Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everything had gone wrong.

Countless floors before had gone off without any sort of hitch, maybe a few close calls, but it was nothing compared to this.

Brusha usually always considered herself an asset, hell, a necessity if anything. Just prior to this, she’d managed to guide poor cosmo through a machine after the fool clumsily paraded right through a puddle of ichor. At this moment in time though, maybe for the first time, uselessness tapped at the glass. Such a loud, repetitive noise, but she could barely focus on that now.

Alarms blared, the elevator door was beginning to shake, and everyone was so, so far away. Adrenaline buzzed through her body, and a cold horrible fear gripped at her chest, ice settling at the back of her neck. That repeated banging, uselessness, was gaining on her from behind. The one time she decides to stray away from the other toons, the only time…

She could hear the others calling out to her from the sanctity of the elevator, but it was impossible to make out anything through the pounding of her feet, the gurgling screams tailing her, the rush of fear tearing through her head like roaring waves. Breathing was getting difficult and her legs felt like jelly, but she was close enough to be completely caught in the fluorescent artificial lights, and for a moment, a forced sigh of relief escapes.

As soon as the breath leaves her, time seems to slow.

Cosmo, Looey, Yatta, Sprout, she takes in the expression of each toon in turn. Panicked desperation, brows knit, arms reaching out, that was expected, but one toon was impossible to read, just as she was in any other situation.

Tisha.

Brusha didn’t even know why she agreed to accompany her on this ichor run in the first place. They’d even bickered a little in the elevator, much to everyone else’s obvious dismay. This never would’ve been an appropriate place to hash things out, but right now in this split second of time there were so many things she wanted to say, too many things, enough to illustrate every page of her sketchbook. Dull purple hues and bright turquoise accents, there just wasn’t enough color to express how she felt.

Despite the sudden moment of clarity, Tisha stood paralyzed as their eyes locked. Strangely, it seemed like she wasn’t even looking at Brusha, moreso through her, or…behind-

White hot pain.

The feeling started from her left side and spread quickly to the rest of her, and through her blurry vision she could see the world around her tumbling, the floor above her head.

Ah, she was flying.

As if the first hit wasn’t enough, her back slams into the far right wall, gravity mercilessly yanking her back down to the floor behind a stack of boxes. There’s no telling how long she laid there trying to regain her breathing, all air knocked out of her from the fall. The pain was growing more uncomfortable by the second, and a quick glance down proved her sweater to be absolutely ruined. Black ichor bled through and stained her left abdomen, the sight alone brought bile to the back of her throat.

That same horrible screaming that she previously thought was some panic-fueled hallucination of her own shortcomings echoed from her left, and she could just barely make out a towering figure pounding its fist against the…now closed elevator. She hadn’t even noticed that thing, was it chasing her the whole time?

Too many questions bombarded her mind. Was this it? Were they coming back for her? Was she going to die here?

Pulling herself up into a hunched sitting position, she can’t take her eyes off the very sprout-like scarved creature she was now locked in here with, not even mentioning the smaller ones still shambling around even now. The regret that she hadn’t paid much attention to what floor they were at piled on with every other worry weighing her down. They’d been at this for hours, who knows how far she was from the surface. As much as she wanted to spiral into panic and curl up into a ball, she couldn’t give in to something that pathetic. Such a display was below her, surely.

Before she can even begin to psych herself up, Brusha's breathing hastens almost immediately as the massive twisted turns its attention in her direction, slowly shambling closer. Shoving herself back behind the boxes seemed to be enough to avoid detection, black leaves shedding off of the creature like petals as it groans in apparent frustration and moves on deeper into the sprawling office room.

Reaching up with her free hand, she smooths down any out of place bristles, eyes wide as saucers.

Should-…Should she just wait here, or?

Counting each twisted as they sluggishly passed between corridors, there were at least four. Four that she knew about, anyways. Quickly, she deduced that sticking around to wait for help was a terrible idea, considering her injury. Her last hope for now, something she thankfully paid attention to during their briefing, were the staff only areas. There were supposed to be emergency stairways and whatnot in those places. Upkeep on restricted areas was apparently ‘Not all that great’ according to Dandy himself, and he always urged the staff areas to be used as an absolute last resort, but really, she didn’t trust anything coming from him anyways.

Shakily standing to her feet, (shaking because of the pain, definitely not from fear), Brusha maps out a safe path in her mind, and while keeping pressure at her side with one arm, she slowly starts the arduous process of playing red light green light with the abominations around her. Truly, she already had plenty of quiet moments to ponder the gravity of the twisteds existence, but something about seeing them so close up like this without being distracted by her teammates was…disturbing, to put it lightly. Still, there was nothing that could be done for them at this point in time.

Dashing from one pile of forgotten refuse to the other, hiding for a moment to catch her breath and let a certain ichor stained balloon bob away, she arcs around the very edge of the massive room and pops into every little side passage, scouting for the staff only room that she really, really hoped was even here. The more she explored, the more she felt that there wasn’t one at all, unless she missed it? No, impossible, she’d never do such a thing.

After a stupidly long jaunt around, she makes it right back to the boxes she started from, where the artist now realized if she’d only looked around a bit more before barreling off on an adrenaline fueled excursion, the large ‘STAFF ONLY’ sign peeking through a window nearby would’ve been visible a long time ago. Out of breath and hot faced from embarrassment, she internally curses and steps over the endless clutter blocking the doorway, kicking an empty gift bag away out of frustration.

“Honestly, whoever was in charge of this ridiculous floor plan should've been fired.”

She whispers under her breath without thinking as she pads closer to the door, observing the pool of ichor leaking out from the gap underneath. How encouraging.

Trying the handle, half expecting it to be locked, it turns without much resistance. Ichor caked around the doorframe strings apart and sags to the ground as she pushes the door open, signifying that this specific area likely hasn’t been accessed in quite a while. Before she can even get a foot in, the sound of boxes toppling over behind her rips her attention away from escape. Her mumbling must’ve stirred something nearby, a twisted she hadn’t even accounted for, as a wild eyed Shrimpo barrels forward and grabs her arm in a gnarled clawed hand, the momentum pushing them both through the doorway and onto the floor.

