Cherry blossoms in your dream.

by Sebnarrator

Summary:

This wasn't the regular dreams chance had.
Yet with the odedity of it all
they found themself craving more of these.
these flowers that grow on a blossom tree started to appear.
(I SUCK AT SUMMARIES I AM SO SORRY)

Notes:

HI SEBNARRATOR HERE ENJOY WHAT EVER THIS THING IS..

Chapter 1

HIHI

WELCOME TO THIS

ill post a chapter just right after this

NOTE

THAT MY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE ISNT ENGLISH AND I TRIED MY BEST SO U DONT SEE ANY ERRORS

BUT IF U DO PLEASE NOTIFY ME!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

this is gonna

be a slow burn

 

Chapter 2: A gamble in the dreamscape.

Summary:

New dream , new people

Chance had never dreamed like this before.

Their dreams were always the same—cards flipping between their fingers, the weight of poker chips sliding across the table, the feeling of a well-played hand winning them the pot. But tonight, something was different. It felt different. It was almost as if they were… awake.

When they opened their eyes, they were lying in an unfamiliar red bed, the sheets thick and plush beneath their fingertips. It wasn’t theirs. They had no recollection of getting here, no memory of falling asleep in such a place. And as they sat up, glancing around, the unease only grew.

The world beyond the bed was vast and empty. A mall—dying, decayed, forgotten by time. Broken tiles, flickering lights, and shattered glass reflected a place long abandoned. Storefronts stretched endlessly, their signs faded and peeling, some coated in dust so thick it was impossible to tell what they once sold. Yet, despite all the ruin, a handful of shops seemed… lived in. The lights were on. The displays were clean. Chance could even hear the hum of electricity coming from a few places as if someone had been maintaining them.

As they took a cautious step forward, a strange sensation crawled over their skin. A shiver ran down their spine, a deep, unsettling feeling of being watched.

And then—

Thud!

Chance collided with something—no, someone. The force nearly knocked them off balance, but before they could react, a shadow loomed over them.

"Who the hell are you?" a sharp voice demanded.

Chance blinked, their gaze snapping up to meet the eyes of a girl with brown hair and a look of pure suspicion. She was holding something heavy—

An actual hammer.

Before they could utter a word, she swung. Instinct kicked in, and Chance stumbled back just in time to dodge the impact. The hammer slammed into the ground where they had just been standing, sending cracks through the already brittle tiles.

"Whoa, whoa—!" Chance held up their hands. "Easy there! No need to break my skull open!"

The girl narrowed her eyes. "You're with the mafia, aren't you?"

Chance blinked, then let out a short, amused laugh. "Mafia? Do I look like I run with a bunch of guys in suits?" They gestured to their usual attire—vest slightly undone, sleeves rolled up, the ever-present smirk that could charm or infuriate depending on the person. "I think you’ve got the wrong idea, kid."

The girl—Nashatra, as she later introduced herself—studied them for a moment, her grip on the hammer still tight. But something in Chance’s easygoing demeanor must have convinced her because she lowered the weapon, albeit reluctantly.

"You don’t give off the same energy," she muttered. "Still… if you’re not with them, you sure as don’t look like you belong here."

Chance frowned. "Mind filling me in on where exactly 'here' is? Because last I checked, I didn’t book a stay in abandoned mall purgatory."

Nashatra sighed, grabbed their wrist, and tugged them toward one of the empty storefronts. "Come with me. I'll explain, but not out in the open. It’s not safe."

Chance followed, though their mind whirled with questions. Not safe? Who was she hiding from?

Inside the store, Nashatra wasted no time. "This place is a dream world, one that people end up in when their consciousness drifts here. Normally, it's empty, just fragments of memories. But recently, it's become a hideout."

Chance raised a brow. "A hideout for who?"

"The mafia," Nashatra said grimly. "They call themselves the Stud Collectors or just mafia."

Chance tilted their head. "Stud Collectors? What, like… currency?"

Nashatra nodded. "In this world, you have something called 'Studs.' If they go into the negative, you're in debt. And trust me, you do not want to be in debt here." She paused, her expression darkening. "The mafia owns anyone who is."

Chance clicked their tongue. "Sounds like a rigged game."

"Exactly," Nashatra muttered. "And that's why you need to be careful. If they think you’re an easy target, they will come for you."

Chance leaned back against the counter, flipping their signature coin between their fingers. "Huh. And here I thought my dreams were exciting before."

Nashatra stared at them like they had lost their mind. "You’re way too calm about this."

Chance simply grinned. "Well, if there's one thing I know how to do, it's play the game—and win."

---

 

Chapter 3: Found out the hard way.

Summary:

Getting in debt wasn't the best idea.

Chance’s head was spinning as they trailed after Nashatra, who weaved effortlessly through the dying mall. The place felt like a maze, abandoned and decayed in some areas, yet oddly well-kept in others. There were shops that looked like they had been untouched for years, their glass windows shattered and merchandise coated in dust. But others? They were pristine, as though someone had been living in them. The contrast was unsettling, and Chance couldn’t shake the eerie feeling creeping up their spine.

“This place is insane,” Chance muttered under their breath, glancing warily at the flickering lights above. It felt real. Too real. The smells, the distant hum of electricity, the slight chill in the air. They weren’t used to dreams feeling this… alive.

“Yeah, well, welcome to the Dreamscape,” Nashatra said, barely looking back at them. “It’s not exactly a vacation spot.”

Chance was about to press her for more details when suddenly—

“THAT’S THE GIRL IN OUR TARGET LIST!”

The voice rang out behind them, echoing through the desolate corridors.

Chance turned just in time to see a group of men dressed in sharp suits and gleaming armor—Squires—spotting them from the far end of the hall. Their eyes locked onto Nashatra with a predatory glint, and without hesitation, Nashatra grabbed Chance’s wrist.

“Run.”

And run they did.

Chance barely had time to process what was happening before they were yanked forward, their feet stumbling beneath them as they tore through the mall. The sound of pounding footsteps followed close behind, and Chance cursed under their breath.

“What the hell did you do?!” they hissed, narrowly avoiding a fallen shelf as Nashatra dragged them around a corner.

“Got in debt. A lot of debt,” Nashatra snapped, her grip tightening on their wrist. “These guys don’t let things slide, and I owe them more than I can count.”

Chance groaned. “Well, shit. How do we outrun them?!”

“We don’t,” Nashatra panted. “We lose them.”

With another sharp turn, Nashatra led them into a shop, shoving past the broken door. Chance barely had time to catch their breath before Nashatra pushed them into the shadows, pressing a finger to her lips.

Footsteps thundered outside. The Squires hadn’t lost them.

A moment later, they were surrounded.

Chance tensed as several figures stepped into view—Squires, their suits glinting under the dim mall lights, and Britalians, their slick suits immaculate despite the chaos. They moved in a coordinated formation, their presence suffocating.

“Damn,” Chance muttered, rubbing the back of their neck. “This is, uh, not great.”

One of the Squires stepped forward. “End of the line, Nashatra. You’ve been running for too long.”

Nashatra gritted her teeth. “Like hell I’m going with you.”

Chance raised their hands in a disarming manner, flashing their signature cocky grin. “Alright, alright, let’s all take a deep breath. No need for violence. I mean, really, are debts even that serious? What’s a little negative stud count among friends?”

The Squires didn’t look amused.

Before anyone could respond, a deep, commanding voice cut through the tense air from behind the mafia members.

“I see you brought a friend, Nashatra.”

Chance’s blood ran cold.

The air shifted, thick with an unspoken weight. The men surrounding them straightened immediately, stepping aside to reveal the one who had spoken.

A figure emerged from the shadows, his presence exuding authority, danger, and something unreadable.

Chance swallowed hard.

Well.

They were officially in deep shit.

Chapter 4: The dream and the wakening

Summary:

(idk what to write , i have motivation so im gonna use the hell out of it while i can , before it goes away liek the dead wind.)

The man who spoke stepped forward, his presence commanding the space like a phantom of authority. He was taller than the others, his broad frame casting an oppressive shadow even in the dim light of the dreamscape. There was something about him that even Chance, with all their bravado, found slightly intimidating. The air grew thick with tension as he raised a cigar to his lips, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled a cloud of acrid smoke directly at Chance and Nashatra.

Chance coughed violently, waving a hand in front of their face, while Nashatra grimaced, pulling the collar of her shirt over her nose. The scent of the smoke was heavy, bitter, and far too strong, clinging to their lungs like a toxic haze.

The man’s face remained obscured beneath the brim of his fedora, his features swallowed by the shadows. Only the glowing ember of his cigar and the gleam of his teeth when he smirked gave any indication of his expression. His voice was deep, gravelly, the kind of voice that settled into one’s bones like an omen.

Chance, regaining their composure, scowled and crossed their arms. “Who the hell even are you? Leave that girl alone, man.”

A murmur of discontent rippled through the gathered mafia members. One of the squires, a wiry man with a scar running down his jaw, stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he reached to silence Chance.

But before he could so much as lay a hand on them, the taller man—Mafioso—lifted a gloved hand, halting him in his tracks. A slow, almost amused hum rumbled from Mafioso’s throat as he turned his attention fully to Chance. Then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed their chin, tilting their face up so they had no choice but to look at him.

“You as dumb as you seem to be, or is this just for show?” Mafioso mused, his grip firm but not bruising. The faint scent of expensive cologne mixed with the acrid smoke clung to him, an odd combination of refinement and menace.

Chance stiffened, their eyes narrowing. Their usual cocky retorts caught in their throat, for once unsure if pushing their luck was the best move here. Mafioso’s grip lingered for a second longer before he released them, his smirk widening as if thoroughly entertained.

Before anything else could be said, Nashatra seized the moment. With a quick motion, she grabbed Chance’s wrist and yanked them toward her, reaching into her pocket with her free hand and pulling out a rusted crowbar. In a flash, the world around them shimmered, distorted, and the sound of static filled Chance’s ears. The scene shifted abruptly, the oppressive presence of the mafia vanishing as they were teleported away.

They landed back in the small, dimly lit safehouse, the only notable piece of furniture being the red bed Chance had woken up in earlier. The sensation of teleportation left their stomach lurching, but Nashatra didn’t give them time to recover. She turned to them, hands on her hips, eyes sharp.

“You’re reckless,” she scolded, though there was a glimmer of admiration beneath her words. “But I gotta admit, you’ve got guts. At least you can hold your own.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “Still, you should wake up before they track us down again. The mafia doesn’t let go of their prey easily.”

Chance swallowed, rubbing the back of their neck. Despite the light praise, they could feel the weight of her warning pressing against them.

“Right,” they muttered, closing their eyes.

And just like that, the dream shattered.

When they opened their eyes again, they were no longer in the decrepit mall or the suffocating presence of the mafia. Instead, they were back in the real world, in their hideout. The familiar walls, the dim lighting, the quiet hum of safety—it was grounding. But most notably, nestled against them on the bed, was Spade, their giant black bunny. The creature snored softly, its large body pressed into Chance’s side, a comforting weight against the remnants of the dream.

Chance exhaled slowly, letting their fingers thread through Spade’s soft fur. Even as their heartbeat gradually returned to normal, the encounter with Mafioso still lingered in their mind. That man…

Something told them they hadn’t seen the last of him.

Chapter 5: Waking up and Regularity

Summary:

Waking up , Chance does his usual routine , they can't help but pounder what that dream was about.

As Chance was waking up , the warmth of the blanket cocooning them in comfort. Their head felt a little foggy, remnants of the strange dream lingering in their thoughts. Normally, their dreams consisted of high-stakes games, the thrill of winning, the crushing loss of defeat—but this? This had been something else entirely.

As they shifted, a soft nudge against their hand made them glance down. Spade, their beloved bunny, was nestled up against them, his tiny nose twitching before he gave Chance’s hand an insistent nudge. Then, just as predictably, he began thumping his foot against the mattress, an unmistakable sign of impatience.

Chance chuckled, rubbing the fur between his ears. “Don’t give me that attitude, mister. You’re worse than me when I’m waiting for a payout.”

Spade only thumped his foot again, ears twitching as if he understood the teasing but chose to ignore it in favor of his priority: food.

Sighing playfully, Chance swung their legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, stretching their arms high above their head before heading to the dresser. Their usual outfit—button-up, vest, tie, and that signature coat—was waiting for them, neatly folded from the night before. They got dressed swiftly, rolling their sleeves just the way they liked, before scooping Spade up in one arm and heading toward the kitchen.

The scent of something sweet and warm filled the hideout, a stark contrast to the usual scent of dust and aged wood. As Chance stepped into the kitchen, they saw the source—007n7 stood by the stove, expertly flipping a pancake in the air before catching it perfectly in the pan.

“Morning,” Chance greeted, setting Spade down onto the counter before reaching for his bowl.

007n7 glanced over, giving them a nod. “Morning. You sleep well?”

Chance hesitated for a fraction of a second before grabbing Spade’s favorite food and pouring it into the bowl. “Weirdest dream of my life,” they admitted, setting the bowl down as Spade hopped over, eagerly munching away. “It didn’t even feel like a dream.”

007n7 raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further, instead focusing on stacking the pancakes onto a plate. As they slid it across the counter toward Chance, they reached over to scratch behind Spade’s ears, earning a tiny, satisfied twitch from the bunny.

Chance took a bite of their pancake, chewing slowly as they stared off, thoughts drifting back to the dreamscape. The dying mall, the eerie shops, the strange girl named Nashatra—and then the mafia. That man, his voice deep and authoritative, the way the smoke curled around his unreadable expression. Chance could still feel the ghost of his grip on their chin, the weight of his presence looming over them like a storm cloud.

What the hell was that dream?

And more importantly… why did it feel like it wasn’t just a dream at all?

Chapter 6: Round started

As Chance ate, they watched Spade settle into the plush luxury bed they had bought for him. The small bunny kneaded the soft fabric with tiny paws before curling up into a comfortable loaf. Chance chuckled, reaching out to pet him one last time.

“You’ve got it made, don’t you, buddy?” they murmured, rubbing behind his ears before pulling their hand away.

Not long after, the familiar sensation of teleportation washed over them. The hideout blurred from their vision, and in an instant, Chance and the other survivors were dropped into a new round. The landscape around them was grim, a desolate, abandoned cityscape. Broken streetlights flickered weakly, casting eerie shadows over cracked pavement. A deep, unsettling hum lingered in the air—John Doe was the killer this time.

Chance flipped their coin between their fingers as they walked cautiously. Each metallic spin caught the dim light, a quiet rhythm to their steps. Beside them, Elliot walked at an even pace, hands tucked into his pockets.

Chance turned their head slightly. "Why do the others always order you to keep an eye on me?"

Elliot sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Because you're reckless. And if you get injured, at least I can throw a pizza at you."

Chance scoffed, pocketing their coin. "Oh, come on. I can handle myself."

"Yeah?" Elliot smirked. "Tell that to the time you almost got decapitated last round."

"That was one time."

"Uh-huh. And the time before that when you tried to gamble with one of the killers?"

Chance groaned, rolling their eyes. "Details, details."

They eventually spotted Guest 1337 and Builderman near a makeshift barricade. Builderman had constructed a sentry that emitted a faint glow, signaling its regenerative abilities. Guest 1337 leaned against a crumbling wall, arms crossed, scanning the area with sharp eyes.

When he noticed Chance approaching, his gaze lingered on them. "You good?" he asked, voice laced with suspicion. "You look like your mind is somewhere else."

Chance blinked, caught off guard. "Huh? Oh, nah, I'm fine. Just... thinking."

Guest 1337 didn't seem convinced, but he didn't press further. Instead, he adjusted his vest and turned his attention back to Builderman, who was busy fine-tuning the sentry. Elliot, however, nudged Chance playfully with his elbow.

"You? Thinking? Now that’s a scary thought."

Chance chuckled, shaking their head. But even as they tried to brush it off, they couldn't shake the feeling. That dream—why did it feel so real?

Chapter 7: Gun powder and eyes

Summary:

(small chapter but thats bc i wanted to end this chapter here before doing the next chapter <3)

The round had been dragging on longer than expected, and Chance was beginning to feel the exhaustion creep in. Their gun had nearly blown up in their hands more times than they could count, and their patience was wearing thin. Currently, they were helping Two Time repair a generator, the faint hum of machinery filling the air as they worked in relative silence.

Chance glanced up, noticing Two Time’s spawn wings already fully formed. Curiosity got the best of them, and they quipped, "So, you ever actually fly with those, or are they just for show?"

Two Time didn’t answer right away. Instead, they turned their head slowly to stare at Chance, their expression unreadable, their eerie gaze lingering just a bit too long.

Chance felt a shiver run down their spine. "Okayyy... I'm just gonna go now," they muttered, taking a step back before briskly walking away.

They headed toward Guest 1337, who stood near a half-constructed sentry, tapping his foot impatiently.

"The round's gonna be over soon," Guest 1337 informed them, glancing at them with a scrutinizing look.

