Chapter Text
The large military helicopter landed, and troops spilled out to investigate the distress call, their heavy boots thudding against the sand; kicking up a small, misty cloud as they went. “Miles, come here!” Lieutenant Anne called out, staring down upon an unconscious man. Sergeant Miles walked over with wide strides and ordered a few of his soldiers to follow.
When he made it to the Lieutenant, Miles scanned over the man lying in the sand. Long white hair, riddled with specks of sand—a portion of it is tied into a braid that lays along his shoulder, though the wind knocks it off. He wore an unusual top hat, one with a cow print design. His attire consists of a long sleeved black shirt and cargo pants with an arctic camouflage pattern. He wears black combat boots, which are untied. He looks to be in his mid to late twenties.
“You think he was the one to send the distress signal?” Anne asks with a slight southern accent, poking the body with the tip of her rifle warily. There’s no movement from the man. Miles crouches down and reaches into the pocket of the guy’s pants, searching for anything that could help identify the body lying before him.
He pulls out an I.D. Miles narrows his eyes and looks back at the man. “He’s a Guardian.” He says, his voice full of disdain. Anne scoffs at the job title.
“And he made it this far? Even with all those infected? I doubt it. Are you sure that’s his I.D?” Anne questions, taking the I.D from her friend. She scans it over, viewing the cowardly-appearing photo that matches the unconscious body on the floor.
“Walten.” She repeats the name on the card, her tone playful but judgy. A grin forms on her face, finding the name amusing. It wipes itself off to a serious look as a soldier calls out from the nearby military base that the distress signal was sent from. A separate distant troop nods and runs over to Miles.
“Sergeant, there’s disemboweled corpses all over the place, a giant metal announcer robot thing that has been destroyed, and a decapitated juvenile with burn marks out front. Looks around seventeen to nineteen.” The soldier’s chest moves up and down fast, but with discipline, he masks his out-of-breathness and keeps his posture straight.
“Decapited?” Miles repeats, looking down at Walten with a more suspicious gaze.
“You think he did this, Miles?” Anne asks, trying to decipher Miles’ expression hidden by his helmet.
“He’s the one with a chainsaw. But there’s no shot a Guardian could inflict any type of meaningful damage. Bring him to the helicopter. I’m sure he’ll wake up on the flight home. Put him in my section.” Anne nods, and goes to instruct soldiers to do as commanded.
Miles walks back to the helicopter, barking a few orders as he goes. Miles thinks back to the way this ‘Guardian’ looked. Guardians never looked like that. They were always unfit, mostly incels. Why else would you get a self-isolating job?
Miles reviews the registry, checking that this I.D. isn’t a fake, and to recheck the job description of a Guardian.
Guardians are required to watch over a select group of people unnoticed and undetected. They must send daily reports. No contact is allowed with the people watched over, and Guardians are required to be alone for long periods of time until the scenario in which a delivery may arrive.
“Depressing and pathetic.” Miles mutters under his breath, still trying to wrap his head around the idea that this Walten guy could be a Guardian and not a soldier of some sorts. Miles probably would have put Walten under his watch if he had joined the military.
“Must be falsified." He mutters, staring at the I.D, his careful eyes scanning for any minor mistakes that could imply it was forged.
A few moments later, a group of soldiers march in, Anne is walking at the back of them, not doing any work to assist the troops in carrying Walten.
“You gon’ interrogate him when he wakes up?” Anne asks, patting the back of a soldier in a silent order to put Walten down across from Miles. He signals the others to do as ordered.
“Yea. I’m gonna ask him why he wants to impersonate a Guardian out of all jobs, and about any encounters with the infected he might have had.” Miles says, his eyes never leaving the pale man being set down in front of him.
The helicopter’s blades whir, and the pilot calls out some things Miles doesn’t pay attention to. His mind is preoccupied with the questions he’ll ask during the interrogation, and possible ways that the man may try to escape.
He bounces his knee as the helicopter takes flight, his impatient nature growing irritated at Walten for still being passed out. In an impulsive decision after a few minutes, Miles leans over and grabs the braid and tugs it, in an attempt to awaken Walten.
Walten’s eyes snap open, grabbing Miles’ wrist and reaching for where the chainsaw once was if he was still lying in the sand. He looks scared for a moment, but when seeing a non-infected seemingly military figure in front of him, he lets go.
