Dead by Daylight: Unraveled

by Xiibii

Summary:

"Death is not an escape."

Within the vast expanse of the ever-shifting fog and the mysterious realms that lie beyond, answers beg to be unveiled, and a dark revelation yearns to be brought to light.

Your journey unfurls as that of a savior—a champion, messiah, and the last beacon of hope in the midst of utter despair. Although the path won't be easy, you won't tread it alone. Along the way, you'll forge unlikely alliances, and escape from this nightmare draws ever nearer.

Yet, even in this deathless realm, the clock is ticking. You and your fellow survivors stand on borrowed time. Unravel the truth before you're consumed, Wanderer.

 

*Non-Binary Reader version. Female version here. Male version here.
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Chapter 1: Friends in The Fog

 

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As you trudge along a beaten trail, your boots crunch loudly on the brittle, brown leaves scattered underfoot. The chilly air nips at your cheeks and every inhale feels like tiny needles piercing your lungs. You bury your hands deeper into your pockets, trying to shield them from the cold. Claudette walks beside you, her shoulders hitched high to her ears and her breaths coming out in visible puffs of mist. She’s silent, save for the occasional murmur of unease as she glances nervously at the looming, dark trees surrounding you.

Claudette—the shy one. You remember your first day at camp when a man named Ace introduced you to her. She had stood off to the side, her gaze fixed on the ground as if she were trying to blend into it. Her skin was a rich brown, and her soft features seemed to match her quiet demeanor. She wore round blue glasses and her lips were slightly pursed and quivered as she nervously twirled a fuzzy dark loc around her finger. When she finally looked up at you, her eyes were gentle but weary. She stammered her name and you echoed it in your mind: Claudette.

The woven basket dangling from her arm brims with hand-picked plants—sage leaves, knobby ginger roots, and slender stalks of chamomile. You only know their names because she politely informed you. “We’re looking for medicinal plants,” she explained before you left camp together. “And we might find tea leaves, too.”

Tea is a luxury here and, admittedly, the only reason you agreed to leave the warmth of the campfire. You wouldn’t venture this far into the woods otherwise, not into the fog that clings to the trees, wrapping everything in a cold, dark shroud. Time feels different out here, too; minutes blend into hours. You’d guess you’ve been wandering for about an hour now—an hour spent digging up roots in silence. Claudette hasn’t said much since you started. She’s shy, that much you know.

You steal glances at her until she catches your eye. She blinks rapidly and looks away, softly clearing her throat. “Th—Thank you for joining me,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I usually come out here alone, but… the company is nice.”

“Don’t mention it,” you tell her.

Claudette hums, letting the conversation fade almost as quickly as it started. You fumble to revive it. “So… how’ve you been?”

Her forehead wrinkles. You mentally kick yourself for asking such a stupid question. The answer’s obvious, isn’t it?

“I’ve been… fine,” she replies slowly, her eyes avoiding yours. “As fine as I can be, given… our circumstances.”

“Right.” You fall silent, sparing both of you the unpleasantness of forced small talk. There’s enough of that at camp…

For a moment, the tension eases. Then the silence deepens, and the unease creeps back in. Suddenly, a chill runs up your spine, and the hairs on your neck stand up. Your mouth goes dry. Something is wrong, though you can’t quite place what.

Your steps falter as you scan the woods around you, searching for anything out of place, but find nothing. Somehow, that makes it worse. The unknown is always more terrifying.

Unsure, you stop abruptly, and Claudette stumbles to a halt beside you, her eyes wide with alarm. “What is it?” she whispers, clutching her basket to her chest. She looks ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

Maybe it’s just paranoia. That’s normal here. Who wouldn’t be on edge, stuck in a place like this? So, “It’s nothing,” you say, trying to stifle the tremor in your voice to sound convincing. “I just thought… I—” Your words die in your throat when you see something through the fog.

You step forward, Claudette trailing closely behind, and the fog parts to reveal a clearing. In the center stands a two-story cabin, its wood darkened and rotting, smothered by vines and moss. It looks like it’s been abandoned for years... The longer you stare, the more out of place it looks.

Claudette stares with wide eyes. “I’ve never seen this place before,” she murmurs.

“Yeah,” you reply. “This is… new.”

You take a step toward the cabin and Claudette tenses. “You—You think we should go inside?”

“Why not?” you say. “We might find something worth taking back to camp.”

“But-But what if it’s dangerous?” she counters, moving in front of you. “Maybe we should get the others—”

“It can’t be any more dangerous than the trials, Claudette. Relax.”

You place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She stiffens at your touch, her gaze dropping as a faint blush colors her cheeks. “I-I… I suppose a look couldn’t hurt,” she says quietly, tucking a stray loc behind her ear.

 

The porch steps creak and groan as you ascend. Claudette jumps when one cracks beneath her. You glance at her, offering a small nod before turning back to the door. It’s covered in cracks and moss, the wood weathered and brittle. The door is slightly ajar.You press your hand against it and push. It swings open with a low groan, coming to a squealing stop. Moonlight spills into the cabin, casting your long shadows across the floor. Claudette peeks over your shoulder.

“It’s empty,” she whispers, surprised.

The parlor is barren. On the far wall, there’s a door and an entryway leading into what looks like a kitchen. To the left, two windows are draped with tattered brown curtains. To your right, just a few steps away, a staircase climbs to the second floor. A thick layer of dust covers each step, and it’s heavy in the air. Whoever lived here before is long gone.

“It’s fine, see?” you say, turning to Claudette. “I’ll go check upstairs.”

Claudette clutches her basket tightly. “Okay,” she replies, shivering. “I’ll look around down here.”

You give her a nod before heading up the stairs, moving carefully. You avoid touching the splintered banister, letting your fingers hover just above it. As you ascend, empty photo frames dot the walls. It makes you wonder whose home this was before it was pulled into this place…

At the top of the stairs, you glance back. You can hear Claudette shuffling around the room below. Turning forward again, you take in the scene. A hallway stretches out before you with three doors. Two on the left, one on the right, and a curtained window at the far end. You don’t expect to find much, but you’ve come this far—might as well take a look. The first door on the right opens into a bedroom, empty except for what appears to be rat droppings scattered in the corner. You move on to the second room, finding it cluttered with sticks and branches as if someone threw together a makeshift bed. You close the door and head for the third.

Pushing the door open, you pause. The room is nearly empty, save for one thing: a hardcover book lying in the center of the floor. The cover is red, coated in dust, and blank. You pick it up, turning it over in your hands. There’s no title, no markings, nothing on the back or spine. Puzzled, you flip it open. The pages are empty, each one as blank as the next.

Except for one.

You stop at the first page, where a single line is scrawled messily in black ink across the center. You run your thumb over the words.

 

“I know there’s a way out.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the world around you shifts violently. Darkness swallows you, and suddenly, the cabin is gone. You’re outside, the cold biting at your skin, and the sound of crackling flames fills the air.

You whirl around, eyes wide, to find yourself surrounded by strangers. They sit on logs around a campfire, the flickering light casting dark shadows on their unfamiliar faces. You quickly count nearly a dozen, but more figures linger at the edge of the firelight. Their clothes are ragged, their faces gaunt and tired, all wearing the same weary expressions. Turning back, you lock eyes with a man standing just a few paces away.

He looks to be in his early thirties, with a suntanned complexion and olive-green eyes set deep in dark circles. His face is rough and unkempt, with a scruffy jawline and chestnut hair that’s undercut at the sides and swept back on top. He wears a worn brown leather jacket over a faded green shirt and dirty jeans. Despite meeting his gaze, you realize he’s looking straight through you.

“I know there’s a way out,” he repeats, his voice carrying a firm, yet shaky Scottish accent. His tone carries confidence, but it’s betrayed by the uncertainty in his eyes. He clutches a book tightly in his hand—the very same one you just found in the cabin.

“There HAS to be a way out! If something brought us here, it can send us back home!” He raises the book, his grip tightening. “I found writings out there in the fog. Writings from a woman named Nasha. She wrote about an escape —”

“Just some bullshit from a woman who lost her goddamn mind!” A gruff voice cuts him off. You pivot to see a man standing beneath a nearby tree, his face twisted in a sneer. “And you’ll end up just like her if you keep raving .”

“But she found something! She KNEW something! For all we know, she could’ve gotten out!” the man insists, his voice becoming desperate.

A woman speaks next, her tone soft but strained. You glance over to see her sitting on a log, her thin face framed by oily brown hair that falls over her shoulders. Heavy bags drag down her weary eyes, and the sadness in them is contagious. “Or maybe she’s dead. Truly dead.” Her voice wavers as she curls her hands into fists in her lap. “Don’t do this to us, Bryce. Don’t give us hope like this—not again .”

The man—presumably Bryce—grimaces, his grip on the book so strong that his knuckles turn white. “There’s a way out,” he says again, unconvincingly. “I know there’s a way out. We just need to… to… find…”

He trails off, his head bowing as the firelight flickers across his grim face. The others watch him, their expressions a mix of skepticism and hurt. Bryce just stands there, shoulders sagging, gripping the book as if it’s his lifeline.

“There… there has to be a way out.”

You blink, and he’s gone. They’re all gone. You’re back in the cabin, in the cold and dark, still gripping the spine of the book in your hand.

“What—”

It was so vivid, and-and real, like you were actually there! You could feel the heat from the flames, the cold of the surrounding fog pricking your skin… but now it’s vanished.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Staring down at the book’s blank cover, you frown. This… This might be worth keeping.

You turn to leave the room but collide with something solid. It’s not a wall.

You stagger back, heart pounding, and look up to see a towering figure looming over you. It isn’t human. Its skin is pitch black, absorbing the moonlight around it and giving it an almost shadowy silhouette. The figure stands with an imposing stature, easily twice your height, its form rippling with sinewy, corded muscles. Long, pointed claws jut out from its back, ending in blade-like tips. They arch like grotesque skeletal wings, each one lined with jagged edges that look as if they could cleave through solid stone.

Its chest is broad, and black claws jut from its sides, forming a cage around its torso like an outer ribcage. Their sharp tips pierce the sternum, leaving it unclear whether they’re meant to protect what lies beneath or destroy it. Dark fog seeps from the punctures, spilling into the air in thick, curling tendrils. It's clearly masculine, but lacking certain parts, and hardly human enough to warrant seeing it as more than a monstrous shade projecting a guise. Its arms hang low and long, fingers drawn out into ungodly claws that twitch.

You raise your gaze to its head, dread washing over you. Where a face should be, there’s only smooth, featureless darkness, save for the two horn-like protrusions that curl from the sides of its skull, tapering into razor-sharp points. Then, to your disgust: a maw splits open across its black visage, revealing two rows of sharp, glistening white teeth. The mouth stretches unnaturally wide, the grin spreading from where its eyes should be, to the sides of its head.

It grins at you, the teeth gleaming in the light. The air around you grows heavier, reeking with the scent of decay and something ancient. Your breath falters when the man-thing slowly raises one hand. He tilts his head to the side in a gesture that’s both curious and unsettlingly casual. Then, in a smooth, deep voice that sends a shiver down your spine, he speaks.

“Hello.”

You scream and scramble backward, slamming into the wall. Pain shoots through your skull, and you squeeze your eyes shut. When you open them again, it’s gone.

Footsteps storm up the stairs, and Claudette bursts through the door, her face pale with fear. “Are—Are you okay?” She looks as shaken as you feel.

Clutching the book to your fast-beating heart, you scan the room. Whatever that thing was, it’s vanished. You scoff; maybe it was never there… After a moment, you nod. “Yeah. I… I thought I saw something, but it must’ve been the shadows playing tricks on me, or…. or something.” You touch the back of your head, wincing. “Hit my head pretty hard. I’ll probably be seeing things for a while.”

Claudette exhales in relief. She adjusts her glasses and steps closer, her hand brushing against your temple. “Should I look at your head? I might have something for it in my basket.”

You lower your arm and shake your head. “I’m fine, just a bump.”

She hums softly, her eyes falling to the book in your hands. “What’s that?”

“Nothing, just a blank book.” You wave it around, then tuck it under your arm. “Did you find anything downstairs?”

She shakes her head, stepping back. “No. We should head back to camp. This place feels…. weird. It all does.”

“I agree,” you mutter. You glance around the room one last time before nodding. “Let’s go.”

Claudette moves into the hallway, and you hesitate. You flip the book open to that page you read—only to find it missing, torn out at the spine. Your brows knit together, but you shove your concerns aside. Not here. Not now.

You close the book, tuck it under your arm, and follow Claudette down the stairs.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

The trip back to camp is uneventful. The cabin fades into the fog as soon as you leave the clearing, swallowed up like it was never there. The chances of finding it again are slim to none. Meg, another camper, had warned you about that. It’s always shifting and changing, and if you find something, you won’t find it again. It’s something the others have figured out during their time here, trying to make sense of everything. A labyrinth, they called it. And, “Don’t try to understand,” they said. “We sure don’t.”

As you draw closer, the flickering light of the campfire dances against the dark backdrop of the forest. The warmth of the flames and the smoky aroma of burning wood envelop you as you arrive with Claudette in tow.

The campfire sits in a clearing among dark, looming trees. It glows softly, illuminated by the bonfire, and complemented by the light of the full moon that always hangs above. As you enter the clearing, you briefly grab the attention of a few others gathered around the fire. Jane and Adam sit together on a log, with Bill hunched over at the other end with a cigarette perched between his lips. David paces in front of them like a restless guard dog.

Claudette passes you by in silence, situating herself by the fire as she sets her basket down. You say nothing as you find a seat on a vacant log nearby.

Embers drift into the midnight sky like fireflies. With a solemn expression, you watch the dancing flames. If you were anywhere else, you might find comfort in their glow and warmth, but you know better. You understand that this is only a temporary escape from the cycle and the games: run, hide, die, revive, repeat—the routine never ends. You always make it back to the campfire by the end of the night, only to be whisked away at random once again. What comfort can be had in knowing that?

You hood your eyes and settle in for some sleep. David grunts nearby, and you brace yourself for what’s to come.

“Could’ve ‘ad it done by now,” David mutters, his choppy English accent bitter. He’s an imposing man; muscular and rugged. His nose is crooked, and his hair is chopped up and shaved at the sides into an undercut. A perpetual scowl sits on his face, his knuckles always bloody and scabbed over, like he’s fresh out of a bare-knuckle brawl somewhere.

“If the lot of you weren’t faffing about, always pissin’ and moanin’, we’d have ‘ad it done,” David continues, not directing his words at anyone in particular.

“David,” Jane warns quietly.

“All I’m saying,” he scoffs. “Why’re we settling for those flimsy tents when we could prop up some shanties, aye?” His gaze shifts, locking onto Jake, who you’ve just noticed standing in the shadow of a tree at the edge of camp, with his arms crossed over his chest. His raven hair almost obscures the annoyed glare etched on his face.

You don’t know much, if anything at all, about Jake. You’ve seen him around camp from time to time, often skulking in the shadows and glaring at the fire. But he’s an attractive man with shoulder-length, jet-black hair that falls naturally around his face. He has a well-defined jawline and dark, almond-shaped eyes that always seem to be set in an intense glare.

“You’re a carpenter, aren’t you?” David demands. “Why the hell aren’t you making yourself useful?”

“I’m not a carpenter,” Jake replies, his voice flat.

“Sure you are,” David presses on. “So why haven’t you used all your know-how to build us somethin’, huh? I’m sure you’re tired of sleeping on the ground with all the grubs and shit, too.”

“I’m not a goddamn carpenter,” Jake snaps. “If you want something built, do it yourself.” His gaze shifts to the fire, and he falls silent.

David huffs dismissively. “Some good you are. If we want anything done around ‘ere, we’ve all got to get off our arses and make it happen. The way I see it—”

He’s cut off mid-sentence as his form dissolves in a haze of dark mist and glowing embers. No one flinches at his sudden disappearance; they’ve seen it all before, hundreds of times. The camp falls into silence, the fire crackling quietly in the void he leaves behind.

“Thought he’d never shut up,” Bill grumbles from across the fire, chewing on the butt of his cigarette. He exhales heavily, slumping forward.

The quiet stretches on. As irritating as David’s rants are, they keep the camp alive. Distractions are much-needed here, even if they’re fleeting. But now, with David gone, everyone slips back into the heavy silence, heads hanging, eyes fixed on the ground, the flames, or the fog—anywhere but at each other.

“Maybe… Maybe he has a point,” Jane murmurs. She pulls your attention when she raises her head. “Our time could be better spent doing something more productive. We could build up here,” she suggests. “If we all worked together—”

“What’s stopping you?” Jake challenges, peering through his curtain of hair with a quirked brow. “Get up and do it.”

Jane stares at him with a pointed gaze. “We all need to work together,” she insists. “But nobody wants to stand up and make a change.”

“We can’t, Jane,” Adam says sensibly. “How would we cut down the trees? How would we get them back to camp? How do we saw them apart, or hammer them together? We aren’t physically capable, and those toolboxes of random nuts and bolts won’t help us build homes. I’m all for the idea, but it’s not practical.”

Jane flicks her wrist dismissively, scanning the faces around the campfire. “Bill?” she tries but receives no reply. “Claudette?” she tries again. Claudette doesn’t even glance up, her eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. Then Jane turns to you, her sharp eyes searching for some kind of answer. “What do you think? Maybe a fresh perspective might change some minds around here.”

Now, all eyes are on you. Under their scrutiny, you hesitate. “I… I don’t know, Jane. I wish I could say I agree, but… Maybe Adam’s right. Maybe it’s not practical.”

Jane exhales loudly, her shoulders slumping. “Maybe this, maybe that… Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it never will..” She hunches forward, her gaze dropping to her feet. “Would it kill you people to be a little optimistic?”

“Has, and will,” Jake says. Jane scoffs at him.

The following silence stretches on until you feel Adam’s eyes on you. He’s staring at the book resting on your lap. “Where did you find that?” he asks quietly.

“Claudette and I found a cabin out there. Abandoned and empty, but this was just… sitting on the floor.” You lift the book with a sigh. “It’s blank, though. Completely.”

Adam’s expression falls, disappointment riddling his expression. “Ah… I got a little excited. Haven’t had a good read in a… a long time.” There’s a hint of sadness in his voice and a shadow that passes over his features as he looks down and fixes his gaze on the fire.

It seems no one’s really in a chatty mood anymore. David might’ve been loud and obnoxious, but he kept the camp from sinking into utter silence. When you can’t stand it any longer, you push yourself to your feet and walk away.

Your tent is a short walk from the campfire, nestled just before the dense barrier of dark mist that encircles the clearing. It’s one of many tents scattered haphazardly in the woods, their origins a mystery to you all. Here, with next to nothing except the clothes on your back and the meager stockpile of items you’ve scavenged from the fog, you take what you’re given without question.

You duck inside your weathered green tent and sit down on your bedroll. The book rests on your lap, and you run your fingers along its spine. What you saw in the cabin felt real. So real that you can still feel the chill of that… thing’s presence. But it couldn’t have been real. No one else has ever mentioned anything like that—at least, not outside of the trials. That’s where the monsters belong. The killers. What are the odds you’d be the first to meet one in the fog?

You sigh, putting your thoughts to rest. After setting the book aside, you flop onto your back. The Entity might pull you into another trial soon. It’s been a while since your last one, and you want to rest as much as you can before that happens. You shut your eyes and drift off to sleep.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Your feet are cold and wet. Each breath escapes your parted lips in a puff of mist. When you force your eyes open, a frown creases your brow.

You’re someplace else, standing ankle-deep in freezing water, surrounded by a wall of cold, dense white fog. The sky above is pitch black, speckled with tiny, twinkling stars. An intense shiver crawls up your spine, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“What is this?”

Your voice echoes off unseen walls, reverberating around you before it fades into the void. You take a cautious step forward, the icy water rippling around your legs, and you slowly turn to take in your surroundings. What you see stops you dead in your tracks.

The water ripples ahead as a dark shape breaks the surface. Its head rises slowly, revealing the same blank visage belonging to that mysterious shade. Then, a grin splits across its empty face—the same gnarly, glistening white grin it flashed you before. It’s back, and it’s watching you.

You gasp sharply and recoil, your feet slipping out from under you. You crash into the shallow water, the cold shock freezing you in place. Eyes wide, you can’t tear your gaze away. The figure moves, rising from the water with deliberate, slow strides. Its pitch-black form cuts a stark silhouette against the gray fog like ink spilled across a white canvas.

You struggle to find your voice, choking out a mess of words that dissolve into the fog. It must find your fear amusing because it laughs, a warm, deep sound that echoes from everywhere at once. The laughter surrounds you, closer than it should be and far away at the same time.

The shade closes in, its grin unwavering. Suddenly, with a series of sickening snaps and pops, those same large, spidery claws erupt from its back, unfurling like grotesque limbs. They flex and extend outward, their shape disturbingly resemblant to those of The Entity. As it stalks nearer, panic swells in your chest. You flip over, scrambling to your feet, but it’s too late. One of the claws hooks around your leg and yanks you back down into the freezing water. A startled cry escapes your lips as you’re dragged toward it and flipped over to face your tormentor. It looms above you, its neck craned down to meet your terrified gaze. When it finally speaks, a foul stench wafts from its breath—like ash and death.

“Oh, don’t be afraid,” it whispers, still grinning. But the words terrify you. You tremble, and it chuckles, clearly amused.

You flinch as it drops to one knee, leaning closer, a hand reaching toward you. You scramble to get away, but its talons press against your chest, pinning you down. The water soaks through your clothes, chilling you to the bone while an intense pressure builds up inside you. You kick and squirm, thrashing against his weight. The shadow remains indifferent to your struggle.

“Still warm,” it murmurs. “But the fog will soon change that… We must work quickly.”

Its grin never falters, even as it speaks. You try to scream and protest, but the pressure in your chest tightens, squeezing the breath out of you. You stifle a cry, your voice weak and broken. “Wh—What are you… doing to me?”

It ignores you. The claws begin to move, gliding over your body. They trace your limbs, tugging at your clothes, the spiny barbs scraping against your skin. The discomfort is unbearable. You manage a strained whine. The shadow acknowledges it, if only for a second.

“Forgive me,” it says with a low chuckle. “These twisted things have a mind of their own…”

Desperately, you try to fight back and struggle free, to do anything, but you can’t.

“Don’t fight me,” it murmurs, voice almost soothing to your ears. “I only need to see what I’m working with. It’ll just be a moment.”

The pain in your chest intensifies, a prickling sensation that spreads, squeezing the air from your lungs. You gasp and choke, struggling to draw breath. The pressure becomes unbearable, smothering your heart.

With each gasping cry, breath never comes. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe-

 

You jolt awake with a sharp gasp, lungs burning as you greedily suck in air. The world rushes back in a blur, and you feel warm hands gripping your shoulders. Jake’s face looms over yours, his usually stoic features twisted with concern.

“Hey, newbie? You alright?”

Your heartbeat gradually steadies, but your body still buzzes with fear. You tremble and catch your breath. “I’m fine,” you croak, your voice raw. Slowly, you sit up, running a shaky hand over your scalp. Your skin is cold and clammy to the touch. A sigh escapes your lips. Just a nightmare. But it felt so real—just like at the cabin. Jake still watches you with concern.

“It was a nightmare,” you say, trying to convince both him and yourself.

Jake pulls back, his expression hardening. “Some nightmare,” he mutters. “I was walking by and heard you choking.”

“I was… in my dream.” The words hang awkwardly in the air. You don’t know how else to explain it. How could you?

Silence settles between you. Jake grunts and moves to leave, but hesitates at the tent flap. He turns back to you. “You haven’t been here long, have you? I’ve only just started seeing you around camp… And I don’t think I got your name.”

“I hardly ever see you,” you reply. “And when I do, you don’t look like you’re in a talking mood…”

Jake nods, his expression softening slightly. He runs a hand through his hair, unease crossing his face. “I… I get like that sometimes, after rough trials. And most of them are rough… You probably know that by now.” He pauses, then extends a hand. “Jake.”

You take his hand, noticing him flinch at your icy touch. After shaking his hand and passing him your name, he withdraws quickly, turning away. “I’ll see you around,” he mutters, then slips out of the tent and vanishes into the night.

The moment he’s gone, another chill runs up your spine. Your hand subconsciously finds your heart. The heavy, burning sensation from your dream still lingers there. What does it mean? What did any of it mean?

Maybe there’s no point in trying to make sense of it. The fog is strange. And if there’s one thing it’s good at, that’s getting into your head. But you can’t let it get to you. Things are already bad enough without losing what little sanity and comfort you have left.

You lie back down, releasing a slow, shuddering sigh.

It was just a dream, you tell yourself. Nothing more…

But even as you close your eyes, something cold lingers deep inside you…

 

Chapter 2: Madness

 

Léry’s Memorial Institute.

The decrepit old sign outside the doors is what clues you in. You creep inside and halt in a run-down reception area as a terrible shiver runs the course of your spine. The nearby lights flicker and zap, jolting like your nerves. When you look left and right, you find two lengthy halls encased in darkness. Straight ahead, behind a front counter, another corridor leads deeper into the sinister building.

Another unending day, another horrible trial. You anticipate this one will go about as well as your last, which is to say it’ll be a nightmare.

You take two steps past a bench when you hear something erupt in the distance, like crackling thunder, and then an ear-piercing shriek. You halt as a fearful gasp leaps to your throat, and your skin breaks out in goosebumps.

Relax, you will yourself. Get moving.

You calm your breathing, your nerves, then proceed.

 

Being that this is your first time traversing the winding maze of halls and rooms, you walk slowly and on-edge, faltering around every corner for fear of bumping face-first into this trial’s selected tormentor.

The deeper in you go, the more you just want to find some place to curl up and hide. If you could tuck yourself into a corner and wait for the trial to end, to miraculously escape, you would. But it’s not so simple… Trials are difficult games to play, and even more difficult to win. You’d surely be dooming yourself and your teammates if you hid away. So, despite your fear, you’re resolved to play this game.

Locating generators here is another hindrance. You wander in the near dark for over five minutes and find not one machine to repair. It’s nerve-wracking navigating this dark place, just knowing you share these halls with a killer hounding for your blood. Worse yet, you don’t know who to expect. Or, possibly, what. The hunter could be anyone, or anything. But what they all share in common is they want you dead. They want prey to chase, catch, and sacrifice to The Entity. But their motives for doing so are as unclear as the malevolant being’s itself.

You hug the wall down the corridor as you creep steadily along. A crow perched on a windowsill caws as you approach, its beady black eyes observing you. You don’t trust these things—they’re always closely watching. And they’re loud.

You swat the bird away and send it fluttering off, then you crouch behind a utility cart. The hall ahead of you is dead-silent and shrouded in darkness. Jitters make you fidgety and uneasy.

Move, move, move! The voice in your head urges. Fix the generators, and get out.

If only that were easier said than done…

You silence your naggy internal voice and move forward. And coming up on another corner, you brace, then turn. You shriek. Dwight shrieks, too.

Then you both relax.

“Damnit—” you gasp, clutching your heart.

“Sorry,” Dwight apologizes. “I-I thought I heard someone over here.” He swivels around, on edge, then faces you again. “You’re looking for a generator? There’s one back this way.”

You follow Dwight into a dark room. When your eyes adjust, you make out rows of shower stalls, stained with muck and oozing some strange black gunk. A generator sits in the far corner.

“Everyone has a hard time here,” Dwight says, taking a knee at the generator and getting to work. “You never know who or what you’ll run into turning a corner…”

“Yeah, I just figured that out firsthand.” You sit on the other side of the machine and bury your hands in the mechanisms to root around for some wires. “It’s got me feeling claustrophobic…”

Dwight grunts in acknowledgment. He pauses, his eyes flickering to you. He prompts, “You’re uh, new, right?”

You nod.

Dwight hums. “Yeah, I must not have been in camp when you showed up, whenever that was… People just appear sometimes, and there are never any real introductions—” A spurt of black oil shoots out of the generator and sprays him right in the face. You both pause, and Dwight sighs as he wrenches his hands free from the machine. He plucks his glasses from his face and wipes the lenses clean with the end of his tie. “I’m Dwight, the village idiot. Or camp idiot, more like…”

You offer him a smile. “Nice meeting you, Dwight. I’m (Y/N).”

Dwight returns your smile with a bashful one. He replaces his glasses on his nose and says, “You might still be trying to wrap your head around everything here, so I can give you a few pointers. I used to host seminars back at the office.”

“I won’t turn down any helpful advice,” you say. “God knows I could use it..”

You hear a crow caw in the hallway and you tense up. The silence puts you more on edge than you already were. You continue the conversation. “How long have you been here?” you ask.

Dwight visibly hesitates. He touches his chin with an oily hand. “Uh… I… I can’t really say.” His brows draw together and an uncertain look morphs into his features. “It’s hard to track time here, almost impossible. I miss my cubicle calendar.”

You crack a smile and Dwight lets out an awkward laugh. “I hated those long hours in the office, but what I wouldn’t give to be back there right now.” Continuing his repairs, he says, “Data management and getting pushed around by my higher-ups was nothing compared to all of this.

“I hear you,” you say. “You have any plans in mind when you get back?”

Dwight pauses. His brows crease together. “I, uh… I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

He soundlessly returns his attention to the task at hand and sighs. “Hard to think about the future when you’re not sure you have one.”

You frown. Way to kill the mood, me…

You reach into the generator again, but it suddenly erupts in your face. You rear away with a shout, grabbing your singed face. “Shit,” you curse.

Dwight looks alarmed. His head swivels back and forth, his eyes wide and his brows furrowed. “It’s fine,” he says. “But the killer has our number now.” He stands away from the generator and helps you up. “We should spl—AH!”

More crackling thunder, and you both scream as electric currents rush through your feet, then course up through your bodies. You stagger and fall against the wall, hands clutching your head. And when you lift your furrowed gaze, you see a large silhouette standing in the doorway on the opposite side of the room. A man wielding a long, metal shaft barbed with spikes that jolt with electricity. The killer’s head tilts, his chaotic eyes forcibly pried open by an odd metal contraption. But a strangely giddy laugh leaves his grinning maw. This guy’s a first.

Dwight’s frightened eyes meet yours and he urges, “Run!”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You both split and run in opposite directions. But the killer’s on your tail, steadily gaining faster and faster. You throw a glance over your shoulder and see him pounding his palm with that weapon, apparently eager to catch and harm you.

You run without direction through the halls, winding around trays and hospital beds. And each obstacle slows you down, allowing the madman on your flank to gain closer and closer. His eery, manic laughter sends chills up your spine. He’s within swinging distance, you realize, his menacing stature looming over your form. You hear him pull back, then swing, his mace swishing through the air. But you’re saved by just a hair when you slam a pallet down on him.

You hear the big man grunt behind you, but you don’t wait around for him to recover from the stun. You dart into a nearby room and crouch behind an old vending machine.

Moments pass by, then the Doctor’s maniacal laughter comes up the hall. You hear him enter the room and slow his pace, his footfalls faint and steady. He’s looking for you. You slap a hand over your mouth and remain deathly silent. Every few seconds, more strange currents course through you, causing your body to jerk and shudder, but you keep a grip and wait. More moments pass by, the tension in the air growing thicker and thicker. Then you feel the man’s overwhelming presence leave the room. And soon, his footsteps fade out of earshot down the hall.

You exhale in relief and lean back against the wall.

“Close call.”

You jump in fright, scrambling to your feet and twisting your head to behold your unwanted company. That… THING from before is back. It stands in front of you, its dazzling grin widening as you face it. The blood in your veins runs ice-cold. You know this is no dream.

“Your first chance meeting with the Doctor,” the strange man-thing says. “His bedside manner is wanting, but he’s an expert in his craft.”

You slowly back away from the being while working down the lump in your throat. “You’re back,” you utter. “Why did you come back?”

“For you,” it replies.

“A-Alright,” you scoff, “And what the hell do you want?” you shakily demand.

The dark thing chuckles and approaches you with a lengthy stride. You take a step back. “I only want your cooperation,” it tells you. It’s gone, then it’s behind you. You feel its hands on your shoulders and its grinning maw inches from your ear. Frigid breath on your skin makes you tingle. “Time might be endless here in the Dark Realm, but yours isn’t…”

You shake loose and put some distance between yourself and it. “Stay away from me,” you order.

“I can’t,” it replies. “You’re trying to shut me out, but you need to let me in.” It spreads its arms wide and tilts its head. The permanent grin remains uninviting. “Embrace me.”

No. You can’t let this thing get in your head. It’s hard enough holding onto your sanity here, and if you let the creatures of the fog get in, there’s no telling where you’ll end up. Or how you’ll end up. You turn away to leave, but you’re suddenly trapped in place. Those spidery legs enclose around you, drawing a startled gasp from your mouth.

“You’re different,” the shadow says behind you. “Fresh,” it purrs.

Your entire body trembles. You shut your eyes and clench your teeth. Sounds fill your head. Harsh, grating squeals and strangers’ screams. You experience gruesome sights and illusions.

That’s all this is, you realize. This isn’t real. None of it is.

You shake free of the shadowy being’s grasp and murmur, “No… No, this isn’t real.”

“I can assure you I’m not a part of the Doctor’s twisted treatment,” the creature says behind you.

You ignore it and walk across the room before sprinting away. As soon as you’re back out in the corridor, you walk at a steady pace, your eyes scanning for another generator. But those sounds and illusions don’t leave your head. Something scrapes the inside of your skull, like an itch you can’t scratch. You sway and falter, then grasp your head in your hands.

“This isn’t real.” You try to control your breathing and push out the noises and pictures that assault your thoughts. Sweat beads on your forehead, your stomach flips, and your skin crawls. “Get out of my head,” you murmur. Then…. you hear whispers. Hundreds upon hundreds of hushed, jarring voices saying things you can’t pick out or understand. Shut up, you demand internally. But they persist, mounting in volume. “Shut up!” you scream.

You only just get back to your feet when a large hand roughly grips your bicep. You let out a startled cry and turn your head up to face your assailant. The Doctor.

He looms above you, his glowing white orbs piercing yours. You see madness in his eyes. “You should be on the operating table,” he asserts, stunning you. These bastards can talk?

You choke out your objections, then gasp as he tightens his grip. Then he walks, dragging you alongside him. You fight and pound at his fist, but his grip doesn’t relent. “Let me go!” you scream at him. “Let go!”

He ignores you. You’re dragged forcibly down a long corridor, kicking and struggling to get free. Fear turns your blood to ice and stipples your skin with goosebumps. You notice the killer’s passing hooks. That’s not their M.O. It’s abnormal. A growing pit rests in your stomach as you fear what The Doctor might have in store for you…

Lights momentarily blind you as you’re dragged into a large, open room. A treatment theater. Your frenzied gaze darts between the numerous monitors suspended above the room. Each one plays a unique, disturbing sequence of visuals and audio. Your brow drips with sweat.

The Doctor snatches you up the slams you down painfully onto the operating bed dead-center in the room. You kick at him, but he pulls a restraining belt across your chest, trapping your arms to your side. You scream in frustration. “Hey! Did-Did I miss something? Or aren’t you supposed to throw me on a hook?”

The Doctor meets your eyes and laughs. “My newest patients receive special treatment.”

You shudder under his unblinking gaze. He grasps your chin and roughly turns your head from side to side to get a close look at you. You huff in pain and try to fight him, “I don’t need a checkup,” you seethe.

“Doctor’s orders,” he responds wryly. The look on his face indicates he has more in mind than a routine checkup. But what more exactly, you can’t guess. Or is it you don’t want to? The possibilities make you sick to your stomach.

The Doctor relinquishes your chin, but then jabs his thumb in your mouth. You grimace—it tastes of blood and sweat. Your muffled protests go unheard as he thumbs over your teeth and gums, scrutinizing you closely. “A clean bill of health,” he japes. “I can change that.”

You bite down on him hard enough to draw blood. But the action prompts him to release more electrical currents from his fingertips into your head. You scream in pain as he pulls his hand back. “You’re proving to be trouble,” he says with a chuckle. “Anesthetic should fix that.” He takes a syringe from a tray nearby, then taps it with his forefinger. His twisted grin makes you shudder.

You repeatedly test the strength of your restraints, flailing and kicking out your legs, then bucking against the strap across your chest. Your futile struggle intensifies as he lowers the syringe, closer and closer to your wide eyes. You squeeze your eyes shut and lock your jaw in fearful anticipation.

But the needle never pierces you. Instead, you hear an awful crack cut through the air, and your eyes snap open to behold a puzzling sight.

A spiny, black claw sprouted from the ground and protruding from the Doctor’s chest. A twisted laugh escapes the Doctor’s mouth, but judging from the way his face boggles, he’s as surprised as you are. And in a split second, the ground splinters and cracks under him, and he’s yanked down, swallowed whole by the crackling abyss. The scar on the earth heals up after him.

Moments of silence follow. You’re frozen stiff in place, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock. The only thing filling the silence is the background noise from the monitors playing above you. You’re snapped out of your trance when you hear the roar of the exit gates powering up across the hospital.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

“Can’t believe it was that easy,” Dwight utters as he parts through the fog and enters the clearing into camp. You tail behind him, Meg, and Ace.

Ace—The gambler. Meg—Athlete, runner.

Ace smirks. “Shouldn’t be complaining about it! How often do you get such an easy escape?” He strolls over to the bonfire with a skip in his step. “That’s pure luck,” he says. “Knew I still had it…” He and Dwight select their seats on the logs nearby.

Meg leans back against a nearby tree and folds her arms over her chest. Her brows deeply knit. “I saw The Doctor once, and then it’s like he just vanished.”

“We saw him,” Dwight pipes up. He gestures at you where you stand in front of the fog barrier. “He found us on a generator and we scattered. He went after them, but I guess they were able to run him around.”

All eyes land on you. Even Min’s, who sits on the opposite side of the fire. “That’s lucky,” she comments. “You must not be so bad, for a noob.”

Feng Min—The gamer girl… First time hearing her speak English. Huh. So she ignored me the first time I said hello.

Your body still jitters after what you went through in the trial. After what you witnessed happen. And you haven’t said a word about it. You don’t know how to respond to them; your mind’s just in such disarray. You haven’t been here long, but you know that what you saw isn’t something that just happens. The killers rule those trials, not the other way around… But something took it. Something devoured it—

“Are you alright?” Meg prompts. You’re torn from your thoughts and you meet her eyes. She looks concerned. They all do.

You speak past a firm lump in your throat. “Y-Yeah,” you stammer. I’m fine.”

They don’t look convinced. Dwight, especially. He was the one that found you strapped down to the table, in shock. He didn’t know what to make of it, but he guided you to the exit gates without poking or prodding for information. And now he’s covering for you, making sure you don’t have to tell.

“I’m… I’m going to take a nap,” you say.

Dwight opens his mouth to speak, but becomes silent as you move through the camp, headed in the direction of the clearing where your tent is pitched. No one else says a word as you pass by.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

With your head downcast and your arms folded across your chest, you pace the are in front of your tent. You’re still trying to wrap your head around everything… You can still hear the moment those claws tore through the earth and gored the Doctor. His giddy fucking laugh as they ripped him apart and dragged him to hell. Or what you believe to be hell. You don’t know what’s down there, in that furious, burning void. But that’s the closest comparison you’re able to make, with what little you gathered.

Is he gone? Gone for good? There’s no way of knowing unless you’re pitted against him again, in a trial yet to come. And if he is gone, then how? Why?

You shake your head and comb your fingers back over your scalp. “That’s the big question,” you mutter. “Why?” You’re exhausted and disconcerted, but you know you won’t find the answers raking through your head for them, so you won’t stress over it. You turn around to enter your tent and get some sleep.

 

Then you’re in the void again.

You stand ankle-deep in cold water, the dense white fog surrounding you. The sky is dark, no stars, no moon. All the same as before.

“Do you still believe I’m a figment of your demented imagination?”

Your gaze finds that entity again, which stands straight ahead, watching you, grinning.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” you sigh.

“You must think you’ve gone mad,” it chuckles. “But it’s far too soon for that. You still have plenty of sanity inside that mind of yours…”

“Oh yeah? Then how the hell am I seeing you?” you bite.

The shadow purrs. “Because I’m real.”

You look away, but it follows your line of sight everywhere you look. You shut your eyes, open them, and it’s gone. And now it’s behind you.

“Do I frighten you?” it questions. It’s so close, you can feel its icy breath on the back of your neck, making your hair stand on end.

“What the hell do you think?” you mutter.

It chuckles in your ear. “I thought so… But I’m an ally. A… friend.” You shiver as one of its hands touches your shoulder. “Give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“Just tell me what you want,” you seethe through jittery teeth. “What you are.”

“Of course.” The shadow moves around you to stand face to face. It plucks your chin with a long, dark finger. “We are one and the same,” it says. You scoff. The shadow laughs. “Truly,” it says. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

You might not get an honest answer out of this thing. Next question.

“And what do you want?”

“I need you,” it says. “Your cooperation. We can help each other. You want out, don’t you? To free yourself from this twisted purgatory?”

Your brow knit together. That’s exactly what you want. But you know getting it won’t be easy. “And you think you can get me out? All of us? What’s the catch? What do you get out of this?”

“I want out, too.”

Surprise laces your features.

“I was like you, once… Free,” the shadow says. “But this place has twisted and corrupted me…”

“What are you saying? That you… That you were human?”

Your company chuckles. “Precisely.”

You don’t believe it. You refuse to believe it. Because if it’s true, it carries some awful implications… Your eyes flit up and down the shadowy spectre. Is this what’s going to happen to you all here? Twisted by the fog and turned into — whatever THIS thing is? Just the thought sends a chill snowballing up your spine.

“No,” you say. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the unfortunate truth, (Y/N).”

You cast your gaze to the water at your feet. You see your own shadowed, unclear face staring back up at you. “If you know a way out, then why haven’t you taken it?”

You face the shadow again. It answers. “I am blind to the clues and paths to freedom. I have become one with the fog, a part of it. But you aren’t.” It hums—a deep, reverberating hum that fills your head. “You can navigate this twisted place. You’re drawn toward the light in the ever-changing dark corners of this realm. You’ve proven it already when you found the first Mark. The first clue. It was left behind by another like you.”

It’s talking about that man you saw, isn’t it? The man you saw in the vision. “Bryce?” you say. “His-His name was Bryce, right? That’s who you’re talking about?”

The shadow grins. “You’re a sharp one.”

“What happened to him?” you question.

“Over time, the fog twisted him. Violated, corrupted, changed him.” For a moment, you see the corners of that awful grin twinge. Only for a moment. But it makes you realize something. A revelation that has your blood running ice-cold and your eyes widening.

“Are—Are you-?”

The creature, this shadowy, faceless entity, falls silent, and its grin wilts. But again, only for a moment. “That man is gone,” it says. “He, and the others that came before him. None could find the answers before the fog claimed their souls. But you are different. I felt something powerful inside of you.”

You scoff. “All of this is so—”

“Mad?” the shadow interrupts. “This place is mad, (Y/N). That’s why we must leave before it consumes us. And I need your help to make that happen.”

“And what is it you would contribute to this little partnership?”

“I can offer you much-needed guidance. And protection, when things get… hazardous.”

Another realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You lift your brows. “It was you… You stopped the doctor.”

The shadowy specter purrs.

You take that as confirmation. You don’t know how it did it, but it actually protected you. It lashed out against a killer and stopped it… Swallowed it in that void. Just recalling the image makes you shiver. This thing is powerful.

It’s behind you again, frustratingly. Its hands are on your shoulders, and its gnarly mouth is close to your ear. “Let us find an escape, together,” it purrs. “Please?”

You shudder under its touch. But there’s no denying that you want to get out. You want EVERYONE to get out. And if this thing is really offering to help you get there, then… you might need to take this chance. After all, what else do you have left to lose? If you’re stuck here forever, it’s only a matter of time until the fog corrodes and corrupts you. This could be IT. And if this thing really is the man you saw, then it— he still wants to get out.

You swallow a thick lump in your throat. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll help you.”

The shadow comes face to face with you again, visibly pleased. He extends a spiny appendage from his back. “Do you want to shake on it?” And he tilts his head. You’re sure that if he had eyes, he’d be batting his lashes at you.

You slap the claw away. “If we’re really doing this, then I’m laying down some ground rules. First, you keep those things away from me.” You shiver, recalling the first time they violated your body. “And second,” you put out a hand. “I’m a normal person. And normal people shake hands.”

The shadow chuckles in amusement. He takes your hand with his own cold, thin fingers. “Freedom is just around the corner.”

Then he reads the apprehension etched over your face and laughs. “I’m an ally, (Y/N). Perhaps even a companion…”

“I’m not looking for companionship from you.”

The shadow’s grin widens. “That could change.”

“It won’t.”

“It might.”

You huff. And when you blink, he’s gone. It’s all gone. You’re standing in front of your tent again, back in reality. But when you look down at your hand, you see dark smoke and embers whisking away from your skin and dissipating in the air.

You can’t help but wonder if you just struck a deal with the devil.

 

Chapter 3: Small Steps

 

You instinctively duck as you hear a bottle whiz just overhead. It shatters against a nearby tree and you’re caught in a cloud of noxious purple gas that surrounds you. It travels to your lungs and gives you a coughing fit, but you scramble away and keep running. You can hear The Clown shaking up more bottled tonics behind you and gaining steadily. A glance back over your shoulder sends a shiver up your spine. The bastard has a nasty look on his face, and a wide red smile plastered crudely around his toothy grin. You didn’t think it could get worse after the Doctor, but this guy has fingers dangling off his hip! And you dread wondering what he might have in store for you if he catches you…

There’s a pallet dead ahead, but you don’t make it in time. A bottle you don’t expect hits you upside the head and shatters. The force and pain alone are enough to send you staggering. You hack up your lungs and crash into a tree. Your eyes water as the toxin incapacitates you. The Clown’s portly form strides to a stop before you, and a boisterous laugh makes his round gut bounce.

“The new ones are never a challenge,” he croaks. He lets out a few nasty coughs, then brandishes his butterfly knife. “Those fingers’ll look good on my belt,” he leers, “I’m adding them to my collection.”

He steps toward you, but you throw out a hand. “Wait!”

He halts.

“I-I have a joke,” you say, face etched with anxious fear.

The Clown snorts, clearly amused by the offer. He lowers his knife and spins the blade around his finger. He’s humoring you, but not for long.

You swallow a lump in your throat and begin, “Okay, so—” You trail off, cough a couple more times, then continue, “Why couldn’t the clown laugh?”

He stares at you expectantly, waiting for the punchline. But it’s not you that delivers it.

The earth suddenly cracks apart beneath the Clown, and a hooked extremity shoots up and pierces him from the back and through his gut. He barks in surprise as the claw lifts him right off the ground, dangling him over a fresh puddle of his own gore and viscera. Blood spatters your face and you flinch back against the tree.

“Because he broke his funny bone.”

Your shadowy ally spawns beside you, his grin unwavering as he beholds his gruesome execution. He turns his faceless gaze to you and laughs. “Very trite.”

You pick yourself up away from the tree with a heavy sigh. “I was stalling.” Dragging an arm across your bloodied face, you add, “And that was the first thing that popped into my head.”

Your ally chortles. “I have a better one,” he says. He faces the Clown again and leers. “Why couldn’t the Clown sit down for a week?”

His grin grows across his face. You pick up the underlying malicious intent in his tone and shudder at the implications. You’re definitely not sticking around to see the punchline. When you quickly depart, you hear the most god-awful noises behind you. But you block them out and hurry across the trial. And to your relief, you hear the power surge to the exit gates in the distance.

 

When you arrive at the nearest gates, you meet Nea there, and she’s already got her hands on the switch. Her wide eyes flicker back over her shoulder, meeting yours. She’s surprised to see you. “I thought the clown got you.” She scoffs and mutters, “We’re both screwed though if this damn thing doesn’t open quick enough…”

“Relax,” you say. “The Clown’s—” You trail off and shiver as you recall the disturbing sounds. “Preoccupied.”

Nea gives you a strange look.

“Just—… Don’t ask.”

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

You stroll leisurely through the fog toward the campsite. Nea booked it ahead of you, eager to return to camp. But you don’t walk alone; your shadowy friend makes his reappearance, taking form in a cloud of black smoke.

“The jester popped like a grape when I finished with him,” he grins.

“I don’t need the details.” You glance up at the gangly creature as he strides alongside you. “Where do you… take them when you do that?”

“They go to a time-out corner,” he answers, apparently pleased with himself. “And the extra naughty ones get a spanking…”

You honestly can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But one thing’s clear—he has a fucked up sense of humor. Your brows furrow and you mutter, “So they aren’t really gone.” You sigh. “I guess that means I’m going to inevitably see those killers again.”

“Indeed,” your company chuckles. “And they’re going to be thrilled to see you again.”

“Great,” you sigh. “So by protecting me, you’re just putting a bigger target on my head.”

“My protection wouldn’t be warranted if you could protect yourself.”

“You don’t just expect me to square up with the killers, right?”

“Of course not. But your friends seem fully capable of getting themselves out of those sticky situations…”

“They’ve all been here for who knows how long,” you say. “And I don’t exactly plan on sticking around long enough to become as familiar as they have here. We’re working together to accomplish just that.”

You falter suddenly and stop in place, facing your shadowy friend. “And since we’re working together, I want a name. Or something I can call you, at least.”

He tilts his head and purrs, “Call me whatever you like.”

He’s allowing you to choose a name… And a few names immediately come to mind. A few very unflattering names… But while tempting, you’re not sure you want the word “Asshole” slipping off your tongue every time you beckon for your shady partner…

So, you allow yourself a moment to ponder the opportunity. You’ve never named another person, after all, so the occasion calls for consideration. Then a single word comes to mind. A word that resonates with you. A word you’re familiar with, although you don’t quite know why…

“Bastion,” you say, simply. It sounds right, you think.

Your shadowy companion tilts his head. “Bastion?”

“Yeah. Simple, and not too affectionate…”

He’s quiet for a moment, then his grin widens somehow. “Bastion… Oh, you thought hard about that, I can tell.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did. You chose a name with meaning… There’s nothing more affectionate than that,” he teases.

“Then how’s Bastard sound?”

This draws a genuine laugh from his gaping maw. “I’ll take the former,” he chuckles, flashing you a grin.

Shaking your head, you turn back around and keep walking. One of Bastion’s clawed extremities strays too close to your shoulder, so you swat it away. “I’ve also been meaning to ask you,” you say. “What’s with the creepy-ass smile?”

Bastion purrs deeply. “It makes me seem more approachable.”

You scoff. He laughs. “You have spare time now,” he says. “And perhaps that time would be best spent beginning our search. Best use this time while you can. It IS limited…”

“I know,” you respond. “Believe me, I want out as much as you do.” Another claw ghosts the back of your neck, so you swat at it. “But I don’t exactly have a roadmap laid out in front of me. I’m as lost as you are.”

 

You finally arrive at the fog barrier dividing the campsite from the rest of the realm and you pass through. Bastion disappears, and you enter the camp to hear Nea amid a discussion with David and Jeff, who share a log, and Meg, who’s doing stretches off to the side. Nea’s bragging, actually. About you.

“-and it was just the two of us, right? But the newbie kept that fat clown busy long enough for me to pop TWO whole gens’ and get the doors powered.” She scoffs. “I thought they’d be minced meat in two minutes, tops. But they're not bad…”

She spots you standing at the border and smiles. “Or was it just luck?” she teases.

“Just luck,” you admit.

Jeff scoffs. “Some luck,” he says, closing his sketchbook. “I wasn’t that lucky my first time in the ring.”

David guffaws and slaps Jeff on the belly. “Cause you’re carryin’ all those extra kilos!”

Jeff swats him away and David laughs. He looks at you and barks, “Oi! How’d you do it? I know that Clown bloke’s a bit on the heavy side, but the cunt’s fast! Give us some pointers, mate.”

You take a seat and hesitate, “I, er… I just ran.”

Nea scoffs. “I might have to do some surveillance on you. The last trial we had together against the Nurse, you got out without so much a scratch. And that Nurse is no joke.”

Meg pauses mid-stretch, her leg still extended out in front of her. “Now that you mention it… I got matched with them recently, too. The Doctor was on them, but I never saw him once. We blew through those generators.” She stands up straight and faces you. “Pretty lucky you could run him around for so long…”

It sounds like they’re about to interrogate you… You sigh and throw your hands up. “You got me. I guess my big secret’s out.”

Everyone watches you, waiting expectantly. You say, “A demonic creature with a flirtatious attitude and spidery legs protruding from his back acts as my personal guardian angel. He eats killers.”

There’s a pause. A long pause. Meg’s looking at you like you’ve lost your marbles, and an incredulous look is etched over Nea’s face. Jeff looks speechless. You think this awkward silence might last forever, but then David laughs. “Right!”

He’s bent over, hugging his stomach and laughing his ass off. “That’s cute, mate!”

Nea snorts. “Fine,” she says, “keep your secrets.” She leans forward and speculates, “I think you’re just packin’ heat under all of that. More than Meg.”

Meg looks your way, and you notice her eyes glance down your body. Nea laughs. “Jealous, Red? You might not be the fastest camper around now. There’s a new camper in town looking to take your title.”

Meg scoffs. “If they're able to get us out of trials faster, then I’ll gladly pass the mantle.”

Good. Your creepy, dark secret remains a creepy, dark secret…

You only just take a seat by the fire when you spot Bastion lurking at the edge of the camp, watching you. Immediately, you tense up and furrow your brows, half-expecting one of the others to see him and scream. But they don’t… In fact, they’re none the wiser of his presence among them. That comes as a relief, although an unwelcome one. It’s alarming that you’re the only one able to see this thing…

Bastion tilts his head and taps at his wrist. You sigh, then stand back up. All eyes are on you.

“You going somewhere?” Meg questions. “You just got back, don’t you want to relax?”

“Sleeping Beauty is probably just going to take another nap,” Nea snorts. “It’s all they ever do around here…”

“I’m going on a walk, actually,” you reply. You head toward the fog barrier, saying, “I can’t hang around camp all the time, or I’ll lose my mind.”

“You’ll lose your mind going out there in the fog,” Jeff says. “There could be any number of things lurking around.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, stopping to look back at them.

David barks, “Well, I’m comin’ with ya’! If we run into any trouble, I’ll give the slimy blokes a couple ‘a shiners.” He kisses his fist and Nea laughs.

“You’ve said that a thousand times! But the last time you threw hands in a trial, you got your ass handed to you!”

“Oi, I put up a good fight though! And I’ll do the same out ‘ere!”

Nea snorts as she stands from the log. “I’m coming too. Might find something cool out there… Hey!” she shouts at Meg. “Come with us, Red! You and Speedy here can race, show us who really owns the title of Fastest in the Fog.”

Meg shrugs. “Why not? I could use a challenge.” She gives you a cheeky smile. “If you’re up for it.”

“Uh,” you hesitate. “I don’t think—”

You trail off when you spot Bastion lingering nearby. That same grin stretches over his face as he spectates the interaction. “The fog’s more fun with friends,” he says, tilting his head.

Well, since you have his blessing…

“Sure,” you say. “I guess I could use the company.”

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

You severely underestimated Meg’s speed and got CLOWNED in that race.

You come to a staggering stop behind her, then lean down and brace your hands on your knees, panting for breath. “You… You are really fast,” you gasp. Your heart’s pounding in your chest—the trials never even take this much out of you…

Meg lifts her shirt to wipe a sheen of sweat from her forehead. “Yeah,” she breathes. “I was born running track.”

You believe her.

Nea runs up behind you both, exclaiming, “Damn! Now that was just sad, Slug.” She slaps you on the back and laughs. “Guess it’s not speed you’ve got going for you…”

Sounds like you’ve got a new nickname. And it’s not very flattering… Sigh.

David catches up too, panting with exertion. “You lot are faster than I’ve been givin’ you credit for.” He’s completely winded, and his muscles are slick with sweat.

Meg faces you. “So, where are we going?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “Just sorta… wandering. Might find something if we look long enough.”

You drag your arm across your sweaty forehead, then turn around and keep following the beaten path through the fog. You’re tailed by the three, but you put some distance between them, inviting Bastion to retake his place beside you.

“I’m out here now, so where do I go from here?” you ask, looking up at him.

Bastion grins down at you. “You should feel drawn toward the other marks. A sort of pull, an urge to find them… What do you feel?”

“Cold,” you answer, sighing. “And tired and frustrated.” You rub your hands together for warmth and mutter, “When you offered guidance, I assumed you meant it literally… But I’ve got the reins.”

“You’re the only one capable of seeing these winding paths,” Bastion replies, placing a hand on your shoulder. “No one else but you can hold these reins.”

You swipe his hand away. “Why does it feel like I’m holding the world on my shoulders?”

“You are carrying a substantial weight,” Bastion answers. “But I can carry the burden with you,” he grins.

“Can you carry me, too? My legs are killing me…”

Bastion vanishes with a laugh. As soon as he’s gone, Nea comes charging up past you. “Hey, I think we’ve struck gold!”

The wall of fog on the path ahead suddenly parts, revealing a small wooden hovel. It’s a two-story cabin with a bricked foundation, a rickety porch out front, and a rocking chair sitting under the patio cover. It’s reminiscent of the old cabin you happened upon before.

David almost bowls you over as he approaches the hovel. “Aye, we could find some tools ‘ere! Finally start constructin’ some shacks around camp!”

Meg follows him, saying, “Claud’ and (Y/N) said the last place was empty. What makes you think we’ll find anything here?”

“There’s no harm in lookin’!”

He and Nea race up the porch steps, and Meg follows leisurely after them. Bastion appears at your side. “You’re getting better,” he says encouragingly, staring down at you. “This one came easy.
You don’t know how you did it, because you hardly felt a thing. But if it’s true you’re the reason these things are showing up in the fog, then there must be some truth to everything Bastion’s said…

You go up the porch and enter the cabin. Nea’s strolling through the empty foyer to a doorway on the opposite side of the room, and Meg’s heading upstairs. A few wooden shelves are tacked to the walls on either side of you, each topped with empty glass jars and vials. There’s a fireplace straight ahead, and a single square window that allows moonlight to flood into the room. The floorboards underfoot creak and groan, pressing caution.

But David’s none too cautious as he tramps across the floor. He throws open the spandrel door beneath the stairs and knits his brows in apparent disappointment. “This place is picked-clean.”

“What’d I tell you?” you hear Meg call from upstairs.

David huffs and slams the door shut. “Tired a’ sleepin’ in the dirt,” he grumbles.

You approach another door on the other side of the loft and twist the knob. The door whines as it parts open, and you poke your head inside the room.

It’s a study, you realize. An antiquated wooden desk is pressed against the far wall below a curtained window, and two empty bookshelves stand on either side of it. A vintage red floral rug is laid over the wooden floor.

You step into the room and jump in fright when Bastion appears behind you. “Your predecessor had come to this place as well. You might still find some of his belongings unless the fog has already taken them…”

He disappears, and you begin your search. You pull open one of the desk drawers and rifle through a mess of old papers. But every sheet you pluck into your hands is blank. The second drawer bores you no fruit, either. The wooden paneling is all burnt up, and anything that once occupied the space is just ash now.

A sigh leaves your parted lips and you slam the drawer shut. “The fog strikes again,” you mutter.

You turn around and pause. The floor groans. Normally, you wouldn’t think anything of it, but as you take a second step, you hear an awful crack, then your own startled shout as the floor gives way completely. The wooden boards splinter and break apart, swallowing the rug whole into a deep, dark abyss. You’re almost taken too, but you’re rescued as David’s arm winds around your waist and snatches you out of the room.

You both crash to the floor in the foyer, and you land on top of him with a grunt. “Shit—” you curse.

Your head snaps back over your shoulder to behold the sight inside the study. The entire floor is all but gone, and everything that once rested in the room, swallowed up by the abyss. Your brows draw together. “What the hell?”

“Oi, what the hell is right!” David barks. “What’d you do t’ make the floor fall apart like tha’, aye?”

You scoff. “Nothing.”

After picking yourself up, David stands too, and says, “Lucky I grabbed ya’ when I did.”

“Yeah,” you say, turning to peer into the abyss. An awful, rancid stench emanates from the darkness below, making your stomach flip. It smells like disease and death… Feeling nauseated, you step back and face David. “I could kiss you right now.”

David laughs. “You’ll have t’ buy me a pint first, mate!”

You hear fast footfalls, then Nea and Meg both enter the foyer, each baffled.

“What happened?” Nea asks, eyes wide. And when she spots the abyss behind you, her eyes widen further. “The hell?”
Meg beholds the sight and scoffs. “This place is falling apart.”

You give a nod. “Yeah, we should go…”

They’re in agreement. Nea bounds across the room quickly, and Meg plants her feet carefully as she follows in tow. “I don’t wanna know what’s down that hole,” she utters.

You show the same caution as you follow David. But one second you’re there, the next, you’re not. You blink, and it’s changed.

 

The room is lit up with orange light from the flames that burn in the fireplace. The window is curtained, and the door shut. You can’t move, you realize, but you are moving. Someone else is in control. You’re in somebody else’s shoes, seeing through their eyes.
The body that isn’t yours moves across the foyer and enters the closed study. It’s furnished again, and the abyss is gone. Candles are lit atop the desk, basking the room in orange light.

“It’s something,” a voice mutters, not your own. Bryce’s, you recognize.

You draw the chair away from the desk and sit down. A satchel comes off over your head and is laid to rest on the floor. Your hands rifle through it and bring out a book. A very familiar red book, the same one you saw Bryce with before—

You’re skimming through the pages quickly, a pen in hand. And try as you might, you can’t process any of the messy scribbles or excerpts written over the pages. Bryce finally stops skimming and lands on a blank page. You lift the pen to write, but a voice beckons you from somewhere outside in the fog.

“Bryce?” a man calls.

You stop and look back at the study door. “Damnit,” Bryce curses. You close the book and leave the study. You cross the main room and stop at a painting on the wall. After nudging it aside, a large hole is presented, and you stuff the satchel inside, book and all. You nudge the painting back into place, and you move toward the door.

 

When you blink again, you’re back. Back in the cabin, no fire burning in the fireplace, and the cold, rotting abyss still beckoning you from the study.

But something else beckons you—your intuition. You hadn’t noticed it before, but there is a hole in the wall where the painting was in the vision. You approach it and stop, brows furrowed. And after some hesitation, you reach your hand inside. At first, you feel nothing. But then your knuckles brush over a cloth strap. You curl your fingers around it and pull it out. Excitement suddenly courses through you as you dig your hand around. But that excitement is short-lived. It’s sapped away as you realize, with despondence, that the satchel is empty. You even flip it over and give it a good shake, but only dust showers out.

“An echo,” Bastion says behind you, startling you.

You turn to face him. “What do you mean?”

“It is an echo,” Bastion repeats. He clarifies, “A crude copy of what was once there, at a time before. The fog maintains the images of these things, but not to the full extent. It has faded anything that was once inside that bag, as it does to everything not born in this place.”

You scoff. “Of course it has…”

You drop the satchel to the floor and shake your head. “So this was just a waste of time?”

Bastion vanishes as you hear David calling for you outside. “Oi, you coming or what, mate?”

Disappointment riddles your face as you step toward the door. But you halt when you hear a faint scratching sound. Like claws on wood—

Your eyes find the hole again, then a startled gasp leaves your mouth as a spiny, black tendril suddenly shoots forth out of the darkness. It wraps around your throat and tightens before wrenching you forward hard. Your skull slams against the wall and you squeeze your eyes shut in pain. You see stars when you open them again. And you can only faintly make out a large dark shape as it breaks through the wall and bowls you over. You hit the floor with a shout, panic surging through you. But you aren’t given even a moment to react before another tendril wraps around your midsection, and you’re dragged screaming after the fleeing creature.

Before you know it, you’re yanked helplessly through the cabin and out a back door. Then down the porch steps, across the clearing, and straight into the fog. The tendrils around your neck and body are tight, and the spines that barb them are digging into your flesh, tearing you apart. You can hardly breathe, and everything’s a blur as the creature races through the fog. Voices reach your ears and call after you, but they’re all faint. Your hands desperately pry at the tendrils, but they don’t give.

Your struggle is futile, but also short-lived. The creature, whatever it is, shrieks suddenly as you hear a sickening crunch. The tendrils restraining you suddenly go slack, and the breath returns to your lungs.

As you turn over, gasping for air, you witness four spiny claws sprouted from the earth, entrapping the dark creature and crushing it. They twist and turn, snapping limbs and bones, and tearing black flesh. Then the howling monster is yanked into the abyss. The earth closes up and you collapse on the ground, turning over to look at the sky. “Fuck—”

Bastion appears nearby. His head is tilted, and the familiar grin is lacking, for once. “Oh, that’s no good,” he says.

Blood oozes from the wounds torn into your neck and body. Red stains your clothes and spills out onto the ground. If Bastion hadn’t shown up when he did, you might’ve been ripped in half… You sputter out blood and sarcastically gripe, “You think?”

You hear more shouting. Then your company comes through the fog, their faces twisted in worry and fear. When they lay eyes upon you, they’re horrified.

“What the fuck happened?” Nea shouts, staggering to a stop.

David’s already tearing his shirt off and ripping it into smithereens. Meg’s on her knees by your side, brows deeply furrowed on her face.

You swallow blood. “Something- Something attacked me,” you say. “Came out of the fucking wall and dragged me out here.”

David kneels on your other side and begins dressing the gushing wounds on your neck.

“Then where the hell did it go?” Nea asks, swiveling around quickly and on edge. She bunches her hands into fists at her sides and barks, “Damnit! Fuck this place!” She looks at Meg and David. “Are you slowing their bleeding?”

Meg shakes her head. “No. No, they're bleeding too much—”

“Then let’s get ‘em back to camp, then!” David barks. He tries to wind an arm beneath your body, but you wince away from him. “J-Just… let it happen,” you say, swallowing more blood. “I’ll-I’ll see you guys back at camp.”

“We don’t know that you’re going to come back!” Meg shouts.

“No one’s ever… died outside of a trial,” Nea says, her arms hugging herself. She looks unsure and afraid. They all do, you notice.

You don’t have the confidence to reassure them. Dread creeps in, but then you see Bastion’s dark form looming over your own. He’s grinning again. “Don’t worry,” he says. “Death is not an escape…”

And with his reassurance, as grim as it is, you let yourself relax and fade into darkness. Your friends’ voices become muted, then silent altogether…

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

When you peel open your eyes again, you’re staring up at a dark, starless sky. You’re groggy, and there’s still lingering pain coursing through your body, but you’re alive.

You lie in cold water, and fog surrounds you. You’re in Bastion’s realm, you realize. As you sit up, you wince and moan in pain. “Fuck me…”

“Is that an invitation?”

Your eyes find your shadowy companion standing nearby, watching you, grinning and leering. You glower at him.

“What the hell was that thing?” you demand as you get to your feet. “And where was it taking me?”

“Going into the fog is no walk in the park,” Bastion replies. “There are dangerous things lurking there… And these things can sense you, as well as you can sense them. Some of them want to deter your quest for answers.”

You scoff. “You knew that and didn’t warn me?”

“Would it have made a difference?” Bastion questions, tilting his head. “There are risks venturing out into the Dark Realm. But they are risks you must take if you are to find the answers you seek.”

You sigh and drop a hand to your side, feeling your body where it was lacerated mere moments ago. “I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I was sure hoping it would be…”

“You might not have found the answers you sought today, but you are becoming more attuned to the fog. The way it shifts and functions,” Bastion says. “It’s not easy, but it will get easier. You only need to take small steps.” He grins at you.

Your brows furrow. “My first journey into the fog, and I come out dead, and with nothing to show for it.” You mutter sarcastically, “Off to a great start…”

Bastion’s behind you, his arm spread wide. “Do you want a hug?” he purrs.

You slap one of his spiny appendages away. “Send me back.”

 

You take form at the campfire, startling those around it. Your eyes meet Meg’s, Nea’s, David’s, and Kate’s. Meg stops pacing, her worried gaze meeting yours. “Thank god—” She approaches you, brows knit as she says, “You came back.”

Nea’s sitting on a log nearby. She lifts her glum gaze and scoffs. “Damn. We were starting to think you wouldn’t…”

David’s still shirtless, lingering nearby. He looks at you and scolds, “Oi, no more taking day-trips out there, aye? There’re things out there ‘can’t wait to dig their grubby claws into us.”

Kate sets aside her guitar. “I heard what happened,” she says, standing to approach you. When she stops in front of you, she throws her arms around your shoulders in a quick hug, then pulls back to look you up and down. “Now, this place is as close to hell as any. Whose idea was it to go out that far?” She turns to face the other three. “None of us know what’s out there, and you were just askin’ for trouble!”

Your face flushes red. Sheepishly raising a hand, you say, “Uh, it was me, actually…”

Kate faces you again. “It was?”

Nea kicks a rock into the fire. “Sluggo wanted to take a little stroll,” she says. “We only tagged along to get away from camp. But trust us, we didn’t even go out that far! Whatever that place was, whatever that thing was that attacked them, it came to us.”

Kate hums. “I’ll start puttin’ boots up rear ends if I hear somethin’ like this happens again.” She moves away from you to go retake her seat, and Meg passes you a worried look.

“Well, we learned one thing today,” she says, face glum. “We can die out here, outside of the trials… And there are things that want to kill us.” She continues pacing, her arms folded over her chest. “I thought we’d be safe out here,” she murmurs.

You worry you’ve damaged their morale. And there was never a lot there to begin with… “It was just a fluke,” you say. “This is the first time something like this has happened, right? So the chances it happens again are slim. There’s nothing to worry about.”

David scoffs. He amusingly jabs, “Aye… You’re a load a’ bad luck, mate. The trials might play in your favor, but not out ‘ere, it seems…” He leans back against a tree and folds a leg over the other.

You find a seat by the fire and sigh. Kate’s strumming her guitar again, and you’re getting lost in your thoughts as you stare at the flickering flames.

Today was a fluke, but you’re considering it a lucky one. Sure, some little gremlin that came out of the wall almost kidnapped you, and sure, you did die, but you also found something. An echo, as useless as it is, is still a clue. A sign you’re on the right track.

Just take small steps, you think. Small steps and discretion. You might be under house arrest now, so discretion has become a must. David definitely won’t be letting you wander out there anymore, and Kate might actually put her boot up your ass if she finds out you have…

 

Small steps and discretion. And then you find your answers…

 

Chapter 4: Discretion

 

Your knees are raw as you’re dragged forcibly down a dark, spiraling stone staircase. Bricked walls surround you on both sides, the descent only partially illuminated by the torch scones on the stone barriers. But the flames aren’t enough to warm your chilled bones. Parched moans leave your throat, a woman’s voice, not your own. Two pale hands have each of your biceps in their grip, long, blackened nails digging into your flesh. You can hardly lift your head as it hangs limply on your shoulders, and your struggle is weak and futile.

It’s happening again, you realize. You’re in somebody else’s body, in a different place, in a different time. But this woman isn’t Bryce—

“Please,” your hoarse voice moans. “I’m not your enemy.”

The woman’s plea, your plea, is scorned. It goes unheard, bouncing off the walls and coming back to you. Those vice-like grips on your arms tighten further, and you cry out in pain.

Your dark skin is slick with sweat and blood, and goosebumps stipple your arms. The heart you share in the woman’s chest is thumping fast, beating against her ribcage in anxious fear. You descend into the darkness, lower and lower. An awful rot emanating from below stings your nostrils. You’re sharing her fear now. Sharing the same dread of what’s coming when you reach the depths below. The dread puts an awful pit in your stomach, and it makes your hair stand on end. You want to fight back, to do anything to get out of this situation, but you’re trapped, same as her. Your breathing is ragged and harsh, each whimper and cry scratchy in your dry throat. You try to get a look at your tormentors, but you’re too weak to turn your head. But you can feel the loathing that exudes from them. Wherever they’re taking you, you have a feeling you won’t be coming back. And that must be a tuition this woman shares.

She musters what little strength remains in her body and struggles. She squirms and wrenches her arms, but it’s all for naught. Deeper down you descend into the darkness below. Your features are twisted into fear, your eyes wide and your mouth agape.

“Please,” you try. “Please, I’m not the—”

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

Your eyes open to meet the blank, black visage of Bastion’s face. He’s looming over you, grinning as usual. “Sleep well?” He purrs, face inches from your own. That pearly white grin is giving you a headache. It’s too early for this.

You reach out a hand and push on Bastion’s chest, shoving your shady partner away. He falls into the corner of your tent, and a deep laugh leaves his sharp maw. “Thought you could use a wake-up call,” he says, grinning.

You sit up and take your head in your hands. You’re drenched in sweat, and your heart is still pounding in your chest. All that crippling fear is slowly deteriorating…

“Can I just have five minutes to myself?” you sigh, facing Bastion.

Bastion meets your tired eyes and chuckles. “Time’s a commodity here. And it’s not something you should waste away sleeping…”

You grunt dismissively and lie back down. “Good point, but I’m tired.” You turn over onto your side and rest your eyes. “Five more minutes.”

Your request is denied. You hear a sickening snap, then feel one of Bastion’s spiny claws wind under your body and hook around your waist. Despite your objections and moans, you’re dragged from your tent and dropped to the ground. Bastion stands over you.

“No rest for the wicked,” he says, chuckling. “Come now. There are secrets to be uncovered in the Dark Realm.”

You’re fully content to fall asleep on the ground. Bastion pokes and prods at you with a claw until you swat it away and sit up. “Fine.”

 

You splash your face with cold water and sigh. You’re sitting on your knees on the bank of the pond near the campsite. Bastion’s looming over your shoulder, his reflection staring back at you on the surface of the water. A yawn shudders your frame and you dip your hands into the water again. “Being the chosen one isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” you mutter, splashing more water over your face. The crisp air chills your wet skin.

“You’re handling it well,” Bastion replies.

You scoff. “It’s that, or lose my mind. And like you said—” You stand up and face Bastion. “It’s a little too early for that.”

Bastion grins. “I’m here if you require emotional support.”

“I’ll pass on that,” you scoff. “But you can answer some questions for me.”

Bastion tilts his head. You say, “I want everything you know out in the open. You’ve hidden things from me before, and I ended up dead.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Bastion says.

“Okay, but if I had known there were things out there that wanted my head on a platter, I might’ve been a bit more careful. Not to mention I definitely wouldn’t have dragged the others out there with me.”

Bastion’s quiet as a mouse. You huff. “You don’t need to keep things from me, Bastion. We’re a team, right?”

Bastion’s grin falters, but only for a second. He folds his arms behind his back and gives you a wry look. “You know everything you need to know.”

That seems to be all he’s willing to tell you. You sigh and shake your head. “You’re such a hardass.”

“Do you always talk to yourself like this?”

Another voice makes you jump in surprise and spin around on your heels. Bastion vanishes, and you lock eyes with Jake. He stands at the border of the fog, his arms folded across his chest and a brow lifted as he scrutinizes you. “Because if you do, I might have to keep my distance. No offense,” he says.

You allow your heart to calm down and sheepishly rub the back of your neck. “Not often,” you say. “I was just… heading back to camp.”

“You’re a bad liar.” Jake flicks his chin over your shoulder and prompts, “You were going back out there, weren’t you? Back out into the fog? What, you didn’t learn your lesson the first time?”

“So you heard,” you sigh.

“Everyone’s heard,” Jake replies. “There’s shit out there we don’t want to mess with. And shit you shouldn’t risk bringing back to camp. It’s bad enough in the trials—we don’t need to be hunted outside of them, too.”

And here I was thinking you were worried about me, you think with a frown. “I won’t drag anything back to camp, alright? I just need to get away every once in a while.”

“Get away from what? The campfire’s heaven compared to everything else out there.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” you say.

Jake huffs. “I do,” he says. “But what I don’t understand is why you have a death wish.”

“Why do you care? If I run into something out there, I’ll take one for the team and keep it away from camp. But what I do here is none of your business.”

Silence follows for the next few minutes. Jake’s staring at you hard, like he’s scrutinizing a toddler who’s hiding their hands behind their back. It’s making you nervous… Then he finally speaks.

“Fine,” he says simply. “Lead the way then.”

You lift a brow. “What?”

“I get that you want time away from camp. I feel the same way too. And if we’re going to mope off into the fog, might as well do it together. Better odds fending off anything that attacks us out there…”

You sigh. “I’m not—”

“Are you going to stop me?” Jake questions. He looks skeptical you can. You doubt it, too. Jake might be on the shy side, but you don’t know what he’s packing under all those layers. Or what he’s willing to do to get his way.

Bastion appears beside you with a slanted smirk. “Want me to get rid of him?” he offers.

You give him a dirty look, drawing a laugh out of your shady partner as he vanishes again. You face Jake. “Alright,” you say. “Let’s take a walk.”

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

Jake’s company is lacking for sure. The last ten minutes have been dead silent. You’d hardly even know he was there if you weren’t side-eyeing him every few moments. He’s not a talker, for sure. You got more out of Claudette than you think you’re going to get out of him.

Another glance and Jake catches you eyeing him. You quickly avert your eyes. “So,” you begin. “Uh… Do you like—”

“We don’t need to be buddy-buddy,” Jake interrupts. He looks at you and says, “I come out here to get away from all the awkward small talk and pretend.”

“Why?” you ask. “You’ve all been here so long, I only figured you’d be—”

“One big happy family?” Jake scoffs. “Well, we’re not. We’re just a bunch of sad bastards in the same sinking boat. One minute you’re having a chat with these people around the campfire, the next, they’re leaving your ass for dead in a trial.” Jake gives you a furrowed look. “We’re not friends. We’re survivors, each trying to get by however we can.”

You frown. “Everyone has it tough here, Jake. Those trials are hard, and they can bring out something awful in you. But you shouldn’t hold that against them.” You throw a hand out in exasperation and say, “And I’m sure you’ve done the same thing. Don’t tell me you’re a saint. I won’t believe it…”

Jake grunts. “I’m not,” he admits. “I do what I have to to get out. Sometimes that means being a team player. Sometimes it doesn’t.” He meets your eyes again. “It’s easier to cut ties when you don’t have any.”

“Well, that’s one way to look at it,” you say. “But here’s another.” You stop walking and face him. “We’re all trapped here and stuck in the same boat. And no matter how many trials you escape alive, or how many times you die, at the end of the day, we all share that campfire. The one thing we have is each other. And maybe you should embrace that.”

Your heartfelt speech strikes a chord, but only your own. Jake is looking at you like you just told him a joke and botched the punchline.

“You get that off a fortune cookie?” The corner of his lips tug up in a smirk, and he shakes his head and keeps moving. “I’ve heard that shtick about a dozen times already. From Kate, Jane, Adam, Dwight—” Jake glances back at you. “And they all delivered it better than you did.”

Bastion laughs behind you. You shoot your partner a dirty look and follow Jake. “Alright, I get it. You’re a lone wolf, and you hate inspirational speeches. But if you’re so antisocial, then why did you want my name?”

“I like to familiarize myself with my surroundings,” Jake responds. “That includes people, too. Like to know what I’m working with.”

You lift a brow. “Sounds like BS.”

“It isn’t.” Jake looks at you. “It’s like reviewing a plot of land before setting the foundation for a cabin.”

“Weird analogy for someone who’s never built a cabin before…”

“Never said I haven’t,” Jake replies.

“But you told David—”

“I told David I wasn’t a carpenter. And I’m not. Well, not by trade, anyway… But I never said I couldn’t build a cabin.”

“Wait, so you CAN build a cabin?” You laugh and say, “The poor man only wants a roof over his head, Jake!”

“Then he’ll have to build it himself,” Jake replies. “If you want something, earn it.”

You’re beginning to get a pretty good read on this guy… A distant, lone wolf with a people-problem and a dry sense of humor. It’s not much to go on, but it is something. Jake notices you studying him and he turns his neutral gaze your way.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“You got a camera?”

He cracks a smile and draws his scarf up over his mouth. “Ghostface does. I might be able to nab it for you.”

“Ghostface?”

“An asshole in a shitty Halloween costume. Count yourself lucky you haven’t run into him yet.”

Great, you think. How many killers are there?

Your trek into the wayward fog brings you to a destination. The fog around both of you disperses, and you stand in a moonlit clearing. No ramshackle cabins, no ponds, no landmarks… You come to a stop and turn slowly on your heels. Nothing.

Bastion takes form behind you. “Look closely,” he grins. “You were drawn here for a reason.”

Jake grabs your attention when he nudges your shoulder. “You want to head back?”

“In a moment,” you reply. You move away from him and slowly take in your surroundings. Trees, you note. Some weeds here and there. And fog. A lot of fog. You scoff. Bastion might be pulling my leg now…

But speak of the devil. You spot your shadowy friend standing beside a tree, watching you. And at his feet, a small metallic object glinting in the moonlight. When you lay eyes on it, Bastion chuckles and vanishes. You approach the tree and lean down to pluck the object into your hand. It’s an old Zippo lighter. Mostly a coppery color now because of dirt, age, and rust. You flick it open.

 

“Damn it,” a voice curses. A man’s—not yours or Bryce’s.

You’re surrounded by pitch black, save for the flame offered by the lighter in your hands. The ground beneath you is soft and loose. You can hardly tell in the dark, but you’re in a cave. A tunnel. And you’re descending slowly, as carefully as you can. The deeper you go, the more dread that courses through you. Eery sounds reach your ears and cause the hairs on your arms to stand up. Moans and distant screams bouncing off the tunnel walls send shivers running through you.

Sweat pools on your brow and you raise an arm to wipe it away. Another scream makes you jump in your boots. You want to turn back, but this man, whoever he is, is resolute in pushing forward. You wonder what he thinks he’ll find down here. But it’s a mild curiosity, trumped by your overwhelming fear. Another sharp scream cuts through the tunnel and the man falters in place. He’s gripping the lighter hard in his fist, the other hand placed on the cave wall to guide himself down. He swallows a lump in his throat and moves forward. But a skittering sound pauses him again. It grows louder and louder, then a large, dark shape bounds of the blackness ahead of you and lunges forward. You scream.

 

“Hey!”

Jake’s voice snaps you back to reality, and your boggling eyes meet his. His hands are on your shoulders, his face close to your own. You exhale a shaky breath. “Hey.”

Jake scoffs. He drops his arms to his side and backs away. “First, I find you talking to yourself, and now you’re having manic fits. Do you have a few screws loose?”

You sigh and take an arm across your face, clearing sweat from your skin. “I just-… It’s nothing. We all zone out sometimes, right?”

Jake doesn’t look convinced.

The lighter’s resting on the ground at your feet. You bend down, hesitate, then pick it up. No more visions pop into your head. Good.

“We can go back now—”

But when you lift your gaze, Jake’s gone. In his place, you see thin black tethers of smoke and crackling embers. Taken for a trial.

Bastion appears beside you. “A shame,” he says. “I was enjoying his company…”

You look up at him. Bastion grins. “You’ve found another mark. What did you see?” He asks.

“Another… vision,” you answer. “I was somebody else again, in a dark cave, or-or tunnel. I don’t know…” You pocket the lighter and say, “The man wasn’t Bryce. I don’t know who it was.”

“You share a connection with those that came before you,” Bastion says. “Bryce was only one of many.”

“And these visions and dreams are normal?”

“Indeed,” Bastion answers. “And they might prove useful in locating more marks.”

“Hm,” you hum. “Then maybe I should find that cave.”

But not today, as fate would have it.

You take a step forward, then you’re whisked away and transported into a trial. A familiar icy shiver runs up your spine as you materialize in the middle of a junkyard. You turn on your heels to survey your surroundings with a stark frown on your face. “Gas Heaven,” you murmur, eyes catching the flickering sign out front of the gas station. “I guess cave crawling comes later.”

Not that you mind the delay. You’re not exactly eager to meet whatever’s lurking inside that cave, wherever it is…

You wind around a high stack of crushed cars and find a generator, then get to work. You crouch in front of it and bury your hands deep in the machine, rooting around for wires. Bastion appears nearby and watches you soundlessly with a grin.

“You could help, you know,” you say, glancing at him. “Maybe come over here and get your hands a little dirty…”

“That’s not the dirty work I specialize in,” Bastion chuckles. When he gauges the cross look on your face, he vanishes with a hearty laugh.

 

You toil away at the generator for around five minutes when you hear a bell chime close by. You pause and look around. Silence. Strange, but you think nothing of it and get back to work. But then the hairs on your neck suddenly stand on end. Fear courses through you and leaves your throat dry and your heart pumping fast. You know well enough what it means. The killer’s near.

After wrenching your hands free from the mechanisms, you draw away from the generator to hide. But a twig snaps behind you, causing you to jump in fright and spin around. And just in time to dodge a heavy mace. It swipes by your head as you throw yourself hazardously against a wall of crushed cars. Your eyes widen when you behold the killer before you. Tall, garbed in bandages and a muddied cloak, and wielding a jagged, lethal instrument in one hand, and a bell in the other. Piercing silver orbs meet your own eyes and the killer swings again.

You evade the second strike and let your legs carry you fast away. The killer’s hot on your tail.

“Where the hell did he come from?!” you shout, throwing a glance back over your shoulder at your pursuer.

“The other campers have taken to calling him the Wraith,” Bastion disembodied voice says in your ear. “Be mindful when pitted against this one. He’s very elusive…”

You’re chased across the wreck yard to the gas station. You vault the window, but your foot catches on the sill and you crash to the floor inside hard. The lighter flies out of your pocket and clatters out beside you. You hear a pumping generator nearby.

The Wraith is right behind you, stepping through the window as you scramble to recollect the lighter. You grab it when a large hand snatches your ankle. The killer yanks you to him, weapon raised high in the air, and then—

And then he stops. The tall man freezes stiffly in place, his glowing orbs honed on the lighter still grasped in your fist.

You’re frozen too, out of fear and confusion. Moments of reprieve pass, and the Wraith stares soundlessly at the rusted lighter in your hand. You swallow a lump in your throat and idly scrape the rust on the lighter. Any second now, you think, sweat beading on your face. But nothing’s happening. So you act on a baseless instinct and flick the lighter open, catching a flame. And that does it. The Wraith snaps out of his odd trance and rage surges through him. That much you gather from the angry growl that comes up his throat, and the way his grip on your ankle tightens tenfold. You drop the lighter and shield your face, but his attack doesn’t come.

In a mere second, the floor cracks apart beneath him, and enormous claws sprout from the abyss. The Wraith is seized by them and enveloped in their grasp. Hellish noises leave the killer’s throat as he’s twisted and abducted into the earth. And then he’s gone. The scar seals itself, and Bastion takes his form beside you.

“Another killer that’s going to be gunning for your head,” he chuckles. “You’re not making this easy on yourself…”
You finally gather yourself and get back to your feet. “Yeah, I know,” you sigh. You flick the lighter shut and bury it in your pocket. “But it’s not like I have any other alt—”
You cut off abruptly as you turn around and notice your company.

A man stands in front of a locker on the other end of the shop, his eyes wide and scrutinizing you. You recognize him, of course. Neat blonde hair combed back on his head, handsome face with a strong chiseled jaw, and a pricey, albeit dirtied, dress suit. You’ve seen him around camp from time to time. Felix, you think his name is. Yeah, Felix. And Felix is staring at you like he’s just seen a ghost.

Shit. That’s all that’s running through your head now. Shit.

Without a word, you quickly vault the window and leave the vicinity. But he’s following. His voice calls after you, “Hey!”

You ignore him and quicken your pace. Just fix the generators and get out, you urge yourself. Ignore him and get out.

But he won’t be ignored. Felix catches up to you and takes your shoulder. “What the hell was that?” he presses. It’s hard to miss his thick German accent.

You shrug his hand off, but he replaces it quickly and harshly turns you to face him. “Answer me.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” you bite.

Felix narrows his eyes. “I think you know damn well what it was.”

You scoff, and Felix’s look hardens.

Again, you shake his hand off your shoulder. “I’m going to find a generator so I can get the hell out of here,” you say firmly, and with confidence. Although, that confidence is betrayed by the nervous sweat on your skin. “Feel free to join me.” Then you end the discussion and turn away. You notice he isn’t following you this time. But you can feel his eyes boring holes into the back of your head…

 

You move leisurely through the fog alongside Adam and Min. Min carries herself with arrogance and a smug smirk on her lips. “Easiest trial I’ve had in a while…”

Adam has nothing to say, and neither do you. Felix eventually stalks past you, but not before passing you a scrutinizing look. You almost buckle under his steely gaze, then he moves on ahead. You discreetly slow your pace behind the other two, then stop completely. Soon, they move out of sight. A sigh escapes your parted lips. “Damn it…”

“What your fellow campers know, and don’t know, will hardly make a difference,” Bastion says beside you. “They can’t deter you from making progress.”

You look up at him. “Yeah, but I’m not sure I want everyone around camp thinking I’m crazy. Jake already thinks I’ve lost my marbles…” Your brows crease and you rub your temples. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be stuck here with these people. But being the camp nutcase doesn’t sound too appealing.”

“The man doesn’t even know what he saw,” Bastion grins. “Flip it around, make him believe he’s the one that’s lost his marbles.”

“I doubt it’ll be that easy,” you say. “He KNOWS what he saw. He just doesn’t know how to explain it. I wouldn’t either if I were in his shoes.” You get moving again, reluctantly. “If he tells anyone else, I’m screwed…”

As you cross through the fog barrier into camp, you stiffen up. The other two are already settling down, and you notice Felix standing nearby with a woman. Elodie, you think. You’ve never held a conversation with her, but you’ve seen her around. The two speak to each other in hushed whispers. And when they notice you, they pause, scrutinize you, then continue speaking. You swallow a lump in your throat.

Min is kicked back on a log, and Adam’s found a seat beside Kate. Kate’s strumming her guitar and humming a wistful tune. There’s a cozy atmosphere overhead—always is when Kate’s on her guitar, but you can’t stick around. Not with the two whistleblowers over there…

You silently pass through the camp, but Kate takes notice and gives you a kind smile.

“I hear tell the trial was easy as pie!” she sings. “From what I’ve been hearin’ ‘round camp, you’re a good luck charm! I wouldn’t mind runnin’ a trial with you.”

You grunt absentmindedly, your nervous eyes flickering back to Felix and Elodie. They’re observing you.

When you tear your eyes away, you face Kate with a managed smile. “Careful, Kate. You might jinx me.”

Kate lets out a delightful laugh and strums another chord. “I’ll be careful,” she says. “You wanna join us ‘round the fire?”

“Some other time,” you say simply. Then you move on without another word. Those studying gazes are still on you as you leave camp.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

You idly pace the area in front of your tent with a furrowed look resting on your face. The lighter’s in hand as you flick it open and close repeatedly. Bastion stands nearby, watching you and grinning.

“I think you’re overreacting,” he says.

“Maybe,” you say. “But if I’m not, then I’m—”

“Fucked?” Bastion leers at you.

You sigh. “Not the word I would’ve used, but yes. Fucked.”

You thumb over the rust on the casing of the lighter. “So much for discretion…”

 

Chapter 5: Fog Haven

“Your first cold! Congrats, Sluggo!” Nea slaps you on the back as she takes a seat down on your left. “What’s your streak, huh?”

Another sneeze shudders your frame and you lean forward with a stuffy sigh. “Haven’t been keeping count,” you mutter, sniffing.

You feel miserable. If you knew catching a cold here could be this bad, you might’ve just tanked a trial to avoid it. Death, as excruciating as it is, is only temporary and without the awful aches and stuffy nose…

Claudette’s minding a kettle of tea on the fire. Another sneeze draws her attention, and she pours a cup and comes your way. “I’ve added some herbs that might ease your sore throat.” She offers the cup. “But I can’t guarantee it will…”

“I’ll take what I can get,” you say, accepting the tea. “Thanks, Claudette.”

She hums and retakes her seat on the opposite side of the fire.

You blow on your steaming tea when you hear another camper’s arrival. Then Nea greets, “Hey, El’.”

You freeze. Your eyes dart over and meet Elodie’s. She enters camp murmuring her greetings, then takes notice of you. She pauses, hesitates, then comes your way. You set your tea aside as she sits on your right. You’re uneasy, which you’re sure she’s noticed. She speaks.

“I don’t think we’ve gotten the chance to talk, yet.”

You grunt in response, sniffing. “I, uh, have a cold,” you try. “Don’t recommend getting too close, unless you want to catch the sniffles too…”

“More things to fear here than a cough,” Elodie says. “You’re still new, right?”

You just know she’s going to start prying any second now.

You swallow a lump in your throat. “Yeah, sorta.”

Any second now.

Elodie silently analyzes you. You sweat.

“How are you handling it?” she asks.

“About as well as everyone else,” you answer, shifting uneasily.

Elodie hums. “So,” she says. “Felix tells me—”

You hear the familiar sound of crackling embers as David spawns in the center of camp. He’s clearly pissed, clear in his furrowed brow and bunched fists. “Almost made it out,” he barks. “But that lil’ punk snatched my collar!” He tears his shirt off over his head and tosses it aside. “That’s why I go in shirtless!”

Nea snorts. “I thought you just liked flaunting your stuff.”

“That too,” David says, grinning.

The two break out in laughter, and Elodie, you notice, looks a smidgen annoyed. She faces you again, a hard look on her face. “We need to talk, alone. We can go—”
Her voice vanishes as she does, in a plume of dark smoke. Snatched into a trial.

You sigh in relief and stand to leave. Claudette looks at you with concern. “Did you finish your tea?”

“I gotta go lie down,” you respond, fleeing camp. No one else stops you as you enter the fog.

 

When you arrive at your campsite, you shake your head and sigh. “She was about to go all in.” You peel open your tent and step inside. “I’ve seen the way she and Felix have been eyeing me around camp… It’s only a matter of time until they pounce.”

You think you might be talking to yourself, but Bastion appears in the clearing behind you, his arms folded behind his back. “Indeed,” he says.

You sigh. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already—” You freeze, your hands resting on your bedroll. It’s flat. Empty. Shit.

“The book’s missing.” You throw your pillow aside, dig into your bedroll for the damn book, but it’s not turning up.

Bastion stands silent nearby, idly spectating your growing panic as you root through your tent.

“It’s not here—”

“The book was an echo,” Bastion says behind you, ceasing your search. You turn to look at him.

“It was?”

“Evidently. It simply faded. Nobody’s been through your personal effects. Yet .”

Your panic dissolves, and you sigh. “Oh.” Leaning back on your haunches, you mutter, “Well, that would explain why all the pages were blank…” You pause, crease your brows, then utter, “But it doesn’t explain why that page had been torn out—”

On cue, Bastion lifts a hand and conjures up a slip of aged paper between his fingers in a plume of black smoke. The very same page that was, you realize, torn from the book. Your eyes widen. Bastion grins. “I kept it.”

Reading the puzzled look on your face, he chuckles and says, “I decided to hold on to it for you. As a memento of the first step of your journey. And of our meeting.”

“Why hasn’t it faded?” you ask, brow raised.

“My realm preserves echoes,” Bastion answers. The paper vanishes, and he returns his arm behind his back. “If there are ever any others you’d like to keep, just hand them over. They’ll remain in mint condition.”

“Could I keep other things there, too? Marks?”

“Short of disembodied consciousness and echoes, my realm can’t maintain anything else.”

You sigh. “Of course not…” Getting to your feet, you drop your hands to your hips and murmur, “I can’t keep my things here. That would just be begging someone to dig through it.”

"Do you want me to keep tabs on your fellow campers?” Bastion offers, grinning.

You don’t like the implications behind the offer, so you shake your head. “No. They’re only curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Bastion chuckles.

“Curiosity doesn’t warrant punishment.” You give Bastion a hard look. “Got it?”

“If you insist.”

You rub your chin. “I just need someplace to store my findings.”

“Bryce made a habit of hiding his belongings, too. You might seek out a harbor in the fog.”

“Is that an option?” you ask, facing your shadowy partner.

Bastion grins. “Only one way to find out.”

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

Your venture into the fog has you feeling more miserable than before. You’d love to sulk back to camp and linger by the fire for the warmth of the flames and the company of the other campers, but that's out of the picture since you run the risk of having another close call with Felix or Elodie. Besides, you do have to tend to the more pressing matters…

Although, you’ve found nothing in the past ten minutes you’ve been walking blind in the cold fog. Same as your many other previous ventures which were, undoubtedly, what afflicted you with this nasty cold in the first place…

Bastion strides silently alongside you, but he must read the apprehension on your face because he speaks. "Not everything will come easy to you out here,” he says, turning his head to look down at you. “The search might very well take hours.”

You sniff. “How encouraging.”

“If we search long enough, it’s only a matter of time until we find something,” Bastion says.

“This is some pep talk,” you scoff sarcastically.

“This would go a lot quicker if you weren’t dragging your feet.”

You sigh in exasperation. “I don’t feel well! Forgive me if I don’t have a bounce in my step…”

Bastion chuckles. “Aw, the little fog wanderer isn’t feeling well? Why don’t we turn back so you can curl up in your sleeping bag and take a nice long nap?” He presses his hands together and makes a mock sleeping gesture with his hands beside his head. “Do you want daddy to tuck you in?” He has a shit-eating grin on his face.

You ball a fist and jab him on the side, and it’s no surprise when he whips your ass with a claw in retaliation. You yelp and grab your rear. “Hey!”

Bastion vanishes with a laugh as you rub your sore ass.

“Bastard,” you mutter.

You turn back around just as the fog parts suddenly in front of you. It disperses to reveal a cabin in the middle of a moonlit clearing. Not just any cabin; the same cabin as before. Seeing it again sends a chill jolting up your spine. You recall being dragged out the back door and yanked into the fog by that shadowy creature. But it’s different now, noticeably. Smoke plumes into the dark sky from the chimney, there are warm lights shining through the curtained windows, and stranger yet, an old woman sits in the rocking chair on the porch.

Your curiosity urges you forward, slowly. And to your surprise, the woman speaks.

“You’ve come back,” she says, her voice soft and buttery.

You stop in front of the porch steps for a closer look. Short, coily grey hair frames a dark, wrinkly old face. Milky-white eyes are buried deep in their sockets and gaze blankly straight ahead. The old woman’s scraggly body is garbed in a worn brown cotton frock and a greying apron. Her frail hands slowly knit a yellow scarf on her lap, and she seems none the wiser to the horrors of the surrounding fog. Or perhaps she's just uncaring of them.

You lift a brow. “Who are you?”

The strange woman hums deeply. She doesn't answer your question, rather saying, “Thought you’d turn up, eventually. But you’re a different person now.”

The odd comment has your face etched with confusion. “I don’t think—” You pause, sheepishly scratch your neck, then say, “You should come with me. It isn’t safe out here. There’s a campsite close by—”

“No,” the woman interrupts. She stops rocking in her chair, slightly lifting her head to gaze in your general direction. But you’re sure she’s not seeing anything through those blind eyes. “I’m stayin’ right here,” she says firmly. “Staying right here at home.”

“This is your home?”

“Yes,” the woman replies, rocking again. “Snatched from the world a long time ago… I was snatched with it.” She casts her gaze to her feet, muttering, “Too weak to play in the trials. Too weak to do anythin' but sit here and fade away…”

“This is—” You trail off, sigh, then say, “It’s much warmer at the campfire, ma’am. And there are other people there, too.”

The woman’s silent.

This is baffling. There are dozens of questions swimming around in your head, and many you’re sure you won’t be able to make sense of. You take a step back to get a better look at the rest of the cabin. It’s in better condition than it was the first time you stumbled upon it. It’s undoubtedly the same cabin, but you’re finding that hard to believe…

“Have you come for your things?” The woman asks, tearing you from your thoughts.

You face her again. “My things?”

The woman grunts. “I don’t think they’re here no more. The fog took everythin’ you left behind.”

“I’ve never been here before,” you say. “Well, at least I don’t think I have—”

“Yes, you have.” The woman stops knitting. She turns her gaze your way and says, “You here to commandeer my house again?”

“I’m not—” you hesitate. “I’d like to look inside if you’ll let me.”

“I won’t stop you.”

You hum and step onto the porch. The woman asks, “Can you gather some more kindling for my fire first?”

“Uh… sure.”

You step back and turn to go scrounge up some tinder. You can feel the woman’s blind gaze on your back as you move away.

 

You have an armful of sticks and tree branches you've collected around the clearing when Bastion makes his reappearance beside you. Taking another stick into your arms, you glance at him and ask, “Who is this woman? And where did she come from? She wasn’t here before.”

Bastion hums. “This would appear to be the true instance of the cabin. The one you visited before was merely an echo. It would explain why it was deteriorating…”

You pause and face him. “The whole cabin was an echo?”

“It would surprise you the things the fog is capable of mimicking,” Bastion replies. “It was even enough to convince me.”  He folds his arms behind his back and says, “As for the woman, she’s been here for quite some time… I thought she would be long gone by now.” He chuckles and adds, “She has an incredible will. Although, I can’t help but wonder what she’s hanging on to…”

You look surprised. “Wait, you know that woman?”

“Bryce did,” Bastion says. “And some others before him, as well.”

You pause a good moment, then prompt, “So Bryce’s stuff could still be here?”

“Perhaps.”

Eager to get inside the cabin, you take what you have up the porch steps and pile it into the firewood rack beside the door.

“Thank you,” the woman says.

You nod and enter her home.

Immediately, you see and feel the difference inside. A fire burns in the fireplace, casting a warm orange glow over the furnished room. There’s a small, square wooden table pressed against the wall beneath the curtained window, the shelves are stacked with vials of jams and sauces, and a red rug is laid out on the hearth. And it’s hard to miss the relaxing aroma of vanilla emanating from the kitchen. This place is cozy.

Turning slowly on your heels, you see on the wall beside the front door, a large oil painting of a moonlit lake surrounded by a dense green forest. The same painting from the vision—

Instinctively, you approach the painting and nudge it aside. That hole is still there, too. After a moment of apprehension, you reach your arm inside and feel around. Empty. No satchel, but no evil dark creature either…

Since that’s a bust, you cross the room toward the study. The door’s already parted open, so you give it a push. It creaks open and you peer inside. No cold, dark abyss in place of the floor, thankfully. And it looks just the same as it did in the echo. There are some unlit candles sitting on the bookshelves. Moonlight floods into the room through the window on the wall above the desk.

You waste no time yanking open the desk drawers. But to your disappointment, both are completely empty. There isn't even a single speck of dust. You sigh. “Damn it…”

“It seems the fog has taken Bryce’s possessions,” Bastion says behind you. “A pity.”

You nudge the drawer shut with your foot and back away. “Just one dead end after another,” you mutter. You turn around, then pause. The desk chair sits in the corner of the room, but there’s a brown leather jacket laid over the back of it. You reach for it, your fingers brush over the sleeve, then you’re—

 

—In Bryce’s body again. A wall of fog parts in front of you and you come upon the cabin. You spot the old woman sitting on the porch, rocking in her chair. Bryce greets her.

“Good mornin', Lydia.”

The old woman, her name, presumably Lydia, slightly lifts her head toward him. Toward you.

“Hasn’t been mornin’ in a long time,” she says, scoffing.

You walk up the porch steps. “How would ye know?” Bryce says. “Yer blind, aren’t you?”

“Haven’t felt the sun on my skin,” Lydia responds, chuckling. “Might be blind, but I’m not stupid.”

Bryce grunts. “Ah…”

You enter the cabin and cross the room to the study. Then you peel a brown leather jacket off and throw it over the back of the desk chair. You take a red book from the satchel on your hip and set it on the desk, then—

 

Then you’re back.

You huff. Didn’t learn a thing from that one…

Bastion still stands behind you. He says, “The old woman was kind enough to offer her home to Bryce. It served him as a refuge in the fog… He stored many of his belongings here, away from prying eyes. You might do the same if you’re confident you can return here with ease.”

You turn to face him. “I’m not confident I can,” you say.

“Bryce had taken to leaving something behind as an anchor,” Bastion says. “Something that would draw him back in…” He gestures soundlessly at the jacket on the chair.

Humoring the idea, you pat yourself down, then take that lighter from your pocket. It’s all you’ve got on you.

“That’ll have to do,” Bastion says.

You set the lighter on the desk and leave the study.

 

As you step back outside onto the porch, you face the old woman and say, “Your name’s Lydia, right?”

“You’re startin’ to remember,” she replies, rocking back and forth slowly.

“I was, uh, wondering if I could—”

“My home is yours, honey,” Lydia interrupts.

You perk up. “Oh? Oh, thank—” You cut off with a sneeze, then sniff and rub your stuffy nose. "Thank you."

Lydia hums. “You got a cold, honey? Go take a warm bath.”

“You have a bathtub?”

Lydia nods. “You’ll have to heat the water up yourself. Go make use of some a’ those soaps, too. You’re smellin’ ripe…”

Your face warms up and you sheepishly rub the back of your neck. “And you have soap?”

Bastion stands nearby, watching you with an amused grin. You’re sure he won’t let you hear the end of this, but you can’t help it. You rush back inside the cabin with the same enthusiasm as a child running into a candy shop.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

You sink into the tub of warm, bubbly water with a blissful sigh. It took around thirty minutes running back and forth collecting buckets of water from a well out back, then heating it up on the old wood stove in the kitchen, but it was worth it. This is heaven. Or, it would be, if the devil didn’t have your number...

Bastion takes form on the other side of the tub, making you almost jump right out of your skin. He’s sitting in the water, his long legs bent awkwardly and his arms hanging out the sides of the tub. He stares at you with a grin. “Don’t you have work to do?”

You sigh. “This is the first time I’ve been able to relax since coming here.”

“Lydia’s cozy cabin isn’t going anywhere,” Bastion chuckles.

“Don’t nag me, okay? I can’t even remember the last time I had a hot bath…” You take a bar of wrapped soap from the shelf behind the tub, murmuring, “Or soap…”

You feel something tickle your leg, then shoot a narrow look at Bastion. His claws are worming their way into the water. He laughs. “These things have a mind of their own…”

You shake your head and mutter, “I won’t let you ruin this for me.” Opting to ignore him, you fold your arms under your head and close your eyes to relax. “I’m never leaving this tub.”

Your moment of relaxation is short-lived. Suddenly, you hear crackling embers, then you’re taken away and transported elsewhere. The first thing you register is the intense cold as a breeze brushes past and chills your wet body. The second thing you register is all the corn. And the third is the alarming fact that you’re still naked.

You squeal and cover your private bits, pivoting on your heels with wide eyes. You’re standing stark naked in a cornfield!

Bastion makes his presence known with a boisterous laugh behind you. Spinning around to face him, you see him doubled over holding his sides while he laughs his ass off. “Oh, I hope that soak was worth it!”

You’re blushing a furious red. You hiss at him, “What happened to my clothes?!”

“You removed them!" Bastion laughs. He swipes a non-existent tear from a non-existent eye and chuckles, “Better get fast to work. Wouldn’t want a fellow camper or killer to catch you with your pants down.” He vanishes with another hearty string of laughter.

You swivel around on your feet, eyes wide as you try to discern your surroundings. You’re on a farm. And to your relief, there’s a farmhouse ahead. You waste no time sprinting through the field toward the rundown structure.

You run into the house and root around the empty rooms on the first floor before coming to a staggering stop in what might’ve been a kitchen at some point. There are some old brown curtains drawn over a set of windows. They’re disgusting. Stained in all manner of muddy colors, speckled with dirt and blood—

But naked beggars can't be choosers. And given the circumstances, they're all you have. 

You tear the curtains down and wrap yourself up. 

This takes the cake, you think. This is the most humiliating thing you’ve been subjected to in the fog thus far. It’s only downhill from here…

Click.

You freeze. That sounded like a camera shutter. And turning around confirms it.

The blood in your veins runs ice-cold as you come face-to-face with a dark-robed man standing by the doorway. He wears a novelty white ghost mask over his face, and a black hood shrouds the rest of his person from view. He has a camera raised up in his hands.

“Last thing I ever thought I’d see in one of these trials,” the man chuckles. “But you see something new here every day.”

He has a strangely smooth and smoky voice. As you stare boggled at the robed man, you realize this must be the guy Jake had mentioned. Ghostface.

The man, Ghostface, takes a step closer to you. “New faces, too,” he says. You back away.

“I’ve heard of you,” you scoff. “Yeah, Ghostface, right? The ‘asshole in a shitty Halloween costume’?”

Ghostface chuckles. “Who’s your source?”

“Sorry, can’t say.”

“I get it. Gotta keep it confidential…”

He moves in closer. You take a few more steps back. He stops and looks you slowly up and down, which is only indicated by the slight tilt of his mask. “What’s with the getup? You lose something?”

You unconsciously back yourself into a corner. “I was having a nice soak before I was rudely interrupted.”

The man in front of you laughs. “Oh?” He moves closer yet, blocking you in. “Explains why you’re all wet.”

You tense up as he taps his knife to the face of his mask. He’s silent the following moments, making you uneasy. He’s scrutinizing you and sizing you up, you’re sure. Sweat droplets form on your forehead as the tense silence pans out. Then he speaks again.

“Let’s get a picture,” he finally says, with a hint of feigned enthusiasm. “Commemorate our meeting.”

“I’ll pass,” you say firmly. You try to move past him, but he throws you back against the wall hard. He leans in close, the face of his mask only inches from your own visage. Your breath catches in your throat and you tense up.

“I’m not asking," he says. "See, I like to get pictures with all the new players… I’m growing a collection.”

Panic builds up inside of you. “I’ll give you a fair warning,” you bite. “Messing with me isn’t a good idea.”

You can’t see the shit-eating grin on this guy’s face, but you know it’s there behind the mask. “That’s cute," he says. 
He throws an arm over your shoulders and takes your chin in his hand, roughly angling it toward the camera he holds in his other hand. He raises the camera up in front of you both and rests his finger on the shutter button. “Say cheese.”

The camera flashes. Then you hear a crackling snap and a sickening squelch. A warm, scarlet liquid spatters your face and Ghostface grunts beside you. 

You wrench away from the man and spin around to witness a long black claw protruding from the floor and through his chest. His camera clatters to the floor at your feet.

Ghostface is sputtering blood beneath his mask. The claw twists, then rips itself free as an abyss forms behind its victim.

You allow yourself to breathe again. “What’d I tell you?”

Ghostface doesn’t have a response. He sways unsteadily on his feet, his hands clutching the gaping hole in his torso.

You bend down and take the camera from the floor. It's a nice camera. After further inspection, you thumb blood from the lens and ask, “Can I have this?” You meet the wailing face of Ghostface’s mask, then tilt your head. “Wait, I'm not asking." You tuck the camera into a fold on your curtain dress and head for the door. Behind you, you hear more claws emerge from the abyss, then abduct the masked killer into the earth.

 

You arrive at the exit gates minutes after you heard them power up across the farmyard. And you find the others already there, getting the doors open. Dwight, Adam, and Jeff. When the three lay eyes on you, they pause long and hard, eyes wide and mouths agape. Dwight’s the first to speak, sputtering, “Why-Why are you—?”

“Long story,” you interrupt, sighing.

And thankfully, none of them press further.

Adam averts his eyes, clears his throat, then comments, “This trial went… smoothly, yes?”

Jeff grunts in response. He’s hyper-focused on the gate switch, trying to avoid looking at you. You notice Dwight glancing your way every few seconds, but he swallows up anything he has to say.

It’s like none of them have seen a half-naked person wearing a curtain before…

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

As you pass through the fog barrier into camp, you brace. And all eyes are on you immediately. Nea, David, Min, and Felix. They’re watching you like you’re the opening act at a circus.

Dwight, Jeff, and Adam soundlessly move into camp and select their seats around the fire. David’s staring at you with a mix of concern and bewilderment.

“Oi, you alright, mate? Why are ya’ wearin’ drapes?” He questions, a brow raised.

“I’m fine,” you answer. “But my clothes didn’t make it into the trial with me…”

David snorts. Min laughs. “Must be a bug," she says. "Hasn’t happened to any of us yet.”

“Count yourselves lucky,” you utter, passing the campfire. As you move through camp, you notice Felix stand from his seat and come after you. You quicken your pace.

 

You’ve left the camp behind when Felix finally catches up to you and calls, “We need to talk.”

You stop, sigh, then turn to face him. “We don’t.”

“We do,” he asserts. He has a firm look on his face.

“We don’t have anything to talk about!” You say. “And besides, I need to get to my tent so I can get a change of clothes on. I mean, I’m naked under this gross curtain, Felix. Completely, ass-out naked. Do you really want to do this right now?” You lift a brow.

Felix’s face tints a faintly red hue. “No,” he hesitates. “But this is important—”

“I’m just going to get dressed,” you say. “Then I’ll come out and we can talk, alright?”

Felix pauses. He combs a hand back through his hair and nods. “Yes. You get… decent, and we talk.”

You nod. Felix nods again. Then you turn and walk away. “I’ll be right back.”

 

You lied, of course.

As soon as you cleared Felix’s line of sight, you booked it into the fog and didn’t look back. And you’ve been running blind for the last five minutes. You’re sure he eventually figured it out and isn’t happy with you, but you’re not about to subject yourself to an interrogation.

You hear Bastion’s voice in your head as you run. “It’s no wonder you caught that awful cold,” he ribs. “Tends to happen when you run naked through the fog…”

“Not now!” you hiss. Bastion laughs.

To your utter relief, the fog in front of you parts and you enter the cabin’s clearing. Lydia still sits on the porch, knitting her scarf and rocking back and forth in her rocking chair.

You come to a staggering stop and catch your breath before walking up the porch steps. Lydia says, “You left your clothes all over my bathroom floor.”

“Sorry,” you apologize, opening the front door.

“I brewed a kettle of tea on the stove while you were gone,” Lydia adds. “Go have some, take care of that nasty cold of yours.”

You murmur more thanks and enter the cabin. Then you waste no time heading to the bathroom upstairs to recollect your clothes.

 

As you’re getting dressed, Bastion appears with a teasing grin on his face. “Do you want to run another hot bath?”

You shoot him a narrow look. “I learned my lesson, alright? No more breaks around the campfire, or soaking in the tub... I’ll devote every second of my time here being a good little messiah.” You sigh and mutter, “I’m not sure I can even show my face back at camp after this. I’m the camp clown.”

“You have a fog haven now,” Bastion says. “You don’t have to step foot back in camp if you so please.”

You grunt and kick the pile of curtains into the corner. But your foot catches something hard, reminding you of the camera you nabbed off Ghostface. You rifle through the curtains and take the camera into your hands. Bastion tilts his head. “You stole that rotten man’s camera?” He sounds surprised.

“So what if I did?” You say. “The guy's a killer! Not to mention he snuck a very unflattering picture of me…”

You power the camera on and navigate to the gallery. And you’re horrified by what you find; rows upon rows of gory, macabre pictures and reel. Scrolling through it all has your stomach doing flips. Ghostface is fucked up.

You scroll back to the top and double-take. Ghostface got more than a single picture of you. There are at least a dozen pictures of you running naked through the cornfield!

Your face cherry-red, you start clearing the gallery and mutter, “The first killer I’m able to hold a conversation with, and he’s a fucking psychopath.”

You land on the last picture taken and pause. It’s the perfect shot of Ghostface being impaled by a gnarled claw. This one you’ll keep.

You shut the camera off and set it on the sink. Bastion chuckles. “He won’t be very happy with you.”

“What can he do?” you say. “I have a personal bodyguard. The guy can’t lay a finger on me. Next time, I might even take his mask. Maybe his boots, too. He had some nice boots…”

Bastion laughs. “Arrogant, aren’t we?”

“Yes.” You reopen the bathroom door and say, “I’m going to have a cup of tea, then I’ll get right back to work.”

“You’re abusing every ounce of Lydia’s hospitality,” Bastion chuckles.

“She offered! I’m not abusing anything.”

“Are you going to commandeer her bed next?”

You jab Bastion in the chest. “Quiet, you.” Then you leave the bathroom.

Notes:

"Ghostface will remember that."

Chapter 6: Penny For Your Thoughts

 

You stand ankle-deep in a thick, dark, and putrid substance. Your head swivels on your neck, but everywhere you look, you only see pitch black. It's putting a strain on your eyes, so you squeeze them shut.

Another vision, you think at first. But no — not a vision. A dream. You know this because you’re in control. You’re not an unwilling spectator in somebody else’s body, moving under their command and will, like a puppet bound by strings.

You flex your hand and wiggle your toes to confirm this. Indeed, you’re in control. But to what extent?

You reopen your eyes and gaze into the surrounding void with a growing sense of fear. The stale, cold air around you sends nervous jitters up your spine and causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. Then, you hear a hushed voice in your ears, murmuring incoherent words to you. It's a lull, at first, but then the whispers mount in volume and pitch and very quickly become a harsh, grating noise you try to block out. It’s like nails on a chalkboard, and a serrated metal edge sawing into bone. You can’t discern the owner of the disembodied voice, but you realize it’s an amalgamation of many voices, all jumbled together and speaking in attempted unison. You're beginning to make them out clearly now. 

“Fresh,” the voices murmur. “No time, hurry.”

Something tickles the skin on your wrist and the sensation worms its way up to your arm. And with horror, you behold the sight of almost sentient darkness, swallowing up your form. Thin black tendrils spread over your body and consume you. You peel and claw at the growing black mass, but to no avail. In your panic, you stumble backward over your feet and crash down into the pool of viscous poison. And unsettlingly, it’s warm. Tendrils shoot across your chest and wrap tight around you, pulling you deeper in. You thrash and scream as you’re forcibly submerged. The black ooze sticks to you and fills your throat. It has a coppery, toxic taste, like blood and tar. Your panic grows and you struggle like a mouse caught in a glue trap.

You feel a heavy presence lingering above you. Your eyes can’t make out anything in the blackness, but you feel a sharp prickling in your chest, then an icy chill crawling up your spine, like tiny, spidery legs caressing your skin.

Deeper and deeper you’re pulled down into the poison pool until, finally, your head submerges. With the last of your waning strength, you extend a blackened arm upward, reaching blindly into the dark and hoping for someone to take your hand and pull you free.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

You wake up in a cold sweat. Your vision is bleary, your throat dry, and your hands are bunched into fists at your sides, your knuckles white from the pressure. As your senses return, you’re greeted with the warm, calming aroma of vanilla that emanates from the candle burning on the bedside table. And when your eyes adjust to the darkness shrouding the room, you see Bastion’s flashing white grin, contrast against the shadows where he stands idle in the corner by the door. His grin grows when you shift your gaze his way.

“I thought you’d be sleeping like a baby ever since commandeering old Lydia’s bed," he purrs.

Although relieved having the familiar company, you’re not in the mood to listen to all his chaff.  “I didn’t commandeer her bed,” you clarify, voice hoarse. “She offered it.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Bastion chuckles.

You shake your head and climb from the bed. Your legs almost give out under you, but you catch yourself on the frame. Swallowing thickly, you say, “You need to stop watching me sleep.”

 

You splash your face with cold water and lean forward over the sink, resting your elbows on the ceramic counter with a sigh. You’re still trying to shrug off the rest of your fatigue, and the haunting sensations your sleep brought you. Though you've woken up, you're still left with odd chills and dull pains in your chest. Whatever that was, it's lingering.

Your weary eyes meet those in the mirror’s reflection. They stare back at you, completely in sync, unblinking and thoughtless. You stare, silent and expecting your reflection to end the charade at any moment. Grin at you, blink on its own, or even reach through the glass and take your throat in its hands, then squeeze tighter and tighter until it crushes your windpipe and—

“Something on your mind?” Bastion prompts, appearing in the reflection. He stands behind you, his arms folded behind his back and his head slightly tilted at an angle, portraying a genuine curiosity.

You break eye contact with your reflection and take a towel from the ring on the wall. “I think David would love this place," you say, patting your face dry, and masking your troubled thoughts.

“Undoubtedly.” Bastion chuckles, none the wiser. “But I don’t recommend inviting any of your fellow campers over for a party. They would only become a… distraction.”

Setting the towel aside, you mutter, “Yeah, I know. And there’s no time for distractions…” You turn to leave the bathroom. “Back to work.”

 

You stand on the hearth of the fireplace, swinging a fire poker in your hands, getting a feel for the weight. You’re just about to ready to trek out into the fog. You have a brown shoulder bag (which was thoughtfully gifted to you by Lydia) packed with disinfectants, rolls of gauze, and Ghostface’s camera. And for an extra protective (and fashionable) layer, you wear Bryce’s old leather jacket. It seemed a shame to leave it lying in the cold study, abandoned, so why not make use of it? 

You give the poker a few more swings when Bastion appears beside you. The corners of his grin perk up in amusement. “What’s all this?” he says, looking you up and down.

You prop your weapon against your shoulder. “Survival gear,” you reply, confidently. “I’m just preparing for the worst. If we end up finding that cave today, I want to be ready to face whatever’s lurking inside.”

“ My protection isn’t enough?”

“No,” you answer frankly.

Bastion feigns hurt, allowing his grin to wilt and pressing his hands flat over his chest.

“No offense,” you say. “But it doesn’t hurt to err on the side of caution…” You exit the cabin and step out the front door onto the porch to find Lydia rocking in her chair, per usual. “Good morning,” you greet, then pause. “Or night, or… you know.”

“Good mornin’, honey,” Lydia replies, with a soft smile. Her gaze slightly shifts your way. “You goin’ out again?” 

“Yep.”

“With your imaginary friend, too? What’d you say his name was? Benny? Baldwin?”

Beckoned, Bastion stoops low to step through the doorframe behind you. He chuckles heartily. 

You say, “Bastion. And he’s not imaginary, unfortunately…”

Lydia chuckles. “Whatever you say, honey. Tell ‘im I said hello.”

Bastion’s grin widens, and you walk down the porch steps, then leave the old cabin behind. Soon, it’s shrouded from sight by a veil of dense white fog. 

 

Bastion strides silently alongside you. And for about ten minutes, you’re both quiet. There’s an itch at the back of your skull and a nagging sense of unease. You feel what you can only describe as a faint pull, but you can’t exactly place the feeling or the destination you’re yearning for. But the feeling intensifies the longer you walk until finally, it becomes an unbearable, tingling sensation. You stop walking and look down.

At your feet, resting in the dirt, you find a shimmering ring. You crouch down and take it into your palm. The ring has a silver band and a small diamond stud, kept in place by three prongs. As you admire it, you hear a man’s voice in your head, a faint echo, saying, “—Called the wedding off.”

The voice is carried away, and the ring is, you notice, deteriorating into tethers of black smoke in your palm. You sigh and toss it back over your shoulder.

“Another useless echo.” You stand up and swipe your hands clean on your knees. “Just one after another…”

Bastion flips the ring in his hand, and it vanishes. He reassures you, “There are many echoes here. Some will undoubtedly be insignificant. But some will not.”

You grunt absent-mindedly and keep walking. “The search continues.”

Bastion follows alongside you, then he speaks.

“What did you dream of?”

“Nothing,” you answer.

“Had to be something,” Bastion says. “You awoke in a cold sweat, your eyes wide and frenzied with fear.” He grins. “Tell.”

“It was nothing,” you assert.

Bastion doesn’t let up. He persists, poking and prodding at you with a claw until you swat it away and heave a sigh in surrender. “It was just a nightmare. Not a vision, like before…”

You shiver as you recall your torment in the dream. “I was in a dark place. Someplace cold. And all around me, I heard this awful wailing. People screaming and crying. And I heard someone speaking. A bunch of disembodied voices whispering to me. They were so close, it sounded like they were in my head.”

You drop your gaze to your moving feet and murmur, “I don’t know what any of it meant.”
It’s at this point, you notice Bastion’s stopped walking beside you. You pause and look back at him. He just stands there, and for once, his stupid grin is absent. You crease your brows. “But something tells me you do.”

Bastion folds his arms behind his back and audibly hesitates. “Ah… I don’t.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re lying?”

Bastion twitches, then reverts to his usual demeanor and grins. “You must still harbor distrust toward me.”

You scoff. “Yeah, and this is why.” Turning back around to keep moving, you bitterly mutter, “You don’t always have to be so—”

You trail off and come to a faltering stop. Faint moans reach your ears from someplace in the surrounding fog, and you hear harsh, ragged breathing. These are eerily familiar sounds. At first, you can’t place them. But you don’t have to. On the beaten path ahead of you, you spot the thin, ethereal form of the Nurse come floating into view. Your eyes widen, but before you’re even able to react, a claw hooks around your waist and snatches you behind a tree. You get whiplash. Bastion lifts a finger to his grin. “Shh.”

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you slowly turn and peer out behind the tree. The Nurse floats slowly across the clearing ahead, her hoarse moans sending chills up your spine. She didn’t see you, thankfully. And she doesn’t appear to be any wiser about your presence. She just hovers away, aimlessly and without direction, like a wandering ghost. Moments pass by, and she vanishes behind the veil of fog, her sorrowful moans fading out of earshot.

As soon as she’s gone, you scoff and step away from the tree. “I never thought I’d see a killer way out here.”

“The killers aren’t restricted to their respective realms,” Bastion says. “Some of them like to wander when they’re not taking part in the Entity’s games… The only realm truly safe from them is the campsite.”

You shiver. “So I might need to be a bit more careful out here…” Waving around your fire poker, you wit, “Thought I'd have to use this.”

Then the ground rumbles. The tremors are faint at first, but then they amp up and you almost lose your footing. Bastion rests a hand on your shoulder to steady you, and for a moment, the tremors stop.

You’re nervous in anticipation. “Earthquake?” you humor, glancing up at Bastion.

“Unlikely,” he replies. His claws twitch erratically.

“I think it might be time to call it a day,” you say, heading back the way you came. 

Then suddenly, the surrounding ground erupts as monstrous mutts claw their way out of the dirt. You stagger backward with wide, fearful eyes, beholding the beasts. They bear resemblance and size to large canines, but their bodies are without fur, only covered in taut, black skin. Their legs are thin and barbed with spines, and the maws on their gaunt heads froth and drip with saliva. Piercing silver orbs glint with rabid intent, and deep, hungry growls reverberate from their throats. You count eight of the beasts. And they stalk nearer and nearer, closing in on you. Then they launch their attack. One mutt snarls and lunges for you, but it’s snatched in Bastion’s claws mid-launch. Bastion brings the beast close and splits his jaws apart before clamping his grinning maw down on its neck. You hear the squelch of flesh and bone, then a sickening crunch as he tears its head right off. You don’t stick around to see the rest of the grisly show, because the other mutts howl and attack. You spin around and take off into the fog, fear pumping adrenaline through your body and allowing your legs to carry you quickly away.

Your pursuers are gaining fast. You hear their wet, snapping jaws and guttural snarls. One gets close and lunges for you. You duck and let it fly overhead. It crashes to the ground, but you don’t wait for it to recover. You make a sharp turn and cut away. You’re running blindly through the fog, hoping and praying you’re not running up on something far worse. In the distance behind you, you hear howls and wailing, accompanied by messy, gory sounds. Bastion’s thinning the herd, but they just keep coming.

You look back over your shoulder for just a second, but when you snap back around, you run face-first into a tree.

“AH—!”

You stagger backward and crash to the ground, moaning in pain. Hot blood gushes from your nose and flows like a river down your face. You get a taste of it as you gaze up at the moonlit sky in a daze. You’re seeing stars — literally and figuratively. Bright, glowing orbs in the dark sky, made blurry by your hazy vision. You aren’t given a chance to recover as a beast comes hurtling through the fog behind you. It lunges straight for your throat, and you instinctively throw an arm up in defense. Long, razor-sharp teeth latch onto your forearm and pierce flesh and bone. You scream as the mutt thrashes you, snarling and biting down harder yet. White froth mixes with your blood and spills to the ground.

You flail out helplessly, your other hand scrambling the dirt for something to use as a weapon. Your fingers brush over rocks, sticks, dead leaves, then you feel a cold, metallic rod. The fire poker. You close your fist around it and thrust it forward. The sharp tip pierces one of the beast’s furious eyes and gores it out with a wet pop. The beast relents its vice-grip on your arm and rears backward with a howl. Black, viscous liquid oozes from the socket in its head. You finally pick yourself up, gripping the poker in both hands. “Come on!” you shout, eyes wide in frenzy, and forehead beading with sweat. There's something pumping through you, something more than adrenaline. An urge to fight, to kill.

The beast lunges again, jaws snapping, and you swing, hitting it upside the head and throwing it sprawling to the ground. No sooner does it scramble to its feet, than suddenly, claws sprout from the earth on either side of it and seize its flailing body in their grasp. The claws twist and tear flesh and bone, then finally abduct the howling mutt into the abyss. All that remains is a pool of blood and gory tissue.

You cradle your arm the following moments and curse profanity under your panting breath. “Shit…” Searing pain surges through your arm. That thing completely shredded the sleeve of the jacket. So much for that protective layer…

Bastion appears in front of you, without his usual grin. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he actually looks concerned. Hard to say though, what with his lack of facial features. But the odd tilt of his head and slumped shoulders is some indication. “That looks bad,” he says.

You scoff. “It feels as bad as it looks.” Shaking your head, you mutter, “All that for a useless ring.”

“Even finding the most insignificant echo is progress,” Bastion says.

“Easy for you to say," you bite. "You’re not the one getting mauled by fucked up fog dogs.” You dig into your shoulder bag and rifle out a roll of gauze to take care of your wound. “I didn’t sense those things coming. Aren’t I supposed to have some special sixth sense?”

“Give it time.”

You huff. “I think I’d rather go through a trial than this.”

 

And next thing you know, you’re in a trial. Great. 

A curtain of fog lifts around you, and you’re standing in the middle of a swamp. You recognize the scenery — this is the Hag’s realm. She’s not the most imposing killer, but her traps and uncanny ability to teleport are utterly terrifying. Facing the Hag means treading lightly and dreading every step forward. The runes she scratches into the dirt can be near impossible to discern. And the killer herself has a craving for human flesh. The first time you faced off against her, she had a little snack before finally throwing you on a hook to hand the leftovers to the Entity. It was scrutinizing, and not something you want to experience again. 

But you’re not worried this time around. You have Bastion, after all. The Hag’s going to get her just desserts if she tries to make another meal out of you…

You stuff your gauze back into the side bag and get moving. You can tend your injuries later. Finding and repairing generators comes first.

You navigate through bunches of cattail and high grass, on your guard and keeping an eye out for traps underfoot. The Hag might not pose a problem for you anymore, but her traps can still give you a heart attack. After just about four minutes of wandering, you happen upon the old trawler in the center of the swampland. There’s a generator on the second deck, you think. You’re not all too familiar with this realm yet, but there’s no harm in taking a look. 

You head up the stairs, walk through the cockpit to the bow, and find—

 

Bastion (❤)

Jake (❤)

Felix (❤)

Claudette (❤)

Yui (❤)

Kate (❤)

 

 

Notes:

Choices marked with (❤) imply romance and are directly connected to/advance a certain character’s romantic route. Quick FYI!

Chapter 7: Choice: Bastion (❤)

 

—You find a dormant generator with nobody on it. Well, nobody, in the sense that there aren’t any fellow survivors nearby. But Bastion stands beside it, grinning at you. A surprise, and an unwelcome one. You brace for the pounding headache his company’s no doubt going to give you.

“Come now,” he says. “The sooner we escape this realm, the sooner we can get back to work.”

You sigh as you approach the generator. “I’m not exactly looking forward to going back out there. I was thinking I’d head back to Lydia’s cabin after this and call it a day…”

“Won’t get anything done at that rate,” Bastion chuckles. He taps the generator with a claw, beckoning you.

You take a knee beside the machine and reach inside the mechanical guts to root out some wires, but you wince, and your face screws up as torrents of pain shoot up your arm. “That thing had a nasty bite…”

You shoulder the pain and get to work. Only moments pass by before one of Bastion’s claws strays toward your arm and plucks the sleeve of your jacket. He worms it further up, then he tips his head. “Might benefit you to tend to that wound first,” he says.

“I can do it later,” you reply.

Bastion hums. Another claw rifles through your side bag and steals a roll of gauze. You yield and stand away from the generator with a sigh. Putting a hand out for the gauze, you say, “Fine.”

But Bastion takes your wrist in one hand, and his fingers on the other inch the sleeve further up your arm, revealing the grisly sight beneath. It’s worse than you thought, now that you’re getting a closer look at it. Deep puncture wounds mark your arm, and your flesh is shredded and inflamed. You grimace at the sight. It looks like you fought a battle with a blender and lost. No wonder it hurts like hell.

You only expect Bastion to wrap it up and call it a day, but what you don’t expect is for him to split his maw apart and reveal a long, black, slimy tongue. It worms out of his mouth, and without word or warning, he raises your arm and sweeps his wet tongue over your wound. Alarm twists into your features.

“GAH!”

You wrench free of his grip and fling a string of thick saliva off your arm. “What the hell?!”

Bastion chuckles as his tongue crawls back up into his mouth. He closes his maw and grins at you innocently.

You give him the evil eye. “You can’t just—!” You trail off and peer at your arm, brows creased. Black smoke tethers off your wound in wispy strands. And to your surprise, it doesn’t hurt anymore.

You meet Bastion’s faceless visage again, and he almost appears smug, his head tipped and his shoulders bouncing in amusement. “Did you think I just wanted a taste of you?”

A blush creeps up your neck. “What else was I supposed to think?”

Bastion chuckles. He lifts a hand and makes a come here gesture with his finger. You’re hesitant to comply, but you offer him your arm again. He gets to work dutifully dressing your wound with the gauze. He still has a smugness about him. You scoff.

“Do you get off on freaking me out?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

“No.”

“Then no,” Bastion says, his grin stretching far and wide.

You allow your eyes to roam elsewhere, just to avoid looking at his stupid grin for another second. They flicker to the generator, then across the swamp grounds, until you finally rest your sights on your feet. It’s quiet for about a minute, then Bastion breaks the silence. “How often do you have those rotten dreams?” he questions.

The query catches you off guard. You lift your gaze to face him again, then grunt, unsure if this is a topic you want to share with your shady partner. But he seems to be asking in genuine curiosity, not a mock concern. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, shake your head, then sigh.

“Uh… Almost all the time.”

Bastion tilts his head. “That often?”

“Yeah, that often…” You scoff. “I thought you already knew this. You’ve made a habit of watching me sleep…”

“I’m not always watching…” Bastion sets your bandages, but still grips your wrist. His fingers idly trace the veins in your arm. “And do they… hurt?”

“Sometimes.”

Bastion’s touch sends a chill up your arm that cascades down your spine. You resist shivering. “Do you know anything about them?” you question.

Bastion grunts. “No.” He finally relinquishes his grip and gives you a gentle pat on the shoulder, then a nudge toward the generator. “Back to work, Wanderer.”

You take a knee beside the generator with a huff. Bastion still lingers behind you, idly spectating your task. If not for the creaky, snapping sounds of his claws twitching every few seconds, you wouldn’t know he was there. Something you’ve noticed during your time spent together is he has no presence. He doesn’t breathe, hardly moves…

Unnerved by the silence, you strike up a conversation. “You can manipulate your appearance, right? Change the way you look?” Your eyes glance back over your shoulder at Bastion.

“To a degree,” he answers.

“Then why couldn’t you become something more appealing? Maybe a cute puppy, or a kitten—”

“Like the Cheshire Cat?” Bastion chuckles. “I like this form. It’s… familiar. And much easier to replicate.”

You pause and look back at him. “And is there any reason you’re sporting a birthday suit? Or is that just…?”

“I don’t have anything to hide,” Bastion grins.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. You’re definitely missing a few parts, here and there…” You glance him down.

“Indeed,” Bastion says. He extends his claws behind him, and they twitch. “But these compensate well enough,” he purrs.

The very horrifying implications and images that pop into your head make you shudder. “Oh… eugh—“

Bastion barks with laughter at the face you make. He cheekily folds his arms behind his back. “Don’t look so appalled, Wanderer. They can be gentle…”

“Your deadly murder-claws can be gentle?” You scoff. “Gentle with who?”

The way his grin perks up is answer enough. Ignoring the warm sensation that creeps to your face, you snap your gaze to the generator and get back to work.

As you’re messing with a bundle of wires, something cracks behind you, then you feel a tickle on your neck. One of Bastion’s claws straying too close… You swat it away with your free hand and keep working. A few moments later, another claw pokes your shoulder. You promptly slap it and it retracts. And the next one, you see coming. You have both arms buried in the generator when it dips under your elbow and tickles your chin. Brow creased, you spin around and snap, “Bastion!”

And the generator explodes. You recoil as you’re showered with sparks and oil. The poor thing’s sputtering now. You burn a glare on Bastion. His claws have been retracted, and his grin is completely absent, leaving his face blank and unreadable. But judging from the way his shoulders and chest tremble, he’s stifling a laugh at your expense. You scoff at him as you move away from the generator. You re-enter the cockpit and tuck yourself into a locker nearby. Sure, Bastion could handle the killer for you if they come snooping around, but if you can make it out of a trial without ticking off another big bad for once, you’ll take it. You just don’t want every killer in the realm gunning for you, is all…

Only moments pass by before you’re suddenly pressed flat against one side of the locker with a startled squeak. Bastion’s retaken his form directly in front of you. His tall, lean body is pressed flush against your own and hunched over you to accommodate his size in the tight space. Most of his claws are retracted, but he’s got one hooked around your back that’s tucking you against him. You hiss at him. “Hey!”

“Thought I’d join you,” Bastion chuckles.

You huff. “It’s a bit too tight in here for the both of us, Bas’.”

“Could be tighter,” he purrs.

“Do we need to have a talk about boundaries?”

Bastion leans in close. “We might.”

An acrid, deathly smell comes off his breath and stings your nostrils. You press a hand to his face and push him away. “Not so close! You were just chowing down on rotten mutt.”

Bastion laughs heartily and props his chin on top of your head. He drapes one of his arms lazily over your shoulder.

It’s quiet for about a minute. Quiet, and very still, you notice. There’s hardly any room to breathe, and you come to a startling revelation—Bastion doesn’t have a heartbeat. You subconsciously lift a hand and touch it to his chest. Cold to the touch, and empty to the core.

“Looking for something?” Bastion questions, breaking the silence.

Your brows draw together. “What’s keeping you… alive?”

Bastion chuckles at the question. “I’ve wondered that myself… And I’m yet to find an answer.”

“Hm.” Your hand lingers a moment longer before you pull it back and notice small, shadowy tethers vanishing off your fingers. Somewhere in the distance, you hear the sounding horn of a generator powering up. But your attention reverts to Bastion as he suddenly lifts a hand. He presses it tenderly against your chest, hand flat directly over your heart. You immediately tense up, fully expecting a repeat of the fateful day you met. When his stale touch had your blood running cold and put an unbearable pressure in your chest that suffocated you—

Bastion must sense your unease because he draws his hand away. A cold sensation lingers. “Do I still frighten you?” he asks, voice hushed.

“Do you want an honest answer?”

A chuckle shudders through Bastion’s frame. He releases a hissing sigh and nods his head. “Yes.”

“Well,” you begin, “you’re a creepy, seven-foot-tall demonic entity with spidery legs protruding from your back, and a penchant for violence and innuendo. So my answer would have to be yes. You are frightening Bastion.”

“And how might I put you at ease?” Bastion tips his head and grins down at you.

“You can start by working on your social graces. For starters, it’s considered impolite to put your nasty sex claws all over somebody.”

Bastion laughs. Then you hear a sickening snap behind you as he retracts his claw from around you and into his back.

“Already making great strides,” you say, amused.

“What else?”

“The creepy grin needs to go.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not doing you any favors.”

“It adds to my charm.”

You snort. “You, charming?”

“I must be, to some degree,” Bastion replies, chuckling. “Because if I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re blushing.”

You hadn’t even noticed how warm your face has gotten. “I’m not- This is—” You trail off and avert your gaze, scoffing. “You’re blowing your own horn.”

Bastion purrs and an odd chill races up your spine. “You can always blow it for me.”

The suggestive comment has you red-faced. You sputter out unintelligible objections and a noise most closely resembling a scoff before calling it quits. You fold your arms over your chest.

“Not charming.”

“You’re cherry-red.”

“No, no, I’m not.”

“Oh?”

“Nope.”

“Then maybe I need a closer look,” Bastion grins, cheekily tipping his head towards you. And much to your own surprise, you offer little to no resistance as an icy finger plucks your chin and turns your gaze upward. Your face is mere inches from your incorrigible company’s.

Your breath catches in your throat. He moves in closer and closer, and—

And you’re saved by the bell. Which is, in this case, a scream that cuts through the air across the swamp and makes you jump. David. Something nicks the back of your neck, causing you to wince. “Ah- What the hell?”

You touch a hand to your nape and smear blood over your fingers. Baffled, you turn your head and look at the wall behind you. And perplexingly, you notice a rack of iridescent throwing knives. Huh.

“These are new,” you murmur, plucking one off the wall to more closely examine it.

Bastion tips his head at it. “And not intended for the campers…”

Ah. More toys for the killers…

You hum and replace the knife on the wall. “I should get back to the nitty-gritty,” you say, parting open the locker door, eager to get out of the tight space.

“I won’t keep you,” Bastion grins. And he vanishes.

Soon as he’s gone, you exit the locker. The generator on the deck is still clanging and sputtering thanks to your minor mishap. You exit the cockpit and retake your place at its side to get back to work.

You work diligently for about five minutes when you hear another scream. David. A beat passes, then you hear him scream again. Then again, and again…

Ceasing your repairs, you draw your hands out of the generator and furrow your brows. David can take a beating. He wouldn’t be screaming like this if he were hooked… Urged on by the naggy feeling in your gut, you move away from the generator and head toward the wounded man’s wailing.

You trek through the swamp for just about three minutes, hearing another generator come to life across the trail. You’re nearing David’s screams as you come upon the pier in the far corner of the swamp, tucked close to the borders. The closer you get, the higher the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the faster your heart pounds in your chest. Sweat slicks your forehead as you duck behind a thicket of cattails and high grass. Although hesitant, you peer out at the ruined docks.

What you see is blood-chilling.

David’s an appalling sight — Beaten to an almost unrecognizable pulp, bloodied, bruised, tortured. The sight alone puts an awful pit in your stomach and has bile rising in your throat. You slap a hand over your mouth and avert your eyes to the man that stands over David. Flashy, wack, and armed with a brutal bat. At first glance, he looks like a pop star.

He must be new here. You haven’t heard any of the others around the campfire describe him before… Great, you think. Haven’t even met the rest of the roster and the Entity’s already throwing new tormentors at me…

There’s nothing you can do to save David now, you know that. But the least you can do is spare him from more torture.

Your hand moves down to your satchel, but you suddenly realize you’re without your fire poker — Must not have made it into the trial with you. You sigh, then scan the ground for a weapon before taking a hefty rock into your hand. Won’t do a lot of damage, but it might just steal his attention…

You wind your arm back and chuck it hard at the bastard. And your aim is true. The rock sails through the air and clonks the guy on the back of the head. For a moment, nothing happens. The killer’s stiff in place, and David’s just moaning under him.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Did I knock a screw loose…?

Finally, the man moves again. His head snaps back over his shoulder, and piercing golden eyes meet yours and spit diggers at you. He turns fully to face your way, a wicked grin stretching from ear to ear. You shudder under his crazed gaze.

“Playtime’s over, pop star!” you shout. “Come pick on somebody else!”

The man chuckles, then shouts something at you in a foreign language. And quicker than you’re able to react, he throws his arm up and flicks his wrist. A small blade shoots past your face, cutting a bleeding gash into your cheek. You stagger away in surprise, touching a hand to the cut. Blood slicks your fingers. “Shit,” you curse. The pretty knives belong to the pretty boy. And evidently, he knows how to use them.

You spin around and take off fast. You hear the killer giving chase, cackling like a madman. When you throw a glance back over your shoulder, you almost laugh. He even runs like a looney! You hear the swish of another blade and instinctively dip to the side. It embeds itself in an overturned canoe in front of you. After vaulting the wreckage, you turn your sights to the shack up on the hill near the realm’s border. A generator powers up across the yard. That makes three.

Another knife zips past your neck, drawing a line of blood. You’re nearing the shack, but the killer’s gaining quickly in tow. Closer… Closer…

You slam a hand on the wooden sill and vault through the window. A blade catches you in the back of the thigh, drawing a scream out of you as crash to the floor inside.

“Nng—”

You grip the handle in one hand and steel yourself before ripping it out. The blade clatters on the floor nearby. Blood oozes from your wound and you tighten your jaw in pain. You’re barely back on your feet before the killer comes stepping through the window after you. Wild eyes meet yours and glint with malicious intent.

The madman speaks again, propping his bat against his shoulder. You don’t understand a word he’s saying — you stare dumbly at him, and he laughs.

“Ah, English, then.” He has a suave voice that betrays his cruel, maniacal nature.

Any second now, you silently urge Bastion. But moments pass by, and your shadowy partner is absent. You take a nervous step back; the killer takes a step forward.

“You wanted my attention, and now you have it,” he grins.

Your eyes flitter nervously to the doorway on the other side of the shack. The killer follows your glance and peeps the exit. Your eyes meet again and he smirks at you, then tips his bat toward the outlet.

Cat and mouse.

You make a mad dash for the door, but don’t get far at all in due to your busted leg. A blade hisses through the air and shoots the collar of your jacket, pinning you to the doorframe. Then the guy’s right on top of you. He snatches the knife from your collar and strikes you upside the head with the blunt side of his bat. You stagger and hit the floor with a grunt. Your head is swimming and your vision is a blur. Blood oozes down your scalp and drips into your eyes. You blink blearily through a haze of red and stumble to your feet. Another swing cracks you across the back of the head and sends you staggering into the wall. Your legs give out under you and you crash to the floor in a moaning heap.

The killer’s looming above you, playfully spinning his bat in circles. You can barely make him out through your bleary vision. A horn sounds in the distance. Another generator, popped.

You’re grabbed by the collar of your jacket and lifted to your feet. You sway off balance and brace against the man, slurring a jumble of words. He wraps his arms securely around you.

“You aren’t the first to faint in my arms,” he teases.

Your face rests in the crook of his neck and rich cologne stings your nostrils. You scrunch up your nose and the killer tips his head adoringly. “Moon Radiance,” he says. “Do you like it?”

“Fffuck you and your cologne,” you drawl dizzily. The man laughs before giving you a nudge backward. You crash into the wall, and he cups your face. “Stay with me,” he coos. “I need you here for this…”

You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he suddenly slams one of your hands beside your head, then stabs a blade through your palm. You scream in pain and try thrashing free, but he repeats the process with your other hand. You’re pinned to the wall. He leers in your face. “Perfect.”

Plucking your chin in his hand, he leans in, his crazed eyes burning into yours. “Most people would kill to be this close,” he hushes.

“You’re nothing special,” you spit.

The killer recoils, a hand in front of his heart in mock offense. “You’ve never heard of the Trickster?” he announces melodramatically. “My music was raging across Seoul, stealing the hearts of men and women alike!”

“Dun’t ring a bell,” you slur.

The Trickster chuckles. “Oh, alright… But you’ll be screaming my name soon enough.”

He takes a knife from his belt and drags it across your cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His lips are drawn into a sick grin, revealing two rows of bright teeth. “I wonder what sounds you’ll make for me…”

The knife crosses your jaw, moves down your neck, over your collarbone, and goes further down yet, at an excruciatingly slow pace. You grit your teeth.

“Where’s your sweet spot?” Trickster questions, tipping his head. “Here?” He takes the knife down over your hip. “No, no,” he murmurs. “Maybe here.” Then the knife drags slowly over your belly.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He pouts. “Tough crowd… Maybe—”
He takes the knife lower until reaching a particularly sensitive spot, and you can’t suppress the whimper that escapes your lips. Trickster stops and smirks. “Found it.”

Your futile struggle increases tenfold, but you’re only doing more damage to yourself. Blood spills from your hands and collects in puddles on the floor.

“Bastion!” you call out, panicked. Pitifully calling for your shady partner isn’t beneath you, given the current circumstances…

The Trickster laughs. “Oh, calling a friend? Go ahead. He’ll have front row seats to the show.”

You brace for what happens next, your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw tight. An excruciating moment of nothing passes, then you flinch at the sound of flesh tearing. Blood spatters your face and you blink your eyes open in surprise; a black claw protrudes from the Trickster’s gut, slick with gore and viscera. The man staggers forward, crashing into you and bracing an arm on the wall to keep himself up. He coughs blood in your face, and his bulging, mad eyes meet yours.

You can’t help but smile in gratification. “Make some noise,” you say snidely.

He grins.

Another sickening snap and he’s yanked backward with a shrill, hysterical laugh. You watch with wide eyes as he’s seized by another claw, then a third, and then twisted and slowly torn apart. Flesh is split and stripped away, and bones splinter and break. Bastion’s more brutal than usual.

The gruesome sight is too much to watch, and you avert your eyes. The Trickster’s howling with laughter even amidst his execution. But his laughter quickly becomes gargled moans, and then silence as his mangled body is abducted into the abyss. You watch the ground seal up after him.

Moments of more silence follow, only broken by the sound of the final generator roaring to life, and the blare of the exit gates surging with power.

You snap out of your daze and wrench one of your hands against the knife pinning it in place. Searing pain jolts up your arm, but the blade comes loose and clatters to the floor. You grip the other knife and rip it from your palm with a grunt.

The Collapse begins, and it’s signaled by a tremor that shakes the earth. You lose your footing and stagger off balance, but you’re caught and steadied by a hand on your shoulder. You lift your gaze and meet Bastion’s blank face. His grin’s absent. Your lips form into a scowl.

“Where the hell were you?” You slap his hand off your shoulder.

He recoils like a kicked puppy, then audibly hesitates, “I was… indisposed.” Vague and frustrating, as always.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, while you were indisposed, that guy was carving me up.” You cradle your hands to your chest and mutter, “Another sick killer. And another one adding me to their personal hit list…”

Bastion’s soundless. But his hand tenderly cups your chin before he thumbs away the blood that flows from your scalp and down your face. You gaze up at him for a moment before sighing and nudging his hand away. “I’m getting out of here.”

The Collapse is intensifying as you stumble out of the shack. Embers are rising from the crackling scars on the ground, and the earth rumbles. Given your current state, you might not make it to the gates in ti—

A startled yelp escapes your lips as a claw hooks you around the waist and plucks you right off the ground. Then, to your surprise, you’re draped gently over Bastion’s shoulder.

“You switching sides, killer?” you comment, brow arched. “I hope you’re not taking me to a hook…”

Bastion chuckles. “Don’t give me any ideas…” He gets moving and takes long strides through the swamp.

“My legs are working fine, Bastion,” you say.

“You were hobbling like a fawn .”

“And I’ll hobble my way to the exit gates on my own.”

“I guarantee you that wouldn’t end well, as amusing as it would be.”

“Hmph.” You idly drum your fingers over Bastion’s back. Then your interest is piqued by the strange way his body tethers off and wisps away. Black shadowy strands twirl around your fingers, giving off an almost smoke-like texture before they float into the air and vanish. And stranger yet, you can faintly make out muscle mass underneath the black veil swathing his form from sight. You feel over his back, prompting a chuckle to catch you off guard and cease your curious exploration.

“You’re very handsy today,” Bastion teases, slightly turning his head. You flush up and retract your hand.

“I’m just—”

“Copping a feel?”

You scoff. “I’m sure you’d like that…”

“I would.”

Your face gets a little warm. “Don’t think this makes up for you going ghost.”

“I’m sure I’ll find some other way to make up for my untimely absence,” Bastion purrs.

“I’m a little skeptical.”

“Always are.”

 

You arrive at the nearest set of gates quickly, and Bastion sets you down at the border. The collapse is almost at its climax. You stagger forward as the earth rumbles beneath you. Bastion rests a hand on your shoulder to steady you, then tips his head toward the fog. “Go on.”

You take a few steps away, then stop and swallow your pride. “Thank you,” you offer, turning to face him.

Bastion gives you a grin that’s more genuine than his usual shit-eating smirk. “Of course.”

Ignoring the odd creepy-crawly sensation you get worming up your spine, you clear your throat and mutter, “Yeah, so… anyway.”
He tips his head adoringly at you and chuckles. You give him an awkward little wave and backpedal quickly.

And the moment you pass through the barrier dividing the realms, you feel a wave of relief wash through you as the fog heals your battered body. Within moments, your various wounds heal, and you have a pep in your step. You only walk for a minute before Ace comes moving through the fog toward you. He has a dumb look on his face.

“Hey, kid!” He stops you in place. “No wonder me and the new chick got such a clean getaway! Had no idea I was runnin’ with you.” His smile wilts and he sighs, “Too bad for David, though. Poor guy thought he could take that pop star in a fight.” Ace scoffs. “Warned him he couldn’t! The guy might look flashy and fun, but those knives of his aren’t!”

His smile’s back as he gives you a once-over. “You ran into him too, didn’t ya? Heard you screamin’ halfway across the swamp. Would’ve helped, but I was showin’ the new gal the ropes. But by the looks of it, you got out alright. Guess the new player just isn’t that great, lucky for us.”

You audibly hesitate. “Uh, yeah, Ace. He’s not that great…”

“Well, I might need a few locks of your hair, kid! Keep it on me for good luck.” Ace grins and slaps you on the back.

 

Then you’re in a casino. You sit in front of a jungle-themed slot machine. The place is bright, loud, and packed to the brim with people in lavish dresses and suits. Servers glide across the floor with trays of wine and shots, people holler and hoot enthusiastically, and a live jazz band is playing close by. You can’t turn your head to fully grasp the magnificence of the room you’re in. Your eyes are focused intently on the screen in front of you. There are five reels in front of you with mismatched cartoonish symbols.

You lift a hand and pluck a necklace around your neck, then lean down and kiss an alligator’s tooth. A voice behind you speaks.

“Don’t bet it all, Ace. Tonight hasn’t been your lucky night.”

Ace. I’m Ace.

“Gotta bet it all to win big, Wally. And I’m goin’ to win big,” you say, in Ace’s voice.

You rub your hands together and reach for the lever beside the slots. “I’m walkin’ out of here a winner.”

 

Ace is throttling your shoulders as you blink back to reality. He arches one brow as you stare dumbly at him. “Hey, you alright, kid?”

Your mind’s swimming, but you quickly recollect yourself and nod. “Yeah,” you say, brows furrowed. “I’m fine.”

Ace smiles. “Come on back to the campfire, let’s get outta this fog and tell the others about the new guy. Maybe introduce yourself to the new pretty lady while you’re at it.” He turns to go with an eagerness, but you don’t follow. Soon, he vanishes in the fog. Bastion appears behind you, then tips his head curiously. You look at him.

“I saw something,” you say. “Another vision, but it was Ace’s. It was… It was a memory, I think.”

“Oh?” Bastion doesn’t sound too surprised. He folds his arms behind his back. “You have a unique connection to the fog, and everything and everyone in it.”

You arch a brow. “I do?”

“You’re special, Wanderer,” Bastion grins. “And in many more ways than one…”

“Right.” You sigh. “So I’m a messiah and a mind-reader… Does this gig come with any other cool perks?”

“You’ll just have to find out,” Bastion chuckles. He nudges you with a claw and grins. “Back to work, then?”

“Yeah. Back to work…”

You gaze ahead at the fog for only a moment before turning and moving the other way. You’ll have time to visit the camp and check in on everyone later. But your search comes first. Answers come first.

 

Continue

 

Notes:

Dying to know why 40+ people voted for this demon, lol

Chapter 8: Choice: Jake (❤)

 

—You find Jake working on the generator.

A wooden board creaks under your foot, drawing his attention. He goes on high alert, his head snapping back over his shoulder with sharp eyes, but you watch relief wash over him as he recognizes you within an instant. His tense shoulders slacken up. “Get over here and help me with—” He stops abruptly and creases his brows as he gets a good look at you. “What the hell happened?” He turns fully around.

“What, this?” You wave your bloody arm around with a nonchalant shrug. “Tripped and fell.”

Jake doesn’t look convinced in the slightest. His forehead wrinkles. “Really? Because it looks like someone beat you black and blue.” He takes his hands out of the generator and digs a roll of gauze from his pocket. “You’ll be more useful if you patch that up.” He flicks his chin in a gesture for you.

You step forward and kneel beside him. After you extend an arm, he plucks your sleeve and cuffs it up. And it’s bad. The wound’s inflamed and bloody. It looks like you fought a battle with a blender and lost. Even you grimace at the grisly sight. For a moment, Jake silently scrutinizes the damage before meeting your eyes with a pointed expression. “You going to tell me what actually happened?”

“I told you what happened,” you say, unconvincingly.

“Something took a fucking bite out of you.” He scoffs. “A couple a’ bites, actually.”

“Well—”

You trail off. Hoping he’d believe you was admittedly a bit of a reach, but you don’t know what else to say. Oh, I went out into the fog again and a pack of monster dogs crawled up out of the dirt and attacked me?

…

Actually, that wouldn’t sound too far-fetched. Jake, knowing what he already knows, might believe you in a heartbeat. But for the sake of avoiding another argument regarding your house arrest, you’ll keep that classified…

“It was a really bad fall,” you say.

“And all those nasty bruises on your face?”

“I ran into a tree.”

“That I believe.” He finally calls it quits on his interrogation with a heavy sigh. His hands roughly wrap your damaged arm with gauze. You wince under his harsh touch, and he grunts an insincere sorry under his breath. It’s quiet for a moment between you, then he mutters, “Something about you is just begging for trouble.”

“Trouble’s my middle name,” you say, with a dumb smile. Jake doesn’t look amused.

You clear your throat. “Not really, it’s—”

“I didn’t ask.” Jake sets the gauze and stuffs the excess into his jacket. He turns away and buries his hands back into the generator. “Help me finish this.”

For about three minutes, you work soundlessly alongside Jake. The pistons on top of the generator are pumping increasingly fast, but every so often, you notice your company’s eyes flicker your way. Out of mild curiosity, maybe. Scrutiny, definitely.

You catch and hold one of his glances for only a second, then smirk. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Jake scoffs. “You got a camera?”

As a matter of fact…

You dig your hands into your side bag and fish out your camera. Jake lays his eyes on it and gawks in surprise. “Where did you—?”

“Nabbed it off’a Ghostie,” you say smugly.

“You stole that asshole's camera?”

“Steal is a strong word… Let’s just say I’m borrowing it.”

“He’s going to be pissed.”

“I’m not worried,” you reply, tucking the camera back into your bag. “Like you said, he’s just a hack in a dumb costume… He had some nice boots, though. Wouldn’t mind getting my hands on those too…”

Jake stares hard at you, his brows drawn low over his eyes. It looks like he has a lot to say, but he shakes his head and gets back to work. “You might have a few screws loose.”

“I have been hearing this weird sorta clanking noise inside my head lately…”

“That explains a lot.” Jake leans into the generator and digs his arm around inside. Although his attention’s on the task at hand, he says, “Crazy or not, you’re handling all of this well, actually. Most of the newbies go through a phase of existential crisis and dread, but you glossed right over it.”

“I’m just making the best of an awful situation.”

“Well, you’re doing a pretty good job so far.” He yanks a bundle of wires out of the generator and says, “Haven’t seen you around camp lately.”

“I’m surprised you noticed,” you snort. “Does it bother you?” You arch a brow. “I was just taking a page out of your book. Ya know, distancing myself, becoming the camp loner…” Smirking, you deepen your voice and do your very best impression of him, although grossly exaggerated, and mock, “I’m Jake, and I hate being bothered while I’m brooding under my favorite tree. Oh, you want to talk? Too bad. I only talk to my inner demons.”

Jake stares at you. And judging from the way his lips draw into a tight line, you know he’s stifling a laugh. Although you don’t know if he wants to laugh with you, or at you.

At you, as it turns out.

“That has got to be the worst impression of me I’ve heard yet. And I’ve heard a couple.”

“Who takes the cake?”

“Dwight,” Jake answers.

“Dwight?” you say incredulously. “Okay, I’ve got to see that,” you laugh.

“If you stop avoiding the campfire, you just might.”

“Careful, Jake. It’s starting to sound like you actually want me around…”

Jake scoffs. “I want you to stop putting the rest of us at risk. If you find something you shouldn’t out there in the fog, it could become everyone’s problem. And we have enough problems as it is.”

“Ah.” Genuine disappointment riddles your face, but you mask it with a pout. “And I thought I was getting somewhere with you…” You reach for a lever on the generator and mutter, “But surprise surprise, the brooding broodster doesn’t want any friends.” As soon as you pull the lever down, the generator explodes. You rear away with a yelp, shielding your face from the shower of sparks and oil. The poor thing’s sputtering now.

You recover quickly and glance at Jake. He’s giving you a hard look. You smile sheepishly. “My bad.”

Jake sighs, then he stands away from the generator while wiping his hands clean on his pants. “Would’ve been better off on my own…”

Your skin suddenly crawls, and a shiver rattles your frame. That usually only means one thing…

Jake’s already walking away, muttering, “Killer will be here any second now.”

You follow him into the boathouse, apologizing, “Sorry, sorry—” But you cut off abruptly when he snags your bicep and yanks you into a locker with him. You both squeeze inside as Jake shuts the door.

There’s a long silence. You murmur, “This is a first…”

It’s a tight fit, and Jake’s leaning awkwardly over you, one arm braced on the wall beside your head, and the other hand resting on your shoulder. You’re pressed flush together, and you feel his heart beating at a steady pace against yours.

Crows caw outside and your arms prickle with goosebumps. Jake breaks the silence.

“Why do you want to be friends?” He keeps his voice low, and his eyes meet yours. “What the hell is it you’d stand to gain?”

Somewhere in the distance, you hear the sounding horn of a generator powering up. You pay it hardly any mind.

“Well, a friend, I’d think…" You sigh. “Not everything’s a game of survival here, Jake.”

“Don’t try pitching another one of your hopeful speeches to me.”

“You could definitely use one. And who knows, maybe eventually, I’ll get through to you. I just think we’d all be a little less miserable here if we weren’t strangers. I’m trying. But if you’re really so hellbent on being a loner forever, then tell me now, and I’ll drop it for good. I don’t want to waste my time trying to break through a brick wall.”

Jake’s quiet for a couple of moments. He fidgets in front of you, then sighs. His breath’s hot on your neck. “Friends would just be another thing to drag me down.”

"Or to lift you up,” you offer, with a cheeky smile.

Jake scoffs. Amusement flickers faintly over his darkened features, and his lips slightly perk up. He turns his head away and mutters, “You’re persistent…”

“Persistent’s my middle name.”

“I thought it was Trouble.”

“Yeah, I uh… I have two middle names. Persistent Trouble.”

Jake laughs. It’s a warm, honey-like laugh that has you reeling in surprise.

“That sounds about right,” he chuckles.

You’re practically beaming at him. Jake reads the look on your face and says, “Don’t let this go to your head.”

“Already did,” you reply. “I mean, it’s in there. Deep in there—”

Jake’s stifling another laugh, that much you gather from the way his chest shudders against your own. You poke him and spur him on. “Think I’m chipping through that wall of yours, Jake…”

He snags your wrist in his hand and ceases your playful prodding. “Really living up to your name…”

“I try.”

A scream suddenly cuts through the air across the swamp, startling you and making you jump. David. Something nicks the back of your neck, causing you to wince. “Ah- What the hell?”

You touch a hand to your nape and smear blood over your fingers. Baffled, you turn your head and look at the wall behind you. And perplexingly, you notice a rack of iridescent throwing knives. Huh.

“These are new,” you murmur, plucking one off the wall to more closely examine it.

Jake scoffs at it. “And I don’t think they’re meant for us…”

Ah. More toys for the killers…

You hum and replace the knife on the wall. “I think we’ve wasted enough time squeezed into this locker together,” you say, parting open the locker door.

“Yeah,” Jake sighs.

Both of you leave the locker and return to the generator on the deck. It’s still clanging and sputtering thanks to your minor mishap.

You work diligently alongside Jake for about five minutes when you hear another scream. David. A beat passes, then you hear him scream again. Then again, and again…

Ceasing your repairs, you draw your hands out of the generator and furrow your brows. David can take a beating. He wouldn’t be screaming like this if he were hooked… Urged on by the naggy feeling in your gut, you move away from the generator, prompting Jake to grab your arm.

“He’ll be fine,” he says. “Let’s finish this up and move on.”

You frown. “He doesn’t sound fine. He’s screaming bloody murder.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jake replies. “We need to pop these gens’ and get out.”

You shake your arm free and back away. “You can finish up here. I’m just going to check it out.”

Jake’s apparently not in the mood to argue it with you, so he throws a hand up dismissively and gets back to work. You finally turn away and head toward the wounded man’s wailing.

You trek through the swamp for just about three minutes, hearing another generator come to life across the trail. You’re nearing David’s screams as you come upon the pier in the far corner of the swamp, tucked close to the borders. The closer you get, the higher the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the faster your heart pounds in your chest. Sweat slicks your forehead as you duck behind a thicket of cattails and high grass. Although hesitant, you peer out at the ruined docks.

What you see is blood-chilling.

David’s an appalling sight — Beaten to an almost unrecognizable pulp, bloodied, bruised, tortured. The sight alone puts an awful pit in your stomach and has bile rising in your throat. You slap a hand over your mouth and avert your eyes to the man that stands over David. Flashy, wack, and armed with a brutal bat. At first glance, he looks like a pop star.

He must be new here. You haven’t heard any of the others around the campfire describe him before… Great, you think. Haven’t even met the rest of the roster and the Entity’s already throwing new tormentors at me…

There’s nothing you can do to save David now, you know that. But the least you can do is spare him from more torture.

Your hand moves down to your satchel, but you suddenly realize you’re without your fire poker — Must not have made it into the trial with you. You sigh, then scan the ground for a weapon before taking a hefty rock into your hand. Won’t do a lot of damage, but it might just steal his attention…

You wind your arm back and chuck it hard at the bastard. And your aim is true. The rock sails through the air and clonks the guy on the back of the head. For a moment, nothing happens. The killer’s stiff in place, and David’s just moaning under him.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Did I knock a screw loose…?

Finally, the man moves again. His head snaps back over his shoulder, and piercing golden eyes meet yours and spit diggers at you. He turns fully to face your way, a wicked grin stretching from ear to ear. You shudder under his crazed gaze.

“Playtime’s over, pop star!” you shout. “Come pick on somebody else!”

The man chuckles, then shouts something at you in a foreign language. And quicker than you’re able to react, he throws his arm up and flicks his wrist. A small blade shoots past your face, cutting a bleeding gash into your cheek. You stagger away in surprise, touching a hand to the cut. Blood slicks your fingers. “Shit,” you curse. The pretty knives belong to the pretty boy. And evidently, he knows how to use them.

You spin around and take off fast. You hear the killer giving chase, cackling like a madman. When you throw a glance back over your shoulder, you almost laugh. He even runs like a looney! You hear the swish of another blade and instinctively dip to the side. It embeds itself in an overturned canoe in front of you. After vaulting the wreckage, you turn your sights to the shack up on the hill near the realm’s border. A generator powers up across the yard. That makes three.

Another knife zips past your neck, drawing a line of blood. You’re nearing the shack, but the killer’s gaining quickly in tow. Closer… Closer…

You slam a hand on the wooden sill and vault through the window. A blade catches you in the back of the thigh, drawing a scream out of you as crash to the floor inside.

“Nng—”
You grip the handle in one hand and steel yourself before ripping it out. The blade clatters on the floor nearby. Blood oozes from your wound and you tighten your jaw in pain. You’re barely back on your feet before the killer comes stepping through the window after you. Wild eyes meet yours and glint with malicious intent.

The madman speaks again, propping his bat against his shoulder. You don’t understand a word he’s saying — you stare dumbly at him, and he laughs.

“Ah, English, then.” He has a suave voice that betrays his cruel, maniacal nature.

Any second now, you silently urge Bastion. But moments pass by, and your shadowy partner is absent. You take a nervous step back; the killer takes a step forward.

“You wanted my attention, and now you have it,” he grins.

Your eyes flitter nervously to the doorway on the other side of the shack. The killer follows your glance and peeps the exit. Your eyes meet again and he smirks at you, then tips his bat toward the outlet.

Cat and mouse.

You make a mad dash for the door, but don’t get far at all in due to your busted leg. A blade hisses through the air and shoots the collar of your jacket, pinning you to the doorframe. Then the guy’s right on top of you. He snatches the knife from your collar and strikes you upside the head with the blunt side of his bat. You stagger and hit the floor with a grunt. Your head is swimming and your vision is a blur. Blood oozes down your scalp and drips into your eyes. You blink blearily through a haze of red and stumble to your feet. Another swing cracks you across the back of the head and sends you staggering into the wall. Your legs give out under you and you crash to the floor in a moaning heap.

The killer’s looming above you, playfully spinning his bat in circles. You can barely make him out through your bleary vision. A horn sounds in the distance. Another generator, popped.

You’re grabbed by the collar of your jacket and lifted to your feet. You sway off balance and brace against the man, slurring a jumble of words. He wraps his arms securely around you.

“You aren’t the first to faint in my arms,” he teases.

Your face rests in the crook of his neck and rich cologne stings your nostrils. You scrunch up your nose and the killer tips his head adoringly. “Moon Radiance,” he says. “Do you like it?”

“Fffuck you and your cologne,” you drawl dizzily. The man laughs before giving you a nudge backward. You crash into the wall, and he cups your face. “Stay with me,” he coos. “I need you here for this…”

You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he suddenly slams one of your hands beside your head, then stabs a blade through your palm. You scream in pain and try thrashing free, but he repeats the process with your other hand. You’re pinned to the wall. He leers in your face. “Perfect.”

Plucking your chin in his hand, he leans in, his crazed eyes burning into yours. “Most people would kill to be this close,” he hushes.

“You’re nothing special,” you spit.

The killer recoils, a hand in front of his heart in mock offense. “You’ve never heard of the Trickster?” he announces melodramatically. “My music was raging across Seoul, stealing the hearts of men and women alike!”

“Dun’t ring a bell,” you slur.

The Trickster chuckles. “Oh, alright… But you’ll be screaming my name soon enough.”

He takes a knife from his belt and drags it across your cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His lips are drawn into a sick grin, revealing two rows of bright teeth. “I wonder what sounds you’ll make for me…”

The knife crosses your jaw, moves down your neck, over your collarbone, and goes further down yet, at an excruciatingly slow pace. You grit your teeth.

“Where’s your sweet spot?” Trickster questions, tipping his head. “Here?” He takes the knife down over your hip. “No, no,” he murmurs. “Maybe here.” Then the knife drags slowly over your belly.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He pouts. “Tough crowd… Maybe—”
He takes the knife lower until reaching a particularly sensitive spot, and you can’t suppress the whimper that escapes your lips. Trickster stops and smirks. “Found it.”

Your futile struggle increases tenfold, but you’re only doing more damage to yourself. Blood spills from your hands and collects in puddles on the floor.

“Bastion!” you call out, panicked. Pitifully calling for your shady partner isn’t beneath you, given the current circumstances…

The Trickster laughs. “Oh, calling a friend? Go ahead. He’ll have front row seats to the show.”
You brace for what happens next, your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw tight. An excruciating moment of nothing passes, then you flinch at the sound of flesh tearing. Blood spatters your face and you blink your eyes open in surprise; a black claw protrudes from the Trickster’s gut, sleeked in gore and viscera. The man staggers forward, crashing into you and bracing an arm on the wall to keep himself up. He coughs blood in your face, and his bulging, mad eyes meet yours.

You can’t help but smile in gratification. “Make some noise,” you say snidely.

He grins.

Another sickening snap and he’s yanked backward with a shrill, hysterical laugh. You watch with wide eyes as he’s seized by another claw, then a third, and then twisted and torn apart. The gruesome sight is too much to watch and you avert your eyes. The Trickster’s howling laughter quickly becomes gurgled moans, and then silence as his mangled body is abducted into the abyss. You watch the ground seal up after him.

Moments of silence follow, only broken by the sound of the final generator roaring to life, and the blare of the exit gates surging with power.

You snap out of your daze and wrench one of your hands against the knife pinning it in place. Searing pain jolts up your arm, but the blade comes loose and clatters to the floor. You grip the other knife and rip it from your palm with a grunt.

The Collapse begins, and it’s signaled by a tremor that shakes the earth. You lose your footing and stagger off balance, but you’re caught and steadied by a hand on your shoulder. You lift your gaze and meet Bastion’s blank face. His grin’s absent. Your lips form into a scowl.

“Where the hell were you?” You slap his hand off your shoulder.

He audibly hesitates, “I was… indisposed.” Vague and frustrating, as always.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, while you were indisposed, that guy was carving me up.” You cradle your hands to your chest and mutter, “Another sick killer. And another one adding me to their personal hit list…”

Bastion’s soundless. You give him a pointed look, then sigh and shake your head. “I’m getting out of here.”

The Collapse is intensifying as you stumble out of the shack. Embers are rising from the crackling scars on the ground, and the earth rumbles. Given your current state, you might not make it to the gates in time…But your nagging doubts cease completely as you hear a familiar voice call after you.

“Hey—”

You swivel around to watch Jake approach. He stops and catches you as you stumble off balance. “Shit, what the hell happened?” His eyes flit up and down your body. He furrows his forehead. 

“The new killer happened,” you say, wincing. “The guy’s a lunatic. Might even be worse than the Doctor…”

Jake’s frown stiffens. “A new one? Great,” he scoffs. “The others back at camp won’t be happy to hear that…” He tosses one of your arms over his shoulders and winds his arm securely around your waist. “Where’d the bastard go?”

You hesitate. “He ran off after he finished carving me up. Don’t know why and don’t know where.”

“Let’s just hope he’s not camping the gate,” Jake mutters. He starts moving at a slow pace, letting you limp alongside him. “Found David. Poor bastard was dead on the ground when I found him. Bled out from all those nasty cuts he had… The new killers always like to play with their victims…”

“That’s something I’ve been learning the hard way,” you reply. “Who got the gates open?”

“The new girl,” Jake answers.

You arch a brow. He clarifies, “The big-bad must’ve dumped another camper in here with the new killer. Happens sometimes. I ran into her not long after you took off.”

You grunt. “Ah… Why did you come for me? Doesn’t really fit the whole lone wolf thing you’ve got going on…”

“When you stopped screaming, I assumed you were either dead or dying. And there wasn’t any harm in coming to take a look…”

“You can admit I’m growing on you.”