Chance exhaled, relieved. "About time."

They waited, the atmosphere still tense as the match neared its end. Finally, the familiar sensation of being teleported washed over them, and in an instant, they were back at the hideout.

As soon as Chance's feet hit the ground, a soft thump followed. Spade was already at their feet, demanding attention with eager nudges and an expectant gaze.

Chance chuckled, scooping up the bunny into their arms. "Missed me already, huh?"

They carried Spade back to their bedroom, the exhaustion from the long match weighing on their limbs. Settling onto the bed, they gently brushed their fingers through Spade’s fur, the rhythmic motion soothing. Their eyelids grew heavy, and before they knew it, sleep slowly pulled them under once again.

 

Sleeping...

Chapter 8: The ocean , the light that flickers

Summary:

( i wrote alot of chapters in my notepad! ive been wanting to do this fic for a long time actually , sos i have alot chapters saved up , but i mostly look at them ebfore realeasing them! <3 , and i too double check this one , because its very long and i didnt want any mistakes , i hope it is fine! and that i didnt missed anything!)

Chance woke up to the feeling of plush fabric beneath them, their body sinking slightly into the familiar red bed. Blinking slowly, they let out a soft breath, stretching out their limbs. The sensation was eerily familiar now—the heavy silence, the weightlessness of the dreamscape. Their mind still hazy from sleep, they pushed themselves up to a sitting position, running a hand through their messy hair.

The small house was just as it had been before, tucked away in this strange, dying world. The walls carried the scent of dust and aged fabric, and the soft glow from outside cast elongated shadows across the wooden floorboards. But something felt different. A muffled sound echoed beyond the door—a low, distorted hum, like waves crashing against a shore.

Chance got to their feet and stepped outside. The sight before them was unlike anything they had encountered in previous dreams. The mall, once abandoned and decayed, now seemed submerged beneath a vast, endless ocean. Yet, they stood perfectly dry, as if the water obeyed some strange rule of the dream. Looking up, they could see the surface above them, where light filtered through in eerie, rippling patterns. The structures of the mall remained intact, but their edges blurred, as though constantly shifting between reality and illusion.

Taking a cautious step forward, Chance tested the ground beneath them. It felt solid, yet the sound of water sloshing faintly followed their every move. They exhaled through their nose, adjusting their coat before moving deeper into the submerged world. The silence was almost suffocating, yet they found they could breathe just fine, as if the water around them were merely an illusion.

As they wandered further, they spotted a figure standing on a bridge above—a small silhouette against the ever-moving light patterns. Squinting, they quickly recognized the familiar shape of Nashatra. Their lips curled slightly at the sight. Figures she’d be here too.

Chance climbed up the worn stairs leading to the bridge, their steps careful as the structures groaned under their weight. Nashatra turned as they approached, surprise flickering across her face before settling into something more neutral.

"You again? Didn’t think I’d see you back here so soon."

Chance tilted their head, shoving their hands into their pockets. "Guess I just can’t stay away."

Nashatra let out a short breath, shaking her head. She turned her gaze back to the panel before her, fingers hovering over a set of buttons embedded in rusted metal. Chance stepped closer, glancing over her shoulder.

"So, what are you up to?" they asked, voice light with curiosity.

"Trying to get this damn thing working," Nashatra muttered. "I need a card to access the elevator." She tapped the panel with a frustrated sigh before crossing her arms. "This dream’s different from the others. They all have patterns, places, structures. If I can figure them out, I might be able to find out why I keep having these dreams."

Chance hummed, tilting their head. "So, what’s special about this one?"

Nashatra finally turned to face them fully, her eyes sharp. "This dream? It’s the Ocean. And if the mafia finds us here, we’re in trouble."

Chance’s playful smirk faltered slightly. That was enough to pique their interest.

"The mafia’s here too?" they asked, rolling their coin between their fingers absentmindedly.

Nashatra nodded. "Yeah. Just like before, this place is their territory. And unlike us, they don’t just wander. They know exactly what they’re looking for."

Chance exhaled, looking out over the endless stretch of submerged structures. The thought of running into Mafioso again sent a thrill of unease through them. They weren’t scared, not really, but the memory of his shadowed face, the way his cigar smoke had burned in their lungs—it lingered.

"So, what’s the plan?" they asked after a moment, a grin creeping back onto their lips. "We sneaking around again, or do I get to roll my luck this time?"

Nashatra sighed, rubbing her temple. "Just... stay quiet and don’t do anything reckless. If they find us, it won’t be a game anymore."

Chance chuckled. "You really know how to make things sound dramatic."

Still, despite their teasing tone, they couldn’t shake the weight of her words. If this dream was anything like the last one, things were about to get dangerous. And, for the first time in a long while, Chance wasn’t sure if luck would be enough to get them out of it.

Chapter 9: Panels , the questions

Summary:

(ANOTHER CHAPTER AAA , im gonan hit u with al lthe chaptersi ahd saved in my note pad i had saved this fan fic for far too long , i had to double check , and i also made yuri bc why not.)

Chance watched as Nashatra exhaled in frustration, stepping away from the keypad. She had been at it for what felt like forever, trying every combination she could think of, yet the elevator refused to budge.

“Guess that’s another dead end,” she muttered, rubbing her temples. “Damn thing never lets me through.”

Chance tilted their head, flipping their coin absentmindedly in their palm. “So, this ain't the first time you’ve been here?” they asked, watching her closely.

Nashatra shook her head, leaning against the metal railing of the bridge. “Not even close. I keep having these dreams over and over again. Every time I end up in a different place, but the rules always seem the same. Feels like I’m stuck in some kind of loop, trying to figure things out before I wake up.” She let out a soft, bitter laugh. “And I never get any closer to answers.”

Chance hummed thoughtfully, their eyes drifting over the vast ocean surrounding them. The water was unnervingly still, reflecting the dark sky above like a mirror. It felt unnatural. Just like everything in this dream.

Then something clicked in their head—the debt.

“Hey, about that whole studs thing,” Chance started, looking over at Nashatra, “how does it work exactly? How do you even know when you’re in debt?”

Nashatra sighed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a sleek, rectangular tablet. The screen flickered to life, displaying a set of numbers in bright white text. She turned it towards them.

“Every time I steal, teleport, or take something, my studs go down. It’s like an automatic system that tracks every move I make. I was doing fine for a while, keeping my balance in check, but then I started falling into the void in one of the platforming dreams, over and over again.” She frowned, pointing at the glaring red number next to her name: -234,000.

Chance whistled lowly. “Damn, that’s rough.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Nashatra huffed, crossing her arms. “Once you hit the negatives, the mafia comes after you. You’re marked. That’s why they’re always hunting me down in these dreams. I’m basically a walking bounty.”

Chance considered this, flipping their coin once more before catching it between their fingers. “So that means I got a balance too, right?”

“Yeah. Lemme check,” Nashatra replied, tapping the screen a few times before her expression relaxed. “Hah, you’re still in the positive.” She turned the tablet around to show them their balance: 5,000.

Chance let out a relieved chuckle. “Well, that’s a good sign. Guess I don’t have to worry about any mafiosos coming after my ass.”

Nashatra smirked. “Yeah, for now.” She put the tablet away and turned to face them fully. “Honestly, if you stay out of trouble, you won’t have to deal with the mafia at all.”

Chance thought back to the towering figure from the last dream. The deep voice, the suffocating cigar smoke, the way he had grabbed their chin like they were nothing more than a piece of property to be examined.

“Speaking of, that big guy from before,” they said, “the one with the fedora and all that attitude. He the boss?”

Nashatra snorted. “Pfft, no. That guy? He’s just one of the high-ups. A lieutenant or something. The real boss is someone else entirely.”

“Yeah? Who?” Chance asked, raising a brow.

A strange expression crossed Nashatra’s face—a mix of admiration and something else that Chance couldn’t quite place. “Her name’s Eunoia,” she said, almost dreamily. “She’s... well, she’s gorgeous. Elegant. Scary as hell, but you can’t take your eyes off her. She’s got this way of talking that makes you wanna listen forever.”

Chance smirked, leaning in teasingly. “Oh? Sounds like someone’s got a little crush.”

Nashatra immediately snapped out of it, her face heating up. “Wha—no! Shut up! That’s not it at all!”

Chance chuckled, clearly entertained. “Uh-huh. Sure. You just called the mafia boss gorgeous and elegant, but yeah, totally not a crush.”

Nashatra pouted, crossing her arms. “Even if I did like her, the mafia would have my head if I so much as stepped within a foot of her.”

Chance just grinned. “Shame. Sounds like it’d be one hell of a romance.”

To which Nashatra rolled her eyes playfully at him "Oh shut up."

Chapter 10: Ridiculous pie hiking and the boat above the water

Summary:

(throws you another chapter , im trying to like , check my hcapters and if the yare done and there's nothing wrong , i publish them , its 2 am rn so im trying to publish them while i can <3)

Chance barely had a moment to process Nashatra's words before she suddenly grabbed their arm, pulling them down into a crouch beside her. Their breath hitched in their throat as they instinctively followed her lead, trying to stay as low and quiet as possible.

"Why did you do that?" Chance whispered, brow furrowing as they glanced at her.

Nashatra's sharp eyes darted toward the distance, her expression turning tense. "They're here. We need to get back to the bed." Her voice was hushed, but firm, and there was a sense of urgency in her grip on Chance’s arm.

Chance's stomach twisted at the implication. If she meant the mafia, then—

Before they could even respond, Nashatra’s gaze flickered with a different kind of determination, as if an idea had just sparked in her mind. She gripped their wrist tighter and, without warning, bolted in the opposite direction.

"Wait—where are we going?!" Chance asked, stumbling for a second before matching her pace.

"Change of plans!" Nashatra called back. "We’re not going back to the bed!"

Chance didn’t have time to argue as they both dashed forward. The ocean dreamscape stretched out before them in eerie, almost surreal silence. Their footsteps echoed across the massive bridge they were on, the only sound besides the distant crashing of invisible waves. The air smelled faintly of salt, but the water below shimmered unnaturally, like liquid glass, reflecting the dim glow of the dream’s sky.

Then, ahead of them, Chance noticed something odd—a section of the bridge was slightly raised, tilted like a broken piece of a puzzle. And down below, floating on the surface of the water, was a small boat bobbing ever so slightly.

"Are we—" Chance sucked in a breath, their legs burning from running. "Are we supposed to jump onto that?!"

Nashatra didn’t answer. Instead, she did something even more ridiculous.

She reached into her coat, pulled out a handful of pies—actual pies—and then, right in front of Chance’s eyes, began throwing them below her feet. But instead of splattering on the ground, they stacked. One by one, forming a bizarre, floating platform. Then, without hesitation, she used them as stepping stones, jumping higher and higher as if this were some kind of absurd platformer game.

Chance stopped dead in their tracks, eyes widening. "WHAT—?!"

Within seconds, Nashatra had reached the edge of the bridge, leaping gracefully onto the boat below. The tiny vessel rocked slightly as she landed, but she remained balanced, turning back to Chance with an outstretched hand.

"Come on!" she called. "Hurry up before they spot us!"

Chance was still standing there, mouth slightly agape. "How did you—what even—?!"

"Logic doesn’t apply here!" Nashatra shouted back. "Just move!"

Chance swallowed. Their heart was hammering against their ribs. This dream was insane. It completely disregarded everything they knew about physics and reality. But then again… wasn’t that the whole point?

Shaking their head, they took a deep breath before making a run for it. They didn't have pies like she did, but as they approached the edge, their instincts kicked in. If this world didn't play by normal rules, then maybe… they just had to trust it.

With a final push, they leapt off the bridge.

For a moment, they were weightless. The cool dream air whipped past them, and the glassy water below seemed closer than they liked. But before panic could set in, Nashatra grabbed them, pulling them onto the boat just in time.

The boat rocked violently from the added weight, and Chance collapsed onto the wooden floor, panting. "Okay. Okay. That was ridiculous."

Nashatra let out a breathy chuckle, sitting down beside them. "Welcome to the dream world."

Chance groaned, running a hand through their hair. "I hate it here already."

Chapter 11: Wrong aim

Summary:

( ANOTHER CHAPTER , lets go! , i have a tone of chapters done , i need to get them out , and i do need to rewrite some of them , because i do need to change some of the writings , and if you guys want perhaps ressource on what i use the write or whate helps me write those chapters you can ask me!)

Chance sat in the boat as Nashatra expertly maneuvered it across the ocean-like dreamscape. The water shimmered unnaturally, reflecting an eerie, distorted version of the sky above. It was hard to tell where the horizon even was, as everything seemed to melt together in an endless, surreal abyss. Chance leaned back, stretching their arms before glancing at Nashatra, who had a determined expression on her face, her hands gripping the boat’s wheel with purpose.

“So, where exactly are we going?” Chance asked, watching as the waves lapped against the sides of the boat.

Nashatra didn’t take her eyes off the water ahead. “There’s a small house not too far from here. It’s where I got my hammer,” she explained, tapping the weapon against the boat’s edge. The sound echoed strangely in the dream world, almost as if the ocean itself acknowledged the hammer’s presence. “And we’re gonna go back to the bridge and smack some mafia heads in,” she added with a smirk. “You in?”

Chance grinned and held up their hand. “Hell yeah!”

Nashatra matched their enthusiasm, slapping their palm in a firm high-five. The air between them buzzed with excitement, and for a moment, the looming danger of the dream felt a little less heavy.

It didn’t take long before they arrived at the bridge again. Nashatra steered the boat toward the side, slowing it just enough for them to leap off. They landed on the bridge with a soft thud, and immediately, their eyes locked onto the group of enemies ahead. Squires, made men, and debt collectors stood at the ready, their gazes sharp and calculating. They were fewer in number than before, which Nashatra saw as a perfect opportunity.

“Alright,” she muttered, adjusting her grip on her hammer. “Let’s do this.” Without hesitation, she charged forward, swinging her hammer down onto the nearest squire, sending him flying back like a ragdoll. The others barely had time to react before she was already moving onto the next one, her strikes swift and ruthless.

Chance, on the other hand, wasn’t as smooth. They pulled out their weapon, attempting to aim at one of the debt collectors, but the moment they fired, the shot completely missed. They cursed under their breath and tried again, only for the bullet to hit a completely different target than intended. The mafia members began to notice their lack of precision, and one even chuckled mockingly before lunging at them.

“Oh, shit—” Chance barely dodged, rolling to the side as Nashatra came in with a powerful swing, knocking the attacker out cold.

The fight continued, with Nashatra effortlessly weaving through enemies while Chance struggled to land their hits. Eventually, the last debt collector hit the ground, and the fight was over. Chance exhaled, running a hand through their hair before turning to Nashatra, who was watching them with an amused expression.

“You’re not very good at this, huh?” she teased, resting her hammer on her shoulder.

Chance put their hands on their hips, feigning offense. “Ouch? That was uncalled for.”

“I’m just saying, I hope you never have to use a gun seriously,” Nashatra continued with a chuckle. “That was a disaster.”

Chance huffed playfully. “I do have a gun, you know.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I’m really hoping you never have to use it.” Nashatra smirked, giving them a light pat on the back before stepping ahead. “Come on, let’s get moving before more of them show up.”

Chance rolled their eyes but couldn’t help but smile as they followed after her. The dream was far from over, and something told them things were only going to get weirder from here.

Chapter 12: vast the ocean stretches

Summary:

(here's another chapter , ive been asleep for only two hours and my eyes burns , becuase i couldn't sleep , and i wanted to write so like-.)

Chance and Nashatra trudged along the sandy ocean floor, their footsteps leaving fleeting impressions before the current subtly washed them away. The water around them shimmered with an eerie glow, reflecting the infinite expanse of the dreamscape. As they walked, Chance couldn't help but let their curiosity get the better of them.

"So, about this Eunoia chick... why does she care so much about studs?" they asked, tilting their head as they glanced at Nashatra.

Nashatra gave a small shrug. "Beats me. Not like I can ask her or anything."

Chance raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

Nashatra let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "Because the second I step into one of her shops, I get chased down."

Chance winced. "Damn. Tough love."

At that, Nashatra's closed eyes narrowed, and even though Chance couldn't see her pupils, they felt the weight of her glare. It was impressive how expressive she could be despite keeping her eyes shut.

They eventually reached the small, familiar house from before, its wooden walls standing resilient against the oddity of their surroundings. The two of them stepped inside, the warmth of the interior wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. Chance and Nashatra both flopped down onto the plush red bed, its softness inviting after their trek through the strange dreamscape.

For a while, they sat in companionable silence, the only sound being the gentle hum of the world outside. Then, Nashatra broke the quiet.

"So, tell me," she began, shifting to face Chance properly. "What’s your world like when you wake up?"

Chance let out a slow breath, their gaze drifting to the ceiling as they tried to gather their thoughts. "It’s... hard to describe. It’s like I’m stuck in an endless loop. Every time I wake up, it’s the same thing. A new round, a new killer, a new set of generators to fix so I don’t die. And then another round starts. And another. And another."

