Exposure Therapy

by Undead_po3ts

Summary:

MALE! reader
You are the newest survivor. YAY! But you're... off.
You seem to be breakdancing on the line of morals (at least in the eyes of the other survivors)

And you're not really good at this people thing 😬

Chapter 1: A/N *SUGGESTIONS*

Summary:

Decided to take suggestions!!!

So I wanted to make a spot for people to suggest interactions (and what happens during) between the reader and whoever.

 

I want to mention that for this story- I'll only take suggestions that flow along with my current plot line.

 

If I can find a place for the suggestion later on then it'll definitely be used.

 

Any that I can't slip into this story will be given a separate work for a little series.

 

Tell me what you want and I'll make it a reality baby 🥰/j

Chapter 2: Chpt 1: <Dull>

This is kinda nice. Feels floaty.

 

Did it work?

 

Why does it taste like dirt...

 

You wouldn’t think dead people are supposed to taste dirt. Then again you wouldn’t think dead people would be laying face down on the woods floor.

Actually, that one makes sense.

Well, it would in any other situation but not one where a person assumed their death on concrete and awoke on the soft cushion of leaves. With a groan, the newest survivor sat up with leaves sticking to him like a second skin. With a quick check and an assessment of no injuries, a path was made as worn boots stepped through the fog. It was nearly impossible to see roots or jagged rocks if you weren’t really looking, but you had a knack for finding things no one else could point out.

As you walked, great caution was taken with each step; unsure what lay ahead, but concious of the posibility of danger. Each crackle, shift, squeak kept you on edge. Nearly hypervigilant on your path and ready for something to jump.

Rust colored leaves floated like fresh snow all around you, leaving no spot bare. You had to admit that the leaves were intricate in their patterns. Falling in swoops and swirls.

You almost got lost in thought before noticing the absence of crunch under your shoes. Looking down, the path of the leaves gently dispersed outward in a gradient as a clearing became visible.

 

As you silently stepped further without the crunch of the leaves there to give you away, you slowly creeped up on a light and… music? Yes, there was a soft melody of a guitar playing in the distance. If you listened past the guitar you could make out the soft murmur of voices. Curious, you made your way through the clearing with the cloak of night keeping you unseen.

A little further and you can start to make out some sort of campfire? When the light revealed the scene, a small twinge of discomfort and wrong settled in your chest. There were roughly somewhere between 20 and 30 people sitting on logs, walking around, or engaged in conversation just a ways away from the fire. There were too many people here out in the open. Unguarded.

 

In the momentary panic that settled over you, the carefully crafted hiding spot vanished as a pair of eyes met your own. Before you could even blink, more eyes shifted over to the mass right outside their campfire.

“What is that!”

The shrill cry of a dark haired girl made you flinch from the alerting sound. Did they want to be heard? Before anyone else could get loud, you stood from your crouched position with your hands raised, palms out, and spoke in a low tone.

“I was just wandering around to get an idea of where I was. Not trying to intrude. I understand if you feel uncomfortable. I’ll be on my way.”

Luckily the words worked if the slumping of shoulders was anything to go by. But before you could get a foot behind your position to leave, a man about your height reached out his hand as if asking not to leave. Temporarily, you listened.

“No, No. We didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. We just weren’t expecting-” his eyes roamed the peoples faces of the camp in poorly hidden sorrow “-another.” He looked at you like he expected for you to suddenly get it and go “Oh yeah totally. That’s 100% understandable. But yes I’m ‘another’, Mr. random man in a weird forest with loud members.”

Those words did not infact leave a mouth; instead replaced by silent confusion. Did they have a staring problem? Did no one want to explain what the mystery man was talking about?? Instead…

“What?”

Realization dawned quickly on the mystery mans face as he started stumbling over his words. Before he got half-way through the explanation of what this plane of existence was, black ash started circling four different people.

One of the four including you.

Chapter 3: Chpt 2: <Knives>

Summary:

Your first trial! YIPPIE!!

How will you fare? 🤨

Tell me when you guessed who the killer was 🤭

The ash left your body in the same manner that it came, leaving you staring dumbly at the muddy land under dirty boots. Being in a new area, there was no time to be wasted standing out in the open. As quickly as you arrived you seemed to disappear, ducking behind large stones and pallets to stay out of sight and figure out what to do next.

 

With the shadow of a large stone keeping your crouched form covered, you observed the same man who was explaining this hell quickly stumble through the clearing, leaving muddy footprints in his wake. He seemed to be searching for something… or someone?

 

After watching him flounder around for a few moments, your previous assumption was solidified; he was terrified. Every other second he was looking over his shoulder for a seemingly invisible threat. Not wanting to know if the man's fear was tangible, stepping out to ask what to do in this… trial seemed unlikely to end on a positive note.

 

So instead, you opted to follow the man around and learn by example. After he gave up his search for the mystery thing, the man made his way back to where he came from. Darting from rock to tree to pallet with skilled steps kept the man oblivious. You watched as he made his way towards a large machine. Earlier in the haphazard lecture, you remember the man mentioning machines called “generators” that had to be fixed to power up the gate all the living survivors could flee out of.

 

You watched the man crouch down in front of the generator and plunge his hands into the mechanism and rustle around with the wires. You tried to find a way to scootch closer but stopped short at the uncanny squeal.

 

The man didn’t seem worried- or at least hear it, being indulged in the fixing of the generator. Another sound kept you rooted firmly to the hiding spot. Understandable- because who wouldn’t be worried if they heard a chainsaw suddenly rev to life? The man must have felt the same because he froze- hands stalling inside the generator. After a second of no movement, it was almost neck-breaking as his speed doubled what it was before.

 

As the man tried to finish the repair on the generator in as little time as possible, your keen eyes caught the movement of a shadow some 20 ft away. You silently hoped the man finished soon as the squeals and grunts from the chainsaw wielder got closer. When the shadow morphed into a silhouette, you took that as your cue to duck down into the cover of the rock. Many sounds exploded around you as something akin to a slasher movie took place outside of your field of vision.

 

The mystery man screaming.

The stomping and uncanny squealing of the figure you saw.

The chainsaw revving again…

And tearing through flesh.

 

Then something being dragged away.

 

After a moment of silence, you deemed it safe enough to step out to take a look at what the man was able to finish on the generator. Cautious of noise production, you crept closer to the machine to get a look at the insides. There seemed to be a mess of wires crossed this way and that. Gears looking like they were shoved in the wrong spot in an attempt to get it running. You would have to rearrange the wires and cogs to get the generator running before you could check out the rest of this estate.

 

Luckily all those years of getting in trouble for taking apart and rebuilding all your toys as a child carried over as an adult so this is a walk in the park. Due to the circumstances, it’s more like walking in an extremely dark park with a single light on that illuminates the space just enough to see a figure creeping on you.

 

Not fun.

 

Doable-

But not fun.

 

You got to work carefully stringing the wires to their rightful spot, the small sparks not bothering you a bit since your past job gave you a tolerance to electricity. You made sure not to snag fingers between the gears as you rearranged them to provide functional movement. It only took a few minutes to get the generator roaring to life.

 

As the generator started up, the outlines of… people? You think the outlines were people- brightly lighting up for a moment. You must have been losing your mind even after only being in this pocket reality for a small amount of time.

