started: 6/6/2020
He hesitated half way down the stairs when he heard the commotion of voices drift from the living room, the door ever so slightly cracked open. The world blurred as Benrey continued to descend without him, the edges of his vision going dark, head light and pounding, stomach knotting itself with dread and anxiety. His heart felt like it would break free from his chest, and he wanted nothing more than to climb the stairs and dive back into bed, never to leave its comfort again. He blinked, the haziness snapping into clear clarity, and saw the lazy expression of Benrey, eyeing him with a tinge of worry in his expression. "Come on," Benrey seemed to say, hands remaining stuffed in their pockets. "We're not going anywhere, so get used to it." He blinked a few more times, taking a deep, shaky breath, and timidly stepped down the remaining stairs, joining Benrey's side. It took a few seconds longer to coax himself toward the door and peek around the corner.
Dr Coomer and Bubby were sat on the ratty couch, not criss cross apple sauce, but comfortably slouched over. They rotated their shoulders and showed off their (normal, he noted) teeth and facial twitches with excited, animated gestures. Dr Coomer said something he couldn't catch, mumbled in a hushed tone; he uncurled and flexed his weird mitt-crab hands, before taking Bubby's weird mitt-crab hands into his own. They did their best impression of entwining their fingers - but because they didn't have fingers, it wasn't a very good impression - which elected Dr Coomer to do a delightful little wiggle. Bubby's face was as red as a tomato, his expression woozy and full of unabashed love, even if you couldn't see his eyes from behind the deep tint of his grey glasses. Their hair was still oddly shaped, their science uniforms both sharp and seeming far too flat for it to be coincidental. They spoke of tenderness.
Sat in front of the couch were Tommy and Darnold, an array of different branded sodas and Powerade's™ cluttered between them. Where they'd gotten the soda from when he hadn't had any in the house was beyond him (oh no, can they go outside?). They chattered in the same animated fashion as Dr Coomer and Bubby, their hands waving around and faces beaming with smiles and blushes. They were sharp and unnatural and flat all at once - from their appearances down to their clothes. Sunkist towered over them in all her j . peg glory, though she cast no shadow. She hopped on the spot, a tinny 8-bit bark and streams of purple and yellow Black Mesa Sweet Voice™ emitting from her locked shut muzzle whenever Tommy squeaked with glee. They spoke of joy.
Behind the couch, hunched over his new main laptop that he had both somehow found and accessed the password to, was Forzen, his concentrated expression flashing different colours with whatever video he was watching. Stood by his shoulder was the G-Man, hands clasped behind his back. He peered down his nose at the tilted back screen, face inscrutable with whatever it was Forzen had on. They spoke to each other in low tones; Forzen making a comment about the video, the G-Man asking a question about it, Forzen responding back, so on and so forth. It was funny, in a way; Forzen had a coat-hanger for a chest, while the G-Man was a lanky pole in comparison. Again, the sharpness, unnaturalness, and flatness spoke volumes, their polygons and rough edges more on-show than the rest of the science team. They spoke of contentedness.
The HEV suit stood away from the crowd, secluded to their own little space beside the TV in the far corner, covered in shadows. The helmet was still on, their gloved crab hands wringing together in fits of nerves, shoulders hunched and knees bent. The helmet head flitted from one part of the room to the next, keeping track of everyone there, like they were searching for something, expecting something; waiting for a catastrophe to happen. Out of all of them, the HEV suit was the most smoothest, more concrete anomaly in the room. They were a decidedly more pleasant model to look at; finely detailed and painstakingly constructed, however haunting the suit was in design. They spoke of anxiety.
He continued to peek from behind the door, not daring to take a single step inside, his gut in somersaults, head ringing with thumps. Benrey glared over his head, hands still in pockets - he noted that Benrey was very fond of the pockets. Benrey spoke of bored calm, while he spoke of anxiety number two.
'I- … I don't want to go in there.'
'Pff. Pussy.'
'Fuck off man, I - I'm not good with crowds, let alone fucking- Whatever the fuck you guys are!'
'Wow, rude. Listen bro, if it makes you feel any better- … If we'd wanted you dead, we would've got ya when you fainted. You ain't got nothin' ta worry about, man.' That. Did not make him feel any better. 'We're not gonna bite your arm off. Calm down, bro.'
'Calm down?! Calm DOWN?! How the FUCK can I calm down when YOU exist?!' He hissed, turning to look up at Benrey, who took a short step back. Benrey stared down at him, unfazed as usual. 'You're not supposed to BE in the real world, and I don't got a fucking CLUE how you were able to get out in the first place, and now I'm STUCK with-' Blue balls shot directly at his face, a low pitched "aaaa" from Benrey being his only fore-warning. He flinched, but didn't move, and in an instant, his nerves calmed from their hitch the moment the Black Mesa Sweet Voice™ made contact with his forehead. Somehow, his outburst hadn't attracted any of the groups attention to their presence. At least, he thought it hadn't.
'Feel calmer now bitch boy?' He gave Benrey a long suffering glare. Benrey glared right back with a sharp, shit-eating grin that was actually palpable in the real world, and he despised it with every fibre of his soul. A million worries flew through his head, the loudest being that, if the Black Mesa Sweet Voice™ affected him in real life, what the fuck else could he - could they - do that would work? No-clipping through solid objects? Power legs? Another Benrey boss fight? Passport powers? The Forbidden Science?
'I swear to God, I'm gonna punch you right in your stupid fuckin' nose-'
A weight landed on his left shoulder. He felt the colour drain from his face, his blood run terrifyingly cold, his heart jump several beats forward. The world buzzed into quiet, sight tunnelled in souly on Benrey's face. Slowly, so achingly slowly, he dragged his eyes away from Benrey to look at the cause of the weight, and saw a fuzzy blur of an orange and black mitted hand. He followed the mitt down an armour clad, orange and black arm, resting his sight on an armour clad, orange and black chest plate with a symbol in the centre. His eyes trailed up the tall chest plate to lock on to the black visor of the HEV suit's helmet. He saw no reflection in the visor, only eternal darkness. God damn this thing was taller than fucking Benrey-
Behind the blurry blockage of the HEV suit, he noticed the rest of the group snap their heads toward him, several pairs of eyes landing on him all at once. They clambered to their feet in cheers, intent on approaching, their voices a combined wave of noise. It was déjà vu all over again.
'Oh um, quick question.' Benrey mumbled behind him as the groups smiles grew into wide, warm grins. 'You're not gonna uh, faint again, right? 'Cause that would be suuucks.' The HEV suit's helmet cocked to the side, almost as if the person was laughing.
Fuck his entire life.