It didn't take long for Orange to decide that road noise got really irritating after a while. It vibrated in the car's interior, a constant white-noise that filled the silence.

Orange wasn't used to silence.

Vivacious conversation, laughter, the sounds of building or destruction or swarms of animals used to be his constant. Even those cursed music battles in the middle of the night- crap, he'd never thought he'd miss those.

He'd do anything to hear those sounds again, now.

Orange sighed, the first noise he or the black Hollowhead had made for the last many minutes. He appreciated the way it layered over the road noise- something else to hear.

There was a panel between the seats on the dashboard that looked like it might be a radio. Orange side-eyed the man in the driver's seat. "Can I turn on the music?"

"No." Their eyes never left the road.

Orange scowled.

Another long moment passed, before Orange sighed again. "Are we there yet?"

As best as Orange could tell from the way the Hollowhead was glaring out the windshield, they must have had some kind of frustration with the asphalt. "We don't stop 'till night-time."

Orange withheld a groan. That was hours away! "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Away."

"From Rocket Corp.?"

"No. From the seaside."

Orange screwed up his nose. "Wait, really?"

Now he was the one under the scrutiny of that dry glare.

Oh. He was being sarcastic. How was Orange meant to know that? He stuck his tongue out in return. The man sighed with an exaggerated weariness, which just managed to frustrate Orange more. He tucked his feet up onto the chair with him, hugging his knees to his chest. With one hand, he jabbed at the knob beside the radio.

Loud, cheerful music filled the car for precisely half a second, before the man flicked out one hand and turned it off again. Orange plopped his chin on his knees with a grumble. White-hot pain flashed from the wound on his jaw at the contact. He didn't care.

Seconds seemed to stretch for small eternities before the man broke the silence once again. "You got a name, kid?"

At this point, Orange was not particularly in the mood for small-talk. "Orange," he said, hoping his tone carried how that should be obvious.

The man's jaw worked like he was grinding his teeth. "I can see what colour you are. What's your name?"

"Orange is my name!" he snapped. That's what his friends called him. That meant it was the only name that mattered.

"Your file name; your actual name. Or do I just call you 'kid' forever?"

Orange sneered. He never used that name. He was half-certain his friends had forgotten about it- and he hoped they had. He didn't want people knowing his file name.

Maybe because he had no freaking idea what it meant, and maybe that scared him a little.

But right now, he was sick of this guy, and if he wanted to break that expressionless macho-mask the man wore, dropping a name like that was probably the way to do it.

"The Second Coming," Orange sneered. "The Chosen One's Return. Who the hell are you?"

Well. If he wanted a reaction, he got it. Although it was certainly not the one he expected.

The man's head turned slowly, disbelieving, and for the first time in a while, Orange had his full attention. He blinked, wet his lips, before letting out a breath. Then he blinked again, glancing back at the road to correct the steering to re-route the car from drifting off into the grass.

"...The Chosen One," he said slowly.

...oh.

Huh.

That-

"What the heck?" Orange spat.

The man; the Chosen One- chuckled, sounding slightly maniacal. "I have no damn idea, kid."

Laughing a little was probably the most unsettling thing the Chosen One had done so far. Orange tried to ignore that.

Why... why did they share a name? Why the hell was Orange the return of this guy? He had too many questions, and just as many answers about his name as before- zilch.

"Is it because we were both made by Alan?" he tried, then did not miss the way the Chosen One flinched at mention of Alan's name.

"Mmm... no," the Chosen One said after a moment. "I believe Victim was, too- no name connection there, as far as I know."

"And what about-" Orange swallowed. "What about..."

The Chosen One's breath hitched. Just a little.

Orange wondered why.

"No," the Chosen One said eventually. "No connection there, either."

"Huh," said Orange.

They lapsed back into uncomfortable silence.

Farmland rolled by outside the window. Orange stared at a passing pasture of cows. They looked strange, non-Minecraft ones. He wondered if Red would like them. "You said they wanted him. Alan."

It wasn't a question, but the Chosen One answered like it was one, anyway "Yes."

"Why?"

The Chosen One sighed. He did that a lot. "No clue."

Orange had a feeling that the Chosen One probably did have a clue, but they didn't seem like they were going to mention it anytime soon.

"So they captured you, because they wanted you to tell them where Alan is?"

There was confirmation in the Chosen One's tight nod.

Then, a spike of panic shot through Orange as a thought struck him. "Did you tell them?"

