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ellievsbear
🪼
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Sweet Seals For You, Always
d e v o n
YOU ARE THE REASON
izzy's playlists!
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
trying on a metaphor
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Today's Document
Discoholic 🪩
shark vs the universe
KIROKAZE
Misplaced Lens Cap
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Stranger Things
#extradirty
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@distortiias
I haven’t seen anyone post about this yet, but another 28 year old Muslim from Fort McMurray (Alberta, Canada) was shot dead in his apartment. He was a university graduate from Ottawa who went to Fort McMurray to save up for his wedding. Please keep the family in your duaas, and please stay safe.
This is VERY serious. Please keep you black cats inside this Friday the 13th!
Via trustmeimafraggle
I have 2 black cats and they’re the best. Please protect yours.
(I kind of wanna get another muse so I can have a more lighthearted blog and Interact with more people)
(also where it's easier to type for them whoops)
(I mean I'd use this one too, but i'm still not sure....)
ok i must be living under a rock or something. forgive me if this is a stupid question but... What are the chapel hill murders?? Whats going on??
it’s fine
Okay so basically this white guy killed three muslim students. Three beautiful young people, named Deah Shaddy Barakat, Yusor Mohammad, & Razan Mohammad Abu-Salha. The guy is Craig Stephen Hicks.
Two of them had just gotten married, and the third was the girl’s sister. They were all around 20 and had really, really bright futures ahead of them. And this guy just. shot them. Executed them. And they’re trying to say that he did it over “a parking spot” (they were neighbors with him). But the father of the girls knows that they had been harassed by the man before. This man is an atheist and thinks that “radical christians and muslims” are ruining the world and he’s said a lot of shit on his FB and stuff. This is so obviously a hate crime it’s not even funny.
and they’re like. interviewing the wife. and it’s like. I don’t care what the wife of this man thinks. I don’t care what this terrorist’s family has to say, he just executed 3 people who had so much in store for them, who were going to do refugee work and help the homeless (and the sister had just won an award for her artistic talent) and had really just started living. They were such good people, and were going to help change the world and I’m just. So enraged and shock.
And even the way they’re talking about him. No one is calling him a terrorist and there’s not all the public outrage that their would be if he was anything but white. He gets to be called a “man” and keep his humanity even though he did this horrific thing. This horrific hate crime.
There’s a tag for twitter on it- #justiceformuslims if you want to stay updated
to chime in as well, pretty much the one and only reason the media has touched the story at all is because it’s blown up online. if not for the outrage on tumblr and other networking sites literally no media would be covering it whatsoever because of how entrenched the U.S. is in islamophobia
^
also i’m gonna add this video of Deah’s sister talking
Here is Kirby saying ‘snow’ and being sickeningly adorable doing it
Three Muslim students were killed tonight, with little to no media coverage. Syrian American medical student Deah Barakat, his Palestinian American wife Yusor Abu-Salha and her sister Razan were shot and killed in a Chapel Hill condominium on February 10, 2015.
I’d link to an article but I have yet to find one that goes past 7 sentences.
Craig Hicks charged with 3 counts of first degree murder.
Deah was 23. Yusor was 21. Razan was 19.
Three lives ended in a second.
3 Muslim students were killed near Chapell, North Carolina by UNC. The news is trying to say it was over an alleged parking dispute but we all know the real reason. This man wrote islamophobic things on his Facebook wall and I pray these 3 get the justice they deserve. They...
The old suit stared at the figure before it, seemingly analyzing them. But really, he couldn’t see that well at all. He gathered only a human shape - and that was enough to make him mad.
...
Distorted began to crawl towards the blue boy, his movements slow and rough. Now that he had spent more time with the boy, he was hearing things he hadn't noticed before.
