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Goob was twisted—more broken and sadder than usual. Every toon avoided him like they always did, and that only seemed to make the ache in his chest worse. The halls felt louder with fear, emptier with distance.
That’s when he saw Shrimpo hiding near the elevator.
Before Shrimpo could react, Goob grabbed him—not to hurt him, but holding him close, desperate, like he was afraid Shrimpo would disappear if he loosened his grip. Shrimpo struggled, fists pushing against Goob’s arms.
“Goob—let go!” Shrimpo shoved at him, elbowing his chest, feet scraping against the floor.
“I hate this,” he barked. “I hate being grabbed—and I definitely hate being hugged by you!”
Get to elevator popped up in the chat, and other toons began rushing over, unsure of what they were seeing, unsure of what to do.
Then the last machine popped.
Twisted Goob panicked.
His grip tightened, hands shaking. He didn’t want to let Shrimpo go. Not now. Not ever.
The other toons tried to pull Shrimpo free from Goob’s hands, but it only made things worse. Shrimpo gasped, then finally shouted with everything he had left:
“Just go!” Shrimpo yelled, voice cracking.
Everyone froze.
Goob shook his head violently, refusing to listen. He pulled back—and they both fell to the ground. The impact broke Goob’s hold just long enough for the others to grab Shrimpo and drag him away.
“Run!” someone shouted.
Shrimpo ran toward the elevator, heart pounding. The timer was almost out. He stepped inside—
“I hate this,” Shrimpo growled under his breath.
“I hate this stupid place. I hate this dumb choice. I hate—”
“What are you doing?!” a toon yelled. “Shrimpo, stay in the elevator! You’ll die!”
The doors started closing.
“I hate this stupid elevator anyway!”
The elevator doors finally closed as Shrimpo turned back.
He looked at Goob on the floor again, arms wrapped around himself, crying like something had been torn out of him.
“…Tch,” Shrimpo clicked his tongue.
“I hate this the most,” he muttered.
His voice was calm but heavy with truth.
“Stop crying, you idiot. It’s annoying.”
Shrimpo walked back slowly, hands shoved into his pockets, scowl still sharp.
“I don’t like you,” he said. “You’re clingy. You’re weird. And you don’t listen.”
But he sat down beside him anyway.
Goob didn’t notice at first—his face buried in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” Shrimpo said softly. “I’m here. I stayed.”
Goob looked up, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Y-you… stayed?” he whispered.
Before Shrimpo could answer, Goob pulled him into a tight hug—just tight enough to feel real, but not enough to hurt.
“I’m not going anywhere. So knock it off.”
But Goob just buried his face into Shrimpo’s shirt and cried again.
“You know I hate hugs,” Shrimpo muttered—
but he wrapped his arms around him anyway.
“It’s okay,” Shrimpo murmured. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
The world around them began to darken.
Shrimpo’s chest tightened. Breathing became harder. He coughed—and ichor slowly spilled from his mouth.
“…Guess this is it, huh?” he whispered with a weak smile.
Time passed.
Shrimpo’s body began to change. Black ichor seeped from his mouth, his form twisting, warping—until he became twisted too.
But Goob never let go.
They stayed there together, locked in an endless hug—two twisted souls who only had each other left.
That’s why, whenever someone reaches a floor where it’s only twisted Goob and twisted Shrimpo, it feels calmer.
Because they don’t care about anything else anymore.
They only care about each other.