#server offline

Cucurucho then kisses Asha's forehead, standing up from where they were kneeling to be within her height range. They ruffle her hair with a parting pat as they move towards the door leading to the office shortcuts.

"I won't be long, okay? Just a short moment to talk to Dad, and I'm coming back home after."

They wait for their daughter to pipe out an "okay," with a nod before stepping onto a warp plate into their office. Cucurucho sighs. It's been a good while since they were even here. A month or two, they guess judging by the light dust that has settled over their monitors and desk. At least their workers keep their plants alive.

After adjusting their casual and appropiate enough clothing in the full-body mirror and getting rather nostalgic over their barely used workspace, Cucurucho steps out the door to begin their nervous wreck of a trip up towards the main higher-up office. The floor itself doesn't scare it anymore, her boyfriend being there lessens the memories a little bit, but it still hurts to even remember the dread of simply just arriving. Their workers being around also helps.

Several notice its prescence as it takes the long way up and converse in small talk and greetings with an overall message of being missed around the building. Some even accompany Osito on the elevator ride and as it walks off to the private sectors.

Right as her paw lifts from the scanner, familiar silence and darkness hits Cucurucho with unease as they continue on their walk. This floor used to just be dark, with living and breathing, non-fur over metal, employees that bustled around them as they'd make their way onto the second elevator to take them all the way up to the most isolated floor of them all. The cold empty breeze hits them again.

It's silent, and dim, and horrible, and overwhelming, and they just can't feel like they can even ever breathe. The feeling of metaphorical lungs restrict the air coming from their snout, and Cucurucho clings onto the wall behind it and painfully breathes. False raising and lowering of their chest as they gasp and gulp for air they simply do not need, with unneeded tears reflexibly springing to their eyes.

Why now, why bother? You're so close, you can see his door a few feet across from you. Why are you afraid? Why are you panicking? You're alone, and you're making another fool of yourself where you believe you're being watched and yet there are no eyes on you at all.

Osito inhales deeply, and walks forward.

At the door, their paw instinctively raises up to knock while their body tenses like it has months ago. But they're safe, they're fine, because when they give a knock, a warm face greets them instead. They don't have to hide here.

"Holy shit, you scared me." Jeremy admits, his hand over his chest. "I mean I knew it was you, 'c-cause of the knock, but I just- wasn't expecting that you'd visit. Come in, come in!"

He pulls them inside, arms immediately folding over their fat and hands worming underneath their shirt to squish the fur on their back. Their partner sighs deeply, burying his face in their body like a dog that missed its owner. Cucurucho doesn't mind though. They chuckle, smiling to themself, as they shut the door and indulge in the hug. "Miss me that much?"

"Mmh. You know me. I barely see you at all lately... work and all." He hums. His hands moving feel like unintelligable shapes on their back. "Let me just... be here for a second, and you can... tell me what you're here for." It nods, admittedly enjoying the attention that it selfishly missed.

Cucurucho absentmindedly moves its paw over to brush his hair, gnawing its synthetic cheek as it thinks over its words. "Well, funny enough, I'm actually here about... work." Jeremy looks up enough that it catches Cucurucho off guard to choke. "Ah- About my work, specifically. If it's not too much trouble, if you'd let me back in the office?"

He raises his brow almost amused that they'd even consider such a thing.

"Oh, you don't need to do such a thing, love." Jeremy starts with his hands now moving to the sides of its head, its cheeks squish and rub in a comforting pattern. Cucurucho almost yields by instinct.

"I don't want you to come back and like, I don't know, have the mindset that I'm your boss around here while being my partner at home." He shrugs, "I think it'd be less stressful for you if you just don't clock in at all."

"Plus with Asha around, you'd be juggling a lot of work, and I just don't want to inflict that kind of stress upon you."

That's sweet, for sure. And she gets it, Osito understands that he means well by this. He knows how they get around the office, their past with the higher-ups, and struggles with work in general. He knows that they don't want to go through that again, and they love him for that. But it's different this time. It's different because he's here. It's because he's in charge, and he knows them like the back of his hand.

So why does it feel really... bad? That he's trying to protect them, that he's not hiding the fact he doesn't want them to relapse into their vulnerability at the Federation. That he doesn't want them hurt again.

"I... understand that, however, honey, I just..." Cucurucho's voice strains. How do they tell him that they need to work again just for an important meeting? Just so they don't feel useless? It's selfish.

"I-I really need to come back. It's important. A-And for the Board of... Directors... meeting." They mutter.

"That... group of higher-ups that-that hurt me, and promoted me, and berated you for it?" Jeremy says incredously. "I- Rucho, I don't want you to come back if it's just to impress them. I don't want you working just because you were pressured into it, that's fucked!"

