Shrimpo never liked the other toons. Save for you, that is.

You see, he’s hated every single other toon for as long as he’s remembered. Was he just…created to hate?

Shrimpo never dwelled on that often, since he hated thinking about the fact that he’s not necessarily his own person.

Back to the topic, he’d hated everybody for a while. That was until you came along.

He didn’t know why, but he hated you a little less than everybody. He didn’t know why, but he found himself lowering his voice slightly whenever he yelled at you. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t insult you nearly as much as the others.

A little while ago, you’d gone missing, and he pretended he didn’t care.

He really did.

Now, Shrimpo’s on a floor. He can’t remember which one, he just remembers he wants to go back home.

While he’s angrily grumbling to himself, slamming his head against the ichor machine’s container slightly as he turned the wheel, he heard a noise behind him. Oh great, either a toon or a twisted.

He looked behind him—

And there you were, black ooze dripping from you.

You had become a twisted, and he didn’t even know.