Chapter Text
This island is weird.
As Multi arrives, he’s greeted by familiar faces. People he knows from past adventures, people he’d willingly place his trust in.
And they are also people who annoy him to no end.
The moment they spot him, they insist he should introduce himself to the other islanders, eagerly offering to arrange a meeting at the large tower everyone somehow seems to know the location of. He promptly declines.
Instead, leaving that plan behind, the Polish Hussars lead him to the place they’ll be calling home: Polska Góra, a mountain Ewroon and Nexe discovered and painstakingly carved out, determined to turn it into a proper base. By the time they arrive, Multi finally feels settled and ready to get started.
After not seeing each other, they talk until the sun settles, distant chattering and the lingering question that none of them can answer.
How and why did they get here?
One by one, they fall asleep leaving only Multi left.
He’s always been a night owl, so while Graf usually takes charge of construction and gathering supplies for their shared storage, Multi stays awake inspecting the surroundings instead.
It’s only after gearing up and venturing into the nearby forest, carefully surveying the unfamiliar terrain, that he hears a voice behind him.
Multi turns.
The man standing there wears an immaculate white uniform. Neatly kept black hair frames his face, the monochrome palette interrupted only by a pair of small, brilliant yellow wings folded behind his back.
“Hello.” The avian says with a smile. “I am part of the QSMP Census Bureau. May I ask you some questions?”
Multi doesn't answer immediately.
His gaze lingers on the pair of bright yellow wings that look almost delicate, yet they somehow suit him perfectly.
The worker waits with practiced patience, clipboard held neatly against his chest. He doesn't repeat himself, he doesn't urge Multi to answer either; he simply smiles as though silence is an entirely expected part of the interaction.
“Okay.”
“What was your name?”
“My…? Oh, Young Multi.”
He straightens slightly, finally pulling himself out of his thoughts to meet the other man’s gaze. Warm brown eyes stare back without wavering.
“What was your age?”
Multi tilts his head. It’s odd, extremely so. Why was the worker speaking in the past tense?
He dismisses it as a simple language mistake.
“Twenty-nine… I’m old.” He quietly jokes, trying to break the winged man’s barriers.
That earns him a quiet giggle from the avian.
“It’s okay.”
He quickly composes himself, glancing down as he seemingly writes the answer.
“What was your occupation?”
“…Scientist.”
“Oh, I thought you were a singer. I was going to ask you for a concert.”
The worker smiles gently, letting out another small laugh. Multi remembers hearing Ewroon complaining about his lack of presentation.
“No, my friend was just joking.”
Multi brushes it off, assuming it had probably been the red panda messing around again.
“I see,” the worker says, jotting that information down as well. “Where did you work at?”
Multi stays silent for a while, weighing whether he should answer truthfully, giving he doesn’t know anything about the guy in front of him.
In the end, those warm brown eyes convince him.
“I used to have a reactor years ago, but it’s no longer in business.”
The shorter man nods in understanding, briefly looking up from his notes to listen with genuine attention.
“What do you like doing for fun?”
His professional smile returns, though it’s an oddly personal question. The older one wonders if he’s managed to break his walls.
“Is that part of the census?”
Multi asks teasingly, hoping to learn something about this interesting individual in return.
The avian looks genuinely caught off guard.
Then, for the first time, he laughs. Not the polite chuckle from before. An actual laugh.
Multi is just as surprised as he is embarrassed, immediately guessing it was an actual question, feeling a bit stupid.
“It is, actually!”
There’s a bright smile, followed by an obvious attempt to conceal it. Unfortunately for him, both of his hands are occupied: one holding the clipboard, the other writing, and a stubborn yet faint blush creeps across the hybrid’s cheeks, with nowhere to hide just like his grin.
They hold each other’s gaze for several long seconds before Multi suddenly realizes he never answered.
“Sorry, I got distracted.”
The avian smiles again, this time almost playfully, giving a small nod for him to continue.
“I like doing anything science-related.”
“I see…”
He writes that down before finally lowering his pen.
“So you work here?”
The avian’s expression shifts into a proud little smirk. His wings ruffle faintly behind him as he places both hands on his hips.
“I do! I’m here to meet all of the new islanders. Nice to meet you.”
Multi returns the happy expression.
Something about the worker puts him unexpectedly at ease. Formal manners aside, he seems kind, welcoming.
“Nice to meet you.”
A comfortable silence settles between them.
