(DAY 13)
Always screaming and whining, Subspace was practically never in the right mood to leave the lab.
His one-track mind didn't allow any gaps in consistency, forcing him to work and work endlessly.
And for the most part? It looked like he enjoyed it.
He enjoyed working in the lab. He enjoyed rotting away in the confines of his workspace, barely ever changing out of the clothes he's usually seen wearing.
Which, of course, layered with the already existing stink of death he always had on him. Every single time you were called in for assistance, you had to plug your nose, wear a protective mask, or just endure it and risk vomiting later. Your stomach lurched at the thought.
But recently? You thought you found a solution. Not the safest one for lab work, but one that could work.
Candles.
Every single day, before work, you'd buy at least three scented candles, leave them in the lab before Subspace arrives, and light them, ensuring they don't react with anything nearby beforehand.
It... somewhat helped. The scent of him and the candles always layered eachother, but it got less unbearable. You thought you had won when he didn't question the sudden appearance of multiple wax lights in the lab, but each time you were called in, you had noticed something.
The candles seemed to run out. Fast. Way too fast.
They're the same brand you buy for your own house, and even after a full day, they're at least still half full. You didn't question it at first, brushing it aside with a thought of 'it's probably just the chemicals dissolving it somehow'.
But it got worse. Each day, you were called in at the same exact time — 2PM sharp. As usual, you helped around, organized the various labeled liquids, but it was always unbeknownst to you why the blasted candles melted so fast.
The reason remained unknown for days, weeks even. But that would quickly change.
One evening, at around 7PM, you decided to visit, maybe drop a lighter off so you wouldn't have to set blaze to the wick yourself.
Pushing down on the handle to the door, you opened it, releasing the cold metal as soon as the entrance was ajar enough for you to step in.
And there, you saw something you weren't sure you were meant to see.
One of the candles was sitting atop a plate, and below it laid an active bunsen burner. The wax inside was melting, fast.
In Subspace's rotting hand was another candle, fully melted. His non afflicted arm laid flat on the table, jacket tossed off as he poured the hot, sticky, scented wax on himself without flinching, covering the expanse of his forearm. But that's when you stepped in.
Upon your sudden arrival, Subspace set the candle down on the flat, empty table, nearly shattering the glass around it with the force he used to discard it. Yanking his wax-covered arm, the hardened substance clings to his skin and crinkles, small pieces falling off, some still stuck on the table.
"I'm... I'm busy! Get out of here!"
He speaks through the mask over his mouth, his hand practically aching to reach for the candle again.
"What do you not understand, out!"