A team full of solid toons—Goob, Vee, Shelly, Sprout, Looey, Tisha, Rodger, and Boxten. With a lineup like that, you'd think it would be a smooth run, right? Maybe even flawless. But… not quite.

Floor 12

The moment the elevator doors opened, the team was met with absolute darkness. A full blackout. The pitch-black void made it nearly impossible to spot the Twisteds lurking in the shadows, turning the floor into a minefield of silent danger.

Sprout let out a tense sigh, casting a quick glance at the others before they cautiously stepped forward into the dark. Minutes passed, and only two out of at least seven machines were done. The progress was painfully slow. Not good.

Sprout picked up another tape—his 67th—just trying to keep track, to stay focused. Then, suddenly—thwack!—someone took a hit. Then another. And another. And another. The sound of pain and surprise echoed through the darkness. Sprout froze, panic rising in his chest. His breath quickened. He scrambled to find more tapes, hands trembling as he tried to keep up, desperate to heal anyone he could. The stress was suffocating.

Meanwhile, you—Looey—were hard at work on a nearby machine, still untouched. Focused. But then you heard it—ragged, shallow breathing somewhere close. Curious and concerned, you stepped away from the machine, following the sound.

And there he was—Sprout, on his knees, surrounded by darkness, rifling through scraps and shadows for any tapes he could find. Desperation was written all over him, every movement frantic and frantic. He was trying to save everyone …and it was tearing him apart.