Now, all critical thinking has left the building.

Shrieking loud enough for the entire floor to hear, Brusha struggles to wrestle the gurgling shrimp off of her, eventually managing to slap and kick him away like a rabid chihuahua and drag herself back to her feet. She can hardly make out the new area around her before a familiar red berry stampedes towards the wide open door, trailed by two other twisteds drawn by all the noise. There was no time for anything. Run. Run.

Completely overtaken by panic now, Brusha does just that, turning tail and running down a long corridor that forked into closed doors on the left and right. It was completely bare in here, just lifeless off-white walls with the occasional show poster pasted onto them. There was nothing to hide behind, nothing to break line of sight. Taking a chance and throwing herself against one of the doors, she jiggles the handle out of desperation.

Locked.

The twisteds were gaining, quickly, and she had to haphazardly jump away to avoid a black tentacle crashing up out of the floor, inches away from spearing her through. She couldn’t think, her whole body felt like it was on fire, and this hallway quickly appeared to be less endless than she thought. Ahead of her and approaching fast stood a door that was distinctly different from any of the others, metallic and oil stained. She had no other way to go. If it was locked, that was it.

Practically feeling the sprout’s breath on the back of her neck, she braces for impact with this much more sturdy door, making a heavy impact and stumbling forward as it violently swings open, having apparently not been fully closed at all. The time for celebration would be short lived as she harshly braces against a crude iron workstation. She only has but a moment to take stock of the room, and a sensation of hopelessness bubbles up when she realizes that it’s really just that, a room. An enclosed room.

One thing stands out, something she wouldn’t indulge in during literally any other situation besides life or death. A garbage chute of some kind, one that clearly led down, further into the depths of gardenview. She had no choice.

With a newfound second wind, and despite the pain in her side that should’ve had her out of commission by now, she throws herself into the small cramped space, ichor smearing all over and propelling her forward like some sort of nightmareish water slide. Rocketing off into the unknown, the warped cries of twisted sprout persist behind her, fading away with the distance put between them.

It’s a less than ideal ride, and regret sinks back in like a stone in water when she realizes the gentle arc was now rapidly declining into a free fall. The toon helplessly yells out in vain as all at once, the metal walls around her disappear completely and a dim light overtakes her vision.

Brusha falls for what feels like a full minute, tumbling in the air and struggling to right herself from the pain until for the upteenth time today she’s sent barreling into something.

This time though, it was soft. Whatever it was, it took most of the brunt of her impact, it still hurt, but she would’ve expected more from such a height. What hurt more than the impact though, was the smell. An intense acrid smell of what she could only assume were chemicals assaults her almost immediately, and covering her face provides little help in blocking out the scent. She needed to get out of here, wherever here was. Glancing around, it appeared she was deposited onto a pile of…something. Dull colors, greys, it all blended together, until something familiar near her elbow catches her eye.

An eye. It was an eye.

Shooting up from her position, her brain works overtime to make sense of the soft squishy shapes surrounding her. Boxten, Poppy, Goob, Cosmo- There were hundreds, no, thousands of bodies, all piled up and devoid of life or color, misshapen, missing pieces. Brusha’s stomach does flips as she suppresses the urge to throw up, clambering down to get off the mountain of toons. She trips over the head of a Shrimpo, and just barely manages to avoid falling onto a Tisha-

Full on sprinting down now, hot tears sting at the corners of Brusha’s eyes. She was never one to cry, but this? This was enough to launch her heart into her throat, dazed and terrified. Why was this here? What was this? Is this even real? She had to be dreaming, this was just a nightmare.

Collapsing to her knees after making it to the floor, her eyes immediately shoot to her own injury, the strain of escape exasperating it badly. This was definitely not a dream.

A fluttering feeling in her chest makes it suddenly harder to breathe, and she has to rapidly suck in air so as not to suffocate. This whole thing, all of this, really was her fault wasn’t it? Who else is she supposed to blame? It was her call to do the last machine so far away without checking for twisteds, it was her decision to leave the room and fall down here. They could be back by now looking for her in there, and she’s down here with-

Brusha catches herself peering over her shoulder at the mass of bodies, and she flinches back to squeeze her eyes shut, gritting her teeth.

It was one thing to stoop to the level of others, but this felt even lower. Guilt eats at her, and although it wasn’t that new of a feeling, guilt was usually reserved for one toon in particular.

Her self loathing is cut short by a sound she could only hear thanks to the eerie silence of this chamber. A low pulsing buzz, it felt close. Settled there at the foot of the pile of toons, Brusha watches silently with her arms hugged around her own middle, shakily observing movement a short distance across from her. Around the dimly lit area, canisters of some substance she didn’t recognize lay strewn haphazardly throughout. She could only assume this had something to do with the terrible scent that still attacked her senses.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, the thing squirming around slowly rose from about head height, to much, much higher. The lights above flicker for a moment, and before she can brace herself, Brusha is flashbanged by a bright white rectangle, shying away weakly with a wince. She tries to get up to make some sort of escape effort, but her legs won’t move. She’s run out of steam. Really it’s impressive she got this far without collapsing, but she figured she’d have to meet her limit eventually in this hellhouse. Still, she couldn’t just lie down and die.

“Analyz-ing-ing…Taaarget.”

Oh. Oh man.

It became all too clear what she was now dealing with as soon as that voice sparked to life. Half crawling out of the shadows was an incredibly tall bipedal robot, one she’s definitely seen before, if not a little different. Rib bones protruded from the ichor around its stomach area, it was more…biological than any other twisted Vee Brusha had seen. Its blank white screen of a face tilts down toward her as it approaches with leisure, every heavy metallic step ramping the panic back up to nine. At this rate she was going to die from a heart attack before anything else could get her.

Wired tail swaying, the twisted Vee stops right in front of Brusha with another low buzz, the latter palming at the ground in an incredibly pathetic attempt to try and pull herself away. This was it, it was all over, why wasn’t she seeing her life flash before her eyes yet?!

“Assessment…Com…plete.”

