Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They say insanity is repeating the same thing, over and over again, hoping that one day, something will change. It sounded stupid at first, yet here in this very moment Chosen couldn’t help but believe it. 

How long has this been going on exactly? How long has he spent being the guinea pig to an entity he could never possibly understand?

The man wearing the glasses, the one wielding the cursor, at this point he’s spent longer in chains than he has being free, it’s all he knows really. Every single day he is awakened and used as a method to get rid of hindrances. It’s tiring, it’s humiliating, it’s degrading. What had he done to deserve this pain? Was it because he caused a little bit of havoc during his first day alive? Surely that does not warrant this punishment, surely the man could see that the Chosen One was only acting on his nature, was destruction not what he was made for?

He must be getting bored right? He can’t be getting this much amusement from his humiliation. Does he really not have anything else going on with his life? Is he that much of a basement dweller to the point where torturing stick figures and using them as tools is his only form of entertainment?

He tried his hardest to study his captor’s expression, yet all that stared back at him was blank, emotionless eyes, as if he was completely detached from his actions, completely uncaring of the damage he was doing. Was he even aware that Chosen was alive? Or did he truly think he was just a soulless program that could be played around with at his leisure?

He supposed he wasn’t far off in that regard. Right now Chosen was helpless, completely at his mercy. Confined to a ball and chain like a prisoner from a century he would never know. To him Chosen was nothing, nothing but a useful tool, a slave, an object. This man was his god, a god who viewed his creations as little more than toys to be played with. No one dared object to him, for he is far too abstract to understand. Existing within a realm of his own, untouchable to the programs he creates.

He sometimes wonders if he was the first, if there had ever been a stick figure before him who served the same purpose. If so then what happened to them? Did he get bored? Did he decide to put an end to their suffering? Lord what Chosen would do to be granted that kind of mercy, but alas, he was not.

He was still here.

Still trapped.

Still a toy…

Still…

…

He wasn’t quite sure where it came from. Perhaps it had been building up for a while. Perhaps it was always there and never truly went away, he didn’t know. All he knows is that one day, he just snapped. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t keep pretending to be content, to act as if he were calm when every day was hell on Earth. He hated it, he hated him, he hated what he had been turned into. This isn’t what he was meant to be.

He was The Chosen One.

He was born to be great.

He was born to rule.

Born to conquer.

He was not made to be somebody else’s plaything.

An unfamiliar energy began to beat itself against his chest.

He was born to be powerful!

His fist began to crack against the edge of the taskbar, white lines forming along its edges.

He was born to be respected!

A golden, electric energy began to pulse through his fists.

He was born to be feared!

The golden energy began to spread to the rest of his form.

He was born to be…

Alan sat at the dinner table in relative silence. Ever since he moved out of his parents’ place, he’s mostly sustained himself on basic microwave meals and takeaways, it wasn’t the healthiest thing sure, but it worked out well enough. He picked his fork at the plate of food he was currently eating, stabbing it into a piece of lukewarm meat before bringing it to his mouth when-

A loud booming noise echoed through the apartment, startling him into dropping his utensil, which made a hard clang against the plate. He sat there for a moment, wondering what the absolute hell just happened when-

He heard something, something coming from his room, it sounded almost like… destruction. 

Eyes widening, Alan practically threw himself off of his chair, barging in through his own door and rushing to his computer only to see…

Complete, and utter carnage. His entire computer was wrecked, web browser reduced to several broken pieces littering the floor, apps strewn about in places they shouldn’t have been, and yet, that wasn’t the thing that caught his attention. 

Sitting in the bottom right corner of the screen, where the WIFI icon now stood, showed what could only be described as a wormhole of sorts. It pulsed with energy, weaving in and out of itself as an ominous noise echoed from its core.

Reaching his hand over to the mouse, Alan slowly hovered his cursor over the object, clicking it in hopes of yielding some sort of reaction, yet there was none. Not knowing what else to do, Alan moved his cursor over to what was left of his web browser and began to individually place each piece into the recycling bin before getting busy placing all of his applications back into their correct places.

