Chapter Text
BZZZZZ.. BZZZZZ.. BZZ-
Trophy groaned, picking up his phone and turning the alarm he had set on it off. Even if it wasn’t a pleasant sound to wake up to, it was one of the only things that actually woke him up, so he simply just dealt with it.
He pushed the blanket that had been covering him aside, the corners of it noiselessly hitting the floor as he did. The air was a bit cold, but he didn’t find it in him to care.
His phone’s home screen read the date out to him. ‘December 8th, 202X’ . Nothing was special about that date to him, so he didn’t pay it any mind. All that it meant was that the ground outside the hotel might have a coating of snow.
Oh, and it did technically mean something else, but Trophy just hadn’t thought of it yet.
It had been just over three months since everything had happened. The laboratory, the escape, the hospital. All of the things that had permanently impacted his life, and not exactly for the better.
Trophy didn’t pay any of those facts any mind though, instead carrying out his morning routine as he had the last three months.
One of the first things he did was slip on his prosthetic handles. Lightbulb had convinced Paintbrush to make them for Trophy about a month after everything had happened.
The handles slipped onto the sides of Trophy’s cup. If he was going to be honest, they did an amazing job replacing the real things. Of course, due to the scarring on the sides of Trophy’s head from when he lost his real handles, you could still tell they were fake if you looked at them too hard.
Right, the prosthetic handles. Those were just one of the many changes that had appeared since the lab. The changes were always in the smaller parts of Trophy’s life, but were still obvious once you looked for them.
Another example of this would be the now blue walls of Trophy and Tissues’s bedroom. Although the rest of Hotel OJ’s residents had orange walls, courtesy of OJ’s admittedly mediocre design of the building, Trophy had his room’s walls repainted. With permission, of course.
The original colors reminded Trophy too much of his room in the lab. As in, he had trouble falling asleep the first few days he was back in the hotel. When it came to changing the color however, it had been a bit complicated.
Red, orange, pink, and yellow were all not options with everything considered. White, black, and brown were too plain of colors. Green wasn’t a good idea since Tissues slept in the same room as Trophy, and purple was ‘too girly’ of a color in Trophy’s opinion. So in the end, they just ended up choosing blue.
Trophy shook himself out of his thoughts. It’s just a wall, the colors really didn’t matter to him as long as he could sleep. Besides, he had to get on with his day.
He walked over to the side of Tissues’s bed. Guessably, Tissues was fast asleep. Trophy groaned under his breath before placing a hand on the side of the sleeping object. He softly shook Tissues awake, trying his best to be gentle enough as to not startle him.
“Mngh… huh..?” Tissues mumbled, his eyes opening into barely opened slits as he awoke.
“‘Morning.” Trophy replied, stepping off to the side. “It’s almost breakfast.”
“Right, right.” Tissues said, sitting up. He stretched his arms and rubbed his eyes, knowing he also had to get a start to his day.
Trophy didn’t spend much time waiting for Tissues. It’s not like Tissues couldn’t do things by himself anyways, so there wasn’t any real reason Trophy had to stay by him.
Instead, Trophy walked back over to his nightstand and grabbed the camera that was placed atop it. It was an old digital camera he had kept for a while, with slight signs of aging along the sides. He slung the strap of it over his neck so he could carry it with him throughout the day.
It was weird. He had no plans on using it, he had long since given up on picking up his old hobbies after the lab, but he still kept it with him. As long as he wasn’t using it, it gave him a sense of comfort to have alongside him. Even if it hadn’t taken any photos in a good few months, Trophy didn’t have any reason to get rid of it.
The door opened. Trophy turned to look to see who it was, only to realize Tissues had finally gotten out of bed and was probably just going to grab breakfast downstairs. Right, Trophy should probably grab something to eat as well.
The golden object followed his roommate out of the door shortly after, closing and locking the door behind himself. The yellow coated walls of the rest of the hotel brought slight discomfort to Trophy, but he had learned to ignore that feeling by now.
He took the stairs down, already smelling the scent of whatever had been cooked downstairs wafting around the hotel. What was it this time, pancakes? Trophy couldn’t tell by the smell alone.
Once he finally made it to the bottom of the stairs, he saw the source of the scent. Yep, it was pancakes. The rest of the hotel residents were already downstairs, lounging in the lobby. Trophy walked past the rest of them, still having something to do before eating.
