CHEMICAL CHRYSALIS | by R.M.B.

C H A P T E R 3

It was easy to find myself lost in thought whenever I ended up on these long sort of walks. Usually, I would be thinking about something arbitrary, like what it would be like if I were able to escape this Godforsaken facility. But my mind was too focused not only on Malcolm, but the asshat who I was now being required to go and see.

Grove wasn't really that bad- I guess I'm complaining a little. But they're the sort of person who corrects your facts in an everyday conversation "because it's important." It really isn't, but whatever, Grove. Fucking pricktastic pricklord out here. But that didn't matter right now- they're going to love this new chance to gloat.

I turned the last corner, and in front of me was an elevator shaft. Not one of the ones that I spent most of my time in - this elevator was so deep underground that it couldn't reach the lab even if we wanted it to. It only went from the top level of the ruins to Ground Zero; the lowest low that the architecture could reach before it began collapsing in on itself. Not that it wasn't already; Ground Zero was barely safe for the mature ones to enter.

The elevator shaft was rusted, like everything else down here, and the cables squeaked and creaked noisily as I stepped around them carefully. It was as if the car were swinging back and forth within the shaft, although I couldn't see how that was possible. I ignored it. Plenty of weird stuff happened in the sub basement - Grove included in that.

I inched my way around the back, to a small crevice which had been hollowed out enough for someone to live comfortably. I mean, I assumed so. I'm not sure why Grove'd be living down here if it wasn't enjoyable, considering they'd easily be accepted in the home. But whatever.

Speak of the devil.

There was a stapler sitting near a sleeping bag, inconspicuous. I glared down at it before nudging it with my foot. Its body was heaving up and down minutely, as if it were breathing. Upon contact, it let out a feeble creak and shuffled away a small distance.

I rolled my eyes. "Grove, dude, give it up. I'm not playing right now."

"You're always playing. You can't trick me that easily," the stapler responded, its voice a low rasp between its handles.

I huffed, faux pouting down at the stationary tool. "You're the one making me hold a conversation with a stapler."

"Yeah, well, maybe there's no reason for me to pretend to be human," it responded dryly. "Unlike some of us."

I smirked. "You know I don't really have a choice."

"Whatever, man. Stop whining and tell me why you're here." Grove snapped. I fought the urge to pick it up and chuck it against the wall, even if it wouldn't end up hurting them anyway.

"We could discuss this all day. The meaning of life is different for everyone. Wh-"

"Callum, cut the bullshit. I was sleeping peacefully just now and I will not hesitate to beat your ass if it'll get me back to that," Grove said, his tone a warning in of itself.

I sighed exaggeratedly, resting my arms behind my head. "Malcolm's dead."

"Shit," the stapler replied. "Did you finally snap on his ass?"

"No," I snorted. "Remember the agreement Denver made with me? After the accident?"

"You're kidding me."

"I really wish I was," I grinned humorlessly, my mouth as dry as it had ever been. "I can't find the guy anywhere, and to be honest he's probably avoiding me after what happened." I could feel my lip curling up in disgust as I spat the rest. "I know there's nothing I can do about it, but I can't stand by and let good ol' Dicks-For-Brains get away with ruining the plan."