FOREVER LULLABY. (smg34)

♪the voice♪

so sorry if it has bad grammar
or doesn't make
sense ｡ﾟ(ﾟ'ω'ﾟ)ﾟ｡!!
           TW: swears.
-ENJOY!!!-

—————————-❹-—————————

The soft hum of the cafe's old coffee machine was the only sound in the dimly lit room. SMG3 stared blankly at the counter, his mind swirling with thoughts he couldn't shake. The constant presence of SMG4 always distant, always twisted had begun to wear him down. But now, it wasn't just visual hallucinations plaguing him. It was something far more insidious.

SMG3 had been trying to stay focused on his work, but the disquieting whispers had started up again. At first, he thought they were just echoes of his own fears, reflections of his strained mind. But as the days passed, the whispers became clearer, more distinct.

He was in the cafe, wiping down the counter for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The air was heavy, filled with the faint smell of coffee and something else something metallic. SMG3 could hear the whispers again, creeping into his consciousness.

"...die..."

The word was barely audible, a cold, empty whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. SMG3's hand froze, the rag slipping from his fingers. He looked around the room, expecting to see someone—anyone who could be speaking.

But the cafe was as empty as ever.

"...worthless..."

The voice was unmistakable now. It was SMG4's voice. At least, it sounded like it. But there was nothing kind or familiar about it. It was colder, harsher, filled with a chilling malice that made SMG3's skin crawl.

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his mind. The whispers grew louder, more persistent, clawing at the edges of his sanity.

"Why are you doing this?" SMG3 muttered, his voice trembling as he tried to reason with the voice. "You're dead. You're not real."

"...pathetic..."

SMG3 gripped the counter, knuckles white as he tried to steady himself. His heart pounded in his chest, and his breaths came in short, ragged gasps. The whispers were everywhere now, filling the room with their oppressive presence.

"Stop it!" SMG3 shouted, slamming his hand down on the counter. The clatter of metal against wood echoed through the empty cafe. But there was no response, only the eerie silence that followed his outburst.

SMG3 paced back and forth, his mind racing. The voices had started out as mere murmurs, but now they were clear, unmistakable, and filled with a malevolence that was unmistakably real. He could no longer deny that something was deeply wrong.

He tried to focus on the practical aspects of his situation. He needed to figure out what was happening—why SMG4's voice was haunting him, why the figure kept appearing. But every attempt to rationalize his situation seemed to crumble under the weight of the whispers.

It wasn't just a case of being haunted. The SMG4 he was seeing and hearing wasn't his friend, his companion, the person he had promised to never leave. No, this was something far darker, something that had taken his place.

The whispers continued, relentless and cruel, gnawing at the edges of SMG3's sanity.

"...weak..."

The voice seemed to be mocking him, taunting him. SMG3 sank to his knees, clutching his head in his hands as if he could shut out the sounds by sheer willpower. His entire body shook with the effort to keep himself together.