Chapter Text
"Another mangled body laying cold and motionless on the floor. Arms hanging loose, eyes clouded over and unblinking. Chest cut open like a gutted fish… ironic, considering it was Finn. Ribcage visibly shattered like broken glass. Nope. No point in trying here,” Boxten muttered his thoughts out loud, wiping the sweat from his forehead and stepping back from the gruesome corpse. “This one's been dead too long to save.” He sighed, turning to Poppy behind him. All she could do was sigh, “That's alright Box, it can't be helped. Let's finish collecting the stuff here and move to the next floor.”
It’d been like this for weeks. Toons in large or small groups heading down into the underbelly of Gardenview Center to work on extraction machines and none would make it back to see the light of day. If they even made it past the first floor these days. In the past, the small cleaner crew would hope to find at least one survivor or at least a body worth bringing back to recycle the ichor from; but now…
“Just finished up my sweep of the dining area. I think we’re good here?” Tisha called as she rejoined the two other toons who’d begun moving towards the elevator. Both Boxten and Poppy gave a small smile when the blue tissue box toon strolled over. “I think so, where's Cos?” Poppy asked, readjusting the large pink bow on her own head. Tisha dusted off her own blue dress and pointed ahead, “I told him to start heading towards the elevator. Figured he might have wanted to take a quick break before the next floor.” Boxten nodded silently. He was clearly in thought as the the key on the back of his box attempted to turn, clicking and jerking to a halt each time it reached a certain point. Slowly Poppy and Tisha's voices began to fade into the background, muffling softly as the two girls quickly outpaced him.
Boxten froze as his heart skipped suddenly, his key skipping to a stop as well and making him flinch in pain for a brief second. He looked around as if he was looking for something. “Box you ok?” Poppy asked, her voice suddenly snapping him out of his momentary daze. He scratched the back of his head nervously, “I'm fine. I just thought I heard someone.” He replied, still looking around.
That's when he heard it—faint, but unmistakable. A ragged voice, just barely more than a whisper. “Help... please…”
Boxten's head jerked towards the direction of the sound.
“Ple…ase…” the voice croaked again from afar.
Was it back in the kitchen?
Boxten strayed off, rushing in a slight jog towards the source of the pleading voice. Both Poppy and Tisha gave each other a worried glance but hurried to catch up to the purple music box toon. He quickly rounded the corner and noticed one last toon sprawled on the floor behind the main counter, a puddle of blood or rather ichor surrounding him. A familiar furry, yellow lad with red and blue hands and a square shaped head. It was Goob, or at least a Goob. All of the toons at Gardenview were clones of the originals by this point. Even Boxten knew that.
They all knew that .
None of them were sure who was part of the first wave of clones or not anymore, just that most of them were made from ichor. The “Main Character” toons specifically were once twisted themselves. That’s why they needed to collect complete research for those specific twisted. Why, according to Sprout, their hearts were covered in ichor and without any warning at all...could turn again. Though that last fact wasn't of any concern to him. At least, not anymore. Since joining the nightshift crew twisted encounters were about as rare as finding a piece of lint under a lens.
Boxten's eyes widened as he kneeled down next to Goob. The fluffy yellow toon winced, a strained hiss escaping him as Boxten laid a gentle hand on his side. A deep, jagged claw mark stretched across the length of his torso, some of the edges still oozing dark fluid. His bright yellow fur was clumped and matted with ichor. His eyes seemed normal, at least, one of them was normal. The other eye was red and bloodshot, much like the twisted that had put him in this sad state. The sight turned Boxten’s gut—this wasn’t the kind of injury a toon was supposed to endure. It must be agonizing.
"Easy, Goob, you're gonna be ok," Boxten muttered, his voice strained with the weight of the situation. Goob’s usual cheery smile and goofy, unfocused gaze were now replaced by pain, his face tight with suffering. Boxten’s fingers fumbled for a moment before he thought to quickly untie the blue bandana from around his neck, hands shaking as he worked to tie it tightly around the wound. It wasn’t enough, but it had to stop the bleeding for now.
Finally, Poppy and Tisha caught up. As they rounded the corner they both froze in place. Horror flashing across their faces as they saw Goob crumpled on the ground.
"Hey! One of you get Cosmo!" Boxten yelled, waving his free hand frantically. "He needs healing, fast!" Cosmo’s magic had to work, it was the only chance Goob had.
"I'll go get him! You and Tisha just try to keep him awake!" Poppy called, quickly turning back and sprinting toward the elevator where Cosmo would be waiting. The brown toon, with a head shaped like a swiss roll cake and sprinkles dotting his cheeks like the cosmic brownie he was named after, stood patiently just where Tisha said he'd be.
“Cosmo, come quick! There's a Goob that needs your help!” Poppy shouted, her voice frantic.
Cosmo’s head lifted at the sound of her voice. He turned in her direction, but his glassy, unfocused eyes didn’t quite land on her. He was staring just past her, his gaze distant yet alert in a way that told her he was listening.
“Poppy? What’s wrong?” Cosmo asked, his voice hesitant as he instinctively paused, not wanting to rush blindly into something dangerous. Poppy took a deep breath, swallowing the frustration bubbling in her chest. She could see the worry starting to settle in his expression, his unseeing eyes trying to read the room through sound alone.
“Cosmo,” she urged again, stepping closer and gently taking his hand in hers. He flinched at first, his body tense from the uncertainty, but as he recognized the familiar touch, he relaxed.
“We need you. I’ll explain on the way,” Poppy whispered, already pulling him toward the group. The urgency in her voice made his heart race. Without another word, Cosmo nodded and let her guide him, picking up the sounds of hurried footsteps and the distant, faint sobs of Goob in pain the closer they got. Something was seriously wrong—he could feel it in the air and in Poppy’s trembling hand.