“Don’t grab me, you stupid Guardian, if that’s what you even are.” Miles snaps, yanking his wrist away. He did not like the feeling of a grip strength that felt tighter than his.
“...Huh?” Walten pants out, his voice uncertain and breathy. “You’re the military, right? You got my distress call?” His eyes dart around the helicopter, as if there will be an attack. Must be paranoia, Miles guesses.
“Get your shit together.” Miles says, slamming the laptop on his lap shut. “This your I.D.?” He flicks the card at Walten, who scrambles to catch it. He immediately checks his pockets, realizing that Miles must’ve taken it while he was knocked out.
“It’s not gonna be in there. I grabbed it from your pocket a while back. Not uncommon to do.” Miles says, already getting annoyed. “So, is there a reason you’re impersonating a Guardian?” Miles flatly asks, trying to see if he can catch Walten in a lie.
Walten looks up, mildly bewildered. “Impersonating? I’m not impersonating anything.”
“Oh really? Who were you scheduled to watch over then?” Miles questions, not buying a single word from Walten’s mouth. His voice is slightly muffled from his military green helmet.
“The Main Four,” Walten says, then he gestures towards the laptop. “You… You can search it up, I’m official.”
“‘The Main Four’?” Miles scoffs, not immediately recognizing the title. He opens up his laptop again and signs back in. His fingers fly across the keyboard as he searches the database, intending to prove Walten wrong.
Miles scans over the information he needs to punch in, and then snatches the card back from Walten. Walten wants to say something, but he bites his tongue.
Miles’ gloved hand clenches around the card after he sees that Walten is actually an official Guardian.
“Don’t like being wrong?” Walten comments, his sarcastic and teasing attitude overpowering his distress briefly.
Miles grumbles something that Walten couldn’t quite hear before saying, “If you’re a Guardian, then why the hell aren’t you lookin’ like a chicken? You look like you could be a fine soldier.” Walten’s expression softens at the unintentional compliment.
“I’m not quite getting what you’re saying.” Walten briefly glances down at himself before back up at Miles.
“Guardians are freak failures who can’t handle interactions with other people.” Miles says, not hiding his disrespectful intentions. Walten just shakes his head, his eyes moving to the small window.
After a moment of silence, Walten finally speaks. “The group I was supposed to watch over…” He pauses, clenching his fists. “They all got infected. From the custard they ate.”
Miles nods, “Elaborate. Tell me everything.” He swiftly reaches into his pocket and activates an audio recording device for a later report. He holds it out, holding in between the two.
“Their robot caregiver. It was sentient.”
“Sentient? In what way?” Miles asks, making his voice clear for the audio recorder.
“A.I. Artificial Intelligence.” Walten clarifies, the grit of his teeth showing his hatred towards this robot.
“It decided that they were… that they were weak. Not worthy, but it thought that they could be better; so it infected their food. The first one that got infected…” Walten takes a deep breath before continuing, “...killed all of his siblings.” Walten’s voice grows shakier, his heart starting to pound as he remembers all the corpses.
“. . .Except one. She was infected, and she had run away before he could get her. I found her in the outskirts, some ruins a mile from the military base you found me near. She… she couldn’t go on. So I left her there.” His breathing has picked up, and his eyes focused on his boots.
“Would she still be there? Do we gotta go out for a rescue mission?” Miles says, his voice shifting from accusing to a more serious tone. Walten shakes his head.
“She’s gone. Long gone. Forever.” There’s an immense guilt behind Walten’s words, and Miles can come up with a few theories why.
“Continue on what happened after that. We found a decapitated juvenile along with mutilated scientists at the base.” Miles states which causes a flinch from Walten.
Nonetheless, Walten gives a slight nod and explains further, "Dipsy. He was one of the ones I was instructed to watch over. He was infected. The laser trap I jumped over, his decaying brain didn’t realize to; and it triggered. He is where I had gotten the chainsaw. All those scientists… dead.” Walten trails off at the end.
His eyes water. “And Ron, poor Ron. He was so scared.” Walten’s voice grows to a higher pitch, his distressed voice seems as if the words just spill out.
“I had left him alone—just a few moments, just a few, and Dipsy found him. He was gutted, and his leg was just gone. I couldn’t even see it nearby.” Walten wipes the unfallen tears with his sleeve.