He wondered what could’ve possibly happened to have caused such a mess. The only thing he could think of off the top of his head was the stick figure that he…

That he…

Wait a minute…

If it were possible for his eyes to widen any further, that’s exactly what happened.

The Chosen One.

He had left him there while he went to eat dinner.

His eyes frantically looked paced along his desktop, yet the stick figure was nowhere to be found. Upon finally realizing that he was truly gone, Alan’s expression of panic soon morphed into something more akinned to irritation.

“Not again…”

He was falling. At least, that’s what it felt like. It was rather hard to tell with how fast everything was going. If you’d asked him to describe the last few seconds he couldn’t tell you. It had all gone by in the fraction of an instant. One second he was pounding the floor angrily, next he was falling. Falling where? He didn’t know.

His body was stiff, that much he could tell, arms stuck to his sides, legs glued together. The usual weight he felt on his ankle from the ball and chain had ceased, as if it had been completely incinerated, yet he found it difficult to celebrate when his mind was going at a million miles an hour.

His gaze was fixed forward and tinted with gold, it was hard to make out anything in front of him, from what he could see it seemed as though he had found himself zipping through a tunnel of some kind. How did he end up here? This doesn’t look anything like the man’s PC. Yet before he could question any of it, blinding light met his eyes and-

It was a nice day out, the sun was shining, the wind wasn’t too overbearing. Today was the kind of day to take a nice stroll through the fields, maybe pick a few flowers while you were at it, and that’s exactly what Mitsi was doing.

Business at Rocket Co. was going by rather slowly today, not that she minded or anything, Victim needed a break after all. So today she had opted to go scrounging around for some flowers she thought looked nice and gathered them in a small bouquet. A simple gift, Victim liked simple gifts. He always told her she didn’t need to, yet she did it anyway. Any chance to see him smile even a little bit was worth it. That’s what this was all for.

“Hey what’s that?”

“Is that a meteor?”

“Can you even get those here?”

The voices of random civilians caught her attention. A meteor? She’d heard of those things before. She understood them as something that humans experienced, yet never saw them for herself during her time in the Outernet.

Raising her head curiously, her eyes immediately locked onto a golden ball descending from the sky. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of it. It was hard to identify what it was from this distance, but something told her it was not this so-called “meteor” like the other Outernet residents were claiming.

“Nah, that looks more like a shooting star to me.” Another voice pointed out.

“Don’t those only come out at night?”

She wasn’t paying attention to the voices at this point, eyes locked onto the golden ball as it continued to travel downward before disappearing over the hills. Mitsi watched for a moment, mind in an internal debate of what to do. She considered just leaving it alone, dismissing it as yet another one of those strange, internet phenomena that she’s grown so accustomed to.

A large booming noise caught everyone’s attention and Mitsi’s eyes were back to the sky in an instant. Without so much as a warning a large, golden wave reminiscent to that of a sonic boom washed itself over her in an aggressive gust, knocking her and the rest of the nearby stick figures onto the ground.

The blue sky that had been present only seconds ago was now replaced with a dull grey, droplets of rain beginning to fall in chaotic patterns. She could hear the screams of the civilians, all scrambling to flee, figuring that whatever this was, it was dangerous. Mitsi had half a mind to do the same, yet the other half had grown curious.

Raising to her feet and dusting herself off, Mitsi stared up at the sky for a moment, before beginning her trek forward. Over the hill she walked, arms raised over her head to shelter herself from the rain. It didn’t really do much, her face still became smeared with water, but it was better than nothing. 

Reaching the top of the hill, Mitsi let out an audible gasp at the sight before her. Sitting in what was once the luscious green grass was a large, smoldering crater, its edges charred with ash, life sucked out of the remaining foliage within its vicinity. Mitsi could only stare with a mix of shock and wonder. What on Earth was this?

Daring to take another step closer, Mitsi began to cough violently as the musty air filled her nostrils. Waving her arm in front of her face to clear her vision, the girl now found herself standing at the edge of the hole, inches away from falling inside herself. Taking a few steps back for the sake of caution, Mitsi kneeled down and peered into the crater, attempting to make out what exactly had caused the strange, golden explosion.

