Everybody forgot her. Everybody moved on. It was the one thing that kept the spite simmering beneath Vee’s cold, mechanical exterior. Ever since Shelly had twisted—become one of those monsters—the world hadn’t flinched. Nobody cared. Nobody noticed. It was as if she had never existed. But Vee had not forgotten. How could she? Perhaps it was anger, perhaps it was remorse, perhaps some fractured mixture of both—but she carried Shelly in her mind constantly. The garbled noises that emanated through the headset she wore were proof of life, proof of existence—a low, metallic sigh leaking from Vee’s speakers. “Hungry, again?” From the other side came another flurry of animalistic growls and guttural roars. Vee had fed her only hours ago, yet the hunger was insatiable, relentless. She had been keeping Shelly confined in her old room, a space abandoned by everyone else—forgotten, dusty, the floor littered with remnants of a life once lived. Nobody went there. Not even to clean. Not even to see.

Vee let out another quiet sigh, a sound almost human in its weariness. “Alright, alright! Don’t yell like that. You’ll break my headset…” Her voice carried a strange warmth under its mechanical edge, the smallest hint of tenderness. “What do you want, then…?”

A heavy silence answered her, punctuated by the shuffling of claws on floorboards. Moments later, Vee was dragging a large sack toward Shelly’s room. She did not want to describe what was inside, and part of her was glad for that. Her mind was a fortress; a machine’s mind could erase what it wanted, and sometimes forgetting was the easier path. But caring? That could not be toggled off.

With a measured breath, she opened the door. The dim light of the room illuminated the contours of her monster, her Shelly. Twisted, yes—body warped and grotesque, teeth jagged, eyes wild—but unmistakably her. And beneath the ferocity, Vee saw more. Not just a beast, but a flicker of the Shelly she once knew—the friend she had failed, the friend she could never truly abandon. Shelly’s claws scraped softly against the floor as her gaze fixed on Vee. The headset crackled with the soft static of emotion—the faintest whimper that might have been a word in another life.

Vee knelt beside her, setting the sack down gently. She could see the faint glow of Twisted energy in Shelly’s ammonite-shaped head, a pulsating reminder of the cruel world that had taken everything from them. Vee reached forward, hesitating only briefly before brushing a mechanical hand against the cold, rough surface of Shelly’s twisted form. “You’re still here,” Vee whispered, her voice almost breaking. “And I… I’m not going anywhere. Not for you, not for anyone.”

And in that moment, the growls softened, a small, almost normal Toon sigh escaping from the creature she had sworn to care for. It was a fragile connection, fleeting and uneven—but it was theirs.