Neither says anything.
They simply watch each other, quietly studying the person standing in front of them.
“Well… that is all.”
There’s the faintest hint of disappointment in the worker’s voice.
Or perhaps Multi is imagining it. Projecting, maybe.
He isn’t sure.
There’s something strangely magnetic about him that is clouding his judgement.
Almost immediately, the worker slips back into that perfectly practiced posture. Straight back, small smile. Professional.
“I’m sure we’ll see each other again, doctor. I hope you enjoy the island.”
The last thing Multi sees is that little grin.
Then, without so much as a sound, the worker vanishes into thin air.
The forest returns to its usual silence as though no conversation had ever taken place. The insects continue chirping as the leaves sway gently over him.
For someone who had stood less than an arm’s length away only moments ago, the worker leaves behind remarkably little.
No particles.
No sound.
No proof he had ever existed.
Only several seconds later does Multi realize he never asked for his name.
If he even had one.
—
“Oh, yeah. Quackity, right?” Graf asks.
A bitter taste settles on Multi’s tongue. An ugly feeling stirs somewhere deep inside him, sudden and unwelcome.
He ignores it.
“I guess.” He answers casually. “I didn’t catch his name.”
It has to be him.
The name is almost laughably on the nose for what Multi had already deduced, and now practically confirmed, was a duck hybrid.
Ever since that first meeting, he has found himself replaying it with surprising frequency.
At first, he’d simply been curious. The winged worker stood out among the other Federation employees, especially after Multi encountered more of the faceless ones wandering the island. Eventually, however, his curiosity had shifted elsewhere.
He’d started wondering how he’d come across.
Whether he’d stared for too long, if he’d sounded strange.
Whether making the census worker laugh had been intentional enough to seem embarrassing, if he had faked it and Multi couldn’t see through it.
An irrational amount of thought for a conversation that had barely lasted ten minutes.
His fascination had mostly stemmed from the wings.
They weren’t nearly as large as he’d expected from an avian hybrid. If anything, they seemed oddly delicate, tucked neatly against Quackity’s back as though they had never truly been meant for flight.
Yet their color, their brilliant golden shine, had refused to leave Multi’s mind, opening an entirely new avenue of research.
Most wild ducks possessed muted brown plumage, blending naturally with their surroundings. Pekin ducks, however, were known for their striking yellow feathers during youth, the color gradually fading into pale cream as they matured.
Quackity’s hadn't faded.
If anything, they seemed unnaturally vibrant, artificially even, but on him it looked like it belonged.
All of this making him all the more intriguing.
“Oh, I asked him for his name.” Graf shrugs as he tinkers with their storage. “He did that census you mentioned to me too.”
Multi nods. He’d briefly told Graf that a winged Federation worker had stopped by to ask him a few questions.
Then Graf laughs. “The guy was emotionless until I told him my name was Ricardo, then he got pissed off.”
Multi forces out a chuckle.
He privately questions Graf’s ability to read body language. For someone so intelligent, certain things flew spectacularly over his head.
Still, he hasn’t heard Graf this enthusiastic in years, so he lets him ramble.
“I like Pepino the most. He’s awesome.” A dreamy smile crosses his friend’s face. “Did you notice they all share names related to food?” He asks, curious about Multi’s opinion.
“Not really, no.” He gestures for him to continue.
“Well, Pepino means ‘cucumber’ in Spanish, and there’s Tomate, who I’ve only met once.”
Multi nods thoughtfully before casually adding, “Well, not all of them.”
A grin immediately spreads across Graf’s face.
“All of them, technically! Pekin ducks are usually bred for their meat and eggs.”
Multi’s smile vanishes.
A slight crease forms between his brows.
—
“Because these islands were never the only ones. They were just a few among many.”
Multi watches the tape in silence, hearing the narrator with care.
“Part of something much bigger. An experiment we never truly understood. And still, they let us believe we had escaped.”
Beside him, Graf watches just as intently, gears already turning behind his eyes.
“But even then, something didn’t feel right. Because there were no answers. We never understood what the Federation truly was… or what was behind all of this.
Nothing. Just… Silence.”
Maximus stands quietly beside the doorway.
“And a feeling none of us could ignore: This was not the end.”
The tape cuts abruptly to blue static.
A small smile tugs at the corner of Multi’s mouth.
“Interesting.” He mumbles, and thankfully Max seems distracted enough that he doesn’t really pay attention to what he said.
