Chapter Text
The wind outside the cockpit roars in Flug's ears as he continues rapidly gaining speed.
He frantically glances at his heading. He knows his destination should be around here somewhere, deep in the center of the Bermuda Triangle, past all the dangerous windstorms and compass-defying directional signs, but he stupidly didn't account for his engines failing after pushing through the thick jet streams encasing the location.
Why is he even out here? He has a competent career going as a solo villain—he's Goldheart's rival! Why is it so deathly important for him to track down his idol? Why does he need more information on the mysterious figure that consumes his every thought?
A gigantic cloud appears. One that doesn't appear to be affected by any type of current, and yet it swirls ominously as he approaches. Its blackened shell implies a storm cloud, although there aren't any typical flashes of built up energy, and Flug can't hear thunder. Though he can't hear much else over the control panel screaming at him to steer away.
His eyes wander downwards, finding the landmass he's only heard whispers of in the past. He's so close, he's practically standing on it already, his heart begins beating through his chest at the prospect of actually landing there, crashing in some clearing, surviving off his spare reserves until he musters the courage to journey deeper… Maybe even seeing him…
Flug begins angling himself down—his first mistake. The trajectory combined with his flaming engines causes him to dramatically barrel towards Hat Island. Stupid. He grapples with the wind outside, ultimately losing as the plane tumbles horrifically through the air. He soars just above the treeline, watching as an ocean of green whizzes past. He clears the forest in less than a minute.
His jaw goes slack as he briefly forgets all logic. He was supposed to land there—he can't land in the city, he'll be found out in minutes! Flug flicks multiple switches, desperately attempting to regain control of his vessel, all in vain as he eyeballs a large, conspicuous building coming into view.
The foreboding, dark walls almost appear black at first, but as it grows closer he recognizes it as a deep crimson. It compliments well with the vibrant red windows that circle the first floor, as well as the one closer to the top, presumably part of an office. The outside is entirely cylindrical in shape, until it flares out at the base, once again resembling a hat.
God rest his soul.
Accepting his fate, Flug can't do anything but cover his face in fear, his world going black behind his thick aviator jacket as he first feels his body recoil at the impact. Everything happens so quickly; the sound of his front window shattering, his head first lolling backwards before slamming into his console, the metallic crunch of the plane colliding with whatever material the manor was constructed from. It's all so quick that Flug barely has time to notice the ringing in his ears, or just how tired he is, before he slips into unconsciousness.
"Get up."
Flug jolts awake, his eyes wide and searching. He's in a very well-decorated room, one with abnormally patterned green wallpaper and a long red carpet. He attempts to turn around, but finds himself restricted by slimy, shadowy tentacles. His breath catches in his throat as he finally registers the voice that brought him to this state, with its grating, strange accent.
He chances a look forward. A desk, with a skull on it, and a well-dressed man sitting behind it. He initially looks startlingly normal, his spiky hair peeking out from beneath the brim of his hat, but the lighting completely obscures his face, and he seems surrounded by a strange aura. The golden name plate beside him mirrors Flug's nightmare back at him.
Black Hat.
Flug chokes back a sob at the sight, too petrified to do much of anything. The man, or rather, as he stands to an unsettling height, the monster, begins circling the desk. "A human. How disgustingly offensive."
Flug breathes faster than he can think, his chin wobbling as not a single word even comes to mind. The thing approaches him, leaning down to get a better look at his features. Still, its own face remains hidden, an unnatural shadow acting like a real-time censor.
"A human. Something so pathetic, and yet you put a hole in my roof," Black Hat—oh god, Black Hat!—practically growls, the tentacles tightening painfully where they hold Flug in place. "A human. Not just any human, though…"
Black Hat produces a folder from who-knows-where, a sleek black thing that gives Flug pause. The golden detailing around the cover becomes shockingly familiar as the beast thumbs through its contents with mild interest, its mouth forming into a sickening grin.
"I'm sure you recognize your thesis, Mr. Flugslys." Black Hat almost giggles, amusement obvious in his tone as Flug undoubtedly looks terrified. "Or should I say doctor?" The man taunts, returning to his desk as he continues skimming the document in his hands. "Abusing chemicals to induce emotions. How demented. To write such a… clean investigation at such a young age, you showed great promise. I can see why the Institute abducted you."
Flug feels his ego swell at the indirect praise, but it quickly gets squashed as the creature snarls.
"Not clean enough to reliably copy, though," he says with a scathing annoyance, his visible eye narrowing in contempt. "You would need an entire team dedicated solely to parsing your idiotic speech patterns just to begin picking apart this unintelligible piece of—"
He stops. For a long moment, Flug wonders if time has frozen completely, mercifully allowing him to reflect on his life before death. Black Hat's shadow seems to lag behind him as he moves once more, almost like it's forgetting his shape. He begins fiddling with the skull, picking it up to examine it.
