Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Astro shuffled his feet nervously. He looked up at his handler, who practically towered over him. Astro was still fairly young, so he was still little. He was meeting someone new today, and even though it might not show on his face or body language, he was very excited. What was this new toon like? Would they be nice? He always liked making new friends, and it was good for him to be the first person to meet them because they were actually moving into the empty warehouse area connected to his room. Astro took a deep breath and fidgeted with the gloves on his hands, feeling the soft fabric wrinkle between his fingers.

He flinched and let out a small squeak when the doors to his exhibit opened. His handler put a hand on his back and rubbed it gently to soothe him. He watched as an unfamiliar girl approached and shook his handler's hand. She wasn’t wearing the uniform… She had this motorcycle punk rock style going on, and his handler suddenly looked uneasy.

“Hey you two, you must be Austin, and this little guy must be Astro. Awe, you're even cuter in person than on the posters,” she said warmly. Astro blushed and buried his face in his blanket, wishing he could disappear. The girl laughed softly, clearly amused, but not in a mean way.

“I- ..uhm yes, you are correct..” Austin cleared his throat and looked around before turning back to her, looking confused. “Uhm.. Where is your toon...?”

The girl tilted her head, then her eyes widened in realization. “Oh yea—that’s why I’m here—” She stepped aside and revealed a… cat.

Well, yes, a cat. The new toon was sleek and black, with a pink star over his right eye. He smiled gently and waved at Astro, tail flicking lazily behind him. He looked about Astro’s height, maybe a little taller. Astro stared for a moment, taking in his appearance, before stepping forward cautiously.

“Hello… Uhm, what's your name..? I’m Astro… er—sorry, you probably already know from the… ahem… Posters…” His voice trailed off at the end. He hated that his words always stumbled when he was nervous.

Instead of looking away or brushing him off, the cat gave a friendly, relaxed grin. “Hello! I’m Mace. I’ve heard a lot about you! You must be pretty popular around here! Well, you're a Main character so you’d have to be… But hey! I’m one too! Guess we have that in common!”

He spoke cheerfully, but calmly, not forcing the room to feel his energy. Astro nodded, forcing a timid smile in return. The pairing with his handler seemed natural; Austin gave a subtle, approving nod.

“Ah.. You're a Main toon…? That’s certainly… interesting..” Astro muttered quietly, taking a cautious step back toward his handler. He hoped he didn’t look afraid, but Mace’s presence, even at this calmer energy, felt a little… much.

“Yea! It's really cool, I get a huge room and everything. Oh! Do you like music? I love music, I’m in a band with my friends and I'm lead guitarist.” He said this proudly, though now his tone was soft, measured, easygoing. He wasn’t trying to dominate the room with energy—but his big personality overall didn't help

Astro froze for a moment.

A band.

Right next to his room.

Band meant music. Music meant loud. And from what he had already seen, it was likely going to be very loud. He tugged nervously at his gloves. He didn’t want to seem rude or ungrateful by asking to be moved. So he stayed quiet, forcing a small, polite smile. It couldn’t be that bad, right? He could probably tolerate it… right?
He nodded slowly. “That… sounds nice,” he murmured.

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After the introductions, the handlers stepped aside to talk logistics. Mace leaned against a crate, tail curling lazily, observing Astro with quiet curiosity. He hummed a soft, simple tune under his breath, just enough to fill the space with life but not noise. Even calm, his presence seemed to radiate energy, and Astro felt a subtle tension coil in his chest.
Astro tried to focus on his gloves, twisting the edges nervously. His mind wandered to the thought of drums, guitars, and amplified music just through the wall. He didn’t like loud noises, never had, and the anticipation made his stomach flutter.
He could see Mace’s tail flick gently, the star on his face catching the dim light. The cat wasn’t being overbearing, but just existing so near made the space feel smaller, the world a little louder. Astro reminded himself: Mace liked him, he wasn’t trying to scare him, and he was calm now. And yet… It was still a lot.

Astro closed his eyes briefly, hugging his blanket closer. “It’s fine… maybe it won’t be too loud… maybe I can handle it…”
The thought felt delicate, a fragile hope he clung to.

That evening, after the handlers had left, Astro sat on the floor with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The lights glowed softly, a dim, comforting hue. Silence had always been his refuge, but tonight, the thin wall did little to shield him.
He could hear faint movements: boxes being dragged, light footsteps, the occasional metallic clink. Mace was settling in. Astro’s ears twitched at every sound. Even though Mace’s actions were calm and deliberate, each small noise felt like a reminder of the music that would soon fill the walls.

Then came a single guitar string, plucked lightly. Astro flinched and pressed a hand to his chest. It was quiet, controlled, almost soothing—but the vibration through the wall made him tense.
He tugged his blanket tighter and tried to focus on slow, even breaths. It wasn’t loud yet. Maybe he could adjust. Maybe he could get used to it. Maybe… he could survive.

A few more careful notes formed a small, tentative melody. Mace’s tail flicked in rhythm, ears relaxed, eyes on him with a soft smile that clearly meant he liked him. Astro pressed the blanket tighter around himself. Mace wasn’t trying to bother him—it

was just… a presence, too close, too real, too alive.
He whispered to himself, clutching the blanket: “It’s fine… I can handle it. I just have to… try.”
But even as he said it, the thought of drums, loud guitars, and full-band rehearsals just on the other side of the wall made a small shiver run down his spine. He didn’t want to admit it, but he already knew, deep down… he couldn’t handle it.Still, he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, focusing on the soft, careful strumming. He wanted to hope. He wanted to believe.

Maybe he could manage.

Maybe.

(He couldn’t.)

Chapter Text

Astro awoke with a start, blinking rapidly at the darkness around him. His ears twitched faintly at the sound that had ripped him from sleep: the unmistakable shredding of a guitar. He glanced at the clock. 4:32 AM. He groaned and swung his legs off the bed, tail dragging along the floor.

Stretching all four arms, he felt the tension of sleep lift slightly—but the irritation remained. Someone had decided four-thirty in the morning was perfect for guitar practice.

Grabbing his blanket and pulling on his gloves, Astro trudged toward the entrance. The sound of Mace’s guitar grew louder with every step. His stomach sank, and his tail flicked sharply behind him.

At the auditorium, he braced himself and swung the doors open. The noise hit him like a shockwave. He yelped, raising his first pair of arms to cover his ears while keeping the doors open with the second. The shredding stopped abruptly. He lowered his hands, letting out a shaky sigh of relief.

Mace had noticed him. The massive cat leapt down from the stage and padded over, tail swishing lightly, ears upright but relaxed.

“Uh… Astro,” Mace said, voice calm. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Astro crossed his arms under the blanket, tail flicking sharply. “You woke me up. Four-thirty in the morning. Why?”

Mace tilted his head, tail flicking slowly. “I started practicing. Hall’s empty, sound’s clear… thought it’d be a good time. Didn’t realize anyone would be up.”

Astro’s tail flicked again, irritation clear. “Well, I was up. I can’t sleep through this. You need to… not do it again at this hour.”

Mace nodded, ears tilting back slightly, voice measured. “Yeah. I get that. I didn’t think it would bother you. I just… got carried away. Sorry about that.”

Astro’s tail flicked, irritation lingering but restrained. “Good. That’s all I needed to hear. Just… don’t do it again.”

Mace’s tail swished slowly, ears forward, maintaining calm energy. “Got it. I won’t. Didn’t mean to ruin your sleep—just… didn’t think it through.”

Astro pressed a hand to his chest, letting out a quiet sigh. “Alright. That’s enough. Now I can go back to bed.”

Mace inclined his head slightly, a small, apologetic smile tugging at his mouth. “Understood. Sleep well, Astro.” Mace slinkied back into the empty amphitheater 

Well, that was great. Now Astro felt a little guilty. Mace had actually been… super nice, and he seemed genuinely remorseful when Astro confronted him. He let out a tired groan and turned around, trudging back to his room with his tail dragging behind him. 

He didn’t hate Mace—he really couldn’t bring himself to hate anyone—but the giant cat definitely got on his nerves sometimes. And he was just so oblivious to it. He didn’t hate him… but he did hate how he made him feel like this. Like he was the mean one. He wasn’t, but the way Mace had taken the scolding so earnestly didn’t help.

Astro finally reached his room and sank down, curling his tail snugly around himself. He slowly slipped off his gloves and placed his signature cloak blanket on the nightstand. He groaned, collapsing onto his bed, and curled up under the warm comforters. The tension in his shoulders slowly eased, and for a moment, the quiet of the room felt almost luxurious after the abrupt wake-up.

He let out a slow, tired breath, tail flicking once against the mattress. He probably wouldn’t be fully functional in the morning… again. But at least he could rest now. The hallway was quiet, the faint echo of guitar strings faded, and he could finally let himself sink into the comfort of sleep.

Even with the lingering irritation, he felt a small measure of relief settle over him. His tail curled tighter around himself as he shifted deeper into the blankets. He didn’t need to think about anything else right now—no guitars, no hallways, no disruptions—just the warmth of the bed and the pull of sleep.

A soft groan escaped him, low and tired. The exhaustion pressed gently against him, and for the first time since being woken, he felt… free to let go.

Somehow, he always had. Somehow, he always would.

