#felmick

~*~

It was a long walk down the corridor. Maybe not a grueling amount of length per se, not like a ‘being lost in the desert for forty days and forty nights’ sorta stretch by any means… But it was juuuuust long enough to give the poor schmuck walkin’ down it a few minutes to ponder what massive collection of life mistakes could have possibly led to being stuck on this flyin’ metal death trap in outer space.

“It just ain't right…” Frank muttered, scowling at the ground as he plodded along. “Just plain nonsensical… I don't get it, what the hell did I ever do ta end up in a place like this?” His body was still charred and smoking from all the times they’d been electrocuted in this botched game show– a GAME SHOW, of all things!– and that wasn't even the worst thing that had happened in it! 

Physical punishment, he could take quite a bit of that. So it took a little bit longer to heal up due to whatever the fine folks runnin’ this place did to fix his continuity… Big deal! Hell, even the revelation of the ship possibly being alive– while deeply unpleasant given how it was trying to communicate and all– wasn't that big of a shock to him. After all, he came from a world where buildings or any other inanimate objects could spring to life for a joke… Only this wasn't a joke. It was an inconsolable scream for help. If that was a gag, the writers for whatever show this was had a real sick sense of humor… 

Not a single one of those things compared to the worst part, though. No, the worst part was knowing what was waiting for him back at his room. They hadn't said who the mimic waiting for him was gonna be, but he knew. Right away, he knew…

He’d actually considered not going back there at all. This spacefaring tin can they were all stuck in was humongous! There were plenty of places to explore, potentially hide in… But he couldn't deny, there was a much more solid comfort in sleeping with a sturdy lock between yourself and a whole ship fulla potential murderers. He couldn't shake the feeling that if he tried to catch a few winks anywhere else, he’d might as well have a sign on his back saying ‘INSERT KNIFE HERE’.

He may have been able to get back up after every single time he’d died before, but considering the damper they were able to put on his toon abilities, he didn’t wanna try his luck in a place like this…

He’d been an amicable guy. He’d been friendly! He LIKED to think the folks who’d been friendly back wouldn't slit his throat as he slept, but… He wasn’t sure. This twisted game was designed to breed desperation, and in all his years of bein' alive, he’d seen desperation make otherwise perfectly fine, upstanding people pull some crazy shit… And that's to say nothing of the folks he didn't get along with!

Like it or lump it, if he was gonna make it through this, he had to play it safe for now. Lay low, gather more information, and figure out how to either take this whole operation down or, failing that, get the hell outta dodge! 

Which was why, despite the dread in his gut growing with each step he took down this mockingly-long hallway, he was heading back to his room. Time to face the music.

Literally. Before he even opened his door, he could just barely hear it coming from inside.

Whistling.

Oh, no… He knew that tune. No, no, no, no, no… Nope. No sir. No thank you. No ifs, ands, or buts. No shirts, no shoes, no service! Absolutely and Positively Not!

Frank had half a mind to turn on his heel right then and march himself right back down the hallway, but at this point he was so worn out he was pretty sure he’d only make it about halfway before faceplanting on the ground. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, though! He’d slept in worse conditions before! 

…

He heaved out a sigh and slid his hand down over his face so heavily that it all stretched down before snapping back like rubber. 

“Hoooh, okay,” he muttered to himself, “Just… remember, Frankie ol’ pal, it ain’t real. Don’t let it get to ya. Don’t gotta listen to nobody. Don’t gotta talk to nobody. Just go in there, get some shuteye, and then leave…”

Building a little confidence back up, he unlocked his door. It wooshed open, still making him jump, and he subconsciously grabbed his now slightly poofed up tail and held it close to himself as he hurried through, not wanting it to get chopped off by the door when it closed just as quickly behind him. What kinda dope had the bright idea to build doors like this?! Death traps, the lot of ‘em!

Frank didn't dare look up from scowling at the floor as he entered, but he could hear the whistling stop, and a fluttering crinkle of… some kinda paper?