Brusha had squeezed her eyes shut in preparation for the unimaginable pain of being ripped apart, but it hasn’t happened yet. They don’t usually take this long. Fearfully, she peeks an eye open to see what the holdup was, and is met with more questions than answers.

The twisted had since squatted down to Brusha’s level, hands on its knees as it leans over her, tail twitching from left to right. Its screen was no longer a bright white, but seemed to resemble the stupid cocky face of the normal Vee she knew, back up top.

“…”

They both sit there for a palpable amount of time, completely silent, before the Vee tilts her head and furrows her brow, neon green lines and a few dead pixels appearing as the facial expression changes.

“You’re not like the other ones, are you?”

Huh.

The robot speaks, and Brusha wonders if she was already dead. Why wasn’t she torn to pieces yet? The fact it wasn’t doing what she expected it to kind of pissed her off in a way.

“Why aren’t you killing me.”

Deadpan, more like a statement than a question, Brusha attempts to speak with her usual venom, but the weakness in her tone is obvious, and she shuts herself up before she can say more.

The Vee dips her head down a little more and hums, wrapping her long metallic arms around her own ichor covered legs. “Why would I?” She seems genuinely perplexed by the notion, and Brusha can feel the fire of anger flare up and burn even brighter. What the hell was this? Something to taunt her?? This was all too confusing, it was all too much. A sudden faintness overtakes her, and a clawed metal hand reaches out to catch her side before she can drop to the floor, antenna bouncing slightly from the movement.

“Okay! Don’t talk. Come here.”

Before the toon can even think about protesting, she’s scooped up into the grasp of the twisted that she still didn’t understand the motives of. None of this was logical. All she can do is lay there and watch as she’s lifted way too high for comfort.

“You’re different from the others. Like in the pile. They don’t talk back. Not sure why you think I want to kill you. Also, you are very hurt and very dirty, in case you didn’t know.” The Vee states very matter of factly, albeit with much of the same tone Brusha absolutely loathed in the Vee she was already accustomed to. Nothing about this was comfortable. The metal clutches were not comfortable, the grating voice was not comfortable, the horror she had to bear witness to was not comfortable, despite that, she felt herself relax just the slightest, enough to fight back.

“Listen, you overgrown toaster, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I refuse to play along and let you torment me before you kill me.” Brusha heaves out the words, squirming in the grip as much as she could manage and pounding her fist weakly against the metal arm holding her to really drive the point home that she meant business. The twisted on the other hand crouches low to duck under a doorframe, making a noise that sounded almost like a pitched down whine in response.

“Why do you keep saying that? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let me help you.” Vee retorts, sounding as genuine as a grotesque facsimile of a toon possibly could. Brusha couldn’t understand why anything, let alone a twisted, would go to lengths such as this, but no other explanation made any more sense. Nobody has ever seen a ‘friendly’ twisted before, it’s completely unheard of. Maybe she was just in too deep, literally and metaphorically.

The conversation dies down into silence once more as the Vee stalks further into the back rooms of the massive chamber. Luckily, that terrible smell had no hold in this area, and as Brusha took in the surroundings, it looked to be some kind of small medical ward. Off-putting sterile white wallpaper cracked and peeled from the walls, and every light in this area was much too dim to be considered at full operation. Any viable purpose of this place was beyond her, but the Vee seemed to know exactly where she was going and what she was doing as she carefully laid the artist down on a dilapidated steel table.

“Where did you come from? I’ve been here for a long time. Haven’t seen anyone like you in a while.” The twisted looms over Brusha for a moment before turning back to grab a small white case off a shelf of poorly stacked books and dusty folded towels, using a metal hand to try and wipe off the grime coating its surface. Brusha felt that she had no obligation to respond, but something about this whole situation was starting to make her less angry and more curious, maybe morbidly so. Deciding to humor the Vee for a moment, she manages to pull herself into sitting up, watching the robot meander around the room.

“Up top.”

She’s vague on purpose, and watches close as the twisted stops to look upon her, neon green face flickering ever so slightly. Vee thinks to herself, arms lowering to clasp behind her back, head rising to the ceiling as if she could peer right through it. Her tall form sways from left to right a little as she thinks, and the broken mic of her tail drags against the tile floor.

“Odd. I thought this was the top.”

What?? Brusha can’t contain the bewilderment that flashes across her face. What the hell did she mean by that? Who was this Vee? “How- …long have you been here?” She asks and catches herself sounding a little too eager, drawing back into a more dry and uninterested tone.

Metal digitigrade legs stalk back over to Brusha’s side after a pause, and the Vee places the medkit upon the table next to her. “I have an excellent memory, but I can’t remember that. It feels like I've always been here.”

Now Brusha was no Rodger (thank god), but something about that really didn’t add up. Not just that, but the whole mountain of non-twisted and seemingly unfinished toons out there definitely didn’t add up either. Why wasn’t any of this spoken about? Does Dandy know? How much does Dandy even know?? A hand on her shoulder snaps her back to reality, and she shoots a questioning glare at the offending figure leaning over her.

“Lay down.”

…

THIS WAS JUST TOO WEIRD.

Brusha goes wide-eyed at the command and can’t help sputtering to herself, settling back down on the table with a blush prickling at her cheeks. This was ridiculous. This was nonsensical. This was embarrassing. This was WEIRD.

cold metal prods against her side and she can’t stop herself from shivering harshly, forcing herself to stare up at the fluorescent light above to avoid making any sort of eye contact with that-…that beast. The discomfort with being tended to by someone else was enough to distract her from most of the aches and pains that inevitably came with getting patched up, tilting her head to look away every time Vee got a little too clear in her line of sight. Obviously the behavior was a little strange as the robot’s work slowed or outright halted for a few seconds whenever Brusha moved.

After only a few more agonizing moments, a thick layer of bandages was now wrapped around her torso, supporting everything and keeping the ichor inside where it belonged.

“Are you still alive? I don’t think you blinked even once that whole time.” Vee almost mumbles, crouching down to be head height with Brusha again. Brusha found it to be…offensive that she felt the need to stoop down like that, pushing the screen away with her hand and shooting her a side-glare. “Tch. Yes of course I'm alive, are you blind?” God knows where she had the gall to snap back at something that could crack her in half like a crab leg, but her aggression only seemed to tickle Vee, another smug smile taking over her display. “Sure, yes. Critically blind.”