—----------------------------7:32 [Opening hours]-------------------------------------------

Gardenview buzzed with life. The train came and went in steady rhythm, delivering families and their children to the exhibits. Most kids didn’t linger on the main floor; they took the elevators to the floors they wanted to visit. Astro’s exhibit, unlike most, was designed to be a sanctuary for restless children—a place to rest, play quietly, or even nap if needed. Calm, soft-lit, and orderly, it was a haven amidst the museum’s constant bustle. A contrast against Mace, who was meant for older kids.

Astro padded along the corridor toward his exhibit, blanket draped over his shoulders, tail flicking lightly behind him. From this floor, he could hear the faint hum of the lobby below and the occasional chatter of staff, but it didn’t bother him—yet.

The elevator dinged, and the first group of children stepped out, their eyes wide with curiosity. Astro greeted them softly, tail curling gently around him.

“Morning, everyone,” he said, his voice low and even. “Let’s find a spot on the mats and get settled, okay?”

Some giggles escaped, and one small child tugged at his blanket. Astro knelt, careful to meet their eyes. “Easy there, please. Let’s pick a cushion for now.”

The children arranged themselves across the room, some stacking small pillows for comfort, others curling into blankets. Astro walked among them, smoothing hair, adjusting blankets, and whispering instructions. “No running, okay. Let’s take a deep breath… in… and out… good.”

Even with the usual bursts of energy, he maintained a quiet rhythm. He guided fidgety children to drawing or stacking activities, while quietly encouraging yawns from the sleepier ones. A few were already nodding off, eyes heavy.

And then he noticed it—the faint, unmistakable thrum of Mace’s guitar. Low riffs and a distant beat drifted through the walls, pulsing softly in time with drums somewhere further down the hall. Astro froze for a second, tail flicking irritably. Seriously? He pressed a hand to his face under the blanket, letting out a slow, controlled breath. He could manage this. He had to. The kids didn’t need to sense his frustration.

One little girl was curling up on a pillow, eyes drooping, and a low chord vibrated faintly through the floor. Astro leaned down, voice soft and steady. “It’s alright… just rest, okay?”

A boy shifted nearby, eyelids half-closed. Astro adjusted the blanket around him, tail flicking once at the persistent hum. “Shhh… relax. Everything’s okay.”

Despite the faint background noise, the room slowly regained its rhythm. Children began whispering instead of shouting, some laying their heads down on pillows, others stacking blocks quietly. Astro moved among them, checking blankets and guiding them gently.

The elevator dinged again, bringing another small group. Astro moved to meet them, keeping his movements calm and measured. “Welcome. Let’s find a spot and settle down,” he said, guiding them to soft mats and pillows. A few whispered questions about the room or the other children were answered quietly, patiently.

Mace’s music continued in the distance, a faint vibration through the walls that made some of the younger sleepers stir slightly. Astro leaned close, smoothing a child’s hair and murmuring soothing words. Focus. Calm them. Keep the room under control. The day had only just begun, but he was already adjusting to the rhythm: elevator arrivals, quieting chatter, guiding restless limbs, helping sleepy eyes close.

Another group of children came off the elevator a short while later. Some ran toward the mats excitedly; Astro intercepted them with a raised hand and calm voice. “Easy… slow down… pick a spot and breathe. In… and out… good.”

One small boy carried a stuffed toy so tightly he could barely move. Astro knelt beside him. “That’s fine… just settle in. You’re safe here.” Tail flicking once, he glanced toward the faint thrum of music, pressing his lips together. He would not let this disrupt the room.

Gradually, the children began to relax, the volume of energy dropping. Whispers replaced chatter. Eyes closed one by one. A soft sigh escaped Astro as he curled his tail around his legs, blanket snug over his shoulders. The faint vibration of Mace’s guitar remained, but here in his exhibit, control was his.

He moved through the room once more, adjusting blankets, pressing a soft hand to a head here, smoothing hair there, murmuring quiet instructions. The rhythm of the room—the quiet breathing, the rustle of blankets, the occasional whispered word—replaced the tension of the morning.

Astro pressed his face lightly into the blanket, exhaling slowly. I can handle this. Somehow, I always have.

Even with hours to go, the children settled around him, some already drifting into sleep. The distant music persisted but no longer felt threatening—it was just background, something to navigate rather than resist. Astro allowed himself the faintest smile, tail curling gently around him.

The museum could buzz and hum, trains could come and go, and Mace could play his music as he liked. But here, in this space, Astro held the calm, and he would maintain it. Somehow. Always.

Chapter Text

After a successful and busy day, the Gardenview Museum and Play Emporium was coming to its closing hours. The halls that had been filled with laughter, chatter, and the occasional squeal of excitement were now empty, quiet except for the faint echo of footsteps fading down the polished floors. One by one, the trains carrying families away whistled in and out of the station, leaving the museum in the gentle hum of automated lighting and cooling systems.

At exactly 9:36 PM, the building was silent. The doors had been secured, the exhibits powered down, and all the staff had left for the night. Only the toons and their handlers remained, free to move through the halls until lights-out. The vast spaces that had once been chaotic were now calm, almost peaceful, their emptiness holding a quiet, reflective energy.

Astro stood in his exhibit, carefully folding a blanket that had been left out near one of the reading corners. The faint scent of crayons and warm cocoa lingered in the air, a reminder of the day’s activity, though now everything had been stilled. He hummed softly to himself, moving through his familiar routine — stacking pillows, arranging books, and setting plush toys back in their proper places. The motions were slow but practiced, calming him in a way that only routine could. His tail curled around his legs, moving almost unconsciously with the rhythm of his tasks.

He was halfway through tidying the last corner of his exhibit when the soft mechanical sound of the elevator descending reached his ears. His head tilted, ears twitching as he focused on the familiar ding signaling the doors’ arrival.

It wasn’t Mace.

Astro knew that immediately. Mace never needed the elevator — their exhibits were connected by the back hallway. If it were him, he would have simply walked in, guitar slung over his back, and greeted him with that mischievous grin that seemed to say he belonged wherever he wanted.

This meant it had to be someone else.

Astro straightened slightly, tail curling around his leg as he turned toward the open elevator doors. From within, a cheerful voice rang out, clear and bright in the quiet hall.

“Hiya, Astro!”

Shelly bounded out, dressed head to toe in her dinosaur onesie. Her plush tail wagged energetically as she dashed across the exhibit floor, her excitement palpable even without the presence of children. She almost tripped over a corner of a rug, catching herself with a soft thud and a bright laugh.

Astro blinked, then allowed a small smile. Shelly’s energy wasn’t overwhelming like some of the others he had to deal with during the day — it was warm, direct, and harmlessly enthusiastic.

“Hello, Shelly,” he said softly, putting the blanket he had been folding aside. “You’re certainly energetic tonight.”

“I know!” Shelly beamed, practically glowing. Her tail thumped against the floor in a rhythm that seemed to mirror her voice. “I finished my evening duties and thought I’d come see you! You always look so serious after closing.”

Astro’s lips curved into a quiet chuckle. “Do I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You do! You’ve got that ‘I’m tired but pretending I’m not tired’ look on your face,” Shelly replied, tilting her head.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s been a long day.”

Shelly nodded enthusiastically. “I bet! You had the most visitors again today, didn’t you? The staff said your exhibit was practically full all day. Everyone seems to adore you!”

Astro felt his ears twitch slightly, cheeks warming. “Ah… well, I just do my job.”

“Yeah, but you do it really well!” Shelly said, her voice bubbling over with excitement. “Even without the kids here, the day still felt so lively around your area. I swear, they probably weren’t the only ones enjoying themselves — you make everything feel so calm and welcoming.”

He smiled faintly, allowing himself a moment of quiet pride. “That’s… nice to hear,” he murmured.

For a short while, they moved through comfortable silence, Shelly rocking slightly on her heels and Astro folding blankets and arranging pillows. The soft hum of the building’s lighting and the distant mechanical whir of closed exhibits filled the background, a gentle reminder of the museum’s emptiness.

Then Shelly clapped her hands, breaking the quiet. “Oh! That reminds me — I came to see if you wanted to join us for movie night!”

Astro looked up, eyebrows lifting. “Movie night?”

“Yeah! Goob, Sprout, Cosmo, and Scraps are setting up the big screen in the auditorium! We found an old reel from the archives — one of those cheesy black-and-white adventure films. You know, the ones with overdramatic music and way too much suspense for no reason?” She grinned.

Astro’s ears lowered slightly. The thought of sitting through a loud, chaotic movie was not appealing after the long day, especially when he could instead enjoy the quiet of his own exhibit.

Shelly noticed the hesitation in his expression and hurriedly added, “It’s okay if you don’t want to! I know how much you value your rest, and you usually end up falling asleep halfway through anyway.”

Astro’s lips pressed together, a quiet groan escaping him. “Do I really?” he asked softly, ears flicking.

“Mm-hmm,” Shelly said, clearly delighted. “Last time, you were out before the opening credits even finished. Goob had to carry you back!”

Astro’s tail flicked in response. “Ah. Right. I’d… forgotten about that,” he muttered, his voice low.

Shelly giggled. “You looked so peaceful! No one wanted to wake you.”

He sighed quietly, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Thank you for the offer, Shelly. But I think I’ll pass this time. I might turn in early tonight. It’s been a lot.”

Shelly tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You sure? Movie night can be fun — and a nice way to unwind.”

Astro shook his head gently. “I appreciate it, but I’ll rest tonight. That’s enough for me.”