They trailed off, brow furrowing slightly. How long had it been since they first got trapped in that cycle? It was hard to say. The days blurred together, stretching on into infinity. Time felt meaningless when all they did was run, fix, escape, repeat.

Chance shook their head, rubbing at their temples. "It’s been like that for... I don’t even know. I can’t remember a time before it. It’s just... survival. Over and over again."

Nashatra remained quiet for a moment, taking in their words. Then, with a quiet huff, she leaned back against the pillows. "Sounds exhausting."

Chance let out a dry chuckle. "You don’t know the half of it."

For a moment, neither of them spoke, lost in their own thoughts. The world outside remained eerily calm, the soft glow of the ocean casting shifting patterns across the wooden walls. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic reality Chance had to wake up to. A dream within a nightmare. And yet, somehow, sitting here with Nashatra, it didn’t feel so bad.

Chapter 13: Bunnies

Summary:

(ive been writing in my notepad , for good hours , my eyes feels like they burn honestly but like yeah!!)

As the silence settled between them, Chance shifted slightly on the plush red bed, glancing at Nashatra with a small, thoughtful smile. "You know," they started, stretching their arms behind their head, "I actually have a bunny back home. A little black one. His name's Spade."

Nashatra, who had been absentmindedly twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers, perked up with interest. "Oh? A bunny, huh?"

Chance nodded, their smile growing fond. "Yeah. He’s probably curled up on my bed right now, cuddling into the blankets. Or—" they let out a short laugh, shaking their head, "—he's thumping his foot like crazy ‘cause I fell asleep before finishing his brushing time. He gets all fussy about that."

Nashatra chuckled, her amusement evident. "Sounds like a demanding little guy. But I get it. The dreamscape has a lot of bunnies too—cats, even."

Chance raised an eyebrow. "Really? I haven’t seen any yet."

"Oh, they're around," Nashatra assured them with a smirk. "They tend to follow people. And if you don't pay attention to them?" She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice in mock seriousness. "They go absolutely feral."

Chance let out a laugh. "That sounds exactly like my Spade. If I don’t give him attention, he starts yanking at my sleeves or chewing on my hoodie."

Nashatra joined in their laughter, shaking her head. "They just know what they want. Can't fault them for that."

The conversation drifted into a comfortable lull, the two of them sitting together on the bed, exchanging small stories about their respective worlds. Chance found it oddly comforting—this strange yet familiar connection between them. Even in a place as surreal as the dreamscape, where logic bent and twisted, something as simple as talking about pets made it feel almost... normal.

And for a moment, as their laughter faded into the quiet hum of the dreamscape, they both forgot about the looming presence of the mafia, the endless rounds, and the uncertainty of their realities. Just two people, in a dream, sharing a moment of peace.

and before they both knew it.

they woke up.

Chapter 14: Waking up , the routine

Summary:

(last chapter before i go to school YAYS)

Chance woke up to the golden rays of sunlight piercing through the window, casting warm hues across the room. They groaned, rolling over to shield their face from the brightness, but were met with the familiar presence of soft fur pressing against their arm. Spade, their ever-loyal bunny, nuzzled happily into their side, his little paws twitching in contentment. Chance exhaled through their nose, a soft chuckle escaping them as they reached out to pet the small creature.

"Good morning, Spade," they murmured, rubbing behind his ears. In response, Spade thumped his foot against the mattress, as if already demanding his morning routine of attention. Chance shook their head playfully. "Alright, alright, don't give me that attitude. I'm up."

With some reluctance, they peeled themselves from the bed and went through their usual routine. Slipping into their usual attire, they ran a hand through their slightly messy hair before making their way toward the kitchen, the familiar scent of food and faint chatter filling the air. The hideout was already alive with movement, survivors either preparing themselves for the day ahead or relishing the short-lived peace before another round would start.

As they stepped into the kitchen, they were greeted by a sight that was both amusing and concerning. Noob was perched on a counter, chugging down what seemed to be his fifth Bloxy Soda of the morning. Meanwhile, Elliot stood beside him, arms crossed, looking exasperated beyond belief.

"Noob, seriously? That's your fifth one," Elliot scolded, his voice edged with frustration. "You need to cut down on that stuff."

Noob, in typical fashion, ignored him entirely, taking another exaggerated sip before grinning. "But it's so good! And it makes me go zoom!" He suddenly hopped off the counter and started jogging in place, bouncing on his feet with jittery energy.

Elliot sighed, rubbing his temples as if trying to stave off an impending headache. Spotting Chance at the doorway, he gave them a pleading look. "Chance, back me up here. Help me talk some sense into him."

Chance, however, merely raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smirk. "You’ve got the wrong person if you want someone to talk about addiction."

Elliot blinked, taken aback for a moment, before narrowing his eyes. "Wait, what’s that supposed to—"

Before he could finish, Noob let out an excited whoop and bolted out of the kitchen, the effects of his sugar rush kicking into high gear. He zipped across the room, weaving between furniture and other survivors with wild speed, his laughter echoing throughout the hideout. Several people had to step aside to avoid being caught in his chaotic sprint.

Elliot let out a deep sigh, watching as Noob dashed around like a hyperactive blur. "Great. Just great. He's going to crash so hard later."

Chance leaned against the counter, crossing their arms as they observed the scene with an amused yet thoughtful expression. "At least he hasn’t given up. He’s still having fun in this world."

Their tone was lighthearted, but there was a weight to their words, an underlying layer of something more serious. The reality of their situation wasn’t lost on them—an endless cycle of rounds, an unyielding loop of survival and danger. Some days were harder than others, the monotony and repetition pressing down on them like an inescapable force. But despite it all, Noob still found a way to enjoy himself, to laugh, to embrace the absurdity of it all rather than letting it consume him.

Elliot turned to look at them, momentarily surprised by their words. He studied their expression before nodding slightly, a newfound sense of understanding passing between them. "Yeah… you’re right. It’s hard not to give up when every day feels like the same thing over and over."

The air grew a little heavier with that truth, but it wasn’t suffocating. Instead, it was a shared acknowledgment, a silent agreement between two survivors who understood the weight of their reality. Elliot let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Still, I think you’re gonna regret not stopping him when he starts bouncing off the walls."

Chance snorted. "Oh, definitely. But that’s future Chance’s problem."

Elliot rolled his eyes with a laugh, and despite everything—the looping rounds, the relentless killers, the uncertainty of what lay ahead—there was comfort in this moment. Even in an endless cycle, they could still find these fleeting instances of normalcy, of camaraderie, of something resembling life.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter 15: Past memories forgotten, but is it truly better?

Summary:

(i am at school rn , my teacher are absent so i had been doing nothing but writing for the past 3 hours , copying my work , aka my ahh writing to phone is hell-)

The round had begun, and the air was filled with an eerie hum. Coolkidd was the killer this time, his glowing red eyes scanning the endless map as he giggled to himself, an excited and almost childlike energy in his movements. He always seemed like a bratty kid, someone who never fully grasped the weight of his own actions. Yet, there was something different about this round.

 

Chance crouched behind a wall, their breath slow and controlled, watching as Coolkidd zipped around the area with reckless abandon. Guest 1337 was beside them, his arms crossed as he tapped his foot in irritation.

 

"He's chasing him again," Guest 1337 muttered, nodding toward the chaos unfolding before them.

 

Chance followed his gaze and saw 007n7, the man who once created Coolkidd, running for his life. Coolkidd wasn’t like the other killers. He didn’t hunt with malice or calculated intent; instead, he treated the deadly game like a playground, a mischievous child chasing after his favorite toy.

 

"Come on, Dad!" Coolkidd called out gleefully, blinking in and out of existence as he teleported around the map, cutting off 007n7 at every turn. "Why are you running? This is fun!"

 

007n7, however, looked panicked. His expression was void of recognition, his movements stiff with confusion.

 

Guest 1337 sighed. "He doesn’t remember."

 

Chance frowned. "Yeah... he really doesn’t."

 

They watched as Coolkidd continued his relentless pursuit, laughing and warping, popping in and out of reality like a glitch in the system. But the way he laughed—Chance couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more behind it. It wasn’t just joy; there was a desperation in his voice, like he didn't know his own dad didn't remenber him, like he was clinging to something that had long since faded.

 

"It's kind of messed up, huh?" Chance muttered, shifting their weight as they kept their eyes on the chase. "I mean... 007n7 is the reason he exists in the first place, and now he doesn’t even know who he is."

 

Guest 1337 exhaled sharply. "Yeah. But that’s what happens when you play god. Sometimes, you create something you can't control. And sometimes, the worst punishment isn't being killed—it's being forgotten."

 

Chance remained silent, watching as Coolkidd finally caught up to 007n7, only for the man to shove him aside in a panicked attempt to escape. Coolkidd stumbled back, blinking in shock, his wide, glowing eyes looking almost hurt.

 

"Dad...?" he called out, his voice lacking the usual playful energy.

 

007n7 didn’t look back. He just kept running.

 

Coolkidd stood there for a moment, shoulders slumped, hands twitching at his sides. Then, just like that, his grin returned, though it seemed forced. He gave a wild laugh and disappeared in another glitchy flicker, continuing his game of cat and mouse as if nothing had happened.

 

Chance and Guest 1337 exchanged a glance.

 

"He doesn’t get it," Guest 1337 said, voice quieter now. "Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t want to accept it."

 

Chance clenched their jaw. They didn’t know what was sadder—the fact that Coolkidd still saw 007n7 as his father or the fact that his

father would never remember him.

 

Chapter 16: Don't be so hard on the past.

Summary:

(woooo!!

The round had ended with an almost surreal sense of calm. No one had died, and despite the tension and chaos that had filled the air during the chase, everything had returned to the way it always did. The hideout was bustling with the usual post-round activities—some survivors chatting and laughing, others tending to minor injuries or simply unwinding from the stress of the match.

 

Chance, however, found themselves quietly making their way toward the worn-out couch where 007n7 was sitting. He was slouched back, one arm resting over the top of the couch, his expression unreadable. It was hard to tell what was going through his mind, but Chance figured they might as well try.

 

Without saying a word, they sat down beside him, the silence stretching between them like an unspoken agreement. For a moment, neither of them spoke, just existing in the same space, listening to the murmurs of the hideout. Then, after some hesitation, Chance finally broke the silence.

 

"CoolKidd didn’t bring back anything? No memories or... anything at all?" their voice was softer than usual, cautious, but still curious.

 

007n7 turned his head slightly, looking at them from the corner of his eye. "No," he said, blunt and unwavering. "Why should he?"

 

Chance frowned, thinking over his words. "I don’t know," they admitted, rubbing the back of their neck. "Just thought... maybe something would click."

There was something final about the way he said it, like a door being firmly shut. Chance studied him for a second before reaching over and giving his shoulder a gentle pat. "Don’t be too hard on the kid, alright?"

 

007n7 didn’t reply, but he also didn’t push their hand away. That was enough for Chance.

 

Taking that as their cue to leave, they pushed themselves up from the couch and made their way back to their room. The moment they stepped inside, they were met with the familiar sight of Spade curled up on their bed, the small black bunny twitching his ears at their arrival. As soon as they approached, Spade lifted his head slightly and nuzzled into Chance’s hand, his fur soft beneath their fingertips.

 

Chance chuckled, giving him a few more affectionate pets before sighing. "Y’know, I think I’m gonna make you a new sweater," they mused, reaching for their knitting supplies. "Since you keep biting the seams out of this one."

 

At that, Spade thumped his foot against the bed, as if protesting the accusation. Chance smirked. "Oh, don’t give me that attitude. You know I’m right."

 

Spade wiggled his nose indignantly but settled down as Chance pulled out a fresh ball of yarn and their knitting needles. With a soft hum, they began working, the rhythmic movements of the needles bringing them a sense of quiet comfort. The world outside could wait. For now, it was just them, Spade, and the quiet, steady rhythm of

knitting something new.

 

Chapter 17: The bunny and the chicken

Summary:

(idk how to name the titles sometimes, i apologize if they seem lazy , I'm trying my best <3 , im trying to include other characters! I really headcanon that shed has a pet chicken that he named after wings , and Builderman just wants to throw it out cuz it keeps peeking at his clothes and causing holes LOL , also i did told you it was a slow burn-)

Chance sat on their bed, adjusting the tiny sweater they had just finished knitting onto Spade, who wiggled slightly in protest. The small black bunny twitched his nose, his ears flicking as he assessed the new garment with mild disdain. "Oh, come on, Spade. This one's reinforced. You can't possibly chew through it in one day," Chance said, smoothing the fabric down. Spade thumped his foot once, his silent way of voicing his displeasure.

 

Just as Chance was admiring their work, the door to their room burst open with dramatic flair, and Shedletsky strolled in, looking slightly frantic. "Hey, Chance! Have you seen my chicken anywhere?" he asked, hands on his hips.

 

Chance raised an eyebrow. "...Your what?"

 

"Wings. My chicken. She's gone missing!" Shedletsky emphasized, throwing his hands in the air.

 

Chance blinked. "You named your chicken... Wings?" They barely had time to finish their sentence before Shedletsky suddenly gasped, his head snapping toward the door. "Oh no, Builderman better not—!" Without another word, he dashed out of the room, his voice echoing through the hallway. "BUILDERMAN, YOU BETTER NOT THROW MY CHICKEN OUT!"

 

Chance watched him go, letting out a slow sigh before looking back at Spade, who had taken full advantage of their distraction. The bunny’s little mouth was already nibbling at the hem of the brand-new sweater, his tiny teeth working with determination.

 

Chance groaned. "Spade! I just finished that!" They reached forward, cupping the bunny’s soft cheeks in their hands and gently squishing his face. "Nuh-uh. You don’t. I just knitted you that. You are not turning this one into a chew toy!"

 

Spade merely blinked at them, his nose still twitching, his foot giving another stubborn thump as if to say, You can’t stop me. Chance sighed, releasing the bunny with a fond chuckle. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

 

Spade wiggled out of their grasp and immediately started grooming himself as if he hadn’t just been caught red-pawed (lol get the joke? Im so funny..) Chance shook their head and flopped backward onto their bed, staring up at the ceiling. Their mind briefly wandered back to Shedletsky’s ridiculous chicken fiasco, then to the day’s previous events—the endless rounds, the lingering thoughts about Coolkidd and 007n7, the never-ending cycle of this place.

 

Chance exhaled and reached over to scratch Spade’s ears, feeling the familiar softness beneath their fingertips. "At least I’ve got you," they murmured.

 

Spade twitched his nose in response before curling up next to them. Despite the chaotic nature of their world, in moments like this, things felt... normal.

 

Chapter 18: Dreams are distant but never far.

Summary:

(writing writing writing , yes , i had to modify this rq)

Chance lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, their mind buzzing with anticipation. Would they find themselves back in the dreamscape again? The thought excited them, a strange sense of adventure brewing in their chest. Ever since they started meeting Nashatra in these bizarre, fragmented dreams, they couldn't help but feel a pull toward whatever mystery lay within them.

 

Their eyes grew heavy, and before they could think any further, sleep took over.

 

When Chance opened their eyes again, they were no longer in their room. The world around them had shifted. This time, they stood at the edge of a floating platform, overlooking a city in the distance. Towering neon signs flickered amidst dark skyscrapers, casting an eerie glow over the landscape. Below, a vast stretch of land sprawled out, littered with debris, abandoned structures, and remnants of past encounters. The atmosphere was thick with a hazy fog, making it difficult to tell where the ground ended and the sky began.

 

As Chance took in their surroundings, a familiar voice—distant but unmistakable—reached their ears.

 

"GET BACK HERE, YOU THIEVING BRAT!"

 

Chance's eyes snapped downward. In the space below the floating city, Nashatra was darting through narrow alleys, skillfully dodging several mafia members who were hot on her heels. Her movements were swift and calculated, her agility allowing her to weave through the crumbling environment with ease. Despite her best efforts, the sheer number of pursuers was overwhelming.

 

Chance didn't hesitate.

 

They leaped off the platform, the sudden rush of air whipping against their face as they plummeted toward the scene below. The impact nearly knocked the wind out of them as they hit the ground, their legs barely absorbing the shock. Stumbling slightly, they quickly regained their balance, drawing their gun with shaky hands.

 

Bang!

 

The shot echoed through the air, hitting the ground near the approaching mafia members and sending them scattering for cover. Their attention shifted from Nashatra to Chance, who now stood between them and their target.

 

Nashatra skidded to a stop, her closed eyes widening SLIGHTLY in surprise. "Chance?!" she gasped, her face lighting up.

 

Chance grinned, exhaling sharply. "Looks like you could use some backup."

 

Nashatra laughed, brushing off some dust from her clothes. "I won’t say no to that! But seriously, what are you doing here?"

 

Chance shrugged. "I just woke up here. Saw you running for your life. Figured it was a good time to drop in."

