Amnesia: The Painter's Prison [An OSC AU]

POINT DE RUPTURE

Paintbrush's eyes never started away from the screen before them, and the unblinking, static-y eyes that were printed on the Backpack's face. They turned up to meet their gaze. A look of disbelief, confusion and...anger...printed on their ruined face. "...You did all this..." Paintbrush muttered. Backpack sighed and looked back at his computer, "I can...try and get you home. I believe I put down a code to use to bring someone back to their original universe...or maybe it was the code to take them to the radio room...I don't remember. It's somewhere around here, I just have to find it..." He trailed his hand over to a notebook by the side of the computer, filled with different codes. Next to them was a pile of sticky notes with even more codes that couldn't be fit onto the notebook. It seemed there was only one page to go off of. Paintbrush looked at the notebook, then back at the backpack.

"So...if I use one of those codes, it'll bring me back?" Paintbrush asked.

"I...guess. Or it will bring you to the radio room...I haven't used it in a while, so I can't remember."

"So, I don't need you to help me."

"...I guess if you want to try it yourself, you can...why...?"

That was all Paintbrush needed to hear.

They slowly bent down, picking up their fire poker again. The backpack seemed to realize what was going on, raising his hands up to deter Paintbrush as they began to approach him. "W-Wait, Paintbrush...There are so many other codes in this notebook...y-you don't know which one does what..." The backpack tried to reason as the art utensil got closer and closer. Their face had contorted to one of pure anger, and yet...their hair wasn't ablaze.

This was a new side of Paintbrush. A DANGEROUS side.

"I don't care." They said bluntly, "If I keep you alive, you're just going to keep torturing the others at home. My friends like Fan, Test Tube, and everyone else. You've already stripped me of Suitcase, Knife, and Lightbulb. And I won't let anyone else be next..."

"I can...bring everyone back-"

"Everyone who's already DEAD? Everyone that WILL die? People like Baxter and Party Hat and everyone whose bodies I saw in the hallway?! You think it's not too late for them...? HA! You ruined their lives...You apathetic, deranged psychopath..."

There was silence. Suddenly, the art utensil swung the fire poker at the backpack, causing him to fall off his seat. Their lampshade hat falling off and hitting the floor with a clang. Before he could get up, Paintbrush rammed their foot into his ankle and held him down, his static-y eyes staring up at Paintbrush almost pleadingly. "I'm sorry...I'll fix everything, I promise...P-Please...I...I don't want to die...!" The backpack begged, and begged, and begged. But they heard none of it. Slowly raising the fire poker, they brought it down into his light green felt, stabbing through until more of that red liquid began to squirt out of the wound. That was BLOOD. And Paintbrush had gotten used to it by now. The backpack screamed, once again begging for Paintbrush to stop. Retracting their blade, they once again stabbed it down into his felt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.