A Tale from Brockton Bay (Worm/Undertale/Deltarune)

[noctis123]

GREETINGS.

IT'S BEEN A WHILE, HASN'T IT?

WHAT ARE YOU DOING BACK HERE?

AH, I SEE YOU ARE SIMPLY BORED AND SO YOU CAME TO SEE ME.

HOW

NICE.

OH?

YOU TOO ARE PART OF THEIR EXPERIMENT?

HOW DO I KNOW ABOUT IT?

I PLAYED JUST A SMALL PART. DON'T WORRY. I WON'T RUIN YOUR FUN AGAIN FOR WHAT YOU DID TO THAT GIRL.

OR MAYBE I WILL. WHO AM I TO SPOIL WHAT COMES NEXT?

IT WILL SURELY BE ENTERTAINING...

BUT SPEAKING OF EXPERIMENTS, I HAVE ONE OF MY OWN.

THAT GOT YOUR ATTENTION.

ARE YOU PERHAPS INTERESTED IN PARTICIPATING IN IT WHILE THEY FINISH THEIRS?

GOOD.

NO, YOU WON'T HAVE YOUR OWN VESSEL, BUT THIS EXPERIMENT WILL BE MORE INTERACTIVE THAN THEIRS.

YES, THERE WILL BE SOME FAMILIAR FACES AROUND.

ARE YOU READY?

LET'S BEGIN THEN.

WAKE UP TAYLOR...​

---

The light was gray when Taylor Hebert opened her eyes. Not the soft kind that hinted at warmth or hope. The kind that slunk between broken blinds and overcast skies, heavy with salt and distant sirens.

She didn't feel rested. That was typical.

But this was... worse.

There was an ache in her bones like something had crawled under her skin and rearranged her. Her muscles twitched like she'd slept in a tensioned coil. She didn't remember dreaming, but the silence in her mind felt newly invaded. Pressurized. Like someone had left a television on in the next room.

And then came the feeling.

Like she was not alone.

She blinked, sat up.

And didn't move.

Or rather, she tried to stand. She meant to. Her body, sluggish but obeying, reached out instead to-

[INTERACT > BED]

Her hand brushed the tattered comforter.

"This is your bed. You have spent many hours here contemplating old friendship, social decay, and whether or not a single mattress spring is trying to puncture your kidney. You are not well-rested."

Click to shrink...

"What-" she breathed. Her voice barely registered in the space around her. Panic crawled up her throat, hot and stifled.

She reached again, this time toward the floor, intent on standing.

Her arm instead swung sideways.

[INTERACT > NIGHTSTAND]

"Your nightstand. It holds nothing of value. Kind of like your social life. There's a cracked lamp and the husk of a charger that hasn't worked since you were thirteen. You stare at it, hoping it will stare back."

Click to shrink...

"No. No, no, no."

Taylor clutched her head. Her breathing was shallow. Her thoughts raced with scenarios: Master, Stranger, Thinker, or maybe some combination?

A new cape or maybe a less famous one?

Was this part of some cruel joke? Did the Trio find someone?

A voice. Like wind howling through a broken modem. A flicker of something behind her ears, inside her skull.

"...Hey, where's Goat Mom?"

She froze.

Not just in her limbs, frozen deeper than that. Frozen in her will. That voice hadn't come through her ears. It hadn't even spoken so much as slithered past the outer membranes of her understanding and dropped a syllable of meaning into her gut.

Taylor screamed.

Or tried to. Nothing came out.

She pushed her legs off the bed, forcing motion. Forcing control. Her breath came sharp, defiant.

But she couldn't walk where she wanted.

Her legs carried her instead to another part of her bedroom.

[INTERACT > DESK]

"This is your DESK. You sometimes do homework here. Sometimes cry. Sometimes stare at the window imagining you're someone else. Usually you're just checking PHO threads about villains who probably have better hygiene than your classmates."

Click to shrink...

Tears welled. Not because she was sad, but because she didn't know what else to do. Because this felt like a dream, but sharper. Realer. More deliberate.

And yet... out of reach.

She tried to scream again.

Again: nothing.

"...Wait. Are we a girl? Huh. That's new. Well, at least those guys won't argue about it...oh who am I kidding?!"

The voice was muffled, like it was being transmitted through a low-fidelity speaker submerged in water. But Taylor understood it, somehow.

This wasn't a hallucination. This wasn't a dream.

She was being watched.

Was this what people felt like when they were being mastered?

She tried to move.

Her body, ever so slightly, obeyed. She leaned left.

This time, she moved to the dresser.

A tug. The voice was waiting for her to choose.