 

Nashatra smirked, taking a stance next to Chance as the mafia members recovered from their initial shock and began advancing again. "Well, since you’re here, how about we teach these guys a lesson?"

 

Chance cocked their gun, smirking back. "Hell yeah. Let’s do this."

 

Chapter 19: And the world goes to black.

Summary:

(HERE WE GO, last thing i wrote , there won't be a chapter until tonight probably, unless i get freetime in between, my teachers have been absent for all the morning and it's pissing me off ngl- , i would have rather stayed at home! >:'(

As the dust settled from their battle with the mafia members, Chance and Nashatra took a moment to catch their breath. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and the faint metallic tang of rusted metal. Nashatra wiped her brow, flashing a tired yet triumphant grin at Chance.

 

"Well, that was fun," she said, stretching her arms above her head. "Come on, let’s get back to the little house before more of them show up."

 

Chance nodded, rolling their shoulders as they fell in step behind Nashatra. The cityscape loomed behind them, its towering structures casting long shadows against the dreamscape’s peculiar twilight. As they walked, Nashatra led the way with an air of confidence, her footsteps light and purposeful.

 

"You really saved me back there, y'know," she remarked, glancing over her shoulder at Chance. "I don’t usually have backup in these dreams. Kinda nice."

 

Chance chuckled, rubbing the back of their neck. "Well, I couldn’t just stand by and watch you get jumped. Besides, I think I’m starting to like this place—danger and all."

 

Nashatra snorted. "You say that now, but wait until you wake up with a sore back. Dream injuries have a weird way of sticking."

 

Chance opened their mouth to reply, but before they could get a word out, Nashatra’s expression twisted into sheer terror. Her eyes, usually half-lidded and calm, went wide with alarm as she spun around to face them.

 

"Chance! Behind you!"

 

Time seemed to slow. Chance barely had a second to register Nashatra’s scream before a sharp, searing pain bloomed across their back. The world around them spun into a dizzying haze, the ground rushing up to meet them. A muffled grunt escaped their lips as their vision blurred into darkness.

 

The last thing they heard before the void swallowed them was Nashatra’s panicked voice, calling their name over and over again.

 

Chapter 20: The deal

Summary:

(I HAVE COOKED ALL AFTERNOON , SO I HAVE A COUPLE OF CHAPTERS - , HERE IS YOUR FOOD DEAR DOUBLEFEDORA ENJOYERS)

Chance’s consciousness stirred sluggishly, their senses returning in fragments. Their head throbbed, their body heavy as if they had been drugged. A sharp scent filled their nose—cologne, rich leather, and the faint, acrid smell of burning tobacco.

They cracked their eyes open, the dim lighting of the room casting long shadows over the polished wooden floor. The office was lavish, almost absurdly so. Dark mahogany furniture, a massive desk littered with golden trinkets and neatly stacked papers, and a crystal ashtray with wisps of smoke curling from the still-burning cigar resting inside it.

But what caught Chance’s attention the most was the large, high-backed leather chair positioned in front of a towering window, overlooking the dreamscape city in all its neon-lit chaos.

Two bodyguards flanked the chair, their broad figures dressed in pristine black suits, hands resting on their holstered weapons. Their expressionless faces betrayed nothing, but their presence alone was a silent warning.

Chance groaned, shifting in their seat. Their wrists weren’t tied, but the weight of the situation was just as binding. They clenched their fists, forcing themselves to sit up straighter.

Then, the silence broke.

“I’ve finally gotten you alone.”

The voice was deep, smooth, carrying the confidence of someone who always got what they wanted. The chair slowly swiveled around, revealing the man behind it.

Mafioso.

He sat there, one leg crossed over the other, his suit impeccable, the dark fabric barely wrinkled as he rested an arm on the chair’s armrest. In his other hand, he held a cigar, the embers glowing faintly as he took a slow drag. His eyes were sharp, piercing through the haze of smoke that curled around his face.

Chance’s body tensed, anger flaring in their chest as they shot him a glare. “Let me go.”

Mafioso exhaled a stream of smoke, his expression unreadable.

Chance leaned forward, fists clenched. “You’re a bastard for trying to kill Nashatra.”

The room grew heavier. Mafioso’s grip on his chair visibly tightened for a split second, but he remained composed. His lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer.

“You’re a bold one,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “I can see why she clings to you.”

Chance didn’t respond, their glare unwavering.

Mafioso tapped the cigar against the edge of the ashtray, knocking off some ashes. “But enough of the pleasantries. I have a deal to offer you.”

Chance scoffed. “A deal?”

Mafioso nodded. “You hand Nashatra over to me. Lead her to me. In exchange, I’ll make sure you don’t have to spend the rest of your time here being hunted like an animal.”

Chance felt their stomach twist at the sheer audacity of the offer. Their jaw clenched. “And if I refuse?”

Mafioso leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his fingers interlocking as his golden rings glinted under the dim light. “Then you’ll share her fate.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, pressing against Chance’s chest like a vice.

A hunt.

Just like Nashatra.

Their breath came slow, measured, even as their heart pounded against their ribs. Mafioso wasn’t making an empty threat—he had the power to make it happen.

But betraying Nashatra? That wasn’t even an option.

Chance met Mafioso’s gaze, their own eyes burning with defiance.

And they smirked.

“Yeah… you’re gonna have to kill me first.”

Chapter 21: THE BNUYS

Summary:

(COOKING , here's your food , hits u with bnuys.)

Chance panted, their breath coming out in quick bursts, but strangely, no mist formed in the air. They had been running for what felt like an eternity, weaving through alleys, dodging bullets, slipping past grasping hands—yet now, as they slowed to a halt, all of that felt like a distant memory.

Snow stretched endlessly before them, an ocean of pure white untouched by footprints. The air was crisp, but not cold. The sky, a muted shade of blue, felt strangely calming, as if the weight of their recent escape was melting away with each passing second.

Chance frowned slightly, glancing down at their arms. They weren’t shivering. They weren’t even cold.

“Where the hell am I?” they muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

Then, something moved.

A flicker of movement against the snow, small and quick. Chance’s head snapped up—only for their breath to catch in their throat.

Bunnies.

Dozens. No, hundreds of them.

Pure white, as if sculpted from the very snow itself. Some were hopping around in little bursts of energy, their tiny paws barely making a sound as they landed. Others were curled up in the snow, their little ears twitching as they napped. The whole place was alive with the softest, purest creatures Chance had ever seen.

Their lips parted in sheer awe.

“What…”

A small thump by their foot made them look down. One of the bunnies—round and fluffy, its little pink nose twitching—had hopped right up to them. It stared at Chance with wide, dark eyes before suddenly bouncing in excited circles around them.

Chance let out an gasp.

Then, as if drawn by some invisible force, more bunnies turned their attention to them. One by one, they started hopping toward Chance, gathering in an ever-growing mass of fluff and warmth. Tiny paws pressed against their legs, little noses nudged against their hands, soft bodies squished against them in the gentlest swarm they had ever been caught in.

They had faced death. They had fought killers. They had run from the mafia. But this? This was heaven.

Chance let out a laugh, unable to stop themselves from dropping onto their knees in the snow. They reached out, hands disappearing into soft, warm fur as the bunnies practically threw themselves at them.

“Oh my god,” they whispered, their voice filled with something dangerously close to joy. “Oh my god, I’m never leaving.”

One bunny climbed into their lap. Another flopped onto its side, demanding belly rubs. A third nibbled gently at their sleeve, as if tasting them.

Chance lay back, arms spread, as the fluffy creatures crowded around them, nuzzling, hopping, pressing close.

Chapter 22: The bunnies of the mafia (so spooky!)

Summary:

(i am not serious but uk, THROWS FOOD AT U LIKE ELLIOT THROWS PIZZA , i amde the bunnies loved by the mafia bc why not)

A sudden cough pulled Chance out of their blissful haze.

They blinked, still buried in a sea of warm, fluffy bunnies, before looking up to see Nashatra standing over them. Before Chance could even react, Nashatra lunged forward and wrapped them in a tight hug, nearly knocking the breath out of them.

“You're okay!” she exclaimed, her grip surprisingly strong as she squeezed them tight.

Chance let out a small laugh, slightly winded but amused nonetheless. “Geez, didn’t know you missed me that much.”

Nashatra pulled back just enough to look them over, her eyes scanning them as if checking for wounds. “You disappeared, dumbass! One second you were there, the next, gone! I thought—” She huffed, shaking her head before squeezing them again. “Never mind. You’re here. That’s what matters.”

Chance smirked, patting her head teasingly. “Relax, I’m fine. Actually, more than fine.” They gestured toward the bunnies still nestled around them, some snuggled in their lap, others resting on their shoulders like fluffy little sentries. “This? This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Nashatra snorted. “Yeah, you look like you’re living the dream.” Then her brows furrowed slightly. “What happened, though? are you okay?”

Chance stretched out, letting one of the bunnies rest against their chest. “Oh, you know. Just a quick kidnapping. Nothing major , the mafia was here too.”

Nashatra’s eyes widened, but before she could say anything, Chance grinned and deepened their voice into a comically exaggerated growl.

“‘I finally got you alone.’” They mimicked, dragging out the words in a thick, over-the-top impression of Mafioso’s deep, brooding voice. “‘You will betray Nashatra, or you will be hunted down next.’ Ooooh, spooky.”

Nashatra burst into laughter, shaking her head. “this is not how he actually sounds.”

“Oh, but it is,” Chance said dramatically, placing a hand over their heart as if wounded. “Theatrics, my dear Nashatra. He’s got them down to a science.”

She laughed even harder, her grip finally loosening on them. “God, I wish I was there to see that.”

Before Chance could say anything else, a sudden weight landed on their chest with a soft thump.

They looked down just in time to see a fluffy white bunny hopping up to their face, its tiny nose twitching before it began enthusiastically licking their cheek.

Chance let out a delighted gasp, hands flying up to cradle the tiny creature. “Oh my god. I love you.”

Nashatra raised a brow. “You just met that bunny.”

“And?” Chance retorted, nuzzling the bunny against their cheek. “Love at first sight is real.”

The bunny let out a soft squeak, content in their arms, while Nashatra just chuckled.

“You know,” she mused, watching as another bunny hopped into her lap, “these little guys are actually really popular with the mafia.”

Chance’s playful expression froze for a split second. They slowly turned their head to her, brows furrowed.

“…What?”

Nashatra smirked, scratching behind the ears of the bunny in her lap. “Yeah. The mafia loves these guys.”

Chance glanced down at the fluffy bundle in their arms. Then back at Nashatra. Then at the literal hundreds of bunnies surrounding them.

“Oh, great,” they deadpanned. “I just snuggled up to a mafia-affiliated rabbit organization.”

Nashatra grinned. “Seems like it.”

Chance groaned, but even as they did, they couldn’t stop petting the bunny in their hands.

“…I regret nothing.”

The bunny let out another squeak, licking their nose in agreement.

Chapter 23: Dreams are far realer than you imagined.

Summary:

(let me cook , ive been wanting to release those , since i wrote these , this afternoon)

Chance and Nashatra walked side by side through the snow-covered landscape, their footsteps crunching softly beneath them. The air was crisp and cool, but neither of them seemed to mind. Despite the peaceful scenery, Chance’s mind was anything but calm.

No matter how much they tried to focus on the serene snowfall or the lingering warmth of the bunnies, the encounter with Mafioso kept creeping back into their thoughts. His words, his tone, the way he had looked at them—like a hunter finally cornering his prey.

They sighed, running a hand through their hair. “Hey, Nashatra.”

She hummed in acknowledgment, keeping her eyes on the path ahead.

“How… did you even meet Mafioso?”

That made her slow her steps. Her expression darkened slightly, but after a pause, she let out a small breath and continued walking. “The first time? It was terrifying.”

Chance tilted their head, curiosity piqued. “How so?”

“At first, I thought the dreams were just that—dreams.” She gave a small, dry chuckle. “No consequences, no rules, just a weird little world I got to explore while I slept. I thought nothing in them could really hurt me. But I was wrong.”

Chance frowned. “What happened?”

Nashatra’s hands curled into fists at her sides. “I learned pretty quickly that this place has rules. That it’s just as real as anything else. The number of times I had to steal just to survive… because the hunger felt real.” She shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “The number of times I fell into the void because I miscalculated a jump, thinking it was just a silly dream…”

Chance felt a chill—not from the cold, but from the weight in her voice.

“And then,” Nashatra continued, voice quieter now, “the mafia got me.”

Chance stiffened.

“I don’t even remember how,” she admitted. “One moment, I was running, and the next… I was caught. They dragged me to Mafioso.” Her arms wrapped around herself as if shielding against the memory. “And that’s when I learned the truth. That pain here isn’t just in your head. It’s real. It hurts. It lingers. And the worst part?” Her voice trembled slightly.

Chance swallowed, waiting.

“…I woke up and still felt it.”

The air between them grew heavy. Chance had always known there was something off about this dream world, but this? This was on an entirely different level.

“Damn,” they muttered, rubbing the back of their neck. “And I thought I had it rough.”

Nashatra finally looked at them, giving a weak smirk. “Yeah, well. Welcome to the club.”

Chance let out a slow breath, their mind racing with questions. If Nashatra had suffered like that, then would he also suffer the same fate?

One thing was for sure.

They weren’t just playing in some fantasy world.

Chapter 24: The bed on the edge

Summary:

(time to cook , YIPPPE , kinda short chapter sorry , i didn't know how to continu it too much-)

As Chance and Nashatra reached the little house, the comforting sight of the familiar structure settled any lingering unease. The soft glow of lanterns cast a warm light across the wooden walls, creating a cozy contrast against the surreal landscape outside.

Chance exhaled, running a hand through their hair before plopping onto the bed with a tired but satisfied grin. "Well, guess this is goodbye for now. That was fun," they said, glancing up at Nashatra with a lazy smirk. Nashatra chuckled, arms crossed, but there was a glint of fondness in her gaze.

"Yeah, it was. Try not to get yourself caught next time, alright?" she teased. Chance only snorted in response, already feeling the weight of sleep pulling them under. The dreamscape around them began to blur, colors smearing like wet paint before fading into darkness.

When Chance's eyes fluttered open, the familiar ceiling of their room greeted them. The dream had ended, but warmth remained against their side. Turning their head slightly, they found Spade curled up tightly against them, his small body rising and falling with steady breaths.

A soft chuckle escaped Chance’s lips. "Morning, Spade," they murmured, reaching out to gently ruffle the fur on his head. Spade stirred at the touch, blinking groggily before giving a sleepy yawn.

Chance stretched before shifting onto their side, propping themselves up on an elbow. "You know, I met the cutest little bunnies in my dream," they mused, voice laced with amusement. "White as snow, all soft and jumpy. They were everywhere, and they even cuddled up to me. Can you believe that?"

The moment those words left their mouth, Spade’s ears twitched. He lifted his head, staring at Chance with narrowed eyes. A low grumble rumbled in his throat before he suddenly lunged forward, pressing his small frame against Chance’s chest. Before they could react, a wet, insistent tongue dragged across their cheek.

"Wha—Spade, hey!" Chance laughed, trying to push him away, but Spade was relentless. His tiny paws pinned them down as he continued his aggressive assault, licking every inch of their face with exaggerated fervor.

"Alright, alright! I get it, you're cuter!" Chance wheezed between giggles, finally managing to scoop Spade into their hands and hold him up. The little creature huffed in triumph, puffing up with satisfaction at winning the unspoken battle for affection.

Shaking their head, Chance sat up, still grinning. "Jealous little thing," they muttered, pressing a playful kiss to the top of Spade’s head. "Fine, fine, you win. No bunny could ever replace you."

With that, they swung their legs over the bed and stretched, ready to face another day. Spade, content with his victory, nestled himself into Chance’s shoulder

Chapter 25: Terrible luck to a gambler.

Summary:

(cooking , cooking , idk what to put in these-)

As Chance groggily pulled on their boots, they barely had time to even think about food before a sudden flash overtook their vision. The familiar sensation of being yanked into yet another round sent a groan escaping their lips.

"Oh, come on, seriously?" they muttered, rubbing their temples as the landscape around them solidified.

The arena this time a sort of field with an stoned castle ,the cold air nipped at their skin, and as their eyes adjusted, Chance took in the scene before them. The killer this round? None other than 1x1x1x1.

Great.

Chance exhaled sharply, already anticipating the chaos that was about to unfold. 1x1x1x1 wasn’t just dangerous—they had a particular grudge against one person in particular.

Shedletsky.

Currently, that grudge was playing out in the most dramatic fashion possible. Down below, 1x1x1x1 and Shedletsky were locked in an intense sparring match, sparks of energy crackling through the air with each collision of their weapons. Shedletsky, ever the cocky fighter, was putting up a good fight—but Chance could already tell he was starting to struggle.

Perched at the highest tower of the castle, Chance, Builderman, and Guest 1337 watched the battle unfold as if it were a stage play. Guest 1337 leaned forward, eyes darting between the two combatants below.