He could hear no heartbeat from this boy, nor any sort of breathing. Instead, there was beeping. Whirring. The sounds of machinery. The mouse wished he could see better, but he could only make out a human shape.
So what did this mean? Was this boy a machine? He responded, so he wasn't a regular animatronic. Was he like them, somehow? The Distorted Mouse was still angry, but he wasn't sure what to do. If it wasn't really a human, did he still hunt?
"̨̱̞͗ͩ̎̊͗H̤͂̇͘.̟̹̗.͍̠͙̙͖̗̲͐͊͊.̱̘̫̻͎ͬ̀ͨ̄͌̑̀͜h͈̼̣̣̗̝͇̃ͮ͛ͣ͋̄͜h͉̼̤ͤͥͥͪ̾͡h̠͕̪̻̞͇͑͒͂̚͝.̻̟̱̭̟̓.̵̖̪̗͇͚̿̅ͫ̒.̧̪̬͇ͅ.̸̙̥̾ͬͅ.̸̋.̡̻̮̟̘̖͗̑́ͮ̚h̟̃ͯ.̷̠̎.̄͜.̨̗̥̌͛ͥͨ̚.̡̯͖̞͔̭̍̒̇e̱̜̹̩̓̅͆̓̾͊͂.̧̳͑ͭͬͥ.͎̰̝͖̬̆ͧ̀̊̓̾̀.̫͇̗̩͍̰͓͗ͥ͂͗̎͂͞.̛̝̘̳̝̮̔̅͒͆ͣ̚.̯̜̟͓̹͙͎̇̂̊̈a̯̻̥̟ͩ͌̑ͭ͋͑̚.̟̍͊͐̋̚͝.̸̮̉ͯ͆̔.̮̗͙͕̙ͅͅ.̹̦̪͕̓̕ŕ̟͎̳͇̯̟͉ͤͪ͆.̲̫̬͔̞̅ͤ̆̀̄.͎͉̔̿ͮͤ̋.̻̲̥͔̺̑ͬ̏́̿̇ͅ ̏́̔̓M̱͕̜̹̰ͯ͊ͦ͑͊ͨ̚.̮͙̤̹.̃̆̎ͥ̈҉̭͕̙̫̼̥̻.͕̱̠̖̣͉͜.̪̼̮ͤ̓̐ͣ̚a̘.̡̺̥͙͓̟͚̹̃̿̒̇͆̚.̈́̑ͩ̾͘.̖̠̟̹̆ͫ̾̿̀.͈̜͎̺ͯ͆ͭc̫͔̽.̨͉̻̠͕̺̱͓ͯͪͧ̊̋.̴̼͓ͫ̎ͮ̀̎͑͋.͍̞̞͛̓̑̓̿ͯ͌.̘̒ͤ͊͌ͭͬͩh̶̰͒̎̅ͮͧ͒͒ͅ.̦̘͍͋͒ͭ̒.̓̾̔̆̾̂҉.̨̮̠̮ͣ̒͗̀͑h̝ͧͅh͆̀̓.̷̜̯͎̳̤̺͇̂̋.̦̪͆̿̿ͭ.̫̭̫̳.̬̬̰͚ͫ.̬̩ͦ͗̑͋h̘͓͐̈́̄.̜̆.̲̥̩̻ͬͯ̐̿ͮ́̕ͅͅ.̄͠.̳̭̙͖͒̎͟.̴͇̱̫̫͎̐̆̄̔i̳̦̞̞͑̔̅̈́̀͋̚.̷̳͈̫̰̦̎ͩ̐̿̆.̮̗ͪ͑̉̾̓͒.͎̰̝͘.̩̬̩̼̜̞͖͊͌͜n͙͚͖̤̗̬ͩ́̌̈́̍.̩̂͌.̟̻̆̑͒̈́̑͑̚ͅ.ͮͅ.̯̬̘͔͙̥̺̍͂́.̢͖ͬ̅ͅeͫ.͎͖̿.̖̖̦͇̠̲ͮ͛̿ͭ̉͛.̶̼̟̭̌̆.̴̫͎̟ͦ̂̀ͅ ͇͖͔̪̱͋͛S̖̯̭̙͛̆̿ͦ.̈́͑ͪ̿ͧ҉̻̠̯̗̫̻̩.̯͈̜̯͕͗͆ͥ̑̉.̮ͧ͆̾ͪ͊.̴ͮ.̷̠̳̭̱̗͈̳͗h͙̙̩̹̀̓͢ͅͅ.̸̘̟̫̩̱͛.̸̮̝̮̩̮͖͈̃̑ͮ͗͆̃̚.̖̏ͬ̚͟.̖͔̓h̹̯̱͑͛ͩͮ̐ͅ.̶̜͔.̩̫̜̺̃̂́̈́.͍̱̭̀.͛ḥ̡͓̲̭ͣ̒̔̀ͨ.̛̳̳.ͥ̔͏͖̜̰.̭̙̘̣̥ͪ̉ͣ̀.̞̬͇ͦ̆̔̀ȁ̤̱̟ͨ̋ͩ̐͂̈.͚̝͚͑̓ͬ̍͐ͯ.̥͓̠̖̗̫̬̏̔̑ͣ.͓̯͆̎̂̑.̮̥̺̱͖ͣ̑̿̈̚.̸̝ͭͩ̇͑p̣̣͈ͪͦͅ.̹̦͈̙̣ͮͯ̈́͋ͅͅ.̧͑ͤ̒̊̚.͚̭͖̂ͫ̿ͅ.̥̝͖̩͚̺e̱͔͕̮͎ͬ́̓.̴͚̜̺̅̄̅ͥ͗̌ͦ.͗̽̾̌̐̕.̐̾̐̑ͤ̎̚.͕ͮ̌ͧ͐̽ͭ.̢͍̅ͨͪb͕̠̖͍͖̰ͯ̄ͧ.̙͙̺̞̎͒͑ͣ̚.̣͈̻̯̩̬̦́ͣ͆̚.̈́ͤ̌̂̅̕.͚̯̣̻͙̤̓̌.̸͈̜̥̤̪̫ͧͫŏ̶͇̼̰͕͉̫ͤ͂̋.̡͖̯̤̟̜ͯ̾͑͌ͯ͛ͧ.͖ͭͭ̒̅͛̄̆́.͕̹̹̤.̡̗̖̰ͪͮ̈́͊͑.̣̝̠̥ͪ̒͌͒͞y͇.̢͉̜̙͕͇͈͈ͬ̈ͦͯ.̮̝̯̞̻̇ͯ̃̅̇.͚̯̪̉ͅ.̸͕̙͍̰̺͒ͦͩ̓̀.̤͍͌̌͐ͤͦ̔͆̕ ̸͙̲͉̖͈̜͙ͨ͑ͪ͂ͭ͛W̖̺̲͎͂̇͡.̝̠̉̑̋̃ͬ̀.̩̟͇͈̾̅ͭ̅̏ͅ.̷͉͂.̦͓̰͖̰̿ͯ̄̑͑͠ĥ̨͇͓̙͗͗.͗̇̃̉.̉ͦͭ͑̑.̱̹̖͔̺̎ͅh̩͚͂̋̄̕h̖̉̋͐́ͅ.̶̼̳̦̜̿̍̃͆͗ͅ.͔̘̊̾̔͂͂͊̇.͎͈ͬ̉̆̽̋͘.̸͉̘̹̳̈́͛ͧͪ̋ͅ.͉̳̬ͭ̊͘ḥ͉̯̻̺̋͑̐ͭ͊͞.̧͎̯̙̬̟̍ͨ͗̂̉̉.̠͈̘ͩ̏̑.̱̹̖͓̟̜̀ͧ.̴.̿̇ͬ̕a̧͔̼͚͐͊́̀̀̽ͪͅ.ͥ̈́ͦͯͫ҉̩͇̝.̻͋̀̒ͧͤͩ.̱̼͎̥̳̼̊̑͛̎.̹̦̖̭̣͕̊͝t̻̟͎͒̇.͑.̠̠̻̰͖ͤͣ̋͋͞.͙̎̾ͩ̽.̶̰̈́ͮ͒̀ͮ̂a̫͎̣̣ͩ͆̇͌̍̌̅.̷̫̬̻͕̘̓.̷̹̗̿ͧ.ͨ͌̈̄̀.̷̮͙̽ͬͨͣ̉.̹̭͇̱̬̜̿͌̅ͨ̄̇ṙ̜̱͍̩̾ͩ.̺̣̠͇͖̋̉̈́̽.̷͙̒͌̃͐̑ͯ̊.͚͋̊͂̀ͤ̀͂.̩̱̖̻͖͈ͮ́ͬ̏͛͗͒.̜̳̭̩̘̈́̅̇͌͑̇e̗͋̕.͕͇̈.̩̺̺̹͚ͪ̄ͧ͆͋.ͥ̍͆.̥͇̬͖͚͙̤͊̂͛.͈̥̬̽͂̾̈́̋y̴̙͚̝̝̦̟ͫͧͤ.̿̔̅ͫ̌ͮ̄̀.̞̥͎̩ͫͤ̈́.͓̫̟͈̬̌͊͂̀ͩ͡ͅ.̲̲̭ͯ̈͂ͤ̒̂ͩ͝ǒ̯̲̮̺͖͒̾.̪̝̱͍̮ͥͫ͐͊͂̋ͅͅ.̸͕̈̔̓ͪ̈́̓.̝͓̃ͯ̀͗.̞͈̘̠͙̞̝̂u̱̲̥̹͚ͣͩ̾̅.͎̮̱͖̪͙̣.͙͙̳̩̖͓͂͂̇̋̍͊.̙̗̺̹̙̂͗͋ͫ.̝̮̯̤͇̝?̙̼̊̿̊̄͢"̘͖̺͙̼
"̝̜̹̭͓̩͑̀W͓͒͐.͙̎͌͟.̘̺̰̭̦̫̏̒͋̀.̦̝̑ͪ̈̊̄ͣh̜̏̅.̭̱͕̾̂͆ͣͣ.͙̲̳͈̺̋͂͐.͆ͦ̓͂̄͏̦.̝̻̲͉̔̎͐͒ͨ̔͟y̨̼̞͚̫͈͈̩ͨ̔.̞̳̳͚̫̎̐̄̒.̵̥͔͉̝̥͕͋̄ͭ̽ͦͭ.̥̖͔̦͓̆̈͗ͅ.̟̰͚h̥̤̤̀ͦͩ.̀ͮ̒̐.̜͡.̴̣͎̲͚͆͑̽̌͐̆.͌̃̓̐ṏ̡̗͙́̏̿.̛̭̳̜̍ͦͣ̌ͅ.̷́͋ͫͦ̓.̱̲ͪ̈́̒.͍͔̋ò̙̞̮̖̫̆ͭ̒ͤ̌͞.ͭͯ̈́̔͐ͪ͊.̛̘ͮͩͥ̓.̠̪ͬͣ̍̚k̼͚̼͈̬̭ͭ͢.͓͒́.͓̩͌͒ͩ.̒҉̼̖̬͇ͅn͔̰͉̊ͯ̀͛͛͞.̯͇̮̬͎͖̌͆͑ͣ̉̽̈͢ͅ.̧͕̩̒.̷͙͕̺ͮ.̶̙̼̝͖̬͍͌͋͌̎ͩo̵͚̪̺͉̹͓.̧̹̣̪̱̼̪̞ͯ̋.̵̯̂ͭ.̢ṭ̖̰͑͋̉͗̆ͬͪ.͕͎̻̭ͤ̐̾ͭ.̟̳̻͔̣̞͈ͮ͑̀.̡̯̬̇̾ͣs̗͚̹̖̹͑ͫ͂ͮ͗̈́ͥ.̡͉̐͗͋͛̆.̞͔̫̪̒̏̿̐ͬͩ.̰͖̣̺̟̑ͮ̒̉ṳ̡̫̑̅̊.̭̥͔̲̰͕͌̿̏͑.͜.ͩ́̒i̥͔̘.̧͙͕̠̟͖ͨ̚.ͭ̽̑ͭͣ͏͙̟̥.̣̮͉͙̓̇ͨ.̧͍̙͚̜̖̖ͦ͒̃ͫ͋t̢͕̐?ͬ͂͏̺̝̣
“……Suit? I’ve been told I don’t look bad in a tuxedo, but they’re really not that comfortable.” This pirate is going to as calmly as possible take a step back because he is unsure what just spoke to him and it’s rather unnerving to look at. Also in case the thing was referring to his appearance lacking something instead, he decided to put his hat back on to re-complete his flamboyant attire.
So he was a man…
Hook was not a man, and Distorted knew that. Hook was a character, like them, even if he wasn’t here rotting with them. Which meant that this Hook must have been a fake.
Impersonating a character was a despiciable thing to do. He didn’t like that at all.
"̾F̡͉̲ͨ͊͑͑̚.̵̪͈̫̣̙.̺̩̘̺̰̀̀̀ͭ.̨͊̈́ͩ̇͊ͤ.͓̯̜͎͍̊̈́̃͛̎̽̌ä́҉̺̞̰̤̯.̡̮̋ͯ͑͒͋̓̚.̬̱̰̯̽.͖͕̺̽͋̽͂̄̚ͅ.̤̩͈̪̼͍̾̽̿.̛̭͈͈̏ͥͧ͊k͖̖̍͐͟.̧̃͆ͥ̂ͯ̔ͫ.ͫ̍̽͂̽͋̚҉̻̟̞̣.̧̞̘̤̳̭ͬ̏͑͒̄̑.͔̜̱̖̰̘͌̎ͨ͗̋e͍͎̙̖͂͊ͩ̒͑.̡͔̯̭̻̞ͅ.̮̼͙͓̓̅ͣͯ̋̂ͅ.͚̞͔͙̻͉̬ͦ̍̌̿̎̍͆͞.͚̤̹̻͇̼̆͗̐ͩͦ̐͝ ͚̗̀͑ͨͪH̤̪͙̲̓̅̐̚ͅͅ.̳̜̜̯̹̯̲̌ͮ.͙͚̺̉.̞̩͎̭̯̣ͫ.̠ͫͬͧ̈͛̓̏h̃.̢̤̿ͤ.̸̰͒͐.͗̐͏͇͕̯̹.͖̞̩̝͇̼͋͂͒̒̽̐̒h̨̳ͪͤ.͍̗̙̙̩̺ͅ.͕͚ͩ̈́ͨ̄̊.̳͎̩͉̍̅ͦ̌ͥ̅͐h̠̹̦̩͉̍̾́ͅh̼̱̳̞͆ͮͣͣ̓ͥ̚..͍͕͊ͅ.̷͖.̑́ͣ̌̚҉̘̺̠.̡̳͚̗̤ͫͫͧ̍̆̐͋ǒ͉͉̈́͛̓͛ͯo͉͕͎ͬͬ͒ͪ̓̍̈k̳̬̦̞̞̍.̺͕̜̩͎͕̄́͗̇ͬ̃͟.̸̺̩̲̙̼̫̽.̤͓͕ͥ̈́̃ͫ̅.̃́ͬ.̖̺̭̫̳͖̣̾̅.̪̜͚͛͂̂̓͟ͅ.̭͖̅̅̑͒̆͋̑͘.̷ ̴͍̮̤̤͙ͬ̉ͧ̒ͯR̆̆́̑̄ͭ̾͏̲̖͓̜̰.̟͓̥̜ͪ̔ͥ̉̀.̱̯̺͚̭̘.̜̦ͯ͐ͣ̂̃ͥ.̢̣͎̱̳̻̺̽ȯ͔̪̤̯ͫ̒.̻̞̄.̶͗͂ͯ̏.͈͉̭͈̒͒̇̎͒͌.̦͕͈͖̫̯ͪͭͣ̓̆̅̎ẗ̩̱͐ͪ͒ͦ̉͟.͔͙͋̓ͤͪ͂ͧ.̢͍̳̙̱͔̰͌̂ͪͪ̋͆.̠͎͕͍̀͛ͪ͜.͍͙̬̫̙w͎̓ͮ̉.̼̘̗̪͗̇̓̎͆.͓͇̖͚̘͓̭̋͘.̖͍̦̫͕̬ͥ̋̋͛̂.͋̓̇̾͂̏̅҉̻̫̣̳̣̗̞i̳̗̥̐̆ͨ̄͛͌̈.̳̻͎͇͐ͫ͋ͭ̔ͯͯ͜.̶̤ͮ̽̀͐̽̒ͥ.͕̫̉̅͐̌̎͞t̜̰͓̱̫͉.̥̬̫̃.̗̙̬̬͕̳ͪ̃.͍ͣͦ̏̽͊.͙̣̠͚͔͕͖͆̾ͯͬͬ̅h̻̤̖͖͍ͦͨ.͈̖̘̯̱̗̈́ͨ̈́.̦̦̹̺̿͜.ͩͤ͆.̘̪͖̹̕.̙̫̗̭͈̲̭̉̈ͯ͋͠ ̣͎͓͓̅ͦ̀Ȕ̠̯̀̎̄̀.̤̬͙͖̯̱͡.̤͕͖͐̏ͧ.͔̬͙̙͌.̠̘̦͓͚̾̄̚.̸̪̹̪͙̘͐̂ͯ̇s̷̲͕̝.͓͇̒̊̾̑.̈́ͥ҉̰̰̗̞̠̦s̢̆ͣͩͤs͍̙̼̤̲̯͆̀ͯͫ̒͛.͈̤͉̿̋̓s͙̖s̙͕̗̿̋̃̆̃͌.͆̽҉.̣̳̰̺̟.̪͕͉͈̦̳̓͗ͧ̃̈͊s͍͔̲͚̓ͮͭ̎͐̾͑͠s͆̒͢.̸͕̭̙ͯ̉ͧͪͫ̈ͧ.̩̱͙͔̰̠͙͑̈̌.͈̞̞͙̝̦͐͐̂ͭ͋͞.̵ͩ̒ͨ̋͂͂ͬ.̖̪̮͋̾̑ͯ̎͌̂.̬͕͕̙̪̻̙ͨ͋͠”͓̬̮͓̙͋́
"…Fake? Now drop anchor right there-” Possibly detecting a bit of hostility in the unusual voice, the pirate again stepped back with hand and hook raising in front of him to match his words about stopping.
