Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ray wakes up with a jolt in a cold sweat. 

His head feels heavy. Always heavy. The air hangs cold and clammy around his throat like a noose, and he unconsciously traces the swoop of the black 81194 on his neck; it's still the wee hours of the morning.

He remembers how he got it too. 

It was a strange stamp. It seemed overall flat when looked at, but when pressed against the skin, the surface yielded hundreds of tiny needles that pierced and inked the skin of the neck, so carefully directed away from the jugular vein. Just in case.

When it was pressed against his neck, he'd felt excruciating pain for a fraction of a second before it had all washed away seamlessly; probably a painkiller to stop the babies' crying. Next came the tracking device, injected in place with a large needle and jumpstarted with a metallic clamp-like device. There was a woman who did it for him; she looked vastly different from Mama. She was older, more regally dressed and authoritarian, her wrinkled face pulled into a bitter frown, and called "Grandmother".

So even the caretakers weren't without a leader of sorts. Is she who Mama contacts regularly?

Ray gets out of bed, earlier than usual. It's the inspection day; his job was to stall Mama somehow, to give enough time to Emma and Norman to inspect the area for escape. It was best to continue feeding her the story of Norman planning to kill her with drugs, maybe even bait Sister Krone while he was at it. He could do it. He remembered, of course, everything Emma and Norman had told him about Krone. It's not just words that give information.

Removing the floorboards under his bed, he pulls out the almost-finished tracker breaking device. It could only be used once; he'd have to give it to Emma since she was the only one to know the surgical procedure to remove the tracker but she still couldn't do it on herself.

Putting it back, he replaces the boards, taking one last glimpse at the lighter fuel. The one that would end his life.

He wouldn't go down as cattle, crouched in one of those disgusting glass jars with a flower through his heart. He couldn't.

When he was going to turn twelve in January, he would do it. Burn the month's long-awaited harvest, himself; burn and raze the hell they live in to the ground till he was raw and rotten with smoke and churning flames; watching as the demons cursed him an eternity in hell. He deserved it, after all.

He hoped Emma and Norman would escape, survive and live on happily.

He imagines it. His two best friends, growing up, becoming teenagers, then adults, then-

"Because I like her. Because I like Emma."

Of course.

He imagines Norman in a fancy suit, taking Emma's arm-she's clad in a beautiful, long, flowery white gown-and getting married. He'd be sitting right in front of the podium (if the human world still had that tradition). Blessing them. Wishing them a happy married life. Watching over them as they raised their children. That's what a friend would do.

But that's not what he'll be doing, because he'll be dead.

"I'm a horrible friend, aren't I?" he says to no one in particular, his head growing increasingly heavier as he falls back onto the white sheets, arms over his eyes.

Sometimes he wishes he didn't remember so much. He wishes he could erase the demons' grotesque faces from his nightmares. He wishes he could stop seeing the visions of pale, cold, sterile rooms and the painful whirr of machinery, and-God, he wants to erase the images of red flowers and bloodied corpses of children stuffed into glass jars.

But his memory is an asset-it always had been.

He remembered almost every page of every book in the library. Figured out the truth behind the House. Raised himself to premium quality merchandise. He figured out who Isabella really was-his biological mother. He had the lullaby. He'd successfully initiated the whole escape plan. Manipulated Mama. And he had the knowledge that the caretakers were all once like them; born and raised on farms.

It was difficult to think that she was once like them, a child in a happy orphanage, now turned into a hollow shell who toys with children's lives. She's a perfect example of what people could become due to the farm system-all the more reason they have to escape. 

It's not like he hasn't sacrificed children, too, for their sake. What was the saying again? Like mother, like son.

"Good morning, Ray, get up!"

Phil's face comes into view, smiling and affectionate as always. Squishing his cheeks, the older boy does as told, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up. "G'morning..."

"You look tired."

His breath catches in his throat. He'd framed Phil as a suspect for the traitor earlier, and it was for a good reason. His scores were abnormally high for a four-year-old, and his observational skills were on par with Emma's or possibly even Norman's.

There was this one incident that happened in April exactly one year ago. It had been Lanni and Thoma's idea to play a very one-sided game of Treasure Hunt, so they stole borrowed a few things from around the place and shoved them all into some nook in some location of the House. They hadn't even told anybody they'd done it, and acted innocently throughout.

At first, there had been....complaints.

Conny was frantically searching for Little Bunny everywhere and was clinging onto a woollen blanket as a replacement; Gilda was lost and angry without her glasses (Don had to guide her everywhere); Norman denied any irritation but it was apparent that he'd really wanted to finish solving the 10x10 Rubik's Cube he'd got from Mama as a birthday present; Anna had trouble properly braiding her hair without her comb and she had to rely on Mama to fix her hair for her; Yvette began to doodle on a spare page from an old library book when the urge to find her sketchbook grew too great. Nat had no reason to complain about his hand mirror, but he did anyway.

He and Emma had no particular things (God forbid those two mongrels ever looked under the floorboards of his bed) for the perpetrators to take, so they were busy helping to find all the missing objects. Actually, it was more of Emma doing the actual searching; he was just murmuring suggestions in the back, while looking for more books full of brain teasers, sudokus and puzzles for an unusually peeved Norman to kill his boredom.

And in the end, a three-year-old Phil said he saw "a ghost upstairs". Emma, freaking out, insisted that he and Norman check it out, only to find the attic mostly empty. And as Phil was brought up (unwillingly) he'd pointed to the tiniest shadow behind a tilted cupboard and said, "Behind."

Emma'd snuck under the hole in the cupboard and found all the missing things on the other side.

When it came to who did it, Phil solved that for them too-he'd simply pointed at Lanni and Thoma and said, "They came from upstairs first."

He sighs.

"I always look like this, Phil."

"Yeah, but today, you look extra tired. Did you sleep well? You look sick..."

The red flowers from his nightmares impale him all throughout his body, drawing blood everywhere. Everywhere.

Ah, I know this feeling. It's guilt. 

"Thanks, Phil. It's fine, really."

His bleeding hands reach out to pat the boy on his head, weeping for all the sacrifices he has made. His hands move on their own, into the drawer and take out the camera he was going to use for the last time. "Stand still, Phil. I'm just gonna try this out, 'kay?"

___________________________November 2, 2045, 3:05 p.m.__________________________

"I've told her about the herbicide."

"Good," Norman smiled. "At least she'll have something to look out for rather than us inspecting the area. But there's no guarantee that she won't be suspicious."

"Yeah, this is Mama after all," came Emma's reply as she fiddled with the rope, her brows drawn into a frown. "And there's Sister Krone as well..."

"I'll try to trap both of them."

"Ray?" Norman frowned.

"You guys said that she wants to take over as the new 'Mama' of the farm, right?" he asked.

"It's despicable," Emma snarled.

"I bet she's already taken the 'bait' under my desk; she'll be too caught up with it. And it would be plausible that she would be the other 'planned victim' as well, wouldn't she?"

"Wait, so you-" Norman interjected.

"Yeah. I'll tell Mama that you're supposedly targeting both her and Sister Krone, and lure her into both her own room and Sister's room to investigate. I already hid some chemicals there before breakfast."