 

The generator's volume was doing nothing but giving your spot away. Without long, you scrambled off to find another generator before the squealing creature was drawn back by the noise.

 

By using the squealing sound of the killer as a reference, you stayed alert to your surroundings and kept away from their sights. Every time you would find a new generator either the sounds of a scream or squeal would make you stalk over to another side to keep working unseen.

 

It was quite tedious, to barely get a moment of work done before having to reroute and repeat, but it kept you safe. You still hadn’t gotten close enough to the killer to get a good look at them but all glimpses revealed a lumbering figure. It reminded you a little of something unpleasant you’ve had the misfortune of meeting up close and personal- on more than one account.

 

Everything was going well up until you fired the last generator. You were so caught up in your victory that you stalled for a moment, not realizing that any living survivor's best option was to haul to the gate and freedom. A redhead blurred past you before you broke out of the momentary trance. You got up to run but a pitiful squeal stopped you dead in your tracks.

 

Turning around to face the killer slowly, you couldn’t help but feel like you recognized them from somewhere. Before you could think much about it, the killer let out another garble and lowered the chainsaw slightly. You assumed that the killer was just thrown off by the unexpected “newbie”, but you couldn’t be completely sure.

 

He tilted his head before taking a hesitant step forward and meeting your eyes. You didn’t move and waited patiently almost like you would if trying not to intimidate a wild animal. This situation didn’t seem to be much different.

 

He made to take another step forward, almost in a small shuffle of his feet. However, you were startled by the yell of a “Come on!” from one of the survivors, and the eye contact broke. He must have been startled by the noise too because the next thing you knew, you were hastily backing up toward the direction of the gate to get a clear shot while he angrily swung the chainsaw around and let out mad garbles and chilling squeals.

 

Finding a clear path, you gave yourself an out and booked it- not caring for the stealth aspect and only focusing on speed. You needed to be faster than the chaser. You needed to ignore any ache and focus on just moving.

 

You needed to survive.

Notes:

Reader is gonna have a bit of the tism like me (not too much where it's overbearing)

So they have lots of hobbies and random things they have picked up in their years.

Let me know if there's a special interest you'd like to see in the story 💪💪

Chapter 4: Chpt 3: <Still>

Summary:

How do you come out of your first trial?

What do you do after?

Plans???

You wondered if this would be a common occurrence- being surrounded by the sweet allure of death.

 

The previous ache in your legs was slowly being mended as if the soreness was being soothed by gentle hands. Since there wasn’t anything else to grab your attention, your mind was wandering back to the previous adrenaline rush.

 

When you saw the killer become aggressive again, you pressed one foot into the ground after another. Pushed yourself to run the distance to the gate and toward the other survivors. Thighs and calves hurt with each step on the ground. Even though the guy was big, he ran pretty fast. The edge of the chainsaw barely clipped your clothes when he gained on you. Only for another rush to course through you and instinct to kick in long enough for you to evade and gain the lead back.

 

The next thing you knew, you launched yourself through the gate only to be swallowed up by the same black ashy fog. Now with your leg mending and your heart rate calming, you were able to rest for a moment.

 

Your consciousness returns like a migraine as you find yourself in the woods again. Leaves now remind you of the ash when they fall. Fully healed now, you step back out of the clearing from the fog and end up at the campfire again; hoping for a better explanation of these “trials”.

 

As you came up to the campfire, your gaze quickly found the guy from earlier and the redhead that called out to you during the trial. You intentionally kicked through some rocks to alert the group of your presence to not scare them again.

 

Only to wimp out at the last moment and duck into the shadows. Sadly, your previous attempt to alert the group was successful so now the survivors seemed on edge. Some even whipped their head around at the noise, straining eyes to see an invisible threat.

 

You decided that the trial was more than enough exposure to the survivors. They were… more than you could handle for long periods. Based on the volume of the group, you know you wouldn’t be able to just ask a few questions and dip. They’d pull you into their group and everyone likes looking at the shiny new addition.

 

Before you can sneak back into the woods, you notice the gaze of one member pointed toward the heavy fog.

“I hope the new guy didn’t get lost in the fog. We all know how hard it is to navigate the woods when you can’t even see.”

“Yeah, we’ve all had to deal with the Entity messing with us for the first few weeks- leaving us in the woods and watching us panic over not being able to find the camp.”

 

It struck you odd that they all seemed to agree on the last statement. The woods were hardly a problem for you. You had a knack for finding your way around things based on feelings you got from the surrounding area.

 

Maybe you could use this to your advantage. Use the other survivors' weaknesses as a safe space. Feign the inability to get out of the woods so you have an opening for hanging back.

 

You decided now was the time to make your way to the woods and away from the camp. Luckily you didn’t have to worry about being seen for long because the fog swallowed your form the moment your boot met the crunch of leaves.

 

The woods were kinda nice when you let go of the fear of being lost for eternity. A question of how large the woods were sat on your tongue with no one able to offer an answer. Rusty leaves slowly morphed into deep greens as the further you walked, the more alive everything seemed. The longer you went, the more critters scurried across your path.

 

It must have been some warding tactic. To have the edge of the habitat look dead and dangerous to keep wanderers from straying too deep into the heart of the land. If the land went to such measures to keep others out, then you were going to be sure to respect the space of every inhabitant.

 

Deep greens gradually turned to vibrant colors that seemed to be warding away the fog, which now only hangs in the air like a soft mist. Wanting to map out the expanse of this oasis, you traveled a few yards further and stopped dead in your tracks.

 

Right in front of you was a small stream, glittering in the reflections from the bright greens all around. You weren’t sure what the deal with food was here but where the was water, the would be vegetation. Vegetation would be a beacon for herbivores. Where there was water, there was food.

 

Excitement vibrated under your skin as you quickly unlaced your boots and took off your socks. Slipping socks into the boots and then lacing them together, you held the boots up by the joined laces. You gently placed a foot on the soft moss and smiled at the feeling. Algae was growing on the rocks around the edge of the stream so slow steps were the way to go.

 

You rolled up your pant legs the best you could but it was inevitable that the edges would get wet. It wasn’t something to worry about though. True to your guess, the stream came about midshin. Digging your feet into the soft mud at the bottom, you did your best to keep balance while tracking down the direction of the stream.

 

Looking down, small fish grazing your legs caught your attention. Now you know there are at least some fish here. This was a smaller stream so small fish. All small streams eventually lead to bigger ones and then to large water reservoirs. Going to the larger space could be tricky because of the possibility of apex predators inhabiting the space. You’d have to gently ease yourself into the food chain.

 

After following the direction of the stream for a little while, it opened up to a large river. Deciding this was a great spot to set up camp, you waded to the edge of the water and hefted yourself up over the edge so you wouldn’t have to soak yourself swimming in the river.

 

You hooked the still-laced boots on a low-hanging branch as you unrolled the pant legs to let them dry. Stepping away from the tree, you tried to find the start of the food chain to work your way up to get an idea of your soon-to-be home. You didn’t have much to go off so for now you were only aware of smaller predators. Nothing too serious.

 

What would have to be done is a shelter hidden high up. Based on location, the more probable apex predators would likely prefer the ground. There was also the factor that you didn’t want anyone to stumble on a shelter in plain sight and decide to stick their nose in another's business.

