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4﹟💉 - "𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐒𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫," (2)

“........,”

ִ ࣪𖤐 CONDUCT YOURSELF PROPERLY...

Or the Doctor may just have to take more… direct action.

And by that, I mean, don’t forget to vote, comment, and leave your "delightful" thoughts.

It's not just for my ego, you know – it's for science.

Yes, science.

Totally.

. . . . . ╰──╮꒰ 🧪 ꒱ ╭──╯ . . . . . 

BETA ENTERED THE ASYLUM, absolutely traumatized.

He was drenched head to toe in a slimy, suspiciously green substance that smelled like a mix of raw sewage and alien armpit.

His usually calm demeanor had been utterly destroyed, replaced by the haunting image of a man who had seen far too much.

For the first time since he was created, Iblis sobbed.

And not just any sobbing – this was the full-on ugly cry.

His face was buried in his gloved hands, his body shook, and the muffled wails echoed through the hallways.

Segments and staff alike paused in their daily routine, staring at the broken shell of their once-unshakable (Father Figure) companion.

Beta, without so much as a word, marched directly toward the nearest bathroom, determined to scrub away not only the green goo but the emotional trauma that clung to him like a bad rash.

Meanwhile... Billy.

Oh, Billy.

The bald menace had returned, looking quite different.

If you thought the Martian bloodbath would’ve humbled him, you clearly don’t know Billy.

He strutted in, completely covered in glue – hard, crusty, dried-up glue that had him locked in a permanent statue-like stance.

His posture was rigid, limbs frozen at awkward angles, like he’d attempted some insane modern art pose and got stuck halfway.

Billy’s usual swagger was gone, replaced by stiff, jerky movements as he shuffled into the place like some half-baked golem.

His skin, which now had the delightful texture of a kindergarten art project gone wrong, cracked and creaked with each step.

“Hey, Beta,” Billy croaked, his voice a mix of raspy triumph and glue-induced regret, “Guess who’s back... and harder than a rock!”

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively but, unfortunately, couldn’t wink – because the glue had fused his eyelids together.

So, instead, his entire face just twitched, making him look like a glitching robot.

While Beta was probably off somewhere trying to scrub Martian blood and emotional damage from his soul, Billy stood in the middle of the place, proudly showing off his new ‘rock-hard’ exterior.

But, not in the good way.

In the "I-rolled-in-a-puddle-of-industrial-strength-glue-and-now-I’m-stuck-like-this" way.

Before anyone could even ask what happened, let’s rewind and give you a little backstory.

So, you might be wondering how exactly Billy and Beta managed to return after their insane helicopter adventure, right?

Well, buckle up, because this story’s got more twists than a bag of pretzels.

After Billy sent the helicopter spiraling into a death-defying nosedive (classic Billy 🔥), they crash-landed... on Mars.

Yes, you heard that right.

MARS .

Turns out, they discovered an ancient, forgotten Martian empire that had been hidden beneath the surface for millennia.

Unfortunately, the crash didn’t go unnoticed by the Martians, and our two lunatics were promptly captured and... enslaved!

What followed was a bizarre series of events that only Billy could somehow trigger.

Beta, bless his heart, tried to negotiate their release in his usual calm manner and was on the verge of convincing the Martians, but Billy...

Billy had other plans.

Plans that involved inciting a full-scale Martian slave revolt – because, in Billy’s mind, why NOT lead an uprising when you're already knee-deep in trouble?

The Martians, not expecting a balding man that is somehow always... wet... and a serene dude humming show tunes to spark their revolution, were caught completely off guard.

Billy, with his endless charisma and complete lack of logic, convinced the slaves to rise against their alien overlords.

They staged a rebellion that would make Spartacus himself proud.

And, well, let’s just say things got... out of hand.

In the span of what can only be described as a fever dream, Billy and Beta accidentally led the Martian slaves to victory, resulting in the total extinction of the Martian race.

And yes, it was mostly Billy’s fault.

Now, if you’re wondering how they got back to Earth – oh, it gets better.

After the Martian apocalypse, Billy found a magical book buried deep within the ruins of the Martian empire.

Using the blood of their fallen enemies (because, obviously 🙄), he performed an ancient eldritch blood ritual that opened a portal to the realm of the Great Old Ones.

