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It was hopeless. Rodger leaned onto the fence as he curled further into himself.
The heat was unbearable. He coughed weakly as he squeezed his eye shut. God, was it always so hot in here?
The spyglass shuddered as he remembered the enormous twisted that loomed over him. It was Dandy, his boss, (if it was even Dandy) petals wilted and deformed grin dripping with ichor.
It was a close call. Rodger ran, sprinting through the claustrophobic hallways until he reached a dead end. Dandy was too big to just run back around and past him (it?), so he was cornered.
The beast was slowly stalking his way towards him, emitting spores that smelled so sickeningly sweet that it made Rodger want to throw up.
Thankfully, thankfully, Goob had spotted him and pulled him to safety, and so Rodger escaped getting shattered to pieces, painfully.
‘This run could not get any worse, at all,’ He had thought.
He was wrong.
When he had gotten back to the elevator, his colleagues had informed him of his grievous errors.
“You probably shouldn’t have inhaled those spores,” Brightney had said. “They’ll make you sick, the symptoms are something like a fever, I suppose.”
She patted him on the back. “Here, why don’t you take it easy for the next two floors? I’ll do the extractions.” And she smiled, looking apologetically at him.
It was pretty miserable, and his other teammates had tried to help, slipping him extra cans of pop or whatever they had found.
Rodger was sure that he had enough sweets to last him multiple lifetimes. If he had to consume one more godforsaken chocolate bar, he might just go insane.
Tired of feeling helpless and like a burden, he declared to the team that he was feeling better (he was not) and ready to extract again.
And extract he did. He ignored the chills that nearly made him miss the skillchecks, and he ignored how the warmth made his mind feel fuzzy.
It went on like this until there was a blackout. Brightney, easily lighting up the warehouse found that there were only two twisteds on the floor, which was odd since there were usually three.
It’d been a while since they stopped counting the floor number, and having fewer doppelgängers of his friends who were trying to kill them was, by all accounts, a good thing, so Rodger decided to count his blessings.
Cautiously stumbling through the dark, Rodger found a nice fenced-off area to catch his breath. It was generally exhausting to hide his sickness from his teammates, and even more so to push through and complete machines.
He inched his body closer towards the fence, the cool metal a satisfying release. It was sweltering, yet so cold at the same time.
He sighed softly, but not before catching the glint of a research capsule. It was warm, for some reason, but Rodger dismissed that as the warehouse being unusually warm. After all, he could feel it too.
He decided to shed his coat, a cold sweat building after he removed the garment. All that was left underneath was his undershirt.
It was truly nice. The heat had died down a little, and he didn’t feel too cold thanks to the warmth that was emanating from the capsule he was clutching near his chest.
Wait.
Wait.
Warmth? Ichor wasn’t—
The room filled with noise as a deafening CRASH was heard.
Rodger, in a haze, hadn’t noticed the lack of tapes wrapping around what would be a safe capsule to open.
It was weird, though, because he didn’t feel his heart drop as he would upon meeting a twisted, like he usually did.
What he felt, it was something else. It was something entirely different, but it still had the same effect on the magnifying glass.
He felt his counterpart’s scathing gaze on him, and he was sure this would be his doom. Out of stamina, out of hearts, in a fenced off area during a blackout.
He was sweating now, the heat making his lens fog up. This was the end, wasn’t it? He would fall like the others before him, and become a twisted.
But he did not hurt, not from the rays of, well, himself. His eye fluttered open and shut, trying to adjust to the gaze of the intense light beaming down on him.
The familiar figure in front of him leaned closer, a mix of ichor, glass, and blood pooling at its lower half. It remained there, unmoving, and Rodger would feel disgusted by the ichor slowly dripping onto his (white!) shirt if he wasn’t so… terrified?
The toon, wasn’t sure how he felt, but if the heat that’d been curling in his gut wasn’t fear, Rodger wasn’t quite sure what it was.
A thought flitted across his mind, so quick he could barely encapsulate it.
Was this… lust?
It couldn’t be, and if it was, he would just accept his death.
So why wasn’t he dead yet?
His copy looked down at him, with a hunger in its eyes that Rodger couldn’t place.
