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disneyphantomlover · 7 months ago

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FBS Draft Scene: Still Undone

Word Count: 1600

Author's Notes: This has been a landmark scene in my head for a long time, but I realized recently I had never really told anyone about it! This takes place in the middle of the story. Content Warning spoils the heaviest part of this segment, so try to skip over it if you want to be surprised! Sorry I can't blank it out!

Summary: While searching the abandoned winter grounds of the carnival Taps once worked for, he and Riker discover the body of Hinge, Taps' childhood sweetheart. Title comes from Orville Peck's 'Hope to Die,' Taps and Hinge's theme.

Content Warnings: Dead robot, body desecration, attempted revival and subsequent putting down

Previously: Taps and Riker were being dragged back to New Amida by Kilroy and Lucy, but at a split second opportunity, stole their car and made off. While laying low, Taps is revealed to have an emotion blocker in his head, which Riker hastily removes, causing Taps to start experiencing extreme mood swings and reactions. Afterward, they decide to search for clues as to the whereabouts of Lindy, Taps' missing sister, and the first place to search is where Taps saw her last-- the carnival winter grounds where they worked together, now abandoned.

　Taps shuffled through the dusty papers in the desk drawers, keeping the lights of his eyes dialed up. Riker had their one flashlight tucked between his cheek and his shoulder and was picking the locks on the filing cabinet on the other side of the room, muttering under his breath. They’d checked a few other rooms in the deserted building before finding this office, all of them trashed in the time since the winter grounds were abandoned. The rooms had been shifted around after Taps left the carnival, except for the big storage room where they’d found, miraculously, a still sealed gallon of diesel.

　　Taps was trying not to let that diesel’s presence distract him. There were lots of reasons why a carnival might have that on hand, not just the one that he feared. Right now he had to focus on finding clues of where Lindy had gone.

　　“Got it,” Riker said, pulling open the top cabinet drawers. He wrinkled his nose at the contents; they probably smelled musty. “What year did you leave, again?”

　　“1959,” Taps said. “November.”

　　“Right, so--” Riker paused. “You were built in ‘47? Christ, you were still a kid.”

　　Taps silently straightened up and walked around the desk. “Demétrio had to move our contracts fast,” he said. “Medical bills. Here, I found a key, if there’s nothing in that one.”

　　In the second-to-bottom drawer, they found something. The manila folder nearly crumbled as Riker shifted it up into the light. It was unlabeled, but as Riker flipped through the tops of the papers within, he perked up. “Contract receipts. Jackpot.”

　　Taps leaned closer, staring at the papers as Riker jumped to the back of the folder. Focus, he thought. Don’t think about--

　　“Bettencourt!” Riker exclaimed. He grinned at Taps, pointing to a yellow page. “Bettencourt, L. Sale of contract: 1961. I can’t believe we fucking found it!”

　　Taps was frozen; his engine slowed. Riker’s smile began to dim.

　　“Hey,” Riker said softly. “You OK?”

　　“Yes,” Taps said, voice stiff. His illuminators had turned to pinpricks. “Yes. I just--”

　　Riker reached out and rested a hand on Taps’ shoulder. “Relax. This is big, and you’re just getting your feelings together. You need a minute before we get out of here?”

　　Taps vented a small burst of air, his head dropping forward, and he nodded.

　　Riker gingerly folded the receipt along its age-old crinkles before putting it in the inner pocket of his jacket. He stood with a grunt, rubbed his knees, and then held his hands up to his mouth, puffing a faint, misty cloud of hot air over them.

　　After a few minutes, the pair stepped out into the hallway, the shattered window at the closer end spilling moonlight across the floor. They walked carefully toward the exit, but stopped at the door, hearing whooping voices in the distance.

　　“Those damn teenagers are still here?” Riker growled. “Shit. They better not fuck with the car.”

　　Taps opened the door a crack and peaked through. “I can see their flashlights. They’re between us and the van, but I don’t think they’re moving toward it.” Taps paused, thinking. “There’s should be another way around, through the warehouse. I think the door was this way…”

　　They slipped as quietly as they could through the office building to the side door, then darted to the warehouse. Like the office, any sort of padlock had long been broken off, and the door opened with a soft creak. Riker flinched at the sound, then ducked inside, turning to wave Taps through. Taps only hesitated for a split second.

　　The main chamber of the warehouse was a disaster. Riker tried to keep the flashlight pointed at the ground as they walked, but the light would twitch nervously toward any open doors they passed. Riker’s foot collided with something and he yelped as it tumbled forward; Taps froze again, staring at the black diesel canister lying on its side, lit up in the circle of yellow. Riker breathed through his teeth.

　　“Christ, thought that was a rat for a second,” he said.

　　Taps stepped forward and picked it up, sloshing the liquid inside. Riker frowned at him-- or more specifically, at his eyes. Taps could feel his lights narrowing again.