Jake scoffs. “You’re growing on me alright. But like a bad rash, more than anything.”

“That’s a start.”

 

The collapse is nearly at its climax when you both arrive at the nearest set of gates. The earth’s rumbling violently underfoot, and you can hardly keep your weight on your bad leg, but Jake supports you as you both hobble out into the fog.

The moment you pass through the barrier dividing the realms, you feel a wave of relief wash through you as the fog heals your battered body. In a matter of seconds, your various wounds heal, and you have a pep in your step. Jake finally relinquishes his hold on you. You come to a stop behind him with a sigh.

“Thank you," you say.

Jake comes to a halt, his brow furrowed. “Don’t—” He pauses for a moment and sighs. “Don’t thank me… I dragged you out this one time, but it doesn’t mean I’ll do it again. Next time, I might even be leaving you for dead.”

“I know that, Jake,” you frown. “I’m not expecting you to come swooping in like some great hero every time I take a hit. But I’m thanking you for what you did today. Not for what comes after.”

Jake's brows crease and his jaw tightens. He seems unsure and cross for a brief moment. Unsure and cross of what, you don't know. But it's clear he's deliberating something... Silence persists between you before he breaks it. He mutters, "Alright," as he combs his hand back through his hair.

You offer him a slight smile. “I think you're a good man, Jake. What we do in those trials doesn't define who we are. It's like that one saying. ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.' But, er... trial instead of Vegas.” You chuckle sheepishly and scratch your cheek. "If that makes any sense..."

Jake cracks a smile and gives you a nudge with his elbow. “Whatever, Cornball.  Let's just get to camp."

 

His voice warbles away and you blink, then you’re someplace else. The first immediate change you notice is the sun peeking out over the dense treeline ahead and flooding the clearing in a haze of warm, golden light. You’re leaning forward over the wooden rail of a porch, your arms propped beneath you and one leg folded over the other behind you. Then you realize you’re not you. You’re somebody else again.

The scent of pine and grass floods your senses, and a faint, smoky smell emanates from somewhere behind you. Wood burning in a fireplace. You can hear the crackling embers and see clouds of dark smoke floating into the sky above.

As comforting as this is, your head is swimming with questions. And one of those questions is answered as you cast your gaze to your feet. You’re wearing Jake’s boots. That’s it, you realize. I’m Jake.

 

You’re throttled harshly back to reality to meet Jake’s concerned features. His face is mere inches from your own. You blink, and he scoffs.

“You’re doing that thing again, where you—” He trails off and removes his hands from your shoulders with an exasperated sigh. “Forget it. I’m heading back to camp. Somebody’s gotta break the bad news to the others… You should come too. I know you’re probably itching to wander into the fog, but you won’t find anything out there.”

You collect yourself and reply, “I, uh… I might drop by.”

Jake grunts. He turns away and starts moving. “Do whatever you want. I know I can’t stop you.”

He soon vanishes in the fog. And no sooner has he gone, than does Bastion appear beside you. He tips his head curiously down at you. You look at him.

“I saw something,” you say. “Another vision, but it was Jake’s. It was… It was a memory, I think.”

“Oh?” Bastion doesn’t sound too surprised. He folds his arms behind his back. “You have a unique connection to the fog, and everything and everyone in it.”

You arch a brow. “I do?”

“You’re special, Wanderer,” Bastion says.

“Right.” You sigh. “So I’m a messiah and a mind-reader… Does this gig come with any other cool perks?”

“You’ll just have to find out,” Bastion replies. He tilts his head and grins. “Back to work, then?”

“Yeah. Back to work…”

You gaze ahead at the fog for only a moment before turning and moving the other way. You’ll have time to visit the camp and check in on everyone later. But your search comes first. Answers come first.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 9: Choice: Felix (❤)

 

—You find Felix working on the generator.

Your heart skips a beat, and you come to a staggering halt. He’s focused on his chore and, luckily, hasn’t noticed you yet. Good. You’re not really feeling up for interrogation… So you back away as silently as possible, with feather-light steps, hoping not to draw his attention. You only take two steps before a wooden plank groans noisily underfoot.

Felix’s head snaps back over his shoulder, his face etched with terror at first, but then relief as he recognizes you. Then relief gives way to suspicion. Narrow eyes meet yours. For a moment, the man silently scrutinizes you before flicking his hand in a gesture. “You can help me with this.”

Great…

You join him beside the generator, though reluctantly. His penetrating gaze is already piercing the side of your head. You swallow and clear your throat. “Nice weather we’re ha—”

“You said we would talk.”

You sigh. “Yeah, I did…”

“What are you hiding from the rest of us? Every time I look your way, you’re already scurrying off like a squirrel.”

“That’s because you and Elodie are always watching me like hawks.” You face Felix with a look of exasperation. “I know I said we’d talk, but that’s something I’ll do on my own time. I’m not going to let you two… interrogate me. I don’t owe you any answers.”

Felix pulls his hand from the generator. “This isn’t about what you owe me! But I saw something, and then you tell me I saw nothing. You’re—!” He trails off, his brows creased as he searches for the word. And when he does, he bites, “Gaslighting! You are gaslighting me!” He cools down and combs a grimy hand back through his hair. “I know what I saw. And I can’t accept that it was nothing. After everything I’ve already seen, I know it wasn’t nothing.”

You allow yourself to cool down too. Felix is a persistent pain in the ass, sure, but the guy only wants answers. You'd want some too, if the roles were reversed... “I’m not trying to drive you insane, Felix,” you remark with a sigh. But I’ve been through a lot lately, and I’m still trying to make sense of it all.”

“Are you admitting what I saw was real?”

“Well—… yeah, I am,” You face him and say, “When I find the time, I’ll have a sit-down with you and Elodie and tell you everything you want to know. Which isn’t much, given that I hardly know much myself.”

You watch the tension slowly ease out of Felix’s taut features. He heaves a sigh and nods his head. “Okay.” He swivels on his haunches to get back to work, but he pauses, his eyes flickering from your wounded arm, then to your face. His brow stoops over his eyes. “What happened to your—“ He makes a gesture toward your arm.

“I was attacked in the fog. Again,” you answer.

Felix arches a brow.

You sigh. “I know, I’m under house arrest, and I have no business going out there…”

“That’s not what surprises me,” Felix scoffs. “What’s surprising is that you’re actually telling me the truth, for once.” He reaches for your arm and carefully inches the bloody sleeve further up. He grimaces at the sight underneath. Your own stomach flips, too. It's no wonder it hurts like hell. It looks like hell. That dog chewed you up like a toy...

“What exactly attacked you?” Felix questions. 

“Fog dogs,” you answer. “And they weren’t man’s best friend kind of dogs, either…”

“Mm.” Felix pats himself down, then sighs. “I don’t have any—”

“I got it covered.” You free your arm and dig into your satchel for a roll of gauze. As you set your bag aside, Felix extends a hand. “I can take care of it.”

You relinquish your gauze to him, and he sets to work dressing your wound. “I haven’t seen you around camp. You’ve been out there, in the fog?”

“Yeah.”

“I figured,” Felix murmurs. “Elodie is almost ready to go out there and hunt you down.”

“I know. You’ve both just been waiting for the prime opportunity to jump me, right?”

Felix knits his brows and sighs. “We only have questions. And I needed an explanation for what I saw. For what we saw. Those claws that tore through the earth and abducted the Wraith? You know what that was, don’t you?” Felix’s steely eyes meet yours. “Because I can tell you what I think it was. The Entity.”

“He isn’t the Entity,” you reply.

“He?” Felix scoffs. “And what makes you so sure he can be trusted? You must know a lot more than you’re letting on…”

You sigh. “Felix, we can talk about this later, remember? It’s just too much to explain here. And I’m sure Elodie would like to hear it, too.”

Felix falls silent in surrender. A minute passes between you both before he murmurs, “I realize I don’t know a thing about you. I don’t even have a name for your face.”

“Is this passive-aggressive interrogation, or casual conversation?”

“The latter.”

“(Y/N),” you say. “I don’t really know a thing about you either, save for your name… And for the longest time before that, you were just Handsome Guy in the Rich Suit…”

“I’m sure the others would agree… Not about the handsome part, but—” Felix trails off and sighs. “It’s been… hard adjusting here. I was never very good with people, but now this place demands I adapt. These people are your allies and your only companions, and nobody knows for how long.” He sets the gauze and hands you back the excess. Then he reaches out and touches your nose. “You have a deep cut on your nose—”

You wince away from him, and he apologizes, “Sorry.” He withdraws his hand. “The dogs did that to your arm, but your face…?”

“I ran into a tree,” you reply, tenderly touching your nose. “Like, full-speed collision. I’m surprised my head didn’t fly off my shoulders…”

“Ah. I think your nose is broken,” Felix sighs.

“Feels like it.” You turn away and bury your hands in the generator to get to work. “I get what you’re saying, Felix. It’s not easy getting to know a bunch of random strangers you’re forced into bad circumstances with. And a few others back at camp feel the same way. But everyone’s coping as best they can.”

“How are you coping?” Felix’s eyes meet yours.

You shrug your shoulders. “Better than most, I think… Which is to say I haven’t had a mental breakdown, yet.” You reach a hand into the generator to snag a bundle of wires. “But with the way things have been going, I don’t think one’s too far off…" You grasp a stripped wire in your hand when the generator suddenly conks out and explodes in your face. You rear backward with a yelp, shielding your face from the shower of sparks and oil. When you recover, you heave a sigh of frustration.

“I’m this close,” you mutter, pinching your fingers and standing away from the sputtering generator. Felix follows suit, wiping his grimy hands on his pants and moving away. “I believe it.”

Your skin’s already crawling as you follow him into the cockpit of the boat. Creeping off now surely means running face-first into the trial’s killer. A concern shared by your company, evidently, as you both come to a stop in front of a locker. Felix side-eyes you, then clears his throat. “After you,” he says.

“Oh, we’re—? Right. Alright…”

You part open the locker and step inside. Felix ceremoniously climbs inside after you and shuts the door.

It’s a snug fit. A little too snug… You’re pressed back against one side of the locker, and Felix is pressed flush against the other side. But the tight space doesn’t offer you much room apart; you feel Felix’s chest against your own. And the man might look composed, but his heart’s beating a million times a minute.

You fidget on your feet and knock knees with him.

Moments of silence pass, and you pick up an aromatic scent flooding the locker. You sniff. Hmm. A rich, floral smell mingling with a hint of musk…

Cologne.

“That’s a rich cologne… You trying to impress someone, Felix?” you hush, smirking cheekily. “A little spritz here and there to steal their attention?”

Even in the dim light, you can see Felix’s face flush. He idly messes with the cuffs on his wrists and replies, “The, ah… cologne was one of the few possessions accorded to me here. And using it is only a habit.”

“Mm…” you hum. “What did you do before all this?” you ask, your gaze flitting up and down his body.

You hear the sounding horn of a generator powering up somewhere in the distance, but hardly pay it any mind.

Felix answers quietly, “I was an architect.”

“Must’ve been a good one, because this is one nice suit.” You touch the lapels of his jacket and hum. “Spiffy.”

A small smile graces Felix’s lips. A genuine gesture betraying his unease. “I was only dressing to impress, back before—” He trails off, his brow creased and his eyes dimming. For a brief period, he’s quiet, as if struggling to find the words to continue. But as they slip away, he meets your eyes again and hums. “Your jacket is… tight.”

You scoff in amusement. “Tight? "

“Yes, tight.… cool? It’s tight.” He chuckles awkwardly and scratches his neck. “That’s what it means, right? I, ah… told you I was no good at this- people thing.” His face is faintly flushed.

You offer him a smile. “I can’t tell.”

“Still being dishonest," Felix chuckles.

“Am I that transparent?”

“To me you are.”

“Humph.” You fold your arms over your chest. “Call me a liar all you want, Felix. But I’d lose my mystique if I started telling the truth. And I think that might be the only thing going for me.” You run your fingers over your scalp and murmur, “When I’m not the naked lunatic running through the camp, I’m the crazy person exploring the dangerous fog…” You meet Felix’s eyes and smile sheepishly. “That’s the consensus, right?”

“Sounds accurate,” Felix replies, letting a smile slip. “But I think there’s more to you than that…”

“Is this another poor attempt at getting all my dirty little secrets?”

“That depends… Is it working?”

A scream suddenly cuts through the air across the swamp, startling you and making you jump. David. Something nicks the back of your neck, causing you to wince. “Ah- What the hell?”

You touch a hand to your nape and smear blood over your fingers. Baffled, you turn your head and look at the wall behind you. And perplexingly, you notice a rack of iridescent throwing knives. Huh.

“These are new,” you murmur, plucking one off the wall to more closely examine it.

Felix gapes at it. “And I don’t believe the Entity intended them for us…”

Ah. More toys for the killers…

You hum and replace the knife on the wall. “Need a raincheck for that interrogation,” you say, parting open the locker door. “But later, I’ll let you grill me as much as you want." Both of you leave the locker and return to the generator on the deck. It’s still clanging and sputtering thanks to your minor mishap.

You work diligently alongside Felix for about five minutes when you hear another scream. David. A beat passes, then you hear him scream again. Then again, and again…

Ceasing your repairs, you draw your hands out of the generator and furrow your brows. David can take a beating. He wouldn’t be screaming like this if he were hooked… Urged on by the naggy feeling in your gut, you move away from the generator, prompting Felix to snag the sleeve of your jacket. “You want to go after him?”

“I think somebody needs to,” you reply, tugging your arm free.

Felix draws his brows. A look of uncertainty writes into his features. Then he sighs and stands away from the generator. “I’ll join you—”

“You should stay here,” you say, backing away. “I’ll go see what’s up, and you can finish the repairs on this hunk of junk.” You kick a foot out in a gesture at the clanging generator.

Felix has a hard look on his face, and his steely blue eyes scrutinize you. But he relaxes his features and murmurs, “I think if anyone can worm their way out of trouble, it’s you… I’ll finish up here. Go help David.” There’s a bitter undertone in his voice you can't help but pick up. Rather than dwell on it though, you turn away as Felix returns to the generator’s side.

“You're not wrong,” you mutter, heading off in the direction of the wounded man’s wailing.

 

You trek through the swamp for just about three minutes, hearing another generator come to life across the trail. You’re nearing David’s screams as you come upon the pier in the far corner of the swamp, tucked close to the borders. The closer you get, the higher the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the faster your heart pounds in your chest. Sweat slicks your forehead as you duck behind a thicket of cattails and high grass. Although hesitant, you peer out at the ruined docks.

What you see is blood-chilling.

David’s an appalling sight — Beaten to an almost unrecognizable pulp, bloodied, bruised, tortured. The sight alone puts an awful pit in your stomach and has bile rising in your throat. You slap a hand over your mouth and avert your eyes to the man that stands over David. Flashy, wack, and armed with a brutal bat. At first glance, he looks like a pop star.

He must be new here. You haven’t heard any of the others around the campfire describe him before… Great, you think. Haven’t even met the rest of the roster and the Entity’s already throwing new tormentors at me…

There’s nothing you can do to save David now, you know that. But the least you can do is spare him from more torture.

Your hand moves down to your satchel, but you suddenly realize you’re without your fire poker — Must not have made it into the trial with you. You sigh, then scan the ground for a weapon before taking a hefty rock into your hand. Won’t do a lot of damage, but it might just steal his attention…

You wind your arm back and chuck it hard at the bastard. And your aim is true. The rock sails through the air and clonks the guy on the back of the head. For a moment, nothing happens. The killer’s stiff in place, and David’s just moaning under him.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Did I knock a screw loose…?

Finally, the man moves again. His head snaps back over his shoulder, and piercing golden eyes meet yours and spit diggers at you. He turns fully to face your way, a wicked grin stretching from ear to ear. You shudder under his crazed gaze.

“Playtime’s over, pop star!” you shout. “Come pick on somebody else!”

The man chuckles, then shouts something at you in a foreign language. And quicker than you’re able to react, he throws his arm up and flicks his wrist. A small blade shoots past your face, cutting a bleeding gash into your cheek. You stagger away in surprise, touching a hand to the cut. Blood slicks your fingers. “Shit,” you curse. The pretty knives belong to the pretty boy. And evidently, he knows how to use them.

You spin around and take off fast. You hear the killer giving chase, cackling like a madman. When you throw a glance back over your shoulder, you almost laugh. He even runs like a looney! You hear the swish of another blade and instinctively dip to the side. It embeds itself in an overturned canoe in front of you. After vaulting the wreckage, you turn your sights to the shack up on the hill near the realm’s border. A generator powers up across the yard. That makes three.

Another knife zips past your neck, drawing a line of blood. You’re nearing the shack, but the killer’s gaining quickly in tow. Closer… Closer…

You slam a hand on the wooden sill and vault through the window. A blade catches you in the back of the thigh, drawing a scream out of you as crash to the floor inside.

“Nng—”

You grip the handle in one hand and steel yourself before ripping it out. The blade clatters on the floor nearby. Blood oozes from your wound and you tighten your jaw in pain. You’re barely back on your feet before the killer comes stepping through the window after you. Wild eyes meet yours and glint with malicious intent.

The madman speaks again, propping his bat against his shoulder. You don’t understand a word he’s saying — you stare dumbly at him, and he laughs.

“Ah, English, then.” He has a suave voice that betrays his cruel, maniacal nature.

Any second now, you silently urge Bastion. But moments pass by, and your shadowy partner is absent. You take a nervous step back; the killer takes a step forward.

“You wanted my attention, and now you have it,” he grins.

Your eyes flitter nervously to the doorway on the other side of the shack. The killer follows your glance and peeps the exit. Your eyes meet again and he smirks at you, then tips his bat toward the outlet.

Cat and mouse.

You make a mad dash for the door, but don’t get far at all in due to your busted leg. A blade hisses through the air and shoots the collar of your jacket, pinning you to the doorframe. Then the guy’s right on top of you. He snatches the knife from your collar and strikes you upside the head with the blunt side of his bat. You stagger and hit the floor with a grunt. Your head is swimming and your vision is a blur. Blood oozes down your scalp and drips into your eyes. You blink blearily through a haze of red and stumble to your feet. Another swing cracks you across the back of the head and sends you staggering into the wall. Your legs give out under you and you crash to the floor in a moaning heap.

The killer’s looming above you, playfully spinning his bat in circles. You can barely make him out through your bleary vision. A horn sounds in the distance. Another generator popped.

You’re grabbed by the collar of your jacket and lifted to your feet. You sway off balance and brace against the man, slurring a jumble of words. He wraps his arms securely around you.

“You aren’t the first to faint in my arms,” he teases.

Your face rests in the crook of his neck and rich cologne stings your nostrils. You scrunch up your nose and the killer tips his head adoringly. “Moon Radiance,” he says. “Do you like it?”

“Fffuck you and your cologne,” you drawl dizzily. The man laughs before giving you a nudge backward. You crash into the wall, and he cups your face. “Stay with me,” he coos. “I need you here for this…”

You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he suddenly slams one of your hands beside your head, then stabs a blade through your palm. You scream in pain and try thrashing free, but he repeats the process with your other hand. You’re pinned to the wall. He leers in your face. “Perfect.”

Plucking your chin in his hand, he leans in, his crazed eyes burning into yours. “Most people would kill to be this close,” he hushes.

“You’re nothing special,” you spit.

The killer recoils, a hand in front of his heart in mock offense. “You’ve never heard of the Trickster?” he announces melodramatically. “My music was raging across Seoul, stealing the hearts of men and women alike!”

“Dun’t ring a bell,” you slur.

The Trickster chuckles. “Oh, alright… But you’ll be screaming my name soon enough.”

He takes a knife from his belt and drags it across your cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His lips are drawn into a sick grin, revealing two rows of bright teeth. “I wonder what sounds you’ll make for me…”

The knife crosses your jaw, moves down your neck, over your collarbone, and goes further down yet, at an excruciatingly slow pace. You grit your teeth.

“Where’s your sweet spot?” Trickster questions, tipping his head. “Here?” He takes the knife down over your hip. “No, no,” he murmurs. “Maybe here.” Then the knife drags slowly over your belly.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He pouts. “Tough crowd… Maybe—”
He takes the knife lower until reaching a particularly sensitive spot, and you can’t suppress the whimper that escapes your lips. Trickster stops and smirks. “Found it.”

Your futile struggle increases tenfold, but you’re only doing more damage to yourself. Blood spills from your hands and collects in puddles on the floor.

“Bastion!” you call out, panicked. Pitifully calling for your shady partner isn’t beneath you, given the current circumstances…

The Trickster laughs. “Oh, calling a friend? Go ahead. He’ll have front row seats to the show.”
You brace for what happens next, your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw tight. An excruciating moment of nothing passes, then you flinch at the sound of flesh tearing. Blood spatters your face and you blink your eyes open in surprise; a black claw protrudes from the Trickster’s gut, sleeked in gore and viscera. The man staggers forward, crashing into you and bracing an arm on the wall to keep himself up. He coughs blood in your face, and his bulging, mad eyes meet yours.

You can’t help but smile in gratification. “Make some noise,” you say snidely.

He grins.

Another sickening snap and he’s yanked backward with a shrill, hysterical laugh. You watch with wide eyes as he’s seized by another claw, then a third, and then twisted and torn apart. The gruesome sight is too much to watch and you avert your eyes. The Trickster’s howling laughter quickly becomes gurgled moans, and then silence as his mangled body is abducted into the abyss. You watch the ground seal up after him.

Moments of silence follow, only broken by the sound of the final generator roaring to life, and the blare of the exit gates surging with power.

You snap out of your daze and wrench one of your hands against the knife pinning it in place. Searing pain jolts up your arm, but the blade comes loose and clatters to the floor. You grip the other knife and rip it from your palm with a grunt.

The Collapse begins, and it’s signaled by a tremor that shakes the earth. You lose your footing and stagger off balance, but you’re caught and steadied by a hand on your shoulder. You lift your gaze and meet Bastion’s blank face. His grin’s absent. Your lips form into a scowl.

“Where the hell were you?” You slap his hand off your shoulder.

He audibly hesitates, “I was… indisposed.” Vague and frustrating, as always.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, while you were indisposed, that guy was carving me up.” You cradle your hands to your chest and mutter, “Another sick killer. And another one adding me to their personal hit list…”

Bastion’s soundless. You give him a pointed look, then sigh and shake your head. “I’m getting out of here.”

The Collapse is intensifying as you stumble out of the shack. Embers are rising from the crackling scars on the ground, and the earth rumbles. Given your current state, you might not make it to the gates in time… But your nagging doubts cease completely as you hear a familiar voice call after you.

“Hey—”

You swivel around to watch Felix bound toward you. He stops and catches you around the waist as you stumble off balance. “What happened?” His eyes flit up and down your body. He furrows his forehead.

“The new killer happened,” you say, wincing. “The guy’s a lunatic. Might even be worse than the Doctor…”

Felix’s frown stiffens. “There’s a new killer?” He sighs. “That’s bad news for everyone…” He tosses one of your arms over his shoulders and winds his arm securely around your waist. “Where did he go?”

You hesitate. “He ran off after he finished carving me up. Don’t know why and don’t know where.”

“Ah,” Felix hums. He moves at a slow pace, letting you limp alongside him. “I found David. He’s dead… His body was in bad shape. Our new tormentor must’ve tortured him.”

“I saw that for myself,” you reply, brows creased. You shudder as you recall the grisly sight, then ask, “Who got the gates open?”

“A woman,” Felix answers.

You arch a brow. He clarifies, “Another poor soul dragged into this hellish place. I came across her soon after you ran off.”

You grunt. “Ah…” Your weary eyes meet Felix’s. “Then you came looking for me?”

“I assumed I would find you in the same condition I found David after I heard your screams… But I couldn’t leave knowing there was a chance you could still be alive.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Felix. You took a big risk coming for me.”

“I know,” Felix replies. “But I’m trying to hold on to more than my sanity here…” His gaze downcast, he murmurs, “If we lose what makes us human, we’re no better than these killers.”

“An architect and a poet. You must've been popular back home."

"Not for a lack of trying."

 

The collapse is nearly at its climax when you both arrive at the nearest set of gates. The earth’s rumbling violently underfoot, and you can hardly keep your weight on your bad leg, but Felix supports you as you both hobble out into the fog.

The moment you pass through the barrier dividing the realms, you feel a wave of relief wash through you as the fog heals your battered body. In a matter of seconds, your various wounds heal, and you have a pep in your step. Felix finally relinquishes his hold on you. You come to a stop behind him with a sigh.

“Thank you,” you say.

Felix stops with a tired huff. “Of course.” He combs his fingers back through his mussed hair and turns to face you. “Are you okay?”

You nod. “Fog took care of everything.”

“I mean, what happened with the killer.” Felix arches a brow.

“I’m fine,” you sigh. “Trying to deter the inevitable mental breakdown for as long as I can… So I can’t let any of this get to me. I think everyone feels that way.”

“Ah…”

And then a few moments of silence pan out between you both. Felix looks unsure of himself, as if he’s contemplating what to say or do next. His fingers flex idly at his sides, and his eyes travel nervously from place to place, never meeting your own. To ease the strange tension between you both, you offer him a smile and your hand. “It’s been nice meeting you, Felix. You know, the you that’s not evil-eyeing me from across the campfire…”

Felix returns the gesture with a partial smile, and he puts his own hand out to shake. “Likewise.”

And when your hands touch, you’re somewhere else.

 

Blinding light floods your senses, almost making you recoil. But you come to the startling revelation that you have no control. You’re in somebody else’s body again, reliving a memory that isn’t yours. As your vision clears up, you gaze thoughtfully at your surroundings, drinking it all in. A lavish party is in full swing around you, the manor crowded with well-dressed guests and servants. You’re striding confidently across the floor, your lips curled up in a toothy grin. But the gesture is faux — your jaw is tight and your forehead lined with wrinkles. It’s a mask. A ruse. After nudging your way through the crowd, you stop at a bar at the back of the room and tap the counter with your knuckles to grab the barkeep’s attention.

“Whiskey Sour!” you bark with enthusiasm. No, not you. Felix. You’re Felix.

You rest forward over the bar with an arm propping up your chin. The room’s abuzz with enthusiastic chatter and droning, but you try desperately to block it all out. A nagging itch at the back of your head prompts you to idly scrape the surface of the marble counter with a nail. Sweat beads on your skin, and your mouth is dry.

This isn’t—

 

“—alright?”

You snap back to reality to come face to face with Felix’s worried visage. His close features are laced with concern. He rests a hand on your shoulder and repeats his query. “Are you alright?”

You swallow past a thick lump in your throat as you collect yourself. “Yeah,” you reply, locking eyes with him. That nervous itch finally fades out of your skull, and you heave a sigh in relief. Felix doesn’t look convinced. You swipe his hand away. “I’m fine, honest.”

“Mm,” Felix hums, backpedaling. “Hard to tell with you…”

You frown. Felix sighs. “Come to camp. I know you might try creeping off on another wayward expedition into the fog, but it’s dangerous. And it’s… cold out here. I don’t want to be the reason you’re avoiding the campfire.”

“It’s mostly Elodie,” you reply, scratching your arm. “She is way more intimidating than you, no offense…”

“I’ll speak with her,” Felix says. “Get her off your back until you’re ready to talk.” He absentmindedly fixes the collar of his jacket and murmurs, “In the meantime, we might… speak about other things. I still hardly know a thing about you, but I think we could change that.” His eyes flicker up and meet yours. “It’s only a suggestion.”

“And a hard one to resist,” you reply, smiling. “But—” You trail off, your eyes glancing off at the surrounding fog. Felix creases his brows.

“You want to go back out there.” He sighs. “I don’t know what it is you think you’ll find, but is it worth the risks you’re taking?”

“We’re all stuck in this fucked up cycle of live, die, then rinse and repeat, Felix. Finding something out there isn’t guaranteed, but I know that if I sit around and do nothing, nothing will change. The chance is worth the risks.”

A stark frown screws up Felix’s handsome features. It’s almost contagious. You sigh and say, “It’s not like I want to go out there and face what the fog has in store for me, Felix. But please trust me when I say I’m doing this for all of us. I’m not hiding some deep, dark secret for kicks. I’m hiding it because it’s too hard to explain.”

“I know,” Felix replies. “I… I trust you. And when you’re ready—”

“Then we’ll talk,” you finish.

Felix nods. He finally breaks eye contact with you and turns away to leave. But he falters and glances back over his shoulder. It seems he might have something to add, but he leaves the words unspoken and vanishes in the fog.

And no sooner has he gone than does Bastion appear beside you. He tips his head curiously down at you. You look at him.

“I saw something,” you say. “Another vision, but it was Felix’s. It was a memory, I think.”

“Oh?” Bastion doesn’t sound too surprised. He folds his arms behind his back. “You have a unique connection to the fog, and everything and everyone in it.”

You arch a brow. “I do?”

“You’re special, Wanderer,” Bastion says.

“Right.” You sigh. “So I’m a messiah and a mind-reader… Does this gig come with any other cool perks?”

“You’ll just have to find out,” Bastion replies. He tilts his head and grins. “Back to work, then?”

“Yeah. Back to work…”

You gaze ahead at the fog for only a moment before turning and moving the other way. You’ll have time to visit the camp and check in on everyone later. But your search comes first. Answers come first.

 

Continue

 

Notes:

Felix sorta has a whole ass family in his lore, but is that something we all collectively ignore, or…? Because it’d be a lot easier writing him in as a love interest if he didn’t have a wife and kid waiting for him back home, lol. I need a consensus!

And on a side note, seeing Ghostface win the popular vote makes me very happy ◡‿◡ We all love one sleazy costumed idiot.

Chapter 10: Choice: Claudette (❤)

 

—You find Claudette hunched beside the generator. She’s working away at it as you approach. “Hey,” you greet, hoping not to startle her. But your out-of-the-blue greeting spooks her anyway — She springs to her feet and spins around, looking like a frightened cat, all puffed up and alert. But her wide eyes flicker with recognition, and she touches a hand to her heart in relief.

“Oh-Oh,” she stammers, relaxing. “You scared me…”

She’s about to return to the task at hand when her attention lands on your cradled arm. She looks perplexed. “What happened?” She’s already fishing a roll of gauze from the med kit under her arm.

“Fell and scraped my arm,” you say.

Claudette hums incredulously. Her eyes flit from your bloody arm to your damaged face. She reaches for your arm and takes your wrist in one hand, then cuffs up your sleeve with the other. She gapes at the nasty wound underneath. You can’t help but grimace at the sight, too. “Must’ve been a nasty fall…” Her brows crease, and she bites her bottom lip. But she asks no further questions. She takes a bottle from her kit and splashes your wound with a clear tincture. It stings terribly, and Claudette murmurs a quiet “Sorry”, then begins dressing your arm. You comply patiently as she dutifully attends to you.

“How are things around camp?” you ask to strike up a conversation.

“Fine,” Claudette replies.

“Everyone’s alright?”

“For the most part,” she murmurs. “Some of the others have been wondering where you’ve been. David seemed a little mad and mentioned something about you being under house arrest.”

“Right,” you snort. “I’ve been hanging out around my tent, napping when I can, and just… relaxing.”

Claudette hums. She sets the gauze around your arm, then takes a small band-aid from her kit. She peels the backs off and lays it tenderly over a cut on the bridge of your nose. You wince. Claudette murmurs, “Your nose is broken.”

You lift a hand to touch your nose, and she swats it away. “Try to avoid touching it.”

“Mm.”

Claudette scoops her supplies back into her medical kit and returns to the generator. You join her on the other side. You both work quietly beside each other, and every so often you side-eye your shy company. Then you catch her sneaking a glance, too. You clear your throat.

“You’re really good at all that. First aid, I mean. Were you training to become a nurse?”

Claudette audibly hesitates. “I was majoring in botany. I was still attending my university courses when—” She trails off and furrows her brows. A sad look crosses her face before she lets out a quiet sigh. “It turns out having a knack for dirt and plants go hand in hand with stitching wounds and staunching blood…”

“Really?”

Claudette nods. “Some plants have natural healing properties. I’m good at sorting them out.”

“Ah.” You pluck a few wires into your hands and ask, “Do you have any favorites? A favorite flower, or plant, or… leaf?”

“Um… There are so many, it’s hard to choose a favorite.”

“I get it. Lotta plants out there…”

More silence befalls you both and you awkwardly scratch your neck.

“My surname’s actually Morel,” Claudette says suddenly. “Like the morel mushroom?”

You pause and look at her. She has a small, sheepish smile on her face. “I always thought it was funny.”

You return the smile with your own. “That’s neat. Like you were destined to become a botany genius.” You strip down a wire and murmur, “It one of those pretty mushrooms? With all the color and spots?”

“Ah—” Claudette hesitates. “It’s, uh… up for debate.”

You laugh. “Wait, it’s not?”

“It’s a little unique.” Claudette withdraws her hands from the generator and makes a gesture, rounding out a shape in the air. “It has a lot of ridges and holes. Usually light tan or brown in color. It’s not the prettiest mushroom, but I hear it’s tasty.” She smiles.

You smile too. “You share more in common with a mushroom than you do any of us,” you joke.

And her smile wilts. Her eyes flicker away and she murmurs, “I-I’ve always been more of a plant person…”

“I don’t mean it like that!” you reply quickly. “I mean to say you’re unique and-and interesting—” You trail off and face-palm. “I’m trying to be clever, but I’m just making myself look like an idiot…” You bury an arm in the generator to snag a bundle of wires, muttering, “I’m just—"

The generator clonks out and explodes in your face. You rear backward with a yelp as you’re showered with sparks and oil. “Damn!”

You heave a sigh and take an arm across your face to wipe away the mess. You fling away residue and mutter, “—an idiot. I’m just an idiot.”

Claudette fishes a handkerchief out of her back pocket after you both stand away from the sputtering machine. She hands it to you and you wipe your face clean as you enter the cockpit of the boat. Claudette tails behind you, and you come to an abrupt stop in front of a locker. You look at her.

“You wanna…?”

“Both of us? In there—?”

“There’s room for two,” you say reassuringly. “And not a lot of time for debate…” You peel open the door and step inside, then make a gesture for Claudette. She tentatively squeezes inside with you, and you shut the door.

It’s quiet and a little tight. You hear your company’s breath hitch. She’s all tucked in and shrunk down, trying to take up as little space as possible. You can feel her pulse pounding in her chest against your own. Her unease is further displayed in the way she idly picks at spots on her clothes and fiddles her thumbs. Her eyes are looking everywhere but at you.

The silence pans out and you’re able to pick up the scent glued to her. Flowery and earthy… like pine and wet grass. You know you must reek in comparison.

The thought has you feeling self-conscious suddenly. You mess with the collar on your jacket, then scratch the bandage over your nose. Claudette catches your wrist in her gentle hand.

“You shouldn’t touch it,” she says softly, finally meeting your eyes.

“Right.” You scrunch up your nose and murmur, “I’ve just got an itch…”

A generator powers up somewhere in the distance, but neither of you pays it any mind. Claudette withdraws her hand to her side and says, “You go out there a lot, don’t you? Out into the fog? That’s how this happened?”

You hesitate. “I tripped—”

“I might be a little shy, but I’m not dumb.”

You sigh. “Well—yeah. Yeah, I’ve been… wandering a little.”

“Why?” Claudette persists, a brow arched. “You’re going to keep getting hurt out there.”

“I’m a glutton for punishment,” you jest. Claudette doesn’t look amused. In fact, she looks even more concerned. You scratch your arm and quickly add, “And just curious, you know? Wondering what’s out there, what I can find… You do it a lot too, right? Foraging?”

“I never wander very far from camp,” Claudette replies. “And I only do it out of necessity. When we need medicinal herbs or water…”

“I can join you sometimes,” you offer, “so you don’t have to go out there alone. I mean, it is dangerous, which is something I’ve been learning the hard way."

Claudette audibly hesitates first. “I would appreciate that.”

You nod. “I’m usually lurking around the edge of the camp or my tent. Anytime you want to go out there, just come find me.” You offer her a smile, and she returns it with her own.

“Okay,” she says, then averts her eyes again. She reaches up and plucks her glasses off her nose to wipe the lenses on her sleeve, but a fumble causes her to drop them at her feet. You quickly offer, “I got it,” then lean forward to reach down for them. But you only end up headbutting her, hard.

“Ah—” she squeaks like a mouse and grasps her head. You wince away and quickly apologize, “Sorry, sorry!”

Claudette tenderly holds her head in her hands and replies, “It’s fine!”

Your face flushes in embarrassment. “See?” you laughingly say, drawing back. “Told you so. I’m an idiot.”

Claudette lights up and laughs, prompting a smile out of you. She stifles herself after a moment and you do a little shimmy down to snag her glasses in your hand. When you stand back up, you place them gingerly over her face and get the frames tucked securely under a few thick curls behind her ears. You smile. “Sorry for headbutting you. Almost gave you a shiner worse than mine…”

Claudette smiles softly and readjusts her frames over her nose. “Thank you.” Then she’s avoiding your eyes again, looking elsewhere. And her heart is pounding still. You thought she’d have calmed down a bit by now, being that you’re not in any immediate danger, but you guess not…

“I think we’re okay, Claudette,” you say reassuringly. “You can relax a little.”

“It’s-It’s not that,” Claudette says.

“Oh? I noticed your heart is pounding—”

“I’m just nervous,” she replies quickly. Her face is flushed.

You frown. “Because of me? It’s because of me. Right, well… I think I can get out of your hair now—” You reach for the locker door, but Claudette stammers, “It’s not because of you!” She pauses and adds, “Well-Well, it is, but—” and she trails off, fiddling with her thumbs.

“Do I make you nervous?” You meet her eyes and hold them. Sighing in defeat, she answers, “Yes.”

“Oh,” you reply. “Well, that’s—”

“But not in a bad way!” Claudette blurts out, interrupting you. “In a—”

“I’m not offended,” you say, interrupting her. “I mean, I make myself nervous sometimes—”

You both trail off and silence befalls the locker. Claudette plucks at a loose thread on her sleeve and you sneakily try to scratch at the band-aid over your nose. She catches your wrist again with cat-like reflexes. You smile sheepishly. She sighs.

A scream suddenly cuts through the air across the swamp, startling you and making you jump. David. Something nicks the back of your neck, causing you to wince. “Ah- What the hell?”

You touch a hand to your nape and smear blood over your fingers. Baffled, you turn your head and look at the wall behind you. And perplexingly, you notice a rack of iridescent throwing knives. Huh.

“These are new,” you murmur, plucking one off the wall to more closely examine it.

Claudette gapes at it. “More weapons?”

More toys for the killers.

You hum and replace the knife on the wall. “Yeah, but not for us.” After clearing your throat, you murmur, “We should… probably get back to work…”

“Yes,” Claudette replies, scratching her arm.

Both of you leave the locker and return to the generator on the deck. It’s still clanging and sputtering thanks to your minor mishap.

You work diligently alongside Claudette for about five minutes when you hear another scream. David. A beat passes, then you hear him scream again. Then again, and again… You notice Claudette grimacing beside you, and sweat on her brow.

Ceasing your repairs, you draw your hands out of the generator and furrow your brows. David can take a beating. He wouldn’t be screaming like this if he were hooked… Urged on by the naggy feeling in your gut, you move away from the generator, but Claudette’s up on her feet first. You stop her. “You should finish up here,” you say. “I’ll go check on David.”

Claudette furrows her brow. “I could join you.”

“I got this, Claudette,” you assure her.

She stares at you with a mix of stubbornness and concern. But she concedes defeat and backs away slowly. “Okay… But be careful.”

“Careful’s my middle name.” You back away from her, and your heel catches on an upturned board on the deck. And before you know it, you’re somersaulting backward down the stairs to the ground floor. You land on your spine with a yelp and groan.

“I’m fine!” you call out, wincing. You glimpse Claudette staring down at you with concern over the railing on the second deck. You throw her a thumbs-up and cheeky smile. You can faintly hear a sigh leaving her parted lips.

After picking yourself up, you turn and move in the direction of the wounded man’s wailing.

 

You trek through the swamp for just about three minutes, hearing another generator come to life across the trail. You’re nearing David’s screams as you come upon the pier in the far corner of the swamp, tucked close to the borders. The closer you get, the higher the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the faster your heart pounds in your chest. Sweat slicks your forehead as you duck behind a thicket of cattails and high grass. Although hesitant, you peer out at the ruined docks.

What you see is blood-chilling.

David’s an appalling sight — Beaten to an almost unrecognizable pulp, bloodied, bruised, tortured. The sight alone puts an awful pit in your stomach and has bile rising in your throat. You slap a hand over your mouth and avert your eyes to the man that stands over David. Flashy, wack, and armed with a brutal bat. At first glance, he looks like a pop star.

He must be new here. You haven’t heard any of the others around the campfire describe him before… Great, you think. Haven’t even met the rest of the roster and the Entity’s already throwing new tormentors at me…

There’s nothing you can do to save David now, you know that. But the least you can do is spare him from more torture.

Your hand moves down to your satchel, but you suddenly realize you’re without your fire poker — Must not have made it into the trial with you. You sigh, then scan the ground for a weapon before taking a hefty rock into your hand. Won’t do a lot of damage, but it might just steal his attention…

You wind your arm back and chuck it hard at the bastard. And your aim is true. The rock sails through the air and clonks the guy on the back of the head. For a moment, nothing happens. The killer’s stiff in place, and David’s just moaning under him.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Did I knock a screw loose…?

Finally, the man moves again. His head snaps back over his shoulder, and piercing golden eyes meet yours and spit diggers at you. He turns fully to face your way, a wicked grin stretching from ear to ear. You shudder under his crazed gaze.

“Playtime’s over, pop star!” you shout. “Come pick on somebody else!”

The man chuckles, then shouts something at you in a foreign language. And quicker than you’re able to react, he throws his arm up and flicks his wrist. A small blade shoots past your face, cutting a bleeding gash into your cheek. You stagger away in surprise, touching a hand to the cut. Blood slicks your fingers. “Shit,” you curse. The pretty knives belong to the pretty boy. And evidently, he knows how to use them.

You spin around and take off fast. You hear the killer giving chase, cackling like a madman. When you throw a glance back over your shoulder, you almost laugh. He even runs like a looney! You hear the swish of another blade and instinctively dip to the side. It embeds itself in an overturned canoe in front of you. After vaulting the wreckage, you turn your sights to the shack up on the hill near the realm’s border. A generator powers up across the yard. That makes three.

Another knife zips past your neck, drawing a line of blood. You’re nearing the shack, but the killer’s gaining quickly in tow. Closer… Closer…

You slam a hand on the wooden sill and vault through the window. A blade catches you in the back of the thigh, drawing a scream out of you as crash to the floor inside.

“Nng—”
You grip the handle in one hand and steel yourself before ripping it out. The blade clatters on the floor nearby. Blood oozes from your wound and you tighten your jaw in pain. You’re barely back on your feet before the killer comes stepping through the window after you. Wild eyes meet yours and glint with malicious intent.

The madman speaks again, propping his bat against his shoulder. You don’t understand a word he’s saying — you stare dumbly at him, and he laughs.

“Ah, English, then.” He has a suave voice that betrays his cruel, maniacal nature.

Any second now, you silently urge Bastion. But moments pass by, and your shadowy partner is absent. You take a nervous step back; the killer takes a step forward.

“You wanted my attention, and now you have it,” he grins.

Your eyes flitter nervously to the doorway on the other side of the shack. The killer follows your glance and peeps the exit. Your eyes meet again and he smirks at you, then tips his bat toward the outlet.

Cat and mouse.

You make a mad dash for the door, but don’t get far at all in due to your busted leg. A blade hisses through the air and shoots the collar of your jacket, pinning you to the doorframe. Then the guy’s right on top of you. He snatches the knife from your collar and strikes you upside the head with the blunt side of his bat. You stagger and hit the floor with a grunt. Your head is swimming and your vision is a blur. Blood oozes down your scalp and drips into your eyes. You blink blearily through a haze of red and stumble to your feet. Another swing cracks you across the back of the head and sends you staggering into the wall. Your legs give out under you and you crash to the floor in a moaning heap.

The killer’s looming above you, playfully spinning his bat in circles. You can barely make him out through your bleary vision. A horn sounds in the distance. Another generator popped.

You’re grabbed by the collar of your jacket and lifted to your feet. You sway off balance and brace against the man, slurring a jumble of words. He wraps his arms securely around you.

“You aren’t the first to faint in my arms,” he teases.

Your face rests in the crook of his neck and rich cologne stings your nostrils. You scrunch up your nose and the killer tips his head adoringly. “Moon Radiance,” he says. “Do you like it?”

“Fffuck you and your cologne,” you drawl dizzily. The man laughs before giving you a nudge backward. You crash into the wall, and he cups your face. “Stay with me,” he coos. “I need you here for this…”

You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he suddenly slams one of your hands beside your head, then stabs a blade through your palm. You scream in pain and try thrashing free, but he repeats the process with your other hand. You’re pinned to the wall. He leers in your face. “Perfect.”

Plucking your chin in his hand, he leans in, his crazed eyes burning into yours. “Most people would kill to be this close,” he hushes.

“You’re nothing special,” you spit.

The killer recoils, a hand in front of his heart in mock offense. “You’ve never heard of the Trickster?” he announces melodramatically. “My music was raging across Seoul, stealing the hearts of men and women alike!”

“Dun’t ring a bell,” you slur.

The Trickster chuckles. “Oh, alright… But you’ll be screaming my name soon enough.”

He takes a knife from his belt and drags it across your cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His lips are drawn into a sick grin, revealing two rows of bright teeth. “I wonder what sounds you’ll make for me…”

The knife crosses your jaw, moves down your neck, over your collarbone, and goes further down yet, at an excruciatingly slow pace. You grit your teeth.

“Where’s your sweet spot?” Trickster questions, tipping his head. “Here?” He takes the knife down over your hip. “No, no,” he murmurs. “Maybe here.” Then the knife drags slowly over your belly.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He pouts. “Tough crowd… Maybe—”
He takes the knife lower until reaching a particularly sensitive spot, and you can’t suppress the whimper that escapes your lips. Trickster stops and smirks. “Found it.”

Your futile struggle increases tenfold, but you’re only doing more damage to yourself. Blood spills from your hands and collects in puddles on the floor.

“Bastion!” you call out, panicked. Pitifully calling for your shady partner isn’t beneath you, given the current circumstances…

The Trickster laughs. “Oh, calling a friend? Go ahead. He’ll have front row seats to the show.”
You brace for what happens next, your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw tight. An excruciating moment of nothing passes, then you flinch at the sound of flesh tearing. Blood spatters your face and you blink your eyes open in surprise; a black claw protrudes from the Trickster’s gut, sleeked in gore and viscera. The man staggers forward, crashing into you and bracing an arm on the wall to keep himself up. He coughs blood in your face, and his bulging, mad eyes meet yours.

You can’t help but smile in gratification. “Make some noise,” you say snidely.

He grins.

Another sickening snap and he’s yanked backward with a shrill, hysterical laugh. You watch with wide eyes as he’s seized by another claw, then a third, and then twisted and torn apart. The gruesome sight is too much to watch and you avert your eyes. The Trickster’s howling laughter quickly becomes gurgled moans, and then silence as his mangled body is abducted into the abyss. You watch the ground seal up after him.

Moments of silence follow, only broken by the sound of the final generator roaring to life, and the blare of the exit gates surging with power.

You snap out of your daze and wrench one of your hands against the knife pinning it in place. Searing pain jolts up your arm, but the blade comes loose and clatters to the floor. You grip the other knife and rip it from your palm with a grunt.

The Collapse begins, and it’s signaled by a tremor that shakes the earth. You lose your footing and stagger off balance, but you’re caught and steadied by a hand on your shoulder. You lift your gaze and meet Bastion’s blank face. His grin’s absent. Your lips form into a scowl.

“Where the hell were you?” You slap his hand off your shoulder.

He audibly hesitates, “I was… indisposed.” Vague and frustrating, as always.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, while you were indisposed, that guy was carving me up.” You cradle your hands to your chest and mutter, “Another sick killer. And another one adding me to their personal hit list…”

Bastion’s soundless. You give him a pointed look, then sigh and shake your head. “I’m getting out of here.”

The Collapse is intensifying as you stumble out of the shack. Embers are rising from the crackling scars on the ground, and the earth rumbles. Given your current state, you might not make it to the gates in ti—

You let out a startled yelp when two arms gingerly catch you around the waist. You spin around and almost bowl over Claudette. She stares at you with a furrowed expression. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes as she braces you up. “I-I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You heave a sigh of relief. “Ah… That just makes us even.”

Claudette nudges your arm, and you wind it over her shoulder. She adjusts her hold on you and starts walking. “What happened?” she questions, her eyes flitting up and down your body. Concern floods her features.

“The new killer happened,” you say, wincing. “The guy’s a lunatic. Might even be worse than the Doctor…”

Claudette frowns. “There’s a new one?”

“Yeah,” you reply, frowning too. “Bad news, I know. And it doesn’t come with good news…”

“The good news is you’re still alive,” Claudette grunts softly, struggling to support your weight. “I thought you’d be… dead when I heard you screaming… Where did the killer go?”

You hesitate. “He ran off after he finished carving me up. Don’t know why and don’t know where.”

Claudette draws her brows. “Ah…” You notice her eyes flitting about nervously, cautious of your surroundings. “We should hurry, then.”

“Hm,” you agree. “Who got the gates open?”

“A woman,” Claudette answers.

You arch a brow. She clarifies, “I’ve never seen her before. I think she might be new. I found her after you left.”

“Ah. And then you came looking for me?”

“Yes. I-I wanted to come sooner, but—” She trails off and furrows her brows. You give her a nudge. “You didn’t have to come at all, Claudette. But you did. And that says the most.”

She finally meets your eyes again and her face flickers with relief. But she averts her gaze quickly and grunts, “I think we’re almost there.”

 

The collapse is nearly at its climax when you both arrive at the nearest set of gates. The earth’s rumbling violently underfoot, and you can hardly keep your weight on your bad leg, but Claudette supports you as you both hobble out into the fog. The moment you pass through the barrier dividing the realms, you feel a wave of relief wash through you as the fog heals your battered body. In a matter of seconds, your various wounds heal, and you have a pep in your step.

You slow to a stop, peeling the bloody gauze off your arm. “Thanks for the save. I probably would’ve been shish-kebabed if not for you…”

Claudette hums and tucks a thick curl behind her ear. “You’re welcome.” She reaches out for your arm, prompting, “Has your arm healed?” Her fingers brush over your bare skin, and a strange sensation jolts through you. You blink, and then you’re someplace else.

 

You’re sitting at a desk in front of a computer screen. Your body moves under somebody else’s will, and you can only watch as dark fingers click-clack away at a keyboard before you. Studying the screen, you realize you’re on an online forum. And as you tap away, it becomes clear you’re answering someone’s query about a plant species native to Hawaii. You’re typing unfamiliar words you couldn’t pronounce if you tried. Seems sciency.

And then it hits you. Claudette. I'm Claudette.

You tap a key and send a message through a private inbox. Then you lean back in your chair with a soft sigh, turning your head to gaze thoughtfully out a window on the far side of the room. You strain your senses to read your surroundings from your peripherals. Your analysis leads you to believe you’re in a dorm room. It’s dreary, with just the bare minimum furnishing the tight space. But what really catches your eye is a single potted cactus resting on the windowsill. It’s drenched in sunlight that floods into the room through the yellow curtains. A slip of paper taped across the front reads, “Sunny :)”

The city streets outside are bustling. You hear muted chatter and noisy ambiance. It’s a nice sunny day.

A ping from the computer prompts you- Claudette, to turn back around to face the monitor. A notification pops up. It reads—

 

“Are you okay?”

Claudette gently shakes you back to reality. You get whiplash as your senses flip and everything comes surging back to you. When you collect yourself, you’re face to face with Claudette. Concern writes over her face, and she draws her lips into a tight frown. You swallow past a lump in your throat.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m fine.”

Claudette doesn’t seem convinced. She has that look on her face, same as before. The look that says, ‘I know you’re lying, but I don’t know what to do about it.’

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, then sighs. “Maybe… Maybe you should come back to camp with me. It’s not safe out here.” You notice her eyes flicker toward your arm. “I know the others would like that too.”

You hesitate. “I, uh… I’d like to, but—”

You trail off and scratch the back of your neck. You make a face, and Claudette sighs again. “Well, I’d… I’d like to go out with you sometime. Foraging, I mean!” she quickly finishes. Her face darkens a shade, and she nervously plucks a thread on her sleeve. “Whenever you decide to come back to camp.”

“I’ll come around soon, Claud’. Promise. I don’t want you going out there alone.”

“I could say the same for you,” Claudette murmurs.

You frown. And she takes you off guard as she suddenly reaches out and gingerly peels the band-aid from your face. She touches the bridge of your nose and musters a soft smile. “You can scratch it now.”

She’s contagious; you can’t help but return a dumb smile at the gesture.

You lift a hand to touch hers, but she draws back. A look of hesitation crosses her face, then she turns away and leaves. She vanishes within the fog, and you’re alone. But not for long.

No sooner has she gone than does Bastion appear beside you. He tips his head curiously down at you. You look at him.

“I saw something,” you say. “Another vision, but it was Claudette’s. It was a memory, I think.”

“Oh?” Bastion doesn’t sound too surprised. He folds his arms behind his back. “You have a unique connection to the fog, and everything and everyone in it.”

You arch a brow. “I do?”

“You’re special, Wanderer,” Bastion says.

“Right.” You sigh. “So I’m a messiah and a mind-reader… Does this gig come with any other cool perks?”

“You’ll just have to find out,” Bastion replies. He tilts his head and grins. “Back to work, then?”

“Yeah. Back to work…”

You gaze ahead at the fog for only a moment before turning and moving the other way. You’ll have time to visit the camp and check in on everyone later. But your search comes first. Answers come first.

 

Continue

 

Notes:

MC becomes big-dumb around Claudette, I’m sorry but them’s the rules. ( i love Claudette sm <33 this one was my favorite to write)

Chapter 11: Choice: Yui (❤)

 

—You find Yui working on the generator. She has her back to you, and her arms buried inside the machine’s mechanical guts. She’s working meticulously. You don’t want to spook her, so you announce yourself. “Hey.”

Yui’s on her feet in an instant and her sharp gaze snaps to yours. But her narrow features relax and the tension seeps out of her shoulders. “You-”

But she cuts off as her eyes flicker from your face to your cradled arm. She blinks and furrows her brows. “What happened to you?”

“Slipped and fell,” you answer.

Yui scoffs. “You’re bullshitting.”

“Honest!” you say. “I was walking and then lost my footing, and—”

“And then you were beaten black and blue and bleeding from a wound on your arm?” Yui shakes her head. “I have had some nasty wipeouts on my bike before, but I never came out of them this bad.”

She reaches for and takes your arm, almost too rough for your liking, then inches your sleeve up. Her brows lift in shock. “Something tore the hell out of you.” Her eyes meet yours, then narrow.

“Nasty fall. Real nasty.” You give her a nervous smile.

Yui silently scrutinizes you, then grabs at your bag and questions, “Do you have a medkit in this thing?”

“Bits and pieces,” you reply.

Yui rifles through your supplies and gathers a roll of gauze. “This will have to do,” she mutters under her breath. She lets your bag fall against your side, then she gets to work dressing your arm. “You’re the naked one,” she murmurs after a moment of tense silence. Her eyes meet yours. You raise a brow at the comment, and she clarifies, “You’re the one who came out of a trial naked.”

Oh.

“You heard,” you sigh.

“I think everyone has,” Yui replies. “Feng min has been telling the entire camp about it. She says it must have been a bug in the system.” She scoffs. “That woman treats this nightmare like a game…”

“Listen, I was wearing clothes one minute, and the next I wasn’t. It’s like this place is out to get me…”

“I thought you had amazing luck?” Yui jabs. “Ace has said, ‘that’s one lucky camper.’ And it must be true if he’s saying it…”

You scoff in amusement. “Bit of a stretch… I mean, just look at me. Do I look like a good-luck magnet?”

“No.”

Yui sets the gauze and stuffs the excess back into your bag. She gives you a pat on the shoulder, then turns around and retakes her spot at the generator. “You look like hell.”

You hesitantly join her beside the generator to get to work. “We haven’t spoken around camp, I don’t think… To be honest, I didn’t even know you spoke English—”

“I didn’t before coming here. But Adam has been a great help,” Yui interrupts. “The man’s a patient teacher. And I have had plenty of time to learn…” You pick up a bitter undertone in her voice. She glances at you and mutters, “But language barrier or not, I was avoiding you. The word around camp is that you’re trouble. And I don’t need that jinx around me.”

“That…. sort of hurts my feelings…”

“But it’s not wrong, is it? You go out there into the fog like some lunatic attracting all kinds of trouble. And I suspect that’s how you ended up in the state you’re in now.”

“Well—”

“Don’t tell me you tripped. It’s bullshit, and we both know that.”

Tough nut. Really tough nut.

You concede defeat and put your hands up. “Alright! So maybe I didn’t trip. Maybe I happened upon a pack of feral dogs and maybe I ran into a tree…”

Yui scoffs. “And you did all that why?”

“What, you think I went looking for trouble?” You sigh. “It just happened. I was taking a walk, okay? And like I said, I’m a bad luck magnet. Trouble always has a way of finding me.” You bury an arm into the generator to reach for a bundle of wires, muttering, “Ace definitely stretched the truth a little. I’m probably the unluckiest camper in the fo—”

The generator suddenly clonks out and explodes in your face. You rear away with a yelp as you’re showered with sparks and oil. The generator sputters and chokes as you look at Yui, shame-faced. She sighs and stands away from the generator. “Unlucky is right.”

She leaves the bow and enters the cockpit with you trailing behind her like a lost puppy. You both stop in front of a locker, and Yui gives you a side-glance, then a sigh. She enters the locker and flicks her chin in a gesture for you. “Are you coming in, or…?”

“Oh—”

You climb in after her and shut the door. With a dumb smile on your face, you hush, “Locker buddies.”

Yui scoffs.

It’s dead silent for a few minutes. The two of you are pressed flush together within the limited space, neither willing to break the ice. The tension’s enough to put you on edge. You finally clear your throat and hush, “So you like bikes?”

Yui meets your eyes. “I was a racer.”

“Cool,” you reply. “Uh… like a street racer?”

“Hm,” Yui hums in response.

You sigh. “If you want me to shut up, you can just say that…”

For a moment, Yui silently studies you, as if considering your idea. You’re afraid she might actually take you up on the offer, but she says, “Yeah, I was a street racer. Some were legal, some were not…”

“Are you afraid I’m going to rat you out to the authorities? Because I don’t think that’s a problem here…”

Yui scoffs in amusement. “No, just… I didn’t think you’d have an interest in it.”

“It sounds pretty badass to me,” you reply. “Were you any good?”

“The best,” Yui affirms. You lift a brow, and she goes on, “I won a lot. I’m not trying to brag or have a big head about it… But when I hopped on my bike, I left the rest of the world behind. It couldn’t keep up.”

“Sounds like bragging,” you snort. “But if you were that good, then it’s okay. Don’t need modesty if you can put your money where your mouth is.”

“And I did.”

A generator powers up somewhere in the distance, but neither of you pays it any mind. You nudge Yui to continue. She does. “Being on my bike, racing, it was the only thing I had ever wanted to do. And the only thing I excelled at. I was making a name for myself doing what I loved, and… and I couldn’t have been happier. I even had a gang—”

“Wait, a gang?” you interrupt. “Like a… a gang-gang?”

“It’s not what you think,” Yui chuckles. “We weren’t vandalizing the streets or shaking down the elderly. My friends stood in support of me, and we stood in support of many others. Of women, notably.” She suddenly lifts her arm to show you a pink cloth band wrapped around her wrist. “Our hachimaki was our symbol. They represented unity.”

“Oh.” You gaze curiously at the band as she lowers her arm. You comment, “That’s amazing, Yui. To stand for something so—"

“Don’t get soppy.”

Your face flushes. “Hey, I’m being genuine here!”

Yui raises a brow and smirks in amusement. You scoff. “Fine, fine. I won’t give any soppy speeches… But I will say this: girl power.”

You have her laughing, and you join in. When you’ve both quieted down, Yui drops her gaze to her wrist and murmurs, “It used to stand for something, but now?” Her face loses its smile and her lips wilt. “I don't think it means a thing now. Nothing does. And that might never change.”

The heavy atmosphere puts a pit in your stomach and a frown on your face. You hesitate, then lift a hand to rest it on Yui’s shoulder. “It can still stand for something, Yui. Unity and hope. Things will change. And the best thing you can do in the meantime is to have something to look forward to. I’m sure you’d love to hop back on your bike again, right? You’ll have those other suckers eating your dust again in no time.”

Yui finally lifts her gaze and scoffs. Her features brighten up and she slowly shakes her head. “You sound like a dumb optimist. But you might be right…” She nudges you in the ribs with her elbow and prompts, “What about you? What is it you’re looking forward to?”

“Me? Well—”

A scream suddenly cuts through the air across the swamp, startling you and making you jump. David. Something nicks the back of your neck, causing you to wince. “Ah- What the hell?”

You touch a hand to your nape and smear blood over your fingers. Baffled, you turn your head and look at the wall behind you. And perplexingly, you notice a rack of iridescent throwing knives. Huh.

“These are new,” you murmur, plucking one off the wall to more closely examine it.

Yui studies them with a stark frown, then scoffs. “They aren’t for us.”

Ah. More toys for the killers.

You hum and replace the knife on the wall. “Yep.” You meet Yui’s eyes, then say, “We should get out of here.” Yui doesn’t have any objections.

Both of you leave the locker and return to the generator on the deck. It’s still clanging and sputtering thanks to your minor mishap.

You work diligently alongside Yui for about five minutes when you hear another scream. David. A beat passes, then you hear him scream again. Then again, and again…

Ceasing your repairs, you draw your hands out of the generator and furrow your brows. David can take a beating. He wouldn’t be screaming like this if he were hooked… Urged on by the naggy feeling in your gut, you move away from the generator, prompting Yui to pause and look at you.

“Are we going after him?” she asks.

“We, no. Me, yes,” you reply, backing away slowly. “You should finish up here. I’ll go check on David.”

“Are you sure you can handle it on your own?”

“Sure. But that might just be my dumb optimism talking…” You wink and Yui noticeably fights back a smirk. She turns her gaze to the generator and says, “Be careful. Wouldn’t want to take another nasty fall.”

You have a dumb smile on your face as you finally part ways. And you head toward the wounded man’s wailing.

 

You trek through the swamp for just about three minutes, hearing another generator come to life across the trail. You’re nearing David’s screams as you come upon the pier in the far corner of the swamp, tucked close to the borders. The closer you get, the higher the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the faster your heart pounds in your chest. Sweat slicks your forehead as you duck behind a thicket of cattails and high grass. Although hesitant, you peer out at the ruined docks.

What you see is blood-chilling.

David’s an appalling sight — Beaten to an almost unrecognizable pulp, bloodied, bruised, tortured. The sight alone puts an awful pit in your stomach and has bile rising in your throat. You slap a hand over your mouth and avert your eyes to the man that stands over David. Flashy, wack, and armed with a brutal bat. At first glance, he looks like a pop star.

He must be new here. You haven’t heard any of the others around the campfire describe him before… Great, you think. Haven’t even met the rest of the roster and the Entity’s already throwing new tormentors at me…

There’s nothing you can do to save David now, you know that. But the least you can do is spare him from more torture.

Your hand moves down to your satchel, but you suddenly realize you’re without your fire poker — Must not have made it into the trial with you. You sigh, then scan the ground for a weapon before taking a hefty rock into your hand. Won’t do a lot of damage, but it might just steal his attention…

You wind your arm back and chuck it hard at the bastard. And your aim is true. The rock sails through the air and clonks the guy on the back of the head. For a moment, nothing happens. The killer’s stiff in place, and David’s just moaning under him.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Did I knock a screw loose…?

Finally, the man moves again. His head snaps back over his shoulder, and piercing golden eyes meet yours and spit diggers at you. He turns fully to face your way, a wicked grin stretching from ear to ear. You shudder under his crazed gaze.

“Playtime’s over, pop star!” you shout. “Come pick on somebody else!”

The man chuckles, then shouts something at you in a foreign language. And quicker than you’re able to react, he throws his arm up and flicks his wrist. A small blade shoots past your face, cutting a bleeding gash into your cheek. You stagger away in surprise, touching a hand to the cut. Blood slicks your fingers. “Shit,” you curse. The pretty knives belong to the pretty boy. And evidently, he knows how to use them.

You spin around and take off fast. You hear the killer giving chase, cackling like a madman. When you throw a glance back over your shoulder, you almost laugh. He even runs like a looney! You hear the swish of another blade and instinctively dip to the side. It embeds itself in an overturned canoe in front of you. After vaulting the wreckage, you turn your sights to the shack up on the hill near the realm’s border. A generator powers up across the yard. That makes three.

Another knife zips past your neck, drawing a line of blood. You’re nearing the shack, but the killer’s gaining quickly in tow. Closer… Closer…

You slam a hand on the wooden sill and vault through the window. A blade catches you in the back of the thigh, drawing a scream out of you as crash to the floor inside.

“Nng—”
You grip the handle in one hand and steel yourself before ripping it out. The blade clatters on the floor nearby. Blood oozes from your wound and you tighten your jaw in pain. You’re barely back on your feet before the killer comes stepping through the window after you. Wild eyes meet yours and glint with malicious intent.

The madman speaks again, propping his bat against his shoulder. You don’t understand a word he’s saying — you stare dumbly at him, and he laughs.

“Ah, English, then.” He has a suave voice that betrays his cruel, maniacal nature.

Any second now, you silently urge Bastion. But moments pass by, and your shadowy partner is absent. You take a nervous step back; the killer takes a step forward.

“You wanted my attention, and now you have it,” he grins.

Your eyes flitter nervously to the doorway on the other side of the shack. The killer follows your glance and peeps the exit. Your eyes meet again and he smirks at you, then tips his bat toward the outlet.

Cat and mouse.

You make a mad dash for the door, but don’t get far at all in due to your busted leg. A blade hisses through the air and shoots the collar of your jacket, pinning you to the doorframe. Then the guy’s right on top of you. He snatches the knife from your collar and strikes you upside the head with the blunt side of his bat. You stagger and hit the floor with a grunt. Your head is swimming and your vision is a blur. Blood oozes down your scalp and drips into your eyes. You blink blearily through a haze of red and stumble to your feet. Another swing cracks you across the back of the head and sends you staggering into the wall. Your legs give out under you and you crash to the floor in a moaning heap.

The killer’s looming above you, playfully spinning his bat in circles. You can barely make him out through your bleary vision. A horn sounds in the distance. Another generator popped.

You’re grabbed by the collar of your jacket and lifted to your feet. You sway off balance and brace against the man, slurring a jumble of words. He wraps his arms securely around you.

“You aren’t the first to faint in my arms,” he teases.

Your face rests in the crook of his neck and rich cologne stings your nostrils. You scrunch up your nose and the killer tips his head adoringly. “Moon Radiance,” he says. “Do you like it?”

“Fffuck you and your cologne,” you drawl dizzily. The man laughs before giving you a nudge backward. You crash into the wall, and he cups your face. “Stay with me,” he coos. “I need you here for this…”

You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he suddenly slams one of your hands beside your head, then stabs a blade through your palm. You scream in pain and try thrashing free, but he repeats the process with your other hand. You’re pinned to the wall. He leers in your face. “Perfect.”

Plucking your chin in his hand, he leans in, his crazed eyes burning into yours. “Most people would kill to be this close,” he hushes.

“You’re nothing special,” you spit.

The killer recoils, a hand in front of his heart in mock offense. “You’ve never heard of the Trickster?” he announces melodramatically. “My music was raging across Seoul, stealing the hearts of men and women alike!”

“Dun’t ring a bell,” you slur.

The Trickster chuckles. “Oh, alright… But you’ll be screaming my name soon enough.”

He takes a knife from his belt and drags it across your cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His lips are drawn into a sick grin, revealing two rows of bright teeth. “I wonder what sounds you’ll make for me…”

The knife crosses your jaw, moves down your neck, over your collarbone, and goes further down yet, at an excruciatingly slow pace. You grit your teeth.

“Where’s your sweet spot?” Trickster questions, tipping his head. “Here?” He takes the knife down over your hip. “No, no,” he murmurs. “Maybe here.” Then the knife drags slowly over your belly.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He pouts. “Tough crowd… Maybe—”
He takes the knife lower until reaching a particularly sensitive spot, and you can’t suppress the whimper that escapes your lips. Trickster stops and smirks. “Found it.”

Your futile struggle increases tenfold, but you’re only doing more damage to yourself. Blood spills from your hands and collects in puddles on the floor.

“Bastion!” you call out, panicked. Pitifully calling for your shady partner isn’t beneath you, given the current circumstances…

The Trickster laughs. “Oh, calling a friend? Go ahead. He’ll have front row seats to the show.”
You brace for what happens next, your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw tight. An excruciating moment of nothing passes, then you flinch at the sound of flesh tearing. Blood spatters your face and you blink your eyes open in surprise; a black claw protrudes from the Trickster’s gut, sleeked in gore and viscera. The man staggers forward, crashing into you and bracing an arm on the wall to keep himself up. He coughs blood in your face, and his bulging, mad eyes meet yours.

You can’t help but smile in gratification. “Make some noise,” you say snidely.

He grins.

Another sickening snap and he’s yanked backward with a shrill, hysterical laugh. You watch with wide eyes as he’s seized by another claw, then a third, and then twisted and torn apart. The gruesome sight is too much to watch and you avert your eyes. The Trickster’s howling laughter quickly becomes gurgled moans, and then silence as his mangled body is abducted into the abyss. You watch the ground seal up after him.

Moments of silence follow, only broken by the sound of the final generator roaring to life, and the blare of the exit gates surging with power.

You snap out of your daze and wrench one of your hands against the knife pinning it in place. Searing pain jolts up your arm, but the blade comes loose and clatters to the floor. You grip the other knife and rip it from your palm with a grunt.

The Collapse begins, and it’s signaled by a tremor that shakes the earth. You lose your footing and stagger off balance, but you’re caught and steadied by a hand on your shoulder. You lift your gaze and meet Bastion’s blank face. His grin’s absent. Your lips form into a scowl.

“Where the hell were you?” You slap his hand off your shoulder.

He audibly hesitates, “I was… indisposed.” Vague and frustrating, as always.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, while you were indisposed, that guy was carving me up.” You cradle your hands to your chest and mutter, “Another sick killer. And another one adding me to their personal hit list…”

Bastion’s soundless. You give him a pointed look, then sigh and shake your head. “I’m getting out of here.”

The Collapse is intensifying as you stumble out of the shack. Embers are rising from the crackling scars on the ground, and the earth rumbles. Given your current state, you might not make it to the gates in time. But your nagging doubts cease completely as you hear a familiar voice call after you.

“I told you to be careful.”

Yui comes up behind you as you turn to face her, surprised. She catches you as you stumble off-balance, her arms winding securely around your waist. “But you can’t help yourself, can you?”

You muster a sheepish smile and sigh. “Nope…”

Yui tosses one of your arms over her shoulder and gets moving, helping you slowly along. “You look terrible. But not as bad as David… He was already dead when I found him.” She side-eyes you and asks, “What happened?”

“The new killer happened,” you say, wincing. “The guy’s a lunatic. Might even be worse than the Doctor… Carved me up and cracked my head open with his stupid bat.”

“I’m surprised you’re still kicking,” Yui comments, grunting.

“It’ll take a lot more than that to take me down,” you reply.

Yui scoffs. “Are you trying to impress me?”

“Uh—”

You trail off, face flushed. And you must have a funny look on your face because Yui laughs. “Because it is a little impressive. You might’ve made a good racer back in the real world. Persevering, hard-headed, and just crazy enough to pull it off.”

“I might have to try it when we get out of here,” you say, smiling.

Yui smiles too. She helps you over a log and questions, “Where did the killer go?”

You hesitate. “He ran off after he finished with me. Don’t know why and don’t know where.”

“I hope he’s not waiting for us at the gates,” Yui frowns.

“Who got the gates open, by the way?”

“It was a new woman,” Yui answers. When she sees your puzzled look, she clarifies, “She’s new here. She must have come with the killer. I ran into her after you left.”

“And then you came looking for me?”

“When I heard you screaming, I wasn’t sure there was any point… But I couldn’t leave without humoring the chance. And lucky you, I did.”

“Well, what do you know,” you begin amusingly. “Turns out I’ve got a little luck after all.”

Yui stifles another laugh beside you and shakes her head. “Less chatter and more escaping.”

“Won’t argue that.”

 

The collapse is nearly at its climax when you both arrive at the nearest set of gates. The earth’s rumbling violently underfoot, and you can hardly keep your weight on your bad leg, but Yui supports you as you both hobble out into the fog.

The moment you pass through the barrier dividing the realms, you feel a wave of relief wash through you as the fog heals your battered body. In a matter of seconds, your various wounds heal, and you have a pep in your step.

You slow to a stop behind Yui, peeling the bloody gauze off your arm. “Thanks for the save,” you offer her with a smile. She stops in front of you, wiping sweat off her brow. “Don’t mention it.” She suddenly turns around and puts a hand out. “I’ve been avoiding you this whole time and never got your name.” Her lips perk up in a welcome smile.

You return the gesture and reach for her hand. “I’m—”

 

Your voice is drowned out by the deep roar of an engine. So suddenly, you find yourself sitting atop a motorcycle, speeding down a street after dark. The engine purrs beneath you as you hug it close, and your fingers are tight on the handlebars. You swerve around bends and corners so fast; the world is a blur around you. Colorful neon lights in front of storefronts flash off your visor, and your stomach does a flip. But there’s an undeniable rush coursing through you, having your hair stand on end.

Quickly you realize you’re not in control. Again, you’re merely a spectator in somebody else’s body in a different time. And quickly, you realize whose. Yui’s. You glimpse the familiar pink band wrapped around your wrist.

Yui — You throw a glance back over your shoulder. You glimpse three more bikes far in the distance, trying to catch up. But they won’t. They can’t.

You round another bend and notice the sidelines barred with railings. And behind the railings, dozens, if not hundreds, of people crowding around spectating. They cheer and call out loudly. Some wave colorful strips of cloth and signs. Just ahead of you, you discern the finish line. You’re so close. Something washes through you, like a surge of adrenaline. Your heart’s pumping fast and your hands grip the handles tighter. This is it. You didn’t come here to lose. You won’t.

 

“Hey—”

You blink back to reality to come face to face with Yui. She has her hands on your shoulders, and a screwed-up look on her face, mixed with concern. “Are you still with me?” She snaps her fingers in front of your face. You swallow past a thick lump in your throat as everything comes back to you and hits you like a bag of bricks.

“Yeah,” you manage, blinking. “Were you saying something?”

Yui sighs. “Does this sort of thing happen a lot?”

“Well, no, I—” You trail off, sheepishly scratching your cheek. “Did, I uh… give you my name?”

Yui makes a face you can’t discern before changing the subject. “I’m going back to camp. Are you joining me?” She’s insisting more than she is asking.

“I’d like to, but…”

“But you want to play dare-devil in the fog again?” Yui pinches her brow. “There’s no point in trying to stop you, is there?”

You frown. “Can’t help myself.”

Yui silently scrutinizes you before shaking her head and turning to go. She throws an arm up and makes a gesture with her hand. “Stay safe out there, Trouble.” The hint of amusement in her tone has you smiling like an idiot. She vanishes within the fog, and you’re alone. But not for long.

No sooner has she gone than does Bastion appear beside you. He tips his head curiously down at you. You look at him.

“I saw something,” you say. “Another vision, but it was Yui’s. It was a memory, I think.”

“Oh?” Bastion doesn’t sound too surprised. He folds his arms behind his back. “You have a unique connection to the fog, and everything and everyone in it.”

You arch a brow. “I do?”

“You’re special, Wanderer,” Bastion says.

“Right.” You sigh. “So I’m a messiah and a mind-reader… Does this gig come with any other cool perks?”

“You’ll just have to find out,” Bastion replies. He tilts his head and grins. “Back to work, then?”

“Yeah. Back to work…”

You gaze ahead at the fog for only a moment before turning and moving the other way. You’ll have time to visit the camp and check in on everyone later. But your search comes first. Answers come first.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 12: Choice: Kate (❤)

 

—You find Kate on the generator, with her back to you as you approach. Before you announce yourself, you notice her humming contentedly to herself. It’s a familiar, sad song; one you’ve heard sung at the campfire, those times when there was hardly anyone else around, and Kate’s head was too hung to notice you lingering and listening.

You don’t want to sneak up on her, so you clear your throat. Kate startles anyway and snaps her eyes over her shoulder to meet yours. Relief washes over her face. “Ah,” she sighs. “You scared the boots off me…”

“Sorry,” you apologize.

“You should be,” she replies, puffing. “I could’ve—” Her eyes go wide as she looks you over, from top to bottom, and shock overtakes her features. “What happened?” she asks, pushing away from the generator to approach. She reaches for your arm and tugs your sleeve up. Grimacing at the bloody sight beneath, she exclaims, “Oh, gosh—”

Deep puncture wounds mark your arm, and the surrounding flesh is bloody and inflamed. You grunt. “I… I fell.”

“I don’t think so,” Kate replies scoffingly. “You look like you got caught and dragged under a semi! And all this”—she cups your face and turns your head from side to side as she scrutinizes the damage—“What’s all this then, huh?” She asks. “You’re beaten black and blue.”

“It was a really nasty fall,” you say.

From the look on her face, she doesn’t believe you. That’s fair; you wouldn’t believe it yourself.

Kate relinquishes you, and she slaps the satchel hanging on your hip. “You got somethin’ in there to take care of all this?”

“I got some bandages—”

“That’ll have to do,” Kate huffs. She helps herself to the contents of your bag until she fishes out a roll of bandages and gauze. Then she gets to work dressing your wound. You patiently wait while occasionally catching one of her off glances. “Do you wanna tell me what really happened?” she asks. “Or do I have to wring it outta you?” she adds, with amusement glimmering in her eyes.

It’s a cute threat coming from a pretty woman with a cartoonishly southern drawl. You smile partially and cook up another lie. “Well—”

“It happened out there in the fog, didn’t it?” she interrupts pointedly.

Ah, well.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But that’s the truth. It’s where you had your nasty fall, and it’s where I’m guessin’ you were before being brought here.” She sets the gauze around your arm and gives it a pat before shoving the excess supplies back into your satchel. “We know you spend a lotta time out there,” she says. “And I think it’s no good for you.”

She retakes her spot on the generator. You join her, reluctantly, and you get to work. “And I thought I was being discreet…”

“You’re about as discreet as a rooster at dawn.”

“I’m digging the country lingo, Kate. It’s cute.”

“Don’t try flattering your way outta this,” Kate replies. “What do you do out there in the fog, besides piddlin’ and gettin’ hurt?”

“I just like to get away from camp,” you answer. “I need time to myself sometimes.”

Kate side-eyes you with a studying look. After a brief pause, she nods and focuses her attention on the wires grasped in her hands. “Well, it’s none of my business, is it? I just don’t like the idea of you gettin’ yourself into trouble…”

“What can I say? Trouble’s drawn to me like bees to honey… Or flowers, I-I mean, or… Do bees like honey? Or is it pollen?"

Your awkward fumble gets a laugh out of her. But she’s so distracted that she botches the repair and causes the generator to backfire. You both rear away, startled at the explosion of gas and fumes. Kate wafts at the toxic cloud, coughing as she gets to her feet and sighs heavily. “I-I might be more trouble than you,” she says.

The generator sputters oil and sparks. Kate wipes grime off her face, and she whips her hair out of her eyes. “We should probably hide,” she suggests.

You follow her into the boathouse and find a single locker nearby. After sharing a look, you both squeeze inside and shut the door, hiding in case your little mishap draws unwanted attention…

The tight quarters don’t offer the two of you much space apart. It’s dark, but you can just barely make out Kate’s shadowed face with the light that seeps through the vents on the door. She’s as quiet as a mouse, and airing a collected facade, but you feel her heart pounding in her chest against yours, and her quick breaths fanning your skin.

An uneventful minute passes before Kate breaks the silence with a whisper. “Y’know,” she begins. “I just got to thinkin’… You remind me of this horse that lived on a ranch in my old town.”

“A horse?” you whisper.

“Mm-hmm. And all the ranchers called them B.W. Do you wanna know why?”

“Humor me.”

“Well,” Kate continues slowly, with the faintest flicker of amusement crossing her expression. “It’s because they were as stubborn as a brick wall. Never did what they were told, and they were always runnin’ off and gettin’ themself into trouble…” She prods you gently in the chest with her pointer finger. “You remind me of that stubborn horse.”

A generator blares to life in the distance, momentarily drawing your attention. But you pay it little mind and let out a quiet laugh. “I think this is the first time anyone’s ever compared me to a horse… But were they at least a stunning horse?”

“As stunning as they come,” Kate replies laughingly. “And although they couldn’t control them, they kept them around… They must’ve grown on ‘em.”

A smile edges your lips. “Aw, shucks… Now, is this the part where I compare you to a pretty cow, or—?”

“A heifer?” she exclaims, laughing. “I think you’re bein’ too harsh.”

“I’m not insulting you!” you reply, amused. “It’s a compliment. You’ve got some pretty cows down south, right?”

“You think I’m a southern girl?” Kate says, amused.

You blink. "Aren’t you?”

Kate chuckles. “Pennsylvania, born and raised,” she says. “But I put roots down south, for a while… Picked up a lot of the local lingo while I was at it. For instance, if you’re tryin’ to compliment a country girl, you should try somethin’ along the lines of, ‘pretty as a peach,’ or ‘sweeter than cherry pie.’” She stifles another laugh that has your heart fluttering before a darling smile sets upon her lips. “You’re too cute though, I swear.”

A scream suddenly cuts through the air across the swamp, startling you both, and making you jump. David. Something nicks the back of your neck, causing you to wince. “Ah- What the hell?”

You touch a hand to your nape and smear blood over your fingers. Baffled, you turn your head and look at the wall behind you. And perplexingly, you notice a rack of iridescent throwing knives. Huh.

“These are new,” you murmur, plucking one off the wall to more closely examine it.

Kate blinks at them. “I’ve never seen anythin’ like those just lying around…”

“They’re throwing knives,” you murmur as you turn the blade over. “Must be more toys for the killers.”

You replace the knife on the wall. “We should probably get out of here.”

You both exit the locker and return to the generator on the deck. It’s still clanging and sputtering, but you’ll salvage what progress you can.

 

You work diligently alongside Kate for about five minutes when you hear another scream. David. A beat passes, then you hear him scream again. Then again, and again…

Ceasing your repairs, you draw your hands out of the generator and furrow your brows. David can take a beating. He wouldn’t be screaming like this if he were hooked… Urged on by the naggy feeling in your gut, you move away from the generator, prompting Kate to stand beside you. “We goin’ for the save?” She asks. “I’ll back you up.”

“I can handle it,” you reply. “Finish this gen’. I’ll go see what’s hassling David…”

“There’s you bein’ stubborn again,” Kate says with a sigh. “He might be in some real trouble if he’s makin’ all that noise…”

“What’s a little trouble to such a stubborn horse?” you jest.

Kate resists rolling her eyes; you can tell. She retakes her spot by the generator, sighing. “I should’ve kept my silly mouth shut,” she murmurs. “You be careful, you hear? Because I’ll come runnin’ otherwise.”

“Got it,” you reply. Then you turn away and head toward the wounded man’s wailing.

 

You trek through the swamp for just about three minutes, hearing another generator come to life across the trail. You’re nearing David’s screams as you come upon the pier in the far corner of the swamp, tucked close to the borders. The closer you get, the higher the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the faster your heart pounds in your chest. Sweat slicks your forehead as you duck behind a thicket of cattails and high grass. Although hesitant, you peer out at the ruined docks.

What you see is blood-chilling.

David’s an appalling sight — Beaten to an almost unrecognizable pulp, bloodied, bruised, tortured. The sight alone puts an awful pit in your stomach and has bile rising in your throat. You slap a hand over your mouth and avert your eyes to the man that stands over David. Flashy, wack, and armed with a brutal bat. At first glance, he looks like a pop star.

He must be new here. You haven’t heard any of the others around the campfire describe him before… Great, you think. Haven’t even met the rest of the roster and the Entity’s already throwing new tormentors at me…

There’s nothing you can do to save David now, you know that. But the least you can do is spare him from more torture.

Your hand moves down to your satchel, but you suddenly realize you’re without your fire poker — Must not have made it into the trial with you. You sigh, then scan the ground for a weapon before taking a hefty rock into your hand. Won’t do a lot of damage, but it might just steal his attention…

You wind your arm back and chuck it hard at the bastard. And your aim is true. The rock sails through the air and clonks the guy on the back of the head. For a moment, nothing happens. The killer’s stiff in place, and David’s just moaning under him.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Did I knock a screw loose…?

Finally, the man moves again. His head snaps back over his shoulder, and piercing golden eyes meet yours and spit diggers at you. He turns fully to face your way, a wicked grin stretching from ear to ear. You shudder under his crazed gaze.

“Playtime’s over, pop star!” you shout. “Come pick on somebody else!”

The man chuckles, then shouts something at you in a foreign language. And quicker than you’re able to react, he throws his arm up and flicks his wrist. A small blade shoots past your face, cutting a bleeding gash into your cheek. You stagger away in surprise, touching a hand to the cut. Blood slicks your fingers. “Shit,” you curse. The pretty knives belong to the pretty boy. And evidently, he knows how to use them.

You spin around and take off fast. You hear the killer giving chase, cackling like a madman. When you throw a glance back over your shoulder, you almost laugh. He even runs like a looney! You hear the swish of another blade and instinctively dip to the side. It embeds itself in an overturned canoe in front of you. After vaulting the wreckage, you turn your sights to the shack up on the hill near the realm’s border. A generator powers up across the yard. That makes three.

Another knife zips past your neck, drawing a line of blood. You’re nearing the shack, but the killer’s gaining quickly in tow. Closer… Closer…

You slam a hand on the wooden sill and vault through the window. A blade catches you in the back of the thigh, drawing a scream out of you as crash to the floor inside.

“Nng—”

You grip the handle in one hand and steel yourself before ripping it out. The blade clatters on the floor nearby. Blood oozes from your wound and you tighten your jaw in pain. You’re barely back on your feet before the killer comes stepping through the window after you. Wild eyes meet yours and glint with malicious intent.

The madman speaks again, propping his bat against his shoulder. You don’t understand a word he’s saying — you stare dumbly at him, and he laughs.

“Ah, English, then.” He has a suave voice that betrays his cruel, maniacal nature.

Any second now, you silently urge Bastion. But moments pass by, and your shadowy partner is absent. You take a nervous step back; the killer takes a step forward.

“You wanted my attention, and now you have it,” he grins.

Your eyes flitter nervously to the doorway on the other side of the shack. The killer follows your glance and peeps the exit. Your eyes meet again and he smirks at you, then tips his bat toward the outlet.

Cat and mouse.

You make a mad dash for the door, but don’t get far at all due to your busted leg. A blade hisses through the air and shoots the collar of your jacket, pinning you to the doorframe. Then the guy’s right on top of you. He snatches the knife from your collar and strikes you upside the head with the blunt side of his bat. You stagger and hit the floor with a grunt. Your head is swimming and your vision is a blur. Blood oozes down your scalp and drips into your eyes. You blink blearily through a haze of red and stumble to your feet. Another swing cracks you across the back of the head and sends you staggering into the wall. Your legs give out under you and you crash to the floor in a moaning heap.

The killer’s looming above you, playfully spinning his bat in circles. You can barely make him out through your bleary vision. A horn sounds in the distance. Another generator popped.

You’re grabbed by the collar of your jacket and lifted to your feet. You sway off balance and brace against the man, slurring a jumble of words. He wraps his arms securely around you.

“You aren’t the first to faint in my arms,” he teases.

Your face rests in the crook of his neck and rich cologne stings your nostrils. You scrunch up your nose and the killer tips his head adoringly. “Moon Radiance,” he says. “Do you like it?”

“Fffuck you and your cologne,” you drawl dizzily. The man laughs before giving you a nudge backward. You crash into the wall, and he cups your face. “Stay with me,” he coos. “I need you here for this…”

You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he suddenly slams one of your hands beside your head, then stabs a blade through your palm. You scream in pain and try thrashing free, but he repeats the process with your other hand. You’re pinned to the wall. He leers in your face. “Perfect.”

Plucking your chin in his hand, he leans in, his crazed eyes burning into yours. “Most people would kill to be this close,” he hushes.

“You’re nothing special,” you spit.

The killer recoils, a hand in front of his heart in mock offense. “You’ve never heard of the Trickster?” he announces melodramatically. “My music was raging across Seoul, stealing the hearts of men and women alike!”

“Dun’t ring a bell,” you slur.

The Trickster chuckles. “Oh, all right… But you’ll be screaming my name soon enough.”

He takes a knife from his belt and drags it across your cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His lips are drawn into a sick grin, revealing two rows of bright teeth. “I wonder what sounds you’ll make for me…”

The knife crosses your jaw, moves down your neck, over your collarbone, and goes further down yet, at an excruciatingly slow pace. You grit your teeth.

“Where’s your sweet spot?” Trickster questions, tipping his head. “Here?” He takes the knife down over your hip. “No, no,” he murmurs. “Maybe here.” Then the knife drags slowly over your belly.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He pouts. “Tough crowd… Maybe—”
He takes the knife lower until reaching a particularly sensitive spot, and you can’t suppress the whimper that escapes your lips. Trickster stops and smirks. “Found it.”

Your futile struggle increases tenfold, but you’re only doing more damage to yourself. Blood spills from your hands and collects in puddles on the floor.

“Bastion!” you call out, panicked. Pitifully calling for your shady partner isn’t beneath you, given the current circumstances…

The Trickster laughs. “Oh, calling a friend? Go ahead. He’ll have front-row seats to the show.”
You brace for what happens next, your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw tight. An excruciating moment of nothing passes, then you flinch at the sound of flesh tearing. Blood spatters your face and you blink your eyes open in surprise; a black claw protrudes from the Trickster’s gut, sleeked in gore and viscera. The man staggers forward, crashing into you and bracing an arm on the wall to keep himself up. He coughs blood in your face, and his bulging, mad eyes meet yours.

You can’t help but smile in gratification. “Make some noise,” you say snidely.

He grins.

Another sickening snap and he’s yanked backward with a shrill, hysterical laugh. You watch with wide eyes as he’s seized by another claw, then a third, and then twisted and torn apart. The gruesome sight is too much to watch and you avert your eyes. The Trickster’s howling laughter quickly becomes gurgled moans, and then silence as his mangled body is abducted into the abyss. You watch the ground seal up after him.

Moments of silence follow, only broken by the sound of the final generator roaring to life, and the blare of the exit gates surging with power.

You snap out of your daze and wrench one of your hands against the knife pinning it in place. Searing pain jolts up your arm, but the blade comes loose and clatters to the floor. You grip the other knife and rip it from your palm with a grunt.

The Collapse begins, and it’s signaled by a tremor that shakes the earth. You lose your footing and stagger off balance, but you’re caught and steadied by a hand on your shoulder. You lift your gaze and meet Bastion’s blank face. His grin’s absent. Your lips form into a scowl.

“Where the hell were you?” You slap his hand off your shoulder.

He audibly hesitates, “I was… indisposed.” Vague and frustrating, as always.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, while you were indisposed, that guy was carving me up.” You cradle your hands to your chest and mutter, “Another sick killer. And another one adding me to their personal hit list…”

Bastion’s soundless. You give him a pointed look, then sigh and shake your head. “I’m getting out of here.”

The Collapse is intensifying as you stumble out of the shack. Embers are rising from the crackling scars on the ground, and the earth rumbles. Given your current state, you might not make it to the gates in time. But your nagging doubts cease completely as you hear a familiar voice call after you.

“Hey!”

Kate comes up behind you as you turn around, surprised. She catches you when you stumble off-balance, her arms winding securely around your waist. “Didn’t I tell you to be careful?” She sighs.

You muster a sheepish smile. “I tried.”

Kate tosses one of your arms over her shoulder and gets moving, helping you slowly along. “You’re in bad shape… But better off than poor David.” She grimaces upon murmuring his name. “I found him, and… gosh, it was horrible. What happened?”

“The new killer happened,” you say, wincing. “The guy’s a lunatic. Might even be worse than the Doctor…”

“There’s a new killer?” Kate frowns. “Shoot… And where’d he go?”

You hesitate. “He ran off after he finished carving me up. Don’t know why and don’t know where.”

“Well, let’s hope he’s not guarding the gates,” Kate says, shuddering.

“Who got the gates open, by the way?” you ask.

“Some new bell,” Kate answers. When she sees your puzzled look, she clarifies, “A new camper. My guess is she was tossed into this mix with the new killer. I ran into her after you left.”

“And then you came looking for me?”

“Mm-hmm. I wasn’t so sure you’d still be alive, after all that screamin’, but I had to take the chance.” She meets your gaze with a smile in her eyes. “And I’m sure you would’ve done the same for me, B.W.”

“Oh, please don’t tell me that’s my new corny nickname…”

Kate laughs. “But it’s fittin, isn’t it? I can’t think of one better.”

You blow a raspberry, amused. “I guess I’ll take it…”

 

The collapse is nearly at its climax when you both arrive at the nearest set of gates. The earth rumbles violently underfoot, and you can hardly keep your weight on your bad leg. Kate supports you as you both hobble through the gates and into the fog.

The moment you pass through the barrier dividing the realms, you feel a wave of relief wash over you as the fog heals your battered body. In a matter of seconds, your various wounds heal, and you have a pep in your step.

You slow to a stop behind Kate, peeling the bloody gauze off your arm. “Thanks for the save.”

Kate stops in front of you with a soft smile. “Anytime.” After a pause, she adds, “But that doesn’t mean you should run off and get yourself into more trouble. I can’t always be there to carry you out of the fire…”

She pats your arm.

 

The world shifts and changes around you as you’re whisked out of the fog, and transported someplace else. You’re momentarily blinded by intense rays of sunlight. But when your eyes adjust, you blink and take in a change of scenery. You’re in the shade of a tall tree amid a vast field of flowers and grass. The setting sun on the horizon paints the sky with hues of purple and pink.

Similar to your other strange visions, you’re not in control. You’re simply a passenger in someone else’s body.

An acoustic guitar rests on your lap, and your fingers tread its strings, strumming a melancholy song that’s carried away on a faint breeze. You hum along to the melody, and it takes you a moment to recognize the angelic voice. You come to a sudden realization—you’re Kate.

She plays her song and sings, blissfully ignorant of everything else but this moment. You could lose yourself in the beautiful sights and songs forever, and you’d be content with that. You’d be—

 

“Hey!”

You come face to face with Kate. She throttles your shoulders with a concerned expression on her face. “Are you okay?”

You blink at her and swallow past a thick lump in your throat. “Yeah,” you say, recollecting yourself. “I’m fine.”

Kate’s brow wrinkles. She hesitantly draws away. “Are you sure? Because for a minute there, I thought I’d lost you—”

“I’m fine, really,” you reply with a nervous smile. “That, uh… just happens sometimes.”

“Mm.” Kate scuffs the dirt under her heels and spins around. “We should get to camp,” she says. “You must be exhausted after what you went through.”

“I’ll stop by later,” you say.

Kate falters, and she looks at you with a frown. “Later?” she says. “Now, what’s keepin’ you from joining me there now?”

Without an answer, you fall silent. Kate pouts, then she shakes her head. “Ah, I get it… You wanna go out there again, don’t you?” She swings her arm in a wide arc in a gesture at the dense fog.

Your brows stitch in hesitance. “Well… Yes, but—”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” Kate interrupts with a sigh. “I won’t drag you back to camp if it’s not where you want to be.” She turns away from you and takes just a few steps before pausing to look back once more. “You keep outta trouble,” she says, more a demand than a request.

“That’s my top priority,” you reply, wearing a managed smile.

“I sure hope so,” Kate says. She spins around and walks away, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t be a stranger!”

Her form vanishes in the fog. But no sooner has she gone than does Bastion appear beside you. He tips his head curiously down at you. You look at him.

“I saw something,” you say. “Another vision, but it was Kate’s. It was a memory, I think.”

“Oh?” Bastion doesn’t sound too surprised. He folds his arms behind his back. “You have a unique connection to the fog, and everything and everyone in it.”

You arch a brow. “I do?”

“You’re special, Wanderer,” Bastion says.

“Right.” You sigh. “So I’m a messiah and a mind-reader… Does this gig come with any other cool perks?”

“You’ll just have to find out,” Bastion replies. He tilts his head and grins. “Back to work, then?”

“Yeah. Back to work…”

You gaze ahead at the fog for only a moment before turning and moving the other way. You’ll have time to visit the camp and check in on everyone later. But your search comes first. Answers come first.

 

Continue

Chapter 13: The Cave

 

So often you’ve found yourself in the dark lately. Your unconscious mind doesn’t take you anywhere else but this same cold, empty void. But you’re never alone here. As always, you hear faint whispers and feel a terrible overwhelming presence nearby. Some looming, disembodied entity of malevolence and wrath that just watches you. When these night terrors first began, you thought that entity was Bastion. But as cold and similar to him as it is, you know it isn’t him.

You twist and turn on your feet to gaze out into the endless expanse. But yet again, your eyes can’t make out anything in the darkness. A pit rests in your stomach and your skin crawls. You want to get away, but you’re rooted in the toxic tar underfoot, and there’s nowhere even to go.

Spidery legs tickle your throat, so you open your mouth and let out a scream: but the void swallows up your voice, and the intense silence persists. The creepy-crawly sensation worms up and out through your parted lips, then extends itself down over your chin, your neck, collarbone, then chest. Then all at once, a thousand needle-like barbs prick your skin and pierce your flesh. A silent cry escapes your mouth and you claw at the unseen assailant stabbing into you. But your fingers come into contact with nothing. So, in a sheer panic from the agonizing pain rushing through you, you turn against yourself. Your nails shred your flesh in a frenzy, and hot, wet tears spill down your face and drip into the blackness below. But no matter how much you rip and tear, the prickly, evil sensation doesn’t go away.

Your face twists with agony. Then your stomach flips and you lurch forward onto your knees in the black pit. Everything on you screams in pain and your body shudders uncontrollably. That evil feeling digs into you and buries itself in deep. In one desperate last bid to remove it, you reach into the bloody cavity in your chest and try to rip it out. But your bloody hand only grabs a hold of your own heart. It beats fast in your fist.

This should stop it , you think, gripping it tighter. This should make it stop.

So you crush the beating organ in your hand, eager to end it all.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

“Caw! Caw, caw, caw!”

You peel your eyes open and blink blearily up at the ceiling as your senses come crashing into you. Wood burning, a faint vanilla scent, and strangely, the cold. How is it cold?

You sit up in bed and glance about the room. For once, you eagerly seek out Bastion’s company, but he seems to be absent. Figures. He’s making a habit of never being there when you need him… You slightly turn your head, then blink in bewilderment when you set your sights upon the window behind the bed frame. The shutters are open, the windowpane lifted, and a single crow sits on the sill, watching you closely. Beady black eyes meet yours.

“Caw!”

A whistling breeze gusts into the room, ruffling the crow’s feathers and giving you goosebumps. You don’t recall opening the window… Huh.

You lean forward to make a swatting motion at the bird. “Shoo.”

It doesn’t move. Only sits there staring at you. So you stare back. And strangely, it tilts its head inquisitively. Almost too inquisitively…

You hesitate, then reach out a hand toward it. The crow allows your hand close, then surprisingly, it dips its head under your open palm. You gently stroke its body and a small smile forms on your lips. “Aw…”

The crow seems to enjoy your doting affections. But maybe a little too much.“Ah, that feels good.”

“HUH!?”

You recoil so fast you throw yourself back and knock your head on the bed frame. “Gah!” Your vision flashes white and you take your head in your hands. Your wide eyes snap back to the bird and you bark, “Bastion?!”

The crow — Bastion, laughs at you. He does a little hop and barks, “Oh, the look on your face!”

You snatch a pillow into your hands and toss it at him. But suddenly, he isn’t there. The pillow flies out the window as Bastion vanishes. Then you jump in surprise when he reappears in his humanoid form at the foot of the bed behind you.

“Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

You scoff. “A crow? Really? Is that your new thing?”

“I thought you could use a wake-up call,” Bastion grins at you. “Or rather, a wake-up caw.” He laughs at his own stupid jape and you roll your eyes.

“You’re not funny.”

“Not even a little?”

“No.” You climb out of bed with a sigh. “Day’s already off to a great start,” you mutter, moving toward the door. Bastion chuckles and trails behind you. “With that attitude, it’ll only get worse.”

 

You toss your leather jacket over your shoulders and cram your fire poker into your bag. Now you’re ready as ever (yet reluctant) to venture out into the fog yet again. You packed all the necessities and more. This time you’re equipped with an oil lantern supplied to you by Lydia, and a very sharp kitchen knife (just in case the fire poker isn’t enough for whatever you might encounter on your expedition.) You couldn’t be more prepared.

As you’re fixing the lantern to your belt, you hear Lydia call from the porch, “Have some tea before you go!”

“Thanks, Lydia!” you call back, stepping toward the kitchen. You find a cup of steaming tea waiting for you on the kitchen table, and you down it quickly like a shot before crossing the room and stepping outside. Lydia rocks idly in her chair, and her gaze slightly shifts your way. “Be careful out there,” she says, humming.

“I’ll try,” you reply. You move down the porch steps, then falter and stop. “You know, Lydia, there’s a man back at camp I think you should meet… His name’s Bill. I’m sure you’d like each other.” You glance back with a smile.

Lydia perks up and chuckles. “I think you’ve got enough on your plate, honey. You don’t need to go and play matchmaker for me…”

“No, really,” you laugh. “Bill’s a cool guy! Old war vet, grizzled, and he’s not always so grumpy… I just think you two would be perfect.”

“Why, ‘cause we’re old?” Lydia chuckles. “I guess we’ll see… Bring ‘im by sometime, then.”

You give her a friendly nod and thumbs-up, then step off the porch. She calls after you, “Oh, I think one of your friends came by lookin’ for you earlier.”

You stop and look back, a brow raised. “A friend…? Who?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia replies, shrugging. “A man, I think… He was quiet, didn’t utter a word. Crept in and out so fast, I almost missed ‘im.” She scoffs. “Would’ve invited him in for biscuits and tea if he wasn’t such a spook…”

“What’d he look like?”

Lydia gazes blankly ahead. You make a face and sheepishly scratch your neck. “Sorry. Uh—” You turn away and get moving, calling back, “Just let me know if he comes by again.”

“Will do,” Lydia replies.

You finally leave the old cabin behind and venture into the fog.

 

You walk for five minutes before Bastion appears and startles you half to death.

“What was the old woman going on about?” he asks, tipping his faceless gaze down toward you.

“We had a visitor,” you reply, features slant. “I think someone from camp found Haven…”

“I doubt it will become a problem,” Bastion says. “Although, your fellow campers might not be too happy to find you’ve been living in such luxury while they’re living in squalor.”

“Hey, you’re the one that told me not to throw any parties,” you say. “If it were up to me, I’d have the whole camp over for a bash. God knows they could use one…”

Bastion laughs, then sighs. “Put it out of mind. Whoever it was, I doubt they even know you were there. And it’s even less likely they’ll happen upon the cabin again. It’s very odd they even stumbled upon it the first time…” He rubs his chin. “But these things happen.”

“Yeah, I guess.” You yawn and stretch your arms out in front of you. “So, how long were you going to let me pet you before you said anything?” You side-eye Bastion.

He grins at you and chuckles. “Oh, I wasn’t going to utter a peep. It felt rather nice…”

You scoff. “Okay, Zeus.” Then you make a motion with your hands. “And how did you…?”

“Much like you, I share a unique connection to this dark realm. It’s been my… home for so long, after all. And as such, it twisted me, and gave me the ability to twist it.” He flexes his claws in a gesture and adds, “I can draw on the surrounding fog to manipulate my form, as well.”  He gives you a demonstration of this and vanishes. Then he’s a crow again, perched on your shoulder. “I can become anything…”

He vanishes again, then makes you jump as he reappears suddenly in front of you, taking YOUR appearance. "Or anyone.”

Such an unpleasant surprise has you tripping backward over your feet. “Whoa!” You stagger to a stop and stare wide-eyed at the spitting image of yourself. They're exact in almost every regard, except the hollow-eyed gaze, and a glistening white grin spread over their face.

It puts an awful knot in your stomach, and Bastion laughs before vanishing again and finally retaking his initial appearance behind you. He stoops down and rests a hand on your shoulder. “It’s just a shell, Wanderer.”

“Mm.” You shudder and keep moving. “Cool, cool, just… don’t do that again.”

Bastion chuckles before prompting you, “Care to share what you dreamt of tonight?”

You sigh. “This isn’t going to become a thing between us, Bastion. This isn’t some… book club where we come together and share stories and small talk.”

“I’m only curious,” Bastion says. “You were doing that thing where you whimper and mewl in your sleep… You even kicked out a few times and balled your fists in the sheets.”

“Yeah, nightmares can do that to you,” you mutter in response.

Bastion chuckles. “Oh, so it was a nightmare? I thought you were having a wet dream, the way you were clutching the sheets and moaning.”

You bat him in the side, and he laughs heartily and nudges you with a claw. “Tell.”

“No.”

Bastion insistently nudges you until you smack his claw away and assert, “I said no, Bastion. I told you already. You and I? Not friends. And small talk is reserved for friends.”

Bastion finally concedes defeat with a huff. “Wrong side of the bed indeed,” he says while folding his arms behind his back. “You’re breaking my heart, Wanderer.”

“You don’t have a heart,” you say matter-of-factly.

Bastion hums, then vanishes. And now you’re alone.

As soon as he’s gone, you feel a tinge of guilt. It’s not that you didn’t want to share with him, per se… You just didn’t want to dig up the nightmares you just so recently buried. It was such a horrific, god-awful experience, and not one you want to relive by sharing it with your shady partner. You doubt he’d even have any comfort to offer you, should you tell him. And after that harrowing experience, you wouldn’t mind a little comfort…

But what’s done is done, and now you find you have some alone time. It’s a rarity nowadays, just to have some time for yourself. No trials, no beasts in the fog, no persistently annoying demon companions…

You walk silently for about ten minutes. And not once do you feel that strange pull to guide you to your next destination. Just the crisp, stale air, and silence of the fog. You finally decide to call it quits and take a break when you enter a small clearing. You find a rotten log against a tall, dead tree and take a seat. It crunches under you and a swarm of bugs scatter beneath it, but you hardly care enough to move.

When you kick back, you rifle your lighter from your pocket and idly flick it open and close. Your eyes glance about the clearing boredly before you sigh and lean forward to rest your head on your hands.

You’ve been so caught up in your quest for answers lately that you haven’t had the opportunity to really sit down and let the gravity of the entire situation hit you. It’s one thing to take on the mantel of the messiah. But you fear burdening that weight for too long will take a toll on you… Well, a toll worse than the one it already has. What comes after these terrible nightmares? What comes after each and every grueling venture you take into the fog? And what will come for you in the end? Each what and why has your nerves constantly flared, and your morale delicately thin. Bastion might constantly assure you you’ll find the answers you want, but even so, you can’t help but distrust him. He knows more than he’s letting on while you know next to nothing.

“Who knows what happens next,” you mutter, sighing. Then you finally shoulder your concerns to allow yourself some reprieve. You lift your gaze from your feet and lean backward.

“Caw!”

Your eyes flit up and catch a crow watching you. It’s perched high in a dead tree. A frown draws over your lips. After your little moment with Bastion earlier, you have a sneaking suspicion it isn’t a normal crow… You evil-eye the bird for a minute before grabbing a rock and chucking it. “Take a hike, stalker!”

The crow squawks and flies away. Hmm. Maybe it was a normal bird…

You lean back on the log when you get a sudden spine chill. Your body tenses up and you cast a look back over your shoulder at the fog. Of course, you see nothing. But you’re on edge, nonetheless. You get to your feet and scan your surroundings. “Bastion?” you call out.

A twig snaps behind you one second, and you’re racing the other way the next.

You’re running blind, letting your feet and panic take you as far from that clearing as quickly as they can. And you keep running until the ground disappears right under your feet.

“AH!”

You shout in panic as you run off the edge of a cliff. Your arms and legs flail before you’re suddenly snatched around the waist and caught. Your stomach lurches and you grunt in pain.

Wide-eyed, you glance down at a claw hooked around your abdomen, then turn your head to blink at Bastion. He stands on the edge of the cliff behind you, his head tipped and shoulders bouncing in amusement. “Careful, Wanderer,” he says with a chuckle. “You shouldn’t run blindly through the fog… There’s no telling what you’ll run into. Or in this case, run off of.” He draws his claw back and sets you down at his side.

“Yeah, I’m beginning to realize that,” you say, backing away from the cliff’s edge. You look up at Bastion. “Was that you creeping up on me back there?”

Bastion tips his head curiously. You sigh. “I felt something, then heard something—” He still appears puzzled. You shake your head. “Never mind. It was probably nothing…” Then you lean forward to peer down over the cliff’s edge. There’s a dense pool of fog below, shrouding the bottom and anything else from sight. But strangely enough, you sense something. It’s that odd feeling, same as before. The feeling that has your hair standing on end, and that puts an unbearable itch in your skull…

“I need to get down there,” you say, stepping back. Bastion tilts his head. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what’s down there, but it’s something.”

Bastion chuckles behind you. “Well, in that case.”

You crease your brows and glance up at him. He has a cheeky grin on his face. And before you’re even able to discern the reason behind it, he swats you with a claw and sends you hurtling down over the edge of the cliff with a shout.

You scream as you flail helplessly through the air. The world spins around you before you break through the fog and see the ground below. You squeeze your eyes tight and shield your face, fully expecting to go splat. But you’re caught unexpectedly in somebody’s arms.

The panic floods out of you as you peel open an eye and look up. Bastion grins down at you. “I think you might be falling for me.”

“Bastard,” you scoff, punching him in the chest.

He chuckles and sets you down. You straighten up and mutter, “Some warning would’ve been—”

You cut off and gaze wide-eyed ahead. There’s a large, rocky formation before you, with a cavernous, dark hole in the face. A cave. Excitement rushes through you. “The cave… It’s the cave!” Then excitement becomes dread. You shiver. “The cave. I was hoping we’d never find it…”

“Well, we have,” Bastion grins, nudging you toward the rock face. “And we have a mark to find.”

You trip forward and stop. “Wait, now?”

“When else?” he replies. “This is what we came for. If we leave, we might not find it again…”

Apprehension roots you in place. “Well, yeah, but—” You bite your lip and throw an arm out in a gesture. “It’s a creepy-ass cave! And there are things down there!”

“This is your expedition,” Bastion says with a chuckle. “Are you getting cold feet, Wanderer?”

You sigh and kick a rock. “Fine. Fine!” You take your lantern from your belt and twist the knob to catch a flame. It lights up, and you raise it high before stepping into the mouth of the cave. Then you stop. Peering into the blackness, you can faintly make out a rocky, dark tunnel that descends below. Wind whistles through the cavern and a spidery sensation crawls up your spine that makes you shudder. You swallow a lump in your throat and fidget nervously on your feet.

Bastion makes you jump as he dips his head toward yours. “Do you want me to hold your hand?” He grins at you.

You scowl at him before sighing and taking a step forward. “Here we go…”

One step, you pause. The cold has your skin stippling with goosebumps. You take another step and falter when the whistling air resembles shrieks. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end, and your hand tightens around the handle of the lantern. “Maybe this isn’t even the right cave,” you try, looking back at Bastion. “Maybe we shouldn’t even waste our time—”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark.”

“The dark, no. But dark, creepy caves with who knows what lurking inside? Yes.”

Bastion laughs and puts out a hand. Then he tips his head and grins.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

Another whistling shriek makes you jump and tighten your hand around Bastion’s. Your heart is racing, and your skin is slick with sweat, despite how cold the tunnel is.

You’ve only been descending for about ten minutes, and you already want to turn back. Because the deeper down you go, the worse your fear gets. Not to mention your lantern’s dimming… You neglected to check the oil before you left the cabin.

These tunnels are undoubtedly the same ones you traversed in that man’s memory. The rocky walls are all too familiar, and they hug close to your sides, hardly offering you space to walk. Bastion strides silently beside you, but he’s got that stupid grin on his face. You can’t tell if it’s smugness, or if he’s genuinely pleased to be holding your hand… It’s likely the former.

“Don’t let this go to your head,” you hush. “I’m not holding your hand because I like you… Because I don’t.”

“Oh, of course,” Bastion says with a chuckle.

“I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are.”

You shake your head.

The path ahead is getting narrower and narrower. And pretty soon, you have to let go of Bastion’s hand to move in a single file line down the cramped tunnel. You occasionally glance back over your shoulder to check your shadowy companion is still there. He chuckles at your behavior.

“Afraid I’ll vanish?”

“Yes, because it wouldn’t be the first time…” You pass him an accusing glance. “Don’t even think about abandoning me in these messed up tunnels.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bastion replies. “And speaking of dreams—”

“No.”

“Come now, Wanderer. Humor my curiosity,” Bastion says while grinning. “Are you going to make me beg?”

“I might.”

Bastion laughs heartily as he falls behind you. “I see…”

Silence befalls you both as you proceed along the tunnel. And soon, you come upon a dead end. Well, at first glance, it’s a dead end. But upon further inspection of the rocky wall, you realize a narrow cavity just wide enough to squeeze through. As you peer through the crack, there’s only darkness on the other side. But this is the only way through, you’re sure. You sigh.

“Fuck this place, seriously…”

You replace your lantern on your belt and ease sideways into the opening. Apprehension of what you might find on the other side has jitters running through your body. You spend a very claustrophobic two minutes squeezing through the tight space before reemerging on the other side. After retaking your dim lantern from your hip, you raise it high to illuminate your new surroundings. But you can hardly even make out your own feet beneath you. You’re surrounded by pitch black, and an eery, stale atmosphere. You swallow a lump in your throat and utter, “Okay… This is okay…”

You blindly reach out an arm, hoping to contact a wall, but your fingers grasp at nothing. Another whistling shriek makes you jump. “Shit—” you curse. And it’s only then you realize Bastion’s absence.

You peer back over your shoulder, then left, then right, but can’t make out your companion anywhere. Granted, he’d be near impossible to see down here, but it’s painstakingly obvious he’s missing.

“Bastion?” you call out. Your voice reflects back to you, and you shiver. “Bastion!”

A screeching noise cuts through the cavern and stipples your arms with goosebumps. You take a few steps, then pause when you make out a dripping sound close by. You can’t discern which direction it comes from, though, which further adds to your increasing fear.

Your feet carry you forward slowly, step by step when you feel an icy hand take your shoulder. A frightful shriek leaves your lips as you jump and spin around. Your pounding heart only calms when you make out a tall, dark silhouette, and Bastion’s roaring laughter.

“Asshole!” you bark, punching him in the side.

“Ah, I couldn’t help myself,” he chuckles.

You hiss and shake your head. “It’s bad enough I’m down here with who knows what! But I’ve gotta be stuck with you, too.”

Bastion plucks at your shoulder with a claw, and you swat it away. “Of all the annoying sidekicks I could’ve gotten,” you mutter.

“Sidekick?” Bastion says, feigning offense to the statement.

“If I’m the hero of the story, then you’re just the sidekick.” You glance back at him with a wry smirk.

Bastion chuckles. “You seem to be embracing the role of great messiah,” he says.

“I don’t have a choice,” you scoff.

Another moaning breeze gusts through the cavern and makes you shudder. To distract yourself from your increasing fear, you ask, “Did you ever do anything like this? When you were Bryce?” You look back at Bastion.

You notice the change in his demeanor immediately. His grin wilts, and, in fact, he appears to be scowling. You come to a stop as Bastion folds his arms tightly behind his back. His faceless gaze drops to the ground and you hear him grinding his teeth. Nervous anticipation makes your hair stand on end. “Bastion…?” you say uneasily.

His head snaps up so suddenly it makes you jump. He forces a grin. “Forgive me, Wanderer, but my memories of Bryce’s ventures are… foggy.”

“O…kay,” you murmur, turning back around. “Sorry I asked…” You move forward, saying, “I was just wondering…if…”

Your voice trails off and your footsteps falter when you hear whispers intruding your mind. Eyes wide, you glance about the surrounding darkness to seek the source. But your eyes find nothing, and the whispers mount in volume, becoming harsher and more grating. And carried with them is an all too familiar prickly sensation and sinister presence.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight and try to discern the words being murmured to you. But so many voices speak, all at once and in a chaotic order, and you can’t make out a damn thing.

Bastion’s claw throttles you back to reality. As soon as you reopen your eyes, the whispers fade, and that presence vanishes. You glance up at Bastion, and he stares back soundlessly, perhaps awaiting an explanation. You don’t have one for him.

Shrugging his claw off your shoulder, you say, “Let’s just find that damn mark and get out of—AH!”

Your voice leaves you in a sharp scream as a sudden intense pain shoots up your leg. You stagger forward and crash to your knees, your face screwed up in pain. Your eyes dart to your leg and you find a crude arrow shot right through your calf. A bloody bone arrowhead protrudes from the front. The cavern comes alive with animalistic grunts and growls and hooting and hollering. You lift your dim lantern high, but the darkness remains ever static.

“Bastion—?” You glance fearfully at your companion just as you hear another arrow whizzing through the air. The air rushes out of your lungs as a claw catches you around the midsection and snatches you right up with a yelp. A flaming arrow strikes the ground where you sat mere moments ago.

“I think it’s time to go!” you shout.

Bastion makes a noise in agreement just before you hear another arrow loosed from a bow. You only catch a glimpse of it whizzing through the air before it strikes your companion in the back. His shadowy form is suddenly engulfed in smoldering flames, and a dreadful, monstrous shriek rips from his maw. In the heat of the moment, he drops you carelessly on your bad leg.

“Shit!” you curse.

The intense light from Bastion’s burning form momentarily blinds you. But as your vision returns, you crawl backward, wide-eyed, and witness his distressed, flaming silhouette. The entire cavern is lit up now. You’re surrounded by steep rocky ledges that stretch up toward the cave ceiling. And resting on these ledges, are dozens upon dozens of nude, humanoid figures. Their skin is grey and taut over their frail bodies, heads hairless and eyes milky-white. They’re just perched there, watching you. And many are armed with crude weapons crafted from sticks and stones and bones: bows, clubs, cleavers, and axes.

You’d rather be in the dark.

You shoot another frantic look at Bastion. He’s lit up and covered in flames from head to toe. His claws are alight too, like broken, flaming wings protruding from his back. He wails like a busted siren and claws and tears at himself in a panicked attempt to extinguish the flames. And when that fails, he up and vanishes with a gravelly moan.

As soon as he’s gone, the light vanishes with him. Darkness shrouds the cavern again. You cry out, “Bastion!”

The cave dwellers erupt in volume and animation, and you hear fast running footsteps coming your way. You act fast, snapping the arrowhead off the arrow embedded in your leg, then you rip the shaft out and stagger to your feet. You take off blindly into the darkness, using only the light from your dim lamp to guide you.

Another flaming arrow shoots past your head, and you cut down a narrow tunnel. Those things are giving chase.

You move as fast as you’re able, what with your busted extremity. Excruciating pain shoots up your leg with each step, but the adrenaline coursing through you numbs it just enough to keep you going.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” you pant, glancing back over your shoulder.

The only thing you’re able to make out are the dark shapes of your pursuers, gaining in tow. You almost slip on the wet, rocky stone floor underfoot. And you notice the tunnel is steadily declining.

You dodge yet another flaming arrow, but something hard catches you around the legs and trips you up. You hit the ground hard and tumble down the tunnel, grunting and yelling in pain. The world spins around you for a minute before you go sliding off an edge. You lose your grip on your lantern and fall into darkness before crashing down hard into a shallow pool of cold water at the bottom of the pit.

You moan in pain when you hear your lantern smash to the floor nearby. It shatters, and the measly amount of oil left in it spills out and ignites. Bursting flames light up the small cavern you now find yourself in. You weakly lift your head and gaze about the room. Then you freeze solid when your eyes catch the unsettling sight tucked against the cave wall.

A variety of bones, undoubtedly human bones, piled high and littering the floor. It’s enough to put a nasty knot in your stomach. But what comes as a striking and welcome surprise is the sight of a leather-bound book resting atop the graveyard.

That might just be what you came for.

You quickly identify the object tangled around your legs: A bola crafted from two battered human skulls and thick twine. After rifling your kitchen knife from your bag, you cut yourself free and carry yourself out of the pool. You drag your bad leg behind you before dropping to your knees before the bones.

A shriek behind you makes you jump and glance back. You can make out the gaping dark hole of the tunnel you fell out of, and you hear your pursuers fast approaching. Skin stippled with goosebumps, you reach out and take the book, then cram it into your bag.

Another screech grabs your attention, and you shoot back to your feet, spinning around to watch two dwellers leap down into the pit. They land with a splash in the pool, their twisted grey bodies shimmering in the light of the flickering flames spreading throughout the cavern. Their muddy-brown, snarling teeth glint and snap at you. There’s something hungry in their eyes… Hungry and sinister. You have a pretty good idea of what might happen next…

Despite the near-crippling fear, you brandish your knife and bark, “Stay back!”

The savages snarl at you and stalk nearer, undeterred by your shaky stance. One is armed with a hefty skull club, the other with a stone shank. You limp backward, arm trembling and knuckles white on the handle of your pathetic weapon. “Back!” you shout, sweat slicking your skin. But to your surprise, and immense horror, they push forward, right through the wall of licking flames. They’re unaffected by it. Unbothered.

Their bare feet pitter-patter over the stone floor, and without word or warning, one lunges straight for you. It swings its club and knocks you upside the head. Something cracks- your own skull shattering against the blunt impact. You grunt and lose your grip on your knife, staggering backward and crashing down into the pile of bones. The savage is right on top of you, clawing and beating on you with its fists. The other stays back, spectating and stomping its feet in excitement. Nails dig into your scalp, and you buck wildly to try throwing the fucker off. But it’s latched on tight. It howls and dips its head before chomping down on your neck. You scream as it rips into you.

But its attack is short-lived. You glimpse something large and dark lunging forward out of the shadows before it bowls you both over. You crash to the ground again and roll to a stop, head spinning. Groaning in pain, you press a hand firmly to your shredded neck and lift your head. Your blood runs cold at the new twisted sight.

A large, hulking beast is before you. It stands over twice your size on its four legs, and the only way you can describe it is it resembles a hairless panther. Black skin is taut over its muscles, it has sharp, dagger-like claws, and a gaping maw with glistening white canines. It lacks eyes and ears, and a long, bony tail swishes behind it. Black spidery hooks similar in appearance to the Entity’s protrude from its back.

You watch wide-eyed in terror as the beast snatches the savage up in its jaws. And with a sickening crunch, it clamps down on its skull, smashing it like a melon. Blood spatters the cave floor and you flinch when you’re caught in the splash zone. Then the beast turns its attention to the other savage. The other tries to flee, but it’s toppled over and crushed under the monster’s hulking paw. The monster dips its head, buries its teeth in the savage’s back, then rips its spine right out with a crackling snap and squelch. You gag and avert your eyes.

And then, finally, the beast turns its sights to you.

You pick yourself up, then trip backward over your bad leg and hit the ground again with a painful yelp. The beast stalks near, tail swishing slowly back-and-forth behind it. You flip over and scramble for your knife, but the beast is right on top of you.

A heavy, bloody paw rests on your back and pins you down. You let out a whimpering yelp and struggle helplessly as it slowly dips its head toward the nape of your neck. Blood oozes from its snarling muzzle and drips onto your skin. You squeeze your eyes shut tight as the beast huffs cold breath on your neck. Then it flips you over onto your back, and you peel open an eye to see its glistening, bloody canines forming an odd grin on its muzzle. A baritone, yet all too familiar laugh escapes the beast’s dripping maw and catches you completely off guard.

“Did I scare you?”

The fear rushes out of you, replaced with anger and relief. You narrow your eyes. “Bastion!”

Bastion laughs again and barks, “Haven’t you heard the old saying, Wanderer? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—?”

You scowl at him and punch him in the chest. “Get off me!”

He obeys your request with a chuckle, then scoops you up around the waist with one of his spidery hooks. “You got what you came for,” he says, tossing you onto his back. “I think it’s time we go.”

“Do you know the way out?” you ask.

“No,” Bastion replies. “But I suppose we’ll have to find one.” He spins around and silently surveys your surroundings before taking off fast toward a dark tunnel on the far wall of the cavern. You lurch backward and hold on to one of his spiny claws for support. “Slow down!”

“Faster?”

“No, SLOW DOWN!”

“Faster it is,” Bastion chuckles beneath you. He picks up speed and you hug his body to hang on. “I really hate you sometimes!”

Bastion’s racing into darkness, and you can’t make out a damn thing around you. You just hope and pray he doesn’t run into more trouble…

The tunnel shrieks and whistles around you, and you shout above the noise, “What the hell are those things, anyway? They almost look human!”

“Everything you’ll find here in the Dark Realm is a twisted reflection of something in the real world,” Bastion answers. “Taken by the Entity because something inside them tempted it. Something dark… My guess is, they used to be a cannibal tribe… But now, they’re just another part of the fog’s demented collection.”

Bastion cuts fast around a bend and you almost go flying off his back. A claw catches and steadies you. You shout, “Well, that’s… disturbing!”

“I would be surprised if you could find something here that isn’t.”

“Good point!”

The surrounding darkness abruptly breaks as you enter an enormous cavern. Moonlight floods into the cavern from a gaping hole in the rocky ceiling high above. Bastion comes to a sudden stop, almost bucking you right off his back.

“I think that might be our way out,” he grins.

You raise a brow. “How? Are you going to grow wings and fly?”

Your sarcastic comment elicits a laugh from your companion. “That’s not a bad idea.”

Then you watch in mild horror as two long, bony appendages sprout from his back, and a black membrane forms around them. They take on a wing-like shape, then stretch out wide on both sides.

You impulsively touch one — it’s tough and leathery. “Huh,” you murmur, drawing your hand back.

Bastion’s tail swats your shoulder and you cringe away in disgust. “Hold on tight,” he says, grinning. He leaps from the ground and beats his wings, taking you up fast with a shout. You grip tight to his claws as he ascends rapidly toward the narrow opening. Then an air-piercing shriek draws your attention back down into the receding darkness. Your head snaps back over your shoulder, and you can just barely make out the black silhouettes of a near dozen cave dwellers down below. And with wide eyes, you watch them raise bows and draw flaming arrows.

“Watch out!” you shout in warning.

The savages let loose a barrage of arrows, and Bastion does a barrel roll, nearly throwing you right off. You grip his claws and yell in increasing panic as he hazardously dodges flaming projectiles with almost no regard for you on his back.

An arrow zips right past your head, too close for comfort. And you don’t want a repeat of before, what with Bastion catching aflame and vanishing. So, you take your satchel off over your shoulder and grip the straps tight in your fist, your other hand still clutching hold of Bastion’s claws. And any arrow that flies too close, you strike away with a swing of your bag. “Nice try, assholes!” you taunt. 

Your chaotic escape finally comes to a close as Bastion bursts out of the chasm and reemerges outside. The change of scenery floods you with relief. Bastion lands on solid ground, and you climb off his back. He finally retakes his humanoid appearance and peers down into the dark abyss.

“That was exciting,” he grins.

You scoff. “Yeah, that’s one word for it…”

You put some distance between the hole in the earth, then turn slowly on your heels to survey your surroundings. And for once, you’re relieved to find yourself in the fog again. Any place is better than those fucked up caverns…

You’re in a small clearing enclosed by fog, and filled with shrubs and tall, dead trees. You slouch onto a rotten old tree stump and heave a sigh in exhaustion. The adrenaline’s beginning to wear off, and pain from your various wounds courses through you.

Bastion strides toward you before stopping and folding his arms behind his back. He tips his head toward your satchel. “What did you find?”

“A book,” you reply, sighing. You roll your shoulders and wince. “Haven’t looked through it yet.”

“Hm,” Bastion hums. “We'll have time for that when we return to Haven.”

You grunt absentmindedly and rest your head in your hands. A few minutes of silence pass before you lift your gaze and give Bastion a pointed look. “So,” you begin. “Fire…”

A funny sort of look crosses Bastion’s mostly blank face. His grin wavers, and his jaw tightens. “Fire,” he repeats, shoulders tense. “I… have quite an aversion to it.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” you say. “I think I've finally figured out your kryptonite…”

 

"Are you okay?" (❤)

"Are you okay?"

"You left me to the wolves."

 

Chapter 14: Choice: "Are you okay?" (❤)

 

Concern laces your expression, and you furrow your brows. “Are you okay?” you ask. “You were screeching like a banshee.”

Bastion’s grin brightens substantially, and he tips his head. “Were you worried about me?”

“Well… yeah. When you vanished, I thought you might’ve—” You cut off and bite your lip. After a moment of hesitation, you shake your head and sigh. “I didn’t know if you’d be coming back.”

Bastion’s smug grin suddenly wilts. His mouth draws into a tight line, and he drops his faceless gaze. “Ah…” Your genuine concern must’ve caught him off guard… “I didn’t mean to alarm you, Wanderer,” he says while managing another odd smile. “Or to… abandon you.” One of his claws comes close and plucks your chin ever gently. Your gaze is lifted, then Bastion tips his head. “Are you okay?”

“Well, I was shot in the leg, knocked upside the head with a skull club, and a nasty cannibal chewed on my neck… I’m peachy, Bastion,” you say with a tired smile.

“I can take care of that,” Bastion replies, plucking the hood of your jacket. He tries to get a closer look at your bloodied neck, but you scoff and ease his claw away. “If by taking care of it you mean licking me down with your slimy tongue, then I’ll pass.”

Bastion chuckles. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s gross. I’ll stick to the old-fashioned way, thanks.” You reach into your satchel and pause to face Bastion again. You audibly hesitate for a second, then say, “Thank you, Bastion. For getting me out of there.” Standing up, you smile and add, “You’re not the worst sidekick.” You put up a hand. “High-five it.”

Bastion’s stupid little grin stretches from ear to ear. But he merely glances at your hand before throwing his own arms out wide and tipping his head expectantly. He wants a hug.

Why not? You think, rolling your eyes. You take him by surprise when you step forward and wrap your arms around his waist. He tenses up, making you laugh. “What?” you say, peering up at him. “Didn’t think I’d do it?”

A rumbling purr shudders Bastion’s frame. Then he takes you by surprise when he suddenly draws his arms tight around you and scoops you up right off your feet. You squeak as his claws close around you, too.

Ignoring how warm your face gets, you pat him on the back and say, “Okay… I think that’s enough hugging.” But he doesn’t relinquish his hold. Rather, you watch with surprise as his grin splits apart, and he reveals his long, slimy tongue. You exclaim, “Whoa, no tongue! No tongue!” You kick him and squirm, but it’s no use - he sweeps his tongue right over your bloody neck. You grimace. “Agh!”

Bastion lets out a laugh as he finally sets you back down. You wipe your sleeve over your neck and bark at him, “So that’s how it is, huh? Lure me in with a hug, then strike like a snake!”

Bastion laughs. “I was only taking care of that nasty bite for you… I know you’re too stubborn to ask.”

You scoff. Sure, the pain has diminished, but you’d honestly rather bear through it than have Bastion put his tongue anywhere near you…

“That is the first and last hug you’re ever getting from me,” you mutter, retaking your seat on the tree stump. Bastion clasps a spot over his chest and makes a disappointed noise. “Now don’t be like that,” he says, feigning hurt.

You make a point to ignore him and fold your arms over your chest. He sighs. “Well, in any case, I enjoyed the hug.” He grins at you. You do your best to hide your blushing face.

“You can go do whatever it is you do when you disappear,” you say, digging into your bag. “I’m going to patch myself up, then I’ll meet you back at Haven.”

“I can give you a ride,” Bastion offers.

“On the freaky monster thing? Pass,” you laugh.

Bastion vanishes, then startles you when he reappears at your side. He stoops down low and cups your chin in his hand. “You can always ride me, then,” he purrs.

That does it.

Your face simmers like a pot. You trip and stumble over your words for the next minute, but you’re unable to get anything comprehensible out. You’re babbling like a looney. Bastion chuckles and steps away. “I’ll be seeing you,” he says.

You silently wave him away, eyes glued to your feet. Then he vanishes.

Steam’s coming out your ears. You hold your face in your hands and whine. “Gaah…”

But the heat doesn’t last long.

You’re suddenly whisked away and carried off into a trial. Your head is reeling as you retake your form in a cloud of smoke and embers. The first thing you register is the biting cold — it sends a shiver streaking up your spine. You hug yourself as the fog unveils your surroundings. You blink and turn slowly on your heels. Snow crunches under your feet and blankets the realm around you. The intense change of scenery is almost blinding.

You slow to a stop and peer at a large structure just ahead. A wooden lodge. Then you spot a defaced old sign out front. Mount Ormond Resort.

“This is a first,” you murmur to yourself, shivering. “Fuck, it’s cold.” You rub your hands together for warmth, then limp slowly toward the lodge. “The sooner I’m out of here, the better…”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 15: Choice: "Are you okay?"

 

Concern laces your expression, and you furrow your brows. “Are you okay?” you ask. “You were screeching like a banshee.”

Bastion chuckles and pokes you with a claw. “Were you worried about me?

You scoff and smack his spiny appendage away. “Hardly. But you freaked the hell out of me.”

You reach into your satchel and pause to face Bastion again. You audibly hesitate for a second, then say, “Thank you, Bastion. For getting me out of there.” Standing up, you smile and add, “So maybe you’re not the worst sidekick.” You put up a hand. “High-five it.”

Bastion grins and slaps your hand. You retake your seat on the tree stump and rifle through your satchel. “I’m willing to overlook that you vanished and left me to fend for myself,” you say amusingly, glancing back at him. “You can go do whatever it is you do when you disappear. I’ll patch myself up and head back to Haven.”

Bastion folds his arms behind his back and takes a step away. “Of course.” He grins at you, then vanishes.

But he’s only absent for a moment before you’re suddenly whisked away and carried off into a trial. Your head is reeling as you retake your form in a cloud of smoke and embers. The first thing you register is the biting cold — it sends a shiver streaking up your spine. You hug yourself as the fog unveils your surroundings. You blink and turn slowly on your heels. Snow crunches under your feet and blankets the realm around you. The intense change of scenery is almost blinding.

You slow to a stop and peer at a large structure just ahead. A wooden lodge. Then you spot a defaced old sign out front. Mount Ormond Resort.

“This is a first,” you murmur to yourself, shivering. “Fuck, it’s cold.” You rub your hands together for warmth, then limp slowly toward the lodge. “The sooner I’m out of here, the better…”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 16: Choice: "You left me to the wolves."

 

“You left me to the wolves, Bastion,” you say, furrowing your brows. “I know you had your own thing going on, being on fire and all, but you left to fend for myself in a cavern full of fucked up cannibals.” You scoff. “You make a pretty lousy sidekick. You’re absent more than you’re around, nowadays…”

Bastion makes a low humming noise and droops his shoulders. His grin wavers and wilts. “I… apologize, Wanderer,” he says.

“Shame? Now that’s surprising… And you’ve been full of surprises today… You can shape-shift, flames hurt you, and you can get hurt. Just one after another…”

Bastion manages a sheepish grin. “I have many more where that comes from.”

“Save it,” you say. “I’ve had enough surprises for one day.”

His grin twitches and he forces a strange smile. “Of course,” he says. Then he falls completely silent.

You rifle through your satchel, then glance at your shadowy companion. He’s just lingering there, awkwardly… You dismiss him with a wave of your hand. “I’m calling it a day. You can go do whatever it is you do when you disappear. I’ll head back to Haven on my own.”

Bastion vanishes without another word.

You only have seconds to savor your own company before you’re suddenly whisked away and carried off into a trial. Your head is reeling as you retake your form in a cloud of smoke and embers. The first thing you register is the biting cold — it sends a shiver streaking up your spine. You hug yourself as the fog unveils your surroundings. You blink and turn slowly on your heels. Snow crunches under your feet and blankets the realm around you. The intense change of scenery is almost blinding.

You slow to a stop and peer at a large structure just ahead. A wooden lodge. Then you spot a defaced old sign out front. Mount Ormond Resort.

“This is a first,” you murmur to yourself, shivering. “Fuck, it’s cold.” You rub your hands together for warmth, then limp slowly toward the lodge. “The sooner I’m out of here, the better…”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 17: You're One of Us

 

You enter the lodge with a limping gait, coming to a halt to survey your surroundings. As you stop, you take in the expanse of the interior. It’s a surprisingly homey place, with a welcoming waiting area adorned with comfy furnishings. A front desk stands before a shelf filled with brochures and directories, while a wooden staircase beckons you to explore the second floor. Your eyes are drawn to the crude graffiti scrawled on the wall upstairs, just behind the wooden banister. In white letters, it reads “The Legion.”

Memories of idle camp chatter resurface, connecting the moniker to a notorious group of killers. David, in particular, irately refers to them as “A bunch a’ punks.” But beyond that, well… You’ll admit you weren’t really all there during orientation. Too many killers, names, and faces to remember, and your memory is shot.

A shiver courses through your body, intensifying the bone-chilling cold that permeates the lodge. Yet, the flickering flames in the nearby parlor fireplace promise respite and warmth. An inviting round couch curves around the hearth, beckoning you to seek solace from the biting chill. You’re desperate for its warmth, but your current condition cautions you not to expose yourself in the open.

Limping to the front desk, you take cover behind it, wincing as you slump back against the wall. Every inch of your body throbs and aches, a harsh reminder of your daring venture through the fog…

Pushing aside the biting cold as best you can, you rummage through your bag for supplies. A grimace crosses your face as you realize the absence of your knife. Nonetheless, you retrieve gauze and disinfectant and prepare to tend to your injured leg.

Just as you’re about to begin, a sudden freeze seizes you. Your heart quickens its pace, pulsating in your chest, while an eerie chill sends shivers down your spine. On high alert, you cautiously peer over the counter toward the parlor. Is the killer nearby? The telltale signs of an approaching threat gnaw at your senses.

It’s deafeningly silent, aside from your thumping heartbeat. Moments pass… You slowly settle onto your haunches, releasing a heavy sigh.

“Looking for someone?”

A comical gasp escapes your lips as you jump in surprise. The sudden movement propels you backward, colliding with the shelf behind the counter. Your head connects with the wood, prompting a sharp yelp of pain. “Ah-!”

Grasping your throbbing skull, you swear under your breath and pivot on your heels, locking eyes with a stranger.

To your surprise and utter relief, he looks friendly, though unfamiliar.

The young man has a rugged face marred with a few scars, which add character to his otherwise handsome features. A distinct slash marks the bridge of his nose, and a subtle scar cuts into his lips. His brown eyes are shadowed by dark circles, and he sports a dark, buzzed cut. Your gaze scans his attire—a black leather jacket and green camo pants. And it’s impossible to ignore the striking tattoo adorning his throat: a mad skull consumed by furious flames.

Positioned by an open doorway, he stands with his arms crossed over his chest. Finally tearing your attention away from his appearance and regaining your composure, you clear your throat.

“Hey,” you begin hesitantly. “I… thought you for someone else. Uh…” Frowning, you wrinkle your brow. “Are you—?”

“New?” the stranger interrupts, a smirk tugging at his lips. He grunts. “Yeah.” Then he gestures toward your leg. “You should probably take care of that.”

“I was just about to before you crept up on me,” you say, sighing.

The newcomer flicks his chin in the direction of the parlor before heading toward the fireplace. You limp hesitantly behind him, eventually settling on the sofa beside him. He pats his knee invitingly and gives you a crooked smile. You lift your bum leg and rest it on his.

He grabs your bag and rummages through it for whatever supplies he might find. When he withdraws the old, digital camera, he meets your gaze with a questioning look.

“I found that!” you blurt out. “I didn’t, uh… steal it from anyone or anything…”

A brief silence hangs in the air before you clear your throat. “So, you’re new? We just got another rookie not too long ago, and I haven’t even met her yet.”

A sudden thought creases your brow: if there’s a new camper, could there be a new killer? They tend to come in pairs… But it’s a possibility you won’t humor; the last one was bad enough…

The stranger nods, tucking the camera back into your bag. Finally, he fishes out a roll of gauze and a clear bottle of disinfectant. “Haven’t been here too long,” he replies, briefly lifting his gaze from your leg to meet your eyes.

“I don’t spend much time around camp, so I might’ve missed you when you arrived,” you reply.

Ignoring the constant tingles and chills running up your spine becomes increasingly difficult. You nervously scan the room before focusing on him again. “We might as well get introductions out of the way since there’s no telling when I’ll see you around camp.”

You extend your hand, offering a small smile. “I’m (Y/N).”

The stranger hesitates, his gaze fixed on your outstretched hand. The hard look on his features makes you uneasy, until, finally, he takes your hand. “Frank,” he says, a wry smirk on his face. He has a very firm grip.

You smile nervously, retracting your hand after a shake. “Welcome to Hell, Frank. Or whatever this place is… I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there’s no way out. Yet…”

Frank gets to work on your leg, scoffing. “Yet?”

“Well, I’ve been looking into it,” you say. “I mean, all we have here is time, so why not?”

“Sounds like wishful thinking,” Frank replies.

“Maybe it is, but if there’s a way in, there has to be a way out, right? One can only hope…”

Frank grunts dismissively.

Silence settles between you. In an effort to stave off your mounting worries and pounding heart, you comment, “Cool jacket, by the way.”

Frank’s eyes flit up and meet yours. For a second, it looks like he wants to laugh… “I was about to say the same about yours,” he says.

You smile, playing with the lapel of your jacket. “Oh, this? I found it out there. It’s not mine.” You pause. “Well, it is now, but…” You trail off awkwardly and scratch your neck. “Thanks.”

Your heart’s going crazy. You run your hands up and down your arms, casting another nervous glance around the room. Frank catches your gaze. “You alright?”

“It feels like the killer’s right on top of us,” you reply.

“Oh, yeah? What’s the giveaway?”

You laugh nervously. “Uh, it’s like… fear. Just overwhelming, heart-thumping, blood-chilling fear… It’s so awful that you can hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears. It’s almost deafening… You’re not feeling it?”

Frank smirks. “Nah.”

You make a face. “There’s no way—”

Acting on impulse, you reach out and touch the spot over his heart. But you realize, shockingly, that you don’t feel a thing. You explore further, furrowing your brow as your conclusion remains exact. “Weird,” you murmur.

You only realize how long you’ve had your hand on his chest when he takes yours and slowly eases it away. “Is it?” he says.

“Maybe I’m just being paranoid,” you sigh, withdrawing your hand to your side. “You run enough of these trials and it happens.”

Frank finishes wrapping up your wound, giving your knee a pat. You drop your leg to the floor when you notice his eyes on your trembling hands.

“You cold?” he asks, lifting his gaze.

“Yeah, but it’s—” You hesitate, shake your head, and say, “Yeah. Cold.”

Frank studies you with intense eyes. “Is it something more than that?”

You sigh. “It’s been a crazy day. Even crazier than usual, I mean. And, uh… nightmares.” Scoffing, you mutter, “I must sound stupid. I’m sure everyone here has nightmares, but… but these are different.”

Frank nudges you, encouraging you to continue. So, you do. “It’s like… like I’m somewhere else. And then it’s just torture. And I can feel everything that happens: the pain, the overwhelming fear, and I hear these haunting whispers, and—”

You trail off, shaking your head. “They’re not ordinary nightmares. Every time I fall asleep, I’m trapped there.” You scoff. “I thought sleep would be the only time I’d get some actual rest, but nope. This place is just one big, endless nightmare.”

When you look up, you notice Frank’s gaze fixed to the floor. He remains silent. You nudge his foot with yours, and he comes to.

“You have those too?” he says, his voice barely audible.

You tip your head to the side, surprised by the question. An unusual silence hangs between you before Frank audibly hesitates and shakes his head.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he says, reverting to his previous demeanor. “Ever try warm milk before bed?”

You chuckle in amusement, then sigh. “You’re not a shrink, I know. I just needed to vent a little… I’m sorry for dumping all that on you. It’s probably the last thing you need to hear.”

“Yeah, I’m not a fucking shrink, but I get it,” Frank responds, his tone understanding. “Sometimes you need to let all that shit out before you blow your fucking lid… I get it.”

You nod. Following a fleeting pause, you stagger to your feet. Your bad leg wobbles and threatens to give out, but Frank swiftly reaches out, his arm catching your waist for support.

“Easy,” he says, standing up alongside you. His hands are warm and secure on your waist. Once you’ve steadied yourself, you offer him a gracious smile. “Thanks.”

Frank nods slightly, withdrawing his hands from your waist. But then he pauses, narrowing his gaze on your temple.

“Shit, when did you crack your head open?”

He raises a hand to your bloody scalp. You wince under his touch, gently easing his hand away. “Slipped and bumped my head,” you fib.

Frank makes a face, clearly unconvinced.

You smile sheepishly. “It’s really slippery outside, with all the, ehm… ice.”

“You gotta be careful around here, klutz,” Frank says, chuckling. He pats your shoulder. “That ice is killer.”

“I’m more concerned about the actual killer than all the ice,” you joke in reply.

Admittedly, the little gibe isn’t even that funny, but Frank seems on the verge of cracking up. He bites his lip, stifling the laugh threatening to escape, and he gives you another gentle pat on the shoulder. “I bet.”

You make your way over to the large hole shredded into the lodge, then hug the ruined wall and peer out across the snow-covered realm. The stillness and silence unsettles you.

“You want to go find a generator?” you ask, turning back around to Frank. However, he’s gone.

His sudden absence has you more on edge than before. But, wildly enough, that overwhelming fear has dissipated, and your fast-thumping heart settles into a calm rhythm.

It’s enough to make you wonder, but you don’t dwell on it. You’ve wasted enough time already. So, you creep out of the lodge and head off in search of a generator to repair.

 

After around fifteen minutes, you’re working meticulously on a generator concealed behind a mound of snow. Then, suddenly, a piercing scream cuts through the air; Zarina’s, you recognize. You falter momentarily, sucking in a deep breath before you continue working. Five more minutes pass, and the generator springs to life. You creep off, eager to find another.

What comes as a startling and heart-stopping surprise is Nea, whom you walk right into. You stagger backward with a gasp, your hand flying to your chest. Nea, her hands up in a ‘whoa there’ manner, offers an apology. “Damn, sorry.”

When your heart settles, you dismiss the apology with a casual wave. “It’s alright. I’m just a bit jumpy today…”

You’re honestly glad to be seeing a familiar face. Well, one beside Bastion’s or Lydia’s. You haven’t been around camp in a while, and you’ve got a little homesick… or whatever you’d call it when you miss your mutual sufferers and their company. You’re not sure many of them reciprocate that feeling, though…

Nea’s gaze flickers to your bandaged leg, and she raises an eyebrow. “How’d you fuck up your leg?”

“Slipped on a sheet of ice.”

“Rookie move,” she retorts. You only just notice the way she cradles her bloody arm. Scarlet drops trickle down her elbow and dribble to the ground, contrasting against the snow. “Can you help me with this?”

“How’d you fuck up your arm?”

Nea rolls her eyes, a flicker of amusement dancing across her face. “The killer fucked up my arm. I just lost the bastard around the lodge. Can we speed things up before I bleed out in the snow?”

You nod and limp after Nea, following her toward a small storage shed. Once inside, you pull the door shut behind you and crouch beside the wall. Nea didn’t pack any supplies, but you’re more than willing to use your own to help her out. You get to work patching up her arm.

“So, is this your first time in the resort, Sluggo?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“It’s cold as shit, right?”

“Mm,” you hum. “If I live, I might have the sniffles…”

“If?” Nea scoffs. “You probably have the longest living streak in camp. I think you might’ve already bagged Jake’s record.”

“Maybe,” you murmur absentmindedly.

You sense Nea’s piercing gaze fixed upon you. Looking up, you meet her eyes. She frowns and playfully kicks your foot. “You alright?”

“Just tired,” you reply, letting out a sigh.

“You’re always tired,” Nea snorts. “Every time you come around camp, you mope off to your tent for a nap. And speaking of which—”

You sigh, anticipating her comment. Nea finishes, “Haven’t seen you around camp much lately.”

“I’ve been around,” you reply.

“Oh really?”

“Yup.”

“Hmm.” Nea’s scrutinizing gaze finally leaves your anxious features after a tense moment of silence. She throws up a hand dismissively and mutters, “Whatever you say.”

As you finish wrapping the gauze around her arm, she gets up and heads for the door. “I think Zarina already got it,” she says, peering out into the realm. “Didn’t hear her bite the hook though, so it might just be us and Bill.” She shivers, and her gaze flicks back over her shoulder. “Let’s find a generator and get the hell out of here.”

You nod and move after her, but come to an abrupt stop. Your brows furrow. “Wouldn’t that make five of us?”

Nea raises an eyebrow. You clarify, “You, me, Zarina, Bill, and Frank. That’s five. I know I’m still a bit of a newbie, but the usual’s four, right?”

She looks at you funny. “Who the hell’s Frank?”

A croaky scream pierces the realm, causing both you and Nea to jump. Bill.

Nea swears under her breath and swings the shed door open. “Let’s just find a damn generator,” she says.

She hurries off, and you do your best to keep up. But your bum leg slows you down, and before long, you end up losing her around a blockade of wooden dividers. She’s long gone by the time you make it around the barrier. You come to a limping stop, leaning against one of the walls to give your leg much-needed rest. “Damn,” you curse, wincing in pain. Sliding down against the wall, you settle into a sitting position. An exhausted breath escapes your lips as you lift your gaze to the white, puffy sky. Light snowflakes gently brush against your brow and melt. The winter scenery would be a nice change if it wasn’t minus twenty out. If the killer doesn’t get you soon, frostbite will.

Another scream makes you jolt. Bill, again. You sigh harshly and pick yourself back up. Sitting around doing nothing isn’t helping anyone, much less you. You decide to search for Bill and offer whatever help you can. You’ll have plenty of time to feel sorry for yourself later.

 

You wander through the realm, following the sound of Bill’s last scream for about five minutes until you spot the old man slumped against an old snowplow, clutching a bloody patch on his jacket.

“Bill—” you announce, moving quickly to his side.

He hardly even turns his head to look at you. “Hey, kid,” he gruffs.

Gently wrapping an arm around his waist, you murmur an apology as he winces. Supporting him, you help him to his feet, and he leans into you, coughing blood onto your shoulder. You grimace at the sight. “Hey, old man. I expected to find you on a hook.”

“That little asshole isn’t hooking anybody,” Bill replies, blood trickling from his mouth and down his chin. His face contorts in pain. “Just left me here to bleed out in the snow.”

You raise an eyebrow. “He’s slugging?” (You picked up that neat little term from Feng Min.)

“Yeah,” Bill grunts. “Hell if I know why, though.” He spits blood into the snow and mutters, “The prick was actin’ like he was in a goddamn hurry…”

“Maybe it’s the cold that’s got him in such a rush,” you reply with a touch of humor.

Bill grunts in response. “‘Good a reason as any.”

You need to get him somewhere quiet to patch him up. You help him stagger a few feet, but he hollers in pain and crashes to his knees, tightly clutching the wound in his gut. “Shit—”

When you reach out to assist him, he swats your hands away. “I’m not recovering from this, kid. Worry about yourself.”

You frown. “I can help you—”

“Just lean me back against that wall there.” Bill gestures weakly toward a wooden divider.

Complying with his request, you carefully guide him and settle him against the wall. He slumps back, letting out a sigh. “The cold’s giving me a goddamn headache.”

You sit beside him and wince as you rest your bad leg. Bill glances at the bloody gauze wrapped around your limb. “Hell happened t’ you?”

“Slipped.”

Bill scoffs. You chuckle. “Rookie move, I know…”

“Mmph.”

Silence fills the air. Bill idly surveys the realm, then weakly retrieves a cigarette from his fatigues and perches it between his lips. He reaches into his pocket, feels around, then lets out a sigh. “Lost my damn lighter…”

You fish your own lighter out of your bag and light his smoke. He grunts gratefully and takes a long drag from his cig.

“Who’s the killer?” you ask him after a moment.

“One of ‘em Legion kids,” he answers between puffs.

“Right.”

Bill takes another drag and nudges your knee with his. “Go on. Get to work and get the hell outta here.”

“But—”

“It’s alright, kid.” The old man leans back further, tipping his beret down to shield his eyes. “I’ll see you around camp.” He scoffs, then mutters, “Unless you’re still avoidin’ the rest of us…”

“Sounds like I’m becoming a hot topic,” you say, sighing as you rise to your feet. Reluctantly, you begin to distance yourself from Bill, but then falter and stop. “Almost forgot—” You turn around to him. “There’s this woman I think you’d like to meet—”

Bill gives you a stern look. You sheepishly scratch your arm and dismiss the notion with a wave of your hand. “This is a bad time. Right, okay, uh… Later. Later, then…”

Turning back around once more, you finally part ways with Bill.

 

During your search for another generator, you hear one come to life in the distance. That was either Nea, Frank… or both. You subconsciously start heading that way when your heart suddenly picks up pace in your chest. Nervous jitters creep up your spine and sweat beads on your brow. You take cover behind a wooden divider and make yourself as small as possible. Your thumping heart quickens, and the sweat on your brow gets slicker with each passing second. You hold your breath and cautiously peer out at the snow expanse.

“Is this more of that paranoia you were talking about?”

Frank’s voice breaks the silence, making you jerk around. He stands behind you with his arms folded across his chest.

Relief washes over you at the sight of him. “Second time I’ve run into you,” you say with a hint of humor, standing up. “And I haven’t even seen the killer once…”

“Lucky you,” Frank retorts, smirking.

You notice blood staining the bandages on his palms. You raise a curious eyebrow, your eyes flitting over him in search of a wound that might explain it. Frank grabs your attention with the wry comment, “Are you checking me out?”

Meeting his shit-eating smirk with a light flush, you audibly hesitate. “I was just… uh… never mind. You disappeared back there in the lodge. ‘Didn’t say a word before your little vanishing act, and had me wondering what could’ve spooked you off.”

“Nothing spooks me,” Frank asserts. “I’m just not a team player.” He takes a couple of steps forward and invades your personal bubble before reaching for your arm and tossing it over his shoulder. He winds his arm around your waist, settling his hand on your hip. The gesture, coupled with his contradictory statement, almost makes you laugh.

Frank catches the glimmer of amusement in your eyes. He scoffs. “I make exceptions for handicaps.”

“Who are you calling handicapped?”

“Your leg’s fucked, and I’m pretty damn sure have a concussion.”

“Good point.”

“You run into anyone else?” Frank asks, helping you hobble along.

“Nea,” you reply. “But I lost track of her a little while ago…”

“I’m willing to bet she’s in the lodge,” Frank mutters. “Let’s go pay her a visit.”

 

As you and Frank enter the lodge building, he helps you up the stairs, and together, you hobble down a long hallway before hearing a generator pumping nearby. Frank nudges a door open with his foot, and you peer into the room to find Nea hard at work on the machine. She has her back to you, and her arms buried elbow-deep inside the mechanisms.

“Nea—”

“Heard you coming a mile away,” she interrupts, turning around to look at you. “Where the hell have you b—”

She cuts off abruptly with a horrified gasp, and she throws herself off the generator, crashing into the wall behind her. Her eyes are wide, her posture tense, and her mouth agape in horror. The fear on her face sends nervous jitters racing up your own spine. Glancing over your shoulder and finding nothing out of the ordinary, you turn back to face Nea.

“Relax!” you exclaim. “It’s just us!” You nudge Frank and continue, “This is Frank, the new guy I told you about—”

“Are you fucking insane?!” Nea screams, pressing herself against the wall, desperate to create as much distance between you as possible. Her frantic gaze darts around the room, searching for an escape route. But the only way out is the door you and Frank are blocking.

You’re left utterly bewildered. Frank hasn’t said a word beside you. You give him another nudge and insist, “Say something, Frank. You’re freaking her out…”

To your surprise, he shrugs your arm from his shoulders and takes a step forward, wearing an eerie smile. “Nice meeting you, Nea,” he utters with a sarcastic and mocking tone.

The horror on Nea’s face intensifies.

You begin, “Frank, what…?” But then you trail off when you see his hand delve into his jacket, and he retrieves something that makes your heart sink: a plain white mask with a crude grin smeared over the face. Your brows furrow. “What are you—?”

Before you can finish your sentence, Frank brandishes a knife from his hidden arsenal. Your eyes widen in shock, and the gravity of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. You’d face-palm if you weren’t frozen in fear.

“Shit,” you mutter, your voice laden with both disbelief and dread.

Frank’s masked gaze snaps to you, and you’re not even granted a moment of warning before he strikes. He thrusts his knife into your gut and buries it in deep, topping it off with a twist. A cry escapes your lips, and Frank rips free his blade and gives you a little push into the wall. You crash against it and crumple into a heap with your arms wrapped around your stomach. The excruciating pain has you seeing stars.

Through your bleary vision, you make out Frank wiping his knife clean on his sleeve, then turning his attention back to Nea. He’s on her in a second, and all you hear are screams as he slaughters her.

Knowing there’s nothing you can do, you stagger to your feet and stumble out of the room. You keep one arm wrapped around your stomach, and the other on the wall to steady and guide yourself. By the time you hobble out into the hallway, Nea’s stopped screaming.

You make it to the stairs and reach for the banister. But in your frantic attempt to descend, your body crumples and you lose your footing entirely. It’s your bad leg that gives way first, sending you tumbling down the entire flight of stairs until you finally come to rest on the floor below. Gasping heavily, you struggle to catch your breath. Through blurred vision, you manage to lift your gaze, only to find Frank standing at the top of the stairs.

“Told you to be careful, klutz,” he sneers with a dry mockery that cuts through the air. Summoning every ounce of strength left within you, you gather yourself and stagger away, crashing into the front desk and using it as a crutch to support your battered body. Frank’s presence looms behind you, and you hear him suck his teeth. “They’re never this easy,” he mutters, his voice tinged with disappointment.

“Why-why are you doing this?” you sputter.

“If you haven’t already figured it out, I’m the fucking killer.”

You swallow up the blood threatening to spill from your lips when you feel a rough hand snatch your collar. Frank yanks you backward and you trip over your own feet, then drop to the floor with a grunt. Hot blood gushes from your abdomen. You moan in pain.

“The only reason you’re not dead yet is because I want some fucking answers,” Frank says. He stands above you, knife on full, threatening display. His voice drips with menace. “Who the fuck are you?”

You cough, struggling to find your voice amidst the pain. “I told you who I am—”

“I don’t give a shit about your name,” Frank interrupts. “How do you know all the shit you do? And all that fucking talk about knowing a way out? Do you know something the rest of us don’t?”

“I don’t know shit,” you spit defiantly.

Without warning, Frank’s boot delivers a brutal blow to your gut, and the force is enough to toss you over. You land on your knees with another cry, still slumped over and puffing in pain. Your tormentor kneels in front of you. He uses the edge of his blade to lift your chin, forcing you to meet the face of his mask.

“I thought maybe you were one of us,” he murmurs. “A killer. Thought you were thrown in here by mistake… Because all that shit you’ve been seeing? That horrible shit you’ve been dreaming of? That’s meant for us.”

“I-I don’t know…” you trail off and swallow blood. “I don’t know why I’ve been seeing that. I-I thought they were just nightmares.”

“Those aren’t fucking nightmares.”

Frank retracts his knife and roughly seizes you by the collar of your jacket, forcing you upright. His masked face looms inches away from yours as he speaks. “If you don’t know shit, then I’m just wasting my time.”

You wheeze for breath. “You-You know, I thought you were one of us, too.”

Frank’s grip tightens on your collar. “Why? Is it my charming smile? Or that I can hold a fucking conversation with you?” He scoffs. “It’s all part of the game.”

“You don’t have to play that game—”

“You’re new, so maybe you haven’t figured it out yet,” Frank interrupts. “Here, you’re the wolf or the rabbit. There’s no in-between, no middle ground, and no choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

Frank presses his icy blade against your throat, the edge drawing a scarlet line in your flesh. You freeze in fear.

“You think I chose this?” he seethes. “You think we fucking wanted this?”

“I-I didn’t—”

He cuts you off, his voice dripping with bitterness. “We never wanted this. I have some fucking news for you.” Leaning in even closer, he murmurs, “We all suffer the same.”

His voice trembles and his grip loosens on his knife. He’s vulnerable.

 

Take his hand.

Take advantage.

 

Chapter 18: Choice: Take his hand

 

Despite your better judgment, you raise your bloodied hand and tentatively touch Frank’s hand, which still tightly grips the hilt of his blade. His body stiffens at your touch, and his breath catches in his throat. Ignoring the risk, you gather your courage and let your hand travel from his clenched fist to his mask. Slowly, you begin to lift it, revealing his face until your eyes meet his once again.

You expect to find malice, but you’re surprised to find his face etched with sadness and confusion. Maybe he wonders why he hasn’t struck you down yet. Maybe he wonders why you’re doing this… You wonder the same.

Just looking at him, you know he could tip over the edge at any moment, but you press on.

“I can’t pretend to understand what you’ve been through,” you murmur. “But I’m sorry.”

Frank releases a shuddering breath and his face contorts with anguish and horror. It’s as if a flood of emotion crashes into him all at once. His gaze becomes distant and unfocused, as if he’s staring through you. “We didn’t have a choice,” he croaks.

A heavy silence hangs in the air, heightening the tension in the room. Suddenly, Frank’s grip on his knife goes slack, and it slips from his grasp, clattering to the floor. His trembling hand reaches out to touch yours, his cold fingers gently brushing, and then squeezing them.

Frank murmurs something that eludes your comprehension, as the world around you grows muted, drowned out by a grating, harsh roar intermingled with whispers and hushed voices.

You try desperately to block out all the noise, but it grows in volume and intensity. You squeeze your eyes shut, then reopen them a moment later. When you meet Frank’s gaze again, you come to a startling realization.

He hears it too.

Something inside him just snaps. A violent switch flips. In an instant, the light fades from his eyes, replaced by a glint of pure malice. His hands swiftly close around your throat, tightening their grip with a bone-chilling force. A strangled cry escapes your lips as both of you crash to the floor, his fingers constricting your airway mercilessly. You writhe and convulse in a desperate attempt to free yourself. But no matter how human he might look, he possesses inhuman strength and power.

Blood fills your mouth, and your windpipe constricts, your vision fast becoming a dizzying blur of fuzzy, colorful specks.

Suddenly, Frank is violently wrenched away from you. As his weight is lifted, you frantically grasp your throat, gasping for precious air. When your vision clears, you make out a grisly sight: Frank, being twisted and torn apart by black claws sprouting from between the floorboards. He cries out in pain, and you do your best to drown him out.

You quickly avert your eyes and stare soundlessly up at the ceiling. Something nearby splinters and cracks, and then you know Frank’s gone. Everything becomes quiet. And then everything’s dark.

 

∗ ∗ ∗

 

Wetness is the first thing you register when your body is woven back together someplace else. The second thing you register is the cold. And the third, when you peel open your eyes, is the dense, white fog.

You’re in Bastion’s realm.

With a heavy sigh, you sit up, cradling your head in your hands. “You know, it would’ve been nice if you had stepped in before I got stabbed,” you remark, your voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. Raising your gaze, you find Bastion standing before you. He maintains his usual poise, arms folded behind his back, and his face devoid of his customary grin. He stares soundlessly at you for a minute longer than you’re comfortable with, then you utter, “Or whatever…”

When you get to your feet, you shake your head. “That wasn’t right, Bastion. With Frank… One minute he seemed so… so human, and the next—”

“There’s something you need to understand,” Bastion says out of the blue, interrupting you. You look at him with furrowed brows. “These people aren’t human anymore,” he says. “And the parts that are, are buried deep down. Suppressed by an unnatural force no one understands…”

“But it was there,” you reply, frowning. “It was there, and then those whispers came, and… and then it wasn’t.”

“That would be the Entity,” Bastion says. He’s behind you suddenly, making you jump. His hand rests on your shoulder. “You brought out something in that killer, and the Entity put it right back in.”

You make a face. “I did that?”

“I told you, Wanderer. You’re special.” He moves away from you with a sigh. “But killer or camper, you’re all pieces on a board. And to each of those pieces, a role is given, and boundaries are made. Those boundaries cannot be crossed…”

His blank gaze comes back to you. “No matter how special that piece may be.”

A heavy pit rests in your stomach. You lower your gaze to the water at your feet and stare soundlessly at your reflection on the rippling surface. “I get it,” you murmur. “I get it…”

When you finally tear your eyes away from your reflection, you look up to witness the world around you falling away and shifting. And then you’re standing in the woods and the fog, alone.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 19: Choice: Take advantage

 

Seizing the opportunity presented by his momentary lapse, you swiftly knock Frank’s knife out of his grasp and propel yourself forward, using the force of your shoulder to slam him to the ground. Frank crashes to the floor and his knife clatters away as you land on top of him with a grunt. Despite the searing pain in your abdomen, you maintain a firm grip around it with one arm, while your other hand desperately searches for the knife. Just as your fingers close around the hilt, Frank growls and seizes your hood. In a swift countermove, you drive your elbow backward, connecting with his face. His mask flies off and skids across the floor. Without hesitation, you pivot back around, driven by a blend of panic and adrenaline, and thrust the knife deep into his chest.

The blade slices through him with unsettling ease, catching you off guard. Frank cries out, his face contorting in pain. Horror washes over your own features, and you release a shuddering breath, realizing the gravity of what you’ve just done.

You withdraw the blade from his chest, your brows deeply furrowed in a mixture of shock and confusion. “I-I’m sorry—” you murmur. “I-I…”

Your voice trails off. Why am I sorry? You wonder. Why do I feel bad? He did the same to me, to Zarina, Bill, Nea—

He killed them, and he tried to kill you, too, just as he’s killed so many times before. No, no… you’re not sorry. How can you be sorry for someone so cruel?

These are his just desserts. And you have no problem serving them.

The surge of thoughts raging through your mind fuels your anger. It intensifies until you’re seething, gripping the knife tightly in your fist. As you raise the blade high, poised to strike again, he unexpectedly seizes your wrist with a grip far stronger than expected.

“So, that’s how it is,” he growls through gritted teeth.

“You attacked me first!” you spit venomously. “Pretended to be something you’re not, just so you could get close and stab me in the back!”

“You just did the same shit!” Frank barks.

You scoff and fix him with a glare. “I’m not like you.”

He takes you by surprise when he suddenly flips you onto your back. He squeezes your wrist painfully tight, and you finally relinquish your grip on his knife. Then his hands pin your wrists down beside your head as he leans in close. “I didn’t think you’d have that in you,” he says. “But you’re just like us…”

“I’m not—”

“We both wear a mask,” Frank murmurs. “But yours doesn’t come off.”

You’re rendered speechless. Shaking your head, you choke over your words. “I-I’m not like you… I had to do it—”

“So did I.”

The silence that hangs above you is deafening. But it doesn’t last for long—the world around you grows muted, drowned out by a grating, harsh roar intermingled with whispers and hushed voices.

You try desperately to block out all the noise, but it grows in volume and intensity. You squeeze your eyes shut, then reopen them a moment later. When you meet Frank’s gaze again, you come to a startling realization.

He hears it too.

Something inside him just snaps. A violent switch flips. In an instant, the light fades from his eyes, replaced by a glint of pure malice. His hands swiftly close around your throat, tightening their grip with a bone-chilling force. A strangled cry escapes your lips as his fingers constrict your airway mercilessly. You writhe and convulse in a desperate attempt to free yourself. But no matter how human he might look, he possesses inhuman strength and power.

Blood fills your mouth, and your windpipe constricts, your vision fast becoming a dizzying blur of fuzzy, colorful specks.

Suddenly, Frank is violently wrenched away from you. As his weight is lifted, you frantically grasp your throat, gasping for precious air. When your vision clears, you make out a grisly sight: Frank, being twisted and torn apart by black claws sprouting from between the floorboards. He cries out in pain, and you do your best to drown him out.

You quickly avert your eyes and stare soundlessly up at the ceiling. Something nearby splinters and cracks, and then you know Frank’s gone. Everything becomes quiet. And then everything’s dark.

 

∗ ∗ ∗

 

Wetness is the first thing you register when your body is woven back together someplace else. The second thing you register is the cold. And the third, when you peel open your eyes, is the dense, white fog.

You’re in Bastion’s realm.

With a heavy sigh, you sit up, cradling your head in your hands. “You know, it would’ve been nice if you had stepped in before I got stabbed,” you remark, your voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. Raising your gaze, you find Bastion standing before you. He maintains his usual poise, arms folded behind his back, and his face devoid of his customary grin. He stares soundlessly at you for a minute longer than you’re comfortable with, then you utter, “Or whatever…”

When you get to your feet, you shake your head. “Is it just me, or was there something off about him? One minute he seemed so human, and the next—”

“There’s something you need to understand,” Bastion says out of the blue, interrupting you. You look at him with furrowed brows. “These people aren’t human anymore,” he says. “And the parts that are, are buried deep down. Suppressed by an unnatural force no one understands…”

“But it was there,” you reply, frowning. “It was there, and then those whispers came, and… and then it wasn’t.”

“That would be the Entity,” Bastion says. He’s behind you suddenly, making you jump. His hand rests on your shoulder. “You brought out something in that killer, and the Entity put it right back in.”

You make a face. “I did that?”

“I told you, Wanderer. You’re special.” He moves away from you with a sigh. “But killer or camper, you’re all pieces on a board. And to each of those pieces, a role is given, and boundaries are made. Those boundaries cannot be crossed…”

His blank gaze comes back to you. “No matter how special that piece may be.”

A heavy pit rests in your stomach. You drop your gaze to the water at your feet and stare soundlessly at your reflection on the rippling surface. “I get it,” you murmur. “I get it…”

When you finally tear your eyes away from your reflection, you look up to witness the world around you falling away and shifting. And then you’re standing in the woods and the fog, alone.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 20: New Friend

 

I misplaced a toolkit the other night. Left it at the cabin in my haste to return to camp, and when I returned a while later, it, among other things, was gone. But I have been developing a theory — the fog took it. From what I already know, the fog shifts and changes, and it stirs up everything within. I know this. I thought that rule only applied to the realms and locations, but now I believe it might apply to everything here. So, I made a plan and tested this theory.

I tied a strip of red cloth around the knob of the main door and then left for some time before returning to gauge my finds. And the only thing that changed? The cloth was gone. I’m yet to find it again, wherever it may have been relocated by the fog. This might prove that nothing here remains static for long. No matter what changes are enacted, or what things you might take or place down, everything will always revert to its initial state. There have been other instances of this, too. I use soaps in the cabin, and they’re back any matter of time later. Days, hours, minutes, even seconds, on some occasions.

There are no rules in this place. Only organized chaos.

 

You close the journal with a huff. “Great…”

As you lean back in the creaky wooden chair, Bastion appears beside you and startles you. “Have you learned anything yet?” he asks, his head tipped toward the book on your lap.

“Besides a bunch of theories and speculations, no, not really…” You drop the old journal into the drawer and kick it shut with your foot. “I crawled down into those caverns for someone’s old diary. And all I’ve got now are more questions…” You sigh. “It would explain why that guy never went back for it. It’s worthless.”

You turn around in your chair to fully face Bastion. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t marks supposed to be useful?”

“Marks are only possessions or items touched by the others that came before you… They can be many things.”

“Right,” you scoff. As you stand up, you bitterly mutter, “I wonder what’s next. Someone’s dirty socks?”

After snuffing out the candle on the desktop, you leave the study and close the door behind you. When you enter the main room, a delicious aroma of pastry comforts your senses. Lydia calls from the porch, “I prepared some biscuits and jam for you and your friends at the campfire, honey.”

You perk up like a puppy and head to the kitchen. And you find a woven basket on the table, draped with a small pink towel. After taking the basket in hand, you draw back the towel to peek inside at the goodies: A large mound of freshly baked biscuits, two jars of fruit jams (strawberry and blueberry, you think), and a jar of honey.

Your mouth waters. Then a thought crosses your mind. A thought that quickly becomes an idea, then a plan. “You know what?” you draw, nodding. “I think now’s as good a time as any to stop by the campsite.”

Bastion reappears close by with his head tilted curiously at you. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Because I’m taking a break.” You leave the kitchen with the basket in your arms and cross the living room for the front door. Bastion strides behind you. “A break?” he says. “So soon?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’ve been cave crawling, found some marks here and there, and I think I’ve earned myself some time off. Besides, I’m not exactly keen on going back out there and getting munched on by more cannibals…”

Bastion huffs behind you. You spin around and say, “Hey, you can take a break too! I know you must be tired of pulling my ass out of trouble every five minutes.”

“I don’t take breaks,” he replies simply.

“Start now.”

When you step outside, you stop on the porch and face Lydia. “Thank you, Lydia. Everyone back at camp is going to freak.”

“Don’t mention it, honey,” Lydia smiles. “I know you all need some lovin’ now and then…”

You give the old woman another kind smile before stepping down the porch steps and moving off into the fog. You help yourself to a biscuit and shudder in delight when you sink your teeth into the warm, fluffy bread. This biscuit? It’s heaven. You moan in bliss.

“That’s an interesting sound,” Bastion chuckles, appearing beside you. You almost choke. “No, no, no—” you begin, dismissing him with a wave of your hand. “Go away. I’m on vacation.”

“And I’m not welcome to join you?”

“Yeah.” You look up at him. “You’re like… a work friend. A colleague. And this is my private time off, not a company outing.”

“Curious analogy. Because here I was thinking we were companions.” He flashes you a grin and rests a hand on your shoulder. You promptly smack it away. “I’m not sure you can call what we have a ‘companionship.’”

