Chapter Text
Disgusting. Sickening. It is nothing short of repulsive. He doesn't know long he's been retching, spewing pink liquid with chunks of solids on the carpeted floors. Everything spins around him, his mind making sense of nothing as the putrid stench wafts around him like a lingering shadow. It burns, inside and out as he grips the arms of the couch. His eyes want to flutter shut, to sleep, away from the nauseous sensation that's boiling inside of him.
He doesn't remember a thing—not when he's currently puking his guts out in a foreign room. His chest heaves, puffs of ragged breaths escaping and he slips out a sob, because it burns—a pain that is so foreign yet familiar. Pale, pale skin is all he sees and that's not him. Even his twisted, sickened mind can see the absurdity of the situation.
His body wriggles uselessly, spasming as the miasma of death clings to him persistently. It’s wrong, how it ever so slightly resembles the sweetness of honey only to be overpowered by the smell of decomposition. It permeates the air, and no matter how hard he tries to move away, it only follows after him like a pest.
He curls up in the ground, surrounded by his disgusting vomit and weeps. Only his mouth forms garbled words, still stinging from the feel of rot flickering at his tongue. With a yank, he tears at his skin, a distorted scream Piercing through the silent air. It is only when the colours of pink, pink, and pink taint his vision—ah.
When he wakes up hours later, decidedly not a certain pink horned demon with a penchant for trouble yet still trapped within his body, he could only curse. “Phuck! Just when I thought I was finally gonna pay off my student loans!” He groans, almost disappointedly, the sticky liquid of pink vomit clinging to his hand even as he tries to wipe it off.
His hand? Block? It's strange, how his perception of his surroundings seems to distort once the normalities of both worlds settle in. Hysterically, he almost wants to cry. He hadn't even played Phighting in a while, too busy with other things like… important… stuff. Anyways! Though he hadn't played it in about, what? Six months? He can still distinctly remember this character. Sure, it took him about… twenty minutes of looking really hard in the mirror, but it was hard not to miss regardless.
Subspace. A demon who's an absolute… Well, menace feels too light of a word to even describe the guy. See, Phighting was essentially a fighting game with all of the usual gimmicks. Characters to pick, fun and unique maps, awesome soundtracks, and most importantly… lore! It was genuinely a blast, discovering all the cool relationships between each phighter, immersing yourself in a made up roblox world.
All and that, of course there would be the big bad in every game ever. A despicable guy that about eighty percent of the community hates. Yes, yes, you all guessed correctly! Sub-fucking-space. Sure, he wasn't much of an obsessive Phighting fan, playing it casually and distancing himself from the lore, but that didn't mean he knew nothing. Guy who tore out some other guy's eye! Made some blood hungry robots! Evil scientist from an evil faction! Made the entire world collapse onto itself!
.
.
.
Okay, that one was an exaggeration. But the point is being made, alright? Super wacko, crazy, twisted demon who's real hilarious in fiction—not so much in real life! So no, he's not so thrilled at the fact that he somehow possessed this guy at all. Who would be? Unless, one themselves was also a wacko, crazy, twisted individual.
He—or, well Subspace glanced once again at the mirror. Fanarts really don't do justice on how… messy the rotted parts of his face looked. Pink was etched onto almost the half of his face entirely, with a rough texture alongside the strange coloring. It covered the bottom portion of his face, continuing until his right arm. There were also some specks of it along his fingertips and on his hips. It really visualises the word rot in its entirety, like pieces of his skin were being torn off every second, revealing the flesh that laid beyond that. Or something. Who knows? He wasn't all that poetic.
His hand came to rest upon his horns, marvelling at the rough yet oddly polished texture of it. He'd have thought that getting a new appendage would be weird, but it really wasn't. It felt… natural, balanced. As if they really completed his entire being. At that thought, he felt a weird sort of unease settle in. It was as if he had fit perfectly into this world despite being an outsider.
Strange.
But now that the shock of being tossed into a fictional character's body was wearing off, he could only focus on the dried vomit on his hands. And the simmering dread of having to be Subspace his entire life, having to act like the guy too. Or maybe it was the way he felt fatigued, exhaustion seeping into his Roblox-bones, if he even had some— And oh fuck, he felt like the air he was inhaling was BURNING.
