You slowly get yourself off the couch, cracking your back before making your way sluggishly over to the cabin's bedroom.

The door's shut tight, and you hesitate while raising your wing up to it.

...he seemed...irritable. Easy to agitate.
But Roulette says he's cool, so-
Maybe...it'll be fine if I just-

You knock, screwing your eyes shut as you hear rustling behind the door-

It opens.

You open your eyes.

Red cheeks.

She narrows her bead eyes at you.

Her voice is soft, forlorn.

She shakes out of it quickly, however, her eyes determined.

Tim sits there for a few moments, going over things in his head.

...okay. I don't- I don't remember which way we were going. That's really bad.
But I need to find the others. I don't want to leave them alone to have god knows what happen to them-
Shit, this is bad. Okay.
I'll eat something and go.

The scottie dog's jerky breakfast tastes dull and bland after the night he'd just had, any tastiness overridden by the sheer exhaustion weighing on him. Maybe he's just too dead to detect any flavor, but more than anything, he just hopes it's not an indicator of narrative fuckery-

Wait!

...when has the narrative ever had my best interests in mind?
That whole thing in the Toy Store, the voices I heard-

....


....

No. I met my friends and made it to Laurie's.
I need to believe in something. Even if it's directionless for now.
I need- I need to have conviction!
And then I'll get where I'm going!

He finishes his jerky, tucking the empty bag in his pack before slinging it over his shoulders, grabbing his sword, and heading for the bulkhead.

Tim takes a moment to steel himself-


-unlocks the door-


-and hauls the doors open as best as he can with his shoulder, holding his sword tight.


They slam open with a crash, nearly scaring him out of his wits. Snow spills in from the outside, having fallen overnight in the storm. Spluttering, he makes his way out-


Nothing but clear white snow, completely untouched.

...here I come.









Cross gets up slowly, tiptoeing over to Roulette and the little car.

She keeps her voice quiet, but audible.

The weasel is awoken by her voice, lifting its head to watch her warily.

It takes Roulette a while to do the same, at first just attempting to adjust itself.
The bot tries to roll to its side, but can't manage it with the car-weasel's extra weight.

Its lens barely opens, coming immediately face-to-face with the car.
Its lens Widens.

Roulette looks slowly to its side, noting Cross, then back to the weasel.
The car is unmoving, looking back at Roulette with an impossible-to-read face.

It ever-so-slowly shifts itself towards the edge of the couch.
The weasel glances about, at first attempting to move enough to stay on the couch,
but eventually relenting and hopping to the floor.

It moves around to the other side of the couch, away from Cross, but still watches Roulette.



The bot stands, letting out a grunt of strain, holding to the couch.
It reaches over, snagging its scythe, which is promptly has to use to keep itself upright.

Roulette glances out the window.

It hobbles towards the door; clearly unsteady, but managing not to fall.
The car follows along.

The weasel keeps looking at the bot, occasionally glancing back at Cross.
Roulette sighs.

Roulette pushes the furniture out of the way of the sliding door, instantly exhausting itself in the process.

As it holds itself up on the wall, it stares out into the entryway.

Cross rushes over, fearing the worst.

It doesn't look at her.

It makes its way out of the living room, heading for the front door.
The car-weasel rolls along after it.

Cross stands there for a moment, steeling herself....before following suit.

It clutches the front door when it reaches it,
trying to disguise that it's holding onto it for support.

It opens the door, stepping out into piles upon piles of snow,
which immediately become difficult for the still-recovering bot to maneuver in.
It pushes forward regardless.

It stumbles, and recovers.
The car nudges its leg, though the bot tries not to give it attention.

She nods, keeping a close eye on the bot.

It already seems to be stubbornly pushing itself beyond its limits.

The snow easily comes a quarter up your leg as you trudge through it, grateful for your snowpants. The trees are definitely getting thicker, and all you can really hope for is that the others are heading the same direction...

Fatale seems to be struggling through it, her expression furrowed and scrunched.

It feels like an hour, maybe two, who even knows, passes before you see it.

A flash of red, to your east.

You squint.

Red, black, and white.

It freezes as you look over, shaking Fatale's shoulder for her to look.

The shape starts running at you-

-and you run back towards him.

The two of you slam together in a big hug, both of you shaking and trying not to cry.

He lets go after a moment, rushing over to Fatale.

It's clear he wants a hug, but he hesitates, unsure how to handle the situation.

Fatale rolls her eyes, relenting.

She opens her arms, Tim wrapping his own around with a delicacy that surprises her.

His shoulders start shaking again, Fatale giving him a light, awkward pat on the back.

Tim pulls back, wiping his eyes and nodding.

Fatale pulls away, rubbing her elbow.

The three of you start trudging further north, the light filtering in through the canopy overhead just enough to have a good idea of where you were going. There's not a lot of conversation, everyone too exhausted to even go into the night prior...and fearful of the status of the other two party members.


Your party reaches a clearing where the trees thin.


Far to the east, you spot an odd-looking, large figure.

You squint.



Two figures.
One hold the other up by the shoulder as they walk in tandem.

You practically drop your backpack in order to run, Fatale and Tim following behind as best as theye can with their packs still on.

The camera-bot gestures the virtual pet towards the east horizon.



There's a sense of relief in its voice.
Though, it doesn't seem entirely eager.

The car-weasel, meanwhile, keeps itself hidden behind the bot.

Cross doesn't drop Roulette or speed up, simply letting out a string of loud beeps and lashing her chain tail around.

You're practically falling over yourself as you stumble in front of them, taking a minute to catch yourself before realizing that you cannot immediately go for the hug move while Roulette's being propped up.

Roulette notices the lack of hug and pulls away from Cross, using its scythe to hold itself up.
Allowing the two to do so.

You squeak one in, giving Cross a huge squeeze.

Fatale's caught up in the meantime, rushing over to Roulette.

The bot nods, unable to drum up much excitement in its exhausted state.

She turns away, slightly.

It finally, properly looks up.

Oil pools at the edges of its lens, barely visible,
unable to hold back all of the emotions that'd been building.

It tries to take a step forward, and loses its balance, barely managing to catch itself with its scythe.
Its repositioning inadvertently reveals the weasel-car hiding behind it.

Fatale's eyes widen-

-but she prioritizes helping Roulette back up, choosing to squint over its shoulder at the car and give it a clear warning sign.

The car squeezes itself up behind Roulette's legs, eyes wide.

It lets out the tiniest growl at Fatale; brief, and clearly frightened.

The car nudges against the bot's leg.

Roulette struggles to speak, looking at the ground.
Embarrassed, maybe?
It's always difficult to tell.

Her eyes go wide.

Cross seems to consider saying something, but sighs.

You head back to get your backpack, hauling it on....and going on your way with the rest, finally reunited.



You are now back in control of Polka Dot. There's a lot to talk about...

It can't be real. There's no way this is real.
Daemon can't get me.
They're not here.
And-
Whoever's- whatever's- taunting Fatale- no, it's the shadow guy now, it's- they can't be here either.
We. We need to calm down.