“Detective, you smell,” it told him. “…Delectable.” And with that, it plunged forward.
Unfortunately, its words went straight to his dick.
Its body morphed to encase him, cool ichor soothing the heat of his skin. Rodger groaned, involuntarily, at the sensation. The sheer relief he felt was enough to let him allow the twisted to further encapsulate him. They were so close, practically touching lenses!
And just as quickly, the doppelgänger retreated, liquid limbs turning solid again.
The detective whined at the sudden loss, embarrassingly, and reached out towards his mirror.
“Please…” the blistering heat was too much now that he had a taste of salvation, and Rodger would’ve practically thrown himself at the other if he had enough energy.
The twisted made no indication of hearing him, instead opting to watch Rodger keenly, like a predator eyeing its prey.
Rodger crawled weakly towards the foot of the creature.
“You are pitiful.” He heard the warbled voice of the doppel. Distantly, Rodger thought about the consequences of this interaction. He could die. But in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t really bring himself to care.
Deep in thought, Rodger hadn’t noticed the inky tendrils slowly making their way up his legs, under his slacks! They inched up and stopped right before they reached his cock.
Apparently frustrated with the lack of space, the twisted version of him slid forward, closer and closer towards Rodger until they were practically lens to lens again.
Swiftly unbuttoning his pants, the mirror image looked amused at the magnifying glass’s… predicament.
Pants and undergarments taken care of, the ichor tentacle began moving again, closer towards his dick until they wrapped around his length.
They squeezed experimentally, and Rodger sputtered at the interaction, jerking forward and grasping at his counterpart’s hips.
It didn’t seem to mind, instead opting to begin stroking his cock at a leisurely pace, bringing it from half-hard to fully erect. Rodger gaped, tightening the grasp he had of Twisted Rodger’s hips.
Looking satisfied with the reaction it invoked from the toon, the twisted lifted Rodger up with its tentacles and moved the both of them to the corner, where Rodger had his legs wrapped around its waist.
The detective almost thought the other looked smug, as another tendril began prodding at his hole.
Wait wha—
All of a sudden, Rodger jolted upright and let out a strangled noise.
“Oh— Oh dear.” Was all he managed to get out before the thing inside him curled, and he swore he saw stars.
Panting, he clenched his legs around the figure harder, as more and more ichor tentacles spawned seemingly out of nowhere.
The thing was slinging in and out of his ass at a more ruthless pace now, hitting the sweet spot over and over again, making Rodger dizzy with pleasure.
As he felt the feeling build, rising in his abdomen, the toon gripped the sides of the other. He nearly yelled out, shooting his head up as he came.
Energy expended, Rodger slumped against the twisted version of himself, feeling it slowly letting him down from its grasp. It ‘sat’ next to him, busying itself with cleaning up the mess he made.
And there they were, as the world came crashing back down to him, Rodger became acutely aware of how he was half naked and covered in ichor.
He sighed and winced as he got up. His legs were shaking as he began walking over to retrieve his clothing.
Panic slightly settling in, he startled when gooey appendages dropped them into his arms.
“Ah.” His voice was hoarse, both from his sickness, and from his choked noises from…
Yeah, Rodger wasn’t going to think about the implications of what he did, and why he did it.
Pulling his clothes back on, and rebuttoning he jacket, he watched the figure behind him slink away, eye unblinking. It tilted its head at him, as if to say: “See you again.”
Watching it transform back into a capsule, the glass object realized that he no longer felt the stuffiness of the symptoms of fever. He felt refreshingly cool, which was a nice change of pace.
Shuffling towards the elevator, Rodger made a note to himself.
Don’t ever mess with twisted Dandy.
//
“Christ, Rodger!” Tisha nearly screamed when she saw him. “You’re covered in ichor!”
Rodger cringed. Tisha was causing quite the commotion.
“Yeah, I… encountered a twisted me. I didn’t notice because of the blackout.”
“Jeez, how’d you even survive that?” Glisten interrupted.
The mirror then pulled out a handkerchief and wiped Rodger’s lens, causing the latter to flinch.
Glisten smirked at him, eyes shining. “Well kept, was it?”
Rodger resigned himself to getting questions and teased for the next couple floors.
Never again.
Never again.