“Alright!” Shelly said, undeterred. “No pressure. I’ll tell the others you’re resting, then.”

Astro nodded. “Thank you. Enjoy the movie,” he said softly.

Shelly grinned, wagging her tail. “We will! Don’t stay up too late, Mr. Sleep Toon!”

Astro chuckled quietly and shook his head. “Goodnight, Shelly.”

With a bright wave, she hopped back toward the elevator. The doors closed with a soft hiss, and the hum of the building returned to dominance.

Silence settled over the exhibit again.

But it wasn’t total silence.

Somewhere down the hall, faint guitar chords echoed, soft yet steady. Mace.

Astro’s shoulders tensed, tail flicking subtly. The sound wasn’t loud — far from the shredding he’d endured at four in the morning — but it was unmistakable, and it bled through the walls into the quiet of his exhibit.

He tried not to focus on it. He went about stacking the last of the pillows, adjusting the few blankets left unfolded, folding them carefully in neat squares. He reminded himself that Mace’s music was part of his nature — practiced, rhythmic, but unavoidable when he decided to play.

Still, the sound pressed gently against his concentration, coaxing a low sigh from him. “He really doesn’t know what ‘quiet hours’ means,” he muttered under his breath.

Astro settled on one of the small beds at the center of the exhibit, pulling his cloak blanket over his shoulders. The soft blue stars projected on the ceiling made the room feel gentle and calm, though his tail twitched with every quiet strum of the guitar in the distance.

He closed his eyes briefly, letting the subtle vibrations fade into the background as he centered himself. It was quiet here. No children, no families, no distractions beyond the faint, steady guitar. Just him, the empty exhibit, and the soft hum of lights overhead.

I can handle this… just one song…

The guitar wove through the halls like a heartbeat, steady and imperfect. Astro shifted, curling into the blankets, his tail wrapping neatly around his legs. He let the rhythm touch him without disrupting his peace. It was frustrating and oddly comforting at the same time, a constant reminder that the world outside his quiet bubble still moved, still played, and still existed.

The night deepened, lights dimming further as the museum’s automated systems continued their gentle routines. The air smelled faintly of lavender, a soft reassurance. Astro leaned back against the bed, his arms draped over the edge, the subtle glow painting muted highlights across his gloves. He hummed softly to himself, a quiet companion to Mace’s distant music.

Hours passed in the stillness, and eventually, the music faded from a distant, strummed melody to the quiet, final echoes of the strings. Astro exhaled slowly, burying his face deeper in the blankets. He didn’t need to think of anyone else. There was just the room, the soft glow, and his own slow breaths marking the passing time.

I can handle this… somehow… he thought again, letting the quiet fully envelop him. The building was empty, the exhibits still, and only Mace’s faint presence lingered in memory and sound. It was enough. For tonight, it was enough.

The last thing he heard before drifting into sleep was the faint, imperfect slide of a guitar string — human, deliberate, and oddly comforting in the vast emptiness of the closed museum.

Chapter Text

Sundays were supposed to be quiet, but for Mace, quiet was an invitation. Gardenview’s usual chaos — the screeching trains, children running wildly through halls, laughter bouncing off every surface — had vanished, leaving only the faint hum of the lights and the occasional echo of distant footsteps. It was a rare luxury. A day when he could string his guitar and actually hear himself think.

He had hauled his hot pink guitar into the rehearsal room early, adjusting the strap, plugging it into the amplifier, and strumming a few test chords to confirm that everything was working. The vibrations hummed under his fingers in a satisfying way. He gave a casual nod to Vex, his bright pink velociraptor drummer, who immediately began a gentle beat on the kit, testing the dynamics. The bat vocalist perched nearby launched into her pre-practice vocal exercises — a jagged, chaotic series of shrieks that would have sent anyone else scrambling for earplugs.

Mace barely registered it. He had built a tolerance, a rhythm, a kind of understanding with these sounds. They weren’t noise; they were energy, raw and alive. He was just about to dive into a run-through of the new track he’d been perfecting when the doors to the rehearsal room swung open.

All heads turned. Vex froze mid-beat, the bat stilled mid-screech, and every eye locked onto the intruder standing in the doorway.

Astro.

And not just Astro. Furious Astro. His pupils were narrow slits, his hair sticking out in wild angles, his tail snapping back and forth like a whip. Every part of him radiated a storm.

Mace straightened, tilting his head. “Uh… what’s up?”

Astro’s voice was low, tight, almost dangerous. “Mace… can I speak to you… outside?”

He could hear the words, but the tone was what made Mace pause. There wasn’t a hint of idle complaint or irritation in it. No, this was serious. Really serious.

“Outside?” Mace said carefully, strapping his guitar on his back. “Okay. Sure.”

The hallway was empty, dimly lit, echoing with their footsteps. Mace watched Astro closely, noting the way his tail lashed, how every small movement seemed like a coiled spring ready to snap. “Astro… what’s the issue?” he started, only to be cut off.

“Cut it out, Mace!” Astro hissed. Tail lashing, ears pinned slightly. “We need to talk about Looey!”

Mace froze. Oh. Looey. He remembered the balloon toon clearly — the tiny, bouncy, almost absurdly fragile figure he had waved his claws at earlier. That? he thought. Seriously?

“That? You mean the balloon?” Mace asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That! That?!” Astro’s voice snapped, rising slightly despite himself. His pupils were sharp, focused. “Do you realize how dangerous that was? You could have popped him! One careless swing and—”

Mace held up a hand. “Okay, okay, he’s fine. He’s a balloon, he didn’t pop, right?”

“It’s not about whether he popped! It’s about the fact that you threatened him! That tiny, delicate thing trusts you not to hurt him. Do you even understand that?”

Mace’s ears twitched, tail flicking lazily. “I get that you’re mad. You’re… furious. I see that. Chill, Moon.”

“Chill?!” Astro’s voice cut sharply. “You put him in danger! You don’t even think before swinging your claws at someone who could literally explode! Do you have any idea how irresponsible that was?!”

Mace shrugged, casually, as though he were talking about the weather. “Not really. Honestly, I didn’t. And… look. He’s fine, isn’t he? That’s what matters. So calm down. Seriously.”

Astro’s ears flattened. His tail thumped against the floor. “Calm down? I’m trying to make you see how wrong that was. You threatened him. That’s not a small thing! That’s… that’s a huge deal!”

Mace’s tail flicked slightly. “I know it’s a deal to you. I get that. You’re angry, and fine. But I don’t see it as catastrophic. I was careful, he’s still bouncing around, still… Looey. You’re letting it get to you too much.”

Astro’s hands clenched into fists. “Too much? Mace, you could’ve destroyed him! He’s fragile! He’s not like you, he can’t shrug this off! Do you even care?”

Mace leaned against the wall, tilting his head, smirking faintly. “I do. About you getting mad. That’s about it. I’m not… oh, I don’t know, scared of Looey. He’s a balloon. Still standing, still perfect. I’m fine with that. You? Not so much.”

Astro’s tail flicked sharply, hair falling into his face. “Fine with that? Mace, you threatened him! That’s not something you can just shrug off.”

Mace held his hands up, unconcerned. “Yeah, I did. I did threaten him. He’s a balloon. He’s fine. You’re mad. I see it. Can we move on now?”

“Move on?!” Astro hissed, tail lashing faster. “You don’t understand! This isn’t just about him! You can’t go around swinging your claws at other toons like that and think it’s okay! Someone has to care about the ones who can’t fight back!”

Mace tilted his head, smirking faintly. “I get it. You care. That’s good. You’re… loud about it. But I don’t see the apocalypse. He’s fine. And you need to calm down before you start—”

“Calm down?!” Astro’s voice rose, teeth bared in frustration. “I’m trying to make sure you understand what you did! That it wasn’t acceptable!”

Mace exhaled softly, and his tail flicked once. “Alright, alright. You’re mad. I apologize — happy? I didn’t mean to push you this far. Can we just… drop it now?”

Astro blinked, a mixture of irritation and disbelief written across his face. “You’re just apologizing to get me to stop yelling, aren’t you?”

Mace shrugged faintly. “Pretty much. You’re yelling, I’m not about to argue more. I just want quiet. You calm down, I move on. Simple.”

Astro’s tail twitched sharply. “Fine. But don’t think I won’t notice if you do something like this again.”

“Noted,” Mace said lightly. “Quiet, calm, all good.”

There was a pause, the dim hallway stretching around them. Mace watched Astro’s tail uncurl slowly, ears shifting back. He could see the lingering tension, the way Astro’s hands flexed and twitched slightly, but he also saw the edge of reason settling in. This is enough for now, he thought. Let him cool down, then back to practice.

“Go back to your exhibit, Moon. Quiet night. I’ll deal with the band.”

Astro’s ears twitched slightly. “Don’t think this is over.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mace said with a small smirk. “Noted.”

He returned to the rehearsal room, strapping his guitar in place and giving Vex and Batheny a glance. “We’re going to keep it low, alright?” he said, voice casual, even though internally he was already thinking about the argument. He knew Astro wouldn’t forget — and frankly, he liked that.

Vex tilted his head. “Everything okay?”

Mace shrugged, plucking a soft chord. “Yeah, yeah. Astro was upset about something. All good now. Just… keep it down, huh?”

The bat vocalist flapped her wings. “You mean, like… baby volume?”