 

So a tree house it is.

Yay.

 

You would have to search for fallen, sturdy logs to be able to use with twine as the beginning structure. To be able to shape the logs properly, you’d need tools. Based on this predicament of literally being stuck in a pocket dimension- you reasoned that the tools would have to be handmade.

 

Shaking off the last of the water on your pants, you started toward your boots.

 

Only to get swept up by whirling ash.

 

…They couldn’t let you grab your boots?

Notes:

Any mythical creature suggestions for predators we encounter in our new home?

 

Also- all updates will be every Thursday 👌

<3

Chapter 5: Chpt 4: <Work>

Summary:

An unfortunate play.

And the reader learning a new rule.

(Decided to post early bc I was excited to show you this chapter 🕺)

The comforting, soft moss was quickly replaced by sharp gravel that poked the soles of your feet. Now you knew why the entity had snatched you up right before you got to grab the boots.

 

It would be tricky to maneuver around the map without stumbling from the sharp jabs on your feet, but you’d have to move through the pain. There was only one trial under your belt, so calling yourself inexperienced was an understatement.

 

If the goal was the same as the last trial; to get the generators up and running without dying- then it wouldn’t be much of a problem.

 

You decided the current objectives would be to locate all generators and identify the threat level and skill set of the current killer. The only problem with the second objective would be range.

 

How close can you get to observe before being spotted and targeted?

 

The lack of shoes made your stealth ability go down significantly. How are you going to sneak around while making sure not to stomp a rusty piece of metal and down yourself? Observation skills would be down too.

 

The only thing you’ve got going for you is luck and a high pain tolerance.

 

This will definitely end well.

 

Carefully making your way through the wreckage, the realization that the scrap could make for good hiding spots hits you. You could pass through a small path between the larger pieces to keep cover while traveling from generator to generator.

 

There were no survivors in the general vicinity and it was hoped that they were keeping the killer busy elsewhere. Preferably on the opposite side of the map.

 

The pop and whir of a machine started you out of your thoughts. With one generator already up and running, there wasn’t too much time to get a proper rhythm before the killer would be increasingly aggressive. You made off from the hiding spot to find another generator and get busy.

 

When moving from spot to spot, you braced yourself on more than one surface of your body to disperse the weight being pressed into the ground. Almost like a moving version of those people who would lay on a bed of knives. While the idea was smart, the actual movement was quite a bit trickier. You rotated between crawling around like some creature out of The Exorcist and full-on jumping over larger spots of scrap like a knock-off Spider-Man.

 

If the first trial was a 5/10 for how hard it was traversing weird paths to stay out of the sight of a killer, then this trial was a solid 9/10. The available work time between running from the killer was at an all-time low. Barely a minute would go by before hearing a started scream or banging on scrap not too far from your position. It made working extremely frustrating. It was still do-able, just tedious.

 

Your plan of awkward acrobatics around the scrap was working. It wasn’t foolproof though. There were still a few nicks and scrapes here or there. On the bright side, it wasn’t full-on impalement. Still a win. What wasn’t a win though, was the screaming, previously distanced, now growing closer and closer.

 

You dropped the wires gently in the generator to make sure it wouldn’t blow up and lose all the previous progress. Trying to shuffle around the generator to be hidden on the other side resulted in losing balance on a particularly sharp rock and falling straight into the side of the machine.

 

The survivor assumed that the noise was just the generator making generator noises and carried on fighting for their life. You weren’t sure how screaming would help a situation because all they are accomplishing is shortness of breath and fried vocal cords. The same would not be said for the killer on the matter of the noise. The hulking form was quickly drawn toward you by the immense fear of being caught by an unknown enemy.

 

When the screaming faded out, you listened for any other rustling and started shifting your position to make a quick-ish getaway. The area around you started to darken rapidly, plunging you into a blind escape.

 

Careful shuffles became frantic scrabbling and your fear seemed to be a dial turned from a 3 to an 11. Without your sight to lead the way, you misstepped and sliced the arch of your foot. The scrabbling turned into a hobble as you tried to right yourself toward a safe direction. Where ever that might be in this hell hole.

 

A screeching figure whipped past you, coating the air with dread so heavy it was suffocating. Choking on tears, your fear and determination battled for control of your mind. In the end, it settled on both.

 

It went on antagonizingly slow; the figure speeding past, claws nicking skin and clothes, giving you false hope for a fleeting breath only to rip it away with another cloud of hate and pain. Each moment it became clearer that the beings goal was to bring you the lowest you could go before sealing the trap.

 

There was barely a coherent thought drifting through your head, too clouded by the killer's ability. The only thought you could hold onto was the plead to be alert for any moment of vulnerability to slip through the trap.

 

All you needed was a moment.

 

And a moment you were given.

 

The killer seemed to think you had enough and prepared to spring the killing blow, thinning the cloud of hate in the process. This single moment of drawing back allowed you to catch a breath. Reorienting yourself was a clumsy process as it had to be swift; a scramble of limbs flailing to gain purchase on the unforgiving ground.

 

Feet scrambled to get traction as you attempted to create as much distance with the thing as possible. The killer still had the cloud up, so vision was limited to barely a ten-foot radius around you.

 

With the speed the killer showed a few minutes prior, you really should have expected to be pounced on in no time. ‘Should’ being the key word. You were not prepared for a morphed creature with twisted flesh and too many teeth all in the wrong places to invade your personal space bubble.

 

You were thrown to the ground with the killer on top of you, trying to rip its jaw(s?) into skin. Bloodlust made it sloppy so it felt more like being attacked by a rabid dog with severe anger issues.

 

A scream tore through your throat when the teeth dug into the hand you used to hold the face away from your own. It was quickly drowned out by the shrieks and screams of the monster thrashing above you.

 

The blood from the bite was freely floating down and landing in your eyes, further impairing your vision. Now you have a damper on both main sensory receptors. Couldn’t hear anything over the shrill sound of the killer and had no way to see past the red film over both eyes. You didn’t think it would be pleasant to taste or smell the killer any more than you are right now so it left you with one out.

 

Touch.

 

The hand that wasn’t busy maintaining personal space started blindly searching the ground wherever it could reach. You were in a junkyard for Christ’s sake, there was shrapnel lying around everywhere. Not a preferred weapon but it would work for now.

 

The roaming hand finally found a piece of metal that was large and sturdy enough to do decent damage. Before your hand closed around the scrap, long claws tore into your abdomen, putting some of your guts on a show-and-tell display no one wanted to see.

 

Enraged and moving off of pure adrenaline, your hand closed tight around the metal, not bothering to notice the edges slice into your palm. Even with your ears ringing, you could get a general direction of the creature's face by using the cries as a bullseye. Locking onto the target, you plunged the piece into the neck area of the beast.

 

A gurgle and pause in the shrieking let you know the mark was right on. So you drug the metal out and quickly drive it into a nearby spot. Fresh blood poured onto your face, almost waterboarding you. Well, blood-boarding you.

 

A few more strikes and the beast was down. No more shrill cries to make your ears bleed. No more suffocating dread in the air. And no more threat.

 

Now to get the beast off of you so the wounds can be dressed. What was your goal to free yourself from under the weight of the monster was quickly replaced by the burning sensation to get away from the pain.