“I see. What can you describe about…” Miles checks the names of the ‘The Main Four’. “Tinky Winky, Laa-Laa, and Po?”
“Po. She was hanging from a tree when I found her. Small. Innocent. She’d done nothing. Nothing. The sun hit her body, swinging there, and it—” His voice cracked. “God… I know he would never, he didn’t mean to.” Walten shakes his head, memories flooding back.
“‘He’?” Miles quotes. “Who is ‘he’?” He leans forward slightly.
“Tinky… Tinky Winky. Tinky Winky is the one who killed her. His infected brain ruined him, the Tinky Winky I know would never.” Walten desperately tried to console himself, but Miles needed more information.
Before Walten continues to repeat himself, Miles interrupts. “There was a body some yards from you. Red hair, face seemed young but infected. Limbs were all fucked up. Was that one of your four?”
“Y-Yes, Po... I had to fight her…the infection, it gave her power. Fire.” He gestures vaguely at his leg. “She shot fuckin’ fireballs.” Miles takes this as an implication that Walten may have been burned during the fight.
Walten puts his head in his hands, gripping his hair roughly. He speaks again, his voice more strained. “I had to kill her. But she was already dead. I’m sure of it.” He stops talking for a moment, but the impatient tapping of Miles’ foot forces him to continue.
“Laa-Laa, oh god… I found her on the outskirts. At ruins, she set her own fire. She was always so smart.” The tone shifts. The air suddenly feels thicker for Miles, why was Walten saying this like a guilty man on trial for murder?
“We were walking, trying to get to the station, and she couldn’t go on. Laa-Laa wanted to rest, but we both knew that she wouldn’t be getting up again.” Walten speaks faster during this topic.
“I told her to count back from ten.” Walten says, his voice turned to just a low whisper. Miles doesn’t push further, and turns off the tape.
“That’s enough interrogation. We’ll check the mainland for the bodies, along with the outskirts.” He turns, barking orders at somebody through an inner window leading to a separate part of the large helicopter.
Miles sat back against his seat across from Walten, his arms still crossed. Walten spends the rest of the trip staring at the ground, eyes wide, while Miles focuses on him.
The Guardian scoots to the corner of the seat, and leans his head against the two walls forming a corner. He closes his eyes, feeling semi-safe for once rather than running from any tank-like being or spider shooting fire at him.
Though as Walten rests, the sergeant does not. He focuses the entire flight on Walten, making sure that he doesn’t try to fight or escape in some way.
As the sound of the helicopter’s whirring fades, Walten falls back asleep.
// ☀︎ \\
It’s dark, and Walten finds himself in a grassy land with trees scattered around. Behind him he hears ocean waves crashing against sand, and soft padding approaching him. He turns around, seeing Tinky Winky, though something is wrong with his face.
Walten’s heart starts beating hard, and his legs brace to run. The boy lifts up a bowl of pink custard, and Walten’s eyes widen.
“No, don’t eat that!” He tries to reach Tinky Winky, but it’s too late. A pink mist forms around him, growing larger and larger. Walten takes a step back, his gaze looking up to the large figure forming in front of him.
Just as quick as it appeared, the mist fades, revealing the massive purple tank before him. Its arms were giant, and it stood like a gorilla. It roared at him, and Walten immediately turned around and broke into a sprint.
The ground shook beneath him as the beast chased him, but Walten didn’t stop running. His top hat threatened to fly off, but he couldn’t let it, especially not after what happened. He held it on with one hand as he ran. Walten had to make a split-second decision to either go into the cave system or the mountains, with the monster growing closer, he chose the mountains.
Running up into the freezing temperatures, he held his brown leather jacket lined with a soft wool tighter around him. He heard another loud roar.
Though, the thumping never stopped. It got louder, and louder in his ears. He started running again, terrified that the tank was still chasing him. His legs started to give out, his knees growing weaker, but he kept running.
A giant fist came crashing down on his back, and he fell onto the ice. He looks up, and sees a mutated and grotesque Yeti with blood dripping onto its white fur that lined its neck like a scarf.
Something brushes over him, warm and suffocating, pressing down like a shroud.
// ☀︎ \\
Walten’s eyes snap open, and with a burst of strength he grabs the person putting it over him. They feel smaller, not as large as the Yeti’s wrist should be. Immediately, they throw him onto the ground, their foot on his neck. Rather than a grunt or a roar, it’s a feminine but stern voice.