Chapter Text
Twilight wakes up on a couch. Except it isn’t his couch.
He’s sitting bolt upright in a second, taking in his surroundings. The room is small, just big enough for the red couch and the odd thin screen across from him. The floor is coated in a plush red carpet, and there’s a generic picture hung on the wall like what you’d see in a hotel.
Concerningly, there are no visible doors or windows.
Clearly, he’s been captured by some sort of enemy. It’s not the first time.
Loid gets straight to work combing the room. He can’t sense any threats, which is both comforting and concerning. Comforting since he’s not in immediate danger, but concerning because it means he has one less way of gathering information.
And he has very few ways to find information. First, he checks for hidden vents- in case they wanted to poison him with something, but finds nothing. No visible cameras, or any real places to hide them. Nothing concerning the couch, even after he ripped into it.
He goes to check the light fixtures, but can’t find any lights, even though the room is clearly well-lit. It’s as if the light comes from nowhere.
The room is disconcerting, despite its plush couch, soft rug, warm colors, and clear attempts to lull him into a false sense of security. The energy inside it is simply… off.
He fully takes apart both the screen and the stand it rests on. The stand seems like a normal table, but the screen is even odder than he first realized. From the outside, it looks like a TV- just much thinner and flatter. But the inside is completely empty, devoid of any technology.
He begins tearing up the rug from the corner and rips it up from the edges of the whole room.
Nothing.
Starting to get frustrated, Loid turns to the wallpaper. Perhaps something is hiding behind there. He peels back the first layer, only to find an identical layer below. He pulls that back. And finds another layer of the same paper.
He rips layer after layer, getting more frantic by the second, and never making a dent in the seemingly endless wallpaper. With a frustrated huff, he turns back to face the rest of the room-
Which has been completely reset to how it was before he started his investigation. Loid stares agape, mildly wondering if he was wrong and this is actually a fever dream brought about by Yor’s cooking.
Just then, the screen lights up.
Loid steels himself, watching as white text breaks up the black screen.
Hello! The screen reads. Have you satisfied your curiosity and anxiety yet?
“Who are you?” Loid asks, looking up at the ceiling for a microphone or camera, or hell even an outlet. The screen isn’t plugged into anything, how the hell is it working?
Eh, guess not. Don’t worry too much about me- I’m mostly just a plot convenience. I’m just here for the sake of fun!
“‘Fun’? Like torture?” Loid asks, eyes narrow.
Wow, you’re paranoid. No torture here. In fact, I promise no harm will come to anyone in this room, and you’ll be returned completely unharmed.
Why the hell would I believe that from the disembodied text that kidnapped me to begin with? Twilight thinks, but says nothing, studying the odd screen.
I can wait if you want to exhaust yourself looking for more threats and/or exits that don’t exist.
Loid frowns at the screen.
Seriously, I’m happy to wait if it makes you feel better. But you won’t find anything. You can’t leave until you’ve watched all the way through.
“...Watched what exactly?”
So glad you asked. A button on the TV(?) glows red. Hit play when you’re ready to start.
Loid looks at the screen, then at the seemingly impossible room around him.
“I go free when I finish watching whatever it is you want me to see?”
I don’t have much reason to lie. It’s pretty obvious I have, like, almost unlimited power here.
“Alright,” Loid says evenly and settles himself stiffly on the couch. “Then I’ll watch.”
And buy myself time to figure out an escape, Loid thinks to himself.
The text knows his thoughts, but does not comment, deciding it’s probably time to give the audience what they’ve been waiting for.
Loid hits play.
The screen comes to life.
-=+=-
Loid watches dumbstruck, as impossible footage of the ambassador’s assassination plays out in front of him. He pauses the video.
“How the hell did you get this?!” He yells at the ceiling. The ambassador’s assassination wasn’t public knowledge, and even if it was how did they get a camera in his car beforehand? Was this the group that organized the car crash? How did they recover the footage from the wreck? Not even to mention the logistically impossible footage of the car actually crashing. How could they’ve known exactly where the driver would lose control?
Something dings in Loid’s pocket. Something that definitely wasn’t there a moment ago.
Twilight rips the device from his clothes and throws it across the room, then ducks down behind the couch and covers his head.
Everything is silent, softly illuminated in the eerie glow of the room.
When nothing explodes Twilight tentatively stands, and carefully works his way over to the device.
It looked a lot like the screen, but much smaller, only slightly larger than Twilight’s hand. It also appeared to be made of glass, though now cracked from hitting the wall.