The Chosen One snorted. "As if. I don't give a damn about Alan, but Victim wasn't gonna get shi- uh- anything. Not from me."

Orange relaxed back in his seat. "Oh. Well, that's good. Pretty cool, too. That you didn't tell them anything, I mean. Even when they-" he regarded the black Hollowhead in his peripheral. "They really hurt you, didn't they?"

The Chosen One's hands twisted over the steering wheel. He didn't answer.

"Did-" the Chosen One cleared his throat and tried again. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

Blood had smeared from Orange's chin, streaked across his forearm. He ran one finger through the bright red on his skin. "Nah. They mostly left me alone after they found out about... the whole powers thing. Still wanted me to draw again once or twice, though." They had paused him any time he was moved from one containment unit to another, which was... terrifying. Not quite unconscious, but not quite aware, either. Completely defenceless, unable to move. No knowledge of when it would be over. Orange shivered.

"Draw?"

Orange hmmed, detached. "My animations."

"Like what you did when we fought the mercenaries?"

"Yeah. I think they were trying to figure out how they worked." They didn't work, though. They just were. He drew them, and the life they came into was their own. The people at Rocket Corp couldn't understand that. Or wouldn't. Something like that. "I thought they would be able to animate too, because of the Adobe pencil, but I guess not." Only Orange could make the animations come to life. More questions.

"So you... animated things for them?"

Something bitter curled in Orange's gut. "Only once- the first time. I refused, after that."

The Chosen One was looking at him again, something pensive in his deep red eyes. "Why?"

Why, indeed? Why had it felt so sickening, watching that beautiful electric eel swim into life from his art, its aggression and attempts at escape entirely of its own volition? Its own emotions, its own life. Cut short. Just like that.

Orange had come into existence in the same way, had he not?

Who was he, to condemn his drawings to a fate like that? When he was no different from them?

He wouldn't do it again. He couldn't. Not like that.

Not like that.

"No clue," he said.

A breath of silence. "They didn't do anything else to you, then?"

Orange shrugged one shoulder, half-heartedly. "I mean, they didn't let me eat anything when I refused to animate, but nothing like what they did to you, no."

The Chosen One stayed silent, at that. Part of Orange wished he knew what the other stick was thinking. The other part of him didn't care.

Orange didn't notice when he shut his eyes, but he didn't sleep, either. He wasn't sure how long it was before he felt the car change direction a little.

Blinking a little, a glance out the window showed they were pulling off the highway onto an exit. He could see a collection of buildings- a rural town of some sort. "Where are we going?"

"Pit stop," the Chosen One said.

"Thought we weren't stopping."

A tilt of the head as a shrug. "Change of plans, then."

The car was directed to a park beside the road, and the Chosen One leaned over to mess with some wires below the dashboard, the car's engine spluttering out.

Getting out of the car was the best idea Orange had heard all day, so he wasted no time in shoving the door open and hopping out. The concrete pathway was warm beneath his bare feet, golden afternoon sunlight painting the buildings aglow.

There were a few people milling about that Orange could see, and a couple of buildings that looked interesting. He started towards one, but stopped at the Chosen One's call.

"Second," the black Stick hissed. "Stay close."

It was... strange, being called that name. Orange wasn't honestly sure how he felt about it, or about how his attention was caught so easily like he never had been called by anything different. He hoped the Chosen One didn't do it that often.

It was a second-hand store that the Chosen One led them to, one hand guiding Orange with a loose grip on the back of his neck. It felt... excessive, perhaps- Orange wasn't about to run off again. But from the way the Chosen One didn't stop glancing behind them, eyes on every other person in their vicinity, Orange assumed it was less for his benefit and more for the Chosen One's own.

The store was dark and musty-smelling, a little bell ringing at the door as the Chosen One pulled it open. The racks of clothing were what he made a bee-line for, immediately sorting through the garments.

A shelf at the back wall caught Orange's eye, and he wandered over to it, staying within the Chosen One's view.

A slightly battered sketchbook sat underneath some old craft supplies, and Orange picked it up. There- nearby, a pack of pencils.

He took his found treasures with him when he headed back to the Chosen One.

It appeared the older Hollowhead had picked out a small collection of clothing, one garment of which he dropped over Orange's head with little warning. Orange struggled for a moment, sticking his hands out the sleeves- or trying to, when they hung past his fingertips. He shoved them up his sleeves. The brown hoodie was faded and smelled of old books and was far too big, but was comfortable and a relief from the cool air Orange didn't know he needed.