"I am the Captain James Hook, anyone else who claims to be is either an imposter or representing me for some reason or another,” Hook’s pride was apparently as important to him as his life, considering he was taking the time to argue instead of fleeing, “Just because someone wrote me into a story does not mean I was not very real before then.”
This Hook was real first? That was confusing, but he supposed it didn’t matter much. After all, he was still a human. A stupid human who could still walk and talk.
That needed to be fixed.
He crawled towards the captain, letting out a growl that was just as distorted as he was.
"ͪ͂͂͏͇̞͇͉̣̖̯H͈͚̖̣͍͒ͪ͆ͩ́̏.̣͇̙̯͡ͅ.̹̽̑̾ͦͭͩ͘.̬̰̱͒̔͗ͣͩ̒͗h̥̗̱ͩ̀̎.̻̗͐.̗͕̯̬̙̍̐.̲̦͊ͭͥ͝h͗̈͋́̒.ͣ̑͊͋ͧ҉̹̥̼̤.͍͙̖̺͉͖ͭ͗̄͋̊̒.̮ṳ̞͎̜͓̰̲̊ͧͬ͐͗ͥ̒.̘͍.̺͎͎͙͝.̜ͪ.̵̘̳̯̙͋̌.̡̮͔̲͍͍͎̠̒̍ͮ̾ͣm̂̅ͫ̿ͩͫ̈́҉̪.̡̱̼.̶̺̝̬̟̑̒͑ͮ͐͑.̵͚̭ͪ̎ͪ̾ͯ͛̂.̗͙̗̝̿ͮ̊̒ͨ̚̚å̟̪̮̞ͥͭ.̝̖̫̪͈̜̮ͬ͑̉ͣ.͉͉̹͍ͪ̃ͧ̅̍ͅ.̩̥ͪ̋̿͛͘ͅ.͓̙͈͍̰̼͌͐̓͝ͅ.̡̏n͙͍̘͖̹͍̂̄͑ͯͩ̑ͪ͘.͖̰͗.̵̜̘̝̫͕̮.̸̬̹̦̫͉ͣͮ̄ͩͅ. ̈́͒̐͢Ṇ̷̮̬.̢̼̱̬̣͉.̢͔̞̟̮͎̯̺.̸̣͎̊ͪͥ̅͋.̳̹ͬ͐͆ͤ̕o̺͐̐ͨ͗̉̾ͅ.̟͇.̊ͪ.̱̩͔͕.ͬ͋̀ẗ̠̫̼̱̭̊͂ͥ͂.̗̦̥̥̞͙̹̉̑ͧ̆̃͋.̷͎̤̬͕̜̲̍̔̑.͚̙̞̲͘.̰̠̼͚̪̊͂̑͆̽ͧ̌.̨̲̑͑̈̄ͅo̥͉͈̤ͩͧ̿ͦͨ̾ͅͅ.͍͆̓ͬ͑̒̓̚.̸̆ͥ.̨͖͉̭̙̗̮̟ͪͧͤ̔͑̓ͭ.̼͖̰͕͓̫̿̄͐̿͊͂ͅu͗̀̑̇ͯͭ̑́.͈̺̞͙͙̬͠.̫͈͉͑ͩ͆͌͗́ͅ.̼̞̲̘͈̈́.̭̣̹̥̟̈́ͥ̓͐r̴.̡͔͓.̡̙̳̯̍̐́͂.͓̲̉ͦ.͇͚̼̜̟̣͔̔͐̊͒̌.̫̺ͫͣ̐̎͗ͨ͝h̖̮̥͓̦̮̝͊͆ͨ̐.̝̲̞̖͌͂ͭ̽.̶̝̹̀̆ͅ.̧̱ͨ͊h̟͍̲̤̲̑ͦͩ̚͞h͔̤͢.̻͈̺̔̾̄͌͋ͬ̆͠ͅ.͈̦̮̯̰̦ͮ̀.̛̗̭͍͛̿͂ͅ.̯̜̲̲̟͞.̵̝̜̗̝̗͖ͫ̋ͥ.̝̅ͤ̌ͥͧh̾͌́̂ͬͩ̾͏̬̫̜̠̟̤͎.̣͇ͪ͐ͧ̌ͥͅ.̵̱̜̗̗͎ͦ̿̿ͣͅ.̖̳͈͔̠ͅo̮̭͍̭̍̈́ͧ͆͊͋.̶͍̖͎.̷̯͕͓͔͂ͣ.̼͈̹͆͝o̶̖͔̙̍.̙͇̞.ͬ.͉̮͔̩͔̏ͅ.̶̦̩̟̭̩͔̜̅ͪͪ͂̉̉k̊ͤ̐̆̑̅̚҉̣̙̮̖ ̢͖͍͌͑ͫS̟̐̓͑̈́͐͑.͊ͮͫ͊ͤ͏͚̰͉.̾̆͋̄͆.̘̯͌ͮ͂̏͐͛̀.̀̾ͥ̿.̪̭͉s͎̙͓̜̾̄ͯ͋̆̀͊͞.̦̦͙̙̞͔̩͞.̼̬̪͙͛ͧ͐ͥ̎ͫ̈.̖͓̞͇̝ͮ̈́̈̃ͥ.̺̯̃ͧͩ.̮̘̪͈̌ͭ̔̐̈ͥ̚s̫̮̳̲̩̑̊̅̽.̞̈.͉̌̃́.̥̹̱̞͕͖̠͝.̭ͣ̓ͬ̋͘.̛͖͔͓̺̲̮̂ͭ͒̐͂̔̆u͛̂̾.̗ͭ.̷̘͈̙̝̘͕ͮ͋.ͬͮ̐̈́҉͎͍͎͔͈f̢̙̥̔̄͊.͎̳̰́ͪ̎̀̆̏.̭̗͔͚͉̣̈́ͮͨ̎̆̚ͅ.̧̩̗͈͉͚͎̓̉͗̓̅̚.͏f͙͇͉͓̒̒̈ͮ̇͡.́̿̂͜.̨̭̩̜̘ͩͯ̆.̬̩͉̤͖̼͐̀̃̓͛̀.̻̬͉̖̼̮͋̋ͦ̊e͒̈́.̡͙͇̹̮͕͂.̟̅͟.͚̰͚̘͎̜͕͑̽͡.̸̝̱͚r̥̝͙͍͂̊̎͌.̙͈̖̂ͪ̿̇͌̚.̜̲̗̙̆̒̀.̣̫̫ͣ̍̔͟ ̖͍͚͇̗͍͒̎ͤ̏͊̓L̪̭̆͒̃̌͒͊͛ͅͅ.̣͉͇̠͖̤͇ͧ͒̀̇͂ͥ͑͞.̥̻͎̳.̗͓̪͙̜̤̥͌ͮ͆͡.̗͓͈̘ͮ̆ͯ͂̚͡i͙͕̠̳ͭ̆ͯ̓ͦͤ̾ͅ.͚̣̰̣͑̋̋̎̋̔ͪ.̥̣̼̜̫̮.͕̜̭͈̹͙̘̿͂.̺̦̘̙̘̊͒̑̐ͬ̿͊k̴͈̝͓͇̜̆.͇̳̬̘̜̝̄̒ͬ́̃̆͋.̦̖͈̣͉ͤ͑͑̋͛̔.͇̫̘̻̦̫̎ͪ͌ͥͅ.̱̼͙̞̤̘e҉̺ͅ.̩̜̦̱̫̤́.̮̲̜͇̜̳̦́.̚.̏̔̏͒ͥ̈́͜.̗̗͍͕̹̲̫ͥȕ̱͎̘̒̿.͎̥̖̥̦̊̋͑ͩ̈́ͦ̈.͈̣̚..̮̻̪͉̘͑͆̉̃̀ͦͦs̱̟̟̪͈̬̚͡.̱̤͚.̾.̳̻̩͕͍̻́͌ͫ͌.̗ͬ͆̈͗͜s̙̝̥̤̽ͦͥͥ̾̐̚.͇̂̄̀̍͝.̺̬̰̽̅͆̏̍ͦ.̶̭̙̼͙̣̂́.͚̻̪͔̌ͯ͊s͈̟̔̍͌̎̽̿.ͤ͆͛͌.̭̬̦̥̱̖̔̽ͦͦ.̯̬̘̘̘̣͂ͯ͗͋͒̕.̖̣͉͈ͣ͐͐ŝ̸̥̣̼̃ͅ.̭͎͇͔̣̫́́̏̔̇͒ͣ͡.̨̩̰͚̞͎̔̓̇ͪ͗̚.̥̻͈̼̭͙͉ ̔̈́ͩ̂ͪͣH͇͙̓ͬ̆͟.̡͓͇̏̂ͥ̐̈́̚.͔͖̪ͥͪ͜.͈̞͍ͦ̿͊͡ͅ.̷̱̳̥͈̭͆͛ͅ.̝ͩ̉̓̎h̯̼̰͕͍̎́̂ͯ̿̈́̓h̖̪̠̱̪̗̣̒ͧͧ.̖̳̘͑̃ͤ͊͌̿͗.̢̦͔̭̭͕̳̠.̧̖̭̥͕͕ͫ̒̄ͧͧ͐.̱̯̟̜̮͍̀̄͞.̖̺̤̖ͪ͆͋ͤ͒ͮ́h̛͓̳̗h̛͙͔̮̺͓̓ͭ̚ḣ̓̎̔ͧ.̷̘̣̩̻̲̪ͮͨ̿̇͛.̈҉̼̱͉̹͇̱.̐҉̳̫͉̭..̩̯̇ͬͮ̄̈́ͅh̵̺͋̚.̛̫̳̫̂͒̾͛͋̌̏.̯͍̠̩͆̍̇̇͌̔͞.̨͕̝̪̞̭̪̥͗̂̈̒.͍͉̠̪̙̓ͦ̉̇͜"͖̥̗͚̯̂ͨ̅ͮ͋
distortiias
There was one counter part that seemed hard to find, distorted mickey was the one. he hardly shows up even compared to the mysterious white statue of a woman, she had only seen him maybe once or twice slowly crawling down some random hall or hiding in one of the rooms or the…
Distorted Mickey had been inspecting the office desk. Apart from when he was hunting the guard, he did not come here often. He was somewhat curious about how it looked to the guard. Maybe if he knew that, the hunt would be easier.
