"Oh no," are the first words Charles speaks when he finally wakes up, the world around him is unfamiliar, and the twisting spirals in his vision don't help whatsoever. All the walls are shaking and reshaping themselves into circular domes, the mirrors reflect light too bright for any reasonable electricity bills. It's too much, he snaps his eyes shut, but even that hurts. The back of his eyelids burn like fire, raging flames licking at whatever matter it can grasp.

"Wh-... wehre?" His attempts to speak aren't successful, everything is slurred in every single aspect his dizzied mind can count, what had happened?

It was reminiscent to seventh grade, a year in which one of the bathroom's toilet bowls became very acquainted with his head, they practically knew each other down to each molecule. Those were not fun times, Snippy wish he could've forgotten them, but no, they are permanent tattoos upon his deathly pale skin. How exactly was it tied together, again?

He carefully attempts to retrace his steps, resisting the urge to throw up whatever bile is left in his system in the process.

xXx

The party was irrelevant, people were dancing maniacally and hooking up at random. It made Charles feel sick, not just because of the random intimacy towards others, but because he'd never be able to join them, even if he wanted to. People didn't want to chill with an unconnectable, much less a man who lives off of micro sleep and works as the most basic of pencil pushers. It's just not attractive.

His body is pushed around by too many butts and shoving arms that move to make way for reuniting hugs, this is why he never liked going out, but it's not like he had a choice in the matter...

Everyone was ignoring him, at least.

The only way a person like him could ever get attention was to blow up a building with a weird bomb using delicious fruit— his complaints to Alexander Gromov, the most important man of today, confirm such without room for denial.

"It's not like I want to receive all your stupid reports..." Snippy grumbles quietly, slinking past a particularly big gathering of people to seat himself at a small table in the corner. The music still rung in his ears and the bass was all but jolting him out of his seat, but this is an improvement.

On said table there is a blue button that strobes its light, it's probably just broken, seeing as though it's the only one blinking uncontrollably.

It's things like this, small and insignificant things, that made Charles hate life to the core. The world had all but given up on him, doctors were starting to lessen the amounts of therapies and medications they gave him, and while that was most definitely great, it meant he'd be forgotten. Lost among countless others that aren't like him. Being an outcast to this kind of degree is living torture, especially when it not only impacts you mentally, but physically as well. The poor man is lucky to be paid enough money for one full meal per week, it's simply outrageous, inhumane! The little button is a reminder that he'll never fit in, it just goes to show how unlucky and alone he is in this modern world.

Oh, how he wished for luck sometimes. It was one of Charles' heart's desires, alongside some peace and quiet, a break from this idiocy...

His train of thought is snapped when a particularly crude song starts blasting with enough bass to literally rock the world.

"BWAH?!" Snippy has to exclaim in a yell just to be sure he says anything at all, his ears are automatically covered by his hands. This was too much, if he didn't get out, his eardrums would likely explode and he'd die from a terrible death consisting of bleeding out in front of laughing people, their blue bands blinking at him in a cruel manner that says "you're different, so you can be our show. Entertain us, Charles. Entertain..."

The mental image pushes him towards the bathrooms at an even quicker pace.

xXx

"Screw this (censored)," Snippy gasps breathlessly, slamming the door behind him. It's amazing how quiet everything is, when you think about it, there's only one wall separating him from that awfully loud noise. It must be some pretty thick material to offer such bliss.

Several toilet stalls sit on the right side of the room while a long line of sinks are on the left, dripping occasionally like tears falling down a child's face, "save me from this terrible place" they scream, or was that Charles' head? His legs automatically lumber over to the latter direction, hands eagerly twisting taps for water, something he could rarely ever have thanks to being passed out during most of the day and being under the most tight of schedules.

The liquid sends a cold shiver down his spine, it's probably the most refreshing thing he's had all week, hands down.

His neck bends to fit underneath the stream, he practically drowns himself with water, which, at this rate, might be something he can't do in the future.

The G-Directorate'll make you pay to wash your hands, soon enough. It's only a matter of time, Charles.

Such a sour thought is left to float down the drain, Snippy didn't need that kind of mood right now. His attention was focused on water, sweet water that was for free at this current moment.

xXx

Some time later, he closes his mouth and leans the side of his head against the wall of the basin, letting the cold water drip down across his cheekbones. It was pathetic, but what wasn't nowadays?

People can't even be humane enough to hold the door for another, it's all so stupid.

The song is probably over, although he couldn't be one hundred percent sure. It could've possibly been placed on repeat, an endless cycle for all ears to hear, regardless of wether it's good for them or not. "Who needs general health and common sense if you can lose yourself in terrible beats on a stranger's lap, right?"

"VHAT?" A voice replies, to which he jolts up and bumps his head on the tap's spout. He hadn't heard the door open, much less anybody walk in. Even background noise had remained quiet, wouldn't he have heard music or screaming if the door moved? Or had they been here the whole time, and if so, where the heck had they been? And why would they just sit there in silence for a good five minutes while a tap ran and a man sighed with relief uncontrollably? Snippy's face twists up on his forehead, brows knitting into one furry line to further express the confusion his head was feeling.

"MIGHT I ASK VHY YOU ARE DRINKING FROM ZEE TAPS? DRINKS ARE OUT ZHERE," the figure points, it takes Snippy a few minutes to take everything in.

Standing before him is a figure— the exact same figure he'd seen a few times in a room equipped with glass pane walls during work when he wasn't asleep on his desk. Tonight had already been something that would linger onward in his thoughts for several weeks, but now? The time stretched into agonising months that could progress to even further limits should any more weird encounters occur.

Who is this person? Why do they have a German accent? Wait, is that German? What gender are they... oh that's... umm. Men's bathroom... what?

The person spins on their heels and rests a hand on the doorknob, as if asking for Snippy's approval to depart. The man in question just sits there with a confused look on his face, bright blue eyes like ANNET's glow partially impaired by a soaking wet scruff of dark brown hair.

"VELL? ARE YOU COMING OR VHAT?"

"To what?"

"ZEE PARTY, OV COURSE!"

"...nah, I was going to leave," he replies honestly, Charles had no intention of staying at this outing of retards any longer, the concept of being fired didn't even matter anymore. People shouldn't have to go to a party just because it's being hosted by your coworkers, and the whole building among others shouldn't be forcefully invited... not that anyone wanted to object aside from Snippy, of course.

"IT VILL REMOVE SOME OV ZHAT STRESS IN YOUR CRANIUM!" The voice had an oddly familiar tune to the pencil pusher, it made the headache that had accumulated from all the noise throb with a greater intensity. Tonight would be filed under the category "things that will hopefully be forgotten," he decides with a a fake joy.

"Do I... do I know you?" Snippy scratches at the frontal side of his neck, satisfying the strange and tingly itch that had appeared when he asked the question.

"NOT YET, BUT COME ON. GET A DRINK," the figure insists, gloved hands gesturing to the door and the terrible sound waiting just beyond it.

Well, I suppose I can grab one on my way out...

xXx

Author's note: This is very un-relative-ish to the story, it doesn't really make sense, but hey! This might lead to something! I dunno!