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“…Toilet?”
Those were the last words spoken right before the massacre happened.
Mephone4 scooted himself back into the corner, forcing his eyes shut. It was so loud- bright red flashing and the deaths happening everywhere all at once, not to mention how everyone was so organized just a moment ago, and were now screaming their heads off. He heard Mepad mutter something to herself, then purple brief lights added to the red.
He was so fucked. His world was quite literally crumbling around him. Another voice. It belonged to Baseball, but Mephone couldn’t quite pick out what he was saying. He counted the seconds as tears welled up in his eyes and he gripped onto the back of his case. It was starting to seriously hurt.
Just about a few more seconds after the last shriek was made and the colours calmed down, Mephone finally found the courage to open his eyes, still tense.
He really wished he hadn’t.
Dead. They were all dead.
Black marker was scribbled on them with the exact stereotypes and projections he labeled them with when he was a few months old.
“Thinks he’s worthless” “Needs to be needed” “Forgets what she knows”
Fuck, too much. This is too much. Mephone immediately turned his head away, shutting his eyes once more.
No matter the sounds he heard, Mephone refused to crack over even just one of his eyelids. He only tugged on his sides and pulled his knees closer to his chest. Tears dripped down his cheeks.
But he had to open them eventually.
.
.
.
.
.
Mephone sat in the barren wasteland with a traumatized expression, refusing to move from the position he was previously in, even if the wall he pushed himself into was even there anymore. Loud crashing and thumps came somewhere near him, but his sound reactors were ringing too much.
His..his life’s work. His only way to cope. Mephone4’s way to rebel against his disgusting creator. It was all gone. Everything Mephone loved was gone.
Ha, that’s funny, when everybody around him has all died, Mephone can only think about himself.
Just because they weren’t real didn’t mean that they didn’t.. have genuine emotions. Though they were all manufactured to have a core 2d character trait— like Apple being dumb or Trophy being a asshole—that they could develop off of or simply stay on, they all had.. true emotions and identities. This was all they knew. These— these little generated toys found themselves, and grew, and connected, and felt so real.
So real that Mephone somehow forgot that they weren’t.
Mephone flinched as the last zigzag striped mountain some distance from him glitches away, he can tell he’s finally hit rock bottom. Such a helpless little object.
Was it really the right thing to tell the truth..? He thought it would make everything better, right? All of them would be just be.. shocked..for a few moments, then they would be just a tiny bit anxious but would understand that Mephone didn’t know himself either..? They—they had to..!
No. It only made them die angry at him. Even Mepad was frustrated. Mephone imagined their ghosts berating and threatening him, yelling that he was a monster, ruining their lives by creating it in the first place.
Regardless, he felt so incredibly guilty. Blinking once, twice, but he can’t even cry any more, cant even talk. He looks frantically around, hoping that maybe some of the objects he didn’t make, like Bot or Mepad would appear somehow.
He shouldn’t have taken season 1 and early season 2 for granted. The old days where he didn’t know shit, where he could just goof around because he didn’t know how bad his life was going to become.
God, he just, he doesn’t even know what to do. Mephone acknowledges the red crab approach a pink phone. He fucked up. He fucked up so bad.
Mephone thinks how this all started. Whoever was out there anymore must’ve hated him. He got motivated to come back to season 2, he faced his fears and forced himself to exit the janitors closet, made this whole plan to take town his abusive father figure, and confessed. He thought.. he thought it would change. He just wanted to heal and make it better. Hoping karma would’ve patted him on his head and aided him for once for being brave and overcoming it all. Maybe he shouldn’t have even come back.
Footsteps grow louder behind him. He secretly hopes it’s a contestant that survived somehow, but he can’t bring himself to look back. It most definitely wasn’t who he wanted it to be though.
“…let’s go.” A sharp voice cuts through the heavy air.
Mephone whines. He still doesn’t turn back.
“N-no..”
“Come on, shows over.” The corn man says, still as emotionless as ever.
Shows over. Why would he say it like that?
“We’re going home.”
Speaking as if it was simply a father and a son who wanted to play more, but had to leave.
Cobs walked in front of the mourning phone, to force him to finally look at him. No shit eating grin, no hint of triumph in his voice, was he disappointed? He killed everyone, isn’t this what he wanted? What else could he want?
In the end, running gets you nowhere, does it?
He looks at Cobs' hand, outstretched and reaching for him. Mephone knows that going with Cobs means accepting his fate and returning to a life of being controlled, at least he could.. start somewhere new?… Why was he being hopeful about this? It really didn’t matter, did it? Nothing mattered. Mephone still hasn’t brought himself to process all of this. Cobs raises a eyebrow, a subtle “Well, what are you waiting for?” …What was he waiting for?
…
Reluctantly, Mephone reaches out and held Cobs' cold hand, his fingers trembling.