Chapter Text
It was the same cycle over and over again for him, a cycle of days that passed just like the ones before it. He spent most of his time gathering food and resources while he hid from the rather unfriendly twisteds on these floors. He honestly wondered what that woman did with ichor as they popped up one day. Literally. The only activity that broke this monotone routine was the visits from the other toons. He never actually met them in person, but he still made sure to remember important details about each one of them. One may ask why he would do such a thing? Why did he just observe from a distance?
Well, it started with him seeing a pair of familiar figures by one of the machines on the lower floors, one with the appearance of a round pastry while the other one bore a close resemblance to himself. They were living breathing toons just like him and yet he hadn’t even been aware of their existence beforehand. He only knew their concepts because of Delilah. So perhaps it should not come as a surprise that he followed them as they progressed through the floor until they filled up all the machines with ichor and then left in the elevator.
This unexpected discovery made an intense impact on him, of course. That night was the first time he had cried in a long time. It felt like a storm of thoughts inside his head as he sat on his mattress, snugly wrapped in his favorite blanket. He had so many unanswered questions, but there was a hope that they would come back despite how selfish that might seem of him.
After a few days he decided to venture out further than normal from his hideout on his floor. It unfortunately resulted in his first encounter with a so-called “twisted” (he heard the term from the other toons of course) and he barely escaped with his dear life. He knew he could not let this limit his newfound freedom however so he learned how to avoid them and even fight if he must. It allowed him to also gain a bit of clarity on what happened here from different documents and notes laying around, namely the ones from Delilah about her experiments with the ichor. It turned out that the twisteds were failed versions of the toons just like him, such a shame that they weren’t approachable. Though he did feel a sense of compassion for them, making him help the calmer ones with food as long as he didn’t get caught.
The second time he saw any of the healthy toons was when Shelly was fleeing from a twisted Pebble. A shrill shriek was all he heard before something rushed past him down the hallway. He stared after the fossil as she almost slipped her way around the corner and felt quite bewildered that she didn’t react to him until he heard angry growls behind him. Then he understood. He acted on impulse and barely avoided Twisted Pebble’s jaws coming down right onto him, scrambling on the floor in a panic before he managed to get up and run away. Luckily for him, he lost the bloodthirsty beast by hiding behind a pair of boxes. That’s when he heard screaming again, Shelly’s to be specific, and he realized that she somehow got the dog after her. Her fading shouts followed by elevator doors shutting closed suggested that she made it to safety however, much to his relief.
After these two encounters (or maybe more the last one) he decided to create a new routine whenever he saw them. He would watch from a distance, discreetly help where he could without getting seen and listening in to them when he was able to. They had very bad survival skills and so it was his duty to protect them, right? Although he knew deep down that wasn’t the whole truth. He simply just felt better when he saw them too. The familiar tightness in his chest loosened and was replaced with a strange warmth. Happiness.
And he always found himself longing to be with them. The thought of approaching the toons did cross his mind at times, but he was quick to push the idea away. He didn’t have the courage to because what if they were like her? Delilah? After all they were her perfect little creations, especially that obnoxious flower.
Now he looked at himself in the mirror. Sharp claws digged themselves into his palms as he took in his hideous appearance. He was a bit taller with black eyes and hands that could tear one of them apart if he wanted to. Would they even feel safe around him? Maybe they would try to get rid of him? His gaze wandered over his scars and he instinctively covered them with his hands. Tears formed in his eyes as he closed them and he forced himself to turn away from the mirror to lay down on the mattress with a shaky breath.
He didn’t know if he could last much longer anymore.