Chapter Text
“Your… head area is... red. Do you think that’s normal?” You ask, despite knowing words were completely useless.
You hand the photo you just took to the man in front of you, as if he had any idea what you just said.
He takes the photo and looks at it. Then he smiles, his lips straining against the wounds still along them. At least they aren’t bleeding anymore.
“Gsrh wvhvievh gl yv uiznvw! (This deserves to be framed!)” Wireface says, you, of course, do not understand.
Wireface. That’s what you’ve started calling the man in your head for obvious reasons. You do that to any guest that comes by. You don’t know their names and you don’t wish to. No reason to get attached to people who will die… or be taken.
You still despise yourself for letting those tyrants from FEMA take your neighbor’s daughter. You were all she had left. You promised him you’d take care of her, but-
Your thoughts are interrupted as Wireface taps the photo against your arm, signaling he’s giving it back. You take it and swallow your guilt. You look down at it again. You still don’t even know how to read these damn ‘aura photos’.
“It looks fine, I suppose,” You mutter, more to yourself than the foreign man in front of you.
There was an awkward silence in the storage closet. Your thumb presses against the edge of the photo anxiously.
Wireface speaks after he makes a sound like that of a tense huff of laughter, “Blf nzpv nv mvielfh dsvm blf xlnv rm sviv drgs gszg tfm lm blfi yzxp, (You make me nervous when you come in here with that gun on your back),”
You look at him again, your eyes refocusing. You had no idea what you were even looking at as you zoned out. None of the words he says even sound slightly familiar to you.
“Where are you from?” You ask, knowing he can’t answer. You don’t know why you care enough to ask.
“Dszg? (What?)”
Yeah, that’s what you thought.
You don’t know what day it is. You tear off a page on your calendar each day, but you don’t pay it much attention. It’s more of a mindless habit now than something you think about. Speaking of mindless habits, let’s check your guests before you make another meal for yourself out of potatoes and coffee.
Stoner: Still alive. Eyes red. It’s expected, he smells like a skunk. You let him be.
Runaway Teen: Still alive as well. Fingernails painted. Looks clean. You let her be and ignore the fact she stole one of your cigarettes.
Bar guy: Still alive. You don’t bother to check anything, you know he’s a human by now.
Firefighter: Still alive… but not for much longer. You don’t bother him.
Cheerful man: Still alive. You look at his hands. He isn’t alive any longer.
The house always goes eerily quiet after the gunshot rings through the house, like everyone is too afraid to make a noise for a while. Maybe they’re afraid you’ve finally lost it and decided to kill everyone.
The shotgun goes back on your back and you turn away from the mess you’ll clean up later tonight. It’s still too hot out to throw the body outside. You go to the bathroom to at least clean yourself. The Stoner darts out before you could even ask him to step out. He’s starting to learn the routine too.
After your shower, you dress in some new clothes and go to the storage closet.
Wireface looks at you, an indistinguishable emotion in his expression.
“Gsrh dliow rh ufxpvw (This world is fucked),” He says.
You walk into the room. He’s still alive. That’s good.
You shift your weight on your feet and point to your mouth before asking slowly, “Does it hurt?”
Stupid question, but you don’t know what else to ask.
Wireface blinks and his eyes then narrow as he tries to understand.
“Nb nlfgs? …Mouf? (My mouth… Mouf?)” He asks.
You nod and point to your own mouth again, “Yes, your mouth. Does it hurt?”
Instead of attempting to answer, he brings his fingers to his mouth and peels his lips back so you can inspect his teeth. Well… you can understand why he thought that’s what you wanted.
You lean in and look at his teeth. Yellowed with dried blood in his gums. From that, you can assume his mouth probably still hurts. You lean back and he removes his fingers from his gums. There’s a tense moment as his eyes dart to the gun on your back.
“You’re fine,” You say, not sure why you even tried to reassure him.
He relaxes against the wall of the closet again, seeming to understand he wasn’t going to die today. As usual, there’s an awkward moment.
“Dsb wl blf pvvk ollprmt fk gsviv? (Why do you keep looking up there?)” Wireface asks. He always breaks the silence when it falls on them. It must make him nervous.
You give him a look, the usual signal for ‘I don’t know what you’re saying’.
He points up. You follow his finger to the box on the top shelf; an item you try and fail to ignore each time you walk in here. Were you looking at it again?
“It’s nothing,” You dismiss.
“Yzw nvnlirvh? (Bad memories?)” He guesses.
You say nothing to his question. He’s probably asking what it is.
Instead, you leave the closet, avoiding the uncomfortable. You can pull the trigger in the face of potential danger, but you avoid the past like it's a gun pointed in your direction.
That night, you disposed of the body still in your office. Most of the evening was spent on your hands and knees, bleaching the wall and floor. You’re going to run out of bleach soon. You wonder if you could order more the next time you get cigarettes.
As soon as you’re done and ready to head to bed, there’s a knock on your front door. Of course. It better not be fucking FEMA again.
You look through the peephole. It’s a doctor.
After a quick chat, you let the man in. You watch the older man look around your entryway curiously before pushing open the closet door. You start to shuffle back to head to bed before you hear Wireface speaking quickly, sounding terrified.
“Sld wrw blf tvg sviv!? Wlm'g xlnv rm sviv! R zn mlg tlrmt yzxp gl gszg uzxrorgb! (How did you get here!? Don't come in here! I am not going back to that facility!)” He forces out quickly.
You pause in the hallway and look at the doctor’s back. You can’t see into the closet with him in the way, but you can see the side of the doctor’s face. His eyes were wide and he looked back at you before awkwardly smiling.
