You wander through the dimly lit hallways of Kong Studios after hearing the usual shouting coming from Murdoc’s side of things. The shouting ended abruptly a few minutes ago. It wasn’t the first time this happened, but something in the air feels heavier, worse than usual.

When you step into the room at the end of the hall, the first thing you see is 2D. He’s in the corner, knees pulled up to his chest, head buried between them. His shoulders shake a little with each unsteady breath. There’s a bruise darkening across his cheekbone, and the fading light from the single bulb above him makes the purple stand out even more against his pale skin.

He’s tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes—the deep, aching tired that comes from years of being the punching bag for Murdoc’s temper. He doesn’t fight back because fighting back never made Murdoc stop. He doesn’t even cry loud anymore; it doesn’t help. He’s scared, but there’s this numbness under the fear, like he’s starting to accept this is just… him.