[TCP] MAZE TRIALS 2.0

[skinstealer]

[image description: a cover image for the first issue of maze trials 2.0, named "the food chain." a rusty colored abstract type TCP wrestles with a smaller golden TCP, the latter wearing a light gold hat and a dark blue trenchoat. both are wearing trialgoer jumpsuits, have distinct kill marks, and are entangled in strange white wires. red and blue splatters serve as a backdrop piece.]

...It's the same as ever.


The only sound Corrosion hears is the sound of her footsteps- and her own mind racing. She'd overheard a conversation before striking in the last trial- two TCPs frantically updating each other on their recent experiences. Nothing new- and it gave her the perfect opportunity to get impressions.

Turns out, panicked people get a lot more sloppy when they're ambushed. Shit reaction speed. More scrambly.

Easy pickings.

And yet...





The rumors are stupid. I got no business listening to these idiots at this point. No reason at all.

"It's getting worse!" As if it hasn't been like this forever. Give me a fucking break.

Must be newbies who don't know shit about what they're talking about.

...I would'a heard about it. I've been here longer than fucking anyone I've met, and I don't know what the hell they're on about.

"Overseers gone rogue." Dream on.


And yet it sticks in the back of her mind.

They had talked about the voice on the intercom...changing. Sounding less mechanical, rigid. As if it was a person.


That's how they fucking get you. If that was real, it'd just be a trick anyway. Something to make you like them- or hate them, whatever's fucking easier. Idiots.


TCPs coming into a room, only to find fresh fluid splatters with no sign of those little...dusty things left when someone died- but way too much to be a normal injury. Horrible feelings of dread as they walk around the mess...


...and no way to tell what did it. Like nothing anybody's seen before.

But- it's bullshit! Stupid bullshit! Fucking- fairy tales!

Try and focus more on living and you won't get jumped by people like me.

...or don't. Makes my life easier.

'Least they stopped giving me puzzle chambers.


She preferred these a lot more.

At the end of the hallway, there's a raised platform and a dead end. It's the same too- she'd gotten a bunch of these in a row. By now, she had settled into a relatively comfortable routine. Nothing she can't handle.

The possession type TCP steps on to the platform, cracking her neck as it starts to rise.

 

[image description: corrosion, the rusty colored possession type TCP, stands on a trial platform. she looks on edge but stiffly posed, a knife holster on her leg.]

As the makeshift elevator goes up, a pool of dread forms in her belly.

Stupid, stupid! Get a fucking grip!

You really gonna let those morons get to you?

Do your job!

The arena comes into view, bit by bit, Corro reaching for the knife in her leg holster. She can still remember every fluid stain she'd spilled, even with the trial chamber cleared. It's a simple square room, no different than the average...but she knows what it is.

She's the overseers' gladiator, and she had to give them a show.

On the other side of the arena, another platform rises- her opponent.

...what the fuck?

 

[image description: an over the shoulder shot of corrosion seeing her new opponent. he's across the room, a golden TCP with a lighter colored hat- and wearing a dark blue trenchcoat. his features are obscured.]

 

He's scrawny. A little TCP in a stupid hat, wearing a long coat and shoving his hands in his pockets. If it wasn't for the...one, two, three, four- eight no-regret kill marks on his face, she would have thought this was a fucking joke. Garbage day or something, and he was the trash.

He doesn't move as both of their platforms reach ground level of the arena, cocking his head in a sly expression.

 

[image description: the golden TCP stands with his hands in his pockets, looking casual. 4 no-regret kill marks are distinctly visible on his face, with more partially obscured.]

????: My new opponent.
????: What's your name?

 

Who does h-

CORROSION: My name?
CORROSION: Why the fuck do you need to know that?!
????: Only right for me to get the names of the people I kill.
????: Courtesy, right?
????: My name's Garland.
????: What's yours?

 

Corro wants to hit him so hard that the smugness in his voice gets knocked right out of him.

Prick...

CORROSION: You're actin' real noble for someone with marks like that.
CORROSION: Think you're some kind of saint? Like this is justice, or something?
GARLAND: You're playing tough for someone with two less kill marks-

 

He makes a soft chuckle.

GARLAND: And two of them regretted.

 

The possession type takes a step forward, absolutely seething.

