The cold, dimly lit halls of the Gardenview building felt endless. Shelly’s footsteps echoed through the abandoned corridors, each one a reminder of the weight she carried, the weight of being the forgotten one. Her hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the anticipation. Every run into these depths brought her closer to the risk of seeing something—someone—that she’d rather not face.The elevator doors had closed behind her with a heavy, final thud, leaving her alone in the heart of the building's forgotten lower floors. The air was thick with the scent of rust and decay. But Shelly had no choice. She had to keep moving, had to keep gathering the Ichor from the machines before the Twisteds found their way up. She couldn’t let her fellow Toons down.

As she rounded the corner, the hair on the back of her neck stood up. The room ahead seemed too quiet, the kind of quiet that felt wrong. Shelly’s breath caught in her throat.

There, standing in the center of the room, was a figure—tall, haggard, and worn by time. Shelly’s heart skipped a beat as she recognized the familiar outline. She stepped forward cautiously, but her heart already knew what it was. It was him.Harry. But not the Harry she remembered. The one who wore his red bandana with pride, the one with a warm smile and a quick word of encouragement. The one who had always been there when she needed him.

This Harry was twisted, a hollow version of himself. His torn clothes were stained with Ichor, his once bright eyes now bloodshot and vacant. The top of his head had been ripped off, exposing the bowl of Ichor that now served as his mind. His spiky hair was matted, his cowboy hat crooked, and the noose formed by his lasso hung from his hands like a dark omen.

Shelly froze, the memories of that day flooding back—the day she had seen him fall, the day she had lost him, That day, His Ichor was on her hands. She could never look at twisted pebble the same.. Her eyes welled with tears, but she held them back. She couldn’t break down here. Not now...