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...

The door will hold. It'll hold, it has to hold-

I...I need to get through this.

For Devo, and Silk Ribbon, and- and Fatale, and Roulette, and Cross, and all of the others-

I need to-

CURLY

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.

It's dangerous.
More dangerous than the rest of you.
Remember what Polka Dot said?
It's the strongest of you.
You've seen how it fights. You know it is.

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.

Why do you think it doesn't want you to be by the exit?
It doesn't want you to leave.

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.

The exit is open.
You have an advantage.
It'll be stalled in just a moment.
While you can,

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.

Come on.
Why the tears?
You could look a lot happier that I'm back.

Give me a smile.
I can always tell when you smile.

You look so Cute.

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

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 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...

He looks a bit...unsure of that.

Fatale looks equally reserved about saying it, but her words come off startlingly genuine, considering her overall opinion on the dog. Tim's ears perk up, just as surprised as you.

He sounds immensely relieved.

Your chest hurts a bit at that...even with how close you'd grown to your girlfriend, she doesn't...talk about the homelessness thing much.

You both wish you knew more, and are too scared to ask.

Reaching over to give Cross a small back pat is enough to make her beep in appreciation, your chest feeling all warm and fuzzy even from the small gesture.

She shrugs.

Tim doesn't exactly look reassured by this, his expression wracked with worry.

Fatale nods.

You shake your head.

Behind the four of you, Roulette trips, landing in the snow.
It does its best to hurriedly get back to its feet, but is clearly having trouble, its scythe not cutting it for leverage.
The car-weasel looks on with an inscrutable expression.

It dawns on you that you and the others had picked up the pace naturally as you got into the discussion.
The bot had likely fallen while struggling to keep up.

Fatale is already rushing past you, getting to its side.

It barely manages to lift itself up with its scythe.

The bear huffs, rubbing her paw against her cheek.

The bot looks anything but fine.
It's hardly walking with its own strength, still using its scythe as a walking stick.
On closer inspection, there are clear signs of damage even on what little you can see of it - its 'face' has spots where the metal looks to have nearly warped, likely from extreme cold.
Its lens also seems like it's having some trouble moving.

Fatale clearly isn't buying it- and no one else is, either.

The bear stays by its side, ready to support it if need be.

Everyone looks at Cross, the vpet's pixel character starting to sweat.

Her voice goes quiet.

Fatale huffs.

Roulette keeps its head down towards the snow as the group resumes walking, now at a slower pace.

Fatale snickers.

Fatale shuts up.

Your body goes cold.

You do your best to pipe up, your squeaker feeling dry.

Tim whips his head around.

You feel a little shaky, recounting it.

No one speaks.

She looks like her head is going to fizzle out at the concept.

Fatale looks away.

Roulette glances up at Fatale.
It moves a little closer to her, though doesn't seem to know what to say.

Fatale allows it-

-even leaning on it slightly, just for a moment.

You almost miss it, but you just barely hear her whisper "thanks".

The bot nods in reply.

It's quiet again.

She shuffles, rubbing her elbow.

She does not elaborate on how.

Roulette doesn't speak.

It's Fatale's turn to give Roulette a concerned look.

Her tone sounds...genuinely upset.

The bot seems genuinely taken aback at the response, its lens widening.
It avoids looking at her, shoulders scrunching inward.

Cross doesn't press the issue, giving a little sigh.

No one speaks for a bit, the air incredibly awkward.

You clear your throat again.

Fatale nods, saying nothing more.

The car-weasel had apparently drifted away from the others at some point,
becoming noticed again upon its return.

As before, it sticks close to Roulette, although it keeps on the bot's other side so as to be as far away from Fatale as possible.

Fatale glances over, just subtly enough as to not startle it.

It brushes against the bot's leg, looking between Fatale and Roulette.
Roulette does its absolute best not to look at it, its lens closing fully.

It goes silent a few moments.

Roulette idly glances to the others as silence sinks in once more, hoping desperately that someone else has words to fill the dead air.

Cross takes the challenge, musing to herself in an attempt to raise the mood.

She sounds...legitimately excited.

The vpet looks expectantly at the rest of you, clearly wanting someone to theorize with her.

You wiggle your wings at Cross, who can't help but giggle.

You aren't even sure what that word means. It just- comes to mind, and feels right. Your party seems to understand it just fine, no one questioning it at all.