"That's a great idea! It'll also buy us more time."

"So after the tests, during our free time?"

"Yeah."

Mama is, as always, easily convinced when it comes to what he says. She knows how he sold out his two best friends and continued to leak their plans to her, after all. Wordlessly, she smiles, nods and follows him up the stairs. He hoped Sister was done doing laundry outside; he couldn't see her anywhere.

However, as time passes, Ray notices how quiet it is. Glimpsing out of a window, he sees Don and Gilda, pacing around on the meadow and talking with their siblings....somewhat relaxed, but still expectant.

Relaxed, huh? So that means Sister Krone is somewhere inside.

"It's also Norman's plan to try and suppress Sister somehow, but he hasn't told me or Emma yet. He said he's had yet to figure it out," he lies (he almost always lies around her), looking pointedly at Isabella.

Her smile widens and quirks. "Oh, has he? So he's targeting both adults. That's very reasonable...and expected of him."

"Really?" Ray tries to make some conversation, stalling her as much as he can. "He still can't even open a pickle jar."

Isabella returns his smirk, a predatory glint in her eyes.

"Logical people are the most dangerous, Ray. Like you; I'm talking about all the times you helped me."

"I'm going to die when I turn twelve," he replies dryly. "I'd like to see the world at least a little bit while I still can."

Minutes pass in silence as they walk; the boy hopes that Emma and Norman have already reached and hopefully scaled the wall. He just has to keep stalling Mom until they get to her room; right now, they're passing by Sister's room, and the door is ajar. There is no light within. 

Ray stops dead in his tracks.

That's strange.

Sister Krone was, in many ways, Mama's polar opposite. While Mama was more gentle, firm and elegant, Sister was boisterous, lively, and bold. If she was inside, then there would always be the sound of children laughing or her laughing and the rhythm of loud, clanging footsteps. Instead, now, there was complete silence.

If she wasn't outside or inside, then where was she?

"I got rid of her," Isabella's lilting voice resounds behind him, as sharp as a warning bell; her footsteps scream pain and agony and death. "I got rid of Sister Krone."

And then Ray is running, bolting, tripping on wood tiles as he hurls the door open, revealing the room to be as bleak and empty as when they first cleared it up for her. The curtains sway against the pale window frames like ghosts, and the sheets on the bed are turned up, revealing a jaded mattress. The room is screaming in his ears like a demon's voice, and a faraway scratching sound (an insect?) becomes an earsplitting roar-

Isabella gently grasps his shoulders, and he looks back, panicked, dark slate meeting calm lilac. "I didn't need her anymore."

So that means-

"I don't need you anymore either. Our deal is over; here and now."

She holds the tracker out in her palm, but her attention is fully on Ray, the sheer anxiety in his eyes. "T-that's a lie!" he nearly yells, his pearly grey eyes now unfocused. "You need me! To control Emma, Norman and everyone else like you want, don't you?! To make sure of your own safety, like I'm doing now? What did I even do?! I didn't step out of line, just like you wanted!"

"It's true," Isabella folds her arms behind her back. "This is an unfair dismissal on my part. There's nothing wrong you have done, Ray." Suddenly, she stares into his soul and grins, fangs bared. "...Even if you're a liar and a traitor."

Her son steps back, shaken tremendously, and she sighs. "You were a useful lapdog, Ray. But now, the situation has changed. You cannot control them for me. From now on, I'll control them on my own."

Ray sees a flash of black and white surround his vision, and his mother's hands around his neck. Her eyes really do look similar to his up close. "I'm sorry, Ray. Please....forgive me for what I am about to do."

_____________________________November 2, 2045, 4:45 p.m.______________________________

If he could, Ray would compare his emotions to the door he had kicked down earlier.

All his life, he had been working, preparing, manipulating everything behind the scenes, the secrets he held bound tight like smooth, polished hardwood. And now, all the events that had transpired and crashed onto his damn skull were threatening to break him down any moment; the erratic, violent pulsing of his heart hammering his ribs didn't help at all.

"Don't worry, Norman," he hisses, rubbing a thumb over his split knuckles. His shoulder still aches-but that's not important, you have to save Norman, he screams internally. No matter what the cost. 

He reluctantly enters the room to see her examining the rope they'd made, twirling the braided linen between her fingers; the bandages she used earlier on Emma's leg sitting on a nearby shelf. The ambience of the room-how warm the atmosphere is, the warm smile Mama carries, the gentle sunset orange light of the lamps-gives him a sense of false serenity.

Her eyes narrow amusedly on seeing him. "Finally figured it out, dear?"

He ignores the endearment. "You said there were no regular shipments this month. By that, you meant Norman, didn't you? With brains like his, you would normally ship him out when he turned twelve," Ray enunciates carefully, pulling up a chair and facing her dead-on. "That's why you cut me off. It was going exactly against our deal."

"That's right," she replies crisply, her smile softening. Half her face shines, bathed in orange light. "If I remember correctly, your main demand was to let Emma and Norman live on to maturity, without any inconveniences. And now, this was...unexpected, to say the least. I too would have preferred shipping them out maturely. In fact, me telling you this is the product of special circumstances."

It takes the raven-haired boy a moment to figure it out. "So it wasn't your plan at all, was it? It was orders...from 'above', right? From the demons?"

"Precisely. I believe they are getting impatient as of late."

"Impatient?"

"As you can guess from my statement, none of the other farms were able to harvest or produce such premium quality goods, including the other four Grace Field plants. Which obviously leaves you three from my plant."

Agrobiology and Culture, page ninety-seven. 'If the ripening of stock is delayed, it is not uncommon to harvest the most beneficial variety of stocks earlier than the proposed time to suit national demand....'

"For what exactly do the demons need premium quality goods so urgently?"

"A festival."

Ray imagines throngs of monsters dancing around a fire, the corpse of a child-Norman, he chokes-tied around a spit; he's desperately hoping that's not how it's supposed to go. "A festival?! You've got to be-"

"More specifically, an offering," Isabella continues, unfazed by his outburst. "The demons, too, have a system of governance, namely a monarchy. However, there is a being greater even than the ruler of the demons, almost like a god. They call him the Demon King, or just 'Him'."

She looks Ray in the eye again, her smile disappearing at last. 

"The ruler of the demons demands a premium-quality cattle child every year for this festival, as an offering to the Demon King."

So, in the end, Norman's going to be demon food, no matter what I do? Like hell! Ray declares. He saw how torn and scared his best friend was upon learning of his shipment. And even Emma, for the first time, looked like she had lost all hope. He would not let any of them die or feel miserable. He wouldn't be able to stand it if any of them died-especially if Norman wanted to live-and Emma, who was like a light in this pitch black void, wanted them all to live.

If anyone-anyone deserved to live, it was them. They were the hope all the cattle children in the world needed, the motivation to fight back against the demons. They were the beacons needed. And the tiny, imaginative part of him knows that they woul-no, will change the world.

He needed to save them, and he had one final trump card.

"Mama," he says, his breath coming out shakily for the first time when he was talking to her.

"I want to make a deal again."