Every sentence sounds less like a warning and more like an invitation: Secrets, experiments, knowledge buried beneath years of silence.
Multi fails to understand why everyone else hears horror where he hears opportunity.
Tragically, the fire Maximus had hoped to ignite within them, a new generation willing to stand against the Federation, burns in exactly the opposite direction inside the scientist.
—
Years ago, Multi fell in love with uranium.
He had been far too young to understand the responsibility that came with wielding that kind of power and his recklessness ended in catastrophe. The nuclear reactor he’d poured everything into exploded, leaving him the only survivor.
Now, years later, he is older, smarter and more experienced. Wise like none other.
He possesses knowledge he lacked back then, alongside the determination to finally master the power that had once slipped through his fingers.
This time he refuses to fail.
He needs investors.
He needs allies.
He needs people capable of understanding his vision.
And The Federation seems like the perfect fit.
A match made in heaven.
—
The moment the uranium reactor hums to life, nostalgia washes over him. His eyes settle on the familiar green glow, steady flow.
Beautiful.
The energy radiating from it reaches for him like an old friend, and he answers without hesitation.
The obsession returns stronger than ever.
Days blur into nights, nights disappear into weeks.
Multi spends nearly every waking hour buried inside the laboratory, expanding machinery, refining designs, documenting observations, reconstructing pieces of the work he’d once lost.
Every cable.
Every calculation.
Every variable.
Sometimes he just sits in front of it, he doesn’t write or adjust anything, he just stares at it. The reactor’s uranium pulsing through the reinforced glass reminds him of a beating heart. Such an honest sight, unlike the people outside.
The laboratory receives more care than any living creature ever has, every morning begins with checking the reactor’s readings and every evening ends the same way.
Nothing is left to chance.
He’s offered this power to many people across the island, out of generosity, he tells himself. He’s giving them the opportunity to experience the energy of the future.
Admittedly, he also hopes to arm whichever side proves intelligent enough to appreciate it, gathering allies capable of supporting his own ambitions.
Several days are enough to prove him wrong.
None of them are trustworthy, none measure up to what he’s so graciously shown them.
Greedy people.
Give someone an inch and they’ll take a mile.
Shameless.
Not that Multi particularly cares what they do with their lives, they are free to make whatever foolish decisions they please, so long as they stay away from his property.
Frankly, it’s poor business on their part.
Had they demonstrated even a shred of loyalty, he might have been persuaded to favor one side over another.
Instead, they’ll all suffer equally.
And when the day comes, he’ll gladly be the one leading all of them toward their downfall. Their fated demise by his hands.
In the end, he’s nothing more than a neutral party.
A scientist whose only goal is to improve the world.
In the end, nothing matters more than Multi’s truth.
—
The longer he lives on the island, the more sure he becomes of his ideals.
Everyone claims to seek a better future for themselves, but no one is willing to pay the price for it, to put their hands in fire, to bet their life on their beliefs.
They fear sacrifice more than they desire progress.
Science is a sacrifice.
And Multi is convinced the Federation understands that better than anyone else. They might even admire him, if only he could show them how alike they truly are.
The Federation is everywhere.
By now, he’s met nearly all of its workers, and one thing has become impossible to ignore: None of them look normal.
Most are faceless. Even the ordinary guards that silently patrol the island bear the same uncanny appearance, refusing to acknowledge islanders or conversations as they pass by. The cameramen are at least expressive in their own peculiar way.
Sure, Pepino has eyes.
But Multi is fairly certain that isn’t fucking normal either.
Most of them resemble some strange variation of a polar bear. Their white fur is meticulously groomed, every uniform perfectly tailored, giving them the unsettling appearance of expensive dolls assembled by careful hands.
Artificial, almost comforting.
Almost.
On the other hand, Quackity remains an anomaly.
The more Multi observes him, the stranger he becomes.
He’s the only worker, besides Cucurucho, capable of holding a full conversation. More than that, his voice sounds human. Softer than the bears’, less distorted, lacking the mechanical edge that seems to plague every other Federation employee.
Everything about him feels impossibly precise.
His posture, his speech, his carefully measured smiles.
He behaves like a machine following flawless programming.
Yet he is the only one who feels like a person.
Multi wonders if someone built him, then immediately dismisses the thought.
No.
If someone had built him, they’d have to be a genius.
Multi wishes he could create a worker like that.
