Felicity's Beast World Apocalypse-Chapter 88: Soap

The rain cloud Tommy had summoned sat directly over the camp like a guilty conscience that refused to move on, dense and obedient, spilling a steady wash of water and soap over bedding and blankets and the cracked concrete ground until the whole place smelled less like heat and humiliation and more like cheap detergent and wet stone. It would have looked ridiculous to anyone passing by, a perfectly contained little storm hovering over a tiny circle of survivors in the middle of an abandoned town, but nobody in Snow Team was laughing yet because everyone’s face still held that same half stunned, half mortified expression that came from realising your body had done something extremely loud while your brain was asleep. The only one moving like he had a mission from the gods was Tommy, crouched over the bedding with his sleeves rolled up and his hair sticking up at the back, scrubbing hard enough to create a small foam tide, mumbling under his breath like a man trying to wash a memory out of fabric.

"I can’t look at her now," Tommy muttered. "I’m not joking. I literally cannot. If she looks at me, I will evaporate. I will leave this plane. I will become steam. I will become a weather event. Which is technically already happening."

Marx leaned against a brick wall with his arms crossed and watched the rain fall with a grin that refused to die. "You already became a weather event, mate."

Tommy didn’t look up. "Stop talking."

Sam wiped rain off his face and laughed softly, the kind of laugh that wasn’t mocking so much as relieved that the world was still turning and no one had died from embarrassment. Kai sat with his knees up, letting the rain soak him while he stared at the gray sky like he was watching his own moral decline float by. Ash was trying to keep the shrine dry with a scrap of tarp and failing spectacularly.

Pope was openly delighted, hands clasped and head tilted back into the rainfall like this was a baptism he had been waiting for his whole life. Sarge stood off to the side with his arms folded and an expression that said he was going to pretend none of this happened until the day he died, but his eyes kept flicking around the camp, measuring reactions, doing the same kind of assessment he did after a firefight, because for Sarge embarrassment was just another form of operational damage.

Shadow and Draco stood near the edge of the rain cloud where water turned into mist, both of them still and controlled in the way large predators were still and controlled when they were trying very hard not to acknowledge the heat lingering under their skin.

Draco’s ears had gone dark red and hadn’t recovered. Shadow’s expression looked calm, but his jaw had that faint tightness that meant he was holding something in place with sheer stubbornness. They watched Snow Team in silence for a moment, watched Tommy scrubbing like his life depended on it, watched Marx grinning like a menace, watched Sarge’s eyes go sharp and thoughtful rather than panicked.

Then Shadow moved first, stepping into the rain properly, letting it soak his shoulders as if he needed the cold to prove to himself he was still in control. Draco followed him, massive frame sliding in like a shadow of his own, head slightly lowered, gaze forward.

Shadow stopped in front of Sarge. He didn’t posture. He didn’t soften. He simply nodded once, firm, deliberate, the way someone nodded when a decision had already been made and there was no point pretending otherwise.

"We’re staying with you," Shadow said, voice low and steady.

Sarge’s eyes narrowed. "You already were."

Draco answered this time, his voice quiet but heavy. "Not like that."

Shadow’s gaze flicked briefly toward the building where Victor’s space still held Felicity and the two husbands who hadn’t emerged. Then his eyes returned to Sarge, direct.

"We’ll be honest," Shadow added. "No games. No pretending we don’t see what we see."

Sarge held his gaze for a long beat, then gave a single nod. "Good."

Marx made a soft, approving noise. "Look at you two, joining the cult."

"It’s not a cult," Pope said instantly, offended.

Sarge didn’t even glance at him. "Nobody is joining anything."

Shadow’s expression didn’t change. "We’re not here for her religion."

Draco huffed quietly. "We’re here because your instincts aren’t wrong."

That landed.

Because Snow Team’s instincts had been screaming about Emma since the moment she smiled too perfectly at Felicity, since the moment she offered warmth in a way that felt rehearsed, since the moment she flinched when Draco said she only just learned about the Light, then recovered fast enough to make it look like nothing.

Marx’s grin sharpened again. "You’re making this sound ominous."

Shadow’s eyes shifted toward where Emma’s group had camped, and for a split second there was something hard in his gaze. "It is."

The rain cloud didn’t care about ominous. It just kept raining.

Emma woke in it.

She had been asleep beneath a piece of tarp that was meant to keep the dew off her, but Tommy’s storm did not respect boundaries and the soap had made everything slick and heavy, and when Emma sat upright her hair was damp and clinging to her cheeks and her russet ears flicked irritably with the sensation. For half a second, before she remembered herself, her face twisted in a small, sharp expression of pure annoyance. Not cute. Not sweet. Not gentle. Annoyed in a way that didn’t belong on someone who was supposed to be pocket sized and warm and harmless.

Then she noticed she was being watched.

Her expression smoothed instantly.

Innocent face.

Soft eyes.

A little confused.

"A rain cloud?" Emma asked gently, voice still honeyed even though water dripped off her lashes. "Is... is everything okay?"