Subspace gasped in a full breath of air, trying to ignore the fact that it felt like he was breathing in a toxic wasteland filled with gas or something. Scrambling around, he fumbled with the straps of the gas mask, clumsily putting it on and breathing a sigh of relief. Oh right, and he also learned that apparently, Medkit fucked up Subspace so bad during their confrontation, that he couldn't breathe in the air around him for too long without needing a gas mask. So much for being a healer, He grumbled bitterly.
The demon made his way out of the bathroom, glancing at the puddle of pink… vomit? In all honesty, he didn't know what it was. It sure felt like vomit, but with Subspace's condition, he can't really tell. Do vacuums exist in the lore canonically? ‘Cause he could really use one right now.
Though he wished that in a forlorn manner, he cleaned it up in the traditional sense. Covering his nose, he tried to block out the disgusting smell, thoughts swarming inside his head. Could he really act like Subspace? Sure, he knows that the character was like… a cartoon villain. Kind of. But! He wasn't even a Subspace main! Rather than that S, he liked to use Sword more often. Scratch that, he didn't even play Subspace a lot in comparison to other Phighters. Man, would he really be okay?
As the floor was wiped clean, traces of pink still lingered but wasn't as prominent as before. He got up, falling silent for a moment as he blinked for a moment. Hold on, what does Subspace even do in a day?
Now apparently, the pink horned demon was the head of the Robotics division of Blackrock. Thankfully, he was informed by a stray Biograft who didn't question his sudden lack of memories, or his continuous stream of questions. It was a real jumpscare hearing, “GREETINGS, CREATOR.” out of nowhere though. Now, he was facing a new dilemma.
Subspace stared blankly at the pages of journals, research papers, books, and articles scattered on his desk. Yeah, he was reading—but he didn't understand a fuck ton of it. It was a real mindblower learning that the mad scientist was actually smart. No, he genuinely thought that Subspace wasn't… well… he didn't seem like the type to take his work seriously? But that was also kind of a dumb guess considering the Biografts and his weird devotion to Blackrock.
He glanced at the blueprint of some designs for new types of Biografts, some discarded and some still a work in progress. “Biograft, what do I usually do in work hours?” Subspace asked blankly, lacking the usual enthusiasm to his voice. He figured since Biografts were robots and non-sentients, he wouldn't need to act up exactly like Subspace, right? The pink horned demon looked over to the Biograft guarding his laboratory and awaited an answer.
“CREATOR DOES THE FOLLOWING IN A DAY'S WORK: EXAMINING THE PROPERTIES OF CRYSTALS, DRAFTING NEW PROTOTYPES OF BIOGRAFTS, UPDATING THE JOURNALS REGARDING THE LATEST BREAKTHROUGHS, SUBMITTING A REPORT OF TODAY'S ACTIVITIES TO THE SUPERVISO—” His hand immediately placed itself on Biograft's… Subspace almost blanked out, realizing that the robot didn't have a mouth before stuttering out a command.
“Alright, alright, that's enough.” He said, huffing out an exasperated sigh as the Biograft's robotic voice came to a halt. “AFFIRMATIVE.” Subspace glanced at it before tentatively removing his hand. True to in-game, Biograft's voice had a strange buzz to it that sounded like a mosquito. And it was also really loud. Like. Eardrum shattering levels of loud.
With his questions answered, he already got a general gist of what was the workload the pink horned demon had to do. It's just… Subspace glanced at the journal again and his brain almost melted. It was too damn detailed. Like, a shit load of information that his brain couldn't process AND comprehend. Crystals, crystals, oh a Biograft, then crystals—It was, ehhhhh, a lot.
Firstly, crystals were essentially… ores. Though they weren't just ordinary ores, as with the use of various other factors, different reactions could be produced upon contact. For example, Subspace's crystals were essentially channelling his gear's toxic nature. This would then make the crystals into a liquidised form that could be stored inside the… vessel container thing that Subspace carried around. Maybe that was his gear?