“Exactly,” Mace said with a grin. “Baby volume. Try not to wake him”

Vex chuckled softly, tapping a quiet rhythm, and the bat vocalist muttered something about “lame,” but started humming a quieter tune.

Mace sat down on the edge of the stage, letting the guitar hum softly across his fingers, and exhaled. He’s mad. Of course he is. But it’s fine. He’s small, he’s furious, because he cares. Ugh I don’t know what he see’s in other toons…

The rest of the band adjusted around him, drums light, vocals tentative. Mace let the soft, muted sound fill the rehearsal room, strumming slowly and letting the quiet music wash through the space. He glanced toward the hallway, expecting to see Astro watching from the exhibit doorway, but it was empty. For now, the storm had passed.

Tomorrow, we’ll see, Mace thought. But tonight… Tonight, we practice. Moon will forgive me eventually.

Chapter Text

Today felt off.

Yes, the day ran on like any other. Children cheering, handlers chattering through their headsets, families laughing as they moved between exhibits. The train whistled, bright and chipper as always, and the doors of Gardenview opened wide to swallow another crowd of smiling faces.

You know what— you’re just paranoid.

Today is perfect.

Nothing different will happen. It’s just like every other day.
Every day is perfect.

…

But it could be better.

The star of the show: Dandicus Dancifer. Or better known to the world as Dandy.
He’s the icon of Gardenview — the first toon the guests see and the last they wave goodbye to. He’s the one they take pictures with, the one the commercials feature, the one everyone trusts to keep the place sparkling and safe.

To the handlers, he’s reliable.
To the toons, he’s the Star.
To the guests, he’s magic.

And to Astro… well, Astro calls him a friend. The only one who can get away with teasing him and live to tell about it.

That thought always made Dandy smile — it meant he mattered.

But lately…

Lately, the smiles had started to feel rehearsed. The laughter mechanical. Every “perfect” day stretched longer and longer, the colors a little too bright, the air too still.

Everything was fine.
Everything was perfect.

He just needed to make it better.

The door to the Ichor Operations lab slid open with a soft mechanical hiss. The room beyond was dimly lit, walls humming with low power. It was empty — everyone else was off running safety checks on the main floors.

Dandy stepped inside, his bright rainbow petals glowing faintly under the sterile white light. His reflection shimmered across the floor’s polished surface as he approached the central control panel.

The screen was a sea of green and orange lines — flow meters, pressure valves, and biochemical levels all tracking the invisible lifeblood of Gardenview.

Ichor, the handlers called it.
The liquid essence that kept toons stable — a blend of synthetic pigment, code, and something alive. It ran through pipes hidden in the walls, quietly maintaining their forms, memories, and personalities.

Dandy had never been supposed to touch this system. But lately, the handlers had been… distracted. They never locked the doors anymore, too busy patching up other exhibits. Besides, he knew the system better than most of them did.

He leaned over the panel, tapping the screen lightly with one gloved finger.

“All I need is a small tweak,” he murmured to himself. “Just a little adjustment to the flow rate— a nudge here, a reroute there— make things more stable. More lively.”

He smiled, soft and bright. “Happier. They’ll all feel happier.”

He imagined Astro laughing more. Mace playing without getting in trouble for being “too loud.” Shelly having more energy. The kids giggling, the handlers relaxing.

It was perfect. It would be perfect.

He reached for the lever and adjusted the pressure just slightly. The pipes above the panel gave a faint hiss.

“See? Smooth as silk.”

Then he reached for the data wheel, turning it one notch to increase the pigment ratio.

That’s when it happened.

Click—clang—

The screen flickered. The overhead light dimmed.

From the far corner of the room came a sound that didn’t belong.

Drip.

Dandy froze.

Another sound followed.

Drip. Drip.

Slow. Wet. Heavy.

His petals twitched. He turned, scanning the pipes until his gaze caught on the corner. There — a glossy black puddle, spreading from beneath a junction box bolted into the wall.

“Oh no no no…” he muttered, already hurrying over. “That’s not right, I barely touched anything—”

He crouched beside the leak, hands hovering uncertainly. The ichor pulsed faintly, rippling like oil. It shimmered with prismatic veins under the light  — alive and wrong all at once.

“Come on now… behave…”

He dipped a finger into the puddle and lifted it to inspect. The ichor clung to his fingertip like syrup, then began to sink into his floral skin, leaving no residue.

“See? Normal,” he said softly. “Just pigment feedback. Harmless.”

He smiled again — but it didn’t reach his eyes.

A faint tremor went up his arm. His vines tightened beneath the surface of his gloves. Something was moving inside him.

Then the pain hit.

Sharp. Burning. Like fire under his skin.

He gasped, staggering backward and clutching his arm to his chest. The ichor on his fingertip had vanished, absorbed completely — but the veins in his forearm glowed faintly black. His petals wilted at the edges.

His head pounded. Vision swimming, he stumbled against the wall.

“Wh—what…” he breathed. His words slurred, voice catching on a ragged gasp.

The throbbing spread from his arm to his chest, crawling up his neck like frostbite. His reflection on the metal panel warped — colors bleeding, eyes dimming.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the pain ebbed.

Dandy stood panting, hunched over, the sound of his breathing loud in the quiet room. He waited a long moment before opening his eyes. The glow had faded. His arm looked normal again — no cracks, no burns.

He flexed his fingers experimentally. Fine.

“...Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, you’re fine. Just a feedback loop. Nothing broke. It’s fine.”

He forced a shaky laugh, though his voice trembled. “See? You panicked over nothing, Dandy.”

He straightened up slowly and turned back toward the puddle. The ichor had stopped leaking. For now.

But something about it looked… off.

It wasn’t just black anymore. A faint hue — reddish, almost like rust — was seeping through the surface. It shimmered wetly, like diluted blood.

“Wait…” Dandy murmured, leaning closer. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

He stared, realization dawning.

This wasn’t just ichor. It had mixed with something else. Something organic.

His chest tightened as the truth hit him.

It was his blood.

He took a half-step back, eyes wide. “No, no, no, no…”

He hadn’t meant for this. He barely touched the system. The ichor must’ve reacted to his biology — absorbed it, corrupted it.

He’d contaminated the supply.

“Oh petals, no… no no no…”

He backed up until his heel hit the control panel. The monitors blinked, warning lights starting to flash across the system map — small red dots spreading along the lower pipes.

The ichor was already moving.

Dandy’s voice cracked. “No, no, they’ll fix it. They’ll— they’ll know what to do. It’s not my fault. It’s not—”

His reflection on the control screen twisted. For a split second, he thought he saw something moving behind his eyes — dark threads, coiling, blooming.

He blinked it away.

“This wasn’t my fault,” he repeated softly. “They’ll understand. They always understand.”

He turned toward the door, one trembling hand gripping the frame. The hallway beyond was dark, empty — the hum of the facility louder than usual. He swallowed, trying to ignore the metallic taste on his tongue.

He took one step out. Then another.

Behind him, the puddle of ichor rippled.

A small shape rose from it — a single, trembling vine tipped with a fragile flower bud. Its petals unfurled once, revealing nothing inside but black liquid and faint, pulsing light.

Then it sank back into the puddle, vanishing as if it had never been there.

Dandy leaned against the corridor wall, catching his breath. The facility lights flickered once.

He felt wrong. Heavy. Like something inside him was pulsing out of rhythm. His body wasn’t supposed to feel this warm.

He rubbed his arm again, eyes unfocused. The air seemed thicker — every sound too sharp, every vibration rattling through him.

Maybe he should find Astro. He always knew what to do in emergencies. Calm, cool-headed, gentle. He’d know how to explain this to the handlers without making it worse.

Yes. That was the plan.

He pushed off the wall and started walking.

Halfway down the hall, a faint voice echoed from the intercom above. Static crackled through it, followed by a distorted tone — like something trying to tune in but failing.

“…—peration flow… unsta— ble… sect— five—”

Then silence.

Dandy froze mid-step. The world around him suddenly felt distant, far too quiet.

From somewhere below, through the pipes in the walls, came a low, rhythmic sound. Like something moving, flowing faster than it should.

He looked up.

The light overhead flickered.

And for just a heartbeat — the shadows stretched wrong.

He stood there for a long while, listening to the silence press down. Eventually, he forced himself to move again, step by slow step.

The hall led to a stairwell overlooking the maintenance area — massive pipes running like veins across the floor. They gleamed under the dim red lights.

From up here, Dandy could see everything.

And right away, he noticed it.

One of the pipes was glowing faintly. Black, oily light seeping through the seams, pulsing in time with the building’s heartbeat. The ichor inside was no longer just circulating. It was spreading.

He stared in stunned silence.

Then he smiled — soft, strained, unconvincing.

“Okay… okay, Dandy… You can fix this.”

He said it out loud, even though his voice was trembling. “You just… you just need to reverse the flow. Yes. Easy. Easy peasy.”

He pressed the control button by the railing. The system interface blinked alive, showing the map of the lower floors. But the icons weren’t green anymore. They were bleeding into black, the lines rippling outward like ink dropped into water.

He reached for the override key. His hands shook.

When he pressed the first button, something hissed under the floor.

He pressed another. The lights flickered.

“Come on…” he muttered. “Work with me, please—”

He slammed his hand on the panel. Sparks flew.