CORROSION: Are you here to talk, or FIGHT?!
CORROSION: Get over here and stop playing games!
GARLAND: But it's all games, right?
GARLAND: And they've gotten worse.
GARLAND: You're in the same boat as me, I'm guessing.
GARLAND: Haven't you noticed?
GARLAND: Or are you just terrible at paying attention.
 

Shut up shut up shut up shut UP

CORROSION: Even-
CORROSION: Even if that were true-
CORROSION: And it's NOT
CORROSION: What's the point in saying it? In running your goddamn mouth?!
GARLAND: Because they're not satisfied with maiming anymore.
GARLAND: Two of these kills?

 

He tilts his head in the other direction, making sure she can see the marks clearer.

GARLAND: In the past five trials alone.

 

Corro starts counting in her mind, despite every last instinct in her telling her not to let him get to her.


...
....
He's right.
No! No, that's-
That's bullshit!


He makes another soft chuckle, enjoying watching her sweat.

GARLAND: Do you like being a puppet for them?
GARLAND: Never questioning anything-
CORROSION: That's enough out of you.
GARLAND: Why? I think you'd make a great one.
GARLAND: They love to watch an abstract type dance.
CORROSION: That's ENOUGH!

 

With an exasperated scream, she charges, knife held and ready to go for the first thing she can reach.

[skinstealer]

[image description: garland dodging corro's knife slash effortlessly, the possession type's expression manic and vicious. ]

Garland dodges her strike effortlessly, hands still shoved deep in his pockets.

Something hits Corro in the head- the TCP looking around wildly for the source, her mind getting dizzy.

CORROSION: What did you-?!
 

He snickers.

GARLAND: Sorry, sorry! It's not really my fault!
GARLAND: My ability's just like that- what did it do to you?
GARLAND: From the look of you tripping over yourself, it probably turned you all around...
GARLAND: Hexes! Unpredictable, but so handy!
CORROSION: You little!
CORROSION: You think you're soooooo fucking clever!

 

She tries to raise her knife again, only to stumble. Whatever this "hex" thing is, it's a fucking nuisance.

CORROSION: You're just a scrawny little shrimp acting like you're too good for this!
CORROSION: You think you're a big man, huh?
CORROSION: Big-
 

Another stumble, the other TCP just standing and watching. Practically smirking at her, through sheer vibes alone.

CORROSION: Like you're a BIIIIG fucking deal!
CORROSION: You don't even reach up to my chest!
CORROSION: Stop being such a PUSSY and FIGHT ME ALREADY!

 

Her knife is practically falling out of her hand, having to catch it and readjust. Praying that he doesn't notice.

GARLAND: The overseers really prefer when I make a show of it, you know?
GARLAND: They're really into the humiliation angle.
GARLAND: Perverts, right?
GARLAND: I can't say I'm huge on it, but-
GARLAND: You sure do make a lousy actor.
GARLAND: Would've expected more from a pretty TCP like you.
CORROSION: PRETTY-
GARLAND: Big femmes really are my type.

 

I'm going to kill this freak-
I'm going to make him regret even being SPAWNED

Corro tightens her grip on her knife, tightening her resolve. This little creep was going down. Hex or no hex, he wasn't making it out of here alive, no matter what.

She gets to her feet, standing tall, steady, her rage bubbling over past the mental effects of the hex and completely fueling her.

GARLAND: Oh, are we fighting for real now?
GARLAND: No more tiptoeing around?
GARLAND: Awesome.

 

Before Corro can move, there's a loud BANG

-something flying past her head.

It hits the wall behind her with an awful noise, ricocheting off and onto the floor.

A quick, hurried glance reveals it to be an indescript chunk of metal. Completely useless.

She looks back at the other TCP, desperately trying to calm her nerves.

 

[image description: garland standing in a dramatic pose, his hand outstretched toward the camera- its mitten-like shape contorted into a vague finger gun pose.]

 

He's holding his hand outstretched, finally removed from his pocket- the mitten-like limb resembling what she could only describe as-

...a fucking finger gun?

CORROSION: What did you DO-
GARLAND: Ah, ah-
GARLAND: I wouldn't be a very good wizard if I revealed my tricks.

 

The
The coat.
I should have-

Long coats had come into fashion, in the trials.

