For the few days, the sights have always been the same at the underground dungeon. There's always the patterned shifts, the intimidating presence of guards with polished armor from head to toe, and the undying boredom and hunger to get out alive. With no one left behind.
With Fang being the only one with a decent enough wristwatch he managed to find, they know how much sunrises and sunsets have passed. And without knowing Yaya's fate, the three are just basically numb.
It's no time for crying. They've wasted so many hours for that already. Ying's body lies downheartedly on the wintry brick floor, Gopal strums at the bars of the cell, bursting the area with literal metallic music, and Fang has been leaning on the extra column at the corner of their chamber.
They're quiet. They can't make noise in proximity of vigilant guards probably behind one of the sharp hall turns.
It has just turned noon, though none of them bother to learn the time. Their heads itch for a better night of sleep. And when Fang decides it was a good idea to take a good, fidgety nap while he leans on a brittle wall, what sounded like bark snaps into the beam within.
Fang sinks shoulder first into the hollow area.
"G-Gah- What the actual fo-!" Fang wheezes.
Both Ying and Gopal shush him out. "Fang! Keep it down...!"
"S-s-s-sorry, my bad," he stammers, struggling to sit back up as he brushes away grains of tiny pebbles from the cobblestone and wood dust.
The two notice the hole in the wall, and Ying speeds to keep watch behind her as they scoot to Fang's side.
"Yo, what in tarnation is this?" Gopal whispers, peeking into the dusty recess behind Fang.
A plank of weak wood rests on the floor, covered in thin layers of cement and stone. Wooden beams stand chipped, leaning on a sloping wall at the back. Indentations corner a zigzag all the way to the ceiling, and Ying is very much the first brave soul to ever spot it.
The tracks mark until the shadows shroud them completely. They head upwards. Too far upwards.
Gopal looks to the side of their cell to guard as Fang whispers. "Errrrr...Miss Ying...I swear, I d-d-did not know that was there-"
He leans deeper into the shaft, his knees suddenly kneeling over something firm.
For the second he yelps, Gopal takes a palm over the young Fang's mouth. It wasn't a tack he knelt on, nor even a stone.
The lustrous bead is smooth between Fang's fingertips, made out of pearl-white terracotta. A hole digs through its center. Must've been from a bracelet, thought Fang. Two beautiful splatters of black paint stain its front and back. And as the boys gawk at the intricate little knickknack, Ying is less intrigued, sitting inside the hollow wall and looking up.
Her keen eyes are beginning to look sanguine. She pats the boys' shoulders, unblinking.
Only one word to mouth. Passageway.
※
Yaya doesn't have much of a choice but to spend her remaining time wisely in her bedroom. There's very little energy for her to pace around, and too much will to live to just shrivel on her bed and wish to die. There's no need to change clothes, she's too tired. She lies on bed with her fleece swing coat and leggings.
She isn't wearing the white boots she wore outside. She's wearing the old ones Ying gave her. Like they're the only things that remind Yaya of her sane life before all this mess unfolded.
It was a long day. Under just four hours, she got ready, went outside, went to the Ruins for the first time, rode a monstrous vehicle, almost murdered a grown man, got forced to target a child, went home, actually knew how to operate this thing called an electric toothbrush...and it's just noon.
And yet, her mind spirals to the same thing.
She was instructed to target a minor with weapons. It seemed so off, way too much. But in the end, there was pity.
They didn't think twice when they took my mother either, BoBoiBoy yelled to her only hours prior.
For the first time, his face appeared bleak. It's grabbing at her again, her irrational sensitivity to others. The emotion tears through her soul, as if threatening to pierce out of her skin and take over her decisions entirely.
His mind is so vacant, she thinks. So clueless, so disdainful. And yet, why does he look so...sad...?
Yaya tries rubbing away the feeling. She shouldn't be thinking of this. She should've been more assertive. More insensitive, more frank, more honest.
Inferiority. I hate it.
And if there's one more thing she hates as well, it's the abrupt squeaking sound of lumber.
It isn't even from her door. Her wall.
She's long been suspicious of the thick bookshelf near her. Perhaps not only because there are barely even books to begin with, but for the sheer reason of the large piece of wood leaning by the bay of her room.
The creaking pricks on her spine, hitching her breath. She looks down to the sound. Is this a cabinet? Why is it moving?
She can already imagine it. A rotting hand crawling out to grab her feet.
She grabs at the pillars of her nearby bed. "W- What...?"
"Yaya...?"
A secret hatch by the baseboard slams open. Someone lurches to embrace Yaya.
Ying.
Relief rushes through the two girls' bodies at each other's sight. They squeeze into a hug, not bothering if it's too tight to even breathe. At this point, trying not to squeal is difficult. Instead, their words slur.
"Oh, gosh- You're alive!" Ying squalls, taking Yaya into her arms like there is no tomorrow.
Yaya glances at the door before talking. "Ying! Oh my word, you're okay...! H-How, were you, like, in there the whole time?!"
