"SP: feel your head."
Oh goddammit it's exactly what you thought it was.
You're in hell. This is what hell is like. You walked out of that station bathroom into Actual Real Literal Hell and the half naked devil in front of you is your personal tormentor. In hell.
Okay, you say cautiously. So say I ignore the fact that playing along with this is completely unreasonable, and play along. What do I get out of a level up as a bear.
Cub, not bear, she corrects you. Ugh. But, uh, if I had to guess, probably stuff relating to members of the ursidae family, and anything to do with solving problems through brute force. You might get like, a buff from eating honey, or be able to lift heavy objects no problem. Heck, I bet you're already extra strong just from your headband!
You suddenly become uncomfortably aware of a presence on your head.
"SP: Hear her out."
What are you talking about, you say. Level up what, my being dead skill?
No no no. So like, you've got a cub affinity, right? You guess she means the bear headband you found, which for some reason you can't seem to see anywhere right now. Sure, whatever, you say. What the hell does that have to do with crowbar-induced freedom.
Well, cubs are a strength-oriented class, so they usually level up through feats of strength and violence. Self-inflicted damage will work, but that's mega slow! And, uh, dangerous, without the right perks. I don't remember them all off the top of my head, but trust me, you can grind in way more effective ways!
You remain silent for several moments, regretfully processing the information being flung at you. You almost dismiss all of it entirely, not unaware that the heathen is talking about SIN™, and practically giving you a goddamned sales pitch on it.
But the thing about the violence...
You HATE to admit it, but it's got you interested.
"SP: Push agenda"
Now, if you will EXCUSE me, you emphasize while pushing past her, I have a crowbar to bash my own head in with.
Suddenly, the pantsless heathen is all up in your bubble, completely violating the personal space that you JUST warned her about. Whoa whoa whoa, she starts incessantly yammering at you. Listen, I know you might be in a tight spot up here, but there are way better ways to level up!!
"SP: and you...?"
Are wearing pants that go past your ankles, thank you very much. And SHOES, because you aren't a goddamned heathen.
Are you talking about me, the heathen in front of you asks. Maybe, you say. Get away from me. You're invading my extended personal space and moral sense of decency.
The heathen just kind of blinks at you, and... cries? Oh goddammit, you've heard about this. She's trying to get you to do something isn't she? Well you aren't having it; you have your own agenda to forward.
"wait, you're not wearing pants?"
Uh, no? How could you not notice something so blatantly obvious?? It's like you don't know how to interpret symbolic representations of things, like what are clearly bare legs. We even went over this earlier; all you have equipped are your hoodie, ears, contacts, and now your tail.
Anyway, you don't need pants. Your hoodie is keeping you decent.
Oh heck yes. They should be way more talkative now that they have a clear throat, and also active consciousness. Hi there, you say cheerily! I don't know why you're here, but I'm--
A nuisance? Hellaciously sin™ful? Not wearing pants?
...talking to a sour pumpkin, apparently. :c
I HATE blueberry!!!
You guess they're not a fan of blueberry flavor sin™ brand non-toxic paint.
"YK: Verify substance."
Acting on a hunch, you cautiously lick the blue glob that's still wet on your finger.
Oh!! You recognize that taste, and frankly you can't believe you didn't realize sooner! (Actually, yes, you can believe that, but never mind your poor memory.) It's--
JEEZ that's a violent spray! Thankfully, you are nimble enough to avoid it.
You gently try to ask if they're okay from a safe distance, but they just keep coughing and sputtering and getting blue paint everywhere.
Only... Huh. You belatedly realize that you don't smell any noxious fumes, like one might expect from a small room with multiple open paint cans. But if it's not paint...?
"YK: SHAKE THEM AWAKE!"
You really wish you had a more advanced knowledge of health and medicine to know whether or not this is a good idea!!!
Whoa, what's going on? Are you having an earthquake in your dream?? Is that a thing???
"Exposit on connotations."
Urgh. Where do you even begin? You could rant on this for hours and probably not even dent the entirety of your concerns on how it's all complete bullshit.
The long and short of it is that you just do not get it, and that you really wish it wasn't so taboo to want to remain undecided. Also, 'undecided' is a pretty shitty term, given that it implies you've yet to make up your mind. Your mind is entirely made: you want no part of anything to do with sin™.
Are you kidding? There is, like, a RIDICULOUSLY INFINITE number of reasons that EVERYONE KNOWS ALREADY, NOT JUST YOU, for why all that stuff is ENTIRELY HORRIBLE. Reasons which are IN NO WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM molded by even A HINT of personal bias on your part, WHATSOEVER.
For example: all of it is really stupid and dumb and oh yeah did you mention stupid, and also you are not a fan of the inherently limited options or their pervasive social connotations.
Couldn't be clearer.
You scrap all your thoughts until you are back to the blank void.
Yeah, this was a dumb idea. You feel as though there might be some kind of moral here about living in ignorance, and maybe how sometimes things are more enjoyable when you refrain from thinking about them too much, because even though knowledge is power it can also prove bitter and sobering -- but honestly?
You just really hate the thought of going back.
You do your best to conjure up a scenario which the far-reaching influences of sin™ cannot contaminate. Your imagination flickers between several possibilities, trying to land on anything valid, but you can think of nothing which has not already been conceptually tainted.
Internet cafe? No, the staff are always dressed in obnoxious maid costumes there. Movie theater? Ugh, you cannot remember the last release that was not sin™ related. Public park? Oh, god, the dogs.
It's never actually a dog that someone has on a leash.
"SP: Wake the heck up"
There may be no going back on the informational bombshell that you are asleep, and therefore anything you experience here will ultimately be fake, but you are not giving up on this dream space. Not yet.
Right now this quasi-extant imaginational figment is your only solace from the real world and, in a shocking turn of events, you would much prefer to continue playing pretend in here than face the horrors of reality out there.
"SP: Existential Crisis"
Your subconscious rapidly deteriorates at the realization that you were, and still are, immersed in naught but a dream.
DAMMIT. And here you thought you had finally found your true calling in the world, doing some good old fashioned, honest work out in the country. Just your luck that none of it would be real.
Something occurs to you as you hold up your catch. Something that seems difficult to grasp at first, and yet is blindingly obvious.
Horseshoes don't go on pigs. Horseshoes don't go on pigs at all!!
HORSESHOES GO ON HORSES!!!
"SP: Admire capture"
You shorten the rope back down to size so you can inspect the only horseshoe that didn't get away.
Heheh. Look at this little squirming beauty. When we get back to the ranch, you are going straight on the left hoof of Marcine, local county fair first place prize hog SIX YEARS RUNNING.
...Wait a minute.
Unfortunately, the rest are as good as gone, but sometimes that's just how life pans out. Ain't easy pickings scratchin' out a life for yourself in the old west, that's for damn sure.
Dang it. Rope's slack; you must not have thrown it fast enough.
"SP: Wrangle horseshoes"
Get back here you ornery varmints!! SKEDADDLE RIGHT ON BACK TO THE PIGS AT THE RANCH OR SO HELP ME SIN, I WILL DRAG YOU BACK MYSELF!!!
Aw, heck, they're moving way faster than you. Your snake just ain't what it used to be.
You got maybe one shot at still pulling this off...
Um, hello, you are CLEARLY riding an invisible giant anaconda, which is currently doing its damnedest to slither on pace with these horseshoes.
