Chapter Text
Three months after death’s cold arms snatched his mother from his grasp, Taph found himself on the streets.
The weather was glacial now, bone deep chills cutting through the meager layers he had managed to steal a month prior, before security in Robloxia was upped till the streets were practically crawling with moderators. A tattered scarf covered the lower half of his face, his nose most likely stained crimson from cold. His arms were tucked into his lap, trembling feathers encrusted with frost as he curled up under a bridge, body wracked with shivers, eyes staring into nothing. A pouch sat at his waist, half-filled with little trinkets he would tinker with when the weather was warm enough for him to fiddle with gears and the like, his lithe fingers constructing the contraptions with ease. Now, the same fingers were tucked up under his cloak, numbed by the cold. A fat cloak with too many pockets hugged his torso, one of the last remnants of his past life.
With nothing else worthwhile to do, Taph found his mind wandering to happier times - the warm embrace of his mother as he showed them yet another perfect score on a school test; the satisfaction of passing his driving test and being gifted his parents’ car; the euphoria of being accepted into his dream college, cheered on by his friends that wished the best for him. He was so full of eagerness, back then, foolishly believing the world was capable of change.
How did he end up in such an abysmal state, where any hope was extinguished like a sputtering candle in an anaerobic chamber?
He just wished someone would tell him.
Distant, shuffling footsteps snapped him out of his reverie, accompanied by a sharp hiss of ‘vermin! The lot of them,’ followed by a wet squelch as a man’s foot presumably kicked away the carcass of some small critter in the same predicament as him.
Taph winced, sitting up, now fully alert, hurriedly gathering up his possessions. It just had to be his luck that he would be found squatting under a bridge by some rando with an inexplicable disdain for furry animals.
Should he make a run for it? Or would it be too risky, and he should instead, hide?
A whooshing sound erupted at the mouth of the bridge.
…Right. He’d forgotten about the traps he set up earlier, his brain too addled by cold and hunger.
Frantically, he stood up unsteadily, the ground tilting beneath his feet. He stumbles, wings flaring to the side, before finding his footing and forcing his feet to start moving.
One foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the pins and needles that radiated upwards from his legs; attempting not to grimace at the loud thudding of his shoes on the wet concrete, he ran aimlessly from underneath the bridge, blinded for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the sharp daylight.
Taph stood out like a sore thumb, dirty clothes and hair matted to his scalp, amongst cheery pedestrians dressed in holiday style.
Behind him, he could hear shouts of ‘ Stop!’ as footsteps pounded after him, paired with the signature swish of a bantool - from the sound of it, probably a simple knife or dagger. Fuck. Of all the people in the world, he had managed to snag a moderator, one of Robloxia’s many law enforcers.
Gritting his teeth, Taph pushed his legs harder, the ground now a frozen blur beneath his feet. Rounding a corner, he skidded to a stop, only to be met with the sight of two more enforcers, bantools and handcuffs on their belts.
Nope, not that way either.
Taph turned tail and ran, breath coming out in ragged pants. Before, it was ignorable, but now, it feels as if there were wicked flames licking at the base of his lungs. Each inhale was like being dragged over burning hot coals, or being inflicted with a thousand cuts and then marinated in alcohol. On second thought, it was probably a combination of both. But he had to inhale, had to drag each broken breath through his windpipe lest he wanted to drop onto the ground right there, to endure humiliation as he was dragged away - in handcuffs - by moderators in front the gaping eyes of the public. Driven by this thought, Taph somehow managed to pump his legs even harder, even when every step felt like agony, muscles screaming in protest. His vision started black out at the edges, as oxygen deprivation caught up to him. Unable to think clearly, he pulled himself into a narrow opening, hoping the moderators would not take notice and follow.
Once the sounds of the following footsteps dimmed until they were inaudible, Taph collapsed against a wall, leaning on it heavily. Chest heaving, he tried to recollect himself, black dots flickering in and out at the edge of his vision. As fit as he was in his past life, the magnitude of missed meals had rendered him to an emaciated state, skin sticking to his bones.
At least if he ever had the opportunity to, he wouldn’t make a bad model for medical students to study bone structure - seeing how he was practically skeletal - although they would probably peg him for a teenager, not a fully grown adult.