Fatale and Tim both turn to look at her.

You can't help but blush a bit at that.

Does she want to-

She points up to a small break in the treetops, patches of sky visible. The sun's been setting over the course of the conversation, enough to notice the lighting change- but now you're starting to see tiny stars come in, far smaller than the cartoony shapes you'd seen back in the city. More like...glitter.

Fatale just gives a tired stare. Cross is entirely unbothered, her mind clearly elsewhere.

Roulette's voice comes from behind the group.
You turn to find it lagging behind some again, even at the slower pace you'd been walking.
It struggles to speak as it does what it can to keep up, despite clearly looking exhausted.

You and Fatale rush to its side, Fatale visibly worried.

With the two of them fast at work, you turn to Roulette.

It stops walking, leaning forward as it props itself up with its scythe, arms shaking with its grip.

It has to take a moment to steady itself, as if catching its breath.

It does its best to stand up straight.

Her voice is sharp, enough to make you flinch.

Its lens shuts, head flicking downward and away from her as the bot winces, nearly stumbling.

Fatale screws her eyes shut and sighs.

The car-weasel is trembling behind Roulette's legs, staring wide-eyed at Fatale.

She glances away slightly.

She peers over at it.

It scrambles to hide on the other side of Roulette, out of view again.

Fatale sighs again.

Roulette glances over, looking to you and Fatale.

It strains a moment, before managing to start walking again, heading for the tent.
The car stays close, nearly tripping Roulette in its attempts to hide behind it.

You glance over at Fatale, the bear seething. Neither of you speak until Roulette's gone inside.

She turns her head to face you.

You swallow, your body running cold from how sharp her voice is.

You head inside with the others, seeing dinner already being laid out.

Roulette is in the process of making its way into its own divided section of the tent.

It gently guides the car-weasel away from the food.

It has to stop to scoot the weasel back once more, getting a quiet whine in response.

It sighs as it has to practically pry the car away from the food again, clearly too exhausted to be struggling with such a task.

Fatale shoots you a grateful look.

It removes its pack with some difficulty, fishing out some more jerky and opening the package.

Roulette dangles the jerky in front of the car-weasel, quickly catching its attention, then leads it along outside the tent.

It sets the jerky pieces down outside, not too far away.
The bot's voice can be heard inside, albeit quietly.

As the car-weasel happily begins to eat, Roulette hurries its way back inside.

It holds the zipper for the entrance.



It hesitates,
winces,
then finally, slowly pulls it shut,
shoulders visibly drooping a little.

It turns back around.

Mournful whines come from the tent entrance.

Roulette's lens opens wide.

As it swivels to look, paw indentations can be seen moving against the tent entrance as the car-weasel scratches to get in.

It nearly falls getting back to the entrance, shaking claw on the zipper, only for it to stop itself.

It tenses up, struggling.

It whispers.

It closes its lens tight.

Oil-like 'tears' build up around its lens.








It yanks the zipper open.

The car-weasel is inside instantaneously, barreling into Roulette and knocking the bot onto its back.

It whines, burying its snout against Roulette's chest, occasionally pacing about only to flick back to the bot; as if checking that Roulette was still there.

The bot can't help it, finally placing a claw along its back, petting the car-weasel,
who seems to gradually be calming down.

The car-weasel finally flops atop it, looking down at Roulette.

The bot squirms for a moment, straining.

Tim gets up, stopping Fatale from doing it first.

He takes a little piece of jerky as he approaches, offering it in his paw.

It takes a little while before the car smells it, flicking its head up to the jerky.

It nearly reaches for it, but seems wary of Tim.

It does, however, follow Tim along enough to get off of Roulette, allowing the bot to get up.

Roulette barely manages to stand back up on its own.

Tim leads it slowly back to the fire, Fatale sneaking around the fire the other way to go help Roulette back over.

Roulette takes a seat near the fire, doing its best not to fall in the process as the car finally snatches the jerky from Tim.
The weasel makes a hasty retreat, not starting to eat the jerky until it's sat back next to Roulette.

Fatale returns to her spot as well, practically falling into a heap.

Everyone takes out their food, the group munching their subpar tasting rations with varying degrees of vigor.

Cross immediately looks self conscious.

You notice out of the corner of your eye- you could have sworn everyone was settled in, but Roulette's not eating.