Digging into the medkit, Vee produces a small cotton wipe between her claws, dabbing at the ichor staining Brusha’s cheeks and forehead. Oh how Brusha loathed being doted on, Tisha used to do it all the time.

Tisha.

The cotton wipe hovers near her right cheek before pulling back, Vee’s eyes curious. “Oh, you just got really scary, what’s that face for-“ “DON’T worry about it.” Brusha interrupts and holds a hand over the twisted’s mouth, as if that would stop her from speaking somehow.

Vee’s smile only widens, head pulling back. “We have a lot to discuss.”

There was something very wrong about all of this. Obviously. She’s said it a billion times to herself now, but it never really puts in perspective just how upside down it all was. She still needed to get out of here.

Since being patched up, the oh so hospitable Vee had led her into another chamber, sort of a personal office of some sort. Annoyingly, the twisted did not seem keen on leaving. This Vee was strikingly dissimilar to her own, not just in appearance but in behavior as well. She seemed a little more detached, less…all knowing, and a lot less combative. The lack of fighting back both upset and put Brusha at ease. On one hand, the absence of a charged reaction was annoying, on the other, it was a lot less frustrating.

She decided to just make the most of it for now, as stupid as that sounded. Making the most of being trapped on an unknown floor with a deadly twisted only a short distance away from a pile of bodies. Yeah, easy.

Letting her eyes scan across the room, she peers at Vee sitting with her long legs pressed up to her chest, leaning against the wall near the entrance to the office space, book in hand. Vee insisted that she had something in one of these books of hers that mentioned something about toons like herself. Brusha wasn’t much of a reader, she had little time for that when she could be painting.

Right…!

Before she could even toy with the idea, she produces her sketchbook and paintbrush and starts the same old song and dance of light brush strokes on the little canvas, jotting down the strange Vee’s likeness in an abstract yet recognizable way. Within an impressively short amount of time, one still life is finished, and then another, in a different imagined pose, and once more, a close up of her stupid smug face.

“What are you doing?”

Brusha’s eyes almost pop out of her head with the sudden appearance of the same face she was painting now hovering inches above her own. Maybe she was a little too invested, she didn’t hear the robot approach at all. “I just thought I should…do some studies.”

Vee blinks at the painting, and awkwardly, Brusha turns the pages to show off the other pieces. “I don’t usually enjoy still life. I find it to be too boring, so I add stylization to it to keep it unique, while still capturing the subject's notable features.“

“…”

The prolonged silence has Brusha sweating for once, but before she’s at her wits end, Vee leans back and curves her tail around her side to almost point at the pages, the jagged broken plastic tinted black with ichor. “Would you mind a trade? I’ll make something for you if you let me keep one of those.”

The offer came as a bit of a genuine shock. She wanted an…Art trade? Brusha can’t remember the last time she did something so childish, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious about the twisted’s artistic ability. She’d certainly never heard of Vee V1 participating in any sort of artistic venture. “Ssssssure. Go ahead.” She hisses through her teeth and hesitantly hands over the little book, watching as those clunky claws attempt to hold onto it without obscuring the pages.

She really didn’t expect that tail of hers to lower and start sketching on the paper like a pen. God, was she using her own ichor as paint?? That was a little too hardcore for Brusha’s taste personally, but she wouldn’t dare stop her. Every few seconds Vee would stop to take a good look at Brusha’s face, causing her to shrink in on herself just the slightest. She wouldn't say she was self conscious, this was just new and strange to her. She's always been the one painting others, it’s never the other way around.

With a speed that could rival the artist herself, an almost one to one perfect illustration of Brusha now inhabited her notepad. There was even hatch shading! God damn hatch shading!! Once again she’s struck with genuine surprise, glancing up without moving her head to catch Vee fake coughing behind a hand, tail flicking off some excess ichor onto the floor. “I know you just said you didn't enjoy still life, but I don’t know much else.”

“I-…I can make a small exception. Yes it’s a little boring, but exceptional nonetheless.” She gives it a good close once-over, inwardly impressed with the smooth line work. “You’re almost as good as I am. Almost. Here, take your pick.” She hands the booklet back for the twisted to pick a piece to keep, noting her deliberate and quick choice of the very first stylized Vee still life she’d painted.

Vee pauses after carefully ripping the page out, stretching up to her full height. She turns to glance from the art and back to Brusha, expression contorted into what the artist could only describe as hesitation.

“Subrou-rou-routine Failure.” Another grating beep like the ones from earlier blares from Vee’s speakers, and anxiety quickly latches back onto Brusha like a leech. As soon as it happens, Vee’s display appears to flash momentarily and return to normal. Standing stiffly, Vee gently presses a hand to her own head, antennae drooping. With care, the twisted places the painting upon a table nearby, turning her head slightly to address Brusha. “Sorry. I have more to show you. Come with me.”

A hand outstretches towards Brusha, and she looks at it as if it were a brandished weapon. Sudden issues like that didn’t allude to anything good, but at this point Brusha had little to lose anyways. She wasn’t sure why she took the twisted’s hand instead of just trailing after her, but as she’s led out of the office and around a corner, it was clearly too late for any takebacks. Thankfully, even now, Vee’s grip was gentle, which was a feat in itself. Brusha knew how strong twisteds could be. One swipe from that Sprout earlier practically cleaved a chunk clean out of her side. Just the thought of it sends a wave of aching pain through the wound, ending up inadvertently squeezing the metal hand in hers tighter.

They continued on without a word, bathing in the cold emptiness of the space. The more she looked around, the less familiar this all seemed. It was so…Industrial. Sure, there were garage floors during ichor runs, but they were nothing like this. Huge machines with unknown purpose that were completely motionless, ages old ichor still caked to parts of them, the smell of dust and bitter iron and steel eaten by rust. Cramped, lonely, oppressive, that’s what it felt like. Hesitantly, Brusha lets her gaze linger on Vee, tracing from her head all the way down her blackened spine.