 

Even though you killed the ex-killer, claws that caused pain tenfold the beasts sunk into your sides, pinning you to the ground. It felt like the appendages were tugging at the very fiber of your being; causing unexplainable pain.

 

All the pain and suffering you were experiencing wasn’t enough for The Entity.

 

You had to be punished for breaking the rules.

Chapter 6: Chpt 5: Slipping

Summary:

Punishment passed and you actually get to be conscious now. Yay.

Can't seem to keep your mouth shut though.

The first thought that breached your mind when the fog lifted was a string of curses. The only feeling you had been allowed in the past week or so was pain. You must have pissed off the Entity somehow to elicit such a response.

 

The only memories that could resurface were blurry recallings of painful trials. There was no time to rest. It was either a trial so foggy you couldn’t see who killed you each time or a toxic fog that surrounded you like a dense pool.

Luckily for you, a cooldown period existed between trials after a large batch of plays. The Entity did this to preserve any sense of sanity; after all, it isn’t any fun watching completely insane people diving further into an abyss of the mind. It was much more fun to watch the decent.

 

Unluckily for you, the drop-off spot you landed in was far too close to a small group of people. People who are very keen on building personal relationships with fellow survivors. You know there have been a few interactions in the trials but the fog kept those memories at bay.

 

There were only five survivors in the group, you know it would take a whole lot more energy dealing with the entirety of the survivors at once, so you took the small win. The only ones you could put a name to were Dwight and Feng, being specifically sought out by them during the trials you happened to remember better.

 

Dwight had sought you out to apologize for dumping information the moment you got there without even introducing himself first. Feng had sought you out to ‘stake out your stats’, whatever she meant by that.

 

Dazed from the influx of information flooding your senses, you couldn’t make a getaway this time. You wouldn’t be able to anyway given the immense throbbing pain on your leg. With the adrenaline gone from your system, the lack of energy made you tumble to the ground.

 

Dwight wasted no time getting to your level to assess your leg. Everything was hazy as he tried to figure out what was wrong with you. Trials were over and normally when a trial was finished, all who were injured would get fixed up before being dropped off at the camp. So why were you hurt?

 

A strangled gasp was the indicator that Dwight had found the problem. Your leg was gnarled and mangled; the result of one of the Trapper’s bear traps. The steady blood loss made you woozy and unable to remain conscious.

 

The next thing you knew, you had woken up on some makeshift cot. It wasn’t a nice bed but it beat the ground. Moving to get up, you notice one of your legs being thicker than the other. Pulling back your pant leg to investigate led to the sight of neat bandages wrapped around the once fatal wound.

 

Thankfully, it seemed stable enough to make a break for the exit. So with a decent amount of trouble, you stumbled your way back to the woods. A thank you would be given to the survivor responsible for the wound dressing. Maybe you could distract the killer a few times away from them or give them any extra loot found when scavenging. Either way, it was kind and a repayment was in order.

 

You would think it would be unwise to venture off into some foggy woods with unknown creatures inhabiting it while limping on a subpar foot, but it beat getting coddled by the survivors. Or in other cases, criticized for how you handled a trial like it was some group project you didn’t pitch in on. Either way, it was a pain being roped into the survivor's group.

 

On the bright side, the woods didn’t seem to be hostile; simply parting branches and deterring animals here or there. Nature, if this was a natural space, seemed to be feeling merciful toward your overworked body.

 

The trek back to your safe space didn’t seem to be as harrowing as the first time. It could have something to do with the pull in your chest. The first time you came through the woods, it was a wandering and winding path, with no real destination in mind. Now it felt like there was a GPS strapped to your forehead that was leading you to peace.

 

Within no time, yes, even with the limp, you reached that same stream that tapered off into the large river. A large sigh of relief left your lungs as you limped over to a rather large tree. Discarding your worn boots, you also strip out of your beaten hoodie and fold it into a makeshift pillow.

 

A cot would be better than the ground, but not this ground. The lush grass made for a fine padding that felt more like feathers than blades. Sleeping in a natural space was much more comfortable than the camp. Even just the idea of sleeping in an area with so many strangers made for restless sleep. Animals are predictable; people are not.

 

You let the whispers of the willows and the song of the creek make your eyes droopy and low with relaxation. True sleep soon overcame you as the decision to reason why you were punished later was the last thing on your mind. Forest critters started to become comfortable enough to pay you no mind and go about their business.

 

Your nap was cut shorter than you desired. The smell of ash was your only warning before the change of scenery. The lush grass was replaced with course rocks and dirt; not a blade of green in sight. At least you were conscious and properly clothed with your shoes on your feet this time. There weren’t many upsides to this place but the shoes were a win. Yippie.

 

Shaking off any leftover sleep remaining in your eyes, you decided to start the oh-so-wonderful journey of darting around generators and fighting for your life. Unknown to you, a shape was following.

 

There was only so much you could do without interacting with the other survivors, so it was inevitable to run into at least one. It was the redhead from your first trial. She crept up to you while your arms were elbow-deep in a generator and tried to make conversation.

 

“You fast?”

The question was a bit random but not too out of place in the current situation. Momentarily stalling on the untwisting of the wires, you made to answer quietly before continuing the repair.

“A bit. When I need to be.”

 

She scoffed slightly, more a huff of breath. “From what I’ve heard you haven’t been very fast.” You didn’t understand why she was just here yapping and not offering to help on the generator. She can’t talk while she works? Better yet, she could be working and not making a sound at all.

 

A scoff of your own was released. “I’ve been adjusting.”

 

She didn’t seem to take to your attitude. Even though you only matched hers.

“Adjusting my ass-”

“I don’t like you like that-” A quick pass of your eyes over her seemed to stall the insult she was about to say. She floundered around for a moment before her face settled on one of distaste.

“You’re weird”

A nod. “I’m also working. If you’d like to help that would be very much appreciated.”

 

Her look of distaste morphed into disgust as if she couldn’t believe a swine like yourself would suggest she do work. Wild.

 

She got up from her crouched position, snagging a rock on her way up. When she walked a few feet away she turned back around and wound her arm back… and let the rock fly. It hit the machine with enough force to jump it for a second, making the gears around your hands turn and lock you into place.

 

A pained gasp was quickly followed by frantic moving, trying to release your hands from their prison. You were nothing more than trapped prey. A flash startled you out of your struggle and you paused to look around.

 

“Aw- My first trial with the newbie and I’m not even promised a good chase? That’s no fun.”

 

That’s just lovely. The first person to find you in this predicament was the killer. How wonderful. You were seriously considering turning on the generator just to stick your head in the gears and hope it’s quick.

 

Another flash got you out of your thoughts as a masked killer stepped out of the shadows. He had all black on, but it was oddly fashionable with the little tassels giving flair. You took a moment of appreciation before returning to the task of wrenching your hands out of the machine.

 

“My only question is how did you manage to get stuck like that? Where are you trying to get all pretty for me?” The killer seemed to be trying to embarrass you. There was more resignment than embarrassment present, so you leveled his mask with a deadpan stare.

 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I decided to do. Thought it would be a fun first meeting to maul my hands and make myself a helpless case just waiting for you to take my breath away. Literally.” You really couldn’t seem to be able to keep the comments to yourself today. Free will and all that.

