Chapter Text
It was too hot. A crowd of bodies, everywhere. A large room with coloured lights, more sleek and modern looking than it used to be back in their glory days, which only meant it threw Andy off more when he tried to gather his senses. Where were they again?
They had crossed the halfway point, he was fairly certain of that. But he felt as though they still had an impossibly long way to go before they’d make it to the end. If they would make it to the end.
The image of the Reverend’s dejected appearance continued to haunt him even despite his increasingly foggy and muddled recollection of the night so far. His complete surrender to the invisible supervisor as he had made his way past them, like a child lining up for a dreaded punishment. No putting up a fight. No trying to argue with the fate he had so suddenly been dealt. Just the quietest, most defeated “thanks a bunch” as parting words before he had turned from them to disappear into another room.
Even if nothing more had been said, they had all felt what must’ve happened to him next. The bleak and inescapable inevitability of it all.
It only proved that once their time was up, there would be no fighting this gang of… nobots? Fauxbots?
Whatever it was they had decided to go with - whatever their small and disassembled clique of former friends would choose to call them, it would make no difference. They had willingly stepped into this trap, and the door had long shut behind them. They had been doomed from the start. Or at the very least, from the second Gary had started that fight in the bathroom (just the thought made Andy’s anger at the injustice of that flare up again, but the level of alcohol sedated him and ensured that the feeling couldn’t last).
They had been stupid enough to think they might still make it out of this town unscathed, if only they kept up the act of feigning ignorance and otherwise did not engage any further. If only that degree of denial could hold any real power.
Truly, Andy hated the degree to which his brain could still think clearly. There was no denying the obvious truth. Even despite the alcohol, which, unaccustomed to it as he was, was making him sick to his stomach.
His nausea was due to either that, or the dawning realisation that none of them would live to see another sunrise.
Whatever these things were, the collective these blanks were a part of - they had killed the Rev without hesitation the very second he had shown even some allegiance to a group of fresh invaders. Someone who had long been loyal to the robots. Someone who, for all these years, had managed to survive.
None of that had meant anything. The permittance of his life had changed on a dime, and now he was dead. Why would their chances of survival be any more promising?
Becky Salt swayed in front of him, her eyes unblinking, fixed on Andy’s face. She put the rim of his pint against his lips and he drank gratefully.
Compared to all of that, this place wasn’t the worst.
Maybe they could be persuaded to stick around for a bit longer.
Should there really be such a rush to complete this damn Mile? Either they would or they wouldn’t. But that decision was firmly out of their hands. Their group would make it exactly as far as that system would plan and allow for them to go, and not an inch further.
Andy, for one, was not looking forward to his untimely demise.
Someone bumped into his back. He wasn’t sure if it was the sole person responsible for getting them in this mess, or just one of many eerie, uncannily crisp and clean looking faces crowding the joint.
His slowed, but still irritatingly rational mind corrected itself on the spot.
For once, this wasn’t something he could entirely blame on Gary. Even if he had been the biggest and most fervent supporter of this idiotic plan.
Every single member in their group had chosen to come here. Not only that, they had chosen to stay. Even after an hour-long wait at the train station. After the minor annoyances at the first few pubs, and a complete escalation at the fourth. Sure enough, in some still miraculously small and sober corner of his mind Andy knew there should be safety in numbers and hell, even if there wasn’t, he’d rather go down fighting than be snuffed out while wandering about all on his own, with no one to even bear witness and know he had died at all.
It was a fate that could have been avoided and a path he still regretted being on. But having brought himself this far in, he felt powerless to change anything about it. The trap had been set and they had all walked right into it. There was nothing to be done about that now.
So what other option was there but to continue following Gary down this path of communal self-destruction. Alternative options to proceed were low on offer.
And at least in this stop on their crawl, there were more distractions to be enjoyed. No rekindling of old memories and all those good times, never to be had again. No more recognising the parts you once loved about your old friends and realising some deeply buried version of you had actually missed them. No more fighting for your life. No more fearing others might die.
That cold shock grabbed a hold of him even through the haze of drunkenness, and Andy felt the need to take quick stock of everyone in their clique. Pete on one side, looking a little stiff and unused to the attention he was given. Gary to the other side and oh, massively more at ease, it would seem.
Andy himself made three.
Steven and Sam had been standing pretty closely to one another the last time he had seen them, so maybe they had snuck off to find a slightly more private place to dance, the anonymous crowd shielding them from the eyes of the rest of their group. Either that or they’d found an entirely private place, a stock- or cloakroom somewhere nearby. Andy only hoped they would make the best use of whatever time they’d still have left.