You take a deep breath before slowly approaching the black-tinted bear, trying to ignore the feeling of your bat still heavy in your wing.

It would be so easy to solve the problem-

You whip around towards the window, your beak gritted into a grimace.

The bear startles, scrambling for his knife and holding it out at you.

The bear's shoulders are heaving, as if even getting his next words out is a tremendous effort.

Going to finish the job, Devotion?

The bear says nothing, his eyes narrowing.

You couldn't last time.

You have to put your wing on his shoulder as he tries to get up to his feet, knife clutched desperately in his paw. Every part of him is shaking, and the look he gives you when he realizes you're holding him back is full of cold, raw, malice.

He glances away.

He squeezes his eyes shut, squeezing the handle of his knife.

My Devotion, ohhh, my sweet Devotion-

He doesn't say much, simply shuffling over to the side of the window, staying at a point where he can look out, but whatever's out there can't see in.


You watch his hunched posture, every part of him locked in and ready to spring into action if the light gets close enough.

Jeez....

When you sit down with him, you do your best to remember your own words.

It's not Daemon.
It's not Saddler.
It's just a stupid fucking animal.
We're fine.


We're fine.

The bulkhead slams.

Tim has his eyes squeezed shut, braced for the end.

I'm going to die here, I'm going to die here because she finally found me and she's going to punish me and-

Devo's face flashes in his mind- no, Fatale's. He left her alone. She's still in danger-

I c-can't give up!

Curly, what's gotten into you?

The plush lets out a rough growl, a far deeper sound than the soft voice he'd been using since arriving from the Store.

You're going to make such a mess of things!

It hits him just as the bulkhead slams again.

Wait-
She used to say that word for word-
Why would she repeat that exact wording now?
It's-
What if it's not her?
Why hasn't she opened the door?

Tim tries to collect himself, wiping away the tear embroidery on his cheeks and rubbing his paws against the mattress, feeling the weathered quilted texture.

Think back to my books.
Aftercare. Aftercare- grounding. This is bad. This is a bad situation, but maybe- maybe that'll help.
Touching things. C-counting things.

CURLY, where is my LITTLE GI-

His voice drops to a pained whisper.

She approaches slowly, shuffling even with the feeling of her legs being so, so horribly icy cold.

The virtual pet lightly waves her hand around Roulette's shoulders- nothing there, just air.

Roulette's lens is clenched tightly shut, 'tears' leaking through.

The bot is Yanked to the side away from Cross, like a puppet, still looking like it's being held.

Still waiting on that smile.
Perk up a little.

The bot's legs drag uselessly along the floor.

Its core can't even seem to heat up properly, though it's trying; still too iced over.

Cross lunges foward, wrapping her arms around the robot and digging her heels into the ground.

She feels resistance to the motion, something trying to pull it away.

But it's weak, unable to fight against her, and soon ceases entirely.

Roulette is practically vibrating;
from the cold, from using far too much of what little energy it has left, and out of fear.



It can't speak, and doesn't or can't Move.
Instead, trembling in her arms, too scared to open its lens.
Trying to wait for the ordeal to be over.

Roulette is too overwhelmed to reply, or to Think much at all.

You're falling right into what it wants, you know that?
As soon as you let your guard down around it, you're dead.

You should've seen what it did to Polka in the toy store.

You'd risk her life for That Thing, then?

The bot goes limp.

Her voice comes out extremely stern at that, a harsh beep escaping her.

The light seems to move in circles- pausing for a few moments in the distance, seemingly turned away from you...

Your bear companion still says nothing, having been dead silent aside from a few low growls when the voices start up again. He hasn't let go of that knife for a single second, and you have to wonder whether his paw's gone numb from gripping it that hard.

Even so-

It does not approach further.

Polly, you're dealing with the enemy! He's just going to backstab you...

You glance over at the bear, trying not to feel freaked out when you catch him staring right back at you.

He just keeps staring, his gaze fierce.

He lets his gaze go back to the window, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

Fuck...I just hope Roulette was right about this guy being chill...

The voices continue, little clips of memories mixed in with goading, taunting about the situation...but they fade, bit by bit.

And eventually-

The light seems to bob away, wandering off.

With it, the voices leave as well.

It's dead silent.




You don't know how long it is before either of you speak.

He gets to his feet slowly, keeping an eye on the window as he does.

You half expected him to stick around here all night.

You blink, your beak hanging open slightly.

He's already well on his way over, not leaving you room to input.

It's just you alone in the room now, and you can't help but desperately wish someone, anyone, would give you a nice hug.

...in the morning I'll find Cross and the others again.
I have to.

The couches aren't the most comfortable, but the one you settle on will just have to do.

...goodnight, me.

You close your eyes, and slip away.

Tim can't fully remember the lyrics to the song he's currently looping in his head, but god damn if he isn't trying. He's got his sword in his lap and his eyes squeezed shut, doing everything he can to focus on the here and now, and on that catchy song on the radio he and Devo thought was the stupidest thing in the world-

Just gotta make it through this. I gotta hear that really dumbass song again. I gotta- I gotta show it to Fatale, and Scout, and even the shadowy guy-

I gotta show all three of them that I've got what it takes to support them!

When he opens his eyes back up-

There's no more slamming.

Maybe a bit of the voice, but just....in the distance, unintelligible.


Whatever was tormenting him is gone now, leaving him in the cold basement.

I....I-

It comes out as an awestruck whisper.

He has to resist jumping to his feet, knowing it would send his sword flying.

It's probably still late, though...

He does get to his feet now, but slowly- edging his way over to the bulkhead stairs, tiptoeing over-

And locking the bulkhead.

Won't catch me making that mistake twice...now this place is a proper bunker.

Returning back to his makeshift bed, he realizes just how tired he is-

-and sleep comes for him before he has the strength to object, the dog passing out into a dreamless slumber.

Cross refuses to let go of Roulette, praying with all of her little circuitboard heart that this is all going to be okay-

-and then she realizes.

...I don't feel as cold anymore.

She wiggles one of her feet, letting out a surprised beep when it doesnt feel as frostbitten, not even close.

It's barely conscious, at this point, having exhausted itself far beyond its limits in all the ordeal.

I'm still here.
It flinches, still.
But the voice is fading out, its volume lowering.

I Always am.
You know I'll find you again, don't you?
I'll be back for you, love, don't worry.

Soon enough.






It's gone.

Roulette still hangs in her arms.




Its voice is quiet.
Glitchy. Defeated. Spent.

She slowly starts moving the bot back over towards the couch, hauling both of their bodies onto it with a flop.

Its half-open lens can't bear to look at her. Too ashamed.

It sprawls out onto the couch.
Roulette tries to adjust itself.
Its joints move a little.

Then, it hitches,
buzzes,
fizzles.
Power glitching, shutting off,
before clicking back on.

Unable to move, still.
Only able to Speak.

Even so, she gets up slowly, starting to look over the room with hatchet in hand.

...nothing, not even in any of the nooks and crannies.

The virtual pet closes the barrier tight, blockading it to be extra sure.

...am I alright?

It's the first time the thought had occured to her during this whole mess.