 

Lucky for you, the killer seemed taken aback at the display of sarcasm, especially given the situation. The killer's body smoothed out from being tense and ready to attack to being loose and unexpecting. It made sense to you though; there wasn’t much threat from a person whose hands were thoroughly trapped.

 

The killer strolled up to you nonchalantly, even going as far as to walk with a sway in his hips. Fruity. You kept to yourself and huddled close to the machine, hoping whatever he was to do wouldn’t be as bad.

 

He stopped barely a foot from you and crouched down, now at eye level.

“I’ve decided to make sure you get the all-expense paid, exclusive Ghostface experience. Provided I can get you out of this little mess. It’s no fun to kill trapped game.” He looked at you expectantly.

“...Thanks, but how are you going to get my hands out-” He looked pointedly at his knife. “-WITHOUT severing them.” You gave him another pointed look. “I’m pretty sure the blood loss would kill me before you got your fun chase.”

 

He bobbed his head to the side and you could almost feel the look he was giving you. “I was going to suggest using the blade to pry off the brittle gears. They won’t hold up against much.”

 

It made more sense, so you gestured your head toward the machine. “Go right ahead”

 

He nodded and scooted closer to start digging the knife between the gaps of the gears. After a few moments of fiddling, accidental nicks, and muttered apologies, your hands were freed from their mechanical prison.

 

They looked bad, but it wasn’t the worst injury you’ve faced. Shaking out the residual pain from your hands and standing to stretch your aching legs, you considered the killer. He seemed pretty decent, even styled after the Scream movies. The Scream movies were a top choice for marathon nights. His personality was interesting too; wanting the thrill of the chase rather than the ending result of slaughter.

If he wanted the chase, you didn’t think he’d be opposed.

 

You didn’t need to move any as he was already in your space, so all you had to do was reach out your hand to tap his chest and…

 

“Tag”

 

…book it in the opposite direction.

Notes:

Literally only using the survivors as plot devices atp.

Cries in "i have to write interactions between the reader and the other survivors"

Chapter 7: Chapter 6: The Chase

Summary:

The chase begins between our certified cutie and favorite Ghost 👻
(Tried making this one a bit more detailed)

Notes:

I am so sorry for the delay, I just finished school (they literally had us doing finals on the last 2 days 😐) and I havnt had much time at home to work on the chapters.

However, I've gotten off my big badungus and I'm back on the story.

Updates will be a bit further apart so I can make larger chapters for all of you lovelies!

Tag was always a childhood favorite. Whether it was at a park or just around someone's house, it always made you push yourself to run faster, find quick and effective hiding spots, make sharper turns, and always attempt to be the only one untouched. But there was always the greatest challenge of all; making those split-second decisions that would either cost you getting tagged or escaping by a hair. In a sense, you could say it was training of sorts. Right now you could say that training is working perfectly.

 

The adrenaline rushing through your veins was almost euphoric. The pounding of your heart matched the twin boots beating against the ground. The old feelings and memories lifted the corner of your mouth, a ghost of the child from before, and it was a little crazed, but without a doubt filled to the brink with excitement. Generators and fellow survivors were forgotten, and full focus was centered on playing Keep Away from the Killer. Who was currently hot on your tail, tassels fluttering with the wind he exerted on his body.

 

At first, when you smacked his chest and booked it toward the labyrinth of stone walls and trees, he was momentarily stunned before visibly lighting up with a start to make chase. The terrain was a seamless fit for the game with an excess of larger trees, stumps, and broken stone walls. The first thing that needs to be done is to make as much distance possible between the two of you before staking out pathways and hiding spots that you would use later in the chase.

 

You didn’t want to wear yourself out early on by constantly sprinting around so after a decent distance was made, the pace was kept to a light jog. You alternated between creeping along the edge of a hiding spot to sprinting in small bursts. Constantly moving to make sure not to be caught lingering in a spot for a moment too long.

 

The weight of the trial was completely forgotten by the two of you, completely absolved by the game at hand. The other survivors were unsure what exactly was going on, but wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Any distraction to the killer was a good one. Confusion was quickly replaced with gratitude, and only a little bit of pity, before they moved on to repair the generators and get the hell out of there.

 

The chase went on. At some later point, you could tell that Ghostface was getting slightly more agitated by the moment. He must not have thought you would have been able to evade him for as long as you have been. The knife was no longer forgotten and every time he got close enough for you to meet the sharp tip of his knife he’d slash wildly in a crazed attempt to down you.

 

The chasing became more frantic, knives swinging faster, bloodlust so prominent in the air that it created a choking fog over you. What once was hiding behind a tree to silence your giggles is now taking any opportunity to pause and catch your breath. Hands covering your mouth to silence ragged breathing and choked hiccups.

 

You were hidden behind a rather large tree stump when you heard his boots again. They were distinctive; strong thumps with soft clinking of the lace ends on the reinforced bits of the boot. And those boots were shuffling impatiently right on the other side of your current hiding spot. Your hands now resembled more of a muzzle as you fought to calm the hyped-up heart currently beating a mile a minute in your chest. That distinctive sound started moving to the left of your position, so you moved to the right. If it weren’t a life or death situation, then it would have looked silly; two grown men practically dancing around a tree stump.

 

When the shuffling positioned you at the right angle that allowed you a straight shot to more shelter, you tensed in your crouched position and tried to find a moment that would allow you a headstart. In the distance, a clumsy survivor graced you within a few seconds as a loud clang and stifled curses pulled Ghostface's attention away from his hunt for a moment. The second you felt his attention off of you, the previously tensed muscles moved with explosive speed and you shot off in the opposite direction.

 

A shout reached your ears when you had gotten some distance between the two of you and heavy footfalls were quick to follow it. Your feet thundered against the ground. Your lungs struggling to keep up with the amount of cardio you’ve done. Your mind was running almost as fast as your legs, searching for the next hiding spot, the next path, the next exit.

 

There were some of the lockers the other survivors would hide in that were coming up in the short distance. They didn't seem like a good spot to hide because of the limited escape and access points. You heard Ghostface stumble over something and suddenly your world was tilting too. Some survivor had yanked you into a locker; apparently in an attempt to help. One moment they were there and the next, they were running out.

 

Your breathing and heart rate were picking up speed. Legs gave out and slid down to the floor as you pressed yourself to the furthest corner. The ache was the furthest thing from your mind at the moment; only focused on the feeling of being in a small, dark, enclosed space. It reminded you too much of your time in the real world. Normally you would have figured out a temporary distraction that would have allowed you to get your breathing under control, but the reality was that this was a hell hole. One that was unforgiving and wouldn’t care how upset and scared you were.

 

So your breathing did not calm down; did not even out. More importantly, you could not stay quiet.

 

As a child, you had been diagnosed with a breathing disorder. Syncope episodes. It normally wasn’t a problem during everyday life. The only time it would show its ugly face was when you were under severe emotional or physical stress. There was some disconnect in the rational part of your brain that instead of taking on problems by calming and or slowing down, it instead thought a full reboot was in order. Your breathing would get faster, and more shallow, and even though you fought to get it under control, some days you'd sit for a while, unable to do anything but listen to your ragged breaths and wait for the black spots to consume your vision. When the levels of oxygen in your brain got down low enough, you’d pass out. This issue only got worse after working through several concussions as a child, and then later as an adult. The dark locker you were in made it much harder to gauge how close you were to passing out. You can’t see how bad the black spots have gotten if the space you’re in is pitch black.