Now quit fooling around! If these dumb-as-rocks horseshoes make it to the gulch, they WILL fall in, and you will NEVER get them back!!
"SP: Dream of a no sin™ world"
Buddy, believe you me, you would LOVE to take a nap and entertain an extended fantasy sequence about a sin™less existence, but you are a little too busy WRANGLING THESE GODDAMNED HORSESHOES to entertain a ridiculous and impossible scenario like that.
Honestly, it is like nobody but you is even paying attention to what's going on around here.
You would never!!!
While you are not above the act of permanently borrowing material goods (read: stealing), it is HIGHLY unethical to wear multiple of the same kind of sin™ accessory!! ESPECIALLY when the accessories in question don't even match!!! Who ever heard of a daddy shacking up with a bearkitten?? Or a catcub???
Honestly, this just might be the most ridiculous thought you've had all day!
Actually, you don't think your daddy's said anything even remotely like that in the few days that you've known him. You completely agree with the sentiment though.
Your deft fingers make short work of the cub headband, tucking it into the sleeping ragamuffin's hair as neatly as possible for maximized cuteness. The procedure's an instant success: they're incredibly adorable!!!
You're absolutely certain they'll thank you for this courtesy later.
"YK: Maybe that adorable -completely not offensive or sinful- headband can coax them into waking up?"
A stray headband catches your attention, desperately begging to be worn. Aw! Poor thing must've fallen off your slumbering companion sometime earlier, perhaps during their post-paint stumbling.
You're not sure why anyone'd think this thing isn't sin™ful as all heck though. Maybe you just haven't spent enough time looking into alternative brands, but you can't fathom this level of craftsmanship being the result of any other entity. This baby's definitely a sin™ product.
"YK: Poke the egg-shaped orange"
You attempt to rouse your potential friend with a firm jab to the chest. They not only remain unconscious, but you accidentally get a glob of paint and saliva on your finger for your trouble. Darn it! That's the exact opposite of what you wanted!!
Further prodding fails to awaken the napping snoozester, even when you poke them in places without gross blue slobber. Dang, this dozing sprog's really down for the count!
Oh, shoot. That's definitely some suspiciously-blue liquid dribbling out of this slumped sleepyhead's mouth. They must've mistaken one of the open paint cans for a delicious beverage, and heartily chugged a hefty swig of it before realizing their mistake.
Yeah, that makes sense, you think. It explains the winding trail of splatters and drips; poor son of a gun must've barfed up half a stomach's worth of paint across this whole room before settling down in the corner.
You're pretty sure this new stranger's still alive though. You can see their chest faintly rise and fall in a steady rhythm, and you can hear a cute little snore every now and then. Maybe you can wake them up?
The trail ends here.
...At someone you don't recognize, and somehow never noticed until now.
You begin to wonder if you are myopic.
And lo, what have we here? Another higher-volume smattering of blue paint??
Well, you don't see what else it could possibly be, so you guess that, yes, it probably is.
Hmm. Mmmm... Mhm!
You conclude that the paint leads to the desk.
Actually, wait. It looks like whoever was spilling this paint everywhere tried to wash it away with the faucet attached to the desk. However, the paint on the faucet, desk, and floor around the small puddle-stream of water suggest they were less than successful.
The mystery thickens.
Yeesh. You're happy that it lets you see the floor, but all this spilled paint goes beyond plumb messy into downright unkempt. You briefly wonder if this is perhaps a crime scene, and consider asking the guard about it, but he hasn't stopped you yet. You're probably fine.
Anyway, might as well check out all the stops these paint drippings made on their whimsical journey.
"YK: Ms. Crowbar, meet Mr. Crate"
You consider introducing your new friend to the looker across the way, as they seem like a perfect match, but you hesitate.
First of all, judging a relationship's success on appearance alone is kind of a dumb idea, and typically only works in crappy romantic comedies. Secondly, the giant red 'NO' on the crate's front is more than a little intimidating, and makes it seem like opening it up'd be a bad idea. (Especially while you can't quite make out the text printed underneath it.)
And then, if all that wasn't bad enough, the block guard's standing directly in front of it. Even if you were gutsy enough to interfere with his official duties and defy the message on the box -- assuming you're even strong enough to pry the dang thing open -- there's no way you could get the cover completely off while he's in the way.
Gosh, there sure is a lot riding against your opening this thing.
Okay, you were kind of joking about interrogating more things that aren't actually alive, but you guess you can keep playing pretend. It's not like you're in a hurry to lovingly reunite with someone or anything.
Oh, hey. Ms. crowbar's got some blue paint on her foot. And just how'd that happen, miss? Home-improvement project go awry? Deadbeat construction worker splash some on you? Accidentally step in a paint bucket?
Haha, what are you saying. If this crowbar stepped in a paint bucket, there'd be way more paint on it. Gosh, you sure can be silly sometimes.
My gosh, mister guard, you're so tense. Your shoulders are practically made of steel! A nice, gentle back rub will help with that.
And yet, despite your magic fingers, the guard still does not react. He remains staunch; unwavering, like a rock. A compact, rectangular prism of a rock.
You get the feeling you won't be prying anything useful out of this guard, no matter how much you butter him up. Looks like you'll have to interrogate a different inanimate object around here if you want the real juicy scoops, informational sprinkles included.
"YK: Ask guard about crate"
So, you say casually, what'cha guardin'? Is it the big ol' box you're standing in front of? You bet it's the box. And, say, as this box's guard, you must know what's inside it, right? Care to divulge anything juicy?
The guard remains tightlipped, staring straight ahead as though you are not even there. Really ain't the talkative type, huh buddy?
You kick things off with a friendly wave, and a belated apology for not giving any warning before dishing out your prior head pats. In hindsight, it was pretty rude of you to just invade the guard's personal space like that, especially while he's on the clock.
The guard shows no signs of being swayed by your apology, and does not so much as acknowledge your presence. Instead, he remains still in his position, like an uncompromising security officer ought to.
Sheesh! Guy's a real workaholic. You admire his dedication though.
"YK: Talk to SR(Security Rectangle)! He must know all about this place, right? Just look at his expression"
Oh, is this SR? Gosh, yeah, you'd definitely lose in a fight against this tough customer. Talking sounds like a way more reasonable approach.
"YK: Battle SR"
...Uh? Even if you knew who that was, you doubt you'd wanna fight them. You're not a pacifist, per se, but none of your battle-oriented stats are high enough to warrant an unnecessary confrontation. (Which is to say, any confrontation.)
Besides, who could want to battle anything when there's such a cute hand-painted block guard in front of this crate?? You affectionately pat the guard on the head and assure it that it's doing good work, whatever that work may be.
You seamlessly resume being Young Kitten as she narrowly makes it into what is, to her perspective, an entirely new room.
Dang, you think, an entirely new room. How exciting!! It's so messy in here, too, like this place is actually REAL instead of a sterile SIN™ CONSTRUCT. Maybe your perilous climb was worth it after all.
But shoot! What to interact with in your colorful new location first??
Suddenly, you are alerted to the presence of a small-armed ruffian attempting to break and enter into your district.
Oh HECK NO, you think to yourself. NOT ON YOUR WATCH.
You suddenly make the unprecedented blunder of realizing that you cannot move and, worse still, are not sentient. Thankfully, no one notices the highly embarrassing mistake your inaction reflects. It is as good of a consolation as you can ask for whilst unable to stop any additional crimes from unfolding.