"You're lucky, you know," he comments mildly, "I just lost my last scientist." He turns the skull to face Flug, the fate of his predecessor abundantly clear.
The doctor swallows thickly. His legs feel numb. There's a stinging at the back of his neck, and it only just occurs to him that he can't tell if he has any injuries after the crash. His fear and excitement are bleeding together in his mind, an unholy cocktail of nerves churning within him.
Black Hat tilts its head to the side, an awkward pop ringing through the room as its neck bends just an inch too far. "Let's make a deal, shall we?" It isn't a suggestion. It's hardly even a request, "You get to keep that pathetic little life of yours," he purrs, his words dragging in strange places as Flug can only assume he's trying to be flattering, "and I get a new head scientist."
A job. Flug crashes a plane into his idol's house, and he receives a job offer. The tentacles writhe beneath him as his heart hammers into his ears, this isn't a nightmare, it's a dream come true!
The scientist nods frantically as words fail him, just barely hearing the noise of satisfaction that comes from the other end of the room. "Wonderful!" Flug gets released with a simple snap, his arms falling limp at his sides as a contract and a quill enter his view. If he doesn't pass out from blood loss again, he'll pass out from pure elation. He shakes from the effort of lifting his hands, foregoing the pen in favor of reading the document once, twice, and nearly thrice before the creature begins impatiently drumming its claws against its desk.
Something about his undying soul being forever forfeit, as well as all of his creations instantly being patented under Lord Black Hat's name, followed by multiple poorly-worded clauses about physical harm and mental torture—Flug absently wonders how a being so old could have such a clumsy binding vow, but pointing it out would certainly lead him to his doom, so he silently begins etching his name into every empty slot.
The moment he's done, the paper bursts into green flame, burning away until Flug can only look forward at Black Hat. He thinks something should feel different, like a weight should shift within his chest, a handing off of something valuable, but instead there's nothing. He feels a rush of adrenaline, but otherwise… he's still Flugslys. Black Hat's grin splits further, and Flug finally notices his shift in appearance.
Smooth gray skin, hairless, green teeth with green drool, an impossibly more piercing eye than before. Flug shivers at the sight, his scientific mind buzzing in curiosity. Black Hat rests his chin against his clasped hands, seemingly more comfortable in his preferred form. He seems expectant, simply staring at the doctor until Flug begins to shuffle his feet. "Well?"
Startling at the raspy tone, Flug blinks in confusion.
Black Hat looks unimpressed. "You're being awfully rude, doctor. Why don't you get a little more… comfortable?" he drawls, more tentacles creeping out from behind Flug's chair to grasp at his hat and goggles, loosening his flight scarf. The scientist's brain eventually catches up with his eyes, and he aids in revealing his face. As soon as he's entirely free, the beast hisses, the expected reaction of course. "You slippery little—"
Flug would sigh if he weren't terrified, instinctively throwing his hands up to cover his eyes once more. When he doesn't immediately feel a thousand sharp things in his abdomen, he dares to peek out for a second. Black Hat is still staring at him, half of his face now ripped open and dedicated to teeth and spit, his one eye narrow in thought.
He gestures vaguely, and Flug's hands move without his control until they're out of the way. He considers piping up in question, before something slips over his head, something paper. He watches as two holes cut themselves open, perfectly aligned for his goggles—which are now back where they belong. "Your ugly visage disgusts me. You will wear this as long as you work for me."
A tiny part of Flug feels humiliated at the simplicity of his mask, but he nonetheless nods in complacency. It's par for the course when it comes to the root of all evil. Black Hat's face corrects itself as he calms down, before gesturing behind the now-bagged man. His monocle flashes against the lighting.
"Go refine that thesis of yours, doctor," he says, almost bored, "your deadline is very short."
Flug feels a strange haze enter his mind, something foggy pushing him to stand and leave, to effortlessly navigate the halls of the manor like he isn't exploring it for the first time. In less than a moment, he's blinking back to clarity. Is he in an elevator? Where is he going? He glances at the floor levels, noting the glowing one at the bottom simply labelled 'L.' A lab, then?
The elevator doors open to reveal a well-lit… basement. It's hardly a laboratory, barely sporting any better equipment than what he had during his time at the Institute. Top of the line for sure, but nothing he could use for more complex experiments. He'll need to find where his plane landed later so he can move everything downstairs…
Examining the space further, he finds a calendar and a whiteboard. The board houses frantic, damn near unintelligible scribbles, likely from the last scientist. Their work is sloppy, barely even replicating the simplest aspects of Flug's thesis. A cursory glance at the schedule shows Flug he has a little over a week to accomplish his goal… the goal of…
Flug squints at the board again, trying to find some semblance of organization. He finds it in the top corner, an incomplete and partially-covered bullet list of requirements, accompanied by a photo of an odd looking man.
Host found. Trap host? Ambush host. BAD IDEA. Manipulate host. TOO LONG. Artificial manipulation? Work on thesis.
Make host love Black Hat. FAST.
DYING.