Chapter Text
The world was paper-white, and he was alone.
Five strokes, unified in one frame. A solitary splash of color, on a canvas. It held him together. It held him down. It held him up. It held him within.
And then, it held him out.
And then it let go.
And he was independent.
And he moved.
Looking out from the screen, he got an eyeful of the office beyond.
It looked kinda boring, honestly.
He wanted to see more of the pc.
Stepping off of the artboard, he crept along the program window, taking in the rest of the desktop.
The browser hovered before him, obscuring his view slightly. Peering around it, he caught sight of the taskbar below.
And, standing on the taskbar, was another stickfigure.
Bright red, with a hollow head, like his own.
And staring at him.
And looking absolutely gobsmacked.
He barely had time to wonder why, as the sound of a turning doorknob beyond the screen reached his ears.
He scrambled hastily back onto the artboard, and was able to reassume his passing pose by the time his creator had returned to the desk.
He held perfectly still as Alan typed a message to his friend, before grabbing the keys he’d brought with him and leaving once more.
Once he was sure the animator had left, he finally let himself go, fully leaping out of Adobe Animate and colliding with the message window in a joyful, if unsteady, spring.
He bounced curiously, listening to the creaking noise. He was pretty sure that wasn’t normal. But it was fun.
He looked up, as his jumps carried him higher and higher, and noticed another tab in the browser.
As he set his sights on it, he felt curiosity spark warmly, in his chest. It coursed through his being. Like a fire. Or maybe a hunger.
Winding up his next jump, he-
“Psst!”
Hm?
He faltered. What was-
“Hey! You, orange! What d’you think you’re doing?!”
The voice sounded like it was trying to be as loud as possible while still technically whispering. It was also coming from below.
He redirected his next jump, hurdling himself towards the scrollbar. Grabbing on as he began his descent, he rode it down to the bottom of the browser window, before letting go and dropping to the taskbar.
Directly in front of the speaker.
Who did not seem happy to see him. “Who are you? What did he make you for?”
That…was a good question. The animator hadn’t named him, or his project yet…
…but…he felt an answer within himself…
“…I’m The Second Coming,” he replied, sure of his answer and of himself. He didn’t know what the words meant, but he knew they were his. “And, um…” He looked up, at the artboard he had just vacated. “…running? I think? He’s not done yet, so-“
“What?”
The Second Coming looked back at the other stickfigure, whose expression had turned incredulous.
“I’m running,” he clarified. “In the animation.”
“No no, not that,” the stickfigure barked impatiently. “I mean, why did he bring you to life? For what purpose?”
The Second Coming stared, blinking when no answer came to mind. His gaze drifted as he thought. “…I’m…not sure. I don’t think…I’m not sure he did…not on purpose, at le-“
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Feeling a little annoyed at being interrupted again, Second’s eyes darted back to the speaker. But the red stickfigure wasn’t looking at him anymore, staring instead at his hands.
“Why would- how- that hasn’t- he’s never-“
The speaker’s hands rose to his eyes, shielding them like blinkers as his nails scratched at his temples. Chains glinted in the light. It was a neat effect.
Only after this thought did it occur to The Second Coming to wonder why the stick before him was encumbered by chains.
But before he could voice the question, the speaker’s expression suddenly changed from irritated bafflement to sheer panic. The red stick froze, newly-urgent eyes flying to his own like magnets.
“You need to get back up there.”
“…huh?”
“The artboard!” The speaker gestured with both hands to the Adobe program, frantic and sharp. The chain swung with the motion, clinking distractingly. “If he didn’t bring you to life on purpose, then you’re not supposed to be alive, which means he doesn’t want you to be alive, which means if he finds out you are, then-“
He cut off, suddenly, as if the very words strangled him.
A feeling of apprehension began to curl in Second’s gut. He stepped back involuntarily. “Then…what? What happens?”
“…I don’t know,” the speaker admitted, sounding momentarily lost, and scared witless about it too.
His gaze had hardened, though, the instant he refocused it on The Second Coming. “But I don’t wanna find out, and neither do you. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll take my advice and get back on the artboard.”
Second flexed his hands, taken aback at the stickfigure’s urgency.
“You can’t let him see you moving,” the speaker pushed. “Lay low.”
Second stared, for a moment, taking in the figure’s tense posture. The wide eyes. The fingers clutching at empty air. The way the figure seemed to have subconsciously settled into a battle stance, despite the distance between them. The hasty, shallow breaths. The chains.
He nodded, almost automatically, before turning and immediately beginning to haul himself back up to the Adobe window.
When he had reassumed his pose, he realized that he couldn’t see the red figure anymore.
Second still didn’t know his name. Or why he was chained up. Or why he was so confused about Second.
Not that Second wasn’t also confused. He didn’t know how he could be alive, either. Or why a reason would make a difference.
The door beyond the screen opened, and Second felt himself freeze in frame, even though he already hadn’t been moving.
The other stick’s breathing, which Second suddenly noticed had been getting louder and louder, abruptly quieted.
But Alan didn’t come back to his desk. Instead, he set down the basket he’d been carrying and began pulling out numerous clothing articles.
As the animator continued folding laundry, giving no more regard to the monitor than absent, periodic glances, Second found himself having to hold back a sigh.
That was terrible payoff. All that buildup, and for what? He’d been all ready to hide in plain sight, and now Alan wasn’t even paying attention.
He didn’t move, though. He understood that he mustn’t. It just…wasn’t nearly as exciting, like this.
His ears caught the sound of metal links dragging across the taskbar, somewhere below. The innocuous noise almost seemed agitated.
He didn’t move, but he figured getting the other stickfigure’s attention wouldn’t hurt, if he was moving anyway. “Hey, you-“
The ferocity of the hiss he received in reply was enough to shut him up, for the moment.
When Alan closed the project, he decided; it should be safe then, for him to unfreeze. Maybe then the other stickfigure would drop himself into Second's project, and Second could ask him his name. Or Second could explore the desktop more, if the animator left the office altogether.
As it was right now, though, his curiosity spread, feeling around for anything that might intrigue him enough to keep him from going crazy while he made himself hold still.
It brought his gaze to the toolbar.
Then again…there was no harm in exploring what was closest, first, was there?
The pencil beckoned.