Do...I say something? I don't-
I don't think it'd appreciate attention right now.
No spotlight.
B-but...
It's gotta eat...

You are staring for an uncomfortable amount of time now.

Roulette doesn't seem to notice,
though the car-weasel is staring back at you.

You tilt your head a little, hoping the...weasel...car...thing...will somehow, somehow tell Roulette to eat some fucking food.

It tilts its head back.

You try the other direction, opening and closing your beak in a subtle chewing motion.

It tilts its head the other direction.

Fuck's sake.

You get more exaggerated-

Roulette looks over.

It looks confused, but soon glances back toward the others.

She crosses her arms.

The car-weasel lets out a frightened growl at Fatale, but the bot quickly calms it down.

Its lens closes.

Fatale blinks, taken aback.

She rubs her face against her paw, averting her eyes.

She gets back to munching her jerky.

The bot looks like it's about to say something, but decides against it.

You glance between them, unsure what to say. Neither Tim or Cross chip in as well.

The rest of dinner is silent.











It's after dinner, now.

People are resting around the fire- but a little scattered around. No one's outside of the range of the fire's warmth, but they've settled into their own spaces to take a breather.

Tim is the closest to the fire, warming his paws. He looks relieved to be somewhere safe, especially after last night. You know by now that he likes being cozy, and a conversation with him would be really present right now...

Cross isn't too far away either, having gotten up and grabbed a book from her bag. A  glance over reveals an illustration of some kind of monster, quickly hidden as she flips through pages. ...maybe she's looking for werewolf trivia?

Roulette is resting against one of the tent's dividing walls, still not too far from the fire. The car-weasel is resting just beside it, its head in the bot's lap as it receives behind-the-ear scratches. The bot seems a lot more relaxed than earlier.

Looks like everybody's calmed down-

Your eyes meet Fatale, who...while her expression looks pretty much identical to someone trying to get a nice moment of peace...

Her knees are up to her chest, the the same pose as you saw earlier, after the weasel car fight. You don't know if that's a bad sign, or just how she sits...for all you know, that could just be how she chills. You'd seen her do that last night, but that's...not a great sample size.

...you also don't know if you're even up for finding out which one it is.


But...hanging out with someone would be nice. You need to unwind too, after all...

Fatale...could probably use some company.
If she's not sick of me already, hah...


You waddle on over, sitting down and shuffling next to the bear. She looks over at you without moving her head, her expression tired.

She huffs before you can finish, burying her muzzle deeper into her knees.

Fatale glances away again.

You try giving her a reassuring smile, to which she just sighs.

Another huff.

She shakes her head.

You lean over, squinting at her. The bear backs up.

She shakes her head.

She looks a bit nervous, all of a sudden.

...
Roulette and I-
I-
Are we...close? We barely know each other-
But...
....
..............
I...


You screw your eyes shut for a second and nod.


I want to talk with it more.
Good a chance as any. Worst that could happen is it says no.
...right?

You get up slow, helping the bear out with a wing. She's shaky, still tired from the nightmarish past day or so you've had.

You swear you can feel her give your wing a brief squeeze before letting go- but it's so brief, you could just be feeling things.

Walking over to Roulette feels fairly nervewracking, even with it resting not too far away.

Roulette's lens is half-closed, resting comfortably with the car-weasel, which is practically in its lap at this point.

The weasel's eyes are closed,
its breath slow and easy,
torso rising up and down.



The car opens its eyes,
and looks up as you approach, prompting the bot to raise its head as well.

You blink at her.

Roulette looks between the two of you.

It's quiet a few moments.

It calls over.

It looks to you.

It tries to sit up.

The car turns and just looks at it, trying to settle back into its spot, despite the robot clearly trying to get up.

A slight, tired chuckle comes from the bot, almost startling you.

It nods.
As you leave, it looks over to Fatale.
You just barely catch the conversation.

Fatale's voice is quiet, but...appreciative.

Cross is deep in her book, barely noticing you when you walk up.

Her pixel character peeks up.

You nearly jump as she suddenly reaches forward and grips your wings with a pleased beep.

She seems to stop herself for a moment.

Your girlfriend nods so vigorously you swear her pixel character starts tumbling around in her screen.

You pat her on the head and give her a little kiss, letting her recollect her book from its unseemly place on the floor.

