#hopefully the readmore will actually work. half the time it just Yeet’s my shit into the void

[mochitoaster]

hmm writing prompts.. i am writing something for the prompt ‘reunions’ right now so i will also throw that one to you if you want :]c

I’m gonna work this into a bigger, proper fic I think C: this was very fun to write! Idk how much you know about qsmp, but here you go!

—

“Pac!”

It’s as if time suddenly resumes, slamming into Pac’s body before he can even hope to register it.

“Pac, oh my god! Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of there!”

“M-Mike..?” Pac whispers, uncurling from the fetal position to look out between the bars.

Standing there, breath heaving, clothes and hair slick with water, is a man that looks a lot like Mike. His darker roots are cropping up between locks of pink, his lab coat plastered to his skin and translucent, the bottom edge of it dripping onto the stone brick floor.

“Wh-who are you?” Pac calls out, voice shaky and hoarse from disuse.

The man’s eyes widen, a look of horror settling on his handsome features. “It’s—it’s me, Pac! It’s Mike, don’t you remember me?”

Disgust curls in Pac’s stomach as he hisses, “This is fucked up, even for the Federation.”

“What—Pac, it’s me!”

“Fuck off!” Pac yells, scrambling backwards as the man steps up to the edge of the cage.

His back bumps into the bars behind him and he watches, eyes wide, as the man desperately fumbles with a keycard that doesn’t work. “Fuck, fuck! Don’t worry, Pac, I’ll get you out!”

“Don’t! You can’t! Leave me alone!” Pac shouts, pressing himself against the bars so hard it hurts.

“Pac, it-it’s okay, I’ll get you out and then you’ll remember, just—just hold on!”

“You *can’t*!” Pac sobs, tears burning at the corners of his eyes as he watches the man sift through his inventory frantically. “You’re not Mike! I don’t know who you are, but you’re not him, so stay away from me!” he cries, shielding his face with his hands.

“I’m not..?” the man mutters to himself, staring at Pac in confusion. “What do you mean, Pac?”

“You’re—you’re a clone, o-or a guard disguised as Mike, or something else, but you’re not Mike,” Pac answers quietly, eyes trained on the stranger trying to break into his cell.

“Pac…” Mike whispers, voice heavy with sorrow. “Just… just hang in there. I’ll free you, even if you think I’m not me.”

Pac watches silently as the man pokes at the other cage, opening a shulker containing items Pac can’t see. He talks to himself quietly, his tears blurring his vision as his sobs slur his words together into a panicked jumble of nonsense. The man continuously soothes him, assuring him that it’ll all be alright.

Pac feels ill; the one person he can trust is being used against him. Maybe the Federation brainwashed him, or created a hologram so convincing that it’s indistinguishable from a person. Whatever the case, Pac huddles at the back of his cage, knees pulled up to his chest. He rocks back and forth, his tears soaking into his tattered clothes.

The gash on his back stings where the metal bars touch, adding to his torment as he curls ever tighter in on himself, shutting out the world around him.

The man is reading something. Pac doesn’t care to hear, instead continuing to ramble quietly and hoping that he stays far away from him. His hopes are dashed, however, as the man approaches the cell from behind and sits down on the ground, just behind Pac.

“Hey, man,” he says. “Look at me.”

Slowly, Pac lifts his head and looks over his shoulder. The man looks earnest and concerned, his fingertips pressing against one of the glass panels interspersed between the bars.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Pac. You’re going to make it home. It’ll be okay.”

“You can’t beat the Federation,” Pac whispers hoarsely, hopelessness scratching up his words like sandpaper in his throat.

The man smiles at him, eyes determined. “We have to try.”

Suddenly, his eyes widen and he reaches into his inventory, frantically searching for something. After a few moments, he yanks something purple out, his expression victorious.

“Pac, eat this!” the man demands excitedly, holding up some sort of fruit.

Pac shies away from the bars as he tries to fit it through, grunting in frustration as he realizes it’s too big to fit. He circles around to the thick metal door, the slots in the eye-level opening wider than the cell bars by a fraction. It’s just enough, the fruit being successfully shoved between them.

“Here, Pac, take it!”

Pac stares at the fruit, not making a move to accept it. It could be poisoned, he thinks. It’s certainly the right colour for it. Or, maybe this is a test of some kind and he’ll be punished by the guards for accepting contraband.

“C’mon, Pac, we don’t have much time!”

Glancing around, Pac notices the corpse of a faceless guard, his abdomen ripped to shreds. When had that gotten there?

“Pac!”

Hesitantly, Pac creeps forwards and snatches the fruit before he can think better of it. It’s got a porous texture on the surface, its scent vaguely reminiscent of a melon. Closing his eyes tight, Pac bites into it, gulping down the flesh and bracing himself for the consequences.

There’s a strange twisting in his gut, a popping noise, and then there’s hands on him. Pac reels back, out of reach of the stranger as an alarm begins to blare.

“Fuck, Pac, run!” the man who looks so much like his Mike yells over the deafening tone.

Pac stares, unmoving, as the man rushes towards a breach in the ceiling, beginning to scale the brick wall.

He’s out of the cage. This man freed him and there’s a way out right in front of him. Pac feels a spark of hope in his chest and runs after the man who calls himself his friend, his partner.

“Mike!” Pac shouts, hoping against hope that this is all real.

Mike grabs his hand, hauling him up and over the ledge. “We’re gonna have to swim, Pac! Hurry!”

They launch into the ocean, Pac desperately clawing through the water as Mike ascends rapidly towards the surface. Pac is weaker than him, his muscles unused for who-knows-how-long he spent in that cage. Water rushes into his mouth, choking him, and he feels himself begin to sink.

A hand grabs a hold of him, pulling him upwards until his head breaches the surface. Fresh, salty air fills his lungs, making him cough and splutter as Mike hauls him into a motorboat. The engine comes to life with a low growl, the boat picking up speed rapidly as it hurtles forwards.

They’re out. Numbly, Pac grips onto Mike as he drives the boat, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist and clutching at his coat.

“Mike..?” he asks.

“Yeah, man, it’s me. I’m here. You’re safe, now,” Mike replies.

“Fuck, Mike!” Pac sobs, burying his face against Mike’s back.

“It’s okay, Pac. It’ll all be okay. Now, let’s go get you fixed up, you look like a nightmare.”