He stopped as he heard the familiar voice of Photo-Negative Minne. He didn’t encounter her very often either, did he?
"̹̯͚̰͋ͦ͗̀H̰̠̤̤̫ͥ̉ͯͯ̀̐̎.̻͔̐̍ͫ͌̆ͮ͋.̭̭͓ͦ̾̓.͕̣ͣ̓̇hͭ̊̓̂͏̬̘͎̤̦.͇̏̉͗ͪͤͩ͟.͖͔̫̆h̪͉̗͔͐̍̂.̞̭̒̈́͂̎ͫ͘h͚̣͋ͦ̔͊ͦ̽̕h̙̰̲ͩ̑͝.̴͕͉̣̟͚͎͑͒̏ͯ̓.̛͚̪̙̬͉̈́̐ͧ.̨̺̙ͣ͗.͎͕̠̺̮̼̙ͬ̇̄e͙̫̪͗ͣ͒.͍̖̝̫ͣ͊͛̒̈ͤ.҉̰͎̠.̞̂̾ͧrͧ͂̀.̙͓̘̩̙̤̌ͬ͒̔̒̈͗͠.͖.̩̣̰͇̿̑͢ͅ.̸͖̥͖̭̱͉̆e̓ͮ̔ͦ.̸ͩ̾̏̈ͫ.͖͓͖͔͓̳ͯ͒͊͝.̯̲̝͍̽̓͑̾̚.̗̳̜̤̃̿ͦ̄̌ͅ ̸̯̰̅̏ͅM͔͇̣̤̰̻͉͐̾.̛̭̘̮̱͙͌ͧ͒̄.͡.̛̘͇̝̜̘o̰̲͔̝.̖͇̾̿̿ͥ͗͜.͙̯̊̾͂̃ͪ͊̚u͇͈̪̇̋ͨ͊̊̊̃͘ͅ.̢̱̹͕̍̍ͫ͋ͥ.̧̝̯͈͇ͪ͂̆͗͛͊s͔̱̥̩̊̄̔ͫͅ.͖ͣ̉ͣͧͮͯ̿.̙̻͚͈̯̫͒̀.̹̤͌e̠̤̤̻̤͖ͅ.͉̙̾̄͑̅.̒̔ͩ̀ͯ̾ͩ.̴͎̬͙̾̃ͅ.͔̯͜.ͭ͒̿ͤ̚͠.̴̯̅”͙̟͕̣̱͓̠͑̿ͪ̀͐̍
He rasped out to her in his struggling, broken voice, before returning to the desk in front of him. She could come in with him if she wanted.
He had considered referring to himself as “me”, but decided against it; if he did that, he’d sound like Goofy.
After a few seconds she heard the broken voice of the deformed mouse. So he was here, she wondered why he was here since the night guard wasn’t. maybe he was inspecting on how the guard could hide under the desk. The large mouse suit wandered into the room stumbling over some wood planks on the floor.
" a-hah! I haven’t seen you that often before! " she said in a slightly cheery voice
He was glad the other suit had decided to join him. It would be good to see her more often, and she could help him understand this room. She was smart, like Photo-Negative Mickey.
He turned to face her, reaching up with one hand.
"̛̹͕͙̙̣̭͒ͥͅH̴̪͋͛ͯ͊.̶̗̑̿̊.̧͙̯͖̥̄.͙̼̺̼͚̲̺̀.̲̟̻̺̂͊̍h͗҉̞̲̣.͚̗̦͇͈͊̐͢h̬̩̺̦̺̬̻̅̾̎̔̿.͉̖̗̘̅̍ͥͮ̌ͩh̰̪̬̺̫̙ͫ̈͡.̘͖͔͙̍͂ͫ͠.̞̦͒ͮ̔͆̂ͬͭ͠.̙̄̉͆̃̑ͦ.̷͇̩̪̓̒͆͑ͤ̌.̪͍̥̝͒͢.̸͓̹͍͇̬̘̣̈͌͑.̢͎̮̯̤͋ͧ͒̚ ̣͙̻̲̰̂̕ͅD̡̦̘̫̦̩̠̤̅̃̍̇̾.̗͇͔̌ͤ̆̃͐.̜̤ͯͥ͆ͫ̃.̫̟̩̭͂̾̊̄̄̊ͥ̀.̣̝̰̻ͦ̎͡eͪͩ͐ͣ͊ͨ.̙̞͎ͥ̎.͓̲̜ͮͫ̐͋̀̍̉s͕̫͚̤̰͗͗̈́̈.̮̫̠̣̭.̞̙͈͎̳̇̀̒̒̿̇ͯ.͇̳̫s̝͝ͅs̲̺̭͇͍͐̈́̒ͤ͊ͮ͘s̯̺͎̪̠̯ͣ̄̅.̤̤͢.͌̅ͨ̿̄̄̽ͅ.̖̙̰̜̣ͬ̂͝.̟̟̭̫̩̲̳̽.͉̓́ͬ͆͛s̒̂҉̣̣̳̫̘͍̖s.͓͈ͭ̈̕.̎̅̓..̠̜͚͔̓̂̇.̢̉̾̉̉k̫͈ͭ̅̐̇́.͓̻́ͯ̂͜.̗̳͓̥͎͠.̲̌͑ͦ͞.̮͉͓͖͚͒́̎̿̃̅.͑ͨ͏̮.̞͚̩̠̠̞̔̽̋ͯ̾̑ͅ ͈̲̏̈́ͧ͛̔̏̓͞Ĭ̞͈̱̗͛ͯ̀̉.͍͙͈̬̘̎̾ͭ̒ͯͬ͒.͙̞̦̘̯̫͛̋.̬̜̼͇͈̗̗̓͛.̎ͥ̉͆ͯ̋ͭ́.͈̫̲̄̆ͩ̾̋o̊ͪ.̢͙̟͔̻̝͔̄͛̒.̠̹̲̼̩̱ͪ̉̀̋̾.̢̇̔̃̋̒̐.͓̥̙̗̬ͬ͆b̢̤͖̬̓̓͂͛̋.͙̻̉ͣ̊ͬ́.̦͓̞͕̟̲͔̓͂.̩͚͕͔̩̽̑ͅ.̖̺͒.̣͍̗̉̍͟s̝̲͈̣.̮̔͗̾̈͒̏.̢̠̦̈͌͌.̡s̤͕̹̎ͩ̌ͅs̫̒ͥ͋̓̚ͅ.̜̥ͥ̐ͫ͢.͎̈́́̾̌̅ͫ͞.̦̞̞̑̍͞ḛ̵̠̫̔͒̈́͂ͩ̌̄.̷̀͑ͥͣ.̮̠̽̓̂̽̈̉̏.̧̬̭̯͈̤̮̱̉ͧͥͯͬ.̼̦̣͋̎̽.̴̣̯̫̬ͮ̔̋̀͛r̩̆̎̃̒͆̄.̪͑̾̓͋ͣ̿̓̀.̹̣͓̟̇͑̌̉̈́̚͢.̋̔̿̂ͦ.̵̲̹̻ͥ́͋v̝̖̿ͯ̅ͥ.̳̔.̛̞̳̍ͭͯ.̸̲͍̳̭̼̐.͈͙̭̬͌̏̽ͯ̎̄̚.̰̻̳͎͓̰ͭͤ͑͑̅̏ȇ͔̓̏.̵͓̩̗́̾̂̋́ͦ.̛̟̎́͗̽̈..̠̫͉̗̊͝.̧̹̞͈̩ͣ̇ͣ̀͗͊͊ ͉̝͖̱ͤ̏S̶͖ͦ̾̄s̛͈̮s̯͙̲͉̣͖̙̎̆̒̄̎̽̈́.̺̠̞͓̰̝͗̔̓̌ͦ̓͢.͙͔̹ͥ̃̂͠.́̄ͦ͟.͍̳͚̪̟̒̏͋̎s̸͍̰̣̠͌.͚̫̣͇͔̰̻̎̋̒̐.͓͕͙̲̹̿ͣ͂͒.̨̅͌̈͂.̸͇͓͇̅ͮ̽̂́̂ṣ̩̞̔ͣ̓ͮ.̯̭̭̙̠͉̤̒̑͡.͔̮̩̱͊ͦ̌͑̄̀̈́.̡̱͉͖̭͂͂̅͗̽̚.̵͕̗̬̟͑̋̅ͭ̚tͫ͒҉̰̪͕̣̗.̷̯͚̗̦̏́.̧͕̙̱̒̍ͬͧ̑̈.̼̰ͭͮ̒̂̀̏̋͞.̢̺͚̭̘͌ͩ.̠̲̈́̈̃̋̾͂r̙̜̰.͖̫̩ͫͨ̊̂̾ͅ.̲̜͈̺͚̉.͖͛̃̓͑́̄ǎ̌҉̳͖͈̭ͅ.ͪ̏̑̈ͬ҉̦̮.̼͈̜͓̤̺͒̀.̴̮̑ͭ.̵̳̑n̤̹͍͍ͬ̂̿͗͋̏͝.̌.̮̪̆ͫ͂ͤ̄̑̚͞.͈̭͊ͬͧ̇̅.͚̥ͪ̈́g̠͟.͎̱̦̦̼̣̹ͯ̓̇.̸̬̙̮̻̾̃̀ͪ.̫͇ͮ͟.̠̰̭ͭ̄ͅe̱̬̬̱̦͛͌ͦ̊̍.̖̳͑͢.̹͇͖͈̳̱̅̊̈.̰̋ͯͥͬ́.̶͇͍͖ͨ͊̈͐ͪ̾.͉̺̇ͫͨ̅t̒ͩ̒ͤ.̭̼̝̩̥̣͌͋̈́̑ͬ͛ͥ̀ͅ.̜͚̗̩̪̤ͫ.̛̗̘̜͋̆ͥͅ.̦͎̎̀ͫ̚ȟ͏̥͓͍.̢̒.͙̽̏̎ͮ͠.̷̠̼̤̬͒̾ͤ̚.̤̞̗̩͑í̮̪̤̲.͛ͫͩ̓ͨ̉̇͘.̪̏.̛̙̱̣̳ͅń̜̜̠̈ͅ.͌ͦͧ͏͕̗̙͙.̲̞ͦ̾ͅ.̯̬͋͆ͨͭ̌̎̕g̘͍̍͗ͥ͗͞.͙̼͙̺ͣͤ̆̒̅ͯ͋.̭̬̥̯̠̥̈ͩ̈̅.̸͚͎̹͚̔̆.̧͖̺͕͔͒̅"͓͖͔̣̙͐ͯ
(Well, I have drafts, at least. I'll work on them when I can...)
(It's already been three days since the other people posted, oops.)
(Sorry I haven't posted in the last few days, I've been busy with school. I'll try to at least get a few replies done today if I can.)
