Chapter Text
Every toon at Gardenview had their purpose cut out for them.
Finn was meant to teach about the wondrous world of sea life. Gigi was meant to inspire their adventurous spirit. Brightney encouraged them to think outside the box, to solve problems with their mind, while Scraps pushed that creativity into another, colorful direction. Estabilishing boundaries for yourself, having a healthy sleep schedule, spreading good feelings by hugging, taking care of their belongings -- every lesson a kid needs to learn.
It matters.
He was meant to hate. That was his entire meaning of being, to be a harsh bully who took what he believed was his, threw mean words around for the sake of it, found no joy in hobbies besides being a menace. Children are supposed to root against him, for Dandy and friends to win by the end of the day before it happens again the next one.
Again and again.
It matters less.
In Dandy's World, he matters less. In Dandy's World, everything has to be perfect, to upkeep the status quo. He is not perfect.
He never was, in the beginning.
-------------------
Every toon at Gardenview came to be because of ichor, the enigmatic substance extracted from deep within the earth, black in color and viscous in matter, staining everything like ink.
Scientists were the creators and ichor was their ink, their tools a paintbrush that brought anything they desired into life.
Shrimpo was no exception, one of the few things he wasnt different from other toons for. However, with a thing as mischievious as creating life, hiccups were a natural part of the process.
He was a hiccup.
He was the happiest as a hiccup without realizing it.
Sure, his body was less than ideal, but he was too young to care. It would be an issue when hes older. An innocent toon, a child by all means, who did what was asked of him in exchange for toys. A simple life, an easy to digest life. All a simple plant like him needed only soil, water and sunlight to thrive.
Tests were a mandatory thing, things like checking if their eyes worked, if all their limbs were functional, if the personalities they got equipped corresponded with the ones seen on screens. They worked with kids a lot, around their age and human. Shrimpo did as well, but he acted differently. Much differently than what was expected of him.
He was meant to hate. He was meant to patronize. He was meant to act as horrible as a little child could.
He did not know the meaning of cruelty yet, did not know what it entailed, did not know evil. He listened to the instructions and nodded along, following blindly, trusting.
As the poor child started crying from having their toy ripped away from their hands, Shrimpo felt wrong. Very wrong. He had never experienced such a feeling before in his short life and it made him pause, letting the serpentine awfullness spread over his stomach. This was wrong.
He was meant to hate, but he couldnt bring himself to hate.
The way the child sobbed from his actions felt wrong, and he had decided that he didnt want to be mean anymore. He offered his hand, small and rounded, to the child and apologized, offering their toy back and playing together for the rest of the test. He remembers their laughter and their genuine smile as the squabble from earlier was forgotten, left behind them.
Sometimes, when he focuses really hard on these memories, he swears he hears his own laughter too. The very last time he felt such joy, because soon after the test was over, nothing was the same.
Flowers bloom for such a short time and wither away as the sunlight vanishes.
-----
Every toon at Gardenview was their own individual with their own quirks. One could stand next to another and you could tell all the differences they had between eachother. This one was a mirror, with a reflective face and slim body. This one was a pastry, spongy skin and sweet addons. This one was a strawberry, with pretty green leaves and small seeds etched onto his red skin.
Children were happy to see them, handlers seemed happy to see them. They were not happy when they saw Shrimpo.
He was too much to look at, all these appendages growing out of his face and headtail. The way they made these crawling motions when he talked or the way they twitched when he was thinking about something, the way he kept rubbing against them with his palms when he needed to occupy his hands. They could not remake him, the project was in its infancy and thus lacked proper budget to try again, so they were stuck with this hiccup, a rusty cog in a machine that was supposed to run smooth, an unwelcome weed growing in a perfect garden.
They had to deal with the hiccup on their own. They had to rid the cog of rust. They had to make the weed succumb and wither.
Not all of them were happy with this turn of events, as he remembers snippets of conversations. They could not just cut them off, no! He needs those! He needs them to function!
"Some of them have to go," was said and that was final.
Next thing Shrimpo knew, the vibrant colors of the world dimmed. Things became blurry and there were smells he couldnt register anymore. It was a blessing at first, it meant he didnt have to deal with the horrid chemical smell, but when nothing was right by the first hour, he began to cry. The bubble of pain in his head doubled in size with each minute, pulsing like a heart that sent venom to his arms and legs. There were sounds he couldnt hear anymore, colors he missed seeing and the dull pain remained.
As if he was dunked in boiling water.
This is the body he will be stuck in for the rest of his life.
---------
Every toon at Gardenview felt love. It was such a strained word, having to carry so many meanings with just four letters. Love was the way two toons would come together despite the odds and care for eachother uncoditionally. Love was the way Rodger took Toodles under his wing despite not knowing how to care for a young toon. Love was the way Tisha and Shelly would always attend Plasmo's classes when nobody else showed up. Love was the way Dandy and Astro looked at eachother. Love was the thing Flutter spread with her joy and love was the way Goob knew the perfect time for his sister to receive a hug.
Love was a thing Shrimpo had never felt, towards anyone or anything, not even himself.
It was clear as day when the issue he paid no mind to when he was young suddenly reared its ugly head when he was older. Something felt wrong. He did not like it when something felt wrong.
He hated it.
He just had curves in places where there shouldnt be any. Hunching over and wearing non-fitted clothing had no effect anymore. He didnt want to be seen like this. He hated being seen like this.
He hated everything.
[Like he should be. Keep it up, Shrimpo, youre doing amazing. You can go back to your room.]
It was worse when the clothing was off. By millions of times worse, because he had nothing to cover with. He would stare at the mirror in his bathroom for hours, glaring at the digusting lumps on his chest as if they spat on him. He wanted them off. He needed them off.
There was nobody to turn though. Other toons would advise asking the handlers about it, to see if anything can be done, but--
There was no way he would willingly let them have authority over his body again. Not after the last time.