“Oh, then it must be more than that,” Bastion replies cheekily.

“Nope.”

Bastion pouts. You shrug. Then he vanishes.

When you finally arrive at camp, you waver at the border disconnecting it from the rest of the dark realm, hesitant to make your reappearance. But when you gather the resolve, you sigh, then pass through. You’re nervous against the odds of risking a run-in with Felix or Elodie. You’re not exactly ready to spill the beans to them yet… But as you step foot in camp, the eyes that find yours are, luckily, not belonging to either of them.

You draw the attention of Min, Kate, Nea, Jake, Dwight, and David. The last of which first looks surprised, then amused.

“Would you look who decided to join us!” David ruffs, unfolding his arms and stepping away from the tree he’s comfortably propped against. He bears down on you, and you quickly backpedal and waggle a finger in his face. “Uh! I come bearing gifts. Be nice…”

David halts and some curious eyes hone in on the basket in your arms. Nea sniffs twice, and her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “There’s no way.” She’s on you in seconds, her hands tearing the towel off the basket, and her mouth practically dripping at the sight of the mound of buttery biscuits underneath. “Where the hell did you find these?!”

She snatches a biscuit and stuffs her mouth. David perks up and gets grabby, so you fend him off with a gentle slap on the hand. “Hold on, guys! Everyone’s going to get a biscuit.”

The campers are already up on their feet and closing in. Kate’s set aside her guitar, and she’s moving in on your left. Min’s skulking on your right. And Dwight’s in front of you, looking at you with puppy-eyes. You’re surrounded.

Is this how celebrities feel?

You generously begin handing out biscuits. Kate accepts hers with a gracious smile. “One surprise after another with you,” she says in a sing-song voice. She doesn’t even wait to go sit down before stuffing her mouth. Soon as she takes a bite, she lets out a moan that has Dwight blushing, and Nea snickering at her.

“Mmmm… My mama used to make biscuits like this all the time,” she comments in-between a mouthful. “Now don’t tell ‘er I said this, but these are better!”

Nea laughs and almost chokes. You hand off a biscuit to Dwight and Feng Min, and David digs his hands into the basket to nab his own. Then he unexpectedly tosses an arm over your shoulders and pecks a friendly kiss on your cheek. “Thanks, mate!” He walks away as you fan the blush off your face. 

Nea comes creeping back in for another treat. You lean close to her and whisper, “Did you, uh… tell anyone about what happened in our last trial?”

She sucks her teeth. “Everyone.”

“Great. Thanks.”

She gives you a pat on the back and nabs another biscuit from your open arms. “But I’m willing to overlook that you got me stuck like a pig!” As she saunters away, you catch a glance from Jake and remember he’s here. Surprisingly, he doesn’t share everyone else’s enthusiasm for the treats… He’s still sitting on his log with his arms folded, his knees bent, and his attention on the fire pit. Maybe he’s purposefully trying to appear disinterested…

You catch and hold his eyes, then shake the basket. “Biscuit?”

He eyes you suspiciously. “Where did you find those?”

“I… found them in the fog—”

Jake scoffs, interrupting you. “You found a basket of biscuits out in the fog?”

“Yeah.”

Jake’s features furrow — it’s clear he has more to say. But Kate swallows up a mouthful of bread and barks at him, “Don’t you go lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth!”

“I’m just asking them where they found them.”

Min scoffs. “If you’d rather eat tree bark and chew on grass, then just say that.”

Jake concedes defeat and stands up with a huff and sigh. He approaches you and waits expectantly for a biscuit. You hand one over with a smile, and he wordlessly goes to retake his seat.

After sharing the jars of fruit jams and honey around camp, you find a seat on a log by the fire and set your basket beside you. You’d like to save some sweet treats for the others, if and when they finally come around… Then you gaze at the flickering flames. But intrusive and grim thoughts trump the warmth and comfort of the surrounding atmosphere. The idle chatter of your companions floods away, and your mind wanders and digs up memories you’ve been trying to suppress.

The dancing flames before you form a grin, and floating embers resemble specks of blood. In the fire, you see a mask… A crudely drawn visage grinning at you.

Frank’s—… no, that killer’s mask. An amalgamation of voices murmurs in your ears. They express doubts and regrets, and they make your skin crawl something terrible. You try to block them out, but it’s no use. They want to talk about what happened at the lodge. You don't. 

“Why did you do that?” they ask. “What compelled you?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur in reply.

If you could go back, maybe you would’ve done something differently… But you doubt it would’ve mattered…

“Maybe it would have.”

You shake your head and try to silence the voices. They persist, mounting in volume and intensity. “Don’t reject us…"

The flames form an arm that outstretches and extends a crackling hand to you. The grin remains unwavering, and the crude eyes burn holes through yours.

“You’re one of us.”

“Oi! Just finished a trial, lamb? Come grab a scone!”

You’re wrenched from your thoughts by David’s barking. When you tear your eyes away from the fire, you find a stranger’s face at the border of the fog veil. She’s a young woman with a neatly trimmed lavender bob, a deep purple ruffled blouse, a form-fitting black skirt, and a fluffy white coat.

That must be the new girl.

You gawk at the woman. She seems completely disinterested in joining your company. Her dark eyes are cold, and her demeanor uninviting. A sneer warps her expression, and her arms fold tightly over her chest as she silently stalks past the campfire and away. You lose sight of her. David throws an arm up dismissively. “Suit yourself, then!” he barks.

Kate sighs. “Now, I think she’s just adjusting, David,” she says. “We all went through that phase at some point or another…”

“But she doesn’t need to ‘ave her pants in such a twist!” David retorts.

Nea hums in agreement. You find her sitting opposite you on a log, swiping bread crumbs off her chest. “She’s pretty, but she’s a real bitch. Ran two trials with her already, and she couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the rest of us…”

“Yeah, she isn’t the, uh… nicest camper,” Dwight comments, fixing his glasses over his nose.

“I think she has the right idea,” Jake pipes up. You direct your attention to him. “Being a team player will only have you dead by the end of the day. Too much risk and too little reward.”

“Some would argue just the opposite,” Kate replies pointedly.

“Then they’d be wrong.” Jake fixes his eyes on you and holds your gaze longer than expected. He might be waiting for your two cents. But as much as you’d like to bump heads with him and spill your whole shtick of having hope and faith in each other, you just know it’d fall on deaf ears.

You don’t give him a response, and when he finally averts his steely gaze, he shrugs his shoulders and utters, “But everyone plays the game differently.”

Kate’s usual angelic face twists with a sneer. She shakes her head and dismisses Jake with a wave of her hand. “Whatever you say. But doin’ some real good is a reward in itself.”

Jake’s done talking. A silence falls upon the campfire, and you shift nervously before getting abruptly to your feet. “Think I better go introduce myself,” you say. “And what better way to do that than with a goodie basket?”

Nea makes a face at you. “Hey, miss tight-ass already made it clear she wants nothing to do with us.”

“Yeah,” Min throws in. “More biscuits for us.”

“Sorry, but you guys had your share. I’ve gotta save some for everyone else.”

Nea looks at you like you just broke her heart. She clasps her hands in front of her chest and begs comically. “Please, please please please please—”
You quiet her up when you toss another biscuit at her. She catches it as you stroll away. “Share!” you shout. The fog rolls in behind you and your companions vanish from sight.

 

By the time you’ve left the camp far behind, you’re hot on the new girl’s trail… You catch up to her in minutes. Her form comes into view through the trees, and you quickly join her side.

“Hey,” you begin, offering her a friendly smile. “I brought you some—”

Your reluctant company doesn’t even spare you a glance before she picks up her pace. You quicken your own to keep up. “Listen,” you say. “I know what you’re going through. Everyone here does. We’ve all been through it.”

She ignores you. You persist. “It doesn’t get easier. I know that’s the last thing you need to hear, but it’s the truth. But alienating all of us and treating us like your enemies is only going to make this fucked up situation worse. You already have enough enemies here.”

The woman stops dead in her tracks, and you stagger to a stop beside her. She spins around and jabs you in the chest with a manicured nail. “I don’t want to be a part of whatever pity-party you have planned for me!” she bites. “I don’t want your pity or your protection, or your hand in any of this! I don’t need it.”

The mean look on her face is enough to make you shiver. “Relax—”

“Don’t tell me to relax,” she interrupts sharply. She jabs you again, making you wince. “I’m tired of hearing you people tell me to relax! This place is hell. And as far as I or any of us know, there’s no way out. If I’m going to suffer here forever, I’d at least like to do that in peace!”

Her venomous tone sends a chill streaking up your spine. But her visible anger aside, you notice her hand trembling, and her features shaken.

You tenderly ease her jabby index away from your chest. “Is that really what you want?” you ask softly. You hope your sincere response might cool her off, but she’s not having it. Her expression sours up, and she snatches her hand from yours. “Stay the hell away from me.” Then she twirls around and stalks away.

It was worth a try.

But you’ve never been one to give up easily… You follow her. “Can I get your name?” you ask.

“If I give you my damn name, will you leave me alone?”

“Maybe.”

The woman stops and faces you. “Yun-Jin,” she says bitterly.

You smile and put out a hand. “I’m—”

“This is the part where you leave me alone,” Yun-Jin jeers, moving again. You sigh and keep up with her. “I get it, okay? You want to be left alone. But walking off into the fog like this isn’t how you do it… Well, it is, but—” You pause and scratch your neck. “It’s dangerous.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will care when some fucked up fog monster attacks you.”

Yun-Jin stops. She looks at you with furrowed brows. You say, “Yeah, fog monsters. That’s a thing here. And they are not friendly. I know from firsthand experience.”

A deep, pondering look crosses her face. Maybe she’s weighing her options. Walk back to camp with you, or take her chances in the fog to escape your persistent company…

And, surprising no one, she chooses the latter. She dismisses you with a scoff and keeps walking. And, surprising no one, you remain persistent.

You trail behind Yun-Jin. But she spins around and snaps at you like a feral dog. “Get the hell away from—!”

Her voice leaves her with a sharp gasp as your surroundings suddenly shift and change. The fog vanishes, and darkness engulfs the world around you. You lose sight of Yun-Jin, but hear her scream. You jump in fright and bump into a solid shape behind you — a wall. Fear cripples you in place, and you lose your grip on the basket. You blink twice and give your vision a moment to adjust. When it does, you just faintly make out Yun-Jin’s fearful face in front of yours. She huffs in fear and reaches out blindly, jabbing you in the eye with her hand. “Hey, relax!” you coax her, wincing.

“What the fuck just happened?!” she screams in reply.

You pat yourself down, then rifle your lighter from the pocket in your jacket. When you catch a flame, you realize a wall behind Yun-Jin, then another behind you. To your right, a long, dark hall. To your left, an antiquated wooden door with a bronze knob. You turn the knob and hear a click. It’s locked. After giving it a few more twists, you concede defeat and turn around. “Okay,” you utter.

Yun-Jin hisses behind you. She shoves you aside and takes her own go at the door. It doesn’t budge. “Damnit,” she curses. She faces you, and you can barely make out her features in the flame’s light. “How the hell do we get out of here?” she breathes.

“I… don’t know,” you reply. You turn around and gaze at the darkness ahead. An itch at the back of your skull makes your skin crawl and your spine tingle. You’re getting that pull again. There’s something here you need to find.

So much for your vacation…

After you resolve yourself to move forward, you nudge Yun-Jin and beckon her to follow. You step over the spilled biscuits on the floor, the sight almost enough to make you cry, and you proceed down the hall. Yun-Jin follows so closely in tow, you can feel her breath hot on the back of your neck.

Wooden floorboards creak underfoot. You eyeball the walls on either side of you, but they’re bare and undecorated. No framed photos, windows, nothing. Only dust fills the hall, and it makes the air stale.

When you come to the end of the hall, you stop at a door. It’s ajar, but you can make out light on the other side. You give the door a push and it swings open with a creak and groan. Yun-Jin tucks herself safely behind you as you step through the doorway.

Your eyes widen as you enter the room — a spacious foyer on the first floor of a manor. There’s a large, shattered skylight in the ceiling above you that allows moonlight to flood the room. Two grand staircases draped with red carpet twirl up to the second floor on either side of a fireplace and hearth. A wooden banister cages the second floor. You turn and gauge the rest of the foyer. Dark hallways line the walls on either side of you, but, as you noted before, there are no furnishings or decor. A detail that puzzles you at first, then becomes clear why when you notice the splotches of dark void and decay on parts of the walls and floor.

“An echo,” you murmur.

“What?” Yun-Jin hushes behind you. You glance at her. “Nothing.”

As puzzling as this all is, something here is drawing you out, and you can’t leave until you find it. You move forward with Yun-Jin in tow, toward a hall on the other side of the room.

“Is this normal?” your company asks behind you. Her voice is jittery, and when you look at her, she carries herself fearfully, her arms hugging her shoulders tight. “Does this sort of thing happen a lot?”

“No,” you reply. “But a lot of weird stuff happens out here…” Yun-Jin makes a face. You say, “This place keeps you on your toes.”

You stop at the mouth of the dark corridor and peer into the pitch black. Yun-Jin voices her apprehensions behind you. “There has to be another way out,” she says.

“That’s what we’re looking for.” You proceed into the corridor with slow, cautious steps, careful to watch for any spots underfoot threatening to give way into a void. The farther in you move, the darker it becomes as the foyer recedes behind you. Soon, you have only your lighter to guide your way. Because of this, Yun-Jin walks close in tow. You hear her breath shuddering to your left, and occasionally feel her hand ghosting your arm.

“It’s okay,” you say reassuringly. You glimpse her eyes and add, “I don’t think there’s anything here to worry about.”

“What makes you so sure?” Yun-Jin bites back sharply. You try to come up with a reasonable response, but you can only offer her a shrug. She scoffs at you.

You’re able to make out tall, dark windows on the wall to your right, but they’re concealed by worn, black curtains. When you peel one away, you find the outside world. The woods flooded with fog, and the sky, dark and shimmering with the moon and stars. Escape from this echo is so close, yet so far — the window is caged with iron bars, and you assume they all are. You let the curtain fall back into place, then keep moving forward.

You carefully ease around precarious spots on the floor, but notice Yun-Jin’s none too cautious. She almost steps on a foggy board, so you catch her by the wrist and tug her away. She staggers into you and gives you a puzzled look.

“Sorry,” you say. Then you point at the floor. “Don’t go near that stuff. It’ll vanish right under your feet.”

Yun-Jin purses her lips and yanks her hand back to her side.

You’re already uneasy, and the silence only makes it worse. So you strike up a conversation. “What did you do before all this?” you ask.

“I was a music producer,” Yun-Jin answers, taking you by surprise. You weren’t actually expecting a response…

“What kind? Pop, country, rap…?”

“K-Pop.”

“Cool… wait.” You connect some dots, ponder the conclusion you draw, then raise a brow. “You produced music for idols… You wouldn’t happen to know that Trickster guy, right?”

The way Yun-Jin’s face morphs into a nasty sneer is answer enough. She falls silent and folds her arms tightly over her chest with a look that tells you to drop the subject. And not wanting to evoke any of her wrath, you do just that…

You clear your throat. “K-Pop. Cool. Uh… you got a favorite color?”

She doesn’t answer you.

 

You come upon a door on the wall to your left, then pause and face it. You give the knob a try, and the door cracks open with a low moan. Yun-Jin keeps close as you step into the room.

It’s a sun parlor, basked in the moonlight that floods in from the skylight above, and the large windows bordering the space. It’s empty, as the rest of the house is, save for a destroyed nest resting on a windowsill just opposite you.

There’s something small and dark on the floor beneath it. You mistake it for a pile of soot at first, but as you draw closer, its actuality comes as a pleasant surprise — a baby crow.

You move in, and the chick chirps and cranes its head up. You’re hesitant to interfere, but doubtful its mother will return for it anytime soon. The nest is destroyed, and this echo is fading…

You take a knee in front of it and gently scoop it into your hands. “Aww…” It’s like a tiny, black cotton ball with bright blue eyes. It’s adorable. You coo at the bird, then pause and eye it suspiciously. “Bastion?” you hush.

The chick tilts its head at you.

“Put that thing down and let’s get the hell out of here,” Yun-Jin says abruptly behind you, making you jump. You turn to look at her. “What’s the rush?”

“We don’t know what this place is,” she replies, folding her arms over her chest. “And we don’t know if we’re alone.”

You sigh and get back to your feet. “Alright, alright.”

While still suspicious of the chick in your hands, you decide to bring it along with you. Either it’s an actual bird and you’ll have made a new friend, or it’s Bastion playing another trick on you, in which case you’ll feel like a fool… But in the meantime, you’re banking on the former.

You tuck the crow safely into the pocket of your jacket, then leave the room. The chick chirps nonstop as you proceed down the hall. Yun-Jin glances distastefully at your pocket, but remains quiet on the matter.

You continue down the long, dark corridor before coming upon another set of doors. That itch in your cranium grows more intense with each step forward, and it becomes clear why — whatever drew you here must be behind them.

Luckily, the doors aren’t locked. You push one open with ease and peer into the darkness within. You falter in place, and Yun-Jin tries to deter you. “We shouldn’t go in there,” she says. “I don’t think it’s the way out.”

“Probably not,” you reply. “But I’m checking it out. Wait out here if it makes you feel any better.”

Yun-Jin scoffs at you and roots herself in the hallway as you enter the dark room. You move inside painstakingly slow, placing your feet carefully so as not to misstep and fall into a void. The air in here is cold and stale, and the wooden boards creak with each step. A part of you wants to turn back, but you can’t leave without finding what’s drawing you in.

You’re granted some relief, however, when you hear your (suspicious) little friend chirping in your pocket.

You move deeper in, slow and steady, then jump in fear when your shoulder bumps into something. When you raise your lighter, you discern a wooden bookshelf in front of you. And gazing upward, you see it stretches up high. The shelves are barren and covered in thick layers of dust. You move past the shelf and find another one at the end, perpendicular to it. This must be a library. And it’s a maze…

You place a hand on the wood and guide yourself slowly along. The prickly sensation in your skull gets more intense. You’re getting closer… And when you turn a corner, you find the source that beckons you.

It’s so dark, you almost miss it at first. No, you almost miss her — Undoubtably the silhouette of a woman standing a few mere paces ahead of you. She’s slender, pale, and garbed in a sheer white gown. Long brown hair pours from her scalp down her back to her waistline, and she’s facing away from you.

You sweat, and goosebumps stipple your skin. This is the last thing you expected to find… But that pull is so intense now, and you know it must come from her.

You’re holding your breath. But after swallowing past the thick lump in your throat, and shouldering your fear, you say, “Hey-Hey… Are you alright?”

The woman doesn’t move. She’s still and soundless. You shift nervously on your feet, uncertain of what to do. Is she another camper? you wonder. How long has she been here?  You're boggled by the many questions swimming through your head, and this strange woman's the only one who can answer them. After a pause, you step forward, and she scares you silly when her head suddenly snaps at you over her shoulder. You gasp in surprise and jump backward, gaping at her in horror. Her eyes are bloodshot and ooze black viscous liquid. Her visage twists with agony, yet remains static and unwavering — like a still-shot from a terrible moment, trapped in time and written permanently over her face.

“Whoa!” you exclaim. “Uh, never mind! I-I didn’t mean to bother you—”

You backpedal so fast you bump into a shelf and lose your lighter. It clatters to the floor, and the flame goes out, allowing the darkness to engulf you. “Shit,” you curse, taking to your knees to scramble for your tool. But you pause when you hear shuffling footsteps. Slowly, at first, like feet dragging lazily across the floor. But then they pick up pace, and the pitter-patter is coming nearer. You panic and sweep the floor with your hands before finally retaking possession of your lighter. You flick it open and relight the flame, but to your surprise, the woman’s gone.

When you get back to your feet, you feel a weight crash into your back that nearly topples you over. You stagger forward and hit a shelf, grunting as stiff arms fold around your neck, and legs wrap tight around your abdomen. The pale woman screams in your ear and rakes her nails over your throat.

“Gak-!”

You buck wildly and claw at her arms to loosen her grip on you. But the effort’s to no avail. She beats and punches you relentlessly, and all you can do is take it. Your struggle brings you to your knees, then ends abruptly as your assailant vanishes in a puff of dark fog with a horrendous wail.

Air returns to your lungs, and you grasp at your neck as you wobble to your feet. You relight your lighter and waft at the fog as it ebbs away. Your face screws up in bewilderment and fear, but you put that all aside and rush back out the way you came.

 

You find Yun-Jin just where you left her when you come crashing out of the dark library. She jolts in fear and stares at you, wide-eyed. “What was all that screaming?” she asks.

“Nothing,” you tell her, still shaken. “Let’s—”

A scratching noise makes you falter and stop. You turn slowly on your heels and direct your gaze upward where the source of the noise intensifies. Something rattles and shakes loose dust glued to the ceiling. You share an apprehensive look with Yun-Jin. “I think we have company.”

That becomes apparent when a terrible shriek down the hall makes you both jump. Your scuffle in the library might’ve drawn some baddies out… You spin around and race the other way with Yun-Jin hot on your tail.

Your lighter does little to guide you as you race down the black corridor. Your pursuers, whatever they might be, storm after you. The only indication of their presence and being is the clickity-clack of claws on wood, and the gnashing of teeth.

You’re in such a rush, you’ve forgotten completely about the gaping, dark patches of void in your path. So it comes as a startling surprise when you suddenly hear Yun-Jin cry out beside you, then her hand harshly snatching your left arm.

She yanks you down with her, and you twist and crash to the floor on your ribcage with a grunt. The air rushes from your lungs, and you meet Yun-Jin’s frantic face inches from your own.

“Pull me up!” she screams.

She hugs your arm in a vice-like grip as she dangles over an empty black pit. The floorboards beneath you smoke with dark fog — it’s only a matter of time before they give way, too.

“Hold on,” you wheeze.

She’s put you in a really bad spot. With one of your arms out of commission and your body pinned flat to the floor, you can’t get enough leeway to lift her. Not to mention she’s putting a god-awful strain on your arm.

“You need to climb up,” you tell her breathlessly. “Climb over me.”

Yun-Jin seems reluctant to unhand your arm, but when those monstrous cries grow nearer, she relents. She throws a hand out and grips your shoulder, then hoists herself up. You brace your free hand against the floor to keep yourself from spilling over the edge into the abyss. Yun-Jin crawls up over your head and lifts herself the rest of the way before rolling to the floor beside you with a breathless huff. She’s back on her feet quickly and doesn’t even offer you a hand. In fact, she accidentally steps on your spine while stumbling in the dark, and neglects to apologize for it.

By the time you’re back on your feet, she’s already taking off down the hall. You follow quickly after her.

The race through the corridor is hectic. It has your blood running cold and your nerves on end. You catch up to Yun-Jin, but those monstrous sounds are very close, and all around you. In the walls, the ceiling, behind you. You’re afraid to look back.

The hall bends to the left, and you cut the corner fast, then come to a staggering stop. You’re in another foyer at the back of the manor. But the entire right wall and the one perpendicular to it are completely gone, eaten up, and faded away. Beyond the absent walls, you find relief in seeing the woods. The only thing between you and freedom is a moat of void.

As the harrowing wails and cries grow nearer, Yun-Jin’s already ahead of you, getting a running jump over the moat. She lands on the other side with a slight stumble and catches herself. Looks easy enough.

But your bad luck shines through at the wrong time. You’re leaping over the pit when a dark shape lunges from the shadows and attacks. Claws rake the back of your calf and a weight yanks you straight down. You exclaim in panic and snatch the edge of the void, gripping dirt and grass beneath your fingers. Your eyes dart down to see the assailant clutching your leg, and you find a horrifying breed of mutt and monster. Black, hairless, vile, and hungry.

Disturbing human-like hands grip you tightly. And a more doggish muzzle snarls at you from below.

Your face contorts in fear and you shout, “Yun-Jin!”

You tear your eyes away from the beast and desperately claw at the dirt to pull yourself up. You grunt with exertion and lift your head just enough to find Yun-Jin, backing away slowly with a furrowed look on her face. She only spares you a dismissive shake of her head before she turns around and runs. You lose sight of her behind the tree line and the dense fog.

You’re on your own.

Your attention reverts to the creature as it digs sharp claws into your leg. You grit your teeth and kick at it, barking, “Fuck off!”

The beast bares sharp, gnashing teeth at you. And what comes as a nasty surprise is when it suddenly speaks.

“We see you.”

You freeze solid, eyes wide and mouth agape.

The voice is deep, guttural, and disembodied. You choke over your own words, unknowing of how to respond or react. And you’re only snapped out of your crippling fear as the beast snarls and chomps down on your leg. You scream and beat your heel against its skull before delivering a harsh kick that dislodges it from your limb altogether. It rips away and hurdles into the black pit with a terrible wail, soon vanishing from sight as it’s swallowed by darkness.

You muster up what remains of your waning strength and heft yourself up and over the edge onto solid ground. As soon as you recover, you limp off into the fog and leave the fading manor behind.

 

You wander the fog sluggishly with your damaged leg slowing you down. The wound’s not too bad and a simple patch job might take care of it, though you neglected to bring any supplies…

But somehow, that’s the least of your concerns. The only thing on your mind is that monster that attacked you. And what it said… If that’s really what you heard. A part of you doubts it really happened. Maybe you imagined it… It wouldn’t be too far-fetched, and definitely not the first time you’ve seen or heard things. You’ve said so yourself — a lot of weird things happen here.

Your concerns depart when you hear a faint chirping. Reminded of your little friend, you peel open your pocket and peek at it. It cranes its head up and whistles at you. You sigh in relief.

“I didn't think you'd make it," Yun-Jin scoffs.

You falter to a stop and snap your gaze up to meet Yun-Jin’s scowling face. She sits beneath a tall, dead tree with her knees to her chest and her arms hugging her legs. You didn’t even see her there…

She shakes her head at you and mutters, “You actually got away?”

“Yeah,” you reply, frowning. “But not without a few scrapes and bruises…”

Yun-Jin falls quiet. You step nearer to her and say, “Are you brooding, or just lost?” When she doesn’t humor a reply, you say, “I can show you back to camp if you’re—”

“I don’t need any favors from you,” Yun-Jin interrupts.

“Is everything this difficult with you?”

She scowls at you. “I’m supposed to believe you want to help me? After I—”

“After you left me for dead?” You interrupt pointedly. “That’s not my M.O. I meant what I said before, Yun-Jin. I know what you’re going through. But a helping hand every once in a while can remind you that not everything’s completely fucked. Some of us are still holding on to humanity, believe it or not…”

“Well, aren’t you a saint,” Yun-Jin sneers. She gets to her feet and crosses her arms. “Do you think that makes you better than me?”

 

"No."

"You're a bitch."

 

Notes:

Fan art!! Some very adorable panels of Bastion and OP’s Wanderer ❤❤❤



Credit goes to audbreyy.ig on Instagram. Thank you again! You made my day and had me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside <3 (I encourage everyone to go give them some love ❤)

Chapter 21: Choice: "No."

 

You make a face at her and sigh. “I’m not doing this just so I can have the moral high ground. I help because I can, Yun-Jin. And because I want to. I made a choice to help you back there, and you made a choice to leave me behind. But I get it.”

Your brows crease and you add, “And I know none of my soppy speeches are going to change your mind, but the way I see, I’m lucky to have that. Those killers we face off against every day? Some of them don’t get that choice. They’re forced to play the game, and they’re forced to hurt us. Everything they used to be was stripped away so they could be molded into weapons. They lost their humanity, but I’m going to hold onto mine as long as I can. And I won’t let that go, even if it kills me.”

Your voice shudders and breaks. Your mind is drawn back to the most recent memories you’ve been desperately trying to suppress, and you shut them out again. After squeezing your eyes shut and reopening them, you face Yun-Jin and shake your head. “Do whatever you think you need to do. But don’t do something you’ll regret. Because until we find a way out, you’ll have to live with it forever.”

Something you said must’ve struck a chord because Yun-Jin falls silent with nothing else to say. For a moment, you glimpse a look of shame across her features, but she dips her head and drops her gaze to her feet.

Maybe you got through to her. Or maybe she’s just tired of arguing with you…

The deafening silence persists for a long minute, but your aching leg is enough to draw your attention back to reality. You wince as you turn around and get moving.

“I’ll show you back to camp,” you say over your shoulder.

Yun-Jin remains voiceless, but you hear her shuffling feet moving after you.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

By the time you arrive back at Haven, you’ve probably lost about a pint of blood, give or take, and you want nothing more than to crawl into bed and call it a day.

You showed Yun-Jin back to camp but didn’t bother stepping in for yourself to greet the other campers. Your mood was sour, and you didn’t have any biscuits to share, so you opted against it.

 

You trudge up the porch steps and murmur your greetings to Lydia. She offers you a smile as you pass by. “Did your friends enjoy those biscuits?” she asks.

“They loved them, Lydia,” you reply. “Thank you.”

Lydia chuckles. “Sounds like I’ll have to bake another batch for ‘em sometime, then.”

You leave Lydia with another smile after bidding her goodnight. After moping off upstairs and to the bedroom, you toss open the door and plop onto the bed with a heavy sigh. You’re so tired, in fact, that you hardly even notice the tall shadow in the room’s corner as it creeps up beside the bed.

Darkness pours over you and you blink up at Bastion’s perky grin.

“Have a good time?”

“What do you think?”

“Oh, I didn’t think so,” he chuckles. “You weren’t such a hot mess when you left earlier…”

You roll your eyes. “What have you been up to today?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on dear Lydia,” Bastion replies. “Making sure she didn’t set her home aflame…”

“So you’ve been babysitting her when you could’ve been babysitting me?”

“I think the blind old woman warrants more of my attention,” Bastion laughs. “Besides… you were on vacation.”

You give him a dirty look, which he returns with a cheeky smirk.

“I suppose I should ask about your day,” he says.

“I have a lot to tell,” you reply, sitting up. Your brows crease and you make a strange gesture with your hands. “An echo just… appeared today. One second I was in the fog, the next I was in some large mansion. The entire house just took form around me.”

Bastion hums. “Curious, but not unheard of…”

“Wait, you’re saying that can just happen?”

“Evidently.”

You make a face, then sigh. “But that’s not even the craziest thing that happened. A woman attacked me in that house. She attacked me, and then she just vanished! Poof!”

Bastion doesn’t appear the least bit surprised. “Echoes can take many forms,” he says simply.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not. And I’m sure that must come as an unpleasant surprise…”

“Of course it does! I’m searching for clues, not fucked up demon people trying to kill me!”

Whatever snarky remark Bastion might have for you never comes, as his attention is grabbed by the chirping that comes from your pocket. A smile lights up your face. “But today wasn’t all bad,” you say. “I made a new friend.”

You reach into your pocket and present the baby crow in your open palms. It does a hop and chirps at Bastion. “Say hi.”

For the first time ever, Bastion’s face (as lacking as it may be), flickers with disgust. His lips curl into a sneer as he regards the baby bird. “A crow?”

“Hey, don’t look at it like that! It’s adorable.” You coo at the baby bird and say, “You know, I thought it was you at first, playing another dirty trick, but I have never been more glad to be wrong.”

Bastion doesn’t look impressed or amused. You smirk. “Are you jealous?”

“Should I be?”

You stick your tongue out at him, a gesture he returns with a faint chuckle. “If you’re in for the night, I’ll leave you to your little friend.”

“I'm not going anywhere else if I can help it,” you reply. 

Bastion hums in acknowledgement, then vanishes.

When he's gone, you return your full attention to the chick and smile. “I gotta think up a name for you, little guy…”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 22: Choice: "You're a bitch."

 

You narrow your eyes at her. “You left me to die! You didn’t even think twice about it.”

“I don’t owe you a damn thing,” Yun-Jin retorts. “And I won’t let anyone drag me down.”

“What, like you almost did to me back there?” You scoff. “This isn’t a climb up some fucking corporate ladder. It’s not about who gets to sit on top. Because the bottom line is, you’re going to die here, a lot, and there’s nothing you can do about it, no matter how many people you step on to get your way. And at the end of each and every fucking day, you won’t have anyone to lean on when all that comes crashing down. You’re going to be very lonely, very soon, and you’re going to wish you weren’t such a bitch.”

Yun-Jin glares hard at you. She has something to say, but you cut her off.

“You want to know why I helped you back there? Because I could. Because I’m not a heartless asshole. And maybe that does make me better than you.”

You render her speechless. Her angry expression wavers and her brows crease before she drops her gaze to her feet. If she has anything else to say, you won’t hear it. You turn away from her, ready to leave and call it a day. As you depart, you bitterly say back over your shoulder, “Good luck finding your way back to camp.”

And with that, you leave in silence.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

By the time you arrive back at Haven, you’ve probably lost about a pint of blood, give or take, and you want nothing more than to crawl into bed and call it a day.

You didn’t bother stopping by camp again. Your mood was sour, and you didn’t have any biscuits to share, so you opted against it.

 

You trudge up the porch steps and murmur your greetings to Lydia. She offers you a smile as you pass by. “Did your friends enjoy those biscuits?” she asks.

“They loved them, Lydia,” you reply. “Thank you.”

Lydia chuckles. “Sounds like I’ll have to bake another batch for ‘em sometime, then.”

You leave Lydia with another smile after bidding her goodnight. After moping off upstairs and to the bedroom, you toss open the door and plop onto the bed with a heavy sigh. You’re so tired, in fact, that you hardly even notice the tall shadow in the room’s corner as it creeps up beside the bed.

Darkness pours over you and you blink up at Bastion’s perky grin.

“Have a good time?”

“What do you think?”

“Oh, I didn’t think so,” he chuckles. “You weren’t such a hot mess when you left earlier…”

You roll your eyes. “What have you been up to today?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on dear Lydia,” Bastion replies. “Making sure she didn’t set her home aflame…”

“So you’ve been babysitting her when you could’ve been babysitting me?”

“I think the blind old woman warrants more of my attention,” Bastion laughs. “Besides… you were on vacation.”

You give him a dirty look, which he returns with a cheeky smirk.

“I suppose I should ask about your day,” he says.

“It was shit, and I have a lot to tell,” you reply, sitting up. Your brows crease and you make a strange gesture with your hands. “An echo just… appeared today. One second I was in the fog, the next I was in some large mansion. The entire house just took form around me.”

Bastion hums. “Curious, but not unheard of…”

“Wait, you’re saying that can just happen?”

“Evidently.”

You make a face, then sigh. “But that’s not even the craziest thing that happened. A woman attacked me in that house. She attacked me, and then she just vanished! Poof!”

Bastion doesn’t appear the least bit surprised. “Echoes can take many forms,” he says simply.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not. And I’m sure that must come as an unpleasant surprise…”

“Of course it does! I’m searching for clues, not fucked up demon people trying to kill me!”

Whatever snarky remark Bastion might have for you never comes, as his attention is grabbed by the chirping that comes from your pocket. A smile lights up your face. “But today wasn’t all bad,” you say. “I made a new friend.”

You reach into your pocket and present the baby crow in your open palms. It does a hop and chirps at Bastion. “Say hi.”

For the first time ever, Bastion’s face (as lacking as it may be), flickers with disgust. His lips curl into a sneer as he regards the baby bird. “A crow?”

“Hey, don’t look at it like that! It’s adorable.” You coo at the baby bird and say, “You know, I thought it was you at first, playing another dirty trick, but I have never been more glad to be wrong.”

Bastion doesn’t look impressed or amused. You smirk. “Are you jealous?”

“Should I be?”

You stick your tongue out at him, a gesture he returns with a faint chuckle. “If you’re in for the night, I’ll leave you to your little friend.”

“I'm not going anywhere else if I can help it,” you reply. 

Bastion hums in acknowledgement, then vanishes.

When he's gone, you return your full attention to the chick and smile. “I gotta think up a name for you, little guy…”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 23: Visitors

 

You poke around a handful of soil before letting out a sigh and dropping it. “No gold…”

Lydia calls from the porch behind you, “Digging for more grubs, honey?”

“Yeah. Little Poe’s gotta eat,” you reply. You get to your feet and scout out the yard for other potential dig spots. When you find a prime plot of dirt, you drop to your knees and scoop out another crater with your hands.

“I’ve got some oats inside if you’d rather feed ‘im that,” Lydia says.

“I don’t think he’s a big fan of oats,” you reply.

“Well, excuse me,” Lydia chuckles heartily. “Didn’t know your little friend was a fussy eater.”

Poe makes a soft croaking noise where he rests in your pocket. He pokes his head out the side and cranes his beak up at you. You pat him gently on the head and laugh. “Don’t look at me like that. You are a picky little guy…” You carry on your search for creepy crawlies when you feel an ominous presence looming behind you... Ominous, but familiar. 

“You aren’t being very productive.”

You toss a glance up over your shoulder at Bastion. “Poe’s hungry. I’ve gotta get him some food.”

"Poe?”

“You haven’t forgotten about my new pal already, have you?” You gesture faintly to your pocket and say, “Had a hard time coming up with a name, then Poe came to mind. You know, after that one guy who wrote that one poem, The Crow?” You look up at Bastion, smug and clever. “It’s a fitting name, right?”

Bastion tilts his head. “The Crow?” He hums a moment, then snaps his fingers. “Ah, Edgar Allan Poe… The man with the sleek hair and fancy for his young cousin… I hate to burst your bubble, Wanderer, but I think the poem you’re referring to is The Raven.”

The smugness drains from your face. “The-…? But I thought—”

Bastion’s shit-eating grin twitches — you know he’s just dying to laugh at you. You defensively say, “Okay, so maybe I got it a little mixed up…” Your shadowy companion barks with laughter, and you dismiss him with a wave. “Whatever! It’s too late to change it now! Poe’s his name, and I’m not changing it…”

Bastion pats you on the head. “You’re adorable,” he chuckles. You smack his hand away and keep digging into the dirt. “Thought it was called The Crow,” you grumble. Nothing’s turning up, and Poe’s getting impatient. He pecks your arm and coos. You sigh. “Where are all the worms?”

"What a shame poor Poe will starve under your neglectful care,” Bastion says.

“He won’t starve,” you reply. “Something’ll turn up sooner or later.”

But sooner doesn’t come soon enough, so you stagger to your feet with a defeated huff. Bastion looks almost smug, and you get an idea. “Why don’t you feed him?” you suggest. “You know, do that thing where you turn into a bird! Then you can dig him up some worms.” Bastion scoffs at the idea. You clasp your hands together. “Come on, Bastion! I think you’d make a great crow daddy—”

“Flattery won’t work,” he cuts you off. “I’m sooner to make an appetizer of that little pest.”

You blow a raspberry at him in defeat. “Fine, whatever. Maybe I’ll have better luck out there.” After swiping your hands clean on your legs, you gather your satchel from the porch and move off toward the fog. “Bye, Lydia!” you call out. Lydia waves you off.

 

Bastion graces you with his presence five minutes after you leave the cabin behind. He walks beside you, every so often sneaking furtive glances at the young crow perched on your shoulder. You catch one such glance and sigh at him. “Jealousy’s not a good look on you, Bastion.”

He jeers at you with a twisted smirk. “Me, jealous? You’re mistaken, Wanderer. I’m displaying caution.”

“Caution of what?”

“Of that little squealer perched on your shoulder,” Bastion replies. You make a funny face at him and he chuckles. “Haven’t you ever wondered the role our little avian friends might play here?”

“They’re animals, so no, I can’t say I have…”

“These things have a close bond to the Entity,” Bastion says. Then he strokes his chin and hums. “Or perhaps bond is too strong a word… Let’s go with servitude. Yes… they serve nothing but the very thing we’re fighting against. They act as our tormentor’s eyes and ears.”

You laugh at the absurd claim. “Wait, you think Poe’s a spy? What, like double-O-seven? Or, or Jason Bourne?” You snicker. “Come on.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Wanderer.”

“That would be a first,” you reply. “You’re kidding me, right? Poe’s a baby crow. He’s not wearing a wire.”

“I wouldn’t steer you wrong,” Bastion says. “You can kiss your privacy goodbye with that thing glued to you.”

You scoff. “I kissed my privacy goodbye the moment I struck a deal with you.” Your adamance disgruntles Bastion to the point he huffs like a child not getting his way, then up and vanishing without another word. As soon as he’s gone, Poe coos and nestles himself within the crook of your neck. You stroke his head tenderly. “It’s okay, Poe. The bad man’s gone…”

 

During your walk, you decided to make a little detour and stop by camp. You’d usually steer clear, but the others might appreciate meeting your adorable new friend! You’re sure they’re in desperate need of a morale boost…

Shouting’s the first thing that reaches you, then the light of the flames as you draw to a stop before the campfire. The few campers present don’t even notice your arrival — Kate’s storming back and forth with a mean look on her face, cursing and muttering and balling her fists. Claudette’s hunched over on a tree stump beside the firepit, probably doing her damndest to stay out of her way. Jeff and Ace are turning over a log together, and Zarina idly spectates the scene from where she stands nearby.

“Things don’t just go missin’ like that!” Kate snaps, still unaware of your being here. She scuffs the dirt under her boots and hisses a sigh.

“What’s missing?” you ask abruptly. All heads turn to you, and Claudette actually jumps in surprise.

“Kate’s guitar is missing,” Claudette replies. Her eyes flicker from yours to Poe, but she withholds any comment she might have on your little corvid friend, instead opting to share, “And my basket’s gone, too…”

Kate’s guitar is missing? That explains her rampage. But it doesn’t explain the two lumberjacks over here… You make your way over to Ace and Jeff, then perk up at the sight of all the creepy-crawlies beneath the log they’re hefting. You take a knee and scoop up some grubs and worms. Jeff gives you a funny look, strained by the weight he’s holding.

“We have berries if you’re hungry,” he says.

“Not for me,” you reply, standing back up. “For my little friend here.” You feed Poe a juicy grub, then comment, “You know, I don’t think you’ll find a guitar under there.”

Ace drops his end of the log and sighs. “We’re not lookin’ for the cowgirl’s guitar! My lucky alligator tooth’s missing!”

Jeff finally drops his end, then braces his hands on his back like an old man. He winces and mutters, “Told him we wouldn’t find it under there…”

Ace sighs. “I swear, it was around my neck one second, and gone the next!” he snaps his fingers to emphasize his point, then he strokes his chin. “Well, maybe I took it off over at the creek so I could wash some stink off’a me, but then it disappeared!”

“When did these things go missing?” you ask.

Kate replies, “Just today! It was here ‘fore I was grabbed into a trial, and it was gone by the time I got back! I had it propped right against that tree over there.”

“The same goes for my basket,” Claudette says, hugging herself.

“It can’t be a coincidence that they’ve all gone missing at the same time,” you say.

Jeff lifts a brow. “You think someone took them?”

“I think the Boogeyman took our stuff!” Ace interjects. You pass him a look and he clarifies, “The Entity! It’s just taking what little we have left.”

“But why would it take our stuff now, of all times?” Zarina questions.

You all share addled looks and shrugs.

“Well, if it’s not around camp, then there’s really one other place it could be,” you say. “I’ll scope out the fog.”

Zarina’s face flickers with amusement. She folds her arms over her chest and says, “Like you need an excuse to lurk off into the fog.” She joins you at the hip and says, “I’ll tag along. I’ve been dying for an excuse to get away from camp for a while…”

“I’m not sure that’s—”

“Besides,” Zarina interrupts. “You might need a little help sleuthing. And I’ve always been great at finding my mark.” She offers you a friendly smile.

Jeff barks, “Wait up!” He comes your way and almost trips over a log before staggering to a stop in front of you. He straightens himself up and clears his throat. “After everything I’ve heard about that fog, you might need some extra guns.”

Zarina snickers at him. Jeff puffs up and jabs himself in the chest with his thumb. “Hey, when David’s not around, I’m the designated big-boy.”

You want to laugh at the statement, but you bite your tongue and move off into the woods. “I guess I can’t turn down the help… Better odds of finding the stolen goods this way.”

Although, you’re hesitant to take anyone into the fog with you. What with you being an actual magnet for misfortune and trouble, it’s just asking for someone to get hurt. But today, you’ll make an exception and put your faith in Bastion. He’s done a decent enough job protecting you so far, and you’re sure he won’t mind babysitting two more…

“You’ll be strumming your guitar again in no time, Kate!” you call back over your shoulder.

“I’m holdin’ you to that!” she replies.

Ace shouts, “Find my tooth while you’re at it!”

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

The fog always has a way of chilling you to the bone and putting your hair on end. It’s cold, sure, but there’s a certain atmosphere heavy in the air that weighs unendingly upon you and makes the breath in your lungs stale. But on this certain occasion, you’re granted respite from the apprehension and pressure. With Zarina on your right, Jeff on your left, and little Poe tucked against the crook of your neck, you’ve never felt more at ease in the fog. The warmth of familiar company is enough to alleviate your fear.

The company is pleasant, but it’s quiet. You feed Poe another grub in the silence, an action that prompts Jeff to kickoff some small talk.

“Where’d you find the little guy?” he asks out of the blue.

You face him and shrug. “Uh… the fog. Found him by a messed up nest, so I thought I’d take him under my wing, so to speak…”

“It’s never advisable to take in a baby bird,” Zarina says on your right.

You sheepishly scratch your neck. “Yeah, but I wasn’t so sure he’d do any better on his own out here.”

“I think it’s pretty cool,” Jeff comments. “Uh, not the whole kidnapping a baby from its parents part, but just having it, you know? I’ve seen Jake messing with these guys from time to time. Guess we’ve got two crow-whisperers in camp now.”

“Well, it’s only a matter of time until it learns to fly. And it might not stick around,” Zarina says.

You gently stroke Poe’s beak with a sigh. “Yeah, I figure that. But in the meantime, he’s my little buddy.”

Zarina chuckles. Then she asks, “So what do you do out here, anyway? When you creep off into the fog?”

“The rest of us can’t help but wonder,” Jeff comments. “You’re becoming a stranger around camp.”

“And if you try telling us you’re just taking a midnight stroll, we’re going to have to call BS,” Zarina finishes with a quirked brow.

Been a while since someone from camp’s drilled you like this. But then again, you rarely leave footprints in camp… You know well that these questions won’t stop coming, but coming from Zarina and Jeff makes it less daunting than if they came from Felix or Elodie… And you have to admit, it’s tempting to put the truth out there. So tempting, in fact, that you can’t resist. “Alright,” you begin, smirking. “The truth is, I’m out here searching for answers and a way out under the protection of a tall, shadowy demon man.”

You expect a moment of stunned silence or snickering, but your company grants you neither response. Zarina scoffs at you with an amused smile. “I’ve heard that one already. Yeah, Nea’s told us all about it…”

Jeff plays along with you. “Really? What’s this demon guy like? He taller than me?”

You glance him up and down, then give him a nod. “He’s at least seven feet tall…”

“Wow,” Zarina humors. “So he’s tall, dark… is he handsome?”

“There’s not much to look at,” you reply. “He’s got no face, doesn’t wear any clothes, has nothing going on… down there. Most of the time, he’s got this stupid shit-eating grin on his face.” You make a claw-like gesture with your hands, then add, “And not to mention the freaky claws he’s got poking out his back. The stuff of nightmares, not dreams.”

Zarina chuckles. “Does this friend of yours have a name?”

“Bastion. But I might let Bastard slip now and then…”

Jeff nudges you in the arm and draws your attention. You turn toward him as he says, “Something like this?” And he presents his open sketchbook to you. You’re surprised to find a sketched image of a being closely resembling Bastion’s likeness. “Whoa,” you murmur. “Did you just draw that?”

“It’s, uh… a rough sketch,” Jeff replies humbly.

Zarina peeks past you to get a look. You scoff and comment, “That’s awesome, Jeff. And honestly? I see the resemblance.”

Zarina chuckles, then you almost jump out of your skin when Bastion appears suddenly. He looms down over Jeff’s shoulder to peer at the sketchbook, then his wide grin perks up. “Like looking in a mirror…” He vanishes again without another word. You clear your throat and say, “I’m only messing with you guys, by the way…”

Zarina humorously replies, “Wait, so your protective demon boyfriend isn’t real?”

“—Not my boyfriend. Barely even a friend…”

Zarina bites back a laugh. “Right, clearly.”

Jeff tucks his sketchbook under his arm. “Hm. But I’m willing to believe anything nowadays. After all the shit we’ve already been through and seen, nothing’s too far-fetched.”

Zarina agrees with a nod. Then she elbows you in the side and jabs, “So, I hear you’re in cahoots with the killers now.”

You make a face at her and she clarifies, “Nea told us all about how you strolled in arm-in-arm with that Legion kid. Then how you sicced him on her…”

“I didn’t—” You sigh and pinch your brow. “She actually told everyone… Listen, I had no idea he was the killer. He came off so-… normal! He greeted me, introduced himself, we had some small talk…”

“What sort of small talk?” Jeff asks.

“The normal kind you’d have with another normal person. We discussed nightmares, the weather, cool jackets…”

Zarina chuckles and pats you warmly on the back. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Those kids have pulled that trick with all of us, at some point or another… We never got as far as small talk, though, before they were burying their knives in our guts… Are you a killer whisperer, too?”

“Maybe,” you mutter bitterly in reply.

“I actually met those punks before I was carted off here,” Jeff says. You both look at him curiously and he goes on, “They paid me to etch a mural in that old cabin up at the resort. It’s still there, actually.” He scoffs and scratches his beard. “But that was way back in ‘96. They haven’t aged a day.”

Zarina furrows her brows. “How long have they been here?”

No one has an answer. But it’s enough to make you wonder…

Poe draws you from your wandering thoughts when he suddenly chirps in your ear. You gently stroke his wing, but you falter and stop when a barrage of harsh noises overload your senses. You feel a sudden unease that makes your spine tingle, and you can feel eyes watching you. You glance around quickly, nervous and on edge. But you can’t make out anything in the dark forest around you. Your skittish demeanor draws Jeff’s attention and prompts him to throttle your shoulder. “Hey? What’s up?”

The ceaseless whispers and murmurings drown him out. You silently mouth something to him, but your voice can’t escape your lips. That feeling of being watched intensifies — your eyes dart frantically around the woods, seeking out the owners of the disembodied voices, but you can’t find them. But one voice rings through, loud and clear. It makes your blood run cold, and your skin crawl.

“We see you.”

An awful itch crawls up your arms and neck. You scratch your collar, then your wrist, but it doesn’t let up. You end up scratching your wrist red, then raw and bloody before Zarina notices and snatches your arm in her hand. “Hey!” Your party comes to a dead stop, and all that noise finally fades out. When your senses return to a calm, the pain makes you wince. Your arm looks like a scratching post — Jeff and Zarina look concerned.

A tense silence pans out for a minute before you yank your sleeve down. “Hell of an itch,” you say shakingly.

The two of them share a nervous glance, and you don’t wait around for anything else they might have to say. You get moving again, drowning out Poe’s coos in your ear. But you only walk a few paces when you feel something warm trickle from your nose. You stop, touch a finger to the ooze dribbling down your chin, then gape in horror. A black substance coats your fingers. Alarmed, you take your sleeve across your face to smear it away, but it doesn’t stop gushing from your nose. You sputter in panic and quicken your pace. Jeff shouts after you, but you don’t stop running.

Your nose gushes like a busted hydrant, and to make matters worse, you feel a prickly sensation crawling up your throat. Full panic and fear set in. You run so fast and blindly that your foot catches on a root and trips you up. You crash to the ground on your hands and knees, sending Poe flapping off your shoulder with a chirp. He lands before you and tilts his head up to coo at you.

The prickly sensation makes you gag. You violently dry heave over the dirt before vomiting up a mess of thick, black ooze. It tastes toxic in your mouth and has your eyes watering.

Poe, with his childlike mindset and infantile wonder, tries to hop into the toxic puddle. You nudge him away with a shaky hand. “D-Don’t—” You cut off as more vile liquid purges from your throat.

Fast-running footfalls are coming your way, and you hear Zarina and Jeff shouting. You try to focus on their voices, but those whispers return and flood them out. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, urging them away, but they persist. Pain wracks your head and your breathing is ragged and harsh. Your strength wanes and your arms give out under you first, then your legs — you collapse in a heap, and your consciousness fades…

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

You register the sounds of crackling flames and creaky wood as you come to. Something pinches your ear and stirs you awake. When you peel open your eyes, you gaze blearily up at a ceiling. And with a groan, you sit yourself up. As you rub the sleep from your eyes, you glance to your side and find Poe, hopping and chirping around you. He coos and pecks at your leg.Then you glance about the rest of the room, noting it for what little it is — a simple cabin, you gather. Small, empty, and dust-covered. A single window on the left wall, a closed door to the right, and a lit fireplace straight ahead that basks the rest of the room in warm light.

You’re still so out of it you hardly even notice Jeff and Zarina on the other side of the room.

“They're awake,” Zarina says, as the two make their way to your side. Jeff takes a knee in front of you and startles Poe. You scoop the small bird into your hands as Jeff gently takes your shoulder. “Take it easy,” he says.

“Did that nap do you any good?” Zarina asks beside him.

You lick dryness from your lips and blink tiredly at your companions. “Nap?”

“You blacked out back there,” Zarina says, with her brows creasing in concern. “We were going to drag you back to camp, but we found this place and brought you inside to recover.”

“Really? Another random cabin in the woods…” you mutter.

Jeff asks, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” you reply. You set Poe upon your shoulder, saying, “My nose just started bleeding out of no—” You pause as you lift a hand to touch your face — your sleeve is clean. You scan the rest of your jacket, touch a finger to your nose and your chin, but there’s no strange black blood anywhere. You crease your brows. “And-And I was feeling faint, too…”

“We didn’t find any blood on you,” Jeff says, sharing a look with Zarina. Zarina sighs. “Maybe all the time you spend out here in the fog is taking a toll on you,” she suggests.

“Maybe,” you murmur in reply. You’re honestly beginning to believe it… When you let your eyes wander the room, you find Bastion lurking in the farthest, darkest corner, watching over you like a silent guard. You have questions for him, but those questions can wait. You get to your feet with a hand from Jeff, but you stagger off balance and crash into him. He places a secure hand on your waist to steady you. “You got it,” he says. You murmur your thanks to him and straighten yourself up.

“We should get our asses back to camp,” Jeff says. Zarina nods in agreement. “I think it’s time we call it quits on that missing stuff. Could be anywhere, and it’s not safe out here.”

Jeff notices your eyes glance at the flames in the fireplace. He says, “Wasn’t lit when we got here,” he says. “We used this.” He hands you your lighter. “It fell out of your bag. And this, too—” He turns around and takes a camera from the floor. When he hands it to you, your heart drops at the sight of the shattered lens. Jeff sheepishly scratches his neck. “Must’ve broke when it fell,” he says. “We tried and, uh… failed to fix it up.”

“But there’s no fixing a broken lens,” Zarina says. She turns and heads for the door. “Let’s hurry back.”

They exit the cabin as you turn the broken camera over in your hands. Besides the shattered lens, the shutter button’s stuck, and you hear an odd clanking noise inside when you shake it. Busted as busted can be. You cram the junk into your satchel and follow the two out the door.

When you step outside, you shiver in the cold and hug yourself securely. Then you turn around and backpedal to get a bigger look at the cabin. It’s a one-story, humble wooden hovel in the woods. There’s nothing else to it, and it’s got nothing on Lydia’s cozy cabin. Her cabin, which you’re dying to get back to right about now…

Jeff and Zarina are already walking off into the forest. You move after them, but Poe suddenly chirps and flutters right off your shoulder. He lands on the ground with a hop, then casually strolls toward the side of the cabin.

“Wrong way, Poe,” you say, walking after him. You follow him around the small cabin to the backside, then you come to an abrupt stop. There’s a large shed in the backyard, straight ahead. Plain, old, and unkempt from years of neglect, it seems. You get a funny look on your face and cock a brow. “Huh.”

Poe’s at your feet, cooing and pecking at the dirt. You scoop him up and replace him on your shoulder before approaching the shed.

When you stop in front of it, you realize it’s locked tight with a heavy padlock. And you’re lacking its key… You scan the ground for anything you might use to bust it open, then you jump when a cold finger taps you on the shoulder. Poe’s startled by Bastion’s sudden appearance, too. He squawks and buries himself against your neck.

“Too stubborn to ask for help?” Bastion chuckles behind you.

You stroke Poe to calm his ruffled feathers (and your own fast-beating heart.) “My bad,” you reply. “It’s just so easy to forget you exist…”

Your little jab makes Bastion laugh. He gently nudges you out of his way and strikes the padlock with a claw. It breaks apart with ease. Then he gives you a friendly grin and warm chuckle before vanishing again and leaving you to your findings.

You draw the shed door open, and you’re astounded to find a whole treasure trove of items inside. And better yet, the missing items from camp, sitting on top of the hoard. Kate’s guitar propped against the wall, Claudette’s basket on the floor beside it, and Ace’s alligator tooth necklace draped over a cluttered shelf.

Truthfully, these are the last things you expected to find, but it’s a welcome surprise.

“Guys!” you call out.

Jeff comes running like a quarterback, and Zarina’s tailing closely behind him. Both looked concerned as they come around the cabin. “What’s wrong?” Zarina calls toward you. When they slow to a stop, you step aside to show them the goods.

“Case closed,” you smirk.

Zarina’s eyes widen, and Jeff gawks at the sight. He murmurs, “How the hell did all of this…?”

You give him a shrug. “Who knows?” you reply, stepping into the shed. “But it’s lucky you guys found this place.”

“This was just sitting under our noses?” Zarina murmurs as she enters the shed. She eyes the stacked shelves and boxes with wonder, then mutters, “My detective skills might need some work.”

 

The three of you peruse the shed like kids in a candy shop. You move down a thin aisle between two shelves of miscellaneous items and junk. But you scan it all like a picky collector. And boy, does this place have a little of everything. From your basic junk, to buckets, books, blankets, clothes, scrap metal, and toys. It’s reminiscent of a thrift shop.

Bastion startles you when he appears behind you. You watch him pluck a black top hat off a shelf and place it upon his head. With a grin, he purrs, “Jaunty find…” He gives you a playful nudge, which you return with a roll of your eyes. He vanishes with a pout and lets the hat hit the floor.

During your search, you scoop up a few items you think the others back at camp might appreciate. Some blankets, coats, socks. You also find a stack of porno mags, which you curiously try to get a peek inside at, but the pages are stuck together like glue… Gross.

You lose your enthusiasm after that and step out of the shed, muttering, “This is just some hoarder’s stash…”

“A hoarder and a thief,” Zarina calls over. “Whoever nabbed all of this stuff must’ve snuck into camp. And who knows how many times they’ve already done it.”

Your company joins you outside of the shed, each with armfuls of goods they grabbed up. Jeff has Kate’s guitar slung over his shoulder, and Zarina has Claudette’s basket and Ace’s necklace, as well.

“That’s a mystery we’ll have to solve another day,” you reply. “Let’s just get all this stuff back to camp and call it.”

They’re in agreement.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

“We emerge from the fog victorious,” you call out as you enter camp with your companions in tow. Kate, Ace, and Claudette are all still here, surprisingly. And they all look pleased to see you. Jeff hands off Kate’s guitar, and she throws her arms around him with a delightful squeal. “I didn’t have a doubt in my mind you guys wouldn’t come through!”

“Really?” you reply, lifting a brow. Kate chuckles and slings her guitar over her shoulder. “Okay, maybe just some doubt.”

Claudette smiles softly as her basket’s returned to her, and Zarina elbows you in the side. “Sherlock here is to thank for it,” she says. “They found everything themselves.”

Ace slaps you on the back and laughs. “Nice going, kid! Hey, if we ever get out of this, let me buy you a drink!”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Claudette hugs her basket to her chest, and her eyes wander to the pile of blankets in your arms. “What’s all that?” she asks.

“We found everything in a packed shed,” you answer, setting the pile down on the log by the fire. “Don’t ask us how it got there.”

“I know better than to ask questions,” Kate says. She’s already taken her seat by the fire, strumming her guitar again. She smiles at you. “You goin’ to stick around a while?”

“I’m, uh… heading to bed,” you reply, backing away from the campfire. “I’m tired.”

Kate sighs. “You sleep more than my great ma…”

You don’t know how to reply to that remark, so you turn to leave in silence. Ace calls after you and throws you two thumbs-up. “Sleep tight, kid!” You give your farewells to the others, then make your swift departure into the fog.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

When you arrive at Haven, you greet Lydia and head inside to call it a day. It wasn’t a very productive day, but you feel drained and just tired. Poe’s already dozing off by the time you make it upstairs.

You toss your jacket off and take a seat on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh. Bastion appears a moment later. You turn to him. “Do you have any clue how that stuff could’ve gotten in that shed?” you ask him.

Bastion shrugs his shoulders. “I’m drawing blanks.”

“Awesome…” You plop onto your back and murmur, “I don’t think it was one of us… And there’s no way it was a killer, right?”

“The campfire is a safe refuge from the killers,” Bastion replies.

“So who the hell could’ve done it?”

“There are others out there in the fog, Wanderer. Others like Lydia. Those incapable of joining the trials, and others who have found ways to avoid them.”

“What, so anyone can just creep into camp?” You scoff. “Then how safe is it really?”

Bastion either knows as little as you do, or he’s hiding what more he does. He doesn’t have an answer for you.

You sigh and mutter, “That’s concerning…”

But not something you want to dwell on. You have more than enough to worry about as is. So you put it out of mind and prepare for bed. First, you form your jacket into a makeshift nest for Poe and set him gently atop it. He’s fast asleep in seconds. You settle yourself next and say, “I’m in for the night.”

Bastion soundlessly nods his head in acknowledgment before vanishing.

No sooner does he leave than do you feel fatigue putting you to sleep…

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

A bitter, coppery taste lingers in your mouth. You’re resting on your knees in a pool of dark, tar-like substance, and you’re surrounded by darkness. You come here so often, you know better than to try making heads or tails of this place.

Something crawls up your spine, and that awful taste in your mouth intensifies and makes you gag — you spit and choke on it, but it never comes up. And to make matters worse, you can FEEL someone watching you. You feel eyes boring holes through you from somewhere in the surrounding darkness. But you can’t see who or what it is… It’s so close. And stranger yet, you hear breathing.

Your fear spikes and your skin crawls. Then suddenly, out of the darkness, you hear a crow cawing.

 

You wake with a gasp and jolt. Poe’s cawing close by, and when you sit up, you find him on the windowsill behind you, cawing and flapping his wings in a fuss. When you reach out for him, he hops away and flutters out the window.

“Poe!” you shout.

With a hiss and a curse, you throw your blanket off to go outside after him. But as you turn your gaze to the other side of the room, you freeze solidly in place, with your leg hanging over the side of the bed. Fear stabs through you, and your blood runs cold at the unwelcome sight before you. Your wide eyes meet the white, hollow gaze of Ghostface’s mask. He stands in front of the bedroom door, silent and looming, and watching you. He must find you a funny sight, because he chuckles behind his mask. It sends a shiver coursing up your spine, and there's little you can do to remedy the way your body reacts in fear. 

The silence that follows is nerve-wracking. Ghostface spares you that, at least, when he makes a spooky gesture with his hands and whispers, "Boo."

 

 

Chapter 24: Sleep On It

 

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Ghostface taunts.

He slowly approaches your position with light steps, moving like a specter from the door toward the bed. The black ribbons float behind him like threads of web in the wind, and the candlelight casts an intimidating orange hue on his form. Your heart beats uncontrollably and pounds in your ears. You’re frozen solid, unable and unwilling to make a move — just like a deer in the headlights.

You’re still paralyzed the following moments before your brain finally resets and your fight-or-flight kicks in. Against your better judgment, you try to take a dive out the window; some part of you would rather jump two stories than face Ghostface. And the other part’s relieved when your assailant snatches you by the collar and yanks you right back in.

Your shirt goes taut around your neck and makes you choke, then you jerk backward into Ghostface. The momentum sends you crashing into him and right off the side of the bed. He hits the floor with a grunt, and you topple right on top of him. In your panic, you scramble away and reach for a candlestick on the nightstand. But gloved hands seize you by the shirt and yank you away and to your feet.

You gasp as an arm winds tightly around your neck. Ghostface has you in a chokehold. You buck and kick, and you pry at his arm, but can’t get any leeway. The cologne he’s wearing stings your nostrils. You venomously choke, “Your… cologne… smells like shit.”

Ghostface lets out a breathy chuckle behind you. “Really? I spritzed on the good stuff just for you.” He moves his masked face closer to whisper in your ear. “Now, are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?”

You choose the latter.

You jab your elbow into his ribs and wrench away when his grip goes slack. An effort all for naught when he snatches you by the throat and slams you into the tall mirror propped against the wall. It shatters from the force, and Ghostface’s hand tightens as he leans in close. The fearful face of his mask mirrors the expression on your own.

“I wanted it the hard way, too,” he flirts.

His slimy words roll off his tongue, and his tone oozes something uninviting and malicious. He’s made his intent and motivations terribly clear. Not that you didn’t understand his reason for coming prior—you can guess he wasn’t too happy with you after your first encounter…

“I’m glad you think so,” you grit. You snatch a large shard of the shattered mirror before stabbing him in the side. He loses his grip on you with a painful bark. You swing at him again, but he deftly dodges your swipes and catches you by the wrist. He tightens his fist and forces you to drop your bloody weapon. Your back meets the wall again, and he laughs in your face. “You’re a firecracker.”

A duel-wielding firecracker. You have another shard of glass clenched in your other hand, unbeknown to him. You bury it in his shoulder. He retaliates by punching you upside the head, hard enough to throw you to the floor and have you seeing stars. Your head spins. Ghostface is a tall dark shadow in your vision, standing above you. He rips the shard from his padded shoulder with an inaudible sigh and drops it at his feet. Another mistake on his part, and one you promptly punish.

You snatch the shard and stab him in the leg. But unfazed, he kicks you in the face and sends you sprawling on your back, moaning in pain.

“Ah—” you moan, touching a hand to your hurting face. Your nose gushes blood, and he busted your lip.

“Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got,” Ghostface taunts above you. You can hardly make him out in your bleary vision. His mask is an insignificant white blur in a haze of warm candlelight and cool moonlight.

You scoff at him. “F… Fuck you.”

You take the back of your hand across your face and smear the scarlet river flowing from your nose. Ghostface bends his knees and tilts his head. “I think someone wore themselves out,” he coos in a mocking tone of voice. He reaches out a gloved hand and pinches your cheek. You can hardly summon the strength to swipe him away. He chuckles. “That’s what I thought.” He winds an arm beneath you, then hefts you up and over his bloody shoulder. He hisses in pain as a result of the damage you dealt him.

You slur mockingly, “That must hurt.”

He chuckles. “I’m feeling it… You pack more bite than I expected... I bet you’re fun in bed.”

You’re carried across the room, then tossed carelessly on the bed. You land on your face and whine in pain as your nose bleeds into the sheets. Ghostface moves in behind you, and you sluggishly try to crawl away. But he seizes both your arms and yanks them hard behind your back. One fist grips both your wrists, the other unlatches a belt on his hip.

Your sudden panic is only momentarily eased when Ghostface dips his head toward the back of your neck and murmurs, “Don’t get the wrong idea… I’m here for business, not pleasure.”

He pats you on the back and wraps his belt around your wrists, then pulls it tight enough to make you wince. When he's satisfied with his work, he flips you over onto your back and drops his hands to his hips. You glare at your captor. He chuckles.

“Don’t look at me like that… You were begging for this when you sicced your dog on me.”

His smooth-sounding voice almost makes you melt. A reaction you resent and resist.

“But before we get into that,” Ghostface continues. “Where’s my camera?”

You pause. And you remain paused for a good, long minute. The incredibly dumb look on your face might’ve made anyone else laugh, but Ghostface is silent. He wants a serious answer, and you seriously want to be anywhere else but here. How do you tell the killer holding you hostage that you busted up his camera?

You mull over your options while Ghostface impatiently taps his foot. “Your camera,” you begin slowly, sitting yourself up. “It’s, uh… a funny story, actually—”

“Is it?”

You swallow and glance nervously at the satchel resting on the floor. But you quickly avert your eyes and say, “I lost it.”

Ghostface slowly tilts his head. And you watch with increasing anticipation as he turns his gaze toward the bag himself. He backs away from the bed and takes it off the floor. Nervousness becomes pure dread as you watch him rifle through your bag. And your heart’s beating a million times a minute when he finally fishes his prized possession into his hands. For a moment, he just holds the damned thing without a word. And when the tension’s become too unbearably thick, he turns his head toward you and stares. You shrink under his silent gaze, refusing even to swallow or move.

“It-It was an accident,” you manage after a second.

Ghostface sighs heavily behind his mask. You blink nervously at him—it’s impossible to gauge just how pissed he is. Like everything about The Ghost Face, it’s perfectly concealed.

He pockets his busted camera, then, in a move that surprises you, he opts to continue fishing through your bag. You observe him take your lighter into his hand, then flick it open and catch a flame. Almost inaudibly, he murmurs, “This’ll do.”

You’re nervous again. He drifts across the room, stops beside the bed, and lights a candle on the nightstand to your left. He lights a second, then approaches the dresser.

You swallow thickly. “What do you want from me? Revenge? Is-Is that it?”

“I have questions,” Ghostface replies, lighting another candle. “I want to know what makes you so special. Why did the big-bad step in like your knight in shining armor?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie.

Ghostface pauses. He shifts his masked face your way. “Too late to play stupid.”

“I really don’t know,” you say. "I-I don’t know what that thing was or why it saved me.”

You watch with nervous apprehension as he lights the last candle, then strides to the foot of the bed. You meet the hollow eyes of his mask and sweat.

“If you want to be hush-hush, then we can just skip ahead to the good part.”

Quicker than you can react, he snatches your ankle and yanks you to the edge of the bed. You muffle a startled yelp when he tucks himself between your legs and leans down over you, one arm firmly across your chest to pin you down. His other hand reaches slowly toward his hip. You hear him draw a blade, which he puts to your neck. The cold steel kissing your skin elicits a gasp from your quivering lips.

Ghostface whispers, “If you won’t talk, we’ll have some fun. Then maybe your guardian angel will swoop in for the save… Or maybe it won’t.”

You swallow past a thick lump in your throat. “I-I told you,” you stammer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Ghostface runs the blade from your neck to your face. You flinch as he takes the tip slowly across your cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. “I don’t like to make things personal,” he murmurs. “But you cast the first stone.”

“You were going to kill me,” you reply shakily.

“I just wanted a picture with the new camper,” he replies innocently.

You scoff. “And when you got it? Am I supposed to believe you were going to let me walk away?”

“Maybe. After all, I caught you with your pants down… I would’ve at least given you a head-start.”

He teases your collarbone with the tip of his blade. Your trembling causes him to knick you. A drop of blood beads on your skin. He lifts his knife. “You know,” he says. “I stopped by a couple of times before… But you weren’t home.”

“I don’t like surprise visits, Ghostie,” you bitterly reply.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he chuckles. “I even considered asking the old woman when you’d be in.”

Your eyes widen. Lydia.

“What did you do to her?” you demand with narrow eyes. “If you hurt her—!”

“Don’t worry,” Ghostface cuts you off with a wry chuckle. “I didn’t touch a hair on her sweet, wrinkly head… I mean, a blind old woman? That’d be low, even for me.”  The look you give him prompts him to add, “I told her I was an… old friend and she let me stroll right in.”

Oh, Lydia… Not that you can blame her; you’ve been duped by a killer before, too.

Ghostface draws his knife away. “I could sit and chat with you all night, but that’s not what I came here for… Are you going to cooperate, or do I need to be a bit rougher with you? What’s it take for your friend to pop in? A call, a shout, a scream?”

Cold sweat collects on your brow. You give Ghostface a hard look. “I told you—”

He shushes you with a finger to his mask. “Let’s just find out,” he says. He raises his knife high, making you flinch and cower beneath him.

But then, in the blink of an eye, a tall, dark shape lunges from the shadows and snatches the costumed man right off of you. You gasp in surprise, then relief when you recognize Bastion’s shadowed form, claws extended from his back and trapping your assailant in a spiny black cage.

Bastion lifts the man off his feet, bringing him face-to-face. He grins. “What an unpleasant surprise…”

“Took you long enough!” you snap, sitting up. “Where the hell were you?”

Bastion turns his faceless gaze toward you. “I had no idea you had company, Wanderer. The odds of someone finding this place were slim… and yet, here we are.” He faces Ghostface again, chuckling. “You sneaky little devil…”

Ghostface is suspended helplessly in the air, amusingly stiff and quiet. The image reminds you of those cheap Halloween decorations people would prop on their front lawn or hang from their tree to scare the little trick-or-treaters. He looks like a costumed idiot. You’d laugh if you weren’t so weary.

Ghostface’s masked gaze snaps from you to Bastion, then up and down your shadowy companion’s form. He scoffs, then interjects, “So this is your guardian angel… He’s taller than I expected.”

Bastion purrs. “Do I make you feel small?”

“You know how to humble a guy,” Ghostface chuckles.

This is getting weird.

“Are you going to kiss him, or kill him?” you ask with a cocked brow.

Ghostface laughs, garnering your attention. He shakes his head and sighs quietly. “Yeah, three’s a crowd, right?”

You hear a familiar metallic click. Ghostface raises a hand in front of him and an orange hue suddenly illuminates the face of his mask. He still has your lighter.

Wait—

“Bastion!”

Your shout of warning comes too late. Ghostface flicks the lighter at Bastion, and flames swallow his form up in seconds. He’s covered head to toe in hungry, hot flames, scorched and wailing. In his panic, he flings Ghostface from his grasp and flails carelessly about the room, going off like an air siren. His hazardous rampage rips a curtain from the window, shatters the rest of the mirror, and knocks framed photos from the walls. The room quakes with his wails. The terrifying spectacle only ceases when he vanishes with a furious roar.

You could hear a pin drop in the sudden silence. Your wide eyes seek and find Ghostface slumped against the wall, groaning in pain. He picks himself up with a hefty sigh, pats out a flame on his shoulder, then turns his gaze to you. You swallow thickly.

“I wasn’t so sure that would work,” he says as he approaches the bed.

“How-How did you know—?”

“I’ve been following you around the block,” he replies, chuckling. “And I took some notes.” He stops at the foot of the bed. “Now it’s just you and me… How long do we have until your friend returns?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stammer, scooting away.

Ghostface tips his head. “Aw,” he coos. “Is someone nervous?” He climbs onto the bed and hovers over you with both hands propped on either side of your head. You sweat beneath him. “Do you have a Plan B?” he asks quietly.

Evidently not. Ghostface chuckles. “I didn’t think so.”

He thwarts your attempt to scramble away when he rests his arm over your chest. You puff in fear, struggling helplessly beneath him. He tilts his head. “I know I don’t have to ask, but are we still playing stupid?”

You’re rendered silent. Bastion was your ace, and he’s out of commission… What else can you do but give the killer what he wants? Be that answers, or seeing you grovel… You swallow up your pride and concede. “I don’t know exactly what he is… but he’s helping me,” you confess.

“Now was that so hard?” Ghostface teases.

You scoff. Smug bastard.

He nudges you to go on. “And what’s he helping you to do, exactly?”

“He protects me,” you reply, “and I look for the way out.”

“The way out?”

“I know there’s a way. There has to be… I-I can see things that others can’t. Memories and echoes connected to people who came close before.”

“And what have you found?”

You hesitate. “N… Nothing. Nothing yet… Just old journals, and notes, but… that’s it.”

Ghostface clicks his tongue as if unsatisfied with your answer. You shrink under him and shift your gaze from his mask. You’re left to wonder what happens next in the following moments as the silence persists. And you don’t know what Ghostface is thinking—it’s impossible to tell what’s going on behind his mask, or what thoughts swirl through his demented mind…

The steady silence makes the air thick and hard to swallow. And just when it becomes difficult to breathe, your captor grants you respite from the silence.

“I want in.”

Initially, you believe you’ve misheard him. Or rather, you want to believe you’ve misheard him. You give him a dumb look. “You… You what?”

“I want in,” Ghostface repeats. “If you find the way out, I’m clocking out and leaving too.”

You scoff at him. “Wha- But this place has to be heaven to you! You can perv out and hurt people as much as you want. Why the hell would you want out?”

Ghostface chuckles. “You’ve got no idea… I like to be seen,” he says. "I want every dirty little deed in the headlines. But I can’t get that here… I’m on a leash playing hide and seek with the same bunch of sad bastards day in and day out. This shit is getting boring.”

He’s phrasing it like all this is to him is a minor inconvenience. That it’s something keeping him from getting his kicks, rather than the hell it is for the rest of you. The idea’s enough to turn your bemused look into a hard glare. “You’re insane if you think I’m going to team up with you.” You spit the last word with venom.

Ghostface tilts his head. “I know you can use all the help you can get… You haven’t found shit on your own, yet.” He jabs you in the brow and adds, “Put that moral compass away and use your head. Besides,” he adds, “you’re already working with another rogue.”

“Bastion’s on my side,” you reply.

“What makes you so sure? You don’t know what that thing is, you said so yourself.”

“He used to be human.”

“Didn’t we all?” Ghostface chuckles.

Your features relax to appear uncertain. Ghostface observes your hesitance, then says, “You may be the only one who can find the answers, but that might not be enough to get you out… Are you really in a position to turn down a helping hand?”

I don’t know. How could you know? The Fog is so dubious and cryptic. You’ve seen enough to know that finding the answers won’t be easy, and nobody here will just hand them to you. It’s a constant fight and a test, now a pick and choose.

Ghostface jostles you from your addled thoughts when he says, “We can find the rabbit hole together.”

You maintain your uncertainty for several uneasy moments before sighing heavily. “Let me think about it.”

He seems satisfied with your answer. He pats you on the chest and replies, “I know you’ll need some time to sleep on it.”

To your relief, he finally climbs off of you and leaves the bed. You watch him reach up his sleeve and pluck out a photo, which he tosses onto your lap. “When you’ve made up your mind, burn that at your cozy little campfire.”

You raise yourself into a sitting position and look at the picture. It’s Ghostface posing for a picture crouched over an unidentifiable person’s body inside a dark room. The flash illuminates his mask and tasteless thumbs-up. You avert your gaze from the photo and give him a hard look, seeking clarification. But he doesn’t elaborate. Then, to your surprise, he turns around and heads for the door. You furrow your brows. “Where are you going?”

Ghostface stops and turns back toward you. “I did what I came here to. I’ve got places to be.”

“Wh… Is that all you wanted?”

He laughs — it’s a disarming laugh, conveying friendliness and warmth, deceiving of his true nature behind the mask and cowl. It’s enough to put nervous butterflies in your stomach.

“Oh, I didn’t come here to lay a finger on you,” he says. “I only wanted some answers.”

You scoff and lick your bloodied lip. “Maybe you should’ve led with that.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Ghostface turns away again, saying, “I can overlook what you did to my camera… As a show of good faith.”

Before he’s out the door, you ask, “Can you untie me?”

He pauses again and looks back at you. “I could.”

But he doesn’t.

He gives you a little wave, then stalks out of the room. Moments after he’s left, that heavy, fearful feeling pounding through your veins fades, then vanishes. Your heartbeat calms.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

Soon after Ghostface left, you rolled off the bed, hobbled downstairs, and grappled dangerously with a kitchen knife for about ten minutes before finally cutting the belt from your wrists and freeing yourself.

You step outside onto the porch and inhale deeply, then exhale. Ghostface’s cologne was still so strong inside the cabin, lingering like a poison odor. You needed a breath of fresh air…

You’re relieved to find Lydia still alive and well, napping peacefully in her rocking chair. True to Ghostface’s word, he left her alone… Although, it’s baffling that she seems completely unaware of the events that took place inside her house. The old woman stirs awake when you slump down onto a creaky porch step. She shifts her blind gaze in your general direction and smacks her dry lips. “That you, honey?” she asks, sitting straighter in her chair.

“It’s me, Lydia,” you sigh in reply.

“Where’s your friend?” she asks. “He leave already?”

“He, uh… He wasn’t a friend. He was a killer.”

Lydia frowns. “He was a- I had no idea,” she says while balling her hands on her lap. “He told me he was a friend from your campfire.”

“It’s alright,” you tell her, chuckling. “He’s a silver-tongued devil… It’d be enough to fool me too if he lost the mask.”

Lydia huffs. “I heard all that ruckus up there,” she says. “But I just thought you two were…” she trails off cautiously. Her implications almost make you laugh. You scratch your nape and shake your head. “Nope. We weren’t… Nah. And in your bed? I would never.”

“Did he hurt you?” Lydia questions worrisomely.

You touch your bloody lip and trace a deep cut on your face. But you opt against giving Lydia more reason to worry. “No,” you tell her. “We just talked.”

Your reassurance isn’t enough to wipe the frown off her face. She shifts, then lifts herself from the chair with a creaking groan. “I’ll go put on some tea,” she says, hobbling past you to the door. She rests a warm hand on your shoulder as she carefully passes by. The door shuts behind her.

Moments after she leaves, you can make out a faint cooing nearby. Your mind immediately snaps back to Poe. You shoot up and race towards the side of the house to find him hopping pathetically on the ground beneath your window. You furrow your brows and scoop him carefully into your hands.

“Are you okay?” you murmur while you examine him. He seems fine… Just a bit fussy and ruffled. You tenderly stroke his wing. “You’re alright, buddy.” He coos and nestles in your hands.

Bastion scares the ever-loving fuck out of you both when he appears suddenly on your right, growling like a feral dog.

“Where is that SLIMY little BASTARD?”

He’s hunched over, hands flexed, mouth snarling, and his claws extended from his back, twitching and snapping furiously. He looks like he’s ready to tackle and maul something.

Poe croaks and flaps out of your hands in panic. You catch him and heave a sigh. “Fucking hell!” you curse, placing a hand to your chest to calm your fast-beating heart. “I’ve had enough surprises tonight, Bastion,” you hiss. “Ghostface is long gone.”

Bastion growls. “Of course he is…” He straightens himself up and relaxes his shoulders to an extent. But his anger rings through and has an almost suffocating aura. You back away from him and scoff.

“This temper’s new,” you comment, drawing your brows. “Never thought a killer would get one up on you, huh?”

The nasty look he gives you is cause enough to stop pushing his buttons. You tenderly touch the bleeding cut on your cheek and mutter, “He got one up on us both…” You stroke Poe under your hand and ask, “How did he find me here? You said there was like a one-in-a-million chance anyone else finds this place. But he’s been here multiple times.”

Bastion silently ponders it himself. Then, after a moment, he sighs heavily. “He had an Anchor.”

You make a face. “But what could’ve brought him all the way out… here…” You trail off and facepalm. “His camera.”

Bastion grunts. But before you can hear whatever snarky remark he might have in store for you, you shake your head and swap topics. “Back in the room, he saw you. How?”

“I can shift between the spirit realm and the fog,” he answers. “Only you can see me when I’m veiled. I just like to pop in to make things… personal.”

“We both might’ve been spared the trouble if you hadn’t,” you scoff. “You could’ve just done that thing where you summon claws and abduct him, but you had to make a scene…”

“You seem to have come out of it unharmed,” Bastion replies bitterly.

“He didn’t hurt me,” you say, frowning. “That’s not what he wanted.”

Bastion tilts his head, insisting you to clarify. You do.

“He wants to partner up.”

A lot of words can describe Bastion’s immediate reaction, but none fit as well as flabbergasted. His mouth forms a mean sneer. “He wants to what?” he says as if he didn’t hear you right the first time.

“Yeah, I know,” you begin, huffing in exasperation. “It’s insane! He strolled in, beat my ass, then claims he wants to hop on our bandwagon!”

“You’re not actually considering it?”

You pause. A pause, suspect enough to make Bastion slowly shake his head. “No—”

“I don’t want anything to do with the guy, alright? He’s a piece of shit, and rolling with killers isn’t my M.O. But after everything I’ve already been through—”

“No, no, no,” Bastion repeats, interrupting you.

“And with what else I might go through, I could use all the help I can get,” you finish. 

“I’M all the help you need,” Bastion asserts, angry again. “You don’t need to go hand in hand with that rotten—!”

“I don’t like it either!” you snap. “But I’m not sure the two of us are going to be enough.” You allow yourself to cool off, then sigh and shake your head. “I haven’t made up my mind yet… I don’t want to, honestly, but sooner or later, I have to make a choice… This isn’t just about me. I need to find the answers so I can get everyone out. And I need to make a choice that increases my odds.”

When you look at Bastion again, you almost shrink under his mean mug. He draws his arms behind his back and folds them tightly. His wound shoulders, flinching claws, and crooked sneer betray his poise. “I understand.”

 

"Bastion." (❤)

Let it go.

 

 

Notes:

Fanart! ❤❤❤ This one is from cvte_death on Instagram! Your Bastion is very cute, I love him <3 Thank you so much!! 🥰

Chapter 25: Choice: "Bastion." (❤)

 

“Bastion,” you say calmly, trying to soothe your angry companion. You relax your posture, softening your features, and watch as the sneer on his face starts to falter. It takes a minute, but eventually, he lets out a sharp sigh, his scowl easing.

“Forgive my temper, Wanderer,” he mutters, his expression settling into something almost neutral. “I’m not mad at you.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “I taste a hint of passive-aggressive vibes in your tone, right now.”

A toothy grin spreads across Bastion’s lips. “Would you prefer to taste something else?”

And just like that, he’s back.

You scoff, shaking your head with a small, amused smile. “Pass.”

Bastion catches you off guard when he licks his thumb, and then cups your chin gently. His thumb grazes over the cut on your cheek as he speaks. “I don’t envy the decision you have to make,” he says quietly.

A warm blush creeps up your neck, flooding your face. Instinctively, you raise a hand to graze his. “Neither do I,” you admit with a sigh. “I’d ask if you’ve ever had to make a choice like this, but I know that topic’s off-limits, right?”

Bastion grunts in reply, avoiding the question. His talon traces over your busted lip, and then he pauses, leaving the air thick between you. The heat flooding your cheeks intensifies as he holds your gaze, and butterflies swarm your belly. You fear one would flutter out and away if you parted your lips to speak.

A minute passes in silence before you finally swallow hard. Bastion, still unreadable, breaks the tension by pulling his hand away. “I trust you to make the right decision, Wanderer. I’ll stand by you, no matter what.” His lips curl into a sincere grin.

You break your gaze, looking down. “Okay,” you murmur, more to yourself than him. “Got it.”

Stepping away, Bastion’s expression shifts again, playful, but sinister. “But I can’t promise I’ll play nice if you take the ghost up on his offer. I’ll split the rotten man down the middle next time I see him.”

“Fine by me,” you reply. “I’d be gunning for revenge, too, if he torched me.”

Bastion pauses, his voice dropping lower and losing the playful tone. “It’s not about what he did to me.” He tucks his arms behind his back, turning to leave. After a few steps, he stops, looking back over his shoulder. “He made it more personal than that.”

Without another word, Bastion vanishes, leaving you alone. A chill settles over the space he occupied just moments ago. You lift your fingers to your lips, trailing them over the freshly healed skin where his touch lingered. You don’t particularly like the way your skin crawls in Bastion’s company, but the air is cold and unwelcoming without him… You don’t quite know why.

Poe snaps you out of your trance with a soft coo, pecking gently at your hand. You smile, stroking his head. “Let’s see if that tea’s ready,” you mutter, heading around the house.

A hot cup of tea sounds perfect right now—anything to calm your nerves. You have a lot of worrying and decision-making which you’re not exactly looking forward to, later… For now, you’ll have your tea and mull things over… But you’ll surely have to sleep on it.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 26: Choice: Let it go.

 

You know nothing you do or say will appease your furious companion. Understandably, he’s pissed, but you can’t put up with that right now. You have too many problems on your mind as it is.

“I didn’t want this either,” you say, frowning at him. “But it’s not something I’m going to stress about right now.” You perch Poe on your shoulder and move past Bastion toward the porch. “I need to get some rest… We can talk about this later.”

Bastion grunts in response to your dismissal. You glimpse him vanishing out of the corner of your eye without another word. Moments after he’s gone, you sigh and shake your head.

You can definitely go for a hot cup of tea. Anything really to calm your nerves. You have a lot of worrying to do, and decision-making you’re not looking forward to… You’ll have your tea and mull it all over. But you’ll surely have to sleep on it.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 27: Misfortune

 

Poe hops across the yard in front of you searching for a midnight snack. You idle on the porch steps watching him, but your thoughts are elsewhere. You hold Ghostface's picture firmly between your index finger and thumb. Every few seconds, you turn it over and gaze bitterly at the static scene captured on the film. Why Ghostface handed you the damn thing is beyond you. And why you’re actually considering his offer is a greater mystery.

You’ve gone without sleep for many long hours, just moping around the cabin while you wrack your brain for an answer, and struggle to make a choice. It’s no simple choice. What’s your next move? Take the furtive killer up on his offer, or reject him and hope for the best? But what is the best outcome? And how do you say no to a powerful killer?

Sigh.

Who knows when you’ll decide? Until then, if then ever comes, you’ll be carrying the picture around like a bad omen… Part of you wants to lose the damn thing and forget that encounter with the costumed man ever happened. The other part encourages you to reconsider. You're torn between them. Just the idea of going arm in arm with him and digging up clues like Mystery Incorporated is laughable. And you would laugh if the pit in your stomach wasn't making you so ill.  

After turning the photo over twice more, you pocket it with a heavy sigh. Who would have thought you'd consider partnering with a killer? If that’s what's on the table, then maybe it’s about time you come clean with the others and let them hop on the bandwagon too. Although you're reluctant to let them join the party... After all the shit you've been through, you don't think it's worth dragging them through it, too. They've all been through a lot already.  

Poe interrupts your nagging thoughts when he finally tires of scrounging the dirt. He hops over to you and coos repeatedly until you pick him up and put him on your lap. You stroke his wing.

“What should I do, Bastion?” you ask quietly, beckoning for your partner. You wait for Bastion to answer, but he never appears. You lift your gaze from your lap and glance around the yard.

“Bastion?”

…

He doesn’t show. You scoff. He has you talking to yourself now...

You wait a couple more moments before standing away from the porch and moving Poe to your shoulder. “Duty calls,” you mutter, hiking your satchel over your arm.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

You wander aimlessly through the fog, hoping to pick up a scent along the way. But until you find a path to follow, you're fixated on the picture in your hand, dwelling on it more than you should. Ghostface could’ve killed you. He could've done whatever he wanted if he wanted, and you gave him every reason to. But he’s serious about this… You scoff. Conditions here are so bad, even sick creeps like The Ghost Face want out.

“Poe, what do you think?” you ask your feathery friend. “Any thoughts? Comments, or…?” You side-eye the bird. Poe looks very content and head-empty. He gazes thoughtfully at you with those big blue eyes but says nothing.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I know I shouldn’t put something like that on you… It’s a big decision, and mine to make.”

Poe plucks the drawstring of your hoodie and tries to choke it down his chute.

“Not food,” you assert while taking it from him.

You’re so preoccupied playing tug of war with the baby crow that you don’t notice the dark fog moving in around you. When it clears only moments later, you realize you've been relocated to a trial ground. The black tendrils at your feet disperse and vanish. After turning slowly on your heels and reading your surroundings, you stop to stare at the tall, dark chapel ahead. You hear carnival music in the distance. Shit.

It’s The Clown’s caravan.

You only hope he isn’t home…

Poe makes you jump when he chirps in your ear. You snap your head to look at him in surprise. Huh. You didn’t know the Entity allowed guests.

Poe doesn't seem too bothered by your current situation. He doesn't even seem to know what just happened... But he's making a fuss, nonetheless. He coos and flaps his wings. You shush him and creep off to find a generator.

When you find one near the edge of the realm behind a wooden barricade, you get to work. Poe refuses to cool down. You resort to peeling away from the generator to dig up the earth for something to keep him occupied. And that comes as a long, juicy earthworm. You dangle it in front of the bird. “I give you this, and you behave,” you coax him. Poe coos. Good. You lower the worm and he snatches it with his beak. As you return to the generator, you’re startled to find someone else already there. When you see Adam's tall figure standing beside the machine, you jump in fright. Your heart relaxes quickly and you huff. “Shi—… Hey, Adam,” you sigh in greeting.

“Sorry,” Adam apologizes. He settles down beside the generator and glances at the baby crow on your shoulder. “Your little friend makes a lot of noise…”

"Yes," you say, joining him to work on the machine. "But I think I handled that."

“Was it such a good idea to bring it along?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you reply. “He was with me when I was taken, so…” You trail off and worry your attention on the wires in front of you. But you can’t focus on them. Your mind wanders, and your vision begins to blur as you lose yourself in your thoughts. It’s the uncertainty that makes your head buzz. The uncertainty caused by the photo, and the choice that still weighs heavy on your mind. So heavily, in fact, that you’re not paying attention to the work your hands are doing.

You botch the repair, and the generator erupts in your face, snapping you harshly back to reality. Poe panics and flutters off your shoulder as you cry out in surprise. As soon as you recover from the shock, you wipe grime and oil from your face. “Damn it,” you mutter. You scoop Poe back up and return him on your shoulder. “Sorry,” you apologize to Adam.

You notice he's stopped repairing. His eyes show concern. “What’s on your mind?” He speaks softly and sincerely.

“We don’t need to do this,” you say. “I’m just tired.”

“We've got the time, so why not?” Adam insists.

You visibly and audibly hesitate. “Uh… It’s no secret that I’ve been hanging out in the fog, right? Everyone in camp hassles me about it every time I stop by…”

“We’re all just curious.”

“Yeah, and I get that. I’ve been… searching for answers. For anything that might put me on the right path. In a way, I’m looking for the final exit gate. For escape.”

“Go on,” Adam says.

“And it hasn’t been easy, right? There have been so many obstacles and decisions along the way already, and I haven’t even found anything yet.” You express your exasperation with a huff and a shake of your head. “It’s like a wild goose chase.”

Adam slowly nods his head. He mulls over what you’ve told him before quietly saying, “I think it’s admirable you’re trying to find answers no one else has been able to. But maybe you’re looking for something that isn’t there.”

His negative words put a stark frown on your face. “I-I know,” you reply. “I’ve considered it. And it could be true… But we might as well keep looking. Either we’ll find the way out, or we’ll end up dead-dead by the end of the day. As long as there’s a chance, someone needs to take it.” Adam doesn’t immediately respond, so you sigh and dismiss yourself. “I don’t mean to dump all this on you, Adam… Forget it.”

Your attention returns to the task at hand. Adam doesn’t move beside you.

“I can tell that’s not all that’s bothering you,” he says. “I’ve seen this look on many of my students… When they have questions they’re ashamed to ask.”

Scoffing, you remove your hands from the pumping machine. “I thought you were a teacher, not a therapist.”

Adam prods you with his elbow, prompting you to proceed. So you do. You make a weird motion with your hands and slowly draw out, “Let’s say, hypothetically, that you want to get somewhere, and you can take shortcuts. But these shortcuts are… they aren't good. And they lead you down dark roads with bad people… Is it worth it?” You meet Adam’s eyes, and he looks deep in thought.

“Does the end justify the means?” he murmurs almost inaudibly. He hums deeply. “That’s a question with no simple answer,” he tells you. “In fact, no correct answer at all. I think it’s up to the individual to decide. They need to ask themselves which choice will weigh less heavily on them. The guilt of walking a dark road, or the regret of not having made it to the end of the right one?”

In silence, you ponder Adam's words. It’s not the advice you wanted, but maybe it's advice you need… You’ll take it to heart and keep it in mind for the challenges ahead.

You nod at him. “Thank you, Adam.”

He returns your gratitude with a hum, and he finally continues repairs. “You remind me of one of my students,” he says while occupied. You catch his glance and he adds, “He was a… strange one. He was always showing up late to class, with one odd excuse after another. The other students called him—”

"I know where this is going," you chuckle and cut him off. “I get it, I’m the camp weirdo. A little subtlety wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” he chuckles. I’m just saying—”

“Say less, Adam.” You smile lightheartedly at him, which he returns before getting back to work.

“It’s the new word around camp,” he says. “The others have made bets… Maybe they'll show up with a tall stack of pizza. Maybe they'll drive through on a pickup, or dance into camp wearing swimwear and carrying a cocktail—”

“What do you think?” you humorously ask. “What stunt will I pull next?”

Adam pauses. As he strokes his chin, he murmurs, “With your current reputation, I wouldn't be surprised if you sauntered into camp with a killer, both wearing matching BFF bracelets...”

Your throat runs dry. The amusement vanishes from your face and leaves you looking nervous. You trip over your words, scoff, then fall silent. Adam notices your expression and pauses. He furrows his brows. “I'm kidding,” he says.

Nervousness dissipates. You manage a smile. “I know.”

Adam still eyes you as you get back to work. “I, uh… I don’t think I’ll be doing something that crazy anytime soon,” you murmur.

The awkward silence that follows draws an end to your casual discussion. Both of you turn your attention to the generator, which is nearing completion. Then you’re startled by a scream in the distance. Min. Another scream follows shortly after. You pull free your grimy hands from the machine and step away. “I’ll handle the unhook,” you tell Adam as you depart.

 

You cross the trial grounds in the direction of Min’s last scream. Your eyes scan your surroundings as you make your way to the hook, hoping to pick up an indication of the killer's identity. But to further add to your unease, you spot nothing.

When you arrive at the hook, you hoist Min up and off. She staggers into you with a painful cry. “Thanks, newbie,” she says while suppressing a whimper. You give her a gentle pat on the back and rifle some gauze from your bag. “Let’s get that taken care of,” you murmur, patching her up.

Min waits patiently while you get to work on her shoulder. Her eyes flicker occasionally to Poe, and you catch a funny look on her face. She opts not to share whatever’s on her mind with you… And she startles you half to death when she coughs in your face. “Sorry,” she sputters. “The Clown’s tonics are poisonous.”

“It’s the Clown?”

Min nods. You sigh. Great.

By the time you finish patching up Min, you hear the Clown’s hacking cough in the distance, and your heart rate picks up.

“I’ll take aggro,” you say as you cram your supplies into your bag. 

Min scoffs at you amusingly. “Good luck, noob.” She flicks you a friendly salute and takes off. You split the other way and head straight for the Clown.

You meet the big bastard halfway inside the chapel and almost run straight into him. You come to a staggering stop behind a row of pews. He halts at the opposite end of the room, and his painted grin widens tenfold when he sets his eyes on you. He says nothing, but he doesn’t need to—the look on his face perfectly conveys the trouble you’re in when he catches you.

That's why you won't let him catch you.

You flash him the bird and run away. He’s hot on your tail and gaining as you race out of the chapel. You lead the Clown on a breakneck chase around the center building, past his looney caravan, and straight to the shack, dodging and ducking the bottled tonics he chucks at you. One just whiffs past your head as you vault the window into the wooden hovel.

Your game of cat and mouse ends when the Clown clips your back with a swing of his blade. You stagger and crash into the wall, further incapacitated by the noxious pink cloud that engulfs the shack. Just barely, you’re able to make out the Clown’s form through the haze and your bleary vision. He makes a show of mixing another bottle as he backs you into the corner. Poe shares your fear. He fusses on your shoulder and buries himself against your neck.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment,” Clown croaks. He lets out a boisterous laugh that makes his round belly bounce. “Been keepin’ my eyes peeled for you…”

Silently, you count each passing second. Bastion, any minute now... He doesn’t show. Your skin crawls with fear. The Clown slowly tilts his head to the side. “Got any more tricks up your sleeve, kid?”

You clench your fists. The clown steps forward. Your back touches the wall. “No hard feelings, right?” you nervously draw. “It wasn’t personal.”

“I’m about to make it personal,” the Clown grins.

Lacking other options, you try to dart past him. He snatches you by the neck and slams you back against the wall with a shout. Poe panics and hides in your hood.

You fight back as much as you’re able, kicking at the large man and beating on his arm. He leans in close and you grimace when you pick up the nasty bite on his breath.

“We’ve got a hot date,” he leers.

And you can only watch through the colorful specks flooding your vision as he balls his other fist and delivers a blow to your head.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

Darkness envelops your world once again. While you linger in the void, you hear screams in the distance, co-mingling with playful carnival music. You mistake the wails at first as part of your morbid imagination. But then you pick out Min’s shrill cries, as well as Adam’s and Meg’s, and you realize what’s happening. Your fellow campers are being slaughtered while you’re helpless to do a damn thing about it.

Try as you might, you can’t stir yourself awake. You hang your head and stare at the black tar beneath you, then you catch a glimmer of light rippling on the surface. You lift your gaze and find a startling sight—a circle of dark, shrouded figures looming above you, holding flaming torches. Although they're the only light in the dark, you've never felt more afraid. If you could move, you would certainly run.

The figures don’t move or breathe or speak. That is, until one of them turns their hidden gaze to another. “ They've seen us," he whispers. His voice sends a shiver racing up your spine.

“Who are you?” you ask. But your voice doesn’t come out.

They say nothing more, and you refuse to breathe under their scrutiny. As the seconds tick by, you realize the screams have stopped. Amid the music and your company’s silence, you hear a crow caw close by—it’s Poe. You focus on him and shut your eyes tight. Then you open them.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

You jolt awake gasping for air. Immediate ache and pain pound your skull, making you wince and groan. You strain your foggy vision against a barrage of bright, colorful lights. And when your vision clears, your predicament becomes clear.

You're inside a wagon in the Clown's caravan. That explains the deafening carney music so close by.

You try to move before realizing your wrists are tightly bound to the armrests of the rickety wooden chair you're sitting in. Panic sets in. But you keep a cool head and survey the cramped quarters.

The room is lit almost entirely by the lights strung up to the walls, and by a few flickering candles on the counters on either side of you. A small box TV sits on a shelf in the uppermost left corner, and on both walls are counters topped with jars, vials, and pots. There’s a shuttered window to your right and a row of cupboards beneath it. Your panic is only momentarily eased when you find Poe, trapped in a rusted black cage to your immediate right.

Poe panics just as you do, fluttering and cooing and poking the bars with his beak, then trying to squeeze through them.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “We’re in trouble.”

You battle against the ropes on your wrists, but the damned things don’t give. Your struggle only burns your skin nearly raw. You hiss in frustration, then huff in fear.

How do I get out of this one? But more importantly… where’s the fucking Clown?

You can hear the automaton fortune-teller outside the wagon, repeatedly jeering, “You’re in for misfortune.” The garbled audio, white noise, and twisted mechanical whirring set you on edge.

You crane your neck as far back as you can and find your satchel, draped carelessly onto a shelf behind you with some of its contents spilled out onto the floor. But none of which can get you out of this mess—not that it matters much longer.

Your skin prickles, and your heartbeat quickens. Telltale signs of impending doom. You wait in anticipation before the door flies open, and you spot the Clown’s large, blubbery form from the corner of your eye. He stomps into the wagon, making the whole thing bounce and rock under each heavy step. He slams the door shut, making you jump. Then he stops directly in front of you. His round belly is too close to your face for comfort—you worry one of the strained buttons on his shirt will pop right off and take out your eye.

The Clown’s getup is bloody. It confirms your fears about the fates of the others, and your heart sinks. Poe makes an even bigger fuss beside you, but you focus your attention solely on the killer. You speak after swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Is this your idea of a hot date?”

You’re finding it hard to control your pounding, erratic heart. The Clown scoffs above you. "As hot as it gets." He grins and shows you his yellowed teeth. “Had to make sure we had our privacy… Got rid of your friends already.”

“I figured,” you grit in reply.

The killer surprises you when he reaches into his pocket and reveals… a photograph. The photograph. You furrow your brows.

“Before the party starts, I thought we’d have a little talk first,” he says. “Where’d you get this?”

You try to mask the nervousness on your face with confusion. “It’s not mine,” you say.

“You had it in your pocket.”

“I don’t know how it got there.”

The Clown scoffs. You reassert, “Honestly.”

“You’re a lying shit,” the big man mutters. “Fine. I’ll ask the fucking spook myself.” He sets the photo on the counter. “You remember our first meeting, kid?”

“Hard to forget.”

The Clown cackles. “Yeah, I know. Hard to forget the romp I had with that thing you sicced on me… Looked like the ringleader to me, with all those nasty claws… But why would the damn thing stick up for you? Didn’t know it played for both teams…”

“I don’t know,” you answer while fidgeting in your seat.

The look on his face is doubtful. You repeat, “I don’t know. I swear.”

“You swear? Do you swear on your little pal, here?” He slams his fist on the cage, startling Poe further and making him panic. You glance at your feathery companion, then nod your head. “Yeah.”

“Really?” The Clown draws out his reply, giving you a malicious grin as he rubs his chin. He yanks open the cage door and grabs Poe in his fist. Poe squawks. Your eyes widen in terror. “Put him down!” you bark.

The Clown squeezes tighter, making Poe coo and twitch. “What game are you playing?” he demands.

“I’m not playing a fucking game!”

He tightens his grip even more. You hear a bone-grinding sound and grimace. “Stop!”

Any noise Poe tries to make doesn’t come out. His baby blue eyes seem about to pop out of his tiny skull. The sight alone pierces your heart.

“Alright!” you shout. “I-I’ll fucking tell you! Just put him down!”

The Clown finally loosens his grip on the fledgling. But the look he gives you next makes your blood run cold.

“But you swore on the little guy.”

He tightens his fist again, eliciting one final, painful squawk from Poe before crushing him in his fist. Hollow bones twist and snap, and you can only cry out in surprise and anguish.

The Clown reopens his fist and plucks a feather from the dead crow before dropping him lifelessly at your feet. You choke back a cry, but can’t even bring yourself to look at his broken little body. Your eyes burn holes in your lap. The Clown chuckles above you then tucks his new prize into the cigar box on the shelf.

“You’re going to tell me everything you know,” he says. “Or I’ll be plucking your feathers next.”

You can hardly make out his voice through blood rushing through your ears. Your face grows hot and you seethe so hard you chip a tooth and induce a migraine. Your pent-up rage explodes, and you scream at the bastard. He socks you hard enough in the eye to flood your vision with pretty white stars.

When you recover from the momentary stun, you slur your words and sway dizzily. You can already feel your eye swelling up.

“Start talking,” The Clown orders.

“I’m not... I'm not telling you shit,”  you garble.

Your captor scoffs. “You want to play? I can play…”

Through the red haze of your fucked up eye, you watch the Clown draw his knife. He snatches your left hand, and despite how much you fight him, he flattens it out over the armrest and presses his blade to the knuckle of your index finger. “We’ll have it your way, kid.”

He chops your finger off, and you scream. As he steps away, he lifts your stolen digit to his red lips and sucks on it. Then he takes it out with a wet pop and crams it into the cigar box on the shelf. “You’ve got plenty a’ fingers for the taking!” The Clown laughs. “And we’ve got plenty of time…”

You heave and puff in pain, biting back painful moans. “You-You can’t do this… You’re supposed to kill us. Not torture us.”

“As long as I throw your asses on those hooks at the end of the day, the big-bad doesn’t give a shit what I do to ya! I could strip you naked and fuck you silly if I wanted to.” He croaks with laughter and crosses the wagon. You evil-eye him and watch him yank open a cupboard before rummaging out a square black case. No, not a case, but a VHS tape. He pops it into the player on top of the TV and turns on the old contraption. You’re surprised to find it actually works… then appalled when you discover what he’s playing. An old-as-shit filter-fried porno.

You avert your eyes and drop your reddened face to the floor. The Clown takes one look at you and scoffs. “It’s a classic,” he says. He turns the volume to max and snatches a clear bottle of brown liquid off a shelf. He takes a swig, then shoves the unidentifiable drink in your face. You snap your face away. He yanks your head back and forces the bottle past your lips. You gulp down the mystery drink only to avoid choking on it. When he finally draws it away, you sputter and cough. It’s lukewarm, bitter, and alcoholic.

"It'll take the edge off," Clown grinningly tells you. He slams the bottle onto the counter and collects an armful of other bottled tonics off the shelves. You watch him mix something up in a pot on the counter.

“You making me a cocktail?”

“Yeah. Somethin’ special just for you,” Clown chuckles. “This’ll turn your guts to soup and have it coming out your ass.”

“Awesome.”

The Clown bumbles back and forth in the poky space while you silently observe him. If looks could kill, you’d already have him dead, what with the glare you’re burning on his back. But when you tire of watching him, you drop your gaze and sigh.

Your swollen eye stings and bleeds, and your phantom digit hurts like hell. You feel like complete and utter shit. And the only thing to distract you from your tormented state is the shitty porn playing on the television.

How do you get out of this one? Bastion’s a no-show, which is becoming typical of him. He might be totally out of the question. You’ll need to have a talk with him after this…

But until the after comes, you’re stuck in a bad spot.

Although you keep your eyes off the TV, it's hard to ignore all the shitty acting, skin-on-skin contact, and choppy grunts and moans. Not to mention the awful squeaking of a bad bed frame. You don’t know if it’s what was in that drink, or the nervousness that’s got your skin slick with cold sweat. You fidget in your discomfort, and the rotten aftertaste on your tongue makes you spit.

The Clown looks at you amidst his work. “Enjoying the show?” he grins. He cackles at your mean face. "Right," he murmurs. “You’re a little tied up.” He steps in front of you and leans down into your personal bubble. “You need help getting off?” He touches a hand to your thigh, which he edges closer and closer to your nether regions. You grimace in disgust, then spit in his face.

Clown doesn’t take too kindly to that, and he snatches a bottle off the shelf above you. You immediately identity its contents when he pops the cork off and splashes your left hand. Sizzling corrosive acid eats away at your skin in seconds. You cry out in pain and thrash against your restraints as the Clown places the bottle back on its shelf.

“You’re brave, you little shithead.” He pinches your nose hard between his fingers.

 

Then you’re in a memory. The world spins and changes so fast you get whiplash. When it calms, you feel small and in pain. You’re curled up on the floor, resting on your knees with your body bent forward and your arms shielding your head. Choked sobs escape your quivering lips, and blood oozes from your stuffy nose and drips into a crimson puddle on the floorboard beneath you.

Through your bleary vision, you make out a tall shadow looming over you. A quiet, boyish voice says, “I-I won’t do it again…”

A gruff voice returns, “I didn’t think so, you little shithead.”

The shadow raises its boot, and a powerful force strikes you on the back of the head, smashing your skull to the floor. Everything goes dark.

 

You rejoin reality, sputtering in pain. As you catch your breath, you're once again face-to-face with the Clown. You’re able to shoulder the biting pain in your hand to say, “The apple didn’t fall far from the tree…”

Clown freezes and stares at you. “What the fuck did you say?”

“You heard me.”

You shrink under the furious man’s glare, but to your relief, he only scoffs at you and walks away. He disappears out of your line of sight and yanks open the door. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he grunts. “I won’t keep you waiting…”

Then he’s gone.

Your heartbeat slows to a calm, and you’re offered a reprieve from his absence. But not from the pain you still bear. You spare a look at your thoroughly abused hand and cringe at the sight of it—it’s raw and bloody. The shock of it alone sends a tremor through your body. But you don’t have time to moan about it. You need to get out of here. And you just had an idea…

Your sights land on the bottled acid on the shelf above you. He set it close to the edge… And if it falls, it’ll land right on top of you…

This could work… but is it really something you’re willing to try?

Hm. It’s that, or dealing with the Clown’s liquid-guts cocktail… Acid it is.

You gather your resolve, then kick the wall to your left with as much force as you can muster. The wagon shakes, and the bottle rumbles on the shelf. You kick again and again until the bottle finally tips over the edge and crashes down. It shatters on your forearm, and the acid spills out over your sleeve and hand. It burns through the leather quickly, devouring the skin beneath it. You grind your teeth to bite back your painful cries. Your suffering pays off though—the acid eats away at the rope trapping your wrist in place. The restraint is weakened in seconds, and you're able to snap it off.

You waste no time freeing your other hand, then staggering up and away from the chair. After gathering your personal effects and Ghostface’s picture from the counter, your gaze lands on your dead companion’s body. Fury and grief co-mingle before you bring yourself to collect his body and tuck it securely into your pocket. Then you exit the wagon.

That fucked up horse outside makes a fuss when you stagger down the steps. You try shushing and coaxing it to be quiet, but it doesn’t let up. So you leave the area as quickly as you can.

You hunt for the hatch with increasing desperation, keeping your one good eye peeled for the Clown, wherever he may be. By now, he must have realized you're missing, so you need to hurry.

Relief floods your battered body when you hear the heavenly hum of the open hatch. You climb through a window into the chapel and spot your salvation dead-center in the room. But then your skin crawls and your heart rate picks up. You make a mad dash for your escape, and you’re practically right on top of the damn thing when a bottle whizzes through the air and smashes against your skull. You crash to the floor with a grunt, moaning as you hold your head. A cloud engulfs you and blinds you. Then a vice-like grip closes around your ankle and drags you away from the hatch.

“You’re a slippery little shit,” the Clown grumbles as he drags you away. “I’m not done with you yet, kid!”

Adrenaline rushes through your veins and you flip yourself over to deliver a barrage of kicks at the big man. One well-aimed blow strikes him in the groin when he turns around to bark at you. But he’s unfazed by the attack.

“Make this easy on yourself, brat!” he snaps.

He’s too preoccupied scolding you to notice the tall, dark figure that appears behind him. You recognize it, and you offer the jester no warning of what comes next.

Dark hooks and claws burst from the ground with a furious roar and trap the Clown in a crooked black cage. He loses his grip on you and offers you the chance to crawl away while you watch the spectacle with relief.

You expect some wry remark, or some clever quip from Bastion when he strides up to meet the Clown face to face, but he says nothing. Stranger yet, the fear that makes your hair stand on end doubles with his arrival.

He's missing his familiar grin. The Clown gives up quickly on his futile struggle against the prickly restraints, and he scoffs at Bastion. “This must be our mutual friend,” he remarks, looking the shadowy entity up and down. “I was wondering when you’d—”

Clown’s voice ends abruptly when Bastion snatches him by the throat and rips his head right off with a squelch and snap. A spray of blood splashes your legs, and you jump in fright at the unexpected execution.

“Shit!” you bark.

The claws trapping the Clown’s headless corpse twist and tear, dismembering the rest of him and shredding him into an unrecognizable pulp. The bloody remains are sucked into a sweltering void, and the earth closes up after them. You’re left staring wide-eyed at a puddle of blood and leftover viscera. Once you’re finally able to tear your attention from the gore, you look at Bastion. He drops the clown’s head at his feet, where it bounces twice and rolls to face you—the painted smile droops and bleeds. You gag at the sight.

“What-What, no witty monologue this time?” You scoff and pick yourself up. “About time you showed up,” you mutter bitterly. “But better late than never, right?”

Bastion snaps his blank face to yours so quickly it's as if he just noticed you. Silently, he stares at you for a moment before slowly tipping his head to the side. He says nothing. Then he attacks.

Your only warning comes as the sound of his claws snapping before they dart forward straight for you. You throw yourself clear of his first strike with a startled cry, then barely catch yourself when you stagger to a stop. “What the hell?!” you shout at him. You evade another, but at the expense of your balance. You fall backward and hit the ground. Too late to react to the next attack, a claw pierces your abdomen and pins you down. You scream. Bastion stalks nearer to you, lacking the poise you’ve come to expect from him. He carries himself like a predator cornering its prey.

Blood shoots up your throat. You sputter and cough, then let your head fall to the side to let it spill down your face. “B-Bastion,” you choke, eyes flickering up to meet his blank face. He stands tall above you, then slowly leans down to touch an icy hand on your face. His talon-like fingers caress your skin. Your breath catches.

“Hey-Hey,” you stammer. “It’s me… It’s— AH!” You let out a cry when his claw hooks your midsection and he snatches you right off the ground. He suspends you off the floor in front of him while you struggle helplessly in his clutches. You double over, resting your hand on his shoulder. “Bastion!” you scream at him.

A grotesque maw forms vertically on his face, and splits apart to show row after row of sharp, mangled teeth. Worse yet, a clutch of slimy black tendrils worm out of his mouth, each terribly barbed. You gape at him in horror and scream his name again and again, but there’s no reaching through whatever’s overtaken him.

You shield your face with your arm, and a slimy tendril wraps around it and squeezes tight, trying to pull you in. The prickly barbs pierce your leather sleeve and stab your flesh. You resist as much as you’re able, kicking and screaming and trying to wrench free. Another writhing tentacle catches your other arm, squeezing hard enough to break skin and bone. You choke out another scream, which you stifle into a whimpering cry.

Fighting’s pointless—your strength wanes, and everything hurts so terribly you just want it over with. You shut your eyes tight and hope death will come fast, however that may be in the face of the horrifying monster in front of you. Cold, thick writhing muscle lashes your cheek, slathering you in saliva. You expect him to chomp down on your head and end it. But the end never comes.

You peel open your good eye and watch Bastion’s tendrils retreat into his maw. He clamps it shut, and it forms a thin line before vanishing from his visage altogether. Then he just stares at you, and you stare at him, trembling.

Something new washes over him, and he rips his claw from your abdomen and drops you. You land in a heap, moaning in pain with your sights fixed on Bastion as he slowly backs away. He falters, and he stops, and then he vanishes. He takes your overwhelming fear with him. As soon as he’s gone, you gather the last of your strength and crawl to the hatch, bloody and bruised, and weak. And with a hefty grunt, you spill over the edge and into the void.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

When you materialize in camp, the first faces you see are Dwight, Adam, Feng Min, and David's. They fix their eyes on you. The men look concerned — Feng Min sneers at you. David is the first to speak when he marches toward you and grabs your shoulder. “The hell were you, mate?” he questions, his brows deeply creased. “Others got back a fuckin’ hour ago.”

“You were hiding, weren’t you?” Min interjects. “You just vanished in the middle of the trial! Left us to face the Clown.”

Adam frowns at her baseless accusation. “Let’s not point fingers,” he says. He looks at you and asks, “What happened? Did you escape?”

They all stare, waiting for an answer. You swallow thickly and lick your lips. “Yeah… I got out.”

Min scoffs. Adam shoots her another hard look.

“The Clown knocked me out,” you add, furrowing your brows. “And he dragged me to his fucking caravan… locked me up in his wagon… and…” You trail off and cradle your hand. “Uh…”

They all look suddenly appalled by the implications. You whiffle your head. “No, he didn’t… He just—” You make a face, then give up trying to explain. “I need to go,” you say, crossing camp to leave. David tails you like a dog and reaches for your arm. “You don’t have to keep runnin’ from us—”

“Leave them be, David,” Adam sternly says.

“I’m just tryin’ to— Bah!” David dismisses the man and turns to face you. He’s red-faced, probably from bridling his increasing frustration with the others (and maybe even you…) But he cools off to a noticeable degree to give you a sincere, soft look. He lays a hand on your shoulder. “Keep it all to yourself, mate, that’s fine. But we’re all here if you need us, right?”

His concern is so sincere, and you want to thank him for it. But you’re too dry-mouthed to get anything coherent out. Instead, you give him a small nod and smile. Not your best smile, but the only one you’re able to fix, what with the mad thoughts running through your head. David returns your nod, and he draws his hand away. Looks for a second as if might have something else on his mind, given the way he opens his mouth a second time, but he says nothing more. You leave him and the others behind without another word.

 

 ✱ ✱ ✱

 

Lydia detects your arrival and welcomes you from her rocking chair. “You find anything out there?” she greets, smiling. As you draw nearer, you notice she has something on her lap. It’s not until you’re on the porch steps that you realize what it is—or rather, who it is.

Poe’s nestled in Lydia’s lap, looking content and warm. He cranes his head to look up at you, and he coos at the sight of your company. Despite your sour mood, you can’t help the smile that breaks out over your face. “Poe?”

You scoop the baby crow into your hands. Lydia chuckles as you smother the fledgling with affection.

“Found your little friend making a mess in my kitchen,” she explains. “I thought you took ‘im with you before you left, honey.”

“I did, but—” You stop. Following a moment of hesitation, you simply say, "Or... Maybe I forgot...".

You set the bird on your shoulder and he makes himself at home against the crook of your neck. “I’ll be upstairs,” you tell Lydia, then enter the cabin.

When you reach the bedroom, you bury your hands in your pocket, and you’re shocked to find Poe’s previous body gone. He’s alive again… One thing’s been made certain here: Nothing stays dead. Not much of a shocker, given your own miraculous revivals. Still, it's a welcome surprise. And one you’re grateful for, in light of your recent problem.

Bastion attacked you. Your only ally went off the wall, unhinged and feral. And you don’t know why. Maybe it was only a matter of time. Maybe he’s been planning it. Or maybe something out of his control just snapped. You don’t know. And you’re not sure you want to find out… but you need to. Yet another dilemma you need answers to. And yet again, no sure way of finding them.

But speak of the devil. 

Your soul departs when you turn around and walk right into him. You shriek and dart straight for the window. Bastion catches you mid-dive around the waist with a claw, and he draws you back in and face-to-face. He stands tall and poised again, as if he hadn't tried to mangle you not even twenty minutes ago. You fight him like a feral dog, and he seems none too bothered by it. 

Your struggle ceases momentarily when he speaks. “Time for a long overdue talk.”

 

Notes:

It's spooky season (｡• ᵕ •｡) Happy Halloween eve, everyone <3

Chapter 28: The Fire You Kindle

 

You gawk at him. “Oh, you think?” Anyone else would tremble at the venom in your tone. Bastion, however, stares back silently and unwavering. His indifference to your frustration causes your blood to boil and your face to become hot. “Put me down,” you order, glaring hard at him. He doesn’t immediately obey, so you snap. “Put me DOWN!”

Admittedly, pushing his buttons after his attack during the trial doesn’t seem a good idea. But you’re desperate for an explanation and too heated to consider the consequences. Fortunately, Bastion complies with your command. He places you down, and as soon as your feet touch the floor, you snatch your lighter from your bag and wield the tiny flame like a weapon.

“Start talking!” you bark. “I want to know what the hell that was back there. You attacked me! But not before waiting for The Clown to have his fun, right?”

“It’s complicated,” Bastion replies, a little too cool for your taste.

“Explain,” you demand.

Bastion locks his blank stare on yours with a silent intensity that causes your skin to break out in a cold sweat. Under his gaze, you fidget and shrink until he folds his arms behind his back and resumes his usual posture. “I told you in the beginning, Wanderer,” he begins. “The Fog did vile things to me. Things I won’t be inclined to share.”

You blink, and he’s gone. But he sends a spike of fear through your chest when he appears behind you. One hand rests on your shoulder, thoroughly startling both you and Poe. You fight every urge to light him up.

“This realm spares no one from torment,” he murmurs as he stoops low toward you. “Not you, nor the killers, nor I.”

“What are you saying?” you shakily question.

Bastion pulls away from you. “We all have our roles to play. I told you this…”

“And what’s yours?”

“You won’t like my answer.”

Your lips draw into a tight line. “Is that so?”

“I’ve defied my role here long enough to reclaim a degree of self-control. But where there’s a deviant, there’s something… unpredictable. You’ve witnessed that first hand.”

You have — with Frank.

Bastion goes on. “My attack was a relapse spurred by elements out of my control. Elements fostered by you.” The look on your face prompts Bastion to further explain, “You’re a catalyst—the source of the unpredictability. You draw out what’s being suppressed.”

“And is this the first time it’s happened? The first time you’ve lost control?” You ask.

“No,” Bastion answers. “These… impulses come frequently. And when they do, I retire to my realm to shut them out.”

You fall silent. He could be telling you the truth… It all makes sense, doesn’t it? But to hide something that insane from you could mean he’s hiding much worse, and that wouldn’t surprise you. It’s been riddles with him since day one. Riddles and secrets and lies. But… But he’s kept his word, hasn’t he? He’s protected you, and guided you. Maybe there’s some truth. Maybe there’s more.

“Is that why you’re never there when it matters?” you question him. “Because you’re always on timeout?”

“Call it what you will.”

You shake your head and sigh. “You shady bastard…” Your scrutinizing glare fades, and you lower your arm and weapon. “You’ve protected me from monsters and killers, but it turns out you might be the biggest threat to me all along. If I’d known you had the whole Jekyll and Hyde complex going on, I might’ve never struck that deal with you.” You sneer. “And that must be why you’ve kept it hidden from me for so long…”

As your anger slowly subsides, you mutter, “I’ve pissed off a lot of killers, Bastion. Or rather, you’ve pissed off a lot of killers. And it’s coming back to bite me… These guys see me, and all they’re seeing is red. Now I find out that the only guy who can protect me also wants my head on a platter.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Wanderer,” Bastion replies quietly.

“But you can’t help yourself, can you?” You furrow your gaze. “So what makes you any different from those killers?”

Your remark strikes a nerve— A nerve you’ve only just recently learned that Bastion has. His claws twitch behind him, and a sneering maw splits across his face, showing two rows of sharp, vicious teeth. You expect him to snap at you, and you flinch in advance. But visibly he bites back whatever angry retort he may have, and he simmers down within moments. Then, to your surprise (and unease), his sneer wavers, and he grins.

“They don’t have my charming personality.” There’s a bite in his tone that makes you shudder.

“We’ll finish this later,” you tell him, eager to end this confrontation. You inch warily away from him and toward the door. His grinning gaze follows you across the room. When you reach the door, you look back at him and remark, “I’ve made up my mind. About Ghostface’s offer.”

“I think you’re being too hasty, Wanderer,” Bastion replies, as if he already knows the decision you’ve come to.

“I’m not,” you bite back. “I’ve been working alongside a bloodthirsty killer this whole time… So how much lower can I go?”

The way Bastion still grins at you just rubs you the wrong way. You know full well he isn’t happy with your decision. He might even be pissed. But he wears that toothy grin like a mask, and you know that’s all it is—a ruse hiding what’s really beneath the surface. That’s Bastion’s only truth, his only consistency. He hides.

When your skin begins to crawl too terribly under his scrutiny, you leave. You feel his faceless gaze watching you walk out the door.

 

∗ ∗ ∗

 

Camp is quiet when you stroll in from the woods. You slow to a stop and scan over the small crowd. David and Dwight are speaking to each other a way off, too quiet to even pick out pieces of their conversation from where you are. Then you find Nea and Min huddled beside a log, playing tic-tac-toe in the dirt with their fingers, and seated on a log by her lonesome is Yui. None of the campers are wise to your presence.

You take advantage of your momentary discretion and creep toward the campfire. You stop a pace away, then draw Ghostface’s photo from your pocket. A shiver runs up your spine that makes you hesitate. Are you really about to do this? You can’t help but reconsider… Burning this photo means striking a deal, doesn’t it? It means dealing with a killer. An evil man. What are those answers worth to you?

“Is that an offering?”

Nea’s voice startles you, and you spin around. As she stands up, she dusts off her knees. You clutch the photo to your chest to hide it. “An offering?” you reply while quirking a brow.

Nea makes a face and sighs.

“You’ve never made an offering before?” Min pipes up. She leans back on her haunches and scoffs. “And how long have you been here?”

Nea explains to you, “Sometimes when you throw shit on the fire, it changes your next trial. No one really understands how or why it works, but my guess is maybe the big kahuna gives us a chance to turn the trials in our favor…” She strides to a stop beside you and shrugs. “We normally burn flowers or plants, or even broken junk we find in the fog, but…” She cocks a brow at your concealed offering. “Are you holding a picture?”

You take a step away from her. “Yeah,” you reply nervously. “I… found it out there. Didn’t know what to do with it.”

Nea hums. “Well, toss it in the fire,” she says. “See what happens.”

Your hesitance resumes as you face the crackling flames. Hesitance, which Nea mistakes for nervousness. Her tongue clicks. “The fire doesn’t bite. No, really.” She baffles you when she suddenly throws her arm out over the flames. And to your surprise, the flames harmlessly dance around her. You make a stupid face, and she laughs.

“It’s cool, right? Can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet.” She withdraws her arm and props both on her hips. Then she flicks her chin in a gesture at the bonfire. “Try it out.”

“I’m not sure I—”

“Don’t be a wimp,” Nea teases with a roll of her eyes. “Go on!”

She gives you a friendly shove, and you stagger and fall right on top of the bonfire. But the flames aren’t so kind to you—they lash at you like ravenous beasts.

A piercing shriek erupts from your throat as the blaze engulfs you. The camp breaks out in a sudden panic, and you hear the others shouting, though you can’t make them out through the furious red haze engulfing your vision. You scramble away, wailing, flailing, and trying helplessly to put yourself out. When your legs fail, you crash to the ground and roll, but it’s a futile effort. You can’t smother the flames, no matter how hard you try—they overwhelm and consume you.

Every nerve on your body screams—and as the heat enters your lungs and scorches you from the inside, your screaming quickly turns to hoarse moans. You can only writhe in silent agony, then gasp futilely for breath that never comes. The light fades away, and your life is extinguished like a snuffed flame.

 

∗ ∗ ∗

 

Death is mercy.

Despite having been rent from your body, you’re grateful to be free from its clutches. And you find yourself in the limbo again; in the dark. The place your dreams take you. You realize this when you detect the familiar malevolence lurking close by, but remaining unknown and unseen. Then, when you try to stand. You’re rooted on your knees, trapped in the viscous black tar pool. The black fluid chills you to the bone. You quit battling it and lift your heavy head, and you fix your eyes on a tall, dark tower in the distance. It’s only made visible under a beam of moonlight. When you lift your gaze higher, however, you find no stars, no sky, and no moon.

You struggle to stand, and your laboring pays off. You heave and rise to your feet. The poisonous tar adheres to you like glue and attempts to pull you back down, but you resist and raise one foot to move forward. Then you raise the other and persist, one step at a time, toward the tower. You don’t know what it is, but something draws you in. And yet, other elements deter you.

“You won’t find your answers there.”

You halt and spin around to find a cloaked figure. One of the robed strangers from before. Their identity remains a mystery, as their dark cowl obscures their face. A lump forms in your throat. “What?” The void steals your voice. Nothing comes out.

Though that doesn’t matter—the stranger turns and walks away. They glide with ease through the poison. You try to follow, but you’re unable to move. “Wait!” you silently shout.

They vanish from sight. You huff and puff, straining against the gluey tar, but it’s a wasted effort. You release your frustrations with a growl. Then frustration turns to fear as you make out the faint whispers in your ears. The whispers, hundreds upon hundreds of voices, grow louder and louder before becoming an unbearable roar. You clench your fists and grind your teeth. And when you drop your gaze to the dark pool, you find blackened hands and faceless figures rising from it, moaning and crying. They reach for you, grasping your legs and pulling you down. You scream silently as you fight off your assailants. But it’s an effort for naught—long, spidery claws shoot from the pool and pierce your chest.

You do everything you can to fight back. But you’re gradually dragged down and snared in the hooks and arms of the moaning shades. Before you’re fully submerged, you make out a face that appears above you, like an image in foggy glass. It remains unclear at first, but the moment you recognize the cold features, your heart stops.

They look like you.

 

∗ ∗ ∗

 

When you’re finally revived, you appear with a croaky gasp, staggering forward and just barely catching yourself. You quickly register your surroundings and find solace that you’re in camp. But the relief and warmth dissipate when you lay your eyes on the smoldering remains of your own body, resting a few mere feet away. It’s vanishing slowly into wispy tethers of dark fog. Poe rests by your body, cooing at it as if his efforts will stir your charred corpse back to life. But when he cranes his head and spots you, he perks up and ruffles his feathers.

You gather your little companion into your hands, then lock eyes with the others around camp. For a brief moment, it’s as if you’re looking at statues with permanently etched terror on their faces. You find Nea first, sitting on a log with her knees bent to her chest. Her eyes are wet, and her mouth gapes open. Dwight, Yui, and Min stare at you wide-eyed and silent, and David, no matter how hard he tries to mask it, looks nothing short of horrified.

Nea’s the first to animate. Her features flicker with relief as she picks herself up. “I-I’m sorry,” she says. “It wasn’t supposed to burn. It-It’s never burned anyone before!” She wipes her wet eyes with her palms. “Never, I swear.”

“We tried to put you out,” Dwight says shakily. “We tried water, dirt… but they wouldn’t stop burning.” His gaze flits to your smoldering body, and he clenches his jaw.

“We’ll have no more of that pushin’ and shovin’ each other into the fucking pit,” David declares abruptly. “This isn’t a fucking rugby pitch!” He passes Nea a hard look that she can’t even bear to meet. She looks down at the ground. “I’m sorry,” she repeats quietly.

She approaches you, then stops, holding out the charred remains of your photo. Burnt almost beyond recognition, but thankfully so that it reveals nothing. “It burnt up before we could get it off you,” Nea tells you.

You take the photo from her with a nod of your head. Then you turn away and look at the fire. After all, you came here for one reason only. It’d be a shame to walk away with the job unfinished…

Without a second of hesitation, you toss the scrap into the flames and watch it burn. It goes up in smoke and embers, and it seals a dark pact. You take a step back from the fire with a solemn expression on your face. When you find your voice, you turn to regard the others with a managed smile and reassurance. “It’s alright, guys… It was just a freak accident.”

Dwight scoffs. “You just burned to death. I-I’m not trying to tell you how to feel, but—” He trails off and exchanges a glance with Yui. You dismiss all their concerns with a wave of your hand.

“Honestly,” you say. “I’m okay.”

Your words do little to ease your companions. You’re sure you could stand here arguing with them all night, but you’re done. “I should get going,” you say, while scratching your nape. “I’m, uh… pretty tired.” You back away from the campfire, then retreat into the woods without another word.

 

∗ ∗ ∗

 

You want more than anything just to be alone, right now. Just a moment of quiet and solitude, to give yourself time to relax and cool off. To think, and breathe… But even that’s asking too much, nowadays. You have unwanted company. With a heavy sigh, you turn your gaze over your shoulder and find—

 

Nea

Yui (❤)

David (❤)

Dwight (❤)

Bastion (❤)

 

Chapter 29: Choice: Nea

 

“Why do you keep walking away from us?”

Nea comes running up behind you. She slows her roll and joins your side with a soft look on her face.

“I’ve had a long day,” you reply. “And I’m feeling a little burned out.”

Nea frowns. She sheepishly scratches her neck and utters, “I’m really sorry about the whole… setting you on fire thing. But that fire’s never burned anyone before. I-I just thought it’d be cool to show you.”

“It’s okay,” you tell her. “It was just an accident.”

“I wouldn’t be so peachy if I got toasted to a crisp,” Nea says, scoffing.

You say nothing in return, and the silence between you makes her tense. She rolls her shoulders, kicks a pebble underfoot, then lets out a heavy sigh. “But you know what?” she says. “I think we’re even now. You got me killed by that masked punk, and I set you on fire.” She says it humorously, in an effort to lift the mood… which you encourage.

“I thought we were even after that goodie basket,” you reply with a small smile.

Nea snorts. “It takes more than some sweet honeyed biscuits to get on my good side… Maybe sprinkle some honeyed words on top.” Your laugh goads her to continue. She elbows you gently in the side, saying, “So, are you ever going to let the cat out of the bag? Or do I need to hassle you for it?”

“I’m not holding any cats in a bag,” you reply.

Nea scoffs. “Like hell, you aren’t. You’ve got a sack of those puppies! Or… kitties. Whatever.” She prods you again. “Come on. Every time you come around, you’ve got this look on your face, like you’re balls-deep in thought.”

“First time hearing it that way,”

“Sorry,” Nea says, “but you know what I mean.”

You come to an abrupt stop and drop your gaze to your feet. Nea stops beside you, silently awaiting a response. You shrug before giving her one. “There’s a lot to think about,” you tell her. “That’s it. I just think a lot.”

Nea nods slowly. Her friendly expression becomes a sincere one. She bites her lip, then sighs. “You’re gonna want to punch me in the mouth for saying this, but you need to hear it: stop thinking about the sad shit. Our extended stay in hell only gets worse the more you think about it… Don’t ask what you did to deserve to be here—start asking what sweet shit you’re going to do when you get out.”

You lift your gaze and quirk a brow. “Is that what you do?”

“Yeah…” Nea dips her shoulders and tucks her hands into her pockets. “I wonder about my next kiss, or how many times I can outrun the cops before getting caught, or even when I’ll piss off my parents again. The good shit, you know?” She faces you again with a smile tugging at her lips.

You laugh. “I’m not gonna lie,” you say. “That all sounds like heaven right about now.”

“You know it.” Nea chuckles and gives you a friendly jab in the side. “But what are you really looking forward to?”

You fall silent in thought because your answer doesn’t come easy… You would think so, but there are so many things you’d love to go back to; so many things you’re dying to experience again, and yet… one thing comes straight to mind. When you crane your neck and gaze up at the moonlit sky through the dense canopy, your answer is simple.

“I want to see the sun again.”

It’s so absurd that you can’t help but laugh. But it’s the truth. You face Nea with a coy smile. “That’s not crazy, right? But I thought about it, and… man, I just hate being in the dark.”

You expect Nea to laugh or poke fun at you, but she smiles. “I’m more of a night owl myself, but I’ll agree with you there.”

She backs away, still smiling. “I know you came out here to be alone,” she says. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“I appreciate it, Nea,” you reply.

She nods. “Yeah. But hey, quit being a stranger. Stop by camp sometimes! Just drop in and say hi or whatever, you know? I promise I won’t immolate you again.” When she spins around to go, she calls back over her shoulder, “And bring us more goodies next time!”

You wave her off. As soon as she’s gone, you feel the warmth of her company fade away. The cold fog seeps into your bones and wilts your smile. A condensed breath leaves your parted lips. How did you get here? Making pacts with killers, hiding from the only people who care, and letting yourself feel more alone than you have to be? You only just burned that photo, and yet you feel a weight heavier than any other settling on your chest and compressing your heart.

Am I really doing the right thing?

The fog returns your query with silence. You hang your head and sigh. “Who knows?”

 

Continue

Chapter 30: Choice: Yui (❤)

Notes:

As of 2.15.2023, this chapter has swapped Feng Min to Yui, in regard to the poll results. Sorry Min!

 

“How can you just walk away after something like that?”

Yui’s voice follows after you. As you slightly turn your head, she catches up and slows her roll to stride alongside you. Her wrinkled brows and pursed lips make her intentions clear. You, unfortunately, don’t have the energy to entertain her company. “You can understand why I might need to get away from camp now, right?” you say bitterly.

“I understand,” Yui says. “But coming out here is not the answer.”

She moves in front of you to block your path. When you try walking around her, she stubbornly refuses to get out of your way. As you sigh, she narrows her eyes. “I have seen some nasty wipeouts on the track,” she says. “Men and women mangled by the asphalt—”

“And?” you interrupt her.

“—And I have never seen something like that,” Yui continues. “Nor have I seen someone just get up and walk away from it as if nothing happened.”

“You said it yourself, Yui—I’m a dumb optimist. We don’t dwell on the terrible shit that happens, all right? We let it go and move on.”

“You don’t have to put on a brave face,” says Yui. “You can’t keep everything pent-up inside like this. There are people around that campfire who care, and we’ll give you a shoulder to cry on, but only if you let us.”

“Oh? Then where are those people now? Or are you the spokesperson of the caring community?”

Yui wrinkles her brow. “They care,” she says. “But it’s not always easy making that known… I almost didn’t follow you out here because I’m not used to this sort of thing… If that doesn’t tell you I care, then I don’t know what will.”

Your hard expression softens. After a brief pause of opening and closing your mouth, you sigh and bow your head. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m just— I need to be alone.”

“You want to be alone,” says Yui. “But it’s not what you need. If I’m wrong, I’ll go… But I’m not wrong, am I?”

“I thought you were a street racer, not a shrink,” you say with a humorous undertone.

“I’m adaptive,” Yui replies, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Knowing that she’s gotten past your walls, she posts up against a nearby tree with her arms folded over her chest. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks. “If not, we can talk about something else—anything else.”

“Well, I’m not exactly eager to discuss the deets of burning alive, so… let’s try something a little more pleasant, huh?”

Yui nods. She ponders silently for a minute before drawing on a new subject. “Have you ever felt the wind in your hair?”

“I’ve felt the wind, yes—”

“On a bike, I mean,” Yui clarifies. “Racing down an empty road, the sun on the horizon, and everything around you just a blur?” Her features soften as if she recalls precious memories. “It’s… it’s an experience,” she says. “Unforgettable and thrilling, and— Ah, I’m making this about me… What I mean to ask is if you’d ever consider riding?”

“Well, you make it sound so tempting,” you reply, smiling. “I’ve considered it since our last discussion…”

“When we get out of here, we should go on a ride together,” Yui invites. “I know a long stretch of road on the coast in Tohoku—”

You gasp—startling Yui—and make an expression of mock surprise. “Yui, you said when… Did I just catch you being optimistic?”

She scoffs and playfully punches your shoulder. “I must have gotten it from you… You rub off on people,” she says.

“In more ways than one,” you jest.

She raises an eyebrow. You realize the unintended implications and guffaw. “I-I don’t mean in a— I’m saying— Wow, I dug myself a pretty deep hole just now…”

Yui laughs and sighs. “I know what you mean,” she replies. Softly, she says, “So, what do you say? I’m not out of line asking, am I? I just think you could use that when this nightmare is over… We both could.”

You briefly consider before giving a nod and a smile. “I’m in,” you agree. “But you might have to slow it down for the rookie. I’m no pro on a bike…”

“Then you’ll ride with me,” Yui offers. “If you don’t mind having your arms around my waist…”

Heat creeps across your face. “Oh,” you say, while a sheepish smile tugs at your lips. “I-I mean… Yeah, I wouldn’t mind.”

Yui smiles as she passes you by. “Then it’s a date, Trouble. And I look forward to it; keep that in mind before you go out there and do something crazy. I need you to make it out okay, got it?”

“Got it,” you reply while returning her smile.

Yui pauses and looks back. “I’m headed back to camp… But anytime you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

She turns around and walks away. As soon as she’s gone, you feel the warmth of her company fade. The cold fog seeps into your bones and wilts your smile. A condensed breath leaves your parted lips.

How did you get here? Making pacts with killers, hiding from the only people who care, and letting yourself feel more alone than you have to be? You only just burned that photo, and yet you feel a weight heavier than any other settling on your chest and compressing your heart.

Am I really doing the right thing?

The fog returns your query with silence. You hang your head and sigh. “Who knows?”

 

Continue

Chapter 31: Choice: David (❤)

 

David comes up behind you and slows down to match your pace. He lifts his shirt to wipe a sheen of sweat from his brow while muttering, “You’re so dodgy, mate. I can’t be arsed to keep chasin’ after you like this…”

“Then don’t,” you reply. “I’ll be okay without you breathing down my neck, David.”

David scoffs. “Aye, I’m sure you would.” He drops his shirt and meets your eyes with a telling look that you’re in for an earful. You’re sure it’s all just been boiling up inside him while he waited for his chance to catch you off guard… “You remember what I told you?” he begins.

You sigh. “Yeah. You’re a shoulder to cry on, I remember… You told me an hour ago.”

“Well, I meant it,” David ruffs. “You run off e'ery chance you get, and that’s not how you deal with this sorta thing, mate—”

“And how do you deal with it?” you retort while coming to an abrupt stop. “Punch all your problems away? Beat your feelings senseless?”

David stops too. “See? This is what I mean! You keep all this shit inside, and you get all irritable and snappy!” He gives you a friendly push and throws his arms out wide. “You need someone to go off on? Put it on me! Just get it all out, I can take it!”

His offer and display are almost comical. He means it in good nature, but you're seeing him through an irate film, right now. You shake your head at him. “I don’t need a punching bag, David. I just need to be left alone—”

“Don’t spill that piss with me,” David dismisses with a heavy sigh. “Heard that about a hundred times from Grouchy already. You’re two sad peas in a fuckin’ pod, I swear…”

“Has anyone ever compared you to a brick wall?”

“All the time,” David grins proudly.

“So there’s no use in trying to shake you off, is there?”

David lays a tender hand on your shoulder as his features soften. “I’m just lookin' out for you,” he says. “Not trying to get your pants in a twist, or rile you up… We’re all just worried, is all.”

He's so sincere, you feel a pang of guilt for trying to run him off. He cares, that's it. Sure, he's more stubborn than a mule, and frustrating as all hell, but he cares. And you couldn't ask for more, here.  As you simmer down, you sigh and concede. “Since this is what we’re doing”—You slump back against a tree and slide down into a sitting position, then draw your knees to your chest—“Let’s talk.”

David joins you, knees bent, and arms folded. Waiting for you to speak, he remains quiet.

“I’m just tired, David,” you tell him. “And I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I’m not in the right headspace to deal with any of that right now. There's too much on my mind.”

“I understand all that,” David replies. “You don’t need to spill your guts to me, like I said before. Keep it to yourself. But it’s one thing to be hush-hush, and it’s another to come runnin’ out 'ere in the fog to get away from all your problems. It’s dangerous out 'ere, innit?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” you mutter under your breath. You hesitate, then lean over and rest your head on his shoulder, only to pause. He’s built like a goddamn brick wall! 

“Man, David,” you chuckle. “You make an awful pillow.”

He barks with laughter beside you, and you get as comfortable as you’re able against the kind bruiser. He did offer you a shoulder to cry on, so you’ll take it, no matter how uncomfortable it may be…

You gaze up at the moonlit sky through the canopy above, silent at first, before asking, “Who appointed you camp-guard? Or did you take on that mantle yourself?”

“We weren’t handin’ out roles like delegates,” David chuckles at your question. “I saw people who needed protecting, and I figured myself the most capable of watchin' out for you lot. I’m a fighter.”

“Did you fight a lot before? Back in the real world?”

David snorts. “All the time! Lost track a’ how many! Pub brawls e'ery week, or dealings with the bad sort that led to fisticuffs. Been a rough chav all my life, and I’ve got a look about me. Mean gits couldn’t help themselves.”

He laughs again, as if proud of his violent past and upbringing. And, knowing David, you're sure he is. Now it all makes sense, actually. Why he's so willing to run head-on into danger, or put himself in harm's way—it's all for the sake of a fight, isn't it? For an old thrill he used to get skirmishing in pubs. It's clear he's reminiscing on the subject... Though you don’t find it so appealing.

You crease your brows and look at him. “What, so you were… a thug? Never would’ve guessed, David… You’re always so sweet, and protective... of… everyone…” You notice his frown, so you trail off. “I don’t mean it like that,” you say, trying to reverse the damage. “I just mean—”

“No, no, you're right,” David utters. He hangs his head and sighs. “I was a bit too rough for my own good. Always finding trouble or knockin’ heads with someone… I spent most of my life brawling over scraps and petty disagreements. Loved it, too. But we’re all in this mess together 'ere, mate. And it’s a nice change of pace to fight for something else. And I’m willing to fight tooth and nail for that.” He eases up and throws two jabs at the air with renewed vigor, like he's imitating a fight. “It's more gratifying that way, innit? Takin' a hit or two for someone who needs it? Even dishin' it out! And I'm bloody good at that! Made for this, right 'ere. If it has to be someone, I'll 'ave it be me, any day.”

Ah. The bruiser has a big heart.

Your features relax and you extend a hand to squeeze his arm. “You’re a big softy underneath the hard exterior,” you tease, then smile at him.

David chuckles. “I’ve been called worse b'fore. I’ll have that.” Then he returns your smile with his own, and it’s so charmingly stupid, coming from a man who looks so rough around the edges. You laugh at him, and he gives you a friendly jab in the arm. “Oi, are we done brooding, mate? This tree’s putting a knot in my fuckin’ back, I swear it.”

“Sure,” you snort humorously as you get to your feet. You take two steps away and slowly draw out, “Well, we had our little talk, and you got your questions and concerns out of the way… Am I off the hook now?”

David stands beside you, laughing. “I still have half a mind to drag you back to camp. Don’t like the idea of you bein’ out 'ere fuckin’ around and findin' yourself in trouble.”

“David—”

“Yeah, yeah, do what you want, mate,” David dismisses with a sigh. He backs away, one step at a time, saying, “I won’t keep a leash on you. Just had to check in, that’s all. Thought you’d need it after that cock-up in camp.”

“Thank you, David,” you reply with a smile.

He nods, then turns around to walk away, barking over his shoulder, “If somethin’ out 'ere hassles you, give me a shout! I’ll come runnin’!”

“Got it!”

He moves on, then soon vanishes from sight. As soon as he’s gone, you feel the warmth of his company fade away. The cold fog seeps into your bones and wilts your smile. A condensed breath leaves your parted lips. How did you get here? Making pacts with killers, hiding from the only people who care, and letting yourself feel more alone than you have to be? You only just burned that photo, and yet you feel a weight heavier than any other settling on your chest and compressing your heart.

Am I really doing the right thing?

The fog returns your query with silence. You hang your head and sigh. “Who knows?”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 32: Choice: Dwight (❤)

 

Upon catching up to you, Dwight slows his pace to join your side. He huffs in exertion, re-tucks his shirt, and finally meets your eyes with his nervous-blinking set. “Hey. Do you want to talk?”  

“If I wanted to talk, I wouldn’t have walked away,” you reply softly, and matter-of-factly.

Dwight nods. “Right.” He idly adjusts his tie while dropping his gaze to his feet. “You’ve had it rough here since day one,” he remarks quietly. “Which is saying something…”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I’m not trying to—” He stops short and sighs. “My, uh… My offer still stands, you know?” he says. “If you need any pointers, or someone to show you the ropes, I can, uh… give you some private lessons.”

You quirk a brow. “Private lessons?”

“Yeah,” Dwight nods. “We could come out here, and I can give you the rundown, just whenever. Maybe some Q and A…” He draws a small notepad from his breast pocket and flips it open. “I’ve got notes on generator repairs, and tidbits on the killers. Their MO’s, strengths… weaknesses, and…” he trails off when he sees the look on your face. The corner of your lips quirked, and a flicker of amusement in your eyes. 

“Private lessons, huh? You make this same offer to anyone else?”

Dwight chuckles and scratches behind his ear. “I—I have before, but no one’s ever taken me up on it…” He laughs sheepishly, then sighs. “There are always trust issues, you know? With the… with the new people. It takes a minute for the whole reality of the situation to sink in, and by the time it does, well… They don’t—” He stops again and sighs in defeat. “You know what I mean, right?”

“I got it.” You slow your roll and come to a stop, prompting Dwight to halt beside you.

You could use this, right? After that shitshow in camp and the number it did on your psyche, you're desperate for any distraction, no matter how big or small. Anything to get the fresh memory of scorching hot flames, and your own horrible screams off your mind. You need to cool down. And even if that means hearing a lecture from Dwight in the woods, you'll take it. 

“Why not?” you say with a casual shrug of your shoulders. “I could go for some advice from a veteran.”

Dwight’s brows lift in surprise. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “And we’re already out here, so… Let’s start now.”

Dwight nods quickly in reply. “Alright, uh… There’s so much to go through”—He thumbs nervously through his little notepad, eyes flitting up and down the pages while he murmurs—“First… Hm…”

“Let’s keep it simple,” you say. “What’s lesson one?”

Dwight pauses. “Lesson—Lesson one? I haven’t, uh… grouped everything up into lessons, but… er—”

“What’s most important?” you ask encouragingly.

Dwight meets your eyes and pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. “Most important…” He pockets his notepad and murmurs, “I would say… trust. Trusting each other. We’re all in the same boat, right? And while we might not find land anytime soon, we can all keep it from sinking a little while longer. And that takes trust.”

You nod to indicate you’re following along. Dwight continues. “In the trials, you put your life in someone else’s hands. Frequently, too. So you’ll need to trust others to have your back, and trust them to help you complete the objective. And to trust someone, you need to know them.” He offers a slanted smile and jokes, “Stranger danger, right?”

You share a laugh with him. Dwight shrugs his shoulders and tacks on, “That’s the one upside to being trapped in limbo with the same people forever… We don’t have to be strangers, at least.”

“So you want to be more than strangers?”

Dwight pauses, then shrugs his shoulder and blows air out of his mouth. “Uh—Uh… Yeah.”

“And where do we start?”

“Where do we…? Um… Well, we’re… I thought we were—” He trails off and fixes his glasses over his nose with shaky hands. “If I’m being honest, I’ve… I’ve never been so great at getting to know people. Or talking to them… I mean, I’m having a hard time just working up the courage to ask you—” He stops himself and makes a sheepish face. “You know, people have just never been interested in getting to know me.”

Oh, he’s crumbling. It’s like witnessing a demolition squad level a skyscraper… And in this case, wouldn’t that make you the demolitionist?

Dwight continues to trip over his words while he recollects himself. “Know what?” he begins, while putting on a cool face. “Why don’t we just move on? I think we’re way past the whole stranger stage anyway, right?”

Your lips snake into a smile that cracks his facade and blushes his cheeks. “Yeah, but I think I’d like to be friends, Dwight.”

“You want to be..? That’s, uh…”

“Does everyone make you this nervous, or just me?”

Dwight lets out a small laugh that hitches in his throat. “Yes,” he initially answers, before rapidly saying, “I—I mean no! I’m saying—” he stops and breathes harshly through his nose before dropping his reddened gaze and occupying himself with his loose tie. He fumbles around with it for a good minute before you step forward to offer him a hand.

Dwight catches his breath and freezes solidly as you reach out and grasp the tie. You tighten it gently around his collar, give him a friendly pat on the chest, then smile. And that utterly devastates what little composure he has left.

You didn’t think the man could flush any darker, but his face blooms cherry-red. A nervous laugh escapes his lips, and he brushes your hand with his own clammy fingers. But when he notices you’ve noticed, he quickly draws back and stammers, “Sorry. I just get, uh… a bit nervous when... I’m...” He trails off, flushed in embarrassment. After wiping his hands up and down his slacks, he rakes his fingers back through his messed hair. “You know what? I, uh… I think the rest of our lessons can wait, right?”

He takes a step back, almost tripping over his own feet. He teeters, catches himself, and clears his throat. “Yeah.”

“We aren’t even past lesson one,” you humorously reply.

“We just about covered it,” he says. “Yep. Uh… And—And if I’m being honest, I… I actually came out here to see how you were doing.” He sheepishly rubs his nape while avoiding your eyes. “After what went down in camp, I thought you’d need it, you know?” When he lifts his gaze, he gives you a sincere look, eyes flickering with concern, and his brows knitted.

“You were worried about me?”

“Yeah. We all are, but… I just had to be sure.” He offers you a managed smile.

A warm sensation crawls up the back of your neck and over your face, giving it a crimson glow. You part your lips to speak, pause, then say, “Oh… thanks. Thank you, Dwight.”

He gives a nod. “Anytime you want to finish the, uh… the lessons, you know where to find me, right? We'll go over everything nice and slow, maybe get hands-on—” He swallows his words and makes a face before waving his hands in front of him swiftly. “Not like that!” he blurts. “Just— Ah, never mind. Later. Later...”

After sharing one last sheepish smile, he dips his head and quickly turns away, seemingly eager to go.

He retreats into the fog and vanishes from sight. As soon as he’s gone, you feel the warmth of his company fade away. The cold fog seeps into your bones and wilts your smile. A condensed breath leaves your parted lips. How did you get here? Making pacts with killers, hiding from the only people who care, and letting yourself feel more alone than you have to be? You only just burned that photo, and yet you feel a weight heavier than any other settling on your chest and compressing your heart.

Am I really doing the right thing?

The fog returns your query with silence. You hang your head and sigh. “Who knows?”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 33: Choice: Bastion (❤)

 

Bastion strides behind you, poised and silent, as if he dares not to speak or announce himself. He simply follows you like a shadow. And, while embittered seeing him again so soon after your dispute, you’re glad he’s at least come without that infuriating, unsettling grin.

“Did you enjoy that light show?” you remark heatedly as you turn back around to keep walking. “Now I know how it feels… Fire bad.”

“I thought I’d check on you,” Bastion replies quietly.

You shake your head. “I’d rather have an explanation. Do you have one for me, or was that just a freak accident?”

“We’re more alike than you know.”

You glance over your shoulder at him, but he adds nothing further. You scoff. “Whatever that means.”

Bastion reaches out and rests his hand on your shoulder, which you shrug off before whirling around to face him. “Am I supposed to pretend that you didn’t try to kill me earlier?” He says nothing in reply, which irritates you beyond your limit. Your brows crease and you breathe deeply. “We can’t do this, Bastion. If I’d known you were always just a hair away from snapping and trying to shish-kebab me, I might’ve never taken so many midnight strolls with you. Being around you is like walking on eggshells.” You scoff and add, “And you never bothered telling me…”

“I don’t want you to fear me,” Bastion replies.

“But you’re okay with stabbing me in the back? Knowing that at any moment, you could snap and hurt me?” Anger and nerves shake your voice, and you poke the bear again, uncaring of the potential consequences. “I’ve put so much trust in you. And all you’ve done is lie to me. When you attacked me back there, I can’t even say it surprised me. Because you’ve been a ticking time bomb all along, just wearing a mask to cover it up.”

Bastion is silent in the face of your verbal assault.

Maybe he’s trying to devise another lie, you think. Oh, but no. Lies come naturally to him. Could it be you’ve actually rendered him silent? Now that would be a surprise. You’ve got the smart-mouthed demon biting his tong—

“Do you want me to go, Wanderer?”

His soft question jolts you from your thoughts. You blink at him, and he returns your gaze silently, waiting for an answer. For your order. A stammer leaps to your throat, and you realize you don’t have an immediate answer for him—or even one for yourself.

Well, do you? A tiny voice asks inside your head. You blank, and a thoughtful look joins your brows together. I don’t know.

If you told him to get lost, you know he would. He’d vanish without another word and leave you to stew alone. And that’s what you want, isn’t it? He’s the source of your sour mood, so why not just get rid of him? Maybe your temper would fade with him. You have every reason to, but… you can’t.

Bastion remains patiently waiting, and you sigh at him as you lower your head.

“Sometimes I think you might actually… care. I—I don’t know why, but we spend so much time around each other, and… and you’re the only one here with me now.” You swivel your head. “No one else cared enough to follow me into the deep, dark woods—into the fog. But you have.”

When you lift your gaze and search his face, you scoff—of course, there’s nothing there to search. He hides, your inner voice repeats. He always hides.

You silence your nagging thoughts. “Do you care, Bastion?” you ask, your voice scarcely audible. “Or are you just protecting your best interests?”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t,” Bastion replies.

His honesty, though appreciated considering his reputation, spoils your face with a frown. Worse, your heart sinks into a deep pit.

You give him a dismissive shrug of your shoulders to mask the disappointment becoming clear on your features. “Okay,” you murmur. “I get it.” Your body reacts faster than your clouded mind is able, and your legs try to carry you away from him. You turn your back, but don’t get two feet before his next words falter you.

“It would also be a lie to say I didn’t care.”

You cast a glance behind you. “Am I supposed to believe you?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care, Wanderer.”

The blunt statement drives a wedge through your throat and blocks off whatever you have to say. You lock your gaze on Bastion, struggle to swallow past the lump in your airway, then give up and hang your head. Although a part of you still wishes to walk away, something leaden and heavy binds your feet to the ground.

Bastion says nothing else in his defense, doesn’t poke or push you. He just stands there, waiting, and watching, as you’re sure he would all night, if you gave him the opportunity. He’d stand by your side. You know he would. He must care at least a little, right? To some degree, big or small... And, admittedly, maybe you care too. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur barely above a whisper when you find your voice. “For yelling at you, for blaming you, and—”  You stop short with a shuddering breath and hug yourself. Your nerves still tingle like they’re on fire, the memory of your immolation just too fresh to dismiss. Pinpricks of phantom pain pierce your skin and make you jolt and quiver. But you don’t mind showing some weakness now. Not around him. He’s seen it before; it’s nothing new.

“And—And I threatened to torch you. But I wouldn’t do that to you… It’s so god awful, I wouldn’t do that to anyone.” You lift your gaze and face him again. “I was just confused, Bastion. And angry, and—”

“You don’t owe me an apology,” Bastion interrupts.

“Don’t I?” you reply. “What you did was out of your control. You couldn’t help yourself. And I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” You approach him and reach out for his hand. As soon as you grasp his hand in yours, he visibly bristles at your touch, shown by the way his claws twitch and snap behind him. When you close your fingers around his, an icy chill prickles the length of your spine. You shrug off the creepy-crawly feeling and resolve yourself.

“When it happened, what… what was going on inside your head?”

Bastion doesn’t immediately answer. You look up at him, and he stares back silently in his reluctance. You lightly squeeze his hand. He wavers.

“Honest answer?” he quietly asks.

You nod.

More silence fills the space between you both before he finally speaks again. “I wanted to hurt you. Every voice inside screamed at me to kill you… And I was going to satisfy those voices.” He tips his blank face to peer at your joined hands. Then he gingerly curls his fingers around yours. “I would’ve done unspeakable things to you… Heinous, vile things.”

The many horrific implications that run through your mind make your skin itch and your throat dry. You don’t ask him what he means—you don’t want to know. You know enough. “What can I do next time?” you ask. “How do I stop you? Because torching you would be the last resort.”

“Wanderer—”

“No,” you interrupt. “There has to be some way, right? A way to snap you out of it. Maybe we can use a special word… Could that work?”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t indicate if you’re right or wrong, and there’s no way to read his faceless gaze. You sigh and jostle his arm in frustration, “Bastion—”

One of his claws twitches unexpectedly, putting you in a sudden panic and making your heart race. You flinch and recoil in fear, then lose your footing and trip. When you hit the ground, you gasp, scramble, and stop.

He just stares at you, and you return the stare. Shame darkens your face. “Oh-Oh—”

“I still scare you, Wanderer?” Bastion’s shoulders sag. He retracts his claws and takes a step back.

“N-No,” you stammer as you rise to your feet. “You just surprised me—”

He’s about to do that thing where he vanishes in a puffy cloud of fog. But before he can, before he has the chance to leave you, your body reacts faster than your mind, and you dash forward and throw your arms out around him. He freezes, caught off guard. You wrap yourself tightly around him and rest your face on his chest.

“I’m not scared of you,” you reaffirm. To prove it, you draw away and grasp his hand, then guide it to your heart, flat over your chest. “See?” you say.

But your big-brain plan backfires completely when you realize your heart only picks up pace. It thumps like a drum, and the fast tempo is audible in your ears. Bastion notices, too. You hold your grip on his wrist as he tries to pull away. “I-I’m not scared. Just nervous…”

“Nervous?”

You give a fast nod. “Yes.”

The mood changes entirely as Bastion’s face morphs. He noticeably perks up and grins, flashing you two rows of gleaming, sharp teeth. “Nervous in a good way?”

And with that stupid, flirty line, the grim atmosphere lifts and dissipates. You scoff at him while fighting the smile that tugs at your lips. “You really have a way of ruining the moment,” you comment as you finally relinquish his hand.

Bastion lets out a warm chuckle as he cups your chin.

It’s maddening the way he does this. And yet, you keep letting him get away with it...

You offer no resistance as Bastion tips your face up to meet his. He puts a lid on his nuisance behavior to get serious. “I understand you don’t want to hurt me, Wanderer,” he says softly. “But you need to understand that you can’t tame a monster. If it’s you or me, choose yourself. I’m no stranger to punishment.”

You frown at him. “But—”

“I don’t want to argue with you, Wanderer.”

You concede and sigh. Your face warms up in his hand as you bitterly mutter, “You’re forgiven for earlier… Well, until you inevitably piss me off again, because that seems to be your favorite way of fucking with me…”

“I can find other ways to fuck with you,” Bastion cheekily replies.

Your face blooms crimson red. You try to snap your gaze away, but he draws your face back toward him. Then he tenderly runs his icy touch over your flushed cheek, chuckling again as he admires his handiwork. “Oh, there it is…”

You smack his hand away and pull back. “I can’t stand you,” you scoff, amused.

“Then get on your knees,” Bastion flirts.

Butterflies wreak havoc on your insides and choke you up. While you stupidly trip over your words, Bastion laughs. So, you’re relieved, though a tad disappointed, when he finally draws away from you to go. “You should retire to Lydia’s cabin, Wanderer… Have some rest.”

“Right,” you reply as you regain your composure. “That’s… That’s the plan.”

Bastion gives you a curt nod to mark his departure. But before he vanishes, you quickly say, “Wait.”

He stops. You take a deep breath and swallow hard while you work up the courage to speak what’s on your mind. As Bastion gazes silently at you, waiting, you steel yourself and sigh. “I… burned Ghostface’s offering,” you confess, shame-faced.

“I know,”  he replies calmly.

“Are you… Are you mad?” you ask, brows knitted.

“Honest answer?”

“Yes, Bastion.”

“I’m not happy with your decision,”  he replies. “But as I told you, Wanderer… I’ll stand by your side no matter what.”

His sincerity and soft tone of voice put you at ease and settles your nerves. “Okay,” you breathe, relieved with a weight lifted off your chest. “That’s—”

“Why do you care?” Bastion interrupts, taking you by surprise. You give him a puzzled look, and he clarifies, “Why do you care what I think?”

You hesitate. “I—I, well… We’re partners.”

“Partners?”

“Yeah,” you reply.

For a long, silent minute, he stares at you, and you shrink down under his unwavering gaze. While you ponder what’s on his mind, fighting the flush creeping to your face becomes increasingly difficult. A million things could be running through his head right now, just like the rampant thoughts racing through yours. Your nervousness has all but doubled when he finally spares you from the scrutiny. “I see,” he says.

Then he grins at you, chuckles, and vanishes.

As soon as he’s gone, the cold becomes colder, and the weight on your chest weighs heavier.

Were you too hasty in your decision to burn Ghostface’s offering? Too quick to seal a pact with a killer? You have Bastion, and although he might have some… problems, you trust him. And surely his help is all the help you need? Ah… It’s too late now though, isn’t it? You can’t take it back…

“Too late,” you murmur, bitterly. “Too late.”

 

Continue

 

Notes:

Ask and ye shall receive. Bastion gets his choice, but this’ll be his last one for a while, sorry to say. He’s been stealing a bit too much spotlight. And for pacing purposes, I need to slow it down a bit with him, anyway.

Chapter 34: Overwatch

 

Though you thought you’d take comfort in having another’s company here in the dark, that isn’t the case. When you realize the shrouded figure standing straight ahead of you, illuminated only by the flaming torch they wield, your fear becomes insurmountable. You don’t know the stranger, and every past effort to have yielded no results. Who they are, what they want, and how they’ve invaded your head is another mystery that’s yet to be explained. The uncertainty makes you nervous.

Again, and as always, you’re a prisoner of your own mind. A rat in a cage under the watchful eye of a malicious entity you can’t see. Toxic tar binds you to your knees at the mercy of your sinister company.

You don’t bother communicating with the stranger because they won’t hear your voice. For a short period, you watch and wait, and they do the same. The stillness only breaks when the cloaked figure raises their torch high above their head. Then they drop it at their feet.

The flames streak across the surface of the shimmering black pool, spreading like amber paint on a dark canvas. And when they reach you, they flay your skin and eat you alive.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You tear your eyes from the flickering candle, refusing to look at it any longer. It’s too similar to the most recent night terrors you’ve experienced. Every night since the incident in camp, you’ve dreamed of savage flames devouring you. And every night since, you’ve awoken drenched in cold sweat.

Bastion hasn’t been on your radar lately. And for what reasons, you don’t know. He doesn’t wake you with a rise and shine, nor does he see you off to bed, nor does he drop in with perverse remarks or witty dialogues. Maybe he’s taking a break… Regardless, you’ve been too apprehensive to venture out into the fog without his guidance or protection. In the meantime, you’ve busied yourself skimming through the journal scavenged from the cave. There are some tidbits of useful information found here and there, but nothing major. Nothing game-changing. Things have been quiet around Lydia’s cabin.

 

Sitting at this desk for so long, your body aches. You fidget and squirm, then sigh and close the book. After arching your back and popping your stiff joints, you drop the book in the drawer at your feet and kick it shut. Your weary eyes return to the lit candle. Sweat drips from your brow, and a tingle in your spine causes you to jitter. But a sudden urge trumps your fear—the urge to test a theory—a… wonder, even.

Poe seems to know what’s going through your mind. Where he sits on the countertop beside you, he cocks his head and coos, as if questioning your next move. You pay him no mind, and after only a moment of hesitation, you reach out your hand and hover your palm over the flame.

It licks your skin and burns, but thankfully, it doesn’t engulf you immediately, like the bonfire at camp did. You snatch your hand away and stare puzzled at the candle. Interesting. And you watch with increasing wonder as whirling tethers of dark fog dance over your sizzled flesh.

A knock at the door makes you jump. You turn in the chair and watch Lydia appear as she slowly parts the door. “I’ve put on some tea,” she says warmly.

“Thank you,” you reply.

Lydia hums, steps back, then stops. Her eyebrows furrow. “I noticed you haven’t left in a while… How are you? You doing okay?”

“I’m just… taking a break,” you say. “Being out in the fog so often can be draining.”

Which is an understatement.

“I understand,” Lydia says with a nod. “Just figured I’d come and check up on you. The tea’ll be ready in a minute,” she adds. Then she leaves, closing the door after her.

You return your gaze to your palm. The burn’s gone.

You crinkle your brow and stare addle-brained at your hand for a good minute as your mind races with curiosities. But when you’re unable to deduce a cause or reason for the perplexing instance, you drop it to save yourself the headache. Why rack your head for answers you won’t find when there are dozens of other immediate concerns?

Like… What do I do now?

Since burning The Ghost Face’s offering, you’ve had this nagging itch irritating your cranium. And your inner voice frequently asks, “Why stop there?”

That’s a good question, isn’t it? Why not go to the others? You have two killers on your side now, so why not recruit more help? Maybe you should reach out to your fellow campers… Or at least Felix and Elodie. Those two seem to know something, don’t they? More than they’ve let on… After all, they’ve been the most persistent in trying to wring you for answers. They could very well be hiding their own deep, dark secrets… And maybe it’s time to find out what those are.

Why not? Your inner voice murmurs. What do you have to lose?

With nothing else to do, and little motivation to venture into the fog alone, you'll pay a friendly visit to camp. 

You throw your bag over your shoulder, gather Poe into the palm of your hand, then you leave the study. 

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Dark fog whispers around you, dancing close and kissing your skin with its icy touch, making you shiver and jolt. Despite your efforts to dispel your paranoia with idle humming and the occasional skip in your step, nothing works. Even Poe’s pleasant company can’t soothe the uneasiness that swells up in your stomach.

Does the fog make you antsy, or your impending encounter at camp? On the one hand, meeting with Felix and Elodie seems a necessary chore. On the other, you’re hesitant to divulge your secrets to them. What would they think of your alliance with these killers?

Who knows? Your mind answers.

“You’ve gotta give me something,” you sigh. “Is any of this right? Am I making the right move?”

…

At times like these, you miss Bastion’s company.

You yield to the silence and have no more words with yourself or with the little crow on your shoulder. The silence, however, does not last.

A familiar murmur makes you pause and falter. Unintelligible voices rise in volume and upset the calm. Though you can’t make out the words they share, their meaning is clear in the way they make your heart race and your skin to prickle with goosebumps.

The screeching voices don’t come alone—you pick out dark figures all around you, melting into the shadows, watching and waiting.

Don’t look at them, you encourage yourself. Keep walking.

You quicken your pace. Something warm dribbles from your nose to your chin. You touch it and reel at the black goop on your fingertips. After taking your arm quickly across your face, you walk faster. The shadows follow and the voices grow louder.

Frighteningly, Poe’s aware of the ominous presence pursuing you. He nestles up to your neck and coos. And at some point, his cooing becomes less of a frightened animal, and more like an omen. Croakier, deeper, until altogether, the crowing becomes a voice.

“We see you.”

Directly into your ear and startling enough to make you jump. Poe’s beady black specks catch your eye, and the young bird speaks again, as if possessed. “Run as far as you can, as fast as you’re able. But we’ll always find you.”

You tear your wide eyes away and dash through the fog, carried forward by your fear. You know it’s not really Poe speaking. It’s your mind playing more tricks on you… It’s the fog. Don’t let it in. Block it out.

“A cog in an ever-turning wheel,” Poe says. “Do you truly believe you’ll find the way? Do you have what it takes?”

Keep running, you press. They’ll go away, they always do.

“Cowards run. Cowards never find the answers.”

Sweat slicks the skin on your brow. You move so fast, everything around you becomes a hazy blur.

“Just like all the rest,” Poe taunts. Then he chuckles, a noise akin to nails on a chalkboard, and screeching metal.“You’re all the same.”

A shadow leaps out at you from the fog, arms extended. A shrill wail rips from its blank face. Then another lunges, and another and another. You dodge the shady specters, stumbling and tripping over your feet. Darkness obscures your vision until you run through an empty void, hounded by the shades. They gain steadily in pursuit until you can feel their ghostly hands brushing the hair on your neck.

“We’re closer than you know.”

The darkness breaks by blinding warm light. You stagger to an immediate stop, gasping for breath as your vision returns. Reality hits you like a truck—you stand before the bonfire in camp, looking frantic and wild. The voices fade out, and the crackling fire fills the absence left behind.

After willing yourself to relax, you touch your lip where the black ooze spilled, and you find it’s dry. Poe’s still perched on your shoulder, and when you cock your gaze to look at him, he stares back innocently with his bright blue gaze. You smooth his ruffled feathers, then cast your attention around camp. You’re startled and embarrassed to find three sets of eyes watching you.

Jake sits against a tree with his knees bent, arms folded, and his scarf drawn up over his mouth. Once you lock eyes with him, he stands up and walks away, leaving your gaze to wander toward Claudette. She rests beside her basket while she packs some rolls of bandages and gauze. It appears she’s going to venture into the fog… Last, you spot Kate sitting on the log beside the fire. She breaks her sights from yours and strums her guitar on her lap.

It’s not the company you were hoping for, but you’re glad you don’t have to face Felix or Elodie just yet… Maybe you’re not as prepared to as you thought.

You're partly disappointed to have come out all this way for nothing, but another fraction of yourself is glad to be out of the cabin. It was getting too stuffy... But what now?

 

Follow Jake (❤)

Join Claudette (❤)

Sit with Kate (❤)

 

Notes:

Happy New Year!
 

(Fan art feature! 💖💖💖)

 

By audbreyy.ig.

 

By sir.deathsketches (sir.deaththekid)

 

By jellowhore.