 _______________________________November 2, 2045, 8:45 p.m._____________________________

"It's strange," Ray points out. His figure casts lengthy shadows on the infirmary's tiles.

"What?"

"Usually, when one of us is going to get shipped out, Mama usually tells all the orphans that they're getting 'adopted' the night before."

"Yeah, you're right," Norman says, as Emma's eyes widen in realisation. "She hasn't said anything of the sort yet."

He inwardly sighs in relief when Ray says that, as if a tiny, immature, selfish part of him still wanted to choose Emma and Ray's option. However, no matter how easy they made it sound, it was unlikely for them to actually succeed. Mama was just too smart. "It could be a trap."

"Yeah," the other boy replies cautiously. "She could announce it any time-even tomorrow morning-and ship you out on that night. Which is why you have to disappear before she can make a move."

"Yeah. Got it." I got it, but it doesn't necessarily mean I'll let my guard down or be selfish again.

"Do you really get it, Norman?" Ray snarls, glaring at him. Emma looks up at him pleadingly. "Don't just wave it off like that. We won't let you die!"

"Don and Gilda are almost done with the new rope. Just trust us on this. Alright?"

"I know, but I can't help it if one of you gets shipped out instead of me," the pale-haired boy answers, his brows furrowed. "Which I don't want." 

"I'll get my arm ready, just in case."

"Ray, you are absolutely not doing that."

"It's better than you getting shipped out," Emma says, closing her eyes painfully, trying to get used to the cast on her leg.

"Emma's right. And about what I said...about it being better if you and Emma died here instead of outside, I...," he clenches his fists, "I'm sorry. I'm not...going to say anything about it anymore, Norman. About taking everyone. Even if I still did, it's not like you guys would listen to me anyway."

The girl's eyes well up and she nods, leaning back to lie on the bed. "We won't, Ray."

Norman stares at him as if he's grown a second head, sky blue eyes shimmering as if a giant weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Ray....agreed? He said he's okay with everyone coming? That's.....we won't have to trick him anymore...

"Ray..."

"Just survive, please. We'll hide you in the forest forever if we must," he answers curtly, turning to leave.

"I can't guarantee that," Norman replies softly to himself. Nobody can. He also inwardly scolds himself for forgetting to ask Ray how exactly he found out the truth of the House. Another time, then. Preferably before I get shipped out.

Both he and Emma miss how Ray's lips curl into a crooked smirk.

_____________________________November 3, 2045, 7:02 a.m._____________________________

Emma's panicked when they revisit the infirmary the next day.

"The device is gone!" she exclaims, desperate. "Now how will Norman hide in the forest?!"

"Wasn't it in your pillowcase?" Ray grabs her shoulders, looking into her eyes. She shrinks in his arms, trembling. "How in the world did anybody find it and take it without you noticing?!"

"It's just a hunch....but I think Mama took it. No one else could have," she silently answers.

"Maybe Mama was listening in while we were discussing about it yesterday," Norman grits his teeth. "Or she found it and deduced its purpose. She can be that smart." He takes a deep breath. "You guys...she's going to completely control us no matter what we do. I think it's best if I get sh-"

"Just shut up!" Ray kicks a nearby bed in frustration and sits on Emma's cot, clawing at his hair. "What the hell was I working for these past six years?! You are not dying, Norman! Neither of you are going. To. Die! I'll-"

He stops himself in time. 

"I'll find a way...."

Emma covers both her hands with her mouth and holds back a sob; after a moment, she shakes her head as if to dislodge a fly, sits up, leans on Ray's shoulder and wraps her arms around him, stroking his hair. "You're not alone, Ray. You don't have to be alone anymore. It hurts, but there's a way out. We'll find it together." she whispers, as they both look at Norman, his eyes moist.

"Both of us," she continues, pulling Norman into the hug. "We'll make sure you live, Norman! We'll all escape from here!"

Yeah, except not all of us will escape, Ray thinks dully, burying his face into Emma's shoulder and holding Norman's. It's almost time. 

"Speaking of which, I think I've got another plan in mind."

The test goes smoothly as usual, all three of them getting perfect scores again, and after that, is their free time. When Norman's supposed to disappear.

"Listen," Ray offered. "It's been a full day, and Mama still hasn't officially announced Norman's shipment. And she's had multiple opportunities so far."

"Yeah. The deadline was today, after breakfast, but we can't be sure. Didn't Mama say that this was a result of 'special circumstances'?" Norman thought out loud, putting his hands together. "...Which was why she cut you off?"

"Yeah."

"If it really is a 'special' scenario, then we can't assume anything, and expect the worst at any time. Mama could announce Norman's shipment any time she wants, even if it is at the last possible moment, right?" Emma concluded, her forehead creased in deep thought, eyes rimmed with seriousness.

"Exactly," Ray nodded. "Which is why we have to carry out this plan as soon as possible. At the very least, we have to see what's on the other side of the wall."

"Mama doesn't know about the new rope, and I'll go alone, since Emma can't run or climb. But the most problematic thing is her eyes and the tracker."

"I'm thinking about trying to distract her again," Ray admitted. "I've got something in mind."

"Are you sure, Ray?" Norman interjected. "Especially after she locked you up in Sister Krone's room?"

"She doesn't have to trust me," he reassured, "I'm thinking of making up some information that can throw her off guard for at least ten to fifteen minutes. The rest is up to you guys."

However, they were far from convinced. Ray pinched the space between his eyebrows.

"One of the tracker's main weaknesses is that it, first and foremost, shows all the signals in Mama's immediate vicinity. Only if she manually extends the range of the device, it'll show all the signals. Yesterday, when I failed to distract her, I caught her doing something to the tracker before she was able to deduce where you and Emma were."

"So you'll take her as far away as you can from the forest?" Norman realised.

"I'll keep her inside the building, as much as I can, and divert her from looking at the tracker. Like before, Don and Gilda too can keep watch around the border of the forest. And if something does go wrong, I'll even try to lock her in a room as a last-ditch effort."

"That's actually a good enough plan.."

"Along with that, you can try to indirectly inquire about the tracker breaking device that she took, too," Emma added. "That way, we can also get it back. And after Norman inspects the area, if Mama announces the shipment, I can do the surgical procedure to remove his tracker if you don't get the device back somehow."

"And please don't get any more of your bones broken," Norman sighed, his eyes welling up. "Emma. Ray. I....want to live. But I...I-" his voice cracked. "Thank you for doing all this for me."

"That's what family's for, right?"

"Just follow the plan first, you idiot."

Ray walks into the currently empty library, very aware of the tall, foreboding shadow that was following him. However, he doesn't feel uneasy. For whatever reason, the library felt like a safe haven to him; it felt like the books in the shelves had seen all the hard work he'd done over the years, and were practically old friends to him at this point. Sure, he never really was interested in reading in the first place, but their presence was comforting; the crisp feel of the yellowed pages and the vibrancy of the various book covers gave him a sense of peace.

"So, any recent news I need to know?" he takes a seat at the table and drawls lazily, flipping an old fantasy novel, Eragon, open, the cover embellished with royal blue and its pages memorised a long time ago. It's one of his favourite books.