Pain. Pain and noise - he hated that song, the song hurt, and his eyes were hurting too. Now he was even more angry. This stupid grey mouse just wouldn’t to listen to anyone!
Distorted Mouse screamed, releasing his grip and twisting his head away from the ...
The first words meant nothing to him. He was sure the grey mouse was stupid now - he was just so mad.
When he heard the crack, he breathed out in satisfaction. Good. Hurt him, punish him, for being so pathetic and confusing.
Then he got up, and Distorted growled. If he wanted to die so much, why didn't he stay down? He needed to learn his lesson-
And then more pain, and the horrible noises were back. Everything was screaming and yellow and black. He could barely hear, he couldn't see anything, and so much hurt. He turned around, ignoring the other mouse's blows as he dragged himself out of the room as quickly as possible.
"̛̮̪͕̼̯ͭͩͨ̀̒̑͘͞A̡͎̖̲͔̹̱͛͋͑͑̉ͬ̾̍ͮͩͫ̽̌͗ͩͭ̒̆ͮ͜͡a̷̢̛͚͉͉̘̔̋̾͛͒̋͝ǎ̷̎ͫͥ͊͛ͨ̇̈͜͏͚͔͔̰̬̙̠̲͍̳͍͉͙̬͎̬͟ẩ̋̌͂͌̔ͫͣ̽ͥ͝͏̩̼̲͔̱͇͍̝̝̗͙̤͘.̶̖̻̖̗͕͎͈̹ͯ̉͊ͦͪ̈̀.̸̷̠̺̻͉͉̋̿͊͑͌ͯ.̢̯͔̱̞͈̯̜̞̙̱̟̩̜̠̰̓̾͑ͣͣͩ̔͋ͬ̾͋͗͊͆̿̚ẖ̸̹͉̯̮͎̣͚̦̪̞̭̓̈́ͨ͛͐̊͌̏̒͒̓ͬ̃̈́ͧ̚͘h̵̵̺͚̹͇̪̺̹͈̰͔̤͓̺̤̞̥̖̗̀̔̽ͦͪ͊̂̊ͫ̋̉̅ͧ̒̔͊͛̎͢͢͡.̛͍̫̩̲̝̠͖̦͕̼̰͎͔̰̠͎͉̼͇̽͐ͣͣ́ͯͪ͂̓́͂͊̓̊.̴̔͌̽ͦ͂͒͂͗̔ͥ̄͒̂ͣ̑̅͏̩̜̯̙.̻̞̻̥̱̪̩̪̝͍̜̯̮̳̲͚̩͌͊ͨͨͧͤ̏ͨ͘ͅͅ.̶̬̥̮̥̏̓̇̓̂́͞͡͡ȟ̛̗̰͕͇̜̙̻̻̻̥͐̓̿́ͮ̐̀ͪ̀h̡̛̠͍̥̜̣͈̠ͣ̎̇ͨ̐ͣͬͤ.̴̧͍̩̪̬̱̥̺͍̜̫͗̄́̂̅̄ͧ̏͑̽ͫͤ́͋͋̇ͦ̊̕͞.̵̨̧͇͎̳̮̮̥̦̮̮̥̮͚̠͇̮̮̙̼͒̇ͬ̊ͭͬ͆ͮ͋ͬ̋͊̆͂̒̑̈́͠͡.̵̬̮̰̺͖̥̲̯̭̣̠̻̖̹͍̪͖̣͒͑ͫ͂̈́͝ͅ.̨͇̼̳̊ͧͪ̆̋̊̎̎̏ͩͧ̈́̐̃̽̅̀.͑̅ͬͦ̓͂͐̄ͪ̑̅̚͜҉͏̰͎̟.ͦ̊́͒͊̎̄ͨ͊̊͏̮̗̰̙̱͕͙̱̲̝͕͚͇̺͔͓͚h̏ͨ̌͑̓͏̴̬̗̳͓̲͔̖̜̲͕̥̥̲͍͖͇̕hͦͮ̉ͬ͐͛̏́̅͆̋̈̐̐͠͏̻̼̤̰̼̞̲͕̞̫̜̖̘̹̥͍ḣ̛̈́̏ͨ̃̕͏̵͏̻͖̥͔͚̱̖͔̗͎̻͖̙̺ͅh͖͉͈̩͓̩̣̱͔̟͇̮̗̝͛͒̎̓̍͟͞.̶̺̬̦͈̞̘͚̠̬͇̺̬͇̼̘ͫ̒̍ͥ͌̀̏̅͂ͫ͛͒͐̅͗̔͘.̵͇͓̤͚̤͓͉͇͕̫͓͇͈̪̘̻͂̒͆̓͗̈́ͅ.̴̧̔͗ͯ̈́ͮ́͝͏̺̘͖͍̯͉͈̘.̷̭̪̱̖̖̈́̇̆͐̆̂ͣͬ̐͐͋͐̽ͫ͆͞ͅ.̧̛̾ͤͤ̓͒̄͌̽ͬ̇̆ͦ̀͋̀́͌ͭ͂҉̷̖̼̝̥̞.̛͙̺͔̠̭͎̥̼̺͙̼̺͓̜̲̗̂̋̾̀̅ͦ̒̊̒ͨ̆͛ͤ͗ͭ͢ͅh̵̙̯͈ͤͦ̐̎ͩ̇ͭ̍͐̉͊̀͋ͮ̑̊̔̈́̀͞h̷͖͖͖̜̱̺̣̘̦̮ͥ̏̀͌ͣͩ͑ͮ̈͋͒̀̚͜h̴̢̧͔͈̰̲̠̏͗̆́ͫͧͪͥ̄̃ͫ̿͟!̂͛ͫ̓ͬ͐͂̈́ͧ̋̇̽͋ͥ͒ͭ̀͝͏̣͍̠͓̬̥̼̬͈̝̦̟̤͈̼̗̲͓̭̳̱̤͍̫̪̬̙͙̳̝̰̮͙͍̑͆͌̈͞H̵̙̙͚̹̜̗̠̭̠̘̲̥̱̻̞ͧ̑̄̐̓̒͊̆ͤ̒ͮ̋͆̇̐͌́͢ͅ.̵̷̪̟̟̫̯̰̳̣͈̝̗͖̰̺͍̗̤͉̈̇̽ͯͥ͊͂̉͆ͭ̒̈́̈́ͨͬͩ̑̈̀́.̶̓ͩ̐ͮ̄ͦ̋͑ͫ͑͊̿́͘͞͏͓͇̺͉̭͚̬̣̖̯͓͓̦̠͍̘͈.̷̷̨̧̛̞͙̞̣͎̩̓̊͂ͅh̔ͥ̅͌̒̎̏̈͂҉̨̰͍̠͎̼͈́.̧̯̼̦̦̮̼̰̰͇̭̻̃ͤ̅ͨ̈ͩ̀͢͞ͅ.̸̸̭̥͎͈͇̫̬͎̫̪̒̈́̍͆ͩͬ̾ͬ̏̽̍ͣ̈͟͜.̴̷̳͙͓͈̬͙̇͒ͤ̌̀́͜ͅhͬ̽̇̔͆ͪͮ̄ͭ̈̈́̌́̇̌ͤͯͨͤ͡҉̡̡̼̖͔̫̫͔͚͚͉̜̬͈̠ͅ.̸̽̒ͮ̒̓̄̽̏ͦ̓ͮ̆̀҉̳͍͇̻̼̥̟̙̰̣͍̰̯̣͞.̴͔̭̗̯͖̫͕̯͉̭̳̳̪̝͔̙̹̦͓ͪ̿̃ͨ̓́̚h̵͙̗͚͈͍͎̟̰̖͚̙̜̺̟͍͕͕͇̮̐̓͐ͮ̄ͮ̿ͩͯ̓̊̊͠h̸̛̪͎̭̰̀̾̔̏̈̽̀̀́.̶̟͖̰͉̥͍̫̺͈̜̪͇͕͍̳̱͒̅̂̃̽͢.̸̢ͯ̒́ͯ͌ͦ̓̓̅̔ͮ̚̚͟͏͓̯̼͚̭̝̘͎͠.ͮ̔ͯ͒̉̎҉̸̨̬̙̜͚̬̬̯̜͓̠̞̯̳̗̝͈͢͡.̛͈̰̲͉̥͇̣͕̾̎̿̍̃ͮ͗͋͒͋̉̆̉̿̔́́͝ͅȟ̂̓̔ͦ͑͆͏̳̘͓̫̫͘͟.̡̲͎̖̲̬͕̥͚̊ͭ̈̃̂̄͢͠.̷͈͓̭̮̫̪̖̥͇͈͍̫̥̞̀̅ͦͧ̍͢͝ͅ.̡̫̦̲̲̯̖̙̟̳̻̮̩͉̳͌͒ͤͩ̂̔͌̂͒ͯ̊͗̿̊ͧ̽ͥ̓͢͡.̬̭̺̱̖̱̥̏͗̓̏͛̊̕͝u̷̶͇̭̳͙̼̗̥̙̟͔ͤͭ̆̃̅̃͂͛ͤ̑ͣ̄͋͛ͨ̚͢r͕̮̙̿́̈́ͣ̕t̡̨̹̙̪̱̦͚̯̲ͪͩ̇̇͌̎̑ͣͯ̀͠͞ͅ!̅͒͑̆ͩ͟͏̸̳̮̲̘̖̯̘̳̠ͩ͗ͤ̀̋ͯͦͬ͌͐̊̎ͫ͊̓ͣͫ̚̚͘ͅ҉͏͓̤̳͇͉̺͖̗̺͉̼̥̞̘̝̙H̵̷̺̖̻̥̰͔̙̞̬̫̫͎͌̎̔̊ͧ̓̿̊͛͌̕͠.̗͙͙͔̖̥̦͔̑̽ͭ̓̃̀̀̃̐ͤͭ̚̕͜͞.̯̦̯͙͙̬̞̫͕̟̥̠̯̗͓͉̬̞̏ͫͫͩ͒ͮ̇̓̚͜͟u̴̧̻͙̠̥̥̬̱͓͙̗͔͕̖̣̟̩̭̎ͯ͆͌̀ͧͫ̒̓̏̆ͅͅ.̶̡̦͓̭̣̙̼̤͈̅͋̉͂͊̀.̵̧͉̜̟̓̓̆̏͊ͯ͌̆ͬͪ͗̍ͩͣ͒̑ͭ̈́́͡ͅ.̷̡̡̳͍̩̱̭̳̰̑ͬͦ̐͗͒͛̀̈́̆̆ͮ̋ͦͫ̐r̀̔̉͐͋͌̀ͧ̊͌̚͡͏̬̯̙̤̖̮̮̙̙̜͍̘͈͝.̢ͬ̿̓ͩ̕͜҉̥̰̝̤̝̙̣̥̙̼̯̖͉̲̞̬̠̤.̷͈̙̠͔̥͙̜̪͇̪̺͔̇̉̄̈́ͧ̓̒ͤͧͫͥͤͮͯ̈́ͧ̈́̀.̢ͯ͗́͂̋͐ͫ̽ͥ̉̌̊ͯ́̆͏̡͎̤̱̫̬̼̝́̕ṭ̛̛̥̞͙̺̝̞̟͇̜̭̹̬̇̌̇̉̎͂͆̿̀͠ͅ!