I've linked their Instagram pages! Awesome artists worth checking out 💖
Thank you all again!! (I love you (\\◡‿◡) <3)

Chapter 35: Choice: Follow Jake (❤)

 

It’s hard to resist following your favorite loner into the woods.

After you leave camp, you follow Jake’s footsteps on a quiet, beaten path. Your motives are as foggy as the dark woods you trek. You don’t know what compelled you to leave the bonfire behind and follow the loner into the night. Judging by how quick he was to dart up and away when he saw you, it’s clear he doesn’t want your company… But you can’t help but seek him out.

You walk silently for nearly five minutes without catching sight of him. So you falter to a stop and look around like a lost puppy before creasing your brow.

Might’ve lost his trail…

“Ahem.”

You spin around, startled, and find Jake propped up against a tree. While your features relax, Jake’s harden. “Knew you couldn’t help yourself,” he says. His arms cross his chest tight.

Your lips curl into a smile despite his bitter greeting. “You know me too well.”

You catch a faint gleam of amusement in Jake’s eyes, but it’s gone as fast as it came. He shakes his head slowly as he steps away from the tree. You move aside to let him pass. “Where are you off to?” you ask him.

“Maybe I’m hiding secrets like you,” he replies, staring at you sharply.

“Are you?”

He doesn’t respond. He changes the subject instead. “I heard you were messing around by the bonfire and got burned.”

You catch up beside him. A frown creases your brow. “Well… yeah.”

“It hasn’t burned anyone else.”

“So I’ve heard,” you sigh. “Everything here is out to get me…”

“Are you alright?”

You pause and meet Jake’s eyes. Sincerity replaces the usual moodiness that tarnishes his features. You blink at him and shrug. “I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

Jake scoffs. “You’ve been through some shit,” he says. “Everyone has, but I think burning alive takes the cake… I think you’re hiding how you really feel.”

“Do I need to break down and cry for you to be satisfied?” you say with a quirked brow.

“I think it’s fucked up how well you’re handling it.”

“I could say the same for you,” you reply. “Haven’t seen you shed so much a tear since I’ve been here. You probably love this place, right? No rules, off the grid, and this is as secluded as it gets—”

“This place is fucking hell.”

His sharp tone shuts you up. Irritation flickers across his face. You tense your jaw and avert your gaze.

“I know,” you say. “Sorry…”

While awkwardly rubbing your nape, you mutter, “If I’m being honest, I haven’t been handling it very well… I go to sleep, and I’m burning again. I wake up screaming like a banshee and sweating bullets. And when it all finally passes, I’m left wishing I’d never crawled into bed.” You scoff. “I’ve hardly slept lately… My legs feel like lead.”

Jake’s eyes flit to you, and both of you are silent. He softens just a moment before dropping his gaze and grunting. “That explains why you look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Jake grunts indifferently before faltering in his steps. As you slow behind him, you watch him hesitate, then change his course. You quirk a brow and open your mouth, but he cuts you off.

“We all have them,” he says, his voice lower than before. “Nightmares… For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you’re going through this shit.”

“That… means a lot coming from you, actually,” you reply. “Didn’t know empathy was a word in your dictionary.”

Jake’s brow wrinkles, and it’s hard to read the expression hidden under his scarf. But you’re spared the suspense of his reply when he comes to a sudden stop in the face of a large clearing.

You stumble beside him and gape at the sight before you — a shelter smack-dab in the center of the clearing. You admire a small ramshackle shack with a conical wooden roof plastered over with plastic sheeting. There’s a scrap of worn gray cloth hanging over an entryway, and warm light filters through it. A stone chimney on the roof billows a cloud of dark smoke into the twinkling midnight sky.

Your feet draw you curiously into the clearing, and your eyes dart between a wood chopping block and a wire drawn between two trees—an assortment of clothes hangs on it. You slow down, turn on your heels, and scoff. “What the hell is all this?”

“Home,” Jake grunts in reply. As he walks past you toward the little hut, he gestures for you to follow him.

You tail him closely. “How’d you do all this?”

“Time and patience. And I’ve got nothing but time on my hands.” Jake pushes through the curtain into the hut, and you follow him inside. A fire crackles in the small stone-bricked fireplace at the opposite end of the stuffy room, enveloping you with warmth and a soothing scent of burning oak. Under your feet is a floor paneled with wooden planks and covered with the remains of a flattened tent. An old brown bedroll clings to the wall to your left, and you see a stack of beaten pots and pans to your right, next to a pile of dry grass and chopped tinder. There’s just enough room to lay out on the floor with even some space to spare.

Altogether, it doesn’t hold a candle to Lydia’s cozy cabin in the woods, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

Your lips twitch in a smirk. When you look at Jake, he creases his brows as if he knows what words are about to come spewing out of your mouth.

“Do you bring a lot of campers back to your place?”

Jake scoffs. “It was only a matter of time until you sniffed it out on your own…” He slumps back against the wall and draws his knee to his chest. He gestures for you to do the same.

As you sit beside him, you clasp your hands on your lap. After a long moment of silence, Jake asks, “What brought you out of hiding this time?” He gives you a knowing look. “You don’t come around camp unless you’re looking for something.”

“Wanted to hassle my favorite emo,” you reply.

He blinks at you, unamused. A chuckle escapes your lips as you point to his scarf. “Why are you all covered up? Afraid I’ve got cooties or something?”

Jake pulls his scarf down without a word to reveal a work in progress. Dark patches of hair frame his jawline and stipple his chin. It’s a harsh blow to his normally handsome features, and a surprise that makes you snort.

“Oh, wow. That’s… That’s coming in nicely, isn’t it?” You can’t help the laughing tone in your voice.

“Have you ever tried shaving without a razor?”

“Good point,” you reply. You nudge him with your elbow and offer, “I might scrounge you up a little something-something, if you ask nicely…”

“You shouldn’t go out into fog all fucking willy-nilly,” Jake says. He inclines his head. “I think maybe you’re getting too comfortable out there…”

“Is this your way of saying you’re worried about me?”

“Take it however you want,” Jake scoffs.

Maybe I will.

He stops talking, and you satisfy his want for silence as you focus your idle attention on the fire again. The flickering flames muddle your head with anxious thoughts—the same thoughts that keep you awake late into your curfew. Whispers break through the crackling fire and tickle the fine hairs in your ears. Despite your best efforts to keep them out, they grow in number and volume. You squeeze your eyes shut and ball your fists.

Ignore them.

Yet louder and louder the voices murmur… We see you. We’re watching you. We’re with you.

Don’t listen.

You hear screams amongst the cacophony. Horrible, piercing screams… A jolt courses the length of your spine.

It’s not real . None of it is.

Even with your eyes closed, you notice the warm glow of the fire vanish. You’d think something had snuffed it out if you didn’t know any better…

Open your eyes. The fire’s still there.

You hear another voice telling you not to. And another demands you look at it. To your left, a third voice screams, then cackles and croaks… Help us.

Shut up.

Something touches your forearm—a hand. It’s cold… sharp nails pierce your skin and draw blood—

Don’t touch me.

You feel the bony fingers pinch and tear, peeling back the flesh on your arm until—

“Where’d you find the crow?”

Jake’s voice abruptly silences the whispers. They cut away with a hissing sigh, and you snap open your eyes to meet the flames once again. Blinking, you turn to Jake. You quickly wipe the fear from your face and wrinkle your brow. “Poe?” Just a whisper escapes your lips before you clear your throat. “I… I found him in the woods. Mommy wasn’t around, and I didn’t think she’d be coming back…” You gingerly stroke Poe’s beak, the action stirring the young crow from his slumber. Cooing, he rises away from your neck, cranes his head and blinks at Jake.

You smile. “Looks like you’ve caught his eye…”

Jake silently asks for permission, and you nod. He extends an arm out toward your shoulder invitingly. Poe eyeballs him curiously before hopping onto his hand. He clicks his beak, and Jake hums.

“Heard around camp you had a little friend, and I wondered when I’d finally meet him…” He draws his arm back and closely admires the crow. “He’s a fledgling, so he’ll be flying in no time.”

Poe hops along Jake’s arm and settles down on his shoulder. He plucks at a lock of black hair before cooing and nestling in a fold of his hood. Jake smiles, and it’s a welcome sight.

You smirk. “Oh, so the bird gets a smile out of you?”

“You’ve gotta put in a little more work for it.”

You chuckle in response. While watching Poe snuggle up to his new friend, you ask, “You like animals?”

Jake makes a slanting gesture with his hand. “Like is a strong word… I respect them. And I think that feeling’s mutual…” He smooths the feathers on Poe’s wing and murmurs, “They only do what they can to survive, day in and day out, just like the rest of us. Just like me.”

“I get that,” you utter your reply. “It’s like an understanding. It’s—”

“Don’t get so sappy on me again, Cornball,” Jake interrupts with a sigh.

“Is that an endearing nickname?”

“Endearing?”

A smile brightens your features. “Oh, it is. Man, Jake, it’s all adding up. No wonder you showed me home…”

Jake scoffs at you, but his eyes show a glimmer of laughter. “I’m about to show you the door.”

You share a small laugh with him before allowing a warm silence to fill in. Poe’s already fast asleep on Jake’s shoulder as you kick back against the wall to relax. You glance at the flames as Jake grows quiet again.

You just stare at them for a long time, silent and unmoving. But before those thoughts can creep back in, Jake draws you out.

“How long have you been having them?”

You glance at him curiously. He clarifies, “The nightmares?”

“Oh,” you hum. “Since… Since day one. But I’m sure everyone has.”

Jake nods. He rubs his gloved hands together as his features crease. “Yeah… When I first got here, I thought it was all a bad dream. Or maybe I had died. Could’ve been anything… A cold, an infected cut. Maybe I even went peacefully in my sleep to a condition I didn’t know I had.” His face darkens and he hangs his head. “But after my first trial, I knew. It wasn’t some awful dream. It wasn’t even Hell. This is a game—a game spun by some fucked-up entity that wants to break us. And it’s working…”

You frown at him. “If it’s a game, we can win.”

The look Jake gives you quiets you up. He shakes his head. “You want to know why I think I’m here?” He doesn’t wait for your response before finishing, “I ran. I ran from a good life, from the people who cared about me. And now, there’s no more running.” He scoffs. “Scratch that. We can run as far as we want, but it won’t get us out of here.”

Run as far as you can, as fast as you’re able.

Those words come back to you and make you shudder. You force them out of mind and try to offer him your reassurance. “Every road ends, Jake.”

“You haven’t walked this one as long as I have.”

Silence envelops the room, almost suffocating. You shift uncomfortably and sag your shoulders, struggling to find what words to say next. But you know that nothing you say will comfort Jake. And you’re sure that he doesn’t want to hear it. Jake, however, spares you the silence when he kicks his foot toward his bedroll.

“You can have my sleeping bag.”

You raise a brow.

“If you’re having so much trouble sleeping, you can sleep here,” he says. “I’ll keep an eye on you and wake you if you start fussing.”

“I’m fine, J—”

“Don’t argue with me. You look like shit, and we all need our rest.”

He has a point… You look like absolute shit, and you feel even worse. And you have been dying to get a good night’s sleep…

You sigh in surrender and offer Jake a sheepish smile. “No argument there…” After climbing onto his bedroll and laying out, you stare up at the ceiling and utter, “Thank you.”

He only grunts in reply, making it clear he’s finished with all the small talk. But in one last-ditch effort to lighten the mood, you murmur, “Careful not to get on my bad side, Jake… Because David’ll be hearing about this place if you do.”

It’s enough to make him snicker. You manage a smile and add, “He’ll be tearing down your front door the moment he hears.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t,” Jake replies with a hint of amusement.

With no more words to share, you turn your gaze to the ceiling and let the crackling flames lull you to sleep…

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

—Watching you… Being watched… Wake up. Wake up!

You jolt awake with a start. When you’ve gathered your bearings, you gaze up at the ceiling as your eyes adjust to the warm glow of the fire. You sit up, blink, then pause.

Jake’s fast asleep where you last saw him, leaning back against the wall nearby with his arms folded across his chest. He’s missing his jacket, though… Ah.

His jacket lays over your body. A smile softens your features, but it’s gone when a terrible sensation crawls up your spine. You shudder as you scan the room nervously. You feel that pull again… Something’s here. Something’s outside.

You return Jake’s jacket by draping it gently over his shoulders. Then you gather a sleeping Poe from his lap and leave the hut.

The fog chills your bones the moment you step outside, and a shiver makes you falter. The source of that pull remains elusive as you scan your surroundings. That is, until the fog barrier around the clearing thins and vanishes completely. You make out a dark figure in the distance. A person.

Fear turns the blood in your veins to ice. You presume the figure to be another figment of your imagination at first, but then… it moves. And it runs away!

You lose sight of the figure, but it takes the pull with it… Carried by your curiosity, you pursue the dark stranger.

 

 

Once you leave the clearing, your speed increases from a jog to a breakneck sprint in pursuit of the stranger. You know you shouldn’t run aimlessly through the fog, especially on your own, but whatever that is, whoever it is, is a lead. And you can’t let leads slip through your fingers.

Come on, where the hell did you—?

THWACK!

Your chase comes to an abrupt halt as something strikes you on the back of the head. You cry out and stagger forward before falling to your knees. While you clutch your head and grit your teeth, you hear leaves crunch to your right, then watch a shadow fall over you.

“Risky move, pursuing a stranger into the fog,” a gruff voice says.

Through a haze, you watch a dark-robed figure step into view. A man, you think. He stops before you and inclines his shrouded head.

“But then, your kind has always been so brave.” He spits the last word coldly.

Your heart beats thunderously and you struggle to catch a breath. “Wh-What?” you gasp. “Who are—? Why did you— Gahh, my head…” You hold your pounding noggin and groan in pain.

He doesn’t allow you a moment’s reprieve. He leans forward, grips the lapels of your jacket in his fists, and hauls you to your feet. You’re hardly upright before he throws you back against a tree and pins you there.

“Ah!” you grunt. Your head spins like a top. You can’t make out the man’s face through the shroud of his cowl, but you can see two piercing, golden orbs in the dark. Those orbs slightly shift toward Poe on your shoulder, where the baby crow nestles against your neck, cooing and anxious.

“Interesting,” the man utters.

“You’re real,” you exhale in disbelief.

“What gave it away?”

His biting sarcasm makes you scoff. You reply, “I’ve seen you. In my dreams—”

“And we’ve seen you.”

“Who are you?”

The robed man doesn’t answer. He turns his head to the side, looks around the dark woods as if on edge, and then faces you again. “The Host isn’t with you? Where’s it gone?”

“The what?”

Again, he doesn’t answer. You glimpse the man’s hands, barely visible beneath the sleeves of his robe. His skin is pallid and streaked with pulsing orange veins. You blink curiously at the sight before the man speaks again.

“I could end it all right now, couldn’t I?” he murmurs, just above a whisper.

You crease your brows. “End what?”

The man leans in closer, and though you can’t make out his face, you can feel his unusually cold breath on your lips. “I could. I could end it all and put everything back in motion… I could reset it.”

His obscurity makes your skin crawl. “What-What are you talking about?”

He hums deeply, then suddenly releases his hold on your jacket. As he takes a step back, you stagger forward and catch yourself.

“No, no,” the man mutters as he backs away. “Too soon… I’ll give you a chance.”

“A chance for what?” You can’t help the bite in your tone. “Stop talking in riddles! Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?” You approach the man, and he backs up further.

“Stay back,” he warns.

“Just tell me something, please—”

The rest of your plea goes unheard as the man throws a hand up, and an unseen force knocks you off your feet. When you hit the tree behind you, all you see is black.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Within the swirling darkness of your mind, you see a faint, pulsing blue light in the distance. And you hear a voice—a woman’s voice. Though you can’t clearly make out her words.

Gradually, her voice becomes closer, but less clear. You desperately try to pick out meaning from her murmurings, but they fade altogether as your consciousness stirs…

 

 

You’re met with darkness when you come to. But the dark breaks away to a dim light as your eyes adjust. The source of which is a small square TV on top of a short dresser opposite you. The screen plays, but it’s only static and buzzing white noise. Upon closer inspection of your surroundings, you realize you’re in an apartment room… A grimy and humid apartment. Your body’s slumped back against a wall.

How the hell did I get here?

Your mind is a whirlwind of questions and concerns. Was that man you met in the woods actually real?

You hoist yourself up with a grunt, then touch a hand to the back of your head. It doesn’t ache or bleed… But surely an attack like that would leave an injury?

Ah… Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe you imagined it.

Poe startles you when he pecks at the lobe of your ear. You smooth the crow’s feathers and cast your eyes around the room.

The air is thick and humid. Sweat already slicks the skin on your brow. When you turn to your left, you find a window on the wall, drawn shut with a tattered black curtain. A coffee table sits in front of the TV, and a grimy gray recliner rests before it in the center of the room. The material is tattered with holes and stains. Right behind you is a hallway shrouded in complete darkness, and a doorway leads into a shadowed kitchen. The carpet underfoot has seen better days… This place is a shithole.

Could it be another echo? You scoff. Just my luck…

You turn slowly on your heels, then freeze solidly in place with widened eyes.

You’re horrified to find the wall behind you tacked with page after page of newspaper clippings and articles. But it’s the subject of these articles that has your blood running cold—each tells a different story about The Ghost Face killer.

Your breath catches in your throat. As you skim each page and shred of paper, a feeling of dread gradually creeps in. Every article details a gruesome murder committed by the masked killer… They’re all dated from the 90s… You pick out the latest article, one aptly headlined “Roseville Massacre.”

You reach out and pluck the page off the wall. And it’s just then that your skin crawls something terrible, and you hear the floor creak behind you.

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

Your body freezes. A throaty chuckle follows the all too familiar voice. “You’ll have to forgive the mess.”

It takes a minute, but you finally calm your nerves enough to react. You shake your head and scoff. "You narcissistic asshole..."

As you turn around, you see Ghostface emerging slowly from the shadowed hallway. His arms cross his chest, but one hand grips his knife. He taps the blade against the face of his mask. “I’m the asshole?” he says with a touch of amusement. “And who just broke into whose house?” You crease your brows, and he chuckles. “If you don’t mind me asking… How the hell did you get here?”

The mere sight of him makes you shiver. But you have to keep your cool…

“A sith lord jumped me in the woods,” you answer. “Knocked me out, and I woke up here. At least, that’s what I think happened.” You scoff. “My head’s been too messed up lately to discern fiction from reality. For all I know, this could be a dream, too.”

“Want me to pinch you?” Ghostface flirts. He smirks behind the mask. You can tell.

You give him a stern look. “Whatever happened, I’m here. Wherever here is…” You cast your gaze quickly around the room, refusing to take your eyes off your company for too long. When you meet the face of his mask again, he nods slowly.

“Well,” he says, taking some steps forward. “Since you’re here… Let’s talk.”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 36: Choice: Join Claudette (❤)

 

“Hey, Claude,” you greet your favorite botanist.

She startles and spins around to face you, allowing her features to soften and relax. Hugging her basket in her arms, she shakily replies, “Oh-Oh, hello.” She touches a hand softly to her chest, then sighs. “You like to sneak up on me…”

“Bad habit,” you say apologetically. “You going out?”

Claudette nods. You smile. “I’ll join you. We did plan a date, right?”

The color of her face darkens noticeably. Though she drops her gaze to her feet while sheepishly tucking a hanging loc behind her ear. “We did,” she says. When she faces you again, she offers a friendly smile and a nod. Then she turns away and walks off, peering back over her shoulder invitingly.

You join her side and leave the camp together.

As the firelight fades behind you, the fog begins to roll in, and a shiver judders your spine. Claudette shuffles beside you, clutching her basket as if it’s a source of warmth. You nudge her with your elbow. “Want my jacket?”

She meets your eyes just for a second and whiffles. “I—I’m fine,” she stammers over her trembling voice.

Sure, sure, but it’s cold as hell, and if you’re feeling it, you know she is, too.

You’re already removing your jacket. “I have thick skin,” you say, draping it over her shoulders. “The cold doesn’t bother me.”

She stiffens, then relaxes with a small sigh. “Thank you,” she murmurs. She grasps the lapels of the jacket and draws it in around her torso while shrinking down inside. Then she falls silent, leaving you to clumsily transition to the next topic.

“Have you been coming out here alone?” you ask her.

Claudette hesitates audibly. “Yes… I’ve gone looking for you at… at your tent, but I can never find you.”

You frown. “Ah… Well, I’ve been—”

“I heard about what happened,” Claudette interrupts. She grunts apologetically when you look at her. You nudge her to continue.

“I heard about what happened,” she repeats. “About the fi—” She stops herself, then sighs. “I-I know you don’t want anyone… reminding you. I’m sorry it happened. It’s so horrible.” She sags her shoulders and wrinkles her brows. “But it’s never happened before.”

“So I’ve heard,” you mutter.

Claudette frowns. “Are you doing okay?”

“Okay enough.” For her sake, you manage a small smile. But she shakes her head.

“It’s okay to not be okay… And it might even help to share that burden with others. To… To talk about it.”

You maintain your forced smile. “I know, Claude. But you’re not a bunch of shrinks, and I’m sure no one wants to hear all my depressing babble.”

“I’ll listen if you’re willing to share,” she reassures.

She could have a point, a tiny voice inside your head says. Tell.

You sigh. “Well, fire’s great,” you begin. “Until it’s burning you alive, that is… And it’s the sorta thing that sticks with you a while.”

Claudette nods to indicate she’s following. You continue, “So you can imagine I’ve been having some pretty terrible nightmares after that… Worse than usual.”

You could go into detail about your horrifying nightmares, but you’ll spare Claudette that. It’s not something you want to recall, and you’re sure it’s not something she wants to hear, despite her willingness to.

“Let’s just say I haven’t been sleeping well,” you conclude. “Hard to get any sleep knowing what awaits me when I shut my eyes.”

“You do look exhausted,” Claudette replies, frowning.

“You can tell? How bad is it? Are we talking light baggage, or full-on ghoul?”

Claudette makes a careful face. “Ah… ghoulish.”

“Ouch.”

“We might find something that could reduce your anxiety,” Claudette informs at your side. “Which-Which might help you get some sleep.” She pushes the bridge of her glasses up her nose and scans her surroundings. “Chamomile tea could do the trick,” she murmurs, mostly to herself.

You watch her scamper away and comb the shrubbery. She snoops around bushes while you stop and observe.

“Chamomile is…?”

“A flower,” Claudette clarifies. “White petals with yellow disks… They’re a rare find out here, but it won’t hurt to look.”

She tears the brush up determinedly. You join the search and look around some tall, dead trees. Claudette sighs harshly behind you. “They grow best in the sun. Digging some up would be a miracle.”

“You don’t have to do all this for me, Claude,” you tell her. “It’s no biggie if I miss out on a few winks—”

“You should be getting sleep,” Claudette interrupts. She looks back over her shoulder at you with a deeply flushed face and blinks apologetically. “Sorry.”

After standing and swiping dirt off her knees, she touches her chin thoughtfully. “If we can’t find any chamomile, we can try lavender.”

She scurries off with her basket in hand, and you following quickly in tow. When you catch up, you humorously say, “Claude, really. You don’t need to scour the woods for me—”

“I think there’s a clearing nearby,” Claudette murmurs, not paying attention. “Or was it back the other way?” She shifts her eyes about the woods, then fishes a small notepad from her back pocket. She thumbs through a few pages. “Chamomile, clearing west of camp,” she reads off quietly.

“Claude.”

“Lavender, field by the creek…” She taps a pen against her cheek and shakes her head. “Checked there last time… Wilted.”

“Claudie.”

“Maybe there’s a—Oomph!”

She hushes up and stumbles into you when you stop in front of her. You place a hand on her shoulder and give her a smile. “Claude, we’re not hunting chamomile.”

“But—”

“Nuh-uh. Hunt’s over, alright?”

Claudette wrinkles her brow and reluctantly lowers her notepad. You carry on your smile and give her a friendly nudge. “You don’t have to go out of your way for me. If I’d known you were going to start a wild goose chase, I might’ve kept my night terrors secret. But I’ll be okay, Claude. A few sleepless nights never hurt anyone…”

“There was actually a study conducted… in…” Claudette trails off and sheepishly hides her face behind a curtain of hanging locs. “There’s one last place we can look,” she says hopefully. She doesn’t wait for your reply before she moves past you. You have no choice but to let her lead the way.

 

After five minutes, you slow your roll behind Claudette as she stops at the edge of a clearing. You falter beside her and gawk at the sight laid before you.

Gray, puffy clouds hang in the dark sky above and reflect off the surface of a small, shimmering pond centered in the clearing. Dew beads on the healthy grass, and mist blankets the surface of the water. Frogs’ croaking and bird songs fill the air.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the fragrance of flowers and oak in the faint breeze. The serenity fills you with a calm you haven’t known in a while.

Claudette speaks softly beside you. “We won’t find chamomile here, but… maybe you can get some rest.” She offers a bashful smile and creeps into the clearing. You follow her to the pond.

“Has this place always been here?” you ask.

“I-I found it a while ago,” Claudette replies. She sits on the bank of the pond and places her basket at her side. “I come here sometimes. Times when there’s nothing else to do, and-and when—” She stops herself and creases her brows. “When I want to be alone. I appreciate the quiet.”

She reaches for a white lily floating on the surface of the water. “You can almost forget we’re living in a nightmare.”

You sit with Claudette to your left and glance at your reflection on the surface of the water—it makes you double take, then scoff.

She wasn’t kidding. Those bags under my eyes could float an anvil…

You avert your gaze and notice a bright yellow flower to your right. You rip it out of the grass and pick clumps of dirt off the stem before turning to present it to Claudette.

“Hey.”

She turns her gaze and peeps the flower. Then she hums. “Taraxacum officinale,” she says.

“Taraxawhat?”

“It’s a dandelion,” Claudette clarifies. “A weed. We can’t use that.”

“Oh. Yeah, I… I didn’t think so… I was actually, erm… gifting it to you.” You smile dumbly at her and push the flower — weed forward. “I don’t know, I saw it and thought it was pretty… Then thought it’d look prettier in your hair.”

“In my…? You mean— Oh,” Claudette stammers. Her face darkens a deep shade. She tentatively touches your hand, then allows you to place the dandelion over her ear, tucking it securely beneath a bundle of fuzzy locs. It’s a pop of color that contrasts nicely to her dark skin. You smile.

“My hypothesis was correct,” you say.

Her small laugh makes your heart flutter. She shifts on her knees and gathers a bundle of pondweed and cattail from the water. You watch her carefully weave the plants together, interlocking the stems. You guess she’s crafting a crown.

As she earnestly works, you ask, “Do you like being alone?”

“I don’t like it, per se,” Claudette replies. “But I’m no good at the alternative.”

Her eyes flicker towards yours and she quickly adds, “I do prefer the quiet, though.”

You nod in understanding. Claudette murmurs in addition, “And I like your company.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” Claudette says. “It isn’t too overwhelming.”

You snort. “But it is overwhelming?”

She gives you a smile and makes a pinching motion with her fingers. “Just a little.”

You chuckle as Claudette returns her attention to her project. “Some people are just too much for me. And a lot of them don’t understand. Sometimes I don’t understand, either.” She gingerly thumbs a white lily’s petal. “But nobody’s perfect.”

You notice that she’s in her element. Relaxed and at peace, as if she belongs here. For once, she’s free of nervousness and fear. If there was ever a time to see the girl behind the timid shell, it’s here and now.

“I don’t know about that, Claude,” you say after sucking your teeth.

She turns her nose at you and tilts her head. You smile. “I think you’re pretty great.”

You wish you could capture the look on her face—the way her cheeks radiate and the bright glow in her eyes. She reacts to the compliment as if she isn’t sure how to reply to it. For a moment, she stammers over her words, until getting out a partial thank you, and giving you the sweetest smile.

You smile back at her, but your expression wilts when a faint, scratchy voice tickles the hair in your ears. Then the voice becomes many voices, and then a chorus of hellish, harsh screams and whispers. Your mind fades out and the world around you becomes a blur. Claudette's sweet smile disappears. 

Despite your best efforts to keep the voices out, they grow in number and volume. You squeeze your eyes shut and ball your fists.

Ignore them.

Yet louder and louder the voices murmur… We see you. We’re watching you. We’re with you.

Don’t listen.

The cacophony is horrible and piercing… A jolt courses the length of your spine.

It’s not real. None of it is.

Even with your eyes closed, you notice the moonlight vanish. 

Open your eyes. The light's still there.

You hear another voice telling you not to. And another demands you look at it. To your left, a third voice screams, then cackles and croaks… Help us.

Shut up.

Something touches your forearm—a hand. It’s cold… sharp nails pierce your skin and draw blood—

Don’t touch me.

You feel the bony fingers pinch and tear, peeling back the flesh on your arm until—

“If—If you want to get some sleep, I’ll watch over you."

Claudette's soft-spoken words bring you back to reality. You open your eyes and meet her concerned gaze. The whispers fade away. Claudette peers at you with concern. “And I’ll wake you if I think you’re having a nightmare," she says quietly. 

“I haven’t inconvenienced you enough already?” you reply after finding your voice.

Claudette shakes her head quickly. “It’s fine! That’s why we came here,” she says, “so you can get some rest. I don’t mind.” She further insists by patting the grass beside her.

There’s no sense arguing about it—you’re tired as hell and dying to get a good night’s sleep… And if this is how you get it, then you’re all for it.

Drowsiness makes you weak the moment you plop down on the grass. Your limbs get heavy and a yawn shakes your frame. “Thanks, Claude,” you say as you cross your arms under your head.

Claudette hums beside you, smiling as she weaves her flower crown. You return the smile and let your eyelids flutter shut. Then you’re out like a light…

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

—Watching you… Being watched… Wake up. Wake up!

You jolt awake with a start. When you’ve gathered your bearings, you gaze up at the dark sky as your eyes adjust to the radiant moonlight. You sit up, blink, then pause.

Claudette’s fast asleep on the ground beside you, her body curled up beneath the jacket you lent her. A flower crown—the one you watched her meticulously craft—rests on the grass at your side… For you?

A smile softens your features. You take the crown and admire its intricacies before raising it and resting it on your head.

But your smile’s gone when a terrible sensation crawls up your spine. You shudder as you scan the clearing nervously. You feel that pull again… Something’s here.

You stand up and, though reluctant to, walk away.

The fog chills your bones the moment you put the clearing behind you, and a shiver makes you falter. The source of that pull remains elusive as you scan your surroundings. That is, until you make out a dark figure in the distance. A person.

Fear turns the blood in your veins to ice. You presume the figure to be another figment of your imagination at first, but then… it moves. And it runs away!

You lose sight of the figure, but it takes the pull with it… Carried by your curiosity, you pursue the dark stranger.

 

 

Once you leave the clearing, your speed increases from a jog to a breakneck sprint in pursuit of the stranger. You know you shouldn’t run aimlessly through the fog, especially on your own, but whatever that is, whoever it is, is a lead. And you can’t let leads slip through your fingers.

Come on, where the hell did you—?

THWACK!

Your chase comes to an abrupt halt as something strikes you on the back of the head. You cry out and stagger forward before falling to your knees. While you clutch your head and grit your teeth, you hear leaves crunch to your right, then watch a shadow fall over you.

“Risky move, pursuing a stranger into the fog,” a gruff voice says.

Through a haze, you watch a dark-robed figure step into view. A man, you think. He stops before you and inclines his shrouded head.

“But then, your kind has always been so brave.” He spits the last word coldly.

Your heart beats thunderously and you struggle to catch a breath. “Wh-What?” you gasp. “Who are—? Why did you— Gahh, my head…” You hold your pounding noggin and groan in pain.

He doesn’t allow you a moment’s reprieve. He leans forward, grips your collar in his fists, and hauls you to your feet. You’re hardly upright before he throws you back against a tree and pins you there.

“Ah!” you grunt. Your head spins like a top. You can’t make out the man’s face through the shroud of his cowl, but you can see two piercing, golden orbs in the dark. Those orbs slightly shift toward Poe on your shoulder, where the baby crow nestles against your neck, cooing and anxious.

“Interesting,” the man utters.

“You’re real,” you exhale in disbelief.

“What gave it away?”

His biting sarcasm makes you scoff. You reply, “I’ve seen you. In my dreams—”

“And we’ve seen you.”

“Who are you?”

The robed man doesn’t answer. He turns his head to the side, looks around the dark woods as if on edge, and then faces you again. “The Host isn’t with you? Where’s it gone?”

“The what?”

Again, he doesn’t answer. You glimpse the man’s hands, barely visible beneath the sleeves of his robe. His skin is pallid and streaked with pulsing orange veins. You blink curiously at the sight before the man speaks again.

“I could end it all right now, couldn’t I?” he murmurs, just above a whisper.

You crease your brows. “End what?”

The man leans in closer, and though you can’t make out his face, you can feel his unusually cold breath on your lips. “I could. I could end it all and put everything back in motion… I could reset it.”

His obscurity makes your skin crawl. “What-What are you talking about?”

He hums deeply, then suddenly releases his grip on you. As he takes a step back, you stagger forward and catch yourself.

“No, no,” the man mutters as he backs away. “Too soon… I’ll give you a chance.”

“A chance for what?” You can’t help the bite in your tone. “Stop talking in riddles! Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?” You approach the man, and he backs up further.

“Stay back,” he warns.

“Just tell me something, please—”

The rest of your plea goes unheard as the man throws a hand up, and an unseen force knocks you off your feet. When you hit the tree behind you, all you see is black.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Within the swirling darkness of your mind, you see a faint, pulsing blue light in the distance. And you hear a voice—a woman’s voice. Though you can’t clearly make out her words.

Gradually, her voice becomes closer, but less clear. You desperately try to pick out meaning from her murmurings, but they fade altogether as your consciousness stirs…

 

 

You’re met with darkness when you come to. But the dark breaks away to a dim light as your eyes adjust. The source of which is a small square TV on top of a short dresser opposite you. The screen plays, but it’s only static and buzzing white noise. Upon closer inspection of your surroundings, you realize you’re in an apartment room… A grimy and humid apartment. Your body’s slumped back against a wall.

How the hell did I get here?

Your mind is a whirlwind of questions and concerns. Was that man you met in the woods actually real?

You hoist yourself up with a grunt, then touch a hand to the back of your head. It doesn’t ache or bleed… But surely an attack like that would leave an injury?

Ah… Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe you imagined it.

Also worth noting, your flower crown’s missing—bummer.

Poe startles you when he pecks at the lobe of your ear. You smooth the crow’s feathers and cast your eyes around the room.

The air is thick and humid. Sweat already slicks the skin on your brow. When you turn to your left, you find a window on the wall, drawn shut with a tattered black curtain. A coffee table sits in front of the TV, and a grimy gray recliner rests before it in the center of the room. The material is tattered with holes and stains. Right behind you is a hallway shrouded in complete darkness, and a doorway leads into a shadowed kitchen. The carpet underfoot has seen better days… This place is a shithole.

Could it be another echo? You scoff. Just my luck…

You turn slowly on your heels, then freeze solidly in place with widened eyes.

You’re horrified to find the wall behind you tacked with page after page of newspaper clippings and articles. But it’s the subject of these articles that has your blood running cold—each tells a different story about The Ghost Face killer.

Your breath catches in your throat. As you skim each page and shred of paper, a feeling of dread gradually creeps in. Every article details a gruesome murder committed by the masked killer… They’re all dated from the 90s… You pick out the latest article, one aptly headlined “Roseville Massacre.”

You reach out and pluck the page off the wall. And it’s just then that your skin crawls something terrible, and you hear the floor creak behind you.

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

Your body freezes. A throaty chuckle follows the all too familiar voice. “You’ll have to forgive the mess.”

It takes a minute, but you finally calm your nerves enough to react. You shake your head and scoff. “You narcissistic asshole…”

As you turn around, you see Ghostface emerging slowly from the shadowed hallway. His arms cross his chest, but one hand grips his knife. He taps the blade against the face of his mask. “I’m the asshole?” he says with a touch of amusement. “And who just broke into whose house?” You crease your brows, and he chuckles. “If you don’t mind me asking… How the hell did you get here?”

The mere sight of him makes you shiver. But you have to keep your cool…

“A sith lord jumped me in the woods,” you answer. “Knocked me out, and I woke up here. At least, that’s what I think happened.” You scoff. “My head’s been too messed up lately to discern fiction from reality. For all I know, this could be a dream, too.”

“Want me to pinch you?” Ghostface flirts. He smirks behind the mask. You can tell.

You give him a stern look. “Whatever happened, I’m here. Wherever here is…” You cast your gaze quickly around the room, refusing to take your eyes off your company for too long. When you meet the face of his mask again, he nods slowly.

“Well,” he says, taking some steps forward. “Since you’re here… Let’s talk.”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 37: Choice: Sit with Kate (❤)

 

With a lack of else to do, and an unwillingness to trek back to the cabin on your own, you decide to sit around. Who knows, maybe Felix or Elodie will show if you wait around long enough.

You take a seat on the log by the fire, just opposite Kate. Claudette slips away from camp, leaving the two of you alone.

For a moment, you stare at the ground and pick at your nails idly, then your gaze crosses over the flames to peer at your lone companion. She plucks the strings of her guitar tenderly, humming a wistful tune to the melody. It’s like a lullaby, and you lose your train of thought and fade into a stupor.

Your eyelids flutter shut as you daydream of better days and better things. Nights spent in a warm bed at home… The twinkling stars in the sky above a world not so cruel… Candies and cookies, and good shows and movies… Time spent with good friends, forming close bonds—

“I heard about what happened.”

Kate’s soft words startle you back to reality. You open your eyes and meet her face across from you. She kicks her boot towards the bonfire. “When you… ya know. It’s god-awful. And I’m so sorry it happened to you.”

“It was only an accident,” you reply. “I’m okay.”

Kate hums. She drops her gaze to her instrument and murmurs, “You waitin’ for someone?”

“Yeah… I was hoping to speak with Felix or Elodie whenever they come by.”

“You just missed Ellie,” Kate says. “And I haven't seen Felix in a while. Might be broodin’ off like the rest of ‘em.”

You frown. Well, there go my evening plans…

Seeing as there’s no other reason to hang around, you stand up to go. But Kate makes you falter. “Sit and stay awhile,” she invites with a warm smile. “Try to relax some. I know you need it. And don’t tell me you’re off to take a nap—I know better.”

You pause before retaking your seat. “Okay, Sarge.”

Kate chuckles. She flicks a string and kicks back. “Why have I gotta beg you to stick around, B.W? You hate us all that much?”

“I don’t hate anyone,” you reply quickly. “I’m just… so…” You trail off and carefully consider your next words. “Shy,” you decide. “I’m shy.”

“Shy?” Kate says with a glimmer of laughter in her eyes. “You? Same camper that pranced through camp in their drawers?”

“That was a matter of very weird circumstance.”

“Well, if you say so… You don’t have to’ tell me what’s keepin’ you. None of my business, after all…”

She begins another tune on her guitar. Another dreamy melody to fill the quiet and chase off the horrors beyond the fog… While you watch her, you ask, “How long have you played?”

A smile as warm as the fire lights Kate’s face. “For as long as I can remember,” she answers. “Soon as I could hold a guitar on my own, my fingers were dancin’ over those strings. And I’d sing like there was no tomorrow. Wore myself out doin’ it…”

You smile at her. “You were a musician?”

Kate nods. “I put on some shows and made a few fans here and there…”

“As good as you are, I think you’re being too modest.”

You make her laugh. She shakes her head and sighs. “Alright, maybe more than a few. But it wasn’t about all the attention. It was about… connecting. Creating something that would bring people together. And music does just that. You can have them laughing, dancing, and singing, without worry or hate… It makes for a good time.”

You point to her guitar. “And that’s why you still…?”

Kate nods. She dips her head and sighs. “Someone’s gotta, right? I’m doing what I love and helpin’ to lift the mood a smidge at the same time. It’s the little things, nowadays. That’s what counts—and it’s just enough.” A solemn expression appears on her face — her lips wilt and her brow wrinkles while her fingers freeze on the strings. “Those… those trials can bring out some pretty nasty sides of us. Of all of us. But we can be ourselves out here, away from all the blood and death, and-and… And we can still hope, right?”

She lifts her head and searches your face for something—for confirmation or reassurance, maybe. You almost fold under her sad gaze.

“Yeah,” you tell her. “I think so.”

Kate flips a switch and wipes the frown off her face, replacing it with a managed smile. “If I didn’t have my guitar, I might’ve lost my mind already. You remember how mad I was when it went missin’? Nearabout lost it then and there.”

The change in tone makes you hesitate before you reply. “I thought we were all in trouble if we didn’t find it.”

Kate chuckles. “Long as I got something to hold on to, I can keep my sanity a bit longer.”

She takes her fingers down the neck of the guitar before pleasantly offering, “Why don’t I teach you a song?”

“A song…?”

“One of my favorites,” Kate replies. She pats the spot beside her invitingly.

How can you say no?

You stand up and cross the camp to join Kate at her spot. After you take a seat, she stands up and moves behind you to hover over your shoulder. Then she hands over her guitar and helps you get situated. While resting a hand on the small of your back, she says, “You’ll want to straighten up a little. And cradle it like this—” She leans down over your shoulder and adjusts the guitar on your lap. “Just like that.”

She nods in approval. “The rest is real easy,” she says encouragingly. The warmth of her breath on your cheek makes you flush. “Simple song made by a simple girl, way back when. Wrote it when I was just a tot.” She takes your hand and guides it up along the neck of the instrument. “Now, you’ll want to pluck these gently,” she says, while moving your fingers over the strings. Then she chuckles in your ear, and a shiver runs the length of your spine. “Lost my pick a while ago, so we’ll have t’ make do without it.”

Kate leans forward, her chest to your back, and she hovers her hand over yours. Her other rests on your shoulder. “Now, when you strum these down here, you’ll just want to flick your wrist. Try to keep your elbow steady.”

 

You follow Kate’s instructions and strum the strings she directs you to. Soon, you’re strumming up a nice melody while Kate hums along behind you. It’s a moment of appreciated tranquility, ruined by the arrival of an ominous presence…

A faint, scratchy voice tickles the hair in your ears and makes you shiver. Then the voice becomes many voices, and quickly, a chorus of hellish screams and harsh whispers join the melody you produce on the guitar. Your mind fades out and the world around you becomes a blur. The sensation of Kate’s warm hand on your shoulder vanishes, and you feel alone.

Despite your best efforts to keep the voices out, they grow in number and volume. You squeeze your eyes shut and ball your fists.

Ignore them.

Yet louder and louder the voices murmur… We see you. We’re watching you. We’re with you.

Don’t listen.

The cacophony is horrible and piercing… A jolt courses the length of your spine.

It’s not real. None of it is.

Even with your eyes closed, you notice the warm glow of the fire vanishes. You’d think something had snuffed it out if you didn’t know any better…

Open your eyes. The fire’s still there.

You hear another voice telling you not to. And another demands you look at it. To your left, a third voice screams, then cackles and croaks… Help us.

Shut up.

Something touches your forearm—a hand. It’s cold… sharp nails pierce your skin and draw blood—

Don’t touch me.

You feel the bony fingers pinch and tear, peeling back the flesh on your arm until—

“You still with me?”

When you open your eyes, you meet Kate’s. She peers at you with concern, and her hand rests warmly on your forearm. You offer her the only smile you can muster. “I’m alright, Kate.”

She hums, unsure. But she retakes her seat beside you and allows you to hand off the guitar. “You’re a natural at this,” she compliments. “You any good on your feet, too?”

“We’ll have to find out.”

Kate chuckles. She idly plucks a string on her guitar as she murmurs, “Noticed you lookin’ a bit worn,” she says. “I won’t keep you any longer. I figure you’re just dyin’ to go get some rest.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“I mistook you for a ghoul when you first strolled in.”

You share a laugh with Kate before shrugging your shoulders. “Think I might stick around,” you tell her. “Growing partial to your company…”

Kate’s eyes light up, and a sweet smile graces her lips. She gives your knee a pat. “You can lean on my shoulder and try to get some sleep, if you wanna.”

Very tempting offer. And if you don’t get some shuteye soon, you might go comatose…

With more insistence from Kate, you give in—after scooting closer and resting your head on her shoulder, you murmur, “Thanks.”

Kate replies with a melodious hum as she goes back to stroking the strings on her guitar. The melody is so soothing, you find your consciousness ebbing and your eyes falling shut.

 

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

—Watching you… Being watched… Wake up. Wake up!

You jolt awake with a start. When you’ve gathered your bearings, you gaze at a furious flaming ball in front of you, before your eyes adjust and you realize you’re staring at the bonfire. You blink, then pause.

Kate’s fast asleep at your side, her head propped against your shoulder, and her arm wound intimately around yours. Her guitar rests on the ground in front of you. A smile softens your features, but it’s gone when a terrible sensation crawls up your spine. You shudder as you scan the clearing nervously. You feel that pull again… Something’s here.

You gently nudge Kate off you and lay her out over the log to let her sleep. Then you walk away.

The fog chills your bones the moment you put the campfire behind you, and a shiver makes you falter. The source of that pull remains elusive as you scan your surroundings. That is, until you make out a dark figure in the distance. A person.

Fear turns the blood in your veins to ice. You presume the figure to be another figment of your imagination at first, but then… it moves. And it runs away!

You lose sight of the figure, but it takes the pull with it… Carried by your curiosity, you pursue the dark stranger.

 

 

Once you leave the campsite, your speed increases from a jog to a breakneck sprint in pursuit of the stranger. You know you shouldn’t run aimlessly through the fog, especially on your own, but whatever that is, whoever it is, is a lead. And you can’t let leads slip through your fingers.

Come on, where the hell did you—?

THWACK!

Your chase comes to an abrupt halt as something strikes you on the back of the head. You cry out and stagger forward before falling to your knees. While you clutch your head and grit your teeth, you hear leaves crunch to your right, then watch a shadow fall over you.

“Risky move, pursuing a stranger into the fog,” a gruff voice says.

Through a haze, you watch a dark-robed figure step into view. A man, you think. He stops before you and inclines his shrouded head.

“But then, your kind has always been so brave.” He spits the last word coldly.

Your heart beats thunderously and you struggle to catch a breath. “Wh-What?” you gasp. “Who are—? Why did you— Gahh, my head…” You hold your pounding noggin and groan in pain.

He doesn’t allow you a moment’s reprieve. He leans forward, grips the lapels of your jacket in his fists, and hauls you to your feet. You’re hardly upright before he throws you back against a tree and pins you there.

“Ah!” you grunt. Your head spins like a top. You can’t make out the man’s face through the shroud of his cowl, but you can see two piercing, golden orbs in the dark. Those orbs slightly shift toward Poe on your shoulder, where the baby crow nestles against your neck, cooing and anxious.

“Interesting,” the man utters.

“You’re real,” you exhale in disbelief.

“What gave it away?”

His biting sarcasm makes you scoff. You reply, “I’ve seen you. In my dreams—”

“And we’ve seen you.”

“Who are you?”

The robed man doesn’t answer. He turns his head to the side, looks around the dark woods as if on edge, and then faces you again. “The Host isn’t with you? Where’s it gone?”

“The what?”

Again, he doesn’t answer. You glimpse the man’s hands, barely visible beneath the sleeves of his robe. His skin is pallid and streaked with pulsing orange veins. You blink curiously at the sight before the man speaks again.

“I could end it all right now, couldn’t I?” he murmurs, just above a whisper.

You crease your brows. “End what?”

The man leans in closer, and though you can’t make out his face, you can feel his unusually cold breath on your lips. “I could. I could end it all and put everything back in motion… I could reset it.”

His obscurity makes your skin crawl. “What-What are you talking about?”

He hums deeply, then suddenly releases his hold on your jacket. As he takes a step back, you stagger forward and catch yourself.

“No, no,” the man mutters as he backs away. “Too soon… I’ll give you a chance.”

“A chance for what?” You can’t help the bite in your tone. “Stop talking in riddles! Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?” You approach the man, and he backs up further.

“Stay back,” he warns.

“Just tell me something, please—”

The rest of your plea goes unheard as the man throws a hand up, and an unseen force knocks you off your feet. When you hit the tree behind you, all you see is black.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Within the swirling darkness of your mind, you see a faint, pulsing blue light in the distance. And you hear a voice—a woman’s voice. Though you can’t clearly make out her words.

Gradually, her voice becomes closer, but less clear. You desperately try to pick out meaning from her murmurings, but they fade altogether as your consciousness stirs…

 

 

You’re met with darkness when you come to. But the dark breaks away to a dim light as your eyes adjust. The source of which is a small square TV on top of a short dresser opposite you. The screen plays, but it’s only static and buzzing white noise. Upon closer inspection of your surroundings, you realize you’re in an apartment room… A grimy and humid apartment. Your body’s slumped back against a wall.

How the hell did I get here?

Your mind is a whirlwind of questions and concerns. Was that man you met in the woods actually real?

You hoist yourself up with a grunt, then touch a hand to the back of your head. It doesn’t ache or bleed… But surely an attack like that would leave an injury?

Ah… Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe you imagined it.

Poe startles you when he pecks at the lobe of your ear. You smooth the crow’s feathers and cast your eyes around the room.

The air is thick and humid. Sweat already slicks the skin on your brow. When you turn to your left, you find a window on the wall, drawn shut with a tattered black curtain. A coffee table sits in front of the TV, and a grimy gray recliner rests before it in the center of the room. The material is tattered with holes and stains. Right behind you is a hallway shrouded in complete darkness, and a doorway leads into a shadowed kitchen. The carpet underfoot has seen better days… This place is a shithole.

Could it be another echo? You scoff. Just my luck…

You turn slowly on your heels, then freeze solidly in place with widened eyes.

You’re horrified to find the wall behind you tacked with page after page of newspaper clippings and articles. But it’s the subject of these articles that has your blood running cold—each tells a different story about The Ghost Face killer.

Your breath catches in your throat. As you skim each page and shred of paper, a feeling of dread gradually creeps in. Every article details a gruesome murder committed by the masked killer… They’re all dated from the 90s… You pick out the latest article, one aptly headlined “Roseville Massacre.”

You reach out and pluck the page off the wall. And it’s just then that your skin crawls something terrible, and you hear the floor creak behind you.

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

Your body freezes. A throaty chuckle follows the all too familiar voice. “You’ll have to forgive the mess.”

It takes a minute, but you finally calm your nerves enough to react. You shake your head and scoff. “You narcissistic asshole…”

As you turn around, you see Ghostface emerging slowly from the shadowed hallway. His arms cross his chest, but one hand grips his knife. He taps the blade against the face of his mask. “I’m the asshole?” he says with a touch of amusement. “And who just broke into whose house?” You crease your brows, and he chuckles. “If you don’t mind me asking… How the hell did you get here?”

The mere sight of him makes you shiver. But you have to keep your cool…

“A sith lord jumped me in the woods,” you answer. “Knocked me out, and I woke up here. At least, that’s what I think happened.” You scoff. “My head’s been too messed up lately to discern fiction from reality. For all I know, this could be a dream, too.”

“Want me to pinch you?” Ghostface flirts. He smirks behind the mask. You can tell.

You give him a stern look. “Whatever happened, I’m here. Wherever here is…” You cast your gaze quickly around the room, refusing to take your eyes off your company for too long. When you meet the face of his mask again, he nods slowly.

“Well,” he says, taking some steps forward. “Since you’re here… Let’s talk.”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 38: Hive of Glass: Part 1

Notes:

Decided to split this chapter into two parts since it was turning out to be around 12k words. I'm trying to keep the chapter lengths as consistent as I can.

In other news, Bastion’s birthday is next week! AKA, the one-year anniversary of this fiction. I’ll be honest, I didn’t foresee working on this story for so long, nor did I expect so many people to stick around as long as they have. That’s awesome! <3 Here's to hoping I wrap this up before we're old and gray 🥂

 

Ghostface advances slowly, pushing your cool demeanor to the limit. You step backwards. He stops. "Got something for me?"

His voice drips with that familiar, unsettling calm. You give him a blank stare, earning a slow tap of his foot—impatience in its most chilling form. "The photo," he drawls, his chuckle vibrating in the tense air. "Don't tell me you forgot?"

Oh.

“I burned it at the campfire,” you submit, keeping your voice steady. “Like you said.”

“So that’s what brought you way out here,” Ghostface replies slowly. “You want to make us official.” You don’t like the way the word rolls off his tongue, or the warm chuckle that immediately follows. Ghostface tilts his head, smirking behind the mask. “I didn’t expect you to go through with it.”

Neither did I.

“What is this place?” you question him. “This isn’t a trial. And that’s what the offerings are for, right? The trials.”

“You don’t say?”

Your mean look makes him laugh. A sigh escapes his lips, then finally, to your relief, he sheathes his knife. “This is an old… hideout. Won’t call it home. It was just another part of the ruse… I bounced from one place to another—”

“I don’t want your life story, asshole,” you sharply interrupt. “Do you know how I got here?”

Your gall surprises him as much as it does you. You can only guess the look on his face behind the frightened mask. His subsequent silence leaves you sweating. Or maybe it’s just the humidity. You pluck your damp clothes from your skin and fidget your feet nervously as if you’re standing on hot coals. As soon as your eyes can no longer bear to hold that pale, wailing gaze, you cast them to the floor, where they remain for a solid minute before Ghostface sighs.

He heaves his shoulders and refocuses your gaze on his mask. “Your guess is as good as mine. But you twist the rules everywhere you go…”

“What happens now?” you ask.

“I think that’s up to you.”

You scoff.

You thought you’d already made your choice, but now it’s back like a dark cloud… Is this a second chance? An opportunity to reverse a terrible decision? It may be tempting, but… you made that choice for a reason. And that reasoning still stands, no matter how much you hate to accept it.

Ghostface silently awaits your answer. You glance away from him, then around the room. The wall of trophies catches your attention again. It sours your expression. “Each one of these is a dirty deed…” You pluck a few tattered pages from the wall, then skim the articles and scoff. “The Ghost Face Strikes Again,” you read off with a bitter undertone. “Florida Family Slaughtered In Their home… Elderly Man Slain On Main Street. Young Couple Discovered Dead Early Morning…”

You crush the papers in your fist and throw them at him. “You’re sick,” you venomously insult.

The masked man doesn’t even flinch as his deeds rain down upon him. “And what does that make you?” he asks, slowly inclining his head. “Running to a killer for help… That’s not something someone with a clean slate would do…”

“You think I want to do this? That I want to be buddy-buddy with a killer?” you retort. “I want nothing to do with you. But there are bigger, more fucked-up fish out there. And if I’m going to figure this out, I need all the help I can get.” With a shake of your head, you add, “If we do this, I’d just be using you. We won’t be friends, acquaintances, or even partners. You’d be a tool.”

Ghostface chuckles. “Whatever makes it easier to swallow…”

You glare at him and turn away. Approaching the window, you pull back the curtain and peer outside. Dark and almost pitch black, save for the flickering light from a streetlamp across the street. The block looks rundown and abandoned. Tall buildings appear uninviting and dangerous, windows covered and boarded up. Sidewalks and alleys are littered with trash, and some cars sit undisturbed on the pavement. Looking further out towards the end of the street, you see a dense barrier of dark fog that conceals what lies beyond.

You scoff. That must be where the illusion ends… But it’s as reminiscent of the real world as it’s going to get.

Backing away, you let the curtain fall back into place. “What happens when you get out? Are you going to keep killing?”

“Oh, not at all,” Ghostface replies sarcastically. “I’ll go straight. Put down the blade and cowl, maybe even settle down and craft a cushy life—”

“Why the hell should I help you?” you cut him off. You turn to face him. “I’m guaranteed to let loose a killer.”

Ghostface laughs, startling you. He approaches slowly, making you back away. “Nothing’s guaranteed yet,” he says. “If you had it all figured out, you wouldn’t have come running to me, babe.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He comes closer and backs you into the wall. You step to the left, but he leans forward and throws out an arm to prop beside your head, caging you in place. Your voice catches in your throat. His mask is inches away from your face. When he speaks, you can smell his breath—smoky, with a trace of tobacco.

“You need me because I’m dangerous,” he says. “You need a killer.”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t kid yourself,” he interrupts. As he leans in closer, you’re glad he’s wearing a mask. “You can’t be the hero on your own… You can’t make all the tough decisions, or carry all that weight on your shoulders… That’s why you came running.”

You don’t have any snarky replies or mean retorts. Because he’s right. You hate to admit it, but he’s right.

“You’re delusional if you think I’ll let you leash me,” he adds. “We’re partners if we do this. I won’t be your little pawn.”

“You’re already a pawn,” you bite back after finding your voice. “You’ll just be under new management.”

Silence fills the void and makes you sweat. You’re getting too bold and forgetting yourself—this is a killer you’re smack-talking, after all…

You nervously await Ghostface’s response. And it comes as a chuckle, then a prodding finger to your forehead. He says, “You’re cute.”

Finally, he drops his arm and steps back. “Are we doing this?” And he extends a leather-clad hand. His costume’s ribbons drift over his shoulders like eager spectators. Or snakes poised to strike. You feel a lump in your throat.

No, an inner voice tells you. You don’t want this.

But you need it.

You stare at his hand, conflicted. Sweat beads on your forehead and drips down your face. The clothes clinging to your damp skin suffocate you. Give the man an answer.

You clench your jaw until your teeth hurt. Your body fights the part of you that wants to say no—the part that wants to turn away and get out. But your mind’s made up, and your mortal shell doesn’t have the final say.

You take Ghostface’s hand and try not to think about how many lives he’s taken with it. Regret rolls in immediately when he chuckles at you. Then he gives your hand a shake, with a firmer grip than you’d like. “Smart choice.”

Your mouth’s too dry to speak.

Ghostface withdraws his hand and offers a name. “Danny.”

A name, but no face—he keeps his mask on.

“I don’t care,” you reply when you find your voice. “And you’re not getting my name.”

“Then I’ll call you Spunky.” He pats you on the head. You smack his hand away and watch him cross the room with a chuckle. “What made you change your mind and come crawling back to me?” he asks, looking back over his shoulder.

You glare at him, unwilling to answer. Though, it might be best to avoid a bitter start to your new alliance… “My other partner tried to kill me,” you concede. As you recall Bastion’s brutal attack, you shudder. “Which put a few things in perspective…”

“And where’s the eldritch bastard now?”

What comes as a startling surprise is when the shadow on the wall behind Danny morphs and takes a taller, bodied form, looming dangerously behind him. A wicked grin spreads across Bastion’s face. His arrival makes you jump, and you have about a hundred questions for him following his leave of absence. But more pressing matters put those out of mind.

Bastion goes unnoticed by Danny until he lays a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder.

“A pleasure seeing you again under… better circumstances,” he says. He drums his fingers on Danny’s shoulder.

If Danny’s surprised, he hides it well. He barely flinches at the sudden contact. He only turns his masked face up at the shade. “Wasn’t an invitation,” he says, swiping the hand off his shoulder. Bastion’s grin twitches. You sweat.

You vaguely recall Bastion’s bitterness toward the ghostly man… Particularly, how furious he was when he got one up on him. And surely, he’s been vying for some payback. Payback, which would really put a damper on your newfound alliance…

“Bastion,” you say in warning.

“Bastion?” Danny repeats. He looks from you to him. “I was expecting something more like Bruiser, or Beast. You know, something more fitting for a dog.”

Sweat dribbles down your cheek. Seems Danny’s held a grudge, too.

You glance nervously at Bastion, and you can see the visible restraint he exhibits. His claws twitch and flex behind him, as if raring to seize and tear something apart. Danny cuts short your next warning.

“Wait, the guy attacked you, and you’re still hitched?” He chuckles. “Oh, the bar is low…”

“He didn’t mean to do it,” you say in Bastion’s defense. “He couldn’t control himself—”

“So the bastard’s got rabies?”

Bastion’s grin becomes a sneer. His straight posture wavers as he folds his arms firmly behind his back, perhaps as a means of self-control.

“He’s good,” you say, giving Danny a hard look.

You can’t tell if it’s enough to convince him, what with the mask and all, but he lets it slide. He faces Bastion. “Hey, no hard feelings about last time, right, Banshee?” he says with a mocking drawl. He extends his arms like he wants a hug.

Bastion forces his mean sneer into a grin. “None.”

Danny’s arms remain empty. He eventually drops them and spins to face you. “I want to know everything you do.”

You scoff. “Where to start?”

Danny kicks back in his gross recliner and comically folds one leg over the other. Bastion scoffs at him before creeping away. While he disappears down the shadowed hall, you struggle to gather your thoughts. “So… I’m special,” you begin awkwardly, like a kid giving a presentation. “At-At least, that’s what I’ve been told… I see and find things here that no one else can. Echoes and marks. I’m drawn to them—”

“Slow down, babe,” Danny interrupts.

You give him a sharp look, then continue. “Echoes are copies of things in the fog. And marks are items that were touched by the others that came before me—other people just like me, I guess.”

“And where are those people now?”

“They’re… They’re gone, I think. Gone for good. I don’t know where, or why, yet, but all of them, the campers and killers, gone. We must be a new batch.”

Danny nods, encouraging you to continue. “When I find these marks or echoes, sometimes I see… visions. Memories from the people that touched them before. And sometimes those memories lead me to other clues—”

“So this is all one big scavenger hunt?” Danny interrupts, not sounding impressed.

“That’s one word for it,” you sigh. “Can you quit interrupting me?”

Danny chuckles. You shake your head.

“The gig also comes with a few bonuses, if you can call them that… When people touch me, I might see their memories, too.”

“The Wanderer has a deep connection to the fog, and everything within,” Bastion interjects behind you, startlingly. You glance back and find him looming over your shoulder. After clearing your throat, you face Danny again and finish, “That pretty much covers everything I know so far.”

The room becomes silent. As Danny leans forward in his chair, he clasps his hands in his lap and nods slowly. When he’s done processing what you’ve told him, he flicks his chin toward Bastion. “And what’s your deal, Butch?”

Bastion sneers at him. “Don’t address me.”

“Who pissed in your cereal?”

“Bastion used to be like us,” you say. “And now he’s… like you.”

Danny’s mask faces you. “Like me?”

“A killer. Or, he was… He doesn’t kill campers anymore… Just everything else.”

“Right,” Danny utters. “Last question”—He chuckles and looks Bastion up and down, then he faces you—“Do you fuck this thing? Be honest.”

“Do I what?”

“Hey, it’s not my place to judge,” Danny laughingly replies at your expense. He throws a gesture toward Bastion and adds, “I’m just looking at him and thinking — he’s tall, right? But he’s missing all the best parts, so what I really mean to ask is, HOW do you fuck this thing?”

His teasing tone of voice rubs you the wrong way. When you glare at him, he just stares back silently, as if waiting for a genuine response. Bastion surprises you by actually humoring the question.

“We haven’t had the pleasure… yet,” he says amusingly behind you, while resting a hand on your shoulder. His grinning gaze meets your hard stare as you look up at him. He chuckles and sighs. “Though it might not be in the cards.” He pulls away from you.

New alliance is turning out to be a double whammy.

“Moving on,” you say. “We need to lay down some ground rules, then discuss what comes next.”

“I don’t do rules,” Danny asserts.

Bastion appears behind him and leans down over the back of his chair. “You do now.”

“Don’t touch me, ever,” you start off. “If you do, you’re losing a hand.”

“I’ll see to that,” Bastion grinningly tacks on.

“Second rule: I don’t want you killing the others anymore.”

Danny’s chuckle surprises you. “Oh, that one’s not doable.”

You wrinkle your brows. “And why not?”

“You haven’t wondered why I have so much free rein?” Danny replies. “The big guy lets me do whatever I want because I meet his quota.” He stands up and leaves the ratty recliner to slowly approach you. “If I don’t, then the leash gets tighter.” He makes a looping motion with his hands, then balls his fists and tightens them as if tying a noose. Leather squeaks. “And it’ll get tighter and tighter until I lose my head.” He stops in front of you, just a foot away. Bastion watches him like a hawk.

“I get it might make you a little misty-eyed, but I’m doing what I have to.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,” you sharply reply.

Danny chuckles. “Be lying if I said I didn’t.”

It leaves you with a mean look on your face and an urge to call it all off. But you’ve come this far and can’t turn back now…

“Final rule,” you say bitterly. “You do whatever I say. I’m the ringleader, you’re the clown.”

Danny doesn’t like that one. He sighs behind the mask. A man like this, used to doing whatever he pleases, with no regard for the rules or law… But, much like you, he must realize this pact calls for surrender—whether that be the surrender of certain cherished ideals, or the surrender of personal freedoms. Both of you are compromising to make this work. Only time will tell who handles their sacrifice better…

Danny gives you a nod to show his understanding. You return the gesture and a small weight comes off your shoulders. Not the whole burden, but enough to move on.

You walk past him toward the door. “We shouldn’t waste any time. While I’ve got you, I can use you… Let’s go dig something up.”

“Straight to business,” Danny says as he ghosts beside you. He chuckles. “That’s promising.”

You unlatch the locks and step out. It’s dark, just dimly lit by a flickering light on the ceiling above you. Darkness encases both ends of the hall. Danny takes the lead and heads to the left. You follow him and hear Bastion comment behind you, “I’ll be glad to get away from this mess you wallow in. You live like an animal, Danny.”

“And you smell like one, Brucie,” Danny fires back. He peers back over his shoulder to gauge Bastion’s response. Bastion growls. Danny laughs. You sigh.

Double whammy.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You thought leaving Danny’s grimy apartment behind and having a breath of fresh air would ease some of your anxiety. But it rains upon you all the same as you trek the fog with the ghostly killer. A tightness coils around your still fast-beating heart, and it shows no signs of slowing down…

You lead the expedition through the dark woods with Danny trailing behind you. Having a killer at your back makes you nervous. But that’s somewhat mitigated by Bastion’s presence at your side.

There have been no words exchanged since you left Danny’s realm. Your spine tingles with dread. You roll your shoulders and glance at Bastion, heaving a sigh. “Where have you been?” you ask.

Bastion slants his head. “Following recent events, I thought you’d appreciate some time apart.”

“A little heads-up would’ve been nice,” you reply. “Your disappearing acts are getting old, Bastion.”

He hums and tightens his arms behind his back. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “You good?”

“Eager to get back to work,” he replies, snaking his lips into a grin. “Salvation won’t find itself…”

“Glad to hear it.”

Hands crammed into pockets, you glance about the fog warily. After a pause, you say, “While you were on vacation, I ran into someone out here.”

Bastion tilts his head. You continue, “Some guy in a dark robe. He rambled on about resetting something, and… and something called a host? Then the prick knocked me out. That’s how I wound up at Danny’s place…”

He falls silent. You notice he avoids your gaze when you look up at him. He’s doing that thing he does… the suspect silence, like he knows something but won’t say it. You furrow your brow, and he audibly hesitates.

“I’ve said it before, Wanderer… There are others out there in the fog.”

You frown at him, knowing he won’t tell you more. Disappointed, but not surprised.

You figure that’s the end of the discussion. But Bastion asks, “Did he harm you?”

“Well, he force pushed me into a tree, but… I don’t think so.” You touch the back of your head and murmur, “Honestly, I might’ve imagined the whole thing.”

Bastion grunts. “I can’t take my eyes off you for a second before something crawls out of the woodwork.”

“When we struck that deal, you became a full-time babysitter. You knew what you were signing up for, right?”

“Indeed,” Bastion chuckles. “I’ll be more vigilant, Wanderer.”

You give a nod, then startle when Danny suddenly appears on your right. The furtive killer’s close-proximity derives the meanest look Bastion’s lacking features can muster. Then your companion falls behind and leaves you beside your unwanted company.

As you expect, your heart thunders in your chest, sending tremors up and down your spine. You inhale, exhale, and do your best to keep your cool. But your efforts aren’t enough to mask your fear. Danny chuckles beside you.

“Am I making you nervous?”

Though you don’t give him the satisfaction of your honest reply, he notices the sweat on your brow and the trembling in your hands, and he laughs again.

“You should be… ‘Cause I might just stick ya a couple times.” He does a fast jabbing motion with his knife, making you jump away. He laughs at your fear-ridden face, then sighs, amused. “I’m just fucking with you.”

As he tucks his knife under his robes, you scowl at him. “Get this through your head; we’re not friends. And we’re never going to be friends, because you’re just a means to an end.”

“Are you trying to intimidate me? Now that’s adorable.” Danny leans into your personal bubble. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

You push the man away and give him a mean look. But the action only stokes his fire, clear in the way his laugh escalates. “I knew there was something I liked about you,” he flirts. “Real shame we never got a chance to play in a trial… Your mutt got in the way.”

You throw a cautious glance back over your shoulder at Bastion.

Danny turns to face your companion, too. “Hey, Beanie,” he says. “Why did the boss promote you?”

Bastion doesn’t answer him. Danny persists, however.

“I’ve seen some shit here in the playing field, but didn’t know you could just switch teams like that…”

“It wasn’t by choice,” Bastion bitterly replies. Maybe he hopes his answer will shut Danny up, but the costumed man isn’t finished yet.

“Ah… So,” he continues. “Did you like it?”

Bastion falls silent. Danny goads him. “You must have, right? Because what’s not to like? Get your hands as dirty as you want, with no worry or fear of getting caught or shut down… Mess around a bit, have all your fun… And all without a care in the goddamn world. It’s like heaven, isn’t it?”

“Danny,” you say in warning. He ignores you.

“Who were you before all this?” Danny asks Bastion. “Why did the big guy choose you?”

It’s impossible to tell whether he’s asking a genuine question, or just doing his damndest to push Bastion’s buttons. Either way, you can see steam coming out his ears, so to speak. His past is a touchy subject, you know that. And to have Danny poking his nose into it must be his final straw.

Bastion sneers at the masked man. “You presume I did something deserving of my bondage? Even that I enjoyed it?”

“I think you still do,” Danny replies. “Would you be playing fetch with Spunky here if you didn’t?”

“We’re playing the same game, Danny,” Bastion growls. “In it for the same prizes.”

“If that’s what gets you to sleep at night,” Danny says, wryly chuckling. “But I think you’ve gotten comfortable on your leash. And like a good dog would, you follow any lead clipped to your collar.”

Correction: That was Bastion’s final straw.

Bastion snatches the ballsy man right off his feet, showing the unbridled rage usually concealed behind his poise. He grips his collar tight in his fists, draws him in and snarls in the face of his mask. “What will it take to shut you up?!”

“Bastion, no!” you scold as you stumble to an immediate stop. “Put him down!”

He ignores you. His spidery claws go berserk behind him, twitching and cracking like whips. Sure, watching Danny fall victim to them wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but you can’t imagine it’ll be good for your newly formed partnership…

Danny laughs in the face of danger. He’s either insane or thinks you have more control over Bastion than you actually do. But with as unpredictable as your shady partner’s been lately, he should be as nervous as you are.

“Bastion,” you warn.

He snaps his head toward you, and you’re glad for his lack of facial features—you’re sure if he had them, the look on his face would kill. And though he spares you, he turns back to his quarry.

“You haven’t seen all of my teeth yet. But I can give you a closer look.”

“I think I like the sound of that,” Danny spurs. He hangs there like a limp noodle, unmoved by the threats.

Bastion obliges; his snarling lips peel back as his toothy mug splits apart. A nasty snap makes you nauseous, and you watch with wide eyes as a cluster of writhing, barbed black tentacles emerges from his maw.

The all-too familiar sight sends a spike of fear through your chest and has your heart racing. In your panic, you scramble for your lighter. But when you grasp it in your fist, a moment of clarity makes you pause and rethink your next move. Don’t freak out. Fire bad.

Then your sights land on a pretty hefty rock.

You take the rock in hand and chuck it right at Bastion’s head. It hits his skull with a hollow-sounding thud, successfully stealing his attention and sparing Danny his wrath.

His tendrils snap back into his maw and he clamps his jaws shut. Though still gripping Danny’s collar in his fists and suspending the man off the ground, he turns to you irately.

“I didn’t want to go all David and Goliath on you, but you’re way out of line,” you say with a harsh sigh. “Drop him, Bastion.”

Bastion sneers at you before reluctantly loosening his grip and dropping Danny. You scold him, “I don’t like this any more than you do, but what’s done is done. He’s on our team now, and you don’t get a say in it.”

You can’t hide the frustration in your voice, because you’re tired and angry, and just so… argh! You don’t want to be out here as it is, and it’s made worse when you have to babysit these two and keep them from going at each other’s throats!

Bastion releases a hissing sigh, and he straightens up his posture. “I understand, Wanderer,” he acknowledges. When his twitching claws don’t resume the same poise, he retracts them into his back.

Crisis averted…

Or so you thought.

“Look at that,” Danny comments snidely. “He even heels on command.”

You gawk at Danny. Because no amount of words can express how deeply you want to throttle him and demand, “What the hell is WRONG with you?”

How does he possess such a god complex? Where did he get this god complex? And furthermore, why does he believe it acts as a safe bubble?

You can only watch with bated breath as Bastion’s collection shatters into a million pieces. You brace for all hell to break loose, and the possibility of a bloodbath, but it’s not Danny who becomes the immediate target of Bastion’s retaliation—it’s you.

Bastion gives you the most unsettling grin he’s ever formed. Sharp and toothy, and just enough to send a shiver jolting up your spine. You almost buckle under his gaze.

“I just had an idea,” he says. “Our new friend is here to prove himself. And you brought him into our little circle because you thought we could use him. So perhaps this venture can serve as his trial run.”

You don’t like where he’s going with this.

“Bastion,” you say uneasily.

He chuckles at you. When you blink, he’s gone, then he’s looming behind you. He leans down and rests his hands on your shoulders. He squeezes hard enough to make you uncomfortable. “Aw, have some faith in our new ally, Wanderer. After all, he’s only here because my help alone didn’t suffice. Surely he’ll more than make up for that.”

“Bastion, don’t—”

He cuts you off when he gives you a push forward, sending you stumbling right into Danny. As you both crash to the ground, you land on top of him with an oof. He chuckles and rests his hands on your hips. You plant your hand on his mask and shove him away before picking yourself up and spinning to face Bastion. “Don’t you dare!”

He lets out a hearty laugh and crosses his arms behind his back. “They're a handful, Danny. And from one mutt to another… Good luck.”

Then he’s gone before you can get another word out.

“Bastion!”

If he hears your call, he ignores it. Hm. You almost forgot how frustrating he can be…

You growl and kick a rock. “Fine!” you snap. “Be that way!”

“You two ever consider couples’ counseling?” Danny says behind you.

You shoot him a dirty look, and he laughs as he picks himself up. “That was too easy,” he says while dusting off his knees. “Now it’s just you and me…”

You scoff at him before turning around and marching away. “Maybe you haven’t figured it out yet, but there’s shit out here that’s gunning for me. And without Bastion, I might be as good as dead.”

Danny comes up on your left. “Hey, like Benny said—have a little faith in me. You came running to my side for a reason…”

Danny returns your glare with a snide chuckle, then throws an arm over your shoulders, startling you. He brings you in close, saying, “I’ve got your back.”

When you break away from him, you straighten up and mutter, “You’ve already broken rule number one.”

“Then it’s a good thing I spooked off your pal,” Danny retorts. He wiggles his fingers. “Still got both my hands.”

“Shut up.”

✱ ✱ ✱

 

It’s been just around twenty minutes since Bastion’s departure, and your heart hasn’t slowed down since. Being alone with The Ghost Face, you’re more tense than before. You still fear he’ll turn on you and stab you in the back. It’s in his blood, isn’t it? Like Bastion, maybe he won’t be able to resist…

God, what were you thinking agreeing to any of this? It’s insane. Joining forces with a killer who hunts your friends around the campfire? And one who gets a kick out of it, no less. Partnering with Bastion was one thing, but this is another. If the others could see this, they’d think you’ve gone mad… Hell, maybe you have.

All you hope is that you don’t find anything, so you can call it quits and get away from him. The sooner, the better.

Thankfully, it seems Danny’s run out of stupid shit to say. He went quiet over ten minutes ago when you stopped responding to his obscure horror movie references and taunting jabs. He stalks silently alongside you now. But every so often, you notice the face of his mask shift slightly your way. The furtive glances make you nervous. And judging by his occasional chuckle, he’s getting the reaction he wants. Asshole.

The only solace you have comes from Poe, who rests close on your shoulder. He’s as wary of Danny’s company as you are—he hasn’t taken his eyes off him for a second, and the way he trembles is clue enough. You do what you can to soothe the baby crow, stroking up and down his wing. Cooing, he nestles in the crook of your neck.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. Or are you assuring yourself?

You glance at your surroundings as you walk. It’s the same old, same old—the woods never change. Just the same tall, dead trees, and wispy dark fog to cloud your path. It seems like you could walk for hours without finding anything. At what point do you throw in the towel and bid adieu to Danny? Your legs feel more and more like lead with each passing tree…

“Thought this would be more exciting.”

Aaand he’s talking again.

You side-eye Danny. “You don’t want excitement, trust me…”

“I’m sure you have stories to tell.”

“I do,” you reply. “Just not for you.”

He lays his hands over his chest. “Now you’re hurting my feelings.”

“I wish.”

“Oh, you’re a keeper,” Danny says with a laugh. “Might have to steal you from Bandit…”

“We’re not an item,” you assert.

“Then this will be easier than I thought,” he flirts in reply.

Take off the mask. Take off the mask so I can punch you in the eye.

Poe coos on your shoulder. You shush him.

“I’m surprised you haven’t stoned this thing and cooked it up,” Danny comments as he regards the crow. “I thought it was rough around that campfire…”

“We’re not a bunch of savages. And we’re not starving, either.”

“Right, right…”

Danny falls silent. You hope it’ll stay that way, but Poe makes a fuss on your shoulder. He clicks his beak and pecks at your ear. “Poe, quiet,” you gently scold him.

Like a child throwing a fit, he stamps his little feet and nips the back of your neck. You only get him to relax when you take him into your hands. “He’s smarter than he looks, Danny. And I don’t think he likes you.” You scoff and mutter, “Which makes two of us…”

You expect some stupid retort or feigned offense, but you’re surprised when Danny says nothing. When you look at him, his mask stares back, his head slightly nodding as though he’s speaking. You purse your lips in confusion until you realize you can’t hear him. Adding to your confusion, the rest of the ambience around you fades out and becomes muted. A faint ringing in your ears grows in volume, making you wince.

Danny’s still speaking beside you, but you can’t make any of it out. Poe fluffs up in your hands and points his open beak ahead, gesturing like a compass.

The invasive noise becomes more intense as you push forward through the denser-growing fog. A ghostly, cold sensation ahead beckons you.

Just turn back, your internal dialogue nags. You don’t have to follow it.

A whisper to your right makes the hair on your arms stand up. You change course slightly and continue forward. Danny follows.

Finally, as the white noise fades and the fog dissipates, you come to a halt. Danny catches your shoulder and startles you. “Hey, Spunky. You still in la-la land?” He snaps his fingers in your face. You push him away.

“Look, asshole,” you respond. You whip your chin ahead.

Danny shifts his mask to follow your gaze. Both of you scoff. Because you don’t know what you expected to find, but it wasn’t this.

A gloom hangs overhead, shadowing a slum town before you. The moon’s an insignificant silver orb in the sky, impeded by the dark clouds that threaten to unleash a storm. There’s a chill in the air, and an icy breeze whips past the poor hovels lining the street. Boarded up and unwelcoming, with shutters drawn shut and wooden planks barricading their doors. A stone arch above the road precedes your entrance. Short stone-bricked walls border the path on both sides and wheel tracks run through the mud in and out of town. The area’s surrounded by dense woods and barren fields of tall, dead grass. Looking back over your shoulder, you find a black fog barrier separating this realm from the rest.

You move ahead and stop beneath the arch with Danny at your side. He whiffs behind the mask. “Ripe.”

Yup. Manure and other unpleasant scents fill the air.

You gaze upon the town with curiosity. This place isn’t modern; it’s poor and archaic, with not a slab of concrete or pavement in sight, nor metal vehicles. Just abandoned wagons and carts…

A roaring thunderclap overhead makes you jump. After shaking off the jitters, you face Danny. “You remember what I said about being drawn to things?” Well, something drew me here.”

“Thought you were shitting me,” Danny utters.

“I wasn’t.” You scoff. “Was hoping to get away from you, but it looks like the plan’s changed.”

Poe’s finally settled down. You place him on your shoulder and turn your eyes up to the gray sky. A raindrop splashes on your cheek. You grunt. “Let’s find our mark before the downpour…”

“I’d hate to get my robes wet,” Danny replies in agreement.

 

The town is static as you trek the streets.

Air whistles past, carrying a raunchy smell, and stirring the shutters on the windows. You jump now and then when you hear one beating against the wall of a cottage. Danny doesn’t so much as flinch beside you. He’s even kept quiet. A surprise, though you can’t call it a welcome one. You’d actually be glad to hear the asshole say something, just to break the eerie silence…

You’re careful to avoid piles of muck on the road. Danny shifts his mask toward you. “Do all your trips bring you to Transylvania?” he asks with a touch of amusement. “Not sure I’m prepped to fight vampires…”

“This would be a first…” you murmur. “And it’s an echo,” you additionally point out. “You can tell because it’s fading.” You nod your head toward a small hut passing on your left. The roof deteriorates and emits tendrils of wispy black smoke. Danny turns his mask to it and inclines his head. “And what does that mean to us?”

“It means we need to hurry,” you reply.

 

As you continue along, you get deeper and deeper into town. You pass an overturned cart of hay bales and wooden crates. The path bends to the left, crosses a trodden stone bridge over a running creek, and takes you down a road bordered with crumbling cottages.

You’re getting warmer… The pull is more intense. You’re close, you can feel it.

As you’re passing an abandoned wagon, you catch movement from the corner of your eye and falter. Danny elbows you and directs your gaze to a shack on your right.

You almost miss it at first—but you spot the shadowed face of a man peering at you through a window. He’s pale and disheveled. As soon as you lock eyes with him, he pulls away and the shutters slam. Your blood runs cold.

“We’re not alone,” Danny murmurs beside you.

You scoff. “I can see that…”

If the town’s an echo, then the people must be, too. You know from past experience that these echoes aren’t always so kind… How many might there be? Are you being watched?

Danny nudges you and keeps walking. You quicken your pace beside him, eager to find the mark and get out.

“We’re close,” you say, keeping your voice low. “It’s here somewhere. As soon as we find it, let’s get the hell out of Dodge.”

“What’s the rush? This just got more exciting…”

“The last one of these pricks I ran into tried to tear my throat out with her nails. And if we’re dealing with a whole town full of them, then we’re in trouble.”

“That just sounds like a good time.”

A frown creases your brow. About a hundred mean, dismissive responses immediately come to mind. But Poe’s huffy rattle stirs your attention back to him. You cock your head to view him on your shoulder. He ruffles his feathers and cranes his neck to the left, with his beak parted open and wings outstretched. You only wonder for a moment what spooks your little friend until you lay eyes on a dark chapel in the distance on the fringe of town.

The structure’s tall, with walls of stone bricks, and gabled, wood-shingled rooftops. Vines and leafy tendrils creep up the sides, and a steeple stretches to the sky. You spot a set of wide, heavy doors in the front, and two shuttered windows on the face of the building. A bricked path cuts through the vast, barren field of colorless grass and weeds that lay between you and it.

You halt where the dirt road ends and the field begins. Danny slows beside you and stops. “I’m guessing the party’s in that funhouse…”

“I think so,” you say with a sigh. “Find the mark, get out… Just find it and get out,” you repeat like a mantra.

Poe caws, wings flaring in agitation. "Yeah, I see it, Poe," you murmur, forcing your voice steady. "Of course, it’s in the creepy chapel… Where else would it be?"

"Want me to hold your hand?" Danny teases, his tone laced with mock sweetness.

“Please shut up.”

Notes:

You can view the poll results from the survey if you'd like to see how it's going so far :> Screenshots here and here.
Danny and Bastion reign supreme atm, so naturally I had to sandwich you between the two pricks for this long ass chapter. My sincerest apologies to those of you who hate them.

(Also:: Someone’s comment from a previous chapter inspired the rabies line, aha. I don’t remember who said it (sorrysorry), but I had to steal it from you… If you read this, I love you <3)

Chapter 39: Hive of Glass: Part 2

 

Heavy doors squeal against rusted hinges as they swing open. Danny leads the way into the dark chapel, and you follow cautiously in his shadow. Dust showers from above and settles at your feet. You cough as you waft at the space in front of you. After your eyes adjust to the dim light, you squint into a poorly lit hall.

There are two rows of dust-covered pews to your left and right that approach the altar at the back of the room; a table about waist-high covered in a frayed white cloth that sits empty. A red, tattered rug paves the aisle. Danny peels away from you to search the shrouded corners. You stop in your tracks as you gaze upon the old murals on the ceiling and walls. If they told a story once, they no longer do—the art’s marred and almost completely unrecognizable. It’s as if someone deliberately scraped away the golden paint… You can’t weave a story of what little is left behind.

Your gaze wanders to the tall windows covered with dark sheets. Moonlight filters through them. You approach one and pull the sheet aside—the window’s barred.

A metallic clatter makes you jump. You spin around and catch Danny yanking a sheet from another window. He drops it to his feet and shifts in your direction. “Letting some light in.”

You proceed down the hall and stop in front of the altar. Oval indentations in the cloth cover hint at the removal of candle scones. Further back, you see a wall where an effigy is sure to have stood.

Everything’s gone… But where’s the mark?

It feels like you’re right on top of it. The itch in your head is unbearable. It’s here somewhere. It has to be.

Thunder rumbles dangerously overhead. The chapel shudders. Unease makes your chest tight and your spine tingly, as if crawling with spiders. You glance nervously over at Danny. He lurks down the aisle with his back to you.

“Why did you do it?”

Your voice breaks the silence. By doing so, you hope to quell your fear and end the nagging itch that scrapes the inside of your skull, if even for just a moment. Another thunderclap makes your hair stand on end. As you lick the dryness from your lips, you wait for Danny’s response.

The furtive killer turns around slowly and inclines his head questioningly toward you.

You clarify, “Why did you kill people?”

He’s quiet for a minute. “I was telling stories,” he eventually says. “I wrote them all myself.”

“Stories?” You scoff. “You were killing people. Ending their lives and ruining the lives of others.”

“And those make for the best stories, don’t they?” Danny’s chuckle embitters you. “Everyone loves a good sob story… A mystery, even… Who is the Ghost Face Killer? Who’s behind the mask? Could it be my neighbor? My best friend? Family? Or just some deranged creep getting his kicks?”

You scowl at him. He turns away, indifferent. “The mystery’s the best part.”

After watching him creep toward another window, you face the altar again. I’m missing something… I have to be.

“You could’ve done anything,” you murmur absentmindedly. “Could’ve been anyone… But you chose to hurt people and stroke your own damn ego in a shitty gazzette.”

A gust of cold wind ghosts the back of your neck. You turn around and jump when you find Danny directly behind you. Your breath hitches. He tilts his head.

“And what did you do?” he asks with his voice kept low. “Who did you become?”

You don’t have an answer you want to give him. You back away and shake your head. “Don’t make this about me.”

“You like to push,” Danny says, “but don’t like getting pushed back.” He steadily approaches until he’s backed you up against the table. When you bump into it, he leans forward, forcing you to shrink under him. His hands rest on both sides of you.

You swallow. “Step back, Danny.”

“Or what?” He tilts his head to the side and shoves his mask in your face. “You gonna call Buddy to come and punish me?

“You don’t want to piss him off again.”

“Maybe I do,” Danny replies. “Get him in here and have ourselves a good time…” He peers down over your shoulder for a moment. “You think this old table can hold your weight?”

You plant a hand on his chest and shove him away. He stumbles and stops, and you glare at him fiercely. “Don’t forget what we came here for. This isn’t a field trip.”

Danny chuckles and throws up his hands. “Relax, Spunky. I’m still following your lead…”

As he backs away, you still glower at him. And only once you’re satisfied with the distance between you both, you turn around to keep searching. Your eyes glance over the table as you carefully scrutinize everything. Then you notice the scuff marks on the floor. Lines drawn through the thick layer of dust, lining up with the table legs… And you make out a boot print beneath it. Not Danny’s, or yours… Someone dragged this table, and recently.

On a hunch, you get down on your knees and pull back the cloth covering. You find a square carved into the floorboards, and a silver ring in the center. A hatch. You stand and hurriedly scrape the table across the floor and out of the way. Danny appears behind you.

“Sharp eye,” he compliments.

“Yeah,” you huff. “And you might’ve noticed it too, if you weren’t wearing that stupid mask…”

You clear the table and grip the hatch ring before yanking it up. A cold, rotten draft punches you in the face as it flies open. You back away, coughing and wafting at the air in front of you. “I think our mark’s down there.”

A rickety wooden ladder descends into the darkness. You get on your knees and grip the first rung to test its strength. Danny lingers over your shoulder. “Who’s going first?”

You hesitate. “Stay up here. Keep an eye out for anything.”

“Well, aren’t you brave,” Danny humorously comments. He gives you a slow clap. You return a mean look before creeping towards the edge of the open hatch. “I’ll shout if I need you.”

You trust Danny about as far as you can throw him. Which is to say you don’t trust him for shit. And the last thing you’ll do is let the homicidal prick tail you into a dark cellar. If you get into trouble, you’re counting on Bastion to be there for you…

You carefully descend the ladder, jumping and gripping for dear life every time the damn thing creaks or groans beneath you. You don’t know how far down it goes, but it only gets colder and darker… Your skin’s stiff as plaster when you finally feel solid ground beneath your feet.

You cautiously let go of the ladder and step away. A thundering boom in the distance shakes the chapel and stirs dust from the ceiling. You fish your lighter from your bag and flick it open, then light it up.

The small flame illuminates just the surrounding space. You extend your arm and peer into the darkness.

“How you doing down there, Spunky?” Danny shouts from above, startling you.

You spot his silhouette in the hatch opening as you turn your gaze upward. But you don’t give him an answer.

You slowly creep away from the ladder, using your light to assess your surroundings. But you can hardly see five feet in front of you… Your left foot bumps something hard, and you panic for just a second before realizing it’s a thick wooden pillar. It stretches up and reaches the ceiling. You keep moving.

When you come up on a bricked wall, you hug it closely as you move along. You count one, two, three more wooden pillars along your way, then come up on a corner. You turn and follow it perpendicularly. You keep your hand pressed to the cold bricks.

You hear a thudding sound upstairs. Thunder? Or Danny messing around?

Another pillar comes up on your right, then a second. You exhale in frustration. Hell, what am I looking for?

“I could watch you stumble around in the dark for hours.”

!!!

A voice nearby sends your heart racing and makes you jump. You gasp in fear and throw yourself against the wall. Then you flinch at the sound of grating metal, and something roaring to life before an explosion of hot, red light bursts at the other end of the cellar.

You squint at it as your eyes adjust. A robed figure becomes visible standing next to an old, growling furnace. The stranger tosses a bit of wood into the open chamber with their back to you. You’re speechless as you gawk at them. And the person, a man, you guess, speaks again.

“But that’s not what I came for…” His voice is low and hoarse. He shifts, turns on his heels, and the shadowed face of his cowl stares directly at you. “And that’s not what you’re here for either, is it?”

A lump traps your voice in your throat. You try to swallow past it, but to no avail. Your hands feel clammy, and you shakily lower your lighter. Then your eyes glance around the rest of the room. It’s fairly large, but just as barebones as the chapel hall above it. Other than the pillars and the furnace, there isn’t much else. Just a heavy wooden door to the far left, and a shadowed hall on the opposite end of the room, behind the cloaked man where he stands in the corner beside the furnace.

You shift your wide eyes back to the man and swallow down the lump in your throat. “You-You again,” you shakily say.

“We’ve never met,” he replies.

He might tell the truth… He sounds different from the man you met in the woods. His robes are darker, too.

When you look him up and down, you’re glad to see he appears unarmed. But he holds something in his right hand - a book.

He notices you staring. He raises it and waves it in the air. “You came for this, didn’t you? Like a dog sniffing out a bone…”

You watch him feed another block of wood into the fire. “Who are you?” you question.

“I’m a nobody.”

You scoff. He grunts. “Truly. I gave up my identity long ago… I gave up everything.”

“And what are you doing here? Are you… Are you like me?”

The man surprises you when he chuckles. The chuckle turns into a hacking cough as he swivels his head. “Ah, no… Not at all. You’re cut from a very special cloth, Wanderer.”

“You called me— How do you know what—?”

“Not my place to say,” he interrupts. He takes a fire poker from the wall beside him and stirs up the flame. “I wanted to see you for myself,” he croaks. “Wanted a close look at this new messiah.” He cackles. “Oh, how dutiful… You’re all the same. Same old habits, fresh new face.”

Is everyone here so cryptic?

“Are you on my side?” you question, cutting to the chase. “Just tell me that much.”

The man becomes quiet. He chucks another piece of tinder into the greedy flames. You carefully observe his silence until he grunts, then speaks. “We’re just witnesses… And you have many of those, Wanderer.” He turns to you. “This place could be another step in your journey… Or the end of it.”

You raise a brow. “This chapel?”

“Not this reflection. The true instance of it… And if you’re brave enough, seek it out. Though, from what I’ve observed so far, I don’t think you can manage.”

What the hell does that mean?

Frustration sours your expression. You take a step forward, gesturing for the book. “Can I…?”

“You want me to hand this over?” He twirls the book, then cackles. “You should know better, Wanderer… We wouldn’t make it so easy on you.” You watch him back toward the furnace. “I only came to see the fresh fish… And we’ll be watching to see if you have what it takes. If you’re worthy of your given role.”

He raises the book to the mouth of the furnace. Your eyes widen. “Don’t—!”

“Your trial isn’t over yet,” he interrupts. “If you’re competent, you’ll find the answers. If you’re not… then you’ll fade like all the rest.”

He chucks the book into the furnace, and the flames swallow it up with a roar. You shout and dive right past the man as he slips away down the shadowed hall. He disappears.

In your frenzy, you reach into the flames to free the book. But regret scorches your hands and makes you withdraw with a sharp hiss and a cry. “Fuck!” you curse. Burned skin becomes red and blistered. The flames consume the book—you need to do something!

You whip your head from left to right before your sights land on the fire poker. You snatch it up, then poke and prod at the flames desperately until you fish your catch out. The flaming book lands on the floor, and you hurriedly stomp out the fire. The remains are blackened and charred, but perhaps salvageable—you take it into your hands. Then—

 

Dark hands turn the page of a book on your lap. Your vision’s foggy and unclear—you can’t make out the contents of the pages. Can’t hardly even make out your surroundings. You’re in the woods, in the fog. Tall, dead trees surround you. You’re resting on the ground, sitting on your knees. A sigh escapes your lips—no, not your lips. A woman’s lips. This woman’s lips. She murmurs, but her words are garbled. Something comes up behind you. Some one . There’s another voice, but it’s heavily distorted, unrecognizable.

“A fr… of w h… you ’ll …fi….?”

You lift your heavy head and look back over your shoulder. You see—

 

When reality crashes into you, you gasp. The book’s hot in your hands. You cram it into your bag and startle when you hear Danny’s faint shout from upstairs.

“We’ve got company, Spunky!”

You race across the room and quickly ascend the ladder. When you pull yourself up and into the chapel hall, you’re startled at the sight before you.

A mob of people stands against the set of heavy doors on the other side of the room. The townspeople. You freeze solidly beside Danny and scoff. “They followed us,” you murmur.

You glance over at least two dozen townspeople. Their shadowed faces are grim and tired. They wear worn cotton rags and frocks, with messed hair and dirty, pale skin. And they gaze at you with dark, hostile eyes. They carry pitchforks and torches. This is an angry mob, if ever you’ve seen one. But angry at what, you don’t know.

You display your honest intentions by putting up your hands. “We-We don’t want any trouble.”

They remain silent, motionless. Your eyes shift towards Danny. “What the hell do they want?” you whisper.

“Maybe they came for the party,” Danny replies. He grips his knife tightly in his fist. His bloody knife. Only then do you notice the body lying on the floor between two pews. You glimpse a foot wearing a ratty leather sandal, and a pool of blood spilling out into the aisle. Shock and horror twists your expression.

“Did you kill someone?!” you hiss.

“The guy was creeping in with bad intentions,” Danny replies with a maddening chuckle. “I didn’t know a whole platoon would show up.”

You gawk at him, then jump as thunder rumbles. Rain patters on the chapel roof and rolls down the sides. The townspeople don’t react or move. Anxiety tightens your chest and makes your mouth dry. You lick your lips and force down a wedge in your throat. “W-We’re not—”

“They're one of them!” A woman in the crowd screams. The rest of the mob erupts in angry hollers and shouts. A man hurls a pitchfork at you, and Danny yanks you clear. It clatters against the brick wall behind you and hits the floor. You wrinkle your brow and shout, “One of what?”

“I don’t think they’re here for a chat,” Danny says.

Another woman chucks a torch that strikes a curtain on a window, then lands on a pew and rolls off onto the floor. The flames catch the wood and spread rapidly across the boards.

The townspeople retreat and slam the chapel doors shut behind them. When realization hits, you charge the doors and try to throw them open; they’re barred. You’re locked in.

“Shit,” you curse. “HEY! Let us out!”

You throttle the handles and ram the barricade, but they don’t budge. When you glance back over your shoulder, you watch the fire spread. Smoke billows towards the ceiling and fills the room. Here’s to hoping Bastion was just bluffing. And maybe he’ll realize you’re in deep shit and come back to pull your ass out of the fire…

Danny comes up beside you. He tips his mask toward your burned hands. “What did you find down there?”

“Some asshole in a cloak. He tossed our mark into a furnace”—You ram the door again, then grunt—“I had to fish the damn thing out… while… he…” You trail off, then widen your eyes. “The cellar.” You leave Danny without a complete answer while you spin around and race back toward the hatch. You dodge a wall of flames and drop to your knees at the opening. “I-I think we can get out down there.”

“What makes you so sure?” Danny asks cooly.

“He must’ve gotten out somehow. And if he did, then so can we.”

“Hell of a gamble…”

“Yeah, but we’re out of options.”

 

You quickly descend into the cellar and drop off the ladder with Danny right behind you. Then you lead him down the dark hallway past the burning furnace and into another room. Bare bones as the other, but you’re relieved when you see stone stairs leading up to a wooden hatch.

You sprint up the stairs and ram the doors with more force than necessary — they fly open and send you stumbling into the mud. Danny steps out behind you and grasps your arm before hoisting you onto your feet. He pats you on the back. You smack his hand and gather yourself.

You’re behind the chapel. Even with the brewing storm overhead and the soft pattering of rain, you can still hear the commotion of the crowd on the other side of the building. You hug the wall and move toward the edge. Danny creeps behind you. “Wrong way outta town,” he says.

“We’re not leaving yet,” you whisper. “We need to find that man. Whoever he was, he knows something. And we can’t let him get away.”

“Starting a little witch hunt of our own, huh?”

You give Danny a hard look before turning to peer out from the side of the building. You lay eyes on the town across the field, blanketed with dense mist stirred up by the rain. “We’ll have plenty of cover in town,” you say. “We just have to keep a low profile.”

“That's just my style.”

 

Creeping through the field of tall, dead grass unseen is the easy part. It’s when you step foot on the dirt road that you realize you have a much bigger problem.

Since you first passed through, the town has come alive. There’s a buzz of activity all around. You duck beside a cottage with Danny. There's a group of men carrying farm tools and torches, storming down the street. Danny scoffs beside you. “Looks like the whole town’s in on this…”

After they pass, you jump a ramshackle wooden fence into the yard behind the hut. You’re just bending around the other side of the cottage, toward the road, when you come face-to-face with three furious people and stagger to a halt beside Danny.

Two men, one carrying a scythe, the other a pitchfork, and a woman gripping onto a knife. A bearded man with gray hair and a mean mug steps forward and jabs his pitchfork toward you. “You got out, eh? Whole town wanted to hear you burn…”

“Your friend looks different,” the woman hushes, her deep-set eyes focusing on Danny from behind a curtain of greasy blonde hair. “Never seen 'im like this before…”

You crease your brows and side-eye Danny. He shrugs beside you, then brandishes his own knife. “Are we about to tussle?” he asks, tipping his head to the side.

His nonchalance and eagerness for conflict puts a knot in your stomach. You elbow him, then face the townspeople. “We don’t want any trouble,” you say. “We’re looking for someone—”

You’re interrupted by the closest man shouting and charging at Danny. He tackles him into the mud and the two engage in a skirmish. The second man turns his sights on you and stalks forward. You back away, putting your hands up. “Whoa, h-hold on!”

He swings. You’re slow to react, and the curve of his blade catches your calf. He yanks back hard and trips you up, also slicing open the back of your leg. You wail in pain and crash to the ground. Blood gushes from your leg. With one hand raised defensively, you crawl backwards and plead, “We-We didn’t come here to hurt anyone!”

He winds back his scythe to swing again. You shield yourself with both arms. His strike never comes—you peek through an open eye and watch Danny tackle him. While you glance away, you notice the other man lying dead in the mud, pierced with stab wounds. His body is vanishing into wisps of gray matter.

Danny sinks his blade into your assailant’s chest and tops it off with a twist. His death rattle makes your hair stand on end. He too ebbs away like smoke.

Danny stands, wipes his knife on his robes, and sets his sights on the woman.

She cowers away, gripping her knife with trembling hands. “J-Just leave,” she hushes. “Please, just leave.”

“We can’t,” you croak. “Not yet… Why don’t you take a page out of your own book?”

She falters. As she looks between you and Danny, she appears to swallow. Something changes — her expression hardens, and she grips her knife even more tightly before screaming and charging at you. She doesn’t get very far. Danny cuts her off and cuts her down. He stabs her in the gut, rips the knife out, and slashes her throat. She hits the ground, gurgling blood and choking before she dies. Her dead eyes gaze at you as her body dissipates.

“Oh, these people are batshit,” Danny chuckles. He wipes his blade on his sleeve and turns to you. You meet his mask with a glare.

“We didn’t come here to kill anybody,” you say shakily.

“Tsk tsk.” Danny takes your arm and hauls you up to your feet. You stumble into him, wincing in pain. He peers at your leg. “That looks like it hurts.”

“It does.” You push away from him and keep your weight off your leg. “I’ll patch it later,” you say, turning around to keep walking. “We need to find that—”

You walk right into a dark, voluminous cloud and shrink away, staggering back into Danny with a hiss and cough. Poe freaks out just the same and tries to flutter off your shoulder. You catch him in your hands and stare wide-eyed at the dark cloud. Its shape changes into an imposing lean body standing straight with gray skin taut over solid muscle and broad shoulders. The creature has a bat-like face with large black eyes, flat nose, and a wide grin that exposes a set of curved fangs. From its bare head protrude long, pointed ears. You’re sure you’d find more to gawk at if its loins weren’t covered by a ragged black cloth fastened with a leathery belt. It stands over twice your size and rivals the height of the cottage beside it.

You shriek in fear, stumble backwards, then trip over your feet. As you land on your ass in the mud, Danny brandishes his knife, as if that’ll do either of you any good. You’d take off and leave his ass in the dust if you weren’t crippled. But you can only shut your eyes and brace for—

—Nothing. Nothing but a boisterous, baritone, and rage-inducing laugh.

You sigh. Shame on me.

“Put your little toy away, Danny,” Bastion chuckles. He pokes the smaller man in the chest with an ungodly talon. Danny stumbles and jabs his knife at him. “Think you’re a funny guy, huh?”

Bastion snickers. You pick yourself up while smoothing Poe's ruffled feathers. “You need to ANNOUNCE yourself before you do this.”

“Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

He gives you a pat on the head and pinches your cheek before you slap his hand away. You’re helpless as he grabs your arm and lifts you right off your feet like a mewling kitten. When he brings you in for scrutiny, he blinks his gleaming black eyes at your maimed leg. “Ah, thought I smelled blood…. Knew you weren’t up to task, Danny.”

“Spunky's fine,” Danny insists. “Just some scrapes and bruises…”

Bastion grunts. He drops you on his shoulder and turns his back to Danny dismissively. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

For balance, you wrap an arm around his neck. “There was a man here,” you tell him. “Like the one I met in the woods. We need to find him.”

“We’ll tear this town apart if we have to,” Bastion replies. He breaks out into a sprint, almost jostling you off his shoulder.

Danny shouts behind you, “Where the hell are you going?”

“You’re on your own,” Bastion returns.

Peering back, you see Danny sulk off into the shadows. One less problem, you think. You’re glad to be away from him…

When you turn forward, you clutch Bastion’s head to keep from being bucked off. “What inspired this freak?” you ask as you stare up and down his form.

He turns to you with a sharp grin and a jarring wink. Jarring, because it’s the first time you’ve seen the bastard wink. “Do you like it?” You scoff at him. He laughs. “A killer from days past,” he answers. “Saw his work firsthand… He was efficient.”

“Right…. And you’re wearing pants! Or… whatever that is—”

“Want to see what’s beneath?”

“No! No, no, no.”

Bastion abruptly changes course and winds up on the main road through town. You widen your eyes. “Uh, I think you’re being too bold!”

“We won’t find your man by creeping around in the shadows,” Bastion replies. “We need to catch him before the trail goes cold…”

A thundering boom makes you jump and grip tighter. Lightning flashes and bathes the town in an eery white glow. You hear a clamor in the distance despite the storm. Men and woman shouting—the mob hunting a witch—the mob hunting you. You tighten your jaw.

When a group of locals comes into view down the road, you’re initially relieved to watch some flee in terror. Yet just a few are too brave — or too desperate. The few men armed with basic farm tools who think they can make a difference.

A man races into your path and swings a flimsy shovel. He’s neither a threat nor an obstacle to a charging ten-foot-tall monster man… So it comes as a nasty surprise when Bastion curb stomps him and caves his head in like a melon.

Gore splashes your face and makes you recoil so hard that you nearly fly off his shoulders. He grabs you around the waist to keep you upright. You smack his head. “Hey! So maybe don’t murder a bunch of people on your way through!”

“They’re just echoes, Wanderer. And they’re in the way.”

He heedlessly charges down the road, cutting corners past ruined cottages, and barreling over anyone who lands in his path. He overturns a wagon and crushes a woman beneath it. Two men come at him waving hammers and forks, and he turns them to minced meat and pulp. You try your best to keep your eyes peeled for your target, but it’s hard to see anything through the havoc.

Bastion’s rampage continues over the bridge you crossed earlier. At the sight of him, a small mob scatters. Some turn on him and charge—futile efforts to chase off the monster ravaging their town. You’ve never seen people so desperate and afraid… You’d think they’d run at the sight of something so vicious and unknown, but something drives them to these extremes.

You avert your eyes as Bastion cuts them down.

The world spins around you. A growing knot in your stomach makes you cringe and gag. This whole town and its people might only be echoes, but it’s all too real… The carnage, the screams, the fear. And the hot blood oozing down your face feels all too real, even as if fades into nothing.

A man cloaked in dark robes tries to flee with the rest of the crowd. Bastion grabs him by the throat and lifts him off his feet. He gives you a close look.

“Is this who we’re looking for?”

The poor guy writhes in Bastion’s grip, choking and snarling like an animal. His hood comes off, and all you see is the fear-stricken face of an elderly man caught in the wrong place at the wrong time… His eyes bulge and his legs flail beneath him.

You release a shuddering breath. “I-I don’t think so…”

“Shame,” Bastion mutters.

You jump when he rips his teeth into the man’s neck. A nasty crunch makes you grimace, and a spurt of blood gets you in the eye as he snaps back with a chunk of meat and bone clamped in his jaws. He drops the sputtering man to the ground and spits gore from his mouth. “We’ll find him,” he says as he takes an arm across his bloodied face. “We just need to thin the herd…”

You’re not so sure. Might’ve already lost him… And maybe this bloodshed’s all for nothing.

 

Bastion continues down the road with you quickly becoming an unwilling passenger on his shoulder. His victims’ piercing screams make your skin crawl. He crushes a woman underfoot and breaks her bones. She’s wailing like a broken siren when he sets his sights on a group of men huddled up with weapons.

“Bastion,” you whisper.

He shuts the woman up when he stomps her again. You feel your stomach lurch.

“Bastion,” you say sternly a second time.

A blood-curdling scream makes you flinch and close your eyes.

They deserve this, you tell yourself. They tried to burn me in the chapel. And they wouldn’t even tell me why. They’re not innocent. They deserve this—

When you open your eyes, just for a split second, you spot something that makes you wish you hadn’t.

A little girl, no older than six, cowers in the shadow of two ruined cottages. Blood soaks her poor rags, contrasting sharply with her dirty, pale skin. Her dark eyes gaze at you from behind a curtain of matted brown hair.

Your heart sinks. You find yourself unable to peel your eyes away. Then Bastion spots her, too.

When he stops everything and turns to her, your stomach flips. Then he takes a long stride forward, gets down on one knee in front of her, and he grins.

“A witness…”

The girl doesn’t move—you’re sure it’s the fear paralyzing her. Bastion tilts his head. “We’re looking for a friend,” he says. He blinks his eyes innocently, but the masquerade’s flawed by all the blood staining his features.

A tear spills down the girl’s cheek, and she trembles uncontrollably. Bastion reaches out his hand, causing her to flinch. Then he wipes away her tear with a bloody, curved talon. “We’ll be gone when we find him,” he coaxes her.

She chokes over a sob that escapes her lips. Then, “She’s gone,” is all she whispers.

Bastion loses the grin, and his expression darkens. “Oh?”

The girl’s eyes flit toward you. You don’t know what to do or say, and she observes your hesitance as Bastion slowly withdraws his hand. Before he makes another move, you blurt, “W-We’re done here.” He turns his face toward you. You meet his dark eyes and repeat, “We’re done.”

You have a stare-off before a familiar voice shouts above the storm. “Use fire!”

You snap your gaze over your shoulder to find none other than your cloaked quarry standing at the end of the road. He lifts a torch and screams out, “You’d let this thing ravage your homes? Use fire to put it down! It fears the flames!”

The stragglers in the area hear his commands loud and clear. They creep out of the shadows like timid mice, casting their wretched gaze upon you and Bastion. The fear creeps from their faces, replaced by the same hardened looks you met back at the chapel, before they locked you in and tried to snuff you out.

They gather in numbers and resolve, lighting torches and moving in like predators. And for the first time, you watch flickers of fear on Bastion’s face, permitted by the features he has this rare occasion. His pointed ears go back like an anxious dog, his glinting black eyes widen, and his forehead wrinkles.

Then he shifts forms again and takes on the body of a large, hairless man-bat. Charcoal skin draws tight over a brawny body with two very long arms extending into leathery wings. Although his body is more like a man than a bat, his face is monstrous and animal. Two strong misshapen legs stand him up, and awfully sharp talons barb his feet.

When he changes, you fall off his shoulder and land in a puddle of blood and muck. But he snatches your waist in his talons and beats his wings to get airborne. You shout on liftoff.

Bastion breaks away from the gathering crowd like a bat out of hell. But not quick enough—a tossed torch strikes his wing and lights him up like a Christmas tree.

In an instant, the flames consume his entire form. He loses control and flails midair, taking a blind spiral downward with you still in his clutches. And your panic elicits a shout as he crashes right through the roof of a decrepit old barn.

Bastion loses his grasp on you, and you squeeze your eyes shut tight, bracing for an impact that might maim or kill you. But you’re relieved when you land and roll onto something soft.

When you open your eyes, you watch Bastion crash to the ground amid a mess of hay and wooden boards. He screams like a banshee as the flames eat away at him. In his distress, he loses his form and begins to shift erratically, becoming a shapeless, dark horror with snapping, spidery claws, and lashing tendrils. Then he vanishes with a final, ear-piercing wail.

A heavy downpour beats on the roof as thunder rumbles overhead. There’s nearly no light in the room, except the ray of moonlight streaming in through the hole that’s been made. A shuddering breath leaves your parted lips. You blink at the surrounding darkness, then shift and sit up. Poe's still with you, thankfully, gripping the collar of your shirt with his talons for dear life. You try to stand, but then you pause—something wet squishes under your hands. Something cold and wet and… and hairy?

You look down, and horror spoils your face.

What broke your fall wasn’t hay… It’s a pile of mutilated, rotting human corpses. And the one you had the misfortune of landing right on top of is the festering body of a young woman, with her stomach cavity seeping blood and crawling with a clutch of maggots.

You scramble away with a scream, tripping and landing on your ass. A wave of nausea makes you gag. You spin around and hurl the contents of your stomach onto the floor. You sputter and choke, trembling as you desperately wipe clumps of bloody hair and gore off your hands and legs. Then you dry heave until nothing else comes up. Bile burns your throat and tears sting your eyes. As you stagger away, you let out a shuddering breath. But you glue your eyes to the morbid sight, with a thousand questions racing through your head.

“That’s all your doing.”

A scratchy, low voice makes you jump and spin around. A man in ragged clothes emerges from the shadows on the other side of the room. His face is heavily wrinkled, his brows stitched, and his short hair is grey and wet. Dull brown eyes hidden within deep sockets stare at you. He grips a sickle in his left hand. With the other, he points accusingly at you. “You brought that damned thing back… Now we’ve more bodies to add to that pile.”

You swallow thickly and back away. “I’ve never been here before…” You put up a hand. “Hey, put the sickle down—”

“Those don’t wake up,” the man interrupts you, thrusting his blade toward the bodies. “Dead as dead… But you already know that, don’t you? Here to finish off the rest of us?” A flash of lightning illuminates his scowling face.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” you snap at him. “I-I don’t even want to be here. I’ll go, alright?”

“Now you want to go? After what you’ve done?” He snarls and lunges at you. You’re slow to react, and he slashes your arm with his sickle. It cuts deep into your flesh, drawing a line of gushing blood. As he swings again, you tackle him before his next strike connects.

He hits the floor with a heavy grunt as you land on top of him. You grip his wrist and try to squeeze his weapon from his grasp, but he throws a flimsy punch that connects to your jaw, and another that knocks you upside the head. The world flips and you’re suddenly on your back. The man sits on you, raises his sickle and brings it down fast. Metal strikes wood as you throw your head to the side. You sink your teeth into his arm and bite down hard enough to draw blood, until he wails and drops his weapon. It clatters on the floor beside you.

When you try to buck him off, he growls like an animal and digs his thumbs into your eyes. He forces them deeper, which elicits a shrill scream from your throat as you fight back with everything you have. But he pushes down, grunting and growling and trying to gouge them out.

Dark spots fill your vision, followed by searing pain. As panic sets in, you flail and kick, grabbing his wrists, digging your nails into his skin, and attempting to relieve some pressure on your eyes. He puts all his weight behind his attack and screams in your face. Everything’s dark. Your eyes burn. It hurts. It hurts!

In distress, you throw out your arm and sweep the floor. When your fingers brush the handle of his sickle, you don’t hesitate to grasp it tightly and swing at him blindly.

The curved blade cuts through flesh. The man screams in pain. Blood spatters on your chest, and your attacker falls back. Once the pressure’s gone, you sit up, choking back a painful moan. You can only peel open one eye, and even then, it’s hazy and blurred.

You make out a deep scarlet line slashed across his face. Oozing blood runs diagonally from his jaw to his brow, dripping down his chin. He moans in pain and crawls away from you. You stagger forward, step on his leg, then drop to pin him beneath you.

You still grip the sickle. The rusty blade is covered in fresh blood. Then the whispers come to you… You feel the sensation of jagged nails scraping the nape of your neck up to the back of your skull before pinching tender flesh between twitchy fingers…

Hurt him, the whispers command. Bleed him… Kill him.

A cold feeling ghosts your nape, like a hand caressing your skin.

Kill him.

Your head pounds. A scream cuts through the air, followed by another and another, turning into a chorus that rivals the raging storm. You squeeze your eye shut.

 

Spare Him

Kill Him

 

Chapter 40: Choice: Spare Him

 

The voices scream for violence and blood, and the whispers coax you, like a mother to her child. Hands grasp yours and squeeze your fingers. A hush to your left fans cold breath on your cheek. Then you feel softness pressing on your bruised eyelids like cotton. But the affections are like poison, and you shun them as such. Your brow wrinkles intensely as you force the chorus to silence. Their voices boom like thunder, and their screams cut through your head like lightning, but you resist.

Their rage becomes punishing as it sends a thousand needle-like sensations up and down your spine, then fingers that dig into flesh and bone. Your scream joins the cacophony until you open your eye and cease the noise.

They all fade together as your vision returns. Reality hits you like a truck, and you’re gripping the sickle so hard your knuckles turn white and ache. Rain pelts you from the hole above, drenching your skin and clothes, and chilling you to the bone.

A lightning flash illuminates the old man’s fearful face beneath you. He trembles and whimpers in pain. An expression so woeful and broken that it sends a spike through your chest.

After tossing the sickle away, you grasp the man’s shoulders. “Stop,” you breathe. “Please… I-I don’t know who the fuck you are! I’ve never been to this fucking town before, and-and I didn’t want to hurt anyone!” Your voice trembles and breaks. Pulling back, you clutch your head in your hands. “Coming here was a mistake… I knew I shouldn’t have followed. I knew—”

A sharp, stabbing pain on your lower side cuts you off. A cry escapes your lips as you fall back and hit the floor. You touch the blossoming red stain on your shirt. Then you lift your gaze to meet the man’s furious eyes. He picks himself up, gripping a bloody bit of sharp wood in his hand. His mad look shoots daggers through you. “You’re all the same,” he spits venomously. “We’ll see you burn, Wanderer. You and all your fuckin’ ilk. And we’ll burn as many as we have to… We’ll turn you to ash and do it again!”

He lets out a furious scream when he lunges. You flinch. But a shadow slips out of the darkness and intercepts the old man. A blade cuts flesh, and then the man’s body falls to the ground, dead. He lets out a rattling groan. Your eyes widen at the scene. A flash of lightning illuminates your guardian angel.

Danny wipes his blade on his sleeve and waves at you. “Did you miss me?”

You scoff. Danny chuckles and approaches you before taking to his knee and tipping his mask down toward the bloody patch on your side. He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “You just learned a hard lesson, Spunky.” He tears a ribbon from his robe and slaps your hand away to wrap up your wound and apply pressure. “Let’s get the hell out of this backwater shithole, huh?”

You won’t argue.

He ties a knot and wraps an arm around your waist to heft you up and onto his shoulder like a sack. You writhe in pain. He pinches you on the thigh.

 

Danny slips out of the back of the barn and sets his sights on the treeline in the distance. You’re relieved to be back under the radar. But a voice in the back of your head taunts you—missed your mark, it says. You don’t care. You’ll just be glad to get away and put this town and its secrets behind you…

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

The world’s a hazy blur.

You teeter on the brink of unconsciousness, blacking out every so often just to be throttled back to reality by Danny every time he jostles you on his shoulder. He carries Poe on his other shoulder. And Poe, much like you, doesn't exactly have a say in being a passenger.... Since leaving town, Danny's cinched your leg with a belt and stanched the bleeding on your side with bandages and gauze from your bag. A part of you would surely be grateful if he weren’t a homicidal egomaniac.

You haven’t uttered a single word. You just gaze at the ground as it moves under you, occasionally glancing around the fog at the dead trees or dry brush. You hurt all over. You have a dry mouth, heavy eyelids, and a queasy feeling in your stomach. All you want to do is get back to Haven.

As you fade out for the umpteenth time, you hear Danny utter, “Where the hell is Bucky? That bastard should be lugging you around…”

“Shut up,” you croak.

“This is the thanks I get for pulling your ass out of the fire? You’re a real heartbreaker, Spunky.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Upon swallowing and licking the dryness from your lips, you murmur, “How… How did you find me?”

“I stuck around to watch the show,” Danny answers with a chuckle. “Your pal knows how to party. He really racked up those numbers… And didn’t you look so cute, hugging onto his shoulders?” Danny slightly turns his mask while you scowl. “You had a front-row seat… How many bodies did you count?”

Images of the massacre flash through your mind. You shut your eye.

Danny continues to poke. “I don’t know about you, but it looked like he was having a blast. Looked almost too natural, didn’t it?”

It was.

“Lucky you have him on a leash…”

You grind your teeth so hard that it hurts. Danny lets you simmer in silence, but just for a minute. He jostles you again. “Your place or mine?”

“Whichever’s closest,” you mutter.

He nods. You close your eyes with a huff and go slack when the quiet persists. You won’t fight the fatigue any longer. Your body hurts so badly and your leg feels like it is going to fall off. So you let the pain and the exhaustion pull you under… You hear Danny murmur something to you, but his words are lost as you fade away…

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Some time later, you awaken not in a cold sweat, but a hot one. You recognize the humidity of Danny’s apartment even before you open your eyes.

As you slouch forward in the dark, groaning, you take your head in your hands. Poe's sitting on your lap, while you're sitting on the floor of the living room. The coffee table’s been pushed aside to clear the space, and the TV’s been turned off. Upon looking up, you notice the curtains are drawn back, and when you turn your head, you see Danny reclining in his leather chair.

He’s holding something… the book you recovered from the chapel.

He looks up when he notices you’re awake. Then he scoffs and throws the book on the floor beside you. “The damn thing is torched,” he mutters. He stands up and paces.

You take the book and quickly skim the pages. Many of them are black and crumble like dead leaves under your fingers. You flip through them with an increasingly hard look on your face. “No, no, no,” you whisper. One after another… Anything that was once written on the pages is now ruined. Your blood boils. “Fuck… We can’t salvage shit from this—”

You turn another page and bite your tongue. Though burnt up like all the rest, just bits and pieces are legible…

—In the tower, one fuzzy line reads. Warned me… avoid… Imperiatti.

You trace that unknown word with the pad of your thumb, then you whisper it on your tongue. It doesn’t ring a bell. It’s an unknown. And one surely you’ll be racking your brain over down the road…

You turn the page and startle when a sheet falls out onto your lap. It’s untouched by the flames, and the parchment’s different. You pick it up… Simple charcoal doodles of shadowy figures dancing around a fire. You turn it over to find another drawing depicting a shadow curled up inside a cage.

You can’t make heads or tails of the odd drawings. You return the page to the book and close it. Danny watches you get up. “Party’s over,” you say. After cramming the book into your bag, you head straight for the door with a limp in your step.

“Leaving already?” Danny says behind you.

“I’m going back to the cabin for some rest… I think we’ve done enough.”

“You can rest up here,” Danny offers.

You scoff dismissively at him. “I’ll come around if I need you…”

Just as you reach the door, you jump when Danny appears behind you and slings an arm over your shoulder. “Hey, let’s get a picture for the road.”

He raises a camera, pulls you in close, and then presses the shutter. The flash blinds you—you wrench away from him while rubbing your eyes. “Thought I broke that damn thing.”

“You really thought I only had one camera lying around?” When your vision clears, you watch Danny admire the photo. He chuckles and tips his mask up. “Just to commemorate our first day in the field together.” He gives you a wave. “Let’s do this again sometime…”

You sneer at him before exiting the room.

The hall is quiet. You scoff under your breath and shake your head. You don’t like that at all… That Danny pretends to give half a shit about you or your well-being. He’s using you the same way you’re using him. It’s a mutualistic relationship that’s both parts need and hate. And boy, you hate that you fucking need him.

You hobble down the hall, eager to get out and away from this dingy complex, but you falter and stop completely when Bastion appears suddenly in front of you. You hit the brakes to avoid walking right into him.

He’s back to normal… Or, as normal as he gets, anyway. You don’t miss those dark, creepy eyes or that fanged grin…

“Welcome back,” you say, while clutching your racing heart. His company makes your skin crawl.

Bastion slants his head. “You made it out… So that man’s good for something, after all…”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Bastion grunts absentmindedly. “I’ll help you back to Haven, Wanderer. Then we’ll discuss what you found.”

You scoff. “I didn’t find… a…” You trail as you watch Bastion walk past you toward Danny’s room. You lift a brow. “What are you doing?”

“I just want to have a word with our new friend first,” he replies.

“Bastion—”

“Mind yourself, Wanderer.” He looks back at you with a sharp grin. Then he vanishes.

You scoff, throw a hand up dismissively, then turn and keep walking. It’s not your problem…

 

---

 

Trudging footfalls fade out of earshot. They're gone.

Danny sighs softly as he steps away from the door. He’s missing them already… Or maybe he’s missed all the make-believe and role-playing… It’s good in small doses. But his social graces need some work. It’s been a while since the mask came off.

He crosses the room while scrolling through the gallery on his camera. Fresh photos he snapped of Spunky while they were unconscious on his floor…

Oh, that’s a good one…

They're laid out in front of the window, curled like a budding flower and spotted with bruises and marks left over from their escapade. He had to part the curtains to let some light in for a decent shot, and it paid off. They're framed in a square spotlight that pours through the window. Sharp shadows contrast with the blue glow and highlight all the right parts…

This would look great on a two-page spread with his headliner above it… “LOCAL HERO SLAIN IN THE BOONDOCKS.”

Danny scoffs. A hero… They really think they're something… But if they made one thing clear today, it’s that they don’t know shit. And they need his help more than he thought. He can use that.

Danny makes plans to develop the film later. As he turns around, he stops abruptly when he finds Spunky’s tall friend. He scoffs. Guy doesn’t know how to knock?

“You just missed them, Bruno,” he says. 

“I wanted to have a word with you.”

“Oh?”

“Just a word of warning.” The shade folds his arms behind his back and tips his head. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt our mutual companion…” His grin curls up and shows two rows of gleaming teeth. “Right, Danny?”

Danny could easily agree. He could tell the tall shade everything he knows he wants to hear, just to get him off his back and out of his damn apartment… It’d be so easy, too… Won’t lay a finger on their pretty little face… You don’t have to worry about me! I’m a team player… But what’s the fun in that?

He can’t help himself. Danny smirks behind the mask and tilts his head. “I don’t know, Buster,” he challenges. “Might not be able to help myself… Maybe I’ll flip my lid like you.” He lets out a laugh. “But there’s a lot of room for mistakes, huh? You can testify to that…”

Bruce’s grin wavers. Danny's on his feet one second, and suspended off the ground with a spindly black claw slicing into his gut the next.

His back and skull meet the plastered brick wall behind him. He grunts behind the mask and fights an immediate headache. Blood surges up his throat, which he sputters out with a shrill, nervous laugh. “Ah, ah, shit,” he chokes.

Bastion lunges forward to snarl in his face. “I will FUCK you in half.”

“Slo-Slow down, Cujo. You’re moving too fast for me—” Danny swallows a mouthful of blood and laughs again. Shit. He expected a reaction, but not one this severe…

“You’re just a tool, Danny,” Bastion growls in his face. “A pawn. Remember that. Because the moment you forget, I’ll drag you through hell.”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Bastion sneers. “You put on a brave face. But behind the mask, you’re just another sniveling little fucker who wants out. And if you ever want to see the light of day again, you’ll wear your leash with pride. If the Wanderer says sit, you sit.” He tilts his head. “Do you understand?”

“I get it, Baxter.”

Bastion forces a toothy grin. “Glad to hear it.” He pulls his claw from Danny’s gut and flings a string of blood onto the walls.

Danny collapses on his knees with a hacking cough. He gulps blood and groans in pain. “I bet… bet you’re fun in bed…”

Bastion turns away to leave. Then he pauses, turns around, and extends his hand. “Hand it over.”

Danny plays stupid. Bastion growls. “Don’t test me.”

When Danny surrenders his camera, Bastion crushes it in his fist and plucks the ribbon of film between his fingers. After, he drops the remains and curls his lips to give Danny a haughty grin. “Until our next venture.”

And he’s gone like that.

Danny loosens up the collar around his neck and stumbles into the wall. He hugs his stomach. The wound’s already stitching itself back together, but it still hurts like hell…

He trudges over to his recliner and slumps down into it with a heavy sigh.

“Fucker.”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 41: Choice: Kill Him

 

The voices scream for violence and blood, and the whispers coax you like a mother to her child. Hands grasp yours and squeeze your fingers. A hush to your left fans cold breath on your cheek. Then you feel softness pressing on your bruised eyelids like cotton. Drinking in the affections from the unseen, you exhale shakily. Your resolve hardens, and you open your good eye.

Lightning illuminates the old man’s fearful face beneath you. He trembles and whimpers in pain. A state you find ironic, given how eager he was to maim you just moments ago… You know that if you give him the chance, he’ll try to finish the job. Don’t let him, a voice whispers. Don’t let him hurt you.

Your expression twists before you slash his throat with the blade. Blood sprays across your chest and face. The man wails and tries to snatch your arm. You beat him down and slash him again and again and again, becoming blind with rage through a mist of red gore.

The whispers encourage you—they become senseless and excited and erratic. Deserved, they sing. It’s okay.

You grunt and scream while you ravage his chest and face with your blade. Soon, he stops fighting. His screams stop and his body goes limp beneath you. The whispers are gone as quickly as they came. It becomes silent. And only when the red screen clears do you see the work laid out before you.

A bloody cavity hacked open that spills fluid and viscera onto the floor and into a murky red pool around you. You shredded his chest into ribbons of gory flesh and muscle, and you slashed his face into an unrecognizable pulp.

A weight crashes into you, and a hoarse scream cuts through your throat as horror twists your face. You drop the sickle and scramble away, gasping and choking on the breath you can’t let out. Wetness coats your face and dribbles down your nose and chin…

“How’s it taste?” comes a voice whispering in your ear.

You jump and turn to meet Poe’s blue eyes. His unblinking gaze pierces through you. You feel warmth in your mouth and taste copper. Poe chuckles. “Not the blood on your tongue,” he says. “The blood on your hands. A kill under the belt… How’s it taste?”

A slow clap snaps you back to reality. You avert your gaze to the right and startle at the sight of a shadow emerging from the darkness, approaching you slowly. A flash of lightning illuminates Danny. He stops and tilts his head.

“I didn’t think you’d have that in you,” he says. “Now that’s a good look on you…”

Your eye narrows. “No… No, I-I didn’t— He-He didn’t give me a choice,” you get out. After taking an arm across your face, you stand and stumble on your bad leg. Danny reaches out to catch you.

“You don’t need to make excuses,” he says while resting a hand on the small of your back. “Hey, the asshole had it coming, right?” He lifts a hand to touch your swollen eye.

You push him away and growl. “Don’t touch me.”

Danny puts up both hands with a wry chuckle. “Aw, you’re really selling the act. I’m almost convinced…”

You could stand here and argue with him all day. But a clamor in the distance makes you pause. The mob’s coming.

You try to run, but trip and fall to your knees. Pain surges from your damaged leg and makes you grit your teeth. Danny bends down, wraps his arm around your waist, then hefts you up and onto his shoulder like a sack. You can’t complain.

 

He slips out of the back of the barn and sets his sights on the treeline in the distance. You’re relieved to be back under the radar. But a voice in the back of your head taunts you—missed your mark, it says. You don’t care. You’ll just be glad to get away and put this town and your mistakes behind you…

 

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

The world’s a hazy blur.

You teeter on the brink of unconsciousness, blacking out every so often just to be throttled back to reality by Danny every time he jostles you on his shoulder. He carries Poe on his other shoulder. And Poe doesn’t exactly have a say in being a passenger….

Since leaving town, Danny’s cinched your leg with a belt to slow the bleeding. A part of you would surely be grateful if he weren’t a homicidal egomaniac.

You haven’t uttered a single word. You just gaze at the ground as it moves under you, occasionally glancing around the fog at the dead trees or dry brush. You hurt all over. You have a dry mouth, heavy eyelids, and a queasy feeling in your stomach. All you want to do is get back to Haven.

As you fade out for the umpteenth time, you hear Danny utter, “Where the hell is Bucky? That bastard should be lugging you around…”

“Shut up,” you croak.

“This is the thanks I get for pulling your ass out of the fire? You’re a real heartbreaker, Spunky.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Upon swallowing and licking the dryness from your lips, you murmur, “How… How did you find me?”

“I stuck around to watch the show,” Danny answers with a chuckle. “Your pal knows how to party. He really racked up those numbers… And didn’t you look so cute, hugging onto his shoulders?” Danny slightly turns his mask while you scowl. “But you’re not so bad yourself… Two peas in a pod.”

Images of the old man’s grisly corpse flash through your mind. You grind your teeth so hard that it hurts. Danny lets you simmer in silence, but just for a minute. He jostles you again. “Your place or mine?”

“Whichever’s closest,” you mutter.

He nods. You close your eyes with a huff and go slack when the quiet persists. You won’t fight the fatigue any longer. A guilt weighs so heavily on your chest you almost can’t breathe, and your leg feels like it is going to fall off. So you let the pain and the exhaustion pull you under… You hear Danny murmur something to you, but his words are lost as you fade away…

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Some time later, you awaken not in a cold sweat, but a hot one. You recognize the humidity of Danny’s apartment even before you open your eyes.

As you slouch forward in the dark, groaning, you take your head into your hands. Poe’s sitting on your lap, while you’re sitting on the floor of the living room. The coffee table’s been pushed aside to clear the space, and the TV’s been turned off. Upon looking up, you notice the curtains are drawn back, and when you turn your head, you see Danny reclining in his leather chair.

He’s holding something… the book you recovered from the chapel.

He looks up when he notices you’re awake. Then he scoffs and throws the book on the floor beside you. “The damn thing is torched,” he mutters. He stands up and paces.

You take the book and quickly skim the pages. Many of them are black and crumble under your fingers. You flip through them with an increasingly hard look on your face. “No, no, no,” you whisper. One after another… Anything that was once written on the pages is now ruined. Your blood boils. “Fuck… We can’t salvage shit from this—”

You turn another page and bite your tongue. Though burnt up like all the rest, just bits and pieces are legible…

—In the tower, one fuzzy line reads. Warned me… avoid… Imperiatti.

You trace that unknown word with the pad of your thumb, then you whisper it on your tongue. It doesn’t ring a bell. It’s an unknown. And one surely you’ll be racking your brain over down the road…

You turn the page and startle when a sheet falls out onto your lap. It’s untouched by the flames, and the parchment’s different. You pick it up… Simple charcoal doodles of shadowy figures dancing around a fire. You turn it over to find another drawing depicting a dark figure curled up inside a cage.

You can’t make heads or tails of the odd drawings. You return the page to the book and close it. Danny watches you get up. “Party’s over,” you say. After cramming the book into your bag, you head straight for the door with a limp in your step.

“Leaving already?” Danny says behind you.

“I’m going back to the cabin for some rest… I think we’ve done enough.”

“You can rest up here,” Danny offers.

You scoff dismissively at him. “I’ll come around if I need you…”

Just as you reach the door, you jump when Danny appears behind you and slings an arm over your shoulder. “Hey, let’s get a picture for the road.”

He raises a camera, pulls you in close, and then presses the shutter. The flash blinds you—you wrench away from him while rubbing your eyes. “Thought I broke that damn thing.”

“You really thought I only had one camera lying around?”

When your vision clears, you watch Danny admire the photo. He chuckles and tips his mask up. “Just to commemorate our first day in the field together.” He gives you a wave. “Let’s do this again sometime…”

You sneer at him before exiting the room.

The hall is quiet. You scoff under your breath and shake your head. You don’t like that at all… That Danny pretends to give half a shit about you or your well-being. He’s using you the same way you’re using him. It’s a mutualistic relationship that’s both parts need and hate. And boy, you hate that you fucking need him.

You hobble down the hall, eager to get out and away from this dingy complex, but you falter and stop completely when Bastion appears suddenly in front of you. You hit the brakes to avoid walking right into him.

He’s back to normal… Or, as normal as he gets, anyway. You don’t miss those dark, creepy eyes or that fanged grin…

“Welcome back,” you say while clutching your racing heart. His company makes your skin crawl.

Bastion slants his head. “You made it out… So that man’s good for something, after all…”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Bastion grunts absentmindedly. “I’ll help you back to Haven, Wanderer. Then we’ll discuss what you found.”

You scoff. “I didn’t find… a…” You trail as you watch Bastion walk past you toward Danny’s room. You lift a brow. “What are you doing?”

“I just want to have a word with our new friend first,” he replies.

“Bastion—”

“Mind yourself, Wanderer.” He looks back at you with a sharp grin. Then he vanishes.

You scoff, throw a hand up dismissively, then turn and keep walking. It’s not your problem…

 

---

 

Trudging footfalls fade out of earshot. They're gone.

Danny sighs softly as he steps away from the door. He’s missing them already… Or maybe he’s missed all the make-believe and role-playing… It’s good in small doses. But his social graces need some work. It’s been a while since the mask came off.

He crosses the room while scrolling through the gallery on his camera. Fresh photos he snapped of Spunky while they were unconscious on his floor…

Oh, that’s a good one…

They're laid out in front of the window, curled like a budding flower and spotted with bruises and marks left over from their escapade. He had to part the curtains to let some light in for a decent shot, and it paid off. They're framed in a square spotlight that pours through the window. Sharp shadows contrast with the blue glow and highlight all the right parts…

This would look great on a two-page spread with his headliner above it… “LOCAL HERO SLAYS AN ELDERLY MAN.”

Danny scoffs. A hero… They really think they're something… But if they made one thing clear today, it’s that they're no one’s hero. What kind of hero kills a man the way they did? No, they're just like him… And he can use that.

Danny makes plans to develop the film later. As he turns around, he stops abruptly when he finds Spunky’s tall friend. He scoffs. Guy doesn’t know how to knock?

“You just missed them, Bruno,” he says.

“I wanted to have a word with you.”

“Oh?”

“Just a word of warning.” The shade folds his arms behind his back and tips his head. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt our mutual companion…” His grin curls up and shows two rows of gleaming teeth. “Right, Danny?”

Danny could easily agree. He could tell the tall shade everything he knows he wants to hear, just to get him off his back and out of his damn apartment… It’d be so easy, too… Won’t lay a finger on their pretty little face… You don’t have to worry about me! I’m a team player… But what’s the fun in that?

He can’t help himself. Danny smirks behind the mask and tilts his head. “I don’t know, Buster,” he challenges. “Might not be able to help myself… Maybe I’ll flip my lid like you.” He lets out a laugh. “But there’s a lot of room for mistakes, huh? You can testify to that…”

Bruce’s grin wavers. Danny’s on his feet one second, and suspended off the ground with a spindly black claw slicing into his gut the next.

His back and skull meet the plastered brick wall behind him. He grunts behind the mask and fights an immediate headache. Blood surges up his throat, which he sputters out with a shrill, nervous laugh. “Ah, ah, shit,” he chokes.

Bastion lunges forward to snarl in his face. “I will FUCK you in half.”

“Slo-Slow down, Cujo. You’re moving too fast for me—” Danny swallows a mouthful of blood and laughs again. Shit. He expected a reaction, but not one this severe…

“You’re just a tool, Danny,” Bastion growls in his face. “A pawn. Remember that. Because the moment you forget, I’ll drag you through hell.”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Bastion sneers. “You put on a brave face. But behind the mask, you’re just another sniveling little fucker who wants out. And if you ever want to see the light of day again, you’ll wear your leash with pride. If the Wanderer says sit, you sit.” He tilts his head. “Do you understand?”

“I get it, Baxter.”

Bastion forces a toothy grin. “Glad to hear it.” He pulls his claw from Danny’s gut and flings a string of blood onto the walls.

Danny collapses on his knees with a hacking cough. He gulps blood and groans in pain. “I bet… bet you’re fun in bed…”

Bastion turns away to leave. Then he pauses, turns around, and extends his hand. “Hand it over.”

Danny plays stupid. Bastion growls. “Don’t test me.”

When Danny surrenders his camera, Bastion crushes it in his fist and plucks the ribbon of film between his fingers. After, he drops the remains and curls his lips to give Danny a haughty grin. “Until our next venture.”

And he’s gone like that.

Danny loosens up the collar around his neck and stumbles into the wall. He hugs his stomach. The wound’s already stitching itself back together, but it still hurts like hell…

He trudges over to his recliner and slumps down onto it with a heavy sigh.

“Fucker.”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 42: Show and Tell

 

Harrowing screams rip through the darkness and curdle your blood. The screams of a town ravaged by a monster you unleashed in a relentless pursuit of answers you ultimately lost. Blood spilled for nothing. And it follows you still, like a river raging after you.

You’re resting on your knees in a warm pool of it—it comes up to your waist, and it’s warm and unwelcoming. You miss the cold, black tar.

An intense smell of copper and death stings your nostrils. The massacre flashes before your eyes and the pain echoes throughout your body. You close your eyes tightly. Then you hear a whistle to your left, and a familiar dark voice.

“You can’t ignore it,” it tells you. “Open your eyes and take a good look.”

You can’t even muster the voice to tell it to shut up.

“Come on,” it goads, “look around. Might find something you like…”

You ignore the nagging voice until it stops. Then a minute passes, then another, and another, until you open one eye to peer into the darkness. You see a small shadowy figure ahead of you. You blink at it until you realize it’s a child. A silhouette of one, that is. A spectral black form sitting on its knees. It faces away from you. But you notice small movements and hear the scritch-scratch of pencil on paper.

With blood replacing the tar, you find that you’re not as bound to it as you are normally. You stand and trudge toward the child. When you summon your voice, hoarse and unsteady, you call out, “Hello?”

They freeze. You falter too, just a few paces away. Then their dark head slowly swivels on their shoulders. If they’re facing you, there’s no way to tell; they have no face. They emit a voice— your voice. It repeats back to you, “Hello?”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You skim blackened pages tentatively. If you’re careless, they’ll crumble in your fingers and turn to ash.

It breaks your heart, honestly. This thing could’ve provided you with so many answers, but you watched it burn in that furnace… What are a few minor burns when you step back and look at the bigger picture? They would have healed eventually. But this knowledge is lost forever.

You lean forward on the porch step and close the book.

No sense in picking through this thing any longer… You’ve gathered what bits and pieces you can: marred entries alluding to a tower, strange happenings in the fog beyond the campfire, an unknown word only hastily scribbled once—Imperiatti. Maybe diving for the book was a mistake. You should have tried harder to catch that guy. Whoever he was, he obviously knows something. Him and that other man you ran into in the woods… Who are they? Are they working together? And what are they working toward? They know more than you do. Not to mention the one knew Bastion’s aversion to fire… It feels like you’re sitting in the dark, just being strung along by unseen forces. Hell, that guy in the chapel lured you in with a mark. He knew you’d come for it, didn’t he? Was he messing with you?

You’re startled to hear the front door swing open and then Lydia steps outside behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you see her holding out a plate with a teacup and a biscuit.

With a honeyed smile, she says, “Made you a little something.”

You accept her gift while uttering your thanks. The old woman shuffles over to her rocking chair and sinks into it with a hefty sigh.

You absentmindedly pick some crumbs off your biscuit. “I’m, uh… sorry for inconveniencing you, Lydia. I know I’ve been leeching off you for a while, but I promise I’ll pack up and get out of your house soon. Just as soon as I figure all this out…”

“Don’t apologize,” Lydia chuckles. “I appreciate your company. No one else out here to talk to… You make everythin’ feel like home, like how it used t’ be… Don’t ever apologize for being here.”

You smile and nod. Then you pause before asking, “Did Bryce ever mention anything about weird, er… guys in robes?” Or… Or a chapel? Anything at all?”

Lydia hums softly. “I don’t recall… But Bryce was always ravin’ about something. Might’a just slipped my mind. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you reply.

Those answers will have to come from Bastion. He was Bryce, after all. But you’d have more luck panning gold out of a kiddie pool than getting anything useful out of him. His past is really hush-hush…

After gulping down your tea and inhaling the biscuit, you stand up to head inside. You whistle first, then wait. Poe flutters down from the roof and lands on your outstretched arm. He crows at you in greeting. You smile and smooth his wing.

“Your little bird’s already flying?” Lydia asks from her chair.

“He’s getting there,” you reply.

Poe rubs his head against your open palm and blinks his ocean-blue eyes at you. It’s a wonder they’re still blue… You thought they’d turn brown at some point, but maybe he’s just a curious case… Hm. It’s just as curious that he hasn’t left. You thought he’d take off and never return the moment he got off the ground. And yet, he remains a constant presence, glued to your side as a loving companion should be. You’re grateful for that.

 

When you enter the cabin and the study, you toss the book into the desk drawer and kick it shut. Poe flaps off your shoulder and onto the countertop to peck at a cup of oats you’ve set out for him. You turn around, then startle as Bastion appears directly in front of you. You sigh harshly.

“Need to collar and bell you.”

“I think it’d be a better look on you,” he retorts with a haughty grin.

You shake your head. He waits expectantly. “I’ve combed through every black page of that book at least a hundred times,” you tell him. “And I haven’t found anything concrete… Or anything legible, anyway.” Leaning back against the wall, you fold your arms and sigh. “All this salvaging won’t get me the answers I need. What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bastion assures you. “You knew this wouldn’t be easy… If those answers were so easily found, then we’d surely already be free.”

A frown appears on your face. “If only…”

He plucks your chin and nudges your face up. “Chin up, Wanderer. You’ve done well so far…”

You swipe his hand away. “You can reassure me all you want, but I’ll only believe it when I see it.”

“It’s this determination that’ll get us there,” Bastion says with a chuckle.

“I hope so.” You move around him to the door. “I’ll head out and see if I can pick up a trail…”

Upon leaving the study, you scan the small room in search of your bag. You see it draped over the fireplace mantel. “I’m crossing my fingers for good lu—” You cut off as you’re reaching out for the bag. Your fingers just brush the strap when you feel a cold sensation at your feet. Tendrils of dark, wispy fog snake up your legs as you look down. In almost an instant, you’re pulled away and drawn into a trial.

 

It’s been a hot minute since last you touched the trial grounds. You materialize to an all-too familiar and jarring experience. You stumble and groan with a woozy sound. When your vision clears up, you turn around slowly to catch your bearings.

You recognize the old mining estate. It’s just one of the many variations you’ve seen in your time here… Then you spot a decrepit, half-collapsed structure in the distance, shadowed by a tall tower which stands erect above it.

You release a shuddering breath and rub your biceps to keep the cold at bay. You’ve almost forgotten the discomfort and fear imposed by these dark realms…

 

You creep through the realm with caution and discretion. As you approach the mines, you notice a chest hugging the exterior wall. Normally, you wouldn’t bother trying to crack one of those open - they’re noisy and the bounty's never worth it. But seeing that you were pulled into this mess without your usual gear, you’re willing to take a gamble this time around…

Dropping to your knees before the chest, you start throttling the lid to break off the old, rusted latch. A tingly sensation creeps up your spine after a minute passes. You pause and glance over your shoulder. Nothing. Back to work clanging around the damn thing before the lock breaks right off. You heave the lid and scrutinize the junk inside—scrap metals, dead leaves, plants, twigs… After rummaging around, you’re pleased to find a battered flashlight. You click it on to test its beam — flickering, dim, but it works. Nice.

You turn around, only to startle and gasp at the sight of Élodie.

She stands behind you with a hard look on her face, balled fists, and emanating an aura so intense it makes you shudder. You’d almost blissfully forgotten you had the two potential whistleblowers hounding you for answers. If it’s not the shit out there in the fog coming after you, it’s your fellow campers.

You keep your cool. “Hey, maybe don’t sneak up on people out here.” You quirk a brow at her. Hers draw together. When you try to walk past her, she steps in your way. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” you ask dumbly.

“You know what.” Her eyes are like piercing daggers. “You’ve been avoiding us this whole time because you’re hiding something. And I think you’ve been hiding it long enough.”

As you scoff at her, you put on your best bemused expression. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shoulder past her. “I’m going to fix some generators so I can get the hell out of here. And I advise you to do the same.”

You don’t even need to look back to know she’s tailing you.

Maybe before your partnership with Danny, you really considered airing out your dirty laundry to the two. But now, you’re only second-guessing that possibility. How would they react if they found out about your pact with a killer? Or rather, two killers? The homicidal freak in a Halloween costume, and the enigmatic fog-demon you’ve become so well acquainted with. You can only guess it wouldn’t be positive… So the longer you keep them in the dark, the better.

You creep into the rundown structure beneath the dark tower and spot a generator on the lower end of the deck. The deck is in ruins and falls into a pit leading to an adit barricaded by rubble and dirt. You can guess that led into the mines at one point. Then you feel a knot in your stomach when you consider the possibility of people being trapped inside…

Elodie is still stalking you as you work on the machine. You glance at her every few seconds and find her glaring vindictively.

“You going to help, or just stand there?” You click your flashlight at her. Her eyes narrow. “You don’t need to work on those damn generators. You don’t need to do shit, because you seem to have a workaround here. You know ways around these trials, don’t you? You don’t have to play by the rules like the rest of us. You’re putting on an act. Playing pretend.”

“Are you insane?” You swing your arm out wide. “There’s a killer out there gunning for us right now, and you want to throw around these baseless accusations?”

“Baseless? I know you’re hiding something!” Elodie raises her voice and sneers at you. “I’ve looked around camp, but you’re never anywhere to be found. That’s because you don’t want to be found. And you don’t want us finding out your dirty little secrets either. If this is my only chance to get those answers out of you, I’m taking it.”

Both of you are startled by a scream in the distance—Meg. You frown and face Elodie. “Our friends are dying—”

“If they were truly your friends, you wouldn’t keep them in the dark.”

You narrow your eyes with scorn that Elodie returns. Another scream has you backing away from her. “I’m going to help.”

You try to leave and she roughly grabs your forearm. “Stop bullshitting us!”

“You need to back off!” you snap at her as you spin around. “You’ve lost it.”

That strikes a nerve and sours her expression. You don’t wait around for her retaliation, however it might come. While storming up the ramp toward the tunnel entrance, you hear her shout after you, “You’re running because I’m right.”

You scoff. “I’m running because you’re unhinged.”

Another nerve struck — you glance over your shoulder and watch her face darken. But she drops her pursuit, much to your relief.

After bending around the mouth of the collapsed entrance, you step through a patch of shaded grass. Then you hear a click. A click immediately followed by a metallic snap, a splintering crunch, and then your own scream tearing from your throat. You double over and cry out like a wounded animal. A rusty bear trap holds you in its vice grip. Its jagged, sharp teeth bite into your flesh and the pressure crushes your leg in its maw. Blood gushes from the lacerations, and jolts of searing pain soar through your body. Tears well up in your eyes as you grind your teeth hard. Panic sets in like a storm. You see Elodie lingering in the corner of your eye.

“I-I’ll help you out,” she says quickly, “but only if you tell me something!”

Her voice trembles with desperation. Agony shakes yours.

“Did-Did you know that was there?!” you scream at her.

She doesn’t answer. “We don’t have a lot of time, so start talking!”

You give a bitter laugh, choked up by another cry escaping your shuddering lips. “Are-Are you fucking serious?” Dread crawls like pinpricks up your spine. The killer’s coming. You grip the jaws tight, straining, while trying to pry them apart. You’re startled by Bastion’s sudden appearance in front of you. He’s concealed, thankfully—Elodie shows no reaction to him. He tips his head toward your mangled leg before peering over at Elodie. Then he sighs like a disappointed parent. “I can’t help you unless I unveil myself, Wanderer,” he informs.

You glance off at Elodie. She watches you closely. With a scoff, you turn your eyes to Bastion and murmur an inaudible, “No.”

Maybe it’s just stubborn pride, but you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of winning this standoff. No matter what, it’s painfully obvious that you’ve lost your leg. It’s broken, that much you can tell. And all the blood trickling down your calf and pooling at your foot isn’t a good sign either.

With trembling hands, you try again to pry the jaws apart. A spring snaps, then you groan in pain as it tightens.

“You’re only making it worse,” Elodie says. “Let me help you—”

“Get the hell away from me!” you bark at her.

You’re just hoping she’ll creep away and save herself the trouble as the killer draws nearer. Then Bastion might discreetly lend you a hand. But Elodie does the opposite of what you wish—she slips into a locker nearby. Waiting and watching… To watch you buckle under the pressure and show her everything she wants to see, or… the unfortunate alternative.

Bastion lingers closely with his head tipped toward the growing crimson puddle. His restless claws twitch and flex behind him. “I don’t think watching you die is a part of our contract, Wanderer.”

“I-I don’t remember signing one,” you hush in reply. Blood loss makes you woozy. You give up trying to free your leg from the trap. Bastion sighs and shakes his head before vanishing. He’s only gone a second when your heartbeat quickens. It beats thunderously in your chest, joined by your anxious breaths and final gasp when you spot the killer approaching.

A stout man garbed in a dirty set of black suspenders with a crude grinning mask and a jagged-edged blade. You’ve heard the others call him by several names—Miner, Chuckles, Trapper—they’re all fitting aliases for the coal-stained killer. But given your current circumstance, you can’t give half a damn what to call him.

As the tormentor draws in for the kill, you fall on your ass and crawl backwards, dragging the trap on your leg. His heavy breathing becomes more intense and agitated, and yours picks up and escapes in quick gasps.

You crawl to the broken edge of the ramp where it abruptly drops into the ditch. The killer stops before you and raises his weapon. You throw out a hand and turn your gaze from your grisly fate.

—A fate that never arrives.

Upon opening your eyes, you find the man a curious sight; his weapon raised high above his head, held in a trembling, unsteady hand. Moonlight glints off the static blade. Harsher breaths escape his throat, as though he struggles to breathe. A shudder goes through his body, and he drops his arm limp at his side before relinquishing his weapon. It clatters to the ground. You flinch when he suddenly collapses to his knees in front of you.

He raises both ashen hands and wrenches his mask off his face. The ruins of a tormented man are a startling sight. His sunken eyes are dull and void of light, and his skin is split and leathery as though it had been whipped until it broke and cracked. You can’t miss the fear and horror on his face.

With a guttural grunt, he lets his head fall into his marred hands. Then he shuts his eyes and his face strains. You don’t know what to say or do. Stupor creeps in and makes you moan and sway. You do all you can to hang on to consciousness, even if just for a few more fleeting moments.

Catalyst, comes a voice in your head. You recall Bastion’s brief lesson and conclude that this results from that… You, being a catalyst that sends everything around you haywire. The source of the unusual and unpredictable.

You struggle to gather your thoughts before reaching out to touch the battered man’s shoulder. Then a jolt zaps you away.

 

You’re reliving another memory.

Through a disorienting, bleary film, you make out the hazy image of a man standing tall before you—he has an imposing stature and a more menacing tone of voice. “They’re just maggots,” he spits at you. His breath is ripe of tobacco and alcohol. It makes you grimace. He adds, “If they get in your way, crush ‘em under your heel.” He makes a fist beside your head and tightens it until you hear his knuckles pop. “Remember that, Evan. Keep ‘em all in line. Step on ‘em. Even if they all go under, at least you’ll be on top. That’s how you make it in this world, you hear me?”

He awaits your response. You await the response of your given host, too. A response that comes in a shaky, boyish voice. “Maggots,” comes the word from your mouth. “I understand.”

A rough hand lands on your shoulder and gives you a firm shake. You immediately feel pride. But then you feel scorn.

 

You snap back to reality with a gasp. The Trapper still hangs his head. You murmur his name quietly at first, barely above a hush. He doesn’t hear you. You repeat yourself, louder. “Evan?” You pose it as a question. One given an immediate confirmation when the Trapper lifts his head and meets your eyes with a startled look.

His split lips quiver as his eyes widen. “Ev… Evan?” His voice is hoarse and cracked. Spoken as though he hasn’t said a word in years. He tries again, mustering more strength to better articulate. “Evan….”

A startling realization strikes you in the heart. Realizing that this man is just another unfortunate soul caught up in this game of life and death. Another tormentor forced to dirty his hands at the behest of a dark entity. You can guess he didn’t give in willingly—the hooks and shrapnel barbing his shoulders and back might result from cruel punishment.

You can’t find the right words to say. Nothing comes out, and what sounds you do make are incoherent or unintelligible. The world spins like a saucer. You no longer feel the searing pain that coursed up your leg moments ago. In fact, your whole leg has gone numb. Uh oh.

You can feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness. The moment you can no longer hold yourself up, you sway and fall on your side in a shallow pool of your own blood. You welcome the warmth as death’s cold touch looms over you. Darkness creeps in. Your fast-beating heart slows down. A hand rests on your shoulder. Then you hear a chorus of whispers.

They come all at once, roaring in your ears. Fear makes your heart race. Is this the Entity, come to pull the killer under? To take over and force him to fulfill his role? You remember what happened to Frank. Hard to forget.

Evan hears them. You know that because his jaw clenches, and he balls his fists and beats the ground. His head swivels back and forth as he voices his guttural objections. “No… M-My name is… My name is Evan. I’m not… I’m not—”

His words are cut short as you watch claws erupt from the surrounding ground. They seize him like a spider does its prey. A horrible sight you’re forced to witness in terror.

The ground crumbles as he's ensnared by the claws. Then he’s rent apart, his skin slashed and his limbs twisted with sickening cracks and pops. While he’s pulled down into the smoldering gash, you reach out with what waning strength you possess. He’s gone just as your fingers brush his own.

The split seals itself and leaves you shaken. Though not for long—tendrils of dark mist creep in before blanketing you and whisking you away…

 

Pain subsides as you materialize on your feet. You stumble forward and fall to your knees before the fireplace. Lydia’s fireplace—you’re back at the cabin. Confusion riddles your face, but a part of you is relieved to be back. You pat yourself down and find your leg fully healed. Huh.

You get up and turn around. Then you startle to find Bastion looming behind you. A hard look ruins your expression. “I told you not to intervene,” you reprimand him. “Now, after everything Elodie just saw, she’ll be all over my ass.”

Bastion scoffs at you. “Wasn’t me,” he says simply. Your head tilts. He explains, “The trial’s key player was… out of commission. The game couldn’t go on, and the ringleader had to reset.”

A frown creases your brow. “So… So it ended the trial early?”

“It’s a very rare occurrence… And one you’re to thank for.” He lets out a galling chuckle. “Oh, you little tempter, you. Broke the poor man’s chains… Made him buckle and bend… Even if for just a moment.”

The look you give him shuts him up. But only for just a moment. He curls his lips to give you a grin. “What’s your plan, Wanderer?”

“I don’t know,” you reply bitterly. You slouch against the wall and sit down. “Elodie knows something’s up now… Hell, she already did, but this time there’ll be no dancing around it…”

“And what does that mean to us?”

“It means I’m done dancing.” You sigh and slump your shoulders. “She made a good point, didn’t she? I call these people my friends, but I keep them in the dark while I do all this funny business in the fog. Might even feel good to lift some of that burden off my shoulders… And if it means getting those two off my back, then… then I’ll tell them everything, like I initially planned. Maybe we can come to an agreement—maybe even work together.” You scoff. “I’ll just have to leave out the part about Danny… Shit would really hit the fan if they found out about him. Might hit the fan when they find out about you.”

“It’s your call.”

You grunt and nod. “Yeah… Okay, alright.” You stand and brush yourself off. “I’ll go now. The sooner I get this over with, the better.” You head straight for the front door, muttering, “And the sooner I can mope back here and crawl into bed…”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Camp is close, you can feel it. Brings the same old jitters you always get when you come around. Same feeling as stepping into class late; everyone looks up at you and scrutinizes, wondering where you’ve been and why you’re late. It’s an awkward spotlight…

Ah… might be good to see the others, though. Seclude yourself anymore than you already do and you’ll become the gross hermit living in the woods… Come around camp sometimes to sit around looking grim, then creep off into the fog again, making everyone wonder what the hell you’re—

!!!

You let out a muffled cry as a cloth bag comes over your head and blacks out your vision. A rough arm winds around your throat, and hands wrestle yours behind your back before wrapping your wrists tightly with what feels like rope. You buck and kick like a wild animal, but you’re wrenched backwards and forcibly dragged away. For about two minutes, you verbally voice your objections until you’re thrown forward. You stagger and crash into something hard… A tree? A hand presses on your shoulder and forces you to turn and sit at the trunk. Then the bag comes off.

After blinking to clear your vision, you scoff in disbelief. “You didn’t.”

The culprits… Felix and Elodie.

Felix looks less than willing to be a part of this. He shifts his awkward gaze between his left foot and right foot, scratching his nape and avoiding your eyes. However, Elodie glares at you. This stunt must’ve been her idea.

Hm. You’re partly glad it was them, though… It could have been anyone with a burlap sack and rope dragging you into the fog…

“Kidnapping? Really?” you say.

“I’m sorry,” Felix sighs.

Elodie hushes him. “You forced our hands,” she says. “I didn’t think you’d risk coming around camp, though… That’s pretty ballsy, isn’t it? Knowing that I know what I do? Huh… Thought we’d have to go out there and comb the fog for you…”

You narrow your eyes. Elodie returns the sneer. “You can’t deny anything now, so don’t even try.”

“Or what?”

They exchange glances. Then she steps in front of you and leans forward to brace her hands on her knees. “There’s no alternative,” she insists. “You’re going to tell us everything.”

“Or what?” you repeat, hardening your look to match hers.

Elodie growls and backs away while flinging her arm in the air. “They don’t want to talk, like I said!”

“I wouldn’t either if you kidnapped me and dragged me out into the words, Ellie! I told you this wouldn’t work.” He avoids her fuming look when he faces you. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “It wasn’t supposed to come to this—”

“Stop apologizing!” Elodie snaps. “They've been hiding shit from the rest of us! And who even knows why?”

You glance back and forth between the bickering two. Clearly, Elodie is the boss. Felix is just the lackey… Got it, got it.

“Can you loosen these restraints?” you ask, while interrupting their quarrel. “The rope’s digging into my wrists—”

“Only if you loosen those lips first,” Elodie retorts.

“Good one.”

Felix sighs. “Elo—”

“We agreed to do this, Felix,” she cuts him off. “Back in that trial, I know what I saw. Just like you know what you saw before.” She faces you again. “Tell us everything right now. And believe me, we’ll keep you out here all night if you don’t.”

You scoff at them. “You want me to cooperate? After you bagged me and dragged me out here to hold me captive?”

“You’re not a captive.”

“I’m in shackles.”

“It’s rope.”

“What difference does it make?”

Elodie gives you the stink eye. Felix grips her arm. “Elodie, can we—?” Then he pulls her aside and they converse in hushed tones. They glance at you occasionally. You just watch.

This is bullshit.

You came out here planning to tell them everything, but now they pull this little stunt? You might keep it hush-hush now, just out of spite alone. Hell, they kidnapped you! They tied you up and threw you on the ground!

You sigh in frustration. Bastion appears on your right, startling you. You look up at him and sneer at his stupid grin. His shoulders bounce as he chuckles. “How do you get yourself into these messes, Wanderer?”

“Are you going to help me out, or just stand there?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replies. “You look good all tied up like that…”

You give him a dirty look before dropping your glare to the dirt. Then you wonder if the two will actually keep you out here all night… Night never ends. How long are they willing to play Bonnie and Clyde? But more importantly, how long are you willing to do this?

…Not very long, honestly. You’re already tired as hell and itching to get back to the cabin. You’ll be out like a light the moment you plop into bed.

You sigh. Damnit.

Your mind was already made up before you ventured out here… Might as well go through with it and get this all over with.

“Untie me and I’ll talk.”

They pause. Their eyes shift to you. Elodie furrows her brow. “If we untie you, you’ll run.”

“Run where? And, what, you don’t think you’d catch me? I’m not exactly a track star. Shit, I’m not Meg.”

Felix elbows her and whispers something in her ear.

You roll your eyes. These two are shiftier than me, I swear.

Another minute ticks by before Elodie steps forward. She gets down on one knee in front of you and jabs you hard in the shoulder. “The ropes are coming off,” she says. Don’t even think about running.”

“Roger.”

She mean-mugs you one last time before undoing the ropes binding your arms behind your back. As she steps away, you stand up and rub your chafed wrists. They both watch you like a hawk, but true to your word, you don’t move a muscle. And now they just wait. “Where to start?” you utter, sighing. You touch your chin thoughtfully and hum. Elodie narrows her eyes. “Don’t get smart with us. Give it to us straight.”

“We’re all on the same side,” Felix pipes up carefully. “Right…?”

“I hope so,” you murmur.

You gather your thoughts as best as you can, but you sigh in anticipation of spewing them out. “There’s… there’s a lot,” you say. And I’m not the best at words, or explaining things, so… I’ll let him handle it.” You flick your chin over their heads.

On cue, Bastion appears behind them and bends forward to rest his hands on their shoulders. “I’m the one with the silver tongue.” His slimy tongue darts out of his mouth and flicks Elodie’s cheek.

You know what kind of reaction to expect, and they definitely don’t disappoint.

When the two set eyes on the tall shade looming behind them, they enter panic. Elodie screams and Felix wrenches away so hard he loses his balance and hits the ground. Elodie trips, falls backwards on her hands, then jerks up and flees. A hooked claw catches her around the waist, causing her to lurch forward with an oof. Then a fleeing Felix is caught by the leg and yanked backwards. Both of them are snared in Bastion’s claws and hefted off the ground, then drawn towards him.

You wave your hands and reassure them, “Relax! He’s on our side!”

“You’re insane!” Elodie screams. She bucks like a bull and squirms wildly. When she lashes out, she strikes Bastion in the head and chest. Unbothered, he chuckles in her face. “You’re a feisty one…” Then he turns to Felix and thumbs a speck of dirt off his cheek. “But aren’t you submissive?”

“Stop freaking them out!” you scold him.

“I’m on my best behavior, Wanderer,” he says with a chuckle.

You pinch your brow. Elodie growls in frustration, and her voice trembles with fear. “Do-Do you have any idea what this thing is? Its-Its claws—!”

“I can assure you I have no relation to the big, bad wolf,” Bastion says.

Elodie scoffs at him. Felix swallows hard. “This thing is… This is the thing that’s been helping you? Has it been here all along?”

“Longer than most,” Bastion returns cryptically.

You rub your temples. This is looking bad… Elodie’s screaming bloody murder, and Felix is so pale you’re afraid he’ll drop dead on the spot. Not to mention Bastion isn’t helping matters.

To ease the situation, you order Bastion, “Put them down. Then we can all have a civil discussion—”

“I’m not speaking with this… this thing!” Elodie venomously spits. She squirms and kicks. “I knew you were up to no good. Creeping around in the shadows, hiding secrets like this from us?!”

“It’s not what you think!” you snap. “And I’ll explain everything if you can just calm the hell down!” You look at Bastion again. “Drop them.”

“They’re awfully skittish,” he replies carefully.

“If they run, they run,” you say, “but they came to me for answers.” You face Elodie. “And if you want those answers, you’ll stick around to hear me out.”

You don’t provide her with an alternative. She glares back and forth between you and Bastion, then shares a look with Felix before she heaves a sigh and stops fighting. Felix too calms down.

Bastion grunts and reluctantly drops them on their feet. Part of you expects them to flee and go tattle-tailing to camp. They don’t. They back away from Bastion. Elodie keeps her wary eyes on him. “Tell us,” she says, side-eyeing you. “Tell us everything.”

“What… What is he?” Felix asks. He flits his eyes up and down Bastion’s form.

“This is Bastion,” you start off, motioning toward him. He gives the two another perky grin and a courteous nod as he folds his arms behind his back. “I’m a friend,” he says. “And I only want the same things you do.”

“Yeah?” Elodie challenges. “And what’s that?”

“Freedom,” he answers.

“He’s—or he was—human,” you add. Felix and Elodie stare at you slack-jawed. “I found it a little hard to believe too, at first,” you say, then sigh. “But he used to be a man named Bryce. Like us, he was trapped here. And I guess over time, the fog just… changed him. It made him into this.”

It’s a notion that terrifies them visibly. The idea that something human can become something so… inhuman. And that it could happen to anyone.

That’s just the tip of the iceberg. There’s more to be said, and they both wait and listen. To your word, you tell them everything.

 

You tell them about your deal with Bastion. Tell them about the marks, echoes, and anchors. You share what you’ve learned from your dreams, your visions, and those memories you’ve seen. It’s a back-and-forth delivery—you tell them something, and they ask why? Where? When? You tell them you’re special; they ask how? When you answer, they only have more questions. How do you know? Why you?

You go over everything for at least twenty minutes. Then the questions stop coming while the two silently process everything you’ve told them.

You and Bastion just wait. Felix paces back and forth. Elodie has been staring at the dirt for the past ten minutes, with this furrowed look on her face. You tap your foot. Bastion is as patient as ever.

Then comes one final question. Elodie lifts her gaze and asks, “And where have you been hiding out here?”

Surprised we missed one.

“That’s the best part,” you say. “I think I’ll just show you…”

Elodie quirks her brow as you walk away. She and Felix are both hot on your tail. Bastion strides behind them.

“Where are we going?” Elodie asks skeptically.

“You want to see where I’ve been shacking up, right? It’s this way.”

They finally quit questioning you. You lead the way in silence.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

As you approach Lydia’s cabin nestled in the clearing, Elodie and Felix slow and stop behind you. Seeing the old woman in the rocking chair on her porch, they cast curious glances at you. Lydia hears your arrival, too.

“That you, honey?” she calls out. Poe’s perched on the armrest of her chair. He flutters off and swoops down onto your shoulder, pushing his head into the crook of your neck. He crows affectionately. As you stroke his beak, you smile. “It’s me,” you call out. “And I brought a couple… friends.” You approach the porch, but when you look back, you find the two firmly rooted in place. You know a thousand questions must be racing through their heads… More questions they’ll bombard you with later, you’re sure.

A smile graces Lydia’s lips, and she hoists herself out of her chair. “You brought company? Shoulda’ told me,” she says. “I’d have put on some tea and biscuits…”

You walk up the porch steps and nearly trip over your feet... Ah, not your feet. A flashlight. The same flashlight you picked up in that trial…

After quirking your brow, you kick it out of the way. You look back at the other two. “You going to introduce yourselves?”

Lydia stands beside you with an inviting smile.

Felix’s face turns a deep shade of red. “Ah, yes… I’m… I’m Felix,” he offers politely. However, Elodie seems too absorbed in pondering to show good manners. Felix gently prods her. She clears her throat. “Élodie.”

Lydia chuckles. “Gorgeous, gorgeous.” She turns to you. “I didn’t know you had any real friends out there,” she says. “Thought maybe you preferred the imaginary kind…” She pats you warmly on the back. “I’m proud of you.”

“Aw, thanks.”

Lydia hobbles to the door. Her insult clicks. You furrow your brows. “Wait… hey!”

You hear her laughter as she makes her way inside. “Hmph.” You address Elodie and Felix again. “There you have it,” you say while clapping your hands together. “Satisfied?”

Felix gives a slow nod, but he looks anything but decided. Elodie only grunts. It’s unclear what to expect from them…

“What now?” you ask. “Now that the cat’s out of the bag, where do we go from here?”

They exchange a glance. Elodie sighs deeply. “We’ll… We’ll need a minute to really process all of... this." She glances nervously at Bastion as he lingers behind them. "Then maybe… Maybe we’ll figure something out together.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ll join forces,” Elodie confirms.

You feel a weight lift off your shoulders. You sigh with relief.

Elodie adds, “We’ve been poking around in the fog ever since we dropped in, but we’ve found nothing. You can change that.”

“We might make a difference,” Felix adds.

“But we’ll come to you when we’re ready,” Elodie concludes.

You nod. Then you knit your brows and awkwardly scratch your nape. “Uh, nobody around camp will hear about this, right?”

“Only if it comes from you,” Elodie says. Then they both quickly turn away to depart. You’ve given them a lot to think about… Or maybe they just want to get away from Bastion. He flicks his tongue at them when they pass by. 

But as they’re leaving—

 

"Felix." (❤)

"Elodie." (❤)

"They don't like you, Bastion." (❤)

Head inside.

 

Chapter 43: Choice: "Felix." (❤)

 

“Felix, wait—”

You call out for him. He stops and looks back. After passing a furrowed look to Elodie, she creeps out of sight, and Felix joins you on the porch with a sigh. “You want to talk, don’t you?” he says, sounding nervous in anticipation.

“Mm-hmm,” you reply. After opening the front door, you motion for him to follow you inside.

Felix looks slack-jawed as you enter the cabin. You’re sure it’s been a long time since he’s seen anything more luxurious than his worn tent and the dull campfire… You give him a moment to take it all in. He peruses everything like an antique collector at a flea market. He glances between the shelves stacked high with jarred jams and fruits, and the yellow curtains on the windows. Then, he looks at the intricate red rug laid out on the hearth.

Once he’s had his fill, he faces you. His expression changes and he scratches sheepishly at his arm. “I’m sorry it had to come to that,” he begins. “The… the kidnapping. I know I said you could come to us when you were ready, but after the trial, Elodie was raving. She wouldn’t listen to reason…”

“It’s fine,” you reply. “I can understand her urgency…”

Felix hums. “And I understand why you were so reluctant to share.” He glances nervously over your shoulder, as if expecting to find Bastion lingering there. He chuckles and lowers his voice. “Ah, and to think I really thought you needed us. You have everything you need out here. A warm bed, a warmer fire, and your… esteemed bodyguard.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” you reply with a scoff. “This cozy lil cabin doesn’t exactly make up for all the shit I go through…”

Felix frowns. “You have a lot on your shoulders. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’ll be worth it in the end. Getting there won’t be easy, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I’ll endure whatever it takes.”

“Evidently,” Felix replies.

You hear Lydia clanging around in the kitchen. You clear your throat and change the subject. “Hey, so… You could… swing around sometime. I-I mean, when we’re not busy and… being hunted down. Just come, er… hang out, you know? Cozy little cabin, and I know the campfire can be pretty claustrophobic.”

Felix looks uncertain. “I don’t—”

“Or don’t,” you interrupt nervously. “Your loss… But you should know that Lydia makes a mean biscuit, and an even meaner sweet tea. Not to mention she has a real bed. It’s fit with sheets and a comforter, and even… uh—” You trail off when you notice the pink dusting his cheeks. Clearly he’s picking up some implications behind the offer…

You clear your throat. “I’m not saying we should— I-I’m just saying, if you ever want to get a good night’s sleep, then I’m sure Lydia wouldn’t mind having you over… I wouldn’t mind, either.”

His expression flickers with hesitance. He glances at the floor, furrows his brows, then shakes his head. “I just don’t think that would be very…” He pauses to find the right word. Then, “Appropriate,” he decides. When he meets your eyes again, he further includes, “I was—am—uh… engaged. To be married, back home.”