"They're deciding," Isabella's voice accompanies light, crisp footsteps. "Headquarters was taken by surprise, I admit. And....it also makes sense with everything that's happened."

"And now they want proof, don't they?" He flips another yellowed page, the sound dragging on his fingernails. "In these special circumstances?"

"Yes. Recorded proof, of course," she smiles, opening the tracker.

Ray's heart stops. Shitshitshitshitshit, what if she saw Norman-

But instead, she says nothing, tapping and swiping on the screen of the tracker, revealing a split screen on it: one half was black with a sound icon and three digital buttons labeled 'Start', 'Pause' and 'Stop'; the other was a camera; more specifically, a video camera.

"That's....a recorder too?" he says, trying his level best to sound cynical and calm his rough heartbeat.

"Among many things, Ray."

"I've never seen that kind of technology before."

She sits beside him, taking the book from his hands. "Only the best for my premium quality children."

She presses the Start button.

_______________________________November 3, 2045, 8:06 p.m._________________________________

Dinner goes rather smoothly, or so Ray feels. Uneventfully. However, his paranoia is sharp and unforgiving, scrutinising every sound the stray movement of metal cutlery against porcelain makes; the small, gnarled part of him even goes so far as to look for omens.

Four years ago, when it was Susan's turn to go, the dinner table and plates had been set perfectly, but when they were eating, Susan accidentally dropped her knife onto the plate, and since it'd been made of metal, the porcelain plate had broken, the red curry they'd been eating leaking out from the cracks. Red. Plates. Knives. They were all screaming at him. He hadn't slept that night.

Emma and Norman make small talk beside him and occasionally smile, but if he looks under the table, Emma's feet are on her toes and restless, her other hand fisted tightly on her lap. He knows how she feels; it makes the urge to comfort her even more unbearable.

The other half of his focus is on his mother.

She looks around the plates of the other children, making sure they're all finishing their food and that nothing was wrong overall. He also notices how she pointedly skips them and Don and Gilda, still smiling as if nothing was wrong.

For one agonising moment, her eyes meet his and she nods a bit, her shoes tapping on the floor as she walks over to the four-year-olds. 

Wait, he thinks, brain going into overdrive. Does this mean that it's official? Did they receive the evidence? Is Norman going to be s-

"Ray?"

"Ray?!"

"Ray!"

He jumps to attention to see both his best friends staring at him. "W-what? Did you say something?"

"Are you okay?" Emma asks, her hand on his. He pulls it out of her grasp immediately. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why are you asking?"

"You zoned out," Norman says, narrowing his eyes. "Like, just staring at your plate. It was a bit creepy."

"Just thinking..." he mumbled, defensive.

"About the...." Emma gestured with her hands, as if to say, You know, the escape?

"Yeah," he lies, but makes sure to mix in a little truth. "And I can't help but be on edge. About what could happen."

"Me too," she mumbles. "If she does make a move, though, the plan is in place. Did you inspect the area properly?"

Norman nods, grim. "Yeah. You guys will have to know what's on the other side of the wall."

"Right," he and Emma say in unison.

_____________________________November 5, 2045, 6:53 p.m.__________________________

"Any ideas on how to cross the bridge yet?"

"Yes and no. I doubt it will be completely free of any trouble; actually, it would be the most risky option, considering that there's only one and it's the only entrance and exit used by the caretakers of the other plants and the demons."

Ray watches listlessly as Norman connects the dots in his mind. Sometimes, he admits, he's jealous.

His best friend had the brains of a prodigy. He was born with it, and therefore, he was a natural genius at almost anything he did, including finding solutions to any problem that they encountered. When they'd used to break apart clocks and toy robots, Norman could deduce what each part's functions, locations, and purposes were at a mere glance. With Ray's brain, he just had to remember.

Even that wasn't all that easy for a brain like his, capable of immense recall. It required dedication and sharp focus for particularly exhausting volumes.

Adding the fact that increased memories clogged his mind more with every bit of information stored, it was just plain inconvenient. He wanted a relaxed, open mind that was easily capable of adaptation and quick learning like Emma's, or one that was naturally extremely analytical, refined and divergent, like Norman's.

But wishing was hopeless, and even so, his mind had come into use in more ways than one.

"So we obviously can't go from the bridge."

"Yeah. Perhaps across the cliff...."

"Are you crazy?" Ray hisses. "Do you really think that small children will be able to make it across? Or babies, for that matter?!"

"That's something I'd like to ask you, Ray," Norman narrows his eyes. "About taking everyone."

"I told you," the other boy mutters tiredly. "Even if I did say something, it's not like you'll-"

"But you'll still act on it, won't you?"

This time, Norman's staring into his soul, threatening him. "That time...the time you told me that, was your word a lie?"

In response, Ray's eyes narrow and he stands his ground, refusing to answer; he knows what Norman's reply would be. Because this side of Norman is surprisingly easy to predict, being the same way he operates himself. Logical people are the most dangerous, Ray. 

"You do realise that what you perceive as the best option may be the worst one, don't you?" Norman asks smoothly, dangerously.

"I've been told," he smirks, as Emma's face comes to mind.

He wishes she was here right now-this scenario reminds him too much of the time his cover as a traitor was blown by the very same person standing before him; Norman's sapphire eyes, normally aglow with a soft shine, glint like liquid steel. But-on second thought-Emma would be way scarier.

"I want you to tell me what you've been doing, Ray, to delay my shipment for the past two days."

Ah, so he's finally caught on.

"So you want to die? How pragmatic, Norman."

"It's better than no one escaping," he retaliates, clenching his fist. "Even if it meant that I wouldn't get shipped out, you didn't have to fully leak the escape plan to Mama in exchange! Am I right?"

"That's right, I didn't have to," Ray agrees, his tone snarky. 

"Which is why the new rope is suddenly missing from the bathroom," Norman hisses.

"I guess she found out again? How troublesome." 

"Just answer the question, Ray!" Norman nearly snarls. "I thought Mama cut you off."

"She did," he replies nonchalantly. "But then I realised I was missing a valuable opportunity to learn about these special circumstances in order to find a way to delay your shipment. So I just returned myself," Ray answers; he finds that he's way too good at this.

Norman blanches. "You were always a spy, weren't you? Mama's sheepdog."

"Take it any way you want, honestly," Ray smiles too innocently, leaning his face on his hands. "I thought you'd be glad that you're not going to die anytime soon. I know that you want to live, and so does Emma. Oh, and about Emma: If you walk to your death, it would scar her for life."

"But that's just how it is, Ray. She's Emma. She'll recover. She's strong."

Ray taps his chin, gawking in mock surprise.

"Do you really think she's strong enough, Norman? The way I saw it, you were sugarcoating everything you said to her about bringing everyone. You wanted to tell her on your own terms that I was the traitor, and still refuse to tell her the cold, hard truth, because you think she can't handle it. And now you're just going to die on her, believing she'll be okay?"

"And what about you, Ray? Using every dirty trick in those books you're always reading to achieve your goals isn't morally green either!" Norman finally snaps. "Especially when it could be the worst option in the long run! You make plans without any of our knowledge and consent, execute them while not caring about the results, and give up if it fails. We're both similar. Both hypocrites. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Ray replies sarcastically. "One thing's clear. Whether you still trust me-or even still want to bring me along for the escape-is entirely up to you. However, I can't tell you anything, I'm afraid. All you should know is that I'm keeping you and Emma alive, and that's it."