How long has she been stuck down here?

“I wasn’t planning on showing you this, but as an artist, I was hoping you would be able to tell me what it means.” The sudden speaking makes Brusha practically jump out of her skin, prompting Vee to slow down and look back at her, frowning. The toon couldn’t even begin to fathom what that could mean, only lengthening her gait to try and get her to speed up again. She didn’t want to be near these machines any longer than necessary.

Soon, they come upon a dead end hallway, marked with a sign that reads ‘PROPERTY STORAGE‘. Wordlessly, Vee pushes the door open with her shoulder, her screen lighting up bright white like it had upon their first encounter. Whatever Brusha was expecting, this was a very far cry from it.

Knocked over storage shelves, paper waste, and puddles of ichor littered the floor. Every large object was pushed into the center of the room to leave the walls bare and easily accessible. That’s just the thing, though, the walls weren’t bare. Far from it. As Vee’s light slowly moves about the room, Jagged wild ichor paintings are revealed, scrawled upon almost every single empty surface. Not even the low ceiling was safe from the violent haphazard text and illustrations. Besides the frantic nature of it all, one thing in particular made her face pale, needles prickling at her fingertips. Crescent face, long nightcap.

”Astro?”

Brusha whispers the thought aloud, pupils dilated in the partial darkness. There were countless renditions of astro, splattered all over, tall and looming like the boogeyman. The muttering catches Vee’s attention, and suddenly that bright light is blinding the toon again. “What? Do you know something about this? Please, I-!“ Vee’s voice appears to drop in bitrate as she grows more desperate, claws reaching forward to clasp roughly on Brusha’s shoulders.

For a split second, the same panic as she felt when running from the other twisteds dominates her mind, shock causing her to frantically pull away. “NO! No!” Brusha barks out the words, silencing the much taller entity. Panicking, she blurts out something, anything to smother the truth. “It’s just a lot to take in!” Her words are shaky, and she raises an arm to shield her eyes from the light.

Slowly, the white fades back to the usual black and neon green expression, though a few more lines were now present, halving the left side of her face. In the dark, Vee slips down into a sitting position, mouth moving as if to begin to speak, but she hesitates. Metal clicks against metal, fiddling with her hands in her lap.

“The books tell me that sleep is beneficial, but every time I do, I get these terrible visions. Dreams.” She starts out after gaining her bearings again. Brusha stares down at her, the green glowing against her disheveled features, bristles sticking up in some places. She was wary after that little outburst, but carefully moved to join her in sitting amongst the torn up documents and manila folders.

“I see such terrible things, and I see that figure, every time. I avoid it now by staying awake as long as physically possible, but I…cannot avoid it forever.”

Silently, Brusha takes in every word, face screwed up in thought. This made absolutely no sense. She knew about the dream thing with Astro, but why would his influence be this far down? She wasn’t even aware twisteds could dream in the first place. Maybe they can’t, maybe there’s just something weird about this one.

quietly, they both stare at each other again, like two cats communicating through body language.

Okay, there was a lot weird about this one, but why? Why her?

“I am now realizing this was selfish of me to put on you.” Vee explains after the lack of a response, glancing off, anywhere but at Brusha’s face. “Just…If you’re aware of anything, of any way to stop this, please.” The desperation was impossible to ignore, and guilt kicked up in the pit of her chest again, that familiar soreness that made it a little harder to swallow.

She just couldn’t. There were too many unknowns here.

Without a word, she shakes her head, not daring to meet the robot's gaze.

It was dead silent as Vee withdrew into herself a bit more. Somehow, Brusha could feel those digital eyes burning into her very being. But eventually Vee nods back. “Thank you anyways, for listening.” Once again she stands back up to her full height, tail brushing a few stray papers out of the way.

“There is much I'd like to ask you, but this is hardly an appropriate place to do so. I will take you somewhere more comfortable.” Vee speaks and motions to hold her hand out again, but retracts it rapidly after seeming to notice something on Brusha, green fractals appearing on her display for a few seconds. Slightly confused, Brusha pushes herself up to stand before a new sensation makes itself clear, a slight stinging pain in her shoulder. She must’ve been cut by the twisted’s claws after that little freakout.

“I-…I am sorry, You are just so small and soft, it is hard not to harm you. I am not used to this.” Vee apologizes in a stiff tone and Brusha’s chest seizes up for a moment. What kind of wording was that?!

After eagerly treading back out of the frightening room after the robot, Brusha’s mind wanders to the more pressing matters in an attempt to ignore the looming machinery. How the hell was she going to get out of here?

“Do you ever leave this place?” She blurts out, desperate to chisel away at the truth of the matter to plan some kind of escape. There had to be some way out of here. The twisted doesn’t look back at her, only lifting a hand to motion around as she speaks.

“No. I cannot. I will show you.” Great. Vague and unhelpful. Having to stray back a little farther to avoid the swaying tail in front of her, Brusha is led off the beaten path to a side passage to their left, one they’d passed prior. This space was enclosed, closer to the medical type buildings but still carrying the awfully tacky industrial design that populated most of the area.

Ahead of them was what looked like another hallway with a door at the end of it, not unlike the one she’d found herself running full speed into to get down here in the first place. A placard pasted to the right side of the doorframe signified that this was a stairway, but the door itself was…

Well, it was less a door, and more a solid block of steel. A block of steel with countless dents and claw marks, burns and bumps of all kinds, and upon closer inspection, it wasn’t just one solid block of steel, it was multiple. This stairwell was purposely blocked up, big time. “I’ve come back to this one, as well as the others. They are all the same.” Vee speaks slowly, as if recalling a memory, pulling her claws up to her chest and tilting her body to peer down at Brusha. “It is impossible to get through. I have looked everywhere.” Pausing, the robot glances around the space, mouth tugged into a deep frown. “So I have assumed that this is indeed…’the top’.”

Vee lowers her body down a few feet, tail curled. “But now, I have some confirmation that it is not, correct?” She looks to Brusha for an answer, who can only uncomfortably nod. This didn’t sit right with her. Everything was blocked up? Issue after issue piled up in this god forsaken place. How was she supposed to get OUT?

