Rustling paper. The distant croon of grasshoppers. The clattering of the AC as it puttered alive. Lava bubbling from under a metal grate. Fan chugging along, powering unseen devices.
The various sounds accompanied Golf Ball as she trudged down the steps to her laboratory. The steps were discolored from the lava flow that had drowned the space, but her ingenuity kept everything lava-proof and protected. She muttered, kicking a layer of ash from the last step as she scrunched her glasses up her nose. Though her lab was dark, she knew the layout like the back of her hand...or, in her case, foot. She found her work desk with little trouble. Reaching into her breast pocket, she pulled out a petri dish and placed it on the desk. With a click, her lamp shone a warm glow onto the desk. Golf Ball pulled out a clipboard and began writing.
"Substance #579," Golf Ball muttered to herself. "Description: A dark, powdered substance said to be a form of coffee. However, it's much finer-grained than most coffees I have seen. Also said to have a potent dosage of caffeine," She pulled out a beaker, already filled with water. Carefully, she measured out a handful of the substance and poured it into the beaker. To her amazement, it dissolved on contact but left the water the same color it was before. She blinked, then scrawled in her notes.
"Around 1 oz. of the substance dissolved upon contact with 100 milligrams of water. Water did not change in color or clarity," She continued. She placed the beaker on a hot plate, and with a click and a whirr, the water began heating. As expected, the water boiled at 100℃. Golf Ball muttered under her breath.
"Properties appear to remain the same," She scribbled. She eyed the concoction.
"It was some kind of coffee from another continent, said a handful could keep someone up a whole night," Pencil's voice echoed in Golf Ball's memory. She remembered how Book apparently drank it. She thought.
"Didn't I see her today? Golf Ball asked herself. The factory rang silent in return. "...Yes, with...Taco, yes, that's right..." Golf Ball looked to the concoction again.
"I wonder how she's holding up..."
——
3:30 AM.
Almost forty-eight hours.
Book's covers were thrown off in a heap on the floor, the only light coming from the bathroom. The harsh white light glared down at Book as she leaned over the toilet bowl, breath shaky and lips dripping with drool. Even with the ice-cold tile under her, she felt like she was on fire. Hell, she'd rather be on fire than living through this. She had tried to sleep, she really did, but every time she closed her eyes, they burned like fire. It was as if she were hooked up to some invisible shock system. Each and every time she could feel herself slipping away, a jolt would shoot through her, waking her yet again. She couldn't even keep water down, as much as her body craved it. A part of Book wondered if Pencil had killed her, and she was just living through her own personal hell. But she knew that made no sense. The realization only made it worse.
She stared, eyes glazed, into the bowl, A mix of orange and green drifted. Stomach bile. It was all she could conjure up. Her head pounded like a drum, thundering from within her aching skull. She just wanted to curl up into a ball and die right there.
On its own, her body began to move. Book could feel her grip on her movements slipping away. She felt...unreal. The buzz of the lights was loud, too loud. As she flushed the bile away, she found herself staring into the water. It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. She felt as if she were a ghost trapped in a shell. With lazy, teary eyes, she looked around.
Knock knock.
The sound was faint, but Book felt her body stiffen when she heard it. It was coming from the main room. A sense of paranoia crept up her spine. Who in their right mind would be up? She thought. Her body turned for the door and trudged out. The sound of her heart thumping filled her ears, drowning out anything else in her apartment. Even with her thundering heartbeat, she still heard it.
Knock knock.
Consciousness suddenly shot her back into her body. Book whirled around, her breathing labored. She was in the middle of her living room, something clutched in her hand. None of the lights were on, only heightening Book's panic. In a jerk of movement, she flicked on the lamp.
Nothing.
Her fists trembled, whatever was in her hand felt heavy. She looked down. A knife. She held the knife up to her face. When did she grab this? And...why was her hand bandaged up like that? How...How long was she like that?
Knock knock.
Book whirled to her door.
Knock knock.
She froze. The sound was from behind her...from the window. Book's breath grew faster and shallower. The air felt heavy like she was drowning. She felt something behind her. Something was behind her. Tears pricked her eyes.
Knock knock.
"Behind you."
Book gasped at the voice.