Long coats with internal pockets, lined with...something. She can't remember the word people used for it, her mind failing her at this crucial moment.


I fucked up. I fucked up I fucked up Ifuckedup
He's a fucking magic user
Even if I knew his type, he can do whatever the fuck he wants
I have no idea what's IN HIS COAT


She can't move, her eyespots trained on him. She knows she's shaking, overcome with fear and fury. She'd never faced a magic user up close. Sniped from afar, sure, but-

GARLAND: Looking so shaky doesn't suit you.
GARLAND: One scrap bullet's enough to freak you out so bad?
CORROSION: YOU'RE the FREAK
CORROSION: Hiding behind MAGIC-
 

What am I doing? What the fuck am I doing?
I need to- I need to get a grip, I need to shut UP

CORROSION: Like it'll save your sorry, PATHETIC ass!

 

Garland shakes his head, tapping his toe.

GARLAND: And here you accuse me of being all talk.
GARLAND: I'm getting bored.
GARLAND: You haven't even shown your typing yet!
GARLAND: Aren't abstracts supposed to be like gods?
GARLAND: Your kind rule the trials.
GARLAND: An advantage against all of the rest of us...
GARLAND: But you haven't even managed to touch me.
 

My-
my TYPE
I can-!

 

[image description: garland and corro facing off, with garland standing poised, finger gun at the ready- and corro floating, 4 arms and fabric halo present as part of her ascended form. corrosion is fucking pissed.]

A second pair of arms unfurl from her sides, the possession type lifting off of the ground as a halo of tangled fabric materializes around her neck.

Corrosion's health is now FANTASTIC, down from PERFECT.

Garland watches, shaking out his body and readying himself.

GARLAND: That's more like it.

[skinstealer]

As soon as Corrosion even dares to move, Garland fires off another shot, this time nailing one of her secondary arms. The pain is excruciating as it goes straight through, splattering fluid behind her.

Corrosion's health is now GREAT.


Doesn't matter!
Does NOT fucking matter-
This freak's life ends NOW


It's clear he didn't expect her to tank it as she rushes his ass down, dropping the knife and phasing into his body.

His body convulses immediately, struggling to deal with the invader.

But she's done this before. She's taken over larger, stronger TCPs.

And this time, this time, there was nothing this smug bastard could do.


What are you DOING


His voice comes out panicked as he slowly comes into mental view, scrambling on a ground he's never seen before, not in person- and probably never will. The internal landscape of his mind...





...this is what your head looks like?




It was just.



A bedroom.



A bedroom, with posters on the walls, and hardwood floor.




[image description: corro and garland standing in a washed out bedroom, looking stereotypically "normal" and suburban. there are posters on the wall and a bright sunny sky outside, as well as a book and trophy on the dresser. one of the posters is a TCP giving a thumbs up.

garland is faceplanted onto the ground, while corro poses, mockingly.]


She's never even seen these things before, but his thoughts inform her what he calls them. What he'd seen them in- a sitcom. Television.


That's fucking pathetic.
You really see yourself in this?
Something you saw in a little box?


She towers over him, her turn to be smug.


You played yourself up.
You talked biiiig.
And yet-




[image description: corrosion pressing garland into the carpet with her foot, causing his entire head to squish against it and distort. the room is decaying, turning stained, cracked, and distorted. her eyespots are full of rage. ]

She places her foot on his head, shoving his face into the carpet.


You see yourself as having a normal little life!
You really think you can have that?
We're fucking killers.
It's plain on your face.


...f...fuck you...


What's that? Big witch type isn't so big anymore!


She grinds her heel in, a bit of glee sneaking in as he lets out an involuntary whimper.


The best part of being a possession type-

Is making my opponents realize just how nothing they are.
Exposing them. Every little bit.
And you...


She leans over, making sure he hears every word.


Are a little guy, trying to fill big boots.
And now, you're going to die.


With a sudden burst of energy, he grabs her ankle-

-gripping it hard enough to look inside her.


His body convulses again, the two mentally fighting for dominance as Corro desperately tries to squirm away. His hand is sinking into her skin, deep inside-


Oh, like you're any better!
Corrosion, CORRO for short- you gave yourself a cute little nickname!
Isn't that just ADORABLE?
Some big killer you are!
Corro, Corro, Cooooorrrrrrroooooo-


Shut UP


She tries to shake him off, regaining control as she nails him down to the ground again, this time with both arms.