She had spent the entire incident entirely focused on saving Roulette, on keeping it safe. Nothing to regret, not by a long shot-

But she's aware of her shaking hands, now. Maybe they were always shaking, and she just didn't notice, maybe it was just the question that did it-

Cross isn't sure how many of her little pixel toys she goes through, but eventually she feels her eyes getting heavy, unable to keep herself from letting out a big yawn.

She glances over at Roulette.

It's already out cold.

Snoozing softly.
At some point it'd managed enough motion to pull a blanket and pillow up for itself.

Cross' pixel character smiles, and she can't help but let out a gentle, pleased chime.

She scoots over to her own couch, starting to get comfortable and let her eyes close...

She hears something rustle.


A little creak.

She can't tell if she'd fallen asleep or not, or if it'd only been a few moments.
Or if she's dreaming.



Regardless.
She opens her eyes to find


the barricade being
gradually, slowly slid open, little by little.

She's on her feet in an instant, hatchet in hand.

The snouted face of a creature, pokes in from the dark...fairly close to the floor.
Lime green and black stripes.
Some kind of...weasel-ish? Shape? She thinks.

It sniffs the air, creeping in cautiously,
its...Wheels having trouble on the house's floor.

It spots her,
locking eyes momentarily.

It looks frightened, but doesn't move yet, watching her.

Wait...
The thing from earlier?
I think Roulette fed it snacks...


She gets on her knees, setting her hatchet aside and keeping her voice soft.

It backs up a step, as she leans down.

Then cautiously enters,
still sniffing about,
still keeping an eye on her.



It doesn't come near her,
its nose apparently drawing it to the sleeping robot on the couch by the fire.

Cross stays frozen, watching carefully.

...I've got my hatchet in case things go bad. I'm fast.

It sniffs a few more times.

Then, its front wheels reach up.
It's surprisingly nimble, for how it looks, startling her as it leaps up atop the couch with Roulette.

Somehow, this doesn't wake the bot.



It looks the bot over, as if expecting more treats.
But seems to realize it's sleeping...you think, anyway.

It paws at its chest with a wheel.
But, gives up.



It glances over at her again, watching her warily,
as


it begins to settle itself atop the Roulette's torso,
cozying up.

It looks tired, too.

Cross gets up slowly, approaching with care.

I'll just pick it up and gently move it somewhere else-

As her hands hover over the car, though-
The creature bristles up, eyes wide.
Ready to run.
Or, potentially, attack.

Its gaze is glued to her hand.

It's warm.

...maybe it can stay there. For now. It might help with the overload...

With a sigh, she trudges back to her couch....and falls promptly back asleep.

As she makes her way back, it settles again.

It keeps its eyes on her,
until they slowly close.

It falls asleep, snoring atop Roulette.

The fire warms up the room, as the storm begins to die down outside.

You wake up in a start, as if expecting something horrible right upon your throat-


-but it's just the cabin, daylight streaming in through the window.

Outside, it's pure white- but you're relieved to see that it's no longer snowing. It's a perfectly sunny day, the heaps of snow on the ground sparkling, completely undisturbed.


It's as if the storm never even happened.

Tim rouses from his sleep with a groan, having spent the night with his plastic sword jabbing into his side.

Thank god these things don't hurt unless you mean them to...

There's no sounds outside. It's probably day, judging by how groggy he feels.

...only one way to find out.




 

---

Cross beeps awake.
Feeling relatively well-rested, despite it all.

One of the weasel's ears twitches at the sound. But it seems to still be Mostly asleep.
Roulette is moving a little more, seeming to be in the gradually process of waking up, but still out of it at present.

....we made it.


What does your party do now?

You back away from the window, gesturing for Fatale to join you.

Another sound cuts through the dark, a deeper voice- growling and snarling.

Devo, my Devotion....
Where did you go?
You can't hide from me forever.

Fatale makes a strangled sound, taking more than the few steps back you suggested. She's already with her back to the far wall, her chest heaving.

Your ribbon feels like it's choking you.

Her voice comes out shrill, desperate.

Come here.

The words seem to boom, shaking both of you to your core- it's both voices at once, feeling out of sync and distorted.

The lights outside seem to come closer.

She's practically screaming now, grabbing at her chest and gripping it tight enough to bunch her coat fabric in her fist.

Be a good girl and come here.

Fatale lets out a strangled noise before collapsing to her knees, covering her ears.

One more down.

You hear Daemon's voice as clear as day, shaking you to your core.

It'll be a quick slice.

Fatale's cheeks tint black.

Isn't it something when they burst?

You feel the weight of a bat in your wings.

Tim scrambles to his feet, every part of him screaming to run, to get out of here-

Curly, don't you want to be my little girl-?

He snatches up his sword as he dives behind a crate, narrowly avoiding cutting himself on the blade in the process.

Another slam on the bulkhead, Tim's head pounding along with it.

I thought you cared about me-

The scottie dog lets out a whimper, covering his muzzle with his scarf.

Don't let her hear you, don't let her hear you-!

My Cuuuurly girly.
I know what you need, you need me to take care of you...

Roulette is shaking hard enough for its parts to sound loose.

It trudges forward regardless, going for the privacy screen.
But, its legs fail, and it catches itself on the couch, looking barely mobile still.
The bot tries to prop its scythe on the floor in order to stand back up, but it isn't going well.

She's struggling with her own words, her hands shaking.

With an extended, distorted beep, she pushes past the weight pooling in her legs- as if she herself was feeling frost creep up them- and getting to the door opening.


The void hangs in front of her.

You need to listen to me. I'm trying to keep you alive.


The second voice speaks into her ear again.

She grips the side of the door, her hands trembling. She can feel the grease and grime of digging through trash all over her fingertips.

It is? You don't even know who it is.
Faysal isn't someone you're safe around.

Cross can hear that Roulette has managed to stand behind her.

Oil streams from its lens.

And if it's Really your friend,



Then why did it try to kill your girlfriend once already?



Roulette stops moving.
Its aperture is open wide.

Don't worry.

The first voice comes from behind Roulette.
It tries to swivel, to swipe its scythe in that direction.
But it can't move fast enough to even try.

I still love you.
I always will.

Its arm twitches upward as it gasps loudly and stumbles away.
As if it'd knocked something off itself.

It freezes, sickle vibrating in its claws.
Its head sparks and sputters.

You poor thing.
It's good I found you.

Roulette's shoulders wrench upwards, its elbows nearly pushing together.
The motion throws its stance off entirely.
Its sickle clatters to the floor.

It squirms like vermin caught in a snare.
Oil stains its wet clothes as it trembles, its parts heaving.

Its aperture shuts, hanging in an awkward standing position.
As if it's being held there.
Oily tears continue on regardless.

The basement floor is cold under Tim's knees, even through his snow pants. He's trembling, his thoughts racing with all of the possibilities.


Fatale...I...I just met her, and I couldn't keep her safe-
I know that she- she doesn't like me, but-
She...Devo...all of them, I need to protect them!
I can't let them get hurt, but I-
I couldn't. I was just blown away like a fucking ragdoll.