̴̷̛̛͍̫̰̮̲̤̪̩̰͙̺͎̯̖͇̟̦͓̠̝̭̤̫͈̹̼̼̱̪̥̯̺̄ͮ͑ͨ͋ͥ̐͑̀̋ͭ͆͐ͨͭ̋̈̄̽͛̈̍̽͂̊͋̃̓̕͟͡H̷̡̡̼̱͍̜͓̜͈͊̂͂ͣ̓͋͛̋ͅ.̶̢̧̝͓͍̠̝̝̩̰͎̟ͩ̏̇̓̔̕.͇̟̠̮͈̯̩͒ͫ̽̃ͩͨ̄ͮ̂̌̂͂͘͞ͅͅ.̶̨̡̭̺̮̖̖̝͉̘̯̜̘̋̎̔ͯ͂̃́̚͞ư̛͎͓̟͚͎͙̠̣̩̝̙̟͍̟̓̓ͦ̿ͭ͋ͦ̏͋̔͒̀͑͜͡ͅr̟̩͕̖̳̖̟͓͎͖̯̮͉͎̭ͥͨͧͩ̾̅̿̈̇͛͘͟͞.̴͚̥̖̙̟̹̰̟͆̔ͩ͝͝.̴̆͆͌̿͗ͤ̓̌́ͤͤ̕͞͞҉̱̱͍̜̝̱̘̱͖̟͕ͅ.̡̩̟̙̘̤̞̤̳̣͇̯̦͎͙̪̖̱̩̯̒̔̓ͩͭͤ̑ͨͫͭ̄̏̾̍̚͜t̴̾͐̎ͬͣ̚͘̕͜͏̥̯̝̳̬̮̼ ̸̄ͬ̑͂́ͩ̓̉͋̉̓ͮ̏̍͋ͦ͠͏̨̝̹̝͇̭̮͕̲p̰̦̹̱͓̪̜͉̖͕͖͍̟̝͎̫͑ͫ̉ͫͮ̓̑̾̈́ͭ̃͒́͘͢a͓͚̯̱̯͍̯͍ͯ̉͛̀̓͌̾̀̕͠.̸̦̜̲̬̞̓̂̋̔͊͐ͪ̽͜.̴̨̘͈͍̫̞͇̜̭̠̭̙̮͔̤̣̑̔̍͊͜͠.ͨ̾̂̈͂͆̋̀͗̒̽̿͏̨̫̲̖̩͎̜̤̘͚͎̻̭̪͚́͢i̸̬͖̗̭̩͔͓̥͕̾͐ͨ́ṉ̡̨̳̲̞̞͉̼̭͖̻͚̲̼̦͒̾͂ͥ͛ͩͮͪͯ͒̀̚͠ͅͅ.̾̃́̀̎ͣ̍͏҉̳̬̪ͅ.̡̧͚̣̝͔̭̪͖̥͓̜̜͚̙͙̉̏ͬ̐͑ͤ̆ͩ͌̊ͯ͒ͦ̌ͣ̓ͦ̚ͅͅ.̢͓͖͍̱̼̻̣̮̙̋̌́̓ͮͬ̌̕p̸̷̜͙̥͉͓͔̦͇͓̮̹̰ͩ͒͒̇ͬ͑ͥͮͮͯ̓ͣ͛͌̅.̝̱̬̗̲̭̰͐̿̿́̊̓̔ͨͮ̀̚̚͢͞.͌ͧͭ͏̶̱̝̠̬̻̙̗̹.̛͙͖̖̞̠̪̽̓̅̑̀͑̆̅͆ͧ̂ͧ̾ͩ͐̅̄ͥ́͠.̷̡̠̭̖͇̩̤̫̖͖͖̙̳̱̖̝͚̹̯͍́̋ͥͥ̊͠a̸͔̰̜̖͎̭̪͔̗̤̩̞̝͇͓̦̘ͣ͂̈́ͩ̔͛̒̎̑̏̓̍͂̾͊̃̚͟į̸̷̬̺̥̲̼͍̞̙̔̏̆́̂̑̾̄̇͒͐̅̽̆̽̅ͮ̚.̷̛̗̠̟̠̥̞͔ͧ̂ͣ̾̄̒͋.̭͖͇͕̰͎̜̘͈ͣͬ̍̀ͮ̎ͦ̀ͪ̓͂͆͑͌̈̀́̚͢͢͠.̧̡̠̟̱̭͚̱̱̞̻̭̱̯͕̳̘̯̞ͮ͑̓̈́̽́̑́̚͞ͅ.̴̧̜͕̜̱̖͈̜̟̭̫͕̬̹̼ͬ̈ͭ̆̽̎ͯ̎ͫ͋̍̌̒̒̈́ͨ̊͞n̸̨̯̘̥͙̼͈͕͉̩͎̳̗̱͈̜͔͕͍̼͋ͧ͒͗ͧ̀͘͘ ̷̗͕̼̮̬̝̘̜̖̖̟̭̞̖̪̮̩̬̘͊ͮ̈́̑ͨͯ͌̊ͧ̇̈́̑̈̎͗͑́͝hͮ̊̅͒ͣ͆̌ͪ̐͋̈́́͏̜̺̲̹̮̥̙̳̯͢.̸̛͈̱͓̬͕̝̜̮̱͙̞̬͎̬͈̩̟̈͑͋̇̓̒ͧ̾͑̿͑̋̾̅͜͡ͅͅ.̸̓ͩͩ͊̆ͯ́ͦ͊ͮ͛̽ͤ͒̿̐́͟҉̩̥͇̻̣̰͓̭̯̹̦͚̰͍̦ͅ.̶̶̵̢̢̟̗̰͇̭̯̟͙̳̗̠̮ͬ̌́̈́̆ͭͣu̶̇̌͂̋̀͊̑̐̓͝҉̲̖̳͙̤͎̼͔͈̞̜̪͖̫̹̥̀͞.̶̨̜̩̙̙̹̲̦͉͙͙̠̞͕̜̯̳͚̄͒ͦ͑.̴̛̬̩̪̘̮͓̹̘̽ͣ̈́ͯ̎̅ͬ̓̉ͬͧ͆͛ͯ̃̋̽́͜͢.̸͉̼̟ͮ̃̊͛̓̏͋̃̅ͪ͂̔̐́͡.̀̊̓ͥ̽̽̊҉̼̪̯̪͉̺̠͖͍̮̤̜͍̻̤̜̱̟́͟.̧̨̛̭̰̭̥͓͈̝̬̻̬̖̼͇̪͖̞͚͙̘̊ͤ̈́͋̆ͬͪ̌ͩ̇ͤ̓̏̆ͫ̅̈̐ͨ.̠̬͈̦̟̙̠͖͓̐͒ͩ̋ͧ̌ͤ͗̋͛͂ͯ̄ͣ̾̽̿̚͢͡r̡̛̙̩̼̘̮̰͍̰̳̣͍̖͗ͯ̃ͮ̿ͯ̅̓͋ͫ͂͗͐ͭ̄͌̎́̚.ͫͥ̄ͮ̐̓ͮ͛ͧ́̎͗ͮ҉̷̢̝̣̙͉̖̗̣̘̬̞̹̞̕.ͯ̐̅ͭ̚̚҉̵̢̢̲͈̮̩̪̩͜ͅ.̨̠̝̳̤̮͕̣̜͙̥͔̺̙͕̖̲̙͌̓͒̐͢͞ͅ.̷̡̛̖̫͓̯̲̿̎ͬ̋̐͋͂ͣͧ͊ͨ̆ͩ̓͊͑̆͒̚t̻͍͓͍̜̪͍̳̠͍̘̱̺̖̟͗̒ͪ̐ͣ́̇̓͂̐̃͂̑̽́͟!̵̓̃ͨ͑̉͗ͬ̇̽̃̓̄̀͋ͥͤ̊͢͜͏̭̩̻͎͓"̨̡̠̟͕̥̻̳̱ͣͫ͋ͪͤͩ̔̈́͞
*miickeysuit*
Distorted Mickey Mouse breathed heavily as he sat on the desk in the office, staring at the dead man slumped back in the chair. Yellow blood from his eye sockets was all over the man, the desk, and the suit itself.
It was always good when he had a successful hunt. The feeling he got when the guard's breath stopped, or his bones were crushed, was satisfying. It felt like it was fair that this had happened.
But he wasn't happy. He was never happy. And he wouldn't be as long as he was stuck here, while the boss humans were still outside. Killing these guards didn't hurt them. It didn't make them suffer, like they should.
He was also unhappy because it would be hard to get back out of the office now.
Everything else was bad enough. The confusing, depressed mouse was already challenging what little he had in the way of patience.
But he especially didn’t like being pushed.
Groaning, he dragged himself back towards Suicide Mouse, grabbing the other’s shoulders with his...
Pain. Pain and noise - he hated that song, the song hurt, and his eyes were hurting too. Now he was even more angry. This stupid grey mouse just wouldn't to listen to anyone!
Distorted Mouse screamed, releasing his grip and twisting his head away from the Monochromatic hands. He flailed his arms at Suicide Mouse in heavy, wild swiping movements, his eyes spilling out chunky yellow blood.