Externally, she slips into his arm like a tight glove-

-grabbing her knife, and holding it to his neck.

He's trembling in his headspace, scared shitless.


You underestimated me.
I got EVERY kill mark from taking somebody out from the inside.
You think I'm not afraid to feel you die like this?
Most natural feeling in the world to me!
I'll be THRILLED to feel you bleed out!


...Will you regret this one, Corro?



There's a sudden loud BANG, as if something had been slammed-










-only for both Corro and Garland to realize it hadn't come from anywhere in the trial room at all.












[image description: garland's body, containing both of them and visibly bearing only two regretted kill marks, looks up at the ceiling, fearful. the room feels overly vast and large, and has a dark atmosphere matched with abstract visuals of something burning, boiling up.]

It's in a synched motion that the two of them raise their head- the same head now, eyespots looking up in pure terror at the blank ceiling- the closest approximation they had to looking back up at the overseers.

INTERCOM: T-!


 

The sound of rustling papers, and a microphone being smacked around. And then- a voice, one completely unfamiliar from the uniform ones the trialgoers had become used to. Surely they all knew that there were many overseers, there had to be, but-

????: I gave you your last warning three trials ago, Signis.


 

This one cut through whatever made them all sound the same. Deep, commanding, and yet...




Nonchalant.

[skinstealer]

SIGNIS?: I!

 

The filter seems to break on whoever's behind the intercom as well- an overseer, right?

SIGNIS?: Sir, I told you-
????: You don't get results, you're off the project.
????: Your new report just came in, and, well....

 

There's a soft chuckle, one with no warmth to it.

????: You didn't make the cut.
SIGNIS?: You-

 

The overseer's voice cracks.

SIGNIS?: This isn't what you promised me!
SIGNIS?: You can't take my research away now!
SIGNIS?: I'm so close-!
????: You're close?

 

The paired TCPs can't even make out who's who in the body when they flinch, Garland's headspace going blurry as there's the sound of a loud slam, accompanied by metal crunching and glass cracking. It's followed by a strangled, electronic noise, indistinguishable from the sounds Corro had heard from that one computer type she-

????: You're close to something, Signis?
????: All I see-

 

Another crunch, paired with the barely-audible sound of someone choking back a sob.

????: Is a waste of my resources.
????: Your research?
????: That's nothing compared to what I have cooking.
SIGNIS?: B-but-
SIGNIS?: Technicality, I cant-!
????: You can't die?
????: Is that what you're saying?
????: That's a bold claim to make, I think.
????: Because-

 

Another electronic scream.

????: I don't think you forgot who holds your plug.
????: Should I pull it? Would that help you remember?
SIGNIS?: NNnO-
SIGNIS?: PlEEASE- DON't-!

 

The overseer's voice comes out scrambled and glitched, a digital version of panting for air.

????: Are you sorry?
SIGNIS?: I-
????: Are you sorry for wasting my time, Signis?
SIGNIS: I'M S-SSOooRRY-
????: Hm!
????: I'd say you'd do pretty good at that with some extra coaching- it's almost a good line read.
????: Very touching.
????: But I've spent enough on you.

 

There's the sound of something large and metal hitting the ground, followed by a harsh, unholy, electronic scream- now worse than any of the death rattles either TCP had heard. Even without a visual, it-


Garland's crying, Corro thinks. Am I crying? I-
Why am I-


The screams go on for far too long, ceasing as they come to a strangled stop, punctuated by long, empty beeps.





Silence.

????: Does anyone else have an objection?




 

Nothing.

????: Okay!
????: I'm going to get a new head overseer in here right away.
????: I've had a replacement lined up for so-

 

Another pause, and the sound of shuffling.

????: Hm. Her schedule didn't say she had one going right now, and-
????: Figures that that idiot left the intercom on.
????: Looks like it's just the one...

 

A chill goes up the TCPs' back.


They're looking at us.

????: Tch, it isn't even one of the good ones.
????: Guess that makes things easier, though.
????: Kill it and delete the tapes.
????: Footage is useless if it gives up identifying info, and I don't want to have editors coming in and out of my space asking how to censor it.
????: Don't be this sloppy again.
????: Okay?
????: Okay!
????: Good talk.