He missed the colors of the sky so much, no matter how many times he told himself he hated it. There is some rust you cant get rid of, there are some weeds that will come back no matter how much weedkiller you pour into the soil.
He eventually learned not to dwell in it anymore, grieving what he had lost is just going around in circles, slowly losing control of yourself. He vowed to never lose control again.
Shrimpo could not live another day with these things on his chest, so he opted to take the issue into his own hands and manhandle it into its rightful place. Like he would do to the kids at the playground. They wanted him to be stubborn and instead created something spiteful, something that does not hesitate.
He did not look back when he snuck out of his room and went to the kitchen where they made food for the guests. He didnt let these memories plague him, of falling asleep unaware and waking up dazed, changed forever. He did not falter when he reached for the flexible knife used to strip flesh off of bone. He remembered similar tools used on him, a very long time ago.
What is one more lost body part to him, at this point?
They deemed their preferences enough of an argument to cut him open, take some stuff out. Why couldnt he do the same? Why couldnt he get rid of things he didnt like?
Under the cover of night, he flipped the light on in his bathroom and locked the door behind him. He prepared everything already, at least what he thought would be needed. Two large containers of bleach he borrowed out of the faculty room and a spool of thin, white wire. It was the best he could find, as he didnt like the idea of using a staple gun on himself. He hastingly took off the red cloth, catching his form in the mirror like many other times before.
This is the last time he will see it like this.
He stepped into the shower stall, taking couple of breaths in and out, like how he saw Astro's handler do it when the moon toon was too anxious about something. It did wonders at calming his spiking heartrate, psyching himself up for what hes about to do. The blade glistened in the fluorescent light as he lifted it up, checking its flexibility with his thumb. Not that he really needed to do it, he was just stalling. Exhaling harshly, he finished fiddling with the sharp object and adjusted his hold on it to prepare it for its intended use. Well, it was never intended to cut into an ichor-based organism, but its about to learn how it feels. Using the mirror to see from the right angle, he took in one last breath in before he plunged the knife between the plates of his segments.
He remembers feeling so proud that he didnt let out a peep, that he didnt let the outpour of pain vocalise itself from his throat.
There was so much ichor, leaking down his stomach and legs, staining the glistening white tiles with black. He breathed heavily, forcing all sound to stay in his mouth as he clumsily started cutting away. Slicing through firm ichor felt ridiculously easy, like piercing a very dense cake, yet progress was small, mostly due to the pain that made him want to scream till he threw up and passed out. He would really do anything to pass out and wake up in the morning like nothing happenned, find some other way to deal with it. Suck it up, maybe.
However, with the blade cutting just below his firm carapace, he deemed it too late to give up. Hes already doing it, hes already hunched over in his bathroom stall with ichor stains everywhere using all his willpower to keep quiet and tighten his grip on the handle. Hes tough, hes made to be tough, he can power through it.
Plus it would be very pathetic of him to chicken out after days of planning the entire ordeal. His other hand curls into a fist to release tension as he continued.
It was when he detached the abominable flesh from the roof of his carapace when his hand started shaking. Choosing not to nick himself more than he already has, he puts his entire focus onto holding the knife steady. He has no idea what hes doing, no skills with butchering flesh let alone surgically removing unwanted parts, but he does know he wants it off.
Clenching his teeth, he adjusts his hold on the blade and reaches deeper, desperate to end this whole ordeal already. Hes so close, he can feel it, just one snip at the back and hes free. He bites at his lower lip as he braces himself, ignoring the steam thats lifting from his body.
A slightly louder then necessary boing! sound bounces off of the walls of the bathroom as he finally does so. The rounded heaps of coagulated ichor then fall onto the tiles of the stall, making a foul squelching noise.
Shrimpo balks, stumbling back and finding refuge against the wall. He pants as if hes tasting air for the first time, eyes wide as they land on his relfection in the mirror.
Hes a fucking mess.
Dark trails leading from the gaping wound on his chest down to the floor, his legs and arms pathetically shaking from the strain. He realizes hes been crying, stains already drying on his cheeks. His carapace looks like a chewed, wet piece of cardboard, the loose ends of it trembling as he does.
He fumbles around to turn the shower on, his ichoried hand leaving smudges on the shiny metal. Cold droplets fall over his body and he leaves it as is, letting it cool the increasing heat from his skin and wash away the sweat and ichor. He feels several pounds lighter, like the act of cutting away the deplorable growths had a relieving effect on his very being. He sighs, not burdened by it anymore even though he has more work to do.
After what feels like forever, he straightens up, immediately doubling back over as the pain stabs through him. He feels frail on his legs and mentally curses not taking ichorloss into consideration.
He doesnt know what it feels like to die, and he doesnt plan on finding out today.
Gathering all his leftover strength, he stands up and rubs the ichor off of his body, wincing when his hand comes too close to the angry wound. He merely glares at the new trails that blossom out of it. He needs to close it.
He turned off the shower when he deemed his body temperature stable. Grabbing the spool, he used a pair of pliers to cut out small pieces. It was very thin, but held itself strong, which was good news for future Shrimpo to not worry about it snapping, but bad news for current Shrimpo who was struggling to cut it, having to use both of his hands. He managed, though, using the sharp end of the wire and the loose flesh to stitch the wound closed.
Even with him piercing himself once more, he found it less excrutiating than the knife. It went surprisingly smooth.
Next, he used tape to hold the wound closed so the ichor has a chance to crust over and hold the wire in place. This was a temporary solution, he told himself, he will find something better later. At least the ichor wouldnt bleed through his clothing if anything were to happen.
He let out a groan, the first noise he allowed his vocal cords to make since the start of this thing. He was so exhausted, yet he knew it wasnt over yet.