Finally having the capacity to, Taph twists around, eyes roving over the alleyway he found himself in. To his right, was a corridor-like structure that split around thirty meters from where he was, two paths weaving outwards in opposite directions. Where he came from, a narrow passage maybe about three meters wide, difficult to spot for the outside world. That was probably how he managed to lose his pursuers.
Feeling sufficiently rested, Taph decided it was time to get up from his sitting position.
Gripping the wall for support, he slowly raised himself from the ground, wings fluttering to the sides. The concrete floor swayed, rising up to meet him. Right. Maybe later. It seems to be that he couldn’t even perform a simple action after a foot chase of what? Two minutes?
Hissing under his breath, Taph shakily lowered himself back to the ground. Perhaps he could do something else while waiting for his body to obey him again?
With shaky fingers, he pulled at the pouch on his waist. None of his gadgets appeared to be damaged from the chase, but he should check, just to be on the safe side.
Pulling out his favoured Subspace Tripmine (a term he affectionately coined for the debilitating side effects that followed its detonation) he turned it over in his palm, checking the core to make sure it was not yet activated. Satisfied, he let out a sigh of relief, rummaging through his bag once again aimlessly. Perhaps he could alter something to help him out of this predicament? Taph’s eyes snapped to the bomb in his hand, then at the mouth of the alleyway, running equations behind his eyes. Without wasting a second, he grabbed for the screwdriver in his pouch, hurriedly dismantling the outer panels of the core, making minor modifications to the tripmine. By his estimate, he would only have another couple of minutes or so, before the moderators would eventually find him.
Fueled by his haste, his fingers moved faster, almost gliding across the intricate inner workings of the explosive.
A soft click. There, he did it. Now, he just had to pray that it would work.
Activating the tripmine, Taph tossed it lightly, pride stirring in his chest when the bomb faded from sight, like it was engineered to. A quiet ticking could be heard, but under the hubbub of the city, it was unlikely to raise any suspicion for passerbys.
Clumsily relying on the wall, he helped himself up, feeling unsteady on his feet.
His uneven footsteps echoed softly as he staggered away from it, stumbling every few steps, his pouch bouncing against his torso with every step. Frankly, he could just leave it behind at this point, the sack having been pilfered of its content, save for a few of his tools that could be easily tucked into the pockets of his coat.
A strong gale swept through the narrow passage, prompting Taph to pull his coat tighter around himself, shuddering slightly.
Right now, his best bet was to stay in the alley until dark, when he could slink back to the bridge and stay for another night. If the moderators had taken so long to find him, it probably would mean that they had already given up, rationalizing that Taph wasn’t an important target.
His stomach grumbled unappreciatively, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten since yesterday. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too risky to go outside to scavenge for food? Ultimately, a sharp shooting pang decided for him.
Taph approached the opening of the corridor cautiously, ears perking up to check for any unexplained noises. Assured, he sidestepped his tripmine, picking it up with care, snapping it off with a satisfying pop. He pocketed it once again, whistling a tune under his breath. Being mute, whistling is one of the only sounds he could make, due to it not involving vocal chords or something. He had been unable to talk for as long as he remembers, due to a car accident causing severe trauma to his larynx, causing his whole voice box to be removed. Or so his mother says. The same car accident took his father and caused his mother to amputate her left leg. Taph’s mother had said they were lucky to survive, but that’s not how he felt. Growing up fatherless felt like there was always a void of something in the house, except it felt like a fleeting dream. He would try and try to recall any memories of him, but always failed, his mind resorting to imagining time spent with him from his mother’s many stories about the man.
Anyways.
Taph crept around a corner, following the chitter chattering he could hear from the mainstream crowd. Head down, don’t stand ou-
A shadow fell over him.
“Practically offering yourself up, hm? Should have expected something like that from rats living on the street, shouldn’t we?”
Taph froze.
Three moderators stood before him. Handcuffs dangled from the one in the middle, presumably also the one who spoke. He looked to his companions, lips tilted in a smirk, before stepping forward menacingly.
Taph took a step backwards, only to be met with a hard, brick wall.
