#different perspectives

THERE IS NO HOPE FOR THE FUTURE, said Death.

"What does it contain, then?"

ME.

"Besides you, I mean!"

Death gave him a puzzled look. I'M SORRY?

The storm reached its howling peak overhead. A seagull went past backwards.

"I meant," said Ipslore bitterly, "what is there in this world that makes life worth living?"

Death thought about it.

CATS, he said eventually. CATS ARE NICE.

"Curse you!"

MANY HAVE, said Death, evenly.

- part two link !!

Synopsis: Robert, while working waaay overtime, is told that there's a stray cat in the building, but turns out, the cat... isn't... a cat?

Warnings: Shapeshifter!villain!reader, reader x Robert, light swearing (duh), afab reader, different POVs (but for this part, only Robert's), nudity?? I guess?? It's not like you can see thru the screen.

Word count: 3,3k (3,360 or smth)

A/N: This takes place before the final fight with Shroud. And for the Z-team, Waterboy and Sonar are the ones who are on the team instead of Phenomaman and Coupé.

Robert's POV.

There's a faint clicking of old computer keys and dull tapping of his foot against the floor, but that was all that could be heard in the SDN office this late.

Robert's eyes are glued to the eye-strainingly bright screen of his most likely decades old monitor. Seriously, the damn thing only seems to get brighter when the overhead office lights are off.

He's reviewing the preforamance of his team, the Z-team. And it's... not great, honestly, but it's better than it was before he became their dispatcher. There's a disgusting warm feeling in his chest that he'd almost call pride for his team.

Though that feeling is quickly replaced with immediate annoyance when someone—more specifically, a wet someone—taps on his shoulder.

Robert inhales harshly, like he's trying to breathe in hard enough to shove down whatever happiness he felt, as he's done for most of his life.

The chair squeaks as Robert slowly spins it around to face a very shaky and dripping Waterboy. But, maybe the shaking and dripping is just his normal.

"Herm," He starts, the mild annoyance fading fast after looking at the permanently pathetic looking mans eyes in front of him, "it is like, 2 AM, why are you still here? Hasn't Blazer told you that she—"

"I- It- exactly! I've come- came- came here with a reason, s-sir! I discovered- found- a cat! In the janitors closet!"

It takes a second, but when Robert finally processes what he had just said, his first thought was: What am I supposed to do about that?

And yet, Robert was the one who ended up standing in the doorway of the spacious janitors closet, eyes scanning over the shelves of various cleaning products, then down on the floor, gazing over mop buckets and spare stuff for office parties in boxes, like plastic wine glasses and confetti. Though, he hasn't seemed to have found a cat yet.

Waterboy, who is standing fearfully behind Robert, glancing over the top of his head and over his shoulders into the dark room.

After a few more moments of looking around the bleach-scented room, he sighs. "Herman, there's no fucking cat in here."

But, when Robert turns around, Waterboy isn't looking at him anymore. Instead, looking down at the ground next to Robert's—

. . .

The aforementioned cat is sitting by Robert's right foot, staring up at him. Black and fluffy and doesn't appear to be injured in any way.

While he's never owned a cat, Robert is pretty sure that most strays don't sit and stare up at random people. But also, he's never owned a cat, so whatever.

Before either of them could say anything, or bend down to pet the innocent looking cat—it bolts. Sprinting down the office hallway towards the Records room.

Waterboy has the reaction time of a blind elderly person, so Robert takes the incentive to run after the feline. Yeah, exactly what he wanted to be doing this time of night while his back was already sore.

Eventually, he catches up to the stupidly speedy kitty, which had pushed open the Record room's door and ran somewhere inside. Robert can hear something shuffling behind the farthest shelf. Assuming it's the cat, he speedily walks his way over, still breathing heavily from the short run from the janitors closet to an even darker room.

Once Robert turns the corner around the last shelf, though, the last thing he expected to see was a woman. Let alone a naked one.

Comments are appreciated !!

Chapter 17 of JACKPOT (Masterlist)

Previous - Next

CW: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun for whumpee, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee, implied dubcon, whumpee is basically a sex slave for rent so if you’ve made it this far you know what you’re in for

————

The past several hours have been a blur of confusion and fear. 37 had been absolutely sure it was being sent back; there had been no doubt in its mind. Few things ever end up quite how it expects. Within an hour of being prepped for what it had assumed to be the trip back to the WRU, it had its fear replaced with an entirely new kind of fear.

37 doesn’t know how to behave with a new owner. Romantics are supposed to be perfect for their owners; 37 is not perfect. 37 is used. Nobody wants a second- no, thirdhand romantic. Especially such a damaged one. It had grown used to serving people it knows nothing about. People who know nothing about it. What if it isn’t equipped to properly serve one master anymore? It’s important that it can learn what its master wants, what works and what doesn’t for him. Will he get it retrained? That idea almost causes its composure to slip. The thought of going back there fills it with dread.