The Chosen One pulled the hood of the jumper over Orange's head, a little roughly. His peripheral vision reduced in a way he wasn't used to, the musty smell close to his senses. He blinked up at the Chosen One, whose attention was already elsewhere.

"Can I get these?" Orange held up the drawing supplies.

The Chosen One eyed them idly. "If they can fit in the pocket without being seen, fine."

Oh, so they were stealing things. ...Okay. Sure.

The hoodie's pocket was big enough, Orange noticed, pleased. He followed the Chosen One to the counter.

A stick sat idly behind the desk, buried in a book. The Chosen One placed a canvas jacket and a dark blue baseball cap on the desk, clearing his throat. "Those two, thanks," he said as the bored clerk pressed a few buttons on a till. "And the hoodie for the kid."

Transaction complete without any fuss, they left again. "Where did you get money?" Orange asked, moments after as they exited the store.

The Chosen One shrugged. "There was a little cash in the car's glove-box." He shrugged on the jacket before donning the cap, arranging his long dark hair to cover his face.

Orange eyed the rest of the clothes the Chosen One wore, then his own. Orange's jeans were torn and dirty, wrecked from the various fights he had been in since he had last been home. He hadn't been able to change in days, and the Chosen One wouldn't have been able to, either.

Some cheap t-shirts would probably have cost less than what the Chosen One had bought. Wouldn't some spare clothes be more important? Unless...

"These are disguises, right? To hide from Rocket Corp?" Orange tugged on the jumper's cords, closing the hood a little more.

The Chosen One shrugged as they walked. "Yeah. But we'd attract attention anyway. Best to avoid it."

Orange frowned. "Because we're Hollowheads?"

The Chosen One hmmed.

"Why does that matter? Lots of sticks look different from one another- even the people in this town don't look quite like Stick City people."

"That's different."

"Why?"

"We're not normal, alright? Hollowheaded sticks don't just happen." The Chosen One's gaze didn't waver from where he was staring darkly ahead.

It hadn't really occurred to Orange, he supposed. He obviously knew he looked different to his friends, but he hadn't thought much about why. They were from a website, he had been drawn. He kind of thought the differences ended there. It had never mattered before.

Orange first realised they were headed into a diner when the smell of cooking hit his senses. He was aware he hadn't eaten in days, but man- he really hadn't registered how hungry he was until food was an option.

The prospect of food was enough to send Orange practically skipping over to one of the diner's booths near the window, happily finding a seat on the worn red leather seat as the Chosen One followed at a more sedate pace. One or two other tables were occupied; families, a farmer or two. Conversation filled the room at a low, pleasant murmur.

There was a little laminated menu on the table, food-stained, and Orange studied the options as the Chosen One sat on the other side of the table. It became very quickly clear that he had... virtually no idea what any kind of food was like outside of Minecraft. Some names of fruit, he recognised, and meats. But that was just about where it ended.

The Chosen One had his attention lost out the window, so the both of them jumped as a waitress appeared beside their table with a jovial greeting. "Afternoon, folks! What can I get started for you?"

"Uh-" The Chosen One started, a little off-guard. "The burger. And a black coffee." He gave Orange a look and the waitress' attention turned to him, so he assumed it was his turn.

He glanced, uncertain, from the Chosen One to the menu to the waitress and back again. "...I- um..."

"He'll have a milkshake," the Chosen One spoke up. "And the short stack."

Orange screwed his nose at him. Who was he calling short?

"Oh, and band-aids, if you have one." The Chosen One added.

The waitress left with an affirmation, and Orange called a thank-you after her. He turned to the stick across from him. "Why do you need a band-aid?"

"It's for you, moron," the Chosen One scoffed. There was a box of napkins on the side of the table alongside upside-down glasses and a bottle of water. In a movement Orange watched closely, they folded a napkin and wet it with a flick of the bottle. They handed it over. "Wipe the dirt out."

Oh. His chin. Orange had forgotten. The cool of the water was soothing despite how the rough surface stung as he swiped it across the bottom of his face. He eyed the napkin. Blood had soaked into the white material, diffused in the water, streaked with dirt. It hadn't bled too much.

The same waitress was back soon enough, placing two paper-looking strips on the table, before she caught sight of the bloodied serviette in Orange's hand. Her gaze flickered to his face, a gasp of motherly concern catching in her throat, one hand flying to her bodice. "Oh, you poor dear! How did you manage that?"

"Tripped," Orange supplied mulishly. He hoped she didn't look too close beneath his hood. He reached for the band-aids, figuring out how they tore open. They were a vibrant blue, the sticky side catching on his fingers.

