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Bit of a longer chapter today- we had a lot we wanted to fit in :)

Bottles clinked around the table in the White House, the torches in the sconces on the walls flickering in time with the too-loud, too-drunk laughter that was echoing throughout the building. You sat with your feet propped up on the table, swirling the bottle of beer in your hand that Quackity had coerced you into drinking. He sat on the other side of the table, along with George, who you hadn't seen much of recently, but obviously seemed to be enjoying his position of power in the government, and Schlatt, who was already three beers deep in his haze of alcohol and entertainment. You glanced through the cards in your hand, feeling confident in your odds at winning the game. The shiny coins in the middle- substitutes for the non-existent poker chips -probably added up to enough to buy a full set of Netherite, and yet, you were gambling it off.

George bit his lip in deep concentration, his brow furrowed speculatively. "Right," he said after a moment, "Quackity- I'll take another two cards." The vice president obliged, dealing the top cards off of the deck and handing them to him. George winced as he picked up the cards, obviously not liking what he saw. With a drawn-out sigh, he placed a Two of Diamonds and a Six of Clubs on the table, face up, one at the point of the slowly forming triangle of cards and the other beneath the Six of Spades near his left hand.

"Ooh- careful, boys," you teased, taking another sip from your bottle before setting on the table. "Looks like Mushroom-Man over here might actually beat you! Mhm- hey, amigo, gimme another card- I'm almost done with my Triad." Quackity handed you the Three of Hearts, which you tapped against the table, grinning at your opponents, the effects of the alcohol starting to reach your head. "Alright, Schlatt- I propose a trade."

The president, who was definitely losing, probably because he was finding more interest in the bottom of a bottle than in a deck of cards, still had his Three slot on the Triad empty, but he did have a Seven, which was something you very much needed. He glanced down, saw which card you were looking at, then at the card in your hand, and groaned.

"Fuck- Y/N, you realize that I need both of those, right?"

You shrugged. "Yes or no, Bitch Boy?" Still grumbling, he grabbed the Seven and gave it to you, taking your own card in return. Quite contented with yourself, you nodded to Quackity, who proceeded to draw a card and cheered, slamming the Queen of Clubs on the table.

"SUCK IT, YOU BITCH!" He shouted in glee, scooping in the coins while the rest of you groaned. "Never bet against the dealer, my friends. House always wins." He began to deal out the next game as you rubbed your temples, feeling a strong headache beginning to pulse against your temples. 

Across the table, George noticed, and shot you a half-amused, half-concerned look. "The beer not agreeing with you, Y/N?" 

You groaned. "Yeah." In truth, it was. Techno had never really drunk any beer except for on the rare occasion that they stayed in a town for more than two nights, so you'd never really drunk anything strong. That, and the constant pressing of the voices. They'd grown quieter tonight, repressed by a mix of the drinks and the distraction of gambling, and yet their humming presence was still there, a constant reminder of what was happening to you. Tomorrow, you would have to go to Pogtopia to report to Wilbur. Tomorrow, you would quite possibly see your father, and you knew that he'd somehow recognize the signs of the voices. You weren't ready. "That, and my entire body aches from sparring."

You guzzled down the rest of the beer, popped the bottle on the table, and shoved your chair away from the table, standing up. "I'm afraid, gentlemen, that my time with you is ended," you said, mockingly bowing and nearly tipping over. 

"Aw, come on, Y/N," Schlatt said, "stay and live a little! It's not every day we celebrate the preparations for both a festival and an execution!"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. It was unbraided- it often was these days. You hated the length, but you hated the danger of being equated with your father. Then, people would start asking questions, and those were questions you did not care to answer. "Sorry, Schlatt- I was up late last night and I'm getting stiff from sparring. Besides," you said, chuckling a little, "I don't want a hangover." 

They gave up trying to convince you, saying goodbye and turning back to their game of Triad and passing out another round of beers. You waved farewell, climbing the stairs and crashing into your bed. 

The room was dark, and you found yourself staring up at the night sky through the skylight, watching the moon slowly circle above. You just lay there, sprawled out on the dark sheets, the room too stuffy and hot for you to want to be underneath a blanket. Distantly, you could hear Schlatt, George, and Big Q chattering and laughing, and even fainter still, the muffled voices and sounds of the rest of Manburg slowly slipping into the silence of sleep and shadows. As the distraction with the game wore off, the voices started coming back, starting out as whispers in your ears, low and slithering, then slowly louder, until it was becoming harder to hear yourself think.

They were still demanding blood- they always were -but now they were also pleading for chaos, for the dispersal of order and the inciting of wars. 

The war between both sides you were locked into.

Standing, you crossed the room, grabbing Orphan Slayer, hoping that holding a weapon would satiate them for the time being. Unsheathing it, you ran your finger along its edge, watching how it reflected the light in tiny glimmers of enchanted purple ripples. It was a beautiful blade, even if the enchantments could use some upgrading. 

It was a shame that you didn't know much about the voices.

While you were admiring your 'fine blade', you hadn't noticed how it had done nothing to quiet the incessant calls in your skull. If anything, they just got more and more excited. As you touched the tip of the sword, checking if it needed to be sharpened, you suddenly jolted for no reason, your hand slipping down and being sliced along the sharp edge, blood pouring out. Now they were really shouting, clamoring and yelling, the sight and smell of blood filling your senses.

And they drank it in.

