Mr. Erratum

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Ink stopped walking, and looked at Dream. "what-" He paused, as his leg started to feel numb. The numbness grew up to his arms, making him drop Broomie. Ink gave a weak chuckle, noticing Dream's smile. "Well, This is interesting, Isn't it?" He muttered.

And then it all went black.

Ink was not happy right now.

Everything hurt, more than it should of. His back was stiff and hurt at every movement, and his legs felt as if they had been crushed, grained down into dust. His ribs were most definitely at least bruised, cracked even, and his head felt like it had been compressed, a headache slamming into him violently.

While Ink did not cry out in pain, he certainly didn't want to move. He questioned how he got himself in such a state, which was a bad one from what he could tell with his eyes closed, as it certainly wasn't his fight with Splatter that caused this. Maybe he had forgotten something, as he usually did. Yes, that made sense.

He wondered if this was how Error felt, but the thought quickly passed. 

Nothing of importance had been taken, thankfully. His hand was laying on his chest, touching his work belt with his viles in, letting him know it was still there. And, while he didn't know where his Broomie was, he knew it hadn't been destroyed. He would of known if it had been.

Ink was silent, looking almost as if he was still unconscious. Despite this, his thoughts were going wild. Not out of panic of course, They were just going fast, trying to take in all of this, trying to figure out as much as he could with his eyes closed.

He already knew what he had to do, anyone would really. Most probably would have to think about it, but Ink found himself unwilling to do it. 

He had to open his eyes, and that would be unnecessarily painful.

He let out an aggravated sigh. Ink opened his eyes hesitantly, and his head pounded twice as hard as before, but it was too late to close them again, there was no point. Ink sat up from the laying position he was in, feeling his bones ache but ignoring it, Error had done worse on his bad days.

The room was large and awfully dark, and smelled funny. Strangely, the walls were two different colours, a dark grey and a reddish brown colour. As soon as Ink thought that, Ink's eyes widened comically. That was blood, and lots of it too.

He looked around some more, and noticed a pile of messily swept up dust. It had been shoved in the corner, as if whoever had moved it there had hoped he wouldn't notice it. Ink looked down at himself, now sitting up, and saw what he was sitting on. It was one of those beds that Sci often shoved injured people on. Of course, those beds were much more clean, and didn't look like they were going to fall apart any minute.

The sheet was more grey than white, and Ink wondered what could of made it change colour like that, that's if, if it was ever white in the first place. Ink decided to just assume it was always that colour, if only to make himself feel better.

Despite the fact that his legs were most likely not okay for movement, he stood up from the bed, his feet landing on the ground with a loud thump. Ink could feel his legs start to shake, but decided to ignore it, they could be fixed later.

Now that he could move around, Ink noticed even more things about the room. The ceiling was unusually high, high enough to probably make Error or G question it. Of course, there was no light source, other than the strange glowing machine on his right that faintly glowed blue, barely enough to notice, and the door on his left.