You make your way back over after scooping up your sleeping bag and some jerky, making sure to get enough to please the weasel car.
Hopefully.

You set your bag down and pick out a piece with a flourish, wiggling it over the weasel.

The weasel cautiously looks up, eyes widening.

It's hesitant to take it, but does move off of Roulette.

...Only to then snap up the jerky quicker than you can blink.
It tries to rush back over to its spot atop Roulette, only to see that the bot is now standing up.

After a moment of processing, it whines quietly at Roulette, with jerky in its muzzle.



Roulette, still moving with the sickle as a walking stick, turns back to look at the car as it follows along.

It glances over at you.

You give an awkward wave before making your way over to your canine companion, still by the fire.
The warmth immediately puts you at ease- and so does his sleepy expression.

He looks up at you with an appreciative expression, reaching over and giving you a surprise hug.

It's warm, as expected- but just right, too.

You close your eyes and hug him back, squeezing him tight.

Another hug.

You pause outside of its curtain, giving Fatale- sitting a little ways away, but not much- a nod.

It opens the way for you.

It makes its way back in, laying - nearly falling - onto its sleeping bag.
The weasel instantly plops down atop Roulette.

You drag your bag in and shuffle it into a good position, plunking down yourself.

The tent's light dims as the fire reduces itself down to LED-glowing embers, just enough to keep the tent warm.

H...
How am I doing?
What's up with me?




You realize you've barely thought about it- at least, not enough for what you should be doing.




There's-
There's a correct amount for that, right?
Of thinking about this kind of thing?
Ah, fuck-




You throw your wings into the air in an exaggerated shrug.

The air is quiet.
Owls add noise to the night.
You feel stillness. For the first time in...you aren't sure how long.

Uh oh, am I-
....
................
...Polka?


Your eyes widen, frozen.

It's quiet again, thinking.

You exhale.

It stumbles over its words.

Its lens closes.

Its voice chokes up.

...



...oh.


You feel deep dread in your chest.

Its voice drops to nearly a whisper.

You rub your face into your wing.

You lower your own voice, trying to sound more concerned than frustrated.

You start getting comfy, trying to ignore the weird feeling in your chest.

Things go quiet, again.

For a little while.

It reaches up, rubbing its lens.

It listens. Nodding along.

Roulette doesn't respond.

...with you in them.







You can feel yourself slowly, slowly drifting off.

The hands pull Fatale back.

It's not until she starts drifting to sleep that they get their grip in, grazing their fingers against her skin and peeling her away from the waking world.


There I go.
Maybe this'll be it.
No more outside world.
Drowning.
Forever.


A hand clasped over her muzzle, the bear closing her eyes.


I don't want to see it.
At least let me suffocate in peace.


The hand on her snout turns to tar, and then another. She splutters as if she had a mouth, eyes snapping back open-


Wh-
What t-
This isn't right!


There's a horrible sensation all over her body as more tar drenches her from above, the substance somehow pulsating and strangling her.


let me out let me Out LET ME OUT-


As soon as the screaming in her head reaches a crescendo-

Something grabs her by the neck, a clawed paw gripping it to the point of squeezing all of the stuffing out of that section.

Her voice barely comes out through the tar.

Her limp, understuffed body is yanked up high-

-and then down again, slammed onto the ground hard enough to splatter and spray the black muck off of her, letting her see again.



When she gets her bearings, she looks up and sees him.

Her voice comes out dripping with venom.

The tall, shadow-tinted bear stands with a slouched posture, his eyes wide and....fearful.


An act, no doubt.

There's-

Distress, there.

Legitimate distress.

A tinge of- no, he didn't feel pain. He caused it.

She raises her voice to protest-


-and the hands take her to the inky black.

You open your eyes.

You're on a table.

At first you wonder- why am I on a kitchen table?


Oh, shit. Maybe this is-
Maybe this is a sexy dream.
Fuuuck yes. Cross is gonna be so happy when she hears ab-


You hear a clink next to your head.


....?


When you turn, you see a little roller cart. Weird thing to have next to a kitchen table-

....

When you see the large craft knife sitting there, you realize that this is not the sexy kind of cannibalism dream.


oh fuck


There's a hum across the kitchen- and you can't make anything out. It's too foggy-

You try to sit up, and you find your body restrained. There's ropes now- they weren't there before. Where-


You can hear someone approaching- but everything about them is so blurred, just like the rest of it.
Their voice is distorted, like hearing it through a filter.