The ichor in the pipes pulsed violently. A deep, resonant hum filled the air, vibrating the railings, shaking the floor beneath him.

Then — silence.

Everything stopped.

Dandy stood perfectly still, heart pounding in his chest. The entire room held its breath.

Then, from somewhere deep within the pipes, a soft gurgling began.

Slowly, the black ichor began to flow again — upward this time.

He took a step back, mouth dry.

“…No.”

The ichor crept through the transparent pipes, defying gravity, inching up the walls toward the ceiling. It shimmered like mercury, moving with purpose — almost as if it were alive.

Dandy stumbled back another step. His heel hit the stair behind him, and he fell to a sit, breath coming quickly.

“This isn’t right…” he whispered. “This isn’t right…”

The ichor pulsed brighter.

And in the reflection of the glass pipe, he saw his own face flicker — the edges of his smile too wide, the pupils of his eyes warping like ink in water.

He blinked and it was gone.

He stared at his trembling hands. The petals on his wrists were darkening — veins of black creeping up through the yellow.

He pressed them together, hiding the change. “They’ll fix it,” he whispered again, desperate now. “They’ll understand. It’s not my fault. It’s— it’s not—”

A loud clang interrupted him — metal straining somewhere below.

Dandy froze. The ichor was breaching containment.

He didn’t even realize he was running until he reached the door again, slamming it behind him. His chest rose and fell, every breath sharp and too fast.

Behind the door, he could hear it — the faint, wet sound of something crawling through the pipes.

As he walked the dark corridor back toward the main floor, his reflection flickered in the glass walls.

Every few steps, his smile wavered. His petals curled. His color dimmed.

But by the time he stepped into the main hall — when he saw the faint glow of Gardenview’s lights, the mural of smiling toons, the comforting hum of perfection — he smiled again.

Perfectly.

Brightly.

Like nothing was wrong.

Because nothing was wrong.

Then the pipes burst.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pipes ruptured all at once, a metallic scream tearing through the building.
It wasn’t just a leak anymore. It was a flood. Thick black ichor shot through every fractured seam, pouring into halls, exhibits, and corridors.

Dandy froze, petals trembling, as the first wave surged toward the lobby. The liquid hissed against the polished tiles and pooled like a sinister tide. The smell was sharp, metallic, and suffocating. It soaked his gloves, slicked across his petals, dripping down his stem and leaving dark streaks on his clothing.

In the lobby, families were walking right into it. Children shrieked as the ichor clung to their shoes, sliding upward toward their legs. Parents tried to pull them free, but the viscous liquid coated skin and clothing instantly. It was toxic. It moved with horrifying efficiency.

Dandy’s stomach turned violently. He ran toward the nearest child, slipping in the sticky ichor, barely keeping his balance. His petals twitched, curling over his face in panic. “No! No! Get out of it!”

One little girl stumbled forward, feet sunk in the ichor. Dandy lunged, grasping her arms, trying to pull her free. But the ichor had already seeped into her shoes and up her legs. Her skin was turning black, veins thickening unnaturally beneath the surface. Her small fingers stiffened, bending in grotesque angles. Her breath hitched in choking gasps, her mouth bubbling with thickened blood as the ichor began clotting inside her.

Dandy fell to his knees beside her, petals curling tightly over his eyes. “It’s… it’s my fault… it’s all my fault…”

The flood spread relentlessly. Parents tried to carry their children out, slipping, shrieking, coated in black liquid as it spread over their skin. The ichor didn’t stop at clothing or shoes — it seeped into every crevice, absorbed through pores and scratches. For anyone who wasn’t a toon, it began coagulating the blood within, mutating cells, twisting their bodies with the unrelenting pressure of toxic contamination. People gasped, convulsed, twisted, choked — all silently and rapidly, a sickening clockwork of destruction.

Dandy’s mind could barely process it. He darted between hallways, trying to find valves, panels, any way to reroute the flow, but every action seemed to make it worse. Every second, the black tide surged further into the museum, swallowing floors, pooling around doorways, spilling into rooms meant for children, exhibits, and even the main atrium.

He stumbled into a hall where a family huddled near the wall, trying to protect themselves. The ichor reached them first, rolling up the wall like a creeping flood. A father’s face twisted as veins darkened, skin hardening in patches, blood thickening. His chest heaved, a coughing fit tearing from him as the liquid forced its way through. His children screamed — small, muted, suffocating screams — as black streaks snaked up their arms.

Dandy’s claws dug into the tiles, sliding on the slick surface. “I… I didn’t mean for this… I just wanted to—just wanted to help…” His voice cracked. The words sounded hollow against the chorus of panic.

He tried to reach for a control panel, desperate to reroute the ichor back into containment zones. Sparks hissed from damaged circuits. Some panels were already submerged, the black liquid pooling over buttons and screens. He slammed a lever down, hearing the rush of redirected liquid for a brief second — a minor victory. But another pipe above him split with a metallic crack, sending a torrent cascading toward the main entrance.

A child slipped into it. Dandy’s hands shot out, claws barely catching the small figure before she toppled completely. He struggled to lift her, slipping in the ichor himself, petals curling in horror. Her tiny body trembled violently, veins turning black as the liquid entered through her skin. Thick blood bubbled at her lips, her small lungs straining as the ichor forced her system into chaos.

“No! No! Please, stop, stop!” Dandy screamed, voice hoarse and cracking. He could do nothing. Every second another floor, another exhibit, another corridor flooded. Screams echoed in his ears, alarms blared, and the metallic smell of ichor was suffocating.

He ran. Slipping through the central hall, he tried to reach the atrium where the main pipes had burst. From above, icicles of black liquid hung from the shattered ceiling vents, dripping into the lobby. Families tried to climb to safety, but the ichor reached them before they could escape. He could see it: thick, viscous streams entering skin, crawling into open wounds. Their bodies twitched violently, joints locking, veins thickening, blood clots forming. Their faces contorted, children and parents alike gasping for air they couldn’t get, eyes widening as mutation began to twist their bodies grotesquely.

Dandy’s petals drooped, curling over his face as nausea surged. This isn’t real… this can’t be real… He moved on instinct, running toward the next group he could reach, trying to push them to safety. Every step left black streaks on the tiles, evidence of his own contamination. The ichor wasn’t alive, but its presence felt alive because of the destruction it caused so quickly.

In one room, a family tried to escape through a side exit. The ichor reached them first. Their small child’s hands became stiff, turning black as blood clotted beneath the skin. The father grabbed her, but his own body seized mid-step. Dandy lunged, pulling at the child, but the ichor crept along her neck, a thin black tendril sliding into her ear. She gagged, eyes rolling back as the internal clots formed faster than he could react.

Dandy’s heart lurched. He fell forward onto his knees, petals pressed to the floor as the flood lapped at him. He could feel the slick ichor sticking to his stem, his gloves, and despite his careful movements, some crept under his clothes, burning faintly, as though warning him it was only a matter of seconds before it touched him.

He couldn’t stop crying. Not yet. Not now.

He ran again, slipping through flooded hallways, trying to contain the worst of it with panels and levers. Every movement, every attempt was a minor success in an ocean of horror. He saw the twisted forms of humans as the ichor consumed them: veins blackened, joints stiffening, blood coagulating, faces twisting in silent horror. He could do nothing to stop the transformation once it began.

At the far end of the lobby, he saw the main pipes still spurting. Dandy pressed every lever, tugged every valve, but the flow was too strong. Ichor surged toward every open space, splashing into rooms, seeping under doors, pooling in corners. Families huddled in small pockets, writhing as the ichor touched them, their bodies failing. He couldn’t save everyone.

He sank to his knees in the middle of a flooded corridor, petals curling over his eyes, trembling. “It wasn’t supposed to happen… it was never supposed to happen…”

Somewhere in the distance, faint echoes of movement caught his attention. A figure moved through the chaos — a handler, desperately trying to evacuate people. Another figure ran past, holding a child high, slipping, nearly toppling into the ichor. Dandy’s heart ached, guilt squeezing his chest until he couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t undo it. Every drop he hadn’t contained, every pipe he hadn’t sealed, every second he hesitated, more humans were overtaken, twisting and choking as the ichor entered their systems.

His reflection caught him in the shattered glass of the main exhibit. Yellow petals streaked black, eyes wide, trembling, veins faintly darkened from minor exposure. He looked like the disaster incarnate. He was the disaster.

And the ichor still flowed.

Chapter Text

Wake up.

Why won’t he wake up?

Astro’s trembling hands pressed against the boy’s chest, his gloves dark with blood and ichor. The black liquid clung like tar, glistening under the emergency lights as it seeped between his fingers. The child’s body jerked once, breath catching — and then went still. His eyes were open, glassy, ringed with spreading black veins that crawled down to his jaw.

Astro blinked hard. “Come on…” His voice was barely a whisper, shaking with something raw and desperate. “You’re okay. You’re fine…”

He pressed harder, the motion mechanical. He wasn’t thinking — only doing. He was supposed to protect them. Help them sleep. Make them feel safe.

That was his job. That was who he was.

But the boy wasn’t breathing. Around him, the air was filled with the sound of shrieks and sobbing — the kind of sound that tore right through your chest. A dozen small voices. Some wailing, some choking. He could smell blood, oil, burnt sugar, and something else — something metallic and wrong.

He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t stop.