“...Sheesh, what happened to you? You look like ya got in a fight with a storm cloud and lost,” came a voice that Frank had been dreading the most, yet simultaneously had been wishing more than anything he could hear again since he got here. It sounded so casual, so… normal, that for a fleeting moment, something in Frank’s brain short-circuited and he felt like he had simply come home after a long day. 

He was even about to respond in kind, with an ‘oh yeah, it mistook my tail for a lightnin’ rod, it was a whole thing…’ The words were right there, but they caught in his throat when he looked up and reality came flying back to hit him like a cannonball to the chest.

Home didn't have a big @#$!in’ cage in it. 

In fact, the only familiar thing in here was… Ollie.

It sure as hell looked like him, at least. The cartoon mouse sat casually on the floor of the cage with his back resting against the bars and one leg slung over the other, looking back at Frank from over a newspaper. 

By the feeling of it, Frank’s insides had decided to busy themselves with twisting and turning and tying themselves into some very unhelpful knots. His expression quickly fell from surprise into something more dour.

“Don't. Ask,” He gritted out through clenched teeth instead of the joke he’d almost answered with. He started patting down his pockets in search of a smoke- he’d gotten here with a disturbing amount of nothing in his hammerspace, leaving him woefully under-cigarred for dealing with all this.

“A-”

“DOOOON’T even ASK!”

“...Alright then,” ‘Ollie’ said with a small shrug, returning his attention to the newspaper. He didn't sound hurt, but the quietness of the response made Frank feel awful all the same.

Damn it, where's those cigarettes?? 

All that had been waiting for him when he first got here was a puny pack of cigarettes on a table, and he’d blown through those pretty quick while trying to deal with the stress of this situation he'd been dragged into. While he was fortunate enough to bum some more offa some non-smoking Heroes that he’d befriended, he didn't know when he’d be able to get his hands on more. Maybe one of those crazy vending machines had some of his cigars stashed in it, but he hadn't been lucky enough to get ‘em yet… Either way, he’d been having to ration what he had left, which had been a net negative on his over-all mood. He had about four or five remaining, last he checked, so he’d been saving ‘em for emergencies… But if there was ANY situation he needed a smoke for, it was sure as hell this.

Locating the crumpled box, he fished one pathetic little stick out of it. Flipping open the end of his tail like a Zippo lid and flicking a little flint wheel on the inside to produce a small flame, he used it to light up. He then took a sizeable drag from it, enough to burn the little thing halfway down to the filter in one go, and then let it out in a big, smokey sigh. 

They were both quiet for a bit, before ‘Ollie’ spoke up again.

“Got any spares?”

Frank paused, then slowly turned his head toward him, a look of exhausted wariness in his eye.

“They left me with some readin’ material,” ‘Ollie’ continued, giving the newspaper a shake before setting it down, “and… that’s about it. Not exactly the Ritz in terms of accommodations, but uh… Guess that's the point, ain't it?” 

Frank remained silent, glancing between the box and… whatever the hell was wearing his partner's face. And using his voice. And copying his mannerisms to an eerie degree. He searched and searched for something, anything that felt off, any flaw at all, but so far he was coming up empty. It felt like Ollie was really here. Frank felt like he was going insane.

After some deliberation, Frank quietly went over to sit by the cage and offered the box for him to take one. The two smoked quietly for a bit, sitting side by side.

After a while, Frank snuffed his spent cigarette out, and just… flicked the remaining filter away without care for where it landed. By this point, it was his second one of the night. “...S’pose you're gonna ask me ta let ya out now,” he said, his voice sounding a little hoarse.

“Nah… It’s probably better if ya don’t,” ‘Ollie’ said, plainly. 

Frank opened his mouth, about to say something, but closed it again. He blinked, brow furrowed. “‘Nah’? Da hell ya mean, ‘nah’?”

‘Ollie’ exhaled, resting his head back against the bars before glancing to the side at Frank. “You n’ I both know what’ll happen if ya do.”