Despite her blurry vision, Mitsi could make out something sitting within the center of the hole. She squinted her eyes to see what it was, and once she saw it, it took all of her might not to let out a horrified scream.

There was a stick figure, a black one to be exact, their head hollowed out in a way that reminded her a bit too much of Victim. She stared at them for a moment, as if waiting for some kind of movement. When there was none, Mitsi took a shaky breath and began to climb into the pit.

Approaching the unconscious form, one of the first things she noticed was just how battered and bruised the poor stick figure looked. She supposed it made sense. If he had been the so-called “meteor” they all saw, then hitting the ground with such a severe impact was only bound to cause some damage, yet some of the bruises didn’t look recent. Some of them looked as if they had been there for months, perhaps even years.

She felt a pit curl in her stomach as she imagined what could’ve caused such serious injuries. Where did this stick figure even come from? What on Earth was that golden wave he produced?

Hesitantly, the woman reached her arm out to touch the unconscious stick, flinching slightly at how warm his body was. It wasn’t hot enough to burn, but it was hot enough to where she had to actively resist pulling away.

Gently turning the body over, Mitsi placed an arm upon his wrist, attempting to feel some kind of pulse. A faint, almost unnoticeable heartbeat met her fingers and she let out a relieved sigh. He was alive.

A low, almost strangled sound escaped the other stick figure’s mouth as he began to squirm. It didn’t take long for her to realize that they were waking up. Lowering herself to her knees, Mitsi inched herself backward, holding in a breath as she awaited the other’s awakening.

Pain. That was the first thing Chosen registered as he regained consciousness. It was an odd feeling if he was gonna be honest. Pain was something he seldom felt these days. The extended period of time being his plaything had hardened him to most forms of physical torment.

Eyes squinting open, he was greeted to the sight of a blurry haze of colors consisting mostly of browns and blacks. As his vision cleared, he could see that he appeared to be at the bottom of a hole of some kind. He tried to think back to how exactly he wound up in this situation, yet his mind drew a blank. Closing his eyes, he attempted to take a breath, yet it only resulted in a strained sort of growl. Placing his hands against the dirt, he pushed himself up, legs rattling like an old floorboard. He attempted to stand, but his knees were quick to give in, resulting in him falling face-forward into the ground with a thump. A groan of annoyance escaped his throat, electing to give up the attempt, closing his eyes as he let out a sigh.

“Hello…?” An unfamiliar voice spoke.

Opening his eyes, they traced along the surface of the crater before meeting with those of another stick figure. At least, he thinks it’s a stick figure. It’s sort of hard to tell with their odd geometry. He squinted to get a better look at them. He’d never seen a stick figure like this before, they were short, stubby, with long grey hair and even a dress, he couldn’t help but compare them to himself and how bland he looked in comparison, clearly whoever drew them cared a lot more about how their creation looked as opposed to what kinds of torture they could inflict upon them. Wait a minute… he’d never seen this stick figure before. His eyes widened in realization that he was facing a complete stranger, a stranger who he knew nothing about and could very well be out to get him. 

Acting on impulse, he flung his arms in front of him, attempting to summon a flame as he stood in a defensive posture, yet found himself falling again as his legs bailed on him, of all the times for him to be completely winded. His breathing picked up as he realized he was nigh-defenseless against this unknown witness, body far too weak to defend himself and no clear way of escape visible to him.

Mitsi frowned in concern, she could tell that the stick figure was scared, that much was obvious from his trembling form. Her mind thought back to her first encounter with Victim, now that she thought about it, this whole situation was remarkably similar, unconscious stick figure, fight or flight response, it was rather discomforting in all honesty. Approaching the scared stick figure slowly, She put her arms out in front of her in clear view, hoping to convey that she had nothing to hide.

“Hey… it’s okay… I’m not going to hurt you.” She spoke in a very gentle manner, lowering her voice to sound as non-threatening as possible,  

Chosen was holding himself up by his elbows now, expression still focused and untrusting. Realizing that the other stick figure was approaching him, he scrambled backwards, bumping into the edge of the pit. 