Naturally, because this is Billy we’re talking about, he struck a deal with an eldritch being such as himself – one of the Great Old Ones themselves.

Together, they rode this cosmic horror straight back to Earth.

But not just anywhere.

Oh no.

They crash-landed at a Walmart about 50 miles away from the Asylum.

Why Walmart? Because they needed pizza rolls, obviously, duh. (😋)

Can’t lead a successful slave revolt without a victory snack. (🙄)

By the time they made it back, Beta was emotionally fried, and Billy?

Well, Billy was covered in glue because, somewhere along the way, he had mistaken industrial adhesive for sunscreen.

Classic.

Still, the dry glue gives him +10 armor
(Or at least, that's what he says), so,

YAY .ᐟ

Now, as we stand here, witnessing the aftermath of their wild journey, we can only hope the Doctor doesn’t hear about it... for the sake of everyone.

Because if he does… let’s just say Billy might find himself glued to the ceiling next time.

So, yeah.

This was your daily dose of chaos.

We’re not sure if Billy learned anything from his time on Mars, but what we do know is that he’ll probably do something even crazier tomorrow... if not now.

Nevertheless...

He skidded into the currently empty cafeteria, leaving a trail of dried Martian blood as well as bits of glue, pizza rolls firmly in hand.

His body was still crusty and stiff from the dried glue, walking like a reanimated corpse who just remembered how knees worked.

His rainbow-colored eyes gleamed with pride from his "successful" Martian slave revolt.

He had a mission.

One that was bigger than life itself.

But as fate (or his chronic bad luck) would have it, he bumped into someone – or something – unexpected.

Archmagos Toaster (Also known as Tost), the absolute mad genius who somehow made the whirlwind known as... Billy, was casually sitting hunched over a steaming cup of what could only be described as liquid... existential dread (🥰).

Well, attempting to sit casually.

His body was mostly wires, gears, and what appeared to be a toaster glued to his left shoulder – because obviously, every madman needed a toaster.

A golden robotic monocle glinted over one eye as if he was about to spit some ancient wisdom at you, only to drop a joke so bad it could kill a god.

The male in question barely flinched at Billy’s entrance.

Tost... he was used to it.

After all, when you’re the one responsible for unleashing this bald, speedo-wearing hurricane of chaos upon the world, you develop a certain... tolerance.

Besides, he was the one who created Billy, and if anyone could understand the... complexities... of such a creature, it was him.

Archmagos was draped in a robe that looked suspiciously like it had been woven from the fabric of reality itself – or maybe just from the bargain bin at the local magic thrift shop.

Billy, in response, saluted with his snorkel, the action causing a nearby potted plant to wither and die from sheer... disgust... confusion?

Yet...

Who's to say?

"FATHER TOST!" Billy bellowed, the sound reverberating through the space like the cacophony of a thousand broken air horns.

Archmagos peered at Billy, his LED visor narrowing in recognition. “Ah, my greatest mistake – erm, I mean, creation. Come here, son-thing.”

Billy’s stiff limbs creaked as he tried to turn his head. "FaThEr..." He replied, his voice cracking like a broken AI forced to watch every soap opera in existence.

Tost approached his son... thing... with the kind of grace only a man with mechanical limbs and a toaster stuck to him could muster.

His robe – yes, it was mostly a robotic robe, don't question it – fluttered in the wind like it was part of some epic space opera.

He looked at Billy's stiff, glue-encrusted form, the glow of Billy's rainbow eyes reflecting off his visor.

Tost's own eyes, however, held the weight of someone who had gazed into the abyss of existence... and then promptly turned back to laugh at it.

"You look... crusty, Billy. What's this?" Archmagos gestured to the dried glue with one metal claw, poking Billy's ROCK-HARD ABS (😈).

Billy didn't blink – mostly because his face was frozen solid.

"Jumped in glue. Revolutionized Mars. Killed all Martians. Made a blood portal. Then rode an eldritch god to Walmart. Got pizza rolls."

Archmagos nodded sagely, as if this was the most normal thing he'd ever heard. “Ah, yes. My teachings are coming along splendidly, I see.”

Billy blinked – well, he tried to blink, but his eyelids were still glued halfway open. “Pizza rolls, Father. They were worth it.”