Using some spare tissues, he wiped off any trace of ichor still on his body before reaching for the towel. He didnt like the idea of someone wondering why his towel had black stains on it. He then let it hang over the back of his neck as he stepped out of the stall.
He stared at the dark lump in the shower for good couple minutes before dumping half of the first bleach bottle on top of it, watching it dissappear down the drain as it broke apart. The firmer parts that didnt break down and were too large to go down the pipes, he wrapped in some tissues and threw them in the trash, using an empty package of gummy worms to hide it even better.
Shrimpo sighed, grinding his teeth. He hated cleaning. Probably why his room was such a disaster, a field of landmines made out of trash, broken appliances and clothes. Even his desk is in ruin. Whatever, he would rationalize, its not like anyone would come visit anyway, everyone keeps their distance even after hours.
Well, maybe not everyone. Finn is friends with everyone, though, and he shouldnt be counted.
His train of thought is broken when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror once more and it makes him pause. What a vile sight.
He runs his hand against his chest, finding it smooth and flat. For the first time ever he doesnt want to puke. How nauseous.
He furiously rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. Horrid, ghastly, absolutely horrendous.
He loves it.
-----------------
Every toon at Gardenview panics when the lockdown happens. Theres a lot of screaming and crying, of parents running to protect their kids and ending up as fodder to the monsters. Staff is all over the place, trying to take control of the situation and minimize the damage. Its a hurricane of confusion and terror.
The star of the show is nowhere to be seen.
Shrimpo learns the hard way that hes not suited to survive an event like this. Hes too slow, especially with the throbbing pain in his chest, he cant strain himself for long or he risks the amateur sutures opening. Hes never been good at sneaking around, his earlier escapades were successfull only because everyone in this damned building is stupid.
Stupid extractors and stupid twisted, stupid everything!
Hes the villain of the show, to put it bluntly, so of course hes comically horrible at everything, but there is something they can never rip away from him.
His own spite.
This is what allowed him to not die during the lockdown and it still pushes him through these floors when he joins for an extraction run. Hes not ignorant, he can see that others arent happy when he walks into the elevator, but he doesnt care. He never cared. He hates them. Its fine if they hate him too, because he doesnt care. Theyre stupid. Hes stupid. Theyre all stupid.
"Shrimpo!"
Especially that fucking guy.
Finn wasnt that big of a surprise as he should be, the toon runs around like a puppy, spewing his idiotic marine life puns as if a bomb was to go off if he didnt reach the criteria for the day. Of course he would be the one to look at the local bully and go "i want to be friends with that guy!"
Shrimpo had no idea how to deal with it.
Groaning out loudly, he fights off the crumpled blanket from his legs and stands up, opening the door to his room just enough to peak through the gap. The toon on the other side flashes his gappy smile at him as if the sun itself turned to his direction.
"Hey!!" He remembers him saying. "Water you up to?"
"NOTHING."
"How krill-ing! Do you wanna swim by my room?"
"WHY?"
"To hang out! And help me clean Barnaby's tank. That too."
"WHY WOULD I HANG OUT WITH SOMEONE I HATE? I HATE HANGING OUT! I HATE CLEANING! I HATE YOU!!"
"You dont hate Barnaby, tho."
Shrimpo was silent.
"Let minnow when you decide! I'll set up port in my room and wait for you." And with that he walked away.
Shrimpo slammed the door enough for it to echo in the hallway. He groaned and sputtered obscenities under his breath that would surely take Dandy's World off air if they were ever uttered on the show.
Like a fool that he is, he smooths down his clothing, gives his face couple rubs and walks up to Finn's room. Hes stupid after all. The fishbowl is once again ecstatic to see him, blabbering about random sea life trivia with an unhealthy amount of jokes woven between them.
Barnaby's tank is large, taking a good chunk of Finn's room. He had to pester his handler for a long time to have it installed and when it was finally approved, there was nothing else he talked about. It was the tank this and the tank that, it almost drove everyone insane, Shrimpo included, although he was less than polite about that. He shouldnt have come to watch the workers install it with Finn, that was only adding gas to the fire. The crustacean was definetely used as a scapegoat just so his handler could catch a break, mentally preparing themselves to add 'cleaning an almost 10 000 gallon tank' to their duties.
Given the recent events, Finn had to step up to clean Barnaby's humble abode himself.
Shrimpo wonders if the toons miss their handlers, the people who were hired to care for them from the moment they were created. Finn always had something nice to say about his, how they listened to his facts and how they congratulated him on an episode well done.
Shrimpo doesnt miss his handler. At all. He had never felt more free.
Both toons drop into the emptied tank, the grainy substrate still moist under their feet. They are each equipped with a bucket and whatever the tool used for cleaning windows is called. Shrimpo doesnt care to know the real name of it. It makes glass squeaky clean and thats all that matters. Glass cleaner.
He lets Finn's chatter fill his audials as they get to work. The toon could ask literally anyone else to do it with him, so Shrimpo doesnt understand why he was chosen for free labour.
Others are probably too busy and he was the last resort, thats it. That has to be it.
Halfway through Finn's explanation of whale falls and what they mean for the deep underwater ecosystem, somewhere around the bone eating worms section, Shrimpo feels it. He always feels it before it arrives, coiling around his insides like thorny vines. Its mildly uncomfortable, maybe even irritating, like sand under an eyelid, like being stuck in the moment before you sneeze, like greenflies eating away at your leaves. It starts small, gentle heat bubbling under his carapace. Shrimpo stupidly thinks this might be a fluke, one of these fake-outs that build up and up only to amount to nothing, but he was so wrong. He nearly drops the glass cleaning thing, tries to play it smooth, focusing right back on cleaning the wall of the tank, ridding it of the clumps of algae. Nothing stops the grimace on his face, though, much more strained than his resting frown.