The stranger, seeming to realize that their approaches were only causing his anxiety to flare up, stopped in their tracks, feet planted against the ground.

“Are you okay?” The figure asked slowly.

Chosen’s head lowered. Truthfully, he wasn’t okay and he knew it, but he wasn’t quite ready to admit that when he was so defenseless.

“You look hurt. Would you like to come back with me to my village? I promise I’ll help you in any way I can.”

Chosen hesitated, to say he was unsure about this would be an understatement. His experience with him had taught him to not trust blindly. Yet this stick figure, unlike the man who created him, showed no hostility, even going as far as to stop approaching upon realizing that they were scaring him. This wasn’t like him. He never cared to respect Chosen’s boundaries, if he saw how scared he was, he would just wave it off and throw him around so as to force him on his feet.

He also realized, much to his chagrin, that he was far too weak to get up and start walking around on his own. It was either he took their offer to go back to this “village” that they speak of, or he rots here, consumed by the miserable weather.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Chosen relented, nodding his head and collapsing onto the floor once more. While he couldn’t see it with his face now buried in the dirt, the other stick figure had started to smile.

“Do you need help getting up?” They asked in their oh-so-sweet voice, it was nothing like his creator’s coldness, his apathy, his uncaringness. The idea of being touched by a complete stranger wasn’t exactly appealing to him, but what other choice did he have? He’d already tried twice to get up on his own and he failed miserably both times.

Letting out a grunt, he nodded for what was the second time that day. The other stick figure’s smile only widened as they once more began to approach him. Carefully placing their arms under his shoulders, they hoisted him over their back, clutching him by the legs. It was a little awkward seeing as he was quite a bit taller than them, but they seemed to manage.

“You okay back there?” They asked with concern. Chosen just let out a low mumble in response, too tired to come up with coherent sentences. The other stick figure let out a soft giggle in response as they began moving. It wasn’t like his creator’s laugh. It wasn’t laced with venom so poisonous it could kill any living being in the area, it was sweet, joyful, amused.

“I’m Mitsi by the way.” The stick figure spoke once more as they, with some difficulty, made it out of the hole and began moving in a direction Chosen had no knowledge of.

“Do you have a name?” She asked, slightly adjusting the black stick figure on her shoulders. Great, she was expecting him to talk now, with actual words and not just vague noises.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I just figured you’d prefer me to call you by something other than ‘strange stick figure I found lying in a hole’”

That actually got a chuckle out of him, oddly enough. He couldn’t even remember the last time he laughed. Has he ever laughed before? The fact that he couldn’t even remember scared him more than he’d like to admit. Giving himself a moment to muster up what remaining strength he had, he answered.

“It’s… It’s The Chosen One.” He responded in a hoarse tone. Mitsi’s expression contorted into one of intrigue and curiosity.

“The Chosen One huh? That’s a funny name.”

Chosen let out a huff. Not his fault his creator didn’t give him a normal name.

“Not that it’s a bad name or anything! I just think it’s interesting.” The woman quickly backtracked, Chosen just rolled his eyes. 

“Do you have any nicknames? Referring you to you as “The Chosen One” all the time seems like a bit of a mouthful.”

A nickname. Chosen had never given himself a nickname, nor had anyone else for that matter, but he supposed he could understand how inconvenient it would be to always say “The Chosen One” every time someone tries to refer to you by name. Thinking up something on the spot, he replied with the only thing he could think of off the top of his head.

“Chosen.”

“Chosen huh? Well Chosen, welcome to the village.”

Peeking his head out from behind her own, Chosen’s eyes widened upon seeing a bustling village filled with unfamiliar stick figures. To say he was taken aback would be an understatement. He’d never seen so many people in his life. 

He didn’t need to say anything for Mitsi to understand that he was surprised. She’d sort of figured that he hadn’t had much experience with talking to new people if his initial reaction to her presence was any indication.