That wasn’t nice. :( Read the screen.
With a growl, Twilight snatches the device from the floor and sneers at it.
“What the hell is this thing? A bomb?!”
It's basically a fancy pager. Can you chill?
Twilight does not chill, instead plowing on with his questions. “Where did you get that footage? Why are you showing it to me? What’s your goal here?”
They wouldn’t show such incriminating evidence to someone they were planning on keeping around. I have to escape, as quickly as possible.
No one is going to kill you. The glass pager reads, as the cracks in its surface smoothed over and sealed themselves before his eyes. Seriously, if I wanted you dead you would already be gone.
Twilight grits his teeth. “What is your goal then?”
I’m just doing what I need to. Following orders. You understand that, don’t you?
“What orders?”
The glass pager doesn’t respond. Dismantling it reveals another disconcertingly empty piece of technology. He snaps it completely and tosses the broken glass (along with his now ruined gloves) in the corner of the room.
Sure enough, when he checks his pocket there is an identical, unbroken device, as well as a fresh pair of gloves. Disturbed, Loid wraps the device in the gloves and places them on the floor next to the couch.
Twilight paces the room, trying to find something he must’ve missed. Some sort of mechanism, or hologram, or chemical weapon warping his perception.
Once again, he finds nothing.
Loid flops down on the couch with a frustrated huff, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Nothing about this room made sense . It’s like one of the scenes from Anya’s cartoons, except if Bondman was in this situation Loid would be criticizing the writer for being lazy and unrealistic.
(The pager buzzes indignantly. Loid ignores it.)
Twilight takes a deep breath. This situation is completely illogical. His usual tools won’'t work here. He needs more information, and the video was the obvious choice to gather intel. Except, the video answered none of his questions while spawning hundreds more.
But, honestly, what other choice does he have?
All other options exhausted, Twilight does the only thing he can do. He presses play.
Twilight paces as the scenes play out before him. First a recording taken directly in WISE’s most confidential conference room, then footage of him impersonating Edgar to get the toupee photos.
This is bad. Worse than he thought. Had these people infiltrated WISE? And how long had they been monitoring him specifically? How had he not noticed their bugs in his car?
Did they infiltrate his home? Were they monitoring Anya and Yor?
Twilight feels nauseous.
The pager buzzes. Hesitantly, Twilight uncovers it.
This isn’t direct footage. More a… recreation of true events. No one was monitoring you or your family.
For some idiotic reason, Twilight wants to believe the text, at least in this specific instance. It wouldn’t make sense for not only him but so many of WISE’s best to not notice constant surveillance. A recreation, disturbingly accurate as it was, made more sense.
At the same time, as a general rule, you shouldn’t believe captors, especially ones represented by disembodied text.
When I get out of here we’re doing full sweeps of everything. Loid vows.
Twilight can practically feel the ulcers forming in real-time as the footage followed him through his ‘breakup’ with Karen, and his subsequent mission debrief on the train.
The debrief about Operation Strix.
Twilight’s stomach sinks as the version of him screen considered Operation Strix (complete with inner monologue, how the hell did they accomplish that?!). The more the footage focused on him thinking about and preparing for Strix, the worse the feeling got. He didn’t like what this was leading up to.
Sure enough, his fears are almost instantly confirmed, as a shot of a rundown orphanage came into view.
“If possible, I’d like a child who can read and write.”
“Huh? Sure. Anya here’s the smartest one we got.”
The screen is taken by his daughter’s image. Loid feels a pang in his chest.
“Papa?” A sleepy voice calls out behind him.
Twilight whips around, to look at the loveseat he’d turned his back to. On it Anya is half laying down, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and glancing around the room in confusion.
Two steps, and Twilight scoops Anya up, protectively cradling her against his chest. She clutches onto his shirt as he bends down to snatch the pager off the floor.
“Why is she here?” Loid hisses towards the pager. “She’s a civilian and a child. Why have you taken her?”
The pager doesn’t respond, clutched in Twilight’s death-grip.
“Hey! Answer me!”
Again, nothing. The screen cracks.
“Papa?” Anya sits up in his hold, still a bit dazed. “Whas’ goin on?”
Twilight’s grip around her tightens for a moment, then relaxes. He puts the cracked pager into his pocket.
Loid smiles at his daughter. “We’re playing a game with some friends of mine. It’s like an escape room.”
Anya frowns, and shuts her eyes. After a moment her head drops against Twilight’s chest.
“Anya?” Twilight shakes her lightly, panic tinging his voice.