No, she had to focus. It was a game of deduction now. The stairwell was a no-go, obviously. It seemed like those were the only ins and outs besides the chute, and as much as she’d love to just go back the way she came, it would take her growing a pair of wings to even come close to getting back up that way. Even as they arc back around to walk back toward the medical wing, the pile of bodies was visible from here, and in turn so was the chute. It was a little hard to see, but easy enough to tell that even from the very top of that pile, it stretched incredibly far up to the ceiling, a ceiling that in its own right had absolutely no business being that tall.

She could only assume it was for future expansion. Bigger machines needed bigger space, so on and so forth.

“Are you hungry? I've got some things you may like…”

The buzzing voice breaks her concentration, and she looks up to see Vee hesitating a few feet away, waiting for her. At this point, Brusha didn’t know what to trust. Sure, the Vee was kind and seemed to mean well, but she was still dangerous when worked up.

Damn, she was hungry, though.

Stepping closer, Brusha flips her bristles out of her face, deciding to walk beside the twisted instead of behind her. “Sure, that and a bed would be great.”

The sarcastic response seems to add a little pep in the step of the huge robot, tail bowing down to brush against the artist’s arm for a moment. “Excellent! I can provide both.” The toon’s eyes widen from the contact, but she doesn’t flinch away. Why on earth was she so touchy?

‘She’s been down here for who knows how long, why do you think?!’ Brusha’s conscience snaps back, and she feels a little stupid for questioning it. The painter was never one to ask for or initiate physical touch, she never really wanted it from anyone either, yet…In recent times, the moments in between, standing in her room alone with nothing but her art pieces staring back.

She can begin to understand the phrase of not realizing what you have until it’s gone.

This Vee, as far as Brusha was aware, didn’t even seem to have anything in the first place.

“So, what is it like up there?”

Another sudden question, and one she hoped wouldn’t come up. Brusha’s eyes flick up to meet Vee’s, hands fidgeting with the torn cotton of her sweater.

“It’s kind of the same.” More lies.

Vee looks a little disappointed by that, breaking her attention off towards an old broken down conveyor belt as they continue on. “Oh…That’s unfortunate. I was hoping it would be brighter, maybe!” Brusha was almost certain her words were being seen through, but she couldn’t just go off about how nice it is up there compared to this dump, as guilty as she felt about lying straight to her face. Twisteds didn’t belong up there with the other toons, they had to stay on the lower floors. If this one somehow found a way out and up there, then-…

Brusha continues to stare, brow knitted in frustration. Why did she feel so bad about this? It wasn’t any of her business, it isn’t her problem!

“Hey.” She mumbles, waiting for Vee to look back before she holds her hand out, palm up, sleeve stained with ichor. It took a moment for her to understand what Brusha was doing, but when it clicked, the expression on her screen flickered back to that big stupid smile, her metal claws reaching up to gingerly grasp and wrap around the much smaller hand.

UGHHH. What was she DOING? Internally her brain shrieks at her for having such a weird soft spot for this thing, and truly she just didn’t know why she gave in. Nobody else would know about it either. It’s…fine. This wasn’t Vee V1, this was something else, right?

“How do you feel about trivia?” Brusha blurts out, eyeing their approach to the less industrialized portion of the area.

“I do have a book about it that I enjoy looking through, why? Do you like trivia?”

She felt like she was gonna throw up.

After a little more walking, another slight detour, having to deal with random trivia being asked of her, and a cold metallic hand in her grasp, Brusha is led to a very small room that looked more like a time capsule than anything. Every surface was coated with a layer of dust, not a single thing was spared. A small bed was jammed into the corner, as well as a desk, chair, a few shelves, and a computer with a broken screen discarded on the floor.

“I don’t come in here at all, pardon the dust.” Vee explains, stopping at the doorway and unclasping her long fingers from Brusha’s.

She will not be pardoning the dust. Shuffling in, her face immediately pulls into a grimace of disgust, barely managing to spot and step over a thick open book on the floor.

“Oh! Right! Food, I’ll be right back.” The robot steps back and straightens back up, stalking off to who knows where with a sharp series of metal clanks, leaving Brusha there, alone. Now with time to herself, Brusha can truly let herself go slack, sighing outwardly. Most of the adrenaline from earlier had died down, and it became incredibly obvious just how exhausted she was. As much as she hated it, she considered just flopping down on the old nasty bed and passing out, but…her stomach ached. Food first.

Brusha pulls her foot back to kick the book on the floor to the side so she wouldn’t trip on it in the future, but something about it made her freeze up. Yellow pages, the graphic on the cover, It was a phone book. Energy shocks through her, and like lightning she’s searching around the room, dust puffing up from every step and object haphazardly thrown to the side, before finally she spots it. Off to the side, fallen to the floor next to the bedside table, was a corded phone, plugged right into the wall.

She falls to her knees, fumbling for the receiver and pleading under her breath as she holds it up to her head, eyes bulging.

…

A gentle tone, it was active, even all the way down here.

For the first time in a long, long time, a smile works its way onto her face. A wild and desperate grin that would’ve been incredibly out of place in any other situation. She felt so absolutely stupid that she hadn’t considered this before, they even have an emergency number for situations where toons are left behind and stranded on elevator floors, it’s protocol for fucks sake! God, why didn’t she ever pay attention to any of that?!

Her giddiness almost caused her to miss the rapidly approaching metal footsteps again, gently setting the phone back where she found it and hastily stumbling around the bed.

She must’ve looked as insane as she felt, because Vee halted as soon as she caught sight of her, tail lowering to drop to the floor. “Did…you roll in the dust…?” For once, the twisted looks uncomfortable, but offers up a large bowl settled in her hands, full of-

Candy??

Why the hell would she expect anything else, that’s practically all that was ever around anymore. She supposed she should be thankful it isn’t like the absolute biohazard that was sprout’s floor. Those cartons of eggs make her gag every time she’s in there.

There was a bottle of pop that looked unopened shoved in the bowl as well, but a lot less full than it should’ve been. How old was this stuff…?