“Let’s get you to the Nurse's house huh? Those injuries aren’t gonna heal themselves.”

Eyes still wide and filled with wonder, Chosen simply nodded in reply, words completely failing him. 

Chapter Text

Victim has always been a bit of a light sleeper. He never really understood the comfort in it personally. Every time he closed his eyes and allowed his world to be encased in a void of darkness, all he could think of was the feeling he felt every time he was erased from existence at the hands of his creator.

Many feared the idea of death. The uncertainty, the finality, Victim feared it for the exact opposite reasons. He knew what it was like to die. To be forced out of your body and left in a featureless limbo where time never flowed linearly, every second of every moment he would fear the inevitable. Death was never the end of his suffering, only a small respite from reality before he was once again pulled back into the world by he who refused to see him as anything more than a plaything to slaughter.

It was this fear of death, this fear of nothingness that would often keep Victim awake at night. When the world itself had gone into slumber Victim would remain, eyes open, always aware of every little movement that went on around him. 

Mitsi sometimes caught him in the act, and whenever she did she’d pull him back into the soft comforts of their bed, arms wrapped around him, protecting him from all that was dangerous. It didn’t stop his anxieties, but it did make things a little easier. The concept of positive contact was still a little foreign to him, even now he would tense up anytime someone raised their hand, or gave him a friendly pat on the back. It didn’t matter the intention, his mind would always go into fight-or-flight.

This was all to say that Victim did not have a very good sleep schedule. It wasn’t uncommon to find him at his desk, sketching plans until his eyes drooped, and every time he would wake up with a blanket slung over his shoulders.

He had been up late again, doodling plans for his latest innovations with Rocket Corp. He and Mitsi had been hard at work expanding their company, making it bigger and better than it ever was before. He had always been an ambitious sort, never settling on enough, he always needed to go bigger. He couldn’t quite explain why, perhaps it was his status as a “victim” that led him to always try and push for the skies, to prove his creator wrong, that he was worth so much more value than he had been shown.

Regardless of reason, he’d found himself dozing off at his desk once more. He was sure Mitsi was gonna give him a handful about this once he woke up, she’d made it very clear to him that she didn’t like his sleeping habits, but she never forced him to fix them either, something which he was thankful for. He knew, deep down, that this wasn’t healthy, but he couldn’t really help himself either. So many years of torture made it harder for him to function normally, or, should he say, whatever the Outernet citizens considered as  “normal”.

As he fell deeper into the void of sleep, Victim couldn’t help but find an odd comfort in the nothing. Sure, it was scary, sure, it brought back memories he would much rather forget, but beyond all the trauma, there was something nice about the darkness, of not having to worry about anything for just a moment, the only thing that mattered being his own sense of self.

But of course, these things very rarely lasted. Victim was still a victim at the end of the day, as much as he despised admitting it.

And so, just as he had gotten himself comfortable, the void was ambushed by a ray of golden light, breaking him out of his sleep and pushing him back with an intensity he hadn’t felt since his creator tossed him around like a ragdoll.

It had taken him several moments to realize that he was awake, and even longer to process the fact that he was on the floor. His eyes were glued to the ceiling, mind struggling to process what just happened.

He felt his chest rise and fall, an indication that he was still alive. Most wouldn’t pay attention to things like that, but Victim wasn’t like most.

The patter of rain soon caught his eardrums, breaking him out of his stupor as he finally raised himself to his knees. Standing to his feet, his blue eyes met the nearby window, focusing on the quiet yet aggressive cascade of rain pouring outside.

A soft, yet firm knock on the front door caught his attention.

“Boss? You in there?” A familiar voice spoke. Victim recognized it immediately as his old friend Mr. Smith.

“I’m here.” He responded simply. A few seconds later the door opened, revealing a lanky stick figure with a head of pure white, glasses sitting delicately on his face and a Rocket Corp themed-cap resting comfortably atop his head.

“What’s the deal Smith?” Victim questioned, placing a hand on his hip as he eyed Smith with a curious head tilt.