Robert sat up beside her and snarled, holding up a handful of wet twigs like someone had personally ruined his day. "My sticks are wet."

Josh was already on his feet, shoulders tense, eyes sharp, scanning like he had woken up ready to punch the concept of fate. His gaze landed on Snow Team. His jaw clenched. He took one step forward like he wanted to challenge someone, anyone, to explain why his camp had become a soap-scented monsoon.

Marx smiled at him without warmth. "Morning, Coyote."

Josh’s lips curled. "Who did this."

Tommy kept scrubbing without looking up. "Me."

Josh stared at him. "Why."

Tommy’s voice was muffled, very much not interested in answering. "Because we are civilized."

Sarge spoke over him, flat and final. "Cleanup."

Emma’s violet eyes moved across the camp, noting the flushed faces that hadn’t fully cooled, the stiffness in posture, the awkward way some of the men avoided looking toward Victor’s building. She took it in quickly. Too quickly. Understanding clicked behind her gaze and she buried it under softness.

"Oh," Emma murmured, like she thought she understood but wasn’t going to say it aloud.

Robert glared at his wet sticks. "I hate rain."

Josh’s shoulders rolled, restless. "If someone is starting something, I’m finishing it."

Marx’s grin widened. "You’re always like that or is it a morning routine."

Josh’s eyes flashed. "Say less."

Legend, who had previously been committed to not acknowledging reality, shifted under his blanket and muttered, "He’s loud."

The Horse brothers appeared like they always did, with perfect timing to make things worse.

Colt strolled into the edge of the rain cloud like he owned it, grinning at Tommy with wicked delight. Casper followed, expression neutral but eyes bright with interest. Rowan came last, quiet as always, gaze flicking once toward Victor’s building and then away.

Colt looked at Tommy scrubbing. Looked at the soap rain cloud. Looked at the red-faced camp. Then his grin split wider like he’d just been handed the funniest gift in the apocalypse.

"Well," Colt said loudly, "someone had a productive night."

Tommy made a strangled noise and scrubbed harder. "No."

Casper leaned in, voice lower but still teasing. "First time, huh."

Tommy’s head snapped up, eyes wide. "Stop saying that."

Rowan’s mouth twitched faintly. "He’s glowing."

Tommy slapped water at his own face like he could wash the heat off his skin. "I’m going to drown myself."

Colt clapped him on the shoulder. "You already made a cloud. Might as well make a lake."

Marx laughed. Sam laughed. Kai laughed. Even Ash’s shoulders shook once in reluctant amusement. Sarge didn’t laugh, but his mouth twitched and that was as good as joy coming from him.

Tommy looked like he wanted to die and also like he was secretly on the highest high of his life because the buff had finally hit him and Sarge had clocked exactly what that meant, and there was no going back now.

"I can’t look at her," Tommy muttered again, quieter this time, voice full of dread and awe. "If she smiles at me, I’ll pass away."

Colt grinned. "Good."

Tommy glared. "How is that good."

Colt shrugged. "Character development."

While the camp bantered and scrubbed, Voss and Ivan returned.

They came in from the far end of the street like they’d been out for a casual morning stroll instead of interrogating settlers, both of them dry in a way that suggested Victor’s space had briefly touched them or that they simply didn’t feel like getting rained on.

Voss’s expression was its usual unreadable calm. Ivan’s eyes were sharp, but there was a faint amusement at the edge of his mouth that only showed when the world did something ridiculous.

They stepped into the rain cloud’s boundary and immediately paused.

They took one look at Tommy scrubbing. Took one look at Marx grinning. Took one look at Sarge’s expression of controlled disgust. Took one look at Pope looking like he’d been baptized by angels.

Ivan’s mouth cracked.

Voss’s eyes flicked over the scene.

Then, unexpectedly, Voss’s lips twitched.

A laugh escaped Ivan first, low and warm and entirely unhelpful.

"What happened," Ivan asked, though his tone said he already knew.

Marx pointed upward at the cloud. "Tommy happened."

Tommy looked up at Ivan like he’d been betrayed. "Don’t laugh."

Ivan laughed harder. "I’m sorry. I can’t help it."

Voss’s gaze landed on Shadow and Draco. He looked at their faces, at their posture, at the way Draco was still red, at the way Shadow was composed but taut. His amusement faded slightly, replaced by that predator stillness that meant he was listening.

Shadow stepped forward immediately.

"Emma," Shadow said without preamble.

Voss’s eyes narrowed. Ivan’s laughter died in his throat.

Draco folded his arms. "Be careful."

Ivan’s gaze sharpened fully now. "We already are."

Shadow’s voice stayed calm but heavy. "She’s too perfect for Felicity. That’s not an insult. That’s a tactic." 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Voss’s gaze shifted briefly toward Emma’s camp, where Emma sat under wet tarp with that innocent expression and violet eyes that watched too much.

Draco added, "When I said she only just heard about the Light, she flinched."

Ivan nodded once. "We saw that."

Shadow continued, "She asks questions when Felicity isn’t listening. She watches who follows who. She maps power."