"͋̌̇̀̂͏̗͚̱Ṕ̘̀̎̊͑͜.͍͍̲͕̟̌͗̔͂͗ͭͥ.̙̠̠͓̻ͬ̏͐ͦ̒͋ͨ.̞͉̰͚̻̈́aͧ͏̙̰.̷͚ͦ͂̄̇̽̐.͚͚͖̅̿͑ͨͬ̃̈͘ͅ.̄͊͛ͧͧ̅ͮ͏̘̬̼̖.̢t̺̻̫̘̲͖̱͌ͤ̽.ͭ̕.̒̒̈́ͩ̆͏.͓͛ͧ̔͆̐̌̑.̫͍͑͒h̰̲̮͇.̣͉̬͖̖̠̊̋.͔͕̝̣̽ͪ.̮͍̹̳̪͎h̞͢h̘ͯ̍̄̆͋͘h̞̜ͮ͑͜.̊̍̎̄͊ͩ҉͇̞̣͉.̜͕̰̭̱̤͎̇̐.̧̜̜͊ͣẖ̲̠͐͑́ͯ͞.̯̲͖͚̦̮ͬ̈̆̾̈ͥ.̶͋̅͂͒͒.̬̮̬͚̙̉ͪ͛͂́ͬͩ͠h̡͛ͬ.̜̍̃̊̓̀̿.͔̞̗̱̪̤̿ͣͭͨ̚ͅẻ͇̼͈̯̱̪.͕̱̙̐͡ͅ.̶͍̩͚̯̺͍̉̒̈́͒̔ͥͅ.̵̝̹̝̳̬ͬ.̯̝̜͔ͧ̕ͅtͤ̐͊́̂.͙̠͖͚̮́.̴̳͔̼̫̮͈̺͗ͣ̿ͨͦ.͇̯̎̎̆͆̌̾̚i̵̳̳̬͐̄ͅ.̫̦ͣ̄ͣ͑̂ͮ̆.͇͙̲̪̯̣̩͆̀̓ͪͫ͡.̪ͧ͋̾̉̏͑.̢͚͉̠̬̊ͬ͆̐ͭ͛c͖̣̥̝̰̃̒ͨ́!̩̮͎͑͐̿ ̝͔͘Uͤͪ̀ͧ̒҉.̱͓̱ͣ͗͊͐ͧ͘.̨̖̭̮̈́̓ͫ̀ͣ͌.̙͚ͥ̋ͬ͜s̲̜͉ͥͥ͝.͙͕̺̠͍͕͛̋͂͒ş͓̰̮̤͕̲͓͒͌͒ŝ̞̿ͨ͋̃̚͡s̗̠͓͈̮̲͓ͪ͊ͪͮ̔͗̚.̺̳̳͓̓̏ͧͩͨ́ͫ.͖ͩ̿ͨ.̴̦̪̮̘s̸̗͓̳̉̊ͥ̍ͨ͆ͬ.̩͓̪̠̠̼̠ͮ̊̽̂ͬ̀s̪̙ͪ͐͐̌ͯ.̭̹̺̖̭̩̔̽̒̓̅.̢̯̜̖̂̾̃̅̚.̛͉͉̥̥̽ͦ̀͆s̨̱͇̤ͩͬ.̺̺̭̪͔̟̍͊͊ͮ̂ͭ͡ͅs͓̬̞͇̦͈̒̆ͮ͘.̶͖͙̖̝̪͓͂̿ͥ͊̔̿.̨͉̼͇̣̜͕̤ͬͯͫͪ͑͛.ͪͦ҉͚͓̻͚ẽ̷͍̳̥͍̯͈.̝̘̲̪̓ͨ̉̊͐.ͥ͋͂́ͣ̉́.̮ͪ̒̿̍͟l̳̱̼̫̬̪ͩ͋̑̐̚.̴̞̣̠̦̿͒ͤͫ́̽ͬͅ.͒̈ͯ̅̑͛͂e̠̩̓ͥ͗̄ͨ̚.̷̺̪͚̤̹̈́̓͋̀.͓̩͡.̴̗̤̪̦̇̌ͅs̴̘̃̽͂̚.̯̤͈̩̗ͪ͞.̫̗͉͖͓͖̯͠.̪͇͇̬̙ͥͣ̇͂̚s̀̾̾͑̀s̥̩͔͇̮ͅ.̭̯̍͝.̶̝͙̜̭̰̜̃ͣ̈́̿.͔̩̰̟̲̱̝ͯ̿ͯ̽ͫs͍̭͓̪͆ͦ̓ͪ̄̋.̪̘̩̥̯͈͂ͥͬͮ̑.̩̎s̺͔̗ͫ̽̉̐̇͌͠.̸͙̗̘̣.̥̘̺̳̘̱̗̿̆ͬͨ̃̇s̢͍̳̣͐͐̀͌͛̑͐!̶̙̬̯̞̋ͪ͒̓͌ ̦͖̐̾̀ͥ̃̓S̻̦͚.̯͕͑ͮ̀̌ͪ͑.̘̗̠͔͖̏̏́ș̊̉̒̓̓̚.̨̮̹̺͖̃ͬ̋̈́s̤͑ͅŝ͕̱̤̖͔.̴̠̹͗̒s̮̣̾͗͜.̩̥͊ͤͩͨ.̷̋s̨̿̂̈́s̛̹̱̻̼͇̙̍͆͋ͬs̡͙̠̬̗̠̗̙.̤͙͓̻̔.͕̱̖.ͅs̯̥̞̖̓̍͂̋.̭̜̖̭̜͐̓ͣͣ̽̀.̩ͤ͛̑̓ͯ͑̚͟.̫̼̝t̶̂̎ͪ̊.̺͐̔ͧ͐̃ͬͅ.̞̘͙̓͛̅.̠͕̗͔̠ͭu̱̻̭͗̓͌̐̃ͨ̌͘.̨̘͖̜̳̞͎͛.͇̙̩͢ͅ.̬͓̯̠.̱̱̼̫͙͍͇̑̋͐p̥̞̞̳̯̖̒ͪ͒.̤̱͔͔̈́̓͆̓ͯ̆̈́.̠͖̥̺͔͐ͫ͗͋ͅͅ.̶͕̥͋ͤ̄̈̔į̰̺̯̮̜̲̭͋̊̾̓̒̽ͣ.̝̲̿ͨ̑͑ͨ͝.̺͇͙̖̲̥̱ͩ̊̾̈́.̦̺͚ͨͬͫ̊͌̚.͍̞ͮͯ̈ͭ̉ͬ̆͞.̦͍͕̱̝̹̔̂ͅd̺͉̞͊!̮̹̲̹͍̠̾͢ ̱̮̖̠̰̈́ͬ̃͂I̹ͭ̇̉̊̄̓.̜͍͔͎̳̤ͦ̆̏ͪ̀͒.̵͎͉̱̭̞̤ͫ̓.ͧ́ͤ̇̈́͆̚.͈ͮͭ̃f̨̤̱̲͙͌ͥ̅ͤ̑.ͮ.͔̠̱̞͖ͥ̈́͒ͣͮ̕.̵͙͎̊ͨ̽̀.̸̘̰̞͙̝̾̀.͍̝̘͉̖̑͆̆̓̑̓͋.͖̔ͭ̇͆ͣ.̼̖͇̘̾ͫͯ̌ͩ͆w̡̤̙̞̜̩͓͐.̛̼̫̠̰̙̗̳̐ͦ͗̆̄̃̂.͍̘̠̻͚̾ͩ͑̄̎.̫͈̻͈̰ͭ.̻̤̪̤̱̤ͤ͛ͨ̂ͣ͆̀.̻̩̣ͤ͐̄̇̚ȅ̢̲̾͂͐.̥̬̗̟̟͎̆ͪͩ̍ͩͧ́ͅ.̜̱̮͉͕̺͌̐͜ͅ.̖̘͛͐̌́.̴̩̖̙͖̾̐ͦ̑̚ḓ̷͎̥ͫ͊ͨ̚.ͥ̎ͫ́.̿͂̒̋͗̅ͤ͡.̩̫̜̰̞.̮̖̗̊̉ḯ̶̪̻̝̝̯.̴͇̭̖̩̦ͬ̈́̽̂̾̽.̥̯.̣ͭͪ.̆̄ͦ͐͒̚҉.̞̝̮̄ͤͣͮ͟.̺̪̯̹̱͇͈̏̀e̯͖̥̘̹̪.̴͔͉.̼̻͜.̹͝.̺̫͎.͕̹͕͍̿͛̑͞.͇̰̠̳ͪ̓ͦͩ̂̏͐͘ͅ.͔ͮ͌̑̏ ̻̠̩̰̤͕ͣ̌̚T̛̥͉͖͉̻̰.̖̗͖ͦ.͙̞͈͎̮̍ͤ.̷̬̩͚̲͍̙̃ͦ.̵ͪ̉́.̆ͨ̏h͖̼̠̽̋͆ͪ.̴̫̹̎͌ͮ̋͆͗͂.̣͉̮̈́̄ͬ̿͋.̣̹̟ͦh͓͙̝̻̖̹̋̂̚ͅh̜̘ͩ̕h͈̺̹̰̥ͤ̾̓ͮͅ.̶̝͙.̛ͬ̓̚.͖̦̱͈͇̜ͬ̈́.͕̗͍̫̠͔ḫ̤̼͓̤̣͖ͩ.̩̣͚̖̹͖͔̓ͥ̃͢.̸̲̖͚̖͎̉͂͆ͨͯ͗.͍̗̻̾ͣͨ́͢ͅ.̗̯̏h͈͉̗̤.̞͚̠̱̬̜͂̆.̰̭̬̬̼̘̜̐̔͗̋̒̅̚.͚.̰͖͈̼͚̳͛ẹ̠ͬ̿̽̓͋ͫ̓͝.̷̰͕͍̩̅̽̾̌̍̌.͎̳̱.͗͂̔̚.͖̞̳̎ͯ͒͌̏͒ͤy̮͚̦͕ͨͧ̌ͭ̒.̺̦̖̘̞͊ͭ̉́.ͫ.̬̤̊.̩.̶͆w͎̲̗͓̣̓̔̃ͯ̏ͮ̀.̮͇̫͉̗̃͛̄̍̇̽.͓ͨͫͥ.̶͇̭̪͉ͫͪͩͭ̈.͏͔̮͉̞.̫̏ͪ͊̎͒̾i̦̻͐͊͊̀.̪̒͛̃ͥ̄̄ͅ.̪̦̻͓̬͎̙̉.͕̈̕.̺̺̗̳̰̩̓̎̈͌̌͞.͔̈̆̿̔̃n̯̗͉̓̀̀̈́͗͊!̻̜̗̜̅̒͒͂̏ͨ̚"̡̖̯̲͖͚̙
distortiias
There was one counter part that seemed hard to find, distorted mickey was the one. he hardly shows up even compared to the mysterious white statue of a woman, she had only seen him maybe once or twice slowly crawling down some random hall or hiding in one of the rooms or the...
Distorted Mickey had been inspecting the office desk. Apart from when he was hunting the guard, he did not come here often. He was somewhat curious about how it looked to the guard. Maybe if he knew that, the hunt would be easier.
He stopped as he heard the familiar voice of Photo-Negative Minne. He didn't encounter her very often either, did he?