The hell was he doing…? These mimics or whatever were supposed to want out, weren’t they? Sure, it would feel awful for Ollie to insist on being let out, to bargain, to plead, to try any trick in the book to escape- But Frank had been bracing himself for that. This was… He just seemed so… Resigned to his fate! Just sitting there like he’d already given up on everything. There was no determination in those eyes, just… a cold, quiet acceptance. Frank could hardly stand to see him like this. He’d seen Ollie’s dreams and idealism slowly and systematically crushed in the corporate machinery of his own father’s studio, but despite everything the mouse still had his way of pushing back and carving out his own path. The REAL Ollie wouldn’t just choose to roll over and die like this… Would he?

…

Damn it, he felt even worse havin’ to keep him in a cage, now… Downright villainous…

Frank was quiet for a few more moments, until he breathed in sharply through his teeth. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“...For cryin' out loud Ollie, do ya really have to?! Can't ya just… not do it?” 

Frank had become adept at hiding away his ‘uglier’ emotions under a toothy grin and half-lidded eyes. He’d been doing it for years, and years, and years… And whenever he did show anger or sadness, it was usually played up for comedic affect… But his expression now was one of pure, raw anguish. Faint streaks of watercolor-like gray stood out against the stark white of his muzzle beneath his good eye, and the tremor in his voice denoted a dam struggling not to break under the pressure.

The genuine look of remorsefulness from his partner really wasn't helping. “Guess ya could call it a contractual obligation,” he said, solemnly. 

“OH, ya GUESS!” Frank let out a wild, bitter cackle. “Ya GUESS!!” He got to his feet and started pacing back and forth, digging furiously into the little box to fish out another cigarette.

‘Ollie’ looked up at him with a tired frown. “What else d’ya want me to say? ‘Here Frank, here’s an itemized list of everything ya need ta get outta this mess?’ Y’want me ta build you an escape rocket outta all this trash all over your floor, what?”

“I want ya ta stop talkin’ like we’re already dead!” Frank grumbled profanities under his breath, which could only be heard as a muted collection of sound effects. He’d managed to get out a new cigarette, but his @$#!in’ tail lighter wasn’t working, so he yanked his thumb off and used that like a lighter instead. It produced a flame, but he was having trouble keeping his hands steady.

“...You are already dead, Frank.”

“Well I’m pretty lively for a dead guy, don’t ya think?” Frank snorted, “Yeah, I’ve died before, so what? I’m a cat! I still got a coupla lives left!”         “-still got a coupla lives left,” ‘Ollie’ finished the sentence along with him, his voice sounding hollow. “I know.”

“And last time I checked, bein’ dead just means I get to go have a lil’ chat with ol’ Petey at the Gates before headin’ back down! It doesn’t mean I get CATNAPPED BY MARTIANS!” 

Finally getting the cigarette lit, Frank continued his frenetic pacing, smoke puffing out of his mouth like he was an out of control train going around on an endless track. ‘Ollie’ just watched him for a bit before speaking up again.

“...I want you ta think about this, Frank. Really think about it. In fact, let’s brainstorm this out. How did ya get here?”

“Beats me! I didn’t sign up for space adventures, dat’s for damn sure!” Frank growled, kicking an empty can with such force that it pinged off of a wall and knocked over a perfectly set-up pyramid of bottles he had over in the corner. 

…Okay, maybe he did let this mess get a little out of hand… but who the hell wants to clean up their own prison cell?

“You woke up in aaaa…..” ‘Ollie’ gestured with his hand for Frank to finish the sentence.

Frank’s ear flicked, and he finally looked at his partner again, glancing over his shoulder as he kept pacing. Nervous habit. He clutched his hands behind his back just a little bit tighter.

“Coffin,” he grumbled. He didn’t like where this was going. “But dat doesn’t prove anything! Anyone could knock a guy out and shove ‘im in a coffin!”