Archmagos squinted at the pizza rolls in Billy’s hand.

His mechanical arm twitched, his toaster shoulder...

Ding .ᐟ

...ed loudly, and his entire system seemed to momentarily reboot.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then, slowly, ever so carefully, he set down his cup of existential dread, which let out a relieved sigh.

Pizza rolls, Billy? After you single-handedly eradicated an entire species?”

Billy grinned, his face still immobile. “They were on sale. Two for one.”

Archmagos, too, let out a deep, mechanical sigh, shaking his head slowly.

The kind of sigh that only someone who has seen the true meaning of life (and regretted it) could produce.

“By the gears of insanity, you truly are my finest creation... even if you do look like an Olympic swimmer who got lost in a hardware store.”

The eldritch being puffed up his chest, looking as proud as someone in a speedo and swim cap could manage. “I’m also pretty good at flying helicopters. Crashed into Mars, did you hear?”

The creator of this... thing... looked up at the sky, his LED monocle flashing as he accessed some internal database. “Yes. Yes, I did. I could hear the screams of reality fracturing from here.”

Billy gave him a thumbs-up, but the glue still had his hand mostly stuck to his side. “Good times, eh?”

Archmagos’ expression remained unreadable – probably because most of his face was made of titanium, but still, he somehow managed to radiate both pride and regret. “Billy, you are proof that the universe has no rules, no boundaries, and no common sense.”

Billy’s grin widened, but the glue made a cracking sound like two old chairs groaning in protest. “That’s me! Billy! Let’s start another revolution, Father. I heard Pluto has been getting too comfortable lately.”

Archmagos Toaster’s eyes lit up briefly as if considering it. “Hmm, Pluto… It has been far too quiet since they demoted it from planet status. Perhaps… perhaps it is time.”

Billy nodded sagely, his rainbow eyes gleaming with untold chaos. “We’ll give ‘em a show they’ll never forget. And pizza rolls.”

Tost placed a hand on Billy’s glue-covered shoulder. “My son-thing, together, we will make the cosmos kneel... or at least force them to ask, ‘What the hell is wrong with these two?’”

Billy’s chest puffed out with pride. “I’m ready, Father.”

Archmagos smiled – well, if a mix of gears and circuits could smile. "But first..." His hand darted toward the pizza rolls. "For science."

Billy's eyes widened in B-BETRAYAL .ᐟ as his father-creator-thing grabbed a pizza roll and tossed it into his open toaster-shoulder.

The toaster...

Ding .ᐟ

...ed again, the sound almost ominous as the pizza roll began to smoke.

"Let us see if it truly was worth exterminating an entire species." Archmagos watched with eerie anticipation.

Billy leaned in, eyes still wide open, as the roll popped out like a prize.

Archmagos Toaster examined it carefully. "Hmm. Crispy. Good form." He bit into it with the seriousness of someone about to discover the meaning of life.

Billy leaned closer, waiting for the verdict with bated breath.

Tost chewed... and chewed... and chewed...

Finally, he spoke: "Tastes like glue."

Billy blinked – or tried to. "Yeah, about that..."

They stood there for a moment, the wind blowing dramatically, as Billy pondered the fate of his pizza rolls and Tost reflected on the creation of the universe.

Both men – if you could call them that – connected in that single moment of crispy, glue-flavored camaraderie.

It was, truly, a father-son-thing moment like no other.

"Let's never speak of this again," Archmagos declared, his metallic voice firm as he turned on his heel and began to walk away.

Billy nodded solemnly. "Agreed. Pizza rolls don't exist on Mars and Pluto anyway."

With that, the two madmen – one in a speedo, the other covered in wires of different sizes and lengths as well as toaster parts – marched off together, bound for whatever cosmic chaos awaited them next.

"OH!" Billy, out of nowhere, cackled, delighted. "I forgot to mention, the Martians explode when you poke ‘em in the—"

"Let’s not," Archmagos interrupted, already pulling out a blowtorch to un-glue his so called ‘son-thing’. "Let’s just... not."

“........,”

The hallway of the Asylum was the definition of chaos – though some would argue it was just a normal Tuesday.

Scientists bustled around like frantic ants, shoving papers in the Doctor's face, rattling off scientific jargon that could probably cause a headache to anyone but him.