"̹̯͚̰͋ͦ͗̀H̰̠̤̤̫ͥ̉ͯͯ̀̐̎.̻͔̐̍ͫ͌̆ͮ͋.̭̭͓ͦ̾̓.͕̣ͣ̓̇hͭ̊̓̂͏̬̘͎̤̦.͇̏̉͗ͪͤͩ͟.͖͔̫̆h̪͉̗͔͐̍̂.̞̭̒̈́͂̎ͫ͘h͚̣͋ͦ̔͊ͦ̽̕h̙̰̲ͩ̑͝.̴͕͉̣̟͚͎͑͒̏ͯ̓.̛͚̪̙̬͉̈́̐ͧ.̨̺̙ͣ͗.͎͕̠̺̮̼̙ͬ̇̄e͙̫̪͗ͣ͒.͍̖̝̫ͣ͊͛̒̈ͤ.҉̰͎̠.̞̂̾ͧrͧ͂̀.̙͓̘̩̙̤̌ͬ͒̔̒̈͗͠.͖.̩̣̰͇̿̑͢ͅ.̸͖̥͖̭̱͉̆e̓ͮ̔ͦ.̸ͩ̾̏̈ͫ.͖͓͖͔͓̳ͯ͒͊͝.̯̲̝͍̽̓͑̾̚.̗̳̜̤̃̿ͦ̄̌ͅ ̸̯̰̅̏ͅM͔͇̣̤̰̻͉͐̾.̛̭̘̮̱͙͌ͧ͒̄.͡.̛̘͇̝̜̘o̰̲͔̝.̖͇̾̿̿ͥ͗͜.͙̯̊̾͂̃ͪ͊̚u͇͈̪̇̋ͨ͊̊̊̃͘ͅ.̢̱̹͕̍̍ͫ͋ͥ.̧̝̯͈͇ͪ͂̆͗͛͊s͔̱̥̩̊̄̔ͫͅ.͖ͣ̉ͣͧͮͯ̿.̙̻͚͈̯̫͒̀.̹̤͌e̠̤̤̻̤͖ͅ.͉̙̾̄͑̅.̒̔ͩ̀ͯ̾ͩ.̴͎̬͙̾̃ͅ.͔̯͜.ͭ͒̿ͤ̚͠.̴̯̅"͙̟͕̣̱͓̠͑̿ͪ̀͐̍
He rasped out to her in his struggling, broken voice, before returning to the desk in front of him. She could come in with him if she wanted.
He had considered referring to himself as "me", but decided against it; if he did that, he'd sound like Goofy.
*belowminimumwage*
He didn’t always appear to the guards - in fact, some never saw him at all. And to some people, this might appear to mean he somehow liked them.
This was not true.
Even more than he hated his ruined body, he hated the humans who came here. They had …
He reached out to the man, dragging himself across to the other side of the desk. Chunky yellow liquid started to seep out from beneath his eyes, and his partially melted lower half gradually became visible.
He sounded very angry.
"̅̌҉̘̥̻̬R̟̞̥̭͉̭.ͤͣ̾ͣ̏̍͋͠.̭̆ͨ͆̌͐̒.̣͚̽ͤͨ̌͋͛ͅo̾͟.̩̄̅ͯͨ͝ͅ.͔̰̟̥͍̱͙̎̍͡.̜̟̟ͅ.̲̲̝̝̒ͨ͊ͮț̸.̥̤̺̮̘̟̗̈̎͆ͦ́͗.̛͚̗͍̹̲̈̿.͎͕̣̤̮̯̖̏͌̋̑ ̯̼̘̺̞̳̣̓̍̐w̝͈̪̩͎͎͌̐̔̈́.͔̲̦͚̟̮͛̎̂̒͠.̓̏͂̂.͚̹̗̣̯̹.͕̗̯̭ͫ̇i.̻̗̭͇͙̰̯̀̓ͦ̀̐̈́.͉̮̩͉ͪ̓̓͊̑̋͝.̬̲̒t̹͔̹̳̾.̛̲͗ͤ̽͑ͯͤͣ.̖̗̖̻̰̀̊ͮ̒̓̎̚͝.̺̹̊hͅ.̪̪͕͔̈́̎̍.̸̬̝̯̖͕̥̇ͨ͐.͚̺̲̤̥ͩ.̤̜̃̍ ̨̜͔̮̗̲̤̾̅u͖̳̓ͮ̓͆͡.̶ͭ̈͐͂̇ͯͤ.̦̝͋ͫ̎͒̓̅.̹͖̻̔.͖͚̊̄ͤ͡.̬̯̥͕̂̎ͮ̓̕s̷̩̎.̗̼̦̅̑̒͗̅.̊͑͂̍͌͒̉͏̰̠̯̦̲.̶͐.̙̝ͪ̓̾ͮ͛̚.̢̞̖̮ͭͣ.͈̌̋̆̒͝.̴̘̖̻͐̒̋̄͐͋”͚̤̗̥̍͋̀ͅ
The guard gave out a frightened gasp and he fell out of his chair and started to crawl away till he was in a corner, his breath was quickening from the sight of the blood… So much blood… Chucky yellow blood
"stay back! "he said on a low growl at the suit as he knew that it was hostile now, he wasn’t going to die by this thing…
The Distorted suit pushed itself the rest of the way across the desk, falling onto the ground with a thump. He crawled after the man, sparing only a small amount of attention to wonder why the man was crawling too. Although he could nearly run when he really hurried, any human on their feet was faster. The man should have already been running.
But he didn't complain. That just meant he could still get him.
He growled as he crawled, more yellow blood leaking out of his eyes.
"̡̱̻̗͚̠̭͕̍͋Ṟ̡͖̤̥̺͆̍͌ͯ.̾̎̎ͣ̽҉.̻̠̬̥̦̗͊.̨̯̹.͚̗̖̰̱͛ͭ̓o̭̜̜̓͐̏ͦ́ͭ̋.͉̙̗̻̝̽ͮͬͨ̀ͩ.̺̘̪̲̮͒̾ͦ́.̄̓͂ͪ̌́҉̫͉̞̹̻̲.̤͢t̹̪̘͖.̜̭̖̰̏͊̀.̸̣̣̪̗̱̏͊̓͑̓ͫ̐ͅ.̜̺̥͓̗͂ͭ͛t̤͇͙͔̥ͮ.͚̼͉̤̱.͚̦̘̦ͧ̂̄.̧̟̟̪̠͎̥ͬͮ̾̍ͅ.͙͙̀̄̽ͥ̒̎ͩ͘i̦̔.͚̙͚̈͂.̢̥̯̘̳̮͉͖.͉͎̌ͦͤ̇̊̚͞.̻̋͗̋͑ͅ.̻̞̑nͪ̇̔̍̒͡.̳͔̉ͣͥ̒͊̄ͯ͡.̛̘̩͉ͮͥ̊̈̄ͧͯ.͔̼͙́̆ͣ͞.̢̘̗ͮͯ͂ͩ̀g͈̺̪͎̦͇̦͜.̷̰͓͍̯̱͙̾̉͑.͉̘.̳̳̗͙̲͟ͅ.͠.̪̗̹̺̺̄͗̉ ̧̘̰̣̖͛̽̌̌̿͋ͅA̤͒̎̏ͥ.̦̗͚̘̭͒̍̌͢.̋̚҉̣̝̙.̞͊.̬̂̈́̀ͣb̧͖͔̪̣̤̖̅ͯͫͧ̊̾͌.̠͔.͇̩̮ͣͥ̓̑͜.͈̞ͩͫ͝ȁ̩̝̝̓̅.̬̥͋̓͢.̹̠̝͑.̊ͧ́̿̾͂̕ͅ.̨̳̳ͫͮ̊ͪͫ͌ņ͎̰͉̻̙͇̬̏̓̔ͨ̽͋.̺̘͙̮̭ͧ͋̿̑ͤ͆̚̕ͅ.̼̭̺̠̒̍ͭ̋̉̂.̖̳̺͇ͤͦ̈́.̘̱̬͓͙̗̻́̕.͎̫̺̬̋̔̔̆d̶̹ͧ̈̈.̱̞͐̌ͪ͐͌̑̊͢.̼̥͚͔̙.̵̬̰̦̤̤̐͗͛̒͋.̸̦̭̺̈́ǒ͉͇͇̮̈́̉̍ͧͨ.̝͔̥̩̊͆͒̏̋ͦ̀.̹͙̥.̽̆̏.̶͈̭͇̩͕̥̳n̢̠͔͎͌ͯͣ.̠.͊.͖͙͉̠ͯ̕e̡͕̗̰̊̒ͣ͐.̞̼̩͌̃̉.̰͑.̰̠͠.̱͔̹̺͈͔.̞̦͋̑͠.̪͕̥d̴̩̣͍̠͋.͖̱͙̩̲ͨ͋̄̂̐̋͞.͚̪ͧ̚͜.̟͖͉̝̻͋ͩ̍̀̊̽̚ͅ.̝̦͔͙̫̩̲ͩ̋͗̅.̘̦̦̺̟̓̊ͩ͞ͅ.ͬ̊̃ͧͫ͆͏̬͙ ̨̲͕̱̭̬̦ͬ̈́̋͑͒B̳̯̈̉̒̿̂̋.͐̀̇̽ͭ̊͏͎͍.̵̯͌̎͌.͚͇͋̆͟.̦̬͚̠̦̆̿̒̐.̛̲̙͇̤̮͉̙͊̏y̲͖ͯ͑̿̕.ͦ̄͏.̠.̢͓̗͔̠̐ͣ.̦͔̬͇̈́́ͫ͝.̫̦̼̼͍̫̽̓̒̎͌.̟͓̖̥͚͙͌̅ͧ̿̔͡.̩͚̤̳̐́̑ͪ̅͆́ ̮̭̱̤̯̞̔̚͢T͍͖̘̠̝̋̇̂͝.̙̦͉͇̉ͯͮ̔ͅ.̅̊͒͋̕.̞̻̪͙̬͇̳͛.̖̯̳̙͇̙̞̿ͤh̸̰̽͌̃̔̿̓.̞͔̫̰ͮͦ́̑͑hͭ͛ͬ.̱̘̮̻̒̅̆̓ͬ̓̅͡h̭͕͔̞̦̓ḫ̼̂ͩ̏̎̅̔͡.͓̗͓̲͙̓͒ͬ.̭͇̜͛̅͑̐̌̀h̯͕̦̳̼̲ͅ.̛̹̤͖͕̰̞̪ͥͨ̔̅͑͒ͭ.̩̩͈̩̳̽́ͤ͛̊.͆̏̂e͈̘̙̣͖ͪ̾ͯ͌̐.̹̗̟̣͇ͬ͛ͦͣ̌̆͑.͏̦.̭̀̏̂.̦̗̰̋ͬ̊ͥ̾͟.̐ͬ͠.̯̥̜̪͇̘̆͂̈̂ͥ.͕̜̭̝̫͖ͥ̈̆m̘̺͕̰̲͇͚ͤ̓̎̅.̨̃͐̒̆ͤ.̥.̡̌͐̑͑̀̍.̛̗̫̳.̴̪̺̈́̒ͣ̍̈́̆ͅ.̊̾ͮ̇̏̎̌͏͍ͅ"̖̞̅ͧ