The waitress reached to help him unstick before the dressing became unusable. "Must hurt a lot, huh? You're very brave."

"Being stabbed hurt more," he replied, matter-of-fact.

A flash of blank shock and befuddlement overtook her round features.

Across the table, the Chosen One chuckled, voice taught. "Kids."

The waitress laughed a little in response. It seemed forced. She walked off, faster-paced than how she came. The Chosen One gave Orange a very pointed glare the moment she turned away. Orange ignored him.

They were left in silence once again. The smells coming from the kitchen were wonderful- Orange felt his stomach rumble.

"I wish I could show my friends this place," Orange mused aloud. Blue would be so fascinated by the food they had here- Orange already knew she would, and he hadn't even tried the food yet. He was ninety-percent-certain the Chosen One had somehow turned on their stolen car by messing with the wires rather than how it was meant to be done. Yellow would love that. There were so many things in the Outernet they hadn't explored yet.

Maybe, eventually, when it was safe- when Orange could protect them all- they could come here again. He liked that thought.

"Mm-hm," was the Chosen One's eloquent response.

"So, what am I gonna learn first?" Orange continued. The band-aids on his chin pulled his skin in annoying ways when he talked. "Am I gonna fly? Or shoot lazer-eyes? Fire-punches?"

The Chosen One eyed him. "We'll see."

"When? When can we start?"

"When we're far away enough from Rocket Corp."

"And how long will that be? You were the one who said I could go home when I learned how to protect my friends. I can already fight- I'm great at fighting! So just teach me how to breathe fire and I can go!"

"It's not that simple," the Chosen One sighed.

"Why?"

The Chosen One pressed fingers to his temple, as if nursing a headache. "You wouldn't understand."

"Why?"

"Would you stop with the questions?"

"No! This is important! What wouldn't I understand? How my powers work? Are you saying you understand them because you have powers? But wouldn't I understand mine, because they're mine? Isn't this what we're gonna figure out? How are we gonna figure that out? Do you even know?"

"Oh, for the love of- would you shut up?" the Chosen One snapped.

Orange sat back in his seat, taken aback. He... probably should have seen that coming. But he had questions, and given that this was about him and his powers, he thought he deserved some answers. He didn't understand any of this. He was scared.

But maybe the Chosen One didn't, either. They were still hurt, probably- Orange remembered. Maybe the reason they wanted to get so far away from Rocket Corp was because they were scared, too.

Orange sighed through his nose in defeat. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I just... I dunno. I miss home."

The Chosen One's face was turned out the window once again, jaw clenched. When he spoke, it was soft enough that Orange almost missed it. "Me too, kid."

Huh. He really hadn't thought about where the Chosen One might call home. Orange's home was with his family. Did the Chosen One have someone he wanted to find again, too?

"...Hey, Chosen One?" Orange tried. No response. "...Cho?"

Brilliant red eyes snapped to him. "Do not call me that."

Orange blinked. Right. Okay. Uh- "Mister One?"

Oddly enough, an exhausted scoff tumbled from the man's throat, sounding just shy of a laugh. When they ran a hand down their face, Orange was fairly certain it was to hide a smile. "Just 'Chosen'."

Chosen. Okay. "Hey, Chosen?"

"...Yeah?"

"You don't talk much," Orange told him honestly.

Chosen's lips pressed thin, looking caught somewhere between exasperated and amused. "That's 'cause you talk enough for the both of us, kid."

The reappearance of the waitress was enough for Orange to forget whatever witty report he had planned. The glorious syrup-sweet smell of the plate that was put down before him was what hit him first, stomach clenching desperately.

Woah. Stacks of fluffy, golden-brown something filled the plate, drizzled with a honey-like sauce and chunks of something white and crumbly. He hardly knew what any of it was, but he knew it looked amazing. "What are these?"

Chosen, who had been about to take a bite of the stack of meat and sauce sandwiched between bread, thick canines glinting- paused. His brow furrowed. "Pancakes."

Pancakes... cakes from a pan? Why had they never made these at home before? He glanced between Chosen and the steaming breakfast stack. "Can I...?"

Chosen huffed a dry laugh. "Kid, we're gonna have to sneak out and not pay for any of this anyway- you don't have to ask me permission,"

That sounded like a great plan. The eating part sounded the best.