The Doctor (or was it him? 🤔) stood in the center, commanding the space with his usual air of “I’m smarter than you, and I know it.”

He stood there like he was born in the middle of this disaster, calmly exuding that “I’m a genius, bow down” vibe.

His pristine coat – stolen by Akira, mind you, just last week but recently retrieved by... him – fluttered dramatically as he gave orders, his voice buttery smooth, though tinged with that subtle undertone of “How are you all still employed?”

He was so done with everyone’s incompetence, you see.

But here’s the thing.

Kuya and Akira had been watching him for a while now.

And I mean...

Watching. (👁👁)

Like two predators zeroing in on a rabbit who had no clue he was about to be dinner.

Like two bodyguards with far too much time on their hands.

At a distance, the duo lurked, keeping a very close eye on him.

Too close.

Some would say.

But could you really blame them?

Ever since the Doctor had... well, reacted that way last chapter, everyone was suspicious.

Staff, patients, even the vending machine in the break room gave him a side-eye.

Kuya, lounging nearby with his fox ears twitching, wasn’t exactly subtle.

“Hmm,” He purred, tail flicking lazily. “Do you think that’s actually him, Aki~?” His yellow-black eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. "Or did another one of those... adorable little segments pop up and start playing dress-up again?"

Akira, standing tall (Like... TALL 🤭) with his arms crossed, looking every bit the regal and spoiled aristocrat that he was, squinted.

His wavy black hair cascaded down his back in an elegant ponny tail, catching the light in a way that made even the shadows jealous.

Hmph. You can never tell with that man. One day, he’s charmingly unbearable, and the next...” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “He’s spouting philosophical nonsense like ‘perhaps chaos is the ultimate form of control.’”

“Maybe he’s having a midlife crisis,” Kuya shrugged, biting back a laugh with narrowed eyes, a small smile so pretty gracing his face. “Wouldn’t be the first time... I guess.”

He then grinned slyly. “Besides, you like him when he’s confusing.”

“Shut up,” Akira muttered, his cheeks flushing.

But something was... off.

Something in the Doctor’s posture, in the way his hands weren’t waving around as animatedly as usual when he was belittling everyone’s intelligence.

And his voice? A little too dull.

Too… lifeless?

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kuya muttered, his ears perking up in disbelief as the Doctor – No joke – wiped a single, hot tear from his cheek.

And then it came.

The line that no one – not a single soul – was prepared for.

“I just... I want to be a better person,” The Doctor – The Doctor – said, voice suddenly thick with emotion.

His gaze softened, eyes mistening over as he watched a random little girl – How did she even get here? (☠️) –  run by, her giggles echoing down the hall like she had no idea she was in an Asylum filled with chaos demons.. “I... I want a hug now.”

Cue silence.

For a full five seconds, the entire hallway froze.

Dead silence.

A pin dropping would've sounded like an explosion

Akira’s jaw hit the floor so hard that it almost bounced back up. “WHAT? Did... Did he just...?”

Kuya choked on air, his flirtatious grin wiped clean off his face as his brain short-circuited. “Hug?! Whowhatwhy?!”

The scientists froze mid-motion, their papers fluttering to the floor in shock.

Even the walls seemed to stop breathing.

And then, from the corner of the hallway, came a deadpan voice. “Oh, hell no.

Zeta, the wildest segment of them all, stepped forward, pointing an accusatory finger at the tear-streaked Doctor like he had just seen a ghost as his face twisted in disgust. “THAT’S NOT HIM! THAT’S A FAKE! GUYS, GET HIS ASS!”

Pandemonium.

Every segment in the Asylum rushed the Doctor like a football team tackling the quarterback, full-on charging at him with wild screams.

— “NOT THE HUGGER! NOT THE HUGGER!

Papers flew everywhere.

— “RAHHHHHH!

Chairs toppled.

— “GET ‘EM!

Scientists and doctors alike dove for cover.

Yet...

Akira and Kuya just stood there, watching in absolute disbelief as the segments dogpiled the Doctor, who was now flailing on the ground, getting pummeled mercilessly.

Absolutely demolished.

“Hold up, Zeta!” One of the segments yelled, holding a fistful of the Doctor’s coat. “This guy kinda looks like him!”

