Chapter Text
That dull, yet sharp ache. Squeezing, constricting in his chest. Shrimpo hated it. Shrimpo hated that he didn't understand where it came from. Shrimpo hated that it got worse the closer he was to the other toons. Shrimpo hated that hating it just made it ache more.
Shrimpo never knew when the ache started. From the moment he came to be, the festering ache ate away at him. Hate. Hate. Hate. Shrimpo hated everything. Shrimpo hated every toon! Shrimpo hated this stupid ache!
Shrimpo could feel Sprout staring at him sometimes. Seriously, what was with that look on the stupid fruit's face? Shrimpo didn't understand. It made Shrimpo feel exposed. Shrimpo hated feeling exposed. Shrimpo hated feeling weak.
Shrimpo sat on the floor of his room, kicking a broken air horn around. He felt the need to punch something, but his punching bag wasn't enough, and Shrimpo knew someone annoying would come to yell at him if he punched his walls again. Shrimpo hated when others were annoyingly loud. But then again, he also hated when things were too quiet. There was no winning for Shrimpo… and he hated that too! Shrimpo was Shrimpo, and Shrimpo should ALWAYS win!
That dull ache became sharp again. Shrimpo refrained from wincing. Strong toons like him didn't wince. He was better than that.
Shrimpo needed to go out. Do something. He didn't want to see any of the other toons though. They'd just make the ache worse. And he really didn't want to deal with that today. Or else he might end up punching them.
…punching them. Well, it didn't have to be them specifically, did it? After all, no one was checking the elevators right now.
Hah! Shrimpo was the smartest! The best!
He sprang up from the floor, paws pattering against the ground. As much as his paws made it hard to stomp (SCREW YOU DELILAH! SHRIMPO HATES NEEDING TO PUT IN MORE EFFORT TO STOMP!), at least it made it easy to sneak to the elevators.
The moment Shrimpo stepped though the elevator doors, though, he tripped and fell straight onto his face.
Shrimpo cursed, holding his face in his hands. Now he was even MORE pissed off! Shrimpo HATES this elevator! And the floor too! GAH!
Shrimpo glared at the elevator door. Going down the normal way would take too long, and he'd probably only be able to punch maybe two or three twisteds before he gets mauled to death. But what could he do about that..?
…CLATTER!
Shrimpo spun around. One of the elevator panels was on the ground. Shrimpo looked up. A hole. He grinned.
As he scaled the wall, a nagging voice in the back of Shrimpo's mind tried to tell him to go back, to tell him that this was a horrible idea. But did Shrimpo listen? Of course not! Shrimpo had something to prove.
Heaving himself up, Shrimpo crawled atop the elevator. There it was: his prize, the wire. He just needed to bite bite bite it bite bite it bite.
Bite. Gnaw. Sever it.
Snip!
That was all Shrimpo heard before the elevator started going into free fall. He held on tight, crawling his way back inside.
SCREEEEEEEEEE-
The elevator suddenly stopped with a loud, crushing sound, bouncing Shrimpo around inside. He groaned, laying on the floor for a bit. Was he going to bruise? Probably. It didn't matter, though. That wouldn't stop him from punching someone's stupid face in.
Crawling towards the destroyed elevator door (Shrimpo wasn't getting back up any time soon. This was a one-way ticket to death.), Shrimpo slowly pushed himself up to his paws. His legs were a bit wobbly, but he could WALK IT OFF! He was going to punch the first face he saw!
In his angry haze, Shrimpo didn't notice the darkness around him, nor did he notice the ichor flooding the floor.
Drip, drip, drip went the ichor droplets onto his head. Annoying. Shrimpo hated ichor.
After what felt like an eternity of simply walking blindly, Shrimpo finally came across a twisted. How ironic that it was wearing his own face, though. Whatever. A promise was a promise, and Shrimpo was going to PUNCH ITS STUPID FACE IN!
Lunging, Shrimpo caught the other shrimp off guard, rolling the two of them across the ground until Shrimpo ended up atop his twisted self. He raised his fist, bringing it down over and over, taking catharsis in the squelch.
Shrimpo breathed heavily, taking in his handiwork. The thrill of the hunt ran through his veins. He felt the urge to bite. Bite it. Consume it. Feed.
When his vision cleared, there was nothing.
…
He needed someone else to punch. More.