As always, he tries to power through it, like everything else in his life so far. It works wonders, usually, but the way the heat was locked into this tank, encased by glass, made it hard to breathe.
Sweat started appearing on his skin, the ceaseless heat boiling his insides raw. Its like being engulfed in a pot of boiling water with the lid on, trapping the moisture in and making it suffocatingly humid. Finn wont notice if he just sat down for a bit, right? Hes doing it before his brain can even process that thought, mentally yelling at the way the grains dig into his knees.
Just him leaning his forehead on the glass causes it to fog over, the water from the substrate is only giving him slight relief. Why here? Why of all places here and why of all times now? This is stupid.
He cant stop the pained whine from slipping past his lips. Every single part of his body stings, clouds of steam emitting from his limbs. It hurts, it hurts a lot, its scorching its burning its fucking burning it hurts so much why does everything in his fucking life has to hurt so much--
A hand comes to rest on his shoulder before hurriedly flinching away.
"yeOUWCH--" Finn exclaims, blowing on his hand to ease the scalded, glassy skin. "Dude, youre literally burning up, are you okay?"
The world hates him. It truly hates him. Hes barely holding himself together inside a giant fish tank stuck with a smaller sentient fish bowl while hes a sentient shrimp boiling alive from the inside out. Its like one long ridiculous joke and hes the butt of it. Stupid, stupid, stupid, this is all so stupid.
He growls as he, against better judgement, hastily wrestles out of his long shirt. [Finn frowns deeply at the state of his friend, watching the clouds of steam rise from Shrimpo's body.] Hes in nothing but his red shorts now and he feels slightly better, not as hot, his skin exposed to the air. His muscles tense and he braces himself for the pain that folds him in two, curling up on the substrate and feeling its grains stick to his sweaty skin.
"Shrimpo?" He ignores it, he ignores it all, he cant move anyway with his muscles locked in place, maybe if he lays there long enough the world will forget about him and stop this agony--
"Im here. Im not going anywhere, Im here. Uhm, maybe if I--"
He feels cold water splash over his back and the relief it gives is instant. It crackles on his skin like oil in a frying pan, making audible pops. It happens again, and again and once more. A drink on a summer day. A cloud of rain after hours spent sizzling under direct sunlight. A moon that soothes the biting light of the day.
He grunts, not as harshly as before.
"Its okay, youre fine, youre fine." Finn keeps repeating and each time Shrimpo hears it more clearly. He hates it. Disgusting. Its worse than being boiled from the inside. The soothing words and a soothing hand.
"Youre still burning up."
"ITS fiNE." He exclaims, finally forcing his tongue to work, the words strained as he has yet to take a full breath in. He notices steam coming out of his mouth as he opens it and surely its venting out through his gills as well.
"Are you sure?"
"YES. NOW UNHAND ME."
Finn takes his hand away and lets Shrimpo sit up himself, despite looking as if he wanted to coddle the crustecean in several ice packs and douse him with water. Shrimpo's joints still feel stiff, pushing a grunt out of him each time he moves a limb. This does not help the other toon's concern.
He is bare and out in the open, the most hes ever been in front of anyone. If it were not for the fact that he cooked up a lie about the thin slits of scarring on his chest being from a procedure carried out by the higher-ups, from his own request, then he would feel even more bare. Luckily, the toons are stupid ane naïve, they'd believe anything you say with enough conviction.
Thats how he knows Finn isnt staring at him because of them. Shrimpo glares and grunts, hands tightening into fists as they rest on his knees.
"WHAT?"
The other toon lets out a strange sound, between a laugh and a chuckle, startled out of him due to sheer disbelief.
"'What', he says. You just--" he gestures to all of Shrimpo, not sure what to say. Shrimpo squints his eyes.
The condensation against the glass head. The worried crease of his brows. The figdety hand habit he keeps doing when hes nervous. The very clear shortage of water within the headbowl.
His eyes widen.
"Did you use your water on me?" He asks, startling both of them for how strange Shrimpo's voice sounds when its not yelling or annoyed. Finn fumbles out a reply.
"Of course I did! I uhh-- You were just so ho- You were burning up. I didnt wanna dump the algae water on you."
Shrimpo huffs. "You shouldnt waste your water. ITS STUPID. YOURE STUPID!"
The worried expression persists, like a plague. Pitying.
"I-- okay no. Pause. I have no idea what just happened, but I knew you were hurting." He started explaining, rubbing his thumbs against eachother. "I dont like seeing you in pain, it felt... wrong. The way youre just waving it off is VERY worrying to me because it implies it happened before-- and, yeah. Its fine that I used my water because youre my friend and I care about you."
Youre my friend and I care about you.
Disgusting. So disgusting that its making the heat come back, although its merely a warm feeling and not an intense stab.
A strange silence falls between them. Finn waits for Shrimpo to take the information in, as hes always been kinda slow. Shrimpo is instead wondering how hes gonna kill God today, for putting him into this situation that was not his fault at all.
The fish bowl waits, idly sifting through the substrate with his hand. This entire incident is so strange to him, he feels like a witness to something he shouldnt have seen. A part of him feels bad about it.
"It happens sometimes."
"Hm?"
"The attacks."
"Is that what you call them?"
"Its what my STUPID handler called them."
"Oh... so he knew?"
"Most of the staff knew. But not the toons. Not you."
Finn doesnt push on why. He feels an odd sense of vulnerability from the shrimp toon, not just because he had a sudden attack right in front of him and he was most likely embarassed that he had to be seen in such a state, but because Shrimpo was opening up to him. Finn is seeing a side of the toon that nobody else had seen, the one that mentions his handler, the one that says more than varrying versions of 'I HATE EVERYTHING' or noncomittal sounds to let him knows hes listening. The one that speaks in such a soft tone that made the fish bowl do a double take to check if what hes heard is real and not just a figment of his imagination.