A silence settles over the room. You blink at him, at a loss for words. When you find some, they come out a blathering mess. “You’re…? Okay. Yeah, that… that makes sense. I-I mean, you’ve never mentioned this before, but…” You trail off with an exasperated sigh. “Oof. Uh… Right. I-I wasn’t even implying anything, just… just being, uh… nice.”

Felix tries to speak, but you cut him off, still trying to save face. “Hey, good for you! Marriage is… it’s awesome, right?” You manage an awkward smile.

He makes a face that makes you want to find a dark corner to curl up and die in. Although he spares you further shame by changing the subject. “I… I think this will be good for all of us,” he says while backing toward the door. “With what all you know, and what more we might find together… This could turn out.”

You sigh. “Yeah, I hope so…”

Felix opens the door and takes a step outside. He looks back at you as if to add something, but he leaves it unsaid. Then he’s gone.

He’s only left for a moment when you hear Lydia giggling behind you. When you turn and watch her emerge from the kitchen, she comments, “Trying to put the moves on a married man?”

Your face grows warm. “I was just being… nice! And-And I had no idea he’s engaged.”

Lydia quirks her brow. As you sigh and droop your head in your hands, embarrassment turns your skin a deeper red. “Man… I was hitting on him. I just thought it was mutual… Because there was this time in a locker—” You stop, and a deep look furrows your brow. “Was… Was he just being nice?”

Lydia chuckles—she finds your whole ordeal funny, apparently. As she shuffles past you toward the door, she says, “Well, he sounded real nice… The best ones are always taken.” She steps outside, and you can still hear her giggling at your expense. Ugh. You drag your feet up the stairs. Off to bed, where you’ll curl up under the sheets and fester in shame and dejection…

 

Continue

 

Notes:

This might look pretty bad currently, but I guarantee you’ll be a homewrecker by the end of this route <3

Chapter 44: Choice: "Elodie." (❤)

 

“Elodie, wait—”

You call out for her. She stops and looks back. After passing a look off to Felix, he creeps out of sight, and Elodie joins you on the porch with a hardened expression and a stiff posture. You can tell by her face that she already knows what you want her for. She says nothing while she follows you inside.

Upon entering the cabin, you notice a faint hint of surprise on her face. You’re sure it’s been a while since she’s seen anything more luxurious than her worn tent and the dull campfire… You give her a moment to take it all in. She peruses everything like an antique collector at a flea market. Her glowing eyes dart from the shelves filled with jarred jams and fruits to the yellow curtains hanging from the windows. Then she looks at the intricate red rug laid out on the hearth.

As soon as she’s had her fill, she turns back to you, looking as nettled as ever.

“Are you satisfied?” you ask her. “Done breathing down my neck?”

She grunts. A stubborn part of her surely wants to argue about it, and an even more stubborn part of you would oblige—but she surprises you when she gives a small nod. “Yes.”

“Really? You’re not looking for another excuse to go all Rambo and tie me up again?”

“You’re not entirely off the hook yet,” Elodie responds. She adds, “Hiding something this big from us for so long? Yeah, I’ve gotta dock you a few points.” She folds her arms and looks around the room. “Not to mention keeping this place a secret. I might kill for a warm bed and a sweet old woman making me biscuits every morning…”

“Well, luckily you don’t have to kill anyone,” you say. “Just drop by whenever you like.”

Elodie faces you again and purses her lips. “You’re offering?”

“Yeah, why not?” you reply. “We could have a little sleepover… What’s Lydia’s is mine… and also yours.”

She smirks. Her gaze turns to the painting over the mantel. “I won’t lie,” she begins. “I thought you were working against us all this time… Didn’t know why, or to what end, but I’ll admit I thought you’d become a problem.”

You scoff and humorously reply, “I’m a problem alright, but not yours… Unless that’s what you’re into—”

She scrunches up her nose. You catch a glimpse of amusement in her eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly. She turns away from you and heads for the door. “I’ll go over all this again with Felix. We’ll need more than a minute to process everything…”

“I can imagine.”

She turns around to face you again. “I might take you up on your offer. Only as long as you’re willing to have me…”

“That bed’s roomy enough for the both of us,” you reply with a smile. Then a flush spreads over your cheeks, and you quickly add, “N-Not that I’m saying we’ll climb into bed together, but… I’m just saying it’s pretty big… big enough.”

Elodie stares. You dumbly scratch your chin and clear your throat, then startle when she lets out a soft laugh. She shakes her head and sighs. “To think I believed you were a threat…” After a pause, her expression droops and she knits her brows. “I’m… sorry for treating you like one.”

“I’m sorry for gaslighting the hell out of you… Or trying to, anyway,” you reply. “Damn… Nothing I said worked, did it?”

“No. I’ve been called crazy for nearly half my life… but I always knew better.” She tilts her head to the side. “I think we’re even.”

You shrug. “I don’t know… I mean, you watched me step on a bear trap, bagged me, and had Felix drag me through the woods in a chokehold.”

“That was me,” she points out.

You gawk. “You’re kidding.”

She shakes her head. You scoff. “You’re stronger than you look,” you mutter while touching a tender spot on your neck. “I really pissed you off, huh?”

Elodie hums. She steps forward and surprises you when she reaches out and softly touches the same spot. Taking her finger along a thin line of splotchy bruises, she examines you as if you’re under a microscope. “You did,” she murmurs.

You feel her hand brush against yours. Your face flushes. You swallow and say, “We’re even.”

She meets your eyes and maintains contact before pulling away. As she drifts toward the door with her back to you, she says, “We’ll come around soon.” She steps outside, then she’s gone.

You touch your neck again. Lydia’s giggle catches your attention, and you turn around to watch her emerge from the kitchen. “Inviting strangers into my bed, are you?”

Your cheeks blush a deep red. “No, just… I-I mean—”

Lydia interrupts with a chuckle as she shuffles past you. “Sleep in it as often as you like,” she says, “but don’t you do the nasty in my sheets, you hear?”

“Lydia, I wouldn’t.”

She’s still giggling as she steps outside.

Well, that happened… Now off to bed, you suppose. It’s been a long day, hasn’t it? Kidnapped, interrogated, and you stepped on one too many bear traps for your liking… Until your new allies come knocking, you’ll get some rest…

 

Continue

 

Chapter 45: Choice: "They don't like you, Bastion." (❤)

Notes:

Oh, this one’s… this one’s long, isn’t it? … Don’t tell the others. It’s our little secret 🤫

 

… Never mind.

You watch the two depart, then turn to Bastion with a pointed look. “I don’t think they like you, Bas’.”

A grin spreads across his face. “Now, what makes you say that?”

“They got out of here in a hurry, didn’t they?” You turn to head inside, and Bastion ducks through the doorway, trailing after you. “I think you might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” you say. “Pretty bad first impression…”

“I tried,” Bastion chuckles. “But you like me well enough.” He gives you an almost endearing smile. You roll your eyes. “You’ve been pushing it lately.”

You head upstairs to the bedroom, only to stumble as he appears in front of you. “I do like to push,” he says, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder. You sigh and brush past him. It’s exhausting trying to shake off someone who isn’t bound by the same rules of space and time.

Poe flutters off your shoulder, settling into a makeshift nest of sheets on the dresser. You shrug off your jacket, kick off your shoes, and tug your shirt over your head. But when you catch Bastion’s lingering reflection in the shattered mirror on the wall, you turn to face him. “Clothes are coming off. This is your cue to leave.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to stay,” he teases. You blink at him, unimpressed. He tilts his head slowly. “You should know how this game works by now, Wanderer. I can’t leave until I get a reaction out of you.” He vanishes, reappearing over your shoulder. His fingers pluck your chin, tilting your face toward his. “A smile, a blush… something to take home for the night.”

You click your tongue in irritation. “I think I’m becoming immune to your wiles, Bastion.” With a huff, you swipe his hand away and turn, folding your arms. “You can always try your luck with Felix or Elodie again.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Oh? Is that what this is about?”

“No,” you say firmly. “I’m tired, and you’re keeping me from that warm bed.”

You hope that’s enough to get him to leave because you’re desperate for a good night’s sleep, and having him around won’t make it any easier. You pull away and climb into bed. Snuggling up under the blankets, you hug your pillow with a sigh. But he’s still there. You can hear his claws creaking and snapping in the silence.

“Shouldn’t go without saying goodnight…” he murmurs.

You turn over, ready to dismiss him. “Goodni—”

But he’s suddenly right on top of you, and a startled gasp escapes your lips as you shrink back. He’s on his hands and knees, claws piercing the mattress on either side of you, trapping you beneath him. Your breath catches in your throat as he leans in close, his grinning maw just inches from your face. Heat floods your cheeks, and you feel like a boiling kettle about to burst.

His cold breath fans across your skin, tickling the fine hairs on your neck. “Goodnight,” he whispers.

Your heart races. You quickly throw both arms over your face to hide your blush. Bastion pulls back, inspecting his handiwork with a soft chuckle. You feel silly. He only adds to the humiliation with a smirk. “You make this too easy, Wanderer.”

“I’ll make it harder from now on,” you mumble from behind cover.

“Make it too hard, and I might get too bold …”

You scoff and lower your arms. “Good one. Got any more of those up your sleeve?”

“A load,” he purrs. “Want to relieve me of it?”

You burst into laughter. “Stop,” you command, playfully pushing his face away. He chuckles deeply, his body rumbling against you. Then, without warning, he lashes his long, slimy tongue across your hand. A thick string of saliva trails down your palm. You cringe. “Bastion!”

He laughs, a bark of amusement, and wraps his arms around you, resting his weight on your smaller frame. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

The same teeth that tore into an old man’s throat just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time…

A knot tightens in your stomach. Unwanted memories of his recent atrocities bubble up—haunting images of a town slaughtered without mercy. They were echoes, yes, but still living, breathing people who felt it all the same. You’re haunted by those memories, and yet here he is, completely unbothered, stealing warmth and comfort that you’re not sure he deserves.

Revulsion creeps over you, darkening your expression. You press a hand firmly against his shoulder, trying to push him away. But he must think you’re playing because he tightens his grip.

“Have enough to take home with you?” you ask, your voice strained.

It’s an invitation to leave, but he doesn’t catch on. “Depends,” he murmurs, “am I taking you home with me?”

On any other night, that might have worked. But not now, not with the bitter taste in your mouth. “Laying it on thick tonight,” you mutter.

“It gets thicker .”

That’s enough.

“You won our little game,” you say, no longer masking the edge in your voice. “Now you can leave.”

He pauses, finally sensing the change in your tone. His arms withdraw as he pulls away to face you, and his head tilts to the side like a puzzled dog. You might feel guilty if not for the vivid images flashing through your mind—him, tearing apart crowds of defenseless people in rags.

“Where this is coming from, Wanderer?” he asks, voice low.

“I’m just… tired,” you say.

He isn’t convinced. Leaning back further, he sits upright. You expect him to vanish without another word, but he remains, insistent. “You can tell me when I’m… too much. You shouldn’t be afraid to tell me these things.”

A frown creases your face as you sit up. “It’s not that—”

“I’ve been in the dark for a long time,” he interrupts. “I’d appreciate it if you kept me out of it.” His grin wavers. “We’ve been working on our honesty, haven’t we?”

You feel a tug at your heartstrings. The anger and bitterness start to ebb away, replaced by shame and pity. Honesty is something you’ve both been trying to build, so the least you can do is tell him the truth.

“You… You kill things, Bastion. I-I watched you turn a whole town into minced meat. So, yeah, it’s weird for us to do… whatever this is.” You throw out an arm, scoffing. “I mean, just look at me, cuddling the monster that cameos in my nightmares?”

Oh. That slipped out.

You watch the way his demeanor changes in an instant. The grin fades, his shoulders slump, and his claws curl in on themselves like those of a dead spider. Unbridled reactions he doesn’t bother trying to hide. Words can hurt even the most eldritch of bastards, it seems.

“Ah,” he says.

You fumble over how to respond, and how to apologize, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“Everything I do is a necessary evil. Acts that only a monster can execute… but you know that.” He tilts his head, his blank face searching yours. “How useful would I be if I was unwilling to do those things, Wanderer? Is that what scares you? That I’m willing?”

You hesitate. “I’d be more scared of my willingness to overlook it.”

The room falls silent. Bastion lets out a low hum. “I can’t change that,” he murmurs. He watches you intently before adding, “Goodnight, Wanderer.”

Wisps of fog begin to curl away from his form, the telltale sign that he’s about to disappear. Without thinking, you reach out and seize his arm, holding on tight. He gives you a slanted look, his head tilted in questioning. You sigh heavily, hugging his arm against you. “Bastion, just… wait.”

He remains only at your request. You loosen your grip on his arm, letting your fingers slide down to his wrist before wrapping around his hand. “I know you’ve done these things to help me, and… I can’t exactly hate you for it.” You shake your head, frustration and guilt etched over your face. “I shouldn’t have called you a monster—hell, I didn’t mean to. It just… slipped out.”

“Because it’s the truth, isn’t it?” His voice is soft, almost resigned. “I’m not exactly human anymore…”

“Yes, but…” You entwine your fingers with his, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’ve seen the parts of you that still are.” Gathering your courage, you add, “I don’t like some of what you’ve done, but I know it doesn’t make you a monster. And you know I don’t hate you, Bastion. Because we’re… partners.”

Your words hang in the air, met with a long pause. You feel your face grow warm in the silence. Then Bastion speaks, his tone curious. “Partners?”

You nod. He chuckles.“Oh, there’s that word again… Partners. Not even friends, Wanderer? Just partners?”

“Friends? Now that’s pushing it,” you retort with a smirk.

“Well, you know how I like to push…” Bastion leans closer, closing the distance between you until there’s barely an inch between you. You can feel his cold, deathly breath ghosting your lips. “And here I thought you might be more fond of me.”

“Why would you think that?” you ask, playing along with a teasing edge to your voice.

“I just have this feeling,” he replies, his fingers suddenly plucking your chin, lifting your face toward his. You feel heat rising to your cheeks.

“Can you describe it?” you ask.

“Can I show you?”

Your heart skips a beat, then races. A lump chokes your throat and you can’t find the words to speak. So, you give him a small nod.

Bastion closes the remaining space between you. You exhale sharply at the contact of cold, uninviting lips on yours. As your mouths mesh tenderly, you feel a jolt race down your spine. It’s slow and velvety soft, but vapid and wanting. You actively resist the urge to pounce onto his lap while asking for just a little more. Bastion’s grip tightens, talons trailing up your back, teasing the curve of your spine before his hand encircles your waist. You jump away at the icy contact, an action enough to elicit a chuckle from him so warm that it makes you melt.

It’s all just a moment that feels like at least a thousand emotions and feelings short-circuiting your brain at once. Just a moment. Because while you’re sure you could share in this moment for longer, it’s a possibility you’re robbed of when the bedroom door creaks open.

You pull away instantly, your heart still pounding in your chest as you turn, wide-eyed, to face the doorway. Lydia stands there, her brow raised.

“I thought your friends left, honey,” she says gently. “You up here talkin’ to someone?”

You quickly lick your lips, trying to compose yourself. “I’m, uh… speaking with Bastion.”

Lydia’s brow furrows briefly, but then she offers a smile. “Ah, okay… Well, tell Bastion I said goodnight.” She pauses, adding. “I’ll put some biscuits on for later… Maybe prepare some jam, too…”

“Sounds good,” you reply hurriedly. “Thank you.”

She nods, her smile lingering before she closes the door, leaving you and Bastion alone again.

The room falls into awkward silence as your euphoria subsides and the butterflies fly away… You turn to Bastion, face burning red. He stares back, head tilted, and a smugger-than-ever grin. Part of you wants him to reach for you again, to pick up where you left off. But he doesn’t move.

When nothing happens, you try to speak, but all that comes out is a jumble of flustered blabbering. You give up and bury your face in your hands. And you stay like that until Bastion takes your wrists, gently prying your hands away. You let him, hope flickering in your chest.

“Sweet dreams, partner,” he whispers, his voice teasing and affectionate.

Cupid machine-guns your heart.

He leans in even closer, and you think he’s coming in for another kiss. So, you open yourself up for it like a puppy awaiting a treat, but he stops short, chuckles at your doe-eyed look, and bumps his forehead against yours. It’s a soft action that lingers for only a moment before he disappears.

You fold instantly, a sigh rattling your frame as you slump forward. Rebuking him one second, then sucking face the next… Only he could get away with something like that. Because if there’s one thing that’s become terribly clear… it’s that you’ve fallen hard for that bastard.

Uh oh.

 

Continue

 

Notes:

L-Listen, guys… I’m not a romance writer, but I’m doing my best, okay?? You’ve read over 100k words to get here… so have a stoopid kiss as a treat UwU;

Chapter 46: Choice: Head inside.

Notes:

A very rare neutral choice, in case you have no interest in those dum-dums (✿◡‿◡)

 

...Never mind. You opt against sharing any more words with the two. So you just watch them depart in silence before you turn around and head back inside.

“That went well… enough,” you mutter as you shut the door behind you. Bastion appears beside the fireplace. “Seems you’re putting together quite the posse,” he comments.

“Yeah, and I hope it’s enough. I’d like to figure this out without roping everyone and their mother into it.”

“You might be asking too much…”

“Maybe,” you scoff.

“Did your friends leave already?” comes Lydia’s voice behind you.

You turn around and watch her emerge from the kitchen. “Yeah,” you answer. “It was just an… impromptu visit. They wanted to see my crib. Or, your crib, I guess…”

Lydia sighs. “Ah.” She shuffles past you toward the door. “Well, they’re welcome back anytime they like. I enjoy all the company.”

The old woman steps outside, and you head for the stairs. Bastion watches you. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m calling it,” you tell him. “Going straight to bed.”

“Ah… I’m sure you’re all tuckered out after your little meet and greet.”

You stop on the stairs. “Hey, I ran a trial and worked shit out with Felix and Elodie. That’s enough to earn me some rest…” Bastion scoffs. You turn back around and continue upstairs. “Goodnight.”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 47: Little Bird

 

It’s easy to forget that you’re trapped in a timeless purgatory.

Although the dark sky hasn’t changed, it’s felt like days have flown by while you’ve waited for Felix and Elodie to arrive. There’s this growing concern that they’ve reconsidered the alliance. You try not to consider the possibility that they returned to camp and just blathered about everything they saw and what you told them. They need more time to think, is all… Just more time than you expected.

Ah, as much as you love any excuse to sit around and do nothing, there’s always work to be done. And being that you’re the only one capable of carrying it out, well… duty calls.

 

It begins with a stroll into the fog. You gear up, bid farewell to Lydia, then march off like a good little soldier…

Poe accompanies you, as always. He’s hopping across the branches over your head, having a field day in the trees while occasionally stopping to preen or crow at your surroundings. Bastion’s absent, but you don’t always need him to hold your hand… Besides, you feel a tad safer having Poe acting as your eye in the sky. If he sees trouble, you have faith he’ll alert you to it.

Several minutes into your stroll, you feel that familiar itch inside your skull. The pull that guides you toward a mark… You cross your fingers that it’s not just another echo that’ll fade to dust in your hands; you’d actually like to have something to show to Felix and Elodie when… if, they come around.

Your internal compass leads you deeper into the woods, and you follow it faithfully. It tells you to turn left, then it guides you straight ahead past a thicket of brambles and dead trees. You can feel yourself getting warmer, and the tiny whispers tickling your ears become louder and more excited, like a crowd cheering you on.

The beaten path winds through dense shrubbery and even denser mist before you reach a clearing. As the whispers fade, the itch grows stronger. The clearing’s empty, save for a single spindly tree that towers above you. The branches are bare and look like spidery legs against the moonlit sky. Further up, you see a silver glint in the branches… Jewelry, if you have to guess.

Target acquired.

You peer up at the tree from the base. Very high… Hm. You’re not about to break your back trying to scale this thing…

“Bastion?” You call for him and wait. Any second he’s going to pop in with a quip or a jab… But the seconds turn into minutes, and he doesn’t show. You sigh and chew your bottom lip.

You won’t poke the bear. If he’s taking another leave of absence, you’re probably better off… You’re afraid which side of him might show up if you keep insisting…

It’s time to cuff your sleeves. You’ve faced worse obstacles out here before, so you won’t let a tree stop you. 

Your ascent begins swiftly, and Poe is alongside you each step of the way, perched on every branch above your head. He tilts his head and caws at you—he’s surely wondering what business you have being so high off the ground… Or not. He is just a bird… but you like to give your little pal more credit.

As you climb higher, the branches become thinner. One you step on cracks beneath you, making you flinch and hug the body of the tree. You’re just a few meters off the ground, but a fall even from this height could easily maim you. And you can’t imagine carrying out your duties with a broken leg…

Being more cautious as you proceed, you’re nearing your mark. When it’s within reach, you realize it’s a necklace. More specifically, a heart-shaped locket. There are splotches of silver showing through the rusty color. You reach for it. It’s just a hair’s width away. When the branch sways underfoot, you hug the tree again, sighing. Poe flutters onto the branch above you. The same branch from which the locket dangles… You get an idea.

“Hey, Poe,” you coo at him. “Be a good boy and grab that shiny little trinket for me.” You motion upward at the mark. Poe cocks his head.

“The locket,” you say again. “Just… Just grab it in your beak, or-or your talons, and… just…” You trail off while Poe watches you.

Right. What am I thinking? Maybe I give the little guy too much credit…

You reach out again, stretching up tall and standing on your tiptoes. Closer… So close… The branch cracks. You flinch, but persist. Finally, the locket is within your grasp; you brush its body with your fingers, then—

Your vision flashes red, and a blood-curdling scream cuts through the air like a knife. An instant later, every nerve in your body is burning with searing, hot pain. You shout, then recoil like a snake. You recoil so hard you tip right off the branch.

Your heart leaps to your throat, and your scream pierces the air as you plummet downward. You break through the tangle of branches on your way down, being bounced back and forth between them, snagged and bruised with each impact. It’s a battering descent that only lasts a second. You hit the ground hard at the base of the tree, landing on your back like a ton of bricks. When you thump your head, the world spins. Nausea and pain wash over you. “Ah… ah, fffuck,” you drawl. Stars swim across your vision. You squeeze shut your eyes and wince, then moan. Since your back absorbed most of the impact, you can feel the consequences in your chest—as if a stampede trampled you and shattered your ribs like glass.

Poe’s dark shape streaks downward and lands at your side while your vision is still a jumble of colors. The crow coos. When you blink at him, you see the locket hanging from his beak. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. As you feebly reach out to grab it from him, he suddenly startles and takes flight. He takes the locket with him. You call, “Poe!”

He’s gone in a flash. You curse. Hopefully, he’ll return… and hopefully he’ll bring the locket along with him.

You try to move again, but everything hurts like hell. You fall still and groan in frustration.

Knew better than to come out here alone, your inner voice nags. You scoff—you feel like an unsupervised kid when Bastion’s not around… What more to do now than to wait around for him to drop by? You know he might laugh, point his finger at you, make you feel silly… ‘How do you manage?’ he might ask. ‘I saw something shiny,’ you’d reply, stupidly. He’d get a kick out of it… Although, to be fair, you might’ve found it funny too, if you didn’t feel like a battered piñata. This’ll teach me, the nagging persists, This’ll teach me.

You sigh in wait.

Wait…

What scared Poe?

While the concern wrinkles your brow, you spot a dark figure standing on the other side of the clearing, almost completely obscured by the shadow of a tall tree that looms beside them.

You feel your heart pounding against your aching ribs, and your breath catching in your throat. You hope it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you… but then the person moves, drawing closer. Soon as they enter the clearing, they’re bathed in moonlight, but because of your hazy vision, you still can’t make them out. Are they another robed lunatic? Another witness? You dread the possibility.

You muster your strength to crawl away. The effort doesn’t get you very far. Every small movement makes you wince. Feels like your bones will crumble to dust… You can only watch with bated breath as the stranger comes closer and closer. Fear turns your blood to ice and sends tremors down your spine. When the stranger finally stops in front of you, you realize… you realize it’s just some guy.

The unease subsides. A sigh leaves your parted lips as relief washes over you. Just some guy… He doesn’t look very friendly, but you’ve seen meaner mugs out here in the fog. Uglier ones, too. In fact, he’s rather handsome. A young, dark-skinned man in his late teens or early twenties. His head is shaved, and his jaw is covered with fuzzy hair. You notice blackness smeared around his eyes, like messed eyeshadow or charcoal… His attire’s all black, mostly, and… interesting. Black hoodie, black pants, a bandana tied around his wrist, and a padlock and some chains hanging from his belt…

New guy? Or someone like Lydia, who travels the fog, wayless?

Your curiosity puzzles your expression. Nothing is said, and the silence makes you uncomfortable. The young man stares at you intently. All you can do is stare back. And it runs like that until you clear your throat and break the ice. “Hi,” you croak.

The man grunts. His tight shoulders go slack. The tension dissipates. “What happened?” he asks. His voice is deep and quiet.

“I… fell." Your arm flies up to motion at the culprit, then you wince and let it fall to your side. “Ah,” you hiss. “It’s, uh… not my finest moment.”

The stranger gets down on one knee to have a closer look. You wince when he grabs your arm and tries to hoist you up. He stops and furrows his brows. “How bad is it?”

“I can still feel my arms and legs, so it’s not terrible,” you reply. “But everything hurts,” you add.

“I thought so,” he mutters. His eyes flit up and down your body before his gaze stops on your head. He wrinkles his brow. “Your head’s bleeding.”

“My head—?” You reach up feebly and touch the back of your skull. Wetness coats your fingers. When you draw your hand back around, you grimace at the sight of your bloodied digits. “Okay,” you sigh. “So maybe it’s a little worse than I thought…”

“You need to get help.”

“I sorta thought that’s where you’d come in,” you sheepishly joke.

It’s a joke left hanging in the air for longer than you’re comfortable with. The stranger looks uncertain... Nervous, even… Is he seriously deliberating about helping you or not? Oof. Ouch. Not that you can blame him. With the troubles you all face out here in the fog daily, it is a lot having someone else add to your burden…

You dismiss your idea and say, “Or, y’know, just leave me here and I’ll… figure it out…”

He sighs. A hard look writes over his expression. He's thinking about it, you can tell... Honestly, you feel bad for putting him on the spot like this. Not his fault he walked up on the poor idiot who tumbled out of a tree... A long minute passes by, and it seems the angel on his shoulder’s won. Both his hands tuck beneath you—one under your knees, the other under your back—and he effortlessly lifts you up into his arms. He apologizes when you wince and adjusts his grasp to accommodate your sore state. “Where am I taking you?”

Good question.

No offense to your new friend here, but you don’t exactly want to lead him back to Lydia’s cabin… Don’t want to make a habit of inviting strangers into her home. But then, you can just imagine the reception you’d get if this guy carried you back to camp in the state you’re in. Scrutiny, concern, and more questions than you’d care to answer… Not to mention that you might be put under house arrest again. You're no good if you're moping around camp under everyone's watchful eyes. 

“There’s… There’s a cabin nearby,” you hesitantly surrender. "You can take me there."

“Point the way.”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Lydia’s cabin is a sight for sore eyes.

You feel battered and bruised when your new friend carries you up to the porch. Seeing the old woman rocking in her chair, he abruptly comes to a halt. He looks at you, puzzled. You announce your presence with a quiet, “Hey, Lydia.”

Lydia’s knitting hands pause, and she slightly cranes her head in your general direction. “Hey, honey. Back pretty soon, aren't you? You just left not too long ago,” she replies.

“Yeah, about that…" You sheepishly scratch your neck. "I, uh... brought a new friend.”

Lydia’s face brightens. “Another one?” she says with a smile gracing her wrinkly features. “Well, I’m ready for ‘em this time. Still got some tea on the stove and some a’ that leftover oatmeal pie… Where they at? What's their name?”

You glance up at the stranger’s face. His brows draw together and he remains silent. A few moments pass before Lydia hums and shakes her head. “They shy? Alright… Come on in.” She hefts herself out of the chair and hobbles for the door. You nudge the man until he ascends the porch steps and follows the old woman inside.

He carries you into the living room and stops on the hearth. Lydia walks to the kitchen, but asks over her shoulder, “Now, why do I only hear one set of footsteps?”

“Took a nasty spill out there,” you say. “I’m being carried by my shining knight.”

Lydia’s shuffling feet stop. “Are you okay?” she calls from the kitchen.

“Fine. Just headed upstairs to tuck in for the night.”

A hum, then a murmur, “You hav’ta to be more careful out there.”

“I know, I know…”

You direct your rescuer upstairs where he kicks open the bedroom door and carries you to the bed at your behest. He backs away slowly after placing you down. You sit up with a wince and a groan, then you rifle through your supply bag. He watches you silently. “Thanks,” you tell him. “Probably would’ve laid out in that dirt for hours if you hadn’t come along…”

He grunts in reply. You carefully peel your shirt off over your head to examine the mess underneath. And it's some mess, alright—your chest is black and blue, smothered in horrific bruising and lacerated by some nasty cuts and scrapes. You can just imagine how bad your back must be…

As there’s nothing you can do about your bruising or soreness, you just get to work dabbing disinfectant onto your wounds. “Are you new here?” you ask while you work. “Because I’d hate to be the one to give you the whole ‘You’re in hell and it’s going to suck’ orientation.” You look at the new guy and catch his eyes for a split second before he quickly averts his stoic gaze. He looks at the wall, then at his feet. “Been here a while,” he says.

“Huh.” So, odds are he isn’t a camper like the rest of you… Probably like Lydia, then. A fog-dweller who lives somewhere out there, deep in the woods beyond the campfire, free from the trials… Lucky him.

When you touch the back of your head, you grimace as you feel blood flake off under your fingers. It’s a mess back there, you’re sure. You give your company an asking look. He appears reluctant at first, then he yields and sighs. He moves to the side of the bed, snatches some cotton balls, then makes quick work dabbing up the oozing wound on your skull. He's not exactly gentle, but you can’t really complain…

Being in close proximity, you notice dark smudges on his hoodie and pants… old blood stains? Your brows knit closely. His voice interrupts your thoughts. “What were you doing climbing that tree?”

“I… saw something up there,” you answer slowly. You crane your head up at him, and he nudges it back down as he wraps bandages around your skull. “Got close to grabbing it, then—”

Then those screams. The horrible, excruciating pain...

You swallow. “Then I slipped,” you say. “The rest should be self-explanatory…”

He nods. Once he finishes up, he relinquishes your supplies and backs away from you. You watch a studying look cross his features, like he’s reading you up and down… He’s quiet for a minute before just faintly murmuring, “Frank did say you were a klutz.”

Soon as the words leave his lips, your blood runs cold. A dry mouth hinders your response, and you feel the hairs on your arms and neck standing up. “F…Frank? You mean—?”

You both fall silent when you trail off. A flickering look appears in his eyes; restraint and caution… He watches your every move like a hawk—makes you feel like a mouse under his steely gaze. “He told us to watch out for you, too,” he says while sizing you up. As your eyes meet again, his expression darkens. 

You’re in no condition to run or fight… but it won’t keep you from trying.

You scramble off the bed and make a mad dash for the door. Course, your weakened legs fold like wet noodles the moment you touch the floor. You crumple and hit the ground hard with a grunt. As you’re picking yourself up, a weight crashes on top of you and you’re pinned down. Your assailant twists your arms behind your back and locks them in a vice grip. You put up a tough fight, but it’s not enough to make any difference. You seethe through your teeth, “You guys really know how to play pretend.”

He tightens his grip on your wrists. “Stop,” he firmly commands.

You hiss at him and squirm. “Is that why you came here?” you say. “Your buddy Frank sent you? I get it,” you spit. “Pissed off another killer who’s out for my blood—”

“I’m not—”

“Just don’t… don’t hurt Lydia,” you interrupt him, panic shaking your voice. “W-We don’t need to do this in her house—”

“I’m not here to hurt you!” he snaps.

You become silent. While not completely relieved, you calm just enough for him to get out his next piece. “Frank told us about you,” he begins slowly. “That there was something… off about you. That you were dangerous.”

“He did?” you breathe.

“Yeah… But I don’t see it.” He releases some pressure from your wrists and back. You can still feel his body hovering over yours. “You have a special friend, right?” he asks, sounding nervous. “Something out here that protects you? Don’t call it in… We’ll talk.”

You don’t seem to have many options. If Bastion were watching, you wouldn’t even be having this discussion with this guy right now… You’d be mopping his blood off Lydia’s floor and going to bed with more nightmares.

… But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Fine,” you reply.

He gives a small nod. Then he frees your wrists, and his weight comes off your back. After he steps away, you stand, stumble backward, and hit the wall. He watches you the entire time. You’re finally realizing now what that look on his face is—it’s unease. Like standing down the barrel of a loaded gun… You don’t know what Frank told him, but this guy regards you as a threat. A killer, afraid of you? ... Feels good, actually.

“Did you come out here looking for me?” you ask him.

“Yeah.”

“And how did you—?”

“Heard your scream,” he interrupts, giving you a pointed look. You grunt. That makes sense.

“And what do you want?” you ask while eyeing him carefully.

“Can I tell you my name first?”

“I… sure.”

“Joey,” he says. “I’m Joey.”

“And what do you want, Joey?”

You can tell he doesn’t appreciate your mean tone. If he has a retort, it goes unsaid. “When I heard you scream, I thought you were another camper… Someone wandering where they shouldn’t be. Once I realized it was you, I wanted to know if everything Frank told us was true.”

“And what’d he tell you?”

“Like I said: that you were dangerous.” Joey sits on the edge of the dresser opposite you and he leans back. His shoulders are still wound, and his brows are drawn tight. He’s as nervous as you are. Fair—he could snap and go berserk at any moment, and Bastion might make a guest appearance any second now… 

“Am I everything you expected to find?” you ask.

Joey looks at you from top to bottom. For a second, he looks unimpressed. He folds his arms. “No… Nothing like what I expected.”

“And is that a good thing?”

“Still figuring that out.”

Two light raps on wood startle you both. You watch Lydia part the door and creep inside carrying a plate with a slice of oatmeal pie, and a small white cup of steaming hot tea.

“Here’re those treats I was talkin’ about,” she sweetly says, none the wiser to the suffocating atmosphere. “I know you don’t want me buttin’ in on whatever it is you’re being so hush-hush about… I’ll leave this right here and be on my way.” She gives a smile and sets the goodies on the counter by the door. When she leaves, Joey helps himself and scarfs it down like he’s starving. As you silently observe him, you're surprised to watch him save half of the pie and wrap it up in his bandana before tucking it away in his backpack.

“How many of you are there?” you ask.

“Four,” he answers while facing you again. He swipes crumbs off his face. “Just me and my… friends.”

“And what do you guys want?”

He appears to hesitate. “If any of what Frank told us is true, then… then we don’t need to be enemies. Those parts where you’re trying to get the hell out of here? The part where you’re some self-proclaimed hero?” He scoffs and lowers his voice. “We could all use one of those, even if we won’t admit it.”

“I know, right?” you bitterly reply. “Just sucks that it has to be me…”

“Why you?” Joey asks. “Why aren’t the others trying?”

“They can’t.” You shake your head. “There’s a lot to unpack here, and I’m not unpacking it with you right now, no offense.”

Joey grunts in disappointment. But, “Alright,” he says.

After a moment of silence, your chuckle surprises Joey. You fold your arms and sigh as he tilts his head at you. “You’re the third killer I’ve brought into Lydia’s house…”

He frowns. “You’ve invited others?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say they were invited…” Your humor subsides and leaves you bitter again. “What now?” you ask.

Joey shakes his head. “I don’t know… I just wanted to see.” He paces the room. “Didn’t come here with anything else in mind… There’s nothing else to be said.”

You quirk your brow. “Really? I sorta thought this was the part where you’d propose a pact, or maybe some sort of truce—”

Joey interrupts you, scoffing. “If the others aren’t on board, then it doesn’t matter what I think. And I can tell you now that the jury’s out. Frank’s still messed up after what happened, and Julie’s pissed.”

“Julie?”

“Blonde-haired chick with a sour attitude and a resting bitch-face. You could say she’s closest to Frank… and not too happy after hearing everything he told her.” Joey flashes you a warning look. “I’d watch out for her.”

“Great,” you say. “Creepy monsters, cryptic robed men in the woods, and now I’ve got a killer’s pissed-off girlfriend gunning for me.”

Joey grunts and heads toward the door. Looks like someone's in a hurry... “I’ll try talking to them,” he says. “You’ll either hear back from me, or you won’t.”

“Alright," you utter. Before he's gone, you quickly request, “Don’t... Don't tell your friends about this place, please… The last thing I need is the rest of them breaking down Lydia’s door.”

“I won’t.” Joey steps into the hall. With one last glance, he tells you, “Don’t expect me to go easy on you if we run a trial together. We all have to play by the rules.”

He leaves with that. You wait and listen for his footfalls down the stairs, across the floor, then you hear the front door slam shut. You’re relieved knowing he’s gone. You carry yourself to bed and flop into the sheets with a heavy sigh. Your aching body screams for rest, and you're more than happy to oblige. All you want to do is shut your eyes and drift off to sleep... You'll wake up the worse for wear, but you hardly give a damn. At least some sleep will dull your pain for a few hours... 

You're dozing off when a noisy caw startles you half to death. You jolt upright and watch Poe flutter onto the windowsill. The locket from before hangs from his beak. He tips his head at you in a manner you interpret as saying, 'Proud of me?'

“You’re a problem child, Poe,” you say with a sigh as you reach out to take it from him.

As soon as you grasp the chain, you’re reminded why you lost it in the first place-that same jolt you felt before zaps through you, followed by waves of pain that set your nerves on fire. You scream and seize up, crashing right off the side of the bed and onto the floor in a fetal, writhing heap, with the locket clenched in your fist. A hazy white screens your vision, then you see a crowd… Shrouded figures standing in a tight circle around you. Your head hangs and you find yourself on your knees upon a stone floor. On the floor, a crude carving laid out beneath you… A rune? You observe it for only seconds before you notice the flames—furious, lashing hot flames that engulf your form and devour you alive.

You snap back to reality with a gasp. The locket falls from your grasp, clattering open in front of you. You regard it fearfully before leaning closer to peer at the image inside… A ruined photo. It’s scorched black.

Puzzled, you pull away. What was all that? And that rune—? No, no, now’s not the time to rack your brain for those answers. You’ll sketch it out and save it for later… Now you just want to get some rest.

 

---

 

Harsh winds whip past, and the biting cold turns his bones to ice.

Joey trudges through the deep snow with his fists buried in his pockets, and his head downcast. He’s coming up on the cabin now, relieved to be out of the fog and back someplace familiar.

As he steps inside through the shredded hole in the wall, warmth settles his core and elicits a deep sigh from his parted lips. He marches straight to the fireplace, rubbing his hands together and searching out Susie. She’s not here… but he does find the frosted remains of a dead finch lying on the hearth, with its innards oozing from an open cavity slashed across its chest.

Hm.

Upstairs he goes, hearing the old cabin creak and groan—the silence unnerves him. It’s so quiet, he fears he’s in a trial and doesn’t realize it yet.

He checks the empty rooms, then parts open an old storage closet in the hall. Found her. Tucked into the corner beneath an old coat rack, with her knees drawn to her chest, her hood pulled down over her face, and her headphones plugged into the Walkman that sits at her side.

Joey taps his foot to get her attention. She looks up, and her dull blue eyes shimmer in the shadow concealing most of her face. But he notices red specks spattered across her cheek and jaw, then clear streaks that run down through them…

“Brought you something,” Joey murmurs softly. He presents the gift folded up in his bandana.

Susie’s face flickers with confusion, but she reaches out and accepts his offer. When she reveals the treat inside, her eyes light up. “Where did you—?” Her voice croaks harshly.

“Found it,” Joey answers.

Susie doesn’t ask anymore questions. She picks apart the slice of pie and digs in. Joey leaves her to it.

He heads down the hall and into the room he’s claimed for himself. Just his little corner of their small world… Used to be cluttered with old junk and scraps left behind when the resort had been abandoned. He cleared it out, pushed a ratty couch into the corner, and set up an old television against the wall. Used to be homey; but now it’s all fucked, just like everything else around here. The TV no longer works, the couch is tattered and cold, and there’s a gaping hole in the ceiling letting all the elements in.

Joey throws off his backpack, then his hoodie, and he slumps into the sofa with a deep sigh. He lies back and folds his arms across his chest. Then he shuts his eyes and welcomes the tiredness pulling him under.

Three minutes pass, and he’s just drifting off when he hears the floorboards creak. Then, a cold voice. “Where were you?”

Joey opens his eyes and turns to see Julie standing in the doorway. Bitterness spoils his expression. The same bitterness he feels every time he sees her face, now. Didn't used to be this way—she used to be pretty, with sparkling eyes and a contagious smile, just like Frank’s. Now, her eyes are hollow and dark, and her skin pale and always spattered with dirt or blood. Her blonde hair falls in unkempt, oily tresses over her shoulders. She looks like an animal and behaves even worse… Joey tries not to stoop so low.

“Out,” he answers reluctantly.

“Where?” Julie persists.

Joey doesn’t respond. He notices she grips her knife in one hand, the blade crimson with blood. Her other fist holds her mask, and it’s smeared red, just the same. She just finished a hunt—or a game, as she would call it—and she’s still vicious, like it wasn’t enough to sate her hunger. Joey doesn’t want to deal with her.

“Go bother Frank,” he tells her.

“He’s playing,” she replies, keeping her voice low. Then she walks slowly into the room with a dangerous gait. “Susie’s eating something in the closet.”

“She’s not a dog,” Joey bitterly replies. “She’s not chewing something she shouldn’t have.”

“What is it?”

“Food.”

“From where?”

Silence smothers the atmosphere. Joey shifts. “I found it in the fog.”

“Did you find anything else?” she asks in a demanding voice. Joey scoffs—he knows what she’s really asking. So he releases a hissing sigh, then sits up to face her more clearly. “I found Frank’s klutz,” he says. “That’s what you want to hear, right?”

Julie perks up, just like a dog... “Where? Couldn’t have been in camp…”

“Didn’t find them around camp.” Joey knows from Julie’s agitated, waiting gaze that she wants more information. He doesn’t disclose it. “I’m not telling you where,” he firmly says.

Julie’s eyes narrow. “Why not?”

“So you can go hunt them down?”

Julie scoffs at him. As she moves closer, she waggles her knife in his face like a finger. “After what they did to Frank? It’s deserved.”

“Frank tried to kill them.”

“He’s supposed to.”

Joey glares and steps away from the couch. He meets her halfway, stopping paces from her to have a standoff. He squares his shoulders to make himself look big; the only way to get her to back down, sometimes. Nothing scares her. Not anymore.

“You’re forgetting what else Frank told us about them," he says. "About them being different from the rest of those pricks around the fire. About them knowing these things they shouldn’t—”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Julie angrily interrupts.

“It means someone’s trying,” Joey asserts. “Means someone’s out there trying to figure all this shit out. So who the hell are we to get in the way?”

Julie glowers. She lowers her head and darkens her face. “We’re playing our parts. Doing what we have to if we want to survive—”

“We don’t have a choice. How much longer are you willing to play your role while something ELSE pulls the strings?”

“You know what happens if we don’t,” Julie warns.

“I do,” Joey replies. “Which is why I want this to end.”

Julie scoffs, then she lets out a cackle that almost makes Joey jump. Bitterness weaves her brows and puts a twisted smirk on her lips. “You really think this is ever going to end? And what if it does? What happens to us?”

“We get out of here.”

“And THEN what?” Julie barks. “Go back to the lives we ruined? It’s over for us in the real world… After what we did—”

“I’d rather go back and face the consequences than be here!” Joey heatedly interrupts, his voice raising.

Julie doesn’t even flinch. She steps forward and pokes him in the chest with a blood-encrusted nail. “You’d rather live life behind bars than relish in the freedom we have here?”

“This isn’t freedom. Not for anyone.” Joey lowers his voice and snatches her wrist in his fist. She tries to wrench away, but he keeps his grip. “We made a mistake, Jules,” he insists, holding her mean gaze. “Who knows if we’ll ever stop paying for it? Maybe this doesn’t end.”

Julie stares back intensely. “Maybe we belong here,” she whispers.

Joey goes quiet. Julie snatches her hand free and backs off slowly. “I don’t think it was a mistake,” she murmurs. “I think it was a blessing. An awakening… And I think this is where we should be.” The mad spark in her eyes sends chills scurrying down Joey’s spine. Julie slowly tilts her head to the side, her wide eyes unblinking. “We still have each other,” she says. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“We’re suffering,” Joey replies.

“I haven’t suffered a day.” Julie turns her back on him and stomps to the door. She glances over her shoulder. “Are you going to point the way, or do I need to hunt them down myself?”

Joey glares at her silently. That’s his answer. Julie scoffs, dismisses him with a wave of her hand, and she steps out into the shadowed hall. Then she stops. “Do you really think they'll find anything?”

Joey again returns her query with silence. Julie leaves.

When he’s sure she’s gone, he slumps back into the sofa and allows his head to fall forward into his hands. He lets out a heavy sigh. No, he thinks to himself. That clueless klutz in the woods, climbing trees and falling out of the branches like a little bird? He doesn’t believe Birdie will find a damn thing. But they all need something to believe in… Someone, rather... So he’s placing his bet on them. Only time will tell if it's a gamble worth the risks.

 

Notes:

Joey’s been a frequent ask, so I thought it was about time to give him his debut :> I like to think he's the more level-headed of the Legion bunch...

 

Suggestion Box

Chapter 48: Observance

 

“I didn’t expect you to show up out of the blue like this.”

You step onto the landing at the bottom of the stairs and come to a full stop to address your guests. Felix sits comfortably in one of the rocking chairs dragged in front of the fireplace, and Elodie hangs close to the wall at the opposite end of the room, with her arms folded and an impassive expression on her face. “I mean, most people would knock, y’know?” you also say.

“Lydia let us in,” Elodie replies. She gives you a once-over, quirks a brow, then scoffs. “Didn’t realize we’d be interrupting your beauty sleep…”

“You’re just here way sooner than I expected,” you reply while rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Ahh,” you yawn. “—But the sooner the better, right? I’m not complaining…”

You stumble into the room, trying to hide your stiff gait. Since your mishap in the woods, your body has ached like hell, and you’ve found it difficult to even get out of bed. But when you heard the muffled voices and footsteps downstairs, you figured it was time to suck it up and investigate… Sure, you’re relieved to know they’ve accepted your proposal. But did they have to accept it so soon?

The front door swings open and Lydia shuffles past you. “Hope you don’t mind that I let your friends in,” she says. “I know you’ve been on bedrest, but I thought they’d like to see how you were doin’.”

Lydia enters the kitchen. Elodie’s sharp eyes jump toward you. “Bedrest?”

“Not important,” you say quickly. “Let’s get straight to business… Whatever business is…”

“You tell us,” Felix says. He steps away from the chair and turns to face you. His brow furrows. “Where do we start?”

“I think we should go over everything you’ve found,” Elodie says. “We know things you may need to hear, too.”

“That’s starting somewhere,” you say. You bend around the stairs and head for the study. “I’ll grab my things and we can have a look at everything together. Give me a minute.”

When you enter the study, you shut the door and rummage through the desk. You gather the journal you found in the caverns, some notes you’ve thrown together, and the burned-up book you retrieved from the chapel. You carefully handle that one… After turning around, you startle and gasp at the sight of Bastion’s rigid, tall form lurking behind you. You clasp your heart. “Bastion,” you warningly say.

“You have company,” he says, more of a question than a statement.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Yeah… and maybe you should go.” He tips his head. You add, “You creep them out. And there’s absolutely no reason you need to be in there looming over their shoulders like a reaper.”

“I’m offended, Wanderer.”

“You should be,” you snort, “because you’re offensive.”

An uncomfortable silence drags on longer than you’d like as he stares at you. You shuffle your feet, scratch your nose, then sigh. “Fine. You can lurk, but ONLY if you keep quiet and stand in the corner… And… you better put some clothes on.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not. Go magic up some clothes or something! Anything, just as long as you’re covered up. Why do you walk everywhere like that, anyway?”

“Because I’ve nothing to hide,” Bastion replies with a perky grin. “Besides… I’m a sight for sore eyes.”

“You’re vile, is what you are.”

“We’re name-calling now? I might have a few for you,” he rumbles teasingly.

“—And none of that,” you command. “No flirting with my house guests.”

“Only the house guests?”

As you furrow your brows, you give him a pointed look. He’s not pleased with your seriousness. His grin drops as you brush past him with your books in your arms. “Clothes,” you reassert before throwing open the door and stepping out of the study. When you re-enter the main room, you lead into the kitchen with Felix and Elodie on your tail. Lydia stands at the stove with her back to you. You ask, “Is it okay if we do some brainstorming in here?”

“By all means,” she replies. She wipes her hands on her apron and shuffles around you toward the living room. “Just let me know when those biscuits start burnin’.”

As soon as she’s gone, you lay out your findings on the table. “It’s not much, but we can pick through these for anything I might’ve missed.” After carefully placing down the burnt book, you add, “You’ve gotta be careful with this one… Had a little mishap.”

Elodie picks the leather-bound journal in favor of the scorched one. Felix flips through your notes and personal pages. You stand by quietly, patiently awaiting their conclusions. As you wait, Bastion appears suddenly to your left. You jump at the sight of him, then you gawk. Seems he’s caved and complied with your request… He’s come dressed in a form-fitting garb comprising a black waistcoat buttoned over a collared grey shirt, black slacks, and a pair of spotless black dress shoes to match. More class than expected from your devilish companion. You double-take. Bastion chuckles at you, amused. He straightens up his collar and folds his arms behind his back while giving his trademark grin.

Elodie draws your attention again. “Where did you find this?” she asks while glancing up from the journal. She just notices Bastion. She flinches at the sight of him, then eyeballs his attire before jerking her gaze away, as if offended. Felix peers at your companion before giving off a funny look. You clear your throat.

“That’s the journal I found in the cave I told you about,” you answer. “Like I said, I’ve been through it already. Haven’t picked out anything groundbreaking… Just some guy’s diary and footnotes.”

“These entries are signed off by a Harry,” Elodie murmurs while skimming the pages. She raises an eyebrow. You shrug at her.

“That one might be more promising,” you say, while motioning at the burnt book. “Don’t be put off by the way it looks…”

Elodie scoffs at the sight of the wretched thing. She gingerly takes the book in her hands and flips through the black pages. One crumbles to ash in her fingers. She sighs.

While she explores its contents—or lack of—you ask the two, “What do you guys know?”

“So far?” Elodie says. “Next to nothing. But I’ll start at the beginning… Felix and I knew each other before all of this. Our parents were… acquainted.”

You make a face, prompting her to clarify, “Not like that. They were part of a group — a group that knew of the Entity’s existence.” She scoffs. “They used to tell us these stories that we thought were only fables. Something that made us think twice about the boogeyman before going to sleep at night… We never believed any of it. Not until it was too late.”

“They’d travel the world and meet up with other members of the group,” Felix pipes up. “They brought us along… And we frequented a location called Dyer Island.”

“We formed a little group of our own,” Elodie adds. “Earned a name for ourselves… ‘The Pariahs.’ We were just the rich brats of these strange men and women who would go to faraway places and dig up artifacts and tell these tall tales… The outcasts of the Im…per…” She trails off and a hard look shadows her brow. She narrows her eyes at the page in front of her. “Imperiatti,” she murmurs. Wide eyes meet yours. “Where did you find this book?”

“That old chapel I told you about,” you reply. “Got it off one of those robed men I mentioned—”

Elodie skims quickly through the following pages, murmuring and shaking her head as she does so. “That was the name of our parents’ group. The Imperiatti.” She exchanges a look with Felix.

“Wait, wait, what’s that mean?” you say, lost.

Elodie scoffs. “Wish I knew, but—” She sighs in frustration while tossing the pages, “—there’s nothing else here! What the hell happened to this thing?”

“That cloaked asshole tossed it into a furnace,” you answer, sharing her frustration. “He was trying to keep it from me, and it beats me why.”

Elodie kicks the foot of the table with an angry huff. Felix sighs. “Our parents were… They were taken years ago,” he says. “When we were still young. We had found a ruined underground lab on Dyer Island, but something came and attacked us. Our parents defended us, and-and…” He trails off, hesitant. “We hunted for answers, but nothing ever came up. We called off the search—”

“You called off the search,” Elodie bitterly interrupts, glaring at him. “You and all the others…”

Felix hangs his head in shame. Elodie turns to you. “I kept looking. I found breadcrumbs, sometimes, but nothing concrete. It was never enough.”

“What did you find?” you ask.

“I discovered that there was another group out there, one called The Black Vale. It was always rumored they worshipped something dark, something evil. I heard they had their hand in everything…” She scoffs. “Fanatics in dark robes and cowls… Sound familiar?”

“Too familiar.”

“I thought so,” she replies. “I humored the idea that those men you told us about could be loosely connected. But what are the odds? And why would the cultists be here?”

“What better place to worship your dark lord than in its own backyard?”

Elodie narrows her eyes at your quippy remark, unimpressed. You scratch your nape sheepishly until she continues. “And whoever wrote this journal—” She waves around the charred book. “—knows something about the Imperiatti. But who wrote it, and where are they?”

“And could our parents be here, too?” Felix asks, sounding too hopeful for his own good.

Bastion startles them both when he appears behind them. He leans down to rest his hands on their shoulders. “Now, I’m sure you both miss your mommy and daddy, but they aren’t priority. Don’t lose sight of what’s most important…” He tops off his fuckery with a forced grin.

Elodie wrenches away from him, slapping his hand off her shoulder. She glares with the wrath of at least ten burning suns. Felix doesn’t look too happy about his comment, either. When Bastion chuckles and draws away, Elodie gives you a very pointed look. “There’s also mention of a tower here,” she says, holding up the book.

“A mention’s all it is,” you reply. “I haven’t found anything solid on it yet.”

She sighs, not bothering to disguise her disappointment. “More conjecture…” She’s about to close the book, but you stop her. “There was a page in there,” you say. “Some kid’s drawing… Found it tucked inside, untouched by the flames.”

Prompted to, Elodie flips through the book. But she finds nothing. She gives you a tilted look. You frown. “It should still be in there… I didn’t move it.”

When nothing comes up, still, you take the book from her and seek the page. “It’s still in here—”

It isn’t. The page is gone. Elodie rolls her eyes as you frown. “It’s no wonder you’ve got nothing to show,” she says. “You lose all of your evidence.”

You drop the book on the table, disappointed. Then you fish that locket out of your pocket and set it down. “Found this cursed thing a little while ago,” you say. “It gave me a fright and a horrible vision. Saw what looked like a rune etched beneath me…”

Bastion perks up like a dog at the sight of it. He reaches out, but Elodie beats him to the punch. She grabs and eyes the trinket curiously. After flipping it open and examining the scorched photo, she asks, “What did that rune look like?”

You grab a pen and paper, then scribble it out for her. She and Felix have a close look. Elodie hums. “Not what I expected… But—” She drops the locket—Bastion sneakily grabs it and creeps away—and she takes your pen. Elodie etches on the paper a circle with a line drawn straight through it. She jabs it with her index. “That’s what brought me here, I'm certain of it. I’d been caught by those cloaked bastards, then stabbed when I tried to get away. Then I just had this… this feeling. Something deep inside that took control… I etched that on the ground at my feet. Then I woke up in the fog.”

It’s an interesting tidbit, but you don’t know what to make of it. You shrug. Elodie sighs. “It’s going up on the drawing board…” She folds her arms. “So, we have a cult, a missing group of people, soiled evidence, and a hero that doesn’t know what the hell they're doing.”

“Sounds about right.”

She scoffs. Felix clears his throat. “What are we thinking now?” he asks. 

“I’m thinking I should’ve come to you two sooner,” you reply. “All the shit you know? I’ve gathered more info in the last ten minutes than I have on my own out here. Might’ve gotten on the fast track if I hadn’t been so covert…”

“We could’ve told you that,” Elodie wryly says.

“We’re in this together now,” Felix tacks on. “You don’t need to hide anything else from us.”

Sure, you think. But maybe I should keep my pact with Danny a secret…

Elodie motions abruptly at Bastion. He grins when she sets her eyes on him, an expression she returns with a glare before turning your way. “Will we be receiving the same protection from him as you are?”

Bastion responds. He’s behind her again, resting his hand on her head of hair to stroke and ruffle her coily tresses. “I can’t traverse the many realms within the fog without the Wanderer… They act as my… anchor. Something that tethers me to each plane.”

Elodie slaps away his hand. Bastion chuckles. “But if you should ever find yourselves playing together, I’ll extend my good graces to you as well.” He returns to your side.

Elodie swiftly changes the subject with more questions. “And what about that thing you did to the Trapper?” she asks. “How you made him so... so meek? What was that?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “Something about me throws everything out of whack. Makes killers go haywire… Or, in his case, tame.”

“You can control the killers?” Felix asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t think control is the right word… And it’s not something I’ve got a handle on, either. But I think some of these killers are forced to play the role. Just a few I’ve seen already fit that mold…” You recall Frank and Joey. Especially the Trapper, being the most notable case of this; the most heart-wrenching. “It snaps them out of it, briefly. And maybe down the road, we can help them too,” you suggest hopefully.

Elodie dismisses the idea with an apathetic scoff. “Let’s focus on helping ourselves first.” She scoops up your books and notes, then marches out of the kitchen. You and Felix follow her into the living room. “We need to put up an evidence board,” she says. “Organize everything we have so far, start connecting some dots… Won’t find a damn thing if you shut everything away in that desk to collect dust.”

“You sound experienced,” you compliment. “Like you’ve done it all before…”

“I have.” She clears the framed photos and paintings off the walls. Felix lends her a hand.

While they busy themselves with tearing down Lydia’s decor, you step back and watch. Bastion appears beside you, quiet. You glance him up and down, then snort. It’s odd seeing him all dressed up… Jarring, even, after all the times you’ve seen him nude. “I didn’t think you’d do it, honestly,” you comment. “Who knew you could be so prim and proper?”

“Does it surprise you?”

“Yeah. Almost can’t tell you’re an eldritch fiend with a talent for tearing people apart…”

He chuckles and twirls his tie around his finger, flattered. That’s one way to make a cryptid blush.

Then a thought comes to a mind, followed by an important question, one that’s sure to ruin his mood. You snag Bastion’s sleeve and tug him away from your new partners. He follows compliantly, and when you’ve put some distance between you and them, you whisper up at him, “We should tell them about your little… problem.”

As expected, his contented grin turns into a sneer. He draws his arm behind his back. “You want them to know?”

“I think it’d be negligent not to tell them,” you reply. “You can be very…“ You trail off while carefully considering your next word. “Dangerous,” you say. “You can be very dangerous, Bastion, and not just to me anymore.”

“I don’t appreciate you demeaning me, Wanderer.”

“Shouldn’t they know? Doesn’t it have to be said?”

His lips curl into an even nastier scowl. It’s a look that very much says no. But he knows you’re right. He knows, and he makes it clear when he lets up with a heavy sigh. “It’s up to you,” he mutters, sounding bitter. He’s gone without another word.

His absence has you thinking twice. You wouldn’t be doing it to spite him. Hell, maybe you shouldn’t do it at all. What good would come of it? Elodie and Felix don’t trust him as it is, and you can only imagine that ice would get thinner if you told them your close ally has a homicidal doppelgänger. Having been a killer in the past is one thing, but still being one is quite another. If you want their continued cooperation, maybe… maybe you should hold off. Bastion might appreciate it too, for what that’s worth.

“Do you fuck that thing?”

Elodie’s brash question draws your attention. You turn toward her. “The Lovecraftian asshole,” she clarifies.

“I hate it that you’re the second person to ask me that,” you reply.

She wrinkles her brow. “Who was the first?”

“D—” You catch yourself. “Doesn’t matter.”

Elodie grunts. She’s finished assembling your findings into something presentable: she removed the painting from a large frame, hammered the frame to the wall, then lined up your pages and notes on top. She tore out the only readable page from that scorched book and tacked it carefully to the board, near the upper-left corner. The middle remains empty. Felix nods at their finished work. Elodie turns to you with her hands on her hips. “That spot in the center? That’s where the last piece of this puzzle will go.”

“Looks good.”

She nods. Then, “So, when are we doing this?”

You look at her funny. She sighs. “When are we going out there? Won’t find anything, just speculating around here.”

“Uh… Not right now,” you answer hesitantly. “I took a pretty bad spill recently.”

“What happened?” Felix asks.

“Oh, y’know… I climbed a tree, lost my footing, fell about thirty feet…”

“You’re joking,” Elodie snaps.

“Wish I was. You guys can’t see it, but my ribcage looks like Van Gogh’s Starry Night. It’s just not as pretty…”

Elodie scoffs. Felix, more sympathetic, asks, “Are you okay?”

“Still recovering,” you answer. “But I’ll be out in the field as soon as possible.”

“We don’t have time to mess around,” Elodie gripes. “So what if you have a few boo-boos? We need to be out there figuring all this out, not moping around here while you feel sorry for yourself.”

Ouch. Big ouch.

You don’t know how to respond. When nothing comes, Elodie dismisses you with a shake of her head. She swivels toward her evidence board while Felix awkwardly scratches his nape. “Maybe there’s more we can go over in the meantime,” he suggests.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I mean, those Black Vale assholes you mentioned? If those are the same guys I’ve been seeing around, then what the hell does it mean? And why would they be harassing me?”

Elodie’s quiet. She looks over her shoulder and shrugs. “I don’t know… And everything we come up with will only be speculation until we find something solid out there.” She stares at you pointedly.

You sigh. “Hey, there’s nothing stopping you from getting out there on your own. I’ll even send Bastion along to babysit.”

“There would be no point,” Elodie replies. “You’re the one with the ‘all-seeing eye’. Not to mention I wouldn’t go anywhere with that thing without you around holding its leash.”

“Sorry, alright? But I can’t do it today.”

Disappointment riddles Elodie’s face. She shakes her head. Felix touches her shoulder and pulls her aside. He murmurs to her. She whispers back. You don’t know what they’re talking about, but you can guess you’re the subject of their rapidly heating argument. It’s like watching your parents fight over something you did—feels bad.

You hang back by the wall, quiet. Their hushed argument becomes background noise that you tune out. It becomes muted… A low, humming drone fills the silence. It grows louder, then howling wind assaults your ears. You palm your temples agitatedly. The rushing air makes your head feel light and heavy at the same time—you sway off-balance, blinking as your sight fogs up. Through the bleary white film, you notice moving shadows. Those same shades from before, with their piercing, golden eyes. They linger at the edge of your vision, staying just within view as you stagger and sway.

The world tilts from left to right. You fall backward into a wall. You feel something warm running from your nose, across your lips, and down your chin. The taste is hot and rotten on your tongue. When you touch the substance with your fingers, it’s all black.

You feel a hand roughly take your shoulder. You leap away, swinging wildly. The white becomes black and fuzzy. Then something grabs your arm, curling its fingers tightly. You yank out of its grasp, tripping over your feet and crashing to the floor. When you turn over, those shadows fill the swirling void. They circle you and peer down at your wretched sight. When they speak, they speak all at once. A cacophony of grating voices.

“Wanderer?….. They're… Told you… Lost it. This is—”

“I told you… Didn’t I?”

“—Their hero?”

“The Witnesses are watching—”

“This is their hero?”

“Watching—”

“—Them?”

You slap your hands over your ears, desperate to block it all out. Acrid smoke stings your nostrils. Nausea makes you moan—a horrible knot in your stomach works its way up to your throat until you’re gagging on it. You turn over and retch onto the floor. Bile burns your throat. Feeling weak, you collapse. The shadows pull you into a deep, dark sleep…

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You wake up to the calming aroma of vanilla and cinnamon. When you open your eyes, you blink twice, slowly processing your surroundings. You’re in bed, upstairs. Candles flicker in the room. Despite the darkness, your vision adjusts enough that you notice your two guests standing beside the bed. Felix appears concerned, with his brows knitted and his mouth down-turned. Elodie scowls at you. You barely even spot Bastion, standing in the shadowed corner by the door.

Even though your body aches, you sit up. A wet towel falls off your forehead and into your lap. You realize you’ve been stripped down to your undergarments, leaving your battered body exposed. Your soiled clothes sit in a crumpled heap on the floor.

The silence is broken by Elodie.

“Is there something you forgot to mention?” She speaks quietly, with a bitter undertone.

You wet your lips. “As far as… as…?”

“As far as what just happened,” Elodie snaps. “No one just blacks out like that.”

“Ah. It’s… It’s happened before,” you confess. “I don’t know why. Started a while ago. Just these… flashes that-that make me dizzy and sick.”

The two glance toward Bastion for an explanation. He provides, “Being in the fog for so long can take a toll.”

It’s a cryptic answer. Elodie scoffs at him, and then she turns to face you. You notice her eyes flitting up and down your bruised body. “Yeah, you’re in no condition to go out there… We’ll call it a day and try some other time.” She heads for the door. “I hope you don’t mind me taking your journals. I’ll go over everything by myself.”

She leaves. Felix follows after her, but falters and stops. He looks at you and extends his condolences. “You just… rest,” he says. “We’ll figure this out when we’re ready.”

You nod, he returns the gesture, then he’s gone. As soon as you hear the front door shut downstairs, Bastion steps out of the shadows and stops at the bedside. He folds his arms behind his back, then tips his head down at you. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit,” you reply. “Is that really what it is, Bastion? The fog? If so, why isn’t it having the same effect on everyone else? Why is it kicking my ass?”

“You’re different, Wanderer.”

You’ve heard that one about a thousand times already… So you keep quiet, hoping he’ll tack on another half-truth, or to elaborate his answer, but he doesn’t. You’re different, is all he offers. It’s not something you want to hear, not now, while your body aches and your mouth still tastes like vomit. You lie down and turn on your side with your back to him. Maybe he’s still there… Maybe he’s already left. There’s no way to tell. You shut your eyes.

 

---

 

On the surface of a shimmering, black mirror, a man observes a person drifting off to sleep… He observed, just moments ago, as they spoke clearly to themselves. On the surface, they're alone in the room. Beneath it, he knows better. He knows they speak to an unseen presence… The Host, if he had to guess. Though he couldn’t see it for himself, he knows.

As this person slumbers, he loses sight of them. The image fades away until he’s left staring at his own shadowed reflection in the glass.

He drapes a dark sheet over the mirror and backs away. The candlelight flickering behind him grows dimmer, and the room grows darker. A voice startles him.

“This is their hero?”

Harsh. Bitter. The man turns around to face a person clad in heavy, black robes. Their cowl shadows their face, and he can only see their lips drawn into a thin, tight line. “It’s happening too soon,” he replies.

“Should we act now?”

The man hesitates. He wants to say yes. He knows he should, but… “No,” he answers, from the bottom of his heart. “Aren't they trying? Don't they deserve a chance?”

“You know what might happen if we give them that chance.”

“You know what will happen if we don’t,” he snaps back. “We’ll give them more time. Something might come of their search.”

“The Witnesses got to them first,” the other responds, “and we don’t know how deeply they’ve already influenced them. Is this a risk we should take?”

“Maybe it’s time we take risks.”

Ignoring the way his company’s lips sneer at him, he grabs a torch from a sconce on the wall and he makes his way across the room. “We can’t watch this cycle continue forever,” he affirms. When he comes to the door, he reaches for the handle. However, his company speaks again, causing him to stop.

“I know why you make this decision.”

He glances over his shoulder slightly. The robed person dips their head. “Don’t let it cloud your judgment, Richter.”

The silence that fills the room is deafening. Richter turns away. A solid lump in his throat makes a retort impossible. Not that he has one—he doesn’t know what to say, or how to react… He squeezes the rusted door handle, his knuckles white and his fist quaking. When he finally musters his voice, it comes out hoarse and barely above a whisper.

“It won’t.”

 

Chapter 49: Pigs

 

When you awoke to Lydia’s muffled shouts outside, you almost rolled over and went back to sleep. You desperately hoped that maybe she’d found a mouse in her cupboards, or that she spilled a cup of flour, or even that she harmlessly stubbed her toe on a corner. Anything, just as long as you could drift off again and ignore whatever trouble was brewing.

Even so, you got up anyway, put on some clothes, and went downstairs to see what was going on.

 

It’s just comical and sad what you find outside on the porch. Sad because you got out of bed for this.

Lydia’s hollering and swearing while swinging a broom wildly at Danny. Reeling just out of reach, he puts his hands up and laughs. Though he’s fully garbed and wearing the ghostly mask, you can just imagine the shit-eating grin on his face as he tries to calm the mad woman. “Hey, hey,” he coaxes her, as if he’s trying to tame a wild animal. “You remember me, right? You let me in a little while ago to have a little chat with my pal.”

“You get the hell off my front lawn,” Lydia snaps. As she takes another blind swing at him, she swears like a sailor. “I wouldn’t have let your sneaky ass in if I had any fucking idea what you were.”

Danny laughs. He catches a glimpse of you in the doorway as he peers over the old woman’s shoulder. “How about you peel Granny off my back, Spunky?”

You step between them to keep Lydia from getting hurt. Or, rather, to keep her from hurting Danny—her swings look like they could take the head off a man’s shoulders… She almost clips you when you step around her. “It’s okay, Lydia,” you coax, while resting your warm hand on her arm.

She jumps at the sound of your voice, and her lips draw into a tight line. “What the hell’s going on? What’s that man doing here?”

“It’s… complicated,” you hesitantly reply.

“I’m just paying my pal a visit,” Danny interjects. “I have an invitation.”

Lydia jerks. “You invited this man here?” she exclaims, sounding both concerned and angry. “The same man who broke in and hassled you?”

“Now, now, I wasn’t hassling anyone,” Danny insists with a chuckle.

Lydia glares off in his general direction. “I don’t want this man in my house,”

“Lydia—”

“Nuh-uh! Killer’s got no right walkin’ up in my house, ‘specially after what he did t’ you.”

“I need to talk to him,” you reply carefully. Resting a hand on her back between her shoulders, you add, “Can we just—Can we talk on the porch? I’ll make sure the asshole doesn’t step foot inside your home.”

Lydia goes silent. She wrinkles her brow and squeezes the broom handle so hard that her knuckles turn white. “Fine,” she says in a huff. She disarms herself, leaning her weapon against the wall. “It’s none a’ business what you’re up to… But I hope you know what you’re doing.” She looks pointedly toward you. Her clear disappointment puts a knot in your stomach. She shambles through the door, muttering, “Those biscuits are prolly’ burning…” The door shuts behind her.

You face Danny. “What the hell do you want?”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you, Spunky. Did’ja think of that?” He strolls up the steps and throws an arm around your shoulders in an excessively friendly gesture. “We’re pals now. What, I’m not allowed to drop by to say hello?”

You push him off and jab him in the chest with your finger. “I don’t want you showing up out of the blue like this. I told you I would come to you, Danny.”

He chuckles maddeningly. “Why? Are you afraid your new friends will see us together? Afraid what they’ll think if they see you arm-in-arm with a killer?”

You draw your brows. “Wha… How do you—?”

Danny reaches up his sleeve, pulls out a thin piece of film, and presses it into your breast. You look down as you flinch. It’s a photograph. You snatch it from him to get a look at it. Then you scoff. It's a distant shot of Élodie and Felix in the woods, with you sitting at the base of the tree before them. Your lips draw into a thin line. Danny hands you another picture. Élodie, Felix, and you standing on the front porch, right where you stand now. Your bemused expression turns into anger. “You’ve been watching me?”

“Just keeping tabs on you, Spunky,” Danny replies flippantly. “Making sure you don’t get yourself into any trouble. Speaking of trouble… Isn’t it risky, going to your friends around that campfire?”

“Yeah,” you reply, scoffing. “But you saw firsthand that they didn’t give me a choice.”

“You’re too easy to bag and grab,” Danny says with a chuckle. You glare at him. He pushes forward another picture. “Getting friendly with the other big dogs?”

You look at the photo and see yourself carried in Joey’s arms. Another photo snapped by the ghostly stalker while he watched you in the woods. To his credit, he’s good at it… Frighteningly so. “He seemed friendly enough,” you mutter bitterly.

“Sure, sure,” Danny replies. Putting a hand on your shoulder, he rubs your collarbone beneath his leather-clad hand. “But those Legion brats are feral,” he adds. “They bite.”

“If they’re feral, then what does that make you?”

“I’m the most sane man here,” Danny says with confidence and a shit-eating grin (you can’t see it, but you know it’s there.) You swipe his hand away and fold your arms crossly. “Let’s cut to the chase. Are you only here to show off your creep-collection?”

Danny chuckles. “Yes, and no… I wanted to see you, Spunky. You really grew on me during our last escapade together. Thought I’d pay you a surprise visit—”

“Don’t pay me any more,” you command, “or I’ll have Bastion pay you one.”

Danny sucks his teeth. “Careful. You’re threatening me with a good time.” He reaches up his sleeve once more, withdrawing another photo pinched between his two fingers. “Here’s another one you might need to see.”

You take it from him. He breathes down your neck, “Isn’t that something?”

You don’t catch it at first—all you see is a dimly lit photo of the woods and the fog, gray and eery and uninteresting. You’re in the shot, strolling alone and appearing lost. But you look closer. In the distance, almost out of focus, the dark silhouette of a person. They’re barely distinguishable from the foggy backdrop, blending almost perfectly amongst the gangly trees and the spindly brush. Your eyebrows knit together. “When did you take this?”

“Just the other night,” Danny answers over your shoulder. “Before you took that nasty spill… You’ve got watchers.”

“More witnesses?” you murmur. You don’t pick out anything else of importance from the photo. You sigh. “I’m being toyed with.”

“Seems like it,” Danny replies. He takes your shoulder again, squeezing. “But I have an idea… Let’s say we go out there and catch one of these peeping toms. Then we work ‘em over until we get some answers.” He punches his palm for emphasis. “How’s that sound, Spunks?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know…”

“Come on,” Danny urges. “If we catch one of these cloaked pricks, we strike gold. They know shit, shit we need to know.” He clasps his hands together in a faux pleading gesture.

Even though you don’t want to agree with Danny, he might be right. The robed people in the fog may have the answers you seek. To what? You don’t know yet... But it’s sure to be valuable information.

“Fine,” you say. Turning around, you head for the door. “Gimme a second to get ready… And keep your ass outside!”

 

Satchel? Check. Jacket? Check. Flashlight? Let’s see—

You click it on. The beam buzzes and flickers… But it’ll have to do. Check. You pocket the beamer and shoulder your bag, then you turn around to leave the bedroom. Of course, you bump right into Bastion, who’s made yet another spontaneous appearance. You hiss at him. “Bas—”

“There’s a shady little man on the front lawn,” he informs you, sounding bitter. You look him up and down—he’s stiff, angry, and his usual unsettling grin is an unsettling sneer.

“I know,” you reply, sighing as you step around him. “We’re going out.”

“Where to?” Bastion questions. You spin around and show him the photo. He tilts his head at it. “We’re hoping to catch one of those robed freaks this time around,” you say. “If what Felix and Élodie speculated is true, then this guy’s a part of the Black Vale, and he could have some answers for me.” You tuck the photo away. “It’s good that you’re here. You can help us drag ‘im in. If we actually find one, I mean…”

“It’s a lead,” Bastion says, not sounding entirely convinced.

“And as good as any,” you reply. You leave the room and go downstairs.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Two live wires over a pool of water—that’s how you’d describe Danny and Bastion together. And you’re the poor idiot swimming beneath them. One wrong move, and you’re getting fried… That’s why you hope and pray that neither does anything to trigger the other. But Danny’s already making quick work getting under Bastion’s skin. He’s on your left, and Bastion strides on your right with a tense gait.

“Come on, Scoob, what’s your favorite position? I know you have one…”

Sex talk; the subject of the heated discussion you’re about to find yourself caught in between…

“Quiet,” Bastion commands.

“Cowgirl? Sixty-nine? Missionary?”

“Don’t speak to me.”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Danny reaches past you to poke Bastion on the side. You want to slap his hand away and knock some sense into him. ‘Don’t poke the bear’, you’d say, if you had any faith that he’d actually heed your warnings…

Danny pokes. Bastion snarls.

On the one hand, Danny’s peskiness is sufficient for redirecting and curbing Bastion’s own nuisance behavior. On the other hand, he’s pushing all of his little buttons and nudging him that much closer to the edge… If it gets too bad, you’ll turn this party around and head back to Lydia’s cabin to call it an early day. In the meantime, you quicken your pace to put them behind you, and you do your best to tune them out. Danny may lose his head, but so be it. You just don’t want to get caught in the splash zone. It takes Lydia days to scrub all the blood from your jacket…

“Wait, wait,” the costumed man chuckles over your shoulder, unwisely and unconcerned. “Let me guess… Doggy style?”

Retaliation comes swiftly—you hear something like a whip striking leather. Danny yips. You’re afraid to look over your shoulder, so you don’t. “Bastion,” you say warningly.

“Mind yourself, Wanderer,” he warns you in return. Danny makes a choking sound from behind you. You really don’t want to turn around. You want to ignore all those strangled sounds and just keep forward. But it’s getting harder to… You curse under your breath and spin on your heels. “Bastion—”

He’s got Danny by the throat, suspended off the ground and flailing like a battered pinata, as he violently wrings his neck. “Bastion!” you snap.

Expectantly, he ignores you. “I’m not a stickler when I fuck,” tells Danny, his toothy, mean grin broadening. “Just as long as I have easy access to their throat.”

Danny’s head is about to pop off like a cork. He must be purple underneath the mask. You dash forward and snatch Bastion by a claw—it twitches in your hand and swats you off. You stumble, then throw your arms around his waist. “Down!” you command. “Put him down!” His claws try to peel you off his back. They pluck and tug on your articles of clothing, but you hold tight. When he can’t detach you, he lets out a long hiss and surrenders. Danny falls from his grasp and lands on his feet, gasping for breath and massaging his neck.

Bastion roughly pancakes his hand on your head and shoves you away. “He won’t learn until he’s punished,” he growls.

“You can’t just strangle people you don’t like!” you snap.

“He’s a little freak.”

“And you’re the bigger freak!” You rub your temples and back away from him. “Coming out here with you two was a mistake,” you mutter. “Should’ve rolled over and gone back to sleep…”

Bastion grunts indifferently. You turn your back on him and walk away. Danny dusts himself off and joins your side with a skip in his step, way too flippant for someone who was nearly strangled to death… He slaps your spine and leans close to you. “You got a light, Spunky?” he whispers.

“What for?”

“I wanna light a smoke,” he replies. He rifles a cigarette carton from his robe and rattles the contents. “Just to take the edge off.”

Because you think it’ll get him to shut up and fuck off, you comply. As soon as you pull your lighter out of your pocket and hand it over, Danny gives you a friendly squeeze on the shoulder. “Thanks a bunch, Spunks.” It leaves a bad taste in your mouth, the way he says it. He falls behind. You sigh and keep moving. “You two just need to keep away from each other and—”

Bastion’s on fire.

It’s his ear-splitting shriek that makes you jump and spin back around. His blazing orange silhouette brightens the surrounding area like a beacon. You stay clear of his frenzy, dodging and ducking when flaming tendrils whip past your head. He wails and crashes to the ground before vanishing. The woods return to a cold, deathly silence. Wide-eyed, you stare at the soot left in his wake. Danny comes up behind you and pushes your lighter into your hand. He nonchalantly swipes some ashy flakes off your shoulder.

“You asshole!” you bark, snapping around and grabbing fistfuls of his robe. “You proud of yourself?”

“A great deal,” Danny replies, chuckling, with not an ounce of remorse.

You glare at him. “He’s going to come back and take your head off your shoulders, and I won’t do a damn thing about it.”

“Now, don’t be like that,” Danny coos. He lays a hand over one of your balled fists. “I just wanted some alone time with you, Spunks.”

You slap him off. “Rule number one,” you firmly remind him.

And, “Who’s going to enforce it?” he wryly reminds you.

Danny’s good at creeping under your skin, but you won’t let him. You try to walk away, but only get two feet before he grabs your arm. “Are you mad I toasted Buddy?”

“Hands off,” you command.

He doesn’t let go. Leather-clad fingers wrap around your wrist. It figures he’d act up with the warden away. You should’ve let Bastion strangle him—the asphyxia might’ve made him stupid and manageable… Better yet, it might’ve killed him. But you saved his life at the consequence of being stuck with him.

His noncompliance makes you itch. You pull your arm free, narrowing your eyes. “You better watch yourself.”

He snickers at your threat. You expect a quippy retort any second now. But the seconds race into a minute, and he says nothing, does nothing… You’ve seen this before, this… rigidness. It’s the same pause you’ve seen in the Wraith, Frank, Bastion, and in the Trapper. Does Danny hear the whispers? Do they tell him to break and attack?

Apprehensive, you slowly back down. You wait for him to respond, but he doesn’t. You can only wonder what goes through his head as you anxiously retreat. ‘Hear me and obey’?, ‘Hurt them’?, ‘Kill them’?

In the midst of your dread, you hear a squeal. You freeze completely, eyes darting back over your shoulder. Another one, louder, higher-pitched… A pig? The squealing in the distance is joined by a buzzing in your ears. You shuffle around and glance back and forth between the trees with your eyebrows deeply furrowed. A squealing animal in distress… It’s an omen you don’t want to heed. Turn back. Go home, the small voice in your head urges. Nothing good will come of this.

You feel that, don’t you? Another voice speaks up, The pull? Find out where it leads…

The noise in your ears intensifies. An awful shiver treads the length of your spine. Decidedly, you turn away, determined to head back home, away from the squealing and the noise and the pull. Not today.

A hand grabs your shoulder and scares you silly. Danny reanimates out of the blue as you snap around to face him. “Shouldn’t we check that out, Spunky?”

He doesn’t acknowledge his paralyzed state just moments ago. Neither do you. “Why should we?” you reply, shrugging his hand off. “It’s not what we came out here for.”

“Could be,” Danny says. He tilts his head. “You look nervous, Spunks… Getting cold feet already?”

You scoff. “No. But… Fine,” you concede. “Fine. We’ll go check it out.” But only because you know you can’t let Danny see you waver. You can’t let anyone see it. Wavering heroes don’t find their answers. And wavering heroes make easy targets. You whip around and head toward the squealing. Danny ghosts beside you and reaches for your hand. You pointedly slap him away.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

A dusky farm surrounded by tall, dead grass. A ruined picket fence borders the yard of the two-story house, and it bends around the side toward the back. Left of the home, across the yard, is a decrepit barn with a half-collapsed roof. There’s a tall silo behind it, a rusty color, slanted at an angle and threatening to spill over. Heavy dark clouds hang overhead.

—This is what you find when you pass through the foggy barrier in the woods. You halt at the start of the gravel road that cuts through the field toward the house. It’s all very reminiscent of the hillbilly bastard’s farmstead. But to your relief, it’s far from it. You don’t worry about him running you down with a chainsaw, but you’re on edge nonetheless. All the squealing and the noise have since stopped, and you’re left with an itch beneath your skin and an urge to end it. You know the only way to do that is to find what drew you out here, whether it be an Echo or a Mark.

Danny’s beside you still, and though you hate to admit it, you’re glad for his company. You wouldn’t dare step foot on a haunted ranch alone…

“Pig’s gone quiet,” Danny murmurs.

“Let’s hope it was only a pig,” you say, mostly under your breath. Then you move down the road.

As you near the two structures, Danny suddenly peels away from you and heads toward the house. You want to reach out and grab him so you’re not left alone, but you’re too proud. You watch him skulk up the creaky porch steps of the house, then you keep toward the barn.

You rule out that this place is an echo—there’s no dark fog emanating from the property, and you don’t spot any voids… It’s a relief knowing you don’t have to worry about the ground falling out from under you. But the apprehension returns full force as you near the barn.

The building is an old, weathered brown structure with peeling wood, and cracks and vines running up its walls. It looks as though it’s been untended for some time—the whole thing’s falling apart, made most clear by the collapsed roof near the back end. As you draw closer, an awful stench offends your nostrils. You rear away, wafting at the thick odor in front of you—like rotted meat and death. It’s horribly reminiscent of the barn you crashed into in that village…

You glance back over your shoulder before continuing forward. You’re in front of the old sliding door now. You withdraw your flashlight and click it on. The beam buzzes and goes out; you tap it on your knee and it flickers back on. Ready.

You grab the rusty handle on one door and slide it open. It groans and stops. A gust of putrid air hits you. Flies swarm through the open door. You gag and cover your mouth and nose. Then you shine the beam into the darkness.

Most of the barn is empty. On the left is a row of wooden stalls, where horses or other animals might have once been kept. The moldy floor is strewn with dirty hay, dark stains, and muck. Your beam reaches further. Directly ahead, you see what looks like a tall pile of dirt at first glance. But you squint at it and startle at the actuality—a large, portly hog with blistery, charred skin. It has a fat, wrinkly face, with two beady eyes crusted over with blood and pus. Sagging teats judder when your beam hones in on it. The hog storms deeper into the dark, squealing.

There’s the pig… but where’s my Mark?

You trepidly creep further in. You turn on your heels and shine the light at a wooden table that hugs the wall on the right. It’s about waist-high, and there’s plastic sheeting draped over the surface, which is covered in maggoty viscera. A cleaver hangs from a hook above it. The blade shines wet with blood… It’s fresh. Too fresh—that alone is enough to send you backpedaling for the door. But when you step outside again, you hear a deafening blast close by, like thunder. Similarly, a gunshot. You startle and jump, eyes going wide.

“Danny?” you call out, panicked.

No response. You dash across the yard for the house, then slow your roll when you reach the rickety porch steps. You climb the first step, again calling, “Danny!”

Another shot is fired. As the door frame explodes, splinters of wood fly everywhere. You throw yourself against the wall, behind cover and clear of the open door. Your body trembles in fright. A male voice calls out, “Stay the hell where you are!”

Unfamiliar, coarse, and ringing with a southern drawl.

Fear paralyzes you. But you snap out of it, returning, “Who are you?!” You risk a glance through the door. In the dark, you spot a shimmering pool of blood on wood-paneled flooring. You snap back out of sight. “Did you shoot my friend?!”

“That costumed asshole who came creepin’ in?” the stranger replies.

“Yeah, him!”

“Seems like it.”

You release a shuddering breath. “Danny!” you call again, to receive no reply. You hiss. “Is he dead?!”

“Seems like it,” the man repeats, indifferent.

On cue, you hear a rattling sigh. Danny. “Still kickin’, Spunks,” he says. Then you hear his hacking, wet cough, followed by a groan.

You exhale a sigh of relief. Not for Danny’s well-being—but because you’re not facing an armed stranger alone.

Inside, the stranger scoffs. “You must be one’a the hunters,” he says, presumably to Danny. “Only way yer still breathin’, what with all the holes I jus’ put in ya. But then, what the hell are you?” he asks, directed at you. “Or do I got two a’ yous on my doorstep?”

“I-I’m not a killer,” you reply shakily. You peer through the door again, trying to spot the gunman. But another warning shot blows a hole in the porch to your right. You quickly duck back behind cover. “Stop blasting that fucking gun!” you shout, rattled. It’s loud, booming, and destructive—you guess he’s armed with a shotgun.

“You two sneaky pricks came on’a my property!” the man shouts. “‘Oughta turn your skull to paste! Count yerself lucky I’m bein’ so kind.”

Speaking of skulls; you still feel that itch in your head, intense and maddening. Be it Echo or Mark, it’s here, and it’s close. You need to find it. “L-listen,” you say. “If you’ll just put down the gun and let me come inside—”

“I’ll give ya ten seconds to drag your pal off my floor, then you two better git’ off my goddamn property.”

“I can’t go yet—”

“Nine! Eight! Seven—”

“H-Hold, hold on,” you implore. “Just give me a minute to talk!”

“SIX! F—”

“Look at that… The simpleton can count.”

Bastion’s voice is a startling, but very welcome, surprise. Though you’re sure it comes as a nasty surprise to the armed redneck. You hear a shout, then another blast ring out. You duck, tense in waiting, before you hear a groan, then a familiar husky laugh.

With the threat neutralized, you get up and creep inside. The first thing you notice when you shine your beam across the room is Danny, laid out on the floor in the middle of the foyer, just in front of a tall wooden staircase. He lies in a growing pool of his own blood, his chest tattered with bloody holes.

He’s still alive, which doesn’t surprise you… He raises an arm when you come close. “Wanna give me a hand, Spunks?”

You step right over him.

Although the house is furnished, it’s plain and sparse. Peeling floral wallpaper, a brown and moldy-green color. There’s a lousy leather chair in the left corner, facing a small fireplace at the other end of the room. Under your feet, a dirty olive rug, and directly above you, a fanciless chandelier. As you shine your beam to the right, you see an open doorway leading into another dark room. When you shine the beam toward the other far end, you see another one, shrouded all the same.

You question where Bastion and your host are. “Bastion?” you call out.

“Fucker’s upstairs with the prick that shot me,” Danny grumbles behind you. You hear him sigh heavily, then the shuffling of cloth.

You head upstairs and find a light switch on the wall near the top. You flip it on, and the hall floods with dim, flickering fluorescence. Bastion’s looming, dark sight doesn’t spook you—it’s the man he pins to the wall by the throat, that does. You recoil, blurting, “Holy shit—”

He pins a scrawny, gangly man with pallid yellow skin, hollow brown eyes, and a disturbing face. One half shows the horrific fusion of swine and man. His nose resembles a mushed snout, and half of his face is covered in coarse brown hairs. His dark hair is composed of only a few thin pathetic strands swept back over his head and he has beady small eyes. The man wears a greasy white tank top, a pair of messed-up blue jeans, and worn-out work boots. Both lack laces and one has a hole where his big toe should be. While also being the unholy cross of man and pig, he looks like he kisses his sister on the lips, then comes home to chew dirt and shower in sweat. There’s a pump-action shotgun resting on the floor at his feet.

The pig-man squirms in Bastion’s grip, spitting and kicking. “Agh, what the… the hell is this thing?” he seethes.

“I could ask the same about you,” you reply.

The man scoffs at your comment. “Oh, good one, ya lil’ shit. I ‘avent heard that one b’fore.”

“No, seriously, what the hell are you?” You move closer for a better look. It’s a worse sight up close.

“How’s ‘bout you tell your tall, dark, ‘n handsome friend here to put me down? Then I’ll tell you my whole life story, kid.”

“You’ll tell us anyway, piggy,” Bastion grinningly insists, “or I’ll slice you into thin, even strips and make a meal of your greasy pork.” He emphasizes his cruel threat by dragging his slimy tongue across the pig-man’s face.

The dirty man cringes and squirms harder. “Call off yer fuckin’ mutt, kid! I’ll talk!”

You give a nod. “Bastion.”

Bastion drops the man, then backs away to regain his poise. You step aside and motion for the stairs. “We’ll talk downstairs.”

 

You follow the pig-man back down to the foyer, with Bastion at your back. When you reach the bottom landing, you notice Danny’s up and leaning against the wall near the open front door. He has his arms folded and one leg crossed over the other. Blood oozes down his robes and collects at his feet. “You couldn’t have popped in sooner, Scooby?” he asks, sounding bitter.

Bastion smirks at him. “I was still cooling off, Danny.”

Danny scoffs. You step over all the blood on the floor and nod toward the leather chair. The hog man takes a hint and seats himself. Bastion stops beside you. “First,” you begin, “Who the hell are you?”

“Hodgson,” the man snorts derisively. “Just Hodgson.”

“And your…?” you make a funny gesture with your hands. Hodgson grunts. “Now, you should know how we all came t’ be here, right? Some fuckin’ thing takes us outta the real world and drops us in this glorified pen… Some come through more fucked up than others.”

You motion him to continue. He does. “I used t’ farm pigs,” he says. “Had a couple of ‘em… I came out late one night when I heard my sow squealin’ up a storm. She was birthin’ a litter of lil’ porklings. Been fat for ‘bout three months, so I guess it was time. I was helpin’ her out, see, an’ I had my arms full of those babes when I saw this lurkin’ dark smoke creep into the barn. Didn’t know what t’ think of it at the time, so I didn’t think at all. Next thing I knew, I was wrapped up in some prickly dark claws—”

He glances at Bastion. Specifically, he looks at the spidery claws that twitch and curl at his back. He shudders before continuing. “—and then I was here. ‘Face felt somethin’ awful when I gathered myself… And those babes I held in my arms? They were gone.”

The implications put a nasty knot in your stomach. You awkwardly shuffle your feet. “Well… I guess that explains that… But why haven’t we seen you around camp? Do you take part in the trials?”

“Those silly lil’ games the wolf makes y’all play? Nah… And I count myself lucky.” Hodgson leans forward and spits a dark glob on the floor near his feet. He drags his tongue over his teeth and tilts his head at you. “Now who the hell are you?” he questions. “And who’re these two bastards you dragged along with ya?”

“Doesn’t matter who I am,” you reply. “We’re asking the questions here.”

“Lil’ prick,” Hodgson scoffs at you. “I bet you’re the same bastards that raided my stash.”

You quirk a brow at him. “Your stash? What the hell are… you…” You trail off, narrowing your eyes. “A stash… Shed full of junk and stolen goods?”

Hodgson slaps his knee, startling you. “So it was you! Broke my damn lock and picked through everythin’ I own!”

You scoff loudly. “You’re the asshole who was sneaking into camp stealing things!”

“I’m just gettin’ by out ‘ere,” Hodgson indifferently replies. “I’m a scavenger.”

“You’re a thief,” you retort angrily. “Not to mention a hoarder.” You step forward and point a finger at him. “Those people around the fire don’t have shit as it is, and you tried taking the few possessions that bring them comfort.”

“Cry me a fuckin’ river, kid,” Hodgson replies. “You took it all back, din’t ya? Took some a’ my other shit while you was at it.” He spits again, then leans back and folds one leg over the other. “If I see somethin’ free for the takin’, it’s mine. All y’all around that fire make it too easy…”

You glare at him. “If you value your stolen goods so much, then why the hell did you stash it way out there in the fog?”

“I din’t,” Hodgson replies. “The damn shed’s out back right now. But sometimes the fuckin’ thing vanishes… It likes to jump around like a traveling circus… Here one night, gone the next, and it fuckin’ beats me why. Always comes back, though. You shits just happened t’ find it when it left my yard one night.” He scoffs. “Lucky sons a’ bitches…”

It’s a revelation, but not a topic you’re willing to stand here and argue with the stranger about. You move on. “What’s with that table in the barn? The one covered in blood and guts?”

“It’s where I butcher the pigs,” Hodgson answers. “I still gotta eat.”

“And where do you get your supply?”

Hodgson lets out a croaking laugh. “You should already know by now,” he says. “I kill those damn things and they just pop right back up… Never-endin’ supply a’ fresh meat. Just finished slaughterin’ one of ‘em b’fore you broke down my front door…” He gives you a nasty, toothy grin. You grimace at him—it explains all that squealing you heard…

Bastion startles you when he rests a hand on your shoulder. He leans down toward you. “Haven’t we come on more important business?” he asks.

Good point. Moving on.

“You’re not who we were hoping to find out here,” you say. “Unless you have a dark robe stashed in your closet…?”

“Nope,” Hodgson snorts. “If we’re done ‘ere, you can get the hell outta my house.” It’s more of a demand than a suggestion.

You shake your head. “It’s actually a bit more complicated than that,” you uneasily reply. “See, something else drew me here… And I think you might have something I need. I call them Marks, but—”

“I don’t ‘ave shit for you,” Hodgson sharply interrupts. He spits again, this time on his boot.

“You do,” you pointedly reply. “There’s something here, something I’m supposed to find, I can feel it. If you don’t know what it is, then we’ll look around until we find it.”

The pig-man scoffs. “I’m ‘sposed to sit back and let you turn my place inside out just ‘cuz you got a feelin’? Get the hell outta here!” he barks.

Bastion responds to his aggression with aggression of his own. “You’re in no position to make demands, swine,” he growls.

“We aren’t leaving until Spunks finds what we came for,” Danny pipes up. He tips his head. “You get that, Hogson?”

His mean pun doesn’t go over Hodgson’s head. He sneers back and forth between you all. “What the hell’s in it for me?”

You quirk your brow. “You’re willing to haggle?”

“Maybe,” Hodgson replies. He leans back. He sucks his teeth for a moment and doesn’t say anything else. Then you notice his eyes flitting up and down your person, slowly and lecherously, until he meets your hard gaze again. “Gets lonely out ‘ere,” he says, smirking. He snorts and spits another wad on the floor.

You don’t get a word out before your white knight interjects for you. Bastion loses his position behind you and reappears, standing behind Hodgson. He leans over the back of the chair to rest a hand on the man’s shoulder. "Well, if you’re looking for someone to give you a good time, I will gladly oblige.” He flashes his teeth and digs his talons into Hodgson’s sweaty shoulder. He chuckles. “Though I can’t promise you’ll enjoy it…” And, in case his first threat doesn’t get his point across, he leans back while losing the wry grin, to further add, “Look at them like that again and I’ll pop your eyes like grapes.”

Hodgson shakes like a leaf. Danny clicks his tongue. “Sex isn’t on the menu, piggy.”

“We’re not bartering with you,” you decidedly say, sneering. “You’ll hand over what we came for, or else.”

It’s an empty threat, admittedly, and one that Hodgson reads clear as day. “Or else what, kid?” he retorts, snickering. “You gon’ sic one’a these queer freaks on me?

You scoff and throw your arm out wide. “You have a demon standing over your shoulder who just threatened to take your eyes out! And there’s that asshole right over there!” You motion to Danny—who slaps his hands over his heart in feigned offense to the statement—then you add, “You don’t have a choice.”

Hodgson startles you with a laugh. “And?” he says, to your dismay. “Your pals kill me, and I’ll just come right on back. We all know how this game works, kid. What’s dead don’t stay dead. So go on ‘head, stamp me out. I could use a good power nap…” He spits another wet glob near your feet, then he grins toothily.

He has a point. And it so badly confounds you, that you just stand like an idiot, blinking in thought while trying to gather a good retort in your head. One doesn’t come quick enough and Hodgson cackles again, well and truly amused at your inept display. “You’re cute, kid. Now, how’s ‘bout you fuck off?”

You’re at a loss… But Danny isn’t.

He leaves his spot near the door and stalks toward Hodgson with ill intent. You warn him, “Danny—”

“Shh,” he hushes you, with a finger to the mouth of his mask. Stopping in front of the pig-man, he slowly leans forward and braces his hands on both armrests to force Hodgson further back. Hodgson’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows out of nervousness. Danny tilts his head. “You’re right about that, Hog’,” he says. “But we don’t have to make it quick. We could take our time, work you over nice and slow until you give us exactly what we want…”

“Danny,” you sternly repeat. He shushes you again.

“Cushy life out here on the farm, piggy? I would wager you don’t get too much trouble, not like those poor bastards at the campfire… So I’m betting you’ve never felt a knife sliding beneath your fingernails. And I’d bet double you’ve never had the skin flayed off your back.”

His threats put a gruesome image in your mind. Hodgson grimaces. Danny continues, lowering his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “We’ll play tic-tac-toe on your carcass while the fog puts you back together, Hog. Then we’ll do it all again.”

“Danny!” you snap, voice cracking with urgency. His gaze locks onto you, a chilling calm in his eyes. Seconds tick by—an unbearable pause—before he finally withdraws, joining you with a slow, deliberate step. The arm he slings around your shoulders feels heavy, suffocating. “Spunks,” he whispers, his tone disturbingly light, “just a game, right? Good cop, bad cop. You know how to play, right?”

You know the game. But there’s something about his tone that tells you he’s not just playing the part. You narrow your eyes. “We’re not going to hurt him,” you sternly say.

Danny pats your shoulder. “Let me work.” He pulls away from you and returns to Hodgson. You look to Bastion to back you up, but he says nothing.

“I think yer bluffin’,” Hodgson unwisely says as Danny approaches him. He glances at you and comments, “Face as sweet as yers? I doubt you’ll let the two goons whip me up, huh?”

“Don’t be stubborn,” you warn him. “Just give us what we came for, whatever it is, and we’ll leave you alone.”

“Ain’t givin’ you shit,” Hodgson declares.

“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that,” Danny says. “But we’re not all bark. We bite, too.” He looks at Bastion. “What do you say, bud? You wanna spit-roast some pig?”

“Not a bad idea,” Bastion replies with a naughty chuckle.

“Bastion!” you snap, exasperated. “Don’t encourage him.”

He falls back with a grumble. Finally, he loses his spot behind the chair and returns to your side. Danny, however, persists. “Hogs,” he singsongs. “I don’t want to get rough with you, but it sounds like you’re not giving us a choice here.”

“Y’all can go fuck yerselves,” Hodgson replies. He spits on the toe of Danny’s boot. It’s unclear whether it was intentional. What’s worse, you don’t know how Danny will react. He’s silent in the following moments, leaving you tense in wait. You fidget and murmur, “Danny—”

He catches you off guard when he swiftly brandishes a knife from within his robe, and he buries it in Hodgson’s thigh. The man lets out an awful, high-pitched wail, like a pig’s scream in a slaughterhouse. You jump in fright, shouting, “Danny!”

He ignores you. He leans closer to Hodgson, putting more weight on the hilt of his blade and forcing it deeper into the flesh. You make a move to stop him, but a claw wraps tightly around your midsection, stopping you. Bastion earns himself a sharp look. He warningly says, “Wanderer…”

Hodgson whimpers and cries. Danny says, “I didn’t cut any arteries… It’s a mostly harmless wound, just as long as it’s treated properly… And there are lots just like it, Hogs. Lots a’ spots all over your body where I can jam my knife to make you squirm and bleed.” He chuckles and twists the blade, making the man wail again. “You’re not like me,” He further adds. “I can shrug off just about anything that doesn’t take my head off my shoulders. But you’re going to feel this for as long as I want you to.” He twists again, hissing. Hodgson digs his grimy nails into the armrests.

This is going too far—way too far. Your heart races as you tear free from Bastion’s grip, storming toward Danny. “We’re not torturing him!” you bark, yanking his arm back. Your voice lowers, steady but firm, “Stay in line, Danny.”

Danny faces you and says coolly, “We won’t get anything outta him the easy way, Spunks.”

“It’s not happening,” you assert.

“We can’t keep playing by the rules,” Danny replies.

“You’ll play by whatever rules I set!” you shout back.

Danny throws you off and jabs you painfully in the ribs with a pointed finger. “You can’t be a goody-goody and expect to get everything you want,” he says forcefully. “You’re a brat who thinks they're running the show, but I’ve got stakes in this shit too, Spunky, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes if I’m going to come out on top.”

Bastion snaps at him, “Keep your hands to yourself, Danny.”

Danny directs his next verbal attack on him. “Heel, dog,” he commands. “I’m trying to have a little chat with your master.”

Bastion’s temper reaches a boiling point—he snarls and grabs Danny by the throat. You’re struck in his warpath and sent tumbling to the floor with an oof. “I’ll take your head off!” Bastion growls.

Danny swiftly draws a knife from a hidden sheath beneath his robe, and he stabs the furious colossus in the face. A vertical gash splits Bastion’s head in two, and a clutch of slimy tentacles spills out in a seeping cloud of dark fog. The tendrils dislodge the knife and seize Danny’s arm.

“Neat party trick,” Danny comments, too coolly for someone ensnared in the clutches of an angry eldritch man. “I bet you’re a real freak in bed, Bullet!”

“Hey, HEY!” you snap at them. Neither acknowledges you. You growl in frustration and try to pull them apart, but Bastion’s claws swat you away. You stumble backward, hissing. You pause before moving forward again.

That itch that’s been perpetually irritating on the inside of your cranium? It’s stopped. Why has it stopped?

You ponder only for a moment before you turn around and realize, to your utter despair, that Hodgson is gone. The leather chair sits empty, and you find a trail of blood leading across the room and out the open door.

“No, no, no—” you murmur. “The pig’s gone!” you shout, taking after the trail. You don’t wait around for your two brawling partners to follow. You track the blood outside, across the vast field, and straight to the thick black fog barrier separating this realm from the rest. You stagger to a halt, huffing and shaking your head. “Ah,” you pant. “Ah… shit!” You stamp your foot.

The fog shifts too often. It’s a winding maze. Going out there and hoping to find Hodgson’s trail is a no-go. The swine got away.

You startle at Bastion’s appearance beside you. He peers at the fog wall before turning his head toward you. He says nothing—you can tell he’s feeling pretty culpable right about now. Folding his arms behind his back, he resumes his poise. You give him a very sharp look and head down the gravel road.

 

As you return to the farmhouse with Bastion at your back, you find Danny flinging thick strings of slime off of his arm. He looks up at you. “Where's our pig?”

“He got away,” you bitterly answer as you step through the front door.

“Wonder why,” Danny pointedly replies, slightly turning his mask toward Bastion.

Bastion growls at him. You narrow your eyes and throw an arm out. “You’re BOTH to blame. If you weren’t at each other’s throats, he wouldn’t have snuck off! The asshole got away, and whatever drew me out here went with him.” You scoff and mutter, “He must’ve had it on him…”

Both of them say nothing. You shake your head. “Have your dick-measuring contest when we’re not looking for leads.” You cross the room and head for the stairs. Bastion murmurs behind you, “Mine are bigger.”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You spend the following hour searching throughout Hodgson’s home and the barn, checking every nook and cranny for anything else you might find useful. In the meantime, you hope he’ll return. He has nowhere else to go, right? That’s what you’re counting on. But the hour becomes three, and the pig-man is a no-show. As there isn’t much else you can do, and no reason to stick around any longer, you call it off.

You snag his gun and a carton of shells from a cupboard upstairs. Then you swiftly depart with Danny and Bastion at your back.

 

 

They both have enough sense to keep quiet on the way back to Lydia’s cabin. When you arrive, your temper’s lingering. You stop in the front yard and turn to face your company. Honestly, you’re surprised they’ve stuck around… “We’re done here,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. “Why are you still glued to my back?”

Bastion, being the bigger man—literally and figuratively—offers you an apology. “I apologize, Wanderer,” he says. “But it’s a problem we could’ve avoided if we hadn’t had a little weasel following us around…” He leaves his last comment with a sneer and an off glance at Danny.

“Hey, who attacked who first?” Danny retorts. He slaps your shoulder. “You wanna play it back for us, Spunks?”

They’re about to get into it again. But you’re not having it, no, no, no… One way to solve this problem is to—

 

Dismiss Danny (❤)

Dismiss Bastion (❤)

Dismiss them both.

 

Notes:

Just to clarify, dismissing Bastion is a romantic choice for Danny, and vice versa.
Now go forth and choose a bastard.

Suggestion Box

Chapter 50: Choice: Dismiss Danny (❤)

 

You dismiss Danny. “Bye, Danny.”

After all, you only need to get rid of one of them to handle this problem, and Danny is the main instigator, not to mention a complete asshole.

He takes his time leaving, backing away slowly while resting his hands flat over his heart. “I think someone’s playing favorites,” he says, with an adopted hurt tone.

Bastion doesn’t tolerate his lingering presence. “Leave,” he growls.

Danny twirls around and pockets his hands. “Be seeing you, Spunks,” he mutters. And then he’s gone.

You turn to Bastion. He softens up noticeably. His square shoulders go slack and his nasty sneer curls into an impish grin. “That’s a breath of fresh air.”

“Are you okay?” you ask him. “After earlier, when…?”

“Fine, fine,” Bastion replies. He places a hand on your shoulder. “Are you?”

You need to think about it. “Well,” you start off, “you knocked me on my ass today while you strangled Danny—”

“I could kiss it better,” Bastion flirts.

“—And a potential lead got away,” you finish crossly.

“Hm.” Bastion falls silent, either in shame or simply because he doesn’t know what to say… You bet on the former, and he confirms it when he says, “I’ll be on my best behavior from here on, Wanderer,” he promises with a sheepish grin.

“I hope so,” you mutter.

Bastion chuckles and pinches your ear. “You haven’t answered my question,” he points out. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Still frustrated, tired…” You drop your voice and mutter, “And a gross mutant freak leered at me today, but what’s new? Gotten so used to it from you…”

Bastion visibly bristles at your playful jab. His grin wanes and he withdraws his hand. “Ah… I only tease, Wanderer. I never intended to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t!” you say quickly. “It’s fine coming from you, I-I mean—” You stop. A red glow dusts your cheeks as you rummage for an appropriate response. You dip your head to hide it. “It’s fine,” you say, while scratching your nape. “You don’t make me uncomfortable. In-In fact, I’d say you make me very comfortable! I-I like being around you, and the jokes are fine, a-and cute, and—”

Bastion pinches your chin between his fingers. He tilts your head upward and lets out a husky laugh. “Wanderer,” he purrs, warm enough to make you melt. “I like you too.”

You work down a lump in your throat. “Mm,” you manage.

Before you melt into a puddle at his feet, you break away and walk to the porch. You sit down with a huff and fan your face before patting the spot beside you. Bastion accepts the invitation promptly, appearing at your side with a pleasant hum. Your waist is encircled by a claw that pulls you closer to him. You lean against his shoulder, sighing.

“So,” you murmur, followed by a pause. “Do you have a favorite position?”

You ask mostly as a joke, hoping for a funny reaction from him. With a gravelly purr and a seductively low tone, he delivers it. “I could show you.”

You desperately try to keep a plain face, but you burst into laughter after he snaps his jaws. He chuckles and cups your face in his hands. “Wanderer…” he teasingly begins.

“I know, I know,” you reply, laughing. “I,”—you fall into your best impression of him,—“make it too easy.”

He reaches his arms around you and pulls you in, tucking you into his larger frame. You nestle your face contentedly into the crook of his neck, and he props his chin atop your head. It’s snug. It’s so snug you’re fluttering your eyes and drifting off to sleep in minutes. You could stay like this all night, but you’re bound to catch a cold lingering in the fog for too long.

You stir and pat Bastion’s back. “I want to get to bed, Bas’,” you say with a deep yawn.

He grumbles in reluctance. You pat him until he loosens his arms and lets you pull away. When you get up, you take his hand. “Come upstairs,” you invite him.

He tips his head. “To… bed?”

Bastion, puzzled?… It’s cute.

“Yes.” You pull him to his feet and drag him up the steps. “I’m not throwing you out just ‘cuz I’m sleepy… We can climb into bed together, catch some winks, maybe… maybe cuddle.” When you get him through the door, he stops entirely. You halt and turn back. “It’s just an idea,” you quickly say, flushed. “We can just go to sleep—”

“I can’t stay too long, Wanderer,” Bastion informs you.

It gives you pause. You furrow your brows. “Why, uh… Why not?”

He audibly hesitates. “It’s no good,” he says.

Despite wanting to ask why, you know better than to badger him with questions. While attempting to conceal your disappointment, you slacken your grip on his hand and draw away from him. “All right…”

You turn around and approach the stairs, not knowing what else to say. A spiny claw, however, catches your waist and pulls you backward. You don’t resist any when you’re spun around, and when he encases your face in his hands. He stoops low enough to bump his forehead to yours. “Don’t walk away from me without saying goodnight,” he says with a playful growl.

The butterflies return in force. With a smile, you stretch tall to wrap your arms around his neck. “Goodnight.”

Bastion purrs. He fondly mashes his face against your cheek. “You make me soft,” he says. Then, with a chuckle, he adds, “And hard, occasionally…”

“Stop,” you laughingly reply.

He chuckles and kisses your nose. He then showers your face in more feathery affection, leading kisses along your jaw and to your ear as your face becomes increasingly hot. He leaves one final kiss on the corner of your eye, softer than cotton. “I adore you, Wanderer.”

This statement is so sincere that it makes your heart flutter. Being the first time he’s said something of the sort, you find yourself rosy-faced and swooning. You make a silly noise and press your face into his shoulder. As you find your voice over your knotted tongue, you murmur, “I adore you, too.”

His arms fold around you and he draws you in as close as he can while you cling needily to him like a sloth. You could, again, stay like this contentedly for minutes or even hours, but it’s not a luxury accorded to you. Disappointment engulfs your face as Bastion withdraws too soon. He backs away with a gleaming grin. “Goodnight, Wanderer,” he says, tipping his head to one side. “I’ll see you soon.”

You unenthusiastically wave him off. Then he’s gone.

Deciding that the best way to stop missing him is to get yourself to bed, you spin around and climb the stairs. When you trudge into the bedroom and tuck beneath the sheets, you’re certain you’ll have good dreams tonight. But, most certainly, they’d be sweeter if he hadn’t left so soon…

 

Continue

 

Notes:

Was this fluffy enough for you, anon? :> Could it be fluffier?

Moving on up with Bastion… I wonder what’s the next step in this relationship? 🤔

Chapter 51: Choice: Dismiss Bastion (❤)

 

You dismiss Bastion with a wave. “Bye, Bastion.”

After all, you only need to get rid of one of them to handle this problem, and Bastion is the bigger threat.

He doesn’t immediately comply. He looks at you as if you’ve gone completely mad. “Wanderer,” he says, in a tone of warning.

“Danny won’t stab me to death as soon as you leave,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “He’s an asshole, but he can at least control himself.”

It’s a hit below the belt, in honesty. And one Bastion doesn’t take too kindly. However, for the first time today, he shows restraint. “Ah,” he replies, twisting his lips into a forced grin. It’s a bitter look, much like his next response. “I understand, Wanderer.”

He understands, but you know he isn’t happy about it. He curls his lips at Danny and vanishes just like that. Danny gives a slow clap. “Gotta hand it to you,” he says with a chuckle. “You know how to reel it in.”

You give him a dirty look. In all honesty, you don’t know why you aren’t kicking his ass to the curb, too. But he’s more manageable alone than Bastion is.

Sighing, you skulk toward the house and slump onto the porch steps. Danny joins you without an invitation. He sits at your side, too close for your liking. You worry how Lydia might react if she finds out he’s back. What’s worse, you can’t imagine what Felix or Elodie would do if they found you like this. It’s those worries, and Danny’s proximity, that make you feel so nervous.

Danny breaks the silence. “I could’ve made that pig squeal,” he says. “We might’ve come back with something to show for it…”

“I don’t like your methods, Danny,” you tell him bluntly. “And I don’t like you.”

“Hey,” he complains.

“We don’t go out there to hurt anyone,” you continue. “We can find the right answers without turning to the dark side.” You shake your head. “But I don’t expect you to understand. You’re a homicidal freak.”

Danny chuckles. “Easy with all the slander, Spunks.”

You scoff at him. “Even all this? Sitting on the porch with a serial killer? It’s going too far, isn’t it?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

Silence falls. You expect another quip or retort, but Danny surprises you when he drops his hood and suddenly nudges his mask up. He grabs the seam of the black spandex beneath it, and he pushes it up to reveal the bottom half of his face. White skin, unkempt stubble on a fine jaw, and a small scar cut from the spot where his jaw connects to his neck, down to his nape. He rifles a cigarette from that carton he waved around earlier and he perches it between his lips. He turns to you, smirking. “Got a light?”

You’re still peeved after that stunt he pulled before… But figuring ‘why not?’, you hand over your lighter. Danny lights his smoke and hands it back to you. After taking a long drag, he leans back and blows a dark cloud. Then he plucks it between his fingers and offers you a puff. You decline.

“Hmph… What do you do for fun?” he asks.

It’s a strange question. You wonder why you’re still humoring his company. “Fun? Here?”

Danny chuckles. “Comes easier to some of us,” he says, puffing smoke.

“Nothing,” you say, without a second thought. “I’m not here for fun. I’m trying to find the answers, which is the only reason I tolerate you.”

Danny snickers. “You’re a—”

“—Heartbreaker?” you cut him off.

He smirks again, nodding. After another puff, he murmurs, “I’m not so terrible, Spunks…”

“Is that what you told all the people you killed?”

“Only those I didn’t.”

You quirk an eyebrow.

“Catch and release,” he says. “Those often make for great stories… Y’know, the hopeful ones? Type that might put a tear in your eye, or make the old ladies preach, ‘God is good.’ Gives everyone a bit of hope… Better yet—” He turns toward you and blows smoke in your face. “Better when the poor bastards try to bargain… And the look on their face when I wave them off. There’s no greater thrill than holding someone’s life in your hands, Spunks. That’s about as fun as it gets.”

You’d scoff in disgust if you couldn’t see right through him. He’s just trying to get under your skin again, but you won’t give him the satisfaction. “I don’t see the appeal,” you tell him plainly.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he returns.

And, “I don’t care to,” you reply.

You can almost see the gears turning in his head as he thinks up another retort. ‘Should I poke harder?’, you’re sure he’s asking himself. ‘Dig a little deeper? Say something darker?’ It doesn’t matter what he says, you won’t buckle. He must realize that, because he changes the subject completely. You win.

“I snapped at ya’ earlier, Spunks,” he says. He lays a hand on your shoulder and gives you a squeeze, accompanied by a charming smile, composed of two even rows of white teeth. “I’m sorry,” he husks.

His smile rubs you the wrong way. You’d wager it’s the same smile he’s used to charm his way past people’s defenses. The same one he must’ve utilized to secure himself a cozy job at a gazette, or to get close to his potential victims. It’s insincere. Furthermore, you don’t like the way it puts butterflies in your stomach.

After shrugging his hand off, you stand and ascend the steps. “Get off Lydia’s porch,” you demand, effectively ending the discussion.

Danny clicks his tongue. He gets up and stamps out his cigarette beneath his heel. “Same time next week, Spunky?” he says, smiling at you. You don’t answer. He gives a little wave and backs away. “Be seeing you,” he says, as he lowers his spandex mask and draws his cowl over his head. He stalks off into the fog.

Relieved in his absence, you climb the porch and head inside.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 52: Choice: Dismiss them both.

 

“Fuck off, both of you.”

Your command and sharpness of your voice give them pause. Danny moves his hand over his heart like he’s offended. Bastion tips his head dumbly, like a puzzled dog. You sternly repeat yourself. “Fuck off. I’m not putting up with this shit, not tonight.” You’ve had enough of them, well and truly. You just want to get inside, have a cup of warm tea to quell your headache, then climb into bed—

“Not even going to invite me in for a drink?” Danny obnoxiously says.

“Shut up. Leave.” You glance at Bastion. “You too, get outta here.”

Bastion grumbles like a disgruntled old man. Neither of them makes a move to go. You snap, “Do I need Lydia to chase you off her lawn? Because I’ll go grab her.”

After Danny’s personal run-in with her earlier, he’s smart enough to concede. “Alright, Spunks,” he says with a chuckle. He puts his hands up defensively as he backs away. “Nighty-night."

Bastion waits until he’s skulked off into the woods and out of sight. Then he finally vanishes.

As soon as you’re left alone, you head inside and march up to the bedroom. After a long day of wrangling two stubborn killers, you could go for a very long nap.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 53: The Wolf in Your Shadow

 

The last time you found yourself in this place, in the dark and standing ankle-deep in icy tar, you had the child’s company. Now, as you gaze about the blackness, you don’t see their glowing aura, nor do you hear the scratching of pencil on paper… What you find instead is a single white sheet resting on the surface of the black pool.

You wade determinedly through the dense waters until you can reach down and grasp the soaked page. Many shadowy figures scrawled across the paper, huddled together and embracing. They rest beneath a dark shape in the sky… A horrible, whirling blackness, with claws and teeth and an impossible amount of eyes.

You gaze upon the image in silence, trying to find some meaning in the doodles and dots, and the figures and the black mass. But you understand nothing. Then you startle at the sensation of a hand on your nape, which reaches past your shoulder and points at the page. You’re paralyzed. A single breath escapes your lips as a small voice whispers in your ear, “That’s you.”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Someone, please say  something.

Only one hour. One hour since Felix and Élodie’s impromptu visit on Lydia’s porch, badgering you to crawl out of bed to get something done… An hour you’ve marched through the fog in their silent company. Neither of them has had anything to say to you, which comes as a shocking surprise, given how verbal they’ve been toward you in the past… But now, while you’re desperate for someone to shatter the silence and ease all the tension that hangs thickly in the air, they have nothing to say. It feels like you’re marching alongside two cold, silent sentries… But it’s better than being stuck between Danny and Bastion.

Anyone? Anyone at all?

When you side-eye Felix, he carefully avoids your gaze, tipping his head up and away… So you glance at Élodie, and her eyes flicker in the opposite direction.

Finally, you break the silence. “Is there, uh… any reason you’re both giving me the silent treatment?”

They exchange glances. Felix then clears his throat. “We, er… We wonder about that gun.”

Ah.

In addition to the satchel on your hip, Hodgson’s shotgun hangs over your shoulder like a backpack. It’s a dangerous weapon, and one too valuable to leave behind while you venture into the wayward fog… At least, that’s what you told yourself while you deliberated bringing it or not. “What about it?” you ask.

“Where the hell did it come from?” Élodie joins.

“Found it.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

“Sure. Just aim and shoot. Easy.”

“Is it loaded?” Felix asks.

You sigh. “Gee, you two were so quiet a minute ago… Are you going to keep double-teaming me? We’re partners, now. You don’t need to interrogate me twenty-four seven…”

“It’s a dangerous weapon,” Élodie replies pointedly. “We’re just making sure you don’t accidentally blow our heads off…”

Poe pokes his head out of your hood. He cranes his neck and coos at Élodie. You stroke his ruffled feathers. “He’s offended you would say that about me. And, frankly, I am too.”

Felix makes a face as he scratches his neck. “It’s a precaution,” he says. “We don’t mean to offend you—”

“I’m not an idiot, alright? I know how dangerous guns are, but that’s the point. Because everything we run into out here is WAY more dangerous than us, and I just feel safer having something on hand that’s capable of protecting us.”

“That’s what your tall friend is for,” Élodie points out crossly. She looks over her shoulder, then to her left and right before huffing. “Where is the creepy bastard, anyway?”

“Probably sleeping in,” you murmur. But you haven’t seen him since that last escapade in the fog, and you also wonder about his whereabouts…

“So if it’s not you slacking off, it’s him?” Élodie says.

“More or less.”

She makes an annoyed face. Felix grips the lapels of his nice jacket with a sigh. “Ah, well… We’ll be fine without him, I hope… And should we find trouble—”

“—He’ll be there,” you assure them. “Relax. He can be a bit… erratic, but he’s competent.”

“Sure,” Élodie replies, sounding skeptical. “And do you know where we’re going?”

“Not really, no… I gave you guys the rundown already. I wander until my head hurts, and my skin crawls, then I follow my internal compass until I find something. Which is usually junk or an even bigger headache, but no one ever said being the hero was any fun…” You look over your shoulder at Élodie. “And I guess it’s not everything you hoped for, right?”

“It doesn’t sound ideal,” Élodie mutters. “But we can’t complain. You’re the only one capable of finding something in this labyrinth, so we’ll follow your lead.”

You give a nod. Then you ask, “So, what did you do before all this? When you weren’t tomb raiding, I mean…”

“I was never not tomb raiding,” she replies. “There were so many things out there with a connection to all of this, and if it wasn’t me finding it, it was someone else… I was determined to find it first.”

“Cool, cool… And Felix?” You turn toward him.

“Socials,” he replies. “When I wasn’t mulling over blueprints, I spent much of that time planning events with my fiance.”

“Just got on with your life, huh?” Élodie interjects bitterly. “After what we went through? After our parents vanished? You just moved on like it never even happened…”

Felix creases his brows and sighs like he’s heard this all before. “I couldn’t hang my head over that forever, Élodie. We searched,” he insists. “I was there with you, all of us were. But we spent years coming up with nothing. We had to call it quits.”

“You didn’t have to,” Élodie bites back. “You spent your parents’ fortune doodling high-rises for rich assholes to gawk at. How would they feel to know how quickly you gave up on them?”

“I know they wouldn’t want me throwing my life away chasing after worthless leads,” he retorts. “You wasted away your life hunting relics. And look where that got you.”

“I didn’t waste shit,” Élodie angrily replies. “I found solid leads, and I got so much closer than anyone else did.”

“Close indeed,” Felix mutters. “Which is exactly why we’re stranded in the same boat now.”

Élodie scoffs. “You gave up, plain and simple. Our parents gave their lives to save us, and you all just gave up on them. If you had followed me—”

“We decided we wouldn’t follow your lead anymore, Élodie,” Felix sharply interrupts, while coming to an abrupt stop. “Because we found nothing to make it worthwhile, and because it was YOU who led us into those ruins in the first place!”

It gets real quiet, real fast. Élodie recoils as if struck. Her stiff features waver and wilt. Several emotions flicker across her face—hurt, anger, remorse—all of which you just barely pick out before they’re gone as fast as they came. She narrows her eyes and clenches her fists. Through gritted teeth on a shaken breath, she says, “If I had known what was down there, I wouldn’t have led us… But I made a mistake, and I know I messed up, Felix, but I’ve spent years trying to rectify that. Years of scrambling for clues while you turned a blind eye and threw galas on private estates.”

She turns her nose up and stalks past him. Felix sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair as his shoulders go slack. But he has nothing to say to her. He fluffs the lapels of his jacket, straightens his collar, then he keeps walking.

You… probably should’ve stepped in at some point. But then, it’s not a subject worth your two cents. If they have beef, you’ll let them sort it on their own. It’s their history, and that history comes with discrepancies. Besides, the last time you intervened between two snappy comrades, you almost lost your head…

In the aftermath, however, dark clouds hang overhead. Élodie fumes and Felix walks with his head down. You won’t bother them. Best you let this silence run its course… ‘Let them both simmer and cool down on their own time.

“Funny how everything degenerates around you.”

The familiar murmuring voice in your ear startles you. You try hard to ignore the way your hair stands on end, and the way your skin prickles in fear. You know the voice, and you know it’s not real. It’s just the fog playing tricks on you again…

“You’re lost, aren’t you?” comes the voice again, from Poe’s clicking beak. You side-eye him where he’s perched on your shoulder. He cocks his head and you meet his glinting blue eyes. “You don’t know where you’re going,” he says. “You’re no pathfinder. You’re just a lost soul grasping at straws…”

Each gravelly utterance sends tingling jolts cascading up and down your spine. Dissonant whispers tickle the hairs on your neck and rise in volume. Pressure builds up in your skull…

“Following these random, winding paths and hoping to find something?” Poe hushes in your ear. “But you have no drive, Wanderer. No initiative. You’re a blindfolded pawn, walking a thin line between the knowing and unknowing.”

The world spins as the whispers and your headache intensify. You desperately try to hang onto the image of Élodie and Felix walking in front of you, but it grows dim and hazy. Fog swirls with the colors of a shimmering blue night sky. A wave of nausea almost makes you buckle. But you keep forward with an unsteady gait, determined and desperate to shun the voices.

“I could watch you stumble around in the dark for hours,” Poe chuckles. “I’ll throw you a bone,” he says. “But only if you can pass a test.”

Dark shapes ballet across your skewed vision. You blink, and they’re gone. “A test?” you murmur.

“A test,” Poe affirms. “Take that gun… and shoot one of your friends in the back.”

A scream makes you jump. It fades out and joins the chorus of whispers and cries… You swivel your head wildly as sweat collects on your brow. “Why?” you whisper.

“Prove your worth,” Poe replies. “Prove you’re deserving of these answers… Show me how far you’re willing to go to have them.” He reads your reluctance and chuckles. “Come on, Wanderer. Just shoot one. They’ll be back… What do you have to lose?”

“Their trust,” you return sharply.

“You stand to lose much more if you don’t,” Poe replies.

Sweat spills down your face, dabbed up by your sleeve. You were hot a moment ago, now you’re ice cold. You expel a misty breath.

“Take the gun,” Poe commands, “and shoot.”

Do it, the voices sing. Take the gun and shoot. Take the gun and shoot—

Go for blondie, one voice whispers to your right. Pop the pretty lady, comes another.

A cold sensation crawls up your legs to your arms, then to the twitching tips of your fingers. You reach back and drag your palm over the barrel of the gun. Then you grasp it and swing it around to grip at the ready, with the butt firmly against your shoulder, and your finger hovering over the trigger.

“Either or,” Poe whispers in your ear. “Take one out.”

The barrel sways toward Élodie’s blurred shape, then back to Felix, while you tap the trigger lightly. Do it, the inner voices scream. Please, please, please, they beg. And, “Prove your fucking worth,” Poe repeats.

You swallow thickly and hold your breath. The whispers grow louder and more frenzied. Something sharp drags across your nape and your throat and your jaw. Then you feel a sensation like a kiss on your brow…

“Do it.”

You pressure the trigger beneath your finger. You can’t even make out whose shape is down the barrel, as your vision is such a hazy, dark mess. Pressure… Like a weight sinking lower and lower on your chest, compressing your lungs and trapping your breath… Pressure… Pressure—

“N-No.” You will yourself to lower the gun. A bead of sweat drips from your brow as your form shudders. “No,” you repeat firmly. “No.”

Poe hisses in your ear. “Worthless,” he rebukes.

You sling the gun over your shoulder and hope he’ll go away, and that he’ll take all the noise with him. But the whispers jump in volume and intensity, becoming harsh, blood-curdling screams of fury. The pain wracking your skull intensifies to a crippling point, making you cry out and stagger. The world spins and vertigo takes you to your knees as the light suddenly goes out. In total darkness, you crash against a hard surface with a painful yelp.

Felix and Élodie exclaim in fright close by. The pain and the whispers trickle away until you can catch your bearings. You brace against a wall, blindly feeling over the surface to gauge its form. Your fingers dip into cold grooves, and you trace fine lines carved into stone… Bricks. And you’re standing on solid ground.

“What… What is this?” comes Élodie’s voice in front of you. You can’t see her… You can’t see anything.

“Where are we?” asks Felix to your right.

“R… Relax,” you tell them in a shuddering breath. “This sorta thing’s happened before…” You fumble for your flashlight and click it on. The beam catches Élodie’s startled face. You shine the light over at Felix.

“Can you elaborate?” he says.

“Uh… If I had to guess—” You turn around while using the light to discern bits and pieces of your surroundings: Two close stone-bricked walls, a high stone ceiling, and a dark corridor straight ahead. “This is an Echo, I think.”

The air is stale and dusty. You cough and guide the light toward a dark spot on the wall, where wispy tethers of dark fog swirl over the surface of crumbling stone. “Weird black smoke eating away at the structure… Echo,” you confirm. You face your two allies. “The fog’s weird, y’know? It’s always moving around and changing, and sometimes I… intercept these things.”

“Is this normal?” Élodie asks.

“I think so, considering…”

“And how do we get out of here?” says Felix.

“Beats me,” you reply.

Élodie narrows her eyes. You shrug. “We’re in the same boat,” you say. “I don’t have every strange place in the fog mapped out, alright? But if this is an Echo, then we might find a hole to squeeze through, and it might take us back out into the fog…”

“Are you sure?” Felix asks skeptically.

“Just… follow my lead,” you say with a sigh. After peering up and down the corridor, you randomly pick a side and march, with Felix and Élodie at your back. “Until we find the door, we might as well look around… Something might’ve brought me here, which means something might be worth finding…”

“And what sort of something are we looking for?” Élodie asks.

“Could be anything,” you reply. “Could even be worthless. But we came out here hoping to find a lead, and this one’s as good as any, right?”

“We’ll see,” Élodie mutters.

 

You lead the way with your jittery cohorts at your side. Your burnt-out, flickering torch does very little to uncover the darkness before you, so, as always when navigating a fading Echo, you’re careful where you place your feet. Occasionally, Felix or Élodie will murmur or cough, but nothing beyond that, and nothing to lift the dark clouds settling thickly overhead. Unsettled and anxious, you break the silence with an inviting cue for conversation.

“Felix!” you blurt, startling your comrades. “You’re the architect… What the hell is this place?”

He scoffs beside you. You look over and watch him drag his hand along the stone bricks. “I can’t even begin to guess without seeing more,” he murmurs.

“Guess anyway,” you reply.

“Ah… Uh… A fortress?” he reckons. “Or a bunker, or… I don’t know.”

“Mm.”

“How long is this damn corridor?” Élodie pipes up. “This could be a maze for all we know…”

“Glass half empty, huh?” you say.

“I’m being realistic.”

“Yeah, and making us nervous while you’re at it.”

“You brought us here,” she snaps.

“Not deliberately!” You palm your temple and sigh. “You two badgered me to come out here, alright? And at the first sign of… something, you get cold feet—”

“We aren’t—”

“Hush,” you interrupt her. “It’s not easy, I know. It’s unnatural, and it’s bizarre, and it’s a bit spooky, but it comes with the gig. Which, I might add, we all signed up for.”

“We don’t have to argue,” Felix interjects. “We understand.” He side-eyes Élodie while she crossly rolls her eyes.

“I’m on edge,” she concedes. “I’m not trying to start a fight.”

Silence befalls your party, and you’re content to let it play out.

Further along, your torch flickers out again, and you’re beating it against your palm when you walk face-first into a solid surface. You stagger away, grunting while grasping your aching nose. Felix and Élodie hit the brakes behind you. “What’s wrong?” Felix says, voice rising in apprehension.

You feel out in front of you and contact a smooth surface. It’s not brick, but… wood?

Your torch jolts back to life. You shine the beam at the face of a tall wooden door, which stands at twice your height. Rusty studs jut out from every angle, and darker horizontal slabs of wood line it from top to bottom.

Felix steps forward to admire the door. You step aside to let him. “Oak,” he murmurs, as he traces his fingers along the vertical planks. “Shoddy craftsmanship… Iron hinges, rusted nails…” He draws his hand to his chin. “They don’t make them like this anymore.”

“And that means…?”

“Let’s get this door open and find out,” Élodie interrupts as she shoulders past you. She pushes against the door.

You grab her wrist to stop her. “Hey, we don’t know what’s on the other side.”

“And we won’t if we just stand here talking about it,” she replies pointedly. “You were just saying a minute ago how we signed up for this shit. Besides,” she flicks her chin over your shoulder, “you have that boomstick at your side. What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m afraid of running into something that the boomstick can’t stop,” you reply. “The gun is a last resort, not plot armor.”

“Plot armor?” Élodie snaps. “You’re treating this all like it’s a game—”

“It is a game,” you retort. “A game of literal life or death, and I’m not about to put all bets on this gun just because you’re in a hurry to see what’s on the other side of this door. Let’s just take a minute to understand what—”

“What do you want to do, exactly? Discourse it for an hour before we do any real work?”

“I say we part the door a bit, then peer out and—”

Élodie startles you and Felix when she suddenly slams her fist against the wood. The booming knock echoes on the other side and fades out. Then it’s silent. Élodie folds her arms and raises one eyebrow. “I think we’re alone,” she says. “Can we move on?”

You want to call her a hardass. But you step back and motion at the door in defeat. “Be my guest.”

She shoves through the door. It swings open with a weighty whine and rusted squeal, stopping when it hits the wall and groans to a stop. Élodie marches past the doorway, with her chin up and her fists curled.

Felix looks empathetically at you. “Old habits die hard,” he murmurs.

 

You follow your comrades through the door into a cold, grand hall. The high ceiling, some ten to twelve meters up, gaped with crumbling holes that allow you to gaze out into the world outside — a starry night sky illuminated by the moon. You’re grateful for its lunar rays, which usurp the darkness threatening to shroud the hall.

You slow your roll as you near the center of the lengthy room, turning slowly on your heels to gauge the lofty stone walls adorned with silk black banners and tresses of golden ribbon. There’s not a window in sight, to your dismay, but tall wooden columns banded with iron that reach the ceiling, and run from one end of the room to the other in two uniform rows on the left and right, with a mere meter between each one.

You gaze about in wonder before locating Felix behind a column. “Anything?” you ask.

“Medieval,” he murmurs. “Very… Very old.”

“Is it a castle?” Élodie asks from across the room. She’s on her knees picking apart a pile of rubble near the wall.

“Not fit for a king,” Felix replies. “A fort, maybe… Tough, impenetrable walls, with space enough to hold a battalion of soldiers.” He pinches his chin with a thoughtful look on his face. “Had we followed that corridor to the other end, we might’ve found a tower. And from the outside, I’d wager ramparts. But I can only guess without seeing its entirety.”

He ends on that note, and you can’t blame him. You’re all out of your element…

You follow the hall to the shadowed end and bring out your flashlight. Up a short flight of stone stairs, you stop before a large, barren space. You guess that a throne might have sat in this spot at some point, or a table or an alter…

You guide the torch higher and gaze upon a golden mural on the wall. It’s much like the ones you beheld in that chapel, in the dark village under a stormy sky… But this one reads clear as day, untouched by ruin or time. Its golden strokes depict a spidery-legged shape descending from a furious, dark sky. A flock of golden figures reaches upward, with their arms outstretched and palms open, as if praising a god.

You could spend hours picking it apart and trying to discern a meaning from it all. But for now, you can only speculate and burn the image into your mind to bring back to the cabin.

You reach out to touch the flaking gold paint. Then the earth tremors.

You freeze solidly, your arm still outstretched in front of you, and a hard look knitting your brows together. Another tremor shakes loose stone from the ceiling, which crashes loudly to the floor. You look over your shoulder at Felix and Élodie, who share anxious glances.

And that’s the last you see of them before the floor beneath their feet crumbles and gives way. Their screams rip through the air as they vanish into a black void.

Your heart leaps to your throat, and you call their names as you race off the landing to the edge of the hole. A dark fog dances over the surface of the dense stone, and a rotten smell emanates from the void below. You call for them again, but your call’s met by silence. Then it’s to your horror that you realize the deterioration spreads, and the fog swallows up the bricks you rest upon.

You scramble to your feet and try to outrun the collapse, but you’re not quick enough. You’re on solid ground one moment, and plummeting into the dark the next. You scream and flail helplessly in the air for what feels longer than the mere seconds it actually is. Icy cold water breaks your fall and swallows you whole.

You plunge into its black depths, dazed, disoriented, and unable to tell which way is up. It’s so black that you can’t see, and so cold the shock paralyzes your limbs. You panic. Then you struggle. Then you choke. And when you feel hands wrapping around your arms, your panic intensifies. You think it’s some figment of your imagination again, those dark shades come to wreak more havoc upon your fragile psyche. So you fight them with everything you’ve got, surprised, and relieved, when you’re tugged out of the water and pulled onto solid land.

“Calm down!” Felix shouts. “You’re okay.”

You feel his hand on your back, rubbing slow circles as you lurch forward onto your knees. You hack up bitter-tasting water. “Fe… Felix,” you sputter.

“This… pool broke our fall,” he says. You lift your head to watch him get to his feet.

It’s mostly dark, save for the moonlight that floods through the ruined ceiling above you, ten or so meters up. Some loose bricks fall and crash into the water. You stand and stagger away to keep out of the hazard zone. Then you startle when you bump into Élodie. She lays a hand on your shoulder to steady you.

“The medieval fortress comes with a dungeon and a kiddie pool,” she mutters. Her hair’s plastered over her neck and shoulders. She grips two fistfuls of it and wrings it out.

“Lucky it does,” Felix replies. “That fall might’ve killed us otherwise…”

Poe’s gone, you notice. Then you check the damage on your gear. Your flashlight’s missing, your satchel and presumably everything inside is waterlogged, and your lighter sloshes when you give it a shake… You hope it’s just the fuel. You pray and flick the wheel until it lights up. It’s a welcome morsel of light, which you utilize to navigate the border of the pool. “It could’ve been worse,” you comment. “We could’ve fallen through a void patch…”

“Void patch?” Comes Felix’s voice over your shoulder.

“Filled you in on Echoes already,” you say. “A void patch is what I’m calling those dark holes or fissures that form when something… deteriorates. I, uh… haven’t coined a better term for them yet… ‘Haven’t figured out where they lead, either. Honestly, I’m probably better off not knowing…”

You make it to the other end of the pool and stop. It’s a perfect circle, about six meters across. When you keep moving, your foot catches. You stagger and stop, then look down and puzzle at a deep groove carved in the stone, extending out from the border of the pool about arm’s length… Just another clue that you’ll take home.

You back away and encroach on the darkness with your lighter, deeper into the shadowed parts of the vast room. Élodie and Felix’s faint murmurings over your shoulder bring you comfort in knowing you’re not alone. But soon, you don’t hear them at all. Rather, you hear a… a scratching sound. Then something wet, and a… a chattering noise?

Hesitantly, you move forward, step by step. The scratching and the chattering sounds stop. And they stop directly in front of you.

A small voice at the back of your head tells you to turn back. But your curiosity trumps your fear, and you push forward before the light reveals a rather obscene sight. A large, bulbous form comes into view. Something pink and fleshy, slimy and egg-shaped. A clear membrane coats the surface, and it’s about half your size. You stop dead before you get too close, your face twisting in disgust.

Whatever it is, it throbs. It throbs and sways and shudders like a beating heart. The chattering picks up again, clearly coming from the contents of the unsightly oddity. You hear the telltale signs of another very close by. Lifting your lighter to peer deeper into the dark becomes a gut-wrenching mistake, as you lay your eyes upon clutches of these pink, throbbing eggs.

You fast decide that you’ve seen enough, and swiftly put distance between you and the trilling brood. When you race back toward Élodie and Felix, they startle at the sight of you and raise their brows. You come to a halt. “Hey,” you breathe. “So, uh… I think we should get the hell outta here.”

“You’re telling me,” Élodie replies. “Have you found a way out?”

“Ah, no,” you say. You tap your foot and scratch your nape. “But I did find, uh… trouble. I-I think it’s trouble—”

“Trouble?” Felix says. Your lighter casts shadows over his anxious features.

“Yeah. Yeah, uh… Ah, fuck… So listen—”

“Spit it out,” Élodie snaps. “What’s out there?”

You struggle to find the right words. “We might be in a… nest. A freezing, damp, and very dark nest. You-You can’t see it, but there are lots of eggs over there, maybe all around us.”

Felix looks terrified. “A nest?”

“Eggs?” Élodie says

“Eggs,” you confirm. “Huge, slimy fuckin’ eggs. So I say we find an exit, and quickly—”

Élodie’s gasp startles you. You jump like a scared cat and spin around, shouting, “What? What?!” Something touches your leg. You shriek. When you look down, you lay eyes on a slimy little beast, part human, part arachnid. The upper body is small, pudgy, grey and covered in coarse black hairs. It has a face full of beady black eyes, and two large fangs jutting out between clicking mandibles. The lower body is a bigger nightmare—a spidery abdomen with six twitching, spidery legs dragging behind it. The little beast is swathed in a clear membrane and glistening slime.

It clutches your leg with two tiny hands, and it blinks its horrible eyes up at you. You gag at the mere sight of it. Felix mutters something Germanic under his breath.

“Holy shit,” Élodie hisses.

You try to nudge the grabby little abomination off with your foot, but it’s holding on tightly. “Off,” you command while maintaining your cool. “C’mon little guy, let go—”

“Stomp the damn thing,” Élodie whispers.

“It’s a baby,” you reply, appalled.

“It’s a little monster,” Élodie retorts.

“I don’t think I can kick a baby—”

“You obviously haven’t met Victor yet!” she hisses.

The little grabber clicks its mandibles and squeals. You try shushing it, but its cries persist. You hesitate before you lean down to grab it.

“What are you doing?” Felix whispers behind you.

“Y’know?” you say, while lifting the horrible little baby and holding it out in front of you. “It’s cute, in a fucked-up sorta way… I-I mean, it’s definitely going to haunt my dreams, but—”

“Put the fucking thing down so we can get the hell out of here!” Élodie snaps.

Another little abomination comes crawling out of the shadows… Then another, and another… You place down the baby and back away. A shrill cry escapes its nasty maw.

“Good idea,” you say, coupled with a nervous laugh. “It’s, uh… It’s a good thing these little guys are harmless, right? When I saw those eggs, I expected something so much worse. Could’ve been—”

A blood-curdling shriek cuts through the dark. The entire chamber shudders with a tremor that throws you off balance. You stagger and hit the floor, grasping your head to block out the horrible cry. You witness the abominations retreating into the darkness. And what comes in their stead turns the blood in your veins to ice.

Under the moon glow, as faint as it might be, you watch a massive, arachnid beast emerge from the black. At first glance, a giant obsidian spider, well over six meters tall. But upon further scrutiny under the light, you realize a female form merged with the arachnid abdomen. A scraggly body, grey, nude, and jagged with black spines and ungodly talons. It possesses human legs still, which splay outward at awkward angles, useless and terrible. Long black tresses veil the pretender’s face, suddenly drawn back so that it may gaze upon you with a dozen beady, red eyes. Its ghastly maw twitches and clicks.

You’re paralyzed in absolute fear. “Mommy?” you whisper.

The monster attacks. You try to flee, but you’re caught around the middle by a spidery leg and hoisted right off the ground with a shout. It catches Élodie and Felix too.

The beast draws you closer until it can reach out and touch you with its human hands. It caresses your face, your collar, and your throat. Her claws leave stinging abrasions on your skin. She pinches your flesh between her fingers and tugs on your clothes. Her mandibles click vigorously. You watch in horror as the woman’s maw expands to unleash a clutch of writhing black tendrils.

“Shoot this fucking thing!” Elodie shouts.

You would if your arms weren’t trapped to your sides. But you can only squirm and shout and kick and scream. Your assailant grasps your shoulders to hold you still. Desperate and out of options, you call, “Bastion! BASTION!”

She ensnares your head in her tendrils. They wrap around the base of your skull and the nape of your neck while you scream bloody murder.

Then the hall tremors.

The horrible beast screeches and lurches forward. You’re flung from her grasp and you hit the floor far away. Felix and Élodie land close by with grunts and cries, though you can’t see them. You roll to a stop and lift your head just in time to watch the beast vanish from the light, dragged into the blackness by an unseen force. It howls and wails as you hear the horrible sounds of bones snapping and flesh ripping and tearing… It lasts only a minute before a deathly quiet takes its place.

No one says a word. You can’t get out a peep past the lump lodged in your throat. You rise slowly to your feet. The beast is gone, surely, and yet… your heart still races and your skin still crawls with dread. You shuffle forward into the darkness, slowly, prompting Élodie to whisper behind you, “What was that?”

“It’s… It’s Bastion,” you whisper in reply, though sounding unsure. You keep forward, putting your allies behind you while moving deeper into the dark. After rifling your lighter from your pocket, you use its flame to guide yourself along. With each step you take, your chest grows tighter, your breath shorter.

It’s when you finally lay eyes on Him you realize what you’ve done.

Bastion stands there before the twisted carcass of the spidery beast, unmoving and silent and with his back to you. He stands so very still… You recognize that pause. And you recognize the way your heart stutters, and the way your spine tickles with absolute dread…

You invited the monster.

 

Burn him.

“Bastion?” (❤)

 

Chapter 54: Choice: Burn Him

 

You don’t know how far gone he is, and you’re not inclined to ask. You vividly recall the first time he came to you in such a hostile state, and you decidedly won’t take any chances with him now. You know you can’t, and you won’t. He’s not just a threat to you, but to Felix and Élodie, too... You hate to do it to him, really. He did just save your life, but you know he’ll snuff it in an instant if you give him the chance. You’ll apologize later. Y’know, when he’s not a hazard to your health…

Slowly and steadily, you creep just a tad closer to get within range to take him out. There are only a couple meters between you now, and he’s none the wiser… Makes this a whole lot easier. You raise your lighter, line it up, and you wind back your arm to throw. But you blink, and he’s gone. You puzzle. Then you feel a frigid breath ghosting your nape…

“Naughty,” a gravelly voice purrs in your ear.

You’re struck and thrown back by an unseen force. You crash to the ground with a grunt, losing your lighter during the fall. It clatters nearby, and the flame goes out. You hear Elodie and Felix’s alarmed clamor around you. “What’s happened?” Felix asks, unwise to the new threat you face.

“We need to go,” you tell them, as you scramble to your feet. You swing the shotgun around and grip it at the ready. ‘Course, you don’t know what good it’ll do you against an untamed eldritch beast, but you don’t have other options. “We need to go,” you repeat. “Bastion’s—”

A sound, like a whip striking through the air, then you hear a body hit the floor and Felix’s shout as he’s dragged away, deeper into the looming darkness. Élodie startles close by, and you freeze solidly as Felix’s horrible scream curdles your blood. It sends tremors along your spine before it cuts abruptly.

“Bastion!” you scream at the void. And then, “F-Felix?” Élodie calls. “Felix!” Her voice rises in panic. You hear her shuffling behind you, a startled gasp, and then her scream. Bones pop and crack, something splashes the stone floor, then you hear a thud… And it falls silent again, save for your quick, short breaths.

Sweat drips from your brow. “Bastion!” you snap.

He sighs to your right. “You tried to burn me, Wanderer,” he says, with feigned hurt. “Won’t ever be on good terms, will we?”

“We have our moments, Bas,” you murmur, eyes darting wildly about the darkness. “But you’re out of control.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he returns. “I’ve never been more in control… You only know a fraction of me, Wanderer. A fraction that I have suppressed.”

“Can you bring him to the phone?” you nervously reply. “Not sure that I’m a fan of this new you…”

“You’re cute, Wanderer.”

You’re feeling awfully vulnerable in the dark, knowing that he’s out there watching you… You slowly get down on one knee and sweep the floor for your lighter. “Felix and Elodie trusted you, Bastion. They trusted you, and-and you just—”

“They trusted you.”

You can’t find the damn thing. You can’t find it… But you won’t just lie in wait like a sitting duck. You rise and creep toward the moonlit spot in the center of the dark hall. Along the way, your foot catches and sends you staggering forward. You crash to the ground and land in a warm puddle, pulling the trigger by accident and blasting a hole in the floor. The gunshot scares you half to death, and the barrel knocks you upside the head. You hiss and scramble to your feet to recollect yourself.

Bastion laughs close by. You sigh. “What do you want?” you call out, shaken. “There’s a reason you haven’t killed me yet, right?”

“Maybe I like to play with my food…”

You keep toward the light until you reach the border of the deep black pool. The water ripples. “You only came because I called you, Bastion… So that you could protect me—”

“I came to kill, and to throw your squirming body on a vein… But there are no veins here.”

You raise your brow in questioning. “Veins?”

“You don’t know?… Ah... I didn’t think so.”

He doesn’t elaborate. And you only have a moment to chew it over before an intense pain rockets through your abdomen. You stagger forward, gasping, to find a bloody claw protruding from your stomach. You’re hefted off the ground and brought facing Bastion’s vertical, toothy maw. A cluster of writhing black tentacles spills from the foggy void behind his jaws, mere inches from your face. He snatches you by the throat, and he rips his claw from your gut. You let out a garbled cry of pain.

“You poor souls,” he taunts. “Cannon fodder, all of you… How many more will it throw to the void’s hungry maw?”

“Wh-What are you saying?” you struggle and choke. When you claw at his hand and try to loosen his grip, it tightens.

“I could tell you everything,” he says, “but I won’t.” He laughs cruelly. “You have all the answers right in front of you, Wanderer. You tread the right path, but you’re facing the wrong direction, just like the many that came before you. You share those desperate and infeasible dreams.”

“Why-Why won’t you tell me?” you stammer over a strained breath.

“Because,” he replies, “the road ends someplace I can’t tread… But if you’re so inclined after this, I invite you to ask the fraction for the answers… We have them.”

His grip’s getting tighter. You lash out and kick him in the chest, choking out, “B-Bastion—”

“That’s not my name,” he growls, while squeezing your throat so tightly that your head might pop off. “You beckoned me like a dog… You wanted a killer, and that’s what you got.”

Your scream is muffled as those wet, snapping tendrils ensnare your head. They wrap tightly, snaking around the base of your skull and your neck. You buck like a wild bull and squirm relentlessly, but it’s an effort for naught. Pain flares in your neck, as flesh and bone rip and break, and before you know it, it’s lights out.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You haven’t moved in at least an hour. Though, there’s no sure way of knowing.

You’re on your back in the woods amid a clearing of looming, dead trees. It’s where death placed you when your restoration was complete, when it stitched back together your broken neck, and mended the bloody hole in your gut… You gaze up at gnarled branches, outstretched like spidery legs against the moonlit sky. You feel angry, just looking at them. It’s when you finally look away that you notice him standing there, beside a tall, black tree, almost indistinguishable from it and the others. He looms like a dark cloud, and when you turn your gaze to him fully, he steps forward, cautiously, as though he approaches a ticking bomb. You might as well be, as furious as you are. 

“Wanderer,” he says, quietly.

You bristle at the sight of him. Then you’re seething. You jerk to your feet, pointing an accusing finger at him and holding nothing back. “You bastard,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Wanderer—”

“Shut up!” you snap. “You-You… You… AGH!” You scream in frustration, then you rave. “Are you good, Bastion? Or do you want to take my head off again?” You shake your head like an agitated animal. “You have been on thin ice for a long time. Sometimes you’re there when I need you, and sometimes you’re not. And sometimes when you do show, it’s so you can kill me.” You hang your head and unconsciously touch your neck. “Not to mention, your fun counterpart tells me that I still can’t trust you. It told me all about how you’re still hiding some deep, dark secrets… And I bet you won’t tell me what those are if I ask.”

Bastion says nothing when you look at him. You scoff. “And after what you did to Felix and Elodie? You just fucked me over, Bastion, big time. How can I trust you?”

He remains silent. You fume quietly for a solid two minutes, giving him the opportunity to say something or to defend himself, but he doesn’t. You want to scream and throw a book at him. But you give him one last chance. “What’s your name, Bastion?” you question. “You have one, right?”

He doesn’t answer. He just stands there, like a stubborn kid refusing to fess up to an accusing parent… More comparably, a dog that’s hiding something in its mouth. And it pisses you off to no end. After the trouble he’s caused you, and the mess you’re left to clean up in his wake, you aren’t in the mood. So, “Leave,” you command, with a scowl.

And of course, he does.

Good riddance, you think, as you kick a stone and slump against a tree. And then you toss two ‘fuck’s around, and a few ‘shit’s and a sharp ‘damn,’ here and there… Because it dawns on you that you’re six feet under a heaping pile of shit, and the consequences weigh on you like an anvil. You can’t imagine Felix or Elodie will be too happy with you, should you find the courage to face them after this… Worse, you just put Bastion in a timeout.

You sigh and hang your head—no one said being the hero was any fun, and that becomes clearer by the day… Fuck.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 55: Choice: "Bastion?" (❤)

Notes:

It gets a bit… icky. So this chapter gets its own TW, and I’ve sectioned off the unsavory bits between two of these “✱” symbols. You can skip right over it!
TW for: Graphic violence, s*xual violence, and torture.

 

You know what you need to do. Every ounce of gut feeling tells you to light him up. ‘Do it’, the voice inside urges. ‘You know what’ll happen if you don’t.’

Indeed, you know what terrible consequences might befall you if you don’t. You vividly recall his first attack, and you know the right course of action to avoid a bloody repeat… But you can’t bring yourself to burn him. Louder than the anxious voices, another voice speaks, and it challenges that your bond with Bastion is stronger than the monster sheltered in his shadow. If you can break through to him now, then you can do it as many times as need be, and you can keep Felix and Élodie from seeing his twisted truth. Bastion deserves dignity. You won’t rob him of it.

In love and perhaps poor judgement, you dispose of your lighter, so as not to startle him. Then you call his name on a shaky breath, greatly suppressing the fear in your voice. “Bastion?”

Even amid the deafening silence, you can barely hear your own voice. And in the dark, you can’t see how he reacts, if he reacts at all. You anxiously await a response when you hear something dragging across the stone — uneven and unsteady footfalls…

“Bastion?” you say again, while taking a tentative step forward, careful in your approach. You’ll meet him halfway, you decide. And you keep forward, despite the cold shiver treading the length of your spine… “You came because I called for you, right, Bas?”

He says nothing. The dragging stops. You wonder why until you feel his touch ghosting your cheek. Though startled, you reach out blindly until you grasp his arm, then his hand. You intertwine your fingers with his while working down a lump in your throat. Overwhelming fear puts your hairs on end… Bastion stands before you, but you can’t see his dark form, and you can’t begin to guess what he’s feeling or thinking. But still, you persist. “You’re okay, Bas,” you murmur while tugging lightly on him and trying to draw him closer.

He moves, and you determine that he’s on his knees, as you reach out and feel his shoulder directly in front of you. He’s about level now. You feel over the rough exterior of his protruding rib cage, tracing the prickly claws that cage his chest before you find a flat spot to place your hand. It’s where his heart might be, if he had one.

The tremors racing along your spine intensify. Touching him feels like touching static, and your heart races so fast it might explode, but still you persist. You’re getting through to him, aren’t you? Surely he would’ve killed you already if you weren’t, surely.

You locate his head with your other hand, and you cup his jaw and hold him as dearly as he would you. “You’re okay, Bas,” you soothingly say. “You’re okay… Let’s go home, yeah? Just… say anything, and we can go home. Let me know you’re okay.”

He doesn’t say a word. Rather, he purrs deeply, and he presses his head into your hand. Your heart gives a nervous jolt, and it shows no signs of slowing down. Then… you feel wetness on your palm, and something fleshy and cold and slimy, dragging between your fingers and having a taste…

You snatch your hand quickly away, startled and disgusted. Something snaps in front of you… Then you hear an awful squelch, like tearing flesh.

“I-I’m going to pull out my lighter, Bastion,” you stammer, fumbling for it. “But-But only so I can see you, okay?”

He doesn’t reply. You fumble with the damn thing before flicking it open and catching a small flame. The horrible sight in front of you drives a wedge in your throat, and it turns your blood to ice.

You gaze at Bastion, as he’s illuminated by the dim, flickering light. His face is split down the middle, carved into a deep cavity with sharp, mangled teeth along the edges, and a cluster of squirming black tentacles flowing from the maw. The horrible mess is only inches from your own face. Bastion expels a cloud of dark smoke from his twisted jaws. “You’re adorable,” he husks, with a wry chuckle. A tendril lunges forward and lashes your cheek, leaving a thick trail of slime from your mouth to your ear.

You grimace and recoil, but he snatches both your wrists in vice-like grips, and he squeezes so tightly until you cry and drop the lighter. It clatters and the flame goes out.

He rises to his full height while trapping you still. “And much too easy,” he playfully taunts. He lets you go, only to push and send you stumbling backwards and crashing to the floor. You lose sight of him as you land near Felix and Élodie in the dark, and though you can’t see them, you can hear their alarmed clamor around you. “What’s happened?” Felix asks, unwise to the threat you’ve unleashed.

“We-We need to go,” you say as you scramble to your feet. “We need to go. Bastion’s—”

A sound, like a whip striking through the air, then you hear a body hit the floor and Felix’s shout as he’s dragged away, deeper into the looming darkness. Élodie startles close by, and you freeze solidly as Felix’s horrible scream curdles your blood. It sends tremors along your spine before it cuts abruptly.

“Bastion!” you scream at the void. And then, “F-Felix?” Élodie calls. “Felix!”

Her voice rises in panic. You hear her shuffling behind you, a startled gasp, and then her scream. Bones pop and crack, something splashes the stone floor, then you hear a thud… And it falls silent again, save for your quick, short breaths.

Sweat drips from your brow. “B-Bastion,” you whisper.

He laughs somewhere out there; a cold, husky laugh. “Forgive me,” he purrs sweetly. “I wanted to be alone with you.”

“Bastion,” you murmur. “What-What… What did you do to them?”

The answer’s obvious, and you know it’s a stupid question. He laughs again, then sighs. You can’t place his location. He sounds so close, yet so far. You sweep the ground with shaky hands, desperately seeking the lighter you lost. “They trusted you, Bastion,” you say carefully. “They trusted you, and-and you just—”

“They trusted you.”

You can’t find the damn thing. You can’t find it… But you won’t sit in the dark while he’s out there watching. You rise and creep toward the moonlit spot in the center of the dark hall. Along the way, your foot catches and sends you staggering forward. You crash to your hands and knees in a warm puddle. You don’t need to see it to know what it is. You scramble to your feet and wipe your hands on your legs. “What is it you want?”

“You think I want something from you?”

“You would’ve killed me otherwise, r-right?”

“I still might.”

You keep toward the light until you reach the border of the deep black pool. The water ripples. “You only came because I called you, Bastion… So that you could protect me—”

“I came to kill, and to throw your squirming body on a vein… But there are no veins here.”

You raise your brow in questioning. “Veins?”

“You don’t know? Poor thing…”

He doesn’t elaborate. And you only have a moment to chew it over before something seizes your leg. You’re tripped up, and you don’t catch yourself in time before you smash your face on the ground with a cry. Then you’re dragged out of the light and drawn into the darkness with a scream.

You’re pulled to a stop. You roll over and meekly touch the blood running from your nose. Something snaps above you. You catch your breath.

“Aw… Did I hurt you?” Spoken with not an ounce of sincerity. Cold fingers ghost your cheek.

“You’re-You’re scaring me, Bastion,” you whisper.

You can’t see him as he cups your face in his hands. “You won’t find compassion in me… You speak to a mere fraction of a soul that I have suppressed within this shell…” He drags his thumb to the corner of your lips. “And you won’t get through, no matter how sweetly you might beg.” His frigid breath fans your throat. You shudder. “But I won’t lie,” Bastion murmurs against your skin, as he drags his teeth along your tenderness. “Something deep down cares for you… And it screams, ‘Don’t touch them… Don’t hurt them, please.’” He sighs into the crook of your neck. “You poor souls… Cannon fodder, all of you. How many more will it throw to the void’s hungry maw?”

“What… What are you saying, Bastion?” you ask on a quivering breath.

“I could tell you everything… But I won’t.” He laughs and squeezes your jaw in his hand, pinching your cheeks and pursing your lips. “You have all the answers right in front of you, Wanderer. You tread the right path, but you’re facing the wrong direction, just like the many that came before you. You share those desperate and infeasible dreams… Had I a heart, it would feel for you.”

You lay your hand over his wrist. “Why won’t you tell me? Why?”

He comes close again until you feel his head beside yours. He puffs a cold breath on your ear. “The road ends someplace I can’t follow you… And if you’re so inclined after this, ask the fraction for the answers… We have them. Ask, and test the limits of your bond.” Then he draws away from you, chuckling. “We’ve chatted long enough, haven’t we? I can’t stay too long, Wanderer. I can feel the shade scratching to get out…”

“Bastion—AH!” You cut off with a sharp cry as he gores your gut with a prickly claw. He rises to his feet and draws you in very close until he can seize your throat in his hand. You beat on his arm and try to pry free. It’s no use, and you know it.

“Do you care for me?” he asks. “All of me?”

You choke and gasp for breath. It’s not him, not the Bastion you adore… His shell is a mere host of some despicable thing that’s dug its way up and out of his dark past. Something that’s using his voice to spew its terrible words… But you know he’s in there somewhere, and you know he’s watching. And it’s the spectator that you care so deeply for, not the intruder. And it’s the spectator that you direct your answer to.

“I… I love you, Bastion,” you rasp. “I love you.”

A declaration met by silence. Does it mean anything to him? Is Bastion close enough to the surface that you might have gotten through? You still can’t see him in this dark… And you just hardly hear his breath shuddering past his jaws. He reaches out and you feel his hand cupping your cheek before he pinches your chin between his fingers, gently, as Bastion would. Relief calms your stuttering heart, and your cheeks flush with warmth. “Bastion—”

He traces his talon along your bottom lip to cut you off. “You love the lies,” he murmurs. “It’s a glass facade… And it only fools the blind.” He laughs in your face, pressuring your lip with the point of his talon until he draws blood. He smears it over your chin, and then he sighs. “And you, Wanderer? You’re blinded by love.”

Your lips tremble as you struggle to work past the lump in your throat. Dread rolls through the pit of your stomach, and your mouth runs drier than a desert. Were you capable of speaking, you wouldn’t even know what to say. What more could you preach to get through to him? Would anything at all work to break down the monster’s walls? Is Bastion even close enough to hear from you? You don’t have even a moment to reckon it.

✱

Whipping tentacles attack from the dark, and they envelop your head and muffle your startled cries. You thrash and squirm under the assault, and it’s to your utter horror that you feel one creeping much too close to your eye.

You fight like a mad bull as the slimy tendril applies a horrible pressure to your closed eye. You grip the appendage and desperately try to pry it away, but it slips easily from your grasp like a wet eel. The pressure increases, like a thumb pressing into your eye. Your panic rises, and you kick and scream and beat on Bastion’s arm, but it’s all for naught, as your eye pops like a grape. Words can’t explain the agonizing pain, or the dreadful scream that rips from your throat, which becomes a rattled cry and a hoarse moan.

The intruder licks and scrapes the inside of your socket, sopping up blood and gore while you scream bloody murder in his face. When it finally withdraws with a wet pop, blood and other horrible matter ooze down your face. The tendrils unwrap and recede, and you hear Bastion seethe through his teeth. “You taste like poison… But there’s a light inside your shell,” he says. “And I’ll have it however I can.”

You don’t know what the fuck he’s rambling about. You don’t care, can’t possibly, while in such terrible pain. “B-Bastion,” you weep over choking sobs.

“Wanderer,” he purrs sickeningly in reply. “Where did your spirit go? Have I broken you already? But I’m not through with you yet.” He cups your face to caress you lovingly. “I could slice you open, reach inside, then close my fist around your shining light… But there are better ways to snuff a flame. Better ways to get inside…”

He rips his claw out of your gut, eliciting another cry from your lips. For a moment, a mere second, you think he’s afforded you just an ounce of clemency. But how quickly you discover otherwise, when you hear the unbecoming sounds of cracking bone and peeling flesh. Then, forth from the darkness, a cluster of additional wriggling tentacles.

They’re a nuisance at first, snaking around your legs, tugging and pulling on your clothes. But one hugs your waist and curls around your abdomen before locating the gushing wound in your gut. It’s about then you realize what happens next, and it’s then that your struggle increases tenfold. You kick him, and beat and claw on his arm. And you bow and you beg, but all for nothing. The squirming tendril finds its way inside, and you scream over the contented sigh Bastion releases.

The slimy intruder wreaks havoc on your insides, its only intent to rip and tear and brutalize your bleeding cavity. You writhe in agony and choke over the terrible cries catching in your throat. Were your mind not fuzzy with signals sent from your screaming nerves, you’d wonder what sick satisfaction he derives from this. But in your frenzy, you can’t wonder a thing, much less form a coherent thought. You hardly even process Bastion’s cruel joke. “Always wanted to play in your guts,” he purrs, sweet like honey.

Blood surges up your throat, garbling your cries and threatening to choke you. You sputter until Bastion brings you into an embrace. You try to buck off, but he holds you firmly, letting your head rest on his shoulder. He pats you on the back. “Don’t choke, now,” he says, with artificial concern. You try to push away from him, but you feel twitching claws curl around you and trap you.

You spill blood on his shoulder. He chuckles and sighs, and he rubs slow circles over your back. “How I wish we had more time… I hate to ruin you so quickly.”

The tendril slips out of your wound, and the others unwind and recede.

✱

Bastion drops you carelessly on the ground, where you twist and writhe like a mortally wounded animal. You don’t know happens next, and you’ve never been more terrified. When you try to swallow all the blood, it comes right back up. You sputter and choke on it. “B… Bas—”

“That’s not my name,” comes his bitter voice from the dark.

The quiet that follows is deafening. You whimper for him again, only to be met by silence. Has he left? Are you to suffer through the agony, alone in the dark, until your body finally quits?

It feels like you lay here forever in a growing pool of blood, quivering and struggling to breathe over each gasping cry. Gradually, your breaths become shallower, your skin colder and clammier, and your twitching fingers stop. The transition from living to dead is hard to tell, as you’re taken from one chilling void to another, to be repaired and deposited again into the fog…

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You haven’t moved in at least an hour. Though, there’s no sure way of knowing.

You’re on your back in the woods amid a clearing of looming, dead trees. It’s where death placed you when your restoration was complete, when every piece placed back where it belonged, and every laceration and bleeding wound stitched up as if it had never been…

You gaze up at gnarled branches, outstretched like spidery legs against the moonlit sky. Intense nausea racks your gut at just the sight of them. Your stomach lurches. And for the third time this hour, you flip over onto your knees and vomit. Bile burns coming up, and you retch and choke until the tank runs dry and you can only dry heave. Your eyes well with tears as a breath shudders past your lips—a breath becoming a wretched cry that you’ve held back for an hour.

You dig your nails into the dirt before clenching your fists tightly. You grasp your head in your hands and fold, weeping and moaning in absolute anguish. And you lay curled up in a quivering ball while gasping over each sob that wracks your body.

It’s when you finally look up, some five to six minutes later, that you notice him standing there, beside a tall, black tree, almost indistinguishable from it and the others. He looms like a dark cloud, and when you upturn your gaze to him fully, he steps forward, carefully, as though he approaches a cornered animal. You might as well be, as much as you feel like prey.

“Wanderer,” he says, barely above a whisper.

You bristle and recoil at the sight of him, and when he keeps forward, you jerk to your feet and try to run. It’s only instinct, after what he did. But you don’t get far before you’re caught around the waist by a spindly claw and tugged into an unwanted embrace. You spin around and beat wildly at him with your fists. “Let go,” you command shakily. “Let-Let me—”

He drops willfully to his knees, and he holds you tight. His arms keep firmly around you, despite your struggle. He props his chin on the top of your head to tuck you safely beneath him. A cold breath ghosts your scalp and stands your hairs up. “I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”

Tears run down your cheeks. You quit fighting, only to wrap yourself around him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You stifle a shuddering sob against his charcoal skin, constantly fighting the urge to break away from him and run. Another pathetic sound escapes your lips until what remains of your meager resolve entirely trickles away… When the floodgates open, you weep and ball your fists at the nape of his neck to hold him closer and tighter.

You feel his hand on the back of your head, and his fingers tenderly treading your scalp. “Why didn’t you burn me?”

“I-I… I didn’t want to hurt you, Bastion. And-And I… And I-I thought…” You hiccup and fall silent.

You need not say more. He pulls back slightly, and he touches his forehead to yours. You feel his icy breath on your lips. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, while cupping your face in his hands. He tenderly drags his thumbs over your cheeks to wipe away your tears as they fall. Then he presses a soft kiss to your eye. You flinch away at the contact. He murmurs another apology and kisses the bridge of your nose, then he kisses your brow, and then your ear, as if each of his affections is a band-aid placed on top… As if it makes it all better.

You grasp his face in your hands, which he allows, and you study him in silence… But there’s nothing there. Nothing to scrutinize or to judge, and nothing human; not at all. Truly, he’s just a shell, in the shape of a man with something dark and twisted on the inside…

Your mouth runs dry. You could search his face, or lack thereof, forever, and you’ll never find an ounce of something even remotely human. He’s a pretender. And you met a part of him tonight that told you it was all a lie and a ruse. You can’t help what you say next. It comes out without a thought. “You’re horrible, Bastion.”

Like taking a shot through the heart, he flinches. When he lifts a hand to touch one of yours, you withdraw. “I’ve been trying to overlook it all… All-all the killing, and the brutalizing, and the lying, but I can’t anymore…”

“Wanderer—”

“That thing inside of you is-is so vile and horrible, Bastion. And that monster tells me I can’t trust you, even after all this time.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t say that, Wanderer,” he whispers.

When he reaches out for you, you slap his hand away. “I wanted to come into this blind… I didn’t want to see the skeletons in your closet. And I-I didn’t… I didn’t want to see you like that.”

You didn’t know the monster inside him would be so terrible… But then, there’s much you don’t know about Bastion, if his shadow spoke even an ounce of truth. You don’t know him; you don’t know him at all. Has everything he told you been a lie? Were his affections all lies? Is he using you? Your old festering doubts resurface. You don’t want to believe any of them, but it’s hard not to, after what’s happened, after what he did.

You hang your head and work down the lump in your throat. “Maybe… Maybe this was all a mistake,” you murmur. “Or maybe I just need some time to-to think, but… I can’t do this with you.”

He reaches for your hand. “Don’t say that,” he implores again. “Don’t say that, Wanderer.” He speaks carefully and keeps his voice low, as he tries to close his hand around yours. “I’m sorry—”

“That doesn’t fix anything, Bastion,” you reply, while trying to pull away. He keeps a hold. “Let me go,” you command.

But he doesn’t. He pulls you into his arms, despite your increasing struggle. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, like a broken record. “I won’t hurt you, Wanderer.”

“You already did,” you snap, panic rising. “Let go.”

He rests his head beside yours, and he puffs a cold, shuddering breath on your skin. “I’ll take you home, Wanderer,” he says, “and we can talk.”

You feel his hand on your back, and he rubs slow circles… And everything you desperately try to keep pent up just explodes out of you. You scream and thrash, and you swipe at his face before breaking away as hard as you can. You stumble backwards and hit the ground as tears flood your eyes. Sobs wrack your body and you do your best to stifle them, to no avail. “I-I don’t want you touching me, Bastion. And I don’t want you here… Not now.”

Through a blur, you notice fog bleeding from the gashes you needlessly tore across his face, and you watch in terror as slimy tendrils emerge from the fissures. Bastion clasps his hand over the damage, trying in vain to contain it all. He hangs his head very low, and he flinches at each gasping sob that escapes your throat. Then he cages his head in his arms as though trying to block out the sounds. He just sits there, silent, like he doesn’t know what more to say… Or maybe he finally understands that there isn’t more to say.

It hurts seeing him this way. Pangs of guilt roll over you in waves. There’s a part of you that wants to hold him again, and to be held by him, but it’s trumped by fear. You blame yourself… You should’ve burned him the moment you’d realized he turned… If you had, maybe you’d still be blissfully ignorant to the monster inside him, and all the secrets he still hides… You could’ve gone home to find him by your bedside, waiting to wish you a good night and sweet dreams.

It’s without another word that Bastion vanishes. Promptly in his absence, you release a long, shuddering sigh. You could pick yourself up and trudge to Lydia’s cabin, but you just sit and stare at the spot where he sat moments ago. Tears fall down your face, and your chest grows tighter. You’re exhausted, sad, and conflicted. You’ll get up and go eventually… But not now.

What a mess... What a mess.

 

Continue

 

Notes:

The next step in your relationship was heartbreak.
I feel a smidgen bad for this...