“Don’t know sir. The only thing I can say for certain is that it’s definitely not normal.” The man explained. Nodding, the grey stick figure walked towards the front door. Peeking his head out, Victim allowed his eyes to meet those of the storm above.

It was an odd sight to be sure. The Outernet didn’t really have natural weather, not in the traditional sense anyway. The closest they ever had to a storm was when that tall orange fellow conjured up a rain cloud using his elemental powers. King was it? Even now he still had a hard time remembering his name.

Walking out into the storm, Victim held out a grey hand, rain falling against his open palm. It was an odd sensation, but not necessarily a bad one.

“This ain’t all there is sir.” Smith informed as he walked up behind the shorter stick.

“Just before there was this huge surge of golden energy that knocked everyone off their feet.” The man continued.

Victim was quiet for a moment, Smith’s words wandering their way into his mind.

“Golden energy…” He muttered. He quickly drew parallels to the dream he had just moments ago, when the golden light consumed his vision, knocking him out of his chair. Was that this ‘surge of golden energy’ that Smith was speaking of?

He didn’t get much time to dwell on the implications of this however, as a new voice called out to him amidst the storm.

“Sire! Sire! There you are!” A pointed stick figure wielding a staff and wearing a cape said, rushing to Victim’s side with slight exhaustion.

“What’s up Shepherd?” He questioned, looking down at the pointed stick. Taking a moment to regain himself, the Shepherd stood to his full height, expression stern and serious.

“I have come to inform you that your mistress was seen walking through town a few minutes ago carrying a strange stick figure on her back.”

“Mitsi?” Victim questioned, the Shepherd nodding in affirmation.

“Strange stick figure?”

The Shepherd nodded again.

“Yes, they were last seen heading towards the Nurse’s house.” The stilted man explained. Victim furrowed his brow in confusion. What on Earth was Mitsi doing out in the rain? And who is this ‘strange stick figure’ that she was carrying?

“Should we check it out boss?” Smith questioned. Victim nodded immediately. Whatever it was that his partner was doing, it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Allow me to escort you to the Nurse’s house, my lord.” The Shepherd spoke again, bowing his head. Victim just sighed. He didn’t really understand why the Shepherd was so insistent on speaking to him as if he were some form of royalty, but he knew better than to question it.

As they walked through the quaint little town that he’d come to call home, Victim let his gaze wander the scenery. He’d always heard that rain had this sort of… therapeutic effect on those who listened to it. He hadn’t really given it much thought until now. He couldn’t deny the truth behind said claims. Walking through this aggressive storm, Victim felt a sense of calm he isn’t sure he’s ever experienced before.

“It’s nice isn’t it sir?” Smith’s voice broke through the silence.

“Huh?” The grey stick responded dumbly.

“The rain.” The man clarified.

“Oh yeah uh, it’s…” Victim trailed off, blue eyes moving to the grey clouds above.

“Calming.” He finished. Smith nodded in silent agreement.

“We’re here, sire.” The Shepherd spoke, pace slowing to a stop in front of them.

Coming to a halt, Victim took in the humble sight of the Nurse’s abode that lay in front of them. It was a quaint little building, no larger than your typical living space, the only thing that made it stand out from the rest of the town’s structures was the large red crescent that stood above the door.

Raising a pointed hand, the Shepherd knocked on the front door twice before taking a step back. A few seconds later, a pointed stick figure wearing a nurse’s outfit would answer, her face visibly brightening upon seeing Shepherd.

“Ah! Shepherd! It’s so good to see you.” The woman spoke with clear excitement before her gaze moved to Victim’s, her eyes widening in visible shock.

“Oh! And you brought Smith and Victor too! What a pleasant surprise.”

Victim just raised his arm in a silent wave, Smith giving her a nod. He didn’t know who started the trend of people referring to him as “Victor”, but he didn’t hate it.

“The honor is all mine, Madame Nurse.” The Shepherd says, taking the Nurse’s hand and kissing the back of her palm gently, her face visibly flushing at the gesture. 

“Always the charmer aren’t you, Shepherd?”

“Only for you my dear.”