You grunted in pain as they doubled in volume, as though multiplying or simply becoming louder, which shouldn't be possible- they were already all you could hear, crammed into your head so you couldn't think, all you could recognize, your own room seeming unfamiliar and foreign to you. The only thing you were able to home in on was the sharp pain in your hand and the well of blood still coming from it. Staggering across the room, you tripped and landed on the floor, your injured palm hitting the floorboards with an even brighter pain. A gasp was tugged from your chest as you landed, and you turned your bleeding hand towards you, not missing how much it was shaking- how much you were shaking.  

You felt tears slipping down you cheeks, not from the pain, which wasn't as bad as some you'd experienced, but from the voices. You hated them. So much. So, so much.

Slowly, you wiped away your tears, smearing blood on your face in the process. You were trembling all over, now, your body strangely cold and numb, your mind too loud. There was a heavy footstep behind you and your turned with a cry, throwing Orphan Slayer blindly, your eyes too blurry with blood and tears to see clearly.

"Y/N?" the figure asked, dodging the sword, which imbedded itself into the doorframe with a thud.

Your breathing slowly calmed, and you wiped away the liquid in your eyes with the back of your arm. Slowly, you began to recognize who it was standing there. "Fundy?" you asked, your voice shaking uncontrollably. 

"Holy shit- are you okay?" he asked, dropping to the ground beside you and quickly lighting a torch to see better. "Oh- oh god- That's... that's a lot of blood." Slowly, he grabbed your injured hand, turning it over and angling it gently for a better view of the wound. "Oh-" Fundy sucked in a breath, wincing. Evidently, it was deep. "Do I want to know what happened?" He asked, turning and rummaging in his bag before pulling out a thin, fluted vial filled with red liquid.

"Probably not," you forced out, trying not to breathe in the sickening smell from the regen potion as the fox hybrid uncapped it. The liquid inside burned like acid against the open wound for a moment, making you hiss and grit your teeth in pain, but the sharp agony quickly melted into a soothing, cold numbness as the skin slowly began to knit itself back together.  Soaking a bandage in more of the potion, Fundy slowly wrapped it around your hand so tightly you through you were going to lose feeling in it. 

His work finished, he sat back on his heels, studying your bloodstained face as you closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing. It helped to be with someone- a distraction, of a sort, to help keep them at bay. 

And yet, Fundy still had to ask, "Y/N.... what exactly happened? Because- I don't mean to pry, or anything but.... the expression on your face.... your pupils.... I'm sorry, it just reminded me a lot of...."

Exhausted, you leaned your head against the bed, too tired to argue. "Just spit it out, Fundy. You know you're right. Yeah, he's my dad. So what?" A small, shocked silence followed as your friend struggled to find the right words. 

"So.... this whole time you.... you've had voices stuck in your head?"

"No. They... they showed up very recently- I'm not entirely sure why, yet, but.... I think it has something to do with all of this," you replied, waving your uninjured hand towards the view of Manburg out the windows, one of which was still shattered from your training with Punz. "Being around people, people other than Techno, fighting a war, dealing with all the worry and pressure and anxiety- I think it just sort of.... triggered it all."

Another silence. "So.... who's your mom?" He asked, suddenly.

You choked on air. "Oh- god, no, Fundy, that's not-"

"What?" Fundy exclaimed, innocently. "It's a valid question!"

"I'm not actually his daughter- Jesus Christ, dude. I'm adopted. And- yeah, yeah, before you ask, 'what about the voices?' I got a major blood transfusion during another war I was in. Keep getting into damn wars- stupid fucking idea on my part-" You nearly fell over on the ground, and Fundy had to lunch forward to keep you from accidentally hitting your head.

"Careful- I think the regen just hit your brain. You might get a little loopy here, soon." Grunting, you stabilized yourself with your hands, trying to stay balanced. "So... does your father know about your... development?" 

You shook your head. "I don't want him to know." You shoved yourself to your feet, stumbling towards the bathroom sink, head spinning from the suppressed headache and standing far too quickly. Footsteps sounded behind you as Fundy followed and you shoved the faucet handle to the left, plunging your hands into the shockingly icy water. 

"If you don't mind answer.... why not?" He asked quietly. 

For a long moment, you didn't reply, focusing on washing the blood streaked on your face while choosing your words carefully. "Because he'd hate what I'd become," you spoke quickly, suddenly. You weren't sure exactly why you were choosing to tell him all of this- whether it was the regen medicine or the lingering panic from the breakdown, or the quiet, muted humming of the voices somewhere in the depths of your head. "He'd hate that I've become... this," you gestured to yourself, meeting Fundy's eyes in the mirror. "He'd hate me, because I'm betraying people I trust, and I'm lying to him and to everyone else and I'm choosing to go against what he told me, and I'm tired of having to hide things from him, Fundy, because there's so much he doesn't know- there's so much you don't know. There's so much.... so much that I don't think anyone knows." A deep breath, trying to steady your thoughts and rally your courage as you blurted out, "Fundy, I'm a spy."

There was a very, very long silence. It felt different from the other pauses in the conversation- more important, heavier, and pressing. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, not wanting to see the disappointment, surprise, and anger on his face.

Then a hand touched your shoulder, and you turned, opening your eyes to see Fundy staring at you, his expression and face unreadable.

"Come with me. There's something I think it's time you knew."

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2269 words

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There's some irl shit happening to us rn, so if we vanish for a hot minute or just generally go inactive, that's why :)

Remember to hydrate and take care of yourselves, moi dzieki <3