#implied gore

All of them do, however, retain a certain vitality lacking in the many other corpses found inside the facility. No rot, no stench, no liquified organs mixed with stuffing. Nothing foul hidden beneath plastic. A freshness that is somehow more wrong than what one would expect from dead flesh.

Every so often, the Ichor ignites something from within, mending twitching muscles and tightening throats until they gasp, regaining just enough to perform a hint of their lost functions, but never enough to make them return to the world as they were.

... If one doesn't know better, they'd feel watched.

"... -- llo?"

Static. A voice.

"Hell--ll... -- ll--lo? Hell--llo?"

Coming from a wall.

"Hellh.. H-hehh..."

Something lightly undulates inside a glob of the Gel. A faded brown thing, its matted fur plits open at the seams, pink tendrils creeping and curling outward as though they have a mind of their own. It's... A toy. Its pendant adorned zipper is forced open by the spilling of its own entrails. Tangled together veins, viscera and roots blossom outward, spreading the Critter's midsection apart.

A long stem rises from its center, ending in a large crimson flower. Its four petals pulse occasionally with what seems to be a faint heartbeat, but the actual toy appears unresponsive. Its head dips and its limbs hang, its body pinned, no, rooted into the wall. There is no trace of life behind its eyes... Is there?

"... Hello?"

It's not breathing.

(Hi, I don't know if you remember, but a while ago I sent you a short ask about a Bobby Bearhug Critter growing a Poppy flower inside itself as a gift for Scarv. I'm sending you this to show you what happened to it after a few months passed by. I hope you like this!)

MANY, have entered... no, BODY, leaves.

(Music and noise fills its mind and a singing hotness spills across its frayed nerves. Heart fluttering, it bows its head once more and dutifully presses that content, eyeless smile face-first into the turning mechanism --

CRACK

-- Immediately releasing it of its consciousness, the rest of it soon following.)

(Willingly.)

*Sorry about the late response, I was busy all day! Lovely portrayal of this monster of a character, thanks for playing along!

And- finally... doors of bone swung shut.

The noises that followed were dreadful.

(The God of Playtime loomed patiently, oh so kindly. Their open embrace. Their caring, waiting, predatory gaze...)

No...

(The toy's shimmering eyes dart, panic rising. No! It had to prove its worth willingly. But the light hurts. The sight terrifies. Safe, it's safe. The spinning teeth won't hurt. It's just a vision.)

Wait

(... From where the smoke swirls and the heat paints the inside of the machine, once again, that grinding, groaning sound hums with the Savior's tender melody. It's the hushed beckoning of the Redeemed.)

(The music. Trust the music.)

(The outimal's hands rise. Stubby, rough fingers wrap tightly around the tender flesh of its eyeballs...)

(It clenches --

-- and pulls!)

(Sight is lost in an instant, plucked away by a single, painful snap. No visions to stop it, nothing to take away its conviction.)

(It is ready now.)

For what difference would it have made.

At least he's okay now

"... y--es." Without any indication of what part of that it's even responding to. Other arm laid flat on the smooth surface, his upper body awkwardly hunched over it sideways as it works... grumbling static.

Where tubing was torn, holes blackened at the edges with acid fire. If nothing else, they had been overdue for bloodletting... yet their vocalizer doesn't try to answer. Heaving- gagging on HOT, ragged breaths.