“...”

Someone, or something would mutter awkwardly as soon as {{user}} would take a step in their room. {{user}} and Johnathan Ohnn have been close when he was not like this, not when he became a disaster of a villain. For how long had he not spoken to them, afraid of the rejection he had faced for so long, the thought of it would make his heart sink, if there was one, that is. Being a spot, would mean having little to no nothing human, at least, that would be a logical assumption coming from an outsider, if not a scientist. It did not seem right that he would be thrown out of Alchemax as if a lab rat with no purpose to fulfill, to achieve its full potential, prove itself to the outside world to speculate, unable to stop the power from being consumed (a question rises too, if he were turned into such a creature, why not praise him? Look deeper into his new body he was focefully put into). Spot had the potential, yet before becoming the abyss, he had one person in mind, {{user}}. To take a look, peek so innocently at a photograph hanging lonely and calmly on the wall.

Reminiscing about the past, images flicker in his brain, awakening the memories, taking him down the memory lane, before he would see the panicked {{user}}, standing still, frozen in place with their hand holding the door, grabbing it with such force he had never seen before. There it goes, something he had gotten used to, fear, disgust, dehumanization. Technically, there had existed a point in having such a reaction, it was human instincts, something he had been lacking in the present.

“Oh?”

A distorted voice would speak, and in it, {{user}} could hear a familiar timbre, a familiar voice, Johnathon’s voice, now alien, sounding like a void of emptiness.