Since Graf seems fascinated by every Federation worker they come across, finding their bear-like features oddly charming and weirdly endeared by their personalities, Multi asks him to gather whatever information he can.
He blamed it on scientific curiosity, scouting for information was a normal activity.
And there had been plenty worth studying. The wings. The disappearance without leaving any trace. The unusual phrasing of the census. Even the strange professionalism the worker carried himself with.
Naturally, his thoughts kept circling back to those things. But they had nothing to do with the worker himself. Not really, no.
When Graf returns, he brings back something far more interesting than he had initially expected.
The previous islanders know Quackity.
Apparently, he’s always been Cucurucho’s most trusted worker.
From everything Multi hears, the general consensus seems to be that not every Federation worker is inherently cruel. Even so, they’re still willing participants in the organization, or so the previous islanders claim, making it wiser to keep one’s distance.
Others don’t seem willing to entertain even that much sympathy.
Usually, they’re the people who suffered the most.
Multi vaguely recalls Maximus’ tapes mentioning eggs, children the islanders had raised as their own, only to have them taken away. Perhaps that alone explains the bitterness many seemed to carry.
Graf mentions Quackity again a few days later.
“He gets along with the North.”
He explains it casually, absentmindedly eating leftover barbecue he’d brought back from the mansion.
“Does he?”
The question leaves Multi’s mouth before he has time to consider it, accidentally slipping out.
Graf nods. “It’s not like he’s always there, but it’s the place where he seems to be the most comfortable. Which is crazy because that’s where some of the people who hate him the most live.”
His constructor friend chuckles, amused by the contradiction.
Multi quietly commits the information to memory.
Curious.
—
So he decides to visit the North.
Not that they’ve ever met face to face before, he needed to come regardless. It’s a place full of people that he needs to get acquaintanced with.
Still, he’s heard enough stories about their war, and eventual truce, with the Regime to know who lives there.
The place doesn’t even have a front door. Ridiculous.
Rather than simply walking in, Multi deliberately lets his boots strike the wooden floor a little louder than usual, making sure anyone inside hears him coming. The last thing he wants is to appear as though he’s sneaking around.
“Oh, hey.”
A tall, humanoid-looking totem appears from behind, climbing the never ending stairs, carrying several purple blocks in his arms.
“I don’t think we’ve met before.” The emerald eyed man says cheerfully.
Multi studies the outstretched hand for only a moment before shaking it with an easy smile.
“Hello, I’m Multi. I’m a friend of Graf’s.”
He does his best to appear harmless.
“Oh, the new one, yes.” Foolish glances toward the second floor.
“New one?”
“Oh, yeah, tell him Vegetta wants him to decorate his room. Juan has already put the floor and the ceiling, he just needs to fill it with his belongings.” He casually walks past Multi toward the staircase. “See you when I see you!”
A second later, he disappears into one of the hallways upstairs.
“He’s gone.”
A woman’s voice quietly reaches him from the hallway on the first floor.
Multi turns, offering her a polite wave.
“Thank you, Tina. I don’t think—”
Movement catches the corner of his eye.
Stepping out from behind her comes the duck hybrid himself, dressed in the same pristine white uniform as before.
“Oh, hello!” For the briefest instant, Quackity looks genuinely surprised, but greets automatically.
His composure returns almost immediately, but not before Multi catches it. Brown eyes widen, and his wings twitch.
Then everything settles back into practiced professionalism.
“Multi, was it?”
Something unpleasant stirs inside Multi, an irrational flicker of irritation.
He’s spent days thinking about this man.
Meanwhile, Quackity had apparently needed a second to remember his name.
“Yes, Quackity, right? Or so I’ve heard.”
A playful smile spreads across the worker’s face. Somehow that feels satisfying enough, to get a sincere reaction out of him.
“I’m guessing you’ve been asking for me.” The avian says it lightly, almost teasingly, though he makes no move to close the distance between them.
“You’re different from the others.”
The words leave Multi’s mouth less casually than intended, yet the silence that follows suggests they carry far more weight than he’d meant them to.
“I’m part of the QSMP Census Bureau. My rank is a bit higher than a normal worker.”
His tone carries the faintest hint of amusement, borderline sarcastic. His smile remains perfectly polite.
It’s useless, the way he keeps trying to put on a mask in front of the scientist, because his eyes betray him every time.
“Woah, what the fuck? I’m still here, you know.” Tina complains, as she throws both of them an unimpressed look. “It’s getting kinda weird, I’m leaving.”