“Aw, kid, don’t be afraid now. We wouldn’t dare dream of harming you.” The one to his right sniggered, swinging his handgun in the air, the scant sunlight reflecting off the lines of ban code embedded onto its body.
Moving as slowly and as discreetly as he could, Taph’s hand inched towards his pouch, shaking in fake-terror. His knees felt like they were knocking together as he tried to press his back into the wall, cowering slightly.
The moderator on the right frowned, “This one’s quiet. Sure there isn’t anything wrong with him, boss? Although,” Her face stretched into a grin, “Wouldn’t hurt if we messed him up a little bit, huh?”
The middle moderator threw his head back, laughing. “Yeah, I-”
BAM.
The world was spinning as Taph stood from the position he was thrown into when his Subspace Tripmine went off. Large black wings were folded over his body, protecting him from the worst of the explosion. However, the moderators were not quite as lucky, bodies contorted in various grotesque poses, blood dripping from wounds caused by flying shrapnel. They seemed to be alive, which was his intention anyways. Nevertheless, he ought to check, padding softly up to them, checking their pulse. Yep. Still alive, although the splitting headache they would get when they woke may finish them off.
Grimacing slightly, Taph threw them one last look before taking off, almost slipping multiple times on the frozen ground.
The next day came, in headache-inducing flashes of sunlight. The truth is, Taph didn’t manage to fall asleep all night, tossing and turning until he couldn’t take it anymore, and resigned himself to sit on the edge of the rooftop. Paranoid (and for good reason) he had wandered the city in search of a safe place to rest for the night, eventually settling on the roof of an abandoned apartment block, in some kind of rooftop garden shed. Now, he’s sat again at the edge, preening each feather carefully, wincing occasionally at a sharp pull. Next to him was a half assembled trap mechanism that he had planned to finish later. Compared to the adrenaline-filled events of last night, this morning felt relatively calm, almost… cozy.
The weather has taken a turn for the sunnier, which Taph took as an opportunity to dry out his cloak in a sun-blessed spot nearby. Feeling comfortably full after last night’s scavenge, Taph whistled to himself, cheeks puffed up in concentration of the preening.
Finished, he puffed his wings out, letting them bask in the sun before it turns cold once more. He leaned backwards, lying spreadeagle on the warm concrete, his feathers fluttering in excitement. The winged Robloxian laid there for what seemed like hours, occasionally drifting off into the sweet confines of sleep.
When he woke again, the sun was already high in the sky, the chill in the air barely an afterthought, vastly differing from the past few days. Rubbing sleep out of his bleary eyes, Taph sat up with a yawn, groaning when he heard at least three joints crack.
Walking to the edge of the roof, he suddenly had an idea. Unfurling his wings, he gave them an experimental flap, and felt excitement sparking in his chest when he lifted off the ground, albeit only slightly. Riding the high from that moment of weightlessness, he stepped off the edge.
The weight of his body vanished, instead melting away into the intoxicating feeling of flying. His heart seemed to stop for the smallest of moments, the world seemingly frozen as his body experienced freefall, the racket of the city softening into a mere mumble at the back of his brain.
Unexpected laughter burst out of him - it has been so long since the last time he did this, but each time feels equally exhilarating. Beating his wings harder, he rose, higher and higher, till the whole of Robloxia was beneath him, till all of his problems felt small and insignificant to the vastness of this city.
He felt the breeze ruffling his hair, tugging at his clothing, begging for him to join them in its play; and so he did.
Taph followed the air currents, soaring above the concrete jungle that his homeland was, giggling to himself without a care in the world.
Hours later, when night fell, he landed back onto the rooftop, content and weary. Smiling to himself, he gathered up the heavy cloak on the ground, pleased to find it had dried nicely. Whistling to himself, the harpy padded towards the stairwell that would lead him into the apartment, relaxed for the first time in what felt like days.
He descended in the dark, turning the doorknob of the first home, flicking the light switches on as if he’s lived here his whole life, when-
“Didn’t fancy seeing ya here, kid.”
Taph’s heart dropped to the floor. Slowly, filled with quaking terror, he pivoted his body around.
Only to be met with a familiar face - a face that’s only meant to stay in billboards, posters, and newspapers.
“The name’s Builderman. How are ya doin’?”