Chapter Text
Finn Pov
“Shrimpo isn’t gonna make it in time! There’s only five seconds left!” exclaimed Finn.
Four seconds.
“Scraps, can’t you pull him in with your tail?” Connie yelled in a panic.
“I can’t! I can only pull myself to others!” cried Scraps
Three seconds.
Shrimpo wasn’t far from the elevator. But he couldn’t walk fast.
Two seconds.
Finn braced himself, bending his knees and getting ready to pull Shrimpo in.
One second.
Finn launched himself forward, grabbing Shrimpo’s arm and forcing Shrimpo into the elevator right as the door shut. Finn didn’t have time to get himself back into the elevator. The elevator door slammed right on Finn’s legs, slicing them clean off. Finn felt so much agonizing pain that he couldn’t even scream. His vision started going dark, the room around him going red and hazy. Finn felt lightheaded as the water in his fishbowl head poured out across the floor. He felt his pulsing blood cascading out of his abdomen thickly, pooling near the shut elevator door. The last thing Finn remembered before his vision faded to black was that he’d saved Shrimpo.
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Finn blinked open his red eyes. Everything he saw was a hazy deep red. He couldn’t remember where he was or who he was, but a voice in his head told him to get up. He wondered numbly if it was Barnaby talking to him. He tried to stand up, but discovered he had no legs. Instead, he propped himself up, and saw Barnaby in a pool of water where his head had just been. So the voice in his head wasn’t Barnaby. He realized he was smiling, his now sharp teeth stuck in a grin that he couldn’t stop. He began hauling himself across the floor with his hands, leaving behind a thick trail of ichor on both the floor and his orange life jacket vest. Even though he’d seen that he had no legs, he felt no pain. It dimly occurred to him that he should feel pain if his legs were gone. As he hauled himself around, he spotted someone else. He felt like he recognized this toon, but he couldn’t remember her name or any memories of her. But a part of him recognized the thick paintbrush bristles dipped in purple of her head and the white sweater, only now this toon walked lopsidedly and was covered in the same thick liquid that dragged from where his legs were. Ichor. The voice in his head told him to ignore Brusha. So that was her name. He blindly listened. He slowly hauled himself along, searching for something he wasn’t aware he was searching for. He rounded a corner and spotted someone else past the crates, someone who was twisting a red valve on a glass tube, someone who wasn’t coated in ichor. He recognized this toon too, but weirdly, he felt a deeper connection to this one than he did with Brusha. The voice in his head screamed at him to attack this toon so loud that his head hurt. He immediately listened, rushing forward as fast as he could. Finn paused not far from the toon when the mystery toon punched the glass tube so hard it shattered and spewed the ichor inside on the toon’s mouth and hands. The toon already had a bleeding gash on his forehead. He stumbled backward, his eyes beginning to turn a shade of pinkish-red. He fell backwards, bleeding out from the gash in his head. Finn drew himself closer, when a rush of memories hit him. That orange tail on his head… the red shirt… the angry face… this was… Shrimpo, his best friend.