 

With your focus solely on not passing out, the rational part of “be quiet so the killer doesn’t find you” was shut off. Thanks, brain. Even through the sounds of your strained gasps, you could hear the shrieks of near survivors. He must have momentarily given up on you. But the thought was lost on you. Less oxygen in the brain meant no power left for thinking. Only sitting there dumbly in the dark, having an episode during a trial. Wonderful.

 

Boots tracking bodily fluids slowly stepped up to the locker door. Listening and knowing all too well the certain rawness your throat would feel after a particularly bad episode. He was at a loss for what to do now. It didn’t feel right to kill someone when their body was already doing a swell job on its own. With a sigh, he tucked his knife away and plopped down on the ground right in front of the locker. When the scattered breathing showed no signs of slowing down, he reached up a hand to tap three times on the locker door. It had the opposite effect and the breathing picked back up. A contemplative look passed the killer's face before sighing and humming an old favorite.

 

You had recognized the song. The familiar tune helped bring you back down to earth- or hell in this case. You weren’t out of the episode but there was a slight return of conscious thought. Your eyes squinted at the sudden influx of light. It wasn’t much but it still was a stark difference from the previously black space. The forced adjustment of your eyes helped put a pause on bad thoughts rushing through your brain. When they were adjusted enough, a glint of metal caught your eye. It was Ghostface’s knife. He had placed it in front of you as a peace offering of sorts.

 

It worked. With your eyes trained on the slight shimmer coming off the blade of the knife, your breathing slowed to smoother, if not still shallow breaths. Each intake was a conscious effort and each exhale was a pain. You could see the rise and fall of Ghostface’s back as he took each breath with you. He was sitting with his back to the locker, barely in sight.

 

You leaned forward and gingerly picked up the knife, eyes tracking the sharp intake of breath from him, before slowly scooting toward the entrance of the locker, making sure to keep the killer aware of your movements. Slipping your hand out, you dragged the tip of the knife through the dirt to spell your name before flipping the knife around so the blade rested in your palm and the handle pointed in his direction. His gaze lingered on your name in the dirt before shifting to the kive’s handle. He lifted his mask back up to you before lowering it again to gently grasp the handle and once again lowered it to the ground to spell another name.

 

“Danny”

 

You both sat there, taking deep breath after deep breath. And this time the only black spots in your vision were the Entity ripping away parts of this trial’s reality; snapping thread by thread until the locker was the only thing left.

 

This time the darkness didn’t even cause a hitched breath.

Notes:

For those who don't know Syncope is a type of fainting due to a loss of consciousness that can be caused by many things.
I personally suffer from Syncope when I can't get my breathing under control during stressful situations

"Hyperventilation can cause hypocapnia, which can lead to cerebral artery vasoconstriction. This can reduce the amount of oxygen and glucose that reaches the brain, which can result in syncope."

Pretty much, lack of oxygen = lack of consciousness 👍👍

Chapter 8: Chapter 7: The Observation

Summary:

You are reflecting on what has happened so far and make a plan for your next course of action.

Notes:

I wanna apologize for taking so long away from this. I was super worried about not meeting expectations and got so stressed I couldn't string together a few sentences (not even to mention school and my job making me actively fight for my life). I will write more freely now! Expect more chapters that follow progression rather than reflection <3<3<3

Things are never just black and white. It’s a well-known fact. Humans, actions, and morals are so complex that you are physically unable to categorize them into a simple “Good or Bad”. The sheer amount of variables was a calling card to learn Psychology; what made the brain so fascinating. Even from a young age, learning how the brain worked was something that you only slightly obsessed over. Once, in sixth grade, you had wanted to do your mandatory science project on subliminal messaging. Your classmates had made it into a joke and the project wasn’t given constructive criticism, only jeers. After that, your study was a quiet one.

 

Even now, you realize that silent work is strong work. This meant that this current experiment would have to be silent. There was no controlled environment, so a do-over would not be possible. If anyone caught onto what you were doing, word would spread fast and guards would be put up quickly. If that happens, then not only will you be officially cast away from the survivors, but you could also piss off the killers enough for them to make a personal vendetta against you. Both options would not be ideal. One more than the other.

 

At this point, you were about to start a dangerous tango with Lady Luck. One wrong step and you’d be dropped to the floor to be stepped on. Every step you took had to be in line, not once missing a beat.

 

You were not up to par with what you used to be able to do. Your last “stealth mission” was so long ago that the vague details wouldn’t even scratch the surface. Unfortunately, there was no other option to quench your curiosity. The last trial you had with Ghostface, or Danny as he liked to be called, left questions rocketing around your brain like a rogue batch of bottle rockets in your cranium.

 

If these were actual ruthless killers like the survivors claimed, then why would one offer support in a situation where there was an easy kill served on a platter? One reason could be that he wanted no easy kill and instead wanted a clear-headed individual to torment. The counter to that point is that he could have easily gone off to hunt the last survivor remaining in the trial to pass the time until you got yourself back together to restart the chase. There was no real reason for Danny to stay and patiently comfort you. Even to go as far as sharing something important like a name and wait out the last moments in solidarity with you.

 

Even though there were a few logical answers, they all led back to an emotional connection. Danny wouldn’t have sat with you unless he was creating an emotional bond in an attempt to comfort you. The mere thought went against all that you heard from the other survivors. How all the killers are demons and ruthless monsters who have no human emotion. A bit of an extremist ideology in your opinion, but you supposed they were the more experienced party in this situation.

 

When in doubt..create experiments to find your own answers. So snap on your scientist gloves, pray you don’t have a latex allergy, and break out those beakers baby!

 

Even after being out of school for years, you still roughly remembered the scientific method, and the first step was the hypothesis. Yours was a very clear and basic hypothesis.

 

“If words and actions don’t match up, then someone is lying by omission and there’s more going on behind the scenes.”

 

Now the second step was where you were at currently. Research. Which in this case, is just plain observation. Sadly you could not pull past records or camera feeds to get a previous insight. Watching things unfold in real time was the only option so you had to practically duck-tape your eyelids to your forehead. All in the name of science. And finding an answer to these questions that threatened to make you smash your head against the nearest boulder.

 

Watching the survivors at the campsite did nothing to answer any questions at all because they all seemed to have the same opinion of the killers. A biased opinion was never a valid one. You couldn’t really blame them though; anyone in their right mind would have a sour opinion about some rando who gutted them. However, you were an exception to this little factoid because you were not in the right mind anyway. But who’s taking notes?

…That wasn’t an invitation. Don’t mind that. The only notes being taken are going to be on the relationship between the survivors and the killers.

 

“Survivor” and “killer” are analogous. It is a vendiagram on crack. To be a survivor, there had to have been a threat that became the catalyst for sacrifice and survival; evading the threat. To be a killer is to take the life of something, to be the threat, to end. Normally, killers become less of a killer when there is a survivor involved. However, under the entity’s game, these ideas or labels correspond in a push-and-pull situation. The killers are still fully killers (unless a player gets the hatch or escapes through the gate). And the survivors can still be labeled as survivors even when they fail and die in a trial because they are healed and brought back.