Autonomy.

It returned dimly, but hers.

She grabbed a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.

The voice was not quiet for even a moment when it said.

"Cute Outfit."

Taylor didn't respond but did blush. She wasn't called cute in a long time, and the last one to call her that was her dad.

No, she was being mastered by this creep! She wouldn't be flattered!

A knock at the door.

"Taylor?" her dad called.

Her heart jumped.

"Just getting dressed," she called, even when she wanted to say something else. She winced.

He opened the door just a crack.

"You okay?"

No. I'm being mastered by someone. I'm terrified. I think I'm losing my mind.

"Yeah," she said instead.

Danny looked her over. "You sure?"

She nodded.

Her father gave a tight smile and he shut the door.

"There's another human here! That's so nice! And he is our dad, too? Won´t replace Asgore, but it explains where Goat Mom is. Maybe she is a neighbor?"

Taylor sagged against the wall. Her fingernails dug into her palms.

This was real. She was awake. And someone was playing with her.

She turned to her dresser mirror. Her reflection stared back pale, gaunt, eyes like shallow pits.

She was alone. But watched.

She had control. But only some.

She was sane. But for how long?

Her eyes fell to the photo on the desk. A younger her. A woman with tired eyes and a soft smile.

She reached for it.

[INTERACT > PHOTO]

"This is a PHOTO of someone you once believed could fix everything. You wonder if she'd believe you now.

Click to shrink...

Her lip trembled.

She didn't want to be here. Not in her room. Not in her life. Not in whatever this was.

She turned toward the door.

Her foot stepped on something.

A pile of laundry.

[INTERACT > DIRTY CLOTHES]

"A bold collection of clothes you were definitely going to wash. Someday. Maybe. Probably not. You consider the merits of a sock colony."

Click to shrink...

Taylor didn't scream.

But she thought about it.

A lot.

Then, a final whisper, barely audible. The voice again. Distant. Musing.

"...Gonna be honest, this one's starting out darker than usual. Eh, I am sure a mood switch is right around the corner...wonder who we will befriend first?"

Taylor didn't respond.

 

[noctis123]

A Tale From Brockton Bay OST - Banal
Theme For Winslow made by Sh!ft on Spacebattles!

 

[noctis123]

Taylor Hebert stepped off the bus and into the greased throat of Winslow High. Her boots slapped wet pavement. Her breath fogged in the cold. Inside, fluorescent lights buzzed like old hornets. She tried not to look at anyone.

No one looked back.

That was new usually she got at least a glance and a snicker but there was nothing.

A moment passed.

Then another.

Still no thrown milk. No slurs. No laughter too loud to be innocent.

Taylor narrowed her eyes. Suspicious. She wasn't lucky.

But more unnerving than the lack of attention was the lack of noise in her head. The presence of the Master had gone mostly quiet during the ride to school, with the only sign of its presence being her lack of choice.

Except when it wasn't.

"...Huh. This place is kinda grim. Cool color palette though.

Taylor flinched.

She clenched her jaw. She couldn't talk about it. Every time she tried thought about telling someone, even silently, a blank wall descended behind her thoughts. She couldn't write it down. Couldn't name it. Couldn't even imagine the words.

Classic Master trick.

She walked the halls like always, awkward, silent, gliding just outside of people's notice. She had enough control now to choose her direction, her pace. Enough autonomy to think maybe, maybe the master would let her go soon.

She passed a janitor's closet. The Master made her glance at it.

Nothing special.

A half-open classroom. Her head turned involuntarily.

Still nothing.

She was being puppeted without strings. Nudged like a mouse in a maze.

Still no Emma. No Madison. No Sophia.

She hated how relieved she was.

"No one is saying hello...Your social life must be somehow worse than Kris's."

"Kris?" she murmured under her breath before the block slammed down in her mind again.

She swallowed.

She wasn't the first victim.

There was a Kris. Somewhere. A precedent. Were they alive?

That made it worse.

She walked faster, the crowd barely parting for her, as if her edges didn't register as solid. Taylor existed here in negative space.

Then, right when she reached her locker, a wild Greg Veder appeared.

"Taylor!"

She flinched as did the Master. She didn't know how she knew that.

"Greg," she said warily, taking a step back. Not out of fear. Out of Gregness.

He wore a new jacket. Again. His hair was slightly damp, as if he'd stood under a leaking pipe for an hour on purpose. He smiled with the sort of confidence found only in people who didn't realize they shouldn't have any.

"You survived winter break," he said, as if reporting on a prison escape. "Respect."

"I wasn't shivved by Santa," she said, deadpan.