He walked up to one of the walls. Normally he’d pay no mind to the walls, especially considering that he hated the color of them so badly. But this wall was special- it was one of the walls that housed pictures OJ had put up.
This particular part of the wall housed two portraits. One of them was Bow, who Trophy didn’t know much about, so he couldn’t find it in him to care about that portrait. No, it was the other portrait beside Bow’s that Trophy went out of his way to look at every morning.
The portrait beside Bow’s was a picture of Soap. It was framed the same way Bow’s was, a simple wooden frame that did the job. The picture showed Soap in front of the hotel’s garden, her pink shades standing out from the greenery surrounding her.
Underneath the portrait, there was a collection of words and numbers.
Soap
19XX-202X
Trophy simply stared at the portrait for a moment, not saying anything. Just thinking about what he might’ve said if she was here.
It was actually a bit funny. The photo of Soap in that very frame was one that Trophy himself had taken. The camera he had used to take it was the very one hung around his neck.
It had been exactly 98 days since she had passed. Not one of those days had Trophy gained any closure about her death, or any of the things that happened in the lab if he was going to be honest. 98 days, but it could’ve been years for all Trophy cared.
The only thing that snapped Trophy away from the picture was the sound of footsteps approaching. He didn’t look at them, but he knew exactly who they were just by their footsteps alone.
Lightbulb casually walked over, with Pepper following close behind. The two of them had changed since the lab incident as well. Lightbulb had her own prosthetic, though it was a bit wonky since she had insisted on making it herself. She didn’t care though, she was just happy to have the missing half of her face back.
Pepper, on the other hand, only wore a scarf. It covered her mouth, and she only tended to move it when eating. Otherwise, it stayed over her mouth so that it could conceal the cracks that spreaded around her face. If Trophy had to guess, he would say she was also carrying her journal around.
“Good morning Trophy!” Lightbulb called out, standing right next to the other object. Trophy had relived days like this enough times to know Pepper waved at him as well, despite not looking back at the two girls.
“‘Morning.” Trophy replied, stepping backwards a step. This time, he actually took a moment to look at the two. Lightbulb was cheerful as ever, as she had tried to be after the lab, and Pepper was relatively alright. Just as Trophy had guessed.
Lightbulb nodded in acknowledgment before turning towards the picture Trophy had been looking at. Her smile softened as she looked at the portrait of Soap, though it was clearly with good intentions.
“Good morning, Soap.” She said, before turning back to the other two objects beside her. “So, Trophy, did you sleep well last night?”
“Yep.” Trophy said. It wasn’t exactly a lie, he didn’t have any trouble sleeping. It was just that regular activities like that felt draining in a way after the laboratory.
“Nice to hear!” Lightbulb chimed. She didn’t bother Trophy further after that, instead continuing on her way. Pepper followed Lightbulb as she left.
Trophy knew why Lightbulb was suddenly more happy-go-lucky after the lab. She wanted to be a pillar to the rest of the hotel residents who were unlucky enough to be subjects. Besides, she wished things could be the way the used to be, so she tried to imitate the good things of the past the best she could. He had heard enough in group conversations between the subjects to know all of that was certain.
He turned to look back at Soap’s portrait, but before he could, he heard OJ’s voice call out from the kitchen. “Alright everybody, breakfast is done!”
Feet thundered from behind Trophy as people walked over to grab their food. He flinched at the sudden wave of noise, but other than that, he stayed in place. His gaze was set on Soap.
He never got to say goodbye to her. It was some stupid communication screw up. Nobody told him she was dying, or just how bad of a state she had been in for that matter. Reasoning being some bullshit about not stressing him out while he was recovering as well.
In reality, not getting to say goodbye probably slowed down Trophy’s recovery rather than improving it. He tried his best not to blame anybody, but inside he knew it was their fault. He knew mourning wouldn’t bring her back either, but he still found himself doing it. He looked the portrait dead in the eyes.
“…Good morning, Soap.” He said under his breath. And with that, he walked away and joined everybody else eating breakfast.
Fan sat down at his spot at the table. He set his plate down in front of him as he nervously shifted in place. Breakfast was never his favorite time of the day.
He silently watched as everybody sat down around him. They had already joined their own conversations, leaving him on his lonesome. Not that he minded, of course. It just meant less time spent eating breakfast.