 

The prospect of being brought back again and again, trial after trial, death after death, entices you. To be able to try again and again with reckless abandon. It felt like a load of responsibility from your previous life had been lifted after you were made aware of that fact. Before, every move, every step, every breath was calculated. Anything to better the chances of getting one more sunset.

 

Here it’s forever dusk.

In a sense, it’s almost symbolic- maybe even mocking your past struggles. The Entity seems like the type.

 

Back to the survivors; something seems off with them. The displayed behavior seems off. Inside trials, they’ll run around doing what they can to survive; crazed looks in their eyes. Occasionally, there would be a glare and glance you would catch between the killers and survivors that made the killer hesitate before finishing the kill. What could the survivors have over the killers that would cause such a reaction?

 

When outside the trials they had this mix of carefree and stress. It is offputting, to say the least. Most of the time they seem comfortable around the camp; until they hear a crack in the woods and snap their heads in the direction of the sound to locate the source before they write it off as nothing and continue what they were doing previously. A learned behavior that was no longer needed- remnants of a past struggle.

 

Unfortunately, watching current behavior could only lead you so far. You’d eventually have to carry an interaction to understand the dynamics of survivors vs killers further.

Fortunately, there didn't seem to be many people at the camp currently and only one sitting near the campfire. The blond girl with the guitar might be a safe choice. Then again, lots of musicians are diddlers (iykyk)... you're holding out on hopes and dreams at this point.

Notes:

Reader: Man I'd love to find out why yall act like this!

Survivors, unaware they're being stalked and observed by the newbie:

Reader:...

Reader: Oh! Crap. I have to talk to them don't I?

Chapter 9: Chapter 8- One on One

Summary:

The integration of the reader in the survivor and killer dynamics

Notes:

I fear I ate in this one

As you drifted over to the campfire, the soft notes being plucked on the guitar washed over you. Years ago, in your early teens, you played and loved 2 guitars. One was a small acoustic that you had been given at 12. Learning how to play it became the dominator of your free time. Fingertips hardened as callouses grew and the music got more complex. On your 15th birthday, you were gifted a beautiful electric guitar. He was from the 60s and only needed a little work to shine again. Both guitars were your babies, but now they were a distant memory. Your hands hardened more than they should have and you lost time for it. You’re not even sure if you remember any of the songs that you poured all intention into. If you held one again, it would feel foreign. So, for now, you would just enjoy the music from another's hands.

 

Nerves settled in your gut as you crept closer, nostalgia pooling along with it. No matter what you did it seemed you could never get out of the grasp of social anxiety. With a shaky sigh, the nerves were breathed out and you walked with purpose toward the log sitting opposite the blond girl. Leaves crunched purposefully under your boots before you stepped over the log to sit down. Hands immediately finding purchase on the grainy surface. It was soothing to pet the small patch of moss as you worked up the courage to have a conversation.

 

The girl startled a bit when you got close and stumbled a bit in her song before she looked back down to finish it without another interruption. You waited patiently, remembering the gross feeling of an unfinished song. The soft melody she had been strumming slowly tapered out until the last ring of the chord was the only barrier between them. The girl looked up intentionally now, smiling softly at you; giving you the invite to initiate the conversation you came for.

 

One more deep breath and, “Hello.” She responded with a quiet “Hello” of her own before introducing herself as Kate. When she prompted you about your name, an unsettling feeling was right there again in your stomach, but you sucked it up and told her your name.

 

Before you even had to start asking questions, Kate started a running commentary on how she was so excited to finally talk to you.

 

“I know you haven’t been around us much- at least not when I’ve been around. Have you been hiding from me? Or is that forest really that hard to get out of for you? Either way, I’m stoked that you’re actually out here! Is it because there's not a lot of people around right now? Did you only have eyes for me? How sweet. I’m so glad you picked me to hang out with!”

 

Geeze… you hoped she couldn’t hear your gulp.

 

“I just haven’t had the time or reason to come out this way and the forest isn’t so bad.”

 

She seemed to get more riled up after you responded- her eyes gleaming at you.

 

“You like the woods? There are plenty of creatures who wouldn’t mind a pre-meal snack. And you definitely are one~”

 

Hold up now?

 

Nervous laughter flittered out and your hands tried to find some sort of distraction. You just met this lady and she makes that comment out of nowhere? Still, the conversation had to continue if you wanted any worthwhile information.

 

“Uhh- yeah, I know the woods have predators but I respect their space and I’m plenty good at hiding. Speaking of the predators though, what is it that’s so bad in there?”

 

Her smile dropped slightly and she sent a look of disgust over to the wood-line, lips curling and nose scrunching. “I've only heard of some of the beasts that live in there, but I do know that a long while ago, some of the killers would stake out in the woodline and spy on us like creeps. Sometimes they’d set a trap or sic an animal on us, but they’d never actually come out and hurt us with their own hands or weapons.”

 

The flame light flickered across both of your faces. Kate’s smoothed out from a disgusted look to one of comfort before chirpily adding. “I think that’s because of the Entity! They don’t like killing outside of the trials- it takes away its fun. But we don’t have to worry about any of that anymore, so you don’t have to worry your pretty little head!”

 

Ok.. She seemed much too happy about that last statement. “What happened that made it stop if you don’t have to worry about it anymore?”

 

That gleaming smile formed on her face again as she just said, “They’ve been taken care of.”

 

Kate looked like she was going to make another comment towards you but got interrupted by some of the louder survivors getting back from a trial and wanting to complain about it. You took that as your opportunity and very quickly booked it back to the sanctuary of the fog. Attempting to put that weird interaction away for later, you started making the trek down to your half-finished home.

 

| | | | | | | | | | | |

 

The walk had in fact helped to clear your head and now you were standing at the base of your treehouse. It was a smart idea, to set up your safe space above the ground. Not only did you not need any people finding your place, but it helped keep out the way of the main predators you had seen in your time exploring or gathering materials. Speaking of- the frame and body of the treehouse had been finished. It was a little rough but you did have to work with handmade tools. The next task that needed to be done was finding foliage to cover the outside with so it blended in better with the surrounding trees. You set to work uprooting moss and grabbing fallen branches, snagging small bushels, and gathering healthy plants.

 

You made sure not to stray too far from your site, only collecting what was near and making sure not to get so stuck inside your own head that to accidentally wandered off.

 

You were slipping some branches around the bottom of your house when dark ash started falling around your hands. The branch was obviously not burned, so with a sigh, you resolved to have a trial.

 

| | | | | | | | | | | |

 

You still weren’t sure about what was going on with everyone, but you could come to a definite conclusion. Kate and the other girls are out of their minds and the survivors definitely have huge issues.

 

It started with the typical start of a trial- well typical by the Entity’s standards- and you got to work on the generator you were closest to. It didn’t take long to see who was on the survivor team. You, Kate, a girl with a black bob, and Dwight. You hadn’t seen him in a while but it wasn’t like you missed him. Dwight had actually already gone down pretty early in the round. You found out when an irritated Executioner walked by your hiding spot while dragging a dead Dwight behind him. Well, you didn’t see him get killed but the gaping chest wound told you all that you needed to know.

 

Something was off when the Executioner walked by that set your hackles on edge. He was limping. And not in the “I just got stabbed in the foot by a resisting survivor” limp, it was an “I’m unbelievably sore and tired” limp. Seeing it almost made you want to jump up to carry Dwight for him.