Vee cautiously steps closer into the room as Brusha sits down on the bed, like it was a minefield, warily glancing around as if she hadn’t even seen the place before. “I’ve been collecting these, I have no real use for them since I don’t eat, so you can have them- as many as you’d like.” The robot explains and hands the bowl over, still giving the room untrustworthy looks. She could try and unpack that later, for now, she curiously inspects the candy. It looked the same as the stuff on higher floors, but as she cracks the seal on the pop and doesn’t hear a single whisper of carbonation hissing, it’s obvious it was all severely past its expiration date.

Setting the soda to the side, there was no way she was drinking that, she digs through the bowl to find what would hopefully be the least painful to choke down. A shadow looming above causes her to pause, looking up to observe Vee just sort of awkwardly standing there, staring with a hard to read expression.

“Uh. May I?” Her gritty voice crackles out as she gestures to the spot next to Brusha. The amount of back and forth between happy and sad, anxious and carefree, it made the toon’s head spin. Why couldn’t this Vee just be constantly blunt and annoying like the other one? With a little shrug of her shoulders, she nods, ending up having to clutch the bowl tighter as the weight of the robot causes the mattress to sink in deeper, displacing them both.

Peeling open a chocolate bar, Brusha takes a careful bite. Hard as a rock and covered with that chalky white stuff, with a taste that could only be described as poorly aged. It was pretty awful, but she was too hungry to complain.

The twisted beside her taps her metal legs against the floor for a moment, bathing in the awkward silence before taking an unnecessary breath, staring ahead of herself.

“So…What’s your name…?” Holy shit. They had completely skipped over that, hadn’t they? She didn’t even consider the fact that this twisted had no idea who she was.

“…Brusha.” She was almost hesitant to say it for some reason, but figured there was no harm in names. “Brusha…“ The robot repeats it to herself, appearing to ponder the name like it was some sacred thing, legs gently kicking off the edge of the bed.

“I’m Vee.”

She knew that.

There’s a longer stretch of silence than she was comfortable with, watching Vee compute her next words in real time, facial display flickering with the effort before she continues to speak.

“I just wanted to thank you, Brusha. And apologize. This is a very bad situation you are in, and I can tell it’s stressful-” She stops to very pointedly look at Brusha, taking stock of her unkempt bristles and dust covered clothes. “-You are very sweet, I’ve been enjoying your company a lot. You make me very happy.” The husky voice crackles out slowly, as if the robot was struggling to word it correctly, and Brusha feels like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes widening mid-chew. More things to add to the list of sentences that have never been spoken to her, she was completely taken aback. She’s only ‘known’ this entity for what, an hour or two? Three? Time was weird without Dyle’s stupid face to look at.

Swallowing hard, Brusha clears her throat and stares down at the candy in her lap, unsure how to even respond to this.

“There is no need for anything in return, I just wanted to express my gratitude, and my…condolences. And-! Reassurance.” Vee saves her the headache by continuing, widening her own eyes and raising her claws as if she were surrendering. “You look at me with such fear in your eyes, I know you most likely won't believe me but I'm not going to hurt you, I swear.”

Almost on cue, the both of them glance at Brusha’s shoulder and the three obvious claw-shaped black ichor stains.

“I’m sorry! I said I'm sorry!!” The twisted whines, lowering her head into her hands and curling her tail around her own waist. The movement causes the mattress to lower even more, almost sending Brusha tumbling forward into her.

“Jeez- It’s whatever! I can tell you’ve been stressed too.”

Brusha ‘reassures’ Vee, face screwed up with all the conflicting emotion. No shit she’s been stressed, this place was like purgatory. “Thanks, I guess. For what you said. People don’t really tell me I'm sweet very often.” Brusha waves her hand to accentuate her point, looking off to the side, but not before catching the massive robot’s tail wagging up and down and her smile returning.

This was just so strange. She still didn’t really know how to feel about talking so casually with something that would otherwise be ripping her head off.

She was too tired to keep rolling the thought around in her mind, finishing off the mediocre chocolate and deciding not to partake in any more of the expired candy, feeling queasy already.

“I’ll let you get some rest, and…So will I. Maybe with you here, I won’t have those dreams.” Vee speaks quieter, hopeful, and lifts herself from the bed, sending Brusha grasping for something to keep herself upright from the shifting mattress. Pacing out towards the exit, the twisted pauses there, turning her head a little, not quite looking back at Brusha, and speaks just above a whisper. The audio is grainy, straining to form.

”Goodnight, Brusha.“

And before the toon can even respond, she’s gone.

Ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty seconds, a minute. She waits until those metal steps are far away enough to be unheard, and waits a little more for good measure, and then with a ravenous lunge, she’s back on the dirty floor, wrestling with her own shaking hands to grab the phone. Holding the receiver in a death grip, she carefully inputs the emergency line number, begging to herself again as if the number somehow wouldn’t go through. In all fairness, her recent luck has been bad enough to expect the worst.

After a few heart wrenching rings, a voice she never in her life thought she’d be happy to hear rings out.

“Hello, what is the nature of your emergency…”

That stupid pompous accent, Brusha hunches forward and grips the phone with both hands, whispering with urgency.

”Dyle, It’s me! Brusha-“

“-Oh! Oh my, We’ve been expecting your call! How wonderful that you haven’t been torn asunder. What would be your location? Are you still on the fifty-second floor?”

Fifty-second?? She knew she was far down, but that was ridiculous.

She couldn’t tell him about this place, she needed-

“Dandy, where’s Dandy?” Brusha hisses out the words and leans back to peek over the bed at the doorframe, making sure she was still alone here.

“Dandy? He was just rounding up a search party for you, actually. This changes things though, obviously. Why?”

“I need to talk to him, go get him.”

“But-“

”Dyle.”

Running a clammy hand through her bristles, she listens as a dramatic sigh rattles through the speaker, a moment passing before an even more annoying voice greets her.

“Brusha! How’re ya holdin’ up, friend?” God. Here goes nothing.

“Hey. I ended up taking the staff only route, I was being chased so I had no choice. Ended up going through a garbage chute, I’m stuck down here.”

