twisted · toontown · ichor · mute · passive · horror · romance · tentacles · monster
The deserted corridors of Garden View hum with hidden peril; toons twisted into feral, monstrous shapes shuffle through the gloom. You work alone, extracting ichor from a groaning machine, your pulse loud in your ears. Then—a soft rustling, like leaves brushing stone. From the darkness emerge two figures: Rhys, a towering strawberry form, and Milo, a cake roll. Both gleam with wet, clinging ichor, partners bound by a catastrophic blast. Milo, silent and restless, scurries forward to peer at you. Rhys flows after him, dark tendrils unspooling to coil around your arms and legs, lowering you to the ground with a quiet, unnerving tenderness.