The ichor was everywhere. It dripped from the lights. It bubbled up through the floor vents. It soaked through the rugs, splattering across toys and coloring books. The floor was a slick sea of black.

Astro’s voice broke when he spoke again, barely audible over the alarms. “You’ll be fine—just breathe—”

He didn’t even realize the ichor had reached his wrists until it burned.

The liquid bit into him like acid. It crawled under his gloves, burrowed into his skin, and his veins lit up like veins of molten silver. Astro screamed — a sharp, raw sound that cracked halfway through. He jerked backward, clutching his hands to his chest, shaking uncontrollably.

The boy was gone. Gone.

He stumbled away, nearly slipping on the floor. His vision tunneled. His breathing hitched and stuttered as his mind tried to catch up to the reality around him — but it couldn’t. None of this could be real.

The lights above him flickered once, twice, then dimmed into a dark crimson hue.

That was when the ground shook.

The noise that followed was low and heavy, like thunder in his chest. Astro turned toward the sound, pupils contracting — and froze as a dark blur shot toward him from the hallway.

Mace.

The cat slammed into him, wrapping both arms around his smaller frame and shoving him down to the ground before another pipe exploded overhead, splattering ichor across the wall where Astro had just been standing.

“Astro!” Mace’s voice was harsh, panicked. “You have to move—now!”

Astro didn’t respond. His body was trembling, eyes unfocused, chest heaving.

Mace grabbed his face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Hey! Hey, look at me!”

Astro blinked at him, glassy-eyed, his lips parting just enough to speak. “The children… they—”

“I know,” Mace interrupted, though his voice cracked as he said it. He glanced over Astro’s shoulder — saw what was left of the children’s room, the collapsed walls, the still shapes on the floor. His jaw tightened, and he swallowed hard. “We can’t help them now. We need to go.”

Astro’s tail coiled weakly around Mace’s leg, clinging to the only solid thing in a world that had come apart.

“I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” Mace’s tone softened, his claws careful against Astro’s shoulders. “I’ve got you, okay? Just hold on.”

And then he lifted him. The smaller toon’s cloak hung heavy, soaked through, but Mace didn’t falter. His feet splashed through the ichor as he ran, head ducked, fur matted with soot and black streaks.

The hallway ahead was chaos — handlers shouting, alarms blaring, red warning lights strobing against walls streaked with liquid metal. Mace’s bandmates appeared at the far end, yelling for him, holding open the elevator doors.

“Come on!” Vex’s voice carried through the din, frantic.

Mace tightened his grip on Astro and sprinted. The air was thick, heavy. The elevator doors were already closing when he dove forward, slamming into the metal frame just as they sealed shut behind him.

The small space was lit only by emergency lighting. Vex was gasping, his claws scraping against the control panel. Batheny hovered near the ceiling, wings trembling.

Astro sagged against the wall, his body trembling, his breathing shallow. The ichor that had burned through his gloves shimmered faintly under his skin — faint black veins glowing with a silvery pulse.

Mace crouched down in front of him. “Moon, can you hear me?”

No answer.

Astro’s eyes darted around, unfocused, pupils wide and glassy. His breaths came out short and uneven, his fingers twitching against the floor.

Batheny glanced at Mace, uneasy. “He’s infected.”

“I’m fine…” Astro croaked, though his voice was raw and hollow.

Mace shook his head, tail flicking in agitation. “You’re not fine. You’re in shock.”

The elevator jolted, throwing them slightly off balance. The sound of pressure in the pipes echoed above them, a constant reminder of what was still spreading through the floors.

When the elevator finally stopped, the doors opened to a room unlike any other part of Gardenview.

It was cold. Sterile. The floor gleamed white under flickering emergency lights, and the walls were lined with containment glass. Inside, toons huddled in groups — some injured, some just silent, staring at their hands as if afraid to touch anything. A handler’s jacket lay abandoned near the door, shredded at the sleeves.

They’d reached the Emergency Containment Floor.

A handler nozzle — one of the mechanical caretakers — whirred to life, detecting new arrivals, their faceplate flickering. “Decontamination required. Please remain still.”

Mace hesitated, looking down at Astro. “He’s been hit. What happens if—”

“Remain. Still.”

Jets of cold mist burst from the walls, enveloping them in a sharp chemical chill. The ichor that still clung to Astro’s cloak hissed and flaked away, though the veins beneath his skin stayed. The mist burned his throat, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

When it cleared, Mace helped him forward again. The room beyond was full of familiar faces — toons from different exhibits, all gathered in uneasy silence. A few were whispering, others staring blankly ahead. A faint alarm tone looped endlessly over the intercom: “Containment breach. Please remain in designated safe zones.”

Vex and the others stayed close as they guided Astro to an empty bench along the far wall. He sat stiffly, his eyes fixed on the floor. The bright light made him look smaller somehow, drained.

Across the room, Scraps and Brusha were arguing quietly — one of them trembling, her paint smudged with black streaks. “They didn’t get everyone out,” The paintbrush whispered. “The handlers, they—they’re still upstairs—”

“Shh.” Scraps companion hushed her quickly, glancing at the ceiling where the cameras blinked dimly. “Don’t say that.”

Astro didn’t listen. He couldn’t stop replaying the image of the boy. The sound of him choking, the way his body had just—

He shut his eyes tight.

Mace crouched down beside him, resting a hand lightly against his arm. “You’re still with me, right?”

Astro nodded once, but didn’t look up. His voice came out soft, uneven. “They were only children.”

Mace exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. His fur was still streaked with black. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Astro’s tone wasn’t sharp, but it carried weight. He finally looked up, his eyes faintly glowing in the low light. “You didn’t see what it did to them.”

That made Mace falter. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. What could he even say to that?

He settled for, “You did what you could.”

Astro gave a faint, bitter laugh. “Did I?”

Neither spoke after that.

The air in the emergency floor felt too heavy, thick with the unspoken. Every so often, a new toon would stumble in — coughing, shaking, covered in smears of ichor — and the caretakers would rush to spray them down with that freezing mist. Some didn’t come back out.

Astro kept his gaze low, clutching the edges of his blanket cloak tighter around him. The black stains wouldn’t come out, no matter how much he tried to scrub them from his gloves.

Then, somewhere down the hall, a door slammed open.

Everyone jumped.

A group of handler units rushed past, Austin, Riley, Veronica, And Sam… dragging equipment — cracked monitors, a handheld scanner, and what looked like vials of pure ichor sealed in thick glass. One of them muttered to another, static fuzzing through their speakers. “Source breach confirmed… origin unknown. Containment priority: red.”

“Red?” Vex whispered. “That’s the highest level.”

Mace’s tail flicked anxiously. He didn’t like the way the word origin echoed in his head.

Astro’s gaze followed the handlers. He caught a glimpse of a flower petal drifting loose from one of their carts — small, red, unmistakable. His stomach dropped.

Dandy.

The realization hit like a physical blow. His breath caught, and he leaned forward, whispering under his breath. “It was him…”

Mace glanced at him sharply. “What?”

Astro didn’t answer. His thoughts were already racing ahead — flashes of Dandy’s grin, the way he’d always said things could be better. The ichor incident wasn’t an accident. It couldn’t be.

A low hum filled the room as the main lights flickered again. The mechanical voice over the intercom buzzed back to life:
“Containment level red confirmed. Evacuation suspended. All staff remain in emergency zones until further notice.”

The toons in the room went quiet. Some began to cry. Others just stared blankly at the walls.

Mace rose slowly, running a hand through his fur. His bandmates looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t have an answer for them.

He just looked back at Astro — the moon toon sitting there, trembling, staring down at his hands as if afraid of what they might become.

Chapter Text

“DANDY! WHERE IS HE!?”

Astro’s voice split the air like lightning, rattling the emergency floor’s metal walls. Every light flickered in response to the raw power bleeding from him — thin blue arcs of energy snaking across the ceiling and crawling down the walls like veins of light.

He was wild, thrashing in Mace’s arms, clawing at the air toward the retreating handlers. Mace could feel the energy pulsing through Astro’s body like static, each tremor searing through his fur.

“Let me go!” Astro shouted, eyes blazing like molten glass. “Where is he!? Tell me where—”

“Stop—Astro!” Mace gasped, tightening his hold though it felt like trying to restrain a storm. The air around them shimmered with heat. His fur stood on end, his chest trembling under the force of it. “You’re gonna blow the whole damn floor!”

But Astro didn’t hear him. His pupils were pinpricks of light, his breathing sharp and ragged. His aura was expanding, pressing against the walls in shimmering waves. The air smelled of ozone and metal — the scent that always came right before something breaks.

Austin, the lead handler, turned back once, his voice distant through the hum of static. “We’re doing everything we can, Astro. Please — stay here.” Then he vanished around the corner with the others, hauling boxes of bloodied supplies.

Astro’s rage cracked and faltered all at once. His breathing slowed, his body slackened, the light around him dimming to a faint shimmer.

Mace exhaled in relief and loosened his grip, careful not to touch the flickering wisps of light that still sparked off Astro’s cloak.

For a moment, only silence. The hum of lights. The sound of something dripping in the distance.

Then — ping.

The elevator doors opened with a hiss.

Mace’s ears flattened as a metallic tang hit the air. He turned toward the sound, his tail curling tightly behind him.

Dandy stepped out.