"Should we go help him?" Guest 1337 asked, shifting uncomfortably.

Builderman, on the other hand, was completely unfazed. He sighed, brushing dirt off his hoodie before glancing down at his clothes in frustration.

"No," Builderman said flatly. "That damn chicken of his pecked at my clothes again. He can deal with 1x1x1x1 himself. Consider it punishment."

Shedletsky’s voice suddenly rang out from below, full of frustration and panic. "BUILDERMAN! YOU TRAITOR! HELP ME!"

Chance smirked, watching as Shedletsky narrowly dodged a swipe from 1x1x1x1, his movements getting sloppier. He was losing ground fast.

Meanwhile, Chance absentmindedly flipped their coin, idly passing the time as the battle raged below. The coin spun through the air, glinting in the dim light, before landing in their palm.

Tails.

They sighed and flipped it again.

Tails.

Another flip.

Tails.

Chance’s eye twitched. They swore under their breath, stuffing the coin back into their pocket.

It seemed their luck was absolutely terrible today.

 

Chapter 26: The way your eyes lingered.

Summary:

(TIME FOR ANGST HEHEHE)

The round had ended, and everyone was back at the hideout, settling in after yet another harrowing ordeal. Chance sat on the couch with Spade curled up in their lap, their fingers absentmindedly stroking his fur as a drama played on the TV. It was one of those tragic love stories—two lovers torn apart by circumstances beyond their control, their yearning stretching across time and distance, knowing they could never truly be together. The melancholic music that played in the background only heightened the atmosphere, making it all the more immersive.

The pizza on the table was still warm, and everyone had found their places. Builderman sat next to Shedletsky, who was still grumbling about the round. Two Time was alone on a couch, sitting slightly hunched, while 007n7 and Elliot sat next to each other, despite Elliot’s clear distaste for the former. Guest 1337, Noob, and Chance were seated together, comfortably watching in silence. The scene on the TV flickered in soft hues of blue and gray, mirroring the sorrow in the story, and while most of them were engrossed in the show, Chance’s attention was slowly drawn elsewhere.

Something about the way Two Time was watching the screen caught their eye. It was subtle at first—the way their shoulders stiffened ever so slightly, their hands gripping the fabric of their pants. But then, their gaze seemed to tremble, eyes glossy, glistening in the dim light of the room. Their lips parted slightly, as if they wanted to say something, but they remained silent. They weren’t just watching the drama unfold—they were remembering something, something distant, something painful.

Chance could almost feel the weight of it, like an invisible pressure pressing down on Two Time’s shoulders. Their breath hitched ever so slightly, and for a moment, they turned their face away from the TV, as if looking at the screen any longer would shatter them completely. Nobody else seemed to notice, caught up in the story, but Chance did. They saw how Two Time’s fingers twitched, gripping at their sleeve, like they were holding onto something—no, someone—who was no longer there.

A past love, maybe? A connection lost? Whatever it was, it had a grip on them that ran deeper than words could ever describe.

The sound of the TV barely registered anymore. Chance debated whether to say something, to reach out, but they hesitated. Would Two Time even want to acknowledge it? Instead, they stayed quiet, simply watching, as Two Time clenched their jaw, blinking rapidly before finally lowering their gaze to the floor. The pain was still there, etched in every movement, in every breath they took. And yet, they endured it in silence, as if they had long accepted that some wounds never truly heal.

Chapter 27: Nightshades , you remenber?

Summary:

(HEHEHE , i know tis supposed to be about doublefedora , but i think a story shoudl also focus on other characters to create more debth , this was based on the fact that azure loved nightshades! , so i made that so before the accident of azure and two time , that azure gifted a nigthshade plant to them)

The hideout had fallen into an eerie silence after the show ended, the echoes of dramatic dialogue still lingering in the air. One by one, everyone dispersed into their rooms, the distant creaks of the wooden floor and the faint hum of the hideout’s faulty light fixtures being the only sounds that accompanied the settling night.

Chance should have gone to bed. They should have laid down, curled up with Spade, and let sleep take over. But something gnawed at them—a feeling, a disturbance in the air. Their mind kept drifting back to Two Time, the way their usually impassive face had twitched, the way their distant, cryptic eyes had turned glossy and wet. The way they looked away from the screen when the story unfolded into tragedy.

Chance didn’t know why they cared. Two Time creeped them out, honestly. The way they stared at people too long, the way they rarely spoke, and when they did, it was something chilling about the Spawn, the cult they still clung to. Chance had always kept their distance. And yet, that image of them, sitting rigid on the couch, lingering too long on a scene no one else even paid attention to—that was enough to make them move.

Quietly, Chance made their way upstairs, careful not to wake anyone as they reached Two Time’s door. It was slightly ajar, and through the narrow opening, they could see a dim light casting long shadows across the walls. Stepping forward, they pushed the door open just a fraction more, and what they saw inside made them pause.

Two Time was sitting on the windowsill, one knee bent, the other leg hanging loosely. Their gloved hand was buried in their electric-white hair, fingers tangled as though gripping onto something unseen. Their other hand rested near a potted plant, the deep violet petals of a nightshade gleaming under the pale glow of the moonlight streaming through the window.

They were staring at it. Not just looking, but staring. As if the plant held something beyond its poisonous beauty. As if it was whispering something only they could hear.

Chance stepped inside, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath their feet. Two Time didn’t even flinch, didn’t acknowledge their presence. It was strange seeing them like this—so still, so human. Their chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but their eyes, dark and shadowed, remained locked onto the flower.

Chance sat beside them, hesitantly. They had never been this close to Two Time before. They could feel the coldness radiating from them, a stark contrast to the warmth of the small room. And yet, Chance wasn’t afraid. Not this time.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, filled only by the sound of the wind outside and the distant, muffled sounds of the hideout settling. Then, softly, Chance broke the silence.

“…Is it a bad memory?”

Two Time finally moved. Their fingers twitched slightly in their hair before slowly dragging down to their lap. Their shoulders, always stiff, seemed to sag just a little. When they spoke, their voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of something heavy, something old.

“It was a gift,” they murmured. “From someone I loved.”

Chance blinked, surprised at the softness in their tone. They had never heard them sound like this before. So quiet. So… vulnerable.

Two Time’s eyes didn’t leave the nightshade, but there was something distant about their gaze, as if they weren’t looking at the plant anymore. As if they were seeing something else entirely.

“But now,” they continued, their voice steady but heavy with something unspoken, “it’s a really painful memory.”

Chance didn’t press for more. They could feel it in the air—the weight of whatever memory was gripping Two Time so tightly that they couldn’t even blink. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but sit here, trapped in whatever pain that plant carried.

Chance, who never thought of themselves as particularly kind, found themselves breaking character. Slowly, hesitantly, they reached out and placed a hand on Two Time’s shoulder.

Two Time didn’t flinch. They didn’t pull away. But they also didn’t react. They simply sat there, staring at the nightshade, as if waiting for something to take them away.

And for once, Chance didn’t pull away either.

The room remained quiet, save for the wind whispering outside the window, and the faint, unspoken grief lingering between them.

Chapter 28: Goodnight.

Summary:

(TIME TO COOK)

The quiet lingered between them, heavy yet oddly comforting. Chance sat beside Two Time, the silence stretching on as the dim glow of the nightshade plant cast long shadows on the walls. The room smelled faintly of earth and something floral, though there was an underlying bitterness to it, as if sorrow clung to the very leaves of the plant Two Time stared at so intently.

Chance didn’t push for more words. They didn’t need to. There was something fragile about the way Two Time sat, their fingers barely brushing the pot, shoulders stiff with memories.

After what felt like an eternity, Two Time finally moved. They exhaled softly, barely audible, and rose to their feet. Chance followed suit, watching as Two Time took one last, lingering glance at the plant before shifting their hollow gaze toward them.

“I should rest,” Two Time murmured, voice distant yet steady.

Chance nodded, stuffing their hands in their pockets. “Yeah. Get some sleep.”

As Chance turned to leave, they barely caught the softest whisper of words trailing behind them. “Thank you.”

Chance halted for a brief moment, then looked over their shoulder, a faint smile tugging at the corner of their lips. “Anytime.”

Then, they left, closing the door gently behind them.

The hallway was dim, the only source of light being the cool glow of the moon filtering through a window. Shadows stretched along the walls as Chance padded quietly to their own room. Once inside, the familiar comfort of their space wrapped around them like a warm embrace.

The silver moonlight pooled onto their bed, casting a soft glow over the covers. Spade was already there, nestled into the blankets, his ears twitching as he stirred. Chance chuckled, slipping into bed and letting their body sink into the mattress.

Reaching out, they ran a hand over Spade’s head, the softness of his fur soothing beneath their fingertips. “Goodnight, Spade,” they murmured, scratching just behind his ears. The bunny twitched his nose in response before curling into a tight ball beside them.

With a deep breath, Chance allowed their eyes to close, surrendering to the pull of sleep.

Chapter 29: Dreamer.

Summary:

(god i m running out of titles , I COOKED DURING CLASS I AM SO BORED U HAVE NO IDEA..)

The dreamscape was alive, shifting and breathing like a living thing. Chance stood at the edge of the crimson bed, the weight of sleep still clinging to their body as their surroundings blurred into focus. The familiar hues of red and black swirled around them, a gentle hum in the air, as if the dream itself was whispering secrets.

A sharp, sudden movement shattered the peace, and before Chance could react, Nashatra’s face appeared right in front of theirs.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she teased, a grin stretching across her face. Chance let out an exasperated sigh, shaking their head at her antics.

“What’s the plan for today?” they asked, rubbing the back of their neck.

Nashatra stretched her arms, glancing around with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I was thinking... I’m hungry. And Eunoia’s shop has some of the best stuff. If we’re lucky, we can sneak in while she’s distracted.”

Chance raised a brow. “You want to steal from Eunoia?”

“Borrow,” Nashatra corrected, smirking. “Besides, if we time it right, she won’t even notice.”

Chance shook their head with a chuckle. “Fine, I’m in. Lead the way.”

Together, they started traversing the vast dreamscape, the world shifting around them with every step. The eerie city they had seen before loomed ahead, its towering spires stretching into the sky, while the darkened reflection of it lay just beneath, an unsettling mirror image that pulsed with an unnatural glow.

Chance slowed their steps as they neared the edge of the city’s precipice, staring ahead at what lay beyond. Suspended in the sky was another city—floating, defying gravity itself, shimmering with an ethereal golden hue. It was so close, yet impossibly out of reach.

“How exactly are we supposed to get up there?” Chance asked, narrowing their eyes.

Nashatra stopped beside them, hands on her hips. “We jump.”

Chance blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The void, obviously.” She motioned toward the vast abyss between them and the floating city. The darkness beneath them churned, vast and endless.

Chance stared at the abyss, then at Nashatra, who was already stepping closer to the edge. “You’re insane.”

She only grinned. “Probably. But it’s the only way.”

Chance exhaled, shaking their head. They could feel the void pulling at them, whispering, urging them to fall forward. The sensation sent a shiver down their spine. Despite their instincts screaming against it, they braced themselves, exchanging one last look with Nashatra.

“On three?” she asked.

Chance swallowed hard. “On three.”

And together, they took the leap.

Chapter 30: The void is calling you but you never answered.

Summary:

(YIPPPE!)

As Chance took the leap, the air around them seemed to thin instantly, their body plunging through the empty abyss. The sensation was immediate—like being swallowed whole by nothingness. The darkness was overwhelming, stretching in every direction, a weightless, endless fall through a void that felt neither warm nor cold. It was as if they had stepped out of existence itself. Their breath caught in their throat, or maybe they weren’t breathing at all.

As the descent deepened, something changed. The blackness wavered, like ripples spreading through water, distorting, bending. Shapes flickered at the edge of their vision—figures, blurred and ungraspable, shifting between reality and illusion. Voices echoed, distant yet deafening.

A name. Their name.

It rang out in the darkness, full of urgency, full of something else—desperation? Fear? Chance couldn’t tell, their senses spinning, their body glitching, limbs flickering in and out of existence. Their chest tightened, constricting with an unbearable pressure. Their lungs burned. It felt like drowning, yet there was no water, no air, no ground, only endless descent into nothingness.

For a moment, they weren’t in the void anymore.

A fragmented image flashed before their eyes. A streetlight flickering against a rain-soaked pavement. The outline of a figure standing just beyond the glow, their face obscured, but their presence unmistakable. It was familiar. Too familiar. Chance reached out, fingers trembling, but before they could touch it—

Impact.

Their back collided with something solid, the sensation jarring, the breath knocked from their lungs. The abyss shattered, replaced by the harsh sensation of a rough, cracked surface beneath them.

The city.

Chance gasped, dragging in a shaky breath, their fingers digging into the ground. Their chest ached, a lingering tightness coiling in their ribs, as though the void had tried to hold on, to pull something from them that it didn’t quite manage to take. They blinked rapidly, vision swimming, the fragmented afterimages of whatever they had seen still burned into their mind.

A voice broke through the haze. "Chance! Are you okay?!"

Nashatra.

They turned their head sluggishly to see her crouched beside them, concern written all over her face. She reached out, gripping their shoulder firmly, shaking them slightly as if to snap them back to reality. Chance sat up slowly, still clutching their chest, their breaths uneven, shallow. The feeling of suffocation was fading, but not entirely gone.

"I—I’m fine," they managed, though their voice was hoarse. They swallowed hard, trying to ground themself in the present. "But... that felt like I was dying."

Nashatra furrowed her brows, glancing around before looking back at them. "That’s... weird. You aren’t supposed to feel pain here."

Chance exhaled sharply, wiping a cold sweat from their forehead. Something about this place, about that void, was wrong. And the fact that they had felt it—truly felt it—meant something was very, very off.

The city loomed around them, towering buildings stretching toward the starless sky, lights flickering dimly in the distance. The usual surreal haze of the dreamscape surrounded them, but there was an unease lingering in the air, something Chance couldn't quite shake.

Whatever just happened in that void… it wasn’t normal.

Chapter 31: Sweet like candy.

Summary:

(i am in class , shot so boring but here's your food!)

Chance took one final deep breath, steadying themself after the strange, suffocating experience in the void. Whatever had just happened—whatever they had seen—was something to think about later. Right now, they had other things to focus on. Shaking off the lingering discomfort, they turned to Nashatra, smirking.

 

"Alright, lead the way."

 

Nashatra gave them a wary glance before nodding, then started walking, leading Chance through the city’s dim, dreamlike streets. The sky above was a strange, swirling mass of colors, shifting between dark purples and deep blues, with the occasional golden shimmer. The roads beneath their feet felt eerily smooth, like polished glass, yet they left no reflections. Buildings stood impossibly tall, their forms stretching and twisting in ways that shouldn’t be possible.

 

As they moved further into the city, Nashatra suddenly slowed her steps, clicking her tongue in irritation.

 

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing as she glanced toward a small shop nestled against the side of a vending machine. The building looked relatively unassuming—quaint, even—with a simple wooden sign above the entrance and a glowing window that cast a soft, inviting light onto the pavement. But Nashatra’s reaction told Chance something was up.

 

Chance raised a brow. "What? What’s the problem?"

 

Nashatra let out a quiet sigh, rubbing her temple before whispering, "It’s Eunoia. She’s here. Normally, she shouldn’t be around at this time."

 

Chance blinked. "Eunoia? Who’s that?"

 

"The shopkeeper," Nashatra grumbled. "And a pain in the ass to sneak past."

 

Chance tilted their head, crossing their arms with an amused grin. "Well, I don’t see the problem. I’m just gonna go in."

 

Nashatra looked at them as if they had lost their mind. "You’re seriously just gonna walk in there? Are you stupid?"

 

"More like confident," Chance shot back, flashing a cocky smile before stepping forward, pushing open the shop’s door. A small bell chimed softly above them, signaling their entrance.

 

The inside of the shop was cozy, shelves neatly stacked with an assortment of peculiar items—glass bottles filled with swirling liquids, various candy bars, and trinkets that hummed softly with a faint glow. The air was filled with the faint scent of something sweet and floral, as if the shop had been infused with the aroma of fresh tea leaves.

 

Behind the counter stood Eunoia.

 

She had an almost ethereal presence—silky, long light blue hair cascading down her back, pale white skin that seemed untouched by the world, and piercing eyes that immediately fixed themselves onto Chance. She was dressed in an unusual mix of clothing—a soft blue sweater paired with a pristine white maid dress, giving her an air of elegance mixed with something subtly off-putting.

 

Hearing the bell, Eunoia turned her gaze toward them, her expression neutral but welcoming as she greeted them in a soft voice. "Welcome in. How may I help you?"

 

Chance gave a casual nod, strolling further into the shop, completely unaware of who they were dealing with. They had no idea who Eunoia was.

 

But something told

them they were about to find out.

 

Chapter 32: Yet sharp like a knife.