He stands and trudges away, registering the blatant shock on Norman's face.

"One more thing," Norman asks; Ray slows down a bit.

"The device you made."

He stops at the doorway, but doesn't turn.

"Were you the one who took it from Emma's pillow?"

He looks back for a brief second and Norman thinks he sees tears.

"I guess I was."

_______________________________November 6, 2045, 5:30 p.m._______________________________

The day had started as normally as any other.

Emma's less melancholic, he notices, as she makes a lopsided effort to follow Phil and Sherry on her crutches, playfully threatening to throw them away and hop on one foot to catch them. It reminds him of her younger, happier self. 

The time he'd slid his fingers under her pillow that night to take away the device, he'd heard her sniffling and murmuring Norman's name in her sleep, curled up so vulnerably in the foetal position.

(It reminded him of the time when Norman was sick and she'd had her first nightmare when they were seven years old and she'd come to his bed in the middle of the night, eyes puffy and red, her nose stuffy and her mouth in a strained smile, whispering "Let's have a sleepover, Ray!" before she emotionally gave out and cried herself to sleep against his chest. It was genuinely heartbreaking, and even more so when he knew the nightmares would might as well become true after another five years.) 

One moment, Ray had hesitated, before taking away the tiny mechanical box and shoving it into his pocket. The next, he'd bent down and embraced her softly, tucking her into the blankets, a whispered "I'm so sorry, Emma" against her hair.

He remembers perfectly what it was like to find out the truth of the House. Seeing it slowly chipping away at Emma and Norman broke him just a little more.

Norman looks at him differently now, the bright blue orbs creased with suspicion when they meet his grey ones, no doubt from their discussion the previous night. Ray wonders if he'll ever have the heart to tell Emma about this predicament-this isn't like before.

He chuckles inwardly; he can't just go up to her and say "Hey Emma, I've been secretly cooperating with Mama again and trying to pull some strings here and there so that Norman won't get shipped out-including snitching about our escape plan that you guys spent a month working on."

Telling Norman was simple enough-he was too mature for his own good, and for some reason, he'd found it easier to manipulate Norman.

But Emma? She would lose all faith in him, if that were possible. Ray didn't want that. Because he loved her too.

Probably not in the same way that Norman did, but Ray loved Emma-selfishly so, and enough to want her to keep her warmth and gentleness around him. He wanted her to look at him, acknowledge him as her best friend and not as a filthy traitor, as someone who she could trust and talk to. In that aspect, he'd already lost Norman, and it hurt. It hurt so goddamn much.

"The children are calling for you in the library," Isabella smiles, as he looks up from his book, the last one in the whole library that he was about to finish reading. It shocks him a bit that he'd finally achieved his goal of reading every single book in Grace Field House. "They need help in finding a particular book." 

"Alright," he stands and dusts off his pants. "I was going to go there anyway."

As he walks off, he catches sight of Emma and Norman sitting together under the tree in the distance, Don determinedly playing tag with Nat, Anna and Thoma, and Gilda staring worriedly at him. He waves off her concerns with a nod and wonders if Emma knows of his final betrayal.

In the library, Lanni, Alicia and Chris ask him for books about rockets and science experiments, which he quickly takes out from the shelves, waiting for them to leave. The moment they do, he opens the page of the book where Mama had dropped a folded, crinkled piece of paper when she sent him to the library.

With shaking hands, he opens it.

It's been decided. 07112045.

_____________________________November 6, 2045, 7:05 pm._______________________________

Ray's heart seems to beat a mile a minute; he thinks that he nearly would have broken a plate with how unsteady his hands are. 

It hurts.

Emma and Norman haven't talked to him since he came back from the library.

It hurts.

He puts Chris down next to his seat and grabs another set of plates from Don, setting down the napkins and tablecloths as well. He doesn't see Mama yet; he turns abruptly to see Gilda walk in instead. Even his brain is fooling him now.

It'll stop after a while.

His hands finally go still enough to bring in the food from the kitchen, placing the full plates on the table.

Mama will be here any moment now.

Emma and Norman, in a quiet conversation, walk toward their spot at the dining table; the former looks at him sadly for one second. 

Where's Mama?

"Let's go eat, Ray!" Alicia tugs on his trousers, a wide grin on her face.

"Alicia? About that-"

"Ray."

He's telling his heart to slow down, goddammit, it isn't-

Mama is right behind him, holding his shoulder and smiling; she glances at his best friends for a split second, her gaze lingering on Norman. "It's time."

With his throat clogged, he nods, his legs shaking violently as she holds him and gently pushes him to the front of the dining hall. Ray can feel dozens of eyes on him, and the place goes absolutely silent. His mouth goes dry, and he tries his level best to keep his face even.

"I've got good news, everyone. Ray is getting adopted into a new family. It's a bit sudden, but he's leaving tomorrow night."

Chaos.

The room is absolute chaos, and Ray fixes his eyes on the voices and giggles of the smaller children rather than Emma, Norman, Don and Gilda. Phrases like "Aww, nooo, too soon!" and "Congratulations!" and "We'll miss you!" ring into his mind, and he leans down and hugs and pats the kids, ruffling tidy mops of hair and silently laughing at the cheeky grins that they give him. They don't know, so smile. "Thanks, you guys. I'll....miss you too."

The date has been finalised. He's going to die.

One look at his friends' faces easily confirms it.

Dinner is too silent; Emma and Norman don't talk to him at all, save for Emma's whispered "Ray?" that he was certain was actually a sob, before abruptly stopping herself and shovelling more food into her mouth, tears threatening to spill. He'd be lying to himself if he admitted that he wasn't expecting it.

He's such a disappointment to his friends. 

Finishing dinner before everybody else (it's not like he has the stomach for it anyway), he immediately finishes washing his plate and cleaning up before bolting upstairs. He finds himself in Sister Krone's empty room moments later.

The bed is, right now, a wooden framework of boards, but Ray lies down on it anyway.

He can't. He can't bring himself to even look at Emma or Norman anymore. He'll just stay here in this room till tomorrow night until he gets shipped out, get a last glimpse of their faces, and leave. His throat hurts; luckily, it's not like he wanted to speak. They must have been so disappointed in him: he snitched about their escape plan, and got himself to replace Norman-the opposite of what both of them wanted. 

The trouble was that he had no problem with dying-he'd planned to die since the beginning. If he was brutally honest he'd say that he wanted to die. It was the only way to atone for all the siblings he'd watched walking to their deaths all his life. He was also scared of the pain of dying, but that was normal enough and he could get over it. He was just plagued by his friends' faces, by the shock and horror they had etched into their features.

This wasn't the last stand he'd make; he'd been preparing other things to assist them after he was gone. Hopefully they all would escape. 

He just never wanted to hurt them like this. 

It seems like an eternity has passed before the door opens again, revealing the two people he wanted to see the most and the least. For a while, they just stand there, looking down at the mess of the person he is, before a pair of arms pull him up and embrace him. He'd expected it. They care far too much for someone like me.