He began scarfing down his meal. There was no reasonable excuse for eating so fast, he just felt uncomfortable at the table and figured he’d get it over with quicker.
Days felt plain nowadays, and he hated the reason why. It had been months by now, that much he knew. It was the fact that he hadn’t moved on yet that sucked. It felt like he was overdramatizing things, especially considering the fact he hadn’t been a victim in the lab situation. If anything, it had been partially his fault that everything happened.
He hated to admit it, but he missed Test Tube dearly. He longed to see her again, to at least get some sort of explanation for everything. There’s no way somebody as seemingly sweet as her could do something so… vile. But simultaneously, he never wanted to see her again. Not after what she did.
Part of him thought there might be a reason, logic to the chaos she had created, and wanted to hear it from her. Another part knew she was terrible, and that seeing her again wouldn’t change her actions. But wouldn’t hearing it from her make it easier to see that she was in the wrong?
Fan sighed, the thoughts running wild inside his mind. It’s not like anybody heard him though, not with how loud the room was. God the room was loud…
He looked down at his plate. Oh, he had finished eating already. He sighed once more, knowing his stomach would hurt in a couple of minutes. No use crying over spilled milk, he supposed.
He stood back up. Nobody noticed. He had been the first person to finish eating due to his haste, so he had a clear path. He began walking back up the stairs. Still, nobody noticed.
He hated the feeling of insignificance that haunted him lately. He hated how lonely he felt now that his best friend was gone. He hated the guilt he felt for missing her, he hated how selfish he felt, he hated Test Tube and he hated himself for hating her. He was filled to the brim with hate, and yet he refused to convey it.
His feet hit the mat in front of his bedroom door. The wooden door was painted colorfully with art of the Bright Lights, courtesy of his roommate Paintbrush. Fan knocked a couple times to make sure nobody was in there. No response. He opened the door and walked into the room.
The room itself also had its fair assortment of decorations. Paintings were hung up all around on Paintbrush’s side of the room, with Fan’s side containing more store bought posters than things he made himself.
Fan walked up to the enclosure which sat between his and Paintbrush’s side of the room. Inside the cage there was a red crab Fan instantly knew by name : Baxter.
Originally the crab had been Lightbulb’s, but she had gifted him to Paintbrush right before their elimination. Now he stayed in their care. Baxter had a small piece of his shell that was burned black due to the fact he had been in Test Tube’s lab during the time of the escape. He was okay, of course, but it was still there.
Fan waved hello to the red crab, a habit of his that made him feel both less and more lonely. Then he walked up to his bed and fell onto it stomach-first.
He grabbed his laptop from the end of the bed. It was a bad habit, but he knew he needed it right now. He flipped it open and powered it on, and upon seeing it was on full charge, unplugged it.
He clicked onto the documents app. Paintbrush always told him not to, that it wouldn’t help, but Fan always ignored them. Maybe it was a bit selfish, but it was self indulgent at this point.
He scrolled through the different files. After a couple seconds, he landed at the bottom of the page. He clicked on the last file.
The page opened up to a series of different logs and notes. Test Tube had sent them to him mere hours before her death and, guessably, Fan had read through them.
Well, he had only ever read through the main logs of Test Tube’s. He had tried looking through E-1’s notes once, but quickly learned not to investigate further into any of the other documents from the contents of it.
Speaking of which, he clicked onto the main logs. He read through them one by one, internally analyzing each thing Test Tube had written.
Log 1, Log 2, Log 3
It hurt to read, but it made him feel just the slightest bit better. He clicked the ‘next page’ button, bringing him to the next log.
Log 4, Log 5, Log 8
It reminded him of things, and even if it probably harmed him in the end, Fan couldn’t peel his eyes off the text once he started reading.
Log 12
The words flashed on screen. His stomach turned to rocks as he read over the words, but he had already memorized each and every line in it. It wasn’t anything new to him.
He was about to close the laptop, having reread all of the logs for the hundredth time, but then he paused. He looked at the bottom corner. The ‘next page’ button was still there.
That… shouldn’t be there. It never had been there. Log 12 had been Test Tube’s last log, and you could only move forward in the document if there was more to read. Had Fan written another log without remembering, or was this some cruel prank being played on him?
He hesitantly pressed the button, being brought to a page he had never seen before. The air felt like it was thicker than before as he started reading the new passage.
Log 13, Test 84