Ying pulls away with a smile, still looking gorgeous in Yaya's eyes with that spiky jacket and sack bonnet, but trashier. "No no no no, it's crazy and we were in some dungeon in the basement probably and we were, like, unhurt and okay, we've been there for days and we didn't know where you were and we found this secret passageway and- I'm just so happy to see you!" Ying says without even taking a single breath.
Eventually, she starts catching up. "Are you okay? Are you hurt, like, in any way?" Really, Ying. She looks pampered to the core and you seriously just had the gall to ask her that? she says internally.
Yaya sighs back. "It's okay, really. I'm fine."
That face. Ying has known this face all her life. She sighs. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah," she lies. She barely lies to Ying.
Even so, Ying thinks differently, with an eye bolting from the door to her best friend's face. She isn't wasting a second. "Good," she whispers. "Right then, I think we need to get out of here."
Yaya can read the rash decision she's making. "Wait, what? No, wait-"
"What?" Ying turns back after reopening the hatch.
Thoughts jumble in Yaya's head like a hailstorm. They flash varying questions. How do we even escape? What if we're caught? When do we plan?
Why do we even want to leave?
The most tormenting question is the biggest boom slamming in Yaya's ears. Her heart holds onto the brim of BoBoiBoy's thin line of forgiveness. She shouldn't even be thinking of that. They need to go.
"Yaya," Ying attempts to snap Yaya from spacing out. "Yaya. Are you sure you're fine?"
Her lips sputter the words without thought. "Ying. Ying, what if..." She's hanging the question. A sign of uncertainty. She doesn't want to be sure at these sorts of times. "...what if I can't exactly leave yet?"
It's now Ying's turn to have her eyes squint. She blinks, looking away to the open window. The curtains are the first thing she sees. The lavish garments providing her the beautiful apricity outside. She's crestfallen. There's no way her friend just got blinded by some strange predator. No, it's too early for this.
"Oh, nothing," she gibes. "I just thought my best friend would still be in there somewhere to run home with me and celebrate a late birthday, is all."
A late birthday. It eats on Yaya's heart. "Ying, gosh, I'm sorry."
But Ying's hands have the strength before she could break into an unworthy fountain of tears. She dismisses the sarcastic statement. There's no time to hate on a friend who you thought died. "No, it's okay. I'm fine, just," She looks at the door over and over. "I'm worried for you. It's dangerous here."
Yaya doesn't complain. This place is nothing but dangerous. Rather, her brows are left to wrinkle.
"I don't believe you don't know, because I know well enough that you must know by now," Ying tells her, not troubling to answer her questions. "I swear, I have no idea what is up with that guy that brought you here but I know for sure something's not right."
This is what Yaya desperately needed. A word of advice to remind her of her last bits of sanity and that she isn't alone in thinking suspiciously. To think of others cruelly is insensitive to her. Though now, she might as well think otherwise.
None of them sit. They can sense the speed of their conversation anyway. "I know. But, something isn't right about his attitude either," Yaya says.
"At this point, I'm not even surprised." Ying rolls her eyes. "Listen to me, I don't care if you think that guy, whatever his name is, deserves a pity party." She takes Yaya's hands into hers. "I knew a bunch of stuff in the dungeon that would be way too risky if we learned it all the hard way."
A curious look plasters on Yaya's face. An equivocate stare.
Ying runs through the vast shelves of her memories, seeking to explain it all shortly. She's looking back, making her sweat. With a heart hammering in her chest, she's remembering the old man, Papa's words.
The Sadists that ended the world.
"The Ballad of The Panther" is what Ying tells her.
※
By a terrace lounge, BoBoiBoy slumps near a table, toying with a marigold flower's petals in hand. With fingers on the stems, his eyes stare at the bright standing sun. He gawks at it, like a pure white pearl or a pool of snow in the blue sky.
The potted plant looks like a bouquet on its own. Like half of the world burning at his fingertips. He doesn't enjoy counting how many petals are left of it, still his fingertips dance around its orange fronds.
And with nails long and pointed, he snips one of them off.
A warm hue under cold sunlight. A flaming memory blown out of his head. Is she really?
When lunchtime calls, he's deciding to walk towards Yaya's room. His shoes clap over the floor in a sauntering fashion. Yaya's room is only feet away from him.
And that is what she doesn't know.
Before his hands could even land on the doorknob, he hears her.
"Red eyes?" Yaya asks.
"Yes, at least that's what Papa told us. It's the truth of how the world ended and...because of this, I'm no longer sure if it's truly safe for us here," Ying explains further.
Neither of them know BoBoiBoy is only inches from their sight.
Even with all the explanations, she still doesn't understand. The complexity of the Sadistic Raid, their abilities, their dangers confuse her.
Her friend has always been the intuitive type, but with her own discerning eyes and senses, it's no surprise they think differently.
"Ying, look, I get it. But please, it's not safe for you here! I'll get us out, I'll think of something. Just not now," she says. She lied again. And BoBoiBoy hears it from the door.
She promised to stay.
"Still!" Ying reads her mind without even talking. "It isn't safe for you here either-!"
"I know, I get it. I totally understand, but please. I know what I'm doing, okay?" Yaya takes her friend by her hands this time.
