Chapter Text
Some ideas are just bad. Others are so terrible that they should never leave a person’s brain. Unfortunately, Eagle had one of the second kind. He was already smiling when he said it, like he knew it was going to end in disaster and was entirely okay with that. "Okay, hear me out," he began one morning, far too cheerful for someone about to commit social and potentially medical crimes. "What if we drugged Wolf? Just to see what would happen?"
The entire room stopped. Alex blinked. Fox slowly looked up from his book, clearly regretting not choosing a soundproof corner to read in. Snake froze, his coffee mug halfway to his mouth. Even the air seemed to hesitate, waiting to see how badly this would go. They were used to Eagle coming up with bad ideas—he’d once suggested an obstacle course made entirely of upside-down chairs and another time had attempted to make parachutes out of ponchos. But this? This had potential to go down in K-Unit history as the worst plan yet.
Eagle, undeterred, carried on like he was suggesting a pizza topping. "Not, like, dangerously. Just a little sleepy. Something light. So we can see what a relaxed Wolf looks like. Maybe he laughs. Maybe he naps. Maybe he does both! We get it on video, put in a few subtitles, and post it online. For science."
"No," Snake said instantly, flat and certain.
"That’s not just a bad idea. That’s several bad ideas in a trench coat," Fox added without looking up again. His voice was tired, resigned. This wasn’t even the first time Eagle had floated something legally questionable over breakfast.
Alex, who should have known better, tilted his head. He had the look of someone slowly being lured in by the dumb. "What kind of drug are we talking about?"
"Just a mild sedative. One of the ones Snake uses sometimes. Nothing serious."
"I don’t use sedatives casually," Snake muttered, clearly offended by the implication. "And definitely not for pranks."
"Well, maybe you should," Eagle said brightly. "Come on, think about it: a whole video series. ‘Wolf Unplugged.’ We upload it. Global views. French subtitles. The whole package."
Alex frowned. "Why French?"
"Because it’s classy," Eagle said with the confidence of someone who had never been to France.
And just like that, the plan was in motion. Wolf drank his coffee like always—fast and without conversation. He didn’t notice the slightly odd taste. He grunted something at Fox, shot a suspicious look at Eagle, and gave Alex a glare that said, “Don’t even think about it.” Then, after a few moments, he blinked. Slowly.
His hands eased off his mug. His posture slouched ever so slightly. His eyes lost focus and drifted toward the nearest wall like his thoughts had packed their bags and left. His eyebrows, usually drawn into a sharp, intimidating line, slowly began to droop.
Alex leaned in cautiously. "Is it working?"
Wolf didn’t reply. He just stared into the distance, calm and unblinking.
"Yup," Eagle whispered with glee. "Wolf.exe has shut down."
Things escalated quickly. First came the sunglasses, tilted slightly sideways on Wolf’s face. Then a leftover party hat appeared, balanced just off-center on his head. Eagle managed to slip one of his hoodies over Wolf—backwards. Alex queued up soft instrumental music, the kind you hear in hotel elevators, and they began spinning him gently in an office chair. Filming the entire thing, of course, from three angles.
Fox, watching from the corner, left and returned with popcorn, settling in like it was a movie night. Snake stood off to the side, arms crossed, repeating quietly, "This is a disaster. This is a disaster," like a meditation chant. He hadn’t stopped them—not because he approved, but because he knew it was already too far gone. Stopping it now would only make him responsible. Better to let the fools dig their own graves.
Eagle dove into the editing like it was a passion project. He added filters, fades, rainbow transitions, and text overlays in seven different languages. There were subtitles in French. There was background music. The final cut had sparkle effects, a slow-motion segment of Wolf blinking, and a shot of him attempting to speak and producing nothing but a long, drawn-out “huh.”
Then came the commentary clips. Alex gave a running narration of Wolf’s various expressions (“And here we see the subject experiencing what scientists call 'zero thoughts, head empty'”). Eagle added a behind-the-scenes blooper reel, which was mostly just shaky camera footage of him laughing so hard he dropped the phone. Fox contributed exactly one title card that read, “This was a mistake.” Snake contributed nothing, though his voice could be heard at several points in the background, swearing softly.
Once the video was completed—rendered, subtitled, and polished—Eagle uploaded it to no fewer than six platforms. YouTube. Vimeo. Something in Russian. Something in Korean. One platform that may have only been for cat videos. And, of course, a private file titled "Team Memory Archive" that definitely wasn’t password protected.
"It’s a work of art," Eagle declared proudly, hands on hips as he admired the laptop screen. "This is going to change lives."
"It’s a confession of guilt," Fox said. "This is going to ruin your life."
"He’ll love it," Eagle insisted.
"You’re going to die," Snake added, not even bothering to look up from his book.
Alex laughed nervously, but he was starting to feel a little cold in his stomach. He’d been around long enough to know that nothing got past Wolf. Ever.
---
Wolf woke up about an hour later. No one breathed.
He sat up. Slowly. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the glitter on his arms, the suspicious clothing, the faint music still playing on loop, and the laptop screen displaying the paused video titled "Wolf: Chill Mode Activated." His gaze lingered there for a long moment.
Without saying a word, he stood up. His silence was more terrifying than shouting. He didn’t run. He didn’t lunge. He simply walked toward them with the quiet menace of someone who knew exactly how long he could make the payback last.
Eagle ran, tripping over a chair in the process and grabbing a packet of crisps on his way out like it might be his last meal. Alex tried to form a sentence but ended up scrambling after him, muttering something about being a bystander. Fox didn’t move. He accepted his fate like a man on the last page of a long book, quietly closing his notebook and placing it on the table. Snake handed Wolf a pen and a list of names with a tired sigh, already knowing how this would end.
Wolf didn’t yell. He didn’t threaten. He didn’t even look mad. That was the worst part. He simply sat down, opened the laptop, and watched the video from start to finish. His face remained completely blank throughout, expression unreadable even during the sparkly slow-motion blink montage.
Then, calmly, he clicked "Download."
Fox frowned. "Wait—why are you saving it?"
Wolf looked up. Smiled. Just slightly.
"For reference," he said.
Eagle, watching from the hallway, screamed and sprinted.
---
Over the next several days, things got... tense.
Anytime someone opened a drawer, they’d flinch. Anytime they walked into a room, they’d check for glitter bombs or tripwires. Eagle stopped drinking anything that wasn’t sealed. Alex started checking under his bed for booby traps and unplugging everything twice. Fox didn’t sleep without locking his door and may or may not have placed a chair against it. Snake restocked the medkit. Twice.
The worst part? Nothing happened. No glitter attacks. No pranks. No retaliation. Just silence. That eerie kind of silence where you know something’s coming, but you don’t know when. And that’s always worse than the actual punishment.
Every once in a while, Wolf would walk past with a perfectly neutral expression. He never said a word about the video. He didn’t even acknowledge it had happened. But the moment his footsteps faded, someone would drop a spoon, or Eagle would knock something off a shelf, or Alex would yelp and trip over his own paranoia.
They were living on borrowed time.
Which was exactly what Wolf wanted.