Chapter 56: The Shrink

Notes:

Eegh, I, uh… I haven’t updated in a minute, huh? Sorry! Been working on other personal projects, and *drumroll*… the game! It’s almost ready to play, thankfully, and, so you guys know I’m not bullshitting you, I’ll let you try it out! There’s a blockade at the end of the character creator, so don’t expect to get any further than that. BUT you can mess around with your avatar, or read up on the journal pages, or whatever. Since it’s still in its early stages, there may be many issues, and I would greatly appreciate it if you’d report any problems you come across.

Here's the link to the game page on itch.io -- the password is PoeBaby8902
(Note: I haven’t made the game fully compatible with smaller resolutions yet. It’s playable via mobile devices, but not recommended.)

 

The bed has been your cradle since the incident in the ruins.

For the past nights, you’ve refused to leave the security and solitude of Lydia’s cabin. You won’t venture through the fog without your guardian, and you haven’t mustered the courage to seek Felix or Élodie and explain what happened. They haven’t come to you either, which speaks volumes of their sentiment. They must think you’re as incompetent as they come, to throw your lot in with a killer you can’t even trust—to lead them into those ruins, and to lead their deaths at the hands of what you convinced them was your ally. But is he really?

You haven’t even seen Bastion, not since then. Not a single glimpse of the shadowy specter… Did you scare him away too? Is the deal off? The uncertainty puts a pit in your stomach. It makes you nauseous thinking that you’re to walk the rest of this road alone, with no guidance or protection… But a part of you is glad to be away from him and his vicious counterpart. Now you can only wonder what he’s hiding, and why he’s kept you in the dark for so long. His other half only imparted bits and pieces. Mumbo jumbo about veins and other poor souls, and… and you don’t understand any of it. All you’re left with are more questions without answers, and the inability to solve them by yourself.

Of course, you could always slink back to Danny and enlist his help, but you’d rather scrape the rust off an old barn door with your teeth than work with him alone. It’d be asking for trouble, and you’re so sick and tired of trouble. No… No, you’re staying right here, at least until you can figure something out.

Poe’s arrival startles you, as he swoops through the open window. He perches on the headboard and looks down with a copper coin pinched between his beak. He waits expectantly until you extend a hand for him to drop his gift in your open palm. A smile graces your drawn lips. “Thank you, Poe.” He flutters his wings and crows. You turn the coin over and scrutinize its botched faces—it’s just another piece of junk he probably picked up off the ground and brought to you like a doting toddler. Nothing you can use… But it’s the thought that counts. “I’ll add it to my collection,” you murmur while pocketing it.

It’s then you notice the creepy-crawly sensation on your ankle. You kick your foot and sit up, catching wispy dark threads treading the tips of your fingers up your arm… What’s at first confusion becomes full-blown panic as you realize what’s happening. “No, no—” you sputter as you desperately swipe at the growing ebony tendrils that climb up your arms and legs. Your plea goes unheard as the tethers swathe your body and whisk you away.

 

You stagger as you’re re-formed on solid ground. A medical cart catches you before you crash to the floor. Those dark tendrils creep off and vanish at your feet. ‘First thing you notice is the flickering lights above you, and the buzzing of their neglected bulbs.

Léry’s Memorial Institute. It’s as cold and drawl as you remember it.

A mighty shiver races along your spine—if Bastion upholds his absence, then this will be your first trial alone in a long time. There’ll be no all-powerful entity coming to your rescue, no shining white knight or guardian angel. You’re on your own, just like everyone else. Now you have no choice but to readjust to the role of prey and to play accordingly. But you’ve become too complacent, always having something watching your back, and you wonder how ready you actually are to face the horrors of a trial.

Well, there’s only one way to find out.

 

You navigate the halls until you find a generator in the showers. While tense and on edge, you work painstakingly to repair the machine; you can’t make mistakes. You can’t risk drawing the killer to you.

The seconds tick by and become minutes, which carry into unbroken silence. Silence, until you hear a rippling blast in the distance. Electrical currents zap the puddles underfoot, and they race through your body in an instant, ripping a scream from your throat. You crash backward with a cry as your body tingles and jolts. Dread rolls through the pit of your stomach and cold sweat films your brow. Tonight, The Doctor is your host; the madman you haven’t seen since… since the day you struck the deal with Bastion. He was the first demonstration of Bastion’s abilities, and the first killer you’ve pissed off. Oh, you can only imagine the punishment he’ll inflict upon you if he catches you…

So you won’t let him catch you.

As soon as the initial shock passes, you scramble to your feet and stagger out of the showers. You race down the corridors, getting as far as you can away from approaching doom. He’ll want payback, won’t he? Like The Clown did! Or like Danny or that Legion chick that Joey told you about! Bastion pissed off these killers, and now it’s your ass. So you’ll run and you’ll hide, and you won’t come out unless someone gets the damn gates open.

You come staggering to a stop amid the atrium only to catch your breath. Your heart hammers thunderously, and your breaths come out short and quick. While buckling over and panting like a dog, you feel a creeping sensation along your spine. Slight, at first, before it intensifies and feels like fingers tap-tapping up and down your back. You snap around, wide-eyed and mouth agape in question. A dark shape dodges your vision. You swivel to the left and just barely spot another darting away.

Ah, no, no, no… You know what this is, but you won’t entertain it, not now. It’s an amalgam of The Doctor’s madness and your own wretched delirium. As always, it’s joined by those harsh whispers, which tickle the hairs on your neck and arms. You can hardly discern the voices from one another, or the jumble of words they assault you with. But you notice the shadows closing in, sneaking up on your sides and back… Before they get too close, you break away, and you tear down the halls, mad and terrified. You’re only stopped when a loose tile catches your foot and sends you crashing to your hands and knees.

Beads of sweat drip off your forehead as you recollect yourself. When you get on your feet, you grasp your head in both hands, trying desperately and in vain to block out the noise and the ceaseless whispers. The walls close in and the darkness grows heavier. You can’t see even two feet in front of you. Something touches your arm—an icy hand, which treads on the surface of your skin. You scramble away, gasping.

“St-Stop…” you stammer, afraid. “Get back… Get back!” Fingers brush your spine. You whip around. “Back!” you snap. “Stay back!”

The whispers come louder, and the buzzing static noise is almost deafening. Wasting not another moment, you spin and take off running again, careless of the dark. And the panic and the noise only cease the moment you run head-on into a wall, as the impact knocks you out cold.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

“—ere you are….”

Your head pounds. A harsh, grating voice close by puts goosebumps on your arms. You peel open your eyes, slowly and carefully, grimacing against the pain that jolts through your skull. While your senses return gradually, you make out hazy colors and warmth around you. There’s a tall, dark shape looming straight ahead, unmoving. You blink once and then twice before setting your wide eyes upon The Doctor.

Foremost, you notice he lacks the odd metal headpiece, though his glinting red eyes are still as large and as crazed as ever, and he still wears that terrible, toothy grin. He’s changed, wearing a black waistcoat over a red button-up, with smooth black slacks and a pair of shiny dress shoes. If one can look past his malevolent face, he looks presentable. But only for an occasion, you presume. This occasion.

He’s dragged you to his office, the nice room by the atrium with the shelves stacked high with books, the antiquated desk and chairs, and the nice rug underfoot. You’re strapped securely to the chair in the corner, both ankles and wrists bound to the armrests and legs—an all too familiar experience. You can guess he got rid of the others by now. And what with the collapse being absent, you assume they’re all dead. If even one got the gates open, it’d be here… But they’re all gone, and you know you’re cornered and trapped with The Doctor.

Terrified, you can hardly muster your voice to speak. “What’s up, Doc?” you drawl nervously with a grimace. The corner of the mad doctor’s lips twitches. He strolls behind your seat, just out of sight before you feel his icy hand rest upon your shoulder. As soon as he touches you, you feel a jolt.

 

Papers, scattered over the surface of a mahogany desk, lit dimly by a flickering table lamp to your right. Shadows shroud the far corners of the office you’re in, and there’s a door straight ahead. It cracks open, and a shadowed man’s face peers inside. You can’t make him out. “You get anything out of that last one, Carter?” he asks, his voice low and stern.

Carter? You glimpse a name scrawled over the top of a page: Herman Carter… The Doctor?

A voice leaves your throat—it’s not yours. It’s familiar, harsh, and grating. “Everything.”

Another jolt whips along your spine. The room spins and transitions to a small cell, with mucked cement floors, stained by pools of blood, some old and some fresh. A light bulb swings back and forth overhead. You stand before a lever on the wall. You grip the handle with a dark hand and yank it down. A man’s blood-curdling scream rips through the air. Something sizzles and pops. You grimace—

 

—And then you’re back. The Doctor chuckles above you as he strokes an aching spot on your skull. “Are you still with me?” he asks. “Can’t have you going too soon…”

He leaves your side and returns to his desk. You shake your head to clear the pounding headache. “Long time no see,” you mutter. “I haven’t seen you in… In how long?”

“Too long,” The Doctor replies. He grins at you.

While he bends over to scrub through some papers on his desk, you shift and swallow. “H-Hey… Why am I here?”

“Your checkup is long overdue,” he replies wryly, glancing over his shoulder.

“Funny,” you say, “I never scheduled an appointment.”

The Doctor chuckles. He collects a pen and a notepad from his desk. You test the strength of the restraints, feeling your chest tighten more, as they don’t give at all. You swallow again, nervous. “Why are you doing this?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “What do you get from all this? Are you happy here to play your part and not ask questions?”

“I have everything I could ever want here,” he answers. “What better place to experiment? With subjects that never die, and the endless possibilities laid out before me?”

“You’re mad,” you reply.

“Aren’t we all?” he says with a broadening grin. He withdraws behind his desk, and he has a seat, with one leg folded over the other. His eyes gleam with malice. Yours flash with terror. “What’s your name?” he asks quietly.

You blink. “Why?”

“For the record.”

You prick the leather armrests with your nails. “How about I tell you yours?”

The Doctor tilts his head to the side.

“Herman Carter,” you say slowly. “That’s your name, right? Herman Carter. What were you? A… An interrogator? Did you torture people? I thought doctors helped people—”

“We’re masters of the mind and body,” he interrupts you, beaming. You can tell you’ve piqued his interest in the way he leans forward and props his hands on his knees. “And I found ways to twist and to poke at them to get the reactions I wanted. Or, in the case of Project Awakening, the answers I wanted.” He leans back again, chuckling. “How do you know all of this?”

“I… I can’t exactly say,” you murmur.

“Indulge me.”

You peel back strips of leather from the armrest. “I’m different,” you say. “I’m… I’m the one, alright? I-I have the all-seeing eye, and the guidance and the abilities to navigate this place, so-so I can find answers. And I have a… a connection to the fog, I think. And I can connect to everything within.” You lean forward, speaking more quickly. “It’s why I’m trying to figure everything out, because I’m supposed to be the hero, and-and I—”

“You sound so sure,” Herman replies. “But your demeanor betrays you.”

“I’m not—I know I… can…” You trail off and look at your feet, unknowing of how to respond. Herman chuckles. “Ah,” he says. “But that doesn’t explain why our gracious host would protect you.”

“It wasn’t the Entity,” you mutter. “But it turns out I’m not the only one who wants out.” You lift your head to face him again. “This all goes beyond the trials,” you say. “It goes beyond all the torture and the killing.”

“How so?”

“No one’s here forever,” you reply quickly. “This place, the-the thing in charge, I think it’s… I think it’s doing something to us. It’s destroying us, and I don’t know why, but unless someone finds the answers and stops it for good, then we’re all screwed. Maybe not now, maybe not a year from now, but we will be.”

Silence.

Herman taps his foot while non-stop grinning at you. He tips his head from side to side and he rubs his chin before finally speaking again. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I don’t know if you have me here because of some personal vendetta or-or what, but you don’t have to kill anymore. You don’t have to listen to the voices in your head telling you to play along. In-In fact, if you help me, then we’re only one step closer to escaping this nightmare. I-I’ve already convinced a few others—”

“Now, why would I want to escape?”

Immediately, your blood runs colder, and your jaw goes slack. You babble cluelessly for ten seconds while Herman chuckles and stands from his seat. He slowly approaches your chair. “I have everything I need here,” he says. “Experimentation as vast as my imagination, with no restrictions or red tape… And if my trials kill a patient, they’ll be back for me to do it all over again… Trial and error without the consequences.”

He moves behind you, and his hand comes around to cup your chin. You feel him lean forward to breathe down your neck. “This place is my playground. I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“H-Herman—”

Electricity crackles from his fingertips and the searing currents jolt through your skull. You shudder and scream. Herman chuckles and squeezes your jaw. “I want to pick you apart and see what you’re made of,” he murmurs. “Let’s see what makes a hero.” He rests his other hand on your shoulder. “Begin by telling me your name.”

You can’t keep your voice from trembling as the aftershocks run through your veins. “It-It depends on who you ask,” you murmur. “Wanderer, Honey, Sp—”

“—Spunky?” he interrupts, grinning. The face you make elicits a laugh from him. He sighs. “I don’t want your silly monikers. Tell me your name,” he commands firmly.

You tell him. He hums over your shoulder. “Good, good… Now tell me your deepest fears.”

“Why?” you demand. “Why the hell do you want to know? And why the hell don’t you just kill me and get it over with?!”

“You’re the latest subject of an ongoing experiment,” Herman replies while tenderly stroking your chin. “If I kill you, I won’t see results.”

“What experiment are you running? Why in the hell are you asking so many questions?”

“Because you’ll give me the answers, and you’ll give them to me willingly.” Herman moves to your front side. He clasps his hands behind his back while his lips perk into a broader grin. “I had one goal, before all of this… I aspire to control the human mind, and I intend to do just that.”

You guffaw. “Mind control? You—I-I mean, I know you’re insane, but mind control? You sound like a Bond villain.”

“You laugh, but I’ve already made great strides,” Herman replies cooly. He bends down before resting his hands flat on top of yours. “In fact,” he says while leaning toward your face. “I’m confident it’s already working on you.”

“I don’t think so,” you reply carefully.

“Then have a demonstration.” Herman makes you jump when he suddenly undoes your restraints. First your ankles, then your wrists. He takes two steps back, still grinning maliciously. “It would seem you’re free.”

It would seem so.

You don’t waste a second before springing to your feet to run. You break into the hall like a flaming bat out of hell. But then, over your shoulder, you hear faintly, “Kneel," and it’s like you’ve collided with a brick wall—you come to an immediate stop, grimacing. Your skin tingles and burns, and it… it feels like there’s something physically holding you back. Your gut screams for you to run, but your mind commands that you bend. Terror sows a pit in your stomach.

“N… No,” you murmur. You try to take another step, but it’s like walking on hot coals with an anvil on each shoulder. An unbearable itch assaults your cranium, and your legs feel like jelly until you buckle and crash to your knees with a groan.

You hear Herman’s footsteps coming up the hall behind you, slowly. His cold laugh stands up the hairs on your nape. “The wonders of the mind are mine to exploit,” he says. “And they’re mine to command. I couldn’t have that in the real world… But here?” He stops directly in front of you, and he plucks your chin with the tip of his finger to angle your face upward. “Here, I can have whatever I want.” With a wry grin, he tilts his head to the side. “You can feel it, can’t you? My therapy on the surface of your mind, sending all the right signals that make you buckle and bend? There’s no fighting it.”

Through gritted teeth, you seethe, “Herman—”

“Shhh,” he toys. “You fight a battle on the losing side… Is it worth the struggle?”

Your body shudders with more jolts and tingles. You swallow. “Yes.”

“Oh?” He pinches your chin. “Do you have nightmares?”

You want to keep quiet, but your willpower escapes you. “Yes.”

Herman chuckles. “And do you think those will just go away? Should you find your answers and your escape, you’ll take those horrors with you. They’ll rend your soul apart and eat away at your sanity until there’s nothing left.” He releases your chin as he draws behind you. “You think that seeing daylight again will make everything better… They all think that. They believe that it means an end to the horror and the suffering, but it will live on in you. This also goes for my old… patients. If they had gotten away, they would’ve escaped with nothing but shreds of their past selves. I tore them down, broke them. So I know the look of someone broken.”

“I-I’m not—”

“Not yet,” he interrupts you. “But you will be. I can see your fractures expanding and digging deeper… It’s only a matter of time until something shatters you completely.” He comes around again, grinning. “And when that day comes, you won’t want to escape with your horrors in tow. You’ll be begging this place to end you for good.”

He lays his hand on your shoulder, and he shocks you again. Currents of sizzling electricity jolt through your body as you scream. “Stand up,” Herman commands. So you do, spasming with each shock. And, “Run,” he commands. And so you do.

You run endlessly without purpose or guidance, and never even slowing to catch your breath as your lungs scream for air. And surely you’d run yourself to death if not for the shocks that sting your nerves and paralyze you. When you stumble, you throw your arms out to catch yourself against a medical trolley. It spins out and rolls away from you, leaving you to crash to the floor.

Your entire body tingles and burns… Static dances on the surface of your mind. You swivel your head back and forth, murmuring, “No… No, no, no—”

A scream in the distance makes you jump. You clench your jaws. When you look over your shoulder, you expect to find The Doctor in tow, but there’s nothing. Nothing but the encroaching darkness, which grows denser and closer… It’s coming. You get on your feet and stagger aimlessly down the corridor. There’s still a chance you’ll find the hatch, and you can get out, and—

Another scream pierces the hall. You slap your hands over your ears. “Stop,” you growl. “Stop.”

You feel weak… Your legs give out like wet noodles, and you fall to your knees and stay that way, murmuring and shaking your head back and forth. Your vision becomes a blur, obscured by a static film and dancing dark specks. The screams get closer. Your skin itches. Then you freeze entirely when you hear a dark and familiar voice.

“Oh, Wanderer… Look where you are without me.”

Despite your mouth running dry, you murmur, “Bastion?”

You crane your neck and look upon a foggy dark shape that stoops low beneath the frame of a shadowed room. Bastion’s broad grin grows broader by the second. His terrible claws twitch behind him, and ropes of uncontained, squirming tendrils hang like intestines from the parted cavity in his chest. He approaches you with slow, long strides. “You’re waiting for me to come and rescue you, is that it?”

The reek of acrid smoke offends your nostrils. You reel away, grimacing, and realizing that it’s not actually him, not the right one. You retreat, but a claw catches your leg. Upon hitting the floor and crying out, Bastion chuckles. “And now you flee at the sight of me? Am I so terrible?”

You flip over and crawl backward while gluing your eyes to him. “B-Bastion—”

“You know that’s not my name,” he replies.

A scream cuts across the hospital. You shut your eyes and breathe slowly. Oh, none of this is real, is it? The voices, the screams, Bastion. It’s not real, it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. It’s The Doctor’s therapy at work.

“You’re not here,” you murmur. “You’re not here.”

“No,” the thing that isn’t Bastion confirms, as he takes to one knee above you. “You never called, Wanderer… Don’t you want to scream for your shining white knight to come to your rescue? Go on,” he coaxes. “Summon me like a fucking mutt. See what happens.”

No. No, after the last time, you refuse. You don’t need him. You don’t want him.

He laughs. “Oh… You fear me. You don’t trust me… And you shouldn’t. Who knows what I’m hiding from you? And who knows my true intentions? Do you think I’m your ally? You couldn’t be more wrong… You’re being strung along like a puppet, and maybe I hold the strings.”

“No… No, you’re lying.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Another shock makes you jolt and groan. Your vision buzzes, and then Bastion’s gone. You scramble upright, but only make it two steps before spotting a sight down the hall that makes you freeze. It’s something—no, someone, just standing there, and… and they look like you. They are you. Frightened, you back away from the shocking double. They keep forward with an unsteady gait, with their head down and their arms slack at their sides. Somehow, without moving their lips, they whisper hoarsely, “Take it off.”

The double raises their head. They have a lifeless gaze and a slack jaw. You swallow nervously. “Take it off,” they repeat while encasing their face in their hands. You wonder why until they claw at themselves, stripping away at the flesh like it’s wet paper. You watch in terror.

“S-Stop,” you murmur.

“Take it off,” they repeat. They dig their nails deeper beneath the surface of their skin, and they peel and peel…

“Stop!” you scream. “Stop!”

An itching sensation works its way up your arms. You look down and you’re horrified to find many small lumps forming beneath your skin. Worse, they move. A knot in your throat chokes the scream threatening to escape. You fiercely scratch at the moving lumps, doing very little to hinder them. So you claw and you break the skin, and you can only gag at the sight of hundreds of little spiders escaping your bleeding cuts.

You scream and crash to the floor, writhing in panic and revulsion. The double comes closer, and you notice they've peeled so much of their skin away, revealing something truly dark and twisted underneath—something inhuman, and hardly resembling you any longer. It grows taller, and spiny, obsidian claws sprout from its back and its chest, and a terrible maw splits its face in two. Its dark form is constantly changing, twisting and peeling, and squirming as if it struggles to maintain a single shape.

The horrible thing stops directly above you, and its awful shadow encases your form. Your breath shudders as it bends forward to halt its stinking jaws in front of your face. “You can feel it, can’t you?” it inquires, its voice belonging to no one and many.

You sputter. “Wh-Wha…What… What are you?”

“You know. You know .”

“I-I don’t—”

It expels a dark, toxic cloud in your face. You get a whiff, and it sends you reeling backward, choking, and struggling to breathe. Something crawls inside your throat, scratching your esophagus on its way down. The madness intensifies, the whispers become screams, and the static becomes blinding white light. Everything itches and hurts, and you can’t breathe. Incomprehensible babble escapes your lips as you hack and choke. Whatever’s inside of you reaches deeper and it tears you apart. When you try to scream, nothing comes out.

Panicked, you claw at your neck and your chest, desperately trying to terminate the ill feeling, but it rages on. Tears streak your cheeks as blood surges up your throat. You flip over and choke on it. Everything feels hot and fuzzy… You wheeze for breath and sputter and cry, all while it becomes colder and darker, and the light finally fades away…

 

---

 

Herman Carter watches in delight as his patient writhes and moans, and then finally expires on the floor, bled out from their self-inflicted wounds. They tore themselves apart…

He had followed closely in tow with them as they raced down the halls at his command, and he watched with intrigue as they babbled and cowered before sights he couldn’t see. He wanted to witness their descent into madness, and he witnessed it indeed. He takes to one knee above their still body, and he peels back their eyelid; glazed over, devoid… He chuckles and then sighs, wishing he had seen the mania he induced upon them, and to see what wonderful terror had short-circuited their brain at last… What a shame.

He stands up and walks away with his arms folded behind his back. And he wonders if they truly believe they'll ever find the answers they seek here. Probably not… He knows they’re all cogs in a wheel, and they each serve a purpose. The purpose they aspire to isn’t feasible… Insane, and infeasible… How mad must they be?

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Lydia's cabin is your refuge away from hell, as always. Your cradle, and your retreat. 

 

You splash your face with cold water, then you prop your elbows upon the sink bowl and sigh heavily. Your head hangs low, heavy and pounding, and your fingers tenderly tread the skin of your neck. Faint echoes of pain make you grimace. When you finally muster the strength to raise your head, you gaze through the dimness of the flickering candlelight to peer upon your reflection in the mirror in front of you. They gaze back with weary eyes ringed with dark circles. And all you can think about is how that terrible mirror image had torn their own face off to reveal a monster underneath…

You can’t stand looking at them, or whoever they are. But you can’t tear your eyes away, and they don’t break contact either. Fear and fury course through your blood, and you throw your fist into the glass, shattering it. But you don’t stop, and you lay into the mirror with punch after punch, screaming at the pieces as they shatter and fall into tiny, crystalline shards. Finally, you only quit when your fist burns and bleeds, and you face your reflection no more.

You scream at the remnants again and stagger away, choking back a cry as searing pain runs up your arm. You crumple against the bathtub and catch your head in your hands, sobbing. Over the sounds of your grief, you hear fluttering wing beats. When you look up, you spot Poe perched on the windowsill with a golden ribbon in his beak. He pushes through the shutters and lands on your shoulder. You extend your damaged hand, and he drops his gift in your open palm.

Your throat burns so bad that you can’t manage the voice to thank him, so you only clench your fist around the ribbon and drop your head again. Poe tiptoes back and forth across your shoulders before he stops beside your head. You feel him poking the lobe of your ear before a guttural voice murmurs, “You seem lost.”

You freeze up. Poe continues speaking. “If you want your answers, you’ll have to dirty your hands,” he whispers. “This place will hand you nothing.”

You swallow and wet your lips. “Dirty them how?”

Poe chuckles. “With blood, sweat, and tears, Wanderer… Are you prepared to do that? Are you prepared to become that?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Better figure it out soon,” he replies. “Tick-tock… Tick-tock…”

“Quiet, please,” you implore.

“Tick-tock,” he echoes. And, “Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock,” he continues, like a warbling, broken record.

Tears wet your eyes and your lips quiver. “Poe, please—”

“Tick-tock—”

“Shut up!” you scream, interrupting him. You snatch the crow from your shoulder as he squawks and tries to take flight. Then you wrap your hands around his little neck and squeeze harder and harder, while seething through your teeth, “Shut the fuck up! SHUT UP!”

He soon stops fighting, and you loosen your grip and drop him to the floor. But when the rage subsides and you realize what you’ve done, you gasp and choke. Poe crows in absolute distress, and he flops around uselessly with broken wings and a twisted neck. He flails about for a good minute before he stops and goes completely still.

Your heart breaks, and a terrible pit sinks in your stomach. “P… Poe?” You reach for the dead crow and take his battered body into your hands. Then you hear that same gritty chuckle over your shoulder, untethered now.

“You chase away all your allies, Wanderer,” it says. “Can you beat this all on your own?”

Tears spill down your cheeks, shed by horror, and remorse, and fear. “I can’t.”

 

Notes:

Yes, I hurt Poe again, and yes, I feel extremely bad about it.

Suggestion Box

Chapter 57: Familiar Faces

A blood-splattered blade gleams in the light of a flickering flame. A man stands before you, dressed in business attire, with his face filled with malice and nothing more. A moment ago, when he hacked off your arm and leg, you caught a glimpse of sorrow in his eyes. But it only lasted for a moment. And it’s lacking, still, as he drives your face through a glass partition and sends you crashing to the bottom floor. The scream that rips from your throat as you land in a heap of shards is female and unfamiliar. Black tresses hang over your weeping eyes, clinging to the blood on your face.

Through your tears, you can see your killer’s shadowed form hovering above you at the edge of the overlook. He’s watching the blood drain from your body and the light fade from your eyes. And he’s the last thing you see before darkness comes; before you’re wrested from this horrible memory and brought back into your own body in the real world…

 

And the real world is just as cruel.

You’re on your knees, trembling in pain, in the middle of a traditional Japanese home. Your right arm is severed below the elbow, and you bleed from various slashes across your back and chest. The Spirit hovers above you, with a face contorted by agony and woe. Her lips curl in rage, then quiver and wilt. She fights an inner battle–the same one you’ve seen whirling within other killers, when they try to hold on to a trace of control as the Entity whispers its dark influence in their ears, commanding them to obey.

Through the mind-numbing pain, you find your voice. “R-Rin,” you rasp.

Her name–it’s the name that echoed throughout the memories you saw, and you can only assume it’s hers.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I-I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

And you sincerely are. You saw her profound torment, and you felt her pain. Your heart breaks for her, as it does for the other killers ensnared in the Entity’s claws and forced to play its games. You’re sorry you’re the only one who can help them, but haven’t figured out how.

Candlelight emanating from the nearby shrine flickers across Rin’s face. You catch another glimpse of her for a moment: a glimpse of the innocent woman behind the killer’s mask. But it’s gone as quickly as it came…

The Spirit’s brow wrinkles and she seethes foreign dialect through her teeth. Every ounce of her struggle and her woe and her remorse is lost in an instant, evicted by fury. As she brandishes her sword high above her head, her fingers curl around its hilt. You recognize that the Entity’s won this battle–Rin lost, and so have you.

The blade comes down, and you’re swiftly dispatched.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

The bonfire is an unwelcome sight when you’re sewn back together and deposited in its closeness. Where you used to feel comfort and warmth, and respite from the fog and its troubles, now, you only feel apprehensive and out of place. It’s not a refuge or a home—it’s a pen, laden with unpleasantness and expectations that weigh heavily on your shoulders.

The warmth from the fire prickles your skin in a dreadful way. You shrug off the weighty feeling in your chest, and you turn away to depart. You pause before you get five feet.

“Don’t you wanna sit down?”

A sweet voice tickles your ears. You spot Kate sitting on a log beside the flames, with her guitar on her lap, and worry written all over her face. Her eyes greet yours. “You look tired,” she says softly. “And we ‘aven’t seen you in a while…”

We?

The faces of the others gathered around the campfire catch your attention as you swivel on your heels. David and Zarina sit side by side on a log, Dwight stands close to Nea, and Jake is seated in the shadow of a tall tree. You didn’t even see them there… Or were you blocking them out?

“Have a seat, mate,” David invites. He insistently pats the spot on the log beside him.

You wrinkle your brows. “I’m not–”

“C’mon,” says Nea. “You can sulk off into the woods later. It’s been a minute since you showed your face around camp…”

They watch you in waiting. Jake’s studying eyes burn holes in the side of your head. After chewing your lip and weighing your options, you sit beside David, between him and Zarina. David gives you a friendly pat on the back.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Kate teases with a welcoming smile. She readjusts her guitar and plucks the strings. “You have us worried sometimes,” she murmurs. “Always creepin’ off into the fog with this heavy look on your face…”

You don’t reply.

The camp falls into serene quiet, complimented by a warm, acoustic song. Shifting eyes fall on you every few seconds, but no words are spoken. Their silence speaks volumes. Under their intense scrutiny, you nervously pluck the ribbon around your wrist—a blood-stained, golden ribbon… A memento of recent troubles.

David’s curiosity gets the best of him. “What’ve you got there?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you say.

A frown wrinkles his face.

Nea grunts across from you. “So,” she starts off. “How are we doing?”

It’s a question directed at no one in particular, but you meet about a dozen telling eyes and sidelong looks. No one says a thing, not until Nea elbows Dwight, who loudly clears his throat and says, “I think it’s, uh… the same ol’, same ol.”

“Right?” Nea replies, in a thinly veiled effort to keep the conversation flowing. “Why don’t we… Why don’t we do something for once? Maybe unpack that old deck of cards and play a game or two,” she suggests.

“Ah, Ace has ‘em,” Kate says. “But in the meantime, we can just sit and chat.”

She puts on her friendliest smile. “Y’all have any song recommendations? I might try my hand at playin’ it for you.”

“Can we quit beating around the bush?” Zarina asks.

A hush falls over the gathering. Zarina ignores the others’ sharp looks before focusing on you. The look on her face tells you what’s to come.

Should’ve walked away, says the voice in your head. And you agree.

“Where have you been?” Zarina asks. “What do you do out there in the fog?”

“I’ve told you,” you answer.

“Yeah, you’ve vaguely told us about your little goose chase, but that doesn’t answer our questions or concerns.”

“You’re concerned?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

Nea’s up to bat. She looks at you, worriedly. “We don’t know what you’re up to, but… maybe you should take a break.”

Telltale glances and partial nods suggest this sentiment is shared by the rest. You look between them and raise an eyebrow. “Was this planned? This-this intervention?”

“No,” says Kate. “I-I mean, shoot, you’re never here! We can’t plan a damn thing around you. But while we’ve got you here now—”

“You’re taking advantage. Got it,” you say bitterly.

Kate shares a troubled look with Dwight. He says nothing, but dips his head and chews his fingernails. You sigh at them.

“What I’m doing here is important,” you say. “And, what, you think I’m just going out there for shits and giggles?”

“We think you’re killing yourself out there,” Zarina says. She sighs. “You disappear for… for nights at a time, and when we rarely see you, you look more hollow than before. Whatever it is you’re doing out there, stop and ask yourself if it’s really worth it. Because we don’t think it is.”

You scoff. As you meet everyone’s concerned gazes, they remain silent in anticipation of your response. In your frustration and bitterness, you give them one, loudly. “Who are you to tell me to throw in the towel?”

You shoot upright and flourish your arm dismissively. “What the hell have any of you done, except sit around on your ass and die?”

“We’re not saying—”

“It’s exactly what you’re saying. You’d rather me join your pity party? Waste my time, or what’s left of it, moping around camp with the rest of you? You want me to give up and-and—”

“We’re worried,” Kate says.

Her pleasant features are stricken by a deeply saddened look. Glancing at the others, you realize it’s a look shared by them all. “You won’t even tell us what you’ve gotten yourself into,” Kate goes on. “If you’d share that with us, maybe we could help.”

You swivel your head. “Don’t worry about me,” you insist. “I-I… I know what I’m doing. And I know there’s a way out, and I won’t stop until I find the answers, wherever they are. They’re out there, somewhere, and-and… I…”

“How do you know?” asks Dwight. “What have you found?”

“N… Nothing, yet, but—”

“Nothing?” says Nea. “Then what good are you?”

The sharpness of her tone makes you pause. You frown and meet her bitter gaze. A moment ago, she wore concern, but now she wears spite and anger. It’s jarring how quickly she switches. Her venomous words sting.

“How can we trust you?” she asks. “When we barely know you?”

“You… You do know me. I-I mean, not very well, but—”

“You’re a stranger around here,” says Kate, sneering.

“And we think you’re hiding something,” replies Jake.

“I-I’m not hiding anything! I’m just… I’m—”

“You’re lying,” asserts David. “And you’ve been lying out your arse since day one.”

“David—?”

“Where do you go?” asks Nea, bitterly. “While we freeze and starve out here in camp?”

“What have you found?” demands Dwight.

Sweat films your brow as your stomach flips. You babble and choke up, and when nothing coherent comes out of it, you stand up and turn away. “I’ll just go,” you say. “If you don’t want me here, I’ll go.”

“Look at them trying to run and hide,” spits Nea.

“They'd rather face the fog than tell us the truth,” says Kate.

David startles you when he catches your arm in a vice grip. “We want to know what you’re hiding.”

“D-David—!”

Turning around to face him, you reel in terror. His features are twisted, bloody, bruised, and black ooze spills from his void eyes and runs down his face. His breath has a terrible, deathly odor.

His teeth clench as he grips your wrist tightly. “Tell us,” he says. “Tell us what you’re hiding.”

Gasping and clawing at his hand, you manage to free yourself from him. You stumble backwards and collide with Jake. He rests his hand on your shoulder, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s the same way. His vile breath lingers on your nape. “What are you afraid of?”

You break away from him and gawk at the others. Everything’s a blur, but you can still make out their horrible faces. Your stomach clenches at the sight. They spit and sneer, and they stalk nearer to you with wicked intent.

A storm of accusations and threats assails you as you run away, and the voices sound less and less like your old friends, and more like monsters. “Freak!” they scream. “Liar!” they hiss. The terrible cries fade, and the campfire and its light are obscured by the dark fog as you finally get away…

 

Moving quickly through the woods, you aim for your home away from home, where you’ll bury yourself and your troubles beneath quilts and pillows, and forget it all.

You hate that you let it happen again—that you let your terrors chase you away from camp… What was real? What wasn’t? There’s no sure way to know… You just want to get home.

While you may hang your head along the way, you occasionally turn your gaze upward to the webs of spindly tree branches.

You haven’t seen your avian companion ever since the… accident. You may never see him again. Has he abandoned you, too? Did a momentary lapse in your judgment and control cost you a friend? If he were here now, you’d hold him and kiss his feathery head, and apologize for snapping his wings and twisting his neck… It wasn’t you. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself. It wasn’t you. You would never hurt Poe, not consciously. But something took over, and you just….

No, it wasn’t you. You did nothing. It was something else. It was—

“It was you.”

Your blood runs cold as you hear a familiar, gritty voice over your shoulder. You come to a staggering stop and swivel your head left and right. But you know better. Ignore it, says the voice in your head, and so you do. You keep walking. But the malicious entity follows you.

“It begins with fear,” it says. “It creeps in and breaks them down… Then they will doubt themself and their capabilities… And once they realize they're not enough, they will dig into the crevices of their weary soul, and they will grasp the only shreds of fortitude that remain. That fortitude manifests itself as something terrible. But that terrible thing is much more powerful than they could ever hope to be on their own…”

You try not to listen. But the voice is in your head, and impossible to ignore.

“They will lose themself to the temptation of deliverance, and they will turn over their reins to the dormant power within…”

“Quiet,” you say.

“They will become stronger.”

“Be quiet,” you command.

“They will shed blood.”

“Stop!” you snap, sounding panicked.

“And they will survive.”

You halt and scan the woods, wild-eyed. “What… What are you?” you call out. “Are-are you even really here? Or… or am I losing my mind? Am I talking to myself?”

“Oh, we’re real,” your unseen company replies. “And we’re with you now, watching, always.”

“And what the hell do you want from me?”

“We want you to succeed as much as you do,” replies the malignant voice. “But you’re not ready yet… It’s as we told you, Wanderer. Salvation comes at a price. It will cost you everything. And if you’re too weak to have it… you will fade.”

You wrinkle your brows. “Who’s we?”

No response comes. You spin around and examine your surroundings, but find nothing and no one. A crow takes flight above you and disappears in the midnight sky. Your spine tingles with shivers. After collecting yourself, you turn around and continue walking.

 

 

When you arrive at the cozy little cabin in the woods, you find Lydia knocked out in her rocking chair. She doesn’t stir to greet you when you creep past the porch and the front door.

When you pass the evidence board tacked to the wall in the main room, you falter. Firelight flickers across its many pages rife with speculation and doubt.

Sorrow and frustration compress your chest. It’s a reminder that you don’t know what you’re doing… Not since what happened in the ruins, or following the Doctor’s twisted therapy. It was enough to sow a sense of uncertainty within you. And every night since then, you’ve wondered if it’s really worth it.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it’s all in vain. There have surely been others who have given their blood, sweat, and tears in pursuit of answers. But where are they now? What did their suffering afford them, but more misery, and a pitiful fate at the end of a grueling road? Nothing, that’s it. Carter was right, wasn’t he? And as was Bastion, and Poe, and the others back at the campfire! You have NOTHING to show for any of this! Those sorry scraps on the wall won’t find you the answers if there are even answers to be had. Is there any path that leads to the end of this nightmare? Or will they all lead you astray, deeper into madness?

You’re coming to terms with the fact that you may never know.

Upstairs, you trudge into your bedroom and kick off your shoes. When you approach the bed, your foot catches on a loose board, and you crash heavily to the floor. Your chin takes the brunt of the impact. You hiss in frustration. Weariness makes it difficult to get back up. As you lazily scoot backwards, a shadowy object beneath the bed catches your eye.

Your hand reaches out to grasp it. Taking a look at it, you raise an eyebrow. It’s a skimpy rope bracelet with four letters scrawled across the band.

F J S J

You aren’t sure what it means, but you assume it’s Lydia’s.

After tossing it on the vanity, you climb into bed with a huff. Just sleep, you tell yourself, despite knowing what awaits you when you close your eyes. Sleep anyway, endure those terrors, and spare yourself the very real threats that beckon you from the fog.

Within minutes of closing your eyes, you hear a crash downstairs and Lydia’s urgent screams. Not wasting a moment, you shoot upright and scramble out of bed for Hodgson’s shotgun, where it’s propped haphazardly against the far wall. After stuffing on your shoes and racing downstairs, you throw open the front door, shouting, “Lydia?!”

You startle at someone wearing a dark leather jacket and an all-too-familiar blood-smeared mask. The familiar sight tightens your stomach and prickles the back of your neck. Your eyes widen and your mouth gapes as you freeze solidly. “Frank?” you murmur.

The masked attacker, gripping a fistful of the old woman’s mane, turns sharply toward you. Long, wispy blonde hair spills from their hood, and you realize stupidly that it’s not Frank; merely a person of similar height, style, and vocation. If you had to guess… this must be Julie.

“You!” the intruder snaps. She relinquishes Lydia and sends her crashing to the porch with a hoarse cry.

You have a hundred questions. Ninety-nine of them are various iterations of: How the hell did she find me?

Julie takes a menacing step forward, but you don’t let her get any closer. You raise the gun and squeeze the trigger. A deafening boom rings out as buckshot sprays a hole in your unwanted visitor’s chest. She’s thrown off the porch as if struck by a cannon, and she lands limply in the grass.

Lydia whimpers behind you and waves her arms frantically. “What was that?” she calls out. “Was that a gun?”

Kneeling down, you assist her to her feet. “Get inside, Lydia,” you say. “I’ll—ACK!”

Your collar pulls taut against your throat, and you’re yanked backwards. You fall in a heap after tripping backwards down the steps. You stare up at your furious assailant. Her chest is a mess of blood and mangled flesh, but she seems unaffected. She brandishes a hunting knife and shakes her fist. “He didn’t say you’d have a gun!” she growls.

You take aim at her head and pull the trigger, but nothing happens. You squeeze it twice more, and the gun clicks uselessly both times. You swallow a lump. Julie scoffs.

As she lunges for your throat, you retreat. “You came here for me, right? C’mon then,” you taunt her. “Come on!” And you spin around and break into the fog with Julie hot on your heels.

You weave through brush and trees along worn paths, and Julie’s gaining on you fast. It doesn’t matter if she catches up. It’s imminent. Your only goal is to get her as far away from the cabin as soon as possible. Her beef is with you, not Lydia.

You glance over your shoulder just as Julie is within striking distance. You duck and stumble as she goes for your head. Then she’s on you again in seconds, furiously slashing her blade. You dance around as best you’re able, dodging and ducking each strike as your life fully depends on it.

Your skin is ghosted by cold steel as she misses your throat by a hair. You jab her in the ribs, and she delivers a swift punch to your noggin. You stagger and strike her again. But despite her grievous injuries, she’s as powerful as any killer. She shrugs off each glancing blow and retaliates ten times harder. One good swing connects to your jaw and knocks your lights out.

You crash on your face, dazed, and Julie’s right on top of you. She steps on the back of your knee and twists her heel with crushing force, eliciting a scream from your throat. After that, she kicks you over and straddles your waist to strike you repeatedly in the face. You catch her wrist to falter her assault, but she sinks her blade into your shoulder. Withdrawing it swiftly, she stabs you in the lower abdomen, growling as she pressures the hilt and seethes through her teeth.

“Where’s your mutt?” she spits. “Where is the fucker, huh?! The big guy isn’t here to protect you, is he?”

She cracks her fist across your face before roughly squeezing your jaw in her bloody hand. “You little shit… Cocky little fucker!”

You eat another punch that dislodges a tooth. Julie leans forward. “You remember what you did to Frank? How you sicced your fucking dog on him? How you had him killed?”

Pain racks your body, and a headache pounds your skull. You swallow a tooth and tongue the hole in your gums while gazing at her through a swollen eye. “I-I had a feeling I’d be seeing you,” you mutter.

“Yeah,” she says with a scoff, before lowering her voice. “It was his first time. The first time he’s… that he’s died." She spits out the last word with venom while applying more pressure to your aching jaw. “He still talks about it, you know. He wakes up in cold sweat, with these large, fearful eyes, and the most harrowing look on his face… Frank isn’t afraid of anything, but you left your dirty fucking mark on him.”

She comes closer, with the face of her mask mere inches from yours. “You ruined him.”

You gasp in pain as she rips her knife from your abdomen. “I’m going to watch you bleed,” she says. “And when you die, I’ll be here to fuck you up and do it again, and again, until I’m satisfied.”

Something tells you she means it. Despite such grim retribution, you can’t help but laugh. A snicker at first, then full-on, hearty laughter. Julie tilts her head, puzzled, and you laugh and laugh until she snarls. “You think this is funny?”

“Julie,” you say, sighing. “I’ve been through worse. There’s nothing you can do to me that this place hasn’t already done. I’ve been stabbed, clobbered, shot at, punched, gouged, and set on fire. This? This is just another Tuesday.”

She punches you again. You shake your head and blink at her through a blurry haze. “You might wanna… hit the part of my face that isn’t completely numb…”

“Aren’t you going to fight back?!” Julie snaps, clutching two fistfuls of your collar.

You swallow blood. “What’s the point?” you rasp. “Fighting never got me anywhere.”

Julie pulls you closer and lowers her voice. “Joey said you were a hero… But some fucking hero you are. You’re pathetic,” she spits. “What are you even trying to accomplish? Besides taking everything from me?”

It’s difficult to focus on her words. You turn your head and grimace. “Wh… What?”

“You want to get out of here, is that it? You want to find all the answers… But you do that, and you’re ruining everything we’ve built here. You’d be taking my friends from me. You’d be damning us.”

Your tongue drags over your teeth. “We’re already damned,” you reply hoarsely. “All of us.”

“We’re in control,” Julie asserts.

“Julie—”

“—and we’re together—”

“Y-You’re not—”

“—and we’re where we belong.”

Her grip on you turns her knuckles white as her voice trembles and her fists quake with rage. This is a touchy subject. You choose your next response carefully.

“This place is hell, Julie,” you whisper. “Do you really belong here? Does Joey?… Does Frank?”

Despite your sincere intentions, your words have a negative impact. You struck a nerve. Julie’s fists tighten tenfold before she relinquishes your collar to punch you in the eye. “Shut up!” she barks. “You don’t know us! You don’t know Frank!”

She raises her knife high, ready to plunge it into your chest. “Your mutt’s not here,” she growls. “No one’s coming to save the fucking d—!”

The dark woods are shattered by a boom. Blood and brains splatter your face, and Julie lurches forward. Then another shot strikes her in the back of her head, and then a third, and you flinch with each one.

Julie collapses on top of you, dead. Her mask slides off, and you can only gaze at her glossy, green eyes, as you’re too weak to push her away. Fear runs through your body in droves. You frantically scan the woods until your eyes fall on a man emerging from the fog with a smoking handgun. He’s a shockingly familiar face. Realization hits you like a truck.

Your voice is hoarse as you whisper in disbelief, “Bryce?”

 

Chapter 58: Fragments

Notes:

I forgot to share this! I commissioned one of my favorite artists to draw a splash screen for the game, and I'm sharing it with you all now because it's amazing <3 See it here.
Credit goes to fan_endey on Instagram! His art is awesome!

 

As he holsters his handgun and rushes to your side, you gawk at him. He bends down to haul Julie’s body off of you, his face filled with concern. “Shit,” he swears while tossing her limp corpse to the side. He considers the bloody mask lying in the dirt before he meets your gaze with wide, olive eyes. “She was one of 'em?” he asks, sounding worried. “A killer? Ah didn’t just—?”

His accent is jarring. And nothing comes out when you part your lips—you’re too stunned by the reality that he’s standing before you as real as the first time you laid eyes upon him. You recall him from the very first vision you saw; the vision that kindled your endeavor and started it all. He’s the unknown man with the stubbly jaw and unkempt chestnut brown hair, and olive-green eyes shadowed by fatigue and uncertainty. But… he’s taller in person.

Still, nothing comes out. You can only give a partial nod. Bryce sighs heavily in relief.

“Shit,” he mutters. He rakes a hand through his hair before taking a knee beside you. “And you?” he says, as he rifles through a messenger bag on his hip. “Are ye a Resident?”

“A… A resident?”

“A Fog Resident?” Bryce reiterates as he raises an eyebrow. “You don’t play in the trials, right? I 'aven’t seen ye around camp.” He flicks his chin toward Julie, uttering, “An' she must be a new killer…”

Completely and utterly confounded, you don’t know what to say. Only one explanation comes to mind: he must be an Echo. He’s an Echo and hasn’t realized it yet. But of all the Echoes you’ve encountered here in the fog, why him? And why now? You have so many questions, and… and now’s the time to answer them, isn’t it? He should have some answers. He’s a time capsule — a living record of the path you’re trying to follow! But as with all Echoes, you know he’s only temporary. You have a thousand questions, but no time for them all.

In light of the opportunities he represents, you feel a surge of hope and resolve that you haven’t felt in a while. You weakly lift yourself up, saying, “Bryce—”

He presses his hand on your chest and forces you flat again. “Hold on,” he says, as he fishes bandages and gauze from his bag. “If ah don’t patch you up, ye’ll—”

He stops. A funny look crosses his face—something of bewilderment, then realization. He creases his brows. “You know my name.”

“It’s hard to explain, Bryce,” you say. You lick your lips and swallow. “But-but…”

You trail off under his intense, studying gaze. He narrows his eyes, flits his gaze up and down your form, and then he suddenly draws back the flaps of your jacket and peels up your shirt. He immediately looks surprised. A look shared by you as you glance at your abdomen and witness your knife wound emanating a creepy, dark fog. Inky black threads crawl over your bleeding wound, slowly knitting together your muscle and flesh. You boggle at the sight.

“Yer like me,” Bryce murmurs above you,

Many more questions assail your mind, but you need to pick and choose. You sit up slowly, wincing, as you carefully consider your words. “Bryce,” you start. “You’re… You’re an Echo.”

His eyes flicker with recognition. As the color drains from his face, it’s made utterly clear that he recognizes the meaning of the word and its implications. He leans back on his haunches, tipping his head and shadowing his brow. “I-I’m not—No, this… It’s—”

He fumbles his words and falls into silence. His expressions range between grief and uncertainty and dread. You wish you knew what else to say, but it’s hard to find the right words amid the overwhelming whirlwind of questions raging in your head.

“An Echo,” you repeat slowly. “You know what those are, right? If you’re like me, or-or were, then you must know. Crude copies—”

“—of things consumed by the fog,” Bryce utters. He swivels his head. “An Echo?” he says. “That would mean… No,” he mutters to himself. “Maybe… Maybe yer the Echo,” he bargains. “Or maybe it’s just the fog getting in my head again, making me see an' hear shit that’s not really here!”

“Bryce—”

He stands up and walks away without another word. You shoot to your feet, briefly swaying off balance before you wrap your arm around your midsection and hobble after him on your bad knee. “Bryce!” you call. “Please, hear me out!”

He ignores you. You hiss. “Where are you even going?”

“Back to camp,” he says, looking over his shoulder. “Because ah hate to break it to ye, but maybe yer the damned Echo.”

He’s gaining too much distance. “Bryce!” you shout after him.

Desperation kicks in. If you lose him in the fog, you may never find him again. You weigh your options and make a brash decision. After mustering your waning strength, you charge and throw yourself at him full force, in a poorly conceived effort to tackle him and stop him dead in his tracks. And he does stop—but by his own accord. Because, as you collide with him, it’s like ramming a brick wall. He doesn’t budge an inch. The air’s expelled from your lungs, and you let out a rasping sigh while clinging to him and desperately trying to drag him off his feet. “Ah,” you breathe. “You’re… you’re so solid—”

Bryce looks at you, unamused. He pancakes his hand on your head and shoves you off. Unsteady and weak, you stumble and hit the ground.

“Yer pretty solid yourself, for an illusion,” Bryce says. He looks you up and down, knits his brows, then turns right back around. You throw your hand out.

“Wait!” you call. “The… The hole in the wall.”

Bryce falters.

“The hole in the wall,” you repeat after picking yourself up. “That’s where you hide your bag. That’s where I found it. It was my first Mark.”

Bryce turns to you again with narrowed eyes. “What did ye find exactly?”

“Nothing,” you say, sighing. “There was nothing there… I-I don’t know how long you’ve been gone, Bryce, but everything faded — everything you had found and collected is just gone.”

He still looks skeptical. But behind the wavering expression, you glimpse the part of him that believes. It’s why he hasn’t put your ass in the rearview yet.

“I’ve been following in your footsteps all this time,” you go on while approaching him steadily, “just hoping that I’d find something that would make sure that your efforts, and everyone else’s, weren’t in vain. Something to make all the suffering worth it.”

You stop in front of him, glad when he doesn’t turn away and go. “Now that you’re here, we can get one step closer to figuring this all out. You can help me.”

Bryce slowly shakes his head. He’s holding on to traces of doubt, which become more meager by the second, and it’s too obvious. “A'm still here,” he says. “Just a minute ago, ah was coming… from…” He trails off with a heavy sigh. “And the others?” he says, lifting his sorry gaze to you. “The others at the campfire?”

“They’re all gone,” you say. “We’re the new batch.”

Bryce’s eyes waver from yours, and his Adam’s apple bobs as a rush of emotions threaten to pour out. You know he needs a moment, but you’re unsure that you have the time to spare. You’re too desperate for the answers he can provide. Taking a step forward, you say slowly, “I’m sorry, Bryce, I really am, but I don’t know how long you’ll be here, and we need to use this time while you still are.”

He ignores you with his head hung low. You reach for his arm. “Bryce—”

He swiftly catches your wrist, startling you. His intense expression meets your wide-eyed gaze, and he stares at you silently for a few moments, blankly, as if not fully there. You wait, as still as a statue and quiet as a mouse as the seconds pass… and then he’s back. You catch a flicker in his eyes before he blinks at you and his face softens. “Yer telling the truth,” he murmurs.

“Well… yeah,” you say, puzzled.

Bryce releases your wrist. He takes two steps back as a heavy sigh escapes his lips. “Shit,” he mutters. He rakes his fingers through his hair, then drags both hands down his face. “Just… Just give me a second, alright? Ah didnae climb out a' bed tonight ready to 'ave a feckin' existential crisis.”

“I-I understand that, but—”

“Ye got a name?” Bryce interrupts. He doesn’t even give you a chance to answer before he slaps his forehead with his palm and mutters, “Stupid, stupid question… Everyone 'as a name… Uh… You want to tell me yer name? Ye just ruined my day, so ah think it’s only fair.”

You turn over your name. Bryce repeats it under his breath and nods his head. “Fitting name for ye, lass,” he says while forcing a smile onto his iron expression.

“Bryce,” you say quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Is it yer turn to ask stupid questions?”

“Hey, now—”

Bryce flourishes his arm dismissively. “Sorry,” he says while sighing and hanging his head. “No, a'm not okay. It’s not every day someone comes out of the fog telling you to fuck off and choke.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Ye might as well 'ave,” Bryce mutters. He finds a seat on a nearby tree stump and slumps forward, frowning. “A'm not okay,” he repeats. “Ah want to lie down and cry and maybe hug someone—”

“My arms are wide open,” you say invitingly.

“We can skip all that horseshit,” Bryce says. He flicks his chin over your shoulder. “That lass ah shot back there—who was she? It seemed personal…”

“It was,” you reply, scoffing. “I’ve made a couple of enemies here, poking my nose where I shouldn’t.” You scratch your nape and glance off. “And I might’ve, uh… gotten her boyfriend killed. N-not intentionally, but things happen, and-and things escalated, and… uh…” You trail off. Your lips form a tight line. “Y’know.”

“Uh-huh.”

It gets quiet.

Bryce doesn’t say or do a thing, but he’s not getting up and trying to walk away, at least. Finding relief in his cooperation, you plant yourself against a tree and lift your shirt to discern your wound. It’s healing, albeit slowly. But the surrounding skin is completely unmarred by the bruises from Julie’s feral beating.

Bryce’s voice draws your attention. “Is that the first time?”

You lift your head and catch a glimmer of concern in his eyes. You hesitate. “Not exactly,” you answer. “There was this one time — a burn. I-I thought my mind was playing tricks on me then, but now I see that it wasn’t.” You scoff. “How—Why is this happening to me?”

“Perk of being the fog’s champions,” he mutters. “This place will beat us down as much as it wants, but our bodies won’t quit so easily…”

“Why us?” you ask.

Bryce shrugs lazily. “A've been askin' the same question for years… Haven’t found the answer yet.”

Your eyes widen. “Years?”

“It wouldn’t be a limbo without the extended stay.”

“Damn,” you murmur. “So… So how old are you?”

“Thirty-two,” he answers, sounding unsure. “Or, ah was; time doesn’t work the same way here that it does in the real world. But ye’ve probably already figured that out.”

“And after all these years… What have you found?”

Bryce’s expression changes to suggest uncertainty. He considers his answer for a minute, as his brows stitch together, and his lips draw into a fine line. Eventually, he stands up and takes a step forward. “A-a lot,” he says. “Too much to explain, but… can ah show you?” He extends his hand to you.

You hesitate. What will he show you, and where? How far are you willing to follow a stranger through the fog? And can you trust him, even? Take the leap, urges the small voice in the back of your head. He offers you the answers you desire, doesn't he? Even in the face of uncertainty, how can you hesitate now? You've been at rock bottom for far too long... 

You take Bryce’s hand.

Instantly, the woods and the fog are swept away, and you’re suddenly in a gulch, surrounded by tall, stone walls that stretch up toward a sky dotted with stars and splashed with vibrant colors of purple and blue—it’s as if you’re staring up at a galaxy through a rocky scar. Water trickles nearby. You spin around to see a creek running through the gulch, which curves downhill and disappears behind another crag.

You face Bryce again, blinking in surprise. He pats your shoulder. “What?” he says. “Ye haven’t done this before?”

“It-It’s happened, but I’ve never controlled it,” you reply. “How?”

“We’re the pathfinders, aren’t we? It comes with the job.”

Bryce points at a rocky wall straight ahead. “Ye see that?”

You follow his gesture, and you spot deep lines carved into the wall’s surface. Upon further inspection, you realize it depicts a spidery beast that preys upon a wolf. You approach it with your mouth agape. “I’ve seen something like this before,” you murmur, as you reach out to trace the grooves.

“As crude as it is, a mural’s a mural,” Bryce voices over your shoulder, “and there are more like it.”

He gives you a minute to take it in before he grasps your shoulder. Then everything shifts again, and the gulch is gone, and you’re in pitch black. Crisp, rotten air thick with dust makes you gag and choke. When you throw your arms out, you can’t even see your own hands in front of you. Frightened, you stagger and call out, “Bryce—!”

“A'm still here,” he says beside you. He clicks on a flashlight, and he shines the beam across the room, allowing you to make out rows upon rows of stone caskets. An ancient tomb that reeks of cold death.

Bryce hones the light on a wall at the far end of the crypt. Marring the surface is a massive black mural with imagery depicting some horrid monster with spidery legs and oozing tendrils that hang from its dripping maw. It nests in a web scrawled across the stone. You gaze thoughtfully at it.

Bryce says, “You seein' a pattern yet?”

“I’m seeing one,” you murmur. “But I don’t understand.”

“Ye’ll understand in a minute.”

Bryce extends to you his hand. You accept, and you’re swept away once again. The crypt is gone, replaced by an open field of grass amid a storm that rages in the dark sky above. Thunder booms in the distance, and a streak of lightning splits the sky. Hard rain pelts your head and back. You turn around slowly, gauging your surroundings before Bryce grabs your arm and harshly yanks you down beside him. He hushes you and points straight ahead.

You crane your neck to peer over the tall grass. In the distance, you see a bloom of furious light. It’s a bonfire. Oh, but you realize it’s more than that—a spider-like effigy made of sticks and bones and stones, with long, spindly limbs outstretched, and claws that extend toward the sky. It’s erected high above the licking flames, and at its base, you make out a dozen shadowy figures, dancing and twirling around it, while singing a glorious song in a language you don’t recognize.

You squint your eyes at the sight in the distance. Bryce whispers beside you.

“Ye know what that is, right?”

“I don’t,” you reply quietly.

“Well, ah have a hunch it’s our Entity. Same as those murals we’ve seen… They all depict this terrible thing that resembles a spider… An' you see that? They’re worshipin' it.”

You face Bryce with a puzzled expression. “Why?”

“People do that,” Bryce utters. “They worship their gods.”

Lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating the barren field in a flash. Suddenly, you hear a shout. The voice carries through the storm and draws your attention toward the bonfire, where you notice the song and dance have ceased, and you’ve garnered the locals’ attention. Your eyes go wide. “Bryce,” you whisper. “Do they see us?”

“There’s no way they see,” Bryce replies.

“I think they see us.”

“Relax,” Bryce calms you. “They don’t—”

A local raises something in the air, and he hollers and chucks a dark shape straight at you. Bryce snatches your hood and yanks you clear of a spear that strikes the ground where you were just a second ago. You swallow down a lump in your throat. Bryce scrambles to his feet, hoisting you up and shouting, “Uh, aye! Aye, they see us!”

The locals erupt in a clamor of shouts and screams. They brandish weapons and stones and race through the field. Bryce takes your hand, and he sweeps you away.

The world shifts again, and you’re relieved to return to the fog, though not exactly in the same place you left. The night sky hangs above you through a film of hazy clouds and spindly tree branches.

Your wet clothes are plastered to your skin, made icy-cold as the fog brushes past. You shiver and hug yourself. “Th-That was an experience,” you mutter through chattering teeth.

Bryce staggers and catches himself against a tree. A thin black line oozes from his nose and trickles down his chin. He drags his sleeve across his face to smear it away. “R-Right?” he replies casually. “It’s a thrill though, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t sound too thrilled. He steadies himself and dips his head. “Those places ah showed you, they’re… they’re reflections of the real world. Echoes. And-And you know what that means?”

You keep quiet, inviting him to go on.

“It means this thing exists in the real world,” he says. “And it means it’s existed for a long time.”

His nose continues to ooze, and the sclera of his right eye turns black. He blinks, causing a murky tear to spill down his cheek. He’s quick to swipe it away. “And that, uh… it means there’s hard evidence out there. ‘Gotta be a shit ton of records throughout the ages…”

“And that tells us—?”

“—We know what we’re dealing with, and we know what we’re looking for. This might be some eons-old, hungry God, and ah think we’re trapped in its feeding dish. But if we can find those old places of worship, we can scrounge up some solid information on this thing. Now, a’ve already scoured every centimeter of those places ah showed ye, but—”

He breaks off with a nasty cough that shudders his whole frame, and he catches himself against a tree to keep from toppling over. He retches and vomits a thick black substance at his feet. You hesitate before approaching him. “Bryce—?”

He waves his hand dismissively as he takes his arm across his mouth. “A-A’m fine,” he says. After recollecting himself, he faces you again, sighing. “If this thing’s been around for as long as ah think it has, then we’ve got our work cut out for us.” He coughs, then mutters, “It makes sense no one’s found all the answers yet… There’s too much out there.”

He falls silent. You gaze at him worriedly for a second before questioning, “What are we? How can we do these things?”

Bryce slumps his shoulders. “Ah dinnae ken,” he says. “If I 'ad everythin' figured out, ah wouldn’t be here. I’m just tellin' ye what I know so that maybe ye’ll be the one to put two and two together…” He slides down against the tree to sit at its base, with one knee bent and his head hung.

You know he’s tired. If he needs a moment, you’ll give it to him.

As you have a seat against a tree opposite him, you observe him wiping away the strange substance that oozes from his eye and nose. Maybe you should address the elephant in the room.

“Bryce,” you say. “What’s happening to you?”

“The same thing that’s happening t' you.” He barely lifts his head with a studying gleam in his eyes. “Aye?”

You don’t know what to say. He shrugs his shoulders and mutters, “I think it’s the fog. It’s poison. And we’re always out here, wanderin' and searchin' for the answers… It’s taking its toll.”

“Do you avoid the campfire as much as I do?”

“Ah did,” Bryce replies bitterly. “Ah visited once in a blue moon. And they always chased me away like a stray dog. No one wanted to hear me preachin' about ‘the way out.'” He scoffs. “That’s fair,” he mutters. “Ah preached it about a thousand times and had nothin' to show for it.”

That sounds familiar… It’s something you understand too well. “Was there no one who believed you?” you ask. “Or anyone you…?”

Bryce thinks about it. “Will,” he murmurs. “William, he…” A sorrowful look crosses his face as he trails off. He rifles something from his pocket—a familiar metal band that gleams in the moonlight. He flicks it in his palm before muttering, “He was to be married before all this shit happened… Yapped about it non-stop, like some young lad talking about his first crush… But he got real quiet over time…”

He tosses the ring at you. As you catch it in your palm, your mind jolts.

 

The memory is foggy. You walk down a beaten path through the woods with a man of short stature and darker skin, although you can’t make out his finer details. He’s a blur of colors moving in front of you, amid the gloom and gray of the woods and fog. He keeps his head bowed and one hand stuffed in his jean pocket. He rolls something between the fingers of his other—a ring.

When he lifts his head and turns to you, his eyes are just blurry, dark spots on his hazy face. When he speaks, his voice is distant and warbled. “You’re a dreamer,” he says.

You open your mouth and reply, but it’s Bryce’s voice you recognize.

“Will—”

The man, Will, shakes his head. He tosses the ring over his shoulder and leaves it in the dirt as he keeps forward. “I bet they’ve called the wedding off… And I bet they’ve moved on.”

You bend down to collect the ring, and you catch up to him. “Ah bet they’re waiting for ye,” says Bryce. “I would. You should hold on to this. When we get out of here—”

You’re interrupted when Will looks sharply over his shoulder. He stops walking to face you. “Keep it,” he says. “And you can hand it back to me the day we get out.”

You pocket the ring. “Ye’ll be getting it back soon.”

“We’ll see.”

 

You rejoin reality as the memory fades. When you blink to clear your hazy vision, you meet Bryce’s sad expression. “Everyone loses hope,” he says. “Some hang on for a while, but eventually, they all just lay down and die. This place drains us. And when there’s nothin' left, we…” He trails off and visibly swallows down a lump in his throat. “We’re not immune to it, either, the-the… the hopelessness. Or that dull ache in the back of our head, and the feeling of concrete blocks weighin' on our shoulders, making it hard to stand up and keep going… As special as we might be, we fade like all the rest.”

He extends his hand, and you flick the ring back to him. He pockets it as a somber look overtakes his features. “A'm a testament to that,” he mutters.

Such a heavy revelation sows an awful pit in your stomach. It’s something to consider, but you don’t have the time to sit around and dwell on it. “Bryce, I hate to push, but we don’t have a lot of time. I need to get you back to the cabin, where you can copy down everything you know, so then at least I’ll have something when you’re—”

You considerately stop yourself. The look on your face says enough. Bryce meets your gaze before startling you with a chuckle. “No rest for the wicked…”

He helps himself up. You go to his side and offer him a hand. “Do you need help?”

“Dae you?” Bryce teasingly retorts. “Ye’ve got a bum leg an' a hole in yer gut.”

“It’s healing,” you reply.

“Not fast enough,” Bryce says. Without warning, he scoops you off your feet and into his arms.

You immediately bristle. “You shouldn’t push yourself,” you warn. “Being an—”

“A’m not a porcelain doll,” he interrupts, sighing. “If there’s anythin' ye should be worried about, it’s yerself. An' besides… I like to push.”

“You’ll be pushing up daisies if you aren’t careful.”

“Hey, Debbie Downer? Clam up an' let me carry ye. We’ll get there quicker.”

“Do you even know where we’re going?”

“The cabin… Lydia’s place, right?”

“The one and only.”

Bryce’s face lights up. He murmurs, “Ah can’t believe the old hen's still kicking… It’ll be good t' see a familiar face. One’s better than none…” He fixes his hold on you and starts walking. “Ah know the way.”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Ten minutes into your walk, you’re questioning the validity of Bryce’s previous statement. Does he know where he’s going? Or is it that returning from your magical trip through the fog ended up displacing you more than you thought?

You hope it’s the latter. You want to get home and rest because your healing factor does nothing for the pain. And it’s no use in easing the nervous tension of being carried bridal-style through the fog by a stranger, either… But Bryce is doing better at the very least. On the outside, anyway. His nose has stopped dripping, and his eye has cleared up. As far as how he’s doing mentally, you can’t even begin to guess… He hides it well.

And, as it was bound to happen, Bryce catches one of your off glances. He breaks the silence you’ve grown fond of.

“Something on your mind?”

“A lot,” you reply. “But I’m mostly stunned… Honestly, of all the strange things I’ve encountered in the fog, I never imagined I’d meet you.”

“I’m sure ye’ve met plenty of ghosts from the past,” Bryce replies.

“None so significant,” you say. “And what you did before, the… the transporting? You controlled where the fog took us… Can you take us anywhere else?”

“Only places a've been,” Bryce answers. “It’s like marking a spot on a map; ah usually leave anchors everywhere ah go to make 'em easier to find again. But there are some exceptions to this rule, and sometimes anchoring isn’t enough…”

“Right. So… If you can just ‘poof’ us anywhere you want to go, why are we walking to Lydia’s place?”

“It gives us more time together, obviously.”

You quirk an eyebrow. He chuckles. “The cabin’s one of those exceptions ah was talking about,” he clears up. “Ah can find my way back from anywhere, but ah can’t get to it from the metaphorical map.”

“Ah.”

Bryce nudges you and switches topics. “I noticed we’re matching.”

“Matching…?” You tilt your head before realizing what he means. “Oh,” you say, while plucking the lapel of your jacket. “I found it in the cabin, and it was just so comfy, and… sorry. Do you want it back?”

“It’s no good to me now, is it?" He replies, snickering. "Keep it. Besides; 'looks good on ye…”

He puts on a friendly smile. As much as you want to believe its sincerity, you have a hunch deep down that it’s a charade—a smokescreen. You’re used to the cordial facade Bastion so frequently wore, and you’re able to see right through it now. Behind it all, you know what he’s hiding. It’s a lot to swallow, isn’t it? Being told you’re an Echo; that everything you strove to accomplish was lost, and that you failed.

If you can ease even an ounce of his grief, you’ll try. “I know how this all must make you feel, Bryce, but you didn’t fail. Even though you’re… gone, there’s a part of you still here, and he’s still searching.”

The smile on his face wavers, as it’s replaced with a puzzling look.

“You’re like… a shadow of yourself now,” you further tell him. “But that part of you has stuck around, and he’s been helping me. Protecting me, and guiding me, and—and—”

“Like Nasha,” Bryce interrupts, whispering.

“Nasha?” you say. “That name’s familiar…”

Bryce throws two quick glances over his shoulder before meeting your confused expression. “Natasha, she’s—she was—the lass who came before me. A’ve seen a couple of her memories, but ah hardly know a thing about her. What yer saying sounds a lot like what happened t' her…”

You raise an eyebrow. “What did she become?”

“Miss tall, dark, 'n—”

“—Handsome?” you interrupt curiously.

Bryce laughs. “Well, ah wouldn’t say handsome… She has some scary chompers; all teeth and claws, that one. Nightmarish is more fitting. And her attitude can use some work… But where was yer guardian angel when that blonde lass was beating your ass?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since—”

You clamp your mouth shut as you recall the grisly details of Bastion’s last visit. Hesitantly, you say, “He comes around.”

“Uh-huh… And what’s this new me like? Did he keep my dazzlin' personality?”

You consider your answer.

 

 

"He's shady."

"We're close." (❤)

 

Chapter 59: Choice: "We're close." (❤)

 

“We’re… close,” you say hesitantly.

“Close?”

“Yeah.”

“Close. Close, like…?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Oh… Oh.” Bryce’s expression shifts from confusion to understanding. You can see the gears moving in his head. “Close,” he repeats, blinking. “Ah gotcha. But… that doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

You flush. “Right! Uh… He’s”—You twiddle your thumbs while trying to find the right words to describe him—“nice,” you decide on. “He’s funny, too. And-and sometimes flirty and sarcastic, and he does this thing where… he…”

You trail off, noticing the funny look on Bryce’s face—a smile edging his mouth, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Suppressed laughter, and at your expense, no doubt. “Be straight with me,” he says. “Are ye fecking a demon?”

Your face grows hot. “I-I’m not—! Gah, why does everyone ask me that?!”

“Hey, it’s none o’ my business,” Bryce laughingly replies. But after a brief pause, he says, “Well, actually—”

You punch him in the shoulder before he can finish. “Ah,” he hisses. “Someone’s getting defensive.”

“I’m all healed up,” you declare, exasperated. “You can put me down now.”

“Maybe ah want t’ carry my future darling,” Bryce playfully argues.

You pinch your brow and sigh. He’s insufferable… And you’re beginning to see where Bastion gets it from. “Well,” you murmur, switching topics. “When he’s not going rogue, he’s useful, even if he has his flaws.”

“At least a’m still good for somethin’,” Bryce mutters.

You grunt in agreement.

The silence returns, and you allow it to remain, as you don’t know what else to say. Bryce is handling his existential crisis well on the surface. And although you recognize the ruse, there’s little else you can say or do to make him feel any better about it. He can dwell for a while. During the lingering silence, you consider your own grievances. You reflected on your shortcomings just an hour ago and wondered if you’d ever find the answers. Now, it seems they’re right in front of you. Who could have imagined they would come as an Echo; as a forgotten memory? Bryce feels real though, as does the hope he brings with him.

It feels good in knowing that, for now at least, there’s someone else like you, and that your burden is shared.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You must’ve snoozed off during the walk because you reawaken to the harsh sounds of pounding wood. As you stir, blinking, you take note you’re still in Bryce’s arms, and you’re on the front porch of Lydia’s cabin.

Bryce pulls back his leg to kick the door again, but he pauses when he notices you’re with him. “Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty,” he teases. “Ye get a good night’s sleep?”

“Stop beating the door,” you say with a heavy yawn. “Lydia’s blind, not deaf.”

“Go back t’ sleep and wake up without the attitude next time, huh?” Bryce kicks the door again, much to your disapproval. “I thought ye’d be glad to find that ah didn’t shrivel up and turn to dust while ye slept…”

“I am,” you say. “But Lydia already had one fright tonight, and she doesn’t need another.”

You tap Bryce’s shoulder to signal him to set you down. When he does, you promptly push him clear of the door and lightly knock on its surface. “Lydia?” you call. “It’s me.”

Shuffling footsteps cross the main room before the door flies open. Lydia greets you with a heavy sigh while also wielding a broom. “I didn’t think you’d be coming back, after that… harpy chased you into the woods,” she says shakily. She tosses her weapon aside and reaches out to cup your face. “Did she hurt you?”

“I’m fine, Lydia,” you say. “There’s someone—”

“Hmph,” she grunts, cutting you off as she runs her hands over your cheeks and brows. “You’re all covered in dirt. You need to run you a bath.”

She lifts the hem of her apron and licks the fabric before dabbing at your face. You grimace, complaining, “Lydia! I brought someone you… might…”

You trail off when you notice the shushing motion Bryce makes. After a brief pause, you rewind and slowly say, “Lydia, you… you should go relax. After the, uh… rough morning you had, I think you could use a little break.”

You place your hand on her shoulder and guide her out the front door, right past Bryce and toward her rocking chair.

She argues, “I was gonna put some tea on—”

“Later,” you tell her. “For now, get some rest. If you see—uh, hear, anything, just call. I’ll come running.” You pat her on the shoulder as Bryce sneaks inside. Lydia, none the wiser, grunts and reaches for her knitting basket. “I hope that young lady doesn’t come back,” she mutters.

You head inside and shut the door.

Bryce does a circle on his heels before turning to you with a smile. “She’s adorable, isn’t she? Reminds me of my nan’…”

“What the hell?” you reply, wrinkling your brow. “She hasn’t seen you in… in forever, right? Would it hurt to say hello?”

“Are ye forgetting that ‘m on borrowed time?” Bryce retorts. “A’m sure Lyds’ would love t’ see me again! But in a couple hours or less, a‘m”—he makes an exploding motion with his hands—“poof! Gone; just like that.” He waves his arm dismissively, muttering, “Ah love the old hen, but ah can’t do that t’ her; not again.”

“Oh,” you murmur, as your expression changes to show understanding. “I… guess that makes sense.”

Bryce walks past you. “Well, let’s get straight t’ business!” he says.

You follow him into the study, and you stop by the door as he yanks open the desk drawers to gauge their contents. Disappointment riddles his face. “Ye weren’t lying,” he mutters. “All my shit’s gone, isn’t it?”

“I told you,” you say. “All you left behind was this jacket.”

You rifle some blank papers and a pen from the desk before handing it forward. “Jot down anything you think I can use—anything.”

“Aye,” Bryce says. He peels off his jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair before he takes a seat. You move around the room lighting candles on the surface tops while he mutters, “Where t’ start?”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

It’s been about twenty minutes, and Bryce has already filled out half of the stack of pages you handed him, and he’s still going. You’ve stood by the door and haven’t said a word. You don’t want to distract him. But occasionally, you peer over his shoulder to get a peek at his work. Doing it for the umpteenth time, you notice a rough sketch of a tower, with a paragraph of notes scrawled beneath it. You can’t make them out. As you’re pulling away, you draw Bryce’s attention.

“We dinnae ‘ave to sit here in silence, ye know,” he says.

“I don’t want to distract you,” you reply, as you retake your post by the door.

Bryce scoffs. “Yer distractin’ me as is, perched there like a gargoyle.”

You head for the door. Bryce stops you, sighing. “A’m not telling ye to—Ah, just… sit down, let’s talk. A’ve sat in this study alone plenty a’ times before, but I’d appreciate the company now.”

As stubborn as you are, you yield to his request with a sigh, and you prop yourself against the wall. “What did you do before all this, Bryce?” you ask.

“Ah was a bit of a… troublemaker,” he surrenders with a pause.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Trouble?”

“Oh, ye know.” He scratches his chin while considering his response. “I did the odd job ‘ere and there while ah went in an’ out o' the slam for some petty misdemeanors.”

“Wait, jail? You went to jail? What the hell did you—?”

Bryce cuts you off, quickly waving his hands and asserting, “Nothin’ terrible, a’right? Ah never hurt anyone, ah just—People make dumb decisions, and ah made plenty o’ those.” He scoffs, muttering, “It’s crazy the sort o’ people ye meet here, right?”

You stare at him uneasily. “What did you do?”

“Stupid shit, like ah said — honestly! Ah got rubbered sometimes and got myself int’ trouble. Chuggin’ in the wrong place at the wrong time, ah pissed on lampposts, an’ sometimes hurled swears at swine. Petty shit, aye?”

“I don’t understand half of what you just said, but… sure. Petty shit.”

Bryce scoffs dismissively. “Yer cute, lass. But ah wouldn’t believe it if ye told me ye’d done no wrong… Everyone ‘as.”

His bold statement brings about a bitter silence. Dirty laundry’s a heavy subject, and one you’re not too keen to discuss with a stranger. But he’s no stranger, you remind yourself. He’s the man that made Bastion. Bastion, whom, despite your latest troubles, you can’t help but love. You love him, and yet you barely know him. You could change that now. Seek answers from his past that he could never provide himself.

You break the silence. “Have you ever had to make hard choices?” you ask. “Here, I mean?”

Bryce’s brow becomes shadowed. “Too many,” he murmurs. “An’ it doesn’t get easier…”

“Can you name a few?”

For a minute, you don’t receive an answer. You reconsider such a weighty question. “You don’t have to tell me if—”

“I killed a man.”

His confession gives you pause. You open your mouth to reply, but he meets your eyes with a grave expression that silences you. “Not a killer, but… It was a while ago. All this time, a’ve been tellin’ myself that it was only self-defense, that ah had no choice but to do it. But ah look back at it all the time, and ah know. I had a choice,” he says. “But something came over me, then. Something—”

He clenches his fist and squeezes the pen tightly in his white-knuckled grasp. “It was those whispers… Ye hear them too sometimes, right? It’s not just me?”

You nod reluctantly. Bryce grunts. “They come around and ah just… I lose myself. Ah’ll admit my record wasn’t the shiniest b’fore all this, but this place ruined me. The fog makes monsters of men.”

He swallows thickly and bows his head. You can see the shame and the guilt hanging over him like a dark cloud, and you want to tell him he’s wrong, that he’s no killer or monster… But he is. He became Bastion, and Bastion is a monstrous killer, no matter how you’ve tried convincing yourself otherwise.

You won’t tell him he’s wrong, but you can’t tell him he’s right.

You reach out to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. As soon as you contact him, your mind rips you away.

 

Thunder booms overhead like cannon fire, and hard rain pelts your back. Pain surges through your body, but it’s stifled by unbridled fury. You seethe through your teeth and glare through a red haze at a man squirming in the mud beneath you, fighting for his life as your hands squeeze his throat. He’s weaker than you, thinner, with a sallow face plastered with wet black hair. He claws your wrists and arms, but you don’t let up. His objections are strangled and hoarse. You’re killing him, and you don’t know why. You want to stop. You need to stop, because you’ll kill him if you don’t st—

“Don’t stop.”

—The whisper reaches your ears through the raging storm, and it sends chills racing down your spine, like a thousand icy pinpricks. “Don’t stop,” it repeats, commanding. And you don’t—you squeeze tighter and tighter. The man’s turning blue in the face. His strength wanes.

Stop, begs a tiny voice in the back of your head . Stop.

But you can’t. No matter how desperately you try to take control, you can’t.

The light fades from the stranger’s eyes. He wheezes for breath, then he spasms twice. But even when he’s gone cold and limp, you don’t quit. You have to be sure he’s dead. You have to kill him. You--

 

You snap back to reality with a gasp. Bryce is staring at you, silently, waiting. When you blink, he shrugs your hand off his shoulder. “What’d ye see?”

He’s like me, you remind yourself. And he knows you saw something. But you won’t tell. Rather, you bury the dark memory in a deep recess of your mind, and you hesitate to plant your hand on his shoulder again, before giving a comforting squeeze. “I-I get it, Bryce,” you offer. “I know what you mean… But those whispers, they’re… They’re not you. They’re not us.”

He grunts skeptically. You catch a flicker in his eyes that breaks your heart; a flicker of remorse and anguish… And then you wonder if these are Bastion’s eyes. For the first time, it feels like you’re seeing him eye to eye. And you remember the horrible things he did to you, and the horrible things you said to him, and you can hardly hold back the emotions threatening to pour out.

Bryce lifts a hand to touch yours. You shudder at his touch, pausing when he murmurs, “It got the best of me in the end, didn’t it?”

It did, you’d tell him, if you were being honest. You became a monster, you’d say. One who hurts and kills so many people without an ounce of remorse. But Bryce doesn’t deserve the hard truth. And you don’t want the reminder yourself. Instead, you offer a smile, as meager as it is, and you say, “You’re okay.”

You pat his shoulder and awkwardly withdraw your hand. Bryce lightens up as a smile tugs at his lips, and his eyes gleam with amusement. “Always a good day when a cute lass smiles at me.” He turns around in his chair and retakes his pen. “If a’m still kickin’ after this, we should grab a bevvy.”

You scoff, amused by the notion. “Do you know a place?”

“Aye; Lydia’s got a bounty in ‘er cellar.”

You double-take. “Wait… there’s a cellar? Here?”

Bryce smirks. Without a word, he stands up and crosses the room, flicking his chin in motion for you to follow. He leads you through the kitchen to that old storage closet. After opening the door and wafting at the dust that falls, he kicks aside a mop bucket and a stack of rusted pots, and he taps the toe of his boot against a large metal ring on the floor. It’s a hatch opening.

You get down on your knees and yank the hatch door up and open. You’re immediately struck by a bitter, cold draft that sends you staggering. “Huh,” you comment.

 

Bryce drops a wooden crate of assorted spirits onto the small table in the main room. The bottles clank and settle, and Bryce flourishes his arms with a dazzling grin. “Pick yer poison!”

You don’t know what to grab. Bryce snickers. “Ah’ll save ye the trouble,” he says while opting for a dusty bottle of scotch with a tarnished label. Watching him chew the wrapping off, you frown. “Should you really be drinking?” you ask. “Y’know, being a recovered alcoholic?”

Bryce smiles cheekily and jests, “Ah never recovered.”

He pops the cork and raises the bottle high. “Slàinte mhath!” he cheers, and he takes a big swig. He draws back, hissing, and he offers the bottle to you. You have a small sip and hand it back, grimacing at the fruity, bitter taste.

Bryce casually posts up against the wall. “Ah’ll get clean when ah get out o’ here,” he says. “But ah might as well enjoy myself b’fore then, aye?”

You don’t know what to say—but realization becomes clear on Bryce’s face, and you’ve never seen a smile waver and fall so quickly before, as it’s replaced by sheer gloom. His mouth opens and closes, and when he gets something out, he stammers. “Ah-Ah mean, that was the plan, b’fore…” He trails off and dips his head for a moment. After combing his fingers through his hair, he directs his forlorn gaze at the fireplace and the flames within. He watches them in shared silence, sipping his scotch and scratching his jaw before his eyes wander around the room. His sights land on the evidence board, and curiosity flickers across his expression.

He approaches the board and takes a random page off the wall. “Huh,” he murmurs. “The Black Vale…”

“Are you familiar?” you ask.

“Too familiar,” Bryce replies scoffingly. He pins the page back up. “Nasty bunch o’ occult freaks. If ye see a creeper in dark robes, ah’d advise you to spin right around and go the other way.”

You raise an eyebrow. “But shouldn’t we go after them? If they worship this thing, they’d know more than anybody.”

“Yeah, but ye’d have better odds o’ finding a unicorn than gettin’ yer hands on one o’ these eerie pricks. They play with dark magic we don’t know shit about. And ah know they pull a lot o’ strings. They won’t be found if they don’t want to be found.” He scoffs. “And good riddance—because trust me when ah say they’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

“I guess that means you haven’t gotten any leads from them?”

“Mm, nope. Whatever they’re hidin’ is under lock and key.”

“And the Imperiatti?” you question. “Do you know anything about them?”

“The Imperi-wha’ now?”

“They’re… Nevermind.”

Bryce frowns at the dejected look that overtakes your features. He scratches his nape and sighs. “A’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “Ah know Nasha would’ve been more useful to ye. A’ve seen some of her memories, and she had troves o’ shit stacked up here, from floor t’ ceiling!” He gestures broadly with his bottle, then adds, “And a’ve only found her crumbs… If she left anything behind, it’s all gone now…”

He sets his bottle on the table and makes a motion at you. “Someone has t’ figure this shit out eventually… If not me or you—”

“—It’ll be another,” you finish grimly.

Bryce grunts. “Good little soldiers,” he mutters.

You’re unwilling to let another grim silence smother you. “I’ll do my best, Bryce,” you assure him. “I’ll find everything I can, and if I do find the answers, it’ll be thanks to you and Bastion.”

The shift in mood is immediate. The silence you tried to keep at bay comes crashing down—you could hear a pin drop, suddenly. Bryce whispers the name on his breath. “Bastion?” he says. “Is that… Is that what a’m calling myself now?”

“Yeah, I mean… Bastion. That’s what he—That’s what the new you goes by.”

Bryce’s brow becomes shadowed in thought. “It’s familiar, it’s… Ah think that’s what the lass called her pal,” he says. “Nasha, she… She called ‘er own pal by that name.”

“That could just be a coincidence, right?” you say, frowning. “Because I-I don’t know where you’re going with this…”

“Neither dae I,” Bryce replies, scoffing. “Ah spotted the name a couple o' times in ‘er old journal, but it could be a coincidence, ah dinnae ken. But why’s he not going by my name anymore?”

“He didn’t have one,” you answer. “He let me choose, and Bastion just… it came to mind.”

More silence fills the space between you. After a few moments of pause, Bryce waves dismissively. “Well, it reminds me,” he says. “There’s another place ah should show ye b’fore—”

He cuts off. Hot blood splatters your face, and you blink through a misty red haze at a spiny black claw protruding from his chest. You shout, startled, as Bryce staggers forward with a rasping gasp. And with wide eyes, you watch Bastion emerge from the shadows of the corner, lacking his grinning visage and airing an aura of hostility.

“Bastion!” you scream.

He doesn’t respond. Swiftly, he rips loose his claw from Bryce’s chest and grabs him by the throat before slamming him against the wall. Bryce fumbles for his holstered gun, but Bastion catches his wrist and grips him firmly. A toothy maw splits his face apart, and he seethes. “What dark crevice did you crawl up out of?”

“Bastion!” you scream at him.

He doesn’t even look your way. Has he switched again? Terrified and paralyzed, you can’t move. But Bryce struggles and squirms, seemingly unhurt by the gaping wound in his chest. “L-Lass—!”

He’s muted when Bastion grips his throat tighter. “Quiet,” he commands.

He’s going to kill him. Panic overtakes you—you take a step forward, just as Bryce’s pained scream cuts the air, and you watch, horrified, as claws alike the Entity’s burst from his chest, ripping muscle and flesh and bone on their way out. They shoot out and impale Bastion’s torso and neck, and he releases a dreadful shriek before flinging Bryce from his grasp.

Bastion staggers away as Bryce crashes to the floor, groaning painfully. You gag at the sight of him, and the spidery legs that extend, twitching, from his chest. You recover from the momentary fright to run to his aid. “We-We need to go—”

Bastion snarls. You look at him, wide-eyed, as a dozen writhing tendrils squirm from his wounds and thrash erratically.

You help Bryce to his feet and drag him through the kitchen and out the back door. Bastion shambles after you in tow, with wicked intent.

 

You race into the fog as fast as you can with Bryce on your arm, struggling to keep upright. But you don’t get very far; not before obsidian claws burst from the earth and catch your leg. You stagger and crash forward with a shout. Bryce falls away from you and lands unsteadily on his hands and knees.

When you try to stand, more claws catch your arms and legs and yank you to the ground. You pry and beat on them, but it’s no use. A tall shadow falls over you. Your breath catches, and your blood runs icy cold as Bastion crosses your path. You tremble under the off glance he gives you, but he heads straight for Bryce. You can only watch. “B… Bastion,” you call. “Bastion!”

Bryce is on his feet, swaying unsteadily. He barely gets two steps before Bastion seizes him by the neck. He’s lifted off the ground to squirm and kick at the air as Bastion draws him in close. Tendrils barbed with black spines squirm from his maw, and they coil tightly around Bryce’s neck.

“Bastion, don’t!” you scream at him, but it’s like he doesn’t hear you. “Bastion!”

The tendrils coil tighter, and they rip and tear. Bryce chokes on blood. “BASTION!” you scream desperately. “STOP—!”

Bones twist and snap, and Bryce’s head comes off with a ghastly squelch. You look away, gagging.

A body hits the ground, and when you look back, you see the tendrils, with Bryce’s decapitated head in their grasp, receding into Bastion’s maw. He swallows it whole and shuts his jaws. Following the gruesome execution, his claws retract, his chest seals up, and everything snaps back into place to re-form a vague shape of a man.

And then, finally, you have his full attention.

You freeze when he snaps his blank gaze to you. And your struggle intensifies when he approaches. The claws trapping you to the ground withdraw into the earth, and you shoot straight to your feet and try to run. You’re caught around the waist by a claw and hoisted off the ground, then spun around to face him. Terror takes hold; you kick and punch at him, believing you’re next on the chopping block. And so overwhelmed with emotion, you scream and cry, and choke on the fear babbling from your lips.

But his words surprise you.

“Wanderer… It’s me .”

Your struggle stops. You blink at him. When you find your voice, it comes out hoarsely. “Wh… Why did you—? Bastion, why-why did you kill him?”

He warmly cups one side of your face without answering. You lean away from his touch. “B-Bastion,” you say, your voice shaking with anger. “Bastion, why did you kill him? Why did you kill him, Bastion?!”

You ball your fists and beat on his shoulders while screaming in his face. “Why did you KILL HIM?!” He was HELPING me, Bastion, and-and you just—!”

You cut off when he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger. A hard lump traps your voice in your throat. Bastion tilts his head. “He was an Echo, Wanderer,” he says. “And you know how dangerous those can be…”

You swallow thickly, nervous. “He was you, Bastion. And he didn’t hurt me. He wasn’t going to hurt me. So why did you—”

He startles you when he suddenly hacks up some rancid orange substance that splatters your chest. You grimace in disgust as he turns his head to conclude his coughing fit with a wheezing sigh. “Forgive me,” he mutters, facing you again. “I’m coming down with something…”

“You caught a cold?” you say indifferently. “I don’t care.”

Bastion sighs heavily. And despite your protests, he leans in close to press his forehead to yours. A putrid reek comes off his breath, which mingles with the stench of death, and it’s so sickening it almost makes you gag. He takes his unwanted affections further when he tries to kiss you. You thwart his first attempt by turning your head to the side. And you thwart his second with a firm, “No.”

He grasps your chin and forces you to face him. “Don’t do this to me.”

You can’t tell if it’s a request or a demand. You sneer at him. “You came here to kill an innocent man, and now you want to talk?”

“I’m only protecting you, Wanderer.”

“Are you?” you retort bitterly. “So where were you when the Doctor tortured me? And-And when Julie showed up to beat my ass? Where was your protection then?”

“Wanderer—”

You cut him off, scoffing. “You WEREN’T there. But you conveniently show up to kill someone who hadn’t even HURT ME! What are you protecting me from, Bastion? Because I think it’s just another lie.”

He squeezes your chin much too rough for your liking. “Everything I do, I do in your best interest.” He tilts his head. “You don’t believe me?”

“You’ve made it really hard to, Bastion.”

He huffs. And when he knocks foreheads again, with his lips barely brushing yours, you recognize what he wants: he wants you to accept his lies, and let him kiss you and pretend everything’s okay again, but you won’t. You remain firm. “What are you hiding?” you whisper.

You taste the poison in his frigid breath when he sighs deeply, and you wait and wait, but he doesn’t give you an answer. He sets you down and backs up. “Play your part, Wanderer, and I’ll play mine.”

As he turns away, you hear him faintly murmur, “I knew I shouldn’t have gotten attached. Oh, you cunning little things… You’re dangerous.”

He says nothing more, and then he’s gone.

It’s silent following his departure, but you can breathe again. You look toward Bryce’s body, seeing as it fades away in smoke and embers, and you release a shuddering breath. The claws protruding from his chest remain, and they twitch and move as if alive. It’s a horrible sight, and it brings about a thousand more questions.

You go to his side, hesitantly, and you collapse to your knees. Staying clear of the twitching claws, you rifle the ring from his pocket to hold it in your palm. It’s fading, just like him.

A stark frown ruins your features.

Bryce was your most significant lead yet, and he’s gone. And with him, the morsels of hope he brought along. You’re on your own again… And if you don’t figure this out, then it will be you approached by another wayless soul from the fog, telling you you’ve failed. You don’t want to become a memory, a missing piece in someone else’s puzzle… But you very well believe that’s the path you’re headed down, and you feel powerless to change it.

Before what’s left of the ring vanishes entirely, you place it in Bryce’s hand and close his fingers around it. And then you stand up and you turn away, and you leave.

 

Continue.

 

Notes:

I’m sorry if you got attached to Bryce, but I only needed him to exposition dump 😔

But anyway, here are the poll results! Behold, your husbandos, and your waifus. I’m personally happy with the results. I love these characters <3 It is a shame though that Yun-Jin didn’t land a spot 💔

Chapter 60: Choice: "He's shady."

 

“He’s… shady,” you answer hesitantly.

“Shady?”

“Yeah,” you say. “And that’s not just a play on words… He’s been useful for the most part, but sometimes he’s there, and sometimes he’s not. And sometimes he’s going completely off-the-rails rogue. I know he’s hiding something from me, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what, or why.”

Disappointment becomes clear on Bryce’s face. “Ah sound more trouble than a’m worth,” he mutters. “That’s a shame… ‘Was hopin’ a’d still be good for somethin’.”

“He has his good days,” you reply.

Bryce grunts.

Then the silence returns, and you allow it to remain, as you don’t know what else to say. Bryce is handling his existential crisis well on the surface. And although you recognize the ruse, there’s little else you can say or do to make him feel any better about it. He can dwell for a while. During the lingering silence, you consider your own grievances. You reflected on your shortcomings just an hour ago and wondered if you’d ever find the answers. Now, it seems they’re right in front of you. Who could have imagined they would come as an Echo; as a forgotten memory? Bryce feels real though, as does the hope he brings with him.

It feels good in knowing that, for now at least, there’s someone else like you, and that your burden is shared.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You must’ve snoozed off during the walk because you reawaken to the harsh sounds of pounding wood. As you stir, blinking, you take note you’re still in Bryce’s arms, and you’re on the front porch of Lydia’s cabin.

Bryce pulls back his leg to kick the door again, but he pauses when he notices you’re with him. “Mornin’,” he says, amused. “Ye get a good night’s sleep?”

“Stop beating the door,” you say with a heavy yawn. “Lydia’s blind, not deaf.”

“Go back t’ sleep and wake up without the attitude next time, huh?” Bryce kicks the door again, much to your disapproval. “I thought ye’d be glad to find that ah didn’t shrivel up and turn to dust while ye slept…”

“I am,” you say. “But Lydia already had one fright tonight, and she doesn’t need another.”

You tap Bryce’s shoulder to signal him to set you down. When he does, you promptly push him clear of the door and lightly knock on its surface. “Lydia?” you call. “It’s me.”

Shuffling footsteps cross the main room before the door flies open. Lydia greets you with a heavy sigh while also wielding a broom. “I didn’t think you’d be coming back, after that… harpy chased you into the woods,” she says shakily. She tosses her weapon aside and reaches out to cup your face. “Did she hurt you?”

“I’m fine, Lydia,” you say. “There’s someone—”

“Hmph,” she grunts, cutting you off as she runs her hands over your cheeks and brows. “You’re all covered in dirt. You need to run you a bath.”

She lifts the hem of her apron and licks the fabric before dabbing at your face. You grimace, complaining, “Lydia! I brought someone you… might…”

You trail off when you notice the shushing motion Bryce makes. After a brief pause, you rewind and slowly say, “Lydia, you… you should go relax. After the, uh… rough morning you had, I think you could use a little break.”

You place your hand on her shoulder and guide her out the front door, right past Bryce and toward her rocking chair.

She argues, “I was gonna put some tea on—”

“Later,” you tell her. “For now, get some rest. If you see—uh, hear, anything, just call. I’ll come running.” You pat her on the shoulder as Bryce sneaks inside. Lydia, none the wiser, grunts and reaches for her knitting basket. “I hope that young lady doesn’t come back,” she mutters.

You head inside and shut the door.

Bryce does a circle on his heels before turning to you with a smile. “She’s adorable, isn’t she? Reminds me of my nan’…”

“What the hell?” you reply, wrinkling your brow. “She hasn’t seen you in… in forever, right? Would it hurt to say hello?”

“Are ye forgetting that ‘m on borrowed time?” Bryce retorts. “A’m sure Lyds’ would love t’ see me again! But in a couple hours or less, a‘m”—he makes an exploding motion with his hands—“poof! Gone; just like that.” He waves his arm dismissively, muttering, “Ah love the old hen, but ah can’t do that t’ her; not again.”

“Oh,” you murmur, as your expression changes to show understanding. “I… guess that makes sense.”

Bryce walks past you. “Well, let’s get straight t’ business!” he says.

You follow him into the study, and you stop by the door as he yanks open the desk drawers to gauge their contents. Disappointment riddles his face. “Ye weren’t lying,” he mutters. “All my shit’s gone, isn’t it?”

“I told you,” you say. “All you left behind was this jacket.”

You rifle some blank papers and a pen from the desk before handing it forward. “Jot down anything you think I can use—anything.”

“Aye,” Bryce says. He peels off his jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair before he takes a seat. You move around the room lighting candles on the surface tops while he mutters, “Where t’ start?”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

It’s been about twenty minutes, and Bryce has already filled out half of the stack of pages you handed him, and he’s still going. You’ve stood by the door and haven’t said a word. You don’t want to distract him. But occasionally, you peer over his shoulder to get a peek at his work. Doing it for the umpteenth time, you notice a rough sketch of a tower, with a paragraph of notes scrawled beneath it. You can’t make them out. As you’re pulling away, you draw Bryce’s attention.

“We dinnae ‘ave to sit here in silence, ye know,” he says.

“I don’t want to distract you,” you reply, as you retake your post by the door.

Bryce scoffs. “Yer distractin’ me as is, perched there like a gargoyle.”

You head for the door. Bryce stops you, sighing. “A’m not telling ye to—Ah, just… sit down, let’s talk. A’ve sat in this study alone plenty a’ times before, but I’d appreciate the company now.”

As stubborn as you are, you yield to his request with a sigh, and you prop yourself against the wall. “What did you do before all this, Bryce?” you ask.

“Ah was a bit of a… troublemaker,” he surrenders with a pause.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Trouble?”

“Oh, ye know.” He scratches his chin while considering his response. “I did the odd job ‘ere and there while ah went in an’ out o’ the slam for some petty misdemeanors.”

“Wait, jail? You went to jail? What the hell did you—?”

Bryce cuts you off, quickly waving his hands and asserting, “Nothin’ terrible, a’right? Ah never hurt anyone, ah just—People make dumb decisions, and ah made plenty o’ those.” He scoffs, muttering, “It’s crazy the sort o’ people ye meet here, right?”

You stare at him uneasily. “What did you do?”

“Stupid shit, like ah said — honestly! Ah got rubbered sometimes and got myself int’ trouble. Chuggin’ in the wrong place at the wrong time, ah pissed on lampposts, an’ sometimes hurled swears at swine. Petty shit, aye?”

“I don’t understand half of what you just said, but… sure. Petty shit.”

Bryce scoffs dismissively. “Yer cute, lass. But ah wouldn’t believe it if ye told me ye’d done no wrong… Everyone ‘as.”

His bold statement brings about a bitter silence. Dirty laundry’s a heavy subject, and one you’re not too keen to discuss with a stranger. But he’s no stranger, you remind yourself. He’s the man that made Bastion. Bastion, whom, despite your latest troubles, has become one of your very few companions, and yet you barely know him. You could change that now. Seek answers from his past that he could never provide himself.

You break the silence. “Have you ever had to make hard choices?” you ask. “Here, I mean?”

Bryce’s brow becomes shadowed. “Too many,” he murmurs. “An’ it doesn’t get easier…”

“Can you name a few?”

For a minute, you don’t receive an answer. You reconsider such a weighty question. “You don’t have to tell me if—”

“I killed a man.”

His confession gives you pause. You open your mouth to reply, but he meets your eyes with a grave expression that silences you. “Not a killer, but… It was a while ago. All this time, a’ve been tellin’ myself that it was only self-defense, that ah had no choice but to do it. But ah look back at it all the time, and ah know. I had a choice,” he says. “But something came over me, then. Something—”

He clenches his fist and squeezes the pen tightly in his white-knuckled grasp. “It was those whispers… Ye hear them too sometimes, right? It’s not just me?”

You nod reluctantly. Bryce grunts. “They come around and ah just… I lose myself. Ah’ll admit my record wasn’t the shiniest b’fore all this, but this place ruined me. The fog makes monsters of men.”

He swallows thickly and bows his head. You can see the shame and the guilt hanging over him like a dark cloud, and you want to tell him he’s wrong, that he’s no killer or monster… But he is. He became Bastion, and Bastion is a monstrous killer, no matter how you’ve tried convincing yourself otherwise.

You won’t tell him he’s wrong, but you can’t tell him he’s right.

You reach out to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. As soon as you contact him, your mind rips you away.

 

Thunder booms overhead like cannon fire, and hard rain pelts your back. Pain surges through your body, but it’s stifled by unbridled fury. You seethe through your teeth and glare through a red haze at a man squirming in the mud beneath you, fighting for his life as your hands squeeze his throat. He’s weaker than you, thinner, with a sallow face plastered with wet black hair. He claws your wrists and arms, but you don’t let up. His objections are strangled and hoarse. You’re killing him, and you don’t know why. You want to stop. You need to stop, because you’ll kill him if you don’t st—

“Don’t stop.”

—The whisper reaches your ears through the raging storm, and it sends chills racing down your spine, like a thousand icy pinpricks. “Don’t stop,” it repeats, commanding. And you don’t—you squeeze tighter and tighter. The man’s turning blue in the face. His strength wanes.

Stop, begs a tiny voice in the back of your head. Stop.

But you can’t. No matter how desperately you try to take control, you can’t .

The light fades from the stranger’s eyes. He wheezes for breath, then he spasms twice. But even when he’s gone cold and limp, you don’t quit. You have to be sure he’s dead. You have to kill him. You—

 

You snap back to reality with a gasp. Bryce is staring at you, silently, waiting. When you blink, he shrugs your hand off his shoulder. “What’d ye see?”

He’s like me, you remind yourself. And he knows you saw something. But you won’t tell. Rather, you bury the dark memory in a deep recess of your mind, and you hesitate to plant your hand on his shoulder again, before giving a comforting squeeze. “I-I get it, Bryce,” you offer. “I know what you mean… But those whispers, they’re… They’re not you. They’re not us.”

He grunts skeptically. You catch a flicker in his eyes that breaks your heart; a flicker of remorse and anguish… He regrets the damage he’s done… Even if Bastion doesn’t, Bryce does.

“It got the best of me in the end, didn’t it?” he murmurs.

It did, you’d tell him, if you were being honest. You became a monster, you’d say. One who hurts and kills so many people without an ounce of remorse. But Bryce doesn’t deserve the hard truth. And you don’t want the reminder yourself. Instead, you offer a smile, as meager as it is, and you say, “You made it through.”

You pat his shoulder and awkwardly withdraw your hand. Bryce lightens up. “Ah don’t mean t’ be such a feckin downer,” he says. Turning around in his chair and retaking his pen, he adds, “If a’m still kickin’ after this, we should grab a bevvy.”

You scoff, amused by the notion. “Do you know a place?”

“Aye; Lydia’s got a bounty in ‘er cellar.”

You double-take. “Wait… there’s a cellar? Here?”

Bryce smirks. Without a word, he stands up and crosses the room, flicking his chin in motion for you to follow. He leads you through the kitchen to that old storage closet. After opening the door and wafting at the dust that falls, he kicks aside a mop bucket and a stack of rusted pots, and he taps the toe of his boot against a large metal ring on the floor. It’s a hatch opening.

You get down on your knees and yank the hatch door up and open. You’re immediately struck by a bitter, cold draft that sends you staggering. “Huh,” you comment.

 

Bryce drops a wooden crate of assorted spirits onto the small table in the main room. The bottles clank and settle, and Bryce flourishes his arms with a dazzling grin. “Pick yer poison!”

You don’t know what to grab. Bryce snickers. “Ah’ll save ye the trouble,” he says while opting for a dusty bottle of scotch with a tarnished label. Watching him chew the wrapping off, you frown. “Should you really be drinking?” you ask. “Y’know, being a recovered alcoholic?”

Bryce smiles cheekily and jests, “Ah never recovered.”

He pops the cork and raises the bottle high. “Slàinte mhath!” he cheers, and he takes a big swig. He draws back, hissing, and he offers the bottle to you. You have a small sip and hand it back, grimacing at the fruity, bitter taste.

Bryce casually posts up against the wall. “Ah’ll get clean when ah get out o’ here,” he says. “But ah might as well enjoy myself b’fore then, aye?”

You don’t know what to say—but realization becomes clear on Bryce’s face, and you’ve never seen a smile waver and fall so quickly before, as it’s replaced by sheer gloom. His mouth opens and closes, and when he gets something out, he stammers. “Ah-Ah mean, that was the plan, b’fore…” He trails off and dips his head for a moment. After combing his fingers through his hair, he directs his forlorn gaze at the fireplace and the flames within. He watches them in shared silence, sipping his scotch and scratching his jaw before his eyes wander around the room. His sights land on the evidence board, and curiosity flickers across his expression.

He approaches the board and takes a random page off the wall. “Huh,” he murmurs. “The Black Vale…”

“Are you familiar?” you ask.

“Too familiar,” Bryce replies scoffingly. He pins the page back up. “Nasty bunch o’ occult freaks. If ye see a creeper in dark robes, ah’d advise you to spin right around and go the other way.”

You raise an eyebrow. “But shouldn’t we go after them? If they worship this thing, they’d know more than anybody.”

“Yeah, but ye’d have better odds o’ finding a unicorn than gettin’ yer hands on one o’ these eerie pricks. They play with dark magic we don’t know shit about. And ah know they pull a lot o’ strings. They won’t be found if they don’t want to be found.” He scoffs. “And good riddance—because trust me when ah say they’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

“I guess that means you haven’t gotten any leads from them?”

“Mm, nope. Whatever they’re hidin’ is under lock and key.”

“And the Imperiatti?” you question. “Do you know anything about them?”

“The Imperi-wha’ now?”

“They’re… Nevermind.”

Bryce frowns at the dejected look that overtakes your features. He scratches his nape and sighs. “A’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “Ah know Nasha would’ve been more useful to ye. A’ve seen some of her memories, and she had troves o’ shit stacked up here, from floor t’ ceiling!” He gestures broadly with his bottle, then adds, “And a’ve only found her crumbs… If she left anything behind, it’s all gone now…”

He sets his bottle on the table and makes a motion at you. “Someone has t’ figure this shit out eventually… If not me or you—”

“—It’ll be another,” you finish grimly.

Bryce grunts. “Good little soldiers,” he mutters.

You’re unwilling to let another grim silence smother you. “I’ll do my best, Bryce,” you assure him. “I’ll find everything I can, and if I do find the answers, it’ll be thanks to you and Bastion.”

The shift in mood is immediate. The silence you tried to keep at bay comes crashing down—you could hear a pin drop, suddenly. Bryce whispers the name on his breath. “Bastion?” he says. “Is that… Is that what a’m calling myself now?”

“Yeah, I mean… Bastion. That’s what he—That’s what the new you goes by.”

Bryce’s brow becomes shadowed in thought. “It’s familiar, it’s… Ah think that’s what the lass called her pal,” he says. “Nasha, she… She called ‘er own pal by that name.”

“That could just be a coincidence, right?” you say, frowning. “Because I-I don’t know where you’re going with this…”

“Neither dae I,” Bryce replies, scoffing. “Ah spotted the name a couple o’ times in ‘er old journal, but it could be a coincidence, ah dinnae ken. But why’s he not going by my name anymore?”

“He didn’t have one,” you answer. “He let me choose, and Bastion just… it came to mind.”

More silence fills the space between you. After a few moments of pause, Bryce waves dismissively. “Well, it reminds me,” he says. “There’s another place ah should show ye b’fore—”

He cuts off. Hot blood splatters your face, and you blink through a misty red haze at a spiny black claw protruding from his chest. You shout, startled, as Bryce staggers forward with a rasping gasp. And with wide eyes, you watch Bastion emerge from the shadows of the corner, lacking his grinning visage and airing an aura of hostility.

“Bastion!” you scream.

He doesn’t respond. Swiftly, he rips loose his claw from Bryce’s chest and grabs him by the throat before slamming him against the wall. Bryce fumbles for his holstered gun, but Bastion catches his wrist and grips him firmly. A toothy maw splits his face apart, and he seethes. “What dark crevice did you crawl up out of?”

“Bastion!” you scream at him.

He doesn’t even look your way. Has he switched again? Terrified and paralyzed, you can’t move. But Bryce struggles and squirms, seemingly unhurt by the gaping wound in his chest. “L-Lass—!”

He’s muted when Bastion grips his throat tighter. “Quiet,” he commands.

He’s going to kill him. Panic overtakes you—you take a step forward, just as Bryce’s pained scream cuts the air, and you watch, horrified, as claws alike the Entity’s burst from his chest, ripping muscle and flesh and bone on their way out. They shoot out and impale Bastion’s torso and neck, and he releases a dreadful shriek before flinging Bryce from his grasp.

Bastion staggers away as Bryce crashes to the floor, groaning painfully. You gag at the sight of him, and the spidery legs that extend, twitching, from his chest. You recover from the momentary fright to run to his aid. “We-We need to go—”

Bastion snarls. You look at him, wide-eyed, as a dozen writhing tendrils squirm from his wounds and thrash erratically.

You help Bryce to his feet and drag him through the kitchen and out the back door. Bastion shambles after you in tow, with wicked intent.

 

You race into the fog as fast as you can with Bryce on your arm, struggling to keep upright. But you don’t get very far; not before obsidian claws burst from the earth and catch your leg. You stagger and crash forward with a shout. Bryce falls away from you and lands unsteadily on his hands and knees.

When you try to stand, more claws catch your arms and legs and yank you to the ground. You pry and beat on them, but it’s no use. A tall shadow falls over you. Your breath catches, and your blood runs icy cold as Bastion crosses your path. You tremble under the off glance he gives you, but he heads straight for Bryce. You can only watch. “B… Bastion,” you call. “Bastion!”

Bryce is on his feet, swaying unsteadily. He barely gets two steps before Bastion seizes him by the neck. He’s lifted off the ground to squirm and kick at the air as Bastion draws him in close. Tendrils barbed with black spines squirm from his maw, and they coil tightly around Bryce’s neck.

“Bastion, don’t!” you scream at him, but it’s like he doesn’t hear you. “Bastion!”

The tendrils coil tighter, and they rip and tear. Bryce chokes on blood. “BASTION!” you scream desperately. “STOP—!”

Bones twist and snap, and Bryce’s head comes off with a ghastly squelch. You look away, gagging.

A body hits the ground, and when you look back, you see the tendrils, with Bryce’s decapitated head in their grasp, receding into Bastion’s maw. He swallows it whole and shuts his jaws. Following the gruesome execution, his claws retract, his chest seals up, and everything snaps back into place to re-form a vague shape of a man.

And then, finally, you have his full attention.

You freeze when he snaps his blank gaze to you. And your struggle intensifies when he approaches. The claws trapping you to the ground withdraw into the earth, and you shoot straight to your feet and try to run. You’re caught around the waist by a claw and hoisted off the ground, then spun around to face him. Terror takes hold; you kick and punch at him, believing you’re next on the chopping block.

But his words surprise you.

“Are you done, Wanderer?”

He sounds unlike his feral other half. Your struggle stops. You blink at him. When you find your voice, it comes out hoarsely. “Wh… Why did you—? Bastion, why-why did you kill him?”

He doesn’t answer. “B-Bastion,” you say, your voice shaking with anger. “Bastion, why did you kill him? Why did you kill him, Bastion?!” You ball your fists and beat on his shoulders while screaming in his face. “Why did you KILL HIM?!” He was HELPING me, Bastion, and-and you just—!”

He cuts you off. “He was an Echo, Wanderer,” he says calmly. “And you know how dangerous those can be…”

You swallow thickly, nervous. “He was you, Bastion. And he didn’t hurt me. He wasn’t going to hurt me. So why did you—”

He startles you when he suddenly hacks up some rancid orange substance that splatters your chest. You grimace in disgust as he turns his head to conclude his coughing fit with a wheezing sigh. “Forgive me,” he mutters, facing you again. “I’m coming down with something…”

“You caught a cold?” you say indifferently. “I don’t care.”

Bastion sighs heavily. “I’m only protecting you, Wanderer.”

“Are you?” you retort bitterly. “So where were you when the Doctor tortured me? And-And when Julie showed up to beat my ass? Where was your protection, then?”

“Wanderer—”

You cut him off, scoffing. “You WEREN’T there. But you conveniently show up to kill someone who hadn’t even HURT ME! What are you protecting me from, Bastion? Because I think it’s just another lie.”

He growls at you, responding bitterly to your attitude. “Everything I do, I do in your best interest… You don’t believe me?”

“You’ve made it really hard to.”

His sneering lips suddenly flip into a forced grin. It’s a look that sends a shiver cascading down your spine. “Don’t make me your enemy, Wanderer. Play your part, and I’ll play mine.”

He drops you on your feet and turns away. And without another word, he’s gone.

It’s silent following his departure, but you can breathe again. You look toward Bryce’s body, seeing as it fades away in smoke and embers, and you release a shuddering breath. The claws protruding from his chest remain, and they twitch and move as if alive. It’s a horrible sight, and it brings about a thousand more questions.

You go to his side, hesitantly, and you collapse to your knees. Staying clear of the twitching claws, you rifle the ring from his pocket to hold it in your palm. It’s fading, just like him.

A stark frown ruins your features.

Bryce was your most significant lead yet, and he’s gone. And with him, the morsels of hope he brought along. You’re on your own again… And if you don’t figure this out, then it will be you approached by another wayless soul from the fog, telling you you’ve failed. You don’t want to become a memory, a missing piece in someone else’s puzzle… But you very well believe that’s the path you’re headed down, and you feel powerless to change it.

Before what’s left of the ring vanishes entirely, you place it in Bryce’s hand and close his fingers around it. And then you stand up and you turn away, and you leave.

 

Continue.

 

Chapter 61: Don't Hold Me

Notes:

Happy Valentine's Day <3 Spread love and good vibes! And if you have no one to hold you today, I will hold you… and give you a smooch 💖 XOXO

 

You’re alone again, rested on your knees in the black pool. The child isn’t here; it’s just you and the incorporeal whispers all around. Your chest feels tight, accompanied by a scratchy sensation that creeps up your throat. It makes breathing difficult. You swallow repeatedly to keep it—whatever it may be—down.

A charcoal drawing sits on your lap, its parchment splattered with ink and its edges burnt black. The same drawing that vanished from the journal scavenged from the village depicts a shade enclosed in an iron-bar cage. You’ve stared silently at it for what feels like hours, but you’ve given up trying to derive meaning from it. You stare with half-lidded eyes, not a thought in your mind. It’s all static and whispers, none of which you can pick apart to understand.

Through the bluster, a woman’s voice breaks through the darkness. She sounds familiar… but you don’t listen. Even as she calls for you again and again, you ignore her. The noise drowns her out, and you welcome it. You won’t heed the voices from the dark—not today. Maybe not ever again.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You spent the greater part of these restless nights fixing the back door after Bastion tore it off the hinges during his rampage. And you spent an even greater deal of time explaining to Lydia how it was your imaginary friend who was to thank for it. Of course, she didn’t believe it. She thought someone or something broke in—“another killer,” she surmised—someone else gunning for your head. And, while untrue, you can’t fault her for believing it. Hours prior to Bastion’s visit, you had just fended off Julie, who came for blood.

Since then, Lydia’s only been on edge. She tries to hide it, but you can tell she’s weary and afraid of being in her own home. She worries about who will break down her door next, what weapons they’ll bring, and their intentions… It makes you feel terrible. You’ve only brought trouble to Lydia’s doorstep, and you know that won’t be the last of it. For that reason, you’ve spent less and less time in the cabin, and more time in the fog.

Now, most nights, when you awake, you shake off the vestiges of an unsatisfactory night’s sleep, and you lurk into the fog with your journals and notes, and a lantern to light your way. Tonight is no exception to your new norm; you leave the cabin and venture into the woods, this time bringing along an addition of oats and crackers so that you might share them with Poe if he ever comes back to you. Maybe then you won’t be so alone.

 

You walk for an hour before finding a clearing nearby, amid a bustle of tall trees and dense brush, beside a trickling creek. It’s secluded and quiet; hopefully, nobody will find you here. Your notes lay scattered around you while you chew oats and peruse Bryce’s unfinished journal. You’ve learned much from what little he wrote down, but it’s not quite enough… He scrawled images of unknown places with murals on the walls, and he jotted down notes beneath each one describing the things he had seen there. In some of these places, he found odd, cryptic symbols… He called them Wards, and he claimed they each served unique purposes, but that he was yet to discover what their purpose was.

It seems Bryce saw it all, and he wrote for you what he could; he described the Echoes he’s seen, the places he’s been, and the people he’s met… But it’s not enough.

Nothing he left you was exceptional… Bryce could’ve been so useful. He could’ve held your hand and guided you for longer. He honed the abilities he adopted here in the fog, and he could’ve taught you how to! But… then there’s that thing he did when Bastion attacked… He wrote notes on that too… He called it a “defense mechanism” — something vicious residing deep inside his chest. It made him nauseous and ill, and that feeling had been there for a long time, slowly crawling its way up and out until… until it showed itself one night. During a trial gone awry, when he had no sentry to guard him, it tore out of his chest and defended him against a killer, in a way described much like what you witnessed firsthand.

But he didn’t know what it was… He couldn’t control it.

Beneath the entry, he scratched a note: "It hurt like hell… I hope it’s something you never have to deal with."

You fear you already are.

Besides those rabbles, there was another note that piqued your interest—you find the page and quickly read it again—an entry regarding a tower. The “Observer’s Tower,” Bryce labeled it. Beneath the messy sketch of a tall, dark structure, he describes a man within as, “Hears all, sees all,” and that if anyone would know anything or everything about the fog, it’d be him.

You got excited reading that entry for the first time, but only briefly—at the bottom of the page, Bryce broke your heart.

"Saw it in a dream," he wrote, "—haven’t actually found the damn place yet. ‘Would’ve taken you there if I had. Sorry lass :("

You thumb over the sad face he scrawled at the end of the note, and your chest tightens unbearably.

Bryce never found it, and he never will… It’s up to you now, but you’re shattered by his loss. He was supposed to be your golden goose. And now that he’s gone, there’s no guarantee you’ll ever find another Echo of him. Since the incident, you’ve racked your brain for answers; why did Bastion do it? Why did he really do it? You don’t buy his lousy excuses, not anymore; Bryce was harmless… But did he know something that Bastion didn’t want you to know? And if he did… then what?

More questions without answers. Great; just what you needed…

You haven’t had a clue what to do since then. You’ve gone over these notes a thousand times, as if you’ll magically find all the answers hidden in some fine print. But you won’t, and you won’t find them in the fog either, as you have no protection and no guide. Bastion’s gone rogue, Bryce is gone, and you just feel so damn helpless. And that thing Bryce described? The horrible creepy-crawly sensation inside him? It’s been with you since day one. Those symptoms affirm your deepest fear; that there’s something inside you that you can’t control… You thought you imagined it all before, those dizzying waves of nausea and crippling pain in your chest, but now you’re not so sure, and… and you’re terrified.

Overwhelmed, you palm your heart with deeply-creased brows. Tightness restricts your breast.

You stand up and collect your things to depart. But as you retake your lamp, a scream ruptures the air, making you startle and jump. Your breath catches in your throat as your blood runs cold, and a thousand thoughts race through your head. But smothering them comes recognition. And with recognition, dread. You recognize that piercing cry. It’s—

 

—Jake (❤)

—Claudette (❤)

—Dwight (❤)

—Kate (❤)

—David (❤)

—Yui (❤)

—Zarina

 

Notes:

This chapter’s short, ahhh… But I’ll make it up to you with a romance chapter!
Since we’ve decided on whom the official love interests are, I’ll be dropping their separate branches one by one… Jake, David, Dwight, Yui, Claudette, and Kate. (I will also include a neutral chapter, for those of you who aren’t feeling the love in the air today.)

Chapter 62: Choice: Jake (❤)

 

—Jake.

It’s Jake’s screams and shouts. It’s a chilling sound that causes your hair to stand on end and your eyes to widen in fear.

But you don’t even think; you run. You bolt toward the unknown danger, with your heart pounding and your fear escalating. You tear through the woods like a furious bat out of hell, tripping and stumbling and getting caught on low-hanging branches, but you keep going with one goal in mind: finding him.

Soon, you halt at the opening of a foggy clearing, and your eyes grow bigger. A horrible, dark tree has, seemingly, come to life. Its spindly, black branches and crawling tendrils ensnare Jake, trapping him like a fly in a spider’s web. The predatory tree drags him toward a gaping hole in its trunk, that emanates a black fog reeking of death. Out of the darkness, pale hands reach out, with twitching, grabbing fingers, and moaning voices attending them.

You gawk in terror, but when you snap out of it, you jump into action. You race forward and drop to your knees, grasping Jake’s arms and pulling with all your might. Your arrival startles him; his wide eyes meet yours. His mouth opens as if to speak, but anything he has to say is silenced by his painful cry as the roots and branches squeeze tighter.

“I’ve got you,” you say, grunting with effort. “God, what the hell is this thing?!”

“Hell if—nngh—I know!” Jake strains. “The-The damn thing came to life and—agh!”

Thorny roots tighten tenfold and shred through his sleeves. Bloody patches blossom on his garments. “Kill this fucking tree!” he shouts.

You crease your brows. “Kill the tree? How?!

You desperately rack your brain for an answer as holding onto him becomes more strenuous—your muscles scream and sweat spills from your brow. You’ll lose this game of tug of war if you don’t think fast. “I-I’ll… Fuck!” you swear. “Give me a minute!”

You don’t have a minute.

Startlingly, a root catches your wrist and tightens painfully before crawling up your arm. Targeted, you do your damn best to shake off the assailing threat while keeping a firm hold of Jake. “Shit, shit, shit—” you curse.

A flickering light out the corner of your eye catches your attention—your lantern!

Out of options and answers, you relinquish one hand on Jake and seize the lantern before chucking it at the gnarled tree. The glass shatters, and the tank explodes. Fire engulfs the tree, and an unearthly howl cuts through the air. The moans turn to screams, and their pale hands retreat into the void. You and Jake are freed from its clutches, so you drag him away as the tree wails.

When he’s on his feet beside you, swaying unsteadily, he scoffs. “Fuck,” he says.

“That’s… a first,” you say breathlessly.

“I didn’t think anything out here could surprise you,” Jake mutters. You lock eyes—a grateful glimmer crosses his expression before he turns away, limping off and beckoning you to follow. “Let’s get the hell away from this thing.”

 

You follow Jake through the woods until the howling stops and the firelight fades behind you. Jake eventually stops in a small clearing with a creek running through it. He collapses against a tree with an exhausted sigh. You sit beside him and rifle through your bag. “I’ll treat your wounds,” you offer.

“I’m fine,” Jake rasps.

“Fine? That thing tore the hell out of you. How’s your arm feeling?” You grab his arm and tug up his bloody sleeve. He snaps at you. “I’m fine,” he repeats.

You furrow your brows. “Jake,” you insist.

You hold his stubborn gaze until he clenches his jaw and concedes. He breaks eye contact, and says with a heavy sigh, “You’re more stubborn than me.”

You work up the rest of his sleeve and scrutinize the damage. Those thorns shredded his arm, but it’s not severe. Just surface damage; scrapes and bruises… You gather your disinfectant and some bandages before getting to work. Jake avoids your eyes.

“What are you doing out here?” you ask. “I thought you did all your brooding around camp…”

“Could be asking you the same thing,” Jake retorts. He winces when you dab his wounds. Hesitating, he quietly surrenders, “I came out here looking for you.”

You pause. “You—? Jake,” you sigh. “Why?”

He doesn’t answer. He shifts his eyes and grunts. “Where’s your little friend?”

“Poe? He’s… He’s avoiding me,” you murmur.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I hurt him. I didn’t mean to, but—” You trail off, frowning. “He’s, uh… lost trust in me. He left.” You scoff. “I’ve been trying to lure him with oats and crackers, but… he may never come back.”

“Just give the little guy some time,” Jake suggests. “Let him come to you. And if that connection’s real, he’ll come back. He only needs time.”

Following a short pause, he adds, “Now, me, on the other hand…”

“Did I do something to get on your bad side…?”

Jake scoffs. “I took you home and you slunk off in the middle of the night. ‘Left my door wide open, too…”

The corner of your lip twitches in amusement, but it’s gone in a flash when you realize the more serious expression on Jake’s face. You lower your head and sigh. “I’m sorry, Jake. But I’ve been going through some things lately…”

“I can tell. You’ve been acting flaky since I first laid eyes on you… All the murmuring, the off looks over your shoulder, and your freak-outs around camp? Yeah, I know.”

His skepticism puts a knot in your throat. You scour for an answer or excuse, but you know there’s no excuse good enough to get past Jake. His hard gaze pierces you. Hesitantly, you say, “Yeah… Yeah, I’m a mess. And I don’t know what else to tell you.” You set his bandages and move to put away your supplies, but Jake catches your wrist. As he scrutinizes the damage that travels up your arm, his features soften considerably, and his eyes shine with traces of concern. “You’ve got people worried,” he says while taking a roll of bandages and getting to work. “You’ve got me worried, and I don’t say that to just anyone.”

“Almost sounds like you care,” you snark.

His brows wrinkle. After a minute of silence, he murmurs, “I know you won’t tell me what’s up, so I’ll quit asking. I won’t waste my energy barking at a brick wall… But tell me you’re okay. Tell me I don’t have to worry because it’s been so damn hard not to.”

A pang in your heart makes you frown. You murmur, “Jake, I… I honestly didn’t know you cared so much.”

“Wish I could say I didn’t,” he mutters. “Everyone tries getting close, but they all throw in the towel eventually… But you? You just don’t quit… It’s annoying.”

He says it with a hint of amusement lacing his tone, conveying that it’s a friendly jab.

You smile. “I have my eye on the prize.”

Jake scoffs, amused. “I’m a prize?”

“Mm-hmm.” You wiggle your brows.

Jake laughs warmly, causing a warm flush to fan your cheeks. He sets your bandages and tosses the scraps on your lap. “Fuck, you’re annoying.”

You snort. After a moment of silence, you lean back on your haunches and sigh. “I’m okay, Jake,” you say. “Really.”

He looks skeptical. You know he doesn’t believe you—you don’t believe it, yourself. But you won’t sit here and argue with him. You change the subject. “Damn,” you say. “I know you’re a tough-love kinda guy, but would it hurt to give me some TLC once in a while?”

“I’m not a sappy bastard,” Jake says with a chuckle. “That’s your thing, Cornball.”

“C’mon,” you laugh. “Share the love. I could use a little after everything I’ve been through.”

“I’ll give you anything you want if you get me a razor,” Jake replies, rubbing his beard. It’s filled out since you last saw him; thicker, darker… Although he’s looking a bit rough around the edges. But it’s not a bad look.

“Oh, we’re bartering now?” you reply.

Jake’s smirk says yes. You suck your teeth and give a slanted smile. “I don’t know… I kinda like it… Fits your whole ‘survivor-man’ persona.” You reach out and touch his bearded jaw. He doesn’t flinch away or stop you — in fact, he somewhat leans into your open palm, and his features soften at your touch. “It sounds like you’re making excuses.”

“I’m serious,” you reply laughingly. “It’s a good look.”

“Hm.” Jake gingerly raises a hand to lay over yours. “I might keep it.”

A dark flush steals across your face, and a warm, fuzzy feeling makes you weak. Cold and distant as Jake might be, you’re getting through to him. And he’s warm behind the facade, and he’s comforting and security, and… and he’s… a friend. Someone you feel that you can be vulnerable with; someone you want to be vulnerable with.

You swallow thickly and drop your gaze. “I’ve… I’ve been so overwhelmed lately,” you surrender. “—With everything. And it’s gotten so bad to the point that I come out here and I don’t even know why.”

Jake says nothing, but his hand seeks yours and your fingers intertwine. His silence invites you to continue. So, you do.

“I don’t have the energy to do anything but mope,” you say. “I… I think I’m losing my way… If I ever even found it. I’m trying to be everyone’s hero, but it’s so hard.”

Your voice cracks on the final word. You squeeze Jake’s hand as your eyebrows furrow. “I-I know you don’t want to hear me complain, but I needed to tell someone, and you’re—” You stop yourself when your voice wavers. You desperately try to keep it all pent up, but it gets harder and harder to contain the flood of emotions; anxiety, fear, and loneliness paint a sad expression on your face, and your eyes water. You shut your eyes tightly and take a deep breath. “I don’t mean to freak everyone out around camp. But lately, I haven’t known a damn thing… not even myself, and it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I can’t—”

You cut off mid-sentence when you feel his arms wrap around you. Surprised, you open your eyes as you’re pulled into a warm hug. It’s probably the warmest hug you’ve had in what feels like years. Jake’s voice is soft when he says, “That’s okay.”

Your chest tightens and your throat feels like sandpaper. You have so much to say, yet no words come out. So you settle for his comfort and silence, and you wind your arms around him and hold him close. You lean into his embrace and rest your chin on his shoulder, savoring his warmth as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. Tears slip down your cheeks; everything you’ve contained for so long comes pouring out. And while you cry, held in his arms and holding him, you recognize there are people here that care about you. Jake, Lydia, the others around camp—and then, with a heavy heart, you recall Bryce. Bryce, who never stood a chance. Much like him, these people will soon fade, and so will you.

The thought of losing everything weighs heavy on your shoulders. Your emotions overwhelm and suffocate you. You sob in Jake’s arms, gripping fistfuls of his jacket and holding on as tightly as you can, unable and unwilling to let go. And you both remain this way for five minutes, and you only quit crying when there’s nothing left in the tanks. And so you sit in silence, sniveling while Jake rubs warm circles on your back. You lean into him and close your eyes.

But the peace is shattered by a tightness in your chest. Pressure. Pressure so painfully tight that it becomes hard to breathe. Accompanying it is a prickly sensation that crawls up your throat. You wheeze around it, then choke.

When you try pushing away from Jake, he holds on tightly. He won’t let go. Your panic increases. You squirm and fight, and gasp for breath, as the pressure becomes sharp, stabbing pain beneath your sternum.

“Jake,” you gasp, pressing on him and trying to wrest free. But he clings to you. Fear screws up your face. “Jake!”

The pain shoots to a ten as that prickly sensation suddenly explodes from your chest. Thorny, dark claws, similar to the Entity’s protrude from your mangled cavity, and they pierce Jake’s torso, stabbing through flesh and bone and impaling him. You scream in agony as he cries out, and you watch, horrified, as the light fades from his eyes and the color seeps from his skin.

Your screams become hoarse and gargled as blood rushes up your throat. You gasp and choke, and you scream and scream until—

 

—you snap back to reality.

You reopen your eyes, gasping, and still held safely in Jake’s arms. A shuddering breath escapes your lips as the pain subsides. But you become aware of a dull sensation in your chest. Terrified, you wrest away from Jake, startling him as you scramble to your feet. He gazes at you with a puzzled expression.

“I-I… I need to go,” you say, backing away.

Jake stands, looking over his shoulder twice before facing you again, brows wrinkled. “What?”

“I need to go,” you repeat. “I need to go—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jake reassures while reaching out for you. Concern overtakes his features. “We’re safe here.”

When he takes a step forward, you take another step back. “I’m sorry,” you rasp. “I’m sorry… I need to get away from you. I need to get away.”

Jake opens his mouth to speak. But you swiftly turn tail and run. You won’t let your waking dream become reality.

You hear Jake shouting after you, and his footfalls fast in tow. But soon, his calls are smothered by the distance you put between you both. And soon, it’s silent.

You stagger to a halt amid a small clearing and crash to your knees. The cold freezes the tear tracks on your cheeks, making you shiver. You hug yourself tightly, but it’s little to no relief; not like Jake’s arms around you.

But it was dangerous, you tell yourself. I’m dangerous.

You don’t know what’s inside you, or if—when—it’ll come out. But you didn’t want to hurt him… You won’t risk it. But now he’s gone. He’s safe, but he’s gone, and… it’s cold. You’re so cold.

 

Continue

 

Notes:

Jake first because he’s best boy <3

Chapter 63: Choice: Claudette (❤)

 

—Claudette.

It’s Claudette screams and shouts. It’s a chilling sound that causes your hair to stand on end and your eyes to widen in fear.

But you don’t even think; you run. You bolt toward the unknown danger, with your heart pounding and your fear escalating. You tear through the woods like a furious bat out of hell, tripping and stumbling and getting caught on low-hanging branches, but you keep going with one goal in mind: finding her.

Soon, you halt at the opening of a foggy clearing, and your eyes grow bigger. A horrible, dark tree has, seemingly, come to life. Its spindly, black branches and crawling tendrils ensnare Claudette, trapping her like a fly in a spider’s web. The predatory tree drags her toward a gaping hole in its trunk, that emanates a black fog reeking of death. Out of the darkness, pale hands reach out, with twitching, grabbing fingers, and moaning voices attending them.

You gawk in terror, but when you snap out of it, you jump into action. You race forward and drop to your knees, grasping Claudette’s arms and pulling with all your might. Your arrival startles her; she pips like a mouse and her wide eyes meet yours. Her mouth opens as if to speak, but anything she has to say is silenced by her painful cry as the roots and branches squeeze tighter.

“I’ve got you,” you say, grunting with effort. “God, what the hell is this thing?!”

“I-I don’t—nngh—know!” Claudette whines. “I was walking past and it—ah!”

Thorny roots tighten tenfold and shred through her sleeves. Bloody patches blossom on her garments. “Help me, please!” she cries.

You crease your brows. “I will, but… how?!

You desperately rack your brain for an answer as holding onto her becomes more strenuous—your muscles scream and sweat spills from your brow. You’ll lose this game of tug of war if you don’t think fast. “I-I’ll… Fuck!” you swear. “Give me a minute!”

You don’t have a minute.

Startlingly, a root catches your wrist and tightens painfully before crawling up your arm. Targeted, you do your damn best to shake off the assailing threat while keeping a firm hold of Claudette. “Shit, shit, shit—” you curse.

A flickering light out the corner of your eye catches your attention—your lantern!

Out of options and answers, you relinquish one hand on Claudette and seize the lantern before chucking it at the gnarled tree. The glass shatters, and the tank explodes. Fire engulfs the tree, and an unearthly howl cuts through the air. The moans turn to screams, and their pale hands retreat into the void. You and Claudette are freed from its clutches, so you drag her away as the tree wails.

When she’s on her feet beside you, swaying unsteadily, she gazes at you with doe-like eyes and grasps your hand with both of hers. “Th-thank you,” she says shakily.

"You alright?" you ask, concerned. 

“Yes,” Claudette says, swiftly nodding her head. She gapes at the burning tree before taking a tentative step away and collecting her basket from the ground. She retakes your hand and tugs you after her. “We should get out of here,” she suggests.

“I’m right behind you.”

 

The howling and the firelight fade behind you as you follow Claudette through the woods. Soon, Claudette stops beside a creek that runs through a small clearing. When she becomes aware of how tightly she still grasps your hand, she releases her grip as a deep blush spans her face. As she collapses against a tree and draws her knees to her chest, she lets out an exhausted sigh. Sitting beside her, you rifle through your bag. “I’ll treat your wounds,” you offer.

“Oh, I’m okay,” Claudette quickly declines.

“Claud, that tree tore the hell out of your arm.”

“Well-well, yes, but—” She swallows her words and sighs. “I-I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You’re not inconveniencing anybody,” you reassure her while gently working up her sleeve. “Besides, I’ve missed your company…”

Claudette’s eyes widen. “Oh-oh?” she pips. She bows her head and plays with a loose loc’ hanging in front of her face. Meanwhile, you scrutinize the damage. Those thorns shredded her arm, but it’s not severe. Just surface damage; scrapes, and bruises… You gather disinfectant and some bandages before getting to work.

“What are you doing out here on your own?” you ask. “Foraging?”

“No, I… I came looking for you,” Claudette hesitantly submits.

You pause with a frown on your face. “Claudette—”

“I-I got worried,” she interrupts. “When I heard about what happened in camp — your panic attack? I had to find you and make sure you were okay.”

You wrinkle your brow, but you don’t know what to say. Claudette lays a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” she says softly. “It happens. But I wanted to be here to help you through it if I could.”

Her genuine concern paints a smile on your face. “You’re sweet, but you shouldn’t be putting your life in danger for me.”

“It’s the only way,” she replies, frowning. “I-I can never find you around camp; not anymore. And as-as dangerous as the fog is, it’s a wonder you come out here s… so often.”

You sigh heavily. “You know why—”

“I know, but…” Claudette trails off and bites her cheek. After a pause, she murmurs, “I get worried.”

“You shouldn’t; I’m fine, Claud,” you reassure her. “And I’ll be even better when I know you’re not hounding me into the fog and putting your life on the line.”

“I should be saying the same for you,” she replies pointedly.

You grunt dismissively to deflect an argument. When you finish tending her arm, you move to put away your supplies, but she grasps your wrist. “You got hurt too,” she says softly, gathering your bandages.

You silently watch as she tends to the damage traveling up your arm. Occasionally her eyes flicker toward yours, but she never holds your gaze for long. She clears her throat. “The l-last time we… we spoke, you-you were having trouble sleeping. Are you… you doing better now?”

“Sure,” you say. But it’s far from the truth.

Claudette grunts softly. “Um… I-I collected lavender from a clearing close to camp a-and I prepared lavender oil for you. It’s in my… my basket.” She sets your bandages and sets aside the scraps before gathering her basket. She digs through its contents before presenting a small, corked vial of oil.

You blink in surprise. “You made oil?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Claudette replies, sighing. “I had to find sunflowers first, and-and then I had to squeeze the oil out of their seeds, and …” She shakes the tiny vial and smiles sheepishly. “It took a… a long time for such a teeny amount, but it was worth it. This should help you sleep.”

“Claud, you… You didn’t have to do all this for me,” you say, scoffing in disbelief.

“I wanted to!” Claudette says quickly. Blush darkens her face. She lowers her head and says, “I wanted to. I want you to be able to get a good night’s sleep. A-And… And I made you something else, too.”

She places the vial in your hand before digging through her basket again and withdrawing a wreath woven of daisies and wild roses, and violets. A beautiful creation only sullied by the wilted flowers that have lost their color. Claudette thumbs over a crackly leaf and frowns. “It looked a lot better when I first made it, but… Ah, I’ll make another.”

She moves to put away the crown, but you stop her, placing a hand on her wrist. “Claud,” you say, smiling. “I think it’s perfect.”

A gentle smile graces her lips. She hesitates before leaning forward to place the wreath on your crown. A flush darkens her face. You regard the vial in your hand and ask, “So, the lavender oil… How do I—? Should I, uh… drink it?”

Claudette laughs softly. “No, no,” she corrects. “You don’t ingest it. You apply it topically—to the skin,”she clarifies. “Here—”

She takes the bottle and applies a small dot of oil to her fingertip. “I hear it works best on the temples, or behind the ears.” She grasps your jaw tenderly in one hand before dabbing the oil to your temple. She gently rubs small circles in your skin before pulling back. “Like that.”

Dark flush steals across your face. You say nothing but nod. Claudette bows her head and plays with a loose loc. “Or-or you can even apply a few drops to your pillow before bed,” she says. “But I-I can’t vouch for the results myself. You’ll have t… to tell me if it works.” Her hands capture yours and she gives you a light squeeze. “I hope it does,” she says with a smile.

A warm, fuzzy feeling makes you weak. Claudette’s sweetness is contagious, because you want to hold her hands all night and weave flower crowns and sit and talk and… and tell her everything. You consider her a… a friend. Someone you feel that you can be vulnerable with; someone you want to be vulnerable with.

You swallow thickly and lower your gaze. “Sleep doesn’t come easy because I’ve… I’ve been so overwhelmed lately,” you surrender. “—With everything. And it’s gotten so bad to the point that I come out here and I don’t even know why.”

Claudette nods her head to show she’s listening. Her silence invites you to continue. So, you do.

“I don’t have the energy to do anything but mope,” you say. “I… I think I’m losing my way… If I ever even found it. I’m trying to be everyone’s hero, but it’s so hard.”

Your voice cracks on the final word. You squeeze Claudette’s hands as your eyebrows furrow. “I-I hate to put all this on you, Claud, but I needed to tell someone, and you’re—” You stop yourself when your voice wavers. You desperately try to keep it all pent up, but it gets harder and harder to contain the flood of emotions; anxiety, fear, and loneliness paint a sad expression on your face, and your eyes water. You shut your eyes tightly and take a deep breath. “I don’t mean to make you worry. But lately, I haven’t known a damn thing… not even myself, and it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I can’t—”

You cut off mid-sentence when you feel her arms wrap around you. Surprised, you open your eyes as you’re pulled into a warm hug. It’s probably the warmest hug you’ve had in what feels like years. Claudette’s voice is soft in your ear. “That’s okay,” she says.

Your chest tightens and your throat feels like sandpaper. You have so much to say, yet no words come out. So you settle for her comfort and silence, and you wind your arms around her and hold her close. You lean into her embrace and rest your chin on her shoulder, savoring her warmth as you bury your face in the crook of her neck. Tears slip down your cheeks; everything you’ve contained for so long comes pouring out. And while you cry, held in her arms and holding her, you recognize there are people here that care about you. Claudette, Lydia, the others around camp—and then, with a heavy heart, you recall Bryce. Bryce, who never stood a chance. Much like him, these people will soon fade, and so will you.

The thought of losing everything weighs heavy on your shoulders. Your emotions overwhelm and suffocate you. You sob in Claudette’s arms and hold on as tightly as you can, unable and unwilling to let go. And you both remain this way for five minutes, and you only quit crying when there’s nothing left in the tanks. And so you sit in silence, sniveling while Claudette rubs warm circles on your back. You lean into her and close your eyes.

But the peace is shattered by a tightness in your chest. Pressure. Pressure so painfully tight that it becomes hard to breathe. Accompanying it is a prickly sensation that crawls up your throat. You wheeze around it, then choke.

When you try pushing away from Claudette, she holds on tightly. She won’t let go. Your panic increases. You squirm and fight, and gasp for breath, as the pressure becomes sharp, stabbing pain beneath your sternum.

“Claudette,” you gasp, pressing on her and trying to wrest free. But she clings to you. Fear screws up your face. “Claudette!”

The pain shoots to a ten as that prickly sensation suddenly explodes from your chest. Thorny, dark claws, similar to the Entity’s protrude from your mangled cavity, and they pierce Claudette’s torso, stabbing through flesh and bone and impaling her. You scream in agony as she cries out, and you watch, horrified, as the light fades from her eyes and the color seeps from her skin.

Your screams become hoarse and gargled as blood rushes up your throat. You gasp and choke, and you scream and scream until—

 

—you snap back to reality.

You reopen your eyes, gasping, and still held safely in Claudette’s arms. A shuddering breath escapes your lips as the pain subsides. But you become aware of a dull sensation in your chest. Terrified, you wrest away from Claudette, startling her as you scramble to your feet. She gazes at you with big, puzzled eyes.

“I-I… I need to go,” you say, backing away.

Claudette stands, looking fearfully over her shoulder twice before facing you again, brows wrinkled. “Wh-what?”

“I need to go,” you repeat. “I need to go—”

“You’re okay,” Claudette reassures while reaching out for you. Concern overtakes her features. “We’re safe.”

When she takes a step forward, you take another step back. “I’m sorry,” you rasp. “I’m sorry… I need to get away from you. I need to get away.”

Claudette opens her mouth to speak. But you swiftly turn tail and run. You won’t let your waking dream become reality.

You hear Claudette shouting after you, and her footfalls fast in tow. But soon, her calls are smothered by the distance you put between you both. And soon, it’s silent.

You stagger to a halt amid a small clearing and crash to your knees. The cold freezes the tear tracks on your cheeks, making you shiver. You hug yourself tightly, but it’s little to no relief; not like Claudette’s arms around you.

But it was dangerous, you tell yourself. I’m dangerous.

You don’t know what’s inside you, or if—when—it’ll come out. But you didn’t want to hurt her… You won’t risk it. But now she’s gone. She’s safe, but she’s gone, and… it’s cold. You’re so cold.

 

Continue

 

Notes:

Aaand Claudette second, because she’s best girl 💖💖💖💖

Chapter 64: Choice: Dwight (❤)

 

—Dwight.

It’s Dwight’s screams and shouts. It’s a chilling sound that causes your hair to stand on end and your eyes to widen in fear.

But you don’t even think; you run. You bolt toward the unknown danger, with your heart pounding and your fear escalating. You tear through the woods like a furious bat out of hell, tripping and stumbling and getting caught on low-hanging branches, but you keep going with one goal in mind: finding him.

Soon, you halt at the opening of a foggy clearing, and your eyes grow bigger. A horrible, dark tree has, seemingly, come to life. Its spindly, black branches and crawling tendrils ensnare Dwight, trapping him like a fly in a spider’s web. The predatory tree drags him toward a gaping hole in its trunk, that emanates a black fog reeking of death. Out of the darkness, pale hands reach out, with twitching, grabbing fingers, and moaning voices attending them.

You gawk in terror, but when you snap out of it, you jump into action. You race forward and drop to your knees, grasping Dwight’s arms and pulling with all your might. Your arrival startles him; he jerks and his wide eyes meet yours. His mouth opens as if to speak, but anything he has to say is silenced by his painful cry as the roots and branches squeeze tighter.

“I’ve got you,” you say, grunting with effort. “God, what the hell is this thing?!”

“Evil tree!” Dwight shouts. “Evil—nngh—tree! Get me out of this—agh!”

Thorny roots tighten tenfold and shred his arm. Blood smears his skin. “Get it off me!” he shouts.

You crease your brows. “I will, but… how?!

You desperately rack your brain for an answer as holding onto him becomes more strenuous—your muscles scream and sweat spills from your brow. You’ll lose this game of tug of war if you don’t think fast. “I-I’ll… Fuck!” you swear. “Give me a minute!”

You don’t have a minute.

Startlingly, a root catches your wrist and tightens painfully before crawling up your arm. Targeted, you do your damn best to shake off the assailing threat while keeping a firm hold of Dwight. “Shit, shit, shit—” you curse.

A flickering light out the corner of your eye catches your attention—your lantern!

Out of options and answers, you relinquish one hand on Dwight and seize the lantern before chucking it at the gnarled tree. The glass shatters, and the tank explodes. Fire engulfs the tree, and an unearthly howl cuts through the air. The moans turn to screams, and their pale hands retreat into the void. You and Dwight are freed from its clutches, so you drag him away as the tree wails.

When he’s on his feet beside you, swaying unsteadily, he huffs and readjusts his frames with trembling hands. “Thanks,” he says shakily.

“You’re alright?”

“Yeah,” Dwight answers, although the shaken look on his face says otherwise. He straightens his crooked tie and fixes his messed hair. Gaping at the burning tree, he visibly swallows. “Let’s get away from this thing before more trouble shows up,” he suggests.

“I’m right behind you.”

 

The howling and the firelight fade behind you as you follow Dwight through the woods. Soon, Dwight stops beside a creek that runs through a small clearing. He collapses against a tree with an exhausted sigh. Sitting beside him, you rifle through your bag. “I’ll treat your wounds,” you offer.

“I’m good,” Dwight declines with a dismissive wave.

“You don’t look so good,” you argue. He’s slick with sweat and still shaking—you furrow your brows. “I’ll take care of you, Dwight.”

His face turns cherry red. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment before shutting up and nodding. You reach for his arm and scrutinize the damage. Those thorns shredded his arm, but it’s not severe. Just surface damage; scrapes, and bruises… You gather disinfectant and some bandages before getting to work.

“What are you doing out here on your own?” you ask. “I never thought I’d find you wandering the fog…”

“I didn’t come out here for kicks and giggles,” Dwight says, scoffing. He avoids your eyes and nervously scratches his nape. “I, uh… I came looking for you,” he hesitantly submits.

You pause, frowning. “Dwight—”

“I know what you’re gonna say,” he interrupts, sighing. “It’s stupid. I told myself the same thing before coming out here… It took me an hour to actually man up and do it. Even now, a part of me wishes I hadn’t, but… after you ran off from camp the other night, I had to.” He lowers his head and messes with his tie. “It, uh… It freaked everyone out, your… nervous breakdown. ‘Freaked me out, too, and I just had to make sure you were doing all right.”

His eyes flit toward yours. “Are you?”

You meet his gaze and hesitate. “I’m… I’m good,” you say. “Fine. But you shouldn’t be putting your life on the line for me, Dwight. You don’t owe me anything.”

“W-well, no, but—” He swallows his words and scratches his neck. “You remember that talk we had about trust, right? When you fixed my tie, and… y’know?”

“I remember,” you reply.

“Yeah, we, uh… we talked about trust, and I think maybe there was mention of us, erm… being… being friends.”

He’s red in the face and still fumbling with his tie. You smile at him. “I remember,” you say. When you’ve finished tending his wounds, you move to put away your supplies, but Dwight grasps your wrist. “I’ll, uh… return the favor,” he says, reaching for the bandages. He examines the damage traveling up your arm before getting to work patching you up.

“—A-And being friends,” he continues from his last point, “means it’s my job to get worried when you disappear into the fog like that. No one’s seen you, so I figured the least I could do was come out here on my own and make sure you were, uh… doing okay.” He smiles sheepishly while briefly meeting your eyes. “Besides, you never took me up on any more of those private lessons… Did you change your mind?”

You furrow your brows. “I’ve… had a lot on my mind, lately. The trials are the least of my worries now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dwight asks quietly. “I-I’ll understand if you don’t, but I-I… I think you might need it.”

You wave dismissively. “I’m fine, Dwight,” you reassure him. “Really.”

Dwight frowns. He sets your bandages and puts away the excess. Then he plucks his notepad from his breast pocket and thumbs through its pages. “Well, while you were… away, I was elected camp leader, and—”

“Nuh-huh,” you say, snorting. “You, camp leader? Did I miss something?”

Dwight nods. “Just a bit,” he says. “We’ve been talking about it, and we put it to a vote… and…” He trails off when he reads the look on your face. His lips perk up with a sheepish smile. “Are you saying I’m not leader material?”

“I’m not saying that, it’s just… Are you pulling my leg?” You snicker. “What’s a camp leader even do?”

“A—A lot,” Dwight says quickly. “I’m keeping us organized, and setting up gathering trips, and building up around camp—” He flips through his notepad at an increasingly agitated pace, uttering, “I’ve even got David on laundry duty…”

When it dawns on you that he’s not joking, you scoff. “Huh… So you’re serious?”

Dwight sighs. “With spirits so low lately, and everyone feeling more hopeless than ever before, I thought it’d help to get up and make some change. It’s nothing like what you’re doing out here, but it’s something, right?”

Your features soften. “Yeah,” you say. “It’s something… I, uh… I think you’ll make a great leader, Dwight. You’ve definitely got the ambition.” Letting out a small laugh, you add, “And if you can make David do his own laundry for once, then I’d say you can make just about anything happen.”

Dwight’s lips quirk into a smile. He finds the right page in his notepad and clears his throat. “You’re on my list of to-do’s,” he says.

“I didn’t know you wanted to do me, Dwight,” you flirt. “I might’ve brought candles and a blanket.”

He chokes as his face grows ten shades redder. Quickly averting his eyes, he lets out a laugh and messes with his tie. “No, no, I-I mean”—he clears his throat again and loosens his collar—“Drag Y/N back to camp,” he reads off his notepad. “It’s at the top of the list, giving it the highest priority.”

When he meets your gaze again, his features soften with a nervous smile. “You’ve missed a couple of seminars already. And attendance is mandatory, so…”

“I’ll try to make the next one,” you reply, smirking.

Dwight sucks his teeth. “Mandatory,” he repeats.

“Gotta free up my schedule first,” you tease.

Dwight concedes defeat with a not-so-serious sigh. He puts away his notepad and says, “It was worth a try.”

“I’ll drop by eventually,” you reply. “For you.”

“For me?” Dwight smiles sheepishly and takes your hand. He’s a bit clammy, but you don’t mind. “I hope so,” he says. “Means I won’t have to come out here in search of you again.”

When he becomes conscious of how sweaty his hand is, he quickly withdraws and swipes it on his pants, stammering, “Ah, I need to carry around a rag or-or something—”

He hushes up when you retake his hand with both of yours. “You’re fine, Dwight,” you reassure him, smiling.

His face brightens. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. A warm, fuzzy feeling makes you weak. Dwight’s sincerity rubs off on you—he’s a good man with good intentions and an endearing awkwardness that makes your heart flutter. You could sit and watch him stammer over his words for hours. And you’d sit and talk and share a laugh, and… and tell him everything. Because, after all, you consider Dwight a friend. Someone you feel that you can be vulnerable with; someone you want to be vulnerable with.

You swallow thickly and lower your gaze. “I’ll drop by, Dwight, but… I can’t promise I will anytime soon. I’ve just… I’ve been so overwhelmed lately,” you surrender. “—With everything. And it’s gotten so bad to the point that I come out here and I don’t even know why.”

Dwight nods slowly. His silence invites you to continue. So, you do.

“I don’t have the energy to do anything but mope,” you say. “I… I think I’m losing my way… If I ever even found it. I’m trying to be everyone’s hero, but it’s so hard.”

Your voice cracks on the final word. You squeeze Dwight’s hand as your eyebrows furrow. “I know you don’t want to hear all this… You have enough on your plate already, but you’re—” You stop yourself when your voice wavers. You desperately try to keep it all pent up, but it gets harder and harder to contain the flood of emotions; anxiety, fear, and loneliness paint a sad expression on your face, and your eyes water. You shut your eyes tightly and take a deep breath. “I don’t mean to make you worry. But lately, I haven’t known a damn thing… not even myself, and it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I can’t—”

You cut off mid-sentence when you feel his arms wrap around you. Surprised, you open your eyes as you’re pulled into a warm hug. It’s probably the warmest hug you’ve had in what feels like years. Dwight’s voice is soft in your ear. “That’s okay,” he says.

Your chest tightens and your throat feels like sandpaper. You have so much to say, yet no words come out. So you settle for his comfort and silence, and you wind your arms around him and hold him close. You lean into his embrace and rest your chin on his shoulder, savoring his warmth as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. Tears slip down your cheeks; everything you’ve contained for so long comes pouring out. And while you cry, held in his arms and holding him, you recognize there are people here that care about you. Dwight, Lydia, the others around camp—and then, with a heavy heart, you recall Bryce. Bryce, who never stood a chance. Much like him, these people will soon fade, and so will you.

The thought of losing everything weighs heavy on your shoulders. Your emotions overwhelm and suffocate you. You sob in Dwight’s arms and hold on as tightly as you can, unable and unwilling to let go. And you both remain this way for five minutes, and you only quit crying when there’s nothing left in the tank. And so you sit in silence, sniveling while Dwight rubs warm circles on your back. You lean into him and close your eyes.

But the peace is shattered by a tightness in your chest. Pressure. Pressure so painfully tight that it becomes hard to breathe. Accompanying it is a prickly sensation that crawls up your throat. You wheeze around it, then choke.

When you try pushing away from Dwight, he holds on tightly. He won’t let go. Your panic increases. You squirm and fight, and gasp for breath, as the pressure becomes sharp, stabbing pain beneath your sternum.

“Dwight,” you gasp, pressing on him and trying to wrest free. But he clings to you. Fear screws up your face. “Dwight!”

The pain shoots to a ten as that prickly sensation suddenly explodes from your chest. Thorny, dark claws, similar to the Entity’s protrude from your mangled cavity, and they pierce Dwight’s torso, stabbing through flesh and bone and impaling him. You scream in agony as he cries out, and you watch, horrified, as the light fades from his eyes and the color seeps from his skin.

Your screams become hoarse and gargled as blood rushes up your throat. You gasp and choke, and you scream and scream until—

 

—you snap back to reality.

You reopen your eyes, gasping, and still held safely in Dwight’s arms. A shuddering breath escapes your lips as the pain subsides. But you become aware of a dull sensation in your chest. Terrified, you wrest away from Dwight, startling him as you scramble to your feet. He looks puzzled.

“I-I… I need to go,” you say, backing away.

Dwight stands, looking nervously over his shoulder before facing you again with a furrowed brow.“You need to—? What?”

“I need to go,” you repeat. “I need to go—”

“H-hey, you’re okay,” Dwight reassures while reaching out for you. Concern overtakes his features. “We’re safe here.”

When he takes a step forward, you take another step back. “I’m sorry,” you rasp. “I’m sorry… I need to get away from you. I need to get away.”

Dwight opens his mouth to speak. But you swiftly turn tail and run. You won’t let your waking dream become reality.

You hear Dwight shouting after you, and his footfalls fast in tow. But soon, his calls are smothered by the distance you put between you both. And soon, it’s silent.

You stagger to a halt amid a small clearing and crash to your knees. The cold freezes the tear tracks on your cheeks, making you shiver. You hug yourself tightly, but it’s little to no relief; not like Dwight’s arms around you.

But it was dangerous, you tell yourself. I’m dangerous.

You don’t know what’s inside you, or if—when—it’ll come out. But you didn’t want to hurt him… You won’t risk it. But now he’s gone. He’s safe, but he’s gone, and… it’s cold. You’re so cold.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 65: Choice: Kate (❤)

 

—Kate.

Kate’s screams are chilling, causing your hair to stand on end and your eyes to widen in fear. Without even thinking, you run towards the unknown danger, with your heart pounding and your fear growing. You tear through the woods like a furious bat out of hell, tripping and stumbling, and getting caught on low-hanging branches. But you keep going with one goal in mind: finding her.

Soon, you halt at the opening of a foggy clearing, and your eyes widen in horror. A dark, twisted tree appears to have come to life. Its spindly, black branches and crawling tendrils ensnare Kate, trapping her like a fly in a spider’s web. The predatory tree drags her towards a gaping hole in its trunk, emanating a black fog that reeks of death. Out of the darkness, pale hands reach out with twitching, grabbing fingers, accompanied by moaning voices.

As you gaze in terror, you quickly snap out of it and spring into action. Rushing forward, you drop to your knees and grab Kate’s arms, pulling with all your might. Your sudden arrival startles her; she gasps and her wide eyes meet yours. Her mouth opens as if to speak, but any words she has to say are silenced by her painful cry as the roots and branches squeeze tighter.

“I’ve got you,” you say, grunting with effort. “God, what the hell is this thing?!”

“Been wondering that myself!” Kate shouts. “But it’s—nngh—it’s got me good!”

Thorny roots tighten tenfold and shred her arm. Blood smears her skin. “Get it the hell off me!” she shrieks.

You crease your brows. “I will, but… how?!

You desperately rack your brain for an answer as holding onto her becomes more strenuous—your muscles scream and sweat spills from your brow. You’ll lose this game of tug of war if you don’t think fast. “I-I’ll… Fuck!” you swear. “Give me a minute!”

You don’t have a minute.

Startlingly, a root catches your wrist and tightens painfully before crawling up your arm. Targeted, you do your damn best to shake off the assailing threat while keeping a firm hold of Kate. “Shit, shit, shit—” you curse.

A flickering light out the corner of your eye catches your attention—your lantern!

Out of options and answers, you relinquish one hand on Kate and seize the lantern before chucking it at the gnarled tree. The glass shatters, and the tank explodes. Fire engulfs the tree, and an unearthly howl cuts through the air. The moans turn to screams, and their pale hands retreat into the void. You and Kate are freed from its clutches, so you drag her away as the tree wails.

When she’s on her feet, she sighs heavily and grasps your arm to steady herself. “That’s the second time a tree’s come to life and attacked me.”

You have questions… But those can wait. You rest a hand on Kate’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” you ask.

“I’m fine now,” Kate replies, managing a smile. “Just a-a bit shook,” she says. “But I’m fine.”

She turns to gaze upon the burning tree with a flicker of fear shining in her ears. Backpedaling, she suggests, “Let’s get the hell away from this thing.”

“I’m right behind you.”

 

The howling of the wind and the flickering firelight fade behind you as you follow Kate through the dense woods. Soon, she stops beside a creek that runs through a small clearing, collapsing against a tree with an exhausted sigh. You sit down beside her, rummaging through your bag.

“I can treat your wounds,” you offer.

“You’re a sweetheart,” Kate replies, smiling. “But I’m alright. Just a bit scraped up—”

“Kate,” you interrupt, “I thought I was the stubborn one?”

Kate’s lips form a sheepish smile, and she concedes with a sigh. “We can both be a little stubborn… Go ahead.”

With her permission, you gently grasp her arm and assess the damage. The thorns shredded her skin, leaving some cuts, scrapes, and bruises, but fortunately, it’s not too severe. You gather disinfectant and some bandages before getting to work.

As you clean and bandage her wounds, you try to keep the mood light. “So,” you begin with a cheesy southern drawl, “what’s a southern belle like you doing way out here on her lonesome?”

Kate chuckles. “Lookin’ for a runaway,” she replies. “Have you seen them around by any chance?”

“Care to describe them?” you ask.

“Oh, y’know… Easy on the eyes, wears a ratty ol’ jacket, stubborn as all hell—does that ring any bells?”

You both laugh, the tension of the earlier incident dissipating. Sucking your teeth, you say, “I don’t know… Might’ve missed ‘em myself.”

Kate’s eyes glimmer with amusement. “Uh-huh?” she says.

You smile at her. Following a pause, you dip your head and drop the act. “You, uh… You didn’t seriously come out here looking for me, right?”

When you meet Kate’s eyes again, she furrows her brow. “Of course I did,” she says. “After that episode in camp, with you all bug-eyed and runnin’ off panicked, I had it in mind to find you.”

You sigh. “Kate—”

“Now, don’t ‘Kate’ me,” she interrupts. “You come runnin’ through the woods anytime you please, so who’s to say I can’t do the same thing?” She turns her nose up and huffs. “That tree that snagged me can’t be the worst of it. I can’t even imagine what nightmares you’ve run into out here, all on your own… It’s no wonder you’ve been tense lately.”

“Kate, please—”

“Uh!” she tuts. “You’re just one person,” she says. “And you’re human, and you need a shoulder to cry on, same as everyone else. You won’t find that out here alone, no matter how hard you look.”

You fall silent for a moment, waiting to see if Kate has any further words for you. When she remains quiet, you let out a heavy sigh. “Kate,” you start, “I get it. I get it, and I agree, and… Man, I know it’s stupid. But I’m good; alright? I’m fine, just… I’ve had a lot on my mind recently.”

After finishing tending to Kate’s arm, you begin to pack away your supplies, but she stops you by grasping your wrist. Without a word, she pulls up your sleeve to inspect the damage traveling up your arm. She starts patching you up.

“That’s what I mean,” she says. “You need to get some of that out. Won’t do you any good keeping it all pent up inside like that… You’ll just explode like you did in camp the other night…” Her eyes flicker toward yours with a glimmer of concern. “You’ve got us worried,” she says. “You’ve got me worried, and I don’t think that’s fair.”

You frown. “It-it’s not. I’m sorry,” you murmur. “And I know you’re just trying to help, Kate, but I don’t want to talk about this; not right now.”

After a brief moment of silence, Kate nods in agreement. She sets your bandages and puts away the excess supplies. Letting out a sigh, she murmurs, “Wish I’d brought my guitar… I’d have played us a tune to get your mind off things…”

“Your company’s about all I need,” you reply, smiling. “You’re a light as bright as day…”

Kate chuckles. “You come up with that all on your own?”

You make a sheepish face that gets a smile out of her. “You’re too sweet, B.W,” she says. “But don’t think you can flatter your way out of trouble.”

“Not for a lack of trying,” you reply playfully.

The smile she imparts upon you makes your heart flutter. Your mouth gapes open and closed as you consider your next words, but Kate’s faster on the draw. Kate’s smile grows bigger. “If I’m not mistaken,” she says, suddenly extending a hand, “I think you owe me a dance.”

“A dance?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Kate chuckles. “Yeah,” she replies. “You remember how we sat at the campfire together and I showed you how t’ play my guitar? I do recall you saying we’d share a dance…”

You suck your teeth. “That’s not ringin’ any bells, Katie…”

She laughs and smiles. “C’mon, B.W. Dance with me.”

Her eyes glimmer invitingly, and her smile makes you weak. Conceding, you take her hand and stand with her. “I gotta warn you,” you say, sighing. “I might step on your toes.”

Kate chuckles. “We’ll start nice and slow,” she says while guiding your other hand to her hip.

Your face flushes. “When you say dance—”

“Don’t get all flustered on me,” Kate says with a soft smile. “It’s just a waltz; I think you can manage.”

You blow a playful raspberry. “Yeah, I mean… why not?”

Kate raises your joined hands and nods before taking a step forward. You stumble and sway as you try to follow her movements, swinging to the right, then back, left, and forward. Despite keeping your eyes glued to your feet, you somehow misstep and ding her toes. You murmur your apologies and Kate chuckles.

“Eyes up,” she says. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

You let out a sigh and lift your head, meeting her gaze. Suddenly, you’re breathless. Amusement and joy dance in Kate’s eyes, and her radiant smile makes your heart skip a beat. Your focus shifts from the fog, dark clouds, and biting cold to the warmth of Kate’s expression.

She notices your awe and brightens even more, gently squeezing your hand, sending tingles up your arm. “You’re getting better,” she says, laughing softly.

A warm and fuzzy feeling washes over you, leaving you weak in the knees.

When you abruptly pause and gaze at her in silence, a look of concern writes over Kate’s lovely features. “You okay, B.W.?”

She raises her hand to gently cup your chin and cheek, and you press into her touch.

“Fine,” you’d say if you had the gall to lie to her. But you won’t—can’t. She’s always so sincere and warm, and you want to share everything with her, including the truth. Even as ugly as it is, she deserves to know, because… Because she’s a friend.

You swallow thickly and lower your gaze. “I’m, ehm… I’m not so okay lately, Kate. I’ve been so overwhelmed,” you surrender. “—With everything. And it’s gotten so bad to the point that I come out here and I don’t even know why.”

Kate’s features soften, and her hands encase your face. Her silence invites you to continue. So, you do.

“I don’t have the energy to do anything but mope,” you say. “I… I think I’m losing my way… If I ever even found it. I’m trying to be everyone’s hero, but it’s so hard.”

Your voice cracks on the final word. You lift your hands to grasp Kate’s as your eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t something you need to hear. It’s not something you should, but—” You stop yourself when your voice wavers. You desperately try to keep it all pent up, but it gets harder and harder to contain the flood of emotions; anxiety, fear, and loneliness paint a sad expression on your face, and your eyes water. You shut your eyes tightly and take a deep breath. “I don’t mean to be such a downer, Kate, and I hate to make you worry. But lately, I haven’t known a damn thing… Not even myself, and it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I can’t—”

You cut off mid-sentence when you feel her arms wrap around you. Surprised, you open your eyes as you’re pulled into a warm hug. It’s probably the warmest hug you’ve had in what feels like years. Kate’s voice is soft in your ear. “That’s okay,” she says.

Your chest tightens and your throat feels like sandpaper. You have so much to say, yet no words come out. So you settle for her comfort and silence, and you wind your arms around her and hold her close. You lean into her embrace and rest your chin on her shoulder, savoring her warmth as you bury your face in the crook of her neck. Tears slip down your cheeks; everything you’ve contained for so long comes pouring out. And while you cry, held in her arms and holding her, you recognize there are people here that care about you. Kate, Lydia, the others around camp—and then, with a heavy heart, you recall Bryce. Bryce, who never stood a chance. Much like him, these people will soon fade, and so will you.

The thought of losing everything weighs heavy on your shoulders. Your emotions overwhelm and suffocate you. You sob in Kate’s arms and hold on as tightly as you can, unable and unwilling to let go. And you both remain this way for five minutes, and you only quit crying when there’s nothing left in the tank. And so you sit in silence, sniveling while Kate rubs warm circles on your back. You lean into her and close your eyes.

But the peace is shattered by a tightness in your chest. Pressure. Pressure so painfully tight that it becomes hard to breathe. Accompanying it is a prickly sensation that crawls up your throat. You wheeze around it, then choke.

When you try pushing away from Kate, she holds on tightly. She won’t let go. Your panic increases. You squirm and fight, and gasp for breath, as the pressure becomes sharp, stabbing pain beneath your sternum.

“Kate,” you gasp, pressing on her and trying to wrest free. But she clings to you. Fear screws up your face. “Kate!”

The pain shoots to a ten as that prickly sensation suddenly explodes from your chest. Thorny, dark claws, similar to the Entity’s protrude from your mangled cavity, and they pierce Kate’s torso, stabbing through flesh and bone and impaling her. You scream in agony as she cries out, and you watch, horrified, as the light fades from her eyes and the color seeps from her skin.

Your screams become hoarse and gargled as blood rushes up your throat. You gasp and choke, and you scream and scream until—

 

—you snap back to reality.

You reopen your eyes, gasping, and still held safely in Kate’s arms. A shuddering breath escapes your lips as the pain subsides. But you become aware of a dull sensation in your chest. Terrified, you wrest away from Kate, startling her as you stumble away. She looks puzzled.

“I-I… I need to go,” you say, backing away.

Kate looks nervously over her shoulder before facing you again, brows wrinkled. “Go where?”

“I need to go,” you repeat. “I need to go—”

“You’re okay,” Kate reassures while reaching for you. Concern overtakes her features. “We’re safe, B.W. It’s just you and me.”

When she takes a step forward, you take another step back. “I’m sorry,” you rasp. “I’m sorry… I need to get away from you. I need to get away.”

Kate opens her mouth to speak. But you swiftly turn tail and run. You won’t let your waking dream become a reality.

You hear Kate shouting after you, and her footfalls fast in tow. But soon, her calls are smothered by the distance you put between you both. And soon, it’s silent.

You stagger to a halt amid a small clearing and crash to your knees. The cold freezes the tear tracks on your cheeks, making you shiver. You hug yourself tightly, but it’s little to no relief; not like Kate’s arms around you.

But it was dangerous, you tell yourself. I’m dangerous.

You don’t know what’s inside you, or if—when—it’ll come out. But you didn’t want to hurt her… You won’t risk it. But now she’s gone. She’s safe, but she’s gone, and… it’s cold. You’re so cold.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 66: Choice: David (❤)

 

—David.

David’s screams are chilling, causing your hair to stand on end and your eyes to widen in fear. Without even thinking, you run towards the unknown danger, with your heart pounding and your fear growing. You tear through the woods like a furious bat out of hell, tripping and stumbling, and getting caught on low-hanging branches. But you keep going with one goal in mind: finding him.

Soon, you come to a halt at the opening of a foggy clearing, and your eyes widen in horror. A dark, twisted tree appears to have come to life. Its spindly, black branches and crawling tendrils ensnare David, trapping him like a fly in a spider’s web. The predatory tree drags him towards a gaping hole in its trunk, emanating a black fog that reeks of death. Out of the darkness, pale hands reach out with twitching, grabbing fingers, accompanied by moaning voices.

As you gaze in terror, you quickly snap out of it and spring into action. Rushing forward, you drop to your knees and grab David’s arms, pulling with all your might. Your sudden arrival startles him; he barks with surprise, and his wide eyes meet yours. His mouth opens as if to speak, but any words he has to say are silenced by his painful groan as the roots and branches squeeze tighter.

“I’ve got you,” you say, grunting with effort. “God; what the hell is this thing?!”

“Bloody fuckin’ hell if I know!” David barks. “But it’s—nngh—it’s got me good!”

Thorny roots tighten tenfold and shred his arm. Blood smears his skin. “Chop this fuckin’ tree, mate!”

You crease your brows. “Chop it?! Chop it how?!

You desperately rack your brain for an answer as holding onto him becomes more strenuous—your muscles scream and sweat spills from your brow. You’ll lose this game of tug of war if you don’t think fast. “I-I’ll… Fuck!” you swear. “Give me a minute!”

You don’t have a minute.

Startlingly, a root catches your wrist and tightens painfully before crawling up your arm. Targeted, you do your damn best to shake off the assailing threat while keeping a firm hold of David. “Shit, shit, shit—” you curse.

A flickering light out the corner of your eye catches your attention—your lantern!

Out of options and answers, you relinquish one hand on David and seize the lantern before chucking it at the gnarled tree. The glass shatters, and the tank explodes. Fire engulfs the tree, and an unearthly howl cuts through the air. The moans turn to screams, and their pale hands retreat into the void. You and David are freed from its clutches, so you drag him away as the tree wails.

