tearing off the memory scraper that fast hurts, a lot, but ofc inversely that fires tco up a little.
as the pain wears off and they see the scraper being turned on orange, they hang their head to obscure themself biting into rope.
a few snaps of teeth later, they burst out of the chair,
gathering just enough strength to strong-arm the device away from orange's face,
and make a stand, wobbily, to protect him.
â €
â €
rebounding always fills them with a sort of pins and needles sensation, and as their power wanes and waxes and builds back on itself, they shudder from core to extremities, shaking off loose sparks like embers from a flame.
so builds their rage.
their posture straightens with every tick.
victim hasn't seen all of their tricks yet.
but
victim surprises them by turning right around, abandoning the fight as fast as it started.
the workers drop orange and scurry along behind it.
the door opens.
cho steps towards it.
vic turns and stares at them.
cho flinches back.
â €
the door closes.
an opportunity has gone.
â €
...
chosen begins to listen.
now the danger could come from any point in the room.
was another victim clone in here somewhere? invisible? waiting to strike?
would the Box summon another weapon?
would they somehow detonate orange like a bomb right next to them? (chosen tries not to think like that from here on: there would be nothing they could do)
â €
in the midst of their pacing, circling, feather-fluffed patrol, orange sits half-collapsed on the floor.
he's pulled his legs under his chin, and hasn't budged since.
â €
...
chosen sits abruptly next to him.
their head is still twitching, swiveling.
they don't make a very comforting presence.
...
chosen taps a complicated beat on the concrete.
...
chosen resumes pacing.
â €
...
evening falls with the crash-crackle-chunk of industrial electronics powering down.
not this one though. chosen tried the wall.
the lights dim a little in the Box, a lighter grey instead of white, but still hold fast.
chosen can't seem to relax.
orange can't seem to move.
â €
...
the next time chosen turns, orange is waiting for them.
orange gestures wide. at the Box. at the building. at the clearing where chosen forced him to fight. at the IP-address sky they came from. at EVERYTHING. "why? why are we here?"
...
chosen points. "well, you-"
"because of THAT???" orange stabs his hand toward the wall where once hung a projection of chosen's memory, that impossible thing that couldn't have happened... but did.
and neither of them know how.
his shoulders slump.
he returns his chin to his knees, hugging himself tight, before chosen can respond.
hah. as if they'd even know what to say.
â €
...
chosen's stomach doesn't growl—because it doesn't work like that—but they certainly can.
and do.
their pacing doubles in speed, paradoxically wasting more energy, but they can't help it.
orange inadvertently interrupted the one part of the day when their captors actually fed them a decent meal, and now exactly one of them is feeling the consequences.
their mind is a battleground of intrusive thoughts:
should they have abandoned orange? no, dumbass.
what did they do wrong today? nothing, all the employees out there are just assholes.
will They ever feed them again? yes. shut up.
that's a nice hue. what does orange StickFigure taste like? do you think it'd be like Arial or Comic Sa-? OOOO-KAY SHUT UP shut up shut up shut up
they sit, then flop over on their side, and try to forget that orange exists.
â €
...
the air and the walls of the Box don't give back any energy. that was one of the first discoveries that gave chosen the thought, "i might die in here."
most of their time in captivity has been spent trying to bury that thought as deeply as it can go. and like breathing, they just keep digging.
â €
then something warm seems to snug up behind them.
holy shit! did someone turn on Host Battery Sharing? or did one of those bastards outside take pity on them and summon a blanket? or, or maybe a hot water bottle? oooooh
but they turn to investigate,
and come face to face with orange.
...
"wow, you're cold."
"yeah"
...
"sorry,
"it's just"
"no, i-"
"it's just-" orange gestures vaguely around the entire room.
chosen understands the feeling.
orange gives up trying to explain it. "i can leave if you-"
"no!" cho shakes their head vigorously. "it's. it's nice.
"...
"aren't you cold?"
"no," orange shifts a little so his head is leaning on part of them, "i'm fine*. it's kinda like you're a. cooled pillow."
chosen makes a face. they never understood the appeal.
orange doesn't see it, because his eyes are drifting closed.
...
he must be so tired.
finally, a little bit of understanding squirms through chosen's thick skull /fond.
he's not trained for this like they are.
and that's a damn good thing, but
right now, they're both here
and they have to deal with it.
â €
...
he's asleep.
chosen twitches once in a while—they can't help it—but it seems that orange is a deep sleeper, so that works out.
for the first time in hours and hours, he's got a safe place to rest.
â €
...
â €
chosen yawns.
maybe if they nap, too, they'll dream of dark.
â €
â €
â €
______
*orange's latent powers are probably protecting him from the worst of the cold.
ANYone else would say, "holy shit! my bones are freezing! i cannot endure this!" from being this close to chosen for too long,
and he's just here like, "o°°ooo freezy pillow i likey"
oo! yea i believe i've hinted about this before, hang on:
i'm assuming you're talking about this? ^
i also call it, Host Battery Sharing <link>
any machine running a physics simulation in executable! handles some form of atmosphere, and on a PC, the computer itself (the local host) can transmit some of its literal power source (whether you want to think of that as the physical battery or the RAM partition or some abstracted mashup of those two or whatever (i may not have decided yet- xd)) through this software medium.
in the Outernet, the PhysEng is influenced by hundreds of thousands of PCs, but each of their power is too far away and too dispersed to do anything helpful, let alone be aware of the presences below.
but The Box is completely different. being in there feels much more like a singular PC, in a weird, creepy, vaguely comforting sort of way.
this was originally an idea for a fanfic, but i'm not a writer so i chose to make it into a comic. if anyone wants to use this idea in their own work feel free to! just tag me so i can read/see it plsssss
poor yellow. they used the eyedropper and paintbucket tool to change his color and fool alan. also alan is very agressive because he KNOWS his sticks are somewhere there but he can't get to them! and he KNOWS they're in trouble and the greys are keeping him there! later, he stops attacking because what if it's yellow again or maybe orange? plus he just repeated history... and now yellow is afraid of him... he feels guilty
the original note/idea below:
---Alan is in the box and is very angry/agressive. A grey stick is put inside and alan beats the shit out of them. After the beatdown it is revealed that the grey stick was actually yellow, they just changed his color. After that alan is a lot more careful and doesn't immediately attack. This can be used for manipulation later. Another grey stick is thrown in (actual grey stick) and pretends to be yellow (they can use the memory scanner to be more convincing). Alan believes it and ends up spilling some secrets and protecting that stick thinking it's yellow.
[i don't remember how they would use the scanner. maybe they just use yellow's memories to pretend that the impostor is yellow?]
yousharknotpass
gummygunk
pixelskylines
gracieabrams
baratheonpilled
dailybridgerton
kianamaiart
jacobvanloon
snowghoul