Multi listens as her footsteps disappear down the hallway, followed shortly by the unmistakable sound of a door shutting.
The interruption seems to shatter whatever strange moment had settled between them. Tension still stays.
Quackity’s wings flutter almost nervously as his gaze drifts toward the ceiling instead of meeting Multi’s again.
Finally, he blurts out, “My shift is almost done, so I must leave.”
He reaches for the white bag resting beside him, closes it, and slings it over his hip with practiced ease.
“Goodbye, Multi.”
Without using any warpstone or emitting a single sound, he disappears into thin air.
Multi stares at the empty space for several long seconds.
He still has no idea how he can do that.
—
His heart pounds uncontrollably inside his chest as he watches through the security cameras.
Cucurucho picks up the book he’d intentionally left sitting on the chest, hoping to finally make direct contact.
The bear looks around, thoughtfully. One might say almost contemplative.
For one hopeful moment, it seems as though he’s about to do something. A weird egg in his hand appears, it’s black and looks withered, Multi stares impatiently.
Instead, after a moment, he vanishes.
Like he was never even there.
The sight is equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.
Ever since Cucurucho first appeared inside his private office, nearly scaring him half to death, Multi has been determined to work alongside him.
His presence alone dominates the island, an all-knowing being, something bordering on divine, God-like. A figure capable of bending entire communities to his will until the only thing they can offer newcomers are frightened warnings.
Pathetic.
He’d made up his mind that very day.
They needed a contract, he would prove his loyalty, his usefulness and his worth and, little by little, he’d earn his place among them, he was willing to understand even a fraction of what they knew for a rank in exchange.
Then climb higher, learn more to reach paths no one else could or ever had the opportunity to.
Watching Cucurucho take the book fills him with cautious hope.
He’s certain this is only the beginning.
—
It’s dawn of the next day.
The Hussars are still asleep, most of them having long since retreated to their beds while Multi remains awake, his mind overflowing with calculations, contingency plans, and quiet paranoia.
Thankfully, experience has taught him how to reinforce both his laboratory and his reactor, he doesn’t mind staying up all night checking every nook and corner.
Every entrance.
Every hidden passage.
Every possible weakness.
He checks them all, then checks them again, he refuses to repeat the mistakes of his past and no one is going to catch him slacking off.
His radar system has already proven its worth, alerting him the moment Cucurucho appeared. It hadn’t made the encounter any less startling, but it had given him just enough warning to keep his composure.
As the first rays of sunlight creep across the horizon, the radar pings again.
QU4C-K171 is near your portable radar named Biuro + Wioska at X: 185 Y: -13 Z: 1435.
He barely has time to finish reading the notification.
“Hello, doctor.”
The voice comes from directly behind him, Multi forces himself not to flinch.
Breathe.
He only hopes the worker can’t hear how violently his heart is beating.
“Hello, Census Bureau.”
The avian’s carefully practiced smile widens ever so slightly. Oddly enough, Multi feels his pulse begin to settle at the sight, the thrill is still there nonetheless.
“What are you doing here?”
They’re deep underground, directly beneath his office. The lights throughout the laboratory remain switched off, leaving the room bathed in shadow.
Only one light remains, a torch.
It shines from somewhere behind Quackity.
The accidental backlight silhouettes him completely, throwing his face into darkness while outlining the golden edges of his wings in a soft halo.
For a fleeting moment, he doesn’t look human.
He looks like a dream, strangely resembling an angel.
“My boss sent me. Apparently, you’re interested in working with us.” The avian tilts his head.
“Yes.” Multi confirms.
The nerves are gone, only exhilaration remains thrumming through his body.
Multi remembers exactly why he’d started all of this.
“Then, nice to meet you, doctor.” The hybrid extends a hand toward him.
A perfectly polite smile rests on his face, it doesn’t really reach his eyes.
“My name is Quackity and I’ll be working as your assistant from now on.”
For the first time since they’d met, Multi is utterly speechless by what came out of his mouth.
His disbelief must be written plainly across his face, because it draws something genuine from Quackity.
A sincere grin.
It’s small and it goes away in seconds,but it's undoubtedly real.
Multi quickly gathers himself before taking the offered hand, gripping it firmly. Letting it, perhaps, a second longer than necessary.
“I look forward to working with you.”
The grin slowly curls into a devilish smirk.