Greg laughed too loudly.

Taylor blinked.

She hadn't meant to be funny.

The Master must have nudged her tongue again. "Haha! You wouldn't be laughing if you were in my shoes.."

"I mean, not that a Santa couldn't take me," Greg added. "I'm wiry, but I fold like an umbrella."

She gave a ghost of a smile.

Greg was weird, but he wasn't cruel.

Just… persistent. And unfiltered.

And somehow more tolerable today.

"Anyway, rumor mill's going nuts," Greg continued, lowering his voice like they were in a spy movie. "Emma and Sophia had a falling out. Or maybe a bigger argument than normal."

That made Taylor stop.

"What?" she asked.

Greg grinned. "I know, right? Sophia was seen yelling at Emma by the vending machines about something. It was epic."

Taylor stared forward, heart thudding.

They were fighting?

Since when did they fight?

Emma never fought with Sophia. Or well not as seriously as what Greg described.

She couldn't process it. Not now. Not in this hallway.

The Master, sensing something new, practically vibrated in the back of her mind.

"...So they're the Queen Bees. Okay. Okay. I get the vibe. Someone to befriend or fight later on, maybe."

Taylor groaned inwardly, not even wanting to entertain that idea.

Greg tilted his head. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she lied. Again. Her default setting with the Master around. She really should find a nickname for them that didn't make her want to vomit.

They walked a little more, Greg regaling her with what he believed were important updates about assignments, anime references she only half-understood, and a rumor that the third-floor bathroom was now officially cursed by a Cape with the Master asking some questions through her.

She nodded politely. Laughed once. It surprised her.

They said goodbye, and Greg walked off.

Then, as she neared her locker again, Taylor reached for it—

And walked past it.

What?

Her legs moved without input.

No. No!

She tried to stop.

Tried to turn.

Instead, her body bee-lined for Room 3B.

"Hmm. Pretty sure this is where our classroom is."

She wanted to scream.

But she entered the classroom like nothing was wrong.

Like someone hadn't hijacked her body today.

She sat down. The chair was cold.

Her backpack still had her books. That was something.

She stared at the whiteboard. A teacher droned. Greg found his own seat and kept talking to some poor soul in the back.

Taylor just sat.

Watching. Waiting.

"WAIT. DID I FORGET ABOUT THE LOCKER?! Dang it."

Taylor facepalmed as the school bell rang.

---

She wasn't used to raising her hand in class anymore.

She wasn't used to people noticing when she did either.

So when Mr. Gladly cocked his head and called on her again Taylor blinked. Then blinked again. She opened her mouth, heart thudding.

And the answer spilled out.

Correct.

It hadn't even been in the textbook. She wouldn't have known it. Shouldn't have.

Her own voice sounded foreign in her ears. Confident. Calm.

"Heh this is pretty fun trivia minigame. Hopefully won't have to replay it every time we go to class!"

Taylor twitched.

No one noticed. They were too busy focusing at the lesson. Greg gave her a thumbs-up from across the room when she got another thing right though.

Mr. Gladly smiled like she'd just come back from the dead.

"Very good, Taylor. That's exactly right."

Her mouth opened three more times during the period. Each time, something correct emerged.

"Hey, I am actually doing good at school? Neat. Wish it was the same in my life..."

The Master was having fun.

And that was terrifying because it meant they wouldn't leave for a while.

Still, the lesson ended. Time marched on. The bell rang.

Her classmates filed out.

Taylor remained seated.

Not by choice.

They were exploring again.

"Look at this tiny classroom! How did everyone even fit in here?"

[INTERACT > TAYLOR'S DESK]

"The desk... does not respond. It is but a humble wooden rectangle. Still. Silent. With... gum beneath it."

Click to shrink...

[INTERACT > MISTER GLADYS MUG]

"The teacher's mug. It smells like caffeine and despair."

Click to shrink...

"You doing okay, Taylor?" Mr. Gladly asked as he packed up his things.

She nodded. The Master made her shrug.

"You are... quiet, today," the teacher said with a polite smile, before turning away.

Taylor finally could walk.

Freedom. For now.

She exited the classroom alone.

And walked into hell.

Emma.

Maddison.

Two jocks she didn't recognize.

They were waiting just around the corner. The second she stepped into the hallway, the taller of the boys grabbed her by the shoulders. She barely had time to flinch.

"What are-?" she gasped.

"Hey! HANDS OFF THE LADY!"

No.

No. They weren't attacking her.

They were dragging her.

She struggled. Kicked.

Emma smiled like a shark, her grip on Taylor's bag ironclad.