 

The intercom clicks off.



K...kill it?
They mean us, they have to mean us-
I-!


Before Corro can even think about leaving the witch's type body, she catches something moving out of the corner of their eyespot, whipping around just in time to spot it.



[image description: garland's body whipping around to face a fast-moving white tube, almost wire-like in appearance. it has sharp claws at the tip. the atmosphere is dark, distorted, and threatening]

A long, fast-moving tube shooting out from the wall, hollow and tipped with claw-like grabbers.

She can't get a word out, mentally or otherwise, before it stabs into the body's back, piercing through jumpsuit and skin and embedding itself into their fluid.


Garland's health is now GOOD.


WH-
ohgodohgodohgod
N-
I HAVE TO GET OUT-




The first spike of pain hits.



Garland's health is now OKAY.



It's excruciating, and Corro can tell they're both screaming, their emotions so horribly connected as the worst pain in the world- surely what Signis had felt?- wracked their body, bringing them to their knees and convulsing.



Garland's health is now POOR.



It's too much.



Garland's health is now HURTING.



The world starts to go dark, but not in a numbing sense- as if they were being actively crushed, all sensory information ripped from them and replaced with pain, the most agonizing pain.



Garland's health is now SUFFERING.



I c-AN'T-
Please, please- PLEASE don't-



Garland's health is now CRITICAL.



I NEED TO GET OUT-
PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME HERE-!!!


This is how it ends.





Corro can't help but think of how stupid it is to die from a tube, even through the mental screaming from both her and Garland.




Stupid, stupid fucking way to di-




Garland's health is now ZERO.



With an explosive burst, Corro is flung outside of the witch's body- or...what was left of it. When Corro opens her eyespots properly-

There's nothing but a large splatter of TCP fluid. After a moment, she realizes that the fluid's coating her as well, as if she had burst out of Garland from the inside.

The wire hovers near her forehead, still dripping Garland's fluid- something that makes her start to shake violently. She has no retorts, no challenges, just raw fear-






The wire doesn't move.






And still doesn't move, even when Corro starts to cry, wracked with sobs.

INTERCOM: Corrosion, you have made an impression.
CORROSION: Wh-
INTERCOM: You may return to your room.

 

She sits there in shock, unable to process it all.








My...room?





I get-









I get to go back to...my room.






I...

The possession type looks down at her hand, soaked in bright red fluid.

I get. To move on.


Yeah.


I made an impression.


It's. It's a trial chamber.


I won.

She hears Garland's last words, cutting through like a red-hot knife.


H...he was weak.
I was stronger.
H...he underestimated me!
I won!
Ha...haha! Little FREAK didn't stand a chance!
H...
Ha...


Her legs seem to move before her mind does, getting her back up on her feet-


[image description: corro, soaked in red fluid from head to toe, walks towards the exit to the trial chamber, leaving a trail of fluid from a massive, splattered pool in her wake.]

-and heading towards the new opening in the wall.



Back to her room. Maybe she'd figure out a shower. Count her resources. Plan for the next room.

I won.







Same as always.


END ISSUE #1

ROUTE SELECT:
ISSUE #2: THE ANGEL CODE

below are a list of routes. all routes will be written, but the one chosen by you all will be illustrated and posted for free, while the rest will be writing-only and in a twine compilation for the issue. generalized content warnings are provided- but are not exhaustive for the final story- along with a cryptic clue.

no matter what route you pick, the story will be told.

please vote on which route to take.


ROUTE A: grim reaper hunting
[CW: ableism, suggestive content]

ROUTE B: watching blood boil
[CW: sexual assault analogue]

ROUTE C:  hidden candy treasure
[CW: cannibalism]

[/align]

[AceOfNothing]

I wanna go with Route C

[King-Clod]

Route C!

[Lilium Mortem]

I've gotta go with C

[skinstealer]

[image description: a cover image for the first issue of maze trials 2.0, named "the angel code." a melting brown TCP has half of her face covered in a cloth mask, detailed with swirly eyes and a wiggly mouth. her expression is distressed, even from eyespots alone, and her face is melting into red fluid. a blue pretzel type seems caught up in the fluid as it carries it away, a fleshy-looking body type's face looming in the background.]