There is more to this bully everyone avoids with a wide angle, something deeper and more delicate than a pair of hands can handle. Finn is afraid that if he makes the wrong move, it will fall apart at his palms, fragile like petals of a freshly bloomed flower. Its like watching a bud open before his very eyes, startling and unforeseen.
He cant help, but stare awestruck.
It feels special that Shrimpo deemed Finn worthy of handling something so frail.
"Are you okay for now?"
"NO AND I HATE IT!"
"Can i help?"
"WATER."
"You got it!"
Theyre all stupid. Finn especially. He keeps Shrimpo's secret and doesnt tell anyone about his attacks. Doesnt pry when Shrimpo refuses to talk about it. Treats him the same way he did before, if not with a more considering eye and spare water bottles.
He hates it, its deplorable and awful and bad.
He loves it.
To handle a rose, one must find their way around the thorns.
------
Every toon at Gardenview experienced death at this point. Its not something permament like with humans, because every time a twisted toon paints the walls and floor black, the killed toon emerges from the reservoir of ichor down at the lobby, where most of them reside now.
They all experienced it, but Shrimpo, as the stubborn crustecean he is, refuses to die. Its partly in fear of the process undoing the work he did in his bathroom one fateful night, as he doesnt fancy repeating it. The way he is right now feels appropriate and hes not letting it be undone by something he could easily prevent. He doesnt let it stop him, though.
Its why even with his afflictions, he never turns down a supply run, stomping his way into the elevator.
Finn accompanies him whenever he is able, casting a concerned glance before he spews another pun that masks his unease. Hes been doing it a lot lately, but not to an annoying degree - just a small, barely noticeable look and then hes right back to whatever he was doing before. Shrimpo thought it would make his nerves twist into themselves with how much he would hate that, but oddly enough, no such sensation came. No matter the situation, no matter the circumstances, alone or in a crowd, Finn's eyes find their way to him. A sunflower moving its petals to face the sun at all times.
Shrimpo doesnt know why the toon insists, hes proven many times that hes capable of handling himself.
Today it was him, Finn, Goob and Tisha on the run -- or it would be if Toodles didnt spontanously join in mere seconds before the door shut.
"You have to be careful, sweetie!" He remembers Tisha scold the young toon. "You could get crushed by these heavy doors."
[How fucking ironic.]
The run goes swimmingly after that. Goob distracts any twisted they come across as Finn and Shrimpo handle the machines, Tisha moving back and forth between all three of them to offer help if needed. Toodles mainly wanders off to grab anything her little hands can carry, occupied with her own quest of looking for sweets for Rodger back down at the lobby. That was her entire reason for joining in, but she still lended a helpful hand by distracting a twisted who got too close to Shrimpo's or Finn's whereabouts.
Extracting was something entirely alien to Shrimpo, many times the crustecean found himself bashing his head into the glass out of frustration when the valve wouldnt turn the way it was intended. It wasnt the fact that it was hard to move, he didnt lack physical strength - it was something so easy that even Toodles could accomplish. The trick lied within turning it at the right time and the right interval so it wouldnt make noise that could alert the sauntering twisted. The harsh sound worked like an alarm to them, leading them right to a vulnerable toon and exposing them to danger. This is why failing a skill check was so detrimental.
Shrimpo is bad at everything, hilariously so. He doesnt have any redeeming quality that makes him a good asset to have on a run. He messes up skill checks, hes moving at the pace of a snail and for a very short time, hes too loud to sneak around the twisted ones. He is bound to fail at every turn and his presence is nothing, but a disadvantage to everyone else.
That meant he had to learn how to work with his limited skill set. Think outside the box to make himself useful.
He cant run away when hes being chased? Thats fine, he will climb on to one of the many pipes or shelves on the floor and throw any shit he can grab at the twisted fucks till they leave or get distracted by someone else. He had stabbed a twisted toon with a broken ruler before and he will fucking do it again.
Hes been riding that amazing feeling of seeing that stupid fruit hesitate before giving chase for weeks.
Shrimpo, as much as he hates that, had to learn he can trust others. When hes working on a machine, he can count on someone to take the attention of a twisted off of him so he can focus entirely on spinning that stupid valve. Sure, it takes longer for him to complete that than anyone else, but he gets it done and thats what counts.
Finn might be working on another machine already, as Shrimpo hears the distinct sound of ichor moving through the pipes. He huffs, shifting the valve more angrily than he should. He gets it done, thats what counts.
It matters. He matters.
Hes meant for much more than hate.
[Wrong. Try again Shrimpo. Come on, you can do it, I know you can. Do just this thing and we will let you go.]
[Can you take away anything you want? From anyone you want? Good, perfect answer.]
[Is anyone better than you at this?]
[I swear I will fucking throw that brat back into the reservoir if I have to spend another hour with him. He just doesnt get it, hes stupid. Are you sure we dont have enough funds to try again?]
[I understand, but what I say is final. Some of them have to go.]
[Hes doing the rubbing thing again. God, its like looking at a cockroach, so fucking disgusting. Cant wait till theyre gone.]
[Sweetie, I dont care if your hand hurts. You should have answered correctly if you didnt want this to happen. Go back to writing, I will check on you later. These papers better be filled by the time I get back.]
[Is he still crying? Its almost cathartic.]
[Hes almost cute without them.]
[He threw up on my shoes! I didnt even know they could do that! Dont feed him next time so it doesnt happen again.]
[Remember to fill your pages, you have twenty due tomorrow. This is for your own good, yeah?]
[Thats just perfect, Shrimpo. You deserve a good treat for that.]
The floor was a breeze, just like the ones before it. Shrimpo might have completed just one extractor and finish the one Finn had to abandon, but he still contributed something and that was enough. Not that he cared, he never cared.