“‘M fine.” Anya mumbles. She squints at the room. “This place feels weird.”
Twilight hums his agreement. Escape was already his top priority, but with Anya here now the stakes had just sky rocketed. If he could just-
“What’s this?” Anya asks, pulling one of the strange glass devices from her pocket.
“Don’t touch that!” Twilight yells, grabbing the device and throwing it across the room.
Anya blinks at him. Then she pulls out an identical glass device.
Twilight throws it across the room, into the little corner of shattered parts.
Anya blinks at him.
“There’s another one in your pocket.” Twilight sighs. It isn’t a question.
Anya pulls out another of the glass pagers. Twilight takes it from her but doesn’t throw it this time, instead glaring at the writing on screen.
Every guest receives their own Messenger. Please return this one to its owner, or the owner will receive a new one. If you wish to stay updated with current events, please consult your own Messenger. Thanks :).
Twilight scowls at the passive-aggressive text.
He throws the device across the room.
Anya pulls another out of her pocket.
Twilight sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as the telltale signs of a headache began pounding behind his eyes. His thoughts whirl rapidly, trying to figure out what the hell is going on and how to get Anya and himself out of this situation.
Still in her Papa’s arms, Anya blinks down at the ‘Messager’ in her hand. Between one blink and the next, text appears to cover the screen.
Hello! Welcome! Quick rundown of what’s happening. The screen in the middle of the room shows a video. Everyone needs to watch it together. When it’s over, everyone gets to go home! Until you finish you have to stay, but no one will get hurt or anything. :)
Confused, Anya looks to the screen, only to be met with a frozen image of herself. She frowns.
Why am I on screen? She thinks. Is that the orphanage?
The video is about your family. And your secrets.
That makes Anya jolt. Papa can’t find out about her secret! If he does, he- he won’t want her anymore.
He’ll send her back.
The weird little screen buzzes. It’ll be okay. Promise.
Anya decides she doesn’t like the screen.
She tries to throw it across the room like Papa did before, but it doesn’t make it quite as far. It hits the rug with a thump at Papa’s feet, without even cracking or smashing like the ones Papa threw.
There’s a long pause before a new thing appears in her pocket. When she fishes it out it reads ‘...Nice throw?’ She shoves it back into her pocket with a huff.
Papa’s mind is moving far too quickly for Anya to understand. She pats his face with her hand to grab his attention.
“Papa, I wanna go home.”
Papa’s mind goes still for a moment, then speeds up so quick she can’t make anything out again.
On the outside Papa smiles and smooths back Anya’s hair. “Okay, Starlight. I’ll take you home as soon as I can.”
Usually that would make Anya feel better. But she can hear her Papa’s every thought. And even if his mind is usually super fast and hard to read, it feels different now. Bad different.
She can’t follow every line of thought, but she can see how they die out one by one as Papa declares them impossible. New ideas come quickly to replace them, but they all die out faster and faster because they’re not ‘vine-able’.
Is watching through really the only option?
“No!” Anya yells, tears welling up in her eyes. “We can’t watch it!”
“What’s wrong?” Papa frowns at her. Why doesn’t she want to watch? I know I don’t want her to find out about my spy work, but what’s her problem? Why’s she so upset all of a sudden? Did she figure out the reality of the situation? How does she even know about the video?
Anya can’t tell him what’s really wrong, even as the panic fills up her chest and throat and makes her feel like she can’t breathe.
(She can’t tell him the truth, even though she really wants her Papa to hug her better and chase all her fears away.)
“It- uh- The weird screen said the video was about us, and- and I don’t wanna see myself on the TV.” Anya lies.
Papa’s eyebrows crinkle as his frown deepens. “Just last week you said you wanted to be a movie star.”
“Well I changed my mind!” Anya cries, fists balled up in frustration. “I said I don’t wanna, so we can’t watch it!”
“Okay, okay, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Papa soothes, bouncing her slightly in his hold. Anya calms.
It’s probably better this way. If I can distract her maybe I can play through the video and look for clues without-
“You can’t watch it either!” Anya shrieks, tears bubbling over and running down her face. “You can’t wa’ch it Papa, you gotta promise you won’t!”
“Hey! Hey, Anya, Starlight, you gotta take some deep breaths for me.”
Papa starts rubbing panicked circles into her back as Anya blubbers into his suit jacket. It takes a long few minutes for Anya to calm down, but eventually her breathing slows and her wails turn to muted sniffles.
“Can you tell me why you’re so upset?” Papa asks softly.
Anya shakes her head, face still buried in his now ruined jacket.
