deep in the back rooms of the store, things remain. decaying. decomposing. hidden away and waiting to be unleashed on the world. you open the freezer, preparing for the horrors inside.
Hello hello!!! Welcome to the extra-whumpy version of The Rot!
Here you'll find all the pain and suffering that won't fit in the plot or the universe of the main Rot story!
If you've got any whump tropes or scenarios you'd love to see my dear Rotlings in, feel free to toss them into the askbox!
DNI: ICE supporters, TERFs, trump supporters, generative AI users, racist/sexist/anti-LGBTQ+/etc, basically just be a decent person
TAGS BY STORE:
Mexia
Seafood City
Bavarian Meats
Padaria Sabina
Joseph's Bi-Rite Market
Schuette's Market
Bridgewater Quality Meats
What if, avoiding all logic, while at a store, Aero begins to Rot/has something really bad happen? Whatever Rotling is at that store would have to watch… 🌞
CW: death, suffocation
Something’s wrong.
Aero isn’t coughing, but breathing feels funny. The outlines of the shelf in front of him are fuzzy, like a badly focused photo. Inhale. Exhale. Deep breath that isn’t deep enough.
But there’s so much more to see. He hasn’t even gotten to the back yet. So he continues through the store, ignoring the blur getting worse. Ignoring the grating sounds he makes when he breathes.
His footsteps seem to drag, and he knows he’s running out of time. The photos he takes get clumsily shoved into his pocket. If they’re damaged it’ll be his fault. Time speeds up and slows down over and over, alternating with every movement.
He hasn’t seen anyone else in the store yet, but he hasn’t been to everywhere in the store. Maybe they’re locked in the walk in like Sir Loin was, or hiding in a battle-ready corner like Reese.
The back smells so much worse. Slowly it turns his vision purple as he stumbles through a rotting mess of boxes, leaning on a shelf to keep himself upright. But even that doesn’t work.
His legs give out completely and he slides to the floor, trying desperately to get enough air in his lungs. Pain shoots through his stomach and he thinks he’s shaking, with how blurred everything is. The floor should be cold but in here it’s warm, festering with rot in every way.
“You don’t work here,” a voice says.
He didn’t even hear the footsteps coming. He can’t turn to face them, can’t move his body at all. He feels static around the edges, like he’s starting to disappear.
“Hmm.” Something pokes his stomach and the pain is amplified a hundred times, but he can’t make a sound. Can’t catch his breath at all.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be over soon.”
The last thing he hears before everything goes black.