As for Oliver… shit, where had he gone?
His eyes had swept over him twice before Andy managed to spot him. And no wonder Ollie had blended in with the blanks so well - a small gathering of onlookers stood perfectly immovable and still just at the edge of the dance floor, staring ahead. Oliver looked much the same.
Some thoughts as to why this didn’t sit entirely right with Andy started to percolate, drudgy and slow due to the copious amount of drinks consumed so far… but before he might reach any full conclusion, Becky raked her fingers through his hair and tried to go in for another kiss. The jolting memory that, even despite everything, he was still married, which meant absolutely no kissing other women, took precedence over any other trains of thought that were still floating around half formed inside his mind, and with that he was drawn right back into the presence.
“You're thinking too much,” a pair of salacious red lips spoke. Andy felt inclined to agree.
She was pretty, even if she was a bit too handsy for his liking. But it felt nice to be wanted. And even if this couldn’t lead to anything - both because he was married and because she was too good to be true, had to be one of those people who weren’t robots but couldn’t really be people either - still, it was nice to lose track of time. Or lose track of however many stops they’d have left until this crawl would have to be put to an end.
The multicoloured lights washed over all those present, drowning these worries out, along with the long forgotten beats of… god, was that Deee-Lite?
Even if the decor didn’t ring familiar, the choice of music definitely did. Had they made this change for the five, Andy corrected himself, for the six of them? Looked through the old school records to see who they were and adjusted accordingly? To make them feel more welcome, more at home?
There was something comforting about the thought. All evening their friend group’s outing had felt off, like they just couldn’t get it quite right even if they’d try. Small changes, refurbishments, not being recognised by figures which had been there and had borne witness to their exploits for all those mythical years, a long time ago.
Gary bumped into him again. There had been those bigger changes, as well.
And maybe Andy didn’t want to admit it, but perhaps that’s why he had chosen to keep tagging along even despite all the warning signs along the way. In that stupidly naive chasing of some place of belonging. Of home.
He took another sip of his glass. What was the meaning of that word to him, anyway. Home. The family house they had built in a quiet neighbourhood, only a twenty minute drive from work. With the formal living and conservatory and master suite with double vanity sinks.
He could conjure up the picture in his mind. The windows would be fully dark and void tonight. How long would it even take for his family to realise he was dead.
Woof. Death. Andy remembered the last time he’d had a close call with it.
The jagged scar on his leg ached accordingly.
It seemed both eerily recent and a lifetime ago. Being here like this had gotten everything all mixed up and confused, and Andy was certain the drink didn’t help either.
But he hoped it would be gentle, when his time would come. That had been the weird, at first surprising but then unexpectedly comforting thing about the accident. That initial shock and rush of adrenalin - fear, anger, all compacted before bursting from every cell of his being - then fading into the background as he realised and accepted that none of it really mattered with the die cast, the chips down, and nothing to do but lie and wait for his fate to catch up to him.
Or for him to catch up to his fate. Whichever it was. It didn't matter.
Becky turned away from him and slowly rolled her body back against his. Andy was beyond caring about whatever she, it, would decide to do. Still, he backed off. Didn’t seem right, even if chances were his wife wouldn’t care one bit about anything he got involved in on this fateful trip. Besides, whatever happened in Newton Haven, it seemed, would be sure to stay there anyway.
He shot a quick glance at Peter, who was dancing only a few feet away from him. Sweater rucked up over his stomach, he and his companion seemed in the middle of a tug of war over his shirt buttons. The victor was as of yet undecided.
He didn’t dare look at Gary, suspecting that battle was long over.
Dying was not what he had wanted from this night. It wasn’t a thing any of them deserved. Andy wished he could go home, even if he wouldn’t receive the warmest welcome possible.
But death would be coming. It could be lurking behind any and every corner.
A thought came to his mind, surprising Andy with how natural the option seemed to suggest itself. Could it be now? Would it be possible? And again, would that be such a bad thing?
Surely this would be the perfect place for them to do it, with everyone split up and distracted and already seeming to drown in the homogenous sea of bodies surrounding them. Even if the two friends by his side were too far gone to realise that, Andy felt an unexpected rush of relief to know at least this time around, he wouldn’t be left to die alone.
Crystalline blue eyes stared into him and he staggered back. Shit, when had she turned around again?
Becky exuded eagerness as she studied him. Even if Andy wondered what she might be able to read from his unguarded expression, he felt too vulnerable, caught and confused to do much about that at this point in time.
