Chip awoke in a faintly familiar place, tied down to a bed.

“Pleasant dreams, Choccy?” asked a familiar voice, one Chip recognized and feared. Ogilvy marched into view, wearing a red corset and looking worse than ever. His eyes were black as space, with red and blue pinprick irises, and his white hair had grown out to his shoulders.

“Ogilvy? What… Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends!” Chip stuttered, to which the noble gave a hollow laugh.

“Friends?” Ogilvy spat, “I don’t have friends. Do you know why I hung around you?” he asked. Chip gave some serious thought; he had never paid it mind.

“Because you were special!” roared Ogilvy, “I was never congratulated! I never got awards for my achievements! All the academy cared about was you! Chip did this, Chip did that! I can’t believe the Dissonance didn’t show me sooner!”

“The what?”

“The chemicals I was knocked into that day,” ¬†exposited Ogilvy, “were full of living microorganisms. That’s why you’re here…”

Ogilvy began to change, regaining the youth he had when he was back at the academy. Those big blue eyes were welling up with tears.

“Get them out of me, Chip,” he begged, “I don’t want to be the bad guy like this.”


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