But it was Ying's lingering eyes that keep her latched onto her. Blue eyes meet the sight of her bandaged arm. She totally doesn't know what she's doing. "What's this?"
The energy drains out of her at the sight of Ying's worried face, trailing back to the memories of her explanation of the Sadists' nails. The statement twists at her insides. She must lie again, all to not worry her friend.
"Oh- this is- an- electric toothbrush incident- injury."
A pathetic excuse. Ying buys it. "Huh, sounds terrifying."
Yaya's heart doesn't stop sinking. She needs Ying back to the dungeon before they get caught. "Look, I will explain, but for now, you need to go, please!"
"Okay, okay, but for now, just take this." Ying's frail hands lock into Yaya's, handing her a tiny bead.
Ying crouches to the hatch in Yaya's periphery. She keeps looking at the tiny ornament, the ceramic bead with two splatters of paint. Two crow-looking figures.
"Roll it down this tunnel if you desperately need help. We'll come for you-"
BoBoiBoy has heard enough. He knocks.
Shoot.
The two girls rush and panic as Yaya drops the bead into a small trinket by the shelf. She gets a glimpse of the door, mouthing. Okay, okay, you need to go!
"Yes, yes, I will!" Ying whispers back, a hand over the hatch door. "Stay safe, good luck!"
The secret door closes, and her room opens.
"BoBoiBoy." Yaya forces a neutral look. "What is it?"
"Oh, lunch is ready," he says.
Never did she know he was there the whole time. And so, relaxation flooded her body. There's a new rule now. Obey, and pretend, if you want to live. "Good. I was starving anyways." She lifts a corner of her lip.
He ushers her out the door, leaving him to glance at the slightly open crack by the shelf. She doesn't see him pondering, Has that passageway always been there?
※
The fissure from the ceiling pours light into the vial below it. The golden sunset illuminates the dim room, letting BoBoiBoy read out the label on the potion bottle by his side. It's a bunch of numbers. 553580. That doesn't comfort him at all.
I shouldn't have told him, he thinks before screaming.
Nobody can hear the yelps coming from that secret room in the basement. There, he can only manage to hold it in, combat the agony, breathe as much as he can without his collar.
"Just a little bit more," the voice hisses. The same voice that asks him those stupid questions at the screen in front.
BoBoiBoy can only ball his fists, letting out gasps of weak air as he fights to ignore the excruciating feeling.
"Hold still."
He's shaking.
Eventually, his eyesight crumbles and fades off, leaving him huffing by the chair, unable to move. Each noise is muffled, his arm is hardened after the aching.
In the room is only him and that tall, shadowed figure. The daunting voice puffs, a blood-curdling whisper to BoBoiBoy's ears. "You know what I'm doing is for you, right?"
I shouldn't have told him, he thinks again. He's barely even conscious.
A strong set of fingers press on an old recorder, activating an audio chip to play in the quiet space.
Raspy voices come in earshot. Two voices. A lady's, and that mysterious man's.
"It failed," the man mutters through the hoarse speakers.
There's the weak voice of the lady. "What...?"
"It all failed, it's done. They're gone. All gone!"
"And you want me to do, what?"
"They're all gone- All my hard work, gone, blasted-!"
"Babah..."
"Selfish men, those people are!"
"Babah," the lady pants. "Let go-"
"No."
"Let it all go, stop wasting your life on something beyond your control, please!" The lady raises her voice. "Just, forget about all of it for now, for heaven's sake. I'm not tolerating anymore of your insanity!"
No, not this voice.
Her soft voice continues. "At least we're still a family. Babah, your son-"
The recording goes silent.
"Babah?"
"At least...we have a son."
Silence.
All of a sudden, she is croaking. "No, please-"
"Shut up, will you-?!"
The recording speeds up, leaving tracks of scratching noises and inaudible tones. BoBoiBoy tosses his head back and forth in an attempt to avoid the brainwash.
"GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY BABY!" the lady cries.
"ENOUGH! I am done with my failures, woman! I am through with being the pitholes OF OUR HISTORY!" he yells. "Let this be a blessing, you ingrate. Let our son be part...of my legacy."
"If you lay a single finger on him, I will not live like this!" she shrieks in a broken voice.
One can only hear her heartbroken breaths from the audio. The quiet drowns the air before the unknown man speaks again.
"What did you just say-?"
The recording stops.
BoBoiBoy's eyes flicker in the dark, half-awake and with powerless arms on his chair. The silhouette extends a hand to lift his chin. He sneers at him. "Stay here," he whispers. "Don't go anywhere."
The man drops the young boy's head and exits the room.
BoBoiBoy never wanted this.
He wants to move, but his sickly legs can't handle even the weight of his own body. He grunts, motionless and fragile. He can't budge, nor complain or object. He wants to scream more, he wants to run, he wants to leave. He wants to throw himself to the ground. He wants to forget his pain. Still, there's no rebel left in him.
Still, he's left without a choice. Still, he is alive to be an instrument of another.
Still, there is no denying...for he...is still his father.