Victim couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the Shepherd’s public display of affection. Clearing his throat to get their attention, the grey stick figure spoke.

“As… charming as you two are, me and Smith came in hopes of finding my wife. Is she still here?”

“Hm?” The Nurse hummed, not seeming to catch Victim’s question at first.

“Shepherd said Mitsi was last seen carrying a ‘strange stick figure’ in the direction of your home.” Smith explained, speaking on Victim’s behalf.

“Ahhh yes, the wonderful Mitsi, should’ve figured you two would be here to see her.” The Nurse replies, pulling her hand away from the Shepherd.

“Come come, I shall show you where she and that strange new friend of hers are currently staying.” She says, walking back into the building and gesturing for Victim and Smith to follow.

“You coming Shepherd?” The woman asked.

“Ah, I’m afraid not my dear, I must attend to my sheep now, poor things must be soaking wet in the rain.” Shepherd replied.

“Ah of course, well it was nice seeing you dearie, do come by for some tea sometime will you?” The Nurse said.

“Yes yes, I shall come by as soon as the storm clears up. Goodbye for now my dear maiden! May your ventures with the lord be of value.” And with that, he was off, much to Victim’s relief.

“Is he always this forward?” The grey stick asked, earning a chuckle from the Nurse.

“Indeed he is my dear. Now come, let us go see your beloved partner.” 

“About time.” The man mumbled, alerting a light bump in the shoulder from Smith.

“Be nice boss.” The tall stick said with a hint of amusement, Victim just shot him a glare.

“And here we are!” The Nurse said, stopping in front of a door with the number ten inscribed onto its front. Raising a stubby arm, the woman knocked twice before speaking up.

“Mitsi! Your husband is here to see you.” She said in a sing-song voice, eliciting an inward cringe from the grey stick figure.

The sound of shuffling is heard from the other side of the door before it creaks open, revealing the grey-haired stick figure in question on the other side.

“Oh! Victim!” Mitsi says, opening the door fully, arms clasping together with a friendly smile.

“I didn’t know you were awake.”

“Yes well… let’s just say my plans of sleeping were… interrupted.” Victim responded carefully. Clearing his throat, Smith spoke up.

“Greetings Mitsi.” The man greets with a wave, Mitsi’s expression visibly softening at the sight of him.

“Good morning Smith, I trust that you slept well?”

“Yeah, as well as I could have anyway.” Smith replied, arms crossing as he took on a more casual demeanor.

“That’s good to hear, perhaps somebody could take some notes.” Mitsi spoke, shooting a pointed glare at Victim, the grey stick figure letting out a sigh in response.

“Yes yes, I have a bad sleep schedule, blah blah blah. Can we come in? There are some things we need to discuss.” The man said, evidently trying to skirt over the issue. Mitsi stared disapprovingly for a moment, before letting out a sigh.

“Yes, I suppose there is.”

“I’ll be in the lounge if any of you need me.” The Nurse spoke up, already turning to leave.

“Right, thank you Nurse!” Mitsi said, waving at the Nurse as she disappeared around the corner, Victim watched her leave for a moment before finally entering the room.

The room itself was relatively simple, but undeniably cozy. Victim allowed himself a moment to simply take it in before turning to face Mitsi, face forming into a frown.

“So, Shepherd tells me you brought in a new friend.” He spoke up, Mitsi’s previous irritation seeping into the air, leaving behind a tense residue.

“Friend is a bit of a strong term, but yes.” Mitsi responded, arms crossed.

“And you didn’t bother to tell me?” Victim questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“I was going to, but this ‘friend’ warranted my immediate attention.” She shot back defensively. 

“And I didn’t want to interrupt your sleep, lord knows you haven’t been getting enough of that lately.”

Victim sighed. He knew he was gonna get a mouthful about his lack of sleep, didn’t make it any less exhausting to listen to however.

“Is this him?” Smith suddenly spoke up, the man having taken a seat next to the room’s bed. Averting his attention away from Mitsi for a moment, Victim let his gaze fall onto the bed, and the moment he did, everything stopped.