Cucurucho opens their mouth to argue, but he's right. They shake their head. "I-I know that, but I just don't want to show up—"

"No, no no... I- We'll just have the Bureau go instead." He shakes his own head, pushing back against them now. "I'm sure we'll find an alternative or something, Osito. I just don't want you to go through that again."

"I'll find some way to manage without you, okay?"

And something breaks inside of them. Like glass shattering and its pieces piercing onto their fake skin for them to bleed out as if it didn't hurt. Such meaningless words hurting a robot who had just learned how to feel fully. For the first time in its mechanical life, the lights in their eyes dim as they struggle to even process what their Duckling is saying to them.

He's bringing their head down to kiss their cheek, and all they could think about is if he had already managed without them anyway. He's smiling, and they find themself smiling back nervously.

They feel faint.

"Hey, cheer up, baby. It's not that bad." Jeremy jokes, unaware of the amount of dread his girlfriend is experiencing right in front of him. He squishes their cheeks like a pet in an attempt to cheer them up. "At least you're not in boring meetings all the time, heh." Cucurucho wants to bash their head in.

"...Right."

Their shoulders get patted, and as Jeremy steps back, they slouch. He sighs, brows furrowing with a concerned smile. "I'm sorry, if I like... disappointed you. I just don't want you hurt again for something- avoidable and stupid." He shakes his head, wryly chuckling to himself. "I love you, you know that right?"

"I... Yes, yes I do." Rucho weakly agrees, giving him a dry giggle. They sounded unconvincing, but he believed them.

It's still the truth, regardless.

"I'll see you at dinner, don't try to set the kitchen on fire again." Jeremy teases, sticking his tongue out at it with Osito instinctively doing the same. It giggles, light temporarily setting back in its mood. "I'll try. I um... I'll see you later, sugar." "See you."

He steps back forward and gives them one last squeeze, stepping away with a tip toed kiss that leaves Rucho tasting coffee and him tasting sweets.

When they both turn away, Pato going back to his work, and Cucurucho going behind the door, it presses its back against the frame with its paw holding against its mouth. They know he won't hear anything, it's soundproof from the inside and out, so they know he wouldn't hear them trying not to fall apart immediately. Heaving for no reason, holding back false tears, and trying to calm down.

Osito hiccups.

There's no real reason why they're crying, or even threathening their pristine white fur to get ruined by black sludge of its tears. There should be though, they weren't hurt, they were, in fact, being saved from being hurt in the future.

Shouldn't they be happy? Shouldn't they feel good about this?

They don't know.

Cucurucho takes the long way back again, wiping their eyes and plastering their well-known and well-practiced smile back on. Nobody takes a second to doubt it. Not even Asha, who darted to clutch their leg the moment they entered into the house again.

Osito takes a second to recover, when Asha gets tucked out curled up next to them, and calms itself down. There's no reason to be ungrateful. It'll be okay. So it shuts its eyes, takes an unneeded breath, and stares ahead.

Focus on Home.

Your memory's corrupted. You don't know this, nor does anybody else.

It didn't mean to honestly, but there was nobody else in the room and nobody else was sleeping right on top of it. He was curled up on its chest, breathing softly and it had its arms wrapped around the same way he had his.

It was surreal, to be frank.

How did they get here? They were enemies, maybe still are, but for some reason they just both decided to be fuck buddies or something. (This was the sixth time, it counted, fourth recently.)

Jeremy's breathing on it. Jeremy's.. breathing. It's not.

They're not.

It was weird. The Bureau doesn't really know what to think about it, other than it was just weird. Sure, you have had some arguements here and there, sure, you essentially trapped this resident within your building after he had no place to go, and sure, you were that reason.

But it was just- weird.

It likes him, for some fucking reason. Like in a way that it makes it sees hearts and overheat every time they flirt, like in a way that it doesn't feel real every time they've been meeting recently, like in a way that's undescribable on the account that it thinks he's special, like in a way it never expects anyone to return.

And it's driving it insane.

Osito groans quietly into its paws, hitting its head against the pillow lightly to not wake the other. He shifts on top of it. It nearly chokes.

It doesn't deserve this. It doesn't, it really doesn't, and yet it's happening, and it doesn't know why.

It's a fucking monster. It killed his family, it fucking trapped him in here, and all of the sudden after years and years of bitter feelings and shitty arguements, they're just suddenly "okay"?

Fuck's sake, it wants to break it off with Foolish because she took part in the murder of its family, and now it's just laying here, hours after, thinking about being something else with this guy?

Did he ever look down when he came over last night? Did he ever look down and counted 374 bodies of robots that meant nothing to everybody but itself and look the Bureau in the eyes and see himself?

Did it ever look down at those bodies and think of people? Living, breathing people who were neither of those things because of monsters like it?