“I can’t really fix anything if I don’t know the problem.” Papa points out.
“Somethin’ really bad is gonna happen if you watch it.”
Papa’s eyebrows scrunch. “What sort of ‘bad’?”
Anya hesitates. After a long moment she whispers, “The kind where you won’t wanna be my Papa anymore.”
Papa’s eyes widen. “What? Why would you- what would-”
Papa stumbles over his words for the first time Anya has ever seen him.
Why would she- did I do something to make her think- I’d never-
Papa goes rigid. His mind goes silent.
Then, Anya hears:
I’d never give her up. I love her.
Anya’s eyes widen, and she jolts upright. She knows her Papa cares about her, cus’ he’s a big softie. He shows her, when he makes her favorite food or holds her when she’s tired or fixes a broken toy.
But he’s never said he loves her. He’s never thought it before.
“Anya-” Papa’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “Anya. You’re scared of me finding out a secret, right?”
Hesitantly, Anya nods.
Papa smooths back her hair. “I understand why that would be scary.”
…probably better than most people.
“But I can promise nothing bad like that will happen.”
“How can you know for sure?” Anya asks. “You don’t even know what the secret is!”
Papa smiles, soft and honest and a little scared. “Because there is nothing that would make me stop wanting to be your Papa.”
Anya stares at him with wide, shining eyes. “Nothing? N-not even if it means I’m a liar, o-or a bad person?”
“Nothing. Papa presses a kiss to her forehead. “Whatever your secret is, we’ll figure it out together, okay?”
“…Okay.” Anya throws her arms around his neck, squeezing as tight as she can. “I love you, Papa.”
Papa’s breath hitches. Anya hears his heart beat once, twice, three times. He exhales.
“I love you too.”
Anya giggles, tears and laughter bubbling up and out of her. Her chest feels all full, but not in the sick-y panic of earlier. It’s a good full, like she’s so happy she can’t fit the sadness or the scared-ness and it all gets pushed out of her body through her laughs and her eyes.
Papa’s mind is going off in a hundred different ways about what to do when they get back, and talking to Handler about long-term identities and logic-sticks, and it makes Anya’s head spin but she doesn’t wanna stop listening.
Then his mind focuses on the ‘getting out of here’ part, and Anya’s mood sours.
“I think we have to watch the video to get out of here.” Papa says, sourly. It looks like my only option is to watch it with her lie as I go. Maybe I can convince her I’m an actor? And it’s some sort of movie or show?
...Hiding your identity isn’t going to matter much soon. Anya thinks, some of her anxieties starting to return.
Papa dabs at Anya’s face with a handkerchief. “So, do you want to tell me your big secret, or just wait for the video?” He asks, in his very-on-purpose-casual way. Anya’s face scrunches up, still a bit red from crying and Papa’s fussing.
Anya’s voice is small when she asks, “You said nothing can change your mind?”
“Nothing.” Papa promises fiercely.
She could be a Junior Garden Assassin for all I care. Nothing in this world can make me give up my daughter.
Papa is a big liar, and he’s good at lying, sometimes he even lies in his head good enough to trick himself. But there’s always a little bit of truth, somewhere in the corner, that he can’t hide no matter how hard he tries.
Anya always knows when Papa is lying. And right now, he’s telling the truth.
Anya swipes at her face and grins at her Papa. “Let's watch the video. I think is’ easier…”
Anya trails off into a nervous giggle, tapping her fingers together. Even if Papa still wants her after he finds out, he might be… grumpy about some of the stuff she did… or heard…
“Okay.” Papa smiles at her, bemused.
Papa goes to sit them on the couch, then aborts halfway through, standing quickly and taking a few steps back with a glare. His pocket buzzes. With a groan, Papa pulls out the weird ‘Messager’. It still has cracks, even though Anya thinks it could fix itself if it wanted to.
Anya reads over Papa’s shoulder:
The couch is not a bomb. There are so many better places to put a bomb in this room. Your paranoia is wasting everyone’s time. Please sit down. Pls.
Papa grits his teeth so hard Anya can hear a creak. She pats his face comfortingly. Papa closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
Papa gingerly sits them down on the couch, but makes Anya stay on his lap, like he could protect her from the hypothetical blast.
Papa’s weird messager starts lighting up with little pictures and directions on how ‘How to use your new Smart Remote!”. So while Papa is distracted figuring out/yelling at his device, Anya pulls out her own.
Told you so.
Anya throws it as far as she can.
It gets a whole three feet away from her!
A new one appears in her pocket.