‘Ollie’ let out a frustrated sigh, sliding a gloved hand over his eyes. “...You really don’t get the full weight a’ your situation, do ya?” Finally, he got to his feet inside the cage, moving right up next to the bars. 

“That’s the problem with ya, Frank. Always pullin’ some reckless maneuver. Always tellin’ me ‘oh relax pal, I still got a coupla lives left!’ Made a runnin’ joke of it, even… Treatin’ your whole damn LIFE like a joke. Never really caring that someone might really, actually care about ya. Do ya think I LIKE seein’ ya die over and over? Do ya think I find it funny?!”

Frank slowed to a stop, ears flattened back as he turned more fully to look at him. This might not’ve been the real Ollie, but… Was that something he really thought? The whole nine lives bit was just part of his schtick, always has been! Ollie rolled his eyes about it, but he’d never seemed that upset… #$@&, had he really been hurting him this whole time? “No, I- I don’t… It’s not- …Look, it’s just a bit, Ol! I- I just didn’t want ya ta worry…” He stammered, fumbling for an answer. 

‘Ollie’ grabbed the bars, his previously defeated demeanor all but gone. His pie-cut eyes gleamed in the shade of the cage’s metal top. “Well, I AM worried, Frank. And I got news for ya: Nine is a finite number. You’ve been playin’ fast and loose and pushin’ your luck for so long… Has it never once occurred to you, in all your years, that maybe somewhere along the line ya lost count?”

Frank could feel the warmth drain from his body, and his heart had apparently decided to take a five minute break. His mind, however, was working overtime, desperately trying to take a quick inventory of all the times he’d died before. 

Death was one of the things his spotty continuity actually had going in his favor- he’d certainly died more than nine times at this point in actuality, but he always came back anyway because like everything else, the number remaining would just reset the next episode. Sure, dying felt awful and he still preferred to avoid it if he could, but it never really seemed final for him… but ever since he and Ollie had well and truly become part of each other's lives... Well, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he could tell that something had started to shift, on a cosmic sorta level. He could feel it from the moment he first shared a bed with Ollie and woke up still in laying in it. His continuity was still a little loose when it came to smaller things like injuries, but for the big things, the stuff that really mattered, it had started to become more consistent. Which meant…

How many lives did he actually have left now??

“W-well… Hey, I’m here right now, so I know I got at least one left, right?” Frank said with a wobbly smile, arms outspread placatingly. He was sweating bullets, trying to fight back the looming existential crisis.

“And it was about ta end. If you were gonna be alright, ya wouldn't BE here! Use your damn noodle, Frank, what was the last thing ya remember before wakin’ up in that coffin?”

Frank’s pathetic attempt at a smile fell. “I…” His missing eye hurt. Static drowned out his thoughts. The world swallowed up in visual snow and bursts of color, so many colors…

“...don’t remember,” he lied. 

‘Ollie’ let go of the bars. He actually looked a little disappointed, which shouldn’t have affected Frank as much as it did given that this was a phony he was dealing with, but… All of this was getting to him way more than he thought it would. ‘I shouldn’ta said a damn word in the first place’, he thought, ‘shoulda plugged my ears and walked right on by’… but by now it was far too late. And in all honesty, he was doomed from the start. 

He missed him too much.

“Well, believe me or not, that’s up ta you… And I get it, it ain’t an easy pill ta swallow,” ‘Ollie’ said, “But I’m tellin’ ya all this because I love ya. This? This game right here? Is your Last. Chance.” Suddenly reaching out, he grabbed Frank by the front of his shirt and yanked him closer until their snouts were just inches from each other. “So you’d better start takin’ this seriously. Because if you die for the last time out here, and never give me- the REAL me- a chance ta ever know what happened to ya, I swear ta God, I’ll find some way ta bring ya back, JUST so I could kill ya again. Damn it Frank, you went and made me fall for you, you do NOT get to go &*$! off and die! Understand?”