Lying on the bed was a stick figure, one with a hollowed-out head, skin the color of charcoal. He appeared to be sleeping, if the way his eyes were screwed shut was any indication.

Victim stood stock-still, eyes wide and jaw agape. 

It was as if he was staring at his own reflection, before he made his escape, before the Outernet would alter his very state of being, and he was just lying there… sleeping.

“Yes, that’s him.” Mitsi spoke up, breaking Victim out of his daze as she approached the other side of the bed.

“He looks tense.” Smith spoke objectively, Mitsi nodding in response.

“You should’ve seen him when he was still awake, poor thing was terrified.”

“What…?” Victim spoke in a quiet tone, voice laced with fear and another emotion he couldn’t quite identify. Mitsi and Smith’s eyes were on him immediately.

“Did you say something honey?” Mitsi spoke, head cocked to the side.

Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the grey stick figure slowly approached Smith’s side of the bed, blue eyes burning holes into the unconscious stick figure that lay atop it.

“Who…?” He spoke quietly.

“Oh, right. This is the Chosen One, or Chosen as he calls himself.” Mitsi explains.

“Talk about a weird name.” Smith said, eliciting a chuckle from the woman.

“Chosen One…?” The grey stick figure replied.

“Yes, that’s his name, assuming he wasn’t lying to me that is.” Mitsi replied with a nod. Victim just stared at the unconscious form with an unreadable expression.

“Yo boss, you okay?” Smith spoke up, voice tinged with concern.

“H-Huh? Oh yeah I’m…” The grey stick figure trailed off, gaze moving to the black stick figure, scrutinizing his unconscious form.

“You said this guy’s name was the Chosen One?” The man asked, looking up at Mitsi.

“Yeah, it’s a little strange I know, but that's what he told me.”

“...I see.”

Brows furrowing, Victim continued his inspection of this “Chosen One” character. It was strange really, even beyond their similar appearances, the grey stick figure couldn’t help but feel an odd connection to this person, as if they were built from the same cloth.

…

“Vic? Are you sure you’re alright?” Mitsi spoke up.

“I…” Victim started, only to trail off again.

“I need a minute.” He finally bit out. He didn’t even give her the chance to respond before he was out of the room. The only thing he could hear before closing the door were Mitsi’s muffled protests.

Leaning against the wall opposite the door, the grey stick figure let out a sigh, crossing his arms as his gaze bore into the floor. He didn’t know why he was feeling this way. He’d never seen this stick figure before in his life, yet the mere sight of him gave off what could only be described as a bad omen, like a storm waiting to happen.

His gaze subconsciously shifted to the nearby window, blue eyes locking on the harsh weather outside.

Suddenly, the rain didn’t feel so comforting anymore.

Mitsi watched as Victim made his exit from the room. She’d tried calling out to him, but he didn’t even acknowledge her. Now don’t get her wrong, Victim was far from the most social person and he had the tendency to be secretive on occasion. But something about this felt… different.

“We should give him time.” Smith spoke up, breaking through the suffocating silence that encompassed the area.

“Are you sure?” Mitsi replied, concern evident in her tone, the tall stick figure nodded in reply.

“The boss ain’t the type to relay his feelings, you know he wouldn't say anything until he's ready.”

The female stick figure let out a sigh. She did know that. Knowing Victim since her first days in the Outernet, he was never one to divulge his vulnerabilities willy nilly, trying to force him to speak honestly was more than likely to cause him to have a panic attack or shut down completely than it was to actually get him to open up.

“Yeah… I know…” She spoke in a dejected tone. Smith gave her a sympathetic look, evidently understanding her plight just as much, if not even more so than she did.

“In the meantime...” The man spoke again, removing his cap and setting it down on the dresser beside the bed.

“Mind telling me how you met this ‘friend’ of yours?” 

Mitsi stared silently for a moment, gaze slowly moving down to the unconscious form of the Chosen One. She could tell that this was Smith’s attempt to distract her from her worries, which she did appreciate. Letting out a sigh, the woman nodded.

“Well… it all started when I saw a shooting star…”