 

SmartBoolet @[educatedbullet]
i dunno. gamepiece just seems- yknow. overdoing it?

xXx_CLOSESHAVE_xXx_ @[sharpestrazor]
I mean. It's an art piece. It's meant to be dramatic.

 

...tch.

SmartBoolet @[educatedbullet]
yeah like okay but that doesnt mean the acting is good.

 

Idiots. Why do they all just-

Monopoly freezes, staring in silence at the post on her screen.

 

~lost message...~ @{lostMessage]
I know it's just a whole...puzzle, game, thing...
But Gamepiece makes me so worried. Even if she's just a character, I really want her to be okay. :(

 

She doesn't move, unsure what to think or how to react.

It's the first time someone's-

INTERCOM: Monopoly, it's your time for a trial!
MONOPOLY: ...

 

The candy type refuses to look up at the ceiling, shutting her flip phone.

INTERCOM: Best of luck out there!

 

Up yours.

It's been months since she's been here, according to the date on her phone. Seven months. A completely normal amount of time for someone to be in a hell dungeon, and a completely normal amount of time for someone to gain a significant internet following for posting about it on social media.

The outside world wanted more! Of course they did, it was exciting-

She picks up a fabric mask from the corner of her bed, checking the face over-

 

[image description: monopoly getting dressed for a trial, standing in a standardized bedroom and putting on a cloth mask. her room has a laptop on the table, two posts for placing masks on, a mirror, and some more masks with silly faces.]

 

Spiral eyes will do today.
A little bit disarming.
Cute, but mysterious.
...should work.

-putting her false earnub headband on-

-and slipping it onto her head, checking it over in a mirror before stepping out into the trial chamber.

The chamber door opens, and before Monopoly is a grisly scene- a body type of some sort on the left looking heavily burned... or is that just their skin? Their leg is missing, and fluid is starting to seep out onto the floor. They appear to be sitting down, wincing and attempting to pull their jumpsuit tighter to keep the fluid in.

On the right is unmistakably a pretzel type, who is unharmed but visibly concerned about the state of the other TCP's leg. They're also sitting down, as if the two of them have been talking for some time now.

Monopoly's whole body tenses, immediately on red alert.

 

[image description: monopoly entering a trial chamber, faced with a fleshy, blue body type TCP with teeth for claws, and a pretzel type waving at her. the fleshy TCP's left leg is missing, instead replaced with a pool of fluid. there are no walls on the sides of the chamber, steep dropoffs on both sides.]

...no weapons.
No fighting, and the smaller TCP couldn't have-
But that's-

PRETZEL TYPE: No, I really do appreciate the concern, and it's great to see someone with that perspective! I just- You're going to have to jump through again, and with your leg like that, I don't know if you can...
????: Really...you don't have to do that for me.
????: My body grows back! It's a special talent of mine.
????: I'd much rather just sit and wait and not have you risk your own body.
????: A bit of patience is never a problem for me!
PRETZEL TYPE: Well, thank you, but I'm not sure how long the overseers will let us just sit here.
PRETZEL TYPE: It's not exactly exciting for- oh!

 

She takes a step back as the pretzel type spots her, praying that her fists would be enough if something were to go wrong.

I-!
The body type's fucking huge...
But- it's not too big, the other one-

The pretzel type addresses her, the thunking and squishing vocalizations coming out friendly, but wary.

PRETZEL TYPE: Hey!
PRETZEL TYPE: You must be the third person for this chamber- I'm Tightrope, it/its, and this is Autopsy, he/him.
MONOPOLY: ...
MONOPOLY: She/her.
 

She does not offer her name, standing completely still.

AUTOPSY: Oh!
AUTOPSY: Glad for you to join us!
AUTOPSY: As you can see, I'm in a bit of a pickle...
AUTOPSY: I was just telling Tightrope here that I'll be just fine.
TIGHTROPE: ...Yeah.

 

Tightrope does not seem convinced at Autopsy's diagnosis.

TIGHTROPE: Anyway. This looks like one of those cooperative puzzle chambers.
TIGHTROPE: We're meant to hold the levers for each other, which slows down the giant fans so we can jump through.

 

[image description: a massive "hallway" made up of a straight flat path (which the three TCPs are on) and a humongous swirling fanblade, with monopoly looking up at the fan in shock as tightrope explains. there is a small lever in the distance.]