Before finishing the last one, the group made their way closer to the elevator. Its a habit at this point, to ensure you were within the vicinity of these heavy doors so you wouldnt be caught off guard and have to run like a maniac from one end of the floor to another. The elevator didnt wait for anyone longer than it needed to, usually less than a minute, which makes the possibility of being stuck on a floor with the twisted ones on the loose with no way of escape a very damning reality. A fate worse than death, left to fend for yourself and praying that another group might come soon and save you from insanity.
[If only they hadnt forgotten Plasmo.]
Shrimpo had to swallow his pride and accept that theres no way he would ever make it in time, choosing to stomp his way around within short distance of the elevator. Another limit for him, one that he has no way of overcoming with cheesy tactics, having to shoulder the defeat.
Few toons have the audacity to voice their displease when Shrimpo joins them on a run. Usually they shift in place and avoid looking at him, try to hide their grimace or maybe let out a silent huff. They try to be discreet about it, but Shrimpo sees it all.
Hes always been rather observant of things.
Its no surprise that they hate him at worst and avoid him at best. He will not wallow in it, wont let it affect him. Its expected. He makes toons cry on the regular, bitter words targeted at their deepest insecurities. Sometimes they scoff, sometimes they get mad and yell back, sometimes they stew in silence hoping he moves on. A toon like him, one that basks in the hurt of others, doesnt deserve comradery. Its reserved for those who matter.
He matters less.
Everyone seemed to get that message, but Finn. That damn fishbowl, an overexcited puppy with algae for brains. He grew an annoying habit of hogging the closest extractor to the elevator on rather expanded floors, making Shrimpo wander further than he would like to get anything done. Finn doesnt complete that machine until Shrimpo is back by the elevator, then he leaves the unfinished extractor for the crustecean and goes his merry way. Useless, time-consuming, utterly worthless and uneeded. Shrimpo despises it, hates it. It makes him sick that Finn is so considerate of him even when it makes the jobs of others much harder than it needs to be.
The way he gives Shrimpo that toothy grin whenever they cross paths is almost vomit inducing.
Toodles is already by the doors, rocking on her heels as the candy wrappers rustle in her pockets. A successful run, then. Shrimpo takes note of the fact that her shoulders relax when she sees him approach and he instinctively feels bile rise to his throat at the thought that the little toon finds comfort in his presence. Hes usually the one to take advantage of her fear of the dark and elevators, after all. Had he said the other toons are stupid enough today?
"Shrimpo!" She whisper-yelled, attentive of the twisted ones that are still present on the floor. He merely huffs and doesnt respond further, leaning against the wall to take a short breather. While the pros of doing a surgery on yourself allow full autonomy over your body, the cons include the possibility of botching said surgery due to not knowing what the fuck youre doing. Possibly using wires as stitches as well. The ache he feels with every sharp intake is nothing compared to the pain of a full-blown attack, but its constant. Always hurting, without taking a break. Shrimpo would tell himself he got used to the agonizing pain, having to carry out episodes despite the everpresent sting on his skin, but it doesnt get easier. Never does. Your brain merely learns how to ignore it better.
Toodles, being well, a child, doesnt seem to notice his discomfort. "Do you want a gumball?" She asks, with her stupid smile and stupid starry eyes. Its a common question shes been asking lately, eager to share her sweets with him in some odd, deplorable token of friendship that somehow found its way between them. Shrimpo shooks his head, frown evident on his face. Already used to the shrimp toon's way of communicating, she shrugs and pops one into her mouth, chewing happily. She stopped rocking in place, instead choosing to sit by Shrimpo's legs, wrapping her arm around one of them as she busies herself with counting the packages.
He used to have thoughts about kicking her away when she did that. A bully wouldnt let another toon get so close, be so comfortable around them. They would hurt them and laugh in their face for being so naïve, make them believe theyre an idiot for trusting them. Bullies pray on small toons like Toodles, young kids that havent grasped the harsh reality of the world yet, the reality where people like Shrimpo exist.
However, there is nobody around to enforce that rule. There is nobody waving the script angrily yelling at them that this is not the way this scene should run. In fact, there is no scene. Just him and Toodles waiting for others to arrive, for the elevator to power up. There is no gardener to threaten the shrubs with shears and demand of them to grow how he likes. The biggest 'fuck you' gesture Shrimpo can do is to disobey, force his brain to stop panicking because hes not doing things the way hes supposed to.
Its not that his heart grew three sizes bigger, like in that one shitty Christmas movie, its that hes fullfilling his own personal, imaginary vendetta. He tells himself this over and over. If he didnt have said vendetta, he wouldnt let Toodles do what shes doing right now.
How on earth shes so easygoing around him is beyond him. Why she decided that initiating physical contact with him whenever she pleases is not only comfortable, but safe for her is beyond him. Again, he used to make fun of her fears before! Yet, she stays. He wished he didnt have the mental capacity of a drifting rotten log so he could ask her why, but he also doesnt feel that big of a need to know. He wouldnt get a straight answer from a child, anyway.
He folds his arms over his chest as he waits. The lockdown might be a terrifying experience for them all, reaping their small forms at every chance, but in a sick way hes happy that it occured. Before it, he couldnt even admit hes happy about something in his own head. It was always hate this, hate that, hate you and hate them. One dimensional thinking that trapped him in a depressive limbo. The longer this lockdown went, without handlers fussing over him and the directors pressuring him to act his character, the lighter he felt. It was utterly bizzare, the many things he could enjoy without fear of being found out and punished for it. Dont get him wrong, he will stay a hater till the day his body breaks down into ichor and doesnt get back up, its just the way he was written into being, but his hate is now directed to things he actually hates.
Right now, even when hes uncomfortable with another toon NOT being uncomfortable around him, he doesnt hate it, so he allows it to be.
Maybe he doesnt hate Finn after all. Maybe he doesnt hate the way the toon looks at him sometimes. Maybe the warmth he feels in his guts isnt another attack incoming.