He looked less like himself and more like a hollow imitation — his petals wilted, the bright whites of his eyes stained grey from smoke and ichor. His suit clung wetly to his frame, dripping black-blue fluid that left splotches on the tile. His gloves were soaked through, the fabric eaten away in spots to reveal blotched, trembling skin beneath.

He didn’t look at anyone. He just walked forward, slow and uneven, leaving a trail behind him.

The other toons froze.

Even Mace — who’d seen Dandy furious, drunk, giddy, unhinged — had never seen him like this.

Astro’s head lifted. His glow, which had dimmed moments ago, ignited again. The air around him tightened, the lights overhead dimming to a cold, quivering blue.

Mace took a half step back, tail bristling.

Astro moved forward. Each step he took made the floor tremble slightly, the hum of his power resonating through the metal. His cloak lifted in slow, ethereal waves, defying gravity. Thin blue tendrils of light coiled off his shoulders and twisted lazily through the air, tracing ghostly shapes in their wake.

The temperature dropped.

“Dandy.” Astro’s voice was low, shaking with restrained fury. His words vibrated in the walls.

Dandy’s eyes flicked up. They were unfocused — dazed, almost glassy. He looked straight through Astro, his expression blank and unreadable.

The room’s fluorescent light flickered once. Then again.

Astro’s pupils thinned to slits, the blue glow behind them flaring dangerously.

He took another step closer, and the metal grates underfoot groaned.

A loose sheet of paper on a nearby table ignited at the edge, curling inward as it burned.

“What did you do.” The words didn’t sound spoken — they reverberated, like thunder rumbling inside the walls.

Dandy blinked slowly, his lips parting — but no words came out.

“WHAT DID YOU DO!?” Astro roared, his voice exploding through the hall. Every light on the floor blew out in a shower of sparks. For a heartbeat, the world went black.

Then blue light flooded everything — a blinding, violent glow radiating from Astro’s body. The walls hummed, glass cracked in the frames, the floor tiles quivered under the force of it.

Mace could only stare. His instincts screamed at him to move, to intervene, but he didn’t dare.
He knew what that kind of magic felt like — ancient, raw, unfiltered power. One wrong word could level the entire floor.

Astro’s breathing was uneven, his voice breaking. “There were children in there!” he shouted, his eyes glistening with fury. “They didn’t even know what was happening — they were screaming—” His voice cracked. “You did this!”

Dandy didn’t respond.

He blinked again, slow, deliberate. His gaze dropped to his own trembling hands. Ichor seeped between his fingers like ink, streaking his sleeves, trailing onto the ground.

He looked… confused. Not guilty. Not sorry. Just gone.

Astro’s glow sputtered, the waves of light faltering for a heartbeat before reigniting. His aura lashed outward, sending a ripple across the room — papers fluttered, tools clattered to the floor, the faint blue haze distorting the air.

“Say something!” he demanded, voice hoarse.

Dandy’s lips twitched. One word barely escaped.

“…Perfect.”

The word was so quiet it almost wasn’t real.

Astro froze. His glow flickered, guttered, then flared back brighter than before — but this time, it wasn’t rage. It was grief.

“Perfect?” he repeated softly. “You think this is perfect?”

His hands shook. The light that surrounded him began to fray at the edges, breaking apart into motes that drifted up toward the ceiling. The faint shimmer of stars began forming in the air — fragments of some other realm bleeding through.

Mace had seen Astro’s power calm children, weave illusions, paint entire rooms in starlight. But this — this was something else entirely. It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry.

The very space around Astro began to warp, bending light and shadow together like liquid. The air pulsed with energy that made Mace’s fur rise.

He didn’t move. No one did. No one dared.

Dandy’s knees buckled. He collapsed forward, landing hard on his palms with a wet slap. The ichor smeared outward beneath him, reflecting Astro’s faint blue glow like a warped mirror.

He stayed there, head bowed, trembling. The only sound was his ragged breathing.

Astro’s magic surged one last time — a wave of light that burst outward, rattling every metal beam in the ceiling. Then, just as quickly, it died.

The glow receded. The air stilled.

Astro stood over Dandy, his chest heaving, eyes wide and glistening with tears he wouldn’t let fall.

“Look at what you’ve done,” he whispered.

Dandy didn’t move.

Astro turned away. His cloak drifted around him, the remaining blue wisps fading into nothing. He walked toward the far corridor, each step echoing.

Mace stayed rooted where he stood, tail twitching. His ears rang. He glanced toward Dandy — the flower toon hadn’t lifted his head. His reflection in the ichor looked more corpse than toon.

No one spoke. The silence was so thick it felt physical.

As Astro disappeared down the hall, the only thing left was the faint sound of dripping ichor and the low hum of power fading into stillness.

Mace finally exhaled, voice barely a whisper. “...What the hell did you do, Dandy?”

Dandy didn’t answer.

He just kept staring at his hands — at the black stains spreading across his gloves, at the way the ichor glistened like oil in the blue light. His breathing slowed, steady, mechanical. His petals drooped, trembling with each exhale.

Astro gave up.
He couldn’t deal with this anymore.

His magic flickered and dimmed like a dying flame. The blue wisps that had danced wildly around him gradually sank into the floor until only a faint shimmer remained. His chest heaved once, twice—then stilled.

He stared at Dandy for a long, unbearable moment. The flower toon hadn’t moved, his head bowed, petals wilted and streaked with black ichor. The air between them hung heavy with the acrid tang of blood and ichor, mingling with the faint scent of ozone left by Astro’s magic.

Astro’s eyes softened—just barely—before dulling entirely. He turned away, cloak brushing against the floor, and began walking down the corridor toward the bedrooms prepared for emergencies like this. Each step was deliberate, heavy, carrying the exhaustion and frustration of the day.

Mace followed silently, hand lightly resting on Astro’s shoulder—not to restrain him, but to guide. For a moment, as their eyes met in the dim light of the hallway, something unspoken passed between them. A brief, quiet acknowledgment of shared experience, tension, and trust. Mace’s gaze lingered on Astro, steady and protective.

Behind them, Dandy’s head lifted just slightly. His wide, glassy eyes tracked the two as they moved together. For a heartbeat, the room seemed to hold its breath. Dandy froze, noting the subtle closeness in that fleeting glance—Astro’s calm acceptance of Mace’s presence, Mace’s unwavering attention toward him.

It was only for a second, but it was enough.

Astro reached the door to the prepared bedroom and sank onto the edge of the cot, shoulders slumped, tail coiling tightly beneath him. Mace stayed at the doorway a moment longer, watching him settle, then gently removed his hand. He pinned his ears back slightly, a low, sympathetic snarl curling his teeth—not toward Astro, not toward Dandy, but at the weight of the moment. He didn’t intervene further. He didn’t dare.

Dandy remained on the floor, staring after them. His hands rested in the black ichor that still pooled around him. The light caught his reflection in the liquid, distorted, warped. It seemed to twitch, almost imperceptibly, as if something beneath the surface was stirring.

The emergency floor was silent except for the faint drip of ichor and the low hum of the lights overhead. Astro’s breathing was steady, but Mace’s ears flicked nervously at every sound in the room. The brief, significant glance they had shared lingered in the air like an unspoken statement of possession and trust—a quiet bond that Dandy had noticed, even if he didn’t fully understand it.

Finally, Mace gave a small sigh and turned away, following Astro down the corridor. The other toons watched silently. Vex and Battheny lingered near the doorway, uncertain, their bodies tense with unease. They had seen enough chaos for one night and knew when to give their lead guitarist space.

Vex’s claws tapped softly against the tile as he exchanged a glance with Battheny. The bat toon’s wings twitched nervously. Neither spoke; there was nothing they could say. Slowly, they turned and began leaving the emergency floor, retreating to find their own rooms.

One by one, other toons followed suit, their footsteps echoing faintly down the hallway before fading into silence. The emergency floor, once filled with activity and panic, fell into a quiet emptiness. Only Dandy remained kneeling on the floor, head bowed, hands in the black ichor, staring at the distorted reflection of his petals.

The subtle shift in the ichor made him flinch—a flicker, a distortion that wasn’t there before. Something about the reflection seemed… alive, or at least not entirely him. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver racing through him.

Dandy didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his gaze lingered on the corridor where Astro and Mace had disappeared. The faint shimmer of residual magic still hovered in the air—a ghost of Astro’s power—lingering, unbroken, like a silent pulse of warning.

And in that quiet, empty room, with the last of the toons gone and the ichor dripping softly around him, Dandy realized—without fully understanding—the first ripple of something dark had begun.

Chapter Text

By morning, Dandy was nowhere to be seen. The handlers hadn’t spotted him in any corner of the emergency containment floor, and no one dared question where he could have gone. After Astro’s confrontation the night before, the flower toon had simply disappeared, leaving behind only the echo of chaos. His absence went mostly unremarked — the priority was the mess, the ichor, and the surviving toons. Nothing else mattered right now.

The emergency floor was quiet but tense, the usual hum of machinery mingling with the low, steady buzz of fluorescent lights. Shelly moved cautiously along the perimeter, her claws clicking softly against the reinforced floor panels. She hugged her arms around herself, overgrown claws curling into her sleeves, and tried to steady her breathing. The night had been too long, too loud, too violent. She hadn’t seen Astro this furious before, and even in the afterlight, the memory of his powers flaring like a silent storm made her skin crawl.