Rather, WHICH situation, you clarify; there are several currently ongoing around you. The graffiti on the box you are guarding, the property damage to the wall behind you, the liters of improperly disposed-of paint on the floor, and the substance-abusing miscreant off by the drain all clamor wildly for your attention.
You have no idea where to even start with this mess.
"YK: Turn the tv around"
You rotate the cart so you can see what tantalizing secrets the television hides. A disappointingly empty screen, save for a pause symbol in the lower right corner, greets you instead. There doesn't appear to be any way to replay whatever was on this thing, due in no small part to a ridiculous lack of any buttons on the television.
You really need to stop expecting cool or appropriately functional things to be on this sin™ train as a wait what the heck's with that hole in the wall.
"YK: Investigate black cube"
You decide to hold off on pursuing prolonged pastry philosophy, and inspect the only other item of interest up here.
It appears to be a somewhat dated, boxy television. It must be holding an intense staring contest with the wall, because its screen's pressed completely against it.
The cart under it implies mobility, though you can't imagine the practicality of this, considering how high up you are. Your only options for wheeling this thing anywhere are either within ten feet on the same shelf, or over two hundred feet on a bloodied kitchen floor. And, uh, you have a feeling the television wouldn’t survive the second option.
A chilling thought strikes you: aren't cakes usually made with eggs? Oh shoot, you think with a shiver, that's super chilling. Admittedly, you're actually not entirely sure what goes into a cake -- but you'd hate to waste your only source of wisdom on mere baked goods.
You assure Saitama at length that you'd never expend him so carelessly. Maybe you can make a substitution in your hypothetical cake? Or better yet, just not use any eggs at all. A recipe can't go too wrong with only one missing ingredient, can it?
"YK: Check out the circular thing"
It appears to be some kind of baking pan. Inside's a small bottle of "Cake Brand" vanilla. You're not sure, but you think this might be a cake pan.
Suddenly, you gasp. Are you supposed to bake a cake for daddy? Has that been your goal all along??
Gosh you hope not. You don't know jack about baking. It would be pretty cute if you didn't fudge it up though...
You make it to the top of the shelves, where the world’s once again bathed in a decent amount of light. It's... bigger up here than you thought it'd be. You must not've noticed on the climb up, but apparently this train car gets wider at the top? At least it's not the weirdest thing you've seen so far.
But boy! There, uh, sure is some stuff up here. Stuff that totally validates your awesome climb, like. A WHOLE BUNCH.
Oh who the heck are you kidding, you're honestly super disappointed there's nothing else up here. Still, you guess it's better than just being an empty shelf. Might as well check it all out while you're here.
"[S] YK: Climb"
"YK: Wait is that--"
Yes, and it's comfortably snug.
You should be able to ascend the shelves now.
You have found your AGILITY-ENHANCING KITTEN TAIL!
"YK: Check crisper drawers"
Okay, there's still one last chance for this fridge to be useful. You check the drawers on the off-chance they don't just contain icy lettuce.
The right drawer proves to just be another drawing. Most of the left drawer snaps off when you pull the handle, because it's frozen cardboard. Inside however, you catch a glimpse of a familiar item. A friendly item.
"YK: Inspect fridge contents"
You open the fridge all the way, hoping for a bounty of sweet edible loot. A cold and empty interior greets you instead. You think the inside of the door may just be a drawing. The drawing's also empty.
You start to wonder why the frick this thing was even locked if there's nothing of value inside.
The door pops open, unlocked. You're honestly not surprised that the egg has already proven itself smarter than you.
"YK: PUT THE KEY ON THE FRIDGE"
A sudden urge to introduce your fake bendy key to the refrigerator assaults you. You're not sure if this is Saitama's influence, but you choose not to question him. He could very well know more than you.
You quickly discover the key was a refrigerator magnet all along. In retrospect, this probably should've been obvious to you from the start.
You ask your frozen meme egg what to do next, in case there’s any wisdom hidden in his soft shell, or softer carton. Got any leads, Saitama?
The egg says nothing because it’s not alive, and neither are its contents. It was worth a shot.
Actually, you’re a kitten, which is super different from being a cat. Cats are mega cute and all, and you would probably SUPER enjoy being one, but unfortunately the genes necessary just aren’t within you.
Also, even if you thought they could handle being used as climbing implements, you’re missing your KITTEN CLAW NAIL EXTENSIONS. You cannot claw jack anything right now! Maybe if you find them you can give it a try, but you’re not super hopeful on that front.
Uh, okay. You don't really know how one goes about searching for hidden switches or recesses, but you guess you can give it a shot.
You spend the next ten minutes lightly patting every square foot of wall you can reach. Despite clearly being in serious need of a gentle massage, the walls coldly refrain from revealing any secrets to you. You understand, but you wish they would be a little less tsundere about the matter.
So it's plain silvery metal on one side, like a key should be, and that's all well and dandy. But every other side is smooth and all black, like hard rubber or something. Said rubber also completely ruins this key's ability to, you know, actually act like a key, since it is on level with all the little grooves.
Further inspection of the metal also reveals that it is just a thin coating on the rubber, as you can bend the whole thing pretty easily. You get the feeling this isn't a real key.
A more thorough butter investigation reveals there was a little key stuck to the bottom of a butter stick. A slightly weird key, which you would have surely overlooked had you stuck with the assumption that there would be nothing but butter inside the slightly misleadingly-labeled pack of butter.
What a silly kitten you almost were.
A quick butter investigation reveals you have a whopping sixteen butter sticks at your disposal. Your POOR MATH SKILLS tell you that this is, like, almost sixteen half cups of butter, give or take.
You build the highly unnecessary amount of butter into a small butter fort.
"YK: What did you find???"
Butter. You find butter. Plain sticks of butter.
You don't know what you were expecting to find, nor why you weren't explicitly expecting to find butter, but you feel it was a mistake to have expected anything but butter to be in the clearly-labeled pack of butter.
What a silly kitten you are.
Inside, you find... oh your gosh, you find...!!!
"YK: Return to the butter pack. You shouldn't need to free the packaging to open it, right?"
You strike creative gold. And also, the confirmation that you really aren't the sharpest claw on the cat, given how long it took you to think of this. But that's what your creativity’s for! Overcoming your debilitating lack of okay you're tired of focusing on how smart you aren't.
You drop down so you can open the pack of butter.
"YK: Is there any place around here you haven't searched yet? For either supplies or an exit?"
You don't know!! If you did you'd probably already be checking!
When you said you weren't a smart kitten earlier, you unfortunately kind of meant it. It goes hand-in-hand with your forgetfulness. Which, uh, is bad, since both of those things are bad. It's super bad, basically.
You guess you can try to draw on your innate creativity for some ideas though.
You weren't planning on giving up. Really! Your spirits may've been broken earlier, but they weren't destroyed. It's an easy enough recovery for you.
That said, you still don't know how to proceed. The more you stare at the planks of wood spiraling higher and higher above you, the more you feel something's really not right around here. As though you're missing something super vital, or you've been put on a track (and train) that you aren't fully equipped to handle.
Of course, you have nothing to actually base this assumption on other than your gut feeling and a lack of progress, so you may also just suck at this. But either way, you almost definitely need to rethink your strategy for getting through this if you want to actually, uh, get through this.