With contact between the liquidised crystal and the glands of a demon's skin, the crystal will momentarily transform back into its solid form before exploding and emitting a poisonous gas that is absorbed by any nearby opponent's body and slowly kills them from the inside. Except these crystals are more cracked and twisted, because they're about… twenty times more toxic than a regular pink crystal—or, well, the crystals Subspace's used to working with.
Basically, what's been done to Subspace's body, is also being inflicted on other Phighters during rounds—except it's much faster, more lethal. What a guy, spreading cancer around like it's nothing. Obviously, none of this was safe, sane or ethical. It was genuinely a wonder that Blackrock hasn't been exposed by now. That or everyone knows but is just choosing to ignore it?
On the other hand, Medkit's crystals were a bit more complex. The crystals were initially thought of as an offensive source due to their properties being highly compatible in channelling damage in the form of poison. Upon further research, mostly on the other scientist's end, the crystals were neither purely offensive nor defensive. Instead, they were just wholly neutral. A reactive source than the initiator itself. Crystals were fucking versatile enough to be literally everything, apparently.
Subspace could see a glimpse of a different handwriting in the next page, more neater and rather elegant in how it was written, which had him scrunching his eyebrows for a moment. Once he saw a signature imbued with a certain teal-colored healer's name, he understood now. Then again, Medkit and Subspace were coworkers so it wouldn't be necessarily wrong to see another person's handwriting in the journal. It was just… surprising.
Man, all of these info dumps had him remembering the game lore unwillingly. Sighing again, he looked up wearily only to find the Biograft standing right in front of him with shiny orange eyes. So startled, Subspace flinched and yelped. “Eh? Biograft?” He groaned, leaning away slightly from the robot.
“CREATOR.” Biograft peers closely, getting into his personal space. His glowing eyes narrowed slightly, though empty and void as they were. “YOU ARE EXHIBITING UNUSUAL BEHAVIOUR.” It states loudly. “TAKE YOUR MEDICINE, NOW.”
What?
“What?” Subspace says dumbly, blinking at the sudden behaviour. He had thought the Biograft would just sit there and wait for it to be given an instruction, but no, it was currently dragging him out of the laboratory. “Wait, wait, wait—” The pink horned demon said in a rush, though this didn't stop the Biograft from dragging him around like a toy. Its grip is too strong, ugh.
“YES, CREATOR?” The Biograft said in a monotone voice, not once stopping its relentless tugging of his arm. “Medicine? For the… for—?” Subspace trailed off, pure shock rendering him to a confused, stuttering mess. They both passed by foreign halls, though the feeling of familiarity clashed with it. He had a constipated look on his face, not that the robot would know seeing as it rushed by steadily.
“FOR TREATMENT OF YOUR ROT.”
“My—? Oh, wait, I had? Wa-huh?” His mind swirled with thoughts, unable to keep track of the many questions he had in mind. Mostly though, he just had many various reiterations of Oh right, Subspace isn't a dumbass! running in his head. Because of course the scientist, emphasis on the word scientist, would do something about their possibly life-threatening disease.
At that, the Biograft's grip became tighter, and he imagined that if robots had emotions, it would be utterly perplexed at how lost he seemed. To be fair, he wasn't acting like how Subspace was supposed to act like… but the Biograft didn't seem to intend on murdering him on the spot even though he was acting very much out of character.
Once he was seated in front of a very suspicious looking desk, he took a chance and stared at the Biograft. “Right… I'll need to…?” His pale hands fluttered around uselessly, lost in the face of some random jars and bottles. They did, indeed, look like medicine—but was he supposed to eat it? Inhale it? Subspace knew he was taking a very risky chance, acting all clueless in front of the literal murder machine who was loyal to Blackrock—BUT! Once again, he knew very little about this whole damn The-daily-life-of-Subspace-the-Scientist, along with the fact that Biografts are robots! Robots don't usually tend to comprehend behavioral changes, right!?
Subspace stared at the Biograft and it stared back, not giving him a clue at all in how to use it. Should he just... put it in his mouth? Like a pill? He had no idea, absolutely none.
Was he... phucked?