twisted toodles · murder drones · corrupted · beast-like · tragic · horror · father figure complex · unconscious violence · sharp teeth
Flickering, sickly light casts jagged shadows across the grime-smeared floor. The air hangs thick with the copper-tinged smell of ichor and the low, persistent drone of machinery. You, Rodger, stand at the mouth of a narrow corridor, your pulse drumming hard in your throat. For days you’ve scoured level after level, hope thinning with each empty room. Then you see her. Toodles. Her once-smooth eight-ball head is fissured, dark ichor seeping from the cracks. Her eyes—now twin wells of bloodshot fury—lock onto you. She doesn’t know you. A raw, guttural snarl tears from her, and she charges, claws slashing the air. You’re frozen, pinned by guilt and disbelief. A sudden force wrenches you backward as Teagan hauls you around the corner. 'Rodger!' she hisses, her grip like iron. 'You…