When he’s on his feet, he huffs and wipes a sheen of sweat off his brow. “Fuckin’ hell,” he swears. “Bloody fuckin’ hell…”

He’s worse for wear, and that’s saying something, for David. “Are you okay?” you ask.

“Better now that I’m free of that damned thing,” David replies, chuckling. “Almost took my bloody arm off.”

He turns his head to gaze at the burning tree with a furrowed brow. Nudging you, he suggests, “Let’s get the fucking hell away from this thing.”

“I’m right behind you.”

 

The howling of the wind and the flickering firelight fade behind you as you follow David through the dense woods. Soon, he stops beside a creek that runs through a small clearing, his weary frame collapsing against the support of a sturdy tree with a gruff sigh. You sit beside him, rummaging through your bag.

“I can treat your wounds,” you offer.

“Aye, I’m sure you can,” David replies. “But I’m fine. Just a bit knackered is all…”

“David,” you say firmly, “you’re bleeding all over the place.”

Amusement dances in his eyes as he lets out a hearty chuckle. “I swear I’ve been through worse! This is nothin’.”

Your gaze hardens, determined not to let his bravado overshadow the need for proper care. His resistance crumbles, punctuated by a weary sigh. “Ah, fine, fine,” he relents with a rattling breath, his tone tinged with resignation. “Go ahead and patch me up then, mate.”

With his reluctant permission granted, you tenderly grasp his arm, gently assessing the extent of his injuries. The thorny vines left a trail of cuts, scrapes, and bruises, but luckily, the damage isn’t too severe. Gathering disinfectant and a supply of bandages, you set to work patching him up. You try to lighten the mood.

“I’m surprised those vines even broke the skin,” you comment. “I thought you’d deflect all the damage by the sheer power of will…”

David chuckles, a hint of pride in his voice. “I deflected most of it! These are just petty scrapes and bruises, mate.”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Petty? Sure, sure… But I thought you spent most of your time in the ring, David. What brings you way out here?”

“I’ve been tasked with bringing you in, back to camp,” David answers, showing a toothy grin. “I’m the bounty hunter.”

Your eyebrow arches. “Oh, really? And what’s my bounty?”

David laughs heartily. “It’s a big one, mate!”

“And who’s paying out?”

“Dwight.”

Your raised brow is met with another round of laughter. “Aye, I thought the same thing! But the lad’s been stepping up.”

“And you’re just the muscle, right?”

A mischievous grin breaks across David’s face, revealing his chiseled jawline and sparkling eyes. “Who else?”

You snort. “So, you plan on dragging me back to camp in chains and cuffs?”

“Wouldn’t mind goin’ easy on you if you cooperate.”

“Sorry,” you say with a laugh, defiance gleaming in your eyes. “But it’s not in the cards, David.”

A playful expression shows on his face. “Are you challenging me? Because I promise you, this is a challenge you won’t win…”

“David, you have absolutely no idea who you’re messing with,” you tease.

You set his bandages and go about putting away the excess supplies, but he stops you. After working up your sleeve and assessing the damage traveling up your arm, he begins patching you up. His eyes flit toward yours with an impish gleam.

“I’m startin’ to get a pretty good idea, mate,” he says. “You seem a lot better now, anyway, when you’re not racing away from camp…”

Your smile falters, and you hesitate before you speak. “I’m fine now… I’ve… I’ve just had a lot on my mind recently, David.”

He grunts softly. “I’m sure you ‘ave… We all do, don’t we? But there are better ways of handling it than comin’ out here on your own, mate. We’ve talked about this before—”

“Yeah, we have, and we don’t need to go over it again,” you say firmly.

David’s brow furrows, a hint of frustration becoming evident on his face. He finishes setting your bandages, discarding the remaining supplies. After a moment, he stands up, stretching his back and cracking his neck. “So,” he begins, cracking his knuckles in a playful manner. “Are you coming in willingly, or do I hav’ta rough you up a little?” The corner of his lips quirks up.

Rising to your feet, you match his energy, a smirk playing on your lips. “All my time spent out here has hardened me, David. I won’t go easy.” You put ‘em up and assume a fighting stance. “Try me,” you dare.

David’s smirk widens, mischief dancing in his gaze. He feints a quick jab, causing you to jump in response, before swiftly rushing forward and effortlessly scooping you up and over his shoulder. You let out a surprised yelp. “Hey!” you protest. “Is this your idea of a fair fight?!”

His laughter rings through the air as he carries you on his shoulder. “Fair? Who said anything about fair, mate? And I didn’t want to bruise up your tidy face!” He gives you a playful wink and a broad grin that grows at the sight of your frustrated pout.

“David,” you snap, punching him on the back. “Put me down!”

“Nah,” he replies, his grip unwavering. “I’ve got a bounty to collect!”

“David!”

He ignores your protests. You bite your cheek, pondering your next move. When an idea comes to mind, you smirk deviously and reach down to pinch his rear end. He jumps, hissing sharply in surprise. “Oi!” he exclaims.

“Down!” you bark, “or there’s more where that came from!”

David knickers. “Don’t try my patience, mate,” he warns.

Undeterred, you pinch him again, amused when he does a little skip in his step. You catch a playful glint in his eyes when he declares, “Well, if that’s how it is—!”

You pip in surprise when he effortlessly tosses you off his shoulder and wrestles you on the ground. He’s rough, but in a playful manner. “I wanted to take you in easy!” he barks, amused.

Laughter bursts from your lips, and you combat him as best you’re able. You roll around, grappling in a spirited wrestling match. The minutes slip away, and, eventually, the physical strain catches up to both of you, and you find yourselves winded, pausing for a brief respite, chests heaving. David, predictably, has the upper hand, winding up on top and pinning your hands to the ground with a gentle, but firm grip.

He huffs, a mix of triumph and weariness painting his expression. “I wear you out yet, mate?” he playfully taunts.

Between breaths, you manage to muster a response. “I-I… I still have a lot of fight left in me… Just… Just give me a minute—”

David chuckles, his breath ragged. Shaking his head, he admits, “Well, I’m knackered,” he pants. He rolls off of you and gets to get his feet. Extending a helping hand, he pulls you upright and brushes off the dirt from your shoulders. He smirks proudly. “You gave me a proper run for my money, mate! Color me impressed.”

Lifting the bottom of his shirt, he wipes away the film of dirt and sweat from his brow. You smile. “People have a habit of underestimating me.”

David guffaws. Following a moment’s reprieve, the amused look on his face gives way to a stark frown. He sighs heavily and slumps against a tree. “I’m sorry, mate,” he says, shaking his head. “I know I can’t drag you back to camp if you don’t want to go. I’m just fuckin’ worried is all, after that shite in camp the other night. It’s got me out here being a proper cunt.”

Your smile softens. “I understand, David,” you say. But I’m… I’m fine. I’ve just been going through some things, and… and I can’t be around the rest of you, not like this. I appreciate your concern; really.”

David chuckles, planting a reassuring hand on your shoulder and giving you a firm squeeze. “But you’re a scrapper, mate! And you saved my arse, didn’t you? Maybe I can rest a little easier tonight in knowing that…”

He guides his hand to your chin, then uses his thumb to wipe away a smear of dirt from your cheek. It’s a small gesture, but it makes your heart leap. David’s rare, soft smile accompanies the action, revealing a side of him you rarely see—the gentle giant behind the rugged exterior.

“Still,” he continues, his voice filled with a mixture of fondness and concern, “I’d feel a hell of a lot better having you back at camp, where I can keep a proper eye on you, mate. It boils my blood, knowing you’re out here on your own.”

A warm and fuzzy feeling washes over you, leaving you weak in the knees.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch in your throat. David’s weathered hands cradle your face, and you instinctively lean into his touch. Your expression wavers, and he notices the change, his brow furrowing with worry. “You okay, mate?” he asks, his eyes flickering with concern and care. It’s heart-stopping.

David’s usually so overwhelming and bold, but he offers you his comfort and warmth in a manner so unlike his usual self, and you crave it and more.

“No,” you’d say, if you could muster your voice. But you can’t—when you open your mouth, your quivering lips only produce silence. Frustration turns your blood hot. He’s strong and enduring, with a strength you can’t even dream to possess, and you usually feel so strong in his company, but, yet… you feel weak now.

Weak, but not vulnerable—safe. Safe with him, and it’s because… because he’s a friend, and if anyone can protect you—if anyone deserves to see your weakness—it’s him.

You swallow thickly and lower your gaze. “I’m… I’m not so okay lately, David. I’ve been so overwhelmed,” you surrender. “—With everything. And it’s gotten so bad to the point that I come out here and I don’t even know why.”

A frown tugs at David’s lips. His silence invites you to continue. So, you do.

“I don’t have the energy to do anything but mope,” you say. “I… I think I’m losing my way… If I ever even found it. I’m trying to be everyone’s hero, but it’s so hard.”

Your voice cracks on the final word. You lift your hands to grasp David’s as your eyebrows furrow. “I-I like to pretend that everything’s okay and that I’m stronger than this, but—” You stop yourself when your voice wavers. You desperately try to keep it all pent up, but it gets harder and harder to contain the flood of emotions; anxiety, fear, and loneliness paint a sad expression on your face, and your eyes water. You shut your eyes tightly and take a deep breath. “I’m not as strong as you might think, David… And I hate to make you worry. But lately, I haven’t known a damn thing… Not even myself, and it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I can’t—”

You cut off mid-sentence when you feel his arms wrap around you. Surprised, you open your eyes as you’re pulled into a warm hug. It’s probably the warmest hug you’ve had in what feels like years. David’s voice is soft in your ear. “You’re stronger than you know, mate. But it’s okay to feel small,” he says.

Your chest tightens, and your throat feels parched. Though you have so much to say, no words escape your lips. Instead, you settle for his comfort and the solace of silence. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close, and lean into his embrace, cherishing his warmth as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. Tears stream down your cheeks, as everything you’ve contained for so long comes pouring out. And while you cry, held in his arms and holding him, you recognize there are people here that care about you. David, Lydia, the others around camp—and then, with a heavy heart, you recall Bryce. Bryce, who never stood a chance. Much like him, these people will soon fade, and so will you.

The thought of losing everything burdens your shoulders. Your emotions overwhelm and suffocate you. You sob in David’s arms and hold on as tightly as you can, unable and unwilling to let go. For five long minutes, you remain in this embrace until there are no tears left to shed. And in the ensuing silence, you sniffle while David tenderly rubs warm circles on your back.

But the peace is abruptly shattered by a tightening sensation in your chest, constricting with relentless pressure that makes it difficult to draw a breath. Alongside it, a prickly sensation crawls up your throat, causing you to wheeze and choke.

When you attempt to push away from David, he holds on tightly, refusing to let go. Panic surges within you, intensifying as you squirm, fight, and gasp for air. The pressure transforms into a sharp, stabbing pain beneath your sternum.

“David,” you gasp, pressing against him in a desperate attempt to break free. But he clings to you, and fear twists your face. “David!”

The pain escalates to an unbearable level as the prickly sensation suddenly erupts from your chest. Thorny, dark claws, reminiscent of the Entity’s, protrude from your mangled cavity and impale David’s torso, piercing through flesh and bone. Agonizing screams escape your lips as he cries out, and you watch in horror as the light fades from his eyes and the color drains from his skin.

Your screams turn hoarse and gurgled as blood rushes up your throat, causing you to gasp, choke, and scream until—

—you snap back to reality.

Gasping, you reopen your eyes, still cradled safely in David’s arms. A shuddering breath escapes your lips as the pain subsides. However, a dull sensation lingers in your chest. Terrified, you wrest away from David, startling him as you stumble backward. Confusion clouds his expression.

“I-I… I need to go,” you say, backing away.

David’s brow furrows. “Go where, mate?”

“I need to go,” you repeat urgently. “I need to go—”

“You’re okay,” David reassures, reaching out for you. Concern etches his features. “You’re safe here with me, mate. Just take a moment to breathe.”

As he takes a step forward, you instinctively take another step back. “I’m sorry,” you rasp. “I’m sorry… I need to get away from you. I need to get away.”

David opens his mouth to speak, but you swiftly turn away and run. You refuse to let your waking dream become a horrifying reality.

You hear David’s shouts and his footfalls fast in tow, but soon, his calls are smothered by the growing distance between you. And soon, it’s silent.

You stagger to a halt amid a small clearing, collapsing to your knees. The cold air freezes the tear tracks on your cheeks, causing you to shiver. You hug yourself tightly, but it’s little to no relief; not like David’s arms around you.

But it was dangerous, you tell yourself. I’m dangerous.

You don’t know what’s inside you, or if—when—it’ll come out. But you didn’t want to hurt him… You won’t risk it. But now he’s gone. He’s safe, but he’s gone, and… it’s cold. You’re so cold.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 67: Choice: Yui (❤)

 

—Yui.

Yui’s screams are chilling, causing your hair to stand on end and your eyes to widen in fear. Without even thinking, you run towards the unknown danger, with your heart pounding and your fear growing. You tear through the woods like a furious bat out of hell, tripping and stumbling, and getting caught on low-hanging branches. But you keep going with one goal in mind: finding her.

Soon, you come to a halt at the opening of a foggy clearing, and your eyes widen in horror. A dark, twisted tree appears to have come to life. Its spindly, black branches and crawling tendrils ensnare Yui, trapping her like a fly in a spider’s web. The predatory tree drags her towards a gaping hole in its trunk, emanating a black fog that reeks of death. Out of the darkness, pale hands reach out with twitching, grabbing fingers, accompanied by moaning voices.

As you gaze in terror, you quickly snap out of it and spring into action. Rushing forward, you drop to your knees and grab Yui’s arms, pulling with all your might. Your sudden arrival startles her; she gasps with surprise, and her wide eyes meet yours. Her mouth opens as if to speak, but any words she has to say are silenced by her painful moan as the roots and branches squeeze tighter.

“I’ve got you,” you say, grunting with effort. “God; what the hell is this thing?!”

“I don’t know!” Yui screams. “But it’s—nngh—it’s holding on tight!”

Thorny roots tighten tenfold and shred her arm. Blood smears her skin. “Get me out of here!”

You crease your brows. “I-I will, but… how?!

You desperately rack your brain for an answer as holding onto her becomes more strenuous—your muscles scream and sweat spills from your brow. You’ll lose this game of tug of war if you don’t think fast. “I-I’ll… Fuck!” you swear. “Give me a minute!”

You don’t have a minute.

Startlingly, a root catches your wrist and tightens painfully before crawling up your arm. Targeted, you do your damn best to shake off the assailing threat while keeping a firm hold of Yui. “Shit, shit, shit—” you curse.

A flickering light out the corner of your eye catches your attention—your lantern!

Out of options and answers, you relinquish one hand on Yui and seize the lantern before chucking it at the gnarled tree. The glass shatters, and the tank explodes. Fire engulfs the tree, and an unearthly howl cuts through the air. The moans turn to screams, and their pale hands retreat into the void. You and Yui are freed from its clutches, so you drag her away as the tree wails.

When she’s on her feet, she lets out a sharp string of what you safely assume are Japanese swear words. “Ah,” she hisses when she’s finished blasting her profanity. “Of all the— Hm.”

She looks like absolute hell. “Are you okay?” you ask.

“Fine, now,” Yui replies, sweeping her hair out of her face. “Thanks, Trouble. You saved my ass.”

She turns her gaze to the burning tree with narrow eyes. Whipping her head, she suggests, “Let’s get out of here before more trouble shows up.”

“I’m right behind you.”

 

The howling of the wind and the flickering firelight fade behind you as you follow Yui through the dense woods. Soon, she stops beside a creek that runs through a small clearing, and she collapses against a sturdy tree with a breathless sigh. You sit beside her, rummaging through your bag.

“I can treat your wounds,” you offer.

“I won’t stop you,” Yui replies.

You tenderly grasp her arm, gently assessing the extent of her injuries. The thorny vines left a trail of cuts, scrapes, and bruises, but luckily, the damage isn’t too severe. Gathering disinfectant and a supply of bandages, you set to work patching her up. Occasionally, your eyes flit upward and meet her steely gaze. You clear your throat.

“So, I’m guessing you didn’t come out here on a joyride…”

“My bike hasn’t worked in ages,” Yui replies pointedly. “You know why I’m here.”

A sigh escapes your lips. “Yep…”

“And you know what I’m going to say.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Good; so we can skip all that and get straight to the point.”

Yui narrows her eyes. “I think you’re insane coming out here, especially after what happened at the campfire. If you’re suffering panic attacks like that, you need to be around people who can help you get through it. You shouldn’t be storming off into the fog where we can’t find you—”

“Yui—”

“I’m not done,” Yui interrupts. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s not something you should feel the need to hide. Running out here isn’t the answer. I thought you knew that.”

“Yeah, well, coming out here after me isn’t the answer either, Yui. You could’ve gotten killed.”

“Well, it’s a good thing my shining knight came to my rescue,” she replies. You catch a flicker of amusement in her eyes, but it’s gone in an instant, washed away by concern. “We worry about you, Trouble. I worry about you. We’ll never ride off into the sunset at this rate…”

“There won’t be any joyriding unless someone finds the answers,” you retort. “And that someone has to be me.”

You set her bandages and move to put away the excess supplies, but she stops you. Grasping your wrist, she works up your sleeve and gauges the damage traveling up your arm. With a sigh, she begins patching you up.

“No one says it has to be you,” she says. “And I don’t think it should be.”

“Then who else?” you ask.

Yui falls silent. Following a brief pause, she shakes her head. “Not you.”

You wish you could tell her how wrong she is—that it can be no one else BUT you, but something tells you she won’t be hearing it… It’s refreshing actually, knowing someone just as, if not more so, stubborn than you.

“I can’t stand it,” Yui mutters, barely above a whisper. “You think the weight of the world is your burden to carry…”

“Just doing my part,” you murmur.

“You can do your part around camp,” Yui retorts. “We’re becoming organized,” she says. “We’re building up, making changes—”

“It’s not good enough,” you argue, frowning. “There’s real work to be done out here, and I won’t quit until it’s finished.”

Yui’s sharp look silences you. Shaking her head, she sets your bandages and returns the excess supplies into your bag. “Do you think I came out here to argue with you? I came because I’m worried,” she says. “I came because you never come around camp, and I worry that you never will—that whatever trouble you’re getting yourself into out here will take the ultimate toll.” Frustration wrinkles her brow. “I don’t know why you’re so—so brave,” she says. “Why you’d kill yourself on this wild goose chase—”

“Yui—”

“You think it all falls on you, but I think it’s selfish. I think if you’d just—”

“Yui!” you sharply interrupt.

She falls into silence, her lips pursed. You release a heavy sigh and take her off guard when you grasp her wrist. With care, you guide your other hand to the pink band wrapped meaningly around her arm, and your eyes meet hers, softening her expression. “Unity, right?” you say. “That’s what this band represents? You should know all too well why I do this, Yui. I do this for us—ALL of us. I’m not trying to make you, or anyone else worry about me, but… I’m trying to make a difference that counts.”

You clasp her hand and hang your head. “I remember the talk we had… I know we have a date planned. I’m looking forward to riding off into the sunset, too, y’know. And I’m doing everything in my power to ensure we see that day.”

Yui’s breath catches. When you look up again, her lips tremble, only stifled when she bites her bottom lip and averts her gaze. For a minute, nothing goes said between you, before she finds your eyes again and releases a shaky breath. “Unity,” she whispers. “It means we act together. It doesn’t mean you have to shoulder all this alone.”

Her fingers intertwine with yours, and she squeezes you almost painfully. “Tokyo,” she breathes. “It’s breathtaking in the autumn… I can take you to a circuit I used to race. And Hida, my hometown, we should visit there, too.”

“We will,” you say, smiling. “Tell me more about it.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Yui’s mouth. “It’s very homey,” she says. “Because it was home. Narrow streets, traditional dwellings on every corner… There are festivals sometimes, and a gorgeous view of the mountains; we can see both.”

You nod, encouraging her to go on.

“And my garage,” she adds, her eyes lighting up as she reminisces about distant memories. “We’ll go there and meet my gang—friends, family, supporters—”

You chuckle softly. “You might need to slow down, Yui. My schedule’s starting to look a bit packed…”

“I live life fast,” Yui replies. “And we should make plans now,” she says, her smile bright. “It will give us more to look forward to, and more reason to push forward.” She squeezes your hand again, amusement gleaming in her eyes. “I think we can both stand to be dumb optimists.”

She leans forward, grasping both your hands in hers. “I just need you to promise me that you’ll be there for it,” she says. “I know I can’t change your mind, but I need you to be okay. I can shoulder the burden with you if you’d only let me, Trouble.”

A warm and fuzzy feeling washes over you, leaving you weak.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch in your throat. Yui’s hands are warm in yours, and when she squeezes your fingers, your heart stutters.

You have no doubt Yui would shoulder the burden with you; she’s strong, clear-headed, and more determined than you know. But it’s a horrible burden you wouldn’t share with anyone, much less her, because… because she’s a friend. Someone you treasure, and care about, and wouldn’t even dream of putting through the torment you suffer on a daily basis.

So, “No,” you say, your voice cracking.

Yui’s taken aback, her expression wavering, and her smile falling away.

“No,” you echo, shaking your head and letting your gaze fall. Swallowing thickly, you go on, “I-I can’t do that to you, Yui, and I can’t be okay, because… Because I’ve been so overwhelmed,” you surrender. “—With everything. And it’s gotten so bad to the point that I come out here and I don’t even know why.”

A frown tugs at Yui’s lips. Her silence invites you to continue. So, you do.

“I wish I could, but I don’t have the energy to do anything but mope,” you say. “I… I think I’m losing my way… If I ever even found it. I’m trying to be everyone’s hero, but it’s so hard.”

Your voice cracks on the final word. You squeeze Yui’s hands tighter as your eyebrows furrow. “This is my burden to carry, and mine alone, and-and—” You stop yourself when your voice wavers. You desperately try to keep it all pent up, but it gets harder and harder to contain the flood of emotions; anxiety, fear, and loneliness paint a sad expression on your face, and your eyes water. You shut your eyes tightly and take a deep breath. “I can’t ask you to share it with me. And I hate to make you worry. But lately, I haven’t known a damn thing… Not even myself, and it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I can’t—”

You cut off mid-sentence when you feel her arms wrap around you. Surprised, you open your eyes as you’re pulled into a warm hug. It’s probably the warmest hug you’ve had in what feels like years. Yui’s voice is soft in your ear. “That’s okay,” she says.

Your chest tightens, and your throat feels parched. Though you have so much to say, no words escape your lips. Instead, you settle for her comfort and the solace of silence. You wrap your arms around her, holding her close, and lean into her embrace, cherishing her warmth as you bury your face in the crook of her neck. Tears stream down your cheeks, as everything you’ve contained for so long comes pouring out. And while you cry, held in her arms and holding her, you recognize there are people here that care about you. Yui, Lydia, the others around camp—and then, with a heavy heart, you recall Bryce. Bryce, who never stood a chance. Much like her, these people will soon fade, and so will you.

The thought of losing everything burdens your shoulders. Your emotions overwhelm and suffocate you. You sob in Yui’s arms and hold on as tightly as you can, unable and unwilling to let go. For five long minutes, you remain in this embrace until there are no tears left to shed. And in the ensuing silence, you sniffle while Yui tenderly rubs warm circles on your back.

But the peace is abruptly shattered by a tightening sensation in your chest, constricting with relentless pressure that makes it difficult to draw a breath. Alongside it, a prickly sensation crawls up your throat, causing you to wheeze and choke.

When you attempt to push away from Yui, she holds on tightly, refusing to let go. Panic surges within you, intensifying as you squirm, fight, and gasp for air. The pressure transforms into a sharp, stabbing pain beneath your sternum.

“Yui,” you gasp, pressing against her in a desperate attempt to break free. But she clings to you, and fear twists your face. “Yui!”

The pain escalates to an unbearable level as the prickly sensation suddenly erupts from your chest. Thorny, dark claws, reminiscent of the Entity’s, protrude from your mangled cavity and impale Yui’s torso, piercing through flesh and bone. Agonizing screams escape your lips as she cries out, and you watch in horror as the light fades from her eyes and the color drains from her skin.

Your screams turn hoarse and gurgled as blood rushes up your throat, causing you to gasp, choke, and scream until—

—you snap back to reality.

Gasping, you reopen your eyes, still cradled safely in Yui’s arms. A shuddering breath escapes your lips as the pain subsides. However, a dull sensation lingers in your chest. Terrified, you wrest away from Yui, startling her as you stumble backward. Confusion clouds her expression.

“I-I… I need to go,” you say, backing away.

Yui’s brow furrows. “You don’t need to go,” she says.

“I need to go,” you repeat urgently. “I need to go—”

“You’re okay,” Yui reassures, reaching out for you. Concern etches her features. “Come with me, back to camp—”

As she takes a step forward, reaching out, you instinctively take another step back. “I’m sorry,” you rasp. “I’m sorry… I need to get away from you. I need to get away.”

Yui opens her mouth to speak, but you swiftly turn away and run. You refuse to let your waking dream become a horrifying reality.

You hear Yui’s shouts and her footfalls fast in tow, but soon, her calls are smothered by the growing distance between you. And soon, it’s silent.

You stagger to a halt amid a small clearing, collapsing to your knees. The cold air freezes the tear tracks on your cheeks, causing you to shiver. You hug yourself tightly, but it’s little to no relief; not like Yui’s arms around you.

But it was dangerous, you tell yourself. I’m dangerous.

You don’t know what’s inside you, or if—when—it’ll come out. But you didn’t want to hurt her… You won’t risk it. But now she’s gone. she’s safe, but she’s gone, and… it’s cold. You’re so cold.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 68: Choice: Zarina

 

—Zarina.

Zarina’s screams are chilling, causing your hair to stand on end and your eyes to widen in fear. Impulsively, you take a step backward in the opposite direction, refusing to go. But your good nature gets the better of you, and you run towards the unknown danger, with your heart pounding and your fear growing. You tear through the woods like a furious bat out of hell, tripping and stumbling, and getting caught on low-hanging branches. But you keep going with one goal in mind: finding her.

Soon, you come to a halt at the opening of a foggy clearing, and your eyes widen in horror. A dark, twisted tree appears to have come to life. Its spindly, black branches and crawling tendrils ensnare Zarina, trapping her like a fly in a spider’s web. The predatory tree drags her towards a gaping hole in its trunk, emanating a black fog that reeks of death. Out of the darkness, pale hands reach out with twitching, grabbing fingers, accompanied by moaning voices.

As you gaze in terror, you quickly snap out of it and spring into action. Rushing forward, you drop to your knees and grab Zarina’s arms, pulling with all your might. Your sudden arrival startles her; she exclaims with surprise, and her wide eyes meet yours. Her mouth opens as if to speak, but any words she has to say are silenced by her painful moan as the roots and branches squeeze tighter.

“I’ve got you,” you say, grunting with effort. “God; what the hell is this thing?!”

“Evil tree with a lot of arms!” Zarina screams. “And it’s—nngh—it’s not letting go!”

Thorny roots tighten tenfold and shred her arm. Blood smears her skin. “Help me!”

You crease your brows. “I-I will, but… how?!

You desperately rack your brain for an answer as holding onto her becomes more strenuous—your muscles scream and sweat spills from your brow. You’ll lose this game of tug of war if you don’t think fast. “I-I’ll… Fuck!” you swear. “Give me a minute!”

You don’t have a minute.

Startlingly, a root catches your wrist and tightens painfully before crawling up your arm. Targeted, you do your damn best to shake off the assailing threat while keeping a firm hold of Zarina. “Shit, shit, shit—” you curse.

A flickering light out the corner of your eye catches your attention—your lantern!

Out of options and answers, you relinquish one hand on Zarina and seize the lantern before chucking it at the gnarled tree. The glass shatters, and the tank explodes. Fire engulfs the tree, and an unearthly howl cuts through the air. The moans turn to screams, and their pale hands retreat into the void. You and Zarina are freed from its clutches, so you drag her away as the tree wails.

When she’s on her feet, she buckles over, propping her hands on her knees and panting in exertion. “Damn,” she swears, breathing heavily.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Fine, fine,” Zarina replies, standing upright and waving dismissively. “Thank you.”

She turns her gaze to the burning tree, her brows wrinkling in fear. “We should get out of here,” she suggests.

“I’m right behind you.”

 

The howling of the wind and the flickering firelight fade behind you as you follow Zarina through the dense woods. Soon, she stops beside a creek that runs through a small clearing, and she collapses against a sturdy tree with a breathless sigh. You sit beside her, rummaging through your bag.

“I can treat your wounds,” you offer.

“Go ahead,” Zarina replies.

You tenderly grasp her arm, gently assessing the extent of her injuries. The thorny vines left a trail of cuts, scrapes, and bruises, but luckily, the damage isn’t too severe. Gathering disinfectant and a supply of bandages, you set to work patching her up.

It’s quiet between you until Zarina breaks the silence with a soft grunt.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m out here,” she murmurs.

Your eyes flit upward and briefly meet hers. “I am.”

“I… I came looking for you,” she surrenders. “To apologize for what happened. I’m sorry for jumping you at the campfire. We dogpiled you, overwhelmed you, and… I’m sorry. But old habits die hard, you know. I made a living crawling beneath people’s skin to get answers… I shouldn’t have done that to you. And I know it’s probably what made you run off like that—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupt.

But Zarina persists. “No, it isn’t,” she says, sighing. “But I meant everything I said then: I’m worried about you; everyone is.”

“I’m having a hard time believing that,” you mutter.

“Well, you shouldn’t. Believe me, please.”

You soundlessly set her bandages and move to put away the excess supplies. Zarina gestures towards them while glancing at your injured arm. “Want me to…?” she starts to ask.

“No,” you respond, shaking your head as you rise to your feet. “You can walk, right? Go back to camp.”

Zarina staggers upright, sighing. Before you walk away, she reaches out and grasps your arm, halting your movement. “You need to hear me out, because what you’re doing now is the reason I came out all this way!”

You pivot to face her with a frown on your face. “And what am I doing? Huh? What made you think you had to put your life on the line to come out here after me?”

“You’re going out there all willy-nilly!” Zarina gestures emphatically, her voice rising in frustration. “It’s dangerous,” she says. “And I’m here because I’m worried. You’re one of us, whether you like it or not, and that means we’re in this together.”

“If we’re in this together, then why am I the only one trying to make a difference here? Why am I the only one trying to get us out of here?!” You jab Zarina accusingly in the shoulder, glaring. “I meant what I said back at the campfire, Zarina. I won’t sit around there feeling sorry for myself like the rest of you. I come out here to get shit done, and I won’t let you or anyone else stop me. I—!”

Your words catch in your throat, and you wince as pressure suddenly engulfs your chest. Grimacing, you take two unsteady steps backward, and Zarina’s expression etches with concern. She reaches out for you, seizing your arm. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“F… Fine,” you respond. “Just—agh!”

You grunt with pain, grasping your breast as your chest constricts with relentless pressure that makes it difficult to draw a breath. Alongside it, a prickly sensation crawls up your throat, causing you to wheeze and choke. When your legs buckle, Zarina catches you in her arms. “It-It’s okay!” she reassures you. “We need to get back to camp—”

“No!” you bark, attempting to push away from her. But she holds on tightly, refusing to let go. Panic surges within you, intensifying as you squirm, fight, and gasp for air. The pressure transforms into a sharp, stabbing pain beneath your sternum.

“Zarina,” you gasp, pressing against her in a desperate attempt to break free. But she clings to you, and fear twists your face. “Zarina!”

The pain escalates to an unbearable level as the prickly sensation suddenly erupts from your chest. Thorny, dark claws, reminiscent of the Entity’s, protrude from your mangled cavity and impale Zarina’s torso, piercing through flesh and bone. Agonizing screams escape your lips as she cries out, and you watch in horror as the light fades from her eyes and the color drains from her skin.

Your screams turn hoarse and gurgled as blood rushes up your throat, causing you to gasp, choke, and scream until—

—you snap back to reality.

Gasping, you reopen your eyes, standing before Zarina on wobbly legs, while she gazes at you with wide, perplexed eyes. A shuddering breath escapes your lips as the pain subsides. However, a dull sensation lingers in your chest. Terrified, you stumble backward. Confusion clouds her expression.

“I-I… I need to go,” you say, backing away.

Zarina’s brow furrows. “What?” she says. “What are you—?”

“I need to go,” you repeat urgently. “I need to go—”

“You’re okay,” Zarina reassures, reaching out for you. Concern etches her features. “We should get back to camp—”

As she takes a step forward, reaching out, you instinctively take another step back. “I’m sorry,” you rasp. “I’m sorry… I need to get away. I need to get away.”

Zarina opens her mouth to speak, but you swiftly turn away and run. You refuse to let your waking dream become a horrifying reality.

You hear Zarina’s shouts and her footfalls fast in tow, but soon, her calls are smothered by the growing distance between you. And soon, it’s silent.

You stagger to a halt amid a small clearing, collapsing to your knees.

I couldn’t go back with her, you tell yourself. I’m dangerous.

You don’t know what’s inside you, or if—when—it’ll come out. But you didn’t want to hurt her… You don’t want to hurt anyone. You won’t risk going back to camp, where you’ll present a danger to everyone else. So, you’ll stay out here, alone, and cold, and… and so… so cold.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 69: Awakening

 

You awake to a pounding hangover.

After rolling out of bed, you wade through a sea of empty bottles and clinking glasses strewn about the floor, and you trudge downstairs into the kitchen, greeted by a hissing pot on the stove. Nearby, Lydia sweeps the floor, her movements faltering when she notices your arrival. As you take the tea off the burner, Lydia sets aside her broom with an air of concern.

“How’ve you been?” she asks, her voice filled with genuine care.

“Fine,” you mumble, slumping into a seat at the table, exhaustion etched into your every move.

“Fine?” Lydia echoes, her tone laden with skepticism. She folds her arms. “You’ve been just ‘fine’ for what’s felt like weeks. Are you ever going to get back out there?”

“I’ve tried,” you utter, voice carried barely above a whisper.

“And now you’ve stopped trying?”

With a heavy sigh, you hang your head, feeling the weight of her frustration mingling with your own. Lydia’s been irritable lately; you don’t know why. But then, you haven’t been in a very good mood either… Maybe it’s rubbing off on her.

“I’ll get back out there eventually, Lydia,” you say.

“Sooner than later, I hope,” she replies. “I don’t like seeing you mope around my house like this.”

“You can’t see me at all,” you reply pointedly.

Lydia purses her lips. The tension lingers for a moment before you clear your throat and stand up. “The fire’s low. I’ll go get some kindling.”

Before swiftly departing, you swipe a whiskey bottle off the shelf.

 

You find yourself seated on a weathered tree stump around the back, sipping from your half-empty drink. A scattered heap of sticks and branches rests at your feet, collected absentmindedly as you sought solace in the quiet of the fog. The gloomy morning haze blankets the woods, shrouding everything in its eerie embrace. The frigid cold in the air is mitigated by the alcohol in your blood.

You’ll head back inside soon. But not before you drain the remaining contents of this bottle and can’t count your toes. You’re already well on your way, what with your vision dim and hazy, and your mouth tasting unbearably bitter. Waves of nausea arise, but you stubbornly suppress them.

Gazing through half-lidded eyes at the foggy expanse, you let your mind wander without a care. A single question gnaws at the corners of your consciousness: you wonder if you’ll ever summon the courage to go back out there on your own. You’ve resigned yourself to festering in the cabin, away from your fears, obligations, and the company of others… If they could see you now—a pitiful, sad drunk—they’d point their fingers and say, “We told you so.”

And they did, didn’t they? They warned you not to come out here, but you refused to listen, clinging tightly to your denial. It’s what keeps you going… Or, at least, it did. Now, you spend your waking hours consumed by uncertainty, wondering if you’ll ever regain your footing. These nights blend together in a haze, as a growing pit of futility settles deep within your being.

With a final gulp, you drain the last remnants of your cold comfort and impulsively hurl the empty bottle at a nearby tree. The sound reverberates through the stillness, shattering the eerie quiet. But as you take a faltering step forward, something catches your bleary gaze—a silhouette emerging from the mist, a cloaked figure—a mere speck—etched against the foreboding backdrop. Your breath catches in your throat.

“Danny?” you whisper hoarsely. But then your eyes narrow as you dismiss the possibility. “When pigs fly,” you scoff silently, knowing full well that spotting the furtive killer is an unlikely feat—unless he wants to be seen, that is.

No, you reason. Black Vale? Imperiatti, even? You have watchers… It could be anyone. But either or, they can be useful. Another stroke of luck, and you can’t possibly let it slip through your fingers, despite your drunk impairment.

Suddenly, the dark form retreats and dissolves within the dense fog. With anticipation surging through your veins, and a rekindling spark of purpose, you set off in pursuit.

 

With a relentless fervor, you storm through the woods after the elusive figure, undeterred even as spindly branches claw your clothes, and your haze grows dimmer and dimmer. The chase stretches on, seemingly endless, as every step you take fails to bring you any closer to your quarry. The dense fog obscures your vision, and every step forward is a gamble. Yet, fueled by an unwavering fire within, you press forward, your determination making you reckless and clumsy. And, so, it’s hardly a surprise when the ground suddenly gives way underfoot.

A startled shout escapes your lips as gravity takes hold, propelling you into a chaotic descent down a perilous ravine. The world spins in a disorienting whirl as you collide with jagged rocks and branches, pain searing through your battered form. Your attempts to catch yourself are futile until you roll to a sprawling stop on your back on an even patch of ground beside a murmuring creek, groaning in pain.

Bright colors dance across your vision as you gaze upward at the web of looming trees. A small, shuddering breath escapes your lips.

“Damn,” you mutter. “Damn.”

Darkness encroaches, threatening to steal your consciousness. But in your fleeting moments of awareness, you hear leaves crunching nearby, followed by a gruff, and strangely familiar sigh.

“Hopeless,” comes an oddly familiar voice.

You strain to recall the identity of the voice, your mind grasping at chips of recognition, but it slips away like sand through your fingers. And then, as if swallowed by the void, your world dissolves into darkness, leaving your unanswered questions lingering in the air…

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You awaken abruptly, seated upright in a weathered wooden chair. Blaring carnival music assails your ears, a jovial cacophony of screeching strings and discordant melodies. With bleary vision, you blink and squint at a dim light hanging overhead, struggling to make sense of where you are. Gradually, clarity seeps in, and recognition gives you goosebumps.

The Clown’s caravan—specifically, the interior of his carriage. You’ve been here before, and it brings with it a familiar dread as you recall the torture and pain, Poe’s death, and the filter-fried porno.

Your stomach churns, and your mouth goes dry. Swallowing thickly, you try to move but quickly recognize that rope binds your wrists behind your back. Desperation fuels your futile struggle as you twist and contort, but the knots hold firm. With a heavy breath, you resign yourself to your fate, hanging your head in defeat.

Same old song and dance; when the Clown arrives, you know full well what awaits you—threats, pain, and the chilling possibility of a slow, agonizing death… These killers don’t care for anything else. If it’s not the whispers guiding them, it’s the festering darkness inside. Some were born with it; some relish this torment. And none can see what you’re trying to do here… None care for it.

Same old song and dance.

Outside, you hear a throaty cough and a nasty laugh. The carriage shudders under the weight of heavy footfalls ascending the steps, heralding the imminent arrival of the Clown. The door swings open, and your gaze instinctively swivels to meet his presence as he barges inside, forcefully slamming the door shut behind him. A malicious grin adorns his face as he deftly twirls a blade on his finger. Blood stains the edge and drips down the hilt. Someone had a bad time.

“It’s about time you woke your ass up,” he grumbles. “I found you out cold in the chapel, layin’ on a pew like a cadaver.”

He snorts and spits a loogie on the floor at your feet. “Caught a whiff of your breath while I hauled your ass back ‘ere. Reeked of booze.” He chuckles. “Where’d you get the poisons, kid? I never pegged you for a drunk…”

This is a trial, that’s obvious. Did you sleep through the entire match? Were your friends killed while you lay unconscious on a pew?

Your brow furrows deeply in frustration. The Clown snatches a tonic off the shelf and pops the cork. “Got somethin’ for you that’ll fix that right up.”

He shoves it in your face. A pungent aroma assaults your nose.

“Drink,” he commands.

Your tongue darts across your dry lips. “What is it?” you say hoarsely, struggling to muster your voice.

“Somethin’ that’ll sober you right up,” says the Clown, his tone laced with wickedness. “I want you here for this.”

Here for what? you wonder. But deep down, you have an inkling; you and the Clown aren’t on the best of terms, after all…

You reject the offer with a defiant turn of your head. The Clown snatches your jaw with a vice-like grip, forcing your mouth open. He crams the bottle down your throat, making you gag while a river of bitter-tasting drink flows down your gullet. You choke it down until he wrenches the bottle away and hurls it to the floor. Wheezing, you sputter, “What… What the hell is that?”

“Like I said,” says the Clown, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure, “it should sober you up. Just give it a fuckin’ moment to work its magic.”

He grins and pivots on his heels. You observe the portly man collect a random assortment of tonics from the shelves. If your memory serves you, then he’s cooking up a cocktail that’ll turn your guts into soup… Or, perhaps this time he has something more diabolical in mind. You don’t want to see the aftermath of whatever nasty concoction he cooks up for you.

“I-I’m trying,” you rasp. “I’m trying, Kenneth. I’m just trying to figure it all out—”

The Clown whirls around, sneering, exuding so much loathing that it shuts you up.

“I don’t know how you got my fuckin’ name, but I’m tired of hearin’ it come outta your mouth!”

“I only know these things because I’m special!” you declare. “And I can learn so much more if you’d all just give me a CHANCE!”

The Clown scoffs. “Oh? You’re special, huh? Is that what Mommy and Daddy told you? I bet they called you their precious ‘little angel’! And their ‘sweet lil thing’, too!”

He hawks and spits a glob on the floor. Dragging his arm across his mouth and smearing his face paint, he mutters, “You ain’t shit, kid.”

He hauls a rusty pot across the counter and empties three bottles into it. His potion fizzles and pops. Beads of sweat form on your forehead and trickle down your face.

“B… Bastion will come for me,” you bluff. “You remember him, right? The big, scary fucker with all the teeth? He’s coming to protect me.”

The Clown glances back at you, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “Big boy with those nasty claws?” A sly grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “I remember ‘im, alright… Got pretty close and personal a couple of times already…”

He closes the distance between you with heavy strides, leaning down and stealing your jaw in his iron grasp. He grins toothily, showing two rows of crooked, yellow teeth. “But we both know he ain’t comin’.”

Your eyes grow big. “You-You don’t know—”

“Oh, I know,” says the Clown, chuckling. “I know…”

He relinquishes his grip and turns right around. You release a shaky breath but cling to your bluff. What choice do you have?

“He will!” you shout. “He’ll be here, and when he arrives, you’re—!”

The Clown swings around and clocks you upside the head. Pain explodes in your head as you bite your tongue and swallow a broken tooth, reeling from the impact. Stars streak across your hazy vision, and the Clown’s big, bulky shape is nothing more than a colorful blur.

“He ain’t comin’!” he laughs cruelly. “You’ve been the talk of the fuckin’ town, kid! And rumor has it, you’re on your own.”

He uses a ladle to transfer his concoction from the pot to a clear bottle. The liquid’s a nasty brown hue, with fizzy air bubbles that rush to the top and pop. It reeks of pennies and chemicals. The Clown gives it a swirl. You shake your head, growing more panicked by the second.

“H-He’s coming,” you echo, wresting against your restraints. “He’s coming, and-and when he does—!”

The Clown silences you when he squeezes your jaw. “Open that pretty mouth a yers,” he sneers.

You clamp your mouth shut, but he applies excruciating pressure, forcing your jaws apart. He shoves the bottle past your teeth, shattering the rim and forcing the nasty concoction down your throat. It’s hot and burns like acid going down. You sputter and choke until the last drop scalds your tongue.

Stepping back, the Clown eagerly observes the effects of his potion. A searing heat engulfs your entire being, compressing your chest like a red-hot iron and boiling your organs. You scream, digging your nails into the flesh of your palms and tensing so hard your bones ache under the pressure. Colorful specks dance before your fading vision, and the pain bubbles up in your gut. It’s killing you, whatever it is, melting you from the inside. You have minutes left, you wager. Moments, if you’re lucky.

But amidst the torment, a voice whispers in the depths of your mind. Though you struggle to comprehend its message, you gauge its significance. You should hurt him, shouldn’t you? Hurt him for all the pain he’s inflicted upon you.

Yes, you will, the voice whispers coherently in your ears, urging you on. We will.

Summoning your remaining strength, you seethe at the Clown through gritted teeth. “You fuckers never learn,” you hiss, a volatile mix of anger and pain coursing through your trembling form. “You can’t fuck with me.”

The Clown smirks, amused by your defiance. With a swift swing of his blade, he slashes your face, carving a deep, crimson gash across your cheek. It oozes blood, but you hardly wince. A cackle arises in your throat. “You can’t fuck with me!” you scream. Growing pressure in your chest becomes unbearably painful, and you laugh through each gasping sob. “You-You can’t fuck with me!”

Pain shoots like currents of electricity beneath your ribcage, igniting a growl as you sheer flesh from your palms with your nails. “You can’t FUCK WITH ME!”

Something surges within you. A switch flips.

The sound of breaking bones resonates in your ears, reminiscent of a colossal tree snapping in half. The pain escalates to an excruciating level as an eruption of spiny, black claws burst from your chest, tearing through flesh and shattering bone in their path. A scream erupts from your throat as the otherworldly talons impale the Clown.

Choking and gazing through a crimson haze, your body convulses uncontrollably. Something hot gushes from your nose, ears, and eyes, coating your face and trembling lips with a taste of blood. Searing pain ripples through every inch of your body, setting your nerves ablaze. You wail in agony, recoiling with such force that you topple over in the chair, crashing onto the floor. The Clown’s lifeless body keels over in front of you, a mess of blood and gore.

Writhing helplessly, you scream and moan in a cacophony of agony and terror. The claws continue to extend from your bloody chest cavity, twitching, and curling, grasping at your limbs. You can feel them inside, plucking at your nerves and trespassing upon the surface of your organs. Dimness and haze engulf your vision, accompanied by a roaring sound that drowns out your own screams. It becomes the last thing you perceive as the world dissolves into oblivion around you…

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You’re in the dark place, sitting up to your waist in the black pool. Silence hangs heavy, broken only by your own heartbeat pounding rhythmically in your ears. Suddenly, a familiar male voice pierces the darkness from behind you.

“You’re changing.”

Startled, you swivel your head, your eyes widening as they meet the sight of a figure draped in a dark robe, holding a flickering torch. Struggling to gather yourself, you rise unsteadily to your feet, licking your dry lips before managing to speak in a hoarse voice. “Wh… What?”

“You’re changing,” the stranger echoes. “Becoming like the last one.”

Confusion etches across your face as you take a hesitant step forward, furrowing your brow. “The last one? The last what?” Your outstretched fingertips brush against an invisible barrier, puzzling you. You press both hands against its unseen surface. The stranger remains on the other side, unreachable.

“What the hell is this?” you croak.

The stranger imparts, “You’re becoming dangerous.”

“Tell me what that means,” you demand.

He doesn’t. You grow frustrated. “Hey!” you shout, slamming a fist on the barrier. To your surprise, it cracks like grass. The cracks—thin, twinkling lines on its surface—extend like fibers of a web. The stranger jumps as if startled. He takes two steps back, and you hear another faint voice behind him, a woman, presumably. “They're breaking through?”

You don’t know what’s going on, and they refuse to say. Frustration becomes anger. “Tell me!” you scream at him, pounding on the barrier. The cracks grow and multiply.

Another voice urgently shouts, “Viel the mirror!”

The robed stranger exhales shakily. You pound your fists on the surface with as much strength as you can muster. “Tell me! Tell me SOMETHING!”

Amidst your rage, a sensation crawls up your throat. You gag and retch black ooze on the invisible barrier. Overwhelmed and weakened, your legs give way beneath you, and you collapse to your knees, your voice reduced to a rasping whisper. “Tell me,” you plead, your words barely audible. “Please…”

The robed man brandishes a dark curtain. With a large flourish, he vanishes out of sight.

You draw in a shuddering breath. When the whispers come, you slap your hands over your ears in a futile effort to block them out.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

As consciousness returns, your gaze lifts to meet a muggy, dark sky. Against the backdrop of grey clouds, the silhouette of a chapel steeple emerges, while distant carnival music floats faintly in the air.

The world quakes. The Collapse is upon you. You never left the trial.

Swallowing thickly, you sit up, only to realize that your body has miraculously healed. The remnants of your previous agony are evident in your shredded garments and the bloodstains they bear. The claws are gone. But those claws, they… they were real. It’s what happened to Bryce, isn’t it? It’s that sickness he wrote about—the agonizing, growing pains in his chest that swelled up and tore out of him. And as he said, they came to your defense, didn’t they? The Clown almost had you, he did, even, but then they came.

What’s happening to you? What IS it? Bryce didn’t even know, and he had more knowledge you. If you—

A whisper in the recesses of your mind quells your frantic thoughts. And the whispers intensify, commanding you to rise. As the world trembles, you stagger to your feet. Walk, the voices command. So, you comply.

You’re lulled into a hazy, mindless state as your legs carry you toward the shack in the distance. Enveloped in a haze, your mind grows numb. A deep rumble reverberates around you, and when you lose your balance, a claw erupts from the earth, catching you and nudging you closer to your destination, guiding you purposefully.

With faltering steps, you stagger through the door and stumble down the steps as the whispers and the voices grow more frenzied and desperate. When you step foot on the basement floor, a jolt races up your spine. Collapsing to your knees at the base of the hooks, you grasp the beam to steady yourself. Head hung low, teeth gritted, your body tenses and your limbs become paralyzed. Each breath escaping your lips quickens, growing shallow. Amidst the chaotic chorus, a single word emerges, recurring like a haunting refrain.

“Veins,” they murmur.

You trace your fingers along the cold, metal grooves of the hook’s base, feeling a surge of power pulsating beneath your fingertips.

“Our veins,” the voices echo, with growing fervor.

“Veins?” you rasp.

Embers flicker from the cracks in the floor as the world trembles and shakes. Your stomach churns, and you tightly shut your eyes. But instead of darkness, a brilliant light engulfs you, and you become weightless.

As you open your eyes, you find yourself lying on a moonlit beach. Icy black sand slips through your fingers like cascading waves. Turning your head, you gaze at the choppy waters that crash upon the shore, and you blink at the dark crystalline sky. But suddenly, the sky ruptures, revealing a furious haze of red and orange, and menacing obsidian claws descend from the swirling clouds like a tempest.

“Reborn,” the chorus sings.

The sand burns hot beneath you, and a scream escapes your lips as you try to escape its scorching touch. But then, inexplicably, it begins to glow, and you’re abruptly swallowed by an unfathomable abyss, careening into darkness. It only lasts for a second, before you crash violently on the ground. Dazed and disoriented, you lift your pounding head, only to be assailed by a cacophony of screams and terror that fills the air around you. You find yourself standing in a dark city terrorized by giant spiders.

Wide-eyed, you scramble to your feet, mouth agape in terror and awe. With two staggering steps backward, the world is swept away, and you’re someplace else: roaring flames besiege a medieval village ravaged by otherworldly monsters. A pungent stench of smoke, sulfur, and death overwhelms your senses.

Fear clenches your heart as you struggle to regain your composure, spinning wildly in an attempt to make sense of your nightmarish surroundings. Before you can fully grasp the dire situation, searing pain erupts in your back, causing you to stagger and collapse to your knees. Your hand clutches the slender shaft of an arrow embedded between your shoulder blades. Gritting your teeth, you tear it out and toss it aside.

Before you can even regain your footing, a colossal monster lands before you, its presence trembling the ground and knocking you down. It boasts outstretched, leathery wings, multiple eyes, sharp claws, and taut charcoal skin. An ominous aura emanates from the fleshy creature. Its slitted red eyes blink at you before it emits a chilling chuckle, tauntingly uttering the words, “You’re learning.”

Fear courses through your veins, paralyzing you.

And then it’s all gone. Abruptly, you’re hurtling through a stormy sky, surrounded by thunderous roars and dark tempestuous clouds. You plunge into the churning tides below before breaking the surface, gasping for air. The merciless waves thrash you about, their power overwhelming your every attempt to stay afloat. You’re dragged deeper and deeper into the inky black depths. Your body convulses. You’re choking, drowning—

 

And then you wake up.

As quickly as it all came, it’s all gone. You gape at a moonlit sky through a web of spindly tree branches.

You’re cold; everything’s cold. To your astonishment, you’re soaking wet, and searing pain lingers between your shoulder blades. It was all real, wasn’t it?

You sit up, wincing, and startle to find a small, blue-eyed crow sitting at your side. Your heart leaps.

“Poe?” you rasp.

When you reach out for him, he takes flight and disappears. Dejection tugs at your lips. Sighing, you struggle to your feet, hugging a nearby tree for support. Your legs tremble unsteadily. What more to do now than to go home and speculate?

As you turn around, you halt.

A woman stands before you: she has bouncy red hair, a heavily freckled face, pursed lips, and round frames sitting on her nose. She also wears a very nice hat.

You gawk at her. She stares right back, her lips curled up. Then, out of the blue, she pips. “Oh!” she exclaims, her brow wrinkling while a sheepish smile besets her expression. “I should, erm… probably introduce myself.”

She thrusts out her hand, still smiling. “I’m Mikaela.”

You stare dumbly.

Mikaela clears her throat and retracts her hand. “I-I know this might all sound crazy, but… I KNOW you.”

 

Notes:

In case you thought I was done bullying the Clown 😊

Chapter 70: The Storyteller

 

You find yourself at a loss for words, unsure of how to respond. Mikaela’s expression flickers between sheepishness, awkwardness, and a twitchy, nervous smile before she clears her throat once more. “I-I know this probably doesn’t make any sense, considering this is our first actual meeting, but—” She pauses abruptly, scrunching her nose and swiftly shaking her head. “Let me start from the beginning.”

She inhales and exhales, gathering her thoughts. “Okay, so, when I say I ‘know’ you, I mean that I’ve seen you before. In-in my dreams, mostly, before I was brought here. But I understand that you’re special. I-I don’t know the full extent of your, erm… specialness, though.”

A sense of déjà vu washes over you. Who is she?

You wrinkle your brow. Licking your lips, you say, “You sound… familiar.”

Mikaela’s eyes light up. “Yes! As I said, I’ve seen you in my dreams. And I think you might have seen me, too. You called out to me once, but I couldn’t reach you.”

She flourishes her arm, going on to say, “Anyway, I didn’t know what to think of it at first, because this was a WHILE ago—like, before I was taken. I didn’t know if it was just a weird dream, or maybe a distant memory, but… you’re real, and I know about everything you’ve been trying to do here.”

“How?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “How do you know all this?”

“Because I’m special too,” says Mikaela, smiling softly. “Before I came here, I had seen glimpses of this place in my dreams. I’ve witnessed the suffering, monsters, and-and the other survivors around the campfire! I’ve seen it all. So, maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that I wound up here.”

Suddenly, her smile wilts, and her gaze becomes distant. “My… My friend was taken by the thing that takes everyone. I’m determined to find him. We can save everyone, and we can do it together.”

She kneels in front of you, placing a hand on your shoulder. With a hopeful smile, she says, “We can work together. And I think the both of us can really make a difference here. If we—oh my GOSH! You’re bloody—you’re bleeding?!”

She withdraws her hand, eyes widening as she discerns the blood on her palm and the gruesome stains on your jacket. “Eek! What happened?!”

You wave away her concern dismissively. “It’s nothing,” you say. “It’ll heal.”

“But— Your ears are bleeding too! Why are your ears bleeding?!”

Mikaela assesses your injuries like a doting mother. You push away from her as you stand up. “I’m fine,” you insist. “You wanna talk? Let’s do it someplace where I can dry off and change into a fresh pair of clothes…”

“The campfire’s back that—”

“No,” you interrupt her.

You won’t go back to the campfire; not in this current state.“I know a place,” you say.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You stride past the front porch, accompanied by your doe-eyed new companion. As you reach for the doorknob, Mikaela stirs up a commotion behind you.

“I’ve seen this place, too!” she exclaims. “The ‘Fog Haven.’ It’s a refuge from the troubles that pervade the fog, and home to the hero of our story.”

Her bright smile makes you nauseous. “Which is you, by the way, in case you couldn’t, uh… tell.”

You’re given pause. “You think this is a story?”

“It is, in a way. See, back in the real world, when I thought all this was just some weird dream, I used it as inspiration for the stories I told during open mic night at the café.”

She brandishes a triumphant fist, grinning. “And in those stories, you were the daring hero! Someone who fearlessly navigated the fog to venture far and wide in search of answers! My audience loved you, by the way. You, and Poe, and Bastion—”

The mere mention of his name sends a sharp pang through your chest. You grimace and dismiss the notion. “If you know anything about Bastion, then you know he can’t be trusted. I trusted him, and it’s turned out to be a mistake on more than one occasion…”

You forcefully swing open the door and storm inside with Mikaela hot on your heels. “I-I know it’s probably a touchy subject, if everything I’ve seen is true, but… I mean, he’s helped out at least a little, right? And my listeners absolutely adored his charm—”

“Mikaela,” you sharply interrupt her.

She falls silent, offering an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

Making your way toward the kitchen, you’re taken aback by Lydia’s absence. But it’s probably for the best; she doesn’t need to know you’ve brought another stranger into her home…

Pulling out a chair at the table, you have a seat, wincing in pain. Your wound is healing, albeit slowly. Mikaela follows suit, settling across from you with an impish smile playing on her lips.

“So,” she begins, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the surface, “where do we start?”

“I’ll start by telling you this is a mistake,” you say. “You don’t want any part of this. Everything you’ve seen is very real, and you should know you’re trying to bite off more than you can chew. It’s not a daring adventure, and there’s no happy ending in sight. It’s just obstacle after obstacle, and I’m barely managing to get by as is.”

“That’s why I think we need to work together!” Mikaela argues. “With my sight, and your… everything else, I think we can make this work!” She jabs the tabletop with a fingernail. “I can see things: people and places out there in the fog! And maybe I can help guide you to them! For instance, there’s this man—”

“You really think it’s that simple?” you interject bitterly. “That you can just go out there and find the answers? Because it’s not. I’ve gone out there hundreds of times, and I still don’t have shit to show for it; just trauma and scars.”

You slump back in your chair, frowning. “I’m trying to save you the trouble, Mikaela. You haven’t been here for nearly as long as I have. It’s not a walk in the park.”

Mikaela sucks her teeth. “Actually… I’ve been here for a minute.” She adjusts her glasses, adding, “I’ve been popping in around camp for some time, just hoping I’d finally get a chance to meet you, but, erm… you never come around, I guess.” She chuckles lightly. “The others did say you were ‘elusive’…”

“Right,” you mutter.

“Not in a bad way!” Mikaela quickly clarifies. “It’s cute, the way they all described you: mysterious, sneaky, and you like to creep around camp sometimes to sit and chat… You’re like a cryptid.”

Seeing your unamused expression, Mikaela clears her throat. “Anyway, since I couldn’t find you around camp, I finally decided to come out here in search of you on my own. We had to meet. In all my dreams, I saw you exploring the fog. And no matter how many times it knocked you down, you always rose to your feet, ready to face it again.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you reply, scowling.

“But you do,” Mikaela insists. “You haven’t given up yet! You could be brooding around camp like everyone else, but you aren’t. And that’s why I’m here.”

“You’re HERE because you think this is all some big fairy tale!” you snap, shooting out of your chair. “—That we’ll go out there together and it’ll be sunshine and rainbows! But it’s NOT!”

You point accusingly at her. “I walk through Hell every night, facing off against people and monsters that want to fuck and kill me, and-and you think—!”

You cut yourself off, the words choking in your throat. Tears well up in your eyes, but you shut them tight and shake your head. “You’re wrong, Mikaeala. I’m sorry, but you’re wrong.”

Doubt seeps in once again, like shadows cast by a setting sun. The weight of your fear and uncertainty rests heavily on your shoulders, leaving your mouth dry and giving you cause to slump back in your chair with a furrowed brow. The silence stretches between you and Mikaela, neither knowing what more to say.

You hang your head, surrendering to it. But Mikaela’s voice breaks the silence, cutting through the despair like a bolt of lightning. “No, YOU’RE wrong!” she exclaims, her eyes blazing with conviction. You jerk upright, startled, as she leans across the table to jab you pointedly in the shoulder.

“I have seen EVERYTHING you’ve accomplished so far, and it’s no small feat, all right? What you’ve done here is amazing, and it’s all of that which inspired my stories!”

She takes your hand gently and leans in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “Back home, people were rooting for you, and I still am,” she confides, her eyes shimmering with reverence.

A long minute of silence comes to pass. Her words breathe life into your weary soul, reigniting the fading ember of hope within you. For a fleeting instant, the weight that burdens your shoulders starts to lift, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose. But just as quickly as it appears…

…the embers fade, and the light extinguishes once again.

You’ve been through this cycle before—brief moments of respite followed by crushing disappointment. There’s no real solace to be found here, no matter how desperately you try to hold on.

Your expression hardens once more as you raise an eyebrow. “Why are you holding my hand?”

Mikaela’s face flickers with embarrassment, and she hastily releases her grasp. “Ah! I, uh… I just sorta feel a connection to you, you know? I-I mean, we’ve been dream buddies for months! And I feel like I’ve been with you every step of your journey…”

A blush tinges her cheeks as she looks away, clearing her throat before smiling and meeting your resolute gaze once again. “Please, just give it some thought,” she says. “I know you aren’t done here. You’re stronger than this, and you won’t quit anytime soon.”

You want to believe her, but it’s become incredibly challenging. As you rise from your seat, intending to show Mikaela the door, a knock interrupts the silence. Both of you freeze, tension gripping your bodies as the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

Who could it be? Danny? Another killer, come to pay you a friendly visit? The possibilities make your stomach flip. You want to run and hide, but you find yourself paralyzed. Mikaela side-eyes you with a puzzled look on her face. “Are you expecting company? Does anyone else even know you’re out here?”

You swallow. “I’ve had visitors before…”

Steeling yourself, you collect a kitchen knife from the drawer, making Mikaela’s eyes widen. “Wait, could it be a…?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” you reply, advancing towards the door.

Mikaela follows closely behind, gripping a fire poker in her hand. You come to a halt, beads of sweat forming on your brow, and your fingers trembling around the knife’s hilt. Another forceful knock resonates through the door. Sharing an apprehensive glance with Mikaela, you take a deep breath and wrench the door open. And there, standing before you is—

 

Felix (❤)

Élodie (❤)

Felix and Élodie

 

Chapter 71: Choice: Felix (❤)

 

It’s Felix.

Your racing heart slows to a calm, and a deep sigh of relief escapes your parted lips. That is, until you recall your last venture together, and the way it had gone so horribly awry…

Swallowing thickly, you elbow Mikaela and quickly say, “I don’t want company, sorry. Mikaela’s actually going now—”

Mikaela pips. “Hey! At least think about what I’ve said, please? I’ll come by later and we can talk—”

“Later, sure,” you say, ushering her out the door past Felix. “We’ll talk later!”

You try to close the door, but Felix shoves his way inside. “We need to talk,” he says, huffing. You open your mouth to object, but he slams the door shut and fixes the lapels of his jacket, sighing. When he finally meets your eyes, you avoid his steely gaze, shifting your stare elsewhere but at him. He clears his throat. You swallow.

“Felix,” you begin, sheepishly, fidgeting. “I-I don’t— We shouldn’t—”

“I know,” he says, his features softening. “There’s a lot to discuss.”

You drop your guard and sigh heavily. “I’m sorry,” you croak. “About before, when… When Bastion—”

You cut off, grimacing. “I-I didn’t know what he was capable of doing. I wouldn’t have called him if I’d known what he’d do. I wouldn’t have led you down there if I’d known, I swear.”

Felix silently walks past you toward the kitchen, beckoning you to follow. You join him at the kitchen table, having a seat and hanging your head. You can feel his gaze boring into you, but you refuse to meet his eyes.

“So, you’ve met Mikaela,” he says.

“I have,” you murmur.

“Did you tell her everything you told us? About your guardian angel, and the way you’ll find all the answers?”

“No, actually,” you reply hoarsely. “I… I tried to steer her away. I told her she doesn’t want any part of this… I can’t do to her what I’ve done to you and Élodie.” You scoff and cradle your head. “I’m sorry, Felix. I should’ve told you everything I know about Bastion, but the truth is, I hardly know a damn thing about him, myself. But he’s a killer. He may have broken his chains, but deep down, he’s just a killer, and there’s no changing that… He’s dangerous, and I should’ve warned you both. I never should’ve—”

“It’s okay,” Felix interrupts.

You glance upward, surprised by the softness of his tone. He shifts and leans over the table, propping his elbows and clasping his hands. His blue eyes are like calm waves. “You’re trying. I can—we both—can see that. What happened was… unfortunate, but we’re all just trying to find a foothold and figure this out.”

You nod. Felix leans back, shrugging. “Your friend, Bastion, he’s… He is dangerous, but we can’t give up because of a little hiccup in the road. Élodie and I, we’re still in. But we need to know that you are.”

“I-I am,” you stammer quickly. “I am, but…”

Trailing off, you shake your head and wrinkle your brow. “It’s… I don’t know, Felix. I’ve fallen off the wagon… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Felix says softly.

It becomes quiet again. You sit in silence for a minute before sliding out of your seat and walking toward the stove to put some tea on. You can feel Felix’s eyes on your back while you rummage through the cupboards for a kettle. Maybe he sees the blood and your torn clothing and wonders what fresh Hell you’ve been through. You wonder if you should tell him everything you’ve discovered: your new abilities, Bryce, the claws…

“Élodie and I have been too hard on you,” says Felix, interrupting your swirling thoughts. “We know it hasn’t been easy. And when we hear that you haven’t been around camp, we’ve grown worried…”

“I’ve been getting that a lot,” you mutter.

“For good reason,” replies Felix.

You put the kettle on and retake your seat at the table. “I’m fine.”

The look on your face says otherwise. Felix reads you clear as day.

“If you need a break—”

“I don’t.”

“If you do, then have one,” he says. “Don’t kill yourself trying to figure everything out on your own.”

“I’m not.”

Felix’s brow furrows. His eyes wander around the room, faltering on the empty bottles and spirits on the shelves. A frown tugs at his lips, and he grimaces as if tasting something bitter. He lowers his head and grunts. “We all could use a break.”

The tense atmosphere instills a pit in your stomach. You clear your throat and hastily change the subject. “I’d also like to apologize for… you know.”

Felix raises an eyebrow. You make a motion with your hands. “You know, before, when I, uh… I-I guess I was hitting on you, but I had absolutely no idea you were married—”

“Ah!” Felix sharply interrupts. “Oh, em… I—”

“I mean, I should’ve known, because you’re just so—! Look at you! Right? And you’re smart, too!” You let out a nervous laugh. “You’re a catch, right?”

Felix chuckles awkwardly. “I… Thank you.”

“Yep,” you say, smiling like an idiot. “Mm-hmm. Your soon-to-be wife, or-or husband, or… partner, is so lucky.”

Felix wears a sheepish smile. “Wife,” he says. “And I consider myself the lucky one.”

You smile and knock on the table. “So, what are you looking forward to? Getting back home, getting married, building some cool shit?”

“And starting a family,” Felix says, nodding. “My fiancé is pregnant.”

“Wow!” you exclaim, surprised. “You’re daddy!”

Felix’s eyes go wide. You catch yourself quickly, your face flushing a deep red. “I-I mean, you’re going to be a daddy! A father, right? Cool! Congrats!”

Felix laughs. “Hopefully,” he says. Then, sighing, he adds, “But… I’ve been gone for so long, and sometimes I worry that she’s already moved on…” He frowns. “And… And I don’t know.”

He falls silent, hanging his head and scratching the back of his neck. You offer him what little reassurance you can. “If she loves you, she’ll wait, Felix. She’ll wait for as long as she needs to.”

And, in a bid to lighten the mood, you playfully add, “Because you’re just such a catch, you know? It’d be pretty crazy to let you go.”

You exchange partial smiles. Felix nods and leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “What about you?” he asks. “Do you have anyone waiting for you back home?”

“Me? Psshh—” You make a dismissive motion with your hand. “Nah… No one; nothing romantic, anyway…”

“Really?” Felix says, sounding surprised. “But you’re a catch yourself. I think someone’s missing out.”

You laugh. “You don’t need to flatter me. I don’t think anyone’ll want me when I get outta here… I’m a mess now. Got all this emotional baggage and trauma, and it’s too much for anyone to handle. This place has done a number on me, and it’s not a number anyone wants.”

A smile tugs at Felix’s lips. “You’re too harsh on yourself.”

“Hm…”

“Really,” Felix says with a chuckle. “You’re charming, headstrong, kind; a catch. And if I wasn’t engaged—”

He stops himself quickly, a troubling look crossing his expression. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by a sheepish smile. “If I wasn’t engaged, then…”

Then he trails off, pausing. Suddenly, he raps his knuckles on the tabletop and shoots to his feet, changing the subject. “I should go,” he says, clearing his throat. “I was supposed to check in on you and report back to Élodie.”

“You should stay for tea,” you invite.

“Ah, but you know how she is,” Felix says. He turns around and swiftly retreats for the door. But before he can make his hasty departure, you make him pause when you exclaim, “Ah, wait! I’ve got some things for you and Élodie to have a look at—”

You rush to the study and gather an armful of journals containing Bryce’s notes and findings. Handing them off to Felix, you say, “It’s a long story, but I met a guy out here, and he gave me some information that you and Élodie should look over.”

“You met a guy?” Felix questions, raising an eyebrow.

“Like I said; long story.” You fold your arms and prop up against the door frame. “Thank you for stopping by, Felix. It feels good to clear the air between us, after what happened—”

“Was this guy handsome—?”

“—because it’s something that’s been bugging me for a long time, and—”

“When did you meet—”

“—it’s a weight off my shoulders, y’know?” You smile.

Felix pauses for a minute before slowly nodding his head. “Yes… Of course. I’m in a devoted relationship, and you’re free to do—SPEAK to whomever you want.” He smiles awkwardly. Then he clears his throat, messes with his collar, and spins around to walk out the door. But he stops, hesitating when he looks back over his shoulder. “It was good speaking with you,” he says. “I’ll return with Élodie soon, so we can discuss what comes next. We’re still in this together.”

Your heart flutters. Felix walks away and disappears beyond the veil of fog. A hiss cuts through your swirling thoughts, drawing your attention toward the kitchen. It dawns on you that you haven’t had tea in a minute; it’s been alcohol and poison these past nights, to wash down your fear, and stifle your angst.

You can use a hot cup of tea.

 

Continue

 

Notes:

Felix is going back to camp to bang his head against a tree.

Chapter 72: Choice: Élodie (❤)

 

It’s Élodie.

Your racing heart slows to a calm, and a deep sigh of relief escapes your parted lips. That is, until you recall your last venture together, and the way it had gone so horribly awry…

Swallowing thickly, you elbow Mikaela and quickly say, “I don’t want company, sorry. Mikaela’s actually going now—”

Mikaela pips. “Hey! At least think about what I’ve said, please? I’ll come by later and we can talk—”

“Later, sure,” you say, ushering her out the door past Élodie. “We’ll talk later!”

You try to close the door, but Élodie shoves her way inside. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” she says, huffing. You open your mouth to object, but she slams the door shut and crossly folds her arms. When she finally meets your eyes, you avoid her steely gaze, shifting your stare everywhere but at her. She clears her throat. You swallow.

“Élodie,” you begin, sheepishly, fidgeting. “I-I don’t— We shouldn’t—”

“We shouldn’t, what? Talk?” she interrupts, her features softening. “But we need to.”

You drop your guard and sigh heavily. “I’m sorry,” you croak. “About before, when… When Bastion—”

You cut off, grimacing. “I-I didn’t know what he was capable of doing. I wouldn’t have called him if I’d known what he’d do. I wouldn’t have led you down there if I’d known, I swear.”

Élodie silently walks past you toward the kitchen, beckoning you to follow. You join her at the kitchen table, having a seat and hanging your head. You can feel her gaze boring into you, but you refuse to meet her eyes.

“I see you’ve met Mikaela,” she says.

“I have,” you murmur.

“Did you sell her the same pitch you sold us? About your guardian angel, and the way you’ll find all the answers?”

“No, actually,” you reply hoarsely. “I… I tried to steer her away. I told her she doesn’t want any part of this… I can’t do to her what I’ve done to you and Felix.” You scoff and cradle your head. “I’m sorry, Élodie. I should’ve told you everything I know about Bastion, but the truth is, I hardly know a damn thing about him, myself. But he’s a killer. He may have broken his chains, but deep down, he’s just a killer, and there’s no changing that… He’s dangerous, and I should’ve warned you both. I never should’ve—”

“I understand,” Élodie interrupts.

You glance upward, surprised by the softness of her tone. She shakes her head and sighs, leaning over the table and propping her head on her hand. Her brown eyes are like glimmering orbs of amber in the sun. “I can see you’re trying… I can—we both—can see that. What happened was a mistake, but we all make those.”

You nod. Élodie leans back, shrugging. “Your creepy pal, Bastion, he’s dangerous, but we can’t give up because of a little hiccup in the road. Felix and I, we’re still in. But we need to know that you are.”

“I-I am,” you stammer quickly. “I am, but…”

Trailing off, you shake your head and wrinkle your brow. “It’s… I don’t know, Élodie. I’ve fallen off the wagon… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“No one said you had to have all the answers,” Élodie says softly.

It becomes quiet again. You sit in silence for a minute before sliding out of your seat and walking toward the stove to put some tea on. You can feel Élodie’s eyes on your back while you rummage through the cupboards for a kettle. Maybe she sees the blood and your torn clothing and wonders what fresh Hell you’ve been through. You wonder if you should tell her everything you’ve discovered: your new abilities, Bryce, the claws…

“I’ve been too hard on you,” says Élodie, interrupting your swirling thoughts. “But we know it hasn’t been easy. And hearing that you haven’t been around camp is worrying…”

“I’ve been getting that a lot,” you mutter.

“For good reason,” replies Élodie.

You put the kettle on and retake your seat at the table. “I’m fine.”

The look on your face says otherwise. Élodie reads you clear as day.

“You don’t need to pretend—”

“I’m not.”

“You are, but you don’t have to. If you need a break, have one,” she says. “Don’t kill yourself trying to figure everything out on your own.”

“I’m not.”

Élodie’s brow furrows. Her eyes wander around the room, faltering on the empty bottles and spirits on the shelves before meeting your gaze again. She shakes her head. “We can all use a break.”

The tense atmosphere instills a pit in your stomach. Élodie breaks the silence, sighing. “I should be the one apologizing,” she murmurs, her eyes flitting toward yours. “For being so damn hard on you, and…” She trails off, frowning as she rubs her temples. “This shit hasn’t been easy on anyone, especially you. It was unfair of me to put so much blame on you.”

“I understand,” you reply quietly. “I haven’t exactly lived up to my title…”

“None of us have,” Élodie says, scoffing. “I’ve been beating myself up for so many years, and I jumped at the opportunity to take out all that frustration on someone else for a change.”

“Hey, if you need a shoulder to cry on, or a punching bag, you can lay it all on me. I’ve endured worse…”

A wavering smile graces Élodie’s lips. “I think I’ve laid into you enough.”

She falls silent again, dipping her head and muttering. You reach across the table and rest a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think it was your fault, Élodie,” you begin quietly. “It was just a dumb mistake—”

“That dumb mistake got my parents taken from me,” Élodie interrupts sharply. “It got all of them taken. I orphaned us all because I went poking my nose where I shouldn’t have.”

“You were just a kid,” you argue. “A kid with a craving for adventure. Y’know, like Dora—”

Élodie’s laugh cuts you off. “Dora?” she says incredulously. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but Dora?”

“Or Tomb Raider,” you suggest, smiling. “Gals with a knack for adventure.”

Élodie snorts. “Well, if I’m Dora, then who are you?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out.”

Élodie leans back, humming. You rap the table with your knuckles. “So, what are you most looking forward to when this is all said and done?”

“You make it sound so conceivable,” Élodie says, snorting, “getting out of here. Do you really believe we’ll figure this out?”

You hesitate. For her sake, you nod. “I have to. Now, don’t dodge the question.”

Élodie hums in thought. “I suppose I’ll do the same thing I always have. I was good at it, and I see no reason to quit.”

“—Besides it being extremely dangerous, right?”

“I loved the thrill of it,” Élodie replies, smiling. “And you?” she asks. “Do you have any plans for when we inevitably escape?”

“I’m going to sleep for a long-ass time,” you say with a hint of humor.

Élodie laughs. “You? But you already have the comfiest bed in the fog. Why do you of all people need more sleep?”

“Hey, I offered half that bed to you. It’s not my fault you haven’t taken me up on the offer, yet.”

“Yet?” says Élodie, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah; I’m sure you’ll come around eventually…”

Élodie lets out a laugh, and it’s music to your ears. “Maybe I will,” she says, smirking. “Not tonight, but… another time.”

She abruptly stands up, startling you. “I should go,” she says. “I came to check in and see how you were doing… And I’ll be getting back to Felix and telling him we’re still a go.”

“You don’t want to stay for tea?” you ask.

Élodie snickers. “If I stick around any longer, I’m afraid I’ll end up in bed with you.”

Blush spans your cheeks. “Wait—”

Élodie cuts you off, chuckling. “It’s too soon for that, anyway.”

She turns around and heads for the door. But before she can make her hasty departure, you make her pause when you exclaim, “Ah, wait! I’ve got some things for you and Felix to have a look at—”

You rush to the study and gather an armful of journals containing Bryce’s notes and findings. Handing them off to Élodie, you say, “It’s a long story, but I met a guy out here, and he gave me some information that you and Felix should look over.”

“You met a guy?” Élodie questions, raising an eyebrow.

“Like I said; long story.” You fold your arms and prop up against the door frame. “Thank you for stopping by, Élodie. It feels good to clear the air between us, after what happened—”

“Tell me more about this guy—”

“—because it’s something that’s been bugging me for a long time, and—”

“When did you meet—”

“—it’s a weight off my shoulders, y’know? I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about you coming after me in the woods with a burlap sack and rope again.” You smile.

Élodie pauses for a minute before scoffing. “Well, you’re not entirely off the hook yet.” She turns around and steps out the door, once again pausing to look back. “I’m… I’m glad we had this talk,” she says. “I’ll return with Felix soon, so we can discuss what comes next. We’re still in this together.”

Your heart flutters. Élodie walks away and disappears beyond the veil of fog. A hiss cuts through your swirling thoughts, drawing your attention toward the kitchen. It dawns on you that you haven’t had tea in a minute; it’s been alcohol and poison these past nights, to wash down your fear, and stifle your angst.

You can use a hot cup of tea.

 

Continue

 

Notes:

I would like to personally thank you all for voting Elodie in as a romance option, because I do very much love her <3

Chapter 73: Choice: Felix and Elodié

 

It’s Felix and Elodié.

Your racing heart slows to a calm, and a deep sigh of relief escapes your parted lips. That is, until you recall your last venture together, and the way it had gone so horribly awry…

Swallowing thickly, you elbow Mikaela and quickly say, “I don’t want company, sorry. Mikaela’s actually going now—”

Mikaela pips. “Hey! At least think about what I’ve said, please? I’ll come by later and we can talk—”

“Later, sure,” you say, ushering her out the door past the two. “We’ll talk later!”

You try to close the door, but Elodié shoves her way inside, followed closely by Felix. “You can’t get rid of us that easily,” Elodié says, huffing. You open your mouth to object, but she slams the door shut and crossly folds her arms. Felix posts up beside her, a slightly milder expression on his face. You take care to avoid their eyes like they’re wild animals. Finally, Elodié clears her throat, breaking the silence. You swallow.

“Guys,” you begin, sheepishly, fidgeting. “I-I don’t— We shouldn’t—”

“We shouldn’t, what? Talk?” Elodié interrupts, her features softening.

“We need to,” says Felix. “There’s a lot to discuss.”

You drop your guard and sigh heavily. “I’m sorry,” you croak. “About before, when… When Bastion—”

You cut off, grimacing. “I-I didn’t know what he was capable of doing. I wouldn’t have called him if I’d known what he’d do. I wouldn’t have led you both down there if I’d known, I swear.”

Elodié and Felix silently walk past you toward the kitchen, beckoning you to follow. You join them at the kitchen table, having a seat and hanging your head. You can feel their gazes boring into you, but you refuse to meet their eyes.

“I see you’ve met Mikaela,” Elodié says.

“I have,” you murmur.

“Did you tell her everything you told us?” Felix asks. “About your guardian angel, and the way you’ll find all the answers?”

“No, actually,” you reply hoarsely. “I… I tried to steer her away. I told her she doesn’t want any part of this… I can’t do to her what I’ve done to you.” You scoff and cradle your head. “I’m sorry… I should’ve told you everything I know about Bastion, but the truth is, I hardly know a damn thing about him, myself. But he’s a killer. He may have broken his chains, but deep down, he’s just a killer, and there’s no changing that… He’s dangerous, and I should’ve warned you both. I never should’ve—”

“We understand,” Elodié interrupts.

You glance upward, surprised by the softness of her tone. She shakes her head and sighs, leaning over the table and propping her head on her hand. “We can see you’re trying… We can see that, and… and what happened was a mistake, but we all make those.”

You nod. Felix murmurs, “Your friend, Bastion, he’s… He is dangerous, but we can’t give up because of a little hiccup in the road. And we’re still in. But we need to know that you are.”

“I-I am,” you stammer quickly. “I am, but…”

Trailing off, you shake your head and wrinkle your brow. “It’s… I don’t know. I’ve fallen off the wagon… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“No one said you had to have all the answers,” Elodié says softly.

It becomes quiet again. You sit in silence for a minute before sliding out of your seat and walking toward the stove to put some tea on. You can feel your company’s eyes on your back while you rummage through the cupboards for a kettle. Maybe they see the blood and your torn clothing and wonder what fresh Hell you’ve been through. You wonder if you should tell them everything you’ve discovered: your new abilities, Bryce, the claws…

“We’ve been too hard on you,” says Elodié, interrupting your swirling thoughts. “But we know it hasn’t been easy. And hearing that you haven’t been around camp is worrying…”

“I’ve been getting that a lot,” you mutter.

“For good reason,” interjects Felix.

You put the kettle on and retake your seat at the table. “I’m fine.”

The look on your face says otherwise. They read you clear as day.

Elodié says, “You don’t need to pretend—”

“I’m not.”

“You are, but you don’t have to. If you need a break, have one,” she says. “Don’t kill yourself trying to figure everything out on your own.”

“I’m not.”

Elodié’s brow furrows. Her eyes wander around the room, and she and Felix notice the empty bottles and spirits on the shelves before meeting your gaze again. A frown tugs at Felix’s lips, and he grimaces as if tasting something bitter. Elodié shakes her head. “We can all use a break,” she utters.

The tense atmosphere instills a pit in your stomach. Felix breaks the silence, sighing. “We only thought we should come to see how you were doing,” he says. “Have you found anything else since…?”

“Yeah, yeah, just… I’ll show you.”

You walk to the study and gather an armful of journals containing Bryce’s notes and findings: Laying them out over the table, you say, “It’s a long story, but I met a guy out here, and he gave me some information that you both should look over. Maybe you’ll make something of it.”

Felix, nodding, gathers your findings. Elodié peruses them with curious eyes. “We’ll head back to camp and go over everything,” she says.

“This man you met”—Felix begins, making a motion with his hands—“Can we…?”

“He’s gone,” you interrupt, dipping your head. “That’s all he left behind.”

They share an uneasy look before heading for the door. “We’ll get out of your hair in the meantime,” says Elodié. “If you need a minute, we’ll give it to you. After all, the ball is in your court.”

“Mm,” you grunt. Before they leave, you sigh heavily and sheepishly scratch your nape. “Thank you for stopping, both of you. It’s… it’s good that we cleared the air after everything that happened.”

“It is,” says Felix, looking back. He gives a small nod, murmuring, “We’re still in this together, despite some obvious… setbacks.”

“As long as you can keep your Eldritch friend on a leash, that is,” says Elodié. “He’s turning out more trouble than he’s worth…”

“That he is,” you mutter.

They share no more words with you. Felix pats you on the shoulder, and Elodié leads the way out the door and beyond the veil of fog. As soon as they vanish from sight, a hiss cuts through the air, drawing your attention toward the kitchen.

It dawns on you that you haven’t had tea in a minute; it’s been alcohol and poison these past nights, to wash down your fear, and stifle your angst.

You can use a hot cup of tea.

 

Continue

 

Chapter 74: Mayhem: Part 1

 

You’ve been taking things one small step at a time.

While you’ve anxiously awaited Felix and Elodie’s return, you’ve been trying to take it easy. Well, as easy as you can, anyway, despite the occasional trial that comes around, and the nightmares that rob you of a decent night’s sleep…

In the meantime, you’ve kept off the bottle and have carefully considered Mikaela’s offer, weighing the pros and cons. On one hand, if she’s as special as she’s led you to believe, you’d be hard-pressed to pass up her support. On the other hand, it’s asking a lot of her, and you’re unsure if you’re willing to drag someone else into your sinking boat…

But, well… you’re all slowly sinking anyway, aren’t you?

It’s given you a lot to think about, but it’s not a choice you’ll make lightly.

 

You sit at the kitchen table, sipping from a cup of tea and drumming your fingers along the edge of a bare plate. Lydia appears behind you, gliding across the floor with a broom in hand. She hums contentedly.

“Lydia,” you say. “You go out there into the fog, don’t you? I’ve been missing you lately…”

“I like my evening strolls,” she replies flippantly, a smile tugging at her lips. Her blind gaze seeks yours. “I’ve got nothin’ to worry about out there. Everything’s more afraid of me than I am of it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“Because I’m an old lady with a temper and a broomstick,” she replies with a light chuckle. “Besides, I can’t be afraid of nothin’ if I can’t see it.”

“Hmm. Ignorance is bliss…”

“That it is,” says Lydia.

She leans her broom against the wall and wipes her hands up and down her frock. “You seem to be in a better mood lately. Something happen?”

“More like nothing’s happened,” you reply. “Haven’t had a killer beating down your door in a minute… Which is entirely too suspect.”

“Be glad,” Lydia says with a hint of amusement. “I sure am…”

She gathers an armful of ingredients and a large mixing bowl. “You sticking around for some breakfast?”

You’d like to. But the fog has other plans for you.

In an instant, you’re no longer sitting at the table in the warmth of Lydia’s cabin. Instead, you find yourself standing amid a freezing, snowy landscape.

Creeping black tendrils snake down your legs and vanish. Fierce winds howl past, giving you cause to wrap your arms firmly around yourself to fend off the nipping cold. Through the blizzard, you see a large, wooden lodge, and supply sheds and snowplows. You scoff.

Mount Ormond Resort—your least favorite of all the trial grounds. Not only because of the bone-chilling cold, or the icy-to-the-touch generators, but because it brings back haunting memories. You want out as soon as possible.

 

You enter the lodge and find a generator against the bottom stair landing. Kneeling beside it, you get fast to work. And for five minutes, you work uninterrupted, which… surprises you. Suddenly, you become aware of how unnervingly quiet it is.

You lean away from the generator with a furrowed expression on your face. There’s been not one sighting of a camper, or killer.

What’s going on?

As you rise to your feet, a low, wooden groan resonates through the lodge, shaking loose dust from the ceiling. Your eyebrow raises in curiosity as you look up.

Curiosity killed the cat, singsongs a tiny voice in the back of your head.

—but satisfaction brought it back, chimes in another.

You can’t help yourself; being nosy’s your whole gimmick!

Cautiously, you climb the stairs and peek your head into each and every cluttered room and broom closet, until you happen upon a partially open door. Hesitating, you flatten your hand on its surface and push.

The door swings wide open with a low groan, revealing a startling sight within. A teenage girl sits on the floor beneath a gaping hole in the ceiling. She wears a large, green hoodie with the hood pulled over her head, and her oily pink tresses cascading over her shoulders. Worn black leggings complete her attire. In one hand, she clutches a blood-stained, jagged ruler. In the other, she holds a fistful of feathers. Before her lay a lifeless jay, its body torn open from neck to tail, and its organs sprawled across the floorboards in front of it.

The unknown girl keeps her head downcast. Your heart stutters at the sight of her.

She can’t possibly be a killer, you think. She looks too young, and… and you’re not sure “innocent” is the right word for her, but… something’s not right.

With concern etched on your face, you take a hesitant step forward. “Hello?” you say softly.

You startle when her head snaps up, revealing a face marred by dirt, grime, and dried blood. Her pale complexion contrasts sharply with the dark stains on her skin. As her icy blue eyes meet yours, they widen in disbelief. A smile breaks across her face, revealing two rows of colorful braces.

“It worked,” she murmurs softly, sounding surprised.

You puzzle at her and take a step forward. “I’ve never seen someone so young here… Are you…?” You trail off, your eyes flickering toward the dead bird. Your stomach flips at the sight.

This is all wrong, you think. Everything about this is wrong, and yet… You just don’t know what the hell to make of it.

You extend a hand. “You should come with me,” you say. “We’ll finish up those last generators and get out of here, somewhere safer.”

The girl slowly rises to her feet, a small laugh rising in her throat. Tucking stray strands of pink hair behind her ear, she whispers, “I’m safe here… but you’re not.”

Your lips tighten into a thin line. In the ensuing silence, a low, wooden groan reaches your ears. Pivoting, you startle to find Joey in the doorway, his head tipped down, and his hands clasped in front of him. “Hey, little bird.”

Your heart skips a beat, and your throat runs dry. When you try to speak, nothing comes out. Then, startlingly, another figure follows him into the room—Julie. She’s without her mask, wearing a hostile expression in its place. Her green eyes glare daggers through you.

“You already have a cute nickname for your new crush, Joey? How cute,” she taunts, sneering as she takes a post by the door. “But you shouldn’t get too attached.”

Joey narrows his eyes, but his gaze never leaves yours.

You choke on your words, your eyes darting wildly between the three of them. When you backpedal out of fear, you collide with the other girl. She shoves you forward, causing you to stumble and hit the floor, where you catch yourself on your hands and knees. Looking back, you see she’s put on a mask with a jagged, metallic grin. She clasps her hands behind her and fidgets uneasily.

Facing Joey again, you scoff. “What is this, Joey? What are you…? How—?”

The words catch in your throat as, suddenly, a fourth figure enters the room. Your eyes grow big.

Frank takes his position front and center, bringing with him a suffocating aura. He lacks his familiar grinning visage and wears a scowl on his face. His eyes are shadowed, his lips drawn into a line, and his hair has grown out a bit since last you’ve seen him, now rough, spiky, and unkempt.

Seeing you on your hands and knees, Frank’s lips curl into a surly grin. There’s something dark and indiscernible in his eyes.

“Hey, klutz.”

A wedge traps your words in your throat. Memories rush back to you, causing your heart to ache. Frank has haunted you ever since…

 

—you held his hand.

—you stabbed him.

 

Chapter 75: Choice: Held his hand.

 

Ever since you held his hand, the encounter has remained etched in your mind. No matter how desperately you’ve tried to bury it, it constantly resurfaces.

You remember every second of the vulnerable moment you shared—when your hands touched, and your breakthrough with him. At that moment, he felt—no, he WAS human, and you got past the Entity’s walls and saw Frank, and his inner turmoil, and his grief, and his suffering. You saw him, and you recognized the thin divide between predator and prey. You knew then, that Frank, and many others, was just another victim to the madness that plagues these realms, and these wicked games.

You recall what Julie had said to you when she attacked you in a blood-fueled rage; how Frank hadn’t quit thinking about it, either. How he’s been unable to. It’s followed him for as long as it has you, it seems.

Remorse washes over you as you vividly recall the moment Frank met his demise. You see the fear that flashed in his eyes, you hear his screams and his cry as he was rent apart by those ghastly claws, and—

You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, trying to suppress it all. Staggering to your feet, you let out a weary sigh. “I’m sorry, Frank,” you murmur, taking a step forward. “I’m sorry for—”

Before you can finish your sentence, Julie lunges forward like a feral dog and sucker punches you, sending you crashing right back to the floor. Reeling in pain, you gather your senses enough to make her out when she seethes, “Stay the hell away from him.”

You blink at her through a haze of stars. She busted your lip; you taste the metallic tang of blood on your tongue, and feel it trickling down your chin.

Joey takes an imposing step toward her. “Hey!” he barks, his voice sharp. “We agreed not to hurt them—”

“I didn’t agree to shit,” Julie sneers.

Frank grabs her shoulder and guides her back to his side like a handler and his beast. “Play nice, Jules,” he says, his voice firm. “You know why we brought them here.”

The look on Julie’s face could kill. She shoots a menacing glance at you before withdrawing to her position by the door. Frank shifts his attention to you, stepping forward and kneeling in front of you. He tilts his head to the side, a glint of mischief in his eyes, and a disarming smile tugging at his lips. He extends a hand. “I enjoyed the last talk we had, klutz. I thought we’d have another.”

Uncertainty crosses your expressions, as you’re unsure if Frank’s friendliness is genuine or a clever facade. The silence stretches uncomfortably, but reluctantly, you take his outstretched hand, allowing him to pull you back to your feet. Meeting him eye to eye, he reaches out and tenderly thumbs the blood on your lip, smearing a red smile across your cheek in a strangely intimate gesture.

“I know how this all might look, but we didn’t bring you here to beat your ass,” he says.

A sour expression crosses Julie’s face, her disapproval evident. “How did you do this?” you ask. “This is a trial, right? Where’s everyone else? How are you all here?”

“Offerings,” Joey chimes in, gesturing with his chin over your shoulder. “And it was Susie’s idea.”

You glance back at the quiet girl, Susie, who shyly dips her head and meekly taps the floor with the toe of her shoe. Turning back around, you scoff. “Okay,” you croak. “So, what happens now?”

Frank’s grin grows wider. “We talk,” he says.

He motions towards a worn-out sofa positioned against the far wall. You hesitate for a moment until Susie takes hold of your arm and guides you to sit beside her. Joey perches himself on the armrest at the other end of the sofa, and Julie props herself against the doorframe. Frank retrieves a rickety wooden chair from the corner and situates himself directly in front of you. His legs are spread wide, arms folded across his chest, and a mischievous smirk adorns his lips. His eyes radiate a silent intensity.

And then, an eerie silence falls upon the room. No one moves or utters a word. Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead. Susie, despite her size, maintains a vice-like grip on your arm. Joey, to your right, bores a hard gaze on the side of your head. The atmosphere is suffocating.

You lick your lips. “So… you don’t want to kill me, right?”

“Nah,” says Frank, casually.

“He doesn’t speak for all of us,” Julie mutters.

Susie pipes up on your left. “Joey told us about you,” she says softly.

“Only good things, I hope,” you reply.

Joey scoffs. Amusement dances across Frank’s face. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “He told us all about how you ate shit trying to climb a fuckin’ tree… Some things never change, huh, klutz?”

Hmph.

“Get to the point, Frank,” you retort, with more gall than you should possess. “I’m freezing my ass off here.”

Frank chuckles and grins. “You wanna wear my jacket?”

“We’ve all thought about what you said,” Julie loudly interjects. “I don’t agree with this shit, but they—”

“We want to team up,” says Joey.

Surprise riddles your face. You didn’t think anything would actually come of Joey’s previous visit that night, but… this is big.

“You do?” you utter, facing Frank.

Frank leans back, shrugging. “It’s a solid pitch. And there’s not shit else to do here but play the boss’s games…”

“We want to get out—all of us,” Joey says.

You catch the sidelong look he shares with Julie, who sneers in response.

“So…?” you slowly draw, sounding unsure.

“So, you’re the fucking hero, aren’t you?” says Frank. “You know left from right, and which way is up.” He leans forward, smirking. “We could sit here and kill each other forever, but it won’t change a fucking thing. If we ever wanna get the hell outta here, we can use you.”

He reaches out and cups your chin in a surprising gesture, tilting your face upward toward his. He lowers his voice to a murmur. “We can use each other.”

Julie interrupts sharply, capturing your attention. “I don’t know why you’ve put so much goddamn faith in them, and I think it’s a mistake. But I’ll follow your lead, Frank, and yours alone.”

A smile graces Frank’s lips as he withdraws his hand. “The gang’s all in, klutz… Are you?”

They await your response patiently, their presence looming like wolves. A shiver snakes up your spine, reminiscent of the unease you felt when recruiting Danny. It feels like you’re making a terrible mistake you can’t undo. But for the same reasons you didn’t turn him away, you can’t turn them away. You need all the help you can get, and four more killers can surely help to put a dent in what you’re trying to do here. And, thankfully, adding more killers to your roster saves you the mental gymnastics of feeling bad about it—they’ve all done terrible things leading up to now, and this can be their chance to make reparations.

Breaking the tense silence, you nod and say, “Yes.”

Julie’s face flickers with loathing. Joey looks relieved, and Susie’s grip on your bicep tightens. Frank smiles—that damn, disarming smile.

“Glad to hear it, klutz.”

In a swift motion, he springs to his feet and swiftly turns towards the door. “Let’s go find the fucking hatch.”

“They can find it on their own,” Julie argues.

Frank silences her with a piercing gaze. He meets your gaze again, this time beckoning you with a flick of his chin.

Reluctantly, Susie unleashes your arm, allowing you to rise to your feet. You step carefully past Joey and Julie and follow Frank out the door. When you approach the stairs, Frank calls playfully over his shoulder, “Watch your step, klutz.”

 

Outside, Frank leads the way across the snowy yard, and you trail behind, tension hanging in the air. After mustering up your courage, you finally speak.

“Frank,” you say, catching his attention.

He looks back at you.

You can’t bear to hold his gaze. Lowering your head, you murmur, “I-I meant it, what I said back in the lodge. I’m sorry, for… for before, when—”

“Keep your fucking apology,” Frank sharply interrupts.

You lift your head, frowning. It’s clearly something he doesn’t want to talk about, and neither do you. But it has to be said; a part of you feels that it has to be said.

“I haven’t been able to forget it either,” you murmur. “It’s haunted me since then, and I’ve wondered all this time if I’d ever get the chance to—”

Frank cuts you off again, this time when he suddenly halts and whirls around to face you. You hit the brakes before slamming right into him. He wears a snide smile on his face.

“Get the chance to, what? Kiss and make-up?” He steps forward, making your breath hitch. Then he tilts his head to the side and pats himself on the cheek. “If you want to plant one right here, I won’t stop you. But we’re already even, klutz. And we need to put that shit behind us so we can move forward. Right?”

Heat creeps up the back of your neck. You dip your head. “Yeah.”

“Good,” says Frank, and he swiftly spins back around, resuming his stride. With nothing else to add, you follow along in silence.

 

When you arrive at the hatch, Frank stops halts, turning to you. Surprisingly, he peels his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders. Giving you a pat on the back, he says, “We’ll be seeing you real soon, klutz.” A smile warms his face.

Your stomach teems with butterflies. When you open your mouth to speak, Frank, without warning, pushes you forcefully over the hatch opening, making you shout with surprise as you stumble into darkness.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

In a blur, you respawn at camp and waste no time putting distance between it as you disappear into the woods and the enveloping fog, making a beeline for the cabin.

On the way there, you reflect. It feels like a burden’s been lifted from your shoulders.

All this time, you’ve beat yourself up over your first meeting with the punk killer, wondering what went wrong and what you should’ve done differently. And now, having formalized an alliance with the shady bunch, you feel… relieved. Albeit this alliance doesn’t guarantee the answers will come any easier, maybe you can sleep just a little better at night.

But there’s the increasingly difficult task of having to keep your new killer allies a secret from your not-so-killer allies. You can imagine it wouldn’t go over so well if the others learned of your pact with so many killers… How many are there now? Bastion, Danny, Joey, Julie, Susie, Frank… That’s a lotta dogs to keep on a leash. You’re walking a very delicate tightrope; one wrong move, and you risk shattering the fragile trust between you and your companions.

Taking a deep breath, you tightly grasp the lapels of Frank’s jacket. It’s clear that he intended for the jacket to serve as an Anchor, but the gesture still leaves you with a mix of emotions. When will he and the gang be stopping by? It could be hours, days, months… If… it’s…

Your thoughts trail off as you traverse the foggy veil, crossing from the woods into Lydia’s yard. Startlingly, your eyes find Julie, propped against a tree with her arms crossed over her chest and a bitter look fixed on her face. When she sees your big-eyed gaze, she sneers. “Took you long enough.”

You puzzle at her. Then, to your surprise, you hear a ruckus coming from inside the house. Panic courses through your veins, urging you to race up the porch steps and swing open the door. With a sense of urgency, you stride towards the kitchen, your voice echoing through the house as you call out, “Lydia—?!”

However, the sight that greets you freezes you in your tracks, leaving you speechless. There, in the center of the kitchen, stand the other three—Joey, Susie, and Frank—donned in matching pink aprons. Lydia carries a sheet of raw dough to the oven. The three young punks look toward you. You blink in response and stammer over your words.

“What, uh… What’s…?”

Lydia perks up and smiles. “Hey, honey. Your friends let themselves inside a little while ago. It’s that nice boy Joey and his pals,” she says, chuckling. “Since they thought they’d storm inside all willy-nilly, I thought I’d put ‘em to work, helping me bake up some party favors.”

She tucks the tray into the oven and smiles. “They’re better company than that last one you had over. Especially Ms. Susie; she’s a sweetheart.”

Wiping her hands up and down her apron, Lydia moves past you to the door. “Those biscuits are your responsibility now! Don’t let them burn, y’hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” responds Joey.

The front door shuts, leaving you with your three unexpected guests. A mix of amusement and surprise flickers across your face. Just as you open your mouth, Frank cuts you off. “Don’t start,” he warns, tossing his apron off over his head. He messes his hair while Susie helps herself to a jar of strawberry preserves, and Joey lounges at the table.

Clearing your throat, you gather your thoughts and carefully begin, “So… I, uh… I didn’t think you’d be stopping by so soon.”

“Is that a problem?” Frank challenges, raising an eyebrow.

“No, it’s just— Wow. Okay… Y’know, you could’ve waited at least a while.”

“The longer we wait, the longer we’re trapped in this hellhole.”

“Right,” you utter.

You take a seat at the table, prompting Frank to perch on the edge, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “I didn’t know you had it so cushy out here, klutz. I might stop by more often…”

“It hardly makes up for all the shit I go through,” you mutter. Shaking your head, you ask, “How the hell did you get here?”

“Well, Jules’ guts are still splattered in the front yard after that little incident she told us about.” He motions towards you. “I’ll be having that back now.”

You shed his jacket and hand it over. Frank slips it back on, winking. “It keep you warm?”

You don’t have an answer for him.

Susie settles into a seat at the opposite end of the table, swinging her legs. “What now?” she asks.

“I… I don’t know,” you admit, your voice tinged with hesitation. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Joey sighs. Frank grunts. “Let’s just get out there and fucking wing it. We oughta find something.”

“Maybe, but…” you trail off. Uncertainty flickers across your face.

Joey raises an eyebrow. “What?”

You hesitantly say, “I haven’t been out there in a minute. It’s gotten a bit… complicated, and—”

Frank clicks his tongue. “Don’t tell us you’ve got cold feet.”

There’s an edge to his voice that makes you nervous. You shake your head. “I don’t. But—” You pause again, taking a deep breath before continuing. “It’s not as simple as just going out there and finding something. Most times, I come back here bloody and bruised, and with nothing to show for it.”

“We still have to try,” Susie quietly says.

“We’re not guaranteed to find shit just waiting around,” says Joey.

You lower your head. “I know.”

Heavy silence hangs overhead. After a moment, Frank leans forward and lowers his voice. “Where’d all that annoying optimism go, huh? You aren’t the same positive camper I met at the resort…”

You slump your shoulders and give him an honest answer, your tone tinged with bitterness. “Shit happened, Frank. Being a hero comes at a cost, and it’s no small price.”

Frank falls quiet, his gaze locked on you with those intense, scrutinizing eyes. You can’t get a read on him, no matter how hard you try. He’s a pretender, and a damn good one, at that. It’s how he got so close before so that he could stab you in the back.

You get a bitter taste in your mouth as you recall the moment he turned on you. He lured you in with a false sense of security, acted like an ally, and a friend, even, and he-he just—

“You okay?”

Frank’s soft voice interrupts your thoughts. You blink at him, puzzled, and wondering if your ears are playing tricks on you.

He gazes at you with concern-filled eyes. You want to believe it’s genuine, but knowing Frank and his whole gimmick, you doubt his sincerity.

You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. Eventually, Frank leans back, grunting. “We’re going to sit down, have some biscuits ‘n jam, then take our asses out there and get some shit done.”

He slides off the table, saying, “You’re rolling with the Legion now, klutz. If you’re too pussy to go out there on your own, we’ll hold your hand.” He winks at you over his shoulder. “You need to keep your chin up. All that moping and shit, it’s not leader material.”

“Frank—”

He cuts you off. “How long’s this shit need to be in the oven for?” he asks, pulling his apron back on.

You sigh. Joey folds his arms, and you feel Susie’s cold blue eyes boring holes in the side of your head. When you can’t stand their company any longer, you stand up and head for the door. “I’ll be upstairs. I need to grab some things…”

 

You slam shut the bedroom door and sigh heavily.

“What the hell am I doing?” you wonder aloud.

You’re not ready to go back out there, not yet. But… But you need to, and… agh! It’ll be like roaming with a pack of wolves! If the Entity breaks them while you’re out there, you’re fucked. They’ll have themselves a little Ceaser-fest, taking turns stabbing you to death. Oh, who knows? Maybe they’ll be able to resist the Entity’s influence… But who’s to say how long you’ll be out there with them?

Dread washes over you, but there’s no point in dwelling on it, is there? You’ve gotta roll with the punches.

You shake your head, steeling yourself for what lies ahead. Then you gather your things and collect your satchel. As you’re headed for the door, something catches your eye and gives you pause—that skimpy rope bracelet you carelessly discarded on the vanity, the one you’ve since forgotten.

You pick it up and examine it closely. As you turn it over in your hand, your eyes widen.

F J S J… Huh.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Twenty minutes later, you descend the stairs fully equipped and prepared to embark. As you enter the kitchen, you find the trio of punks indulging in biscuits, jam, and the contents of Lydia’s secret cellar. Frank sits on the edge of the table, a biscuit in one hand and a whiskey in the other. Joey and Susie share a bottle of red wine and a plate of pastries between them. All eyes turn to you as you enter the room.

Frank looks you up and down, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Cute,” he comments, amusement dancing in his eyes. “This your hero getup?”

“Why do you have a lamp?” Susie asks, eyeing the oil lamp on your hip.

“For light.”

“Flashlight ain’t good enough?” Joey pipes up.

“I never said that,” you reply, “I just prefer the lamp—”

“Is that a gun?” Susie interrupts, her eyes growing big.

Hodgson’s shotgun is slung over your shoulder. Joey scoffs. “Jules did say you blasted the hell out of her.”

“—In self-defense,” you interject. “Not that it mattered; it barely fazed her.”

“She’s tough,” says Frank, chuckling. “You know how to use that damn thing?”

“Aim and shoot; easy.”

“Can I try?” asks Susie.

“Let me have a go at it,” says Joey.

You fend them off like wild dogs when they close in. “We’re not playing with the gun, all right? Can we— Can we get out there already? Please?”

“What’s the sudden rush?” asks Frank, eyeing you with a smirk.

“I just want to get this over with,” you say, exasperated. “So, c’mon, let’s go.”

Joey and Susie exchange glances, awaiting Frank’s response. He slides off the table, facing his companions. “All right,” he says, with a grin that grows wider by the second. His mischievous eyes meet yours, and from the confines of his jacket, he brandishes his mask. As he slides it over his face, Joey and Susie follow suit, equipping their own masks.

Your blood chills at the sight of them.

Frank tilts his head to the side. “Let’s go.”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 76: Choice: Stabbed him.

 

Ever since you stabbed him, the encounter has remained etched in your mind. No matter how desperately you’ve tried to bury it, it constantly resurfaces.

You remember every second of the vulnerable moment you had briefly shared with him before you took advantage of his weakness and buried his knife in his chest. And then, after, when he said you were just like him. But you weren’t—you’re NOT. Frank’s a killer, and you only did what you thought you had to, and, yet… it weighs heavily upon you.

You recall what Julie had said to you when she attacked you in a blood-fueled rage; how Frank hadn’t quit thinking about it, either. How he’s been unable to. It’s followed him for as long as it has you, it seems.

Remorse washes over you as you vividly recall the moment Frank met his demise. You see the fear that flashed in his eyes, you hear his screams and his cry as he was rent apart by those ghastly claws, and—

You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, trying to suppress it all. Staggering to your feet, you feel like a cornered animal. Your eyes dart between the four of them, then you nervously lick your lips and croak, “Okay… So, am I in some deep shit, or what?”

“Take a guess,” says Julie.

Before you can react, she lunges forward and sucker punches you, sending you crashing right back to the floor. Reeling in pain, you gather your senses enough to make her out when she seethes, “This is as deep as it gets.”

You blink at her through a haze of stars. She busted your lip; you taste the metallic tang of blood on your tongue, and feel it trickling down your chin.

Joey takes an imposing step toward her. “Hey!” he barks, his voice sharp. “We agreed not to hurt them—”

“I didn’t agree to shit,” Julie sneers.

Frank grabs her shoulder and guides her back to his side like a handler and his beast. “Play nice, Jules,” he says, his voice firm. “You know why we brought them here.”

The look on Julie’s face could kill. She shoots a menacing glance at you before withdrawing to her position by the door. Frank shifts his attention to you, stepping forward and kneeling in front of you. He tilts his head to the side, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “It’s been a minute, huh? I’ve been thinking about that talk we had before… And I thought we’d have another.”

Uncertainty crosses your expressions, as you’re unsure of his true intentions. The silence stretches uncomfortably, but reluctantly, you get back to your feet. He stands to meet you eye to eye.

“I know how this all might look, but we didn’t bring you here to beat your ass,” he says.

“How did you do this?” you ask. “This is a trial, right? Where’s everyone else? How are you all here?”

“Offerings,” Joey chimes in, gesturing with his chin over your shoulder. “And it was Susie’s idea.”

You glance back at the quiet girl, Susie, who shyly dips her head and meekly taps the floor with the toe of her shoe. Turning back around, you scoff. “Okay,” you croak. “So, what happens now?”

Frank’s grin grows wider. “We talk,” he says.

He motions towards a worn-out sofa positioned against the far wall. You hesitate for a moment until Susie pushes you harshly toward the couch. You reluctantly have a seat. Joey perches himself on the armrest at the other end of the sofa, and Julie props herself against the doorframe. Frank retrieves a rickety wooden chair from the corner and situates himself directly in front of you. His legs are spread wide, arms folded across his chest, and a mischievous smirk adorns his lips. His eyes radiate a silent intensity.

And then, an eerie silence falls upon the room. No one moves or utters a word. Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead. Susie lingers to your left like a sentry. Joey, to your right, bores a hard gaze on the side of your head. The atmosphere is suffocating.

You lick your lips. “So… you don’t want to kill me, right?”

“Nah,” says Frank, casually.

“He doesn’t speak for all of us,” Julie mutters.

Susie pipes up on your left. “Joey told us about you,” she says softly.

“Only good things, I hope,” you reply.

Joey scoffs. Amusement dances across Frank’s face. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “He told us all about how you ate shit trying to climb a fuckin’ tree… Some things never change, huh?”

Hmph.

“Get to the point, Frank,” you retort, with more gall than you should possess. “I’m freezing my ass off here.”

“You’re not in any position to make demands,” he warns you, grinningly.

“We’ve all thought about what you said,” Julie interjects. “I don’t agree with this shit, but they—”

“We want to team up,” says Joey.

Surprise riddles your face. You didn’t think anything would actually come of Joey’s previous visit that night, but… this is big.

“You do?” you utter, facing Frank.

Frank leans back, shrugging. “It’s a solid pitch. And there’s not shit else to do here, but play the boss’s games…”

“We want to get out—all of us,” Joey says.

You catch the sidelong look he shares with Julie, who sneers in response.

“So…?” you slowly draw, sounding unsure.

“So, you’re the fucking hero, aren’t you?” says Frank. “You know left from right, and which way is up.” He leans forward, smirking. “We could sit here and kill each other forever, but it won’t change a fucking thing. If we ever wanna get the hell outta here, we can use you.”

Julie interrupts, capturing your attention. “After what they did to you, I don’t know why you’ve put so much goddamn faith in them. And I think it’s a mistake. But I’ll follow your lead, Frank, and yours alone.”

A smile graces Frank’s lips. “The gang’s all in… Are you?”

They await your response patiently, their presence looming like wolves. A shiver snakes up your spine, reminiscent of the unease you felt when recruiting Danny. It feels like you’re making a terrible mistake you can’t undo. But for the same reasons you didn’t turn him away, you can’t turn them away. You need all the help you can get, and four more killers can surely help to put a dent in what you’re trying to do here. And, thankfully, adding more killers to your roster saves you the mental gymnastics of feeling bad about it—they’ve all done terrible things leading up to now, and this can be their chance to make reparations.

Breaking the tense silence, you nod and say, “Yes.”

Julie’s face flickers with loathing. Joey looks relieved, and Frank smiles.

“Glad to hear it.”

He flicks his chin in a gesture toward the door. “Get the hell out; go find the fucking hatch.”

You think you’re scot-free… That is, until Julie abruptly steps forward, brandishing a blade. “There’s a quicker way to get rid of them,” she says.

Before you or anyone can react, she lunges forward and buries her knife in your gut. Agonizing pain courses through your body as she twists the blade and pulls it out, allowing you to crumple to the floor, clutching your midsection. You gasp for breath, your vision blurring. Above you, Frank lets out a heavy sigh, and Joey swears. “Dammit, Jules! Frank, get a fucking leash on her!”

“I’m just doing them a favor,” Julie snaps. “That damn hatch could be anywhere. And like they said; they're freezing their ass off.”

You drown out their ensuing argument as your senses become a foggy haze. In your waning consciousness, you see Susie kneel at your side. She pushes you onto your back and equips her jagged blade. “We’ll see you soon,” she murmurs, raising her weapon high above your chest. When she swiftly brings it down and plunges it into your heart, darkness engulfs your world.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

In a blur, you respawn at camp and waste no time putting distance between it as you disappear into the woods and the enveloping fog, making a beeline for the cabin.

On the way there, you reflect.

All this time, you’ve beat yourself up over your first meeting with the punk killer, wondering what went wrong and what you should’ve done differently. And now, having formalized an alliance with the shady bunch, you feel… nervous. Frank said you were like him… And now, here you are, striking a deal with him and his friends.

Not to mention there’s the increasingly difficult task of having to keep your new killer allies a secret from your not-so-killer allies. You can imagine it wouldn’t go over so well if the others learned of your pact with so many killers… How many are there now? Bastion, Danny, Joey, Julie, Susie, Frank… That’s a lotta dogs to keep on a leash. You’re walking a very delicate tightrope; one wrong move, and you risk shattering the fragile trust between you and your companions.

Taking a deep breath, you try to relax. Who knows how long it’ll be until he and the gang decide to show up? It could be hours, days, months… If… it’s…

Your thoughts trail off as you traverse the foggy veil, crossing from the woods into Lydia’s yard. Startlingly, your eyes find Julie, propped against a tree with her arms crossed over her chest and a bitter look fixed on her face. When she sees your big-eyed gaze, she sneers. “Took you long enough.”

You puzzle at her. Then, to your surprise, you hear a ruckus coming from inside the house. Panic courses through your veins, urging you to race up the porch steps and swing open the door. With a sense of urgency, you stride towards the kitchen, your voice echoing through the house as you call out, “Lydia—?!”

However, the sight that greets you freezes you in your tracks, leaving you speechless. There, in the center of the kitchen, stand the other three—Joey, Susie, and Frank—donned in matching pink aprons. Lydia carries a sheet of raw dough to the oven. The three young punks look toward you. You blink in response and stammer over your words.

“What, uh… What’s…?”

Lydia perks up and smiles. “Hey, honey. Your friends let themselves inside a little while ago. It’s that nice boy Joey and his pals,” she says, chuckling. “Since they thought they’d storm inside all willy-nilly, I thought I’d put ‘em to work, helping me bake up some party favors.”

She tucks the tray into the oven and smiles. “They’re better company than that last one you had over. Especially Ms. Susie; she’s a sweetheart.”

Wiping her hands up and down her apron, Lydia moves past you to the door. “Those biscuits are your responsibility now! Don’t let them burn, y’hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” responds Joey.

The front door shuts, leaving you with your three unexpected guests. A mix of amusement and surprise flickers across your face. Just as you open your mouth, Frank cuts you off. “Don’t start,” he warns, tossing his apron off over his head. He messes his hair while Susie helps herself to a jar of strawberry preserves, and Joey lounges at the table.

Clearing your throat, you gather your thoughts and carefully begin, “So… I, uh… I didn’t think you’d be stopping by so soon.”

“Is that a problem?” Frank challenges, raising an eyebrow.

“No, it’s just— Wow. Okay… Y’know, you could’ve waited at least a while.”

“The longer we wait, the longer we’re trapped in this hellhole.”

“Right,” you utter.

You take a seat at the table, prompting Frank to perch on the edge, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “I didn’t know you had it so cushy out here…”

“It hardly makes up for all the shit I go through,” you mutter. Shaking your head, you ask, “How the hell did you get here?”

“Well, Jules’ guts are still splattered in the front yard after that little incident she told us about.”

Susie settles into a seat at the opposite end of the table, swinging her legs. “What now?” she asks.

“I… I don’t know,” you admit, your voice tinged with hesitation. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Joey sighs. Frank grunts. “Let’s just get out there and fucking wing it. We oughta find something.”

“Maybe, but…” you trail off. Uncertainty flickers across your face.

Joey raises an eyebrow. “What?”

You hesitantly say, “I haven’t been out there in a minute. It’s gotten a bit… complicated, and—”

Frank clicks his tongue. “Don’t tell us you’ve got cold feet.”

There’s an edge to his voice that makes you nervous. You shake your head. “I don’t. But—” You pause again, taking a deep breath before continuing. “It’s not as simple as just going out there and finding something. Most times, I come back here bloody and bruised, and with nothing to show for it.”

“We still have to try,” Susie quietly says.

“We’re not guaranteed to find shit just waiting around,” says Joey.

You lower your head. “I know.”

Heavy silence hangs overhead. After a moment, Frank leans forward and lowers his voice. “Where’d all that annoying optimism go, huh? You aren’t the same positive camper I met at the resort…”

You slump your shoulders and give him an honest answer, your tone tinged with bitterness. “Shit happened, Frank. Being a hero comes at a cost, and it’s no small price.”

Frank falls quiet, his gaze locked on you with those intense, scrutinizing eyes. You can’t get a read on him, no matter how hard you try. He’s a pretender, and a damn good one, at that. It’s how he got so close before so that he could stab you in the back.

You get a bitter taste in your mouth as you recall the moment he turned on you.

Frank simply smirks. “I bet,” he says with indifference.

Eventually, he leans back, grunting. “We’re going to sit down, have some biscuits ‘n jam, then take our asses out there and get some shit done.”

He slides off the table, saying, “You’re rolling with the Legion now. If you’re too pussy to go out there on your own, we’ll hold your hand. But you need to keep your chin up. All that moping and shit, it’s not leader material.”

“Frank—”

He cuts you off. “How long’s this shit need to be in the oven for?” he asks, pulling his apron back on.

You sigh. Joey folds his arms, and you feel Susie’s cold blue eyes boring holes in the side of your head. When you can’t stand their company any longer, you stand up and head for the door. “I’ll be upstairs. I need to grab some things…”

 

You slam shut the bedroom door and sigh heavily.

“What the hell am I doing?” you wonder aloud.

You’re not ready to go back out there, not yet. But… But you need to, and… agh! It’ll be like roaming with a pack of wolves! If the Entity breaks them while you’re out there, you’re fucked. They’ll have themselves a little Ceaser-fest, taking turns stabbing you to death. Oh, who knows? Maybe they’ll be able to resist the Entity’s influence… But who’s to say how long you’ll be out there with them?

Dread washes over you, but there’s no point in dwelling on it, is there? You’ve gotta roll with the punches.

You shake your head, steeling yourself for what lies ahead. Then you gather your things and collect your satchel. As you’re headed for the door, something catches your eye and gives you pause—that skimpy rope bracelet you carelessly discarded on the vanity, the one you’ve since forgotten.

You pick it up and examine it closely. As you turn it over in your hand, your eyes widen.

F J S J… Huh.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Twenty minutes later, you descend the stairs fully equipped and prepared to embark. As you enter the kitchen, you find the trio of punks indulging in biscuits, jam, and the contents of Lydia’s secret cellar. Frank sits on the edge of the table, a biscuit in one hand and a whiskey in the other. Joey and Susie share a bottle of red wine and a plate of pastries between them. All eyes turn to you as you enter the room.

Frank looks you up and down, amusement dancing in his eyes. “This your hero getup?”

“Why do you have a lamp?” Susie asks, eyeing the oil lamp on your hip.

“For light.”

“Flashlight ain’t good enough?” Joey pipes up.

“I never said that,” you reply, “I just prefer the lamp—”

“Is that a gun?” Susie interrupts, her eyes growing big.

Hodgson’s shotgun is slung over your shoulder. Joey scoffs. “Jules did say you blasted the hell out of her.”

“—In self-defense,” you interject. “Not that it mattered; it barely fazed her.”

“She’s tough,” says Frank, chuckling. “You know how to use that damn thing?”

“Aim and shoot; easy.”

“Can I try?” asks Susie.

“Let me have a go at it,” says Joey.

You fend them off like wild dogs when they close in. “We’re not playing with the gun, all right? Can we— Can we get out there already? Please?”

“What’s the sudden rush?” asks Frank, eyeing you with a smirk.

“I just want to get this over with,” you say, exasperated. “So, c’mon, let’s go.”

Joey and Susie exchange glances, awaiting Frank’s response. He slides off the table, facing his companions. “All right,” he says, with a grin that grows wider by the second. His mischievous eyes meet yours, and from the confines of his jacket, he brandishes his mask. As he slides it over his face, Joey and Susie follow suit, equipping their own masks.

Your blood chills at the sight of them.

Frank tilts his head to the side. “Let’s go.”

 

Continue

 

Chapter 77: Mayhem: Part 2 (HH)

Notes:

Hello! Long time no see! :D
I've been balancing two jobs and online school, so I couldn't quite find the time to work on my passion projects. I apologize to those who never received replies to their comments! But I've read each and every one of them, and I love you all dearly <3

Until next time! XOXO

You roam the woods with members of the Legion on every side, much in the manner of a pack of wolves following a reluctant alpha. To your left, Joey and Frank keep pace, while Susie and Julie flank your right. It’s been quiet since your departure from the cabin.

Julie lingers much too close to you for your liking, like a predator stalking her prey. Her occasional glances, charged with an almost hostile intent, frequently catch your eye. When you can’t endure her piercing gaze any longer, you hasten your pace and put some distance between the group. But Frank catches up, and he determinedly matches your stride. But he says nothing. You side-eye him and sigh.

“Need something?”

“Just wondering where the hell we’re going,” he replies.

You shrug. “This is how it goes… I come out here and wander until I find something. Or until something finds me—whichever happens first.”

Frank grunts. He steals a glance before returning his gaze to you. “You never answered my question.”

As you raise an eyebrow, he elaborates. “Shit happened, huh? You wanna talk about it?”

“No offense, Frank, but the last time we had a heart-to-heart, you stabbed me in the gut, twisted the knife, and then tried to strangle me.” You shake your head, scoffing. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but it’s like you said: we need to put all that shit behind us so we can move forward. Right?”

His jaw clenches as his dark eyes flicker with intense emotion. After a beat, his intensity subsides, and he visibly relaxes. “Where’s your mutt?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” you say. “And I bet you already know that. You and the gang never would’ve been so bold, otherwise…”

“Word gets around,” utters Frank.

“I’m sure it does,” you reply bitterly.

He scoffs beside you.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got us now, klutz. Someone has to babysit your clumsy ass…”

“I know.”

You look over your shoulder at the others. Meeting Frank’s gaze again, you ask, “What made you the leader of this merry little band of punks?”

“I’m the oldest, for one thing. And I brought these freaks together. Made us all one big, happy family…”

“You have a very loose definition of the word, ‘happy’…”

“We’re knee-deep in this shit,” Frank says, scoffing. “But all it’s done is strengthen our bond. And we’re going to get through this shit together, or not at all.”

“I get that,” you reply.

“Good,” Frank asserts. “But I know we can’t be the first fuckers you’ve recruited. Who else are you rolling with?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Frank elbows you in the ribs, making you wince. “Spill it, klutz. I just want to know who my competition is.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Competition? Competition for what?”

Frank smirks but doesn’t clarify. You furrow your brow and turn forward. “Danny,” you surrender, “the Ghost Face killer. I’m sure you’re familiar with him…”

Frank’s smirk falls away. He sneers. “The pervy freak in all the robes? How the fuck did that happen?”

“The same way it happened with you guys. He jumped me, Bastion gave him a bad time, and he came back wanting to have a little chat with me… It was just a series of very unfortunate events… One thing led to another, and we ended up shaking hands.”

“And Bastion? Is that your guardian angel?”

“Yeah. Or, he was, before—”

You stop short. After swallowing a thick lump lodged in your throat, you swivel your head. “I don’t know what he is now. But he’s not here, and that’s why I have you.”

Silence smothers the atmosphere.

You continue on in silence until you feel a tell-tale itch in your cranium. Gradually, it evolves into grating, harsh noises in your ears, and sweet whispers on the breeze. Succumbing to its influence, you veer off the path to pursue them. The Legion members shadow you closely as the whispers grow more intense, and the headache wracking your skull becomes brutal. Badly, you want to ignore the voices and the pull, but you know you can’t run away forever. There are only so many places to hide in The Fog, and none where you’re safe from your obligations.

Soon, you arrive at a wall of inky fog—the barrier dividing this realm from another…

You come to a standstill, the group mirroring your pause.

Susie steps forward, craning her neck to scrutinize the vast, dark barrier. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she remarks.

“Me neither,” says Joey.

Frank side-eyes you intensely. Maybe he catches the flicker of uncertainty on your face. The corner of his lips twitch and his brow furrows deeply. “Your call, klutz.”

You swallow.

You’re not prepared to face whatever’s on the other side… You used to be, when you were lively and hopeful, and eager to seek answers. But now? Well, now it’s too late to go back… Too late to pretend it’s nothing and tell your new friends you’ve gone the wrong way.

Dipping your head and taking a deep breath, you reach out and graze the surface of the ethereal barrier. It dissolves upon your touch, vanishing entirely. In its absence materializes haunting new surroundings that take shape all around you. Now, you stand amidst a desolate city beneath a furious crimson sky. Swirling dark clouds loom overhead, and light rain patters the ground. Skyscrapers and buildings line a congested road cluttered with stalled cars, debris, and crumpled asphalt and stone. It’s cold, vacant, and deathly quiet. As reminiscent of the real world as it is, it’s deeply unsettling.

You puzzle. The Legion members pivot, gauging their new surroundings with wide, disbelieving eyes. Julie, with a scoff, mutters, “What the fuck?”

You look straight up and see a familiar tear in the sky, like a streak of red paint. It exudes dark energy, encircled by wispy black fog… You don’t know what to make of it.

“Where is everyone?” asks Susie. “It’s so… so—”

“Empty,” you murmur.

An echo, but… there’s no life here. Nothing at all. An echo in its most basic form, then: a copy with no substance. But, at the very least, the pull remains… Although, it’s become faint.

You take a step forward, pause, and then face the Legion.

“Be on guard,” you warn them.

“What for?” says Frank. “There’s not shit here.”

“At first glance,” you reply. “But you never know with these damn echoes… We need to be careful. Now c’mon; let’s find our mark.”

 

A little way down the war-torn block, a black pickup truck catches Frank’s eye. With nimble hands, he hotwires it, and Joey slides into the driver’s seat. The rest of the crew piles in—Frank and Julie take to the cargo bed, and you join Susie in the cab with Joey. She sits between the both of you, silent, and with her head down. Joey puts the pedal to the metal, and you ride down the street.

It’s a bumpy ride—Joey weaves around junk and obstacles, all while you keep a keen eye on your surroundings as they pass you by. You wonder what happened here. This place looks ravaged by war, and it’s so eerily quiet. The silence stipples your arms with goosebumps. You don’t like this at all.

In an attempt to dampen the dreadful feelings clawing at the back of your mind, you spark a conversation.

“What landed you here as killers?”

A bold question, you know; but it’s been gnawing at you ever since joining the Legion in the woods.

Susie keeps her head down, and Joey doesn’t even look your way. You see the way his grip tightens on the wheel. “We made a mistake,” he imparts.

“Must’ve been one hell of a mistake,” you reply. “Any regrets?”

“All of it.”

“That’s a bit vague—”

He glances at you sharply, shutting your mouth. Susie shifts uncomfortably. You change the subject. “You looking forward to anything when we get outta here?”

Joey scoffs. “You sound confident now… What changed?”

“Well, I’m rolling with the Legion, right? And I can only hope we get out… It’s not much, but it helps to think about a better future; a better life outside of this hell.”

Joey falls silent, his gaze briefly meeting yours before returning to the road. Surprisingly, Susie speaks up.

“Music,” she murmurs, so softly you almost miss it.

You turn to her, meeting her piercing blue eyes. “Music,” she repeats. “All we have left are our old mixtapes… I wonder what music we’ve missed since we left.”

“Mixtapes?” You raise an eyebrow.

Susie delves into Joey’s backpack, producing a Walkman. You smirk at the sight of the ancient device. “Ha!” you blurt. “Oh, that’s… that’s vintage as hell. Where’d you find that? A museum?”

Susie tilts her head. “This is one of the latest models—”

You snort, cutting her off, and then remember that your new friends hail from a different time… And it suddenly strikes you that maybe you’re being insensitive. Clearing your throat, you correct, “Oh, uh… Right. What, erm… What year were you taken? 19… 1996, right?”

Susie nods. Joey turns to you. “What year were you taken?”

“2021.”

A look of surprise flashes across their features. “No shit?” says Joey.

“No shit.”

“Wow,” Susie breathes. “What’s the future like?”

You laugh. “Honestly, it’s hardly any different from your time. I promise you haven’t missed out on much. Except maybe touch-screen phones, cooler video games, and—”

“I can’t wait!” Susie blurts.

As soon as the eager words leave her mouth, a rosy hue stings her cheeks, and she buries her face in her hands. “I-I mean—”

“Don’t get all red in the face, Suz’,” says Joey, smirking. “Excitement’s a good thing. And it sounds like we both have something to look forward to now.”

Susie shrinks down further, sighing under her breath. You prop your head against the window a small smile on your lips. “Sure sounds like it.”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

As the world outside continues to blur past, Susie eventually dozes her, her head propped contentedly against Joey’s shoulder. After a span of silence, you break the quiet to ask what’s really been on your mind.

“So,” you begin, side-eyeing Joey.

He briefly takes his eyes off the road. A look of anticipation crosses his face as if he already anticipates your next words. He sighs heavily. “I don’t know how she found you.”

“It’s just funny, Joey, because I found this the same night Julie popped in for a visit.”

You rifle the rope bracelet out of your pocket and throw it at him. His eyes widen in surprise. “I don’t know how you got this—”

“Really? Because I’ll wager a guess and say you hid it under my bed for her to come and find.” You narrow your eyes. “Y’know, after that talk we had, I thought we were cool.”

“I promise you I have no fucking idea where you got this thing,” Joey argues. He takes one hand off the wheel and raises his arm, flashing his wrist. Adorning it is a very similar bracelet. “I’m wearing mine, see? And it’s not Susie’s, either. It must be Julie’s, but…”

He trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t know. But I swear I didn’t tell her a damn thing. She just burst in out of the blue one night raving about how you shot the hell out of her in the woods.”

He scoffs. “Who knows? Maybe she scoured every inch of the fog to find you…”

His brows crease and he meets your softening gaze. “Did she hurt you?”

“She stabbed the fucking shit out of me,” you say, scoffing. “And she nearly caved my face in with her fist. My bruises had bruises. If Bryce hadn’t shown up—”

You stop yourself short and fall silent with a hard look on your face.

Joey notices. “Bryce?”

“He’s no one,” you mutter. “Not anymore…”

Joey turns back to the road. “I’m sorry,” he offers. “But we’re here, and we’re a team now. If you want to get even with Julie, pick that fight another time.”

“I’m not trying to get even, Joey. I’m just trying to figure this shit out. When she attacked, she mentioned—”

You cut off as, suddenly, Joey hits the brakes. Your head hits the dash, and Susie jerks forward with a start. Grunting with pain and grasping your ringing skull, you manage, “Agh— That’s one way to… shut…me… up—”

You trail off and widen your eyes as you gaze out the windshield. “Holy shit.”

The road ahead is gone—just straight up gone. There’s a massive, gaping hole, like a crater, that’s just erased the entire city block. From where you are, you can’t gauge its depth, but it’s an abyss as black as night. There’s no getting around it; not in the truck.

“Looks like someone dropped a nuke,” you murmur.

Everyone climbs out of the truck. Frank and Julie hop out the back, scoffing. Hands on your hips, you sigh. “Welp,” you say, addressing your party. “Looks like it’s time to head on back—”

Frank pushes past you and presses forward. “Looks like we’re finding that Mark on foot,” he declares.

Your expression sours. Julie follows in tow, passing you a sharp look. “Come on, hero.”

It was worth a try.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and follow them with Joey and Susie at your side. “I don’t like this,” you say. “This can only mean trouble ahead.”

Approaching the crater’s edge, malign energy emanates from the pit below. Your skin crawls. “I don’t like this at all…”

 

Side-by-side, you all creep along the crater’s outer rim, mindful of where you place each and every step. Your movements dislodge rubble and debris that careen into the seemingly infinite blackness. The sight of it rests a heavy feeling on your chest. You swallow hard. “What could’ve done this?”

“Couldn’t have been a nuke,” Joey comments right behind you. “It would’ve wiped out the whole city. No, I think something crashed here.”

“—Something big,” says Susie, with wide eyes.

“Like, what? What could’ve blasted this massive hole in the earth without leveling the city block around it?”

“Does that matter?” Frank sharply interjects. “We’re not here to play detective, klutz. We’re looking for your damn Mark.”

“Yep, got it…” you mutter.

As you near the end of your precarious trek around the crater, your searing headache flares up again. Agonizing pain cracks through your skull like lightning, causing you to cry out and lose your footing. You begin to plummet, panic surging, but before meeting the abyss, Joey lunges out and catches your arm with a vice-like grip. He yanks you back onto solid—or somewhat solid—ground.

Your party comes to a temporary halt as you recollect yourself and breathe a trembling sigh of relief. “Thanks,”

“Be careful,” Joey sternly insists. “We need you here, little bird.”

Julie scoffs. Frank’s eyes narrow briefly before he spins right around and presses forward. “You got any idea where your sixth sense is leading us?”

“I do now,” you reply. Raising your arm, you make a broad gesture toward a towering skyscraper dead ahead. It’s surrounded by ruins, and yet, it still stands in near-perfect condition. As you lay eyes upon it, the itch in your skull intensifies, and your vision becomes clearer. “There.”

The Legion members gaze at the structure skeptically. “How do you know?” asks Susie, side-eyeing you.

“Because the tiny voices in the back of my head say so,” you answer, quickening your pace toward the building.

They exchange funny looks. Susie licks her lips. “Are… are you sure?”

“Do you want to follow my lead or not?” you retort, yanking open the front doors. You step into a surprisingly well-lit, though abandoned, lobby. Your four companions slink in behind you. You notice a shattered monitor above a front desk. It displays an emergency broadcast that flickers across the screen, and it only gives you more questions. After a more thorough look around, you set your sights on an elevator on the other side of the room. Julie wrinkles her brow.

“We shouldn’t take that thing—it’s a death trap.”

“I didn’t peg you for someone afraid of elevators, Julie,” you quip while punching the call button.

“I’m not,” she snaps. “But everything else here is fucked up, so why wouldn’t this be?”

“Everything except this building,” you say.

The elevator chimes and the doors open. You turn smugly to Julie. “And it seems to be working just fine.”

Frank pats you on the back. “If this kills us…”

“I didn’t know I’d be escorting two scaredy cats tonight, Frank.”

He playfully narrows his eyes. Smirking, you step into the elevator and do two hops. It sways a little, but you’re not sent careening down a dark shaft, so… “It’s fine; see?”

The others enter, and the doors slide shut. To your surprise, the button for floor number 50 lights up.

As the elevator ascends, generic music hums from a speaker in the corner. You shift, eyeing the group. “So,” you start slowly. “Any family pets waiting for you back home?”

Silence lingers until Susie softly speaks. “There were lots of stray cats in my neighborhood.”

“Give any of ‘em names?”

Susie nods. “Of course! Thrasher, Carnage, Clipper, Vicious, Brute, Fester, and— oh, and Cookie. She was my favorite.”

“Oh. Hm… Those are, erm… cute.”

An odd smile tugs at her lips. “Thank you.”

You clear your throat. “Favorite bands, guys? Or musicians you—”

“Shut the hell up,” Julie snaps.

“Jules,” says Joey.

“No, don’t ‘Jules’ me!” Julie protests. “They won’t shut up! Someone had to say it! We’re not—!”

“I don’t have a favorite,” Frank calmly interjects, completely disregarding her outburst. “I like noise; the louder, the better. You should listen to my mixtape sometime.” He winks at you.

Julie sneers. “They don’t need to listen to shit.”

You sigh. “Julie, c’mon—”

“Don’t speak to me,” she spits. “I’d fucking gut you if these two pricks weren’t holding me back!”

Joey grips Julie’s arm, tugging her to the other side of the elevator. “Knock it off!”

She whirls on him, snarling like a feral cat. “Look at you rushing to their fucking rescue again, Joey. You meet the asshole once, and you’re already head over heels for them!”

Joey’s face darkens. “It’s not like that!” he barks. “We’re working together—”

“Then what’s with the cutesy nickname, huh? They’re your little bird, right?”

“It’s not—” He breaks off, sighing with frustration. “Shut up!”

They exchange heated words, filling the elevator with incomprehensible squabble and angry noise. Susie plugs in her earbuds and messes with her Walkman. You join Frank on the other side of the elevator, sighing. “I thought it’d be you guys babysitting me, not the other way around…”

Frank smirks. “You’ll get used to this shit,” he says.

“I hope not…”

 

The elevator soon comes to a lurching stop, putting an end to Julie and Joey’s heated argument. As the doors slide open, you’re the first step into the lengthy corridor. Turning left and right, you gaze down two dark halls lined with glass partitions that section off office suites. You’re uncertain which way to proceed—you can still feel the pull, but it’s all over the place now.

Facing the Legion, you propose, “Let’s split up.”

“You’re not serious,” Joey objects.

“I know, I know, it’s a stupid horror movie cliche, but I think we’ll find what we’re looking for a lot quicker if we split up and search every nook and cranny. And if anyone finds anything, we can meet back here at the elevator.”

“You should at least partner up,” Joey suggests, “in case you run into trouble.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“I’ll babysit,” Frank volunteers. He steps forward, nudging you and grinning. Addressing the others, he says, “Now let’s stop fucking around and start tearing this place apart.”

Julie wears a bitter expression as she turns around and stalks down the hall. Joey and Susie head in the opposite direction until both parties vanish in the dark. Frank faces you. “Let’s do this shit.”

You lead the way into a random office room with Frank close behind. The space is a hodgepodge of cubicles and partitions spread out across the office. The Pull feels intense and chaotic. Shaking your head, you begin your search.

While scouring random desks and filing cabinets, the lights flicker and buzz overhead. Frank’s silent on the other side of the room while sifting through a trash bin, and outside, it’s eerily quiet. You pass the window, taking in a large scale of the destruction that’s befallen the entire city. Everything is destroyed… Collapsed buildings, rubble and ruin, and not a single sign of life anywhere. An eerie red glow from the swirling dark mass in the sky basks the ruins. That black crater stares up at you from the ground below. The void is mesmerizing but terrible, and you can barely break its gaze. Trying to guess what happened here puts a pit in your stomach. You quickly turn away.

As you search another desk, a chill grazes the back of your neck, causing you to startle and whirl around. Frank’s directly behind you. Your breath catches.

“Jesus, Frank—”

“You’ve got me alone and you’re not asking a million questions? I’m surprised, klutz…”

“What? What are you—?” You shake your head and sigh. “Frank, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted me to interrogate you again…”

“I’m just wondering what changed,” he says. “You ask a lot of questions, klutz, but now you don’t have any for me?”

“You’re giving me mixed messages.”

You turn back around and yank on a locked cabinet. “You wanna know what changed, Frank? I’ll tell you. What changed is that I’ve realized it doesn’t matter; nothing does. I can ask you guys a thousand questions, but it doesn’t change the facts. The fact that what you did to get here doesn’t mean a damn thing—you’re all in the same boat now, whether you deserve it or not. I don’t have enough sympathy to share, not anymore. And I can’t even say with confidence that I can help you—or anyone, for what matter… What I can say is that we can work together to find a way out of this hellhole. I can’t afford to be picky about who helps me accomplish that…”

You’re not making any progress with this lock. Your face screws up in frustration. “If you wanna tell me what you did to secure your spot in hell, go right ahead. Joey wouldn’t tell me the truth, but I can’t imagine you much care what I think of you, Frank…”

The cabinet’s locked tight. You hiss through your teeth, prompting Frank to nudge you aside. He bends a knee and jimmies his knife between the cabinet door. “We killed a man.”

His blunt statement drives a wedge in your throat, and a heavy atmosphere settles over you. “Did he deserve it?”

“No.”

Frank pops open the cabinet and takes a step back. He meets your eyes and holds your scrutinizing gaze. “We murdered a man in cold blood— all of us.”

Your expression falters. Frank steps forward, and you step back. “He was locking up the shop for the night when we broke in. We just wanted to tear some shit apart, make a mess of everything… He saw Julie, grabbed her, and I was just seeing red. But something washed over me then… My blood ran hot and my vision grey foggy. I couldn’t see shit, but one thing was crystal clear: I wanted to—had—to kill him.”

Frank moves closer, his hollow gaze intensifying, yet becoming distant. “So I stabbed him in the back, and I twisted the fucking knife. Then we passed it around and took turns bleeding the bastard out. When he was dead, a little part of us died inside, too. But something woke up, klutz. And we knew there was no going back.”

Frank backs you against a glass partition. He moves slowly, raising both arms to prop on the wall beside your head. He cages you in, not breaking eye contact for even a second. “We earned our spots in hell. We’re not innocent. You could argue we weren’t in control, that something overcame us and made us kill that man. I’ve argued that with myself a hundred times already… but a part of me is afraid to admit that maybe I always had it in me to do something like that—that I’ve always been a monster.”

Frank hushes the last word in your ear, his breath ghosting the nape of your neck. When he pulls back only slightly to be face to face, you swallow past the lump in your throat.

His words resonate with you, striking a familiar chord. You’ve danced with the same darkness; you’ve felt it before, that blood lust that overtakes you and carries with it the impulse to maim and to kill. Although there have been times you’ve been able to resist it, there were occasions when you couldn’t. You don’t know how to put it into words, and you don’t know if you should try. But it’s an awfully convenient excuse to justify something so unforgivable, isn’t it? “The devil made me do it.” It’s a flimsy lie that gets bastards to sleep at night, but it doesn’t hold up in the light of day.

Still, you want to believe Frank. You want to believe that he experienced what you have and that he wasn’t in full control. But deep down, a part of you is afraid that the little voice in his head is right; that he’s just a monster, plain and simple. Worse, you’re afraid of the voice in the back of your own head that says, “So?”

Your chest tightens. Opting for silence, you press your hand firmly to his breast and push him away. Then you step past him and peruse the contents of that locked cabinet. Beside loose papers and scraps, you find an employee key card with a red band across the top. Below is a portrait of a man with a mean face, messy blonde hair, and sunken dark eyes. Beneath that, a barcode. His name is scratched out.

“Is that what we’re looking for?” asks Frank behind you.

“I don’t think so. But it might be important.”

You pocket the card. And as there’s nothing else of substance, you leave the office.

 

At the end of the hall, you find Joey and Susie engaged in a hushed conversation in front of a set of imposing metal doors. They notice your arrival and turn to face you. “It’s locked tight,” explains Joey. “We’ve been fucking with this panel beside the door, but it won’t budge.”

“Looks like a card scanner,” you observe. “And we might have just the thing to crack this puppy open.”

You display the key card and step forward as Julie’s voice echoes down the hall. “You pricks find anything?”

“Might’ve,” you call.

She joins the party. With all four killers breathing down your neck, you slide the card through the scanner and wait with bated breath. The panel beeps, a green light flashes the display, and the doors release with a distinct click.

As the doors slide open, the room beyond illuminates. Row upon row of filing cabinets flank the left and right sides, while a set of monitors and dated computers stand straight ahead. You cautiously move forward.

“This is some sci-fi shit,” Frank mutters.

You pass dozens of filing cabinets and stop before the array of monitors. The Pull is overwhelming now, a relentless, annoying hum throbbing through your head. Every screen is black, but the consoles in front of you are lit up with hundreds of glowing buttons. You don’t know what to do.

“We probably shouldn’t touch any of this, right? Right? I mean, we don’t know what it does—”

“Pussy,” Julie mutters. She pushes you aside and presses a random button.

And for a moment, nothing happens.

But then, chaos erupts.

The room plunges into a deep, pulsating red, and an alarm blares deafeningly throughout the building. You slap your hands over your ears, wincing. “Gee, good idea, Jules! Let’s all just press random buttons and see what happens!”

“Shut up!” Julie hisses above the noise. “Someone had to do something!”

“Can we quit bitching at each other and figure out a way to shut this shit off?!” Joey pipes up.

Before more can be said, a loud boom echoes above the blaring siren. Joey backpedals for the door. “I’ll check it out!”

He hurries out with Susie tailing him. Frank looks sharply at you. “I think this place is a fucking bust! Let’s get the hell out of here!”

“Wait! We can’t leave empty-handed! I think whatever we came here for is in this room! Or-or on this computer, at least!”

“And how the hell do you suppose we get to it, huh?!”

“Now, hear me out… We take the whole thing!”

Frank looks at you like you’re crazy. Julie snaps, “We’re not lugging this fucking thing out of here!”

“We need to!” you hiss urgently. “Start unplugging shit!”

Julie growls. But she stoops beneath the counter and starts yanking random cords out of the wall. Frank hefts the computer into his arms while Julie grabs a monitor. “You got outlets at the campfire?” Frank asks.

You pause. “No. However—”

Another crash interrupts you. The entire building shudders as if hit by a quake. Frank and Julie catch their balance. In the corridor, Susie calls out, “GUYS!”

Your party rushes out of the room where you find the other two in the office you previously scoured. They stand before the windows, gawking outside with wide eyes and slack jaws. You swiftly join their side. “What are you— Holy shit.”

Your sight locks directly on the gaping abyss outside. You see movement surrounding its edges—creatures escaping the void and swarming the pavement. They’re bulky, pink, swathed in a thick layer of clear membrane, and strikingly alien in appearance. Even from way up high, you can make out the many glowing red eyes that dot their faces, and the dagger-like teeth jutting from their drooling maws.

They pour out of the crater on all fours like ants, their numbers in the hundreds and growing. Despite the blaring alarm, you can hear the noises they produce, yipping and snarling like coyotes. And worse yet, they beeline toward the building.

You back away from the window with a shaky breath. “What the f— aliens? Those are aliens, right?!”

“Does it matter?!” snaps Julie. “We’re getting the hell out of here!”

You leave the room with everyone in tow. When you reach the elevators, the building shudders again, throwing you off balance and into Joey. He steadies you upright and punches the call button. “I think the damn alarm woke ‘em up,” he says.

“You think?!” Julie retorts. “I knew we shouldn’t have come out here with them. I knew it’d only lead to trouble!”

“Don’t put the blame on them!” Joey barks. “It’s your fault we’re even in this mess! You just had to go pressing random buttons!”

“Guys, GUYS!” you interrupt. “Can we do this shit later?!”

You jab the call button a dozen more times, but a loud shattering noise draws your attention back down the hall. Swiftly retreating down the opposite end, you shout, “I think they’re inside!”

Down the hall, you glimpse a glowing sign that reads in bold red, “EXIT.”

Frank kicks open the door, revealing a dark, spiraling staircase. You waste no time racing down the steps.

As the building continues to tremble from the chaos outside, the quakes grow more frequent, making it a struggle to maintain balance. Gripping the guard rails tightly, a loud bang reverberates through the stairwell. Peering over the edge, you spot dozens of those things storming up from the bottom floor. “They’re below us!” you urgently cry.

“Then we’ll find another way out!” Frank shouts. Joey shoulders through another door that opens into another suite. “We can find another emergency exit on the other—”

You’re cut off as you’re struck by a large pink blur and slammed into the wall. Your party’s knocked off their feet by the force. You hit the wall and scream as searing pain jolts through your leg. Joey, Susie, and Frank hit the floor, and Julie crashes through a glass partition into an adjacent office. Collecting yourself, you find yourself face to face with a towering alien monster, its massive form nearly reaching the ceiling as it hovers on all fours. You make out each and every one of its drooling teeth, and its piercing red eyes that stare you down hungrily. Its slimy pink hide is thick and marred by rubble.

The beast emits out a guttural cry, splattering spittle and ooze across your face Brandishing your shotgun, you aim down the sight and pull the trigger.

The point-blank blast turns the beast’s head into a misty red cloud. As its massive body crumples into a heap before you, Susie helps you to your feet, but pain sears through your leg, making you stagger and cry out. “My-my leg,” you croak. “I-I think my leg’s broken—”

“Suck it up,” Julie commands, as she recollects herself and the monitor. “We have to go now.”

Joey winds your arm over his shoulder, and your party races down the hall as fast as they’re able. A screeching sound echoes behind you, and when you glance back, you spot two more creatures at the far end of the corridor.

You push away from Joey and spin around, brandishing your gun. “Go on ahead!” you shout. “Get that shit back to Lydia’s place! And in one piece, please!”

“We’re not leaving you!” Joey protests. “We came to protect you!”

“You came to help me find the fucking Mark!” you snap. You blast a charging beast in the leg. It howls and slows its pace, limping. The other barrels past it with a vicious growl. They’re closing in—

“—And we found it! So get out of here and pat yourselves on the back!”

You cock the gun and fire. It’s a kill shot. The second one’s down, but the first is still coming. And judging from the shrieks down the hall, there are more: many more. Frank steals your arm. “You’re coming with us, klutz,” he insists.

He barely gets the words out before you break away from him and narrow your eyes. “Leave,” you say firmly. “I didn’t come out here to waste my time. If you guys die, we lose that Mark. If I die, it’s just another Monday.”

Frank’s expression hardens. “We can carry you. Joey—”

“It’ll slow you down!” you argue.

You fire again, killing the crippled alien. It collapses with a groan. When you turn back around and meet Frank’s steely eyes, you lay your hand on his chest and push him away. “Go,” you order. Lowering your voice to a hush, you say, “You’re a monster, right, Frank? This should be easy for you.”

Frank’s brow wrinkles and his lips draw into a tight line. It looks like he has more to say; much more to say. But he doesn’t get the chance. Julie intervenes, grabbing his arm and tugging him the other way. “Let’s go,” she seethes. “Let them play the hero. It’s all they’re good for…”

Frank concedes defeat. He and the others reluctantly retreat down the hall, soon disappearing around a corner. Facing back around, you release a shuddering breath as more aliens come into view. You count three of them.

Cocking the gun, you fire. The buckshot turns its organs into a paste. It crashes and falls.

One down. That’s five shots; the magazine’s empty.

You rifle the box of shells from your bag and reload. You only load one into the chamber before the next beast is right on top of you. Boom!

Two down. And—Shit, there’s more.

Three aliens burst into view through the shattered office partition. You backpedal while reloading, but another quake shudders the office, and you lose your footing. As you crash to the floor, the box of shells spills out around you. And then it’s over. It takes one mistake, and it’s over.

When the nearest beast lunges at you, you throw out your hand. It tears off three of your digits—namely, your index, middle, and thumb. Your scream pierces the hall. When it snaps again, you kick it in the face. That’s a big mistake; it locks its jaws on your leg and thrashes you. You’re thrown around like a ragdoll, hitting the floor, ceiling, and walls until it sends you sailing down the hall. You hit the ground hard, battered, bruised, and groaning in pain. The alien stalks closer with your blood oozing from its teeth. You’re paralyzed with fear. But the creeping dread is snuffed by another sensation—a familiar one.

The Surge is coming; that’s what you call that event that befell you in that trial—the Surge. The pain diminishes, and the world falls deathly silent. You hear nothing but your own heartbeat pounding your eardrums, and it picks up pace and becomes a horrible thundering tempo. Your breaths come quicker, and your nerves alight. It’s coming, you know it. The sickness, the… the thing inside you. It’s coming to protect you.

Oh, but this time… This time, you welcome it.

 

· · ─────── ·Susie POV· ─────── · ·

 

Susie races behind the others down the stairs. They reach a landing when a sharp scream pierces the air above the blaring siren. Frank visibly flinches, and his stride briefly falters. Susie notices.

‘They’re dead’, Susie thinks. ‘They must be. But why does that bother you, Frank?’ she wants to ask. ‘We’re killers, aren’t we? We’ve inflicted so much misery on others, and this shouldn’t bother us at all. It can’t— not if we want to survive. You told us that. You told us if we didn’t adapt, we’d suffer too. And, yet, this bothers you. This bothers you, and Joey, and… and it bothers me too, doesn’t it?’

Susie’s jostled from her deep thoughts when Joey bursts through an emergency exit. Relief washes over the small party as they make their escape. Two blocks down the street, away from the chaos and the noise, they duck into a shadowed alley to catch their breath. Susie peers out from hiding to steal a glance at the devastated skyscraper.

“We should just drop this shit and go home,” Julie suggests, adjusting the monitor in her arms. Susie turns around. “It probably won’t mean shit at the end of the day.”

“We’re getting this to the old lady’s cabin,” Frank asserts. “It meant something to them, and that’s good enough.”

Julie scoffs. “Oh, I bet,” she says, sneering. “Anything for your little klutz, right?”

“Don’t start this,” Frank replies with a glare.

“I’m just calling it like it is!” Julie retorts. She takes an accusing step toward Frank. “We all saw the way you wanted to drag them out of that damn building. And it’s been non-stop bullshit about them ever since that night! You’re obsessed, Frank—”

“Shut up, Jules!” Frank demands. “That’s not how it is. We’re doing this shit for them because they’re doing it for us!” He passes off the computer to Joey and takes two steps toward Julie. “They go through hell every night doing this shit, huh? They just threw theirfucking life away doing this shit! And they’re doing it for everyone in this fucking shithole, even undeserving bastards like us.”

He stands squarely in front of Julie, his tone firm and commanding. She stands her ground while he lowers his voice. “So I think the least we can fucking do is get this damn computer back to their place. Suck it up, Jules. This isn’t about you or your personal vendetta.”

He’s intense. When he finally backs off and leaves, Julie’s tough facade falters. She releases a shaky breath, her hard expression falling into a frown. Susie wants to comfort her friend. She takes a step forward, reaching out. “Jules—”

“Back off, Susie,” Julie warns through a voice crack. She leaves the alley with a demeanor weighed down by resignation. Joey follows.

“Frank’s right,” he mutters on his way out. He flicks his chin over his shoulder, beckoning Susie. “C’mon, Suz. Before we run into more trouble.”

Susie’s right behind him until she catches a glimmer beside a dumpster. Whatever it is, it reflects the eerie red glow from the sky above and looks like a portal into another realm. That is until Susie takes a knee and grasps the artifact into her hands. It’s a mirror. No, not a mirror—a mask. It has a reflective glass face with a black strap around the back. When she turns it around and raises it in front of her eyes, she’s surprised to find that it’s one way—she can see clearly through the other side.

“Is this for me?” she softly wonders aloud.

But she receives no answer.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

“The old lady’s missing,” Joey announces as he trudges up the porch steps, carrying the monitor. He took it off Julie’s hands during their trek back.

“Good,” Julie scoffs. “I hate that hag.”

“Quiet,” commands Frank, with a sour tone of voice. Susie’s stomach churns with discomfort.

Julie scoffs. “Still pissed your crush kicked the bucket back at that tower?” she taunts. “I expected this shit from Joey, Frank; not you. Get over it already. I don’t want you bringing this attitude back to the resort…”

Frank clenches his jaw. With his arms full, he kicks open the front door and stamps inside. “If I have to hear you bitching about that for—”

His abrupt pause surprises the group. When they tail him inside, they’re met with a startling sight. Susie’s eyes widen. “Wh— How did you get out?”

Frank’s klutz sits at the kitchen table, looking a ghastly sight. Their eyes are voids and ooze a vicious, jet-black substance. Blood paints their face red and drips down their chin, and it stains their clothes all over. Their jacket’s in absolute tatters as if it’s gone through a blender, but they bear no visible wounds.

They turn their head and blink, their eyes clearing as they offer a bright smile. Their teeth gleam against the red mask, but their eyes seem hollow. It’s a look that unsettles Susie. But the dark glint vanishes as they rise from the table with a flourish. “Well, color me impressed. You guys actually brought my new computer!”

The jarring enthusiasm makes Susie’s skin crawl.

Frank and Joey set the computer parts aside. Frank presses for an explanation. “What the hell happened?” he asks. “There’s no way in fuck you got out of there on your own—”

“Much less beat us here,” adds Joey.

Frank’s klutz shrugs. “I have my ways.”

Again, Susie catches the odd look that crosses their expression. She recognizes the look, as it’s one she’s seen many times before. It’s a look she’s worn herself. She’s seen it while looking in the mirror on dark and lonely nights; when she’d gaze into her own cold, blue eyes, wondering why her reflection never smiled or laughed or looked at her warmly. She’s seen it. She understands it.

“Right,” Frank murmurs, drawing Susie from her thoughts. “Right,” he repeats. He shakes his head. When he opens his mouth again, it’s as if he wants to say more, but his voice never comes. He keeps quiet, his lips forming a line. Julie speaks up in his place.

“You got your damn ‘Mark’. Are we fucking done here?”

“For now,” says Frank’s fixation. “I’ll tear through this computer, and if I find anything worthwhile inside its guts, I’ll let you guys know.” They smile.

Satisfied with that answer, Julie briskly spins around and leaves. “C’mon,” she barks at the others. “Let’s go home.”

Joey’s right behind her. Frank hesitates. He narrows his eyes, opens and closes his mouth like a fish, then mutters and turns around.

Then it’s just them, and Susie’s face-to-face with that hollow gaze again. It’s like looking in a… a mirror.

“I have something for you,” she blurts, shattering the silence between them. Reaching into her front pocket, she produces the glass mask. “Here.”

The klutz makes a puzzled face. They take the mask while Susie explains, “I found it in that city… I thought it was meant for me, but… I think it’s yours.”

“This isn’t mine,” rasps Frank’s klutz. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“But it was put there for you,” Susie insists. “It had to be… And I understand it now. It’s because you’re one of us. You’re a part of our Legion now, aren’t you?” Her eyes grow big, and she shows a smile dotted with braces. “And we all wear a mask. That one’s yours.”

For a minute, Frank’s klutz gazes into the glass face with an unreadable expression. But as the silence pans out, their empty gaze wavers, and their lips tremble. Their hollow eyes aren’t so hollow suddenly—they fill with dread.

They raise their hand to their face, smearing blood across their cheek and lips. “What’s happening to me?” they whisper hoarsely. Out of the blue, they drop the mask and bring their heel into the mirror, shattering it completely.

Susie jumps in surprise. “Wh-Why would you—?”

“I’m-I’m not one of you,” says Frank’s klutz through a trembling breath. “I’m not, and won’t ever be. You’re killers. Monsters. No. No—”

They retreat, cupping their face in their hands. “I’m not a part of your pack,” they spit. “I’m doing what I have to, even-even if—”

They lean against the wall and slowly, they sink to the floor, pulling their knees to their chest. “No, no, no… Please, just… just leave, Susie. Leave. I-I need to figure this out… I need to be alone.”

Susie swallows hard, heart heavy. She glances at her feet, anguished at the sight of the shattered mask. Her fractured reflection stares back at her from its shards, and her icy blue eyes show nothing.

It was such a nice gift, wasn’t it? That’s all it was: a gift. A token from the Entity, to Susie, and then to Them. Yet, They looked into Their own eyes and cowered at the sight. How can someone be so broken? To gaze upon a monster they created and recoil when it gazes back?

‘Smile next time,’ Susie wishes to say. ‘Smile, and your mask will smile back.’

But Susie says nothing. Seeing as how They snivel and weep, and retreat into Themself, there’s nothing left to say. They wouldn’t hear it, anyway. So, Susie leaves.

‘We’re nothing alike,’ she reflects on her way out. ‘Nothing at all.’

 

Continue

Notes:

Unraveled Avatar Icons for personal use! <3

Chapter 78: Mayhem: Part 2 (SF)

 

You roam the woods with members of the Legion on every side, much in the manner of a pack of wolves following a reluctant alpha. To your left, Joey and Frank keep pace, while Susie and Julie flank your right. It’s been quiet since your departure from the cabin.

Julie lingers much too close to you for your liking, like a predator stalking her prey. Her occasional glances, charged with an almost hostile intent, frequently catch your eye. When you can’t endure her piercing gaze any longer, you hasten your pace and put some distance between the group. But Frank catches up, and he determinedly matches your stride. But he says nothing. You side-eye him and sigh.

“Need something?”

“Just wondering where the hell we’re going,” he replies.

You shrug. “This is how it goes… I come out here and wander until I find something. Or until something finds me—whichever happens first.”

Frank grunts. He steals a glance before returning his gaze to you. “You want to elaborate on what you said earlier?”

As you raise an eyebrow, he clarifies. “Shit happened, huh? You want to tell me about it?”

“No offense, Frank, but the last time we got all friendly, you stabbed me in the gut, twisted the knife, and then tried to strangle me.” You shake your head, scoffing. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but we don’t need to hold hands and have a heart-to-heart. Right?”

His jaw clenches as his dark eyes flicker with intense emotion. After a beat, his intensity subsides, and he visibly relaxes. “Where’s your mutt?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” you say. “And I bet you already know that. You and the gang never would’ve been so bold, otherwise…”

“Word gets around,” utters Frank.

“I’m sure it does,” you reply bitterly.

He scoffs beside you.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got us now. Someone has to babysit your clumsy ass…”

“I know.”

You look over your shoulder at the others. Meeting Frank’s gaze again, you ask, “What made you the leader of this merry little band of punks?”

“I’m the oldest, for one thing. And I brought these freaks together. Made us all one big, happy family…”

“You have a very loose definition of the word, ‘happy’…”

“We’re knee-deep in this shit,” Frank says, scoffing. “But all it’s done is strengthen our bond. And we’re going to get through this shit together, or not at all.”

“I get that,” you reply.

“Good,” Frank asserts. “But I know we can’t be the first fuckers you’ve recruited. Who else are you rolling with?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Frank elbows you in the ribs, making you wince. “Spill it, klutz.”

“Danny,” you surrender, rubbing your side, “the Ghost Face killer. I’m sure you’re familiar with him…”

Frank’s wry grin falls away. He sneers. “The pervy freak in all the robes? How the fuck did that happen?”

“The same way it happened with you guys. He jumped me, Bastion gave him a bad time, and he came back wanting to have a little chat with me… It was just a series of very unfortunate events… One thing led to another, and we ended up shaking hands.”

“And Bastion? Is that your guardian angel?”

“Yeah. Or, he was, before—”

You stop short. After swallowing a thick lump lodged in your throat, you swivel your head. “I don’t know what he is now. But he’s not here, and that’s why I have you.”

Silence smothers the atmosphere.

You continue on in silence until you feel a tell-tale itch in your cranium. Gradually, it evolves into grating, harsh noises in your ears, and sweet whispers on the breeze. Succumbing to its influence, you veer off the path to pursue them. The Legion members shadow you closely as the whispers grow more intense, and the headache wracking your skull becomes brutal. Badly, you want to ignore the voices and the pull, but you know you can’t run away forever. There are only so many places to hide in The Fog, and none where you’re safe from your obligations.

Soon, you arrive at a wall of inky fog—the barrier dividing this realm from another…

You come to a standstill, the group mirroring your pause.

Susie steps forward, craning her neck to scrutinize the vast, dark barrier. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she remarks.

“Me neither,” says Joey.

Frank side-eyes you intensely. Maybe he catches the flicker of uncertainty on your face. The corner of his lips twitch and his brow furrows deeply. “Your call, klutz.”

You swallow.

You’re not prepared to face whatever’s on the other side… You used to be, when you were lively and hopeful, and eager to seek answers. But now? Well, now it’s too late to go back… Too late to pretend it’s nothing and tell your new friends you’ve gone the wrong way.

Dipping your head and taking a deep breath, you reach out and graze the surface of the ethereal barrier. It dissolves upon your touch, vanishing entirely. In its absence materializes haunting new surroundings that take shape all around you. Now, you stand amidst a desolate city beneath a furious crimson sky. Swirling dark clouds loom overhead, and light rain patters the ground. Skyscrapers and buildings line a congested road cluttered with stalled cars, debris, and crumpled asphalt and stone. It’s cold, vacant, and deathly quiet. As reminiscent of the real world as it is, it’s deeply unsettling.

You puzzle. The Legion members pivot, gauging their new surroundings with wide, disbelieving eyes. Julie, with a scoff, mutters, “What the fuck?”

You look straight up and see a familiar tear in the sky, like a streak of red paint. It exudes dark energy, encircled by wispy black fog… You don’t know what to make of it.

“Where is everyone?” asks Susie. “It’s so… so—”

“Empty,” you murmur.

An echo, but… there’s no life here. Nothing at all. An echo in its most basic form, then: a copy with no substance. But, at the very least, the pull remains… Although, it’s become faint.

You take a step forward, pause, and then face the Legion.

“Be on guard,” you warn them.

“What for?” says Frank. “There’s not shit here.”

“At first glance,” you reply. “But you never know with these damn echoes… We need to be careful. Now c’mon; let’s find our mark.”

 

A little way down the war-torn block, a black pickup truck catches Frank’s eye. With nimble hands, he hotwires it, and Joey slides into the driver’s seat. The rest of the crew piles in—Frank and Julie take to the cargo bed, and you join Susie in the cab with Joey. She sits between the both of you, silent, and with her head down. Joey puts the pedal to the metal, and you ride down the street.

It’s a bumpy ride—Joey weaves around junk and obstacles, all while you keep a keen eye on your surroundings as they pass you by. You wonder what happened here. This place looks ravaged by war, and it’s so eerily quiet. The silence stipples your arms with goosebumps. You don’t like this at all.

In an attempt to dampen the dreadful feelings clawing at the back of your mind, you spark a conversation.

“What landed you here as killers?”

A bold question, you know; but it’s been gnawing at you ever since joining the Legion in the woods.

Susie keeps her head down, and Joey doesn’t even look your way. You see the way his grip tightens on the wheel. “We made a mistake,” he imparts.

“Must’ve been one hell of a mistake,” you reply. “Any regrets?”

“All of it.”

“That’s a bit vague—”

He glances at you sharply, shutting your mouth. Susie shifts uncomfortably. You change the subject. “You looking forward to anything when we get outta here?”

Joey scoffs. “You sound confident now… What changed?”

“Well, I’m rolling with the Legion, right? And I can only hope we get out… It’s not much, but it helps to think about a better future; a better life outside of this hell.”

Joey falls silent, his gaze briefly meeting yours before returning to the road. Surprisingly, Susie speaks up.

“Music,” she murmurs, so softly you almost miss it.

You turn to her, meeting her piercing blue eyes. “Music,” she repeats. “All we have left are our old mixtapes… I wonder what music we’ve missed since we left.”

“Mixtapes?” You raise an eyebrow.

Susie delves into Joey’s backpack, producing a Walkman. You smirk at the sight of the ancient device. “Ha!” you blurt. “Oh, that’s… that’s vintage as hell. Where’d you find that? A museum?”

Susie tilts her head. “This is one of the latest models—”

You snort, cutting her off, and then remember that your new friends hail from a different time… And it suddenly strikes you that maybe you’re being insensitive. Clearing your throat, you correct, “Oh, uh… Right. What, erm… What year were you taken? 19… 1996, right?”

Susie nods. Joey turns to you. “What year were you taken?”

“2021.”

A look of surprise flashes across their features. “No shit?” says Joey.

“No shit.”

“Wow,” Susie breathes. “What’s the future like?”

You laugh. “Honestly, it’s hardly any different from your time. I promise you haven’t missed out on much. Except maybe touch-screen phones, cooler video games, and—”

“I can’t wait!” Susie blurts.

As soon as the eager words leave her mouth, a rosy hue stings her cheeks, and she buries her face in her hands. “I-I mean—”

“Don’t get all red in the face, Suz’,” says Joey, smirking. “Excitement’s a good thing. And it sounds like we both have something to look forward to now.”

Susie shrinks down further, sighing under her breath. You prop your head against the window a small smile on your lips. “Sure sounds like it.”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

As the world outside continues to blur past, Susie eventually dozes her, her head propped contentedly against Joey’s shoulder. After a span of silence, you break the quiet to ask what’s really been on your mind.

“So,” you begin, side-eyeing Joey.

He briefly takes his eyes off the road. A look of anticipation crosses his face as if he already anticipates your next words. He sighs heavily. “I don’t know how she found you.”

“It’s just funny, Joey, because I found this the same night Julie popped in for a visit.”

You rifle the rope bracelet out of your pocket and throw it at him. His eyes widen in surprise. “I don’t know how you got this—”

“Really? Because I’ll wager a guess and say you hid it under my bed for her to come and find.” You narrow your eyes. “Y’know, after that talk we had, I thought we were cool.”

“I promise you I have no fucking idea where you got this thing,” Joey argues. He takes one hand off the wheel and raises his arm, flashing his wrist. Adorning it is a very similar bracelet. “I’m wearing mine, see? And it’s not Susie’s, either. It must be Julie’s, but…”

He trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t know. But I swear I didn’t tell her a damn thing. She just burst in out of the blue one night raving about how you shot the hell out of her in the woods.”

He scoffs. “Who knows? Maybe she scoured every inch of the fog to find you…”

His brows crease and he meets your softening gaze. “Did she hurt you?”

“She stabbed the fucking shit out of me,” you say, scoffing. “And she nearly caved my face in with her fist. My bruises had bruises. If Bryce hadn’t shown up—”

You stop yourself short and fall silent with a hard look on your face.

Joey notices. “Bryce?”

“He’s no one,” you mutter. “Not anymore…”

Joey turns back to the road. “I’m sorry,” he offers. “But we’re here, and we’re a team now. If you want to get even with Julie, pick that fight another time.”

“I’m not trying to get even, Joey. I’m just trying to figure this shit out. When she attacked, she mentioned—”

You cut off as, suddenly, Joey hits the brakes. Your head hits the dash, and Susie jerks forward with a start. Grunting with pain and grasping your ringing skull, you manage, “Agh— That’s one way to… shut…me… up—”

You trail off and widen your eyes as you gaze out the windshield. “Holy shit.”

The road ahead is gone—just straight up gone. There’s a massive, gaping hole, like a crater, that’s just erased the entire city block. From where you are, you can’t gauge its depth, but it’s an abyss as black as night. There’s no getting around it; not in the truck.

“Looks like someone dropped a nuke,” you murmur.

Everyone climbs out of the truck. Frank and Julie hop out the back, scoffing. Hands on your hips, you sigh. “Welp,” you say, addressing your party. “Looks like it’s time to head on back—”

Frank pushes past you and presses forward. “Looks like we’re finding that Mark on foot,” he declares.

Your expression sours. Julie follows in tow, passing you a sharp look. “Come on, hero.”

It was worth a try.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and follow them with Joey and Susie at your side. “I don’t like this,” you say. “This can only mean trouble ahead.”

Approaching the crater’s edge, malign energy emanates from the pit below. Your skin crawls. “I don’t like this at all…”

 

Side-by-side, you all creep along the crater’s outer rim, mindful of where you place each and every step. Your movements dislodge rubble and debris that careen into the seemingly infinite blackness. The sight of it rests a heavy feeling on your chest. You swallow hard. “What could’ve done this?”

“Couldn’t have been a nuke,” Joey comments right behind you. “It would’ve wiped out the whole city. No, I think something crashed here.”

“—Something big,” says Susie, with wide eyes.

“Like, what? What could’ve blasted this massive hole in the earth without leveling the city block around it?”

“Does that matter?” Frank sharply interjects. “We’re not here to play detective, klutz. We’re looking for your damn Mark.”

“Yep, got it…” you mutter.

As you near the end of your precarious trek around the crater, your searing headache flares up again. Agonizing pain cracks through your skull like lightning, causing you to cry out and lose your footing. You begin to plummet, panic surging, but before meeting the abyss, Joey lunges out and catches your arm with a vice-like grip. He yanks you back onto solid—or somewhat solid—ground.

Your party comes to a temporary halt as you recollect yourself and breathe a trembling sigh of relief. “Thanks,”

“Be careful,” Joey sternly insists. “We need you here, little bird.”

Julie scoffs. Frank spins right around and presses forward. “You got any idea where your sixth sense is leading us?”

