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The orange cat stood a few feet away from his friend. Friend? That’s what they’d thought of the person for years, but now? He wasn’t sure what to think.
After burning their “friend” alive, they’d been so worked up, barely able to sleep, the only thing they saw when closing their eyes was that long mossy stone corridor, only lit by fire, seeing the wicked smile spread across their “friend’s” face as its skin burned and eventually turned to dust.
Yet here they were, standing before it, outside its plum coloured house, face-to-face with the animated remains.
Things had been…Rocky between the two since the revival, to say the least. While grateful in some respect, Target was enraged by the way Stampy ran their world and how they made no effort to change their outlook, and so, Target sought to take over so it could rectify all of their mistakes.
The two were face to face, the corpse having just returned from gathering resources for its next project. It’d hoped to have not run into the cat, it didn’t exactly enjoy their company. Then again, it did blame them for killing it, something they didn’t do, it was practically soaking in denial.
“Target?” The cat squeaked out as they moved to block the iron doors from the taller’s path, “…What’s… What’s going on with you? You’re… You’re so different… What happened?” The fear showed in their body language, however
’What happened’? The corpse scoffed at the question, red pupils boring through the cat’s small form.
“Did you really think it’d be that easy?”
Stampy was inexplicably dumbfounded at the retort, “Huh?”
Target dumped its backpack on the wooden path with a considerable ‘thunk’, “You really think you can just kill me, bring me back from the dead and then expect me to be at your beck and call? I’m not one of your stupid ‘helpers’ that can’t think for themselves,” It snarled, pointing a bony finger at the orange feline, “I may live here, but I am but a mere resident. I’m not here to help you on your little escapades or help you build one of your ’fun-games’ or whatever.”
Stampy’s face turned to pure terror. What the hell had happened to their friend? And them killing it? It had set itself on fire, not Stampy.
“I have my own duties, and you’d better stay out of my way if you don’t want to be hurt,” It reached down and retrieved its bag, slinging it over a single shoulder, “Now if you’ll excuse me,” It grit out, placing a hand on the furry shoulder to shove them out of its way.
And the cat let it happen, frozen, too dumbfounded to act. Then, within seconds, they snapped out of it.
“Target-! Don’t just say that and walk away! You-! You don’t even sound like yourself anymore! And-!” They sputtered, following the taller inside of its home, the cobble floor smooth on their paw pads, “You know I don’t think of you as an asset! I don’t care if you want to help out or not, you’re your own person! You can do whatever you want!”
The words all just sounded like meaningless noise to the other, who had simply been trying to organise its belongings into chests. It whipped around to face them, claw-like fingers grabbing the back of their neck.
“SHUT UP! JUST-! SHUT UP! DEAR GOD DO YOU EVER STOP TALKING?!” It boomed, the smaller shrinking back in an instant, “I’ll make this so incredibly clear to you; we each do our own thing and nobody will be hurt, but you step one single paw out of line and I will wreak havoc on your precious world, understand?”
It’s words were cold, nothing like the old Target. Whatever had gone on behind the scenes, whatever had changed it so drastically, it was something beyond the cat’s comprehension. They wanted to help so badly, but it was blatantly refusing it, or at the very least refusing to acknowledge the offer even existed, whether intentionally or unintentionally.
With no other options and desperate to keep peace, Stampy simply nodded, “I understand,”
And with that, they were released from its grip.
“Now get out of my house.”