After another brief few seconds of being examined like that, the girl-shaped machine moved closer, fully invading his personal space for only the hundredth time in however long they had been in this place. It was as though she sensed his limits might be tested, borders moved just slightly, but exactly far enough for her, or rather their collective benefit to be gained.
Two sturdy and self-assured palms placed themselves on his chest, then slowly made their way up, up, up, over his sternum and the bare skin of his soft, exposed neck to his ears and into his hair. Her grip was forceful. Andy wasn’t fighting it, either way.
Those eyes again peered into his, and he didn’t flinch from their inspection. Let her look. Let her know. Even while resenting the fact and feeling powerless to do anything about it, Andrew Knightley would not be afraid to die.
Face stoic and unchanging, one of her hands moved to cover his face. Well, that was odd. Maybe she planned on taking his glasses again.
The palm vibrated just slightly against his nose. She started heating up. Huh.
Before he could process whatever the fuck was happening, Andy was yanked back from her touch.
He reeled, regained his balance. What was going on?
And now suddenly it was Sam standing in front of him, and the panic in her eyes helped him sober up in small but significant increments.
“Andy!”
“... Wha?”
It was difficult to hear her over the music. He could barely make out a single word she said. But the increasingly unsettled look in her eyes and repeated shifting of her attention to some point behind her served more than enough to get the message across. The hazy bubble had burst. Danger had caught up with them. It was time to boo boo.
Barely twenty seconds later Andy was the last to follow their escape from the Mermaid, and the cold rush of fresh autumn air hit him in the face. God, that felt amazing. They’d live to see another minute. Possibly more. And though the sweet and comforting lull of the entertainment inside had felt so alluring, Andy now felt ashamed of himself and relieved for the change, to be freed of that suffocating crowd and heat and pressure.
Dark skies, but fresh air. Life. He was alive.
And all of them had made it out unscathed: Steven, Sam, Peter, Oliver, even Gary. They had all made it back out onto the street, and they were discussing whether or not they should continue on to the next pub.
Andy could barely focus enough to provide much of an input on that. His mind was still struggling to sober up. But Steven seemed adamant. Sam had been spooked. Peter seemed more drunk than he was. Even despite the general brain fog, Andy knew which people in his group he trusted the most.
He wasn’t sure if the others might be convinced, though. Everyone seemed to be interrupting and talking over each other. Something about replicating DNA. Something about aqua nazis and fields.
He didn’t need to understand the reasoning. He wholeheartedly agreed with Sam. Something felt off. They had to leave. How could Gary still be so relaxed? How could Oliver still be so convinced of a different plan?
He himself didn't have some plan to assert. Any direction would be the wrong one. Any step would only be a step closer to their inescapable death. And still, he was glad to be out of that place. The lights, the noise, the confusion. Even if it had been a nice, temporary reprieve from being actively chased or hurt, they had been no safer in there than they were out here.
And Andy had almost fallen for it. For that false sense of safety and belonging. What had happened there between him and Becky, nearing the end? What had almost… He still couldn’t make sense of it.
But he felt ashamed of how close he had come to surrender, and angry he had let himself be duped. Even if Peter and Gary wanted to share a high five over the fact. That bit of truth and self reflection had been nothing to be proud of.
And worst of all, it had taken his wedding ring.
Andy held up his hand for inspection, just to verify he remembered it right. The visual had been something else. Both weirdly arousing and the most unwarranted thing he could’ve imagined to happen in that place.
But yeah. The ring was fully gone.
And sure, Andy knew their group of six couldn’t possibly stand a chance taking on a whole town of robot people, but this was just disrespectful. To rob him of something so sentimental, the most precious, most symbolic thing on his person before he was even properly dead - what type of fucked up entity would pull something like that? It was taunting and cruel. It was revolting. It was dehumanizing.
It wasn’t fucking fair.
He would prefer it if they just came out and attacked them now. Even if everyone in his group would die. At least with a direct confrontation, things would be out in the open. At least then he’d be allowed the chance to go down fighting. He hoped whatever would be left of him after would be too damaged to be recycled into some tool benefiting their side. They didn’t have that fucking right.
Andy was not afraid to die. But he wasn’t afraid to live either. And he would hold on to his humanity for as long as he could. Whatever these blanks wanted from him, they’d have to rip it from his cold, dead hands. And they couldn’t assume to just move in and claim it even a second before that time would come.
Meanwhile it seemed the next step had been decided. The others were on the move again. Onto the next pub. One, two, three going eagerly, two following with caution, and Andy as the final straggler, making his conscious decision to step in time. They were a band of interlopers. Wherever they’d go, pushback would follow. Fine. He was geared up for it. They assumed his passing would be easy. He would like to see them try.