"Why, Ray?"

He's never heard Norman's voice break like that. His best friend holds him so tightly he might bruise. "Why didn't you tell us?!"

"Isn't it obvious?" he manages to get out. His voice sounds so small, his body useful for nothing but as food, limp as a rag doll. 

"Stupid Ray," Norman half sobs, burying his face into his shoulder. "I thought I was the one who was going to die."

"Nobody's dying!"

Emma, who looks like she's about to break, palpable despair in her eyes, drags her crutches heavily on the floor. "Ray, hide in the forest tomorrow. I'll distract Mama. Do whatever you want in the forest, but you don't have to die. We promised we'd escape together, Ray! So you don't have to die, you'll be okay, you won't die-"

She continues to ramble until the boy in question shuts her up by getting up and playfully bonking her on the head. "Emma. It's okay. I'll be okay."

"You won't be okay!" she shakes her head vigorously, leaning on his chest. He can feel her tears soaking his shirt.

"I will."

He holds Emma by the shoulders, one hand tracing the outline of her cheek like Mama used to, and looks into her eyes, where green marbles with a soft sunny yellow and a bit of lime; they're unfocused and watery as she lifts one hand to hold him, one of her crutches clattering to the ground. "If it's one time I'll be okay, it's tomorrow, when I'll be shipped out."

Norman, who's been in deep thought, turns his eyes on the floor, mouth open like he'd wanted to say something, but he quickly closes it. Emma, on the other hand, gets even more confused. "Why...?"

Ray wants to start the conversation, but doesn't know how, so he thinks. Racks his brain.

"It's a disease."

Two pairs of eyes stare at him. "What?"

"Hyperthymesia. It's an extremely rare condition in which a person has near-flawless memory. It's how I found out the truth."

"Ray, you mean...you don't..," Emma whispers, her grip on his shirt tightening.

"I have memories from when I was a foetus. They're more...fragmented than the ones I have now, but very detailed."

Norman's mouth falls open, and Ray takes momentary pride in being able to surprise him. He continues.

"The first memory I have is being in a warm, dark liquid, and the sound of my mother's voice. However, I...never knew who my mother was. Before the orphanage, we were raised by other caretakers and demons as well, all in the same place. After a year, we were divided into groups of five, injected with the tracking device and given our numbers. I remember another adult giving me to Mama as a baby. However..."

He pauses. Emma and Norman are listening in rapt attention. 

"I didn't figure it out right away. At first, there were....inconsistencies between the present and my memories, which left me confused. But after I learnt to read three years later, it all began to make sense. On my sixth birthday, I checked with Mama and she was shocked for a moment. It made me confident it was true. And that's when I made the deal with her. You know the rest."

Ray considers himself a person who does things first and feels consequences later. This is no exception-the weight of his words comes crashing down on him not moments later, along with a painful relief, but his tongue won't stop talking, even when both of his friends are at a complete loss for words.

"This is a good way to go," he continues. "This is the best way. I've watched my family die all these years. I used them. And they were all good kids.....they were all kind-hearted."

He thinks of Conny, Olivia, Susan, Cedi, Hao, Michelle, Robert... 

"Listen. I made a deal with Mama again. Headquarters desperately needed a premium-quality cattle child, one who was preferably a top scorer. Their first choice was Norman, because he's always gotten 300. Emma and I had gotten at least 290 or less once or twice, so our averages were marginally lesser than Norman's, which made him the first choice."

"Until they learned about your memory," Norman mumbles in defeat.

"I admit it. All the times I was 'distracting' Mama were the times in which I was giving her more evidence about me to give to Headquarters. And they complied."

Emma buries her face into his shirt again. He could tell that she was trying to come up with something to tell him to stop him, but was falling short. He doesn't blame her. "They cannot take back this shipment. This is actually an extremely twisted version of already special circumstances, and if I were one of them, I'd want to keep it as simple as possible.."

"You're not..!"

"Emma, please.."

"You're not a monster, Ra-"

"Then why don't you tell that to all our siblings I could've saved, but chose not to?!" he snaps, immediately regretting it. "It's not like they deserved to die, and I just watched! Watched and lied to them and tricked them! And did nothing as they all walked out to become food!"

He's too tired. Too tired and heartsick to cry, so he simply leans his head on Emma's shoulder instead, watching Norman's tears fall. "I'm just like Mama. Don't you..." his voice breaks, "..Don't you dare say anything about it."

He doesn't know whether to be heartbroken or relieved by the fact that they actually don't.

_______________________________November 7, 2045, 3:30 p.m.______________________________

It was Lanni and Thoma who'd woken him up.

"Mornin', Ray!" the latter crowed, pulling his hair, as the other completed his sentence. "It's your last day, so you'll have to spend the whole day playing with us instead of reading under the tree!"

Contrary to the tone of their voices, their faces looked the tiniest bit sad, and as Ray sat up he had seen a crowd around his bed: Emma, Norman, Don, Gilda, Anna, Nat, Chris, Phil and Alicia were all gathered around him, smiling tenderly, but with a tiny streak of sadness in their eyes.

For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick, and wanted to be honest with them and say that he'd slept at 3 am in the night and he was sleepier than he needed to be, but seeing Emma and Norman's faces, he'd relented, thinking about how he owed them this once.

Nobody had said anything, and Ray realised that they must've attributed his silence to confusion; he forced himself to stand up and nod, smiling wanly. "Okay."

"You're it, Ray!" Nat smirks.

"Wow, I actually don't know whether to be scared or pumped up," Don admits. "You've never played tag with us...well, other than the time Sister made you play."

"It's true," Gilda asserts, adjusting her glasses. "But we can't forget that you and Norman were the only ones left at the end, so we'll be ready with a strategy this time."

Emma feels a pang in her chest. The first time Ray was going to play tag with them for real was the last time he'd ever play with them in his life. She grits her teeth and forces herself to smile; she has to focus on the present. And on the fact that Ray is not going to die, no matter what. She can't allow it.

"Emma," Norman winces, looking at her. "Are you sure that you want to play too? With your leg like that?"

She grins-smiling comes easily around Norman. "I'm fine!" she chirps, but her voice is muted a little. "Plus, this is our last game with Ray. I want to be there too.."

Silence spreads throughout the children; even the smallest ones like Phil, Alicia and Chris have their faces twisted in upset pouts. Ray himself looks as impassive as ever, but Emma can easily see the pain in his eyes. She clears up the tension hastily.

"All right then, ten seconds!" she hollers, getting ready before hobbling into the forest, finally used to her crutches, the sounds of trampling feet around her and Ray's counting fade into the distance.

It takes a while before she finally stops, rubbing at her aching chest. Everything just felt sad to her now. Even the trees, which soothed her, had a certain melancholy intertwined into the soft baby leaves. 

"Emma. I...need to tell you something. It's about Ray."

"What?" she replied, curious, but something didn't feel right. Norman's smile was gone.

"You do want to bring him along for the escape, right?"

"Of course! What kind of question is that?" she answered, slightly sad. "We're all a family. And when I said that we'll all escape from here together, I meant every word."