He clenches his stuffed paws into fists, banging one against the hard floor with a pathetic "whumph".

Tears start to stream down his cheeks, embroidery gushing out into long dangling threads.

The scottie dog clutches at his scarf, bringing it to his face and muffling a pained scream.


It hurts-
This hurts more than- more than anything-
I love Devo, I love-
I don't know Fatale, or-


The hug he gave Scout last night comes to mind, soft and intimate...unfamiliar, but just as warm as the ones he gets from Devo.


I...I'm going to miss out on meeting all of them...
Even...even the shadowy guy, I wanted to try and- to try and be his friend-


He lets out another strangled sob, his shoulders heaving as he gets it all out.


S-silk Ribbon too, I just- I let her down, she's gone too!
My b-best friend, gone just like that, and I was- I volunteered to protect both of them, and I couldn't do a single thing.
Why the fuck am I-
Why did they have to put their trust in me?
I'm just a m-mistake...


It takes a while for his sobs to end, the dark basement making it impossible to tell time.



...but it does stop, leaving the dog feeling empty.


He raises his head up slowly.


...if they're...if they're okay, and we don't all fucking die out here-
I should look for supplies.
...make myself useful.


Tim sluggishly hefts himself up to his feet.
The dim lightbulb overhead doesn't illuminate much in his little corner of the basement,
but there's still enough to properly search.


Most of what he finds are wooden crates, which he's entirely unable to open on his own; all of them shut tight.
Against a nearby wall he spots a plastic-wrapped mattress. Testing it with his paw, it feels softer than he imagined it would.
He pulls it over and flops it down in his corner, glad to have somewhere to rest in the cold basement.
Finally, when looking across one of the crates, his paw brushes against a little book, which he promptly picks up.


It's a half-finished booklet of crosswords, a little pencil still threaded into the metal loops at its top.


...great.
At least I can. Do. Something.


He sets himself down on the mattress and pulls out the pencil with a strained sigh, starting in on one of the puzzles.



...most of it's already filled out. There's just two words left.

He rubs his snout into his hand, still shaky.

It's some time before he sets the book down, his head pounding and chest aching. He can barely take the sheer amount of noise in his head, driving him absolutely crazy.

Laying back on the mattress is all he can think to do, closing his eyes and praying as hard as he can that his mind quiets.



Sleep comes for him.

You watch as Fatale paces around, unsure of what to say at first.

You're not sure how much you believe your own words, pulling your wing down your face. Thoughts about what could have happened to all of them won't leave you alone, and you're holding back every bit of panic in your body.


But Fatale needs someone right now, her whole body trembling.

She sniffles.

You sigh, patting the spot next to you on the couch.

The bear hesitates before taking a seat, pulling her knees up to her chest.


You stop to check her cheeks- yeah, still red.

She looks startled, but nods.

Fatale pulls her knees in closer, and the two of you grow quiet again. The wind's still howling outside, but at least it's quieter in the lodge itself.

Checking the room, you find a door you hadn't noticed before and push inside.


At first glance, it's a little hallway,
but after turning the light on, you realize it's a kitchenette with two burners, a little sink, and some cabinets.
You save checking them for now, spotting two more doors right next to each other.


Beyond one is one of the tiniest bathrooms you've ever seen in your life, though it somehow manages to contain a standing shower.
Past the other is a cozy bedroom, with two bunk beds across from each other.
Good to know you've both got a nice place to sleep.


With that done, you rifle through the cabinets in the kitchenette.


You don't find much, the place apparently almost cleaned out.
But, you do find some canned food on the highest shelf.
Pulling them down, you check the labels.


...They're canned PB&J Sandwiches, and a canned cheeseburger.

You nearly jump out of your skin, letting out a strangled squeak.

Her voice sounds so soft, even more than when she was crying at the campsite. She's looking down at the ground, shuffling her feet, rubbing her elbow.

She can't help but snicker a little, getting you to smile.


Well...maybe....we'll be able to hunker down.
Yeah.
We'll make it.

Cross heaves Roulette over to the closest couch she sees, letting out a long beep of exertion as she sets the robot down carefully.

She turns to the fireplace- relieved to see that the unlit flame within is just like the party's campfire, plastic with a little light inside. Sure enough, there's a switch on the bottom, easily flicked to get the heat and light going.

She rushes back over to the couch, getting behind it and straining as she scoots it more towards the fire, as close as she can get it while still leaving room to move.


Time to play nurse...
Think back to what you had to deal with while homeless.


The virtual pet steps back in front of the couch, looking the robot over.


Roulette is still barely moving, though its lens is open a little, focused on nothing in particular.
It's difficult to see much with its clothes on, but she does notice frost built up at its neck joint, likely the same for its other joints as well.
Even its lens is coated in a layer of frost.


It's no wonder it isn't moving much, the ice probably isn't giving it much room to.
Not only that, but the progression of the freezing seems a lot faster than she remembers dealing with herself;
likely because Roulette is mostly metal rather than having a plastic shell.


Okay...
I should try to get some of that frost off.
The ice is bad, but hopefully it didn't get in too deep...
...

I should probably take its coat off, get a better look at things.


She wrings her hands a little before starting to prop it up, removing its scarf with as much care as she can muster. Its hat comes off next, laid to the side with the scarf.  Its coat requires a bit more work, Cross having to work around Roulette's stiff, frozen joints. She makes sure the clothes are all tucked away to the side, before she lays it back down flat.


It's immediately concerning, seeing just how frosted-over Roulette's limbs and joints are,
though she can tell the ice is already starting to melt as it's gotten warmer.
Luckily, there doesn't seem to be much in the way of serious or long-lasting damage, as far as she can tell.


Roulette's lens lazily looks up at her, though she can't tell how much it can see with the ice, especially being so out-of-it.

She looks around the immediate vicinity, letting out a grateful chime as she spots a pile of throw blankets.

The vpet cautiously wraps one around the bot, making sure it's completely surrounded.


It's a few moments of studying the robot before Cross sighs, getting no response.

Thankfully, the living room looked to be fairly closed off from the rest of the manor, with only one entrance,
although it's rather wide and entirely open without any kind of traditional door.


Her careful eye spots a handle, just next to the opening.
She walks over and tugs on it, finding it to be a wide, foldable privacy screen of sorts.
She pulls it all the way across, locking it in place at the other side, and pushes some nearby furniture against it for good measure.

She looks over her shoulder, calling back to Roulette.

To her surprise, the bot has stirs now, attempting to sit up.
It promptly fails, letting out a quiet grunt as it flops back against the couch.

She rushes over, kneeling by the bot's side.

It ignores her question, or possibly doesn't hear it.

She glances away.

Her shoulders shake slightly, but she keeps it together.


Roulette stares into the fireplace.

Cross doesn't make eye contact, still.

 Shit, maybe that's too personal.

Her pixel character shimmies uncomfortably.

It visibly sinks into itself as its posture droops.

Once again, it can't manage to sit up.
It strains, servos crunching with ice, but it only ends up back down on the couch.
It says nothing.


Cross places a hand on Roulette's shoulder, gentle.