Frank, taken aback and staring wide-eyed down at his partner, just swallowed and nodded, a gray blush painting his tear-stained cheeks. He was still plenty scared in regards to his own mortality, but he sure as hell didn't feel cold anymore, and his heart was back from break and hammering away.

“Good…” ‘Ollie’ reached up and wiped Frank’s cheek with his thumb before letting him go. However, in that moment, Frank noticed something and quickly grabbed the mouse’s other hand by the wrist before it could slip back behind the bars.

“...Oh no ya don’t,” Frank said quietly, his expression darkening. He held out his hand. “Drop it.”

‘Ollie’ blinked, then gave him a little half-smile. “Huh. There may be hope for you yet,” he said, opening his hand and letting the cage’s key fall onto Frank’s palm. The cat snatched it away, ears flattened back and his fangs showing as he scowled. 

“Shouldn’ta talked to ya,” he said in a low growl, letting go of the mimic’s hand before backing away. "Don't even know why I did..."

‘Ollie’ placed his hands in his jacket pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Because ya miss my voice. And ya think this’ll be the last ya hear of it…” He gave a little shrug, “...Probably will be, too, if ya keep the kid gloves on with everyone.”

“That voice aint yours…” Frank snarled.

“Now look at ya. You’re in a game of life and death and ya won’t even stand up for yourself. Won’t even hurt a fly. Ya used ta get inta fights all the time, Frank, what happened?” 

“...” 

“...I really am rootin’ for ya. You know that right? I wanna see ya get outta this alive. And the only way outta this is ta win.” 

“Shaddup.”

“If ya can’t bring yourself ta do what it takes, well, I get it… but I’m willin’ ta help with that.” 

“Shaddup!!” 

“It’s up ta you of course, but… I bet I could get away with it. If anyone could set somethin’ up ta look like an accident, it’s me.” 

“HE WOULD NOT FUCKIN’ SAY DAT!” 

They both froze, shocked to hear that word actually come out of him. 

Something wet slid down Frank’s cheek.

“Holy cannoli…” ‘Ollie’ said in quiet disbelief, eyebrows raised in concern. “Frank, buddy, I think somethin’ might actually be wrong with ya…” 

Frank laughed. Then he coughed. Then he laughed again. “Oh really? Gee, pal, what clued ya in?!” 

“No, I mean… your eye- ya got somethin’-”

“I don’t wanna hear another damn word from YOU,” Frank interrupted, his voice haggard and breaking. “I’m gonna get outta dis hellhole, and I’m gonna do it WITHOUT playin’ your STUPID GAME!”

‘Ollie’ looked like he was going to say something else, but Frank didn’t give him a chance before turning and retreating into the bathroom. 

He went into another coughing fit. Something was definitely wrong with him, alright, he'd had a sneaking suspicion for a while now… but like hell he was gonna talk it over with that counterfeit. Just talking with him at all had taken its toll; The dam couldn’t take the pressure anymore, and it was breaking. The cat went to wipe at his tears with his arm, only for it to come away with a smear of colors. Static roared in his ears.

Struggling for air, he clutched onto the sink for dear life, sobbing and wretching his heart out, an overflow of wildly shifting colors and patterns pouring out of his face and draining down the sink with the tap water. It took a lot longer than last time… He’d been holding a lot in. 

Once he’d let it all out, he needed a minute to catch his breath… Then he washed his face real good, and his arm, and his hands… He stared himself down in the mirror, every ounce of color gone save for what continued to dance around behind the open lid of his bad eye. It drooped shut, everything disappearing behind a white X again.

The corner of his mouth twitched. Heh… Kinda funny… he looked more like an antagonist now than he ever did when he was one. That felt like a whole lifetime ago… And now he’s bein’ made to do terrible things. 

Now of all times, when he’s so outta practice! 

…It’d been even longer since he last was a solo act.

…

Exhausted and drained, he pulled out the cigarette box and felt inside. Stopped. Looked inside. 

…Empty.

He crumpled it up and tossed it away.