Vee noticed her distress immediately. The fossil toon’s screen face flickered, her eyes softening as she observed Shelly pacing near the railing that overlooked the vast empty expanse of the containment floor. With a careful step, Vee approached and placed a gentle hand on Shelly’s shoulder. Her microphone tail twitched with uncertainty, but she patted the smaller toon’s back, trying to offer comfort through her quiet presence.

“Hey… don’t feel bad,” she murmured, her voice low and steady, almost more for herself than for Shelly. “Things will get better.”

Shelly’s response was immediate. Without warning, she wrapped her strong arms around Vee, burying her face into the other toon’s chestplate. Quiet, shaky sobs rattled through her small frame. Vee’s mechanical systems hummed as she adjusted to support her friend, her glowing screen eyes blinking in careful rhythm to avoid startling her. The exclamation mark that had briefly flickered on her display dimmed, replaced with a soft, blinking smile. She continued to pat Shelly’s back, feeling the warmth and tension in the fossil toon’s body, trying to offer what solace she could.

Across the floor, Sprout stirred on a cot, Pebble resting limply on his stomach. The rock dog whined softly in its sleep, its tiny legs twitching sporadically. Even in unconsciousness, the small toons carried traces of the previous night’s terror. Shelly and Vee glanced at them, then back at the empty hallways beyond the emergency floor’s barriers. The familiar vibrancy of Gardenview had been replaced by stark metallic walls and the oppressive hum of containment equipment.

No one spoke of Dandy. Even mentioning his name seemed forbidden, a reminder of chaos too heavy to bear. Shelly’s mind kept returning to Astro, though she didn’t dare approach him yet. He had spent the night in one of the isolation zones the emergency floor offered, silently perched against a wall, tail coiled around his feet, eyes scanning every corner. Even now, he radiated the quiet storm he had unleashed the night before. The memory of his unleashed power made her pause with each glance.

Time moved slowly. The handlers moved in a systematic, robotic rhythm, cataloging supplies, surveying structural damage, and sanitizing areas affected by ichor. Their presence was constant, but impersonal, a stark contrast to the emotional chaos the toons carried inside. Shelly shifted her weight, dragging her gaze from one corner of the emergency floor to another. Each flickering light seemed to whisper memories she would rather forget — screams, chaos, and the unstoppable presence of Astro’s fury.

Vee finally settled down beside Sprout, her screen dimming slightly as she processed the scene around her. She had been built for observation, for monitoring, and for assisting, yet there was no procedure in the manual for this — a floor full of exhausted toons, lingering contamination, and the absence of one of their own. She could attempt to comfort them, but there was no solution, no protocol to repair the trauma or erase the fear etched into their systems.

Shelly straightened, brushing back the remnants of tears from her face, and finally took a hesitant step toward the observation window. The city outside was waking slowly, unaware of the disaster contained within these walls. From this height, it almost looked peaceful. The contradiction was jarring — outside, life continued, untainted and bright; inside, every heartbeat was heavy with the weight of the previous night.

The emergency floor was quiet except for the occasional hum of ventilation systems and the faint drip of residual ichor from compromised pipes. Every drop that fell reminded them of what had happened, of the thin line between survival and disaster. Even the faintest sound — a shuffle, a sigh, or a creak in the metallic flooring — drew eyes and quickened breaths.

Shelly exhaled slowly, allowing herself a single moment of vulnerability before resuming a more composed stance. She glanced at Vee, who had turned her screen face toward the other toons, scanning their vitals with quiet precision. “We’ll make it through this,” Vee said softly, repeating the reassurance that felt almost meaningless in the silence. Shelly nodded, hoping that it was enough to anchor them in this liminal space between catastrophe and recovery.

Astro remained in his corner, eyes narrowed and distant, but there was a subtle shift. His tail uncoiled slightly, his posture less rigid. Even amidst the lingering tension, his presence exuded a sense of vigilance, a quiet reminder to those around him that he had survived the worst and was still standing.

Hours passed, each tick of time amplified in the emptiness of the emergency floor. The toons moved cautiously, taking small steps to occupy themselves while the handlers labored below. Shelly remained close to Vee, occasionally glancing at Sprout to ensure he remained undisturbed. The mechanical hiss of sanitation equipment, the low buzz of lights, and the muted whispers of handlers formed a backdrop of quiet endurance.

Eventually, the floor settled into a fragile routine. Some toons drifted into shallow rest, curled against corners or cots. Others patrolled slowly, silently observing the room, as if ensuring that the ichor and chaos would not return. Shelly, still trembling slightly, allowed herself to lean lightly against Vee, finding comfort in their presence. Though the events of the previous night had fractured everything familiar, there was still a thread of connection between them.

The sun rose higher, casting weak beams of light across the cold metallic floor. Shadows stretched long and thin, clinging to the corners of the room, creating shapes that seemed to move with their own intent. Vee’s gaze swept across the floor one final time, lingering on every corner, every shadow, and every sleeping form. There was no way to erase the horror, but for now, this moment of quiet, fragile endurance was all they could claim.

And so they remained — Shelly leaning on Vee, Sprout still asleep with Pebble at his side, Astro silent and vigilant in his corner — all of them bound together by what had been lost, and by the uncertainty of what was still to come.

The emergency floor had become a sanctuary of survival, a small bastion of stability in a building fractured by ichor, fear, and the absence of one of their own. And while no one dared voice it aloud, every heartbeat carried the unspoken truth: the world they knew, the rhythm of Gardenview, would never be the same again.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mace stalked through the empty halls, muscles coiled and ears twitching at every little sound. The faint hum of the building’s ventilation system and the distant drip of water echoed like whispers through the corridors. He yawned, tail flicking irritably, but even in his fatigue, he remained alert. Something felt… off.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head to the left. A shadow moved just beyond the corner of his vision. Was it a trick of the light? A reflection from the flickering fluorescent strip above? Mace’s amber eyes narrowed. His instincts told him that it wasn’t nothing. Dandy, he thought, is this where you’re hiding? The idea seemed unlikely — Dandy didn’t usually linger in these quiet, isolated halls — but Mace had learned long ago to trust his gut, even when reason told him otherwise.

He crept forward, paws silent on the cold tile floor. The hallway stretched into darkness, the lights growing dimmer with each step. Luckily for him, being a cat meant the shadows held no fear. He could see perfectly, his eyes adjusting to the faint glimmer of emergency lighting.

The farther he went, the quieter it became. Even the hum of the ventilation felt muted, as if the building itself were holding its breath. His tail swished behind him, each movement deliberate, each clawed paw set carefully on the floor. He came to a dead end — just a wall with a network of pipes snaking across its surface.

Mace exhaled a low, frustrated growl. Nothing. Again. He crouched slightly, letting his eyes sweep over the wall for any sign of movement or hidden openings. For a moment, he considered turning back, abandoning the search.

Then his gaze caught it.

A faint glimmer. A slick, black liquid dripping from a crack in one of the pipes. He squinted, leaning closer to examine it. The viscous drops fell slowly, almost lazily, onto the tile below. Ichor, he realized, a prickle running down his spine. He knew the substance well enough to be cautious.

Careful, he bent down to get a better look…

SPLAT!

The pipe burst with sudden force, spraying black ichor directly into his eyes. Mace hissed, a sound sharp and frantic, and his claws shot up to his face. The liquid burned immediately, searing like fire, and he stumbled backward into the wall. His vision went white with pain, then erupted into a blinding, bleeding red. He clawed at his eyes, swiping frantically as his head shook violently.

Damn it… damn it… DAMN IT… Mace thought, each blink sending shooting pains down his temples. He thrashed blindly, hands scraping at the tile, tail lashing, ears flattened against his head. The liquid wasn’t just on the surface — he knew it had entered his bloodstream, coursing like molten fire through his veins. His muscles coiled with a mixture of agony and rage.

He staggered forward, wall to his right, pawing blindly at the pipe. Another drop splashed across his face, sizzling against the skin, and he let out a low, guttural snarl. His vision swam, everything a shifting blur of black and red, but he forced his feet to carry him forward. He had to assess the damage. He had to survive.

Mace shook his head violently again, claws digging into the tile. His teeth bared instinctively, a reflex born of pain and frustration. The ichor burned, but his body refused to succumb. He flexed his limbs, feeling the venomous liquid tingeing his muscles, and focused his senses on sound and smell. He could hear the faint drip of more liquid from the pipes above, smell the sharp chemical tang mixed with metallic undertones.

Finally, after a moment that felt like hours, he managed to wipe the substance away enough to open his eyes. The world was tinged red, blurred around the edges, but he could see. The pain was still there, a constant throb, but he could move. His claws dug into the floor as he hissed, shaking his head to clear the lingering sting.

He crouched low, ears pricked forward, muscles taut. The ichor leak was contained for now, but the damage had been done. His vision would recover, but the sensation in his veins reminded him that nothing here was safe — not the building, not the pipes, not even a seemingly empty corridor.

Mace’s tail lashed once, sharply, before curling tightly around his legs. His ears twitched, listening intently, every sense heightened. He could feel the residual burn in his eyes, the pulsing throb along his limbs. He cannot let Astro know about this, he’ll lose it.

Slowly, deliberately, he rose to his full height, tail still coiled for balance. His amber eyes glimmered with a mixture of pain, irritation. He shook his head one last time, claws scraping faintly against the tile, and padded forward with silent, predatory precision.