You and Fatale sit on one of the couches, staring directly at the canned cheeseburger, set on a side table. It had been a while since you'd looked around, the sun had fully gone down, and neither of you had been talking much- but now a topic has arisen.

You shudder.

It's nice to see her perk up a bit, even if it's only for a moment- though the two of you are startled by the sound of the wind, slamming against the side of the cabin.


...at least, you're pretty sure it's wind.


Fatale gives you a sideways glance.

The two of you sit in silence, listening to wind, wind, and more wind-


Until you make it out.


A single voice.


Singing.


Polly, Polly, Pooooollly-


You let out a strained squeak, almost a wheeze.

She nods, her eyes wide.

Your wings are shaking as you get up off the couch.

Far in the distance past the cabin's clearing,
obscured by trees and heavy snowfall,
you spot two yellow lights projecting sideways into the snow, moving along in sync with each other.


In any other context, you'd mistake them for the headlights of a car,
but there's no way anyone could be driving in this condition, let alone without a road.


Looking at them makes dread well up in the pit of your stomach.

Curly...

Tim's eyes widen with a start, his whole body tensed up.

The name had come to him in a horrible- it had to have been a dream, right? It sounded distant, so it must have been his imagination.

...

No way it was real.

He sits up slowly, letting himself re-acclimate to the waking world. It had to have been an hour since he'd fallen asleep, judging by the groggy feeling all over, like a nap ended too early.

Cuuuurly-

This time, he jumps, hearing the word loud and clear.

...I'm-
I'm hearing things. I'm just stressed.

Where's my little girl?

His whole body feels ice cold, every part of him locked up. The feeling grows worse and worse before he lays back down, pulling his scarf over his head and covering his ears.

No such thing as ghosts, or anything like that. Nope. I'm just really fucking stressed and hearing things.

Sleep takes him after what feels like an eternity-








Only for the dog to yelp, startled by the sound of something slamming the unlocked bulkhead doors.

Cross's pixel character stirs, wiggling back and forth and emerging from her little on-screen futon as she wakes up. It's always hard sleeping outside of her normal cycle, and her internal clock tells her that only an hour has passed since she and Roulette had fallen asleep on their respective couches.


The first thing that hits her is the feeling of anxiety creeping through her whole body, a deep dread that makes her feel like she's going to be sick.

She grips at her chest, feeling a horrible pain in her buttons-


The same kind of pain she had felt when they broke on the streets, the feeling of something worming inside and touching her electronic guts.

She hunches over, audibly making pained beeps as she tries to get it together.

She turns her head to the robot.



Its lens is wider than she's ever seen it, looking at the barricade.

It's open.
Wide enough for a person to fit through.

They both can see out past it, into the pitch black of the rest of the manor.

A voice comes from out in the dark.


Roulette is on its feet, scythe drawn in an instant.
It can hardly stay upright, though.


It's shaking.

Cross nods, immediately scrambling for her hatchet.


When she speaks, her voice is very quiet, though made wavering by the fear and sickness in her chest.

A different voice whispers into Cross' ear.


Roulette jumps, swiveling back.

She yells out into the dark, raising her hatchet at the void ahead.

The voice in the dark comes again.
Something about it makes Cross' plastic crawl.


Roulette backs all the way to the wall this time, its electronics shuddering as they attempt to rev up but can't manage it.
Oil is leaking from its lens, a faint whimper coming from its speaker.

The wind is howling.

Even in the blizzard, you can just barely make out Fatale giving Tim a death glare through her snow-covered glasses.

All of you are startled by the gravity in your girlfriend's voice, everyone turning to look at her.

She leans in, just barely able to talk directly to you and you and you alone.

You screw your eyes shut and nod.

She looks back up at the others, Fatale looking conflicted-

-before nodding as well.

She takes a step away from the group, tensing up before starting to trudge through the snow...


and out of sight.



You try to ignore the pit of dread in your belly.

She looks deeply uncomfortable, something that makes you feel worse. It's clear Tim's debating on comforting her, but you can't waste any time right now.

Fatale looks away, nodding. Her glasses are almost completely frosted over now.

Her voice almost gets swallowed by the sounds of the storm, but the three of you take up your new positions, beginning your long walk.





You're surrounded by white. Seeing Fatale's black coat and Tim's red scarf is all you can cling to as the three of you walk, three toys alone in a horrible snow-buried world.

It goes on forever. The snow is cold and harsh against your cheeks, tear-paint coming up at the corners of your eyes.

You swear that even in the loud din of the storm, you can hear Fatale sniffling.


You don't even realize just how dissociated you are from everything until the wind hits, slamming Fatale into you- the two of you clutching at each other for dear life as it slices into your rubber skin. You can't tell if it's left actual gashes, frost, anything, but you hear a noise-


A startled, cut off canine yelp

-before you realize that the red scarf is nowhere to be seen.

Vanished.

Taken from you.

Fatale starts to shake, looking around frantically.

You're just as panicked.

No answer.

Tim splutters, tumbling and rolling in an incomprehensible mess through the snow. He can't tell where he's going, where any of his limbs are, everything's all screwed up-

When he finally gets a grip, scrambling around in the snow and desperately trying to get on his knees-

He realizes just how far he's been pushed away from the group. Or- how far it feels. They're not there. He can't see a single thing, or hear anything over this wind-

His voice sounds hoarser the louder he yells, barely able to hear himself over the howls.

He chokes back a whine, getting to his feet and-


-tripping over a piece of wood rubble.


He remains on the ground for a few moments before raising his head.


A burned building sits before him, so close to him and yet still invisible just before he got moving.

The scottie dog gets to his feet, paw on his sword as he walks through the wreckage. It's been burned down a long time ago, since reclaimed by the snow. Even areas covered by patches of leftover ceiling have the snow blowing in, no proper cover to be found anywhere.

And then, by the outer wall-

He sees a bulkhead, leading to a basement- somehow uncovered.

He kneels, opening the doors with little issue. Thankfully unlocked.

The stairs heading down feel ominous as he lowers himself in, closing the doors behind him and entering the dark.


He's able to fumble around the wall before finding a light switch, a single lightbulb in the corner of the very large basement turning on. There's others, but they're all burned out...

There's stuff down here, but it's mostly boxed, not a person or remnants of anyone having been down here- at least not in a while- to be found.

Tim collapses to his knees.

You can't find him. You don't know how far you've walked, but you've lost Tim entirely.


To say you're panicked is an understatement.

Fatale is hanging onto your coat sleeve, all prior worries about touch lost. She's desperate to keep close to you, her body shaking even through her thick coat.

You can't help but wonder what could be happening to Cross right now. If she's-


No, you can't think about the possibility of her not being alive. No way.


You shake the thoughts of your dream away, of her screen going dim.


No.

Not now.

The two of you walk carefully, linking arms and trudging through the knee-high snow. How it got that deep is beyond you, but you need to keep moving....




Fatale sees the cabin first, letting out a loud yelp and pointing with her free arm.

Hope buds in both of your chests as you race towards the shack door, flinging it open-

...only to see nothing at all, but a dark abandoned room.