It gestures behind them, towards the massive fan (and presumably more behind it). The breeze from them is unpleasant, but not strong enough to impede movement- and at the moment, they are spinning far too quickly to even think about jumping through.

TIGHTROPE: We got through the first one on our own, but the one after that has two levers at the opposite side- I'm assuming we need to hold both of them down at once. We decided to head back to the entrance, and, um...
 

It waves vaguely in the direction of Autopsy. Autopsy waves back, closing his huge wet eye in a pleasant gesture.

TIGHTROPE: That happened. I've been offering to heal him, and he's being really good about it, but... I mean, there's no way he'll be able to jump anywhere with his leg like that. No offense.
AUTOPSY: Oh, none taken!
AUTOPSY: I just worry...
AUTOPSY: You know, it's so easy for food types like yourself to overdo it.
AUTOPSY: And it's so common for people to take too much...

 

Monopoly has to keep from making a surprised sound, approaching slowly and trying to appear nonchalant.



Be normal, be normal.

MONOPOLY: ...do you regen fast?

 

Tightrope glances at Autopsy briefly with a sort of strained expression before turning back to Monopoly.

TIGHTROPE: Uh... I think so?
TIGHTROPE: I mean, I haven't met any other food types, but...


 

Tightrope holds up its hands, indicating a chunk about the size of Monopoly's head.

TIGHTROPE: I can do this much in a few hours if I'm resting? Probably? I don't know if that's fast or not.
MONOPOLY: Decent.
 

She turns to face Autopsy.

MONOPOLY: You said you regenerate.
AUTOPSY: Mhm!
MONOPOLY: Would a small piece expedite that?
AUTOPSY: ...you know, it just might!
AUTOPSY: I've never thought about that...you know, the overseers really train people into an "all or nothing" mentality!
TIGHTROPE: So we'll compromise, then.
TIGHTROPE: I'll give you enough to get you your mobility back, and we can try the chamber again with more people?
TIGHTROPE: Just... Don't you push yourself too hard, either. You'll hurt yourself worse if you miss a jump, so if you're not sure you can move okay, just say something.
AUTOPSY: That's a wonderful offer...I feel much better about that!

 

He turns to the candy type and gives her another eye-smile.

AUTOPSY: Already a big helper!
MONOPOLY: ...yeah.
MONOPOLY: We should get moving.
 

The pretzel type kneels down next to Autopsy and removes a small chunk from itself with no reaction that Monopoly can see.

Tightrope's health is now FANTASTIC.

The chunk is much smaller than the one it had indicated previously, small enough to fit comfortably in one hand. Tightrope passes the chunk to Autopsy, who presses it gingerly against his...teeth?, his face warping into a little nibbling motion.

He savors it, looking pleased as can be as his leg begins to reform. The body type wiggles it, pointing and making sure Tightrope and Monopoly can see it all back together before getting back to his feet.

Autopsy's health is now GOOD.

AUTOPSY: Thank you!!
AUTOPSY: We'd be in a rough spot without you!
MONOPOLY: ...
MONOPOLY: No...problem.

[skinstealer]

Tightrope stays next to Autopsy for a few moments, making sure he can stand and walk comfortably before starting down the walkway towards the first fan blade. Monopoly follows suit, her mind buzzing the closer she gets to the noisy blade.

This thing took his leg off. I need to be carefu-

AUTOPSY: You know!
 

Mono almost jumps out of her skin, the meaty body type suddenly very close behind her.

AUTOPSY: I'm really glad to meet you both in this trial.
AUTOPSY: A cooperative chamber with people willing to help...
AUTOPSY: It's hard to get that kind of thing.
MONOPOLY: ....

 

Chattier than I'd like, but...

MONOPOLY: Yeah.
MONOPOLY: Brutal world out here.
AUTOPSY: More reason to stick together.
AUTOPSY: To the puzzle!
 

...some kind of puzzle this is.
More team building than anything.
One of these two might be a newbie.

 

Autopsy holds down the lever slowly, making sure to check everyone was in the right place first.

The fan immediately slows down, now spinning at a speed that would look more at home in a miniature golf course. Tightrope steps forward and crouches down, waiting for its moment.

It leaps...