“He said he wanted a hug!” Zeta roared, holding the Doctor in a chokehold. “THAT IS NOT HIM!”

The Doctor, from underneath the pile, gasped out, “I’m trying to grow emotionally, you lunatics!”

Akira leaned closer to Kuya, not taking his eyes off the chaotic spectacle before them. “Should we... should we help him?”

Kuya shrugged, folding his arms behind his head, eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. “Eh. Let’s see where this goes. Could be entertaining. Also, serves him right, hmph...”

The Doctor’s voice – genuine or not – echoed from beneath the pile of segments. “I JUST WANTED A HUG!”

Akira’s lips twitched upward. “Well... he did say he wanted to be a better person. Guess this is step one.”

Kuya smirked, his tail flicking again. “Step one is getting your ass handed to you by your own team. Seems fitting.”

Nevertheless, in the middle of the it all...

A male patient (Ethan) had no idea what hit him – one minute, he was quietly plotting his oh-so-brilliant escape from the Asylum, sizing up the momentary distraction of the guards, muttering to himself about how “I’d rather freeze to death outside than stay here with these nutjobs.

The next?

BAM .ᐟ

A sharp pain in his thigh and a yelp that echoed down the hallway.

The culprit? Lucian Alistair Willowcrest, a man whose very existence screamed “I’m too pretty and handsome for this nonsense, but I’m doing it anyway.

Tall, striking, and deadly quiet, he moved with a grace that didn’t belong in a place like this.

He stood at 6 feet tall exactly, his body sculpted like it was meant to model for high-fashion... snowmen.

His black hair shimmered with a subtle purple fade, and honestly, the way the light caught the ends made it seem like he was some celestial being sent to Earth to slay – both enemies and the catwalk.

His jeweled obsidian eyes, laced with that royal-purple glow, had the unique ability to both mesmerize and intimidate at the same time.

You’d look into them and think, “Wow, beautiful,” but also, “Dear God, please don’t make me his next target.

His sharp jawline could slice through paper, and his lips? Soft, with just the right amount of pout to make anyone's self-esteem crumble.

The man was dressed in sleek, all-black attire that only added to his aesthetic of “I’m about to ruin your day, but I’ll look fabulous doing it.

Straps crisscrossed over his chest like he was some action movie hero who just stepped off the runway.

His pants? Tailored to perfection, of course, because someone this stylish didn’t just wear regular pants.

As Ethan hit the floor with a gasp, clutching his thigh like he’d just been shot in a melodrama (oh, wait… 😭), Lucian casually lowered his favorite gun, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, someone’s not escaping today,” He said, voice as smooth as velvet, laced with the kind of superiority that only came from being ridiculously attractive and good at shooting people in the leg.

Stepping up beside him was Shirinov Vissarion Dmitrievich – or Dmitri, as he so kindly suggested for your non-Russian tongue.

Dmitri looked like he’d just rolled out of a paint bucket labeled “Snowstorm,” his long white hair flowing down his back and his skin pale enough to make Casper the Friendly Ghost look like he’d gotten a TAN.

His black, lifeless eyes gave off the same energy as a student who just pulled an all-nighter for a test and then realized it wasn’t until next week (Basically me just yesterday night 🥰).

He wore an all-white ensemble because why not? A white sleeveless shirt tucked into high-waisted white pants, topped off with a black coat with red accents that screamed, “I may not care about much, but I still know how to dress... better than you.”

The cold beauty that is this man radiated “I’m too tired to give a single damn,” which was probably why he just stared at the injured patient on the ground like this was the most boring thing to happen all day.

“You’re bleeding, da?” Dmitri remarked more than asked, his voice as flat as the floor poor Ethan was now sprawled on.

And then… as if this situation wasn’t already chaotic enough, a kitsune appeared.

Out of thin air.

Standing over the bleeding patient like a mythical deity deciding whether to smite him or join the chaos.

Enter Hayato Yuuga,

... Or Yuu-chan if you were feeling brave enough to get familiar.

His five silver tails flicked behind him, signaling he’d been around for a solid 600 years... though, he barely looked old enough to legally drink in most countries.

His silver-white hair framed his sharp face, a beauty mark under his right eye adding a touch of elegance to his otherwise mischievous expression.

