Chapter Text
It was late at night, OJ had already fallen asleep next to him, but Paper couldn’t do the same. Something was bothering him, his thoughts were going fast, he was thinking of killing Pickle. After all, what would be so wrong with putting a guy like him out of his misery anyway? The urge was getting stronger every second, irresistible, the only things that would pass through his mind would be only related to his need to do something like this. Such a crime, so horrible, maybe even downright unforgivable… But it’s not as if that type of thing would stop anybody in a state like this. The safety team wasn’t available at midnight, they were all asleep, dreaming away in their beds, blissfully unaware of the sin that was about to be unleashed.
Paper got up from his bed, attempting to be as silent as can be with his footsteps. He walked down to the kitchen in Hotel Hoot, grabbing a knife and relishing in the feeling of the cold metal against his fingertips. Even when so many, possibly even tons of second thoughts filled his head, nothing was convincing enough to stop him now. He walked into Pickle’s room, holding the aforementioned knife. Paper held it up high, stabbing Pickle multiple times with it, as if it was nothing but a good old hobby.
Pickle juice splattered through the room, staining Paper’s limbs with green, gory patches.
And with that, one life was taken.. When the safety team wasn’t there. Nowhere to be found, asleep somewhere else, where they’d never, ever know what happened that night…
Paper walked his way back to the kitchen to clean the knife, and wash his hands. He forgot his anti-allergy medicine, making it painful as if he was getting stabbed with tiny needles all over his arms and hands, but he couldn’t afford to make any more noise than he already was. He then proceeded to make his way back to his room, unable to go back to sleep. He was excited. Thrilled to keep going through with this murder thing, and maybe even test some things he’s thought of before. Paper grabbed his notebook from the counter, a pen from OJ’s pen holder, and he started writing in it, words that would soon meet their fate;
“Sneak into Test Tube’s laboratory.”
“Make lemonade.”