Yeah, it was getting pretty ridiculous how much blood you were dribbling everywhere, so you rifled through your traits and abilities to see if there was anything you could do about it. Uh, beyond not dying from blood loss.
You eventually found an ability you took at level three -- a LONG frickin' time ago, which you think justifies forgetting about it -- that allows you to heal most wounds by simply licking them. (You know, like a cat would.)
Your foot doesn't taste all that great, but a few unpleasant swipes of the tongue are worth not slipping off these shelves at a stupidly dangerous moment. And, uh, not making any more of a huge mess on what’s technically private property. That's also a plus.
Oh, never mind. You only made it to the first shelf from the fridge, and have been hesitant to attempt the jump to the second ever since. You really don't have faith in your own agility for this, do you?
The answer is no, you don't. You may be forgetful and sometimes, yes, an entirely silly kitten, but you know your limits. This shelf is outside of them.
"SP: Do not! drink!! the paint!!!"
You do not hesitate as the can approaches your lips.
You do, however, suddenly resume being Young Kitten. It would seem you managed to cry your resolve back together since you were last onscreen, as you appear to have made good progress on the shelves.
"SP: Do not drink the paint!!"
You already tried that. All it got you was a product of hell mingling with your scalp, and one of the literal worst insults you can fathom. Delivered by a goddamned WALL.
Your only consolation is that, no matter how much paint this will take, you’re pretty sure you have enough.
You cannot be the other person, because he is still unconscious!!
Besides, your brain does not require a lot of time to resume normal operations. Its only active function, HATRED, is exceedingly quick to retake control. You subsequently produce a deep, HATEFUL consideration for the open canister in your hands, and how thirsty you are. That is, thirsty for a simple way out of this bullshit. The bullshit that you SEVERELY HATE, in case that was not clear.
You think that maybe the can's apparent fullness is just a trick of the light, and carefully dip the tip of the crowbar in to see where it hits paint, and therefore what level the paint is at in the can. The crowbar confirms the blue paint can to be just as full as the other two open cans, if not fuller.
Which is bullshit! You can SEE all the spilled paint on the ground. There is literally NO WAY this thing evaded having any of its paint spilled. What the fuck!!
Your brain briefly short circuits as it occurs to you that something might be fucking with volume around here too.
"SP: Save that paint!!"
You rush to set the paint can upright, so as to preserve as much of its spilling contents as possible. You are about as successful in this endeavor as you could have hoped, getting no paint on your person and preserving a decent amount of the paint in the can.
...An entirely too decent amount, in fact. You suddenly find yourself baffled by the can still appearing to be perfectly full, despite all evidence to the contrary. How in the shit??
It looks like the crowbar will reach, but only just barely. Your next movements will have to be extremely careful and precise to get this thing down safely.
You try to vent your frustration with the block by liberally waving the crowbar around the hole it left in the wall. Your probing finds that there is nothing invisible inside, and none of the interior walls are false or hollow. This recess is as empty as it looks, and sturdy to boot.
The only notable discovery you make is that the back wall sounds like glass when tapped with the crowbar, as compared to the surrounding metal. Which you guess makes sense, given its scrolling text. If there was a message just sliding unnaturally along the metal you would be even more upset right now.
An unexpected snag catches in your plan. By which you mean the guard block is now proving immovable, as though its weight is suddenly exactly as a metal block the approximate size of your torso should be.
Which is fucking bullshit??? Just who exactly is calling the shots on gravity around here? Or mass?? Magnetism???
You are not sure what the fuck is going on but it is really starting to piss you off.
After all the work you went through to decorate it without expending an ounce of artistic talent???
Yeah, alright. You actually dislike the message more than the idea of some other schmuck opening the stupid box. The blockyguard can retire from duty.
You half expect your blockyguard to fly back into the recess in response to your headbandless head, but it remains stalwart at its post. Like a good guard should.
Whatever triggered the block to fall out must not have a contingency for sin™ products being removed -- only equipped. It is unclear whether this is a good thing.
You are not about to stand idly by while some slowly-scrolling text on the inside of a train car wall -- which probably should not even be that thick anyway -- accuses you of having devolved into a sinner™. Especially not if that is all putting on this stupid headband got you.
You violently unequip the headband in contempt.
Oh hell no.
Well, here you go buddy. Don't let anyone open that crate now, you guess.
The guard does not respond, because it is a block with paint on it. That does not really concern you though. Instead, you start to feel retroactively worried about how easy things are to physically manipulate around here.
You swear, if friction is being fucked with in addition to the weight of things, you are suing the owners of this particular sin™ train for breaking multiple laws of physics.
Huh. Somehow you manage to rip the crowbar out of the wall no problem.
"SP: Give your newly minted bodyguard the crowbar so it may protect the sin box from being opened"
Yeah, sure. You will just rip this crowbar out of the wall with the SUPERHUMAN STRENGTH you totally always had, and then give it to your guard, no problem. You cannot BELIEVE you never thought to do that earlier, when you were struggling so much with the stupid thing that you started goddamn BITING it. Here, you will give it a go right now!
You salvage what you can from the half-baked thought anyway. You still know fuckall about how paint works, but you do not slather it on so much as you did with the crate, so it's not as dribbly. It also dries quickly enough that nothing blends or mixes together, for better and for worse.
You cannot reach the blue paint, so the color design is a little simple, but you find the ink on the desk suitable for drawing on a face. The newly-created guard is not really that threatening without a weapon, though.
Okay, you guess you feel a little underprotected here, and having your own block bodyguard could be nice, but why does the blockyguard have to be a 'him' exactly? Why does this chunk of metal that you are lightly entertaining the thought of painting have to have a gender at all??
See, this could have been a good idea, but now it's just plain stupid.
"SP: Retrieve block"
Huh. It is lighter than you expected. Much lighter, in fact. You thought you would have to make a snappy quip about how heavy a giant block of metal would be, and how you could never possibly lift it with your strength alone, but it is almost as light as styrofoam.
That is weird, right? Metal things are not supposed to be as light as styrofoam, nor are they supposed to heavily thump train cars while as light as styrofoam. Right?
God, you really hope the laws of physics are not different on these fucking trains, or you are drinking that paint just because it will be easier than trying to figure out this bullshit.
Yeah, the aforementioned sound of METAL grating against MORE METAL, followed by a train car-shaking THUMP, kind of gave that impression. You may have just put a product of your sworn enemy on your head, but you're not STUPID.
There does not appear to be anything special about the block itself, though. Smooth surfaces, sharp edges; nothing you would not expect from a neatly-cut chunk of steel. That paintbrush is going nowhere while this thing is sitting on top of it.
"SP: Be ursine kawaii"
While still mentally berating yourself for allowing this accursed combination of plastic and fabric to touch your head, you hear the sound of metal loudly grating on metal, followed by a dull thump and kind of a wet splat. What the fuck just--
Oh. A block came out of the wall, and it fell on the paintbrush. Obviously.
It is even worse than you anticipated.
If this does not work, you are definitely drinking paint afterwards for being such a dumbass.
"SP: Unexpected change of heart?"
You suddenly lose the will to throw away what may be your only ticket off this stupid train. You HATE yourself for even considering it, but decidedly, you would HATE yourself more if you inadvertently screwed yourself out of an escape.
"Headband: Perspective switch"
You prepare to execute your cunning "throw the headband on top of the NO box so you will not have to look at it anymore" plan. It's the best plan that did not involve wearing it you could come up with.