Summary:

(YIPPE EUNOIA)

Chance wandered through the small shop, their fingers lightly brushing against the brightly colored candy packaging as they scanned the shelves with an idle curiosity. The soft chime of the doorbell had long since faded, but the silence that followed was thick—unnerving, even. Behind the counter, a pair of cool, calculating eyes followed their every move.

 

Eunoia rested her elbow on the counter, fingers delicately intertwined as she observed the newcomer with an impassive expression. So this was the new target. She had expected something different, perhaps someone more frazzled, someone already drowning in debt. But no, Chance moved with an effortless confidence, an easy cockiness that made her lips twitch into something almost resembling amusement.

 

A soft glow from the screen beside her counter caught her attention, illuminating the numbers displayed. Chance’s studs sat at a comfortable 12k. Not in debt. Not yet.

 

Outside, Nashatra stood stiffly near the shop’s window, arms crossed in a half-hearted attempt at composure. Her eyes flicked between Chance, blissfully unaware of the trap they had walked into, and Eunoia—serene, composed, dangerous. Nashatra’s chest tightened involuntarily as she studied the way Eunoia moved, the effortless grace in which she held herself. That same quiet confidence that had caught her in its web before. The weight of familiarity pressed down on her, a secret she could never admit aloud.

 

Why, of all people, did it have to be her? Why did her heart insist on betraying her whenever she saw that woman?

 

Eunoia’s gaze briefly lifted from Chance and met Nashatra’s through the glass, her expression unreadable. For the briefest moment, something flickered in her eyes—recognition, amusement, perhaps something deeper—but then it was gone, replaced by the calm, businesslike demeanor she always wore like a second skin.

 

Inside, Chance finally picked up a small bag of candy, turning toward the counter with an easy smile. “Guess I’ll take this one.”

 

Eunoia returned their gaze, offering the slightest tilt of her head as she reached out to scan the item. “A fine choice,” she murmured, her voice smooth, laced with something just beneath the surface. “Though I must say… I don’t often see new faces around here.”

 

Chance shrugged, unfazed. “Guess I like to wander.”

 

Eunoia hummed softly in response, her fingers tapping lightly against the counter as she handed them their change. Her eyes remained steady, drinking in every detail, every subtle movement. “Wandering can be dangerous,” she mused, her voice barely above a whisper. “You never know what kind of people you might run into.”

 

Chance chuckled, stuffing the candy into their pocket as they met her gaze with that same unwavering confidence. “I can handle myself.”

 

Eunoia merely smiled, slow and knowing. “I’m sure you can.”

 

Outside, Nashatra exhaled shakily, fingers tightening into fists at her sides. She needed to get Chance out of there. Fast.

 

Chapter 33: Two girls.

Summary:

(YURI TIME)

Chance stood at the counter, absentmindedly twirling a lollipop between their fingers while chatting with the shopkeeper, completely oblivious to who they were speaking to. Eunoia, ever poised and composed, rested her chin lightly against her palm as she observed them with keen interest. Her light blue hair cascaded over her shoulder, and her sharp, calculating eyes flickered between Chance’s casual demeanor and the screen next to her counter, where the studs counter showed a clear 12k. Not in debt yet—interesting.

 

Outside the shop, Nashatra anxiously shifted from foot to foot, arms crossed as she watched through the glass window. Her gaze wavered, flickering toward Eunoia before quickly darting away as if she had been burned. Her heartbeat quickened against her will. Why did it have to be her? Why did she have to fall for the one person she could never afford to get tangled with—the mafia boss of Mafioso and its members?

 

Frustrated with herself and the situation, Nashatra clenched her jaw and then, gathering her courage, strode inside with swift determination. Chance had barely finished a sentence before Nashatra grabbed their wrist in a firm grip.

 

“We’re leaving.”

 

Chance blinked in confusion as Nashatra tugged them toward the door, but they barely took a step before a cool, elegant hand wrapped around Chance’s other arm, stopping them both in their tracks.

 

“Oh, leaving already?” Eunoia’s voice was smooth, laced with amusement. “But we were just having such a lovely chat.”

 

Nashatra turned sharply, facing Eunoia head-on, her eyes blazing. “I know exactly what you’re doing,” she said in a low, almost warning tone.

 

Eunoia chuckled softly, tilting her head as if amused by Nashatra’s boldness. Her fingers remained firmly curled around Chance’s wrist, yet her gaze now fixated entirely on Nashatra, intrigued by her reaction.

 

Chance, caught between them, raised an eyebrow before letting out a playful scoff. “Can you two just get a room already?” they teased.

 

Nashatra’s face went red instantly. “Chance!” she sputtered, her grip tightening instinctively around their hand, though it did nothing to hide the way her expression twisted in embarrassment. Eunoia, on the other hand, had an entirely different reaction. Her eyes flicked between Chance and Nashatra, the lightest dusting of pink crossing her pale cheeks before a smirk curled at her lips.

 

“My, my,” Eunoia murmured, watching Nashatra with newfound interest. “That’s quite the reaction.”

 

Nashatra clenched her teeth and took a step closer, standing nearly chest-to-chest with Eunoia, a storm brewing behind her eyes. The tension in the air was palpable. Chance, meanwhile, merely raised their hands in mock surrender.

 

“Aww! Come on I'm just teasing!.” They grinned, thoroughly entertained.

 

Eunoia’s gaze didn’t leave Nashatra’s for a long moment before she finally released Chance’s wrist, her fingers trailing off slowly. “Go, then,” she said simply, her voice carrying something unreadable beneath its usual smoothness.

 

Nashatra didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed Chance’s hand once more and stormed out of the shop, her grip firmer than necessary. As they stepped onto the streets, Chance burst into laughter, glancing back toward the store where Eunoia still stood at the counter, watching them leave with that same unreadable expression.

 

“Damn, Nash, didn’t know you had a thing for the mysterious type,” Chance teased, nudging her side.

 

Nashatra groaned, her face still red as she shoved Chance forward. “Shut up.”

 

Behind the counter, Eunoia let out a soft chuckle, running a hand through her silky blue locks as she watched them go.

 

“Well now… that was interesting.”

 

Chapter 34: Hunger is a feeble feeling.

Summary:

(just throwing some of my headcanons in there cuz why not)

As Chance retrieved the candy from their pocket, they snapped it in half with a small crack before offering a piece to Nashatra. She took it without hesitation, muttering a quick, "Thanks," before practically devouring it as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Chance raised an eyebrow, watching her chew with an almost desperate hunger.

 

“Why are you so hungry?” they asked, crossing their arms as they tilted their head slightly in curiosity.

 

Nashatra let out a small sigh, swallowing down the last of the candy before answering, “I don’t really have the energy to make my own food when I wake up, so I just make do in the dreamscape.” Her voice was nonchalant, but the way she averted her eyes told Chance that there was more to it than just a lack of energy.

 

Chance hummed in thought, processing her words. Living off whatever she could find in the dreamscape? That didn’t sound sustainable—or healthy for that matter. They glanced at the remaining candy in their palm before handing it to her entirely. “Here. You clearly need it more than I do.”

 

Nashatra hesitated for a moment before taking it, her fingers brushing against Chance’s as she did. She looked down at the small treat in her palm and then back at Chance, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “...Thanks,” she muttered again, this time softer, almost hesitant.

 

Chance just shrugged, shoving their hands back into their pockets. “No problem.”

 

As Nashatra nibbled on the candy more slowly this time, the atmosphere between them settled into something more comfortable. The streets of the dreamscape stretched out before them, illuminated by the strange, distant glow of an ever-changing sky. The towering buildings above seemed to breathe with an eerie stillness, while the floating city cast long, dancing shadows over them.

Chapter 35: Sharp eyes in the darkness.

Summary:

(YIPPPEE. Finally a bit of progress lol)

Perched on the edge of a rooftop, Mafioso stood still, his figure blending into the darkness like a phantom observing its prey. The glow of the city cast long shadows, painting his face in a mixture of sharp edges and hidden expressions. His men, cloaked in the same eerie quiet, awaited his orders. One of them shifted slightly, uneasy with the prolonged silence.

 

"Why aren’t we moving it?" one of them finally asked, his voice cautious, barely above a whisper.

 

Mafioso didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he exhaled slowly, his sharp eyes following the two figures below—Chance and Nashatra. They moved through the small city without a care, completely unaware of the watchful predator above them. His eyes narrowed slightly, scanning every movement, every interaction. He was calculating, unraveling their patterns, reading them like an unfinished story he was determined to write the ending for.

 

"Patience," he murmured at last, his tone smooth yet chilling. There was no hesitation in his voice, no room for questioning. He had no need for reckless ambushes. A true hunter knew when to strike and when to wait. And right now, waiting was far more valuable.

 

Chance laughed below, nudging Nashatra playfully as she quickly stuffed the remaining half of the candy in her mouth, chewing like she hadn’t eaten in days. Mafioso tilted his head slightly, his gaze heavy with intrigue. Chance—so confident, so unaware—remained oblivious to the looming danger. Their cocky demeanor fascinated him. It made him want to break them down, to find out just how deep their strength truly ran.

 

His fingers lightly drummed against the hilt of his concealed blade. Weakness. That was what he needed. A crack in their armor, an opening he could manipulate to twist them into his hands. And no one was without weakness.

 

He turned slightly to one of his men, his smirk barely visible beneath the shadows. "They’ll be alone soon enough," he murmured. His voice carried amusement, yet a sharp edge of intent that sent an unspoken order through his crew. "When they are, we strike."

 

A chuckle rumbled low in his throat as he gestured with a gloved hand, silently commanding them to follow. Like specters dissolving into the night, they vanished into the city’s depths, blending seamlessly with the darkness, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

 

Chapter 36: Feral bnuy.

Summary:

(i just learnt bnuys turn feral so ill just throw that in HEHEHE)

As Chance and Nashatra lay back on the bed, Nashatra let out a small sigh before her form began to fade. Within moments, she vanished completely, slipping away from the dreamscape and back into the waking world. The bed now felt emptier, the space beside Chance cold and silent. They stayed there for a moment, swinging their legs over the edge of the mattress, staring at the strange and endless horizon of the dreamscape. The world here always had a surreal, weightless feeling, as if time stretched and condensed at its own whims.

 

Letting out a quiet sigh, they leaned back against the pillows, trying to relax. Their mind drifted, thinking about everything that had happened—Eunoia, Nashatra’s nervousness, and the unsettling tension in the air. Something was going on, but they couldn't quite put their finger on it.

 

Then, a movement outside caught their eye. A small shadow darted across the hazy landscape, just beyond the frame of the open window. Curious, Chance sat up and peered outside.

 

There, nestled in the dreamscape’s ethereal grass, was a little rabbit.

 

Its fur was dark grey, sleek and smooth, and its small ears twitched as it nibbled on something invisible to Chance’s eyes. The moment they laid eyes on it, their chest warmed with a familiar affection. It reminded them of Spade, their own little bunny.

 

Smiling to themself, Chance stood up, stretching slightly before heading outside. The moment their feet touched the soft ground, the rabbit's ears perked, its body tensing. As they approached, they expected it to scamper off, but instead, the rabbit let out an angry little noise—more like a growl than a squeak.

 

Chance paused, blinking down at the tiny creature.

 

“Feisty one, huh?” they murmured, crouching down and extending a hand.

 

Before they could react, the rabbit lunged forward and chomped down on their finger.

 

A sharp sting shot through them, and they let out a pained gasp. “Ouch! What the hell—?!”

 

They stared in disbelief as the tiny ball of fluff remained stubbornly latched onto their hand, its small teeth pressing into their skin.

 

A beat passed, and then they snorted.

 

“Yup. Just like Spade when he was a baby,” they muttered, shaking their head with a fond chuckle. “Pissy and absolutely angry all the time.”

 

Despite the rabbit’s aggressive nature, Chance carefully scooped it up, cradling it in their arms. It continued to nibble—not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to be an annoying little menace.

 

They squished its tiny face between their fingers, rubbing the top of its head with gentle insistence.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re a tough guy.” They ruffled its fur playfully. “Bet you’re all bark and no bite, though.”

 

The rabbit let out another displeased noise, but it didn’t wriggle free. Instead, it huffed, its tiny body settling into their arms, though its nose twitched as if still debating whether or not to launch another attack.

 

Chance let out a slow breath, their fingers gently tracing over the soft fur. For all its aggression, the little creature was warm, real. A rare comfort in this strange, ever-shifting world.

 

“Guess I’ll be hanging with you for a while, huh?” they mused aloud, watching as they sat on the bed ,the bunny being slightly less aggressive.

Chapter 37: The guilty rabbit and the yarn.

Summary:

(time to cook , YAYS)

As Chance rested with the bunny in their arms, they could feel the small creature aggressively shifting around, nuzzling and rubbing its head against their cheek with fervor. Its fur was soft against their skin, and despite its erratic movements, Chance couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. There was something oddly comforting about the bunny's presence, and as they sat there, gently stroking its fur, a sense of calm washed over them. The tension from earlier seemed to melt away, replaced by a quiet serenity.

Their eyelids grew heavy, the rhythmic movements of the bunny against their cheek lulling them into a drowsy state. The dreamscape blurred, the edges of their consciousness flickering like a candle in the wind. And then, as if pulled through a veil, they woke up.

The real world settled in around them, their vision adjusting to the dim lighting of their room. They exhaled softly, glancing around before their eyes landed on a very familiar sight—Spade. The mischievous little rabbit was perched inside a bucket of yarn, happily munching away on the colorful strands.

Chance groaned, rubbing their face before sitting up. "Spade!"

At the sound of their voice, Spade froze, his tiny ears perking up. He turned his head slightly, staring at them with wide, guilty eyes, a piece of red yarn still dangling from his mouth. For a brief moment, it seemed as though he was debating whether to play innocent or bolt.

Then he made his decision.

With a chirp, Spade launched himself out of the bucket, sprinting off at full speed. Chance let out a sound of exasperation before scrambling to their feet and chasing after him. "Oh, no, you don't! Get back here!"

Spade darted out of the room, his little paws thudding against the wooden floor as he made his way downstairs. Chance followed close behind, leaping down the steps two at a time in their pursuit.

In the kitchen, Builderman sat at the table, casually eating a burger. His expression remained impassive as he observed the scene unfolding before him—Spade barreling into the kitchen like a bat out of hell, skidding across the floor before diving behind him for cover.

Builderman raised an eyebrow, chewing slowly. "What did he do this time?"

His question was quickly answered when Chance came running into the kitchen, eyes locked onto the guilty rabbit. Spade tried to make another escape, but Chance was quicker, diving forward and scooping him up in their arms. The little bunny let out a flurry of distressed squeaks, wriggling in protest, but Chance held firm.

"Gotcha!" they declared triumphantly before immediately squishing Spade’s face between their hands, rubbing his soft fur playfully. "You little menace, you know you’re not supposed to eat yarn! Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean up after you?"

Spade let out a series of chirps and squeaky protests, his nose twitching as he tried to free himself from the relentless affection. His tiny paws pushed against Chance’s hands, but it was futile—they were too busy smothering him with playful rubs and gentle squishes.

Builderman, still chewing his burger, watched the chaos unfold before shaking his head. "You two are exhausting."

Chance only grinned, holding up Spade as the bunny finally resigned himself to his fate, melting into their hold with a huff.

Chapter 38: lazy day , maybe not much.

Summary:

(yippe :D , i dont know what to say in those somtimes)

Chance continued to rub Spade's ears, the little bunny twitching its nose in defiance, but ultimately relaxing under their touch. The kitchen was warm, the faint scent of whatever Builderman had been cooking still lingering in the air.

Just then, Guest 1337 strode into the kitchen, his usual confident, casual demeanor intact. He stretched his arms above his head before speaking.

"Good news, no rounds today," Guest announced, his tone relieved.

Chance’s face lit up instantly. They pumped their fists into the air and let out an exaggerated shout. "LET'S FUCKING GO!" Without wasting another second, they turned on their heel and sprinted toward the couch, already envisioning a lazy day spent relaxing.

But just as they were about to throw themselves onto the cushions, Guest grabbed them by the collar of their shirt, pulling them back before they could even land. Chance let out a loud, dramatic groan.

"Nope, you’re not getting out of this," Guest said, shaking his head. "You’re training today."

Chance flailed their arms. "Dude, we had rounds yesterday, why the hell do I need to train today? Can’t I just have one day to be a couch goblin?"

Guest gave them an unimpressed look. "Do you wanna die because you got slow? No? Then get your ass outside."

Chance sighed heavily, shoulders slumping, before reluctantly following Guest to the training grounds. The air was crisp, the sky a deep blue, and in the distance, the usual setup of dummies, makeshift barricades, and weapons lay in wait.

But what caught their attention first wasn’t the equipment—it was Noob.

Noob was already standing there, shifting on his feet, looking unsure but determined. His usual yellow skin practically radiated under the sun, and his expression was serious, though still holding that natural innocence he always had.

Guest pulled Chance aside before they could walk up to him.