"It was Ray who took the device from your pillow."

"What?"

She blanked out for a solid minute. "What...?" she repeated, not able to believe him. Ray had spent six years of his life making it. The very idea that he would steal it sounded absolutely ridiculous! "N-Norman, why-?!"

"It was to delay my shipment," he sagged, slumping next to her under the tree, their shoulders touching. "He's fully revealed the escape plan to Mama. The new rope's gone too."

"Wait..," she murmured. She wanted to deny what Norman had said, but logic forced her to face the facts. He'd sacrificed one of their siblings for their sake, after all. It was perfectly like him to pull a stunt like that.

She quite literally felt it be driven into her heart like a doornail when she saw him talking to Mama in the distance.

Emma nearly shrieks when she feels a light tap on her shoulder. 

"Relax, it's me," Norman smiles, as she recovers from the shock. "Ray hasn't found us yet. Though, judging from how quiet it is, he's probably caught all the others."

"Already?!" she exclaims. Norman and Ray were both matched in intellect, but she didn't expect Ray to be this good.

"Yeah. It's like I told you before. My strengths are figuring out the worst case scenario and looking from the enemy's point of view. However, Ray's a better tactician in general and good at strategy and manipulation. Plus, he's faster than me."

"I just wish that he could play with us like this again, but-"

Emma claps her hands around her mouth, not wanting to upset Norman more or cry. "Hey, Norman..." she tries. "Is there really nothing we can do? We don't have any more rope, the device is gone, and the supplies aren't ready yet. Ray probably wants to live too. He's probably scared right now! We have to-"

"We can't stop Ray," Norman closes his eyes. He looks pained. "Because this was part of his plan too."

"Huh?" Emma can't believe that. He said himself that they would all escape. He said.....

"When I found out what he did yesterday, he told me that his main goal was to keep us alive. Keep me and you alive," Norman states as he points to himself and then to her, eyes downcast. "And looking even further back, when he revealed himself as Mama's spy, he told me it was 'so that the both of us wouldn't get killed'. Both of us. He never included himself in the equation."

He takes a deep breath, eyes glistening, and Emma wants to stop him from saying what she knows he's going to say.

"Ray...was planning to die from the beginning."

When they're both caught by Ray minutes later, neither of them hesitate to pounce on him, enveloping their friend in bear hugs. Norman doesn't even bother hiding his tears anymore, his shoulders shaking as his hands clench onto their clothes. "Just run away into the forest, Ray. Keep running. Don't let Mama catch you. You don't have to be shipped out-" he chokes out, head in his hands, giving up on speaking in desperation.

Ray keeps quiet, his bangs hiding his eyes, but his hands slowly cup both their faces and ruffle their hair playfully, before sinking down to the forest floor and leaning against a tree. Emma sits between his legs and leans her head on his chest, while Norman's trying not to cry into his shoulder, completely distraught. 

His hands make way to Emma's face and wipe away the wet tear tracks even before she realises that she's crying. It leaves her mortified, that she always has to rely on her two best friends to pick her up. It makes her sick that she can't make the right choices, to be so naïve that she can't see the heartstrings of what's going on, and now even Norman was left to despair. They're all a mess-

And then Ray begins to sing.

At first, the song is slow and a little sad, and it makes her cry even more than she already was. The rhythm, however, slowly blooms like a frigid flower after winter, slowly becoming more joyful and bittersweet as Ray's voice hums and sings the tune and comforts them, his arms shielding them from the world and from their fate. The melody is so beautiful and sweet that a few birds perch on the distance and listen intently.

He has a soft, deep, soulful voice, Emma thinks, as he puts his heart into this one song that warms theirs; he's spent his whole life for them. 

Is it a lullaby? Emma can see Norman drifting off against Ray's shoulder. He then pulls her into the crook of his neck and strokes her hair; she begins to feel safe and comforted, and her physically and mentally exhausted body gives out.

The last thing she sees is a cluster of three tiny white flowers on a bush. One is wilting.

_______________________________November 7, 2045, 8:05 p.m.______________________________

Ray stares at the hat; all he feels is...calm.

It's a straw hat, coloured a strangely satisfying off-white creamy colour, with a dark band around the borders. At first glance, it looks black, but it's actually a very dark, navy blue. He might say it reminds him of iris flowers. They're pretty.

The rest of his outfit is what he's seen countless times on his other siblings, adorning them as they walked to their deaths. It's a white formal shirt, an orange waistcoat, and a navy blue jacket, with dark red pants and a red tie. And now it's on him, the symbolic shroud.

He can't say he's been expecting it, much less welcoming it with open arms.

There's a knock on the door, and for a second he thinks it's Mama, but then a pair of familiar presences enter the room.

"Ray, are you really okay with this?!" Don's voice is but a harsh whisper.

He nods, feeling an odd smile creep onto his face. Norman really has rubbed off on him, hasn't he? "It's alright. It's what I deserve."

Gilda flinches strongly, eyes welling up. She can tell. She can tell that he's being absolutely honest with them-there's no pain, self-pity or even sadness in his face and voice. There's only a calm, yet powerful, acceptance. "Y-you could've escaped! We're sorry that we let the new rope get-"

"Oh, that. I apologise. I was the one who stole the rope in the first place," he admits airily, as Don finally looks him in the eyes, and the taller boy almost grabs at his shirt collar to shake some sense into him. "You-" he mumbles tearfully, controlling himself with a heavy effort and grabbing his shoulder instead. His hand is shaking. "You did it for Norman, didn't you? For us?!"

"Yeah." The reply is simple.

"You..you idiot!" Gilda finally nearly shrieks. "None of us hate you, Ray! We c-could never...!" she sniffles, hiding her face in her arms. "Even if you believe that you deserve to die, we don't! It's not like you could have done anything back then, you were only a child!"

"Yeah!" Don agrees, trying hard to hold back his tears. "And I don't think Conny or anyone else would have wanted this to happen to you!"

"I know," Ray replies softly. "She was caring and kind. They all were."

He knows what they're trying to say. It lightens his heart a bit, but he needs to think about the escape. Not about his imminent death. He's already set a few pawns in motion last night, away from Mama's watchful eyes. He just needed more chances. More reinforcements. More help. And he knows that the answers are standing right in front of him.

He can sense Mama's approaching footsteps. 

"Don. Gilda. You both don't need to always rely on others to succeed. Your scores are phenomenal. Oh, and please take care of Emma and Norman for me."

With that, he places the hat on his head, picks up his suitcase, and walks out the door, where Mama is waiting for him. "Take care, you guys."

He walks down the stairs slowly, every step feeling lighter and lighter as he continues to step forward. Isabella walks before him, her silhouette dimly lit in the lamplight of the hallway. She turns and looks at him for one moment as they approach the end, a searching gaze which he returns in kind.

Finding nothing, her eyes widen before she exhales, her body slumping a little. Her eyes look sad. "I just wanted to apologise to you, Ray," she says, holding his shoulder and walking toward the light at the end of the hall. For once, he doesn't mind her touch. "For what?" he asks, monotonous, looking up at her.

