as you did, as I am. Ranboo and Tubbo won’t be any better off, they’ll be harsher on those two and you know that. I can’t abandon them.” You abandoned us. “I can’t leave them to rot.” You left me to die.
Tommy smiles, though it’s empty. Purpled wishes he could leave it at that. But it’s not empty. Tommy smiles and it’s sad. It’s drenched in understanding, and Purpled winces. He shouldn’t understand what Purpled has to say. Neither should understand what it means to actually leave, but they do know. And Purpled knows that he can’t leave the cycle he so hates, not if it means forsaking the others. Perhaps, foolishly he thinks, that he can be a change inside the system.
Purpled leaves, he’s climbing up the ladder, wind knocked out of him from his sudden decision. “Purpled?”
Purpled leans over the guard rails. “Yeah?”
“If you ever decide to take those fuckers down, I call dibs on Hannah.”
It’s an involuntary smile, but a smile nonetheless. “As long as I can put a bullet through Punz’ head then I’ll be happy.”
There’s no formal goodbyes, there’s no harkening sadness between the two. Purpled knows that it isn’t going to be the last time that he sees Tommy. He’d get Hypixel off of Tommy’s back, at least for a while. He’d lie, as best he could. He’d say that Tommy skipped town, or that the Craft’s don’t know what happened to him either. Purpled would figure something out, but that’s future Purpled’s problem.
He slips on his hoodie, the one that so graciously matches his name. He slides the hood on and leaves the venue as easily as he entered. He finds himself standing alone in the pelting rain. It hurts, but in a cathartic way. One that isn’t the piercing pain associated with what he might consider home, but rather a casual drumming that makes you feel alive.
There’s a lot to do. He needs to save people. He doesn’t know how he’ll work through his stupid brain fog, the one that makes it impossible for him to think clearly. But he has to. There’s people younger than him, training for mission’s to kill, to assassinate, to murder. They’re reaping the childhoods of many, and Purpled refuses to be a catalyst for this twisted system any longer.
The drumming pain turns into the mere sound of pelting rain. Quackity found him. Purpled smiles. “If I take you up on that offer, I have terms.” He says.
Quackity cocks an eyebrow, smiling slightly. “Naturally.”
And Purpled breathes.