Chapter Text
The back of one metal hand slammed into their gut.
Angel went flying across the room.
A fresh wave of pain rushed through them when they hit the wall, both in their chest and their head. When they tried to stand, the room wavered and they had to take a knee. Everything was one big hurt, especially when they tried to breathe.
"Pathetic," the Prototype, or rather Elliot, snarled, stalking forward. There was no love or kindness in his eyes. Instead, there was just the insanity of obsession. "This is my daughter's knight? You are nothing more than just a sack of meat."
"Fuck you too," they managed, barely getting to their feet and clenching their fists. This was the first time they actually had to fistfight someone in this insane factory. The others had made them ill-prepared, ready for mostly running and figuring out some kind of tricks.
(They fought back the tears at the memory of all of the deaths.)
Now?
The Grabpack was in ruins when they tried to overload the Omni-Hand and shock the Prototype in the room above. The space they were in was small with no machinery to pull or push down. Kissy and Poppy were busy herding the orphans up.
The plan had been for Poppy to distract the Prototype to let Kissy and them rescue the orphans before retrying the explosives plan, this time targeting the main generator just a few feet from their arena. Except something had gone wrong because, of course, it did.
The Prototype growled at their attempt at a snappy comeback. "Once you are dead, I will make sure to preserve your voice and use it forever, so Poppy will be forever reminded of her failures!" Then he lunged forward.
Angel tensed, prepared, and took a breath.
His head- the main head- was nothing more than a rotting skull. There was a squelch as their fist connected and-
Did I just punch his jaw off?
No time for that.
Angel aimed their elbow for his face, forcing him to rear back. They scrambled past, looking around wildly. Come on, come on, there had to be something, anything-!
A gleam caught their eye.
The hand. The sharp hand...
But that meant...
...it was fine.
They pulled out the remote detonator Poppy had given them. As the Prototype yelled and howled, they pulled out the old walkie-talkie they had found.
"Poppy, where are you?"
The response was more static than words. "We're almost there, we're on the first floor, but whatever you're doing, the factory's falling apart! I don't know how you're gonna get out!"
"...it's okay. Let me know when you're there."
"Wait-"
The Prototype finished his scramble, straightening up with a re-attached jaw. "You're going to burn," he growled, sounding more like the Doctor than the man who had talked about smiles just a day ago.
Had it been a day ago? Or two? They honestly couldn't think of how long they had been down here.
"Yeah," Angel said, gripping the detonator tight. "I'm making sure you are too."
The next few minutes passed in a blur. They kicked, punched, and bit, dodging every strike they could. It all sharpened back when Poppy's voice came through. "-out! We're out! Whatever you have to do, do it and get out!"
It was time.
"...hey, Poppy...?" He was preparing to charge. They could hear it. "I'm sorry I couldn't be better. I hope you have a good life."
"Wait-"
They turned in time to feel the spiked hand, just like it had Theo, slam through them.
It was agony. Burning pain overpowered the other pain. Every neuron in their body screamed, trying to pull away. Some part of their brain screamed, suddenly full of regret. They pushed it back as Elliot pulled them close, staring them right in the eye.
"Finally," he ground out. "I look forward to-"
Angel had no idea where this part came, but they spat in his face. It was more blood then spit, but it still had him rear back again, enough that they could grab his head.
"I told you-"
They pressed the button.
"If I'm gonna burn, so are you."