Dennis had never felt so awkwardly terrified. What would Mr. Victim say? Did he see everything that had happened? Maybe he hadn't. Maybe they would still be able to escape without his sounding the alarms. There wasn't an inch of truth in these hopes, but Dennis hung on to them nonetheless.
"Yes sir?" Dennis said. His heart was racing within him. Was there any way out? Jumping off the ladder would be both ridiculous and entirely ineffective. Running was the universal sign of guilt.
"Let's talk."
Dennis's stomach sank even further. "If you say so, sir."
Dennis followed Mr. Victim into his office. The dim lighting didn't ease Dennis's nerves. He was caught in a trap. The question was, did Mr. Victim know that? Did he know that Dennis was a traitor, and had helped Orange escape? He had to. He was watching for who-knows-how-long. He would've seen Dennis's trembling. Then, he would've seen Dennis killing Pixel. There was no nice way out of this.
Mr. Victim sat down in his chair with a businesslike air, his face left in a shadow. Dennis sat across from him. Just like his interview. It seemed an eternity ago, yet it was only yesterday. Yesterday, he feared for his job. Today, he feared for his life. Why did things have to escalate so quickly?
"Dennis," Mr. Victim said evenly, "I hope you have a very good explanation for this."
Surely, honesty wasn't the best policy now. Mr. Victim was the head of this operation. He supported, or at the very least, condoned the cruelty. He tortured Chosen himself. He was no hero. Yet Dennis still felt an uneasy excitement at his presence.
He took a breath and stammered, "Yes, sir, I suppose I do. Here's how I see it: my buddy Orange, he's a great guy, and you– you wanted us to figure out how to use the pencil, right? So, I was gonna lead him to, uh, believe that I helped him escape, right? And then… he'd teach me to use the pencil, because he'd be so grateful, you know, and then I would… I'd call your scary friends, and we'd get him when he wasn't expecting it. And it would be a trap! Ha–ha, yeah… We did it, yay."
It was pathetic. He was digging his own grave with every word.
Mr. Victim expression didn't change. "Try again."
Dennis's throat tightened. There weren't a whole lot of options. Mr. Victim would've been able to see through the best of liars, and Dennis was not one of those. Honesty, then.
"You can't torture people, sir. Simple as that." Dennis said. Not even a billionaire could escape basic morals.
"A necessary sacrifice." Mr. Victim said briskly. His eyes were cold and unflinching. It struck Dennis's own conscience and chilled him to the bone.
"It doesn't justify this," Dennis said tentatively.
"I don't expect you to understand or agree. And, frankly, I don't care. I don't have time to convince any intern that comes along. Usually, I just ignore opposition, but you've made that quite impossible. You could've stayed out of this."
Dennis felt a pang of guilt at the thought. Leaving Orange to the same fate as Chosen, averting his eyes and continuing on with life. He wouldn't have been able to take it. It would have made every day onward into torture.
"No, I couldn't. I could never have lived with myself," he said.
Mr. Victim looked at him thoughtfully. "Do not be rash. I have no mercy for those who oppose my goals."
Dennis stiffened and looked him in the eye. "Neither do I."
Dennis didn't know exactly why he had said this. He would never refuse anyone mercy, let alone someone he'd admired since childhood. Yet, it seemed to be the clearest way to make his stance clear. The words had come in a flash of resolve. The skills to implement his words wouldn't come for a good while yet.
Mr. Victim looked surprised. Dennis had never seen someone act so angry and yet so composed at the same time. Mr. Victim opened his desk drawer, pulling out a line tool.
"Then there's no sense in delaying it anymore. You're not a man to change your mind, I see." Mr. Victim said, standing up.
Dennis dug into his pockets for a pause button. It was empty. That's right! He used them all on Smith. He felt a jarring sense of panic. He had to even out the match somehow.
"Whoa, whoa," he said, grasping for persuasive words, "You don't need all that technology to fight. Let's do this real. Man-to-man."
Mr. Victim looked incredulous. "Why would I give up a clear advantage?"
"Honor!" Dennis said, putting on his most composed face, "It's beneath you, really. A brute beats someone with a stick. A man fights them with his fist."
Mr. Victim looked thoughtful for a moment and then activated the line tool. A giant staff appeared in his hand. He saw right through him. "Good attempt. You nearly sold me there."
Dennis fumbled out of the chair. Okay. They were really doing this. Mr. Victim really wanted to kill him. Dennis didn't dare blink.
Mr. Victim's eyes were fixed on Dennis with a terrifying focus. The staff was a heavy and powerful force in his hand. He would not hesitate. He would not miss.
Mr. Victim swung for Dennis's skull. Dennis flung himself to the other side of the room. Pottery and glass were inadvertantely shattered. That could've been his head. The staff came down on him again. He crawled out of the way desperately. The floor shook from the weight of the impact. He couldn't keep this up forever.
Dennis stumbled forward, fists clenched. He would change the course of this fight. There was no way he could win like this. If he could only–
Then it happened. The staff nearly doubled in size at Mr. Victim's command and hit its mark. Dennis was thrown from his feet and onto the ground. He gasped for air but wasn't relieved. His side burned with a piercing pain, inside and out.
He couldn't have dodged the next blow if he had seen it. He had neither the energy nor the time. Everything was clear as day. He had done the right thing. He had saved his friends. Now he was going to die. He closed his eyes, hoping to do himself a favor.
Death was oddly long in coming. He opened his eyes.
Orange was standing above him with a fiery look in his eyes. A look that terrified even Dennis. The look had stopped Mr. Victim in his tracks.
Dennis forgot his pain for a moment. Seven stick figures stood behind him. They had an angry gleam in their eyes. If not for Orange, they would've pounced like a bobcat on Victim. Orange held them back with a glare.
Orange was terrifying, yet Victim seemed unconcerned. It was obvious that he stood no chance. Orange had a small army at his disposal; one that wanted nothing more than to tear Victim to pieces.
The room was dead quiet. A silent battle being raged. Orange and Victim were speaking without words.
Dennis looked at his friends. Among the familiar faces of Yellow, Blue, Red, Purple, and even Green, there were two new faces. A hollow-headed stick figure, like Orange in every way, yet black, and a tall, dark orange stick figure. He recognized one as Chosen. The other must be Purple's dad.
Something was off about Orange. Other than being uncharacteristically terrifying. There was a green gleam in his eyes. A gleam that seemed to be growing.
There was a flash of light and the indescribable sound of destruction. It was a laser. When the laser was gone, Victim had utterly disappeared. The wall that was behind him was in shambles. The wall did nothing to stop the destruction, but it went on, tearing through metal, concrete, and wood alike. The massive hole went on. Dennis couldn't see the end of it.
Orange was panting for air. The green gleam sparkled and hovered around him. He looked at Dennis, the fiery look still ablaze. Having stumbled to his feet on the laser's impact, Dennis took a step back. There was something chilling about this new side of his friend. Something that Dennis couldn't help but be taken aback by.
The hostile expression returned to being friendly. The green glow faded. Orange smiled and let out a small laugh. Then he passed out.