　　“Taps?” Riker asked, voice a quiet hiss. “What’s the matter?”

　　“There was another robot,” Taps said. “His name was Hinge, and he ran on diesel.”

　　Riker stared at Taps for a moment, and Taps stared past him. There was a large doorway with no door just ahead of them, with smears on the ground, grimy shoe prints leading in and out. Before Riker could form a response, Taps had moved into the doorway.

　　There was something in there, against the far wall.

　　Taps’ footsteps were jerky as he took one, two steps in. Even with his illuminators turned all the way up, the shape was hard to make out. But it was big and bulky, crumpled forward over itself.

　　The flashlight shone past Taps shoulder, and Riker swore.

　　Hinge’s body sat with its back against the wall, head bowed forward over its bent legs. The left arm was missing below the elbow, and the chassis and the wall surrounding it were covered in spray paint. The graffiti on the wall made a terrible halo around the slumped form.

　　Taps barely registered his legs moving. He walked forward as if compelled, the carnage that had wracked Hinge’s body more apparent with every step. At some point he had dropped the diesel canister; it wasn’t in his hand when he knelt, almost falling, and reached out to touch Hinge’s knee.

　　“You stayed,” Taps whispered to the corpse. “Why did you stay?”

　　Taps couldn’t stop staring at Hinge’s face-- the hanging jaw, the dark holes of his glass-broken eyes. Some irreverent vandals had messily applied zigzags and meaningless blobs and a singular holographic sticker across his wide torso. Hinge would have hated it. Would hate it. Hated it.

　　Taps stood and turned sharply, nearly knocking into Riker. He ignored the words that stumbled out of Riker’s mouth and snatched the diesel canister off the ground, unscrewing the cap as he hurried to Hinge’s side. His fuel intake was just behind his left shoulder.

　　Taps did not stop pouring when Riker grabbed his arm and pointed the flashlight in his face, but he did start to hear him again.

　　“--can’t do this, buddy, there’s nothing left--”

　　“He has two ignition switches,” Taps said. “One on each side. I can’t reach both at once.” He turned his head and locked eyes with Riker. “I need you to hit the other switch.”

　　Riker’s eyes were round, the whites of them catching the light that bounced back into his face.

　　“What? No. I won’t,” Riker stammered. “Taps--”

　　“Do it,” Taps snapped. And then, venomously: “You owe me.”

　　Riker’s jaw snapped shut, and slowly his brows furrowed, the crease between his eyebrows deepening darkly. For a long moment he said nothing. Taps removed the nozzle from Hinge’s intake, and was just feeling the stirring of hesitation when Riker whipped around. Taps thought he might be storming out of the room, but he turned at Hinge’s feet and came back to his other side.

　　“You’re going to fucking regret this,” Riker snapped, casting the light over Hinge, looking for the switch.

　　Taps reached out and pried Hinge slightly more forward from the wall, enough to slip their hands beneath his shoulder blades. “Just press, and hold for three,” Taps said. “One… two… three--”

　　There was a gurgle and a bang from within Hinge’s chest, and he jerked violently. Black smoke spat from his mouth, and one eye flickered. Riker pulled back, and Taps’ hands snapped out, ready to steady him.

　　“Hinge? Hinge!” Taps cried. “It’s alright, it’s--”

　　Hinge continued to spasm, and Riker jumped back as his only arm swung aimlessly. Sounds gargled out of his voice box, a waterfall of half-words and metallic screeches, and with a full-body jolt he fell onto his left side, nearly taking Taps down with him. Hinge-- his body-- contorted on the ground, thrashing and scraping itself on the concrete, howling.

　　Taps stared and realized what he had done.

　　“Hold his head.”

　　Riker was holding a long metal rod, some piece of detritus from the floor.

　　Taps could have screamed, but with threadbare restraint, he did not. He only knelt and did his best to hold onto Hinge’s head, a hand on both sides. Hinge was--had been-- was so, so strong, and it was difficult to steady the head.

　　Riker missed the first blow, the end of the rod bouncing off the center of Hinge’s faceplate. The second spike hit true, going deep into the eye socket, back into the elongated skull. Riker wrenched the rod to one side, then the other, and with a snap something gave away, and Hinge’s body went still.

　　Taps kept holding the head as Riker-- Riker was crying, Taps dimly realized-- as he pulled the rod free and tossed it aside. The flashlight had been left on the ground, pointing at Hinge, and Riker retrieved it, knuckles bone white around the grip. He was breathing heavily, teeth grit, and his wet eyes shot accusing darts at Taps.

　　‘“I owe you?”’ Riker hissed bitterly. “I should have told you to get in line.”

　　And then he did leave, stalking out into the hallway. Taps heard him begin to retch, and he looked down again. He ran a hand over Hinge’s forehead.

　　“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, love. You deserved the whole world. Better than this. Better than me.”

#DUDE.#like holy shit #well done but damn

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