His pale yellow eyes, calm yet playful, gleamed with the kind of energy that said, “I could either help you or make things worse. Let’s see what happens.”

Hayato blinked down at Ethan, who was now making a sound somewhere between a sob and a groan.

“A... Foxian? H-Help me!” The injured male in question, whimpered.

Hayato’s eye twitched.

Kitsune, you little idiot,” He growled, his tails bristling. “Call me a Foxian again, and I’ll make sure this little boo-boo becomes the least of your worries.”

Lucian let out a small laugh, crossing his arms. “Who's taking him back to his ward after we patch him up?” He asked casually, as if there wasn’t a WHOLE FREAKING PERSON bleeding on the floor in front of them.

Dmitri shrugged, pulling out a bottle of strong vodka he probably wasn’t supposed to have. “Not it. I’m too tired.”

“Not it,” Hayato added, not even bothering to offer an excuse, because why would he?

Poor, poor little Ethan stared up at them, wide-eyed and still bleeding. “Can one of you just–”

Lucian sighed dramatically, running a hand through his PERFECT hair. “Fine, I’ll do it. But only because I’m feeling generous today.”

Dmitri glanced at Hayato, who was still flexing his tails like he was waiting for someone to compliment them. “Should we at least bandage him first?”

“Nah,” Hayato replied with a smirk. “Let him limp. Builds character.”

Lucian chuckled, stepping forward to hoist the injured patient to his feet. “Come on, drama queen. Let’s get you fixed up. And next time? Maybe don’t try to escape the Asylum when we’re all bored. Makes you an easy target.”

The male in question whimpered again, though this time, it sounded suspiciously like “I hate this place…

Lucian, Dmitri, and Hayato exchanged amused glances as they walked Ethan back to his ward, chatting amongst themselves like there wasn’t a bleeding guy limping beside them.

Lucian sighed dramatically. “Why do I always end up doing the heavy lifting?”

“Because you like being in charge,” Dmitri replied, deadpan.

“And you like being bossed around,” Hayato teased, his grin wide.

Lucian shot him a look. “Shut. Up.”

Well, you see...

No one really knew if Lucian was staff or patient – no one dared ask.

But one thing was certain:

He was always around when it involved the Doctor.

Always around when it involved...

Asa.

The Asa.

Suddenly, there was a loud...

CLANG .ᐟ

... and everyone turned sharply toward the sound.

Something had hit the floor with an almost theatrical timing.

It was a mask.

The Doctor's mask.

And now…

Oh, now the room was holding its collective breath because no one ever saw the Doctor unmasked.

Only a selected few.

Zeta – no, Alain, because apparently today was one of his "I'm-a-sophisticated-gentleman" days – leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief.

His voice was a low, teasing purr as he addressed the room.

“Well, well, well... looks like the Doctor dropped something.” He tilted his head, smirking like a cat who'd cornered a particularly juicy mouse.

The segments froze in unison.

Not the mask.

Anything but the mask!

For a moment, the entire space seemed to stand still as Alain – ZetaWebttorewhatever he felt like being called – twirled a lock of hair around his finger (Like the baby girl he is 🥰).

His expression? Absolutely insane.

Like, batshit crazy with a side of narcissistic flair.

Because why not?

That’s his whole vibe.

“I told you,” Zeta murmured proudly, his gaze now fixed on the Doctor.

Only… it wasn’t the Doctor, was it?

Oh no.

No eyes.

Just a mechanical upper face, wires and metal where there should’ve been something resembling, well, human features.

A little gem glowed ominously in the middle of what should have been his forehead.

Honestly, it looked like someone forgot how to finish their cyborg cosplaying homework.

Akira and Kuya exchanged glances, the silent kind of telepathy only those who had seen way too much could manage.

Their eyes screamed, "Wait… how long has this guy been standing in for the Doctor?"

Shit.

They screwed up... REAL BAD.

Meanwhile, Zeta – because clearly, this situation wasn’t insane enough for him – sauntered forward, finger extended like he was about to press a button that would either end the world or set off a confetti cannon.

He poked the gem.

╭──────────.★..─╮

╰─..★.──────────╯

Of course, he did.

“Oh ho ho, the best parts, huh?” Zeta grinned, absolutely thrilled at his discovery.