Wait, something's happening. You're being picked up. Is this it? Are they finally putting you on their head?! Oh, joyous occasion! You can't wait to--
"Headband: Be worn"
You're trying your best!!!
Unfortunately, the ball of anger pacing past you just isn't having it. You don't know what they're trying to prove, or to whom, but you do know one thing: you are getting on their head if it's the last thing you do.
Alright. Somehow violent outbursts are not solving this, so it's time to resort to the unthinkable: thinking. Pacing helps people think, right? You start pacing because you are pretty sure it does.
So, obviously this train thinks the stupid headband is important. Maybe it even IS important. But why? Why would a goddamned headband be important for ANYTHING?? For that matter, why would a BEAR EAR headband be important, and why the FUCK would it be SO important that you LITERALLY COULD NOT DESTROY IT???
Although, technically you guess you CAN destroy it. It just has yet to STAY destroyed. But that does not help you! Not beyond having something that you can destroy an infinite number of times, which... is actually something you could make use of. A technically indestructible stress toy might just be what you need. Except! EXCEPT!! You REFUSE to let this train deceive you with something that SEEMS even REMOTELY useful, especially something as OFFENSIVELY CUTE as this ABSURD ANIMAL ACCESSORY!!!
Dammit. Thinking really is not solving this either, especially not if it has almost convinced you this stupid headband is GOOD. You cannot believe how unbelievably limited your options are right now.
No! You must hold out!! You have to hold out!!!
You accidentally blink in a lapse of concentration. The headband reappears right where you first found it, as though it was never gone.
"Bear Headband: Come back"
You HATE the idea of this happening more than you can express. In response, you carefully keep the entire room under your watchful gaze.
Actually, it would appear the opposite is true: your foot is completely paint-free.
Which... is weird, you think. You are by no means a paint expert, but you threw that headband down and introduced it to your foot within seconds of giving it the crimson treatment. That is some pretty goddamn fast-drying paint!
Just as well. If you did have paint on your foot, you are entirely certain you would have already noticed and washed it off with the faucet. You are not some kind of dumb idiot who would track red footprints everywhere they walked because they never thought to use a faucet that was in plain view the whole time. That would be stupid.
Once you finish stomping it to bits (again), you stuff the broken headband pieces down the drain to ensure they stay gone.
You are a little out of breath from all the exertion, but you are sure you will be alright. So long as that goddamned headband never comes back.
NO! NEVER!! YOU REFUSE!!!
IT'S NOT WORKING!!!
Didn't you fucking stomp this stupid thing to pieces already???
It is a nice thought, that you might be able to exit this place the same way you entered it -- that is, with something unpleasant being flushed down a drain -- but even if you could pry this grate off, you doubt you could squeeze your body through, never mind your freakishly pumpkin-sized head.
Just one more reason to HATE everything about your life, you guess. ...Wait a minute.
Alright, sure, you guess that counts as expressing yourself.
If only it were so easy to rid yourself of sin™.
But also fuck the implication that, despite doing your best to avoid all the sin™ you could from day one, you are a dirty sinner™ anyway. That is pretty much the one kind of self-deprecative noise by which you absolutely will not abide.
A panel on the desk's front pops off, revealing a faucet which quickly springs forward from the desk interior.
Of all the secret compartments this desk COULD have had, you cannot say you expected this to be the one it DID have. You guess the drain in the corner makes a little more sense now, though.
You give the desk a swift kick to see if any secrets you might have missed will spring open. You hardly have high hopes for it, but it never hurts to be thorough.
You proceed to viciously gnaw on the crowbar for several minutes anyway.
"SP: Eat the crowbar"
Okay, you will admit it: despite your recent cathartic releases, you are absolutely still feeling outraged enough by simply being here to bite something out of sheer HATE. And it is a nice thought, that your teeth might be sturdy enough to accomplish the task at hand. But you are pretty sure you are more angry than strong, so you doubt you would get very far eating a goddamned piece of metal.
As a friendly reminder to yourself regarding your total distaste for the conceptually-offensive crate, you splash a few vibrant strokes of red on it, forming a curt and rejecting warning over the printed logo.
You know fuckall about painting, so the letters are kind of dribbly, but god is the result satisfying. You might just have to try this whole 'self-expression' thing more often.
"SP: What is the sin box"
The cubic-object-which-shall-not-be-named was called the cubic-object-which-shall-not-be-named for a reason, jackass.
But okay, sure, you will pretend you give a shit for a moment. The... box, you would imagine, is probably some kind of in-train construct designed to house specialized items which might aid or reward whoever this train was actually meant for (i.e. not you), possibly like some kind of video game powerup, or a permanent upgrade to one's abilities. You know, something that would allow the box-opener to then progress further along the train, or access new areas hidden in previously-discovered in-train locations.
If it is in any way related to the headband you destroyed, this particular box's contents are probably also bear-themed in nature, but in an obnoxiously cute way that is not at all reminiscent of how feisty, violent, or powerful bears actually are.
And this is exactly why you do not intend to open that boxy motherfucker. Ever.
"> SP: Break down wall between desk and the cubic object with the crowbar, just use all of that hatred"
You give it a complete thrashing of frustrated crowbar whacks.
The fruits of your labor manifest themselves as numerous sizable dents, and the crowbar getting deeply embedded in the wall. The stab that led to it getting stuck felt pretty good, though. Cathartic, almost. Who knew angrily hitting things could be so enjoyable?
You, um. May have accidentally boarded it whilst trying to find a restroom.
Which is to say, you entered what you thought was a completely unassuming train station restroom, but wound up here upon walking out. Like fuck if you know how that works, but you are glad you at least finished your business before being sent here.
And that brings you to the real kicker: the door completely goddamn vanished afterward (it used to be between the desk and the cubic-object-which-shall-not-be-named), leaving you stranded here.
Needless to say you do not belong here, and intend to get off this godforsaken thing as soon as humanly possible.
Aw, shucks, you would, but it appears someone has repeatedly stomped on them in a violent fashion, rendering them totally unwearable.
You also do not have a daddy, even if you had wanted to paint one. With any luck, you never will.
"SP: Go right"
Much like the rest of this asinine architectural waste of space, there is a whole lot of bullshit over here.
You would question how you were put in here without any visible doors, but you have long since given up on questioning anything sin™ related. All you can do is hate.
"SP: Pry open the sin box"
You check the desk drawers in the hopes that no such publishing exists anywhere near your person.
In this respect, your search proves successful: you do not find a single copy of Terrible Kittens Quarterly™. Unfortunately, you DO find an issue of Derelict Daddies Daily. Your eyes are assaulted by the unsavory visage of someone sitting in an inflatable kiddie pool whilst covered in chocolate pudding, before you quickly crumple it up and toss it aside. Disgusting.
You find nothing else, save for a refreshingly ordinary stack of blank paper in the bottom left drawer. You can only hope there are more bastions of normalcy in this place, and form a few silent prayers accordingly.
It is tempting, but if you off yourself, that means this stupid place wins. This stupid, sin™ful place.
You would rather exhaust all other possibilities before accepting defeat, or a defeat-induced, agonizingly slow death from a bleeding head wound.
"YK: Be the other person"
You are now the other person. Their face says 'I'm dead inside,' but their heart says 'I continue beating against my will.'
