This is directly linked to my fic 'The Outside'; set after all the Egos leave their plane. I suggest reading that first.
Egos, Inc. knew when no Egos stalked its halls. But they'd never been gone for so long. They'd never left chores undone or damaged furniture unfixed. From time to time, a light flickered on, as if the building were looking. Searching for the Figments that once resided within.
The TV, a crack spiderwebbing across its screen, flickered on. It cast the living room in light: Revealing the broken table—both courtesy of a fight between Ed Edgar and the Silver Shepherd. The remote had been abandoned on the couch, and a video game had fallen off the shelf.
No Egos.
The television turned off.
Lights in the conference room were next—turning on one-by-one to shine down on the table, the big screen, Wilford's abandoned notes.
No Egos.
The lights turned off.
Shutters opened and closed, as if it allowed the house to see what was outside. Bedroom lights turned on. Machines in the kitchen and studio made sounds and heated up or cooled down.
No Egos.
Empty.
The light to Chase's room revealed clothes scattered over the floor. One of little Sophia's toys that had been lost found its way home. The building had found it, returned it. Now, it sat on her bed unclaimed. It hadn't moved in weeks.
In the Host's room, it was cluttered as ever. Books and papers covered nearly every square inch of the floor, recording equipment at the ready on his desk. His chair was still pulled out, as if he'd only gotten up to get a cup of coffee and planned to return soon. The chair wheeled itself to be tucked under the desk, typewriter turning so it was properly centered, and the light clicked off.
The androids' room revealed a conglomerate of unfinished projects; some covered by tarps, some sitting on desks, and others propped against walls. Blue's computer light was still on. He'd left without even powering it down. So the building did it for him.
Empty rooms.
Empty halls.
No coffee brewing, no arguments heard.
There was no laughter. No tacking of keyboards or scritching of notes. No feet pounding through the halls. No games being played.
No Egos. No Figments.
Egos, Inc. creaked loudly, as if the whole building were hit by the wind. A sigh. Relief. The Egos had left. Would live. That's all Incorporated ever wanted.
The building was empty.
Alone.
Soon, it would fade like the forgotten Figment it was.