“I do now,” you reply. Raising your arm, you make a broad gesture toward a towering skyscraper dead ahead. It’s surrounded by ruins, and yet, it still stands in near-perfect condition. As you lay eyes upon it, the itch in your skull intensifies, and your vision becomes clearer. “There.”

The Legion members gaze at the structure skeptically. “How do you know?” asks Susie, side-eyeing you.

“Because the tiny voices in the back of my head say so,” you answer, quickening your pace toward the building.

They exchange funny looks. Susie licks her lips. “Are… are you sure?”

“Do you want to follow my lead or not?” you retort, yanking open the front doors. You step into a surprisingly well-lit, though abandoned, lobby. Your four companions slink in behind you. You notice a shattered monitor above a front desk. It displays an emergency broadcast that flickers across the screen, and it only gives you more questions. After a more thorough look around, you set your sights on an elevator on the other side of the room. Julie wrinkles her brow.

“We shouldn’t take that thing—it’s a death trap.”

“I didn’t peg you for someone afraid of elevators, Julie,” you quip while punching the call button.

“I’m not,” she snaps. “But everything else here is fucked up, so why wouldn’t this be?”

“Everything except this building,” you say.

The elevator chimes and the doors open. You turn smugly to Julie. “And it seems to be working just fine.”

Frank grunts “If this kills us…”

“I didn’t know I’d be escorting two scaredy cats tonight, Frank.”

He narrows his eyes. Smirking, you step into the elevator and do two hops. It sways a little, but you’re not sent careening down a dark shaft, so… “It’s fine; see?”

The others enter, and the doors slide shut. To your surprise, the button for floor number 50 lights up.

As the elevator ascends, generic music hums from a speaker in the corner. You shift, eyeing the group. “So,” you start slowly. “Any family pets waiting for you back home?”

Silence lingers until Susie softly speaks. “There were lots of stray cats in my neighborhood.”

“Give any of ‘em names?”

Susie nods. “Of course! Thrasher, Carnage, Clipper, Vicious, Brute, Fester, and— oh, and Cookie. She was my favorite.”

“Oh. Hm… Those are, erm… cute.”

An odd smile tugs at her lips. “Thank you.”

You clear your throat. “Favorite bands, guys? Or musicians you—”

“Shut the hell up,” Julie snaps.

“Jules,” says Joey.

“No, don’t ‘Jules’ me!” Julie protests. “They won’t shut up! Someone had to say it! We’re not—!”

“How about we all shut the hell up, huh?” Frank interjects.

Julie sneers. “Are you taking their side, Frank?”

“How the hell did you jump to that conclusion?”

You sigh. “Julie, c’mon—”

“Don’t speak to me,” she spits. “I’d fucking gut you if these two pricks weren’t holding me back!”

Joey grips Julie’s arm, tugging her to the other side of the elevator. “Knock it off!”

She whirls on him, snarling like a feral cat. “Look at you rushing to their fucking rescue again, Joey. You meet the asshole once, and you’re already head over heels for them!”

Joey’s face darkens. “It’s not like that!” he barks. “We’re working together—”

“Then what’s with the cutesy nickname, huh? They’re your little bird, right?”

“It’s not—” He breaks off, sighing with frustration. “Shut up!”

They exchange heated words, filling the elevator with incomprehensible squabble and angry noise. Susie plugs in her earbuds and messes with her Walkman. You join Frank on the other side of the elevator, sighing. “I thought it’d be you guys babysitting me, not the other way around…”

Frank smirks. “You’ll get used to this shit,” he says.

“I hope not…”

 

The elevator soon comes to a lurching stop, putting an end to Julie and Joey’s heated argument. As the doors slide open, you’re the first step into the lengthy corridor. Turning left and right, you gaze down two dark halls lined with glass partitions that section off office suites. You’re uncertain which way to proceed—you can still feel the pull, but it’s all over the place now.

Facing the Legion, you propose, “Let’s split up.”

“You’re not serious,” Joey objects.

“I know, I know, it’s a stupid horror movie cliche, but I think we’ll find what we’re looking for a lot quicker if we split up and search every nook and cranny. And if anyone finds anything, we can meet back here at the elevator.”

“You should at least partner up,” Joey suggests, “in case you run into trouble.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“I’ll babysit,” Frank volunteers. He steps forward, grinning. Addressing the others, he says, “Now let’s stop fucking around and start tearing this place apart.”

Julie wears a bitter expression as she turns around and stalks down the hall. Joey and Susie head in the opposite direction until both parties vanish in the dark. Frank faces you. “Let’s do this shit.”

You lead the way into a random office room with Frank close behind. The space is a hodgepodge of cubicles and partitions spread out across the office. The Pull feels intense and chaotic. Shaking your head, you begin your search.

While scouring random desks and filing cabinets, the lights flicker and buzz overhead. Frank’s silent on the other side of the room while sifting through a trash bin, and outside, it’s eerily quiet. You pass the window, taking in a large scale of the destruction that’s befallen the entire city. Everything is destroyed… Collapsed buildings, rubble and ruin, and not a single sign of life anywhere. An eerie red glow from the swirling dark mass in the sky basks the ruins. That black crater stares up at you from the ground below. The void is mesmerizing but terrible, and you can barely break its gaze. Trying to guess what happened here puts a pit in your stomach. You quickly turn away.

As you search another desk, a chill grazes the back of your neck, causing you to startle and whirl around. Frank’s directly behind you. Your breath catches.

“Jesus, Frank—”

“Was any of it real?”

“What? What are you—?”

“Back at the resort,” he says. “When we first met—Was anything you said to me real? You know, before you stabbed me in the back?”

“Oh. You mean what happened after you stabbed me in the back?” You let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, Frank, it was real. I thought I could get through to you… I thought that maybe you weren’t so far gone. But when I saw a chance to take advantage of your weakness, I took it. Exactly like how you did to me…”

His steely gaze burns holes through you. Averting your eyes, you mutter, “And believe me when I say it’s haunted me, Frank. It’s haunted me for a long time. For a while, it’s all I could ever dream about… But now? I’m not so sure how I feel about what I did now…”

“What changed?” Frank rasps. His eyes seek yours. Reluctantly, you find his gaze again. And when you find you can’t hold it any longer, you turn around and yank on a locked cabinet.

“You wanna know what changed? I’ll tell you. What changed is that I’ve realized it doesn’t matter; nothing does. I’ve spent countless nights reflecting on all the people I’ve hurt out here, wondering if I could ever forgive myself if I ended up hurting someone who didn’t deserve it. But it doesn’t change the facts. The fact that what you did to get here doesn’t mean a damn thing—you’re all in the same boat now, whether you deserve it or not. I don’t have enough sympathy to share, not anymore. And I can’t even say with confidence that I can help you—or anyone, for what matter… What I can say is that we can work together to find a way out of this hellhole. I can’t afford to be picky about who helps me accomplish that…”

You’re not making any progress with this lock. Your face screws up in frustration. “If you wanna tell me what you did to secure your spot in hell, go right ahead. Joey wouldn’t tell me the truth, but I can’t imagine you give a shit what I think of you, Frank…”

The cabinet’s locked tight. You hiss through your teeth, prompting Frank to nudge you aside. He bends a knee and jimmies his knife between the cabinet door. “We killed a man.”

His blunt statement drives a wedge in your throat, and a heavy atmosphere settles over you. “Did he deserve it?”

“No.”

Frank pops open the cabinet and takes a step back. He meets your eyes and holds your scrutinizing gaze. “We murdered a man in cold blood— all of us.”

Your expression falters. Frank steps forward, and you step back. “He was locking up the shop for the night when we broke in. We just wanted to tear some shit apart, make a mess of everything… He saw Julie, grabbed her, and I was just seeing red. But something washed over me then… My blood ran hot and my vision grey foggy. I couldn’t see shit, but one thing was crystal clear: I wanted to—had—to kill him.”

Frank moves closer, his hollow gaze intensifying, yet becoming distant. “So I stabbed him in the back, and I twisted the fucking knife. Then we passed it around and took turns bleeding the bastard out. When he was dead, a little part of us died inside, too. But something woke up, klutz. And we knew there was no going back.”

Frank backs you against a glass partition. He moves slowly, raising both arms to prop on the wall beside your head. He cages you in, not breaking eye contact for even a second. “We earned our spots in hell. We’re not innocent. You could argue we weren’t in control, that something overcame us and made us kill that man. I’ve argued that with myself a hundred times already… but a part of me is afraid to admit that maybe I always had it in me to do something like that—that I’ve always been a monster.”

Frank hushes the last word in your ear, his breath ghosting the nape of your neck. When he pulls back only slightly to be face to face, you swallow past the lump in your throat.

His words resonate with you, striking a familiar chord. You’ve danced with the same darkness; you’ve felt it before, that blood lust that overtakes you and carries with it the impulse to maim and to kill. Although there have been times you’ve been able to resist it, there were occasions when you couldn’t. You don’t know how to put it into words, and you don’t know if you should try. But it’s an awfully convenient excuse to justify something so unforgivable, isn’t it? “The devil made me do it.” It’s a flimsy lie that gets bastards to sleep at night, but it doesn’t hold up in the light of day.

Still, you want to believe Frank. You want to believe that he experienced what you have and that he wasn’t in full control. But deep down, a part of you is afraid that the little voice in his head is right; that he’s just a monster, plain and simple. Worse, you’re afraid of the voice in the back of your own head that says, “So?”

Your chest tightens. Opting for silence, you shoulder past him and peruse the contents of that locked cabinet. Beside loose papers and scraps, you find an employee key card with a red band across the top. Below is a portrait of a man with a mean face, messy blonde hair, and sunken dark eyes. Beneath that, a barcode. His name is scratched out.

“Is that what we’re looking for?” asks Frank behind you.

“I don’t think so. But it might be important.”

You pocket the card. And as there’s nothing else of substance, you leave the office.

 

At the end of the hall, you find Joey and Susie engaged in a hushed conversation in front of a set of imposing metal doors. They notice your arrival and turn to face you. “It’s locked tight,” explains Joey. “We’ve been fucking with this panel beside the door, but it won’t budge.”

“Looks like a card scanner,” you observe. “And we might have just the thing to crack this puppy open.”

You display the key card and step forward as Julie’s voice echoes down the hall. “You pricks find anything?”

“Might’ve,” you call.

She joins the party. With all four killers breathing down your neck, you slide the card through the scanner and wait with bated breath. The panel beeps, a green light flashes the display, and the doors release with a distinct click.

As the doors slide open, the room beyond illuminates. Row upon row of filing cabinets flank the left and right sides, while a set of monitors and dated computers stand straight ahead. You cautiously move forward.

“This is some sci-fi shit,” Frank mutters.

You pass dozens of filing cabinets and stop before the array of monitors. The Pull is overwhelming now, a relentless, annoying hum throbbing through your head. Every screen is black, but the consoles in front of you are lit up with hundreds of glowing buttons. You don’t know what to do.

“We probably shouldn’t touch any of this, right? Right? I mean, we don’t know what it does—”

“Pussy,” Julie mutters. She pushes you aside and presses a random button.

And for a moment, nothing happens.

But then, chaos erupts.

The room plunges into a deep, pulsating red, and an alarm blares deafeningly throughout the building. You slap your hands over your ears, wincing. “Gee, good idea, Jules! Let’s all just press random buttons and see what happens!”

“Shut up!” Julie hisses above the noise. “Someone had to do something!”

“Can we quit bitching at each other and figure out a way to shut this shit off?!” Joey pipes up.

Before more can be said, a loud boom echoes above the blaring siren. Joey backpedals for the door. “I’ll check it out!”

He hurries out with Susie tailing him. Frank looks sharply at you. “I think this place is a fucking bust! Let’s get the hell out of here!”

“Wait! We can’t leave empty-handed! I think whatever we came here for is in this room! Or-or on this computer, at least!”

“And how the hell do you suppose we get to it, huh?!”

“Now, hear me out… We take the whole thing!”

Frank looks at you like you’re crazy. Julie snaps, “We’re not lugging this fucking thing out of here!”

“We need to!” you hiss urgently. “Start unplugging shit!”

Julie growls. But she stoops beneath the counter and starts yanking random cords out of the wall. Frank hefts the computer into his arms while Julie grabs a monitor. “You got outlets at the campfire?” Frank asks.

You pause. “No. However—”

Another crash interrupts you. The entire building shudders as if hit by a quake. Frank and Julie catch their balance. In the corridor, Susie calls out, “GUYS!”

Your party rushes out of the room where you find the other two in the office you previously scoured. They stand before the windows, gawking outside with wide eyes and slack jaws. You swiftly join their side. “What are you— Holy shit.”

Your sight locks directly on the gaping abyss outside. You see movement surrounding its edges—creatures escaping the void and swarming the pavement. They’re bulky, pink, swathed in a thick layer of clear membrane, and strikingly alien in appearance. Even from way up high, you can make out the many glowing red eyes that dot their faces, and the dagger-like teeth jutting from their drooling maws.

They pour out of the crater on all fours like ants, their numbers in the hundreds and growing. Despite the blaring alarm, you can hear the noises they produce, yipping and snarling like coyotes. And worse yet, they beeline toward the building.

You back away from the window with a shaky breath. “What the f— aliens? Those are aliens, right?!”

“Does it matter?!” snaps Julie. “We’re getting the hell out of here!”

You leave the room with everyone in tow. When you reach the elevators, the building shudders again, throwing you off balance and into Joey. He steadies you upright and punches the call button. “I think the damn alarm woke ‘em up,” he says.

“You think?!” Julie retorts. “I knew we shouldn’t have come out here with them. I knew it’d only lead to trouble!”

“Don’t put the blame on them!” Joey barks. “It’s your fault we’re even in this mess! You just had to go pressing random buttons!”

“Guys, GUYS!” you interrupt. “Can we do this shit later?!”

You jab the call button a dozen more times, but a loud shattering noise draws your attention back down the hall. Swiftly retreating down the opposite end, you shout, “I think they’re inside!”

Down the hall, you glimpse a glowing sign that reads in bold red, “EXIT.”

Frank kicks open the door, revealing a dark, spiraling staircase. You waste no time racing down the steps.

As the building continues to tremble from the chaos outside, the quakes grow more frequent, making it a struggle to maintain balance. Gripping the guard rails tightly, a loud bang reverberates through the stairwell. Peering over the edge, you spot dozens of those things storming up from the bottom floor. “They’re below us!” you urgently cry.

“Then we’ll find another way out!” Frank shouts. Joey shoulders through another door that opens into another suite. “We can find another emergency exit on the other—”

You’re cut off as you’re struck by a large pink blur and slammed into the wall. Your party’s knocked off their feet by the force. You hit the wall and scream as searing pain jolts through your leg. Joey, Susie, and Frank hit the floor, and Julie crashes through a glass partition into an adjacent office. Collecting yourself, you find yourself face to face with a towering alien monster, its massive form nearly reaching the ceiling as it hovers on all fours. You make out each and every one of its drooling teeth, and its piercing red eyes that stare you down hungrily. Its slimy pink hide is thick and marred by rubble.

The beast emits out a guttural cry, splattering spittle and ooze across your face Brandishing your shotgun, you aim down the sight and pull the trigger.

The point-blank blast turns the beast’s head into a misty red cloud. As its massive body crumples into a heap before you, Susie helps you to your feet, but pain sears through your leg, making you stagger and cry out. “My-my leg,” you croak. “I-I think my leg’s broken—”

“Suck it up,” Julie commands, as she recollects herself and the monitor. “We have to go now.”

Joey winds your arm over his shoulder, and your party races down the hall as fast as they’re able. A screeching sound echoes behind you, and when you glance back, you spot two more creatures at the far end of the corridor.

You push away from Joey and spin around, brandishing your gun. “Go on ahead!” you shout. “Get that shit back to Lydia’s place! And in one piece, please!”

“We’re not leaving you!” Joey protests. “We came to protect you!”

“You came to help me find the fucking Mark!” you snap. You blast a charging beast in the leg. It howls and slows its pace, limping. The other barrels past it with a vicious growl. They’re closing in—

“—And we found it! So get out of here and pat yourselves on the back!”

You cock the gun and fire. It’s a kill shot. The second one’s down, but the first is still coming. And judging from the shrieks down the hall, there are more: many more. Frank steals your arm. “You’re not my favorite person in the room, but we had a deal, klutz,” he insists. “We protect you—”

You break away from him with narrow eyes. “Leave,” you say firmly. “I didn’t come out here to waste my time. If you guys die, we lose that Mark. If I die, it’s just another Monday.”

Frank’s expression hardens. “We can carry you. Joey—”

“It’ll slow you down!” you argue.

You fire again, killing the crippled alien. It collapses with a groan. When you turn back around and meet Frank’s steely eyes, you give him and shove. “Go,” you order. Lowering your voice to a hush, you say, “You’re a monster, right, Frank? This should be easy for you. And if it helps, try to remember how I stabbed you in the back.”

Frank’s brow wrinkles and his lips draw into a tight line. It looks like he has more to say; much more to say. But he doesn’t get the chance. Julie intervenes, grabbing his arm and tugging him the other way. “Let’s go,” she seethes. “Let them play the hero. It’s all they’re good for…”

Frank concedes defeat. He and the others reluctantly retreat down the hall, soon disappearing around a corner. Facing back around, you release a shuddering breath as more aliens come into view. You count three of them.

Cocking the gun, you fire. The buckshot turns its organs into a paste. It crashes and falls.

One down. That’s five shots; the magazine’s empty.

You rifle the box of shells from your bag and reload. You only load one into the chamber before the next beast is right on top of you. Boom!

Two down. And—Shit, there’s more.

Three aliens burst into view through the shattered office partition. You backpedal while reloading, but another quake shudders the office, and you lose your footing. As you crash to the floor, the box of shells spills out around you. And then it’s over. It takes one mistake, and it’s over.

When the nearest beast lunges at you, you throw out your hand. It tears off three of your digits—namely, your index, middle, and thumb. Your scream pierces the hall. When it snaps again, you kick it in the face. That’s a big mistake; it locks its jaws on your leg and thrashes you. You’re thrown around like a ragdoll, hitting the floor, ceiling, and walls until it sends you sailing down the hall. You hit the ground hard, battered, bruised, and groaning in pain. The alien stalks closer with your blood oozing from its teeth. You’re paralyzed with fear. But the creeping dread is snuffed by another sensation—a familiar one.

The Surge is coming; that’s what you call that event that befell you in that trial—the Surge. The pain diminishes, and the world falls deathly silent. You hear nothing but your own heartbeat pounding your eardrums, and it picks up pace and becomes a horrible thundering tempo. Your breaths come quicker, and your nerves alight. It’s coming, you know it. The sickness, the… the thing inside you. It’s coming to protect you.

Oh, but this time… This time, you welcome it.

 

· ─────── ·Susie POV· ─────── · ·

 

Susie races behind the others down the stairs. They reach a landing when a sharp scream pierces the air above the blaring siren. Frank visibly flinches, and his stride briefly falters. Susie notices.

‘They’re dead’, Susie thinks. ‘They must be. But why does that bother you, Frank?’ she wants to ask. ‘After what they did to you? And We’re killers, aren’t we? We’ve inflicted so much misery on others, and this shouldn’t bother us at all. It can’t— not if we want to survive. You told us that. You told us if we didn’t adapt, we’d suffer too. And, yet, this bothers you. This bothers you, and Joey, and… and it bothers me too, doesn’t it?’

Susie’s jostled from her deep thoughts when Joey bursts through an emergency exit. Relief washes over the small party as they make their escape. Two blocks down the street, away from the chaos and the noise, they duck into a shadowed alley to catch their breath. Susie peers out from hiding to steal a glance at the devastated skyscraper.

“We should just drop this shit and go home,” Julie suggests, adjusting the monitor in her arms. Susie turns around. “It probably won’t mean shit at the end of the day.”

“We’re getting this to the old lady’s cabin,” Frank asserts. “It meant something to them, and that’s good enough.”

Julie scoffs. “Really?” she says, sneering. “Are you forgetting everything they’ve done?”

“Don’t start this,” Frank replies with a glare.

“I’m trying to drill some fucking sense into you,” Julie retorts. She takes an accusing step toward Frank. “We all saw the way you wanted to drag them out of that damn building. Even after what they DID to you, you can’t let them go! You’re obsessed, Frank—”

“Shut up, Jules!” Frank demands. “That’s not how it is. We’re doing this shit for them because they’re doing it for us!” He passes off the computer to Joey and takes two steps toward Julie. “They go through hell every night doing this shit, huh? They just threw their fucking life away doing this shit! And they’re doing it for everyone in this fucking shithole, even undeserving bastards like us.”

He stands squarely in front of Julie, his tone firm and commanding. She stands her ground while he lowers his voice. “So I think the least we can fucking do is get this damn computer back to their place. Suck it up, Jules. This isn’t about you or your personal vendetta.”

He’s intense. When he finally backs off and leaves, Julie’s tough facade falters. She releases a shaky breath, her hard expression falling into a frown. Susie wants to comfort her friend. She takes a step forward, reaching out. “Jules—”

“Back off, Susie,” Julie warns through a voice crack. She leaves the alley with a demeanor weighed down by resignation. Joey follows.

“Frank’s right,” he mutters on his way out. He flicks his chin over his shoulder, beckoning Susie. “C’mon, Suz. Before we run into more trouble.”

Susie’s right behind him until she catches a glimmer beside a dumpster. Whatever it is, it reflects the eerie red glow from the sky above and looks like a portal into another realm. That is until Susie takes a knee and grasps the artifact into her hands. It’s a mirror. No, not a mirror—a mask. It has a reflective glass face with a black strap around the back. When she turns it around and raises it in front of her eyes, she’s surprised to find that it’s one way—she can see clearly through the other side.

“Is this for me?” she softly wonders aloud.

But she receives no answer.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

“The old lady’s missing,” Joey announces as he trudges up the porch steps, carrying the monitor. He took it off Julie’s hands during their trek back.

“Good,” Julie scoffs. “I hate that hag.”

“Quiet,” commands Frank, with a sour tone of voice. Susie’s stomach churns with discomfort.

Julie scoffs. “Still pissed your crush kicked the bucket back at that tower?” she taunts. “I expected this shit from Joey, Frank; not you. Get over it already. I don’t want you bringing this attitude back to the resort…”

Frank clenches his jaw. With his arms full, he kicks open the front door and stamps inside. “If I have to hear you bitching about that for—”

His abrupt pause surprises the group. When they tail him inside, they’re met with a startling sight. Susie’s eyes widen. “Wh— How did you get out?”

Frank’s klutz sits at the kitchen table, looking a ghastly sight. Their eyes are voids and ooze a vicious, jet-black substance. Blood paints their face red and drips down their chin, and it stains their clothes all over. Their jacket’s in absolute tatters as if it’s gone through a blender, but they bear no visible wounds.

They turn their head and blink, their eyes clearing as they offer a bright smile. Their teeth gleam against the red mask, but their eyes seem hollow. It’s a look that unsettles Susie. But the dark glint vanishes as they rise from the table with a flourish. “Well, color me impressed. You guys actually brought my new computer!”

The jarring enthusiasm makes Susie’s skin crawl.

Frank and Joey set the computer parts aside. Frank presses for an explanation. “What the hell happened?” he asks. “There’s no way in fuck you got out of there on your own—”

“Much less beat us here,” adds Joey.

Frank’s klutz shrugs. “I have my ways.”

Again, Susie catches the odd look that crosses their expression. She recognizes the look, as it’s one she’s seen many times before. It’s a look she’s worn herself. She’s seen it while looking in the mirror on dark and lonely nights; when she’d gaze into her own cold, blue eyes, wondering why her reflection never smiled or laughed or looked at her warmly. She’s seen it. She understands it.

“Right,” Frank murmurs, drawing Susie from her thoughts. “Right,” he repeats. He shakes his head. When he opens his mouth again, it’s as if he wants to say more, but his voice never comes. He keeps quiet, his lips forming a line. Julie speaks up in his place.

“You got your damn ‘Mark’. Are we fucking done here?”

“For now,” says Frank’s fixation. “I’ll tear through this computer, and if I find anything worthwhile inside its guts, I’ll let you guys know.” They smile.

Satisfied with that answer, Julie briskly spins around and leaves. “C’mon,” she barks at the others. “Let’s go home.”

Joey’s right behind her. Frank hesitates. He narrows his eyes, opens and closes his mouth like a fish, then mutters and turns around.

Then it’s just them, and Susie’s face-to-face with that hollow gaze again. It’s like looking in a… a mirror.

“I have something for you,” she blurts, shattering the silence between them. Reaching into her front pocket, she produces the glass mask. “Here.”

The klutz makes a puzzled face. They take the mask while Susie explains, “I found it in that city… I thought it was meant for me, but… I think it’s yours.”

“This isn’t mine,” rasps Frank’s klutz. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“But it was put there for you,” Susie insists. “It had to be… And I understand it now. It’s because you’re one of us. You’re a part of our Legion now, aren’t you?” Her eyes grow big, and she shows a smile dotted with braces. “And we all wear a mask. That one’s yours.”

For a minute, Frank’s klutz gazes into the glass face with an unreadable expression. But as the silence pans out, their empty gaze wavers, and their lips tremble. Their hollow eyes aren’t so hollow suddenly—they fill with dread.

They raise their hand to their face, smearing blood across their cheek and lips. “What’s happening to me?” they whisper hoarsely. Out of the blue, they drop the mask and bring their heel into the mirror, shattering it completely.

Susie jumps in surprise. “Wh-Why would you—?”

“I’m-I’m not one of you,” says Frank’s klutz through a trembling breath. “I’m not, and won’t ever be. You’re killers. Monsters. No. No—”

They retreat, cupping their face in their hands. “I’m not a part of your pack,” they spit. “I’m doing what I have to, even-even if—”

They lean against the wall and slowly, they sink to the floor, pulling their knees to their chest. “No, no, no… Please, just… just leave, Susie. Leave. I-I need to figure this out… I need to be alone.”

Susie swallows hard, heart heavy. She glances at her feet, anguished at the sight of the shattered mask. Her fractured reflection stares back at her from its shards, and her icy blue eyes show nothing.

It was such a nice gift, wasn’t it? That’s all it was: a gift. A token from the Entity, to Susie, and then to Them. Yet, They looked into Their own eyes and cowered at the sight. How can someone be so broken? To gaze upon a monster they created and recoil when it gazes back?

‘Smile next time,’ Susie wishes to say. ‘Smile, and your mask will smile back.’

But Susie says nothing. Seeing as how They snivel and weep, and retreat into Themself, there’s nothing left to say. They wouldn’t hear it, anyway. So, Susie leaves.

‘We’re nothing alike,’ she reflects on her way out. ‘Nothing at all.’

 

Continue

Notes:

Unraveled Avatar Icons for personal use! <3

Chapter 79: Sickness

 

Here you are again... In the darkness that swallows you whole in your dreams, where you’re brought to a place so frigid and cold, and unfathomably quiet—where each breath you take makes your throat burn, and the static silence has your hair perpetually on end. And, as always, you’re seated in the pool of poison, where, despite the lack of light in this place, you can see your face reflecting back at you on its rippling surface.

When you lift your head, you’re met by the appearance of that mysterious shade—the one that takes the form of a small child. It sits in front of you on its knees, its blank face never leaving your gaze. Nestled in its lap, a piece of parchment bearing a charcoal sketch: a doodle of a woman with big hair and dark skin, poised on her knees with flames all around her.

You swallow thickly and lick your lips. The words that come out are strained. “Who is that?” you croak.

“You,” says the child, in a familiar, small, female voice.

A frown tugs at your lips. “It-it’s not—”

“You,” the child reaffirms. “It’s you.”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You startle awake in the dead of night to an unsettling sight—right across from you, your own visage gazes back, with hollow eyes and a thin frown. Your heart races until recognition sets in: it’s the mirror-faced mask that was thoughtfully gifted to you by Susie.

It came back, even after you shattered the damn thing into a hundred pieces and swept it out the door. It came right back, startling you one night when you awoke to find it on the mantel of the fireplace, undamaged. Three more attempts to dispose of it were futile as, no matter the method by which you destroyed the haunting mask, it reappeared the next night, seemingly untouched. After that, you propped it on the vanity across the room, where its gleaming face greets you when you awake.

Susie was right, then. It was intended for you, wasn’t it? Some gift from a higher power, or perhaps your unseen watchers, just toying with you.

After creeping out of bed, you grasp the mask and draw it toward your face. Its touch is akin to static on your skin, yet… it’s strangely warm. Warm, and fitting, and a breath of fresh air for the first time in a long time. It’s undeniably meant for you. And, undeniably, you like it.

Affixing the mask securely to your face, you leave the bedroom and head downstairs. The familiar scents of vanilla, cinnamon, and fresh herbs are absent, and the usual sounds of Lydia bustling in the kitchen are replaced by silence. Where’s Lydia been getting off to?

You only ponder it for a minute before entering the study to collect your things: your bag, gun, lantern, and that monitor and computer salvaged from the city. It’s heavy as all hell, but you’ll never figure out what makes it so damn important until you haul it to Danny’s place and plug it in. You hope it’s worth it.

“Off we go,” you mutter, trudging through the main room. “I wanna see what you’re hiding…”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

It’s a quiet walk through the fog, for the most part, until you hear a rustle nearby and fast-approaching footsteps. You halt and look over your shoulder to see Mikaela emerge from the brush, with a dumb smile on her face.

“Ah,” she gasps breathlessly. “I thought I’d find you out—EEK!”

When you lock gazes with her, she freezes like a deer in the headlights, her eyes growing big and her jaw hanging slack. “Oh-oh!” she stammers, hastily backpedling. “You’re not who I thought you were!”

She spins around to retreat, but you shout after her, “Mikaela, it’s me!”

She stops dead in her tracks. When she turns back around, a red hue stings her cheeks and a look of embarrassment flickers across her expression. “Oh my gosh. I-I didn’t recognize you with the—” She motions at your mask while scrunching her nose, “weird mask.”

You sigh in exasperation. “Mikaela, c’mon! I’m wearing the same damn clothes I always do! You didn’t recognize the musty jacket? I never take it off!”

“Well, yeah, but at a glance, you look like one of those killers! The, uh… the Legion kids, right? They’re the worst,” she says, scoffing. “One time, the blondie stabbed me at least fifty times while I was on a hook, and all because I had the nerve to bless a totem! Forgive me for being a team player, right?” She awkwardly chuckles.

You grunt.

Mikaela clears her throat. “So, anyway… Where’d you get the mask?”

“It was a… gift,” you surrender hesitantly. Then you swiftly turn around and keep walking. “What are you doing out here, Mikaela? Looking for me?”

“Yuppers,” she answers, skipping beside you and matching your stride. “I thought I’d see if you reconsidered everything I said.”

You side-eye her. Mikaela quirks her lips. “Mm. Sooo… What’s with the relic?” Her eyes flicker toward the computer in your arms.

“It’s a Mark,” you answer. “And a heavy one, too. I’m headed someplace to plug it in.”

“You know a place?” Mikaela asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Danny’s apartment.”

“Danny? Who’s—” She cuts off as realization crosses her expression. Slapping her hands over her mouth, she exclaims, “The Ghost Face killer? Wha— Why?! I mean, from everything I’ve seen, he’s not exactly—”

“Because he has an apartment, and it has electricity,” you cut her off. “And if I’m going to find out what’s on this computer, I need to plug it in.”

“Right, right… And, uh… he won’t hurt us?”

“Us?” You raise an eyebrow.

A nervous smile creeps onto Mikaela’s face. “I’ll help you carry it there! C’mon, hand over that heavy computer.”

“Mikaela, we’re not—”

“Uh! We don’t have to discuss that partnership we talked about. Just let me help you out for once, no questions asked.”

It’s a hard offer to turn down, and this damn computer grows heavier by the second.

“Fine,” you say. Then you shove the monitor into her arms and keep moving. “Don’t drop it.”

“I-I won’t!” Mikaela pips. She readjusts her hold on her cargo and quickens her pace to keep up. “And—umph… this is heavy—and Danny won’t, erm… try to kill us, right? Right?”

“He won’t lift a finger against me, Mikaela. But I can’t promise the same for you…”

She gulps. “Oh. Okay… Well, let’s hope he doesn’t get any ideas!” She wears a nervous, wavering smile.

You smirk in amusement. “Relax. Danny’s a good boy, and I can’t imagine he’d put our alliance on the line just to carve you up. Besides, the creepy, lonely bastard might even enjoy the company.” Following a momentary pause, you sternly say, “And don’t go telling anyone around camp about this. They don’t need to know that I’m in cahoots with a killer.”

“My lips have been sealed from the moment I arrived!” Mikaela promises. “Well, until Felix and Elodie jumped me a while back, and—”

You interrupt her, scoffing. “They got to you, too?”

“Yup, uh-huh.” Mikaela sighs. “And they were really thorough. But trust me, I didn’t tell them anything about you and your killer friends. Your secrets are safe with me.” She zips her lips and winks.

“Got it.”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You never thought you’d be desperate to reach Danny’s place, but your legs ache, and Mikaela’s chatter has become overwhelming. She hasn’t shut up for the past twenty minutes.

“—And- oh! That reminds me!” she exclaims beside you, with a snorting laugh. She’s been telling you about her old job at the cafe, and the crowds she pulled in with her stories over the years. More recently, just how popular your story has become.

“I’ve gotten some INSANELY funny fanmail for this one over those few months. One of my absolute favorites comes from someone who wrote in under the alias of CaptainTingo. They wrote—and I kid you not—‘Bastion is such a daddy.’”

She lets out another snickering laugh, then wipes a tear from her eye. “I swear! And it wasn’t even the craziest one I’ve read. There was another by someone called ‘Bastions—ahem—Cumslut—who wrote: ‘I want Bastion to take me home and-and,’ she breaks off to let out another chuckle, then finishes, ‘—and rail me, no cap.’

Mikaela cracks up again. “Just a lot of stuff like that, y’know? Like, really? That’s just… that’s wild, right?”

You side-eye her. “I can’t imagine why,” you mutter. “He’s just an eldritch freak that’s been toying with me for the past year…”

Mikaela’s smile wilts. “Hey, c’mon—these are just comments coming from people who heard my stories and connected with you all during your journey. And, let’s be totally honest, we can’t blame them! I-I mean, I guess I set them up when I described Bas’ as tall and lean, and —”

“Did you mention his mouthful of razor-sharp teeth?” you interrupt bitterly. “Or the creepy-ass claws jutting from his back?”

“Mm-hmm, yep. Sorry, but I guess people are just really into unsettling monster men…” Mikaela nudges you. “Hey, even if he is a little rough around the edges, we can’t deny he has an irresistible charm.”

“Charm? Sure. But let’s not forget what he’s hiding behind the clever facade…”

Mikaela stifles her next comment as a dejected expression falls across her face. She recognizes you don’t like the topic at hand and changes the subject. “So, erm… You do a lot of this, this… this walking around, wandering—”

“Where do you think I got my fitting title?” you reply. “I wander a lot.”

“Oh, yeah!” Mikaela blurts. “Man, haven’t you ever wondered where the title came from? At first, I thought it had to be Bastion, but then I heard it again from—”

“I don’t know, Mikaela,” you cut her off. “I don’t know a damn thing out here…”

She falls silent again, but only momentarily. “Um… Is there anything we should be looking for while we’re out here? I can keep my eyes peeled, for… for anything.”

“If you see something interesting, go ahead and investigate—do what you want.”

Your abrasiveness puts another frown on Mikaela’s face. She kicks rocks while idly scanning your passing surroundings. Suddenly, her eyes light up and a smile breaks across her face. “Ooh!” she exclaims.

Surprising you, she sets down the monitor and rushes into the brush. You call after her, “Mikaela!”

“Come look at this!” she shouts.

You put down the computer and follow Mikaela into the brush, where you find her bent over a strange, oozing flower. It’s almost as big as her, with wilting yellow leaves, and a thick base that throbs as if alive. Acrid-smelling orange pus oozes from the middle, and tiny spores fill the air around it. Mikaela reaches out to touch it, but you snatch her arm and steal her away, causing her to stumble into you. You both crash to the ground, Mikaela landing on top of you with an ‘oof’.

“Why did you—”

“Don’t go touching weird stuff,” you snap, sitting up and shoving her off. “What the hell is wrong with you? Does that look like something you want to go near?”

Red in the face, Mikaela stammers, “I-I mean—”

You peer past her at the repellent plant. When you return to your feet, Mikaela joins you, fixing her glasses. “It’s definitely weird,” she murmurs. “Which is why I thought it’d be worth investigating…”

You don’t like the look of it at all. Backing away, you mutter, “Let’s not mess the nasty ass flower, huh? The fog’s full of weird shit, and we don’t need to go poking our noses into everything…”

“But it’s almost alive!” Mikaela replies, intrigued. “And it’s moving as if it’s breathing.”

“Mikaela, please,” you beg, exasperated. “Did you come out here to help me, or to hinder me?”

“Here’s a cool life hack, Mikaela,” you say. “If it’s gross, smelly, pumping out glowing spores, and breathing; leave it alone. Let’s— Let’s just get to Danny’s place, then we can swing back around and prod the oozing fucker later.”

“All right, all right,” Mikaela says, backing off. She chuckles. “You’re such a stickler,” she voices with a laugh.

“This stickler knows better,” you retort. “And unless we have one of my creepy escorts breathing down my neck, we don’t mess with weird shit.”

“Speaking of creepy escorts; when do you think our favorite eldritch daddy will swing around, huh? I know you’re not on the best of terms with him, but I’ve been dying to meet Bastion.”

“Bastion was feeling a bit under the weather the last time I saw him, Mikaela.”

“He’s sick? Like… with a cold?” Mikaela furrows her brow. Huh… I didn’t think Eldritch entities could get sick. Do you know what’s wrong?”

“Nope. And I didn’t exactly care to ask, since he had just murdered the hell out of my friend.”

“Ah, that, erm… that makes sense.”

“Count yourself lucky,” you mutter. “He’s more trouble than anything when he—”

The words catch in your throat as a startling crack slices through the air. The ground beneath your feet splinters, and a furious vein cleaves the earth apart. Time spent in the fog has sharpened your senses and reflexes—when a spindly black claw bursts through the dirt, you instinctively tackle Mikaela out of harm’s way.

Crashing to the ground on top of her, your eyes snap back over your shoulder to witness a cluster of snapping, twisting claws protruding from the smoldering vein. A look of utter bewilderment crosses Mikaeala’s face as you both get back on your feet.

She squeaks, “What’s—?!”

Her words are drowned out by a whooshing sound. You spin around, seize her arm, and yank her clear of a whipping claw. Stumbling backward, you steady yourself and follow the length of the appendage with your eyes to behold an eerie sight: Bastion, propped against a spindly tree.

You boggle at the sight of him, and the apparent ailment that plagues him. His maw is droopy and sad, and frothing with a viscous, glowing orange substance that coats his mangled teeth and drips from his mug. The ribs that typically cage his chest are spread wide open, allowing a multitude of slimy, orange tendrils to ooze from the bleeding cavity in his torso. And it’s as if he can’t maintain his balance, as his posture is bent and he holds onto the tree for dear life.

Gripping the tree bark with his black talons, Bastion’s head sways from side to side, emitting a guttural growl. His attempts at words are garbled and incoherent. You gawk at him in wonder and fear, trying to comprehend what’s happened. Notably, the orange slime that oozes from him looks strangely similar to the plant.

Mikaela tears you from your thoughts with a shriek. “Bastion?! What’s wrong with him?!”

You don’t know what’s wrong, but he’s fucked up and hostile, and you don’t want to wait around to find out if his condition’s contagious.

You grab Mikaeala’s arm and wrest her to her feet before you take off running, hauling her after you. As you break away, Bastion snarls and gives chase. You don’t have to look back to know he’s gaining.

“He’s not always like this, right?!” Mikaela screams, struggling to keep pace with you.

“I told you he came down with something!” you shout. “It’s just worse than I thought!”

You dodge another burst of claws that invade your path. “And I think it’s made him feral!”

Your retreat is cut short when Bastion suddenly takes form in front of you. You stagger directly into his clutches. A claw impales your gut, and he snatches you by the throat, yanking you off your feet while Mikaela exclaims and halts.

“Bas—” You spit blood through gritted teeth. “This isn’t a-a good look on you—”

He parts his jaws a breathes a dense, acrid cloud of glowing orange spores in your face. They burn as they travel down your windpipe, triggering a coughing fit and making it difficult to breathe. “M-Mikaela,” you rasp. “Do something!”

“What do you expect me to do?!” she shouts in panic.

“I-I don’t know!” you retort, kicking and punching at Bastion. A slimy tendril seizes your arm and wraps tightly around your fist. You cringe in disgust. “You’re a witch! Shoot magic at him! Turn him into a fucking toad!”

“I don’t do that!” Mikaela screams. “I made natural soaps for a living!”

Through a quickly fading bleary haze, you watch her haphazardly dodge more bursting claws. But in doing so, she stumbles, falls, and hits her head on a rock. She’s out cold. You scoff in exasperation.

“Bas,” you choke. “Bastion!”

He’s not himself, not at all. And it’s clear he’s incapable of communication. Whatever ails him, it’s made him vicious.

Rainbow specks dance in your vision just before a streak of light zips over his shoulder. The light erupts into a burst of fire, and a wave of heat engulfs your face. Bastion goes up in flames, and you’re flung from his grasp as a rattling shriek escapes his maw

You collide with a tree, hard, and your mask flies off and shatters. While you land on your face, groaning in pain, Bastion loses his mind—or what little of that there is. He thrashes like a bull and tears down trees in his rampage. You struggle to breathe—you can feel the spores in your throat, expanding and becoming prickly and hot, and piercing.

Gasping for breath, you claw at your neck and stagger to your feet, but your legs give out. As you crash into a writhing pile, witnessing Bastion’s demise and anticipating your own, you see a dark shape out the corner of your eyes closing in…

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

A raspy voice invades your slumber like a whisper carried by a cold, nipping breeze…

“You can’t trust that thing—the Host .”

You awaken, groggy, with a pounding skull and bad taste lingering in your mouth. Stirring, you try to focus your eyes against your muggy surroundings. Your vision gradually returns, revealing a bloom of blinding orange light straight ahead. To the right of it, a weary figure sits against a tall tree. Initially, you assume someone found you in the Fog and brought you back to camp. However, as your hazy vision sharpens, the finer details of this stranger and your surroundings become apparent. You’re in a clearing beside a campfire near a babbling brook, illuminated by the grand moon casting an eerie, cool glow over the woods.

The mysterious man beside you is draped in long, dark robes, with his cowl resting on his shoulders. As you gaze at him in awe, it dawns on you that he must be one of your enigmatic watchers.

He’s a rather handsome man with fine features troubled by age, and—if you were to guess—stress. He has short blond hair combed neatly to the left side. His skin is streaked with glowing orange veins that run down his arms to his wrists and hands. He has the most striking amber irises enveloped by black sclera, making him appear inhuman and strange. Despite this, you can’t help but think he looks… familiar.

He maintains eye contact for a minute before emitting a hoarse voice. “—I know it’s served you well until now, Wanderer, but it’s dangerous, and it may prove detrimental to our cause.”

You blink groggily at him. “Wh… What?”

He sighs deeply and tends to the fire. You shuffle uncomfortably and sit up, wincing in pain. After licking your lips, you murmur, “Are you… Are you the man who attacked me in the woods? The one I’ve been seeing in my dreams, watching me?”

You receive no answer.

Frustration wrinkles your brow. You look around and spot Mikaela nearby, lying still on a blanket in the grass.

“She’s alive,” the stranger says. “But she hit her head rather hard… You recovered much quicker; because of your uniqueness, I presume.” He tips his head in a nod toward your abdomen.

When you look down, you just notice the blooming red patch on your tattered shirt. Lifting the fabric, you grimace at the bloody wound underneath. Your flesh stitches itself back together, sewn by inky black threads that crawl over your skin. It’s healing, albeit slowly. Facing the man again, you narrow your eyes.

“Who are you? Are you with the Black Vale? Are you a cultist? What’s your game?”

“I’m a watcher, Wanderer; that’s all.”

“I doubt it,” you say.

“Doubt, then,” he replies. “It means nothing to me.”

You give him a dirty look, which he returns with a steady, unfeeling gaze. Following a pause, he prods the fire again and murmurs, “I am with the Imperiatti.”

Your heart stutters. You’re surprised he’d surrender that to you…

“The Imperiatti?” you echo. “Then… Then you must be familiar with my friends—”

“I’m familiar with much more than you will ever be, Wanderer,” he cuts you off. “And although we work toward a common goal, me and my order are not your friends.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“We are trying to destroy the Entity—trying to end this cycle. My order has pursued this goal across countless worlds for generations.”

He meets your eyes across the flames, holding your gaze. “We were brought here decades ago, Wanderer…. We had stumbled upon a strange lab on Dyer Island, close to a Rift… We were studying it when were were attacked and taken.”

You keep quiet, encouraging him to go on.

“Being here is draining us—ALL of us. And while we’ve found ways to combat the Old One’s dark influence for a long time, it won’t last forever. The madness is slowly seeping in, Wanderer, and, inevitably, we’ll all fall victim to it.”

You puzzle at him. “And why are you telling me this?”

“Because, Wanderer,” he says, “We are giving you time. Precious time—a chance. But should we decide you aren’t worthy of that, we’ll have to stop you. We’ll reset.”

“Reset? Reset what? What does that mean?”

“If you haven’t already figured it out, you’re behind.”

The stranger falls into silence again. You swallow and lick your lips. What more can you milk outta him? Or, rather, what more is he willing to say?

“You got a name?” you ask hoarsely.

He says nothing for a minute, refusing to even meet your eyes. But, eventually, he murmurs, “Janos.”

“Okay, Janos,” you begin. “Can you tell me anything else? I have so many questions that I’ve been unable to find the answers to. And if it’s true we’re both working toward a common goal, you can—”

“You think you’re the only one trying to piece it all together?” he cuts you off.

You fall silent under his steely gaze. “There are many like you, Wanderer, each following their own paths, hoping desperately to bring about the end of this nightmare. Some have many years of experience under their belts. Others, generations.”

“Others?” you say, eyes wide. “Others, like… like me?”

“Some,” says Janos. “Some, not. But you all share that goal—seeking to find all the answers and escape… No one’s done it yet, and some sincerely doubt you’ll be the first.”

You scoff. “Gee. Thanks for the vote of confidence…”

Janos disregards your attitude and growing frustration. “The Imperiatti watch you closely, Wanderer. The others doubt your capability, but I have a little more faith in that you’ll succeed in doing what countless others couldn’t.”

“Why’ve you put so much faith in me?” you ask. “What makes you think I’ll be any better?”

Janos hesitates. For a split second, you see a glimpse of nervousness on his face, evident in the tightening of his jaw and the furrowing of his brow. Following the brief pause, he whispers, “You’re different.”

He returns to idly poking the fire. You gaze at the flames with an expression wrought with weariness, dread, and apprehension. When Janos notices the way you inch away from the pit, he speaks up again, startling you.

“I saw it happen.”

You puzzle at him. He reiterates. “I saw it happen, the… the accident at the campfire. I witnessed it.”

A shaky breath escapes your parted lips as you vividly relive the moment in your mind: flames eating you alive, everything red hot, the oxygen stolen from your lungs—

You squeeze shut your eyes and expel the memory.

“The others had told me it wouldn’t burn,” you rasp. “—That it had never burned anyone else, but… but it burned me. Why?”

“You’re a virus in a bloodstream, Wanderer. An intruder someplace you don’t belong… The answer is quite simple; you weren’t supposed to be there.”

You scoff and mutter, “Yeah, I’ve been getting that impression lately… But I guess you won’t elaborate, right? One riddle after another… Why’s that?”

“They’re for you to solve. If you can’t do that, I doubt you’ll ever see the end of this harsh road.”

“Hmph.”

While silently scrutinizing your company, you notice these odd little tics in his character… How his eyes flicker erratically, and the way he fidgets and grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut tightly as if there’s something trying to get in. Sometimes, you notice, he clenches his fist and digs his blackened fingernails into his palms, sheering skin and flesh, and shedding blood.

Is this the Influence he spoke of? The madness? One thing is for certain: Janos is… unwell. And his company makes your skin crawl.

“Whatever’s happening to you, Janos, I think it’s happening to me, too. Sometimes, I… I have these moments where the world spins and falls away, and my mind becomes wracked by these awful headaches. Sometimes, even, I see things—things that aren’t really there. Shadows that whisper and scream at me, and-and…” You trail off and lift your gaze to see Janos gazing intently at you. His piercing, golden eyes burn holes in your head.

“No, Wanderer,” he husks. “You suffer a very different madness… But those things you described are, I believe, your Fog Sight.”

“Fog sight?”

“You have eyes on everything in the Fog, Wanderer. Comes with the gig.” Janos’s expression glimmers with the faintest hint of amusement, but it’s gone in a second. “You must simply hone your abilities… What do you see in particular?”

“Shadows,” you answer. “Shadowy figures that speak to me, or-or try to, anyway… But I always become sick and weak when they come around.”

“You can intercept the image or voice of anyone or anything in the fog, at any time.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means your visions aren’t imaginary,” Janos replies, sounding exasperated. “But since your Fog Sight is weak, you can’t make out the finer details of these visions. They aren’t apparitions. Just events taking place in another place at another time. You’re connected to them all, as you’re connected to the fog.”

“Oh,” you breathe. “I… think that makes sense. But… the talking beasts? What the hell are those? I know those can’t possibly be real.”

“Beasts?” Janos quirks an eyebrow.

“I’ve encountered monsters in the fog,” you elaborate. “Weird shit that speaks to me. They’ve said things like, ‘We’re watching you’, and, ‘We see you’—Don’t tell me that’s real.”

Janos furrows his brow. “That’s troubling… I suspect that must be the Black Vale’s doing. They, much like my own people, have eyes on you at all times… They share a deep connection to the Old One; they worship it. And, in turn, it gives them great power so that they may better serve it. They could be using this power to conjure monsters to seek you out, hoping to deter you.”

“But why?”

“The Black Vale is testing you, Wanderer. But don’t waver—resist their whispers in your ear, and their gentle touch guiding your back… They seek to control you; don’t allow them that.”

“Okay, okay… And another thing. I’ve been seeing this—”

“Wanderer, please.”

“Janos, c’mon; it’s a part of my job description to ask a million questions!”

Janos sighs in surrender. You continue.

“I’ve been seeing this—a child in my dreams,” you say. “A shadowy kid that comes around and shows me all these weird drawings. Is that real, too? Or am I tweaking?”

A funny look crosses Janos’ face. After a pause, he shakes his head and mutters, “Ah… Don’t mind her, Wanderer. Don’t mind her at all.”

Somehow, the more Janos speaks, the more confused you get. And as if he’s read your mind, he changes the subject. “I know how this all might sound to you, Wanderer. How you’re constantly burdened by your obligation to make sense of the unknown. You turn over one rock and find ten more questions… I’m sorry this hasn’t been easy on you, and I’m sorry to say it won’t get any easier.”

“Just a moment ago, you said we weren’t friends, Janos… But you sound awfully sincere.”

“I am, Wanderer. We may not be friends, but we’re not enemies, either.”

Janos breaks eye contact and pokes the fire with a stick. “I’ll offer you a solid lead as a gesture of good faith: I think you might find something of great interest in the pigman’s possession.”

Surprise crosses your expression. “Hodgeson? You know about him?”

“We’re familiar…”

“So, what’s he got that’s so important?”

“Find out,” says Janos, “And it will take you one step closer to finding Dyer Island… But if that lead doesn’t pan out, you can always try your luck with the mad alchemist. A Blight is upon the realms—he should soon be out of hibernation…”

You have more questions, but you’ve just about given up trying to wring the answers out of Janos. Something tells you he won’t just hand them over on a silver platter…

You resign yourself to silence while gazing at the flames. It’s a shared moment of peace that pans out over some three to four minutes before that nasty taste comes up your throat again. You cough and spit on the dirt. Janos speaks up.

“Your feral friend is ill,” he says. “As I’m sure you noticed… He’s come down with the same sickness that plagues the rest of The Fog. Be wary of the pustules. They aren’t good for your health.”

“I figured as much,” you mutter. You cough and hack a glob of glowing orange substance on your arm. You smear it on your pants and clear your throat. “Y’know, Janos, I’ve been thinking… You have a familiar face.”

Janos’s eyes widen for a split second. After tearing his gaze away from yours, he abruptly stands up and recollects his leather bag. You frown.

“Don’t tell me you’re leavin’ so soon! I was just starting to like your company.”

He says nothing in response to your snarky remarks. After tossing his bag over his shoulder, he murmurs, “The Witnesses are toying with you, Wanderer. They have been from the start. Please, be wary.”

“Does your creepy omen come with any good news, or…?”

It doesn’t. Janos pulls his cowl over his head to shroud his face. “I'll be keeping tabs on you... And until our next visit, I'll...” He trails off. Then, after a moment, he mutters, “I’m sorry for what’s soon to come, Wanderer. But in the interest of all of mankind and every world that hangs in the balance, we need to end this.”

He spins around and briskly walks away. You call after him. “Janos!”

“Don’t follow me, Wanderer,” he sternly warns you over his shoulder. “It’s for your own good… But keep in mind everything I’ve told you, please.”

He’s soon gone, enveloped in the fog. You don’t try to follow; you probably couldn’t if you tried. Besides your gruesome injury, you have a strong suspicion he’s the same man who wrecked your shit the last time you tried tailing him through the woods. You let him go, not because you want to, but because doing otherwise just isn’t in the cards.

You slump against the tree with a sigh. Gazing at the fire, you ponder everything he told you: who else could possibly be watching? How many could there be? And what’s the Black Vale’s ultimate goal? How do you tie into it? Questions, questions, questions…

A crow takes flight overhead, startling you. When you look up, it’s just a lightning-fast black streak against the moon, and then it’s gone. It leaves a feather in its wake, which flutters and twirls and falls directly into the flames.

A groan redirects your attention to Mikaela, who’s finally stirring. She blinks slowly and grasps her head with both hands as she moans in pain. Her glasses are bent out of shape, and one of the lenses is cracked. She sits up with a grimace on her face. “Ah— Wh… What happened? Where are we? Is this…?” She looks around and blinks. “Is this Danny’s place? His apartment’s… outside?”

“No,” you answer. “Eldritch daddy attacked us, remember? You fell and hit your head.”

“Ah… oh. And… And you saved me, right?”

You hesitate and weigh the pros and cons of telling her the truth. But the truth is, she doesn’t need to know about your mysterious visitor. “Yep,” you tell her.

A small smile breaks across Mikaela’s face. “My hero,” she says, falling on her back. “And did you carry me bridal-style through the fog in your strong arms?”

“What? No—”

“—With my head against your breast, feeling your calm heartbeat thumping against my troubled one…”

“Mikaela—”

“—And as I’m drifting in and out of consciousness, I look up to see your stony, cold eyes flickering with… concern, for the first time in a long time…”

Murmuring incoherently, she drifts back to sleep.

Good for her, you think. She’ll need all the rest she can get before you both haul that computer to Danny’s place…

 

Notes:

This is your friendly reminder that I read and remember every single one of your guys’ thirsty-ass comments.

Edit: If you caught me unwittingly describing the pustula flower as a “pussy plant”, no you didn’t 💀

Chapter 80: Squealer

 

You pound on the door three times and wait. Unexpectantly, it swings right open, and you’re met by a very enthused, and fully costumed Danny.

He throws his arms wide open. “Spunky!” He exclaims giddily, much to your discomfort. “I’ve been waiting for you to—”

His words come to an abrupt halt when you swing the door open fully to reveal Mikaela. She shrinks into herself with a nervous chuckle, while giving a small wave. “…Hello.”

Danny doesn’t say a word. But the telltale tilt of his head and the way his shoulders slump say it all. You don’t care what he thinks, or what he might have to say. Before he can get another word out, you bully past him and trudge into his musty apartment. The air is humid and thick with old smoke and the stench of tobacco. Beads of sweat form across your brow, illuminated by the dim glow of a bulb hanging above the kitchen. Static plays on the TV. This place stinks. You want to get this over with.

“We need to plug this shit in,” you say.

Mikaela slinks in behind you with a large girth of space between her and your cloaked host.

Danny pushes the door shut with an audible click, his masked face turned towards you. There’s a tension in his hunched shoulders as he watches you stride into the living room. “This is a surprise, Spunks,” he mutters. “I, uh… I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Uh-huh,” you mutter. When you set down the computer on the coffee table, you let out a heavy sigh. Rolling your shoulders to ease the tension in your back, you say, “Are you always wearing that stupid costume? Or did you know we were coming?”

“You caught me at a bad time, is all,” he replies with a wry chuckle.

You scan the room and spot his knife perched on the edge of the kitchen counter. Blood coats the blade and glimmers in the light. Clenching your jaw, you whip your chin toward Mikaela. “Set that down anywhere. You don’t need to stick around.”

Your words relieve her, as evident in the way the tension ebbs from her shoulders. But her eyes widen as they meet yours, her lips parting slightly before she fumbles out her words. “Oh—? Are-are you sure? I-I mean, you wouldn’t want me to leave you alone with—”

Danny clutches his pearls and lets out an audible gasp. Mikaela gulps and twirls a strand of hair around her finger while backpedaling toward the door. “Not to say I don’t trust him! But-but, uh… erm… I just think it’d be better if—” She twists her hands nervously as she stumbles over her words attempting to correct herself — “Oh, y’know what? Maybe I should go. I wouldn’t want to get in the way or anything like that! I’m just so much of a klutz, and-and I’ve still got that nasty concussion, and—”

“You don’t need to make excuses, ‘Kaela,” you say with a sigh. You concede a smile and add, “Thanks for helping me haul this stuff here. Now get back to camp and catch some well-deserved winks.”

A sudden flush of color creeps up her cheeks, staining them a soft pink as her lips form an ‘o’. “You called me—?” She swallows her words and breaks into a smile. “Of course! Anything I can do to help! And whenever you finish up here, I’ll be awaiting you at the cabin! So we can finish discussing our newfound partnership, and future plans, and maybe have some friendly chit-chat—”

“Mikaela.”

“Right! Okay.” She makes it to the door without turning her back to Danny for a second. “Bye-bye!”

And then she’s gone. Danny marches across the room and slams the door shut behind her. He pivots facing you and drops the friendly charade while pointing an accusing finger. “You can’t just bring every one of your eccentric little friends into my place uninvited, Spunks.” He spits out his words as if they’re leaving a bitter taste. “I have boundaries.”

You scoff. “And I’d hate to cross your boundaries when you’ve been so respectful of mine.”

Danny chuckles, a sound that grates on your nerves. He slinks over and taps the computer with the toe of his boot. “What the hell is all this shit? You puttin’ together a little computer club, Spunky?”

“It’s a Mark,” you answer matter-of-factly. “I got it from some alien-infested collapsing building.”

“Sounds like you’ve been having fun,” Danny replies.

You want to steal his mask and punch him in the nose. Instead, you say, “I’m just hoping it has some answers tucked away in its files. Help me set this up.”

Danny grabs the computer while you get the monitor. Together, you enter the kitchen and get everything set up and plugged in at the table. You watch with bated breath as it boots up with a low hum. The screen flashes blue and a white loading bar appears on the screen. Danny breathes over your shoulder.

“So,” he husks. “You and Brucie…”

“Bastion,” you correct him. “And he’s on sick leave.”

Danny tips his head to the side. You clarify, “You’ve noticed that strange gunk in the woods, right? The odd, orange plants? Well, whatever’s afflicting the fog has had a negative effect on him, too. He’s become feral—more so than usual…”

“Ah… So, I guess it’s just you and me then, Spunks. At least, until Buddy gets better.”

Danny’s jovial tone floods your stomach with butterflies, which become tight knots. You cast the slightest glance at him before anchoring your attention on the screen. “I wish you’d just shut the hell up,” you huff.

“Spunky, come on!” Danny gripes. “What’s with all this attitude, huh?”

“I’ve had a lot on my plate recently,” you reply, stifling the tightness in your voice. “Which I’m sure you’re already well aware of.” You peek at him accusingly. He chuckles.

Planting both hands firmly on your shoulders, he leans in and ghosts your neck with an icy breath. “Tell me what’s bothering you, Spunks.”

You swivel your head to face his mask. Leaning closer and lowering your voice to a hush, you list off: “My partner’s rogue, I had to haul this hunk of junk through the fog for an hour, and your apartment’s hot as shit.”

“Sounds like someone needs some good news… And a hug.” Danny opens his arms wide again, inviting you to bring it in. You swiftly reject his offer, flattening your hand on his mask and shoving him away. “I’m not sticking around any longer than necessary.”

“No hug? Fine,” says Danny, straightening his robes. “But how about that good news, then?”

You’ll humor him. “What is it?”

Danny throws an arm over your shoulders and pulls you in closely. “I was actually going to pay you a little visit the other night, Spunks—” Seeing the narrow look on your face, he chuckles. “—Purely on professional business,” he adds. “Yeah… See, I’ve got a bit of a lead on our squealer.”

His words give you pause. “Squealer?” you murmur. “Hodgson?”

“The one and only,” confirms Danny.

“Well—Where?” you question. “How?”

“I found the prick’s shed the other night, out there in the fog… Our little piggy wasn’t around, but I left myself an Anchor to lead me back. Now, it’s only a matter of when and where you wanna do this, Spunks.”

“I want to do it now, obviously,” you reply, shooting from your chair with a guffaw. “We need to work that bastard over and take what he’s hiding. It’s gotta be important.”

“We’re on the same page for once, Spunks!” Danny throws a fist in the air and slings his arm over your shoulders again. “Since Scoobs wasn’t sniffin’ him out, I took it upon myself… You can thank me later, baby.”

A shiver irks your spine. You shrug Danny off. Casting a glance at the computer monitor, you see it’s still loading. The loading bar has a thin fraction of white on it. Who knows how long it’ll take to boot up? In the meantime, you’ll get after your pig. “Let’s go,” you say. “I don’t want that slippery swine creeping off our radar again; it almost feels personal now…”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Dense fog cloaks your surroundings as you shadow Danny for a solid twenty minutes, his steps leading towards your mark. Silence envelops him like a shroud, his usual banter absent. And he hasn’t spared a single glance over his shoulder. Does something trouble the ghost?

Your voice breaks the silence. “You’re too quiet, Danny.”

Danny shrugs nonchalantly. “Figured you might enjoy some peace and quiet.”

“Always,” you say scoffingly. “But don’t pretend you give a damn. What’s got your tongue?”

Danny abruptly stops and pivots, facing you. “I’m bein’ honest, Spunky! I’ve got a big ol’ soft spot for ya, right here.” Danny traces a heart shape over his breast. “You’re my ray of sunshine in this shitfest.”

Your gaze hardens, meeting his mask with an icy stare, to which he chuckles at. “Oh, Spunks… I haven’t got eyes on anyone but you. Why do ya think I’m going through all this trouble, huh?”

“I was under the impression you wanted to get the hell out of here, Danny.”

“You’re not wrong… But there’s just something about you, baby. Maybe it’s that stubborn fire in your eyes, or the way you keep me on my toes. But… let’s just say you’re the kind of pal a guy like me can’t walk away from so easily.”

His voice is smooth as butter. Still, your eyes narrow at him. “You’re a smooth talker, Danny. But flattery doesn’t change the facts. You want out, and you’re using me to accomplish that.”

He tilts his head, and you can just see the shit-eating grin creeping onto his face beneath the mask, though there’s something dark lingering behind it. “Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe I’m keeping you close for other reasons.”

You cross your arms, leaning in just slightly. “Like what?”

“Like… I know what happens if I don’t. You’re trouble, Spunks. The kind of trouble that burns bridges. And I’d rather not be on the wrong side of that fire.”

His words hang in the air, thick and heavy as the fog swirls around both of you. He sounds honest, for once. It scares you.

You dwell on them before he slips back into his usual tone. “Hey, let’s just stick this shit through together, Spunks! We might just make it out alive… Maybe even have some fun along the way.”

You can’t see it, but you’re certain he winks at you behind the mask. Then he turns right around and keeps walking. You scoff at his back and follow. Danny’s charm might be a facade, but his true motives are murky. You’re no closer to figuring out if he’s friend or foe. Still, your desire to find the answers urges you to keep going, to stay close. “You’re impossible to read, Danny,” you murmur under your breath.

“And you love it,” he retorts in a playful tone.

The tension eases, but the uncertainty remains. As you continue to follow him through the fog, one thought lingers: whatever Danny’s hiding, you’ll need to uncover it before this is all over. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned the hard way, it’s that trust is the most dangerous gamble of all.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You push open the creaky doors of Hodgson’s shed, the scent of mildew and rust hitting your nostrils as you step inside. Danny slips in behind you and shuts the doors. His hushed footsteps are a soft echo in the cramped space. It’s chilly, and you rub your hands together, wishing you’d brought gloves.

“Might have to grab me a few knick-knacks,” Danny whispers, and you shush him with a glare, your breath a misty cloud in the moonlit darkness.

A single beam of moonlight sneaks through a crack at the top of the doors, casting an eerie glow over the clutter. Dust particles dance within the radiant streak, glimmering like specks of gold. You find a seat and count the seconds in the silence. A minute passes, then two, and three, then five, and ten… At some point, you start to pace, the wait gnawing at your patience. It could be hours until Hodgson arrives!

“Could be all night,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than Danny. But he hears you anyway.

“Let’s hope not,” he replies, leaning against an old workbench littered with tools that have long lost their shine.

With nothing to do but wait, your gaze scans the room. The shed is filled with odds and ends: a testament to Hodgson’s sticky fingers. You prod at a stack of old magazines, kick a dented bucket. Your foot nudges something leather, and a pair of boots appears from beneath a tarp. They look almost new, expensive even—out of place amidst the junk.

Nice, you think. Maybe I won’t need to nab Danny’s boots for myself, after all.

You reach for one boot, tipping it upside down. A desiccated rat carcass drops out, landing with a soft thud on the floor. You recoil, a disgusted curse slipping from your lips as Danny appears over your shoulder, chuckling.

“Nice find,” he teases, but there’s no humor in your grimace.

“Shut up,” you snap. “This isn’t a game.”

“Didn’t mean to poke the bear, Spunks,” he raises his hands in mock surrender, then goes silent, probably realizing you’re not in the mood.

The tension simmers between you. You go back to waiting, the silence heavy, punctuated only by the scurry of rodents in the shadows, and the distant hoot of an owl.

“Stay sharp,” you whisper, more to yourself than to Danny. “He’ll show.”

 

More time passes. It’s cold, but sweat collects on your brow. You lean back into a ratty recliner and kick your feet with a heavy sigh. Danny slinks back and forth between the makeshift aisles, pocketing doodads off the shelves into his robes. You consider grabbing something to take back to Lydia, but you don’t want any more run-ins with dead rats.

The sudden crack of Danny’s voice slices through the quiet like a knife, and you nearly jump out of your skin. “How’ve you been?” he asks, stepping toward you.

You throw him a glare that could cut glass but don’t bite back with words. Not yet, at least; you’re tired and you don’t want to engage. His head tilts under your silence, and he tries again, softer this time. “C’mon, Spunks. You’ve gotta give me something. We might be here all night.”

It grates, hearing your nickname on his lips. It’s a reminder of closeness you’re not sure you share with him. Your eyes narrow, and you press a finger to your lips—keep quiet. This isn’t a field trip; it’s a mission.

But Danny’s not one to let things lie. He prods, persistent. “Spunky!” He loudly exclaims. “Let the damn cat out of the bag. I’m itching to hear it.”

Your resolve crumbles. Or maybe you just want to shut him up. “I’ve… had a lot,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, the admission making you feel exposed. “Felt a bit overwhelmed.”

He nods, all earnest like he’s reading from a script that says, “Act concerned.” You scoff.

“Hey, I’m here for you. I’m a shoulder to cry on.”

The words should be comforting, but they’re not. They hang there, hollow, leaving a bitter aftertaste. Before you can reply, Danny comes forward and lays a hand on your shoulder.

“Danny,” you say in warning.

He squeezes you, gently. A shiver runs down your spine.

“I’m not your enemy, you know that, right?” His voice is a low whisper that tickles your ears. He rubs your shoulder, playing with a loose thread on your jacket. Each intimate touch spawns butterflies in your belly. Strangely, this feels… comforting. But you hate it.

Before you can further dissect your conflicting emotions, a sound outside snaps both of your heads up. Footsteps, uneven, approaching. You and Danny both split off and hide in the shadows.

The doors open, and from your hiding spot, you see Hodgson’s deformed silhouette framed against the misty white backdrop of the fog. Your blood boils at the sight of him. If he hadn’t gotten away the first time, you wouldn’t even be on this little field trip with the ghost. Oh, but he won’t slip away again. Because when you get your hands on him, you’ll—

—Fucking kill him, a low voice whispers in your head. Frighteningly, a part of you agrees.

Hodgson moves deeper into the shed, closer. Without a word, you and Danny both move in synchronicity as you lunge from your hiding spots at the pigman. Surprise paints his face as Danny grabs him in a swift motion. Together, you wrestle him down to the old recliner. He struggles, but your combined strength pins him.

Ropes appear—when did Danny grab those?—and you work together, looping and knotting until Hodgson is tied down tight. You step back, heart hammering, watching Hodgson squirm against his bonds, bathed in moonlight. The recliner creaks under the strain but holds.

“Gotcha,” you mutter, more to yourself than to anyone else.

Hodgson fights like a bull, squealing in surprise. “Oh-oh, you— You bastards! Never thought ah’d see you pricks again.”

He spits. You jab him in the chest with an accusing finger. “You’re the bastard, Hodgson. And you have something that belongs to us! Now, where the hell is it?”

“HA! It ain’t yours,” Hodgson retorts, squirming. “Wha’, ya’think you’re entitled to layin’ claim to everythin’ out here?”

“No,” you answer, glaring. “But I think you’re a dirty thief who took something he shouldn’t have. Am I right?”

Hodgson snorts. “I’ll tell ya the same thing I told ya last time: I ain’t have shit for you!”

You throw out your arm dismissively. Danny grabs your waist and steals you away. “Maybe we should try a different approach, Spunks,” he whispers in your ear. “We can make him talk this time, baby. We’ll get what we want one way or another…”

He speaks with some urgency. You shake your head. “Torture? You can’t be serious, Danny. We can’t just—”

“Spunky!” he hisses sharply, cutting you off. “The fucking pig won’t talk! Do you want a repeat of last time? Huh? Or do you want to get your hands a little dirty and get what we came here for?”

You cast a sidelong glance at Hodgson. “I don’t think I can—”

You can. And will .

The dark voice in your head returns, joined by a thrumming chorus of whispers. Hurt him, they insist. You can do it, they encourage.

Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, you try to force them out. But they grow ever louder, screaming at you, clawing at your skull. You can’t even hear your voice above them. “I-I… I can’t… I can’t—”

“Spunky,” Danny sing-songs in your ear. “C’mon, Spunky. I’ll make it easy for you.”

Cold steel is pressed against your palm. Danny hands you his knife, the blade flush against your skin, cold and electric. You guide your fingers along the shaft and find the hilt, wrapping your hand around it and squeezing. Danny chuckles huskily. “You got it,” he murmurs, goading you on. He’s directly in front of you, but you can’t make out his mask through the dark haze clouding your vision. The whispers persist, screeching.

“Go on, Spunks,” Danny urges you.

Do it, the voices beg.

 

Resist.

Torture him.

 

View Synonyms and Definitions

Chapter 81: Choice: Resist

 

The whispers surge, coiling tight around your thoughts like serpents. Blood, they hiss, their demands squeezing every last shred of resistance from you. They promise relief if you give in, if you let them guide your hand. You try to resist, but the pressure mounts, overwhelming you until resistance feels like trying to hold back a flood with a paper shield. Your throat tightens, constricting around every gasp, while your skin prickles with cold sweat. Danny’s voice is there, somewhere in the chaos, but it’s a distorted mess of words—taunting, encouraging you—yet drowned out by the raging voices in your mind.

They push you to the brink, but you fight to stay grounded. “N…No,” you manage through gritted teeth. “I-I… I can’t. I won’t.”

Your voice cuts through the madness. You don’t give in, not even a little. Soon, you thwart the whispers entirely, and they recede into the darkest corners of your mind until they fall silent.

Having won, your senses return, and a slow and steady breath escapes your lips. You focus on Hodgson and approach him, speaking in a cool voice. “We’re on the same side,” you tell him, your voice raw but steady. “I’m not here to hurt you. And I won’t take anything from you. But I’m doing this for all of us. If I can figure this out with your help, we can get everyone out of here—even you. Just trust me.”

Hodgson looks at you, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. For a long moment, the air between you hangs heavy with tension. But then, with a weary sigh, he relents. “It’s at my farm,” he concedes. “I’ll show ya. Just take these damn ropes off’a me.”

You hesitate.“You’re not going to run, are you?”

Hodgson snorts, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You’d catch up, kid. I ain’t that stupid.”

Taking a deep breath, you untie him, your eyes never leaving his. True to his word, he doesn’t bolt. Instead, he straightens up, rubbing his arms and wrists, and nods toward the door. “C’mon, then. We ain’t have all night.”

You follow him. Behind you, Danny simmers with frustration. “You could’ve just let me at him, Spunks,” he mutters darkly.

“It wasn’t necessary,” you reply, your voice firm as you throw him a sharp look. He stares back but says nothing, grudgingly falling in step behind you.

Following Hodgson through the fog, tension hangs heavy in the air. But for now, you’ve managed to keep the bloodshed at bay. Whether that peace will hold remains to be seen…

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Soon, Hodgson’s farmhouse looms before you. You follow him through the front door, Danny at your side. The air inside is stale, and thick with the scent of old wood and dust.

The old wooden floorboards creak underfoot. Hodgson shuffles to a corner of the room and falls to his knees, where he pries up a loose board and reaches underneath. After a moment of fumbling, he pulls out your Mark—a small, hand-held mirror, its surfaced dull and scratched. He turns and hands it out to you.

“There it is,” he says.“Hope tha’ shit’s worth it all the trouble you two pricks put me through.”

You reach out and take the Mark from him, the mirror’s handle cool to the touch. It feels oddly heavy for its size… Turning it over in your hands, you study the scratched surface. It’s this small, unassuming thing that almost cost Hodgson blood? “Where did you find this?” you question the pig man.

“Some fuckin’ pricks in the fog. Seen ‘em, one night, movin’ through the woods, clad in these dark robes, and hauling big wooden carriages… They were cartin’ something. Thought it might be the key to gettin’ out of this hellhole. Thought maybe I’d finally found my way out. Nabbed that damn mirror off a cart and snuck off ‘fore they found out. But I was wrong. Can’t do shit with it… Can’t do a damn thing.”

The words hang in the air. You look down at the mirror again, your reflection warped and distorted on its surface. If what Janos said was true, then this could very well be the key to something greater. You glance at Danny over your shoulder. “We got what we came for.”

And then you look to Hodgson again. “Thank you, for what it’s worth. I didn’t think you’d cooperate, after last time…”

He snorts. “After you sicced your goons on me? Me neither, kid. But I’ll tell ya’ what—I seen the way you stuck your neck out for me. You did it then, and you done it now, keeping your fruity friend from havin’ his fun.”

His eyes fix on Danny, who slowly shakes his head. Meeting your gaze again, Hodgson grunts. “I think yer a good kid. I don’t believe you’ll figure shit out, but you’re a good kid. Better than most you meet out here…”

You’re… glad to hear that. Nodding slowly, you turn to leave. Danny’s already out the door. Before you’re gone, you turn back and say, “I meant what I said, Hogs. I’ll get everyone out… if I can—even if it kills me. I promise.”

He doesn’t say anything, instead slumping into his recliner and waving dismissively. With that, you leave. Stepping back into the cold night, his words echo in your mind. Can’t do a damn thing.

But you can’t let that be true. Not with what’s at stake.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Stepping into Danny’s apartment sends a shiver coursing down your spine. With him breathing down your neck, you return to your computer in the kitchen and find it powered on. An input box blinks in the middle of the screen, awaiting a passcode.

Your heart pounds as you stare at it, the blank space taunting you. You have no idea what the passcode could be—until you touch the keyboard, and a fragmented memory flickers to life. You see a wall of glowing monitors before you in a dark place. It’s hot and stuffy, and a deep hum reverberates throughout the room. You sit at a computer, a man’s hands out in front of you, deftly typing a long code into the keyboard. You burn the image in your mind. And when the vision ends you take a deep breath and input the code. You hold your breath as you press Enter.

The screen blinks, and you’re in.

What greets you is a trove of information on a cluttered desktop—files, documents, and folders neatly organized but laden with odd titles. Danny leans over your shoulder for a closer look while you scan through them, your eyes catching on a familiar term: “Overlaps.”

The more you read, the more the pieces start to come together. According to the files, these “Overlaps” are rifts—tears between this reality and others. The documents speculate that these rifts allow things to pass through to Earth, but there’s no known way back. You feel a chill as you absorb the information. If these rifts are real, then it might explain how you all came to be trapped here.

Your fingers tremble as you continue reading. The name “The Black Vale” appears over and over again, tied to cult-like activities and rituals that seem to be centered around these Overlaps. The more you read, the more unsettling it becomes. Then you find it—a mention of a Dyer Island. The same place Janos, Felix, and Elodié warned you about. The files suggest it’s a site of significance, possibly connected to the Overlaps, but the details are frustratingly vague. Still, it’s enough to confirm that the island is important, and you know you need to find it.

Could this all be a way out? You’re not sure, but it’s the first glimmer of hope you’ve had in a long time. It’s only a theory until you learn more, but it’s something to hold on to.

You quickly jot down every crucial detail, filling your journal page-by-page. When you’re done, you pack up, ready to leave this suffocating apartment. But just as you turn toward the door, Danny blocks your path. “Leaving so soon, Spunks?” His voice is deceptively friendly, but you can feel the tension simmering beneath the surface.

“I’m done here,” you reply coolly. “I need to get back to the cabin and start connecting some dots.”

“I’ll tag along,” says Danny, stepping forward. “Two heads are better than one, right?”

You throw out your hand, making him stop in his tracks. “Nope—I can handle this on my own.”

He chuckles, but there’s an edge to it. “Spunks,” he says, clasping his hands in front of him. “We’ve barely scratched the surface here! Let me help you brainstorm—”

“I’m not playing your games, Danny,” you sharply interrupt. “Stay the hell away from me. I’ve had enough of you.”

He feigns hurt at your rejection, but he concedes and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright… But you better keep me in the fucking loop, Spunks. Or you might just break my heart…”

You scoff, not even bothering to mask your disdain. Spinning around, you walk toward the door and mutter under your breath, “Sure, Danny. Whatever you say.”

As you leave, the door closing behind you, the weight of what you’ve uncovered presses down on you. Dyer Island, The Black Vale, the Overlaps—each piece is part of a puzzle that could get you out of here. And now, more than ever, you know you can’t afford to let your guard down. Not with Danny. Not with anyone.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

When you return to the cabin and march to the study, you throw your bag onto the desk and rifle through its contents for your journal and brand new artifact, eager to get to work. Pulling out the chair for a seat, a voice startles you.

“You retrieved it.”

You gasp in fright and spin around, startling to find Janos shrouded in the corner of the room. With shaky hands, you light a candle and scoff at him. “Holy shit, Janos,” you mutter, clutching your heart. “Does anyone knock anymore?”

Janos doesn’t respond to your irritation, his gaze fixed on you, or rather, the mirror in your hand. You brandish it slightly, recollecting your cool. “You’ve seen this before, right? What is it?”

Janos approaches you slowly. “A tool,” he begins, his tone as smooth as ever, “that the Imperiatti have wielded against the Old One for centuries. It’s a key of sorts, which guides those with the ability to see toward the Rifts. These Rifts are where the barrier between this realm and other worlds is strongest.”

“I’ve heard about those,” you say, recalling the documents you read. “Overlaps, Blots, Rifts… They’re all the same thing, right?”

“For the most part,” says Janos. “It sounds like you’re on the right track.” You pick up a hint of approval in his voice. He extends his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, you reluctantly pass the mirror over to him. He examines it closely, turning it over in his hands as if weighing it. “This mirror can lead you to these Overlaps, these bridges between worlds. Perhaps you,” he says, handing it back to you, “will be able to use it to your advantage.”

You narrow your eyes at him, slight suspicion creeping into your voice. “Why can’t you or the rest of the Imperiatti use it? What’s stopping you?”

Janos’s expression darkens slightly. “Our power here is limited, Wanderer. This realm saps our strength… We’ve never been able to use such tools effectively within these dark realms—they became innate when they passed through. But you, with your unique abilities, may find them more… accommodating.”

His words hang in the air, leaving you with more questions than answers. “Always a pleasure, Janos,” you mutter sarcastically.

“I’m glad you think so,” Janos remarks with a tinge of amusement. Before he turns to leave, you stop him with one more question. “Did Lydia let you in?”

Janos pauses in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. “Lydia?” he repeats, turning to you.

“The old woman,” you clarify. “You might’ve passed her, nodded off in the rocking chair on the porch. She’s a sweetheart, right? Likes to invite the whole neighborhood in…”

Janos falls silent for a moment, a shadow passing over his features. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, almost distant. “Tread carefully, Wanderer… For all our sakes.”

Without another word, he leaves you alone with your thoughts.

You glance down at the mirror in your hand, feeling a strange energy radiating from it, almost like a pulse. When you catch your reflection, it’s dark and distorted, as though something stares back at you.

A shiver runs down your spine. You set the mirror on the desk and frown, unease lingering in the air. You need to keep your cool. You have to if you want to find a way out…

 

Continue...

 

Chapter 82: Choice: Torture him.

 

The whispers surge, coiling tight around your thoughts like serpents. Blood, they hiss, their demands squeezing every last shred of resistance from you. They promise relief if you give in, if you let them guide your hand. You try to resist, but the pressure mounts, overwhelming you until resistance feels like trying to hold back a flood with a paper shield. Your throat tightens, constricting around every gasp, while your skin prickles with cold sweat. Danny’s voice is there, somewhere in the chaos, but it’s a distorted mess of words—taunting, encouraging you—yet drowned out by the raging voices in your mind.

Your vision blurs and all you see is red.

Danny’s knife is in your grasp, and it feels right. The whispers spur you into a violent haze, and they purr with satisfaction, sharpening your instincts into something lethal. Your pulse thrums in your ears, matching the rhythm of the chorus that drives you forward.

Hodgson—bound and trembling—snorts and stammers, his eyes darting frantically, searching for mercy where there’s none. The Mark—he has it. And he’ll tell you where it is. He has to.

Danny’s taunts become nothing more than white noise as you close the distance. Hodgson whimpers, but the sound is distant, muted, like it’s coming from the bottom of a well. The whispers urge you on, promising clarity, control, and power. You press the blade against the skin of Hodgson’s cheek, and the first drop of blood spills to his lips like a crimson tear. His scream pierces the air, but it fuels your resolve. “Where is it?” you demand, your voice quiet and unnaturally calm, even as your heart pounds wildly in your chest.

He sputters and chokes, but doesn’t tell you what you want to hear. “C-c’mon, kid—you don’t need’ta be doin’ all of this—”

You cut him off, slicing another deep incision into his face, just below the eye. He squeals. “Tell me, piggy,” you spit through your grinding teeth. “Where?”

Hodgson’s words are garbled, lost in gasps of pain. But you keep going. The whispers won’t let you stop, not until he gives you your answers. They guide your hand, precise, carving through flesh like butter. You cut up his ugly face, his chest, and arms, and you relieve him of a few greasy digits. Soon, the blood pools at your feet, and his cries grow weaker, but you don’t relent.

“Tell me!” you scream in his face, gripping his chin in a vice-like grip. “Where’s my fucking Mark?!”

Finally, he breaks, choking on his desperation as he spills the truth. The whispers rejoice, receding just enough to let his shaky words reach you. “I-I’ve got it back at-at the farm,” he stammers, blood dripping from his lips. “I’ll show you, right? I-I’ll fuckin’ show you, kid, just—just don’t hurt me anymore.”

You’ve got your answers. But by now, you’ve already lost.

You step back, the knife slipping from your grasp, clattering to the ground. The rage subsides and the voices begin to lift, leaving you hollow, staring at the broken, bleeding man before you.

Danny’s voice cuts through the silence, impressed. “Well, Spunky… didn’t think you had it in you.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. The whispers may have gone quiet, but their echo lingers, an incessant reminder of what you’ve just done. Silently, you untie Hodgson’s bindings. He stumbles to his feet, swaying unsteadily before you give him a shove toward the doors. “Lead the way,” you rasp.

He complies without a word, shuffling forward and nursing his face in his hands. Before you take your first step after him, a sharp click echoes behind you. You turn to see Danny lowering a camera, wafting a freshly printed photo in the air with a chuckle. “You did good, Spunks,” he praises you. “Too good. You’ve got me all worked up…”

You stare at him, searching for a response, but the words won’t come. So, you pivot and get moving.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

An oppressive silence feels like a weight on your shoulders as you follow Hodgson through the fog. Soon, the farmhouse looms before you. Hodgson staggers through the front door, his frame hunched and trembling. You follow close behind, Danny at your side. The air inside is stale, thick with the scent of old wood and dust, but underneath it all lingers the faint metallic tang of blood.

The old wooden floorboards creak underfoot. Hodgson shuffles to a corner of the room, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and falls to his knees. With trembling, bloody hands, he pries up a loose board and reaches underneath. After a moment of fumbling, he pulls out your Mark—a small, hand-held mirror, its surfaced dull and scratched. He turns and hands it out to you, his face twisted in pain.

“There it is,” he croaks, collapsing against the wall. His chest heaves as he struggles for breath, his eyes filled with a blend of defeat and anger. “Hope tha’ shit’s worth it, you—you pricks.”

You reach out and take the Mark from him, the mirror’s handle cool to the touch. It feels oddly heavy for its size… Turning it over in your hands, you study the scratched surface. It’s this small, unassuming thing that cost Hodgson blood? “Where did you find this?” you question the pig man.

“Ah… Some fuckin’ pricks in the fog. Seen ‘em… one night… movin’ through the woods, clad in these dark robes, and hauling big wooden carriages… They were cartin’ something. Thought it might be the key to gettin’ out of this hellhole. Thought maybe I’d finally found my way out.”

He pauses, wheezing as his breath catches in his throat. “Nabbed that damn mirror off a cart and snuck off ‘fore they found out. But I was wrong. Can’t do shit with it… Can’t do a damn thing.”

The words hang in the air. You look down at the mirror again, your reflection warped and distorted on its surface. If what Janos said was true, then this could very well be the key to something greater. You glance at Danny over your shoulder. “We got what we came for.”

And then you look to Hodgson again. He’s a pathetic sight, struggling to stand, tucked into himself, wheezing His eyes flutter closed for a moment, and when they open again, they’re dull, filled with resignation. He knows what’s coming.

“Get it over with,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just… make it quick.”

You feel a pang of regret, the urge to say something, to offer some sort of comfort. But the words die in your throat. There’s nothing left to say.

Danny doesn’t need any encouragement. He draws his knife, the blade gleaming in the flickering, dim light. He moves swiftly, and in one clean stroke, it’s done. Hodgson slumps against the wall in a growing pool of his blood, his eyes staring blankly ahead, the life gone from them.

Danny wipes the blade on Hodgson’s shirt, then stands, turning to you with a chuckle. “Ready to get outta here?”

You nod, though the weight in your chest tells you this isn’t over—not by a long shot. You head for the door, Danny trailing behind. Stepping back into the cold night, Hodgson’s words echo in your mind. Can’t do a damn thing.

But you can’t let that be true. Not after everything you’ve done. Not with what’s at stake.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Stepping into Danny’s apartment sends a shiver coursing down your spine. With him breathing down your neck, you return to your computer in the kitchen and find it powered on. An input box blinks in the middle of the screen, awaiting a passcode.

Your heart pounds as you stare at it, the blank space taunting you. You have no idea what the passcode could be—until you touch the keyboard, and a fragmented memory flickers to life. You see a wall of glowing monitors before you in a dark place. It’s hot and stuffy, and a deep hum reverberates throughout the room. You sit at a computer, a man’s hands out in front of you, deftly typing a long code into the keyboard. You burn the image in your mind. And when the vision ends you take a deep breath and input the code. You hold your breath as you press Enter.

The screen blinks, and you’re in.

What greets you is a trove of information on a cluttered desktop—files, documents, and folders neatly organized but laden with odd titles. Danny leans over your shoulder for a closer look while you scan through them, your eyes catching on a familiar term: “Overlaps.”

The more you read, the more the pieces start to come together. According to the files, these “Overlaps” are rifts—tears between this reality and others. The documents speculate that these rifts allow things to pass through to Earth, but there’s no known way back. You feel a chill as you absorb the information. If these rifts are real, then it might explain how you all came to be trapped here.

Your fingers tremble as you continue reading. The name “The Black Vale” appears over and over again, tied to cult-like activities and rituals that seem to be centered around these Overlaps. The more you read, the more unsettling it becomes. Then you find it—a mention of a Dyer Island. The same place Janos, Felix, and Elodié warned you about. The files suggest it’s a site of significance, possibly connected to the Overlaps, but the details are frustratingly vague. Still, it’s enough to confirm that the island is important, and you know you need to find it.

Could this all be a way out? You’re not sure, but it’s the first glimmer of hope you’ve had in a long time. It’s only a theory until you learn more, but it’s something to hold on to.

You quickly jot down every crucial detail, filling your journal page-by-page. When you’re done, you pack up, ready to leave this suffocating apartment. But just as you turn toward the door, Danny blocks your path. “Leaving so soon, Spunks?” His voice is deceptively friendly, but you can feel the tension simmering beneath the surface.

“I’m done here,” you reply coolly. “I need to get back to the cabin and start connecting some dots.”

“I’ll tag along,” says Danny, stepping forward. “Two heads are better than one, right?”

You throw out your hand, making him stop in his tracks. “Nope—I can handle this on my own.”

He chuckles, but there’s an edge to it. “Spunks,” he says, clasping his hands in front of him. “We’ve barely scratched the surface here! Let me help you brainstorm—”

“I’m not playing your games, Danny,” you sharply interrupt. “Stay the hell away from me. I already did things your way tonight, and I’ve had enough of you.”

He feigns hurt at your rejection, but he concedes and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright… But you better keep me in the fucking loop, Spunks. Or you might just break my heart…”

You scoff, not even bothering to mask your disdain. Spinning around, you walk toward the door and mutter under your breath, “Sure, Danny. Whatever you say.”

As you leave, the door closing behind you, the weight of what you’ve uncovered presses down on you. Dyer Island, The Black Vale, the Overlaps—each piece is part of a puzzle that could get you out of here. And now, more than ever, you know you can’t afford to let your guard down. Not with Danny. Not with anyone.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

When you return to the cabin and march to the study, you throw your bag onto the desk and rifle through its contents for your journal and brand new artifact, eager to get to work. Pulling out the chair for a seat, a voice startles you.

“You retrieved it.”

You gasp in fright and spin around, startling to find Janos shrouded in the corner of the room. With shaky hands, you light a candle and scoff at him. “Holy shit, Janos,” you mutter, clutching your heart. “Does anyone knock anymore?”

Janos doesn’t respond to your irritation, his gaze fixed on you, or rather, the blood on your clothes. For a moment, he says nothing, then he fixes his attention on the mirror in your hand. You brandish it slightly, recollecting your cool. “You’ve seen this before, right? What is it?”

Janos approaches you slowly. “A tool,” he begins, his tone as smooth as ever, “that the Imperiatti have wielded against the Old One for centuries. It’s a key of sorts, which guides those with the ability to see toward the Rifts. These Rifts are where the barrier between this realm and other worlds is strongest.”

“I’ve heard about those,” you say, recalling the documents you read. “Overlaps, Blots, Rifts… They’re all the same thing, right?”

“For the most part,” says Janos. “It sounds like you’re on the right track.” He extends his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, you reluctantly pass the mirror over to him. He examines it closely, turning it over in his hands as if weighing it. “This mirror can lead you to these Overlaps, these bridges between worlds. Perhaps you,” he says, handing it back to you, “will be able to use it to your advantage.”

You narrow your eyes at him, slight suspicion creeping into your voice. “Why can’t you or the rest of the Imperiatti use it? What’s stopping you?”

Janos’s expression darkens slightly. “Our power here is limited, Wanderer. This realm saps our strength… We’ve never been able to use such tools effectively within these dark realms—they became innate when they passed through. But you, with your unique abilities, may find them more… accommodating.”

His words hang in the air, leaving you with more questions than answers. “Always a pleasure, Janos,” you mutter sarcastically.

He grunts. Before he turns to leave, you stop him with one more question. “Did Lydia let you in?”

Janos pauses in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. “Lydia?” he repeats, turning to you.

“The old woman,” you clarify. “You might’ve passed her, nodded off in the rocking chair on the porch. She’s a sweetheart, right? Likes to invite the whole neighborhood in…”

Janos falls silent for a moment, a shadow passing over his features. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, almost distant. “Tread carefully, Wanderer… For all our sakes.”

Without another word, he leaves you alone with your thoughts.

You glance down at the mirror in your hand, feeling a strange energy radiating from it, almost like a pulse. When you catch your reflection, it’s dark and distorted, as though something stares back at you.

A shiver runs down your spine. You set the mirror on the desk and frown, unease lingering in the air. You need to keep your cool. You have to if you want to find a way out…

 

Continue...

 

Chapter 83: The Blight

Notes:

A look at Bastion’s redesign, for anyone interested.

 

A chilly wind whistles through the dense fog as you kneel before an alien-like, pustular plant, marveling at its grotesque form. Its round base bulges from the ground like a swollen tumor, while thick, bloated leaves jut out from its crown. You grimace at their sickly yellow hue, and their jagged edges, reminiscent more of teeth than foliage.

With a notepad balanced on your knee and a pen in hand, you jot down all of this and even include an impromptu sketch. But you won’t get too close to it—especially seeing how it emits puffs of glowing spores when it “breathes.”

An hour slips by as you watch and study, learning what you can. And for about an hour, a crow’s sat above you, perched on a nearby branch. Looking up, you meet its eyes; calm and blue, reminiscent of the sea. With a sigh, you lower your gaze. “Can’t stay mad at me forever, Poe,” you mutter.

Poe caws loudly before taking off in a flurry of black feathers. He disappears into the fog—a clear sign he hasn’t entirely forgiven you yet.

You fix your attention back on the plant and decide to push your luck. Carefully, you reach out and prod a leaf with the tip of your pen. It jerks violently, and before you can react, it spews a cloud of foul orange gas into your face. You stumble backward, coughing and swearing as the acrid stench invades your nostrils. Frantically wafting the air in front of you, you retreat from the toxic cloud. “Okay,” you choke out, “that’s enough detective work for tonight.”

You hastily collect your things and walk away from the plant, putting as much distance as possible between you and it.

 

Soon after, you brandish the hand-held mirror from your bag. Staring into its murky, scratched surface, you try to make sense of Janos’ words. He had said this thing could guide you to the rift, but it hasn’t done a damn thing since you nabbed it off of Hodgson.

You tilt it from side to side, hoping for some kind of reaction, but it’s just as empty as before. A sigh slips past your lips. Maybe it’s as useless to you as it was to the Imperiatti. Or… Or maybe you’re not using it right.

Your mind drifts back to Felix and Elodie: they might have some insight that can crack this… Then again, you could always approach your killer companions. The Legion, maybe? That mask Susie gifted you is vaguely similar to this artifact… Or maybe Danny could help? Or, perhaps Bast—

No. Nope.

You’re not exactly eager for their company right now, not with everything else weighing on your mind. Maybe you should just call it a night; head back to the cabin and dig through Bryce’s notes for a while… There could be something you missed, something about this blight, or this mirror that might shed some light on all this shit.

With a resigned sigh, you slip the mirror back into your bag. With one last glance around the fog, you turn around and start for Haven.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

When you arrive at the cabin, something feels… off. Coming closer, you find Lydia’s rocking chair overturned on the porch, and the front door hangs slightly open, swaying in the breeze. A chill runs up your spine and every hair on your body stands on end. Something is wrong. Very wrong. You pull your shotgun from its sling, gripping it tightly as you creep up the steps. You’d call for Lydia, but won’t risk disturbing whatever’s inside.

The cabin is eerily quiet as you slip inside. You take a cautious step forward, then another, when your heel sinks into something wet and squelchy. You glance down and your stomach flips. Glowing orange gunk stains the floor, the same substance you saw leaking out of those pustular plants… And the same stuff that was oozing out of Bastion the last time you saw him. He was sick with whatever this shit is.

Fear makes you pause, but you force yourself to move. You need to find Lydia. You check the study first, pushing the door open with the barrel of your shotgun. Inside, the room’s a mess—papers scattered, drawers wrenched open, your chair overturned. More of that glowing muck splatters the floor and walls. You quickly scan the room—everything’s been rifled through, but it’s all still here. Who did this? And why?

Suddenly, a hand clamps down on your shoulder. You jump, whirling around with your gun raised, only to find Lydia standing there, her eyes wide and unfocused. She flinches, instinctively jumping back. “Is-Is that you, honey?”

Your heart pounds as you let out a shaky breath. “Lydia,” you whisper, lowering your gun. “What happened here? Was it—?”

“There’s something inside,” she whispers, voice trembling. “I-I… I heard it… movin’ around.” She grasps your arm tightly, clinging to you out of fear. “It came through the back door and stormed upstairs…”

Before you can respond, a muffled thump echoes from above. You both freeze.

“Hide,” you command, your voice low and firm. You guide her to the desk, helping her crawl underneath it. “Stay here.” You draw the chair in front of her, creating a makeshift wall. She blindly reaches out and brushes your arm, shaking her head. “Don’t you go getting yourself into trouble,” she insists, her voice barely a whisper. “Whatever that thing is, let it be—I don’t want you getting hurt up there.”

You place your hand over hers and gently squeeze. “Just—Just stay here, alright? I’ll handle it.”

With your heart in your throat, you leave the study and approach the stairs. The orange gunk trails up the steps, smeared across the walls. You swallow hard, gripping your shotgun until your knuckles turn white. Whoever—or whatever—is up there, you’re about to find out.

 

You keep your drawn gun as you move cautiously down the hallway, checking the bathroom first. Nothing. Then the hall closet—empty. Just as you step back, another loud bump echoes from the bedroom, followed by a deep, guttural snarl that sends a spike of fear through your chest. The bedroom door stands slightly ajar, shadows crossing the dim light that spills through the crack.

Could it be Bastion? You had hoped he’d keep his sick ass away from you until his cold passes… But there’s only one way to find out.

Heart pounding and sweat on your brow, you edge closer and peer inside. What you see makes you pause.

A twisted, almost human shape is ransacking the room. It’s hunched over, draped in tattered, sandy robes that hang loosely over a deformed body. Its jaw dangles grotesquely from its face, gaping wide and oozing orange pus that drips onto the floor in thick globs. Golden, gleaming eyes flicker with rage as it storms back and forth, clutching a wooden cane in one gnarled hand. Bulging tumors that seep with pus mar its bare arms and legs, pulsating as if alive. It moves like a rabid animal, tearing through your belongings as if hunting for something.

Your breath catches in your throat. What the fuck is that? A killer? Or something else, dredged up from the darkest corners of the fog? Or… Or could it be a man, infected by those plants, like Bastion? You don’t have the slightest idea. But you’ve decided this is way out of your wheelhouse.

You take a cautious step back, but then your eyes catch on something: vials hanging from his belt. They’re filled with glowing substances, which, unlike the samples you collected from the plants, shift, and bubble within their containers.

You grow curious—too curious. But you don’t suppose he’ll hand one over if you ask… So, you’ll just have to take one. And to do that… you’ll have to kill him.

You tighten your grip on the shotgun. Every part of you screams that this is a horrible idea, but there’s this tiny voice in the back of your head that’s waving pink pom-poms and cheering you on. You swallow hard, steeling yourself. This might end very badly, but you can’t let an opportunity like this slip away.

After taking a deep breath, you kick the door wide open. The creature whips around faster than you can react, and before you can even squeeze the trigger, he's already on you. A dark blur barrels into you with the force of a freight train, knocking you off balance. You misfire at the ceiling as you stagger back. In the next instant, pain explodes in your skull as he whacks you upside the head with his cane, splitting your head right open. You crash to your knees with a groan, the world violently spinning.

The creature snarls and swings again. The cane strikes your side, sending you sprawling across the floor. “Ah, shit—” you gasp, reaching for your shotgun. But he—or, it is faster. With a vicious kick, he sends your weapon skiing across the room, and then he lunges, grabbing you by the throat and hoisting you to your feet. His grotesque face is inches from yours, eyes burning with rage. Orange spittle lands on your cheek when he snarls, and his breath reeks of disease and decay. Panic sets in.

You quickly react, planting your feet against his chest and kicking with all your might. You wrench free from his grip, landing hard on your back. As he lunges again, you roll to the side, narrowly dodging his attack. You recollect your shotgun and fire, the blast hitting him square in the abdomen. He staggers, a guttural roar tearing from his throat. But then, to your horror, he produces a syringe from his belt. When he jabs the needle into his arm, he howls like a wild animal. You watch, wide-eyed, as an orange glow spreads through his veins, and before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, he charges again. You fire a second shot, but he barely even slows as he rams into you, sending you crashing into the wall. Your vision blurs.

The creature swings, knocking the shotgun out of your grasp. When he raises his cane to strike again, you throw your hand out in defense. To your shock, the floorboards beneath him splinter and explode, and spindly black claws erupt from below, goring him through the chest. He jerks violently, suspended off the ground, thrashing in mid-air like a fly caught in a spider’s web. Orange blood splatters your face as you stare in horror.

Try as he might, he can’t shake loose. The more he fights, the higher the claws raise him, until he dangles several feet off the floor, writhing and snarling, spit flying from his gaping mouth. You sit there, breathless, your mind reeling at the sight of him.

You glance around, half-expecting to see Bastion lurking in the shadows; this is his M.O., after all, but there’s no sign of him. No, this wasn’t him. He’s sick, not even in his right mind. And besides, you can’t remember the last time he was actually helpful.

No… that was you. You did this.

A burning sensation suddenly flares through your arm. You flinch, cuffing up your sleeve to find a startling sight—black veins twist and writhe under your skin, like something alive, squirming beneath the surface. Your breath catches. “Well,” you mutter, staring at the grotesque sight, “you see something new every day.”

A black droplet splashes onto your arm. You touch your face, feeling warm liquid running from your nose. It spills across your lips and drips down your chin. The taste is bitter, like poison, spreading across your tongue. You wipe your face with your sleeve, pushing the unsettling thoughts aside. You have more pressing matters to deal with.

Mustering your courage, you step closer to the sick man, approaching him like a wild animal. He snarls and lashes out with clawed hands. You jerk away, narrowly avoiding losing your face. You plant your feet just out of reach, scrutinizing him with a furrowed brow. “What the hell are you?”

He doesn’t respond—how could he? He has no lower jaw. He only thrashes and growls.

Damn it. The bastard’s completely rabid; you won’t get anything coherent out of him… Unless…?

An idea crosses your mind. Hesitating, you glance down at your hand, recalling the other trick you have up your sleeve—one you’ve been reluctant to use. It’s brought you nothing but misery, anyway, using it to relive suppressed memories from strangers and killers alike. But if it gets you the information you’re looking for…

Hesitant, you reach forward. He takes another swipe at you, but you duck and twirl behind him. While he struggles to reach you, you grab his arm. The contact sends a shock zipping through your frame, and for a moment, everything goes black.

 

Vials and syringes scattered across the surface of a weathered, wooden table. Papers are strewn over the floor. It’s dark, but this place—wherever you are—is dimly lit by candles that dot the walls and surfaces. You can barely make anything out. This memory is too hazy. But what grabs your attention is a vial rolling across the table to your left. Glowing orange liquid sloshes around inside it.

The man whose eyes you’re seeing through reaches for it. You barely have it in your grasp before you slip back to reality.

 

When the memory fades, you blink. As soon as your vision clears, you back away from the rabid man. That place… Could that be the lab Felix, Elodie, and Janos spoke of? And if so… Could this poor man be the mad alchemist? Janos had mentioned he would “soon be out of hibernation.”

Regardless, he’s barely more than a mindless animal. How could he possibly help you?

You don’t know what to make of this—any of this. And it’s not like you can work him over for answers. He’s just a threat now. To you, and Lydia. Decidedly, you steal a vial off his belt. Then you have an idea: after unwrapping the blood-spattered golden ribbon from around your wrist, you cram it into the alchemist’s pocket. An Anchor, for later…

“Hold onto that for me,” you mutter, grabbing your shotgun and loading a shell. “I’ll be seeing you.”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Your footsteps echo in the silence as you return downstairs. Re-entering the study, you find Lydia right where you left her, still curled beneath the desk, her hands gripping the chair leg like a lifeline. She tilts her head slightly toward the sound of your approach, her face tight with worry.

“I heard all 'em gunshots,” she says. “What happened?”

You kneel beside the desk, reaching out to touch her shoulder gently. “I handled it, Lydia,” you reassure her, keeping your voice as steady as you can. “It’s over now. But, I’ve…. got a bit of a mess to clean up.”

Lydia’s face relaxes, but only a little. She nods, her brow furrowed. “Are you hurt?”

“Nah,” you lie. “Just a few scrapes and bruises, but they’ll heal.”

After helping Lydia up and out from under the desk, you rest a hand on her shoulder and guide her out the front door. “I’ll take care of the mess, and fix up the back door,” you tell her with a smile. When you lift her rocking chair, she settles into it with a heavy sigh.

“I can’t stand all this craziness,” she mutters. “Ghouls and ghosts creeping around my house, tearing the place apart… Animals.”

“Just try to get some rest, Lydia.”

The outside is eerily quiet as you make your way around the cabin to fill a bucket at the well. After hauling it inside, you cross the main room, only to feel a warm droplet land on your forehead. Freezing in your tracks, you look up to see blood dripping from the mangled floorboards, trickling through the cracks. The sight twists your stomach into knots.

Swallowing hard, you force yourself to look away and keep moving.

 

You spend the next hour hauling the alchemist’s body—what’s left of it—outside, and scrubbing blood out of the floorboards. Afterward, you spend even longer fixing the back door and cleaning up the mess he made in your study. Once everything’s prim and proper and back in place, you pull out a chair and settle at the desk to examine that vial you nabbed off him.

You give it a swirl and watch the odd liquid bubble inside. What the hell is this stuff? And why was he injecting it like heroin?

You uncork the vial, bringing it cautiously to your nose. The scent is sharp and acrid, burning your nostrils, yet underneath, there’s an unsettling sweetness to it. You’re revulsed… and curious.

Against your better judgment, you dip your pinky into the liquid and touch it to your tongue. The taste hits you like a sledgehammer. It’s foul! A putrid mix of bitterness and decay that makes your stomach lurch. You gag and quickly seal the vial.

“Stupid, stupid…” you mutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. The taste, unfortunately, lingers.

You shove the vial into a drawer and kick it shut. Whatever that shit is, it’s not something you’re prepared to deal with now. You just need time to think. If you’re lucky, Felix and Elodie might come around. And they could have insight into your mystery liquid.

Better yet, maybe your hooded watcher will pay you a visit—he seems to know more than anyone.

But, until then, you think it’s time to call it a night… You poked the weird plants, fought a cripple, and tasted goop-juice. Yeah—you’ve done enough.

With a sigh, you rise from the desk and leave the study to make your way upstairs.

 

Notes:

Return of the Suggestion Box. I forgot about it, but I received a lot of good feedback and suggestions the last time I put it out there, so I'm bringing it back :D

In other news, I’ve recently been compelled to return to social media (R.I.P. my old IG account 🙏), and you can find me on tumblr now. The blog is presently empty, and it may remain so for a while yet; at least until I get around to sprinkling some ✨magic✨ on it. I left the Ask box up, however, in case anyone has any questions or special requests. I’d rather post requests over there than here, anyway.

That’s all! You can expect more frequent updates from me nowadays, since I’ve just come out of a rut 😊

Chapter 84: Requiem

Notes:

Received a comment in the feedback box remarking on how very far this fiction has strayed from the canon lore. And yes, you are very right, anon! That’s just an unfortunate consequence of me taking over three years to write this damn story, lol. And if I’d very much like to wrap this up, so I made the decision a while ago to quit changing the lore, even if mine’s going completely off the rails 🙃

But thank you to everyone for the feedback <3 I’ve already received some more good suggestions, which I will happily work into this story.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

 

You’ve spent less time in Lydia’s cabin, choosing instead to wander through the fog, trying to use the mirror to guide you. You’ve taken your notes, journals, blankets, and a lantern, pressing deeper and deeper into the fog, hoping to find something—anything. But you’re not even sure if you’re moving at all. It feels like you haven’t moved an inch. And maybe you haven’t—maybe the fog’s playing tricks on you…

You’re just so tired. Every step feels heavier than the last, but stopping isn’t an option. Occasionally, your thoughts drift to the vial tucked away in your study. You’ve wondered what it might do but haven’t dared inject it into your veins like the alchemist did. You’re curious, but you’re not stupid. Whatever it is, it’s dangerous.

Eventually, you find a clearing and settle down to take notes. You scribble for five minutes when a voice sounds, “So… you wanna chat?”

You glance over your shoulder at Mikaela. She sits on a tree stump, swinging her legs with a cute look on her face. Twirling a lock of hair around her finger, she says, “I was really hoping this could be a chance for us to… oh, I don’t know… get to know each other better?” She sighs. “We’ve been out here for hours, and it’s like you don’t even want to talk to me…”

You let out a tired sigh, closing your journal. “You already know everything about me, Mikaela. You’ve been in my head, remember?”

Mikaela snorts. “Not like that,” she says. “I mean, the personal stuff. Like… what’s your favorite color? Do you have a favorite song or animal, and, um… do you like girls?”

“What?”

She looks away quickly. “Hm? Oh, nothing.” Laughing nervously, she shifts in her seat. “C’mon, it doesn’t always have to be so… so awkward between us, y’know?”

You rub your temples and stand up, exhaling slowly. “You’re right.” You turn to face her, smiling behind your mask. “Sorry. I’ve just been a little…” You twirl a finger near your head. “A bit loopy, lately. I’ve had my head stuck in the clouds, worrying about… everything.”

Mikaela nods slowly, her eyes softening. “I get it. But you know I’m here for you, right? If you ever need to talk, or want a hug, or—” She blushes, then laughs nervously. “Anything.”

You smile at her and start packing your things. “Maybe we can chat over a cup of tea back at the cabin. I think we’ve scoured the woods enough for tonight.”

Her eyes light up instantly. “Oh? Alright! Let’s get back there, then!” She’s on her feet in a second, yammering. “There’s so much we can talk about! I could tell you about my hometown, my dad, and my best friend—”

Her voice fades into the background as your eyes catch the dull glint of the mirror in your bag. You grab it, just hoping this time that something—anything—happens. But as usual, nothing. A frown falls over your expression.

Mikaela suddenly appears over your shoulder. “Ooh—where’d you find that?”

You hand over the mirror with a sigh. “Around. It’s pretty, but worthless.”

She turns it over in her hands, admiring the intricate details on the handle, then her reflection. And then, unexpectedly, it begins to faintly glow.

Your heart skips a beat. “What did you do?”

Mikaela’s eyes widen. “Nothing! I just—held it! What, is it not supposed to do this?”

The glow doesn’t fade when she hands it back to you. And, to your surprise, it only brightens as you take a few cautious steps forward. “Holy sh—crap, Mikaela,” you mutter, eyes fixed on the mirror.

“What?” she asks, eyes wide. “What’s it mean?”

“We’re about to find out,” you answer. You start walking with Mikaela tailing you. With each forward stride, the glow intensifies. So, you allow it to guide your steps.

It leads you down winding paths through the woods, past a babbling creek, and under a mossy, fallen tree. Soon, it leads you to a clearing…

The world within seems… distorted. The trees flicker, fading in and out of sight, and the fog swirls unnaturally. The mirror glows even brighter now, like a full moon. With one more step forward, a glowing line slices through the air in front of you. You stumble back, heart pounding. It looks like… like a fracture in reality. It shimmers with a cold, blue light, hanging in the air, unmoving.

“Woah…” Mikaela breathes beside you, her voice barely a whisper.

But you’re not listening to her. You hear… whispers. They echo in your mind, overlapping and chaotic, like a thousand growing voices speaking at once. You don’t like this. You don’t like this at all. Yet, something compels you forward. You take one more step. Then another.

“Now, hold on—” Mikaela reaches out, sounding panicked. “We-we don’t know what that is!”

But you don’t stop. You can’t. You have to see it—have to touch it.

The closer you get, the louder the whispers grow, a cacophony of incoherent words pounding against your skull. The fracture in the air bristles, its borders expanding and spiking outward like a defensive animal. You struggle to maintain control of your body as a creepy sensation surges within you. Your muscles twitch and spasm, your breath quickens, and sweat beads on your brow. Your throat constricts, choking off your air. And then your legs grow heavy, each step forward becoming harder to manage.

You can’t… You can’t—

Mikaela screams your name, but her voice is distant, drowned beneath the waves of chaos in your head. It’s like you’re underwater, everything around you muffled, blurry, and distorted.

Your vision darkens at the edges. Still, you push forward, reaching out for the fracture. You’re so close, but the pressure inside your head becomes unbearably painful.

Your knees buckle. The world spins. You collapse on the ground in front of the rift, the whispers now a deafening roar in your ears. You try to cling to consciousness, but it slips through your fingers like grains of sand. Your vision fades to black as your eyes flutter shut, the whispers lulling you to sleep…

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

When you come to, the first thing you notice is the cold. It bites at your skin and pulls you out of unconsciousness with a jolt. You’re lying in the dirt, and as you blink your eyes open, a dark, stormy sky greets you. Rain falls in heavy sheets, soaking you to the bone. You shiver violently, hugging yourself as you slowly stagger to your feet.

You’re… someplace else. Someplace unfamiliar, deep, deep in the woods. The clearing is gone. A shiver runs down your spine. You glance around, your breath hitching in your throat. “Mikaela?” you call out hoarsely, but your voice is swallowed by the storm. There’s no sign of her.

You spot the mirror lying a few feet away, half-buried in the mud. You stumble forward and retrieve it, clutching it tightly in your trembling hands. It’s cold to the touch, its surface dulled and devoid of the glow it had before. The rift—or whatever that thing was—is gone.

You look around again, squinting through the rain. “Mikaela!” you shout. But the wind carries your voice away. There’s no response.

You’re alone.

You rustle your lantern from your bag and light it. Trudging through the storm, you wonder where you are. It’s too dark to tell, as storm clouds shroud the moon. But you make out a sound close by—a crow.

Looking up, you catch a glimpse of a dark blur streaking through the branches. “Poe?” you croak. He lands on a nearby branch, his cold blue eyes meeting yours. He caws again, beckoning you. So, you follow.

Your legs are heavy, but you force them to move, stumbling through the mud. Poe guides you through the storm until you hear it—a low melody carried by the wind. An organ, playing somewhere in the distance. Poe waits for you on a tree limb, his eyes fixed in the direction of the music.

The hymn pulls you forward until, finally, through a haze, you see the silhouette of a tall, dark church, looming against the sky. You stop at the edge of its grounds, hesitant. The music’s coming from inside. Poe flies toward it, circling its spire once before perching on a slanted cross at its peak. He watches you, waiting.

You falter at the foot of the church steps. Who could be in there, playing a piano in the middle of a damn storm? But if Poe brought you here, it must mean something… Right? You swallow hard, gathering your courage. With one final glance at Poe, you step forward and push open the heavy wooden door.

It creaks loudly, cutting through the thunder. You peer inside, your eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dim light. The hall is lined with rows of wooden pews, each dotted with half-melted candles. The glow casts flickering shadows along the stone walls. At the far end, seated before a massive organ, is a man. He’s dressed in dark vestments draped over muddied black slacks. His short, ruffled white hair catches the candlelight at odd angles. He doesn’t turn when the door groans on its hinges. Instead, his fingers glide to a halt on the keys, and the melody abruptly stops.

“Go on,” he says in a low voice. “Finish me. I’ll be back…”

His words are cold and detached, hanging in the silence that follows.

You freeze, your hand still gripping the door handle. What the hell is he talking about? Your throat feels tight, but you manage to rasp out, “What?”

The man finally turns his head, revealing a face that appears much younger than expected: mid-to-late twenties, if you had to guess. His sterling eyes are shadowed, and his features are sharp and gaunt and weary. Then you notice it—a dark, blossoming stain spreading across his abdomen. Blood. You frown.

The man studies you with a mix of surprise and curiosity as if he’d been expecting someone else—certainly not you. And then he scoffs dryly. “Oh. You are—?” He squints, then hums. “Ah. I see…”

He turns back to the organ, waving a hand dismissively. “Shut the doors, come in… Have a seat.”

You hesitate, lingering in the doorway. Finally, you step inside, pushing the heavy door shut behind you. You tread carefully down the aisle, the air thick with the scent of old wood and rot. Removing your mask, you study him. “Who… who are you?”

He doesn’t turn around. “No one, now.”

“Vague…”

You find a seat in the front pew, your eyes locked on his back as he continues to play his melody. After a moment, you murmur, “You’re a rare find… Not to sound weird, I mean. It’s just—it’s rare to find someone… normal, out here.”

He chuckles dryly. “I suppose you’re right…”

The silence grows heavier. Only the distant rumble of thunder cuts through it. Then, after a few moments, he speaks. “Tell me, Wanderer… What brought you here?”

You blink, surprised. “Wanderer…” you echo. “You… You know who I am? How?”

He stops playing, resting his hands on the keys. His shoulders sag as he answers. “Because I’m like you. Or,” he adds with a bitter edge, “I was…”

Shocked, you shoot to your feet. “I can’t believe it… Another one? Like Bryce?”

The man pauses, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Bryce?” And then he shakes his head slowly. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that name.”

You frown. “Then… maybe you came before him.” You take a cautious step forward, your voice trembling. “But this means… You know you’re—?”

“An Echo, yes.”

The man sighs, slumping forward over the keys. “I knew this day would come… I could feel myself slipping, and…” He trails off and sighs. “Perhaps… it’s better this way. I wasn’t the one… Could never be.”

When he faces you again, he wears a smile. “I’m Harriet. Or Harry, if you’d like—not that it matters, anymore…”

Frowning, you take a few more steps forward. “I… I’m so sorry.”

His lips twist into a sadder smile. “I’m more sorry for you, Wanderer. You’re stuck in the same position I was. At least now, I’m at rest… If you can even call it that.” With a dry laugh, he turns back around, shaking his head. “There have been so many of us, playing the most important role in this vicious cycle… When one falls, another rises… And the rest? They fade, becoming nothing more than obscure memories scattered about the fog for the next poor soul to find.” He laughs bitterly, the sound hollow and cold. “It’s so damn romantic, isn’t it?”

“Not the word I’d use,” you mutter. “But… sure.”

Harriet pats the bench at his side. After hesitating, you step forward and join him. He resumes his melody.

You glance at his bleeding wound. “Do you want me to—?”

“It’s healing,” he interrupts gently. “Besides, I’m only an Echo now. Won’t matter soon.”

“What happened?”

Harriet sighs. “The usual… Some beasts from the fog attacked me, and my guard wasn’t there… He never is.” His voice drops. “And it’s how I caught on so quickly, Wanderer… They were beating on the doors not five minutes ago, trying to finish me off. And then, suddenly, they vanished… It became silent.” He pauses for a moment, meeting your eyes with a steely gaze. “And then you arrived.”

His look is intense. You break eye contact and look away, fidgeting. “I hate to ask, Harry, but… did you find anything? Anything that might help me?”

“Nothing you don’t already know,” he says simply. “If I had, you wouldn’t be speaking to a ghost.”

“Shit… I-I’m sorry,” you apologize.

“Don’t be,” Harriet replies.“Be better.”

You fall silent, letting his melody fill the air between you. The wind outside picks up, battering the shutters with a howl. A draft slips through the cracks, snuffing out one of the candles perched on the organ. Instinctively, you rustle your lighter out of your pocket. Flicking it open, you lean forward to re-light the candle.

Harriet’s chuckle catches you off guard. “Ah, so you found ol’reliable,” he remarks with a hint of amusement.

You pause, glancing at him. “It’s yours?” you say, blinking in surprise. “Wait… You lost this thing in a cave, right? That cave with all the—”

“Yes,” Harry interrupts, nodding. “Along with a few other possessions. But that and my measly notes weren’t worth going back for—not with those damned cannibals lurking within…”

You force a small laugh. “Yeah, learned about those the hard way, too.” You stare at the lighter for a beat, then face him. “Do you want it back?”

“What good is it to me now? Keep it, Wanderer. Surely you’ve made better use of it than I did…”

While Harriet continues to play, your thoughts drift back to the rift you encountered. Janos was right after all; that mirror led you there, though it didn’t work out as you would’ve liked… And somehow, Mikaela activated it. It’s thanks to her you found that rift. Maybe she’s more useful than you gave her credit for… And maybe—

“Are you holding them close?” Harriet abruptly asks.

The question catches you off guard. Your brow furrows as you meet his gaze and search his face for meaning. “What… What do you mean?” you ask.

“Tomorrow is not a promise,” Harriet continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “And today… today is only fleeting.” He side-eyes you. “You and I both know how easily things slip away here… how quickly the fog can take everything. So, I ask again—are you holding them close? The people you care about?”

Your voice stops in your throat. For a moment, you fumble for something to say, but nothing comes out. Harriet sighs.

“We become so consumed with finding all the answers that we forget what’s right in front of us.”

His fingers glide to a stop on the keys, and the music ceases. A hundred emotions flicker across his face at once—Harry’s losing his cool composure. “J-Just before this, I… I was at camp. With the others, and my—” He squeezes his eyes shut as if blocking out a recent memory. But pain etches over his face. “But none of that matters now, Wanderer. What feels like it was mere hours ago for me, must be years in the past. Everyone I knew and loved, is gone. Everything I ever did—pointless.”

He throws back his head with a dry laugh. Tears well up in his eyes. “Oh… If it were up to me, Wanderer, I never would have picked up that damn Mark. I’d have left it alone and gone back to camp… And now look at me. A fragment of what I once was, doomed to wander the fog forever? At least until what little is left of my memory fades.”

You avoid his gaze, your fingers curling into fists against your will. His words cut deeper than you’d like to admit. But you shake your head, denying his words. “I’m sorry, Harry, for everything that happened to you. But it’s not up to you—it’s up to me, now. And none of those people around the fire will matter if I don’t figure this out.”

Harriet’s eyes remain fixed on you, cold and unyielding. “Maybe you never will,” he replies, his voice calm again.

You scoff. “No offense, Harry, but… I think I’m done here.”

You climb off the bench and step away. Harriet lets out a dry laugh behind you, and then a wispy sigh. “I apologize, Wanderer. But I’m being realistic. After all, there’s a reason we’re having this conversation.” He glances at you sharply from the corner of his eye.

You swallow thickly, a knot forming in your throat. You’d continue to argue with him if there wasn’t a part of you that agreed. But just below the surface, there is—there’s that nagging voice in your head that tells you he’s right. Still, this isn’t something you want to—or should—hear.

Harriet sighs. “I… I don’t mean to put you down, Wanderer,” he says quietly. “And I’m not telling you to give up hope. But hold the people you care about close while you can. Because once they’re gone, no amount of answers will fill that void.”

You don’t know what to say. But you notice Harriet’s blood seeping off the edge of the bench, pooling onto the floor. He moves weakly, his fingers dragging over the keys with less enthusiasm than before.

You grimace at the sight and take another step back. “I’ll let you rest,” you mutter, the words tasting bitter in your mouth. “And I’ll… I’ll think about what you said, Harry.”

When you start to walk away, Harriet’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife. “If the day comes that you’re approached by the new Wanderer,” he calls out, “and it dawns on you that you’re nothing but an Echo… What will you do?”

You freeze, your hand hovering over the door handle. His question lingers in the air like a poisonous cloud. For a moment, and with a heavy heart, you consider the possibility, much as you did before when you met Bryce. And... it unsettles you.

You swallow hard, forcing the idea deep, deep down where it can’t reach you. Meeting Harriet’s gaze, yours remains firm. “That day won’t come.”

Harriet hums softly. When he faces back around, his song swells around you. “Let’s hope not.”

Without another word, you push open the door and step out into the cold, replacing your mask and pulling your hood up. And as you trudge back into the fog, Harriet’s haunting melody fades out of earshot, swallowed up by the storm.

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You approach the cabin to find Lydia in her rocking chair. She knits a grey scarf, pausing when you climb the porch. Clearing her throat, you ask, “Has Mikaela stopped by?”

Lydia looks up. “I think I might’ve heard her in the kitchen,” she says with a chuckle. “Crept in through the back door a little while ago…”

You nod, stepping past her. As you reach for the door, she speaks again. “Did you find anything out there?”

For a moment, you hesitate. And then, “Nah,” you admit. “Not tonight.”

“Of course not,” Lydia says.

Her words and the bitter edge to her voice catch you off guard. You frown, facing her, “Wh… What?”

A soft chuckle escapes her lips as she continues to knit. “Not tonight. But maybe next time, honey. Keep your head up.”

You grimace. When you open your mouth to speak, she cuts you off. Then she lifts her gaze, her eyes meeting yours. “Go on inside and get yourself a cup of tea. But be careful—it’s hot off the stove.”

Hot tea? Hell yeah. Rubbing your hands together, you push through the door, murmuring, “A cup of hot tea sounds perfect right now.”

The cabin’s welcoming, warm, and the promise of a hot drink eases your bitter mood. When you step into the kitchen, you expect to find Mikaela. Instead, you find—

 

Frank. (❤)

Danny. (❤)

Joey and Susie.

 

Notes:

Mainly a filler chapter, sorry. Have to get some romantic stuff out of the way.

Suggestion Box

Chapter 85: Choice: Frank (❤)

 

You pause in the doorway of the kitchen when you spot Frank, casually helping himself to some tea. You scoff under your breath, drawing his attention. He glances over, hesitating when he catches sight of the mask still covering your face. “Hey, klutz,” he says, leaning back against the edge of the table. “I was wondering when you’d come around…”

You pull out a chair to sit down across from him. “You’re not who I was expecting… Where’s the rest of the gang?”

Frank shrugs.“I figured I’d stop by on my own. Don’t need them shadowing my every move.”

“Why not?” you ask, arching a brow.

“Because I felt like it. Why?” He just gives you a lazy grin. “Does it bother you being alone with me?”

You don’t know how to answer that. After a beat, he leans forward slightly, his expression growing serious. “So, found anything lately?”

You tug off your mask, setting it down on the table with a sigh. “A couple of leads, but nothing solid yet,” you say, grabbing his teacup and having a sip without asking. “You’ll be one of the first to know if I do, Frank.”

His gaze lingers on you, eyes sweeping over your damp clothes with a mix of curiosity and concern. “Why’re you soaking wet?”

You glance down at your clothes, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “You know how sometimes the clouds get all dark and heavy, and then water falls out of ‘em?”

He playfully narrows his eyes at you. Chuckling, you say, “Got caught in a storm, is all.”

The air hangs heavy between the two of you, tense and silent. Moments pass, and your mind wanders… Harriet’s words settle in your chest like a boulder, heavier than you’d like to admit. Your fingers thrum nervously against the table as you look up at Frank, meeting his eyes. “Do you… Do you think I should give up?”

Frank furrows his brow, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

You exhale and repeat yourself. “Do you think I should just… give up? I’ve been through so much shit, and have hardly anything to show for it. If you were in my position… Would you?”

Frank leans forward, his eyes narrowing as he studies your face. “Where the hell is this coming from?”

You shrug, a bitter laugh escaping your throat. “Met a real chipper guy out there today. He drilled that crap into my head. That, among… other things.”

Frank scoffs, an intense look flashing in his eyes. “Hell. No. Do I look like the type of guy to throw in the towel?” He shakes his head before you can respond, leaning back and kicking a foot up on the table. “No. And neither do you.”

You pause, searching his face. “Do you really mean that?”

“I think you’re a little prick sometimes, sure. But not the type to lay down and die. Shit, if what you pulled back at that city is any indication, then definitely not.”

A smile tugs at your lips. “I wasn’t expecting any words of encouragement from you, of all people.”

Frank snickers, cocking an eyebrow. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you look like the type to tell me to shut up and fuck off.”

“Fuck you,” Frank retorts. But there’s no bite in his words—just that teasing smirk playing at his lips.

You snort, leaning back in your chair, hesitating before muttering, “Thanks, Frank. I know it’s… weird between us, but I mean it. Thank you; I needed to hear that.”

Frank grins, leaning against the table. “What, the ‘fuck you’ part? Or the sappy bullshit?”

“Get the hell out," you laugh, shaking your head. “I need to get to bed.”

When you stand up, shrugging off your jacket, Frank asks, “Room for two?”

You stop dead, wild-eyed as you stare at him, caught completely off guard. He steps past you with a smug look on his face, his hand patting your shoulder.“I’m just fucking with you.” Heading for the back door, he calls over his shoulder. “I’m starting to like seeing that look on your face…”

You raise an eyebrow. “Which one?”

Frank looks back, a sly grin creeping across his expression. “The one that makes me think you like having me around. Better wipe it off your face quick, before I do something stupid…”

A sudden heat creeps up the back of your neck and into your cheeks, but when you open your mouth to reply, nothing comes out. Frank notices, chuckling softly as he steps out the door. “Later, klutz. Keep your head screwed on tight. I don’t want to hear any more shit about giving up.”

And then he's gone like that, the door slamming shut behind him, and you just stand there. The room feels smaller somehow, without his company.

Leaving the kitchen, you make your way to bed. Tomorrow, you might have to find Mikaela, so you can work out this damn mirror. But tonight, you’re going to bed with too much to think about… Harriet left a bitter taste in your mouth, but you’ll try not to dwell on his words… Instead, you’ll focus on Frank’s.

Keep your head screwed on tight, you echo in your mind.

Yeah... You will.

 

Continue.

 

Chapter 86: Choice: Danny (❤)

 

You scoff at the sight of Danny rummaging through Lydia’s pantry, tossing around cans and jars like he owns the place. “You better not let Lydia catch you in here.”

Danny’s unfazed by your sudden appearance, barely glancing over his shoulder. “Hey, Spunks. I’m just stopping by for a quick—” He stops short when he turns to face you, his gaze landing on the mask covering your face. His head slants in curiosity. “What’s with the—?” He waves a hand in front of his face in a vague gesture. “The mask.”

“It was a… gift,” you surrender, crossing your arms.

“Oh?” Danny steps closer, tilting his head. “From whom?”

“What’s it matter?”

He laughs dryly. “I’m just curious, Spunks.” He closes the distance, stopping directly in front of you. “Are you sweet on someone else out here? Huh?”

You shrug, keeping your tone casual. “Maybe.”

Behind the mask, you can feel his eyes burning through you. “Right.” Without warning, he reaches up and grasps the bottom of your mask, nudging it slightly to the side. And then he leans in, his voice dropping. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”

You scoff in his face, refusing to give him the reaction he’s looking for. “Now, why would I want to do that?”

Danny chuckles, amused, as he changes the subject. “Why are you soaking wet? Happy to see me?”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the jab as you pull out a chair at the table. Removing your mask and shedding your jacket, you sigh.

Before you know it, Danny ghosts behind your chair, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders. A shiver runs down your spine at his touch, and you glance up, meeting the sight of his wailing mask. “What the hell did you come here for?” you question.

Danny tilts his head, his voice dripping with mock concern. “I’m just checking up on you, Spunks. Came to see if you found out anything about that mirror we nabbed off the pig…”

For a split second, you consider telling him what you discovered. But you swiftly decide against it. Nothing’s come of it yet, and there’s no reason to let him in on it until you know more. “Nope,” you lie. “Nothing yet.”

Danny hums softly, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on your shoulders. “That’s a shame…”

You huff, eyes narrowing. “So you’re leaving now, right?”

He chuckles, leaning down, his masked face inches from yours. The sound of his breath is faint. “We left off on a bitter note last time, didn’t we, Spunky? How’re you feeling now?”

You refuse to turn your head toward him. “What, are you wondering how much I still hate you? A lot. Just so we’re clear.”

Danny tilts his head, but you’re not interested in humoring whatever game he’s playing. His hands slip away, and he creeps off toward the pantry again. With him no longer breathing down your neck, your mind drifts to Harriet’s words. They settle in your chest like a boulder, heavier than you’d like to admit.

A cold sweat begins to form on your brow, and you find yourself glancing toward Danny, hesitant, uncertain. After a moment, you swallow your pride and ask, “I don’t know if I should be asking you this, but… Do you think I should give up?”

Danny freezes mid-step, pausing before he slowly turns toward you. “Come again, Spunks?”

You repeat yourself, more hesitant this time. “Do you think I should just… give up? I’ve been through so much shit already, and have hardly anything to show for it. If you were in my position… would you?”

For a moment, Danny says nothing. Then, in a move that catches you off guard, he steps forward and pulls out another chair, sitting directly in front of you. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his masked gaze resting on yours. “Where’s all this coming from, Spunks?” His voice is soft, and… genuine.

You shrug, trying to push Harriet’s words to the back of your mind, but they keep resurfacing like scum in a pond. “Met some guy out there today. He drilled all that crap into my head. That, among other things…”

Danny hums, totally unreadable behind the mask. He’s quiet for a moment before he surprises you by removing his mask. Beneath, it’s just black spandex, but you can still make out the curve of his lips forming a smile underneath. He sets the mask aside, chuckling. “This is all you get, take it or leave it.”

Then there’s a pause before his voice drops, teasing. “Unless you want more clothes to come off?”

You roll your eyes. You hate that he almost made you laugh.

Danny loses the humorous tone and adopts a more serious one to answer your question. “If it were me in your shoes, no. I don’t like unfinished business… And neither do you, Spunks. It’s not your M.O.”

“How do you know what my M.O. is?”

Danny leans back, chuckling. “I know just about everything about you, baby. I am your biggest fan, after all…”

“I think Mikaela might have you beat.”

Danny grunts skeptically. He leans back, further adding to his point. “I’m being honest. You’re a fighter. It’s what inspired your nickname, Spunks.”

“Hm.”

It’s not much, but… it’s something. More than you expected from Danny, though.

After a moment, you murmur, “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but… thanks. I didn’t expect this sort of thing from you, of all people.”

Danny leans back into his chair, chuckling softly. “I can be a charmer when I want to be.”

You don’t like the warm, fuzzy feeling creeping into your chest, so you shake it off and dismiss him. “Sure. But you’re overstaying your welcome now, Danny.”

He takes the hint, slipping the mask back on as he stands, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “You sure know how to break a guy’s heart.”

The glare on your face sends him packing. Heading for the door, he calls over his shoulder, “I left a little something under your bed… Just a token of my appreciation for you, baby.”

You raise an eyebrow, standing as he steps outside. He looks back, forming a heart with his hands. “Be seeing ya, Spunks.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Suspicion prickles the back of your neck. You head upstairs and kneel by the bed to find a small black case tucked underneath. You hesitate, then slowly open it. Inside, a single red rose rests atop an overturned photo.

Your stomach twists, half-expecting it to be something bloody, grotesque, or—

When you flip the photo over, heat rushes to your face. You recoil, quickly averting your eyes. “Or… that,” you mutter. “Dirty prick…”

Dropping the photo back into the box, you notice something scrawled on the back: a messily handwritten note, reading, “Thinking of you,” with a small heart doodled next to it. Scoffing, you grab the rose and wince when you prick your finger on one of the thorns. A bead of blood drips down your palm.

“What the hell is his obsession with me?” you mutter, dropping the box on the bedside table.

It’s weird, but it makes a hell of a distraction from Harriet’s words. As you climb into bed, you try to keep Danny’s in mind instead.

You’re a fighter, you echo in your mind.

And you’re going to keep fighting.

 

Continue.

 

Chapter 87: Choice: Joey and Susie

 

In the kitchen, you find Joey and Susie, both helping themselves to Lydia’s confections. You clear your throat, stepping in. “I wasn’t expecting company… At least, not you two.”

Susie freezes like a deer in the headlights, a biscuit crammed into her mouth, which she quickly chews and swallows. Joey’s in the middle of scarfing down spoonfuls of strawberry jam, straight from the jar. He quickly sets it down, flustered. “Oh. Hey. We were wondering when you’d come around…”

Susie’s lips form a smile. “You kept the mask?”

You nod. “Yeah. Thanks, Susie-Q. I’m, uh… sorry for the way I freaked out about it, last time.”

“It’s okay,” Susie says with a smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

Joey wipes the jam from his face as you unmask and lean against the doorway, arms crossed. “Hey, don’t let me stop you two from raiding Lydia’s pantries,” you say, smirking.

Joey looks away, clearly embarrassed. Susie swipes crumbs off her hoodie.

You try not to laugh. “So, what brings you two out here?”

Joey clears his throat. “We just… thought we’d check in.”

“Oh. Well, I haven’t fo—”

“Joey wanted to see you,” Susie interrupts.

He shoots her a sharp look, but she just smirks and avoids his burning gaze. He turns back to you, flustered. “Th-that’s not it,” he insists. “We’re just checking in.”

You nod slowly. “To see how I’m doing, or…?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I haven’t found anything if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Oh…” Joey shifts awkwardly. “But… how are you doing?”

You blink, surprised. “Oh. Uh…” You hesitate, unsure how to answer. “Fine, I guess. Just been… thinking.”

Susie chimes in, curious. “Thinking about what?”

The two of them stare at you, waiting, with genuine concern in their eyes. You exhale, rubbing the back of your neck. “Uh… stuff. Things. Same bullshit as before, but… I don’t know. Never mind.”

They both exchange a look before Joey says, “Sorry to bother you. Maybe we should go—” Susie elbows him in the side, making him wince. He glances at you sheepishly, as if hiding something. With a colorful grin, Susie rustles a deck of cards from her hoodie. “We brought Uno.”

“Oh?” You look between them. “You want to… play? With me?”

Joey scratches the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. “Well—no. No. Never mind. It’s stupid. Let’s just—” Susie elbows him again, harder. He hisses through his teeth and sighs. “Unless you… want to play Uno with us?”

You think about it. Honestly, it might be a good distraction from Harriet’s nagging words in the back of your mind… And you can’t remember the last time you sat down and had some fun. After a moment, you nod. “Sure, why not?”

Susie grins as she pulls out a chair and starts shuffling the deck. You shed your wet jacket and sit down between her and Joey. His eyes widen in alarm. “Aren’t you going to change your clothes?” Joey asks.

You frown. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Joey starts to speak, but quickly clams up, his face darkening as he looks away. Susie leans over, whispering, “Look at your shirt.”

You glance down and see the problem. Shooting to your feet, you say, “Ah! Let me just… get changed real quick—” You leave the kitchen, calling back over your shoulder, “Then I’ll whoop you two at Uno!”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

You lost.

Still, it was fun.

 

Continue.

 

Chapter 88: Unearthed

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

 

A low, wooden groan pulls you from a deep sleep. You stir, head lifting sluggishly from the desk as awareness creeps back in slow waves. The faint rustle of paper meets your ears, and gradually, the pieces fall into place—you must have dozed off while pouring over your journal and notes.

Moonlight spills through the open shutter, casting silver streaks across the study, while the flickering lamp at your side bathes scattered pages in an orange glow.

You rub the sleep from your eyes and stretch, rolling the stiffness from your shoulders. When you turn in your chair, your breath catches.

A figure stands by the door, the moonlight catching his silhouette.

Bolting upright, you nearly knock your chair over, heart hammering wildly against your ribs. “Shit!” you swear. It’s only when you see the golden gleam of his eyes do you recognize your visitor.

Your hand flies to your chest as you take a step back to lean against the desk for support. “Janos,” you say, breathless and irritated. “We've talked about this. Can you knock? Please? Pretty please? I don’t need any more people creeping in and giving me a damn heart attack.”

Janos steps forward into the lamplight and raises both hands. His cowl is down, revealing his face. An apologetic half-smile curves his lips. But it’s gone in a second, replaced with a more serious expression. “My apologies, Wanderer. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You exhale heavily, irritation gradually fading as your breathing steadies. “Just… a little warning next time, alright? Knock, or announce yourself, or… whatever.”

“Of course,” he murmurs gently. He steps further into the dim light, eyes searching your face curiously. “Have you discovered anything new?”

You rub your eyes, still fighting off the lingering fatigue. “That mirror worked,” you admit. “We saw something—a… a portal, or a rift, I think. Some—glowing, round hole in the air. But I couldn’t get close to it. I felt weak, like something was sapping my energy, or stopping me. Physically stopping me from getting any closer. And the next thing I knew, I was out like a light and woke up somewhere else.

Janos’ expression shifts subtly, first hopeful, then fast becoming clouded with disappointment. “That’s unfortunate, Wanderer,” he says quietly. But after a moment, his shoulders lift slightly, optimism creeping back into his tone. “But a step in the right direction.”

He takes a few steps toward the door as if to leave. Before he goes, you stop him.

“There was… something else,” you admit hesitantly, fidgeting under his gaze. “A, uh… another killer got in and tore the place apart, and… I think he might be important.”

Janos turns back fully, eyes narrowing. “Who?”

You exhale, dragging a hand through your hair. “I think it was that alchemist you mentioned.” Sliding into your chair, you prop an elbow on the armrest, watching Janos carefully as you continue. “Putrid, gross, and oozing nasty orange pus, like those weird plants that’ve been cropping up everywhere. That’s the guy, right? When I touched him, I think I saw his lab.”

“And?” Janos presses on, intrigued.

“And I planted an Anchor on him so I can track him down,” you finish, rubbing your nape as nerves creep in. “And since you’re here… I, ah… figured we could go together.”

Janos blinks slowly. “I’m not your babysitter, Wanderer.”

“Well, no, but my other babysitters are AWOL, and I don’t want to go after that scary bastard on my own!” You push to your feet, throwing your arms up in exasperation. “I mean, he almost cracked my head like a melon last time! He’s so damn spry, and I don’t want to risk screwing this up—not with what’s at stake.” With a dramatic huff, you drop to your knees and grip handfuls of his dark robes. “Janos, c’mon. I need you and your weird powers, and your… unsettling company.”

He stares down at you, an eyebrow arching. “Unsettling?”

“Unsettling? Did I say that?” You cough, forcing a grin. “I mean, uh… your adult supervision?”

“Wanderer,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You are an adult, are you not?”

“Well, yeah, but not a very good one.” You clasp your hands together and beg. “Janos, please, please, please don’t make me go after that thing alone. I am so damn tired of going into the fog alone.”

After a few tense moments, Janos sighs heavily. He tugs you to your feet and plants a hand on your shoulder. “I will join you. But we must be quick. There are watchers who won’t take kindly to seeing me with you…”

“Got it!” You quickly scramble around the study, gathering your things. “We’ll find ‘im, get what we need, then skedaddle. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s getting the hell out of dodge.”

“Give yourself more credit, Wanderer. You’ve come this far, after all.”

His words give you pause. You look at him, hesitating, before murmuring, “Well—I-I guess, yeah… Maybe I’m not doing too bad…” After a second, you scoop your satchel over your shoulder and head for the door. “Let’s find our guy.”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

The fog coils thick around you, swallowing everything beyond a few feet into shapeless shadows. The air is damp and cold as always, and eerily, eerily quiet.

But that’s not what unsettles you.

It’s Janos.

He’s restless—his golden eyes dart back and forth, scanning the shifting mist with tension coiled in his shoulders. Every few steps, he glances over his shoulder, pauses, twitches, then keeps forward. He’s paranoid.

Granted, considering the circumstances, it’s not unwarranted. But the way he’s carrying himself puts you on edge, too.

You clear your throat, breaking the silence. “Y’know,” you begin, “when the alchemist attacked… I was able to defend myself.”

Janos barely reacts at first, still focused on scanning the fog. But something you said must register, because his glaze flicks to you, softening. He silently urges you to continue.

You exhale, trying to piece it together in a way that makes sense. “I— I caused these claws to burst out of the floor. And they just… erupted out of nowhere. They impaled him, trapped him.”

Janos stops walking and turns fully toward you. You have his full attention now. His stare is unreadable.

You press on. “It was like what Bastion’s always done. Somehow, I did it too.”

Janos hums. “Interesting,” he murmurs, watching you closely. “It sounds like you don’t need the Host anymore, Wanderer.”

You hesitate, arms folding tightly across your chest. “…Maybe not. But I’m not sure it’s something I can control.” You shake your head, eyes drifting to the swirling fog at your feet. “It just… happened. I didn’t feel it. And I haven’t been able to replicate it since.”

“In dire times of need, we often find the strength to wield incredible power. But be careful, Wanderer—yours comes from a dark place.”

“Yeah…” The word leaves your mouth quieter than you expect, uncertainty settling in your chest like a weight. You swallow thickly, then force yourself to relax. After a pause, you shift your gaze back to him. “What about yours?”

Janos tilts his head. “My what?”

“Your power,” you clarify, gesturing vaguely in his direction. “You do weird shit too, right?”

For a moment, he’s silent, as if considering whether or not to answer. Then, finally, he speaks. “The source of my power comes from generations of ancient artifacts and rituals—methods passed down, all meant to defend against the Old One. Coming here, being in these dark realms… it’s honed that power.” His voice grows quieter. “But I fear it’s fading.”

You nod and exhale. “Ah.”

Your eyes wander, tracing the swirl of fog shifting around you both. You open your mouth to say something else, but—

“Wanderer,” Janos sharply interrupts. “Remember what I told you.”

You don’t need to ask what he means. Your shoulders droop as you sigh. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I ask too many questions.” You swing around and keep walking, side-eyeing him when he falls in step beside you. “And you don’t have any answers for me, right? They’re for me to solve.”

Janos says nothing, his expression unreadable.

You shake your head. “I wasn’t gonna ask anything like that. I just thought I’d… I don’t know. Get to know you.”

Janos regards you carefully, his golden eyes darkened with something you can’t quite place. You shrug. “I just want to know who you were outside the fog. Before all of this.”

For a fleeting moment, hesitation flickers across his face. But just as quickly, his expression hardens again. “We shouldn’t,” he says quietly. “Who I was before doesn’t matter now.”

You frown. “It matters to me. We were all somebody before we got here, right? And it’s not something we should forget.”

Janos’ face becomes shadowed. He exhales slowly, lowering his gaze to his feet. He’s quiet for a long moment before murmuring, “Of course.” Another silence settles between you, lingering for a few moments before his voice breaks through again. “I had a family—a wife and son.”

“What were their names?”

“F”—Janos’ lips press into a thin line—“That’s… too personal, Wanderer.”

You raise your hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright…” Pausing, you glance at him again. “And what else? Besides all the, eh… entity hunting.”

Janos looks away. “…I hardly did a thing besides that,” he admits. “I devoted my life to it; we all did.” A grim shadow passes over his face. “And that was my biggest mistake. It’s what damned us.”

You study him for a moment, then offer a small shrug. “Well, I don’t have much to say about myself either,” you say lightly. “Nothing that wouldn’t bore you, anyway.”

Janos hums quietly in response.

A minute passes. You pull your coat a little tighter around you, your gaze drifting toward the fog. “I never imagined something like this could ever happen,” you murmur. “That a place this… this horrible could exist. When I get out, man—it’s gonna be hard to lead a normal life.”

Janos’ gaze shifts away. His mouth opens slightly, as if he wants to say something more, but then he closes it. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer. “I think you’ll manage just fine.”

You huff a quiet breath. “Thanks.”

The conversation dies there, smothered by silence.

 

Soon, up ahead, the fog thickens—denser than before, a solid wall of shifting black. You hesitate as you approach, heart rate ticking up slightly. But as you near, the fog begins to part, peeling back to reveal… a clearing.

You step forward hesitantly, Janos close behind. Confusion knots your brow as you spin around, scanning the open space. “Where’s the damn lab?” you mutter. “I followed the Pull. It led us here, but—”

Your words cut off as your sights land on something ahead.

A tree.

But no ordinary tree—a massive, ancient thing wrapped in black bark. It towers high above the clearing, its gnarled branches reaching like twisted arms toward the smothering gray sky. But what truly unsettles you is the enormous, gaping hole carved into its trunk, yawning like an open maw.

A chill trickles down your spine. You approach cautiously, your instincts screaming at you to be wary. The last creepy tree you encountered in the fog tried to drag you under…

Janos says nothing as you both draw nearer. When you reach the hollowed trunk, you crouch down and click on your flashlight, angling the beam towards the opening. The light barely penetrates the black. It’s a void.

You swallow hard, turning to Janos. “What do you think?”

Janos studies the tree, the darkness inside, then hums. “If the Pull led you here,” he says evenly, “we should proceed.”

You blink. “Proceed? Like… inside the tree?” You gesture vaguely at the gaping hole. “Sorry, but I don’t think we’ll find a lab in there…”

“Wanderer.”

You sigh. Running a hand through your scalp, you take a steadying breath and straighten up. “But I guess there’s only one way to find out, right?”

You step forward, slowly crossing the threshold into the darkness.

 

At first, there’s nothing. Just the hollow quiet of the cavern swallowing you whole. The deeper you go, the darker it becomes, the thick scent of damp earth clinging to the back of your throat. The silence stretches thin.

The entrance behind you shrinks, the faint light becoming a mere pinprick—a distant portal at the end of the tunnel. It's then, you realize, this is far from an ordinary tree.

Your foot lands with a sudden splash.

You jolt, stumbling back and into Janos as the cold water seeps through your boots. The sensation tightens your chest. Hesitation roots you in place until Janos’ hand finds your shoulder, grounding you. He squeezes you reassuringly, and after a steadying breath, you press forward.

The water rises higher with each step—soaking into your clothes, clinging to your skin. What began as a shallow pool soon reaches your knees, then your thighs. The further you go, the more the air thickens with damp, stagnant cold.

Then your foot falls off a ledge.

With a sharp gasp, you lose your balance, the ground vanishing beneath you. You slip, your body tilting forward and your arms flailing as the water rises and claims you. You plunge into the water, the numbing cold instantly stealing your breath as you’re swallowed whole. Panic surges through you as you twist and flail, trying desperately to claw your way back to the surface. But where is the surface?

Disoriented, you fight against the weightless void, but the deeper you sink, the harder it becomes to tell which way is up. Your heart pounds against your ribs, your chest burning as the need for air becomes unbearable.

Then, your head breaks the surface.

Cold air burns your throat as you gasp for breath. You scramble onto solid ground, water streaming down your face as you blink rapidly, trying to adjust to your surroundings.

When your vision clears, you’re no longer inside the tree.

You’re standing—soaking wet, breathless, and shivering—inside a dreary, dark camp.

The silence is suffocating. Rows of barracks stretch endlessly into the distance, their wooden frames warped and brittle with age, roofs sagging. Barbed wire fences, rusted and twisted, coil around the perimeter, their jagged edges swaying in the frigid wind. Guard towers loom against the gloom like sentries.

The air is sharp and biting, sinking through your soaked clothes and straight into your bones. The sky above is vast, an expanse of dull gray clouds, rolling like a heavy blanket, smothering the land beneath it.

It’s so… quiet. There’s nothing, no one; just the remnants of something long abandoned.

The ground beneath you is solid—hard, barren, and cracked, with patches of frost clinging to the dead earth. The wind whistles through the barracks, their doors swaying slightly, groaning. Inside, you glimpse rusted bunks sitting undisturbed and empty. Beyond the fences, the land stretches far into dense white mist, shrouding anything and everything beyond it.

This realm is eerie.

You turn around and notice a puddle. Just a puddle—a shallow, murky pool of water in the mud. Is… Is that what you emerged from?

With a sudden realization, you bark in surprise. “Janos!”

Dropping to your knees, you reach into the puddle, surprised by its depth as it swallows your whole arm. And to your surprise, you latch onto something. Quickly, you pull back with all your might, surprised and relieved as Janos emerges.

He claws his way out, hacking up water and crashing to his knees. His robes are soaked through, heavy. He rolls over and lands on his back to catch his breath. “Th… thank you, Wanderer,” he rasps. “Now, that’s… interesting.”

For once, he doesn’t look poised or composed. Just thoroughly, and unpleasantly, drenched. You’d laugh if he didn’t almost drown.

“Yep,” you murmur. “But would you believe me if I said this wasn’t even the craziest thing I’ve seen in the fog?”

“I believe you,” Janos replies. He exhales sharply and pushes himself to his feet, taking handfuls of his robes and wringing them out. “A prison camp,” he murmurs, his golden eyes scanning the looming structures and tents. “This… would be Dyer Island.”

“So,” you begin, “where’s the lab?”

Janos squeezes the excess water from his sleeve before straightening, his gaze sweeping over the camp. “I don’t know. This is from a different time. The island has changed—it’s… warped. And—”

He stops short.

You don’t like that.

His demeanor shifts. Your nerves prickle, your body tensing. “And…?”

Janos’ expression becomes sharper, his posture going rigid. “And we aren’t alone.”

A booming gunshot splits the silence.

The force of it slams into you like a hammer blow, pain blooming white-hot in your arm. You stagger, a sharp cry escaping your lips as the impact nearly sends you to the ground. Janos catches you, steadying your weight against him.

Your breath is ragged, your mind reeling as you clutch your wounded arm. Then you see them.

The mud stirs. The ground moves.

Figures rise from the filth—undead soldiers, their uniforms tattered and rotting, faces twisted in rage. Beside them, wretched men garbed in rags claw their way free from the earth, their sunken eyes glinting red with hunger. Their teeth are bared and feral snarls tear from their throats.

Another soldier levels an antique rifle. The barrel flashes.

You barely register it before Janos slams into you, throwing you both clear of the shot. The bullet whizzes past.

Janos scrambles to his feet, yanking you upright. “We’re in the right place,” he says breathlessly, his eyes darting across the rising dead, “but in the wrong time!”

You both run.

The air is thick with the sounds of the damned. Howling, wailing, screaming. No matter where you turn, more of them emerge from the earth, fueled by hunger.

Janos throws out a hand. A shockwave erupts from his palm, slamming into the growing horde. The force sends them flying.

“We can’t leave without finding that lab!” you shout over the chaos.

“Of course, Wanderer!” Janos retorts, pulling you forward. “But we must survive to find it!”

You round a row of ragged tents, your heart hammering. The sight ahead makes you stop cold.

There’s more of them—dozens more, hundreds even. The way forward is blocked, a sea of undead growing by the second. Behind you, more press in. You’re surrounded.

You glance up—the perimeter fence towers overhead, stretching high, its barbed wire gleaming in the moonlight. There’s no getting over that, not without getting riddled with bullets.

“I can use my power,” you say, your pulse pounding.

Janos spins toward you. “No.” His voice is firm. “Do not give in the dark power residing within you. Its roots—”

“I need to find that chemist!” you snap, cutting him off. “And I need to figure out what the hell this all means! And if that means—!”

A gunshot rings out.

An explosion of pain detonates at the back of your skull. Your head jerks forward violently, your vision shattering into static. You crumple to the ground, your limbs slack, and the world flickering in and out like a failing signal. The noise around you fades into nothing—Janos’ voice, the snarls of the undead, the crackle of distant gunfire—all of it is sucked into a muffled void.

Dark shapes loom over you, lunging, screaming. Janos hurls them back with the strange power he wields, but it’s not enough. They’re closing in, fast.

Then you feel the Surge.

It builds up in your chest, slowly at first, rippling through your limbs, expanding, burning. You barely manage a breath, the words slipping weakly from your lips. “J… Janos… g-get a… get away…”

Janos whirls to you, saying something. His mouth is moving, his eyes frantic, but you can’t hear him.

Your pulse roars. The pain deepens. The Surge builds, twisting, squirming. “Get… away,” you murmur again. But it’s already too late.

The agony reaches its breaking point. You feel a sharp pain in your heart, then you hear a crack.

And then they break free.

With a sickening, wet rip, claws explode from your back and chest. The force of it wrenches you upright, spine arching as fresh wounds burst open, spilling blood and something thicker, something darker onto the ground beneath you. Gore drips from your body, viscera clinging to you like grotesque ornaments. The air stinks of raw, exposed flesh.

Janos staggers back, his breath catching.

His eyes—wide and gleaming in terror—lock onto yours. His mouth opens, but no words come out.

Your vision is fractured, reality slipping through the cracks of your consciousness. Everything moves in bursts—the blur of motion, the crunch of bones, the wet spray of flesh breaking apart. The world spins.

Then it stops.

Then it moves again, faster than you can process.

Warm liquid splatters your face, runs down your cheeks, soaks into your skin. Your mouth…. it feels full. Your teeth sink into something soft. Thick. Meat. Blood floods your tongue. And it tastes…

Good.

It feels good. It’s—

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Over.

When you come to, the first thing you see is the night sky. Empty, dark, and without a single star. Cold air nips at your skin, and as your senses stir, you register a dull, aching pain thrumming through your entire body. You wince, slowly shifting, trying to sit up. Fabric pools around you, thick and heavy. Robes.

Janos’ robes.

Janos—

Panic surges through you as the memory of what happened hits like a freight train. Your head snaps around, eyes darting wildly, terrified of what you might find. Of what you might have done.

Then—

Janos.

He sits a short distance away on an overturned wooden crate, watching you. Silent. Still. His expression is unreadable, his eyes sharp and scrutinizing. He’s without his robes, wearing a fitted black tunic, its high collar fastened with a row of small, tarnished golden buttons. The fabric is worn and stitched with faint, intricate patterns along the cuffs and hem—runes, perhaps. The tunic clings to his frame, outlining lean muscle beneath layers of dark cloth.

Over this, he wears a long, sleeveless vest made of leather, buckled at the chest with dark iron clasps. His arms, now fully visible, are wrapped in dark bandages from his wrists up to his forearms, just barely covering the golden veins pulsing along his arms. And his trousers are black, fitted with a belt that holds a few worn pouches and a sheath for a slender, curved dagger.

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. What do you even say?

Swallowing hard, you glance down—and immediately freeze. Your legs are bare.

Mortified, heat crawls up the back of your neck. You hastily pull the robes tighter around yourself, shrinking into them. “My clothes—?”

“Ruined,” Janos says simply. His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “Shredded. Bloodied. Ruined.”

You wrap your arms around your body. Slowly and hesitantly, you raise your gaze to meet his. “So…” Your throat feels dry, tight. “What… what did I—?”

Janos exhales heavily. “Wanderer…” he starts, but then stops. His lips press into a thin line as a shadowed expression falls over his face. For a moment, he says nothing. Instead, he turns away, whispering something under his breath which you can’t quite hear. His eyes shut briefly, then open again, locking onto yours. “You're safe,” he says at last. “For now. But we must find the Alchemist and leave this dark realm.”

You nod slowly, unsure of what else to do. Bracing yourself, you push up onto unsteady legs, hugging the robes tightly around your body. Something bitter lingers on your tongue, coating the inside of your mouth. You grimace, rolling your tongue against your teeth, then spit to the side.

Whatever it is, it’s thick, dark, and… wrong.

You shudder, forcing the taste from your mind. Then, after a pause, you close your eyes, focusing. “I can still feel it,” you murmur. “The Pull. The Alchemist is here. Somewhere. The lab… It’s underground, right?”

Janos inclines his head slightly. “Right.”

“Well… Let’s find it.”

 

While exploring the camp, it’s eerily quiet. Hard to believe what happened mere hours ago… The undead army is gone, entirely. But you won’t dare ask what happened—you have a good enough idea, anyway…

Walking through the aisles of tents and broken barracks, you wonder what transpired here before, in the real world. This is a piece of history, pulled into the fog. But everything here only tells a story of suffering. It’s so cold, and those prisoners you saw seemed… trapped.

You try not to think about, but it’s impossible. The air is heavy with the past, with memories not your own. You wonder how long this place has been abandoned… If it was ever truly abandoned at all.

“It was human wickedness,” Janos says, breaking the silence, “that drew the foul god to our worlds.”

You glance at him. His gaze sweeps over the camp. He continues. “It feeds on emotion. On pain. On hope and suffering. It becomes stronger from it. And then it corrupts those susceptible to its influence. And it corrupts more. And more. And the cycle never ends.”

A cold shiver runs down your spine. You don’t respond, but his words settle in your chest, leaving behind a gnawing unease.

You walk in silence for a while longer, lost in thought until your foot lands on something that creaks. You freeze. Glancing down, you scuff the mud with the toe of your boot, revealing the edge of a wooden board.

Janos steps beside you, watching. Together, you crouch and pry at the panel, lifting away the rotted wood. Beneath it, hidden in the earth, is a narrow stone staircase, leading into the dark. At the bottom are heavy metal doors.

You and Janos share a look. And with silent agreement, you descend.

 

The air in the corridor is thick with decay. Musty, damp, rank. Each step sends the scent of rotting wood and old metal curling into your nose. The stone walls are slick in places, moisture gathering where time’s worn the surface down.

Ahead, you hear a sound. A dull, rhythmic thump. You slow your steps, your heart rate quickening. Pressing yourself to the wall, you peer carefully around the corner.

The lab.

It’s a chaotic mess. Papers are scattered across desks and shelves, vials and jaws strewn haphazardly, some cracked, some empty, some still filled with dark, viscous liquids. The walls are lined with cabinets, their doors hanging open, stuffed with yellowed documents and brittle, curling parchment. Glassware clutters every surface, glinting faintly under the dim, flicking glow of gas lamps and scattered candles.

It smells stale in here. Like chemicals left to fester.

Your breath catches when you spot movement on the other end of the room.

There’s our chemist…

The Alchemist trudges through the room, his cane tapping sharply against the stone floor with each uneven step. His movements are erratic, his posture hunched. He grunts, growls, and tears through papers with shaking, clawed figures, flipping through them with the urgency of a man searching for something.

You watch him for a moment, unsettled. How could someone who must have once possessed so much knowledge have been reduced to this?

Slowly, you slip back behind cover. Turning to Janos, you whisper, “We need to restrain him somehow.”

Janos watches you, waiting. “Before, I… I used that power to do it. But I don’t think I can just do it again at will.” Your voice lowers. “So…?”

“We’ll figure something out,” Janos replies quietly.

Your mind races. You need a plan. Quickly, your eyes scan the room, darting between the overturned desks, scattered vials, the tall, teetering bookshelf lined with dusty tomes…

That’ll do.

You whisper your idea to Janos. He nods along with it in agreement. After taking a deep breath, you step forward, out into the open.

“Hey, you rotten bastard!”

The Alchemist freezes. His snarling breaths hitch, and his head snaps up, glowing, sunken eyes locking onto you in an instant. A horrible, wet sound gurgles from his throat, his rotting fingers tightening around his cane. Then, he lunges.

You barely dodge, ducking under a wild swing and sprinting toward the bookshelf. “C’mon, try harder than that!”

The killer gives chase, growling. When you reach the shelf, you stop, waiting for the right moment… Finally, when he’s upon you, you throw yourself clear out of the way. When you hit the floor, you watch Janos step into view, throwing up a hand and blasting a shockwave of energy across the room. The force topples desks, sends papers flying, and shatters vials. Beyond that, it hurls the killer into the shelf with extreme force. He slumps, dazed from the impact. The shelf sways off balance. You give it the nudge it needs, and the entire thing topples forward.

It crashes down onto him, a deafening, splintering sound filling the room as the weight crushes him flat against the stone floor. Dust flies up and chokes you, momentarily clouding your vision before it settles.

When the dust clears, you see the killer squirming, snarling, and struggling to get free. He can’t.

Steeling yourself, you step forward. And when you kneel, you press a hand to his exposed, rotting skin. And then—

 

Darkness.

Hazy, indistinct shapes flicker through your mind, twisting, distorting. You hear a voice.

“Grimes, this is your last warning. Don’t—”

 

You’re ripped back into reality.

Your breath is unsteady, your head spinning. You stagger back slightly, barely aware of Janos watching you from the corner of your vision. “Mr… Grimes?” you murmur, uncertain.

The Alchemist stiffens. His animalistic snarling stops. And his sunken, glowing eyes snap to you, something shining deep within them—recognition. Slowly, his mouth opens—or tries to. But he has no lower jaw. The sound that emerges is a garbled, guttural attempt at words. Grunts. Growls. He’s trying to speak.

You inhale sharply, your mind racing. How do you understand him? Do you… Do you free him? But what if he attacks?

As if sensing your hesitation, the killer tilts his head knowingly. Janos shifts beside you, silent.

You clench your jaw. Seems you’ll have to take a risk.

You scour the lab for a paper and a quill before returning to the shelf. Then, you look to Janos. “Let’s get this off him.”

With effort, you and Janos brace yourselves against the bookshelf, lifting it just enough for the Alchemist—Grimes—to claw his way out. He moves slowly at first, dragging himself forward, his malformed limbs trembling slightly under his weight. Once he’s free, he growls and takes a step toward you. Instinctively, you tense. Janos stiffens beside you. But before things escalate, you extend the paper and pen.

Grimes stops. His head tilts slightly before he snatches them from your hands.

You watch in silence as he scratches harsh, jagged lines across the page. Then, with an impatient grunt, he thrusts it back toward you.

Talbot Grimes.

You blink. His name.

“…Talbot,” you murmur. Slowly, you allow yourself the smallest smile. “Alright… this is a start. A good start.”

Carefully, you hand the paper back to him. “So, uh… shit.” You let out a short breath, rubbing your temple. “What first? We don’t know how long you’ll be in control, so… I’m, uh… I’m the Wanderer. Nice to meet you, Mr. Grimes.”

You extend a hand.

He looks at your hand, looks back up, then spits. You grimace. With a low, rumbling growl, he scrawls something else across the page. When he hands it over, you read aloud:

The beast is sick.

A frown tugs at your lips. “The beast?” you murmur.

“The Old One,” Janos answers before you can ask.

Talbot nods. You crease your brow. “And it’s sick? Sick how? It’s only affecting the plants, and the wildlife, and—”

Talbot scribbles more, then hands it over. You read:

The Beast is everywhere, everything . And this blight is a symptom of its sickness. It is purging what makes it ill.

Your throat feels tight. If the Old One—the Entity, the Beast—is everything, then…

“Then how,” you murmur, the question barely forming as you swallow a lump in your throat, “would we stop it?”

Talbot hesitates. Then, slowly, he begins to write. When he hands the paper over, you read his response aloud:

I never had the chance to finish my research. I was taken. Changed . That is why I never found the answer to controlling the Purge… or getting out .

Your fingers tighten around the paper, a spark of hope igniting in your chest. “Do you really think controlling this—whatever this is—means escaping?”

Talbot gruffs and spits a glowing hunk of goo onto the floor. When you return the paper and quill, he writes his response.

It is only a theory. When something is sick, it becomes weak. And when it weakens… it expels the sickness.

You read what he wrote, nodding along to it to show you understand. He continues.

If I can exacerbate the Purge, the veil between this realm and the outside world may become weaker. If that happens, we can find these weak zones and escape.

The possibility of a way out being so close makes your heart skip a beat. A smile breaks out across your face and you do a little hop. “That’s… awesome!” you exclaim. In your excitement, you slap his shoulder. He snarls at you, making you jump back and put your hands up in defense. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just— I’m in disbelief. You’re telling me there’s a way out of here? And all we’ve gotta do is… make this bastard sick?”

Talbot snatches the paper back, growling. He writes aggressively before pushing it into your breast. It reads:

Were it so simple, I would not be here .

Talbot shakes his head violently, a guttural growl rumbling from his throat. Agitated, he storms through the lab, knocking aside scattered papers and empty vials with jerky, aggressive movements.

You follow after him, raising your hands in a calming gesture. “Okay, so… so what do we need to do to make this happen? How can I help?”

At that, Talbot whips around, his sunken eyes glinting with anger. He snatches the paper again, scrawling fast and messy before practically throwing it at you.

Who are you? How can you help?

His breathing is heavy and ragged. When he looks at you, it’s doubtful—challenging.

You grip the paper, exhaling sharply. “For starters,” you say, “it’s because of me that you’re even in your right mind right now.”

Talbot tilts his head.

You continue. “I broke the Entity’s hold on you. Without me, you’d still be little more than an animal tearing through this place without a clue of who you are!”

His head tilts further, as if considering. You exhale. “It’s—it’s a long story, alright? I’m special. And I can help. Just tell me what you need. I want to get out. I want everyone out, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

A long silence stretches between you. Talbot writes, then hands the paper over. You scan the words quickly.

I need more time. More resources. Resources which are being kept from me by the Entity.

You chew the inside of your cheek. “Okay… And what might those be?”

Talbot writes again, growling in frustration.

I don’t know.

You sigh heavily. “Shit,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “So where the hell do we even start?”

Talbot scratches a few more words.

For now, give me time. We will find the answer together .

You stare at the words, hope sparking in your chest. Slowly, you nod. “…Yeah. We can do that.” Then, you extend your hand once more. “Do we have a deal?”

Talbot hesitates. His glowing, sunken eyes lower to your outstretched hand. He stares at it for a long moment before finally, carefully, giving it a shake.

You grimace as his skin touches yours. He’s scalding hot, his palm oozing with thick, orange pus, his grip rough. The second he lets go, you wipe your hands furiously on your pants. “Okay,” you mutter under your breath, shuddering. Taking a step back, you exhale. “Well… uh. I’ll let you get to it, then. I don’t wanna get in the way… But if you need anything—”

Talbot’s already writing before you finish.

I know where to find you.

You suck your teeth, shifting on your feet. “Yeah, uh—actually? I’ll come to you, okay? You still got my ribbon?”

Talbot tilts his head, clearly confused. You shake yours. “Never mind. Just—I’ll be back. No surprise visits, please? You wrecked my shit last time…”

He lets out a short, rough gruff, which you assume is the closest thing to an agreement you’ll get.

With that settled, you turn around to leave, only to pause.

Janos is gone.

Your brows furrow as you glance around. When did he slip away?

Unease creeps up your spine as you step cautiously out of the lab and into the corridor, scanning your dim surroundings. Behind you, Talbot storms across the room, most likely tidying up after the mess you made.

 

When you make it outside and reach the top of the stairs, you find Janos kneeling in the dirt. His head is bowed, his golden eyes distant, and his gloved fingers working quickly, scratching some strange symbol into the ground. His lips move, muttering something too low for you to hear.

For a moment, you hesitate. Then, you step forward, reaching for his shoulder. “Janos?”

At the sound of your voice, he jolts. He whips around, his eyes snapping to yours. He looks like he just woke up from a nightmare. Then, just as quickly, he collects himself. The tension drains from his shoulders, and his expression hardens into something more composed.

“…Are you okay?” you ask carefully.

Janos exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “The madness gets to me sometimes, Wanderer,” he admits quietly, sounding exhausted. He rubs his temples briefly before continuing. “But I’m fine. For now.”

You don’t quite believe him, but you don’t push.

Instead, you change the subject. “Talbot’s cooperating.”

“What did you learn?”

“Well, our chemist has this theory about forcing a purge and using a weak spot to escape.”

Janos nods slowly. “It could be a way out. But it won’t stop the Entity. The ultimate goal is that, Wanderer. Destroying this ancient evil for good.”

“I agree. But I need to make sure everyone gets out alive.”

“A noble goal. But don’t let that blind you from our main priority.”

“It won’t.”

When Janos stands up, you glimpse the symbol he scratched in the dirt. It’s a circle with a line slashed through it... familiar. You raise an eyebrow. “What’s…?”

Janos shakes his head, scuffing the dirt with his heel. “Nothing. Let’s go, Wanderer. This realm sours my mood.”

 

✱ ✱ ✱

 

Haven is quiet when you return.

The dim glow of candlelight flickers from inside the house, casting faint, wavering shadows onto the porch. The boards creak under your step before you stop in front of the door. Your eyes flick to the usual spot where Lydia should be waiting. But she’s missing. Again.

You frown slightly, but push the thought aside. It’s nothing new. Instead, you turn to Janos, standing just off the steps, his golden eyes dark and watching you.

A breath leaves your lips before you find the words. “Thank you… for going out there with me.” You shift, rubbing your arms. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if I went alone.”

Janos’ gaze lingers on you for a moment. Then, in a soft murmur, he replies, “Of course.”

He hesitates, then moves as if to turn away. But before he can leave, you stop him. “Hey—” He glances back. You ruffle the robes. “You want these back?”

“Keep them,” he replies. “They’ve been feeling… stuffy.” He takes one step back, but stops again. This time, you see it in his face. He looks… conflicted.

Surprising you, he steps back up onto the porch. You straighten instinctively, caught off guard when he suddenly takes your hand. Your breath hitches.

His fingers brush over your palm, turning it slightly, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. The touch is… unexpected. Almost intimate, even. In a murmur, he says, “Wanderer, you… what you did today—”

You cut him off. “I wasn’t in control,” you say quickly, your voice tight. “I don’t even know what that was, but…” Your fingers twitch slightly in his grasp. “It saved our lives, didn’t it?”

Janos frowns. And for the first time, his expression cracks. Not with frustration, nor judgment, but with uncertainty. His eyes lift, locking onto yours. “It did,” he admits softly. “But at what cost?”

The question stings.

Your mouth opens slightly, but no answer comes. The words just don’t form. Finally, hoarsely, you whisper, “I… I don’t know.”

Janos moves again, surprising you completely. His hand lifts, and he cups the side of your face. Your breath catches sharply. His fingers are warm, his touch lingering just long enough to make your pulse quicken. He studies you, his golden eyes piercing yours and making you nervous under his gaze. Then, in a low voice barely above a whisper, he murmurs, “So… human.”

He has that look on his face again—the distant one. He’s not all there, you know this.

Your chest tightens. “…Janos?”

Abruptly, he blinks. His hand drops and his posture stiffens. And with uncharacteristic haste, he steps back. “Goodbye, Wanderer,” he says. And it’s the last thing he says before he turns sharply and disappears into the fog.

You stand there, frozen in place, heart hammering.

What… was that?

Deeply confused, you exhale and run a hand through your hair. Then, shaking off the lingering unease, you step inside and shut the door behind you.