Those thoughts swirled in its head all through the night as it was told about the raffle and eventually signed off to a very drunk man. The thoughts were so loud that it could hardly pay attention to what was actually happening. Thankfully its new master was too inebriated to pay attention to it. After he brought it to the room and promptly passed out, the night stretched on forever and 37 didn’t sleep almost at all.

There was another man with its master who went to sleep too. 37 wondered if it would belong to both of them, or if they were just friends. At one point, it got up when everyone was sleeping to check itself in the mirror. It didn’t look for very long before deciding not to think about it anymore. Not to think at all anymore.

Some things can’t be fixed with training.

The morning was much more eventful, yet equally terrifying. Its master had woken along with his friend and talked extensively with him. It wasn’t long before two more men entered the room and joined them.

Good pets do not eavesdrop. Good pets do not think.

It does its best to stay as detached as possible until it is talked to directly. It’s a good way to stay safe from doing something wrong, and much easier. What it should be doing is paying attention to his mannerisms, trying to figure out how best to talk to him and make him feel good. But it isn’t against the rules to do nothing, and 37 does not want to think anymore.

Just breathe.

“…giving it back or something while we’re here. I doubt I’ll be able to get it on the plane tomorrow anyways, they need their own tickets.” Its new master says exasperatedly, the words immediately cutting through the fog in the pet’s head.

He doesn’t want you. He just wants to get rid of you. Nobody wants to fuck a damaged, used, hideous pet. Nobody wants you.

Its composure almost slips, but it stops itself from begging. Thankfully, nobody seems to notice it’s off-rhythm breathing. Any chance that it might have of changing his mind will go out the window the moment it begs or lets them see its perfect composure slip. It forces its breathing back into rhythm and fixes its posture.

Now that it’s started, it can’t force itself to stop paying attention to the conversation. The men go back and forth with master about names for a moment. Its master is looking at his phone, not paying attention.

That’s good.

Attention is bad right now, 37 knows this. Although part of it is growing more upset that he hasn’t shown any interest.

Good pets love their owners. He has no obligation to love you.

After a while its owner decides to leave with the others, while one of the men agrees to stay behind and look into returning the pet. 37 puts all of its focus into not moving as they talk. It gets a strange urge to cry as it watches its new master walk out the door without having addressed it directly once. It tries to love him anyway.

————

Alex isn’t really sure how to talk to the pet. What do they have to talk about? He supposes the point of talking in the first place is to find out. He slowly re-enters the room after allowing the others to leave. The pet still hasn’t moved, sitting on its knees in the same pose. As he enters the room, the pets eyes meet his.

Why hasn’t he moved? It takes a moment before he manages to come up with something to say.

“Uh, hello. I’m Alex.” He says after a moment. “Do you have a name?”

Was that a stupid question? Jackson had already told him that they ‘don’t have names’; but what if he does?

“No, sir.”

Well shit, I guess he really doesn’t. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? How is he even supposed to address him?

“Oh,” he says, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Is there like, something I can call you? What do they call you here?” The pet looks unsure what to say for a moment.

“My ID number is 3-7-2-3-6-1-0, sir.” He says, extending an arm to show a barcode on his wrist.

Holy shit. They fucking barcode them?? There’s no way he’s going to remember that number. The way he repeated it so flawlessly was unnerving. There’s no way they actually call him that.

“I have no preference for names, sir.” He adds after a brief pause.

“Well it’s nice to meet you.” Alex hopes to sound half as polite as the pet did, which was way too polite. This is all so strange. “You don’t have to sit there, y’know. You can sit on the bed or something.”

The pet responds almost immediately.

“My master hasn’t asked me to move, sir.”

“He won’t care,” Alex replies quickly, trying to sound confident. “He doesn’t mind that kind of thing.” In theory this is true.

“I’m fine here, sir.”

Right. He’s not supposed to listen to me. Alex hadn’t expected him to be this obedient, to the point of refusing to listen to him. The thought that this man, this human being, is Gage’s property makes him sick to his stomach.

“Are you okay?” He asks without thinking beforehand at all. He would think that’s a normal question to ask, but the behavior of everyone else today has started to make him feel like it isn’t. “I mean, do you like… want this?” He adds, to be more specific. The look on the pet’s face is indecipherable. He has no clue what to expect.

“Pets don’t have wants, sir.” He replies after a moment, more monotone than before.

What the fuck.

————

The conversation didn’t last very long after that. Alex had no clue how to respond, and to be honest being in the room was making him more uncomfortable by the second. After a quick “Oh, okay” he retreated to his room.

The WRU website is not making things much better. The information page for ‘Romantic’ pets is even worse. Why the fuck would anyone want this? He can’t seem to get that thought out of his head. Alex knows the lengths people can go to for a weird sex thing, but something about this just feels very different. That guy does not look happy.

He peaks through the door to the other room (which he had left open). The pet still hasn’t moved. Even if Gage doesn’t plan on keeping him, someone will.

And if they don’t, this is where he ends up? The website gives almost no information on the actual living spaces they have. It does mention, however, that returns will be ‘retrained’ and potentially be resold.

Potentially. What is that supposed to mean?

There has to be an alternative.

————