You're panting, trying to avoid from crying out in frustration.

You close the door, hitting the lights and dropping your backpack by a log couch.

The pillows throw dust everywhere as you sit, Fatale watching you lean back and cover your face with your wings.

You can't answer.

There's not enough to say.











Snow buffets the metal chassis, even under layers.


Each step makes heavy divots in the snow.








Roulette comes to a scattered thicket of trees,
making its way in between them all.

It checks behind itself once.
And again.

Making sure no one can see.









The leaking dam in its head finally gives way.

It loses its strength.
Its legs go numb as it falls to its knees.
Its lens shuts, and shuts tighter.
Black-iridescent oil droplets roll from the center of the lens, staining the snow below in muddy colors.
One of its claws covers its eye to try and stop the flow, even now.
While the other squeezes at the side of its head, hard.

It tries to keep upright, but its posture heaves like a sapling in a thunderstorm.
Grey smoke sputters out the sides of its head.
It falls forward fully; half-sprawled, half-curled up on the snow-covered forest floor.
The robot is quiet during the whole affair, wary of being heard.
Near-silent, sniffling sobs the only aural indication of its condition.

The blizzard kicks on in earnest,
burying the robot quickly.
Its head and shoulders stay unstuck, though, only thanks to the overheating core behind its camera lens.


can't
I can't die here I can't
Devo and Fatale and the rest
they'll come looking they'll get hurt they won't Recover from losing me but I
can't
I can't. i can'ticant get up

get up. get Up
move your legs. Move. MOVE

Its body won't respond, entirely out of its control.

Stuck balled-up and sobbing in full overheated breakdown.

what do you have to whine about
what RIGHT do you have to lie here and cry
if you could have just Kept It Together a LITTLE longer
it was ALMOST OVER, i was almost THERE
YOU are the one who dug this hole for yourself by Being You
do something right for once in the stretch of nothing you call a Life and MOVE
get UP get up

please get Up
i have to I Have to

Its legs attempt to prop it up enough to rise.
The thicket protects it from the worst of the blizzard, but only barely.

It isn't enough.
Its legs don't have enough feeling; from the blizzard or the overheat, or both.

It rises a few inches only to collapse back into the snow.



lie here and die then
burden the ones you love with a wound that wont ever go away
from discovering your frozen corpse later
or worse. never once knowing what happened to me
theyll blame themselves. you did that to them
maybe one or more of them will die out here searching for me
no matter what all ive done is made more harm inevitable
couldnt keep it together

It lies still.
Too tired and too numb to cry.

i should have never made it out of the toy store

Its thoughts grow hazy.
The world grows dull as cognition fails.

sorry i couldnt
sor ry
i miss devo

i m iss

i miss den n y


There's the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow.

Crossbone stands over the robot, her chest heaving.

She kneels, her own head fuzzy as she starts to brush as much snow off of Roulette as she can.

Roulette is barely moving, but still alive.

Its fans whirr from cold, its lens hardly open at all.
Some of its claws open and close slightly on occasion, servos grinding from the effort.

It doesn't seem to process that she's there at all.

She heaves the bot into her arms, belly down to keep its backpack from pulling it down. Cross hears a quiet, glitchy grunt from the half-frozen robot as it's lifted.

The virtual pet begins to shuffle through the snow, taking slow steps through the woods.

Not long after she's started walking, she spots oddly-shaped hedges and lattice structures with dried-out vines along them.

A garden, she realizes.



She picks up the pace, startling as the all-encompassing silhouette of a giant manor blots out most of her view.

She lets out a strained beep of relief, speeding up as much as she can with the heavy robot in her arms.

Cross finds difficulty making her way up snow-hidden stone steps, but manages to make it to the top.

She props Roulette enough onto one arm to reach under them with the other in order to pull the thankfully-unlocked door open.



Inside, the relief from the storm gives an instant boon to her faculties.
She fumbles her occupied arm for a light switch and manages to find one, switching on a dusty glass chandelier overhead.

Cross finds herself in a stone-and-carpet foyer that leads in many directions, including up to a second floor via a curved stairway.

She's hardly swiveled her head before she spots a cozy, albeit gaudy living room;
comfy-looking couches, and an unlit fireplace.







You can suggest for Polka, Tim, and Cross.

You have to think on this one.

It's hard to see her pixel character through the snow, but she lets out a shy beep you've come to associate with blushing.

Her tone is amused, but bitter. You flinch, a bit.

The red-tinted bear thinks to herself, rubbing her elbow as she walks.

She shoots a side glance at Tim, who immediately starts looking nervous.

Her glance turns skyward, squinting as some flecks of snow fall on her glasses.

The bitterness returns, more spitting than before.

 
Everyone is quiet.

She takes a deep "breath".

The bot hardly moves its head.

Its fans suddenly kick into overdrive.
Snowflakes melt on its 'cheek'. You can feel the heat from where you're standing.

Its voice glitches, turning to static.

Roulette stumbles.
It stops walking.

 
Fatale's the next to stop, peering over at it with a concerned expression.

It stares forward at nothing.

The bot pivots, beginning to walk in that direction.

It states bluntly, with more confidence than you've heard from it before.

It trudges its way to the treeline.

 
No one moves, watching it go. The snow seems to obscure it faster than you'd have guessed it to.

 
The snowfall blanketing the air around you is denser now than you realized, filtering your vision like television static.
By the time you blink again, you can't see a single trace of Roulette.

Even with your reassurance...


You can't help but play back Roulette's words about leaving in your head.


...it said it'd wait til this is over.
....right?


Cross takes your hand, snapping you out of it.

You steel yourself and nod, the four of you starting to trudge forward.


Fatale's the first to speak up.

The scottie dog has to think about it.

This time, you sense a slight smile in her voice.

You have to hide a smirk, an unsaid meaning just for the two of you. Nothing to expand upon, not with everybody else here- but...

Frigid wind stabs its way through your coat in a sudden gust, sending a shiver through your vinyl.
Everyone flinches, the group's trek halted suddenly as the weather becomes more ferocious.
It's difficult to keep your eyes open as the snow batters you.
You think Cross might still be talking, but you can't hear her at all.

It doesn't seem to be letting up, either.

You kick yourself for not noticing how bad things were getting.
It's a blizzard.

...this is a lot.
I need a second.

You head to the side and lean against the wall of the tent, trying to get your thoughts in order.

So much is happening, but- we can't give up here.
Fatale's willing to cooperate, and Tim's going to do his best there. I can't be too preoccupied with their drama.
...worried about Roulette. Not sure what's up with it right now.
But...I really should check on Cross....
....
I hope everyone's going to be okay. Fuck.

You close your eyes and try to think back to happy, calming thoughts. Cooking. Holding Cross. Hanging out with Tim. Those weird horny dreams, even.

It's gonna be okay.

With new conviction, you head for your portion of the tent.

I could do something to help. Maybe take inventory-

Cross is already there, sorting through her stuff- and yours, by the look of it.

Your girlfriend gestures to the mess of stuff around her.

She sighs, a soft humming sound.

