Lavender Snow

Alarm

The hallway was long and cold.

A shaft of light penetrated the darkness. Ranboo scooted back from the glass, pulling his knees to his chest and pressing his back to the corner of his obsidian cell. Dream walked past, green robes flowing around him, mask turning briefly to glance at Ranboo, and then he was gone from view, footsteps receding down the corridor. There was a scraping noise, and then the cells were again plunged into darkness, save for a faint lime glow from one end of the hall.

"Who do you think he's going to take from this time?" someone said, voice muffled by the glass.

"Probably 1696 again," A gruff voice answered. "He's the only one being taken from, lately."

"I don't understand," The first voice said. "What's he doing with a teleportation type? They're so common, and he doesn't leave the palace much, anyways."

"Yeah, why does he take from you so often, 1696?" The person across from Ranboo's cell moved forward, putting their hands against the glass to peer at him. "What's so special about you, huh?"

HEY, rude, hey, hey, yo, hey, rude, rude, rude, rude, rude

Ranboo sighed. "I don't know anything more than you do, okay? We've been over this, the only thing unique about my power is that it takes me anywhere I can see instead of a fixed location."

"Other Enderians can teleport somewhere other than a fixed location, though," the gruff man said. "They can go by certain distances, or by direction, or mood. . . what place is the emperor seeing that he wants to teleport to so badly?"

"I don't know." Ranboo hit his head against the wall. "That's the only answer I can give you."

There was a whirring noise. Ranboo looked to the side, but the wall remained smooth and flat.

"Ah, it's 1622," the woman across from Ranboo said. "We were wrong. Sorry, 1696."

Pain bad, pain bad, pain bad, bad, bad, bad, bad

"Chat, I know," Ranboo murmured. "Chill."

1196 giggled at the end of the hallway. "Box. . . es! Box!"

Gas, gas, drugs, gas, drugs, drugs, drogas, drugs, gas, gas, pain, drugs, boo, gas, gas, gas, gas

"Guys." Ranboo massaged his temples. "Nothing's happening right now, okay? Go play around in Techno's mind or whatever."

The voices dispersed into quieter babbling, some chanting numbers as a few of them left.

And then the screaming began.

Ranboo winced, covering his ears with his hands. 1196 shrieked, wails echoing around the corridor.

A minute later, the screams stopped, dissipating into quiet sobs. Ranboo pulled his sweatshirt over his knees, pressing his chin into the fabric.

There was a moment of silence, and then the woman across from Ranboo spoke. "There's a reason for the rules, y'know. Screaming is so unnecessary."

"They can't help it," Ranboo said. "Their mind isn't thinking clearly when they're all drugged up like that."

"Oh, like you'd know," the woman scoffed. "Mr. Immune here thinks he understands what it's like to really be affected by the gas."

"I've been drugged before!" Ranboo protested. "Several times, actually, which is more than I would have liked."

"If you've been drugged before, then how come the gas doesn't affect you?"

"It's the voices, they clear it up somehow—"