Oh shoot, it has been a while since you've taken inventory. Alright, let's see...
A thorough search of everything on your person reveals the following bounty: a PINK BUBBLEGUM LOLLIPOP, a NEWSPAPER PICTURE OF DADDY, an UNUSUALLY-SIZED EGG (with DRAWN-ON FACE and SNUG CARTON), a POINTIE BRAND MARKER, an UNOPENED BOX OF SUGAR, and a SMALL COOKIE BOX'S LARGEST RAISIN COOKIE.
If you count your equipped items, you also have your KITTEN HOODIE (duh), KITTEN NIGHT VISION CONTACT LENSES, and KITTEN HEADBAND with you. You’re absolutely certain you don’t have anything else equipped or in your hoodie pocket that you might’ve forgotten about.
In your sin™ train, you're the memelord. It's you.
Gosh you miss the internet.
"YK: Inspect egg"
It sure is an egg alright.
It looks like it's just a scaled-up chicken egg, not that you're any kind of egg expert. The shell seems to be fully intact, as you can find no cracks anywhere on its surface. It's very cold though, which is pretty much the only thing you find reasonable about an abnormally large egg being in a freezer. You highly doubt anything cute or adorable will hatch from this egg any time soon, or ever.
There's not much t' tell. One moment 'e was here, the next 'e wasn't. Same for 'is advisor. Me an' the Mac Daddy's hat promptly fell t' the floor, and we been growin' cold an' gatherin' dust ever since.
Huh? Oh. The advisor's hat says it only 'appened a couple hours 'go, too. Fresh mystery, 'parently.
What part of "missing" did you not understand???
"YK: Grab small object in freezer"
It appears to be an unusually-sized single-egg egg carton. Weighty enough that it probably has a single, unusually-sized egg inside.
Thank GOSH. You nearly thought you fell on your tush and got whopped on the head with a freezer door for something stupid.
You got it open.
"YK: Jump you dingdong"
Hmm... You GUESS that's a reachable height. Alright, you'll give it a shot.
"YK: Open freezer"
With these tiny arms???
Oh shoot, that's right. Sugar's a powerful reagent for both daddies and kittens. And Lord knows your daddy's gonna need it more than you.
You casually stuff the box of sugar in your hoodie pocket for safe-keeping.
He can't! The GREAT GRAND DADDY, LORD OF DADDIES has gone missing! Worse yet, his advisor -- the GRAND MAC DADDY -- has gone missing too!!
This is truly a terribly-timed, troubling and tumultuous turn of tides.
"YK: Check stats"
Yeah, alright sure. That should help take your mind off things.
All of your stats are fairly low, given your similarly-low level, besides being DUBIOUS AT BEST in what they actually do. But you think you have a pretty good handle on their respective purposes.
You've allocated the majority of your KITTEN POINTS (not to be confused with KITTEN EXPERIENCE) toward FLEXIBILITY and PASSION, making you a fairly NIMBLE AND ENERGETIC kitten. You still gotta nap fairly often to maintain that energy, but as far as you're concerned the extra sleep's a blissful plus.
Due to your low PERSISTENCE and INTENSITY, you are KIND OF A GLASS FLOWER, i.e. NOT VERY HARDY OR STRONG. Your build sort of relies on having a daddy to protect you, which is a little unfortunate considering your current daddy's, uh... severe lack of literally every stat, and also levels.
You have a moderate amount of TECHNIQUE which, as far as you can tell, DOES ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, AND IS A UNIVERSAL DUMP STAT. Seriously, despite MULTIPLE MODEST INVESTMENTS, you've gotten jack dilly in the way of noticeable results from it. It's, in a word, THE ABSOLUTE FRICKIN' WORST.
Finally, your ACUMEN is VIRTUALLY NONEXISTENT, which in short means you're NOT A SMART KITTEN. But you, uh, prefer to rely on your emotional creativity more than numbers and stuff anyway. That's your story and you're sticking to it.
Aw jeez, that IS what you're supposed to do here, isn't it? But you just ate!! You can't start climbing now, else you'd get a cramp! You're not even sure you have the natural agility to make the jumps between some of those shelves, either. Your stats definitely favor acrobatics, but you're only level 12!! Your natural jumping ability is barely, like, a foot better than a level 1 kitten!
Argh. There's gotta be something else to all this. The station owners wouldn't just put you in a train you weren't equipped to complete... would they? Shoot, if that's what fricking happened, you are going to be SO goshdarned peeved. And steamed, too! Steamed like really mushy and hot watery carrots!!!
In the meantime though, you feel a little too defeated by the sheer impossible size of this dumb stinking kitchen train car to go shelf-hopping. Maybe later, after you've cried your resolve back together, and also don't have a stomach full of cookies. And maybe there's something around here to help you climb, too, or at least some way to open the fridge or, you don't know, SOMETHING that isn't miserably clambering up a bunch of shelves. Maybe???
You'd really like for there to be something like that, so until proven otherwise you're going to believe that there is. You’ve just, uh, gotta find it.
Okay, so this kitchen does have a light after all, but it's, like, two hundred feet in the air? And what's with all the shelves?? Well, okay actually shelves kind of make sense in a kitchen, but why're they arranged like that?? Do any of them even have anything on them???
The overarching design of this sin™ train's by far the most ludicrous collection of, just, stuff you've ever seen. ??/10 cummies, really would prefer a less architecturally abnormal sin™ train to ride on ;I
You quickly resolve not to let this temporary misfortune be your undoing. Happy thoughts, you think to yourself in an attempt at kitten meditation. Happy thoughts about... your daddy? You, uh, actually haven't known him for that long, but you guess that could--
What the daddyloving frick are you looking at.
"YK: Look in box"
Aw shoot, it's encrypted. But where's the decryption key? Or is this just in another language altogether??
Ugh, why can't things just be simple and easy to understand around here???
They are all super dry, super crunchy, and of the raisin variety.
Despite these setbacks, you immediately devour all of them, save for one. The biggest one, which you’ll reserve for daddy. He might not be able to buy more cookies whilst acting as conductor, but he’s still gotta eat, and you'd hardly be a good kitten if you never considered his needs.
Oh, hey. There's something written in the bottom of the box.
"YK: Check cookies"
Oh yeah!! You nearly forgot about this delectable bounty in the excitement of just getting it off the fridge.
Time to see what this cookie box has to offer.
"YK: Check under fridge"
You accidentally slip on some of your own blood on the way over, but stick the landing as you slide into position. Your acrobatic graces silently net you a modest +20 KXP.
Which is good, because you can't see anything under the fridge. In fact, the fridge doesn’t appear to even have a space under it. The bottom of the door's on level with the floor, as is the rest of the fridge. The places where it meets the floor are pretty immaculate though.
You flip the switch bordering the open doorway, but nothing seems to happen. This is actually kind of a relief to you! You feel significantly less bad about not being brave enough to find it earlier.
The kitten abstraction known as your KXP bar regrets to inform you that even though that was one of the sickest throws it has ever seen, you will not be receiving +5 KXP.
YOU WILL BE RECEIVING +200 KXP!!!
You get slightly more excited than this actually warrants.
You've never been much of a sportskitten, but darn if that wasn't one of the best throws you've ever made. And the ricochet! It's like you've been pilfering cookies from atop fridges all your life.
