#baon

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Orange watched as the gray sticks meandered purposefully through the warehouse. There were no clocks anywhere in Orange's line of sight, but they'd been watching long enough that they'd noticed a distinct change in the flow of the grays- there had been significantly fewer for a time, then they came back in mildly better spirits before dropping to an all-time low. If Orange had to guess, they'd just had dinner before switching to the night shift.

Orange's stomach rumbled at the thought, and they grimaced as their hand lifted up by it unconsciously.

Still frozen in their blank prison, the Chosen One didn't respond.

Orange scowled in their direction. "This is your fault, y'know."

Nothing.

"You come in ranting and raving about needing help from the one stick more powerful than you, then expect me to pick up the slack?!" Orange snapped. "You're just lucky I pocketed the pencil before you ducking kidnapped me, and even then-!"

Still nothing.

"Where'd you even get that idea, huh?!" Orange smacked the bars of their cell angrily, the noise ringing in their ears long after going quiet. "I'm not some kind of all-powerful stick figure! That honor goes to you! You and the Dark Lord both, if they're even still alive! I don't know what you did to make them disappear all those years ago, but it must've worked!"

The voice that spoke was almost unassuming, aside from the fact that Orange didn't recognize it. "That's just it. The Chosen One didn't put a stop to the Dark Lord."

Orange stiffened, then rattled the bars of their cell. "What the-? COME OUT WHERE I CAN PUMMEL YOU!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Second," the soft-spoken voice said. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to let you see me, though."

And from the shadows walked an unfamiliar stick figure. Their hex code was gray, dark enough that they almost looked like the Chosen One's twin, but their animation was…janky, Orange supposed. Each of their frames was drawn as if it were a keyframe in and of itself, and their head seemed to change shape multiple times a second.

Squashing down the instinctive urge to offer to clean up their animation like one of Alan's creations, Orange scowled. "That's not my name."

"Hm," said the stranger with a noncommittal shrug.

"It's not!" Orange insisted.

The stranger chuckled. "Whatever you say."

Realizing they weren't gonna get anywhere with the whole 'name' thing, Orange shook their head. "Who even are you, and what are you talking about? Putting aside the whole 'you claim to know about the last time I saw the Chosen One' thing, who else could it have been? Last I checked, the internet wasn't exactly bursting at the seams with superpowered sticks."

"Oh, it's not," said the stranger mildly. "Think about it, Second. Who was there that day at the bay? Who could have been the one to ensure the Dark Lord could never go after you again? It wasn't the Chosen One, I can guarantee you that."

Orange felt a dawning horror rise up inside. "No…are you saying…?"

"That's it, think about it…" coaxed the stranger.

"…it was you?!"

The stranger froze for a moment, then burst out laughing.

Orange blinked. That didn't sound like the maniacal laughter of someone who'd led their prisoner to the right conclusion. That sounded like the full-bodied laughter of someone who-

"I can't believe this!" the stranger crowed. They laughed for a moment more, then quieted down to a few stray chuckles, wiping at their eyes as they calmed back down. "The information is all laid out in front of you, Second! For somebody usually so quick on their feet when the situation calls for it, you're being so slow today!"

Orange really didn't like the implication that this stranger had been watching them for who-knew-how-long.

"Think, Second, think! It was just you, the Chosen One, and the Dark Lord that day, and it wasn't the Chosen One who blasted the Dark Lord to kingdom come," the stranger pressed, their voice losing some of their nonchalance in favor of a hard edge.

If Orange had thought the idea of the stranger having that kind of power was horrifying, then what the stranger was proposing was…

"…insane. Y-you're insane," breathed Orange, stepping back from the bars.

"Please, don't insult both of our intelligence," the stranger drawled, taking a step closer. "Besides, wouldn't that make the Chosen One insane for going to you for aid? If anybody saw the Dark Lord's defeat in person and knew who was responsible, it would be them, after all."

Orange hated that they couldn't argue that point, and their gaze drifted to the side to look at the Chosen One again.

Still no visible response.

Orange really hoped they were at least unconscious, instead of awake and aware and unable to move. If they knew about whatever the stranger was talking about, but were forced to listen silently, it would probably be torture.

Orange had been lucky enough to be unaware when they'd been paused, but maybe it was different for the Chosen One.

"What makes you so special, hm?" The stranger's voice was low and dangerous now, and they circled slowly around Orange's cage with the sharp gaze of a predator. "What about you was so perfect that He let Himself be swayed in your favor when no one else was ever able to manage it?"

"Wha-? What are you talking about now?!" Orange demanded, desperately trying to keep the shakiness out of their voice as they turned to keep the stranger in their sights.

"I couldn't manage it," said the stranger instead of answering. "The Chosen One certainly couldn't, with or without the Dark Lord's assistance. And yet here you stand, you naive, idealistic child!"

Orange stumbled back as the stranger stormed up to the bars, glaring them down. "You have no idea the cruelty He's truly capable of, and yet you trust Him implicitly because…why? Because He plays with you?! Because He claims to enjoy your company?!"

"Who are you even talking about?!" shouted Orange, clenching their fists and taking a step forward.

"Oh, I think you know," hissed the stranger. "You remember those first few moments of sentience, don't you? You met your first four friends, and then you watched them die in front of you. I think you know exactly who I'm talking about."

Orange snarled as realization struck, and they rushed the bars with a bang. "DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT ALAN LIKE THAT!"

"There we go," said the stranger with a smirk. "I knew you had to have a rational thought or two bouncing around in that hollow head of yours."

"It was just a misunderstanding!" Orange insisted, gripping the bars and glaring down the stranger with every ounce of venom in their body. "And he brought them back right after!"

"Oh, you innocent little kid," the stranger cooed poisonously. They leaned in close enough to take up most of Orange's vision.

Orange kept themself from shaking, but it was a near thing.

The stranger tilted their head.

"Did you really think that was the first time He'd ever tried to kill a stick figure?"

Time seemed to freeze.

Orange couldn't stop it as their eyes went wide.

"He didn't bring them back out of the goodness of His heart," said the stranger in a voice so quiet it made Orange's ears ring. "He brought them back because He knew you could make His life a living hell if He didn't. You hold the power within you to destroy His PC in a blink, and you're only kept in check by the continued existence of your friends. The decision to bring back your friends wasn't an ethical decision. It was pure and simple logic, fueled by His past experiences with superpowered sticks, a group which you certainly belong to."

"That's…that's wrong. You're lying!" Orange breathed. "He wouldn't, he couldn't-!"

"Am I?" asked the stranger coldly. "Because last I checked, Second, He did, and for no other reason than the fact that He could."

"…shut up."

"Hm?"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Orange slammed an arm against the bars, making them rattle and creak. "ALAN'S NOT LIKE THAT, YOU'RE LYING YOUR LINEART OFF TO GET IN MY HEAD, AND MY NAME ISN'T SECOND! I'M ORANGE! ORANGE ORANGE ORANGE!"

The stranger seemed taken aback, then they smiled with all edges and no sincerity. "Of course you are, little Second Coming. You're Orange, and I'm the Vengeful One, and neither of those are actually our names, simply accurate descriptors for who we want to be."

Orange took a shaky breath, but before they could gather their thoughts and try to process all of THAT-

"Pause them," ordered the Vengeful One into a walkie-talkie they pulled from their hammerspace. "Talking is going nowhere. I think we should take our guest to the Viewing Room."