[image description: low angle wide shot of Tightrope leaping across the gap between two platforms and through a fan blade. unlike before, the individual blades are now visible instead of being a blur.]


And sails through the blades unscathed. It sighs with relief, dusting itself off before turning back to the other two TCPs.

TIGHTROPE: The timing isn't too bad.
TIGHTROPE: The trick is to jump when a blade's in front of you, because by the time you get there, it'll have moved.
 

The meaty TCP lets go of his lever just as slow.

The fan spins back up for a moment before being interrupted by Tightrope holding the lever down on its side.

TIGHTROPE: You next, Autopsy. I want one person on either side to help you if things get bad.
AUTOPSY: Thank you, Tightrope!

 

He takes a step back, bracing himself before making a proper leap, landing without a single issue, his hands triumphantly in the air.

AUTOPSY: Five points!
TIGHTROPE: Heh, nice. Is that out of five or out of ten?
AUTOPSY: Seven. Still a good score!
 

It gets a snicker out of Monopoly before she can help herself, feeling her tension starting to ease up- a little.

AUTOPSY: Your turn, friend!

 

...right.


She stretches before jumping- a lot less dramatically than the prior TCP- and landing just fine.

TIGHTROPE: Alright, good job.
TIGHTROPE: I want... uh...
TIGHTROPE: Sorry, I didn't catch your name?
MONOPOLY: You can just call me "the red one."
MONOPOLY: Or "hey, you!"
TIGHTROPE: Fair enough.
TIGHTROPE: Me and Hey You should go first this time, I think.
TIGHTROPE: Autopsy's clearly proven he can still jump with the best of them, and we don't actually know what's on the other side of this fan.

 

Autopsy grips the lever, giving a nod and a thumbs up.

AUTOPSY: You got it!
TIGHTROPE: You first, The Red One. You're the only one who hasn't been hurt yet. Just yell or something if you need help, okay?

 

Monopoly nods, feeling more confident now. Having Tightrope not press the name issue...that's more than a little appreciated. Thank god.

MONOPOLY: Will do.

 

She leaps, complete with perfect touchdown.


...still got it.

MONOPOLY: Alright.
MONOPOLY: Let's go, Tightrope.
 

Tightrope steps up, pauses to get its timing, and then jumps, landing with just a bit of a tumble on the other side. It pauses, trying to pick a bit of grime out of its wound.

She looks down at it, trying to keep her voice soft.

MONOPOLY: Better to just peel it.
MONOPOLY: You gotta watch it with the porous ends.
MONOPOLY: Stuff gets in there, it's hard to get out.

 

Tightrope looks up at her, surprised.



[image description: over-the-shoulder shot of Monopoly gesturing towards Tightrope, who is crouched on the ground, picking at the wound on their chest. Tightrope is looking back at Monopoly, an expression of confusion on its face.]

TIGHTROPE: Wh- yeah. Yeah, that makes sense.
TIGHTROPE: ...Thank you.

 

It gently peels off a thin layer of bread, removing the offending chunk of dirt, and crumples the whole thing up before tossing it aside.

TIGHTROPE: Probably not a big enough chunk to do anything. Plus, it's got floor lint in it.

 

It walks up to one of the two levers, reaching up with a short hop before pulling the lever down. Mono follows suit, giving Tightrope an affirmative nod.

Autopsy waits for the fans to stop, jumping through without a hitch. He looks just as proud as before, raising his hand to ask for a high five.

She hesitates before patting his hand, trying not to think about how moist it is. The body type seems incredibly pleased at that, darting over to bend down and offer the same to Tightrope. Tightrope seems equally taken back by how friendly the body type is being, but quickly slaps his hand so as not to appear impolite. Mono busies herself in the meantime-


[image description: a close-up of a large billboard. there are several paragraphs of unreadable Morbitian text, with two diagrams in opposite corners. in the top right corner, there is a picture of a bracelet with an arrow leading down from it. the arrow splits into three and points to three figures. beneath each figure is another symbol- a stylized feline, bird, and ladybug respectively. the second diagram depicts a large eye symbol above a picture of a figure jumping over a gap, complete with an arrow indicating their direction of movement. below the gap jumper is an illustration of a baton with small caps at either end.]


-spotting a friendly-looking graphic on the wall.