They pick up the blade, tapping it against your bare chest.

The blade plunges in.

Tar gushes from the wound, coating the table as you're split open.

Somehow, you don't die. You just watch, unable to move an inch of your body.



You just watc-

You awaken to growling.
Growling mixed with whines.

You look over, trying to get your bearings.



The car-weasel is on the floor, Roulette's hand in its muzzle;
pulling, growling, whimpering.

You immediately scramble to your knees, torn between being scared for the poor thing and wanting to rescue Roulette's hand.

It yelps, giving one last attempt at pulling Roulette over.

Failing that, it scrambles to the corner, eyes wide.

It looks at Roulette.
Then, races, out of the room, tracks appearing as it does so.

The curtain flies back in the process, and you watch as it barely manages to swerve to avoid the bear sleeping in the common room,
causing a ruckus enough to wake them up.

Your panic only sets back in as you notice the bear's voice, and-
Black eyes and cheek patterns.


Shit-


Unsure of whether to be worried about what Fatale said last night or-


I gotta get Roulette up, something's-


The weasel takes a moment, bumping against the exit to the tent with a whine.

It tries again, and its tracks rip straight through.

It's gone.



Roulette groans, sitting up, clutching its chest; apparently still not anywhere Near 100%.

It glances around.

The bot reaches over, finding its sickle and using it to stand.

You nearly shriek as the black-accented bear shoves his head inside without warning.

He's already gone, the sound of a pack being rummaged through paired with loud cussing.

There's an ungodly howl punctuated by cackling, cascading laughter, loud enough to shake the entire tent.

You swear you can hear Daemon in the cacophany.




Roulette's aperture is wider than you've ever seen it.

It backs away from the edge of the tent, trying to figure out where the noise is coming from.
The bot drops its voice low.

You're already racing out towards your section, slamming directly into Tim.

Before you can react, your hammer is shoved into your hands. Tim's eyes are burning- fear, rage, something so powerful that you can't make it out.

His voice comes out strained.

Roulette is already by the ripped entrance of the tent, sickle raised.

It looks unsteady, despite its attempts otherwise.

You can barely catch a glipse of Cross-


oh thank god she's oka-




Before there's another awful, awful sound, the plastic tent's top ripping open as if it were molded and solid and fabric all at once.


The fire is out, and yet you can see in the dark-

[image description: a terrifying, looming monster's head, its face flower-like and resembling a raggedy ann plush's.
its features are hard to distinguish in the dark, but its eyes cast floodlights down towards the viewer]

Its eyes are like piercing floodlights, moving and twisting with its head motions.
Its doll-like face is immediately belied as you see it open a hidden maw, tar dripping from the mouth tucked under its smiling mask.

It opens its mouth wide as it howls again, spilling tar all across the entrance of the tent, drowning it.




You can't form a cohesive thought.






All you have is terror.

Someone steps in front of you, gently moving you back, shielding you.

Roulette.

Its sickle kicks back low, before

slicing upwards at the beast, arcing all the way to its left like a pendulum's swing.

A large cut forms across the beast's face, dripping fresh tar, soaking Roulette.
It flicks its head back, clearing its lens.



The beast shrieks, tossing its head left and right and splattering more and more everywhere- Tim just barely dodging getting smacked in the face.

Roulette's head suddenly looks to its left, where its swing had ended.

Its shoulders drop,
as if the beast isn't there.

Its lens now looks panicked.
At what, you can't say; it isn't looking at the monster.

Its head swivels, looking over the rest of you, the rest of the tent -
before its gaze returns to the same spot as before.

The beast lunges forward, nearly managing to grab Cross in a single bite- your girlfriend narrowly dodging.

You hear Daemon's key, clicking and clicking with every gnash of its teeth.

It doesn't hear you.
Roulette's lens seems to pale; unfocused.
Tar fizzles across its head, its arms.

Its sickle slips from its claw.

Roulette drops to its knees,
and collapses to the floor.

The bear backs up fast, his muzzle crumpling into a snarl.

You can barely hear either of them. Your head is ringing. The clicking won't stop. The key turns.




Roulette is down.







But you aren't.