‘Let’s see how much you know…’ She thinks to herself, mentally noting the prolonged silence on the other side of the line. Some movement picks up, and what almost sounds like distant talking, before the flower starts yapping again.

“A garbage chute?! Ah thought you were more classy than that, yuck!”

Her eyes darken as she almost snaps back at him, holding her tongue only for the sake of being quiet.

”Yes. Now can you help me or not?”

“Course we can! Here's what we’re gonna do, okay? We’ll make our way back down to fifty two and drop a big ol’ rope ladder down that chute for ya’, then I'll give a call back to this number as a signal to let’cha know, and you can climb up while we pull ya’ right out! Just make sure ya’ hurry, anything else down there might hear the phone too!”

It doesn’t exactly quell her suspicions, but the plan brings absolute pure relief, and in this moment that’s enough for her.

“Okay, sounds good. I’ll be careful.”

“Well alright! Sit tight, we’ll be there as fast as we can!”

Click.

The line goes dead before she can say anything more. Anxiety creeps back in just from being alone down here again, not liking how much of a comfort it was to hear someone familiar.

Now comes the wait. Crawling up onto the otherwise spotless bed besides the dust, and the few drops of ichor left by Vee, her previously exhausted mind blinks with thoughts like Christmas lights. She sits there dead eyed, thinking until time feels like grains of sand slowly trickling through an hourglass. What was she supposed to tell anyone? Was she going to be a target now? Did she know too much? Or was she the only one aware of this?

At least one person had to know something. Astro.

Unless it was just some massively big coincidence, there was something really strange going on with him. Brusha has only spoken to him a handful of times, but after this she wasn’t sure she wanted to at all.

Getting involved in the ‘mains’ drama wasn’t something she would’ve been interested in before, but she was in the thick of it now. There was no forgetting what she saw down here.

And what would happen to Vee?

The elephant in the room rears its ugly head, and Brusha is forced to address it.

A fluorescent light above her flickers, the decrepit nature of the room around her appearing to intensify. The twisted will still be stuck down here, she couldn’t come with her.

Stuck in this decaying place, with power that couldn’t possibly last more than a few more years.

Wandering here alone, in the dark.

Exhaling shakily, Brusha bites down on her own hand, staring back out of the room wide-eyed. What was she supposed to do?! Again, it wasn’t her problem, but-

A distant noise somewhere deeper in the dark chamber rings out suddenly, and Brusha feels her entire form tighten, going impossibly still. Minutes pass, and only then does she finally allow herself to breathe again, chest on fire.

She had to get the hell out of here.

Her legs felt like jello again, and for a time she was worried they’d just give out under her. Standing, she wobbles a little, holding the side of the bed for stability. She was so tired. Any little amount of energy left in her had to be summoned for one last sprint. The home stretch.

RRRRRRRRRRING!

Oh shit. Oh shit. That was earlier than she expected, wait-

RRRRRRRRRRING!

Instinct kicks in, and her body starts moving faster than her brain, legs propelling her forward and out of the dusty room. The bowl of candy tumbles to the floor from her urgency, but she had no time to pay it any mind, focused on skirting around the corner and following the ever-present view of piled up bodies. Just to the left of it, a faint glint of something near the ceiling, moving.

There it was.

Sprinting with more effort than she’s ever summoned in her entire life, everything around her becomes a dark muddled blur. Every breath was painful, ragged and short, but nothing else mattered now besides getting to that damn ladder.

Past the machines, past the stark white medical bay, she skids back into the main area, kicking over a handful of chemical filled canisters in her panic, trying desperately not to take in the details of the bodies only a few feet away from her. The phone was a distant sound now, but even still it persisted like an alarm. Dandy really wasn't lying about the rope ladder being long, managing to touch the floor even from all the way up to the ceiling. Jumping, she clambers onto the partially ichor stained pegs for dear life, gripping the wood hard enough to hurt and shaking the rope like a madman to try and get the point across to PULL UP.

Her frantic flailing does the trick, feeling a shift in weight as she starts to ascend.

“Brusha?!”

Her heart drops to the floor. Unable to keep herself from looking to the source of her name, Vee stands there at the entrance to the massive chamber, arms limp at her sides as she stares up at the toon. At this point she was almost halfway up the size of the pile, wordlessly staring back into those neon green eyes, mouth agape.

“No…NO! DON’T!”

The voice is louder, audio peaking and clipping from the sheer volume, and to her horror, the twisted starts to sprint.

“DON’T LEAVE ME HERE! DON’T GO!”

Vee screams out of desperation, stumbling to the base of the pile and beginning to hurriedly climb, rapidly gaining on Brusha. Her screen flickers wildly from strain, expression fracturing and splitting as she claws up higher, only ten feet away now.

”BRUSHA!”

The toon feels her heart stutter in her chest as the twisted starts to gain on her, curling her legs up into herself as much as she could manage. She couldn’t look away. She couldn’t block out the anguished yelling. All she could do was watch as the end of the ladder rose just out of Vee’s reach, past the top of the pile.

Gut wrenching cries echo across the room, and Brusha watches in silent terror as the twisted struggles to crawl to the very top, reaching a hand out uselessly and wailing out, begging, pleading that she stays.

Darkness. She‘s entombed in it again, swallowed whole by the chute.

The glitched crying became faint, until she couldn’t hear anything more than the dragging of wood against metal and her own hyperventilating. Mind running a million miles a second, she barely registers being yanked out and hitting the floor, staring up at the shadowed figures circling around her, dark and obscured by backlight.

“Wow! You sure look worse for wear, welcome back!”

The voice of Dandy chirps out, followed shortly by sprout.

“Goob, help us out, would you?”

Hands reach out towards her, and she doesn’t resist being ensnared by the craft toon’s arms, not like she could, anyways.

“Vee, could you check for any twisteds?”

The name makes her face pale even more, blurred vision just barely making out the much smaller green form of Vee V1.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” She grumbles out and turns around, antennae jittering for a moment as she scans the area. “Nothing in here, they’re all back near the elevator. We did make a lot of noise coming in.”