Chapter Text
Gardenview Center did not close with alarms.
It closed with silence.
The kind that crawled into the walls and stayed there long after the lights went out, after the classrooms emptied, after the she stopped showing up altogether. The news had stated enough, that Gardenview Center—the once-beloved educational center—closed due to a lack of safety regulations. But the Toons knew thought they knew about the real reason.
Dandy.
They always meant Dandy.
The elevator still worked. That was the cruelest part. The only thing that never failed was the thing that dragged them deeper.
Astro stood at the threshold of the lobby, fingers curled around the strap of his bag, eyes fixed on the elevator doors as they slid open with a tired ding. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across cracked tile. The Gardenview logo—once bright and cheerful—was faded, peeling like old skin.
Behind him, Vee scoffed loudly.
“Don’t just stand there,” she snapped. “We don’t have all day.”
Astro didn’t answer. He stepped into the elevator, boots heavy against the metal floor. One by one, the others followed.
Sprout adjusted the straps on his backpack, jaw tight. Rodger muttered under his breath, counting supplies. Connie’s eyes were red-rimmed but dry, her expression hollow in a way that hadn’t faded since Gigi. Scraps clutched a torn ribbon in her hands, fingers trembling. Pebble padded in last, nails clicking softly, tail wagging out of habit more than joy.
The doors slid shut.
The elevator lurched downward.
No one spoke.
They all knew the rules by now.
Each floor had machines. Each machine had to be repaired. Finish them all, move on. Fail, and you ran. You always ran. Fighting is pointless. Twisteds didn’t feel pain the way Toons did. They only felt hunger. Hunger for thr Toon's very own blood—Ichor.
And if they caught you—if they hit you too many times—your Ichor would spike, twist, overflow.
You wouldn’t die.
You’d become something worse.
Astro swallowed.
The elevator slowed, grinding to a stop.
Floor 7.
The doors opened to dim lighting and the smell of old oil. Broken desks lay scattered, wires hanging from the ceiling like exposed veins. The machines were already humming, lights blinking erratically.
“Same plan,” Sprout said. “Pairs. No heroics.”
Vee snorted. “Tell that to Dandy.”
Scraps flinched.
Astro turned toward Vee. “He’s not even here.”
“Good,” Vee shot back. “Then maybe we’ll survive this run.”
Pebble let out a soft whine.
They spread out.
Astro crouched beside a machine, hands steady despite the tension crawling under his skin. He worked quickly, fingers dancing over exposed wiring. He’d done this a hundred times now. Maybe more. Runs blurred together after a while—machines, screams, running footsteps, the wet sound of something dragging behind you in the dark.
A distant laugh echoed through the floor.
Astro froze.
That wasn’t mechanical.
“That’s not—” he started.
The lights flickered.
From the far end of the hallway, something skittered into view.
Long limbs, ones that used to hug people—now used to hurt the Toons.
Paper scraps clung to its body like shed skin. Its eyes glowed, mismatched and wide, its mouth pulled into a grin that split too far up its face.
Scraps screamed.
“Goob—!”
Twisted Goob lunged.
Astro barely had time to react before Sprout yanked Scraps backward, the two of them stumbling as Goob slammed into the machine with a metallic shriek. The thing laughed again, high and broken, claws scraping against steel.
“Run!” Rodger shouted.
They ran.
Astro’s heart pounded as they tore down the hallway, boots slipping on oil-slick tile. Pebble barked frantically, keeping pace despite the chaos. Vee swore loudly, shoving a door open as they ducked into a side room.
They slammed it shut just as Goob slammed into the other side.
The door rattled.
Scraps collapsed against the wall, sobbing. “He—he looked at me. He knew me.”
No one answered.
Eventually, the scratching stopped.
When they emerged, shaken and bleeding but alive, the machines were miraculously finished. Someone—something—had completed them.
The elevator waited.
They didn’t question it.
The shop appeared on Floor 9.
It always did.
The lights shifted, warm and golden in stark contrast to the cold fluorescents elsewhere. Shelves lined the walls, neatly stocked: chocolates, gumballs, bandages, a few medkits locked behind glass.
And behind the counter stood Dandy.
He looked the same as he always had. Bright eyes dulled by exhaustion, smile carefully practiced. No visible signs of the thing he’d once become. No twisted limbs. No claws. Just a Toon in a colorful jacket, hands resting on the counter like he belonged there.
Vee stopped dead.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Dandy’s smile faltered—just a fraction. “Hey,” he said softly. “Rough run?”
“Don’t,” Vee snapped, storming up to the counter. “Don’t act like you give a shit.”
Sprout stepped forward. “We need bandages.”
Dandy nodded, reaching for them. “They’re cheap this floor.”
“Why?” Rodger asked sharply. “Trying to look generous?”
Dandy’s hands paused.
Astro watched him closely. The way his fingers trembled. The way his eyes flicked—once, twice—toward the elevator, like he was listening for something that wasn’t there.
“Supplies fluctuate,” Dandy said carefully. “You know that.”
Vee slammed her hand on the counter. “You sold us a bandage too early last run. Cost us a medkit.”
Dandy flinched.
“I didn’t know—”
“You never know,” she cut in. “That’s the problem. You never know, and we pay for it.”
Pebble padded forward, tail wagging uncertainly. He pressed his head against Dandy’s leg.
Dandy looked down, something soft breaking through his expression. He crouched, scratching behind Pebble’s ears.
“Hey, buddy,” he murmured.
Pebble barked once, then whined.
Scraps stared at the floor. “Do you have… anything else?”
Dandy hesitated. He glanced at the locked medkit case. His jaw tightened.
“No,” he said. “Not this floor.”
Vee laughed, sharp and humorless. “Of course not.”
Astro finally spoke. “Dandy.”
All eyes turned to him.
Dandy straightened. “Yeah?”
Astro searched his face, looking for cracks. For something monstrous beneath the surface. He didn’t know what he wanted to see—proof of guilt, maybe. Or proof that everyone else was wrong.
“You could come with us,” Astro said quietly.
The shop went silent.
Dandy blinked. “I—what?”
“You don’t go on runs,” Astro continued. “You never do. You could help.”
Vee stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Are you serious?”
Dandy shook his head immediately. “I can’t.”
“Why?” Astro pressed.
He's afraid. Afraid of what he is...
Because isn't he also a Twisted? To be afaraid of your own self...pathetic.
It's all her fault. Not Dandy's.
He screamed until his voice tore itself apart. Because last time, she watched and took notes. Because last time, the Ichor in his body burned so hot he thought he’d dissolve into it.
Because she liked loved it when he broke.
“I just can’t,” Dandy said instead.
Vee leaned in close. “Convenient.”
Dandy’s smile cracked. “You think I want this?”
“Yes,” Vee said instantly. “I think you ruined everything and crawled back pretending to be normal.”
Astro felt something twist in his chest.
Dandy’s eyes flickered—anger, fear, something raw and ugly beneath it all. “I didn’t choose to become Twisted.”
“You sure as hell didn’t stop it,” Vee shot back.
“That wasn’t my fault!”
The words echoed.
Pebble whimpered and hid behind Dandy’s legs.
Sprout cleared his throat. “We’re done here.”
They grabbed their supplies and moved toward the elevator. One by one, they passed Dandy without looking at him.
Astro lingered.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked softly.
Dandy met his gaze. “Tell you what?”
“What she did to you.”
For the first time, Dandy didn’t smile.
“She made sure no one would believe me.”
The elevator doors closed.
Dandy stood alone in his shop, the golden light flickering.