Did they ever look at each other and see the guilt eating away at every crevice and thought of each other? Did they ever think that they could've fixed it? Fixed whatever was eating them away? Fixed each other?

(No, probably not. Unlikely.)

What a shitty dilemma. Honestly, the best course of action was to probably continue the silence and never see each other again. But for some reason, they just keep seeing each other. Talking, as if they were friends for years and not enemies who had hurt. As if they belonged to each other.

And in one way, yes, they did. It belonged to him now. Said multiple times in the dark and in messages and reiterated over and over again until Cucurucho got the idea. And it did.

It was his now, and not the Federation's, not to anyone else. Just his. And it made it feel special, but gross at the same time.

It was his and it feels awful about it.

It wants him in the same way too, all for Osito and nobody else's, and they can make each other happy by going around in circles and never addressing what exactly they were.

Maybe that's the way it was supposed to be. Maybe that twisted and fucked up string of fate that ties them together was just there to confuse them and never connect.

Maybe it should think about this later.

He stirs, cuddling into it more and Cucurucho chokes again, mutely crying into its paws as it mulls over what left it has. Had. And it doesn't know if he'd care once it's lost it all.

Cucurucho was scared, for a long time.

It didn't mean to be honestly, but there was nobody else in the room and nobody else had deserved something like it.

Your paws hit the dirt. Messy and muddy fur, red and black stain the once pure and perfect white. Your expression remains unchanged as your eyes scan the landscape.

Another failure had hit the Federation. Really, and you think your users would understand that already. A result printed and programmed well into your logic infused systems and the catch had shown the victor of the trialed input— a loss.

You wipe liquid off your face, your paw turns more crimson. Your ears twitch. Noise. The buzzing of warbled and twisted audio of unknown origins play next to you. You translate it as crying. User input. Output; the crying stops.

Your paws turn, following every command your users inflict upon you with perfect precision. Left, forward, forward, right, stop. You show the user your screen. Click. Pop. Forward.

The islanders follow in a simple queue. Enqueued when they were registered, and dequeued on their way out. You had relayed the user's words to them. One client to another, all from the server.

Stop. New command. New recruit. What fun!

What a lucky one it would be! Your lens follow the scene, ah. There it is. You forward a message to your subordinates. They understand completely and enter your area. How beautiful they are. So very good at listening.

The recruit near the ground makes a noise at you. It tries to lunge for you, but gets aprehended by your workers. Ah, how kind of them. It snaps at you, yelling and screaming much like your users when you'd step out of line. It goes quiet at your paws- thank you users. The tazer slips back in and your paw flicks back out.

Your workers nod at you before dragging the lucky one away. You could tell that it would serve a great use for the Federation. A small prize for the overall loss. Shame, this Island was starting to grow on you. You liked the Eggs.

Speaking of, you can't remember what happened to them. Funny, you must've misplaced your recent recordings. Oh you. But you can't help but think, were they sent back onto Egg Island? Or did your higherups have something else in mind?

Your mouth twists into something that is opposite to a smile before defaulting. Cancelled. Apologies. A bug. You should get that fixed. Your fur is a mess. What a failure. You really are the Island's image.

Your users sent you a request to come home. Your dirty and dishelved paws hit the pure white quartz floor. Your office was still here, they haven't started moving yet. A weight leaves your shoulders, and you forget——

"Good Morning."

Another day, another island. Good Morning, Bureau. Better go wash up first. Your paws are dirty and you can not recall why.

Please, follow along. Let's start today right. The Island must be perfect, therefore you must be perfect.

It couldn't stifle a giddy smile as it nearly toppled over in a fit.

The Bureau was cleaning its office. Well, cleaning it out specifically. Everything has to go. Had to go. It couldn't work anymore and therefore had no use for its office rather than a room for it to call "home".

It does not have a home. Correction, it does, by technicality, the Federation was its home. However, it did not feel like one.

People's so called homes, are not necessarily buildings where they store items and their bed, sometimes it may be a person or an object.

The Federation did not fit those categories either. But what it had just found in its drawers, did.

Neatly stacked papers all tucked carefully in its desk drawer. Each one scribbled with color and life. Some depicted loss, some love, others life and happiness.

Cucurucho had found Trumpet's brightly colored drawings again, and it went through it one by one, smiling and laughing to itself. It found the humorous ones first.

It took down the corkboard last week, unpinning all its papers and reports. It took down his art last, sliding it in an envelope and tucking it away until it was finished. It did the same with these, putting them away for safe keeping so they may be the only ones kept intact.

It giggled, remembering past conversations it had for every paper that had been slid into the envelope.

Maybe he'd come over today.

Every time they pass by each floor, they'd have to watch their footing in order not to move the bodies of people Cucurucho once knew.

Cucurucho locks the door once Trump leaves. It stares at the knob for a moment before twitching their ear. Movement behind it. They turn.