#[anyways thougghh. i loveee writing. i usually get my responses to these things typed up day one-

[themissingnumbers]

[@blue-tearss - previously, yet again.]

WARNING: At this point this entire thing is getting pretty intense in general. Warning for descriptions and illustrations of gore (specifically face and eye trauma), and a general emphasis on horror.

As the knife comes down upon him, Red does not fight back.

Red takes it.

Each swing. Each cut. Each slash.

over and over and over and over and over and

Biting pain.

The burn of an old blade.

It stings. Gods, it stings.

But to hurt is to be alive. To bleed is to be real.

He's something that is living.

Even if 'something' is not human.

Even though he's not sure what it could be anymore.

So he lets the knife glide through his skin.

Lets himself be flayed and mangled and marred.

Lets the blood flow from his wounds, and from his throat.

Because he knows it, sees it, tastes it in Blue's code.

How familiar this dying face is to him.

It makes it all the more hilarious.

Red's face, shoulders, and chest are a sanguine mess of ragged lacerations, staining the front of his shirt with the hue of a dark, dull purple, colored like rotten blood from a lifeless body. Even through the blue dye in the air, he refuses to be colored like everything else- colors of the Missing One prevailing, even with the lack of the man's typical palette corruption.

As if in tandem with the sudden absence of those horrible flickering bars that typically crawl across Red's skin and hair, Glitch City... calms. The mass eating at Blue relents when his assault ends. There's a distinct heaviness to the air, though. Each piece of the world that craved to rip and tear and consume, now twitching, bubbling, boiling underneath them. A dreadful kind of suspense.

A predator waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

It is waiting.

Red runs a hand down his face, over flesh marred beyond recognition, fingers tracing the dips and exposed muscle even though it burns more and more under the contact.

A single in-tact eye burns into the other.

Somehow, he still.

fucking.

SMILES.

"Y'know, I never thought I'd end up on the receiving end," he croaks, voice half-drowned by the blood that flows freely into his mouth.

"I'd always wondered what the motherfucker upstairs had been through. Thanks for giving me something educational to take from this, pal."

He spits his words at the other, underlined by the awful wet noises of viscera catching in his throat.

He steps forward, aiming to meet the other in the middle. Blue can see him trembling, shaky, unsteady on his feet- it hurts, oh Gods it hurts. It hurts more than he can describe. This pain is unfamiliar. Even if he welcomes the lack of numbness, it still hurts. It hurts. Each step he takes is more and more akin to a shambling corpse, a zombie freshly risen and struggling to hold itself upright. It hurts. It hurts.

"It's a little funny how you say you're not desperate while tryna hack me to pieces, y'know," he continues, voice growing all the raspier.

Frankly, he should be impossible to understand at this point. But there's something supplemental under his gargled mutterings- whispers on whispers from every side, quiet, but just loud enough to make each and every word clear.

"Whaddya think, that I'm stupid, or are you just in denial that badly...? I mean, when I get bored, I don't go out of my way to slaughter some doppelganger of the guy I hate most, in th' boring ol' way I did it every time before... Where's the fun in doin' something different if ya go about it the exact same, huh? You're BORED, but you aren't lookin' to change a single fuckin' thing, just attacking some pooooor defenselesss motherfucker that ya don't even know anything 'bout, don't got any grudges t' hold against...

But heyyy, heheh, it's allll in a place where your actions don't matter, cus it ain't even yyour world, must be sooo much easier, no aftermath t' worry about, that must be what yyYOU think, hhahaha..."

As he goes on, each word is more drawn out, quieter and quieter and weaker and weaker, yet biting with a sharpness that stabs deeper than Blue's blade. He babbles and slurs as if drunk- probably going delirious from the blood loss.

But he keeps chuckling, low, soft, and quiet. Barely a giggle under his breath...

Until it begins to crescendo.

Laughter slowly rising, Red tilts his head back, until he's thrown himself into a loud fit of cackling, RIGHT in the other's face, 'til he's wheezing, barely able to BREATHE through his manic laughter, 'til he looks like he could fall backwards if he doesn't catch his breath.

Suddenly, he snaps his head forward- and there IS an audible snap, like bones loudly clicking into place in a single grotesque movement- bringing himself eye to eye with the other. Sickly dull purples flicker into that distinct violent RED with a flare of corruption, cutting through everything with a vivid, bloody color.

"This place is HELL," he snarls, suddenly speaking clear as day, the amusement still glimmering in his one good eye, "but you fail to understand something important; this is MY Hell. And 'infested?' Does not even BEGIN to describe it."

His hand surges forward, grabbing Blue's knife-wielding hand by the wrist. His nails dig in, his fist closes around Blue's, forcing the other to tighten his grip on the handle. Red blood, running down his arm and to his hand in a deluge, mixes with blue, running and swirling together like mismatched paints dropped into a sick palette.

"What happened to MY Blue? You're asking the wrong question. Didn't anyone tell you to do your research before traveling, buddy? You should be asking what happened to ME. Because BLUE is free. BLUE is exactly where he is supposed to be. Far, far away from HERE. Living. Breathing. S A F E. I wouldn't wish him here for ANYTHING- shit, I wouldn't wish this on ANYONE. In fact, I genuinely feel fucking BAD that YOU managed to stumble into this shithole, y'know? You're tryin' awful hard to kill my pity, but I really am giving you the benefit of the doubt for how STUPID you're acting."

His hold on Blue's hand strengthens. With a harsh pull, and a grip threatening to either draw blood or break bone, he wrenches the other's fist down-

Forcing him to point the blade directly at his stomach.

He leaves the tip of the knife digging through his shirt and poking his flesh, only just gently enough to avoid breaking skin.

"But lookie here, yeah? Check THIS out, hahaha! If you're ACTUALLY as bored as you say, you must REALLY wanna see something new, right? If you wanna keep using me as your new punching-bag motherfucking PLAYTHING... Start HERE, would you? I bet you'll LOVE what happens next."

In a staggered motion, he releases Blue's hand where he left it. Knife still pointed forward, straight at Red's guts, but now with the freedom to let the other decide his next move.

"Still, though... Hey, let me be CIVIL and give you some actual advice," he continues, and he's heaving again, struggling with every breath, excess blood spilling from between his teeth. The surge of strength falters, and he slumps forward, putting one hand over his chest, gripping his shirt until his knuckles go white. His other hand lingers, the one he'd grabbed Blue with, shaking worse and worse with each passing moment. Red feels sick, his heart and a dozen other horrific things brewing inside of him pounding faster and faster against his ribs, restless and angry, ready to explode out of that cage of bone, simmering just below the surface. It's a nauseating feeling that's synchronized with the greater behavior of Glitch City, all while he struggles to stay awake and keep his mind clear.

"If you have ANY sense of self preservation still about you..." he drawls with an uneasy laugh, eye unfocused as he tries to stare at Blue, "then I suggest y'put that fucking thing away and start looking for an exit before shit gets REALLY ugly. But whatever ya do next, well... it's up to you...!"

Even with his lips tattered, torn off his face, Blue can feel how Red's grin widens.

"Just don't say I never warned you."