"Listen," Guest said in a quieter tone. "Noob really needs to learn how to defend himself. I know he's still the youngest out of all of us, but we can’t always be around to protect him. He needs to get stronger."

Chance glanced over at Noob, watching the way he nervously adjusted his stance. Despite everything, they had to admit—Noob had a fire in him. He wanted to learn. And Chance… well, they had a soft spot for the little guy.

They sighed, crossing their arms. "Alright, alright, I get it. He’s gotta be able to throw hands when necessary."

Guest smirked, knowing Chance would come around.

Chance took a deep breath before turning back to Noob, then clapped their hands together loudly, making Noob jump. "Alright, Noob! Time to become an absolute beast! You ready to fight for your life?"

Noob blinked. "I mean, I’d rather not have to fight for my life…"

"Wrong answer!" Chance said, grinning. "If you wanna survive out here, you gotta be ready to throw down at any moment! Now c'mon, let’s see what you got."

Noob hesitated, but Chance hyped him up immediately. "You got this, dude! You’re gonna be the strongest one here! Imagine someone tries to mess with us—bam! You take ‘em down in one hit!"

Noob perked up at the thought. "One hit?"

"ONE HIT!" Chance repeated, hyping him up even more.

Noob cracked his knuckles, a newfound confidence lighting up his face. Guest 1337 stood off to the side, watching with an amused smile as Chance continued building Noob up, feeding him exaggerated but entertaining encouragements.

Chance was grinning ear to ear. Yeah, they weren’t originally in the mood to train today, but honestly? If it meant helping Noob become stronger, it was worth it.

Chapter 39: Past memories flash.

Summary:

(this chapter was based on the fact , that chance sometimes mistakes noob for a peculiar person , if ukuk ;) )

Noob stood before the makeshift punching bag, a rough bundle of hay and grass bound together tightly with twine. Guest 1337 stood beside him, adjusting Noob’s stance with a firm but guiding hand.

“Slow and steady,” Guest 1337 instructed, his voice calm. “Aim for the red dot. That’s where you want to hit. Focus.”

Noob nodded, determination flashing in his eyes as he pulled his fist back and struck forward. The punch landed clean, hitting the red-marked center with surprising precision.

Chance let out an exaggerated gasp. “Okay, okay! My turn to teach him!” They bounced in excitement, already reaching for their gun before Guest 1337 grabbed their wrist with a sharp shake of his head.

“No.” Guest 1337 deadpanned, plucking the gun from Chance’s grip and pressing it back into their hands. “We are not using your gun.”

Chance scoffed. “What?! My gun is perfectly fine!”

Guest 1337 gave them a dry look. “Your gun has exploded three times this week.”

Chance waved a dismissive hand. “Minor malfunctions—”

“The last time, you almost blew yourself up.”

“I didn't,” Chance mumbled.

Ignoring their protests, Guest 1337 instead handed Noob his own gun, a standard, well-maintained firearm. “Here. Use this one.”

Chance crossed their arms, muttering under their breath before stepping forward, their usual excitement returning. They clapped their hands together and crouched slightly to meet Noob’s gaze. “Alright, buddy! First things first, steady grip! This is all about control, not force. You’re aiming, not trying to break your wrist.”

Noob nodded, gripping the gun tighter as Chance moved his hands into the correct position. “There we go! Now, when you’re ready, line up the shot and take a deep breath.”

The target practice setup was nothing fancy—just wooden boards marked with crude circles and a bullseye. Noob took a moment, inhaled, then pulled the trigger. A sharp crack echoed through the hideout as the bullet struck just shy of the center.

Chance whooped. “Hell yeah! That was sick! You got this, Noob! Next shot, aim a little higher.”

Noob adjusted his grip, focused, and fired again. The shot landed closer to the center this time.

Guest 1337 watched with an amused smile, arms crossed. “You’re hyping him up more than you ever do for yourself.”

Chance turned with a dramatic gasp. “Excuse me?! I am the embodiment of self-hype!”

As they spoke, they turned back to Noob, watching him handle the gun. Their grin faltered for just a second—

A flash.

Not of Noob.

Someone else.

A figure, an old friend, standing in Noob’s place. Holding a gun just like this. Standing just like this.

A voice, long gone, echoing in their mind.

It felt like a punch to the gut. A ghost of the past ripping through the present. Their breath caught, and for just a fraction of a second, their body froze.

Guest 1337 noticed immediately. His sharp gaze caught the way Chance’s fingers twitched, the way their usually unwavering confidence flickered.

“Chance.”

Chance snapped back, blinking rapidly. They turned to see Guest 1337 watching them with an unreadable expression.

“You good?” he asked, voice softer than before.

Chance forced a grin. “Pfft, yeah, totally! Just spaced out for a sec.”

Guest 1337 didn’t push. He just nodded, but his gaze lingered, knowing there was more behind that moment than Chance was letting on.

Chance turned back to Noob, shaking the feeling off. They had a kid to train, and they weren’t about to let ghosts ruin the moment. They clapped their hands together. “Alright, back to it! Noob, you are gonna be a sharpshooting legend by the time we’re done here!”

Chapter 40: Long day well spent.

Summary:

(hehehe time for angst , u got no clue HEHHE)

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting the city in hues of deep purples and blues. The air was cooler now, carrying a crispness that signified the end of a long, exhausting day. Chance let out a deep breath, stretching their arms over their head as they walked alongside Guest 1337. Their bodies ached from training, but it was a good kind of ache—a sign of progress.

Noob had given it his all, and it showed. The poor kid had exhausted himself to the point of collapsing right on the field, completely knocked out in the middle of the training grounds. Chance had chuckled at the sight, but before they could even offer to carry him, Guest 1337 had already scooped him up with ease, cradling the sleeping Noob in his arms.

“He’s out cold,” Chance muttered, adjusting their jacket. “Damn, guess we really pushed him, huh?”

Guest 1337 smirked. “You pushed him more than I did. All that yelling and hyping him up—it’s a miracle he didn’t pass out sooner.”

“Hey! I was being supportive,” Chance shot back, nudging Guest 1337’s shoulder. “Unlike you, Mr. ‘Slow Down, Noob, That’s Not How You Hold a Gun.’”

Guest chuckled, shaking his head. “Someone had to make sure he didn’t end up shooting himself in the foot. Unlike you, who was ready to hand him your gun.”

Chance rolled their eyes. “My gun is perfectly fine.”

Guest 1337 raised a brow. “Your gun explodes every third shot.”

“It does not—”

“Chance, I literally watched it jam and smoke today.”

“Okay, but it didn’t explode!”

Guest only chuckled, adjusting Noob slightly in his arms as they approached the hideout. The soft glow from the inside of the building illuminated the entrance, casting long shadows that stretched across the ground. The place was quiet, most of the others already having retired for the night.

As they stepped inside, Chance felt a wave of exhaustion finally hit them. The warmth of the hideout, the distant sound of flickering lanterns, and the soft snores from nearby rooms—it was all oddly comforting.

Guest turned toward them, giving a small nod. “I’ll put Noob to bed.”

Chance saluted lazily. “Roger that.”

Guest disappeared into Noob’s room, carefully laying the kid down and tucking him in before stepping out, giving Chance a simple, “Goodnight.”

Chance hummed in response before making their way to their own room. Pushing open the door, they were greeted by the sight of Spade already curled up on their bed, nestled comfortably in the blankets. The small creature’s chest rose and fell with soft little breaths, looking as peaceful as ever.

Chance shook their head with a smile, carefully climbing into bed, making sure not to disturb Spade as they settled in. The weight of the day pressed down on them, but for once, it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. They let their body relax, closing their eyes as the warmth of the blankets pulled them in.

Tomorrow would bring more challenges, more training, and more unknowns. But for now, in this moment, everything was still. And that was enough.

With that thought, Chance let themselves drift into sleep, Spade’s soft snores filling the quiet of the room.

Chapter 41: Familiar face in a nightmare.

Summary:

(ITRAPPED MENTIONED YIPPPEE , this is based around the fanart and also som of my own headcanons , enjoy the slight angst <3)

The air was thick with the scent of cigarettes and whiskey, the clatter of chips and the sharp ding of slot machines echoing through the grand casino. Chance stood amidst the sea of patrons, blinking in disoriented confusion. This wasn’t the dreamscape they knew.

Something was wrong.

A deep sense of unease curled around their spine as their gaze was drawn toward the table in the center of the room. There he was.

Itrapped.

Sitting motionless, his hands folded neatly on the table, his eyes locked onto Chance with an intensity that sent a shiver through their body. Everything around them suddenly felt distant—the voices of the patrons became murmurs, the lights dimmed to a sickly amber glow, casting elongated shadows that stretched unnaturally along the walls.

Chance swallowed the lump in their throat and stepped forward. Their legs felt heavy, as though the air itself was pressing against them. With each step, the noise of the casino faded until only the rhythmic ticking of a nearby roulette wheel remained.

They sat across from him.

The air grew stifling, a suffocating weight pressing down on their chest. Itrapped’s expression was unreadable, his fingers lightly tapping against the velvet of the table. Then, his lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile.

"Do you ever regret anything?" he asked, his voice smooth yet carrying a weight that made Chance's skin crawl.

Chance hesitated. There were too many things they could say, too many ghosts buried beneath the surface. But the question itself felt like a trap, and so, forcing a small, shaky grin, they shook their head.

"No."

The shift was instant.

Itrapped’s smile vanished as though it had been carved from his face. His expression was hollow now, his eyes unblinking. Then, his lips parted, and he whispered a single word, his voice wrong, layered, inhuman.

"Liar."

Chance’s breath hitched.

The word repeated, again and again, a distorted chant that grew louder and more unnatural. The casino lights flickered violently, the golden glow turning into a sickly, pulsing red. The sounds of the patrons warped, becoming guttural, elongated howls of something not human. The machines no longer dinged—they groaned, metal twisting and warping as if alive.

"Liar. Liar. Liar."

Chance stumbled back, their heart slamming against their ribs as the air became ice-cold. The world around them darkened, the floor beneath them feeling more like shifting sand than solid ground. And then—

Snap.

Itrapped’s head jerked to the side, his neck twisting at an unnatural angle with a sickening crack. His skin darkened, melting into an abyssal black that swallowed all light. His mouth stretched far too wide, his eyes bloodshot against the void of his form.

Chance turned and bolted, their lungs screaming for air as Itrapped’s distorted laughter rang out like the tolling of a funeral bell. The sound reverberated through the casino, bouncing off the walls, crawling beneath Chance’s skin.

The darkness chased after them.

Their legs burned as they ran, the scenery around them warping, twisting, doors leading to nowhere, exits vanishing before they could reach them. Then—

A gunshot.

The sound cracked through the nightmare, deafening, raw. A white-hot pain exploded through Chance’s leg, and they fell, slamming against the cold, shifting ground. Their breath came in frantic gasps as they clawed at the floor, desperately trying to crawl away.

It was too real. Too real.

Heavy footsteps approached, slow, deliberate. The laughter was gone now, replaced by a deafening silence that made Chance’s ears ring. A shadow loomed over them, and then—

Itrapped was there, pinning them down, his weight pressing against their chest like a lead coffin. His face was right above theirs, his hollow eyes locking onto them, the abyss staring straight into their soul.

Chance couldn't move. Couldn't scream. Couldn't breathe.

And then, with a voice that rumbled like distant thunder, Itrapped spoke one last time, his lips splitting into a jagged, bloodstained grin.

"Wake up, Chance."

A sharp, unbearable pain erupted through their chest.

Chapter 42: Comfort after horror

Summary:

(YAYSYAS anyways this is all i cooked today , i am very tired , i cooked these chapters during school , this one is pretty short sorry <3, and i am tired , its gonna be midnight as i am writing this..)

Chance woke up with a violent jolt, their body trembling as their chest heaved with shallow breaths. Their hand clutched their sternum, fingers digging into the fabric of their shirt as if trying to physically erase the lingering pain from their dream. But the sensation remained—phantom echoes of agony from a wound that did not exist. Their pulse hammered against their ribs, and their skin felt clammy, as though they had truly just been at death’s door.

The room was dark, the familiar outlines of their belongings barely illuminated by the dim glow of the moon through the window. But none of it was comforting. Their mind was still trapped in the casino, in the deafening silence, in the twisted, gnarled smile of Itrapped.

A small rustling noise stirred beside them. Spade, their tiny, ever-observant companion, had been roused by their distress. The bunny’s ears twitched as he studied Chance, his little nose wrinkling in concern. Then, without hesitation, he hopped onto their lap, his small paws pressing against their chest, right where the pain lingered. As if he knew.

Chance let out a shaky breath, their fingers loosening from their death grip on their shirt. Their vision blurred slightly, the tears that had been threatening to spill finally slipping down their cheeks. Slowly, they reached out, gently scooping Spade into their arms, holding him close, feeling the warmth of his tiny body against theirs.

Spade, in return, nestled into them, his soft fur brushing against Chance’s damp cheeks. He let out a quiet little chirp, his way of asking if they were okay. Chance chuckled weakly, the sound strained and barely audible, but it was something. They stroked Spade’s ears, their touch light, hesitant, as if grounding themselves back into reality.

They turned their gaze to the window, watching the outside world in silence. The stars twinkled indifferently, the city beyond still and unaware of the nightmare that had just unfolded in their mind. Their breath slowly steadied, the tremors in their hands easing as Spade licked their cheek softly, as if trying to comfort them.

Chance let out another small laugh, this one steadier than before, though their body remained tense, shaken from the lingering horror.

The nightmare still clung to them like a shadow, whispering its warnings, but for now, with Spade’s warmth against them, they could breathe again.

Chapter 43: This dream again.

Summary:

(ehheheh , prepare urself , its tiem for some PROGRESS.)

Chance slowly drifted back into sleep, the weight of exhaustion pressing them down as their eyes fluttered shut. The lingering unease from their nightmare clung to them like a second skin, but the warmth of Spade curled against their chest provided some small comfort. Their breath evened out, and soon, they found themselves slipping away once more.

When they awoke, they were back in the dreamscape. The familiar sight of the red bed and the little house greeted them. They sat up, rubbing their face as they tried to shake off the remnants of sleep. Their first instinct was to check for Nashatra. If she was here, then at least they wouldn't have to navigate this place alone.

But as they scanned the room, she was nowhere to be found.

Chance cursed under their breath. "Either she went ahead, or she's not here at all..."

That wasn’t good. The dreamscape was unpredictable, but having Nashatra around usually made things easier—or at the very least, less terrifying.

With a sigh, they pushed themselves off the bed and made their way to the window, hoping for some clue as to what kind of environment they had ended up in this time. The moment their eyes landed on the outside world, their stomach dropped.

It was the dying mall.

The sprawling, decayed shopping center stretched out before them in endless rows of shattered glass and flickering, half-dead neon signs. The air seemed thick with something unnatural, a heavy, suffocating silence that pressed against their ears. They could see the distant, shadowy figures of mannequins standing eerily still, positioned in ways that suggested they had been watching, waiting.

Chance gritted their teeth, a shiver running down their spine. "Shit. Without Nashatra, I'm practically fucked."

The dying mall was one of the worst places in the dreamscape, and they knew it all too well. The place shifted and moved like a living organism, warping corridors, closing exits, and worst of all—it was never truly empty.

They needed to find a way out. Fast.

 

Chapter 44: Found you.

Summary:

(HEHHE >:))

Chance's footsteps echoed through the hollow corridors of the dying mall, their breath shallow as they navigated the decaying structure. The fluorescent lights above flickered erratically, casting long, jagged shadows across the tiled floor. They moved cautiously, the silence of the dreamscape pressing in around them like a living thing, watching, waiting. After last time, they knew—the mafia was here.

Their fingers twitched near their holster as they approached a rundown bar, its neon sign barely clinging to life, pulsing weakly like the heartbeat of a dying animal. Inside, overturned stools and shattered glass littered the floor, the stench of stale alcohol lingering like a ghost of the past. Against one wall, a few gambling machines stood abandoned, their screens frozen in time. Might as well see if these things are rigged, Chance thought, moving towards them.

They placed a cautious hand on one of the machines, trying to jostle it loose, but it refused to budge. Another attempt. Nothing. Frustrated, they turned away—

And their heart stopped.

There, in the dimly lit space between the rows of broken tables, stood him.

Mafioso.

A sharp, controlled breath hissed through Chance’s teeth as they stumbled back instinctively, their gun raised in a flash, fingers steady despite the sudden spike of adrenaline in their veins. Their eyes locked onto his frame, cold and calculating. He was poised, elegant in the way a predator was before striking, his suit immaculate despite the ruins of the dreamscape around them. He exuded control—an undeniable presence that made the air thick with tension.

Chance swallowed hard, keeping their stance firm. “What the hell are you doing here?” Their voice cut through the silence, a stark contrast to the eerie stillness of the mall.

