He would have forgotten all about the incident with Luna, erasing her from his memory whether accidentally or not. But whatever higher being out there loved teasing him for his terrible fate, a mocking clink of a single chain link accompanying his limping gait as a reminder dedicated to the trespasser that ended up as the target of his perpetual anger. At first he didn't notice the new addition to the black-iron shackles bound to his very being, but soon enough, the metallic jingle was difficult not to ignore. While the cat had been successfully fitted with a bell, half-literally, his own woes weren't his focus. Instead, the boy drowned out the faint clinking by distracting his ears with a forest of white noise. He had a vague goal in mind, noiseless pawsteps carrying him alongside a murky stream, assuming if he followed the polluted bank long enough, he would be guided to a clean water source. After all, the water plaguing the swamp was irradiated, and a few sightings of mutated creatures was more than enough to confirm his suspicions.

    Yet through the throaty cawing, distant splashing, and cicada buzz, a subtle heartbeat could be distinguished when the swamp lulled into a brief silence and he held his rasping breath. Lantern-like eyes shyly glanced at his shallow chest, raising a muddied paw to press against freezing fur in foolish hopes of the stalking pulse coming from him. Nothing, just as he expected. Blurred glare scoured the foliage wilting in the summer heat, tilting his head to the right in childlike curiosity for a moment. He was tempted to approach, but he would probably just find some critter behind the brambles. Rolling his eyes and breaking his entranced stare with the heartbeat's direction, Beck returned his attention to the slowing river, cautious to keep a wide radius between him and the watery current.

    By the time the tightly-packed trees of his home thinned into multiple clearings, the sun was still climbing into the sky. Blinking away the sudden blinding light, the poltergeist slowed his limping to a halt, paws sinking into the bank's silt as he did his best to stomach his phobias and cast his gaze out over the placid water in search of any signs of radiation. Not entirely sure what he was checking for, Beck fixated his vision on a pair of shadows swimming through the brook, unidentifiable fish navigating through the cattails and river stones. Tired of forcing weight onto not one, but two injured legs, the scrawny feline was more than content to drop to the mud, amber eyes closing half-way as he studied the fish from afar for any oddities that would otherwise deem the water as unsafe.

          History never stopped repeated itself, and Beck never learned no matter how many times he ended up bruised and beaten at the end of it. Countless times he had been hunted, somehow managing to wriggle out of their vengeful grip before they could sentence him to death and crafting a game out of survival. His luck ran out by the time matters were taken into their own hands. Being burned at the stake or taken to the gallows or even tortured in the public's eye would have been better than his violent demise and abandoned grave. At least then whatever remained of him would have been remembered. Needless to say, he knew what it was like to be hated and considered a disposable pest, he was practically an expert on it by now. Bastille wasn't different from any of them; the only change was that Beck wasn't aware of his grudge.

    Fish scales flickered up to breach the creek's surface, revealing that one of the bass was missing its eyes and sockets entirely, while the other's fins split at odd angles. His unbeating heart dropped into blood-drained guts at the observation, shifting irritably as he awkwardly stumbled back to his paws, tripping over his gangly limbs in an attempt to stall his pointless search. Despite the hackles lining his prominent spine bristling and exposing a glimpse of the ragged wound they were arranged to hide, Beck spat at the deformed fish in childish manner, sticking his blue-stained tongue out with frustration evident in his scowl. How was his clan supposed to defend themselves if they didn't have any clean water to drink? The poltergeist turned to leave, kicking away a clod of pebbles to sate his rising tantrum, yet he only managed a single step before his mind was hijacked.

    It was the simplest way to subdue the entity, if not the quickest. His mind wasn't just contained within a replicated brain; his entire being was an extension of his conscience, and without control over his own mind, he was effectively useless. Scraped knees buckled like a wobbly fawn's, Beck toppling thanks to a lack of muscle control and slumping against the mud with much less than a soft thud. Whether or not he could process his environment was a puzzle to even him, his apparition steadily distorting into shadowed obscurity until he forced himself to get a grip and preserve his materialization. A much easier task in theory, and the poltergeist hardly registered Bastille's earth-breaking footsteps as he inched closer. When he spoke, the only sign Beck could faintly hear him came in the form of a growling whimper trembling past scarred lips, a ferocious and damaged whine similar to a cornered animal's. He was stupid, he should have been more careful, he shouldn't have let them attack him again -- through Bastille's influence or not, whatever consciousness left free from the other's grasp rapidly descended into the repressed memories of pain impaling through his shallow chest. Sneering faces all too bitterly eager to throw and kick him to the earth only to yank him up again with bruising hands wringing his neck. Freezing water burning his nose and lungs as a heavy boot drove an arrowhead further into his back and pinned him down until his vision rolled into black. Beck's freckled face contorted into an expression of hidden terror, honey-brown eyes peeled wide open and staring through nothing.