Maybe it matters.
[He realized it too late.]
The doors opened abruptly, making Shrimpo and Toodles scramble inside. She haphazardly threw all her stuff inside and only picked it up when she knew she was safe. Shrimpo winced as the harsh movement disturbed the wound on his chest, but he brushed it off when he saw Goob coming by the elevator, his hands dragging idly behind him.
"Hallo, ohh, candy."
"Not for you!"
"Not even a little gumball?"
"Nope!"
"Okay!"
The interactions between these two were the oddest thing.
Tisha came running too, a bit winded, but unhurt. She said something about leaving the place squeaky clean, but it got cut off from Shrimpo's audials the moment he saw Finn sprinting towards the elevator. Deciding that he was too far off, Goob's arms leaped into action and dragged him all the way from there into the elevator. He looked so anxious, condensation heavy on his glass head and his breaths were a little heavy, but the second his eyes fell on Shrimpo's they softened ever so slightly.
Maybe it matters.
Just when Shrimpo had come to the conclusion that his life might not be so bad, the world turns around and slaps him in the face. Laughs at him. Ridicules him for being so naïve. Calls him and idiot. Takes advantage of his moment of weakness like a bully on the playground. Shrimpo doesnt deserve to be happy.
The next minutes are absolute chaos, as one red ribbon grasps at Finn's arm and pulls.
The twin masks. Someone had to disturb them and they followed Finn all the way back to the elevator. Red envelops their limbs as they struggle to move with the cinderblock tied to their body, making an awful grinding sound as they saunter away, dragging the fishbowl out of the elevator.
The moment was too fast and Shrimpo was too slow. If he had been faster, he would have gripped Finn tight and not let go. If he had been faster, he would have held him close and let others handle the ribbon.
If he had been faster, he would have yanked Finn inside before the doors came down.
A disgusting sound, a loud squelch and ichor was everywhere. The world opened the curtain to the show where they mocked him and he had the front row seat. He stumbled back, sick, ears numb to the panic around him. He wanted to vomit. He had never wanted to vomit so badly before.
Whatever was left of Finn still hadnt dissolved into ichor, leaving a macabre sight behind. Disembodied legs leaking black ichor all over the floor. It felt wrong. Why was it still here why isnt it breaking down why does he have to fucking look at it--
An arm wraps itself around his leg and he looks down. Toodles is shaking like a leaf in the wind, face pressed into Shrimpo's clothing and staining it black, sobbing her lungs out as she wails. Its suddenly the only sound he hears.
He drops down to her level, his knees aching as he wraps his own body around her, trying to shield her from the abhorrent sight just a few feet away. He was certain she had seen it, the image burned into her psyche for the rest of her life, but she needed to be held and he needed something to do. He cradled her, remembering how she self-soothes by rocking in place and soon doing the same, hand against her head.
He sees Goob and Tisha in the corner of his eyes, watching how distressed they are. The craft toon might be crying too, Tisha shushing him and whispering comforting words that would keep both him and her together until theyre back at the lobby and can exit the elevator with a body laying inside.
This was their last floor. The last fucking floor and something like this had to happen.
Death might be common, but it doesnt lessen its impact. Shrimpo might think himself unstoppable in the face of it, but it is cruel in its ways. If not him, then someone close by. Someone who mattered.
Mattered to him.
A scream threatens to release itself from his throat, but he has a child to hold. Breaking apart by the seams, he restraints his form from coming undone by putting his entire focus on the little girl in his arms. His hand rubs her head, feeling all the microscopic scratches on its smooth surface. Its all he can do to stop the foul smell of freshly spilled ichor from attacking his senses.
The cacophony resumes once theyre back at the lobby, so many footsteps and so many voices, none of them belonging to Finn.
Where is he?
Glisten has to pry Toodles off of him, neither of them wanting to let go. The eightball only loosens her grip when Rodger comes by, running clumsily into his embrace and seeking comfort from her guardian. The fresh stain of ichor and the lack of warmth in his arms is all that Shrimpo's left with.
He cant focus on anything else, now, so he screams.
Where is he?
He stomps his way around like a ball of angry fire, slamming doors open and throwing things around, leaving every room in shambles as his tirade continues. Nobody stops him, nobody stands in his way. They merely watch with these disgusting pitying eyes and they feel like hot knives against his back.
He hates it. He hates everything, he feels like he hates everything.
Where is he?
Where are his gentle glances and where are his terrible jokes? Where is his toothy grin and where is his glassy complexion?
Why isnt he back?
One final slam of the one final door and the lobby is silent again, Shrimpo hidden from the world after it gratuitously mocked him.
Death had claimed another, and this time it was merciless.
---------
Every toon at Gardenview felt the shift in the air. Every toon that was alive by then, that is.
Corruption that had twisted some of them persisted, taking one after another and not sparing anyone. Sometimes it comes from the hands of another twisted, a violent act that had enough to deform, but not enough to kill. Sometimes it comes from the perpetual ressurection, coiling in their insides like a parasite and waiting till one dies too many times before unveiling itself right in front of their eyes.
It had taken Brightney that way, first.
Shrimpo doesnt know which way Finn had perished, but it doesnt matter. Hes not here. Hes gone. After couple runs carried out after the incident, it was proven that Finn, whatever was left of him, had become twisted himself. A torso with no legs wearing his skin in a depraved disguise, water replaced by ichor as he crawls through the floors, leaving bits of entrails behind.
Shrimpo doesnt go on runs anymore.
He cant fucking bear looking at him like that. Once such a kind and awful smile that seemed to brighten ever so slightly when directed his way, now a twisted version of what he once was.
Thats where the name comes from, twisted. Hah!