"Been a while, huh?" she whispered sweetly.

Taylor tried to scream. No one heard. No one looked.

The hallway was quiet. Empty.

She twisted. Bucked.

"…Wait. Is this the story hook?"

She was dragged around the bend. Her locker loomed.

Her heart sank.

It was closed. Sealed.

They threw her against it. Opened it wide.

And Taylor saw.

Inside: a rotting pile of garbage. Broken glass. Discarded tampons, soaked in brown and red. Empty needle casings. Something was moving inside skittering.

A cockroach crawled out and onto her shoe.

She couldn't scream.

She couldn't breathe.

"Oh.…Oh what the fuck."

Even they were horrified.

Taylor gagged.

Maddison laughed. "We saved it all for you."

"Hope you enjoy your perfume," Emma whispered.

Taylor stumbled back.

She didn't remember resisting.

She didn't remember how she slipped free. Just that her body jerked left and the grip loosened.

For a moment, she was free.

A heartbeat.

Then Maddison shoved her from behind.

Hard.

Her body folded. Her limbs buckled.

And she fell forward into the locker.

The smell hit like a brick.

She screamed.

The door slammed shut.

Clank.

Then silence.

Darkness.

She slammed her fists against the metal. Tried to push, tried to kick, tried to breathe.

Nothing.

Not even air.

Her mind unraveled. Her lungs closed in. Her pulse became a scream of its own.

Why.

Why was this happening?

First being mastered and now this?!

Why.

What had she done?

Why?

Her knuckles bled. She didn't care.

Her knees slipped in something wet.

She was going to die.

Here.

Alone.

Please.

Let me out.

Please.

There was no light. No room.

Only shame.

Only filth.

Only-

DETERMINATION.

Her hands moved without her.

Her shoulder twisted.

Her back arched.

She screamed in something like fury.

And the locker door exploded outward.

Metal groaned and snapped.

Garbage sprayed into the hallway.

She tumbled out, coughing, shaking, covered in sludge. Knees hit tile. Palms splashed into something awful.

The hallway was full again.

A sea of students.

All of them turning.

All of them staring.

At her.

Crawling.

Gasping.

Alive.

"You will regret that..."

She tried to breathe.

The Player didn't let her.

It made her stand.

She wasn't sure how. Her knees weren't working. Her shoulder was dislocated. She could feel the ache of bruises forming across her ribs.

The voice was louder now.

Clearer.

She didn't hear words.

She heard intent.

And possibility.

She was barely upright. Shaking. Eyes unfocused.

Emma laughed first.

Then Maddison, more hesitant.

Then the boys joined in.

One of them clapped sarcastically.

"Well look who climbed outta the trash," he said.

"What, you want an encore?" Maddison teased. "We could shove you in again, if you forgot your perfume."

Emma leaned in, smirking. "You got something to say, dork?"

[FIGHT] [ACT] [ITEM] [MERCY]

Click to shrink...

Spoiler: MERCY

[MERCY]
She ran.

Not even her choice.

Her legs just moved, carried by the command before she could scream no or yes.

She shoved past the crowd.

Some people tried to stop her.

She didn't.

She ran down the stairs. Slipped in the grime coating her arms. Nearly fell.

But she kept going.

"...They are lucky that I want a good ending."

When she finally stopped, she collapsed in the bathroom, chest heaving. Vomit splashed into the sink.

She didn't know what had just happened.

Only that it could have been worse.

Spoiler: FIGHT

[FIGHT]

She turned.

Her head moved without her input.

Her hand clenched.

She looked at Emma.

And punched her.

Right across the jaw.

The crack echoed down the hallway.

Emma went down.

Hard.

The laughter stopped.

Maddison shrieked.

One of the jocks stepped forward uncertain on if he should attack her or help Emma.

Taylor stood there, eyes wide, heart slamming against her ribs like a caged animal.

She hadn't meant to.

But her fist still stung.

Her shoulder screamed from the motion.

And God, it felt good.

The Master didn't say anything but she could feel it smiling.

Everyone was staring.

Emma groaned on the floor, clutching her face.

Blood was running from her lip.

No teachers. No help.

Just her.

And the crowd.

The Master turned her away.

Walked her down the hall.

Taylor didn't fight it.

Didn't know how.

Didn't want to?

No.

She wasn't sure anymore.

She kept walking.

"It's fine, they are alive."

Her thoughts whirled.

She wasn't supposed to fight back.

She wasn't allowed to fight back.

But she had.

Because they had made her.

And it had worked.

And Emma had bled.

Taylor shivered.

Not from fear.

From happiness.