Orange snatched up a fork- the pancakes didn't look like they were picked up like Chosen's burger was. He stabbed the utensil into the top of the stack, picking up the whole thing. This probably wasn't the way one was meant to do it, but taking the biggest bite his mouth would allow, Orange really didn't care.

Sweet warmth filled his mouth, sticky and soft and light and chewy all at once. He could eat pancakes forever.

Chosen watched him with casual amusement, taking another bite of his burger to hide what was probably another laugh. Around his mouthful, Orange grinned back.

Orange realised he hadn't been this happy since those final moments he was home. It was to be expected- how the moment he found something this amazing, his first thought was who he wished he could share it with.

He wondered what his friends were doing right now. Everything they usually did, Orange hoped. Not too worried about his absence. He was okay right now, after all.

...Maybe he wouldn't mind if they worried about him just a little bit. He wouldn't mind being worried about just a little- was that selfish? Just not too much.

Not enough for them to be scared for him. Not enough for them to try and find him, Only enough for them to wonder where he was, and wait for him until he made it home to them.

Until he made it home.

x+x+x

Yep. This was it. Yellow was absolutely, finally, definitely losing it.

Holy crap. Holy crap.

She knew something would happen. They couldn't make a week- not with their group. A week of nothing happening- even inside a weird science prison place- was impossible.

And now something had definitely happened.

Naively, she had still been thinking that finding more excuses for Vic was still her greatest worry. Bluffing for why summoning Alan was taking so long, finding ways to keep Green, Red, and Blue safe from Vic's threats. Finding a way to get Orange out of here when Yellow figured how to save them all.

Nope! Turns out that wasn't the worst thing that could happen! At all.

It was that man. That Hollowhead, from the bay. The one who stole Orange away from the PC and put them all in this mess in the first place.

Yellow paced, fingers twisting into her hair as she paced. Her tie for her bun had snapped, and now the blonde strands hung wild around her shoulders. She hated it.

They had taken him. That Hollowhead had taken Orange. AGAIN!

The alarm that had been blasting through the corridors for the last hour finally ceased. Yellow doubted that that meant the prisoners had been apprehended again. She wasn't going to allow herself that much hope.

Despite the hatred she had been giving that alarm since it first started, she almost wished it would begin again. If only to keep her grounded, give her something present to tear apart with her mind rather than the mystery man that was already who knows how far away by now. With Orange!

"Gah!" Yellow threw her hands away from her head before chunks of hair started coming away in her fists.

Come on, Yellow. This is just another puzzle. You love puzzles.

She liked the Redstone kind of puzzles, she berated the part of her mind that was actually trying to be productive. This was a mess, not a puzzle. That had been established six days ago.

Fine. She could figure this out.

One more puzzle. Add it to the rest.

Everyone was counting on her.

She sat on the bed with a long exhale. Okay. What were the facts?

A little under an hour ago, Orange had been taken by the mystery black stick. He had passed Yellow's room with Orange unconscious over their shoulder, saw Yellow, but didn't stop.

This stick was the same one who took Orange from the PC. They had been a prisoner here, too.

Why would he steal another prisoner?

The answer was pretty obvious. Protection. Leverage. Bargaining.

A special kind of heat curled through Yellow's chest at the thought of any one of her friends being used for bargaining.

But... why would Orange hold any kind of bargaining power over Vic and his Rocket Corp.?

Well- why did Vic want Orange in the first place?

There was something going on about Orange that she didn't know about. She hated not knowing things.

These questions she had no answers to, so she filed them away for later.

Too many things going unanswered. But there was one thing she knew for certain. The black stick had seen her, and had left her behind. That meant whatever they were doing with Orange had not been a rescue mission.

And... Yellow shivered, remembering the way Orange had hung limp from where they were being carried, face slack in a way Yellow couldn't unsee.

What had that man done to him?

She was long past worried. Yellow was terrified for Orange. Screw whatever kind of trepidacious trust they had for that Hollowhead- Orange had just gone from one one prison to another- one that was who knows how much worse than the last.

Oh, hell. She hoped he was okay. She hoped he wasn't too scared. She hoped he knew his family were coming for him.

Well, at least- they will be, as soon as she got them out of here.

And as soon as they were, Yellow knew exactly who they were coming for first.

That Hollowhead had no idea what was coming for him. Orange just had to hold on until then.

She just needed to hold on until then. They all did.

Just until then. 

-----

A/N: None of them know what's happening lol. I love dramatic irony. 

Hoping that Orange/Chosen's POVs being out of chronological order with Yellow's aren't too confusing. It'll all line up sooner rather than later.