The corruption soon claims more. Many, many more. He lost count after a group came back without Toodles and at that point Shrimpo forced himself to become numb. When he became angry after the doors incident, he had lost control of himself in a way he never had before. Before, he had his emotions, or whatever was left of them, on a tight and thick chain. It kept them in place, it made them inaccessible to himself and others, so he could fullfill his one singular role perfectly. It was one thing he could surely claim he had complete control over.
Then he lost it.
It must be a way of the world to tell him that he shouldnt have strayed that far from what hes meant to be. It only complicates things. It only makes things worse.
He is only meant for one thing and there is no room for anything else. Not for Finn, Cosmo, Astro or Toodles or anyone else. Bullies dont have friends, only victims, its the number one rule.
Shrimpo tries to relearn it again.
I HATE HAVING FRIENDS
I HATE COSMO
I HATE ASTRO
I HATE BOXTEN
I HATE POPPY
I HATE FINN
I HATE EVERY TOON IN THIS BUILDING
Over and over he writes, just like he used to. Its the easiest way to commit things to memory. Page after page till he feels the familiar ache in his wrist. He forgets to eat, he forgets to drink, he forgets to shower. He has to finish this.
Maybe if he convinces himself he doesnt care, he will believe it.
For the past few days it was just him and the four walls of his room, surrounded by filth and clutter.
It doesnt matter.
Not anymore.
------------
[Shes gone, Glisten. Shes gone.]
[I know, I know sweetheart.]
[I couldnt do anything. I failed her.]
[You didnt fail anyone, Rodger. It was out of your hands.]
[I was supposed to take care of her.]
[You did. You did such a good job. She had the best father in the world.]
-----------
[Where is...?]
[...]
[Oh. Oh...]
[I wasnt fast enough. I wasnt fast enough.]
[Stop that. Dont.]
[...]
[...]
[What the fuck am I supposed to tell Scraps?]
--------
[Rodger...]
[No. No this cant be real. Youre lying to me.]
[Im sorry.]
[...]
[He told us to leave him behind.]
[... of course he did.]
------
[... Vee?]
[...]
[Vee, whats wrong?]
[... Astro is missing.]
---------
[Rodger--!]
[I couldnt leave him behind.]
[Dude, this isnt Glisten anymore. You and me both know this.]
[You didnt hear him, Gigi. You werent there!]
[Youre insane. Youve went insane.]
[Call me that all you want, but im not kicking him out. He needs me.]
[... fuck. Fine. This is so stupid, but fine.]
------------
[... so.]
[So.]
[Anyone wanna tell me why theres a twisted in the lobby?]
[Leave Gigi out of this, shes not part of it.]
[RODGER?]
[Whoah.]
[You? For real? Out of everyone here?]
[You may tell me that ive made a severe lapse in my judgement, but im telling you that im onto something. So please, just listen to me before you do anything.]
[You expect us to trust you? After all of this?]
[No, i do not, but i need you to hear me out.]
--------
[And youre sure this is gonna work?]
[No.]
[... well at least hes honest.]
---------
[... hey.]
[... hEy.]
[Are you-- How are you feeling?]
[... in the most eloquent way possible, like shit.]
[Heh. Thats better than usual around here.]
[Yeah... are you crying?]
[Yes. Yes i am. Glisten, oh my god, it worked. Youre here.]
[Im here. I feel numb, but im here.]
------------------
[Do you think it will work for others?]
[Maybe. We only managed to successfully redo one toon and it was an absolute nightmare, but... its possible.]
[Better odds than we had at the start.]
[Indeed.]
--------
[... what the fuck are you.]
[Well thats not a nice way to greet anyone, now is it?]
[Are you a toy?]
[Toy? Do i look like a toy to you?]
[Wander, i dont think these guys are toys.]
[What am i supposed to do with that information.]
--------
[Will you keep standing around with that thing over your face?]
[Yes.]
[His ass thinks he still has to conceal his identity.]
[Why?]
['Cause he broke into a Playtime Company factory. To steal a recalled plushie. Dumbest reason to become a criminal.]
[And i aint planning to get arrested for it so the balaclava stays.]
[Thats fair.]
----------------
[You said he cant drink anything?]
[Anything. I tried blending stuff, making it thicker, but he just... I dont know what to do anymore. Im scared for him.]
[Hm, so anything that reminds him of the ichor makes him throw up, yeah?]
[Yes?]
[What if he ingested water another way?]
[What, like a frog?]
[I know youre trying to make me mad by joking, but youre actually partly correct.]
[What.]
-----------------
[You know, its kinda funny how youve never done a surgery on a real human being, but you've made three successful ones on a giant plush dog and a strawberry.]
[Nobody will believe me if i put that shit on my resume.]
[Nobody will believe you, period.]
------------
[Have you seen Shrimpo?]
[Have i seen who?]
[You havent met him yet?]
[No, they have, he just never spoke to them.]
[You mean the tiny angry lad who glares at me as if i spat on his mother?]
[Yep, thats him alright.]
[Finn... he kinda locked himself away after your... yeah.]
[Oh. Oh no. I need to see him. He needs to see me.]
[He did see you.]
[What?]
--------------------
[Wander... this is getting ridiculous.]
[Shut the fuck up, theyre coming with us.]
[... I'll have to remember so many names...]
--------------
[Why is HE here?]
[Dandy's not evil anymore, Astro beat his ass and now hes a sad sack of shit.]
[Uhuh, because THAT makes so much sense.]
[I aint gonna look a gifted horse in the mouth. We need all the help we can get.]
---------
[The train wont move!!]
[FUCK! Someone needs to start it manually, the console is fucked.]
[I'll do it.]
[No.]
[No!]
[I went through worse, this is nothing.]
[The entire fucking building is about to explode, youre not surviving this.]
[There has to be a way!]
YOU TALK TOO MUCH.
[Wh--]
[Shrimpo!!]
[SHRIMPO, NO!! OPEN THE DOOR! SHRIM---]