Pencil.
She turned, slowly at first, then whirled around and pointed the knife at the window. Just beyond the darkness was a face. A long, thin, jeering face. Pencil stared in, a thin smile stretched across her lips. Where her nose should have been was nothing more than a large, gaping hole. A deep crack crossed her face.
Just like the night of the party.
Book expected to feel relief, or concern, or anything when she saw Pencil. Instead, she felt rage bubbling up inside of her. What was she doing here!? Her mind shouted. Her own voice was unrecognizable. How was she here? There's nothing out there! The knife shook in her hands before she dropped it. The clattering was deafening, but Book couldn't keep her eyes off of the face in the window. A thin, pale hand moved up to the glass.
Knock. Knock.
——
Gaty blinked awake. Weird... she thought. Seems a little early to be awake... She sat up and looked at the clock. Indeed, it was only 3:55 AM. She sniffed and laid back down. Must've had a dream that woke me up, she rationalized. Already, she was drifting back into sleep, her eyes shutting close and her breathing slowing.
SMASH!
A piercing scream filled the air. Gaty shot out of bed, only to hear the smashing of something solid against the fire escape outside her apartment. Tinkling followed soon after, clattering against the fire escape.
"What the—" Gaty looked around the dark room. From her bed, the figure she was sleeping with stirred awake.
"G...G_eIGHt-y?" Saw mumbled, blinking the sleep from her eyes. "What was that?" She tried to sit up, but Gaty gently placed a foot on her.
"Stay here, I'm gonna check it out," Gaty said. "I'll call if I need help," With that, Gaty made her way into the main room and towards the door leading to the fire escape. With a grunt, she pushed it open. The cold night air bit her face, and already, she was having to watch for bits of broken glass at her feet. "Hello? Is everything o—" Gaty peeked around the door and froze, her mouth hanging open.
Book laid on the fire escape, her mouth and eyes clenched shut. Little pieces of glass were embedded in her body, especially on her hands and chest. Her breaths were shaky and wheezy as if she were having a hard time breathing, but that wasn't what caught Gaty off guard.
"S-Saw?" Gaty stammered. "Saw! Go get help!" She shook her head and ran back into the apartment, too in shock to fully comprehend what was going on. Book opened her eyes, cringing from the shards of glass stabbing into her. All she could hear were the muffled voices of...someone swimming through her head. She sat up and tried to stand, but collapsed back onto her back.
"KkkHH!" She gritted her teeth as she felt more glass stab into her back. Curiously, she felt nothing, but the sensation of the glass sliding in was enough to make her wince. She blinked, and Gaty was above her. Book cocked her head as Gaty mouthed something to her, but she couldn't hear over the ringing in her ears. Gaty looked back towards the apartment and ran back in. It seemed like she was avoiding looking at Book's bottom half. With a grunt of effort, Book sat up and stared at her legs.
One of her legs was gouged with scratch marks and glass, but that was to be expected. However, Book felt a sense of concern when she noticed her other leg was gone. Where there should have been a left leg, there was a shredded stump ending just above the knee. Scraps of paper and cardboard hung from the stump like meat torn off of an animal. And yet...she felt no pain.
As if she were a puppet on a string, Book felt her body rise and brace itself against the railing. She looked down to see her leg all the way on the ground. It twitched and convulsed, little strings of paper trailing from it. Without another thought, she clambered over to the ladder and slid down, careful to keep herself from losing the other leg. As she descended, she could hear the confused mutterings above. None of that mattered. All that mattered was her leg. The last thing she wanted was to have anyone make her a new leg. Too much hassle, she thought. Her foot touched the ground, and she moved towards her leg, but instead stumbled and hit the cold, damp grass. Still, she felt nothing.
Is this what shock is? She thought as her body dragged itself towards the leg. With each drag, Book felt disconnected, unreal, as if she were a ghost watching herself. She watched as her body sat up and grabbed the leg, watched as it tore off one of her sleeves and tie it around the stump, and watched as her body rose and hobbled back over to the hotel as a concerned Saw and Gaty raced over to her, their panicked words sounding like mush in her head.
I sure hope this won't be too much of a hassle. I'd hate to keep GB up at this hour...