“I mean, it’s clear he used the prime material on Omega, but hey,” The segemnt in question sneered, his fingers still jabbing at the gem, “he saved a little something for you, too, didn't he? I’m almost jealous.”

He then paused, tilting his head. “Remind me again – who are you?”

The unmasked segment – who now looked a little less intimidating and a little more like someone who really wished he'd skipped today’s work – caught Zeta’s wrist in a grip that looked like it could crush bones.

He leaned down – because of course, Zeta was one of the shortest segments – and muttered through clenched, very not-happy sharp teeth.

“Azazel, you dogshit…”

Zeta blinked. “Who?”

Azazel – because apparently, he had enough.

The name was Hebrew, by the way, meaning scapegoat.

Or, if you’re into biblical references, it’s the name of a literal sin goat.

You know, the one sent out into the wilderness carrying everyone's sins?

Yeah.

That Azazel.

While, in Islam, Azazel is an angel given physical desires and sent to Earth to show how difficult it is for humans.

Anyway, Azazel sighed like a parent who just found their toddler stuffing crayons into the toaster.

He let go of Zeta’s wrist and, with a mechanical click, he slapped the mask over his half-botched face, adjusting it with a weary hand.

Now that the room had witnessed whatever that was, his mood had gone from 'I'm-mysterious-and-dangerous' to 'I-have-no-time-for-this-bullshit'.

He cast the other segments a look so withering, half of them shrank back into their chairs.

“Sigma… I'm... Sigma...” Azazel growled, sounding as though the mere mention of his Greek Alphabet identity made his skin crawl. “You know… people these days use that letter for the worst things.”

There was a brief silence.

Then, stifled snickering from the back.

A few of the segments snorted, struggling to stifle their laughter.

“Man hates the Greek alphabet 'cause people use it for – wait for it – fraternity purposes now,” Kuya muttered to Akira, both of them trying to contain their amusement.

Alain – because Zeta had checked out again – gave Azazel a wide-eyed, innocent smile. “Oh, you poor thing… was that a jab at the internet? My heart breaks for you.”

The rest of the segments, now barely holding it together, burst into muffled giggles.

Zeta, ever the opportunist, waggled his eyebrows. “So, SiGmA, what’s it like to be a walking meme? Does it hurt? Is that why you wear the mask? To protect yourself from the cringe?”

Azazel shot him a glare so venomous, if looks could kill, Zeta would’ve been vaporized on the spot.

Kuya leaned over to Akira, voice barely audible amidst the chaos. “How much do you think Azazel hates us right now?”

Akira, without missing a beat, whispered back, “I don’t know, but I’d give it a solid 9.5 out of 10.”

But, then..

The door to the Asylum swung wide open dramatically, a gust of wind sending snowflakes swirling into the room like Mother Nature herself was setting the stage.

Everyone froze, including the Doctor’s replacement, who was mid-squabble over Sigma memes.

In stepped… the Doctor?

Or was it? One can't guess at this point.

A few stray snowflakes drifted off the Doctor’s coat as he sauntered in, pausing briefly to adjust his mask in the most casual "I’m-the-main-character" way possible.

Kuya’s ears perked up as he remembered the Doctor (...?) had mentioned something about heading to Sumeru – a literal desert – for a bit.

Kuya, without a second thought, bolted toward him.

DOCTER~!” He called out, practically throwing himself into the man’s arms like a cat who hadn’t been fed in hours.

The Doctor chuckled in that creepy-yet-charming way, patting Kuya’s head like he was an overgrown puppy, running his fingers through his hair.

Akira followed shortly after, slower, of course, but still annoyed as ever, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the Doctor hadn’t bothered brushing off the snow.

What kind of person comes back from a desert with snow in their hair?

The Doctor greeted Akira with a small, smug smile.

Half of his face was tan-orange, the other half ghostly pale under the mask.

Akira raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed but still curious enough to ask. “So… How was Sumeru?”

The Doctor waved it off with a breezy, "Nothing special..." and casually removed his mask, revealing the full extent of the weird tan situation.

Half of his face looked like he’d spent a month under the desert sun, while the other half – where the mask had been – looked like it hadn’t seen daylight in years.