...That, uh, is completely true, actually. Cookies in high places are just one of many obstacles you've learned to overcome in your years as a small and adorable kitten. You're a lovable scamp, though -- and you never eat the last cookie. You always make sure your daddy gets it. (That way he knows you're out, and buys more.)
Now there's an idea.
Listen, you have a lot of kinks, but making bloody milk paste isn't one of them. In fact if anti-kinks are a thing, you're pretty sure that's one of them now. You're absolutely not using your foot blood to moisten up this glue-like dried milk.
There's gotta be a less disgusting way.
You can't cry any faster than your current rate of one liter per hour while you're still at level 12, but you give it your best shot.
Your tears prove effective, instantly dissolving the dried milk wherever they land, but it's way too slow to keep your attention span duly occupied. There's gotta be a faster way.
You can't, the butter's stuck!! You think the dried milk might be keeping it down.
...It occurs to you that there's something not quite right with the idea of milk acting as an adhesive, but like heck if you know what that something is.
"YK: Check cupboards"
There appear to be general baking supplies here. It's, uh, messier than you expected, and a little weird. The oven interior you were kind of expecting, and are frankly relieved to know is not just another cabinet interior, but milk? In a daddydang cupboard??
This whole place is just kind of defying all your basic life expectations, and not in a good way.
"YK: Inspect red marks on floor"
Huh? Oh. Huh. So that's why your foot tickled.
You appear to've accidentally cut yourself on one of the pieces of broken light bulb in the other car. You must not've noticed due to the THICK-SKINNED KITTEN trait you took from the BDSM tree when you were level seven. Apparently, stepping on a piece of glass counts as the kind of minor laceration covered by the trait.
So, at least you're guaranteed not to bleed to death from this. You're not sure there's anything you can do to stop the bleeding, though, especially while your daddy isn't available to kiss it better.
"YK: Check kitten level"
You're pretty proud of it. You're not the most experienced kitten in the world, but you've had your fair shake of the kitten life. You're constantly intrigued by the exciting possibilities of future experience as a kitten. Who knows what crazy kitten shenanigans you can get up to when you're level 13?? Or higher???
God, it's almost enough to make Daddy's Cummies™ not seem like their own reward. Not quite, but almost.
Whoa there, let's not get carried away now. You still have no clue how to get his door open, and the people at the station said this could take days. You're all for daddy devotion, but obtaining cummies on an empty stomach can be... unpleasant, for all parties involved.
It doesn't help that you get a little bitey when you're hungry. So, uh, you'll maybe put a rain check on that kind of a drastic decision for now.
"YK: Check fridge"
...Who locks a fridge? HOW does one lock a fridge?? What kind of sick joke is this???
"YK: Go right"
Huh. So it was just a kitchen all along.
Well, you mean, a kinda weird kitchen, with... a stove built directly into the counter? You... You guess that works? Admittedly, your cooking skills are kind of lacking -- who needs them when you've got a daddy to feed you? -- so you guess you can't judge the design.
Except for the length. This car's even friggin' shorter than the last one! What gives??? This sin™ train really knows how to push your squish in every right and wrong way possible.
"YK: Satisfy curiosity"
You, uh, may've forgotten you were wearing your KITTEN NIGHT VISION CONTACT LENSES, which only activate when completely enveloped in darkness. By which you mean you absolutely forgot. Again.
You kind of love/hate them, because while they prevent you from peeing yourself if ever darkness does surround you, you always forget they're there. This often leads to silly mishaps much like the one you just tried to solve by sleeping.
Whoops! But hey, cummies under the bridge, right?
"YK: Get out of the dark!!"
OH FRICK OH SHOOT OH YOur gosh that was a close one, but at least you're partially safe now.
...Wait. Was everything just...?
You suddenly wake up from your second nap to a popping sound.
Um, uh, maybe there's something for--
You pass the fuck out, and stay that way for the next couple hours.
Your kitten, meanwhile, spends the next few hours crying, waiting for you to show up. You never do, and she only realizes this once her throat is sore from wailing "daddy!" too much.
In case it was not clear, you are not a very good daddy.
Oh shit oh fuck oh shit there's gas coming out oh fuck.
Oh fuck. What did you just do?
Dammit. You can already see her crying through the window, and you can already hear her elongating vowels between sobs.
You're already fucked, basically. No use fighting it.
Hey, it was one bad decision, not...
Suddenly, you hear your kitten calling your name. She's fully awake and rowdy as ever, you can already tell. Her kitten level is too high for you not to figure that out.
You impassively decide against saying anything. The station workers never said you couldn't talk to her, but she is really good at crying, and making people do things because she's crying, and you feel as though letting her know the only thing between you two is a door you can (but are not supposed to) open would cause a lot of waterworks.
Maybe if you just quietly sit in the chair now, she won't...
"KD: Look in your pockets"
Oh, hey. You have a little key. This disconcerts you slightly, because the station workers told you to empty your pockets before boarding this train, and you don't recognize it.
Well, it must go to something around here. Unless your kitten needs it somehow? God, you really wish they had at least given you a sheet of paper with instructions on it. This is bullshit.
Young Kitten cannot wake up right now! She is deeply asleep, and several hours in the future!
Probably because a stray kitten chose you as her daddy, and you didn't speak up against that choice. Now you are going through this weird initiation on this weirder train that doesn't even feel like it is helping you get close to your kitten, so you can't say you think it is very effective right now.
They did say it'd probably take more than a few hours to get through everything, though. You asked them, is there an upper limit on how long it might take? They said no, but it is definitely more than a few hours.
You sincerely hope there's a functioning bathroom on this thing, and maybe some snacks, lest this be even more of a needlessly miserable experience for you.
You are truly standing in one of the most advanced pieces of technology known to man.
"KD: Touch "HI" panel"
This doesn't appear to be a touchscreen, but alright.
They are complete dog shit. All of them, as far as you can tell, do a thoroughly astounding fuckall. One of them even breaks off when you try to flip it.
If anyone asks, it was like this when you found it.
"KD: Do conductor things"
You have no earthly idea what it means to "do conductor things." Hell, you're not even sure what any of these controls do. Despite putting you in one of the more operationally-intricate places on the train, the people at the station did not give you so much as a manual.
Then again, they kept insisting you and your kitten would figure things out on your own, which would probably be infinitely more frightening if this was a regular train. You know, the kind that actually needs a knowledgeable conductor. But since it is, er, not, you guess it's just touch and go right now.
You decide to give some of the lever switches a try.
"KD: Open door"
You would, er, rather not. Not because you don't love your kitten or anything, of course! But before you got on, the people running the station told you not to open the door once you were in the control room. You are supposed to, "let your kitten come to you." As far as you're aware, this is all part of some daddy-kitten integration initiative, and you are in too deep to start disobeying orders now.
Plus, you're pretty sure your kitten is asleep right now. You would hate to wake her.
"KD: Look at control panel"
It sure is a control panel alright.
It has, all the way around from left to right, ROWS OF BUTTONS, ROWS OF LEVER SWITCHES, A JUMBO-SIZED CUP HOLDER, A SCREEN WITH THREE BUTTONS, A PANEL WITH 'HI!' WRITTEN ON IT, THREE CROSSHATCH VENTILATION PORTS, A SPEAKER, SIX IDENTICAL BUTTONS, and EIGHT FLIP SWITCHES.
The possibilities are ripe and virtually endless for a brand new conductor daddy such as yourself.