As they neared the others, Cosmo could hear the sharp intakes of breath, the shuffling movements, the way both Boxten and Tisha barely spoke as they worked to keep Goob calm and conscious.
“Do you think you can help him, Cosmo?” Boxten asked standing back so that Poppy could help Cosmo find Goob.
As Cosmo knelt beside the yellow toon, Poppy guided his hand to the wound. Boxten and Tisha hovered nearby, a hopeful look in their eyes as they glanced between Cosmo’s concentrated face and the eerie dimly lit small space of the greenhouse.
“I'll do whatever I can…” Cosmo responded, his voice soft and hopeful.
Cosmo’s hand trembled slightly as it hovered over the jagged claw mark that marred Goob’s yellow fur. The colorful toon’s shallow breathing was almost heartbreaking. He didn't need to be able to see to tell Goob was on his last leg. It had been a long time since Cosmo had to heal a toon that had been abandoned or left behind after a run in this bad shape.
In fact Boxten was also on death's row before the night shift crew recruited him. Whether this Goob was here because of a failed run or he just happened to be unfortunate enough to get left behind when the elevator doors slammed shut, Cosmo wasn't sure. What he did know was that timing was crucial here. He just hoped he could actually help.
“Just focus, Cos. You can do this,” Poppy whispered, her voice strained with worry.
Cosmo nodded, taking a deep breath as a faint glow began to emanate from his hands. A surge of energy pulsed through him, the familiar warmth of magic filling the air around them. Slowly, the wound began to close, but with each inch that sealed shut, Goob cried out in more pain.
“J-just stay with me, okay, Goob?” Cosmo muttered with a strained huff. The effort was slowly taking its toll. Finally, the wound had closed completely, and Goob’s cries quieted, leaving only a small knotted patch of fur as a reminder of the injury. Tisha, Poppy and Boxten all exhaled in unison, the tension breaking—except for Cosmo.
As the light faded, Cosmo’s face seemed to drain of color. He swayed on his knees, his breathing seemed to get heavier, his hands trembled slightly as he tried to steady himself.
“Cosmo?” Poppy whispered, resting a concerned hand on his shoulder.
“I’m… I’m fine,” he managed, though his voice came out weak, the weariness evident. His magic had worked, but it had drained him more than he was willing to admit. Poppy frowned, she could tell he was lying. She could always tell when Cosmo was lying.
Suddenly Boxten’s gaze shifted, catching a flicker of movement just beyond the corner of his eye. He blinked, turning his head to try and focus on the unseen silhouette, but whatever had been there was already gone. He frowned, they needed to evacuate the floor and fast. All that screaming had to have alerted a nearby twisted. Hopefully, it wasn't anything too dangerous. Maybe it was twisted Shrimpo, that twisted wouldn't be much of an issue if the small group needed to make a hasty retreat back to the elevator.
Boxten’s heart skipped a beat, and the key on the back of his head gave a faint, hesitant click, mirroring the anxiety swelling in his chest. He forced a calm expression. "It was probably nothing," he muttered to himself, though even he wasn’t sure if he believed it. The words felt hollow, a reassurance more for him than anyone else.
Tisha raised a curious brow, catching the faint murmur from Boxten. Whatever had grabbed his attention, it clearly wasn’t "nothing." Her eyes darted around the dimly lit corridor, her unease growing.
“W-well, crew, I think that’s a sign for us to head back up. We’ll bring Goob back topside with us,” Boxten announced, his voice wavering despite his best efforts to keep it steady. The small stutter betrayed him, and Boxten could see the hint of doubt in Tisha’s eyes.
“If that’s how you react to ‘nothing’, I’d really hate to see how you handle ‘something,’” Tisha quipped, her tone laced with skepticism.
Boxten swallowed hard, a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. He couldn’t afford to crack—not now. They were all counting on him. He forced himself to focus, turning his attention back to Goob, who was still slumped over unconscious from the ordeal. With Tisha’s help, they carefully lifted Goob onto their shoulders, his weight and noodly arms were heavy and awkward for the two shorter toons.
“It won't matter what Boxten saw once we're back safe inside the elevator, Tisha,” Poppy interjected, her voice firm. “Getting Goob topside is more important right now.” Tisha hesitated but nodded, albeit uneasily, as Poppy moved to help Cosmo to his feet.
“Thank you, Poppy. I’m sorry you have to help me like this.” Cosmo apologized as he rested his arm over her shoulders, and the two hurried to keep pace with Boxten and Tisha. The heavy silence set in as they made their way through the winding room filled with bookshelves and gardens behind large viewing glass.
The group was nearly back at the elevator when Boxten thought he saw something again—a shadow slipping just out of view, creeping slowly behind them. His heart hammered in his chest as he glanced over his shoulder.
Nothing, but the unease clung to him like a heavy weight. What type of twisted could be following them? His mind raced through possibilities. It was too quiet to be a main character twisted like Shelly, Vee, or Sprout but then again Astro was also a possibility. He shook his head, trying to clear it. They had to focus on getting out of here.
At last, they reached the towering metal elevator, its surface dented and dull from years of use. Boxten’s whole body seemed to tremble as they stepped inside. Not a second later, the familiar, deafening clang of the blast door echoed through the space, sealing them inside with a final, metallic slam. The sound was meant to reassure them, to signal that they'd all made it in time, but instead, it left a lingering sense of dread in Boxten’s chest.
Were they really safe? He knew they’d have to continue the journey down until they reached the final floor of the previous runners.
It was their duty.