The atmosphere is awkward, the two of you unsure of what to say as Cross moves items from one pile to another. You're not even sure what kind of sorting she's doing, but...if it helps, you guess it's fine.

She nods, and you lean over to give her an exaggerated peck on the forehead. Her little giggles come out and make your  chest tighten, and you feel just the slightest bit better.

You sneak in one more kiss, and head out of the tent.

Roulette surprises you as you come out;
standing guard rigidly, in the same position it'd been doing so before.

Only this time, snow is accumulating along its shoulders and atop its hat.

You look up to find the snow lazily drifting down,
adding to the piles on the ground.

It doesn't move an inch from its spot.

You tilt your head at its current situation.

It shuffles on the spot, fans slowing down to a whisper.

You hear the bot's fan hitching, as if it were getting caught on something,
suddenly kicking up in speed, but getting stuck intermittently in the process.

It reaches up, smacking the top of its head with a closed fist.
Its fans stop hitching.

You wince as it smacks itself, unable to keep from flinching a little.

It notices the flinch, glancing over.

Someone unzips the tent behind you and steps out- Tim and Fatale, all geared up.

It steps towards the tent entrance.

The bot disappears into the tent.

You're left with the two bean plushes, Tim shuffling around a bit.

She looks away.

Tim gives her a strained look, almost as if he wants to say something out of concern-

-before turning to you.

She doesn't sound thrilled about this, but Tim can't help but blush a little.

Cross steps out before the two can continue, Roulette in tow.

The tent is packed up and stuffed into Fatale's pack, the map consulted and the walk resumed. The snow isn't too bad, just a light powder- but it does keep tickling your beak.

You're walking with Cross when she leans over.

You glance over your shoulder, taking a mental note.

You and Cross are up front, leading the pack. Tim and Fatale are next to each other but a good few feet apart, clearly awkward. Roulette is way, way in back, also saying nothing.

Cross nods, backing up a bit and bumping shoulders with Tim. You can't make out what's said, but Tim swaps places with her, running up to meet you.

He buries his nose in his scarf.

Your friend gives you a grateful look.

Fatale's voice is quiet, contemplative.

Cross can't help but giggle, more out of being surprised than anything.

Cross' pixel character blushes.

She looks at the ground, not slowing down her pace.

The virtual pet is quiet, not sure how much to press.

Thankfully, Fatale presses on.

Her tone is soft.

The character on Cross' face smiles.

The five of you seem to press on for what feels like hours, chatting here and there-

Tim sees it first, taking a step back and making Cross bump into him.

She lets out a sharp beep, pointing above the treeline.

You turn your head.


[image description: a figure towering over the treeline, made of abstract shapes and segmented parts. it has 5 sparkle-shaped eyes and is vaguely bipedal, as well as being hoisted up by puppet strings leading to nowhere.]


There's an impossibly large figure in the distance- from the look of the fog, way off. Nowhere near you.

But even so, your chest tightens. It's bipedal, probably, and lumbering at what looks like a snail's pace from so far away. Its body teeters and totters, and you see these massive strings hooked into its joints- extending upwards into nothing. You can't make out its features too well through the fine snow and the distance, but you can see large eye holes carved into its beak-like face, looking like nothing you've ever seen before.

No one says a word, the faraway beast lumbering on its own path, separate from yours.


Roulette pulls out its scythe, stepping briefly in front of the rest of you, remaining quiet.
Its lens is wider than you've ever seen it.

Everyone else is frozen in place.



After what seems like an eternity, it's passed by your frame of view. No interaction with you, no recognition- it had to have been miles away.


When the beast is finally gone, Roulette gradually puts its scythe away.
It says nothing as it returns to the back of the group.

The snow has picked up. A little more prominent now. It's calming, seeing the glinting white flakes falling in the air as you walk.

It's a while before anyone moves or speaks.

Tim's the first to.

Tim glances back at Roulette-

It's looking off into the trees, where the giant creature had been before.

-his ears drooping when he doesn't notice a response.

She lets out an excited string of beeps.

Fatale thinks to herself for a moment.

You nod.

Cross pauses before turning to you, a sly expression on her pixel character's face.

You nod.

You are now realizing just how...private these visions must have been- or at least, if they were actually depicting things accurately for people.

Fatale tenses up.

The red bear makes a loud "tsk" sound, looking away.

She "hmph"'s, but doesn't speak up further.

You feel yourself have trouble, with this one.

Cross makes a startled beep before wringing her hands.

...you aren't sure what to say.

You can see some franticness in his eyes, your own anxiety rising.

It comes out as a pained exhale.

He rubs his eyes.

Fatale seems to  have some degree of...recognition on her face, as if considering expressing sympathy and deciding against it.

He nods, taking it in.

There's quiet as the obvious next step in the explanation sinks in, Roulette's refusal to say anything feeling....foreboding.

...you are not sure you want to talk about it either, to be frank.

Roulette's lens opens a couple millimeters wider at mention of itself.
It's still glancing away, or at the floor; anywhere but at Anyone in the group.

...you don't really want to elaborate on that.

You expect to hear the robot's fans whirring up faster as they usually do, but strangely they drop in speed to a near-whisper in volume.
The bot has yet to look at you, its posture statue-still.

You don't have it in you to go into specifics.

It trails off.

Her voice comes out cold, irritated at first- but softens.

Roulette 'calmly' makes its way to the tent entrance.

She sighs, unable to get the word out before it's gone.

The bear gets up with a stretch, heading back to her and Tim's section of the tent.

With that, the party fully disperses, leaving you in the center of the tent.

Cross is in your section, Fatale is in hers, and Tim's close by, by the fire. Roulette's outside, keeping watch.

...what do you do now? Is there anything you want to do before leaving?

She avoids eye contact with Roulette, clearly unsure of what to make of its testimony.

Roulette looks at the floor.

Fatale visibly bristles.

You rub the back of your head.

Fatale's muzzle scrunches in a pre-emptive grimace, Tim's ears flopping at the sight of it.

She doesn't sound happy about it, but Tim presses on.

Fatale jiggles her leg, thinking it over.

Her tone on the last line isn't necessarily mocking, more...resigned.

Fatale blinks, not expecting that kind of response.

Fatale simply nods, gesturing for the next question.

Fatale looks surprised at the question, but responds eagerly.

Roulette's head sinks in against its shoulders as it glances away.

Tim looks similarly uncomfortable.

The red bear sighs.

You remember hearing about plenty of monster dreams, but...

You almost miss it, but you swear you see Fatale's eyes widen-

-and flash yellow, if only for a moment.

Fatale notices the look on your face.

You gesture to her eyes, the bear not understanding for a moment before making an expression of shock and recognition.

A little blush crosses his cheeks.

You gesture to Fatale, the red bear's face paling.

There's quiet for a few moments before Tim speaks up.

She doesn't make eye contact.

She tips her head back and continues to groan before sighing and flopping forward.

She pales.

Her face scrunches up, displeased.

She nods, going back to fiddling with the snow.

Tim and Cross are sitting by the fire inside, Cross with her hand on Tim's knee. By the look of it, the two of them have been talking as well.