You do not have enough DADDY EXPERIENCE to be Daddy AF!
You manage being uncomfortable pretty easily, though.
You pass out pretty quickly.
Suddenly, you're this guy, a couple hours earlier.
You'll just, uh... sleep in front of daddy's door, in case anything does escape the darkness to eat you. He's probably not strong enough to help you, but he'll hear your raspy shrieks of terror while you get ripped to shreds, and probably retrieve enough of your remains for a proper burial.
You're almost certain he's nice enough to do that much.
Okay, sure, yeah. A kitten nap sounds good right about now. You're a little antsy at the thought of falling asleep while there's a nearby portal to pitch black darkness, but so long as you're in the light, you think you'll be okay.
"YK: Scream into the dark void"
You're getting so fed up with this dumb stinking darkness that you just wanna shout at it until it goes away!!
Your combined fear and hoarse voice barely make it past the doorway.
You're almost entirely certain that's not how electricity, lights, or wiring work. At any rate, you definitely don't want to find out using the only light source currently available to you.
If only you were still going through your emo kitten phase. You carried lighters around friggin' religiously back then.
"YK: Look for light switch"
You can't do it. You can't bring yourself to stick any part of your body into even an inch of darkness. It doesn't matter if there's a lightswitch bordering the open doorway; if it's in the darkness then as far as you're concerned it doesn't exist, and also is covered in tons of slimy monsters and creepy-crawlies and everything else you don't want touching you.
You're kind of starting to regret opening this gateway to a lightless heckscape.
No way! You're too afraid of the dark to get any closer than this!!
Plus, your daddy is a NEW daddy, who has yet to establish a MEANINGFUL DADDY-KITTEN RELATIONSHIP with you. You know, the kind that would PSYCHICALLY ALERT a daddy to their kitten being FRIGHTENED, ALONE, or IN MORTAL PERIL. You doubt he even knows what it means to BE a daddy, never mind the already-confusing debates on the subject! Which, of course, is why you need to obtain his cummies. Help him gain experience as a daddy and all that.
Anyway, you're not venturing any further than this until you can see what is up in this new room.
"YK: Go right"
Well ain't this a sight for night vision-less eyes.
Did that door that you weren't even originally sure was a door and that you drew a poopy outline on just open as a result of you wearing these cat ears much like a deluxe sin™ train with multi-tiered omnipoint ready-for-daddy variable kitten accessory detection would???
You revoke your earlier, hasty rating; this is the best sin™ train you've ever ridden. 10/10 cummies, would ride to the ends of the earth c;
Yep! Snug as a bug in a mug on a rug. You could tug on that bug in its mug on that rug, but that bug would stay snug, and give you a hug. A snug, rug mug, bug hug.
You are a rhyming master and no one can convince you otherwise.
Only the one is unlocked. But wouldn't you know it, it contains your KITTEN HEADBAND!
What was this even doing in there? You don't recall stowing away your prized kitten ears like this. Then again, most of today has been a hard-to-remember blur, due in no small part to boarding a sin™ train with your daddy. You become kind of scatterbrained when you are excited, and this may or may not have led to you stashing some of your personal belongings in unconventional, extra-personal locations. It's no big deal.
Anyway, might as well see if they still fit.
It's your daddy!!! You think. This stinking window is all fogged up with... steam? Smoke? You're sure your daddy is okay, which you are sure is something you need to be sure of, because you're sure he is the conductor. And nobody would allow someone to conduct a train without the equipment necessary to deal with this type of situation.
Normally, it would be incredibly low-key distressing to realize you can't see a train's conductor, especially as due to some gaseous obstruction that may or may not prevent the conductor himself from operating the train. But this is a SIN™ train. Even if it is kind of jank and lacks readily-accessible doors, conductors are just kind of a formality on these things.
Now if only you could get this GOSH-DANGED DOOR open.
You hear the exciting sound of the train moving, just like you can hear from anywhere else in this train car. It's so thoroughly impressive that you continue crying and don't look impressed at all.
While fumbling with the glass, though, you brazenly catch sight of the fact that, gasp, this door has a window. Ever a scandalously rambunctious little kitten, you decide to sneak a peek to see what visual treasures lie beyond.
"YK: Draw the rest of the door"
This is quite possibly the poopiest door you have ever drawn. But hey! At least you can visualize it failing to open a little more clearly!!
Your voice is too hoarse from hours of earlier crying to scream anything! But you can still whisper-cry some of the lyrics.
Also wow, this train car is a lot shorter than you first expected. But, uh, you've always been taught that it's not the size that matters, it's how you use it, and while that probably wasn't meant to apply to train cars specifically, you don't see why it can't.
Actually, scratch that. Looks like there is somehow even less of a functioning door over here. It's like... just a partial outline of a door, drawn directly on the metal siding of the car??? This is the worst sin™ train you've ever ridden. 0/10 cummies, would not ride again ;c
The door doesn't have a lock to pick! In fact, you can't find any opening mechanism on the door whatsoever. You think it might slide into the wall or something.
Still, in a desperate attempt to open the door, you draw a cartoony keyhole on it and attempt to stick your marker inside. The Pointie entirely fails to enter or pick the crude drawing.
Way ahead of you, buddy.
It's complete garbage.
Yes. Heck Yes! Heck fricking yes!!!
You begin to write like you've never written before. Your Pointie is a blur on the back of the newspaper, scribbling out masterful word after masterful word. Creative imagery springs to life in your mind, and you dutifully record every last drop of your newfound inspiration with the burning passion of A THOUSAND DEVOUT KITTENS. This is not only the first sonnet you have ever written, but the LITERAL GREATEST sonnet you have ever written, too!!!
"YK: Inspect items"
Aside from the picture, you have a pink bubblegum lollipop, and... a "Pointie" brand marker, apparently.
You could swear you had more stuff than this.
While stashing it in your hoodie pocket, you noticed there was some stuff already inside. Two medium-sized, kinda cylindrical objects, as a matter of fact. No doubt two highly important artifacts that a good kitten would never be caught daddyless without.
"YK: Read the paper on the table"
It’s the latest edition of your hometown’s newspaper. You had your daddy pick up a copy before you left.
That’s him, there on the right!! Wow, they took a really high definition photo of him too. Probably broke the bank when they bought the camera that took that sucker.
You almost feel sort of important about having your daddy in the paper, but really, this rag has done nothing but announce new daddies for months now. It’s not that big a deal anymore. The same goes for the editorials; it’s always, in order, an old daddy’s opinion, a young daddy’s opinion, and an interview of the ‘daddy of the day.’
Still, it’s kind of cool having photographic evidence that your daddy IS a daddy. He gets kind of dodgy about the subject if you don’t ground him to reality with THE FACTS.
"YK: Kick it down"
You give it a complete thrashing of kitten dropkicks.
It remains stalwart, regardless of how many times you cry and land flat on your tushy. The hardy bastard must not be a daddy, else it would be offering to kiss your bumbum better right now.
"YK: Go Left"
There's a door over here.
You consider writing a SONNET for the purposes of increasing your daddy’s attraction to you. It strikes you as a very good and totally valid idea!
Unfortunately, you have nothing to write with, and nothing to write on!! At least, as far as you are aware.
You’ve already got arms, dummy!
A young kitten stands in a passenger car.
Though it was several days ago you located your new daddy, it is only today you will seek (and potentially receive!) his cummies.
What will you do?