 

After that not-interaction passed, you went back to work on fixing the generators. Work was waiting when you got done with the trial so you wanted to make this one speedy. There were a few bumps and nicks here and there because you were rushing but it didn’t matter much.

 

Then out of nowhere, a crash and jeering was heard just around the corner. From what you knew, the Executioner didn’t talk- at least not to the survivors so the jeering had to have come from the girls. You peeked around the corner to understand the situation but stopped dead in your tracks.

 

The Executioner was disoriented, leaning against a metal locker with his giant sword lying on the ground a few feet away.

 

You couldn’t help but feel your blood boiling as you watched Kate and that girl with the bob… groping him. He was clearly put off by something but there were no clear signs. What did the girls have that could leave the hulking man as off-kilter as a newborn kitten?

 

You didn’t wait to find out.

 

Not far from your position, there were a few bottles of old alcohol. Luckily, amongst the shattered mess was an unopened bottle and you got an idea. You picked up the only intact bottle and broke the top off before ripping the end of your shirt off and stuffing it into the broken neck of the bottle all while keeping an eye on the girls to make sure they don’t get any further than the groping. You needed to act fast to get the man out of the situation before it got worse, so options were limited.

 

You don’t know why, but the Entity had allowed you to keep your zippo lighter. It wasn’t extravagant, but a past friend hand-carved some emblems into the metal. They said it would make the burn brighter- make the flame last longer and it was true. Watching the zippo flash to life as you held it against the end of the shirt strip, you didn’t think it could shine brighter.

 

You threw on your hoodie and whipped around the corner, flaming bottle in hand before locking onto a target and wrenching the bottle at Kate’s face. It broke upon impact, glass shards piercing her face as fire licked over her clothes and hair making her burn bright in no time. The other girl was startled and horrified at the burning body in front of her- locked in place by the crude screams. She didn’t even see you dart behind her to grab the Executioner’s sword- having to use your whole body as leverage to swing the thing.

 

Before she knew what was happening, a crude slash followed across the back of her neck all the way down to the base of her spine. A choked, watery gurgle tumbled from her lips as she went limp onto the ground. Kate, still in the last moments, finally fell over on top of the other girl as her energy depleted and she gave in to the sweet release of death. The stench of rotting flesh clogs your nose and definitely singeing a few hairs.

 

A pained grunt made you look away from the burning bodies in front of you, turning your attention back to cone-head over in the corner. Your eyes flicked back and forth over the burning bodies and the Executioner on the floor now.

 

With a slight sigh, you dragged the sword over near him to lay it by his feet. Keeping a safe distance from the beast, you gave a quick assessment of his state to determine if you would need to help him or if he was good enough to handle it on his own. He was breathing heavily and one hand was cradling his thigh. Did they slice his thigh to take him down?

 

You crouched down to make yourself smaller and less of a threat. You didn’t really have to since you’re already half the size of the Executioner, but he may appreciate it anyway. Speaking of, you’ve been staring for a hot minute and neither of you has moved.

 

“Um- are you gonna be alright? What did they do to your thigh?”

 

He didn’t outright answer, but he seemed a bit more lucid. His mask lifted to look between the corpses and your crouched form- studying you for a few minutes before seeming to come to some sort of conclusion.

 

The Executioner looked down at his thigh before removing his hand and looking back at you. Underneath his hand were yellow, bubbly puss blisters. It was grotesque at the least with blood and puss leaking out across his leg.

 

“..oh- Ew”

 

Your face scrunched up and you lifted slightly to get a better look at the wound. Too close for comfort apparently because a large boot slightly kicked out toward you. You put your hands out, palms facing him to show no harm intended.

 

“Alright- my bad. I won’t get in your space.”

 

You lowered your hands again, placing them on your thighs as you kept a comfortable distance.

 

“How did they do that to you?”

 

You could somehow feel eyes narrowing at you- if he even has eyes. There could be a Cuthulu reincarnate under that mask for all you know. You understand it though- an enemy asking how someone else hurt you? Suspicious. Even though that wasn’t your intention.

 

A low rumble startled you as you started to look around for the source before you heard it again. Looking back to the Executioner, you saw him grunt and point to something on the floor near the opposite corner you came in from. You looked back over at him only to hear another grunt and a second gesture toward the item.

 

You stood and walked over to the item and picked up a syringe. You gingerly turned it over in your hands- careful not to touch any residue on it. What kind of substance is this?

 

You looked back over to the Executioner attempting to adjust himself to get more comfortable.

 

Survivors don’t heal until they finish a trial. You’d assume the same thing applies to the killers. So, the only way he can be healed properly is by finishing a trial either by finishing the last survivor or you getting the hatch. Throwing the syringe back down on the ground, you take one last look at the damage you caused before turning to the Executioner.

 

“Uh- I’m… gonna go now. You rest up after the trial or something, ok?”

 

You got a large huff in response. Nodding back, you turn and go find the hatch to just get it all over.

 

When you get back- maybe it’s due time to get some information on the place the survivors have been calling “the fun house”. Hopefully, it can give you some insight into what’s really going on with everyone.

Notes:

Reader: violently murdering Pyramid Heads attackers

Cone head: surprised Pikachu face

Chapter 10: Current predicament

Hello my beautiful duckies!

 

I have come to a realization.

 

I've gotten WAYYYYYYYYYY ahead of myself with this fic. While it is one that I've thought about scenes on the daily- as a first time writer, I believe I gave myself too much at once. Not only was I trying to figure out how to write the interactions between the reader and the survivors but I also have to break down each interaction with the killers.

 

....killers who are supposed to be the readers love interest.

 

As in multiple complex characters and relationship dynamics between several people at the same time

 

And that doesn't even cover the actions the reader does on their own time away from everyone else.

Even further- I haven't even scraped enough to cover my stubby little fingernail with the lore that I've got in the reader alone.

 

And I have to get a new computer so I'm writing all this (and foreseeable future chapters) on my phone. Yay.

 

SO- instead of depriving your beautiful mind of my mess- I'm going to pause-ish this fic and subtlety work on it in the background annnnnd........

 

Starting a SCREAM! Fic featuring stu/billy/masc reader!!!!

 

I've had a fun little idea about our lovely Ghostface (dont worry well get back to Danny soon enough) and I want to share it with you

 

I'm currently writing the first chapter. I might even get it out today so keep on the lookout.

...I mean it's gonna be the only other work on my page but you get the point.

 

ANYWAY. I love you all so much and your comments have been encouraging me and hopefully I can be more productive and bring out much better chapters.

 

Again this work is only paused. I'm trying to work on it when I've got the chance but for now im gonna work on my newer fic to get some better practice at writing multi relationship dynamics.

 

Thank You For Reading!

Notes:

Reader is masc, mostly using he/him with a sprinkle of they/them. On the thicker side somewhere between chubby and muscles and shorter (I had to give some short king recognition). There's a notable scar on the bridge of the readers nose but you don't know if there's more scars under the baggy clothing (take me to dinner first).

I really wrote this bc I have too many action packed (self-made) movies that play in my head all the time and I wanted to share my awesome crossovers and twists with others 👍👍 also an outlet instead of replaying scenes in my head 💀💀

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Blade reforged