It was only once the happy laughter died down that Dennis remembered he was in an intense situation. When Orange, Red, and Green maintained a pensive silence, Dennis's unease came crawling back. It was similar to the feeling of being watched. He saw nothing to indicate any sort of danger, but something felt wrong.
He led the boys through the office spaces, labs, and cubicles with a gentle, catlike gait; fast, and inexplicably quiet. They followed, more eagerly than stealthily, more tigerlike than timid. Dennis smiled a bit at the thought. Bold, unflinching, and highly-trained, these three figures were a force to be reckoned with. He really didn't need to be afraid, but something about wandering these halls in complete silence made his spidey-sense go off. No, something really was wrong. They never should've split up with Yellow, Blue, and Purple. Something terrible must've befallen them.
They reached the large room with the elevator. Even in the night, when the room was quiet and motionless, it seemed… busy. As if the shadows of the employees continued their work at night. The crisp footsteps, the rustling of paper, and muttering of overworked computers still rang in Dennis's ears, clear as crystal. His active imagination was really not helping.
But it wasn't his imagination. At least, not all of it.
"Here, this elevator leads directly to Mr. Victim's office," Dennis said, stepping forward.
A tall figure emereged from the darkness. Dennis shrank back. It was one of the strange stick figures from earlier that day. He was tall and skinny, the sunglasses only complementing his already-fierce look. Dennis's heart sang with terror. This was it. This was the horrible thing that was bound to happen. He was about to die.
"Hey," Orange said, looking at Dennis intently, "everything's gonna be okay."
"Easy for you to say," Dennis shot back, "You have plot armor."
Still, he was touched by Orange's remark. Evidently, he saw Dennis's terror, and wanted to comfort him. For a second, his terror was vaquished by the kind remark. But only for a second.
Dennis looked behind him. Two of the strange stick figures appeared behind him. The short, pixelated one and the road sign one had their guns blazing, with a hard, cruel stare. Dennis looked into his friends' faces. Red gazed eagerly at the impending fight with a taunting smile. Green's eyes were confident, and his face wore an undaunted grin. Orange looked determined, yet unafraid. His expression wasn't quite as reckless as his friends, but just as intimidating. Dennis did his best to match their terrifying expresions while his heart was racing within him.
The last strange stick figure emerged out of the darkness, joining his tall, sunglassed friend. Dark, tall, and chalkish, his bow was drawn, ready to let a volley of arrows loose.
Orange clenched the pencil. Tight. Red toyed with the pause buttons. Green, having no weapon and nor needing one, doubled his fists.
Dennis felt the pause buttons jingling in his jacket pocket. He wasn't defenseless, at least, not entirely. He had animation tech. Maybe he couldn't do a backflip, but bending the laws of physics was pretty cool, too. He could put up a fight. He had to.
"Oh, it's you, Orange!" The shaded stick figure said with mock courtesy, "And… your inapt rescue team. You even got the delivery boy to rally behind you. How wholesome."
"Come on, Smith, can't we just kill them already? I'm not sitting through another one of your monologues. " The short, pixelated figure said.
Smith threw him an indignant look. "I don't monologue, Pixel. And besides, I actually agree with you this time. Fire at will."
The room sprang to life. It was chaos. Dennis couldn't hear much above the sound of gunfire. His main concern was survival. He snapped his eyes closed. So much for putting up a fight. As much as he wanted to act valiantly, he was quivering in his boots. He was no hero.
The sounds communicated more than enough. He heard the gentle flick of a pencil and the growl of beasts; Green's grunts of pain, and Red's cry of surprise. Finally, Dennis forced himself to open his eyes.
Orange scribbled feverishly, warding off his three attackers. Red was threw his pause buttons in an effort to buy a moment's advantage. Green and Smith were in a fierce struggle. Meanwhile, Dennis was having a difficult time merely standing. He wanted to help. He wanted to fight. But he couldn't. He was utterly useless.
Orange tossed a sword to Red. Red moved like liquid, switching from his leaping and hurling to swordfighting in an instant. Dennis couldn't help but admire him. Orange and Red didn't have to exchange a word to know what the other one was thinking, and respond accordingly.
Dennis felt a metal blade brush his skin. A chill went to his heart. He heard a metallic scraping behind him. So this is what dying felt like. Oodly enough, he felt no pain. Just cold, black fear. He turned. Might as well see his killer before he died.
Pixel was standing over him with a menacing grin. Orange stood between Pixel's heavy blade and Dennis. He held a sword of his own, averting Pixel's otherwise fatal blow. The swords clashed again. Pixel was turned away. Orange looked Dennis in the eye. That telepathic communication, speaking without words, it was in that look. Dennis heard the words as clear as if they had been shouted.
"We've got your back."
Dennis felt something warm inside of him. Strength filled his limp hands. If he were to die today, he would die among friends. He would die, loved. Orange glanced at him. The message had gotten through. He scribbled a sword into existence and tossed it at him. Dennis caught it.