Tim's ears perk up when you enter, and Cross lets out a startled beep.

You turn to Tim, taking a look at your friend's face. His tears had dried up since talking with you, likely helped by Cross' support as well.

You sigh, relenting.

He gets up slowly, heading for the tent entrance with a sluggish step.

With that, he's out of the tent, leaving you and Cross.

Tim's chest tightens as he spots her, sitting there off to the side- both toys flinching when they make eye contact.

Even so, he trudges forward, up until he gets a foot or so away from the red bear.

Her eyes widen, turning to face him.

He sits down in the snow, his paws in his lap.

Fatale's stunned, staring at him with wide eyes.

She takes a deep breath, visibly struggling with her words.

Small embroidered sweat drops appear on her brow.

She bristles, Tim flinching away and raising his paws up apologetically.

She presses a paw to her temple, struggling.

Fatale gives him a blank stare, unable to feign recognition.

Tim slumps.

She sputters.

The words won't come, her tone getting increasingly more frustrated.

Tim doesn't say anything, his face growing more and more concerned.

She can't help but laugh, just as bitter as it was while talking to Polka.

Tim blinks, not sure if he heard correctly.

The words sink in, Tim processing them with gears visibly grinding in his head.

It clicks.

The scottie dog groans, placing his face in his hands.

He's struggling, fumbling over his words.

Fatale's quiet for a few moments, taking in his mess of a reaction.

She can't keep the malice from sinking into her voice, Tim wincing.

Another wince from Tim.

Tim nods, still looking rather stunned.

His face heats up.

She can't help but throw her head back and laugh, gleeful this time.

She points to her red cheek markings.

He gives an affirmative nod, looking intimidated but assured.

The door of the tent unzips, Tim and Fatale stepping inside. The bear's putting some distance between herself and the scottie dog, sitting on the same campfire seat as Tim- but a good bit apart.

You give your partner's hand a pat as you get up and poke your head outside.

It doesn't look up.

The robot turns to look at you, very briefly.

It says nothing as it makes its way cautiously inside.

You try to ignore the nerves building in your chest, making you feel sick.

H...here we go.

Fatale glances up at Roulette as it makes its way in, her eyes...you swear you can make out some degree of remorse.

It glances about the tent, not making eye contact with anyone,
waiting for someone to speak.

Fatale clears her throat.

Words stutter out, clearly struggling.

She huffs, gripping the seat with her plush paws.

Her eyes trail over to Roulette, words still spilling out before anyone can get a word in edgewise.

Roulette's lens widens slowly.

It looks up in time to see that Fatale is looking at /it/.

The robot looks back at the floor.

She huffs, rubbing the side of her face.

She raises a paw to shush you, turning back to Roulette.

You can hear its fans spinning up louder, but it doesn't respond directly.

She waits for a response, before sighing.

She snaps her fingers.

She glances over at Roulette again before looking away.

She sighs, not without fondness to it.

She seems more confident, saying it this time.

She scoffs.

The bear gestures dramatically to Tim.

Fatale snaps her head around.

Roulette flinches, putting its gaze back to the floor.

Her expression seems...shocked.

Its fans whirr faster.

It trails off, and doesn't continue.

She doesn't elaborate, lost in thought.

Fatale shoots him a dirty look, the dog shutting up.

She makes a face.

Fatale huffs, rolling her eyes.

Her voice turns pained.

Even more strained, now, her voice dropping down to a mumble.

She glances up at you.

She laughs to herself, looking off into the distance.

You rub your temple, already feeling a headache coming on.

She rocks back and forth as she thinks it over.

She leans back, nodding.

The red bear makes a scrunched up face.

She's quiet again, putting her mittened hand in the snow and fiddling with it.

She wipes her face, trying to look more composed.

He looks away, thinking it over.

The bear's quiet again.

Her voice softens at the sound of his name, a tone that reminds you of how you talk about Cross.

She scoffs.

She waves a paw, not quite dismissively so much as with the body language of someone about to settle down for a gossip session.

She laughs, tipping her head back and sounding entirely bitter.

...I can't just let this get worse.
There's so much on the line.
We can't fall apart now.

You meet his stare.

He doesn't move, not even blinking.

His red stare feels like daggers against your throat, challenging you to say the wrong thing.

There's a moment of surprise on his face, breaking the gaze for just a moment-

But when he looks away, there's just a bitter laugh.

He looks back at you with a completely different look now, his red eyes now full of...exhaustion.

Something changes in his voice, just slightly.

A little more, a slight intake of breath.

You realize that there's tear embroidery at the corners of his eyes.

You reach out for a moment before pulling back, remembering his reaction to Tim.

The red bear is clearly barely holding it together, doing his best to keep a stern look on his face.

He doesn't speak, completely silent until a loud string of sniffles break through.

The soft sob that escapes as he buries his face away from you, deep into his knees, is enough to make your chest ache.

He trails off, as if the words are too painful to say.

He's quiet, trying to let himself get a grip.

It's a while before he speaks again, his voice back to that exhausted state.

The red bear peeks up from his knees.

He just gives you a dull stare, his face still tear-streaked.

His voice is- you're dead certain of it now, that's the "red voice" from your dream. Even without the frantic tone you heard the night before, that's it.

Not sure what to make of that, but...uh...let's see what we can achieve here.

His voice is cold.

You blink.

Devo pales, looking away and scrunching up with his legs against his chest.

Despite the nerves in your belly getting worse, you sit down slowly, the snow crunching under you as you do.

His eyes trail back over to you.

He turns to face you fully, his eyes fierce.

....
.....
.....I...
I may not...have words for it-

You think about the Devo in your dream, covered in multicolored string.

But maybe I do know.

His gaze doesn't break.

He tries wiping his face again with a couple of sniffles.

He looks up at you with a startled expression, causing you to wave your wings around defensively.

He thinks to himself for a few moments.

You nod, giving him a pat on the back before getting up...

...and heading outside the tent.

Roulette is just next to the entrance.

It's standing perfectly still; sickle in one claw, touching down to the grass.
The robot is staring off into the distance at nothing.
You've spent enough time around it to notice that its lens looks different, somehow; almost Vacant, in a sense.

You approach slowly, the snow crunching under your boots.

It answers a bit too quickly, without looking at you.

It doesn't respond.

You blink, unsure what to do.

It...did say we could talk, so...

It adjusts its position very slightly, looking uncomfortable.
The bot's claw squeezes its sickle a little tighter.

The robot looks away from you a few moments, as if self-conscious.

The robot pauses, looking down in thought, before returning its gaze to the distance ahead.

You rock back and forth on your heels, a bit.

You make some useless hand gestures.

The bot's fans spin faster.

You nod, standing there awkwardly before giving a little wave and turning around.

Walking towards Devo feels like a weight settling in your belly, making your nerves go on high alert. He's sitting and staring out into the distance just like Roulette, not even noticing you as you approach from the side.

As you get closer, you can see his red accents-

-and the fact that like Tim, he'd also been crying.

He doesn't bother to wipe his face, though.

Even with his harsh words, he sounds, more....

...lonely.