“Ah, I see this room is already taken,” He says.
“Why is he freaking out?” You ask, studying the doctor with a blank look.
The doctor gives you a bewildered look and responds with, “Not sure.”
You can’t tell if he’s lying or not.
“Leave,” You said, not having to think about the decision for very long.
“Excuse me?”
“Get out of my house.”
He doesn’t argue with you. He can clearly see the shotgun on your back. He leaves and you lock the door behind him.
You then approach the closet doorway, looking in at Wireface. His hands were trembling and his eyes looked ready to spill over with tears. You can assume maybe they’ve met before.
“He’s gone,” You tell him, hoping he’d understand.
You have no idea on how to calm or comfort him. You don’t even know exactly why he’s freaking out.
He may understand you better if you actually tried to have more than a blank look on your face. You try smiling. It feels unnatural. Despite his fear, Wireface’s arched brows narrow at the sight. It must look unnatural too.
You stop smiling.
Despite his tendency to break the silence, Wireface said nothing. You also said nothing. Then you went to bed.
Morning comes, you repeat your routine, no one dies. You can actually relax now that you know you won’t need to clean tonight.
You go to your phone and order more cigarettes. You gave the last one to the fireman. You know he won’t make it to tomorrow. It’s a shame. He seems like a really good guy.
Then you shuffle into the closet. Wireface looks surprised by your arrival. You already checked him today and you usually don’t come back a second time.
“Dszg wl blf mvvw? (What do you need?)” He asks.
Wireface’s bags under his eyes look deeper. He probably didn’t sleep last night.
You say nothing at first and sit on the floor in front of where he was sitting. You look at the floor, avoiding looking up at the shelf or the confused man.
There was silence, and of course, Wireface broke it.
“Ziv blf lpzb? (Are you okay?)”
You take in a deep breath and then exhale slowly. You wish you still had a cigarette.
“I don’t know what my problem is. I want to be alone, but I’m also… lonely,” You mutter out.
You know Wireface doesn’t understand, and that’s why you’re saying it to him.
“I’m pretty sure my father fucked me up,” You continue, purging your thoughts out of your mouth, “This house is a hell. Everywhere I look reminds me of shitty memories. Do you know how hard it is to scrub blood off of hardwood just like my mother used to?”
You look up. Wireface is looking at you. He was giving you his full attention despite not knowing a word you’re saying.
“It’s really hard. And he fucked off and died before the world went to shit. He got the easy way out. It should have been me. He should be the one struggling here, I don’t even know how to talk to people. How the fuck am I supposed to figure out if someone isn’t a human if I never tried to talk to people? The checks FEMA puts out are bullshit half of the time!” You rant.
“R nrhh nb wvzi uirvmw (I miss my dear friend),” Wireface responds, his voice noticeably softer.
You don’t know what he said, maybe he’s taking pity on you. You surely look pathetic right now, after all.
“Yeah, go fuck yourself. I can’t stand this shit. Having strangers knock on my door constantly is a nightmare. And then I feel guilt when I turn them away, so at least I’m not a sociopath like my father.”
“Nb uirvmw zmw R dviv hvkzizgvw dsvm gslhv nvm rm hfrgh xznv gl srh zkzignvmg. Dv dviv gzpvm gl wruuvivmg uzxrorgrvh. R xzm lmob zhhfnv gsv dlihg. (My friend and I were separated when those men in suits came to his apartment. We were taken to different facilities. I can only assume the worst.)”
You ignore him and whatever shitty advice he’s trying to give you.
“Sometimes I think about walking outside during the day,” You force out, your teeth clenching.
“R wlm'g pmld dszg R'n tlrmt gl wl drgslfg srn. Sv pvkg nv hzmv. Pvkg nv tlrmt. (I don't know what I'm going to do without him. He kept me sane. Kept me going.)”
You noticed that Wireface had tears building in his eyes again. Your words die on your lips. You feel it again, that intense discomfort at seeing the man cry.
“What’s the matter?” You ask, brows furrowing.
Wireface looks into your eyes for a moment. He sniffles and wipes away his building tears.
“Blf kilyzyob dlfow mlg szev ovg nv rm ru blf pmvd gsv ivozgrlmhsrk yvgdvvm nv zmw nb uirvmw. (You probably would not have let me in if you knew the relationship between me and my friend),” Wireface says with a bitter laugh.
There was a beat of silence. You looked up at the ceiling, your eyes landing on the box for a moment. You sigh and dig the heels of your palm into your eyes.
“...Gszmp blf uli prxprmt gsv wlxgli lfg. Sv xzm yv z xifvo nzm. (...Thank you for kicking the doctor out. He can be a cruel man.)” Wireface said, in a slightly different tone than the one he was just using.
“I almost wish I knew what you were saying,” You mumble, looking back down.
Wireface lets out a shaky breath and leans back against the shelves. He blinks away the last of his budding tears.
“R slkv gzoprmt svokvw blf uvvo yvggvi. R wlm'g pmld ru rg svokvw nv. R wlm'g pmld ru R xzm zxxvkg srh wvzgs bvg. Yfg blf ollpvw orpv blf mvvwvw gszg, (I hope talking helped you feel better. I don't know if it helped me. I don't know if I can accept his death yet. But you looked like you needed that,)” Wireface said in that softer tone as he met your eyes again.
You met his gaze and looked away again a moment later.
“Sorry I made you upset… If I’m the one that did that,” You said, rubbing your arm over your sleeve.
You have a feeling you didn’t, but who knows. Wireface is a complete mystery.
You got off of the closet floor, ready to go and start your nighttime routine and push the uncomfortable feelings back down again.