A low chuckle rumbled from Mafioso’s chest, slow and deliberate, as he took a single step forward. “Now, now, is that any way to greet an old friend?” His voice was velvet wrapped around steel, smooth yet dangerous.

Chance’s grip on their gun tightened. “Stay right there.”

Mafioso sighed, tilting his head with mock disappointment. “So distrustful. Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?” His lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes were sharp—too sharp. He was watching, calculating.

Chance wasn’t falling for it. “Cut the crap,” they snapped. “I know what you are. I know what you do. Don’t try to play innocent with me.”

Something flickered behind Mafioso’s gaze—brief, but there. A crack in the mask of amusement. Then, just as quickly, he smoothed it over. “Ah, you wound me.” He placed a hand over his chest, feigning injury. “And here I thought we had a good thing going.”

Chance didn’t lower their weapon. “I’m not playing your games. What do you want?”

A pause. Mafioso exhaled slowly through his nose, as if conceding something to himself. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but no less dangerous. “You’re sharp, I’ll give you that.” Another step forward. “But you and I both know that sharpness alone won’t keep you alive forever.”

Chance stiffened, pulse hammering. He was too close.

Mafioso’s gaze darkened, the amusement in his expression withering away into something deeper, something more insidious. “I wonder,” he mused, “just how long you can keep that strength up. People like you…” He leaned forward slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Eventually, they crack.”

Chance’s breath hitched. The air felt heavier, pressing against their ribs, making it harder to think. The oppressive atmosphere of the dreamscape twisted around them, suffocating. They forced themselves to glare at him, refusing to give in. “Back off.”

Mafioso stared at them for a long moment, unreadable, before something changed. The shift was subtle, but unmistakable—the slight tension in his jaw, the flicker of annoyance in his eyes. He hadn’t gotten what he wanted.

He clicked his tongue. “Tch. Disappointing.”

Chance didn’t move, didn’t blink. They waited, breath held, ready to react to whatever came next.

Then, just like that, the pressure in the air lifted as Mafioso exhaled through his nose and took a step back. “Fine,” he said, voice almost lazy. “Have it your way.” A smirk ghosted across his lips as he turned. “But don’t think for a second that this is over.”

Chance remained still, gun raised, watching as he disappeared into the shadows.

Only when they were absolutely sure he was gone did they allow themselves to let out a breath, knees weak beneath them. Their hands were shaking.

Chapter 45: Run , rabbit , run

Summary:

i had 6-7 hours to cook all the chapters i did during class, so get hit with all the chapters ive done , here is your food ,ALSO ,, i think the song run rabiit, run fits mafioso so much ngl!)

Chance barely had a moment to breathe before they felt a firm grip wrap around their wrist. A sharp tug yanked them backward, their body colliding against something solid and unyielding. Their breath hitched as their gaze snapped up—Mafioso. Their pulse pounded violently in their ears.

“What the fuck—?!” Chance gasped. They had seen him leave. They were sure of it.

And yet, here he was.

A slow, dangerous chuckle rumbled from Mafioso’s throat. His grip tightened, claws digging into their skin like hooks sinking into flesh. The pain was immediate, burning.

Chance struggled, jerking their arm, twisting their body, but he held fast. A predator’s patience. A cat toying with a mouse before the inevitable end.

“Now, now,” Mafioso crooned, his voice velvet with something sickly sweet. “Why are you always in such a rush to run from me?”

Chance gritted their teeth, wrenching themselves backward. “Because you’re a fucking lunatic.”

Mafioso’s smirk widened, amusement flashing in his dark eyes. His grip loosened—not enough to let go, just enough to make Chance believe, for a split second, that they had a chance.

Then he moved, circling them, the tip of his claw dragging along their wrist before finally letting go, making them recoil as if burned. He paced leisurely, each step a calculated dance, his boots barely making a sound against the tiled floor.

Chance felt the walls closing in. Every instinct screamed at them to run, to get away, but the moment they took a step back, Mafioso mirrored them, slow and methodical. Like he was savoring this.

“You look so jumpy,” he murmured, tilting his head. “You don’t trust me?”

Chance scoffed. “No shit.”

Mafioso let out a mock gasp, pressing a hand to his chest as if wounded. “That stings, truly. But I can’t say I’m surprised. You’re always so... resistant.”

Chance clenched their fists. They had to get out of here. Now. Their eyes darted around, searching for an exit, but Mafioso was watching them closely, like a hawk waiting for its prey to make a move.

Then, in an instant, Chance twisted on their heel and bolted.

A chuckle followed them. Not hurried footsteps. Just laughter.

Then the voice. Sing-song, taunting.

“Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run…”

Chance’s heart nearly stopped mid-beat. Their breath hitched as their feet pounded against the ground, pushing forward with everything they had. The sound of Mafioso’s voice slithered through the air, weaving through the darkness of the dying mall.

“Don’t give the farmer his fun, fun, fun...”

They didn’t dare look back.

Not when they could hear him still behind them.

Not when that chilling, honey-smooth voice continued to chase them, singing, laughing, always just a step too close.

 

Chapter 46: Chase after you.

Summary:

(did i made mafioso a bunny ? , U BET I DID.)

Chance's breath came in ragged gasps as they sprinted through the labyrinthine corridors of the dying mall, their heart hammering against their ribs. Mafioso’s voice echoed eerily through the halls, his smooth yet chilling tone carrying the melody of that damned song.

“Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run…”

He wasn’t running. He didn’t have to. The slow, deliberate sound of his shoes clicking against the cracked tile floors was enough to drive a fresh wave of fear into Chance’s spine. He was toying with them. The predator relishing in the chase, watching his prey struggle in vain.

Chance’s eyes darted wildly around, searching for any possible exit, any escape. But as they turned a sharp corner, their stomach dropped. A dead end.

No. No, no, no, no!

They whirled around, just in time to see him emerge from the shadows. His silhouette was unnervingly calm, exuding confidence in the way he carried himself. The glint of his sharp teeth showed as he smirked, tilting his head slightly.

“Tsk, tsk… looks like you ran yourself into a little predicament,” he mused, his voice laced with amusement.

Chance clenched their jaw, trying to steady their breath, to calm the violent shaking in their legs. But Mafioso was already closing in, his fingers reaching out, cold and sure, as they grasped Chance’s chin, tilting their face up towards him. The smirk on his lips widened as his thumb brushed along their jaw, mockingly gentle.

“You know…” he murmured, voice dangerously low, “you remind me of a bunny. All that running, all that fear in your eyes… so easy to corner.”

Chance’s pulse pounded in their ears, their mind racing for an escape. And then, in a split-second decision, their hand shot up, grasping at the strange black shapes behind his head.

Ears?

Mafioso’s cocky expression twisted instantly, his mouth parting in a sharp growl of pain. His grip on their chin loosened just enough for Chance to yank hard on the velvety appendages, sending a shudder through his body. A pained snarl left his lips, his balance faltering.

Chance didn’t hesitate.

They bolted, shoving past him with all their strength and sprinting down the hall before he could recover. Behind them, they heard Mafioso let out a frustrated growl, the sound reverberating through the empty corridors.

His voice followed them, an ominous purr of amusement laced with lingering irritation.

“Oh, you’re going to regret that, little rabbit….”

Chapter 47: Teasing and running. cornered like a rabbit.

Summary:

(EEEEEE.)

Chance panted as they sprinted through the dark, decrepit mall, their boots echoing against the cold tile floor. Their heart pounded in their chest, both from exertion and the thrill of taunting the very entity hunting them down. "What's the matter, Mafioso? You want some head pats? Maybe a little treat?" they called over their shoulder, laughter bubbling up despite their predicament.

A low growl echoed from behind them, and Chance barely had time to register Mafioso’s voice, thick with amusement and something more sinister. "Oh, you think you're funny, little rabbit? Keep running. See where that gets you."

And Chance did just that. Their breath came out in sharp gasps as they pushed themselves faster, weaving between broken shelves and overturned furniture. They nearly tripped over an abandoned shopping cart but managed to regain balance just in time. Mafioso's footsteps were eerily steady, unhurried. Like he knew he’d catch up eventually.

By some miracle—or sheer dumb luck—they turned a sharp corner and found themselves in a narrow corridor between stores. They ducked behind a rusted vending machine, pressing a hand over their mouth to stifle their breathing. Their pulse roared in their ears as Mafioso’s voice grew closer. And then... silence.

Chance dared a peek around the vending machine—

Gone.

They exhaled in relief, slowly creeping forward before spotting a dimly lit shop ahead. A pet store? They hesitated but stepped inside, blinking at the unexpected sight before them. Dozens of small white bunnies hopped around, their soft fur glowing under the weak fluorescent light. But something was off. The bunnies were huddled in a circle, whispering scratches of movement filling the air.

Curiosity piqued, Chance edged closer, carefully stepping between the little creatures. At the center of the circle was a struggling bunny, its tiny paw trapped beneath a piece of debris. Its pained squeaks tugged at Chance’s heart, and without hesitation, they crouched down. "Hey, hey, it's okay... I've got you."

The other bunnies watched with eerily intelligent eyes as Chance worked quickly, fingers wrapping around the edge of the debris. With a grunt, they heaved, barely managing to lift the weight just enough for the small creature to pull free. The injured bunny trembled before nuzzling into Chance’s hand, as if in gratitude.

Chance smiled softly. "See? You're okay now—"

A slow clap rang through the air, freezing them in place.

"Well, well. The rabbit has a soft spot."

Mafioso.

Chance’s breath hitched as they turned, dread sinking in as they locked eyes with the towering figure leaning against the shop's entrance, those black bunny ears twitching ever so slightly. His grin was sharp, eyes gleaming like a predator who had cornered their prey.

And this time, there was nowhere left to run.

Chapter 48: Watching , realise.

Summary:

( i am feeding u guys HEHEHE , a bit of a short one , i didn't know what to add tbh.)

Mafioso watched from the shadows, his sharp eyes fixed on the scene before him. At first, his immediate thought was that Chance had been the one to harm the injured bunny. It made sense in his mind—after all, Chance had a ruthless streak when necessary, and violence was second nature in this world. But then, as he observed more closely, he noticed something peculiar.

The other white bunnies, small and delicate, were clinging to Chance as if they were a lifeline. Some nestled against their legs, others gently pawed at their arms, their tiny noses twitching with trust. Mafioso furrowed his brows, his grip on his coat tightening slightly. That wasn’t the behavior of creatures scared of a predator—it was the opposite. They sought comfort in Chance.

Then he saw it. The desperation in Chance’s movements, the furrowed concentration in their brow, the way their hands moved with careful precision. They weren’t ignoring the suffering creature; they were trying to help it.

Chance held the trembling bunny, their fingers running softly over its fur, murmuring something too quiet for him to hear. They were scanning the area frantically, eyes darting around the abandoned shop, shelves overturned and dust-coated, in search of something—anything—to help the poor thing.

Mafioso could have used this. This was their weakness. Their soft spot.

But he couldn't fucking use it.

Something in his gut twisted as he watched them. Maybe it was the purity of the moment—how someone like Chance, who had seen so much bloodshed, could still hold something so fragile with such tenderness. Maybe it was the way the other bunnies seemed to huddle close, sensing their warmth. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because for all his taunts and games, Mafioso wasn’t entirely heartless.

He let out a quiet sigh and simply stood there, watching as Chance worked, an unreadable expression crossing his face.

Chapter 49: The care.

Summary:

(HERE WE GO, thats all the food i got for now , ima continue later cuz i am tired asf-)

As Chance worked carefully, their hands moved with practiced ease, wrapping the tiny bunny’s injured paw with strips of soft cloth. Mafioso stood nearby, his foot tapping impatiently against the ground in a steady rhythm. The sound was repetitive, almost hypnotic, and for a fleeting moment, Chance was reminded of Spade when he was waiting for food. The thought made them chuckle softly.

Mafioso immediately caught the quiet amusement and narrowed his eyes. "What’s so funny?" His voice was sharp, laced with suspicion, as if he couldn’t fathom something about the situation being worth a laugh.

Chance barely looked up, still focused on securing the bandage in place. "Nothing, nothing," they said, biting back another chuckle. But then, feeling bold, they smirked and glanced up at Mafioso. "You just remind me of my bunny."

Mafioso’s expression darkened instantly, his lips pressing into a thin line. His foot stopped its rhythmic tapping, and he sent Chance a glare so sharp it could cut. "Excuse me?" His voice was dangerously low, dripping with irritation.

Chance held up their hands in mock surrender. "Geez, relax. It was a compliment," they teased, their grin widening slightly. "Spade gets all twitchy when he wants something too."

Mafioso clicked his tongue, clearly unamused, but Chance had already turned their attention back to the little bunny. Finally satisfied with their work, they gently lifted the small creature into their arms, cradling it against their chest. The bunny trembled slightly but didn’t resist, its soft fur brushing against Chance’s fingers.

"There you go, little guy," Chance murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of the bunny’s head. The other rabbits that had been surrounding them watched with quiet curiosity, their tiny noses twitching.

Chance couldn’t help but coo at the injured bunny, their voice dropping into a soothing hum as they stroked its ears. "You’re too cute," they whispered with a fond smile.

Mafioso watched the entire display with an unreadable expression. His eyes flicked between Chance and the bunny, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides.

Chapter 50: The return!

Summary:

(HEHHE YAYSAYA tiem to cook)

Chance sat on the cold tiled floor, still cradling the injured bunny in their arms, their fingers running gently through its soft fur. The little creature twitched its nose, nuzzling into their warmth as Chance whispered soft reassurances. Mafioso stood nearby, watching, his towering form casting a long shadow over the fragile moment. He was moving closer, slowly, like a predator stalking its prey, his gaze unreadable as he loomed over Chance and the bunny.

Then, suddenly—

CRACK!

A sharp thud echoed through the empty corridors of the dying mall, and Mafioso staggered forward, clutching his head with a low, guttural growl of pain. Chance blinked, eyes widening as they caught sight of Nashatra standing behind him, a crowbar in hand, grinning like she had just cracked open a piñata.

"Oh, hell no," Nashatra scoffed, yanking Chance up by the wrist. "We're outta here. Now!"

Chance barely had time to react before Nashatra pulled them into a sprint, dragging them through the mall’s dimly lit corridors. Their heartbeat thundered in their ears, almost drowning out the echo of Mafioso’s deep, resonant voice ringing out behind them.

"Run all you want, little bunny," Mafioso called out, his voice reverberating like a death knell. "I'll catch up eventually."

Chance didn’t dare look back. Their legs burned as they ran, Nashatra never loosening her grip, weaving through abandoned shops and overturned kiosks. The sound of their frantic footsteps bounced off the walls, mixing with the distant hum of flickering lights. Every shadow felt like it could reach out and snatch them back into Mafioso’s grasp.

Only when they burst through an exit, stumbling into the open, did they finally stop. Chance bent over, hands on their knees, sucking in greedy gulps of air, while Nashatra leaned back against a crumbling wall, still gripping the crowbar like a lifeline. Silence stretched between them, save for the sound of their ragged breathing.

Then, without warning, Chance lunged forward and hugged Nashatra, their arms wrapping tightly around her. They were still shaking, the sheer panic from earlier gripping their chest like a vice. "Holy shit," they breathed, voice muffled against her shoulder. "I thought— I thought he was actually gonna kill me."

Nashatra let out a low chuckle, patting Chance on the back as if they hadn’t just barely escaped with their life. "Yeah, well, lucky for you, I have impeccable timing."

Chance pulled back just enough to glare at her, hands gripping her shoulders. "Where the hell have you even been?!" they demanded, their voice cracking slightly from leftover adrenaline.

Nashatra’s lips curled into a smug smirk. "Dunno," she said simply, shrugging.

Chance groaned, rubbing their face. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, here we are. Alive." Nashatra shot them a wink before tossing the crowbar over her shoulder. "Now, let’s get moving before your new friend decides to come looking for us again."

Chapter 51: Escaping the bunny.

Summary:

(EEEE)

Nashatra crossed her arms, her sharp eyes scanning Chance for any visible injuries. "Alright, what the hell did he want from you this time?"

Chance let out an exhausted sigh, running a hand through their hair. "I don't fucking know! One second I thought he was gone, the next thing I know, he's singing some creepy-ass rabbit song while chasing me through the mall!" Their voice cracked slightly from the stress, and they shook their head. "He almost got me. Multiple times. If I wasn’t quick on my feet, I’d be dead."

Nashatra clicked her tongue, clearly displeased. "That bastard doesn’t play fair. He’s got his sights on you, and now that he’s after you, he won’t stop until you’re either dead or his prisoner."

A shudder ran down Chance’s spine at those words. The weight of the situation truly settled on them, their stomach twisting into knots. "God, don’t even say that. I don’t wanna think about that freak keeping me locked up or some shit."

Nashatra placed a reassuring hand on their shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Then you need to be careful, more than ever now. He’s a hunter, Chance. And right now? You’re his prey just like i am."

Chance swallowed hard, their heartbeat drumming in their ears. They already