Pantalone, a.k.a Akira, tried – tried – to keep it together, but one glance at the Doctor’s uneven face, and he cracked.

“Pff – N-Nice beard, old man!” He wheezed, doubling over in laughter. "What happened? Forgot sunscreen on one side?!"

The Doctor’s brows furrowed, his ruby eyes narrowing in on Akira with deadly intent. “HA?”

Without warning, he whipped his mask at Akira, who barely dodged, laughing harder now. “I'm sorry, I’m sorry – it's just – you look like you spent half a vacation in the desert and the other half locked in a closet!”

Zeta – no, wait – Alain, because today he was feeling particularly fancy (💅), remember? Sauntered closer, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the Doctor from head to toe.

Then, the Doctor sneezed.

“I need a Doctor,” He groaned.

Zeta’s eyes widened like he’d just seen a ghost (AGAIN!) "Wait. THAT’S NOT HIM, EITHER!!"

You see...

The real one makes all his medicine himself because he doesn't trust anybody else, not even his segemnts.

“EVERYBODY, GET HIM!” Zeta shouted, pointing dramatically at the impostor Doctor.

What followed was...

Pure chaos.

In an instant, the entire room lunged at the poor fake, fists flying.

Even Kuya dove in like a wrestler (BECAUSE HE WAS SO DONE), Zeta screeched and flailed in the most fabulous way possible, and even Azazel – who’d been glaring at everyone the whole time – finally snapped, joining the brawl with zero hesitation.

Azazel, usually the cool, collected one, shouted, “I’ve had ENOUGH of these fakes!” before yeeting a chair straight at the faux-Doctor’s head.

The imposter barely dodged but caught a swift kick to the face from Zeta.

Kuya, all while tangled up in the mess, laughed, “Come on, guys, he can’t possibly be worse than the real one!”

Zeta, delivering another slap, yelled back, “FOXY, DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY FAKE DOCTORS WE’VE HAD THIS MONTH?!”

Akira, still laughing and dodging punches, shouted, “At least this one tans properly!”

The fight raged on, limbs flying everywhere, and the poor not-so-real-Doctor – who at this point was probably regretting his life choices – got absolutely destroyed.

All the while, the real Doctor? Probably still out there somewhere… chilling on a chair, laughing at the mess he’d left behind.

In the end, the entire room descended into madness, with Zeta dramatically recounting every single time he’d "saved your asses," while the rest of the segments tried – and failed – to act like they weren’t all one COLLECTIVE disaster.

The Doctor – the real one this time – unbothered, stood there.

Tired, unmasked, and probably questioning why he ever let these lunatics run free in the first place.

Where did he emerge, you ask? And where was he the whole time?

That's a long story... for another time.

What happened here...?

. . . . . ╰──╮꒰ 🧪 ꒱ ╭──╯ . . . . . 

AUTHOR'S NOTE .ᐟ

HOLY—This is by far the longest chapter I’ve written since that cursed 9K words Hazbin Hotel one... (💀)

Why do I do this to myself? Anyway, buckle up, 'cause we’ve got only five more characters left to introduce before we finally – finally – get to the actual plot!

I know, I know, it feels like we’ve been building up to this forever… trust me, I’m feeling it too.

Sigh.

Also, fun fact: this chapter was written at all sorts of times and in all kinds of places (seriously, from my bed to the kitchen table to who knows where else), so if you notice the tone shifting a bit… yeah, that’s my mood doing a cha-cha slide in real-time. (✨)

But hey, I’m still alive, and so are you!

Let’s suffer through this long-ass chapter together! (😭)

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CHARACTERS FEATURED .ᐟ

"Kuya" as – [-KUYA-]

"Akira" as – [T0TALLY_N0T_AKiRA]

"Lucian" as – [IrineRosaline0077]

"Dmitri" as – [obsessivebehaviour]

"Hayato" as – [maya8988]

I hope they acted as accurate as possible!As good as you wanted them to be! (😭)

- - -

NEW RELATED WORK TO CHECK OUT .ᐟ

"𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐌 ᴷ. ᴵˢᵐᵉⁿᵉ" by [Raemon_Shirogami]

IT'S ONE GEM OF A WORK, TRUST ME! 🙏💯

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W O R D C O U N T:

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