Voss’s jaw tightened slightly. Ivan’s eyes went cold.

"We talked to settlers," Ivan said quietly. "Same story. She wasn’t into the Light until recently. She started asking about our structure. About leadership."

Shadow’s gaze didn’t shift. "Then she’s not here because she believes. She’s here because she’s studying."

Draco’s voice was low. "And she’s lying about the men with her. That Tasmanian devil and coyote don’t move like sixty."

Voss’s eyes flicked toward Shadow. A silent agreement.

Ivan looked toward Sarge and Marx briefly, then back to Shadow and Draco. "We’re going out again," Ivan said. "More settlers. More questions. We’ll build a picture."

Shadow nodded once. Draco nodded once. Firm. Agreement without words.

Marx leaned in with too much curiosity. "Are we doing a conspiracy."

Sarge shot him a look. "We’re doing caution."

Pope looked between them with bright eyes. "We’re doing discernment."

Sarge’s glare was immediate. "We are not doing church words."

Pope pressed his lips together, offended.

Emma chose that moment to stand and approach.

She walked through the rain with careful steps, red panda tail flicking irritably once when cold water hit it, then smoothing again when she reached the edge of Snow Team’s main fire circle. Her expression was gentle. Concerned. A little confused.

"I’m sorry," Emma said softly, voice aimed at Sarge, Marx, and Legend specifically, because she was smart enough to know who held the mood of the group. "Did we do something wrong? I woke up and everything was... wet."

Robert snarled behind her. "Wet sticks."

Josh cracked his knuckles. "I’m going to fight the cloud."

Tommy muttered, "It’s my cloud, don’t fight it," and immediately looked like he hated himself for speaking.

Emma’s violet eyes flicked to Tommy with a softness that was too practiced.

Marx smiled back, bright and fake. "No one did anything wrong."

Sarge’s face remained neutral. "Cleanup."

Emma’s brow furrowed slightly. "Cleanup from what."

Legend, still half under his blanket, muttered, "Life."

Marx snorted.

Emma stepped a little closer, gaze drifting over the camp again, noticing the flushed faces, the stiffness. She was careful not to stare toward Victor’s building, but her attention flicked that way anyway for a fraction of a second. Snow Team saw it.

Sarge saw it.

His tone stayed flat. "Tommy is practicing."

Emma blinked. "Practicing."

Tommy’s face went red again. "I hate you."

Sarge didn’t even blink. "You’ll live."

Emma smiled gently, then lifted her gaze to Sarge again. "If you need help, I can"

Marx cut in, cheerful and sharp. "We’ve got it."

Emma’s smile held. "Of course."

She turned her violet eyes toward Legend. "Are you okay?"

Legend lifted one hand slightly without uncovering his face. "No."

Emma let out a small sympathetic laugh, the kind of laugh that made people want to feel protective, and that was exactly why it bothered Snow Team so much. It fit too neatly into the shape she wanted to be.

Behind Emma, Josh paced like a caged animal, restless and angry without direction. Robert sat back down and glared at his wet pile of sticks as if he planned to fight the concept of moisture. Emma kept her innocent face on like armor.

Voss and Ivan stepped away from the rain cloud.

Ivan’s gaze flicked once to Felicity’s building again, then back to the street. "We’re going," he said quietly.

Voss nodded. "More settlers."

Shadow stepped forward again. "We’ll keep eyes here."

Draco nodded once, firm. "We’ll tell you what we see."

Sarge’s eyes narrowed. "You don’t leave camp alone."

Shadow’s mouth twitched slightly. "We don’t."

Voss glanced at Shadow once, a silent acknowledgment, then he and Ivan slipped out through the broken street with the same quiet ease they’d left with earlier, moving toward the outer edge of town where the settlers clustered, their bodies relaxed but their attention razor sharp.

Emma watched them go.

Her smile did not falter.

But her eyes followed.

And when she turned back to Snow Team, her innocence returned like a curtain dropped into place.

Tommy kept scrubbing and muttering, "I can’t look at her," while Colt leaned over him and whispered, "You’re going to look at her," and Casper laughed quietly and Rowan stayed silent but amused in the corner of his mouth.

Sarge stood with his arms crossed and stared at the rain cloud like it was a personal insult, then flicked his gaze toward Victor’s building again, where Felicity still hadn’t emerged, and his expression tightened briefly in something that almost resembled protectiveness.

Shadow and Draco stood just inside the perimeter now, not beside Emma’s men, but with Snow Team, their presence heavy and deliberate, their honesty spoken plainly, their eyes cutting toward Emma every time she moved.

Emma clasped her hands together and tilted her head.

"So," she said softly, "what are we doing today."

Marx smiled brightly.

Sarge answered flatly.

"We keep moving. We keep surviving. We keep our little fox safe."

Tommy made a strangled sound and scrubbed hard enough to create another wave of foam.

And the camp, washed clean by a soap storm that could not wash away the memory, shifted into a new shape where alliances tightened, suspicion sharpened, and the red panda’s perfect smile began to feel less like comfort and more like a mask waiting for the right moment to slip.