The situation truly is strange. Right in that moment, there is no hate, no resentment for her in his mind, and he wants to listen to what she wants to say. He leaves it to himself to decide later whether he'd finally found peace or gone insane.

"I could not give you a happy life, Ray, and the love the others experienced. For that, I am truly, and sincerely, sorry."

Ray feels like he's going to explode in that moment.

Then, as strangely as before, the grief recedes suddenly yet gently, like the ocean's tides described in books.

"Thank you, Mama," he replies. "It's okay."

He knows it's not her fault he was born like this.

"Take care, everyone. Phil, keep Lanni and Thoma in check. Lanni and Thoma, make sure that Phil doesn't have to keep you in check, he's only four. Chris, Alicia, I've left a few of your favourite books on the library table. Nat-"

He continues to give goodbyes to everyone in his own roundabout way, by trying to give them something else to focus on other than him. However, Emma, Norman, Don and Gilda simply stood at the back, watching quietly, tortured looks on their faces. He knew his strategy wouldn't affect them. Not yet, at least. 

After he's done with everyone else, he bites the bullet and stands up to face them. "You guys...take care of yourselves. I'll try to send you letters if I can, and don't make any trouble after I'm gone, okay?"

He's trying. He's trying to keep his cool, but the lump in his throat is threatening to consume him. Choking it down, he turns to Mama. "Yeah. That's all. Let's g-"

Emma lunges.

Somehow, everything seems to go in slow motion: one moment she's hugging him, the next she's whispering "Run. I'll distract Mama," then she lifts her leg to slam her injured foot on the ground, and in the same staggered movement, Ray simply bends down and catches her leg before it hits the floor.

They both end up on the floor.

"Emma-"

"NO!"

Her outburst makes everyone in the room except him and Isabella flinch.

"Emma."

"No, you can't go, I don't want you to d-go..."

"Emma. It's okay."

He pulls her close out of instinct. She buries her face into his shoulder as they both stand and Anna hands her the crutches. He knows how this feels. He's felt it countless times, so much that it wore and chipped away at him and left him a heartless, bled dry bag of meat and bones.

"Emma. I'm sorry I'm going, but you don't have to hurt yourself like this. Geez, you're getting even more reckless these days," he tries to joke halfheartedly, patting her head and tousling her hair, but Ray knows that she needs much more than that. He pulls her close, murmuring against her ear.

"Always have hope, Emma. Never lose hope."

She breathes out and hugs him tighter, as Norman joins them both, leaning on Ray's other shoulder. They stay like that for a minute or two before Ray steps back and smiles for them for one last time as he puts his hat back on his head. "Goodbye, everyone. Be happy. Take care."

Mama pulls his suitcase up and beckons him outside, and he feels oddly light after stepping onto the meadow.

"I'm proud of you," Isabella smiles softly. "You did everything you could to save your friend. And now I can ship Norman and Emma out when they turn twelve."

"They'll live full lives?"

"Of course. In full freedom and health."

The night is silent as they walk to the gate; the wind is unusually strong and nearly blows his hat off his head. 

"Your suitcase is unnaturally light," she comments amusedly. "Is it empty?"

"Not really. Anyway, it's not like I could use anything I took in the future."

"True. It was silly to ask."

The bars of the gate creak open; Ray can see the truck, the dark curtains.

"Hey, Mama."

He can see a mangled, monstrous foot step out from the shadows.

"What is it?"

There are three of them. One is tall, the others look more animalistic.

"You said you gave birth to me so you could survive."

One is holding a bouquet of white flowers. 

"Yes. I did."

There's a darker, ominous shadow at the back.

The demons' hands inch closer.

Closer.

CLOSER.

"Was I really worth it?"

"I could never regret having you, my son."

Darkness.

____________________________November 9, 2045, 8:01 p.m.___________________________

Emma slumps forward onto the infirmary bed.

Become a caretaker? A 'Mama'? She absolutely wouldn't!

It's not like Ray sacrificed his life for-

"Ray..." she sobs, grinding the heels of her hands into her eyes. No crying. No moping. Ray wouldn't have wanted her to give up or lose hope. He'd held the pain in for his whole life. Emma had to do this to honour his life and sacrifice. She couldn't let him die in vain. Not after all the suffering he had been through for them. 

She'd just wanted Ray to be happy. She didn't want him to suffer any more. And she'd failed.

I can't afford to fail now, she screams internally. The escape. Focus on the escape.

Norman said that he would handle the technical bits of the escape, like the timings, pathways and strategy. Emma was responsible for making Mama feel like they'd given up and fallen into complete despair after Ray's death. She needed to get it right. 

Think, she asserted. Mama's always watching us. What I have to do is..nothing. If I do nothing, then she'll think I've given up. I'll leave it to Don and Gilda to train the kids. And..and...

She kept trying to think, but she hit a brick wall. Her mind felt blocked. Think, Emma, think, come on, you can't-

In a fit of exasperation, she falls onto her pillow.

....And her head hits something hard.

At once, she reaches under her pillow and pulls out a hardback book; it's black and embossed with royal blue patterns. As she stares at the cover, she realises that it's an old notebook that nobody must've used, probably hidden in some nook of the library.

She opens the first page and nearly drops the book; one of her hands reaches to cover her mouth in case she'd made any noise. Tears threaten to fall from her eyes once more.

However, they're not from sadness.

To Emma.

First of all, I'm sorry about the whole incident with my deal with Mama and me getting shipped out. By the time you'll read this, I'll already be gone, but skip that.

This notebook is basically a miniature handbook of all the information I've collected throughout my life, including the information I got from being Mama's subordinate. I've also written down some of the things I've prepared personally for this escape for you and Norman to use.

There's also something very important for you to know, Emma: Mama doesn't plan to ship you out. She wants to recommend you to HQ and send you there to become a Mama after you turn 12, and I doubt she'll take your choice into account.

Since the next shipment (in January) was originally supposed to be me, there's a good chance that Norman or our other siblings will get shipped out instead. You have to escape before that time. Oh, and please tell him not to die. You don't have to be reckless, either.

About taking everyone, I'm still (partially) against it. It's very simple; they won't be able to survive out there.

For you to survive, you have to search for William Minerva or whatever his name was. I've gathered all of his books and sorted out which will and won't be necessary, but all the books are in one shelf of the library, so you and Norman can figure out which to take.

For the plan, turn to page 12.

For a special surprise, turn to the middle page.

Emma tries not to cry as she flips to the middle page first, and sees a page folded in like an envelope, and within it are photos. Photos that Ray must have taken himself, photos of her and Norman, of their siblings, of the night sky, of the clouds and trees and flowers. The tracker breaking device falls out too, with an attached note:

Stole this from Mama's room. Use it wisely.

She then turns to the 12th page, and her eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. And Emma reads.

Emma reads about hidden bottles of lighter fuel, Molotov cocktails, about secret stashes of food and clothes. She reads about a bait for Mama with fake rope and bunches of spare sheets already hidden inside Sister Krone's old room. She smiles. 

"Never lose hope."

I won't.

She flips to the last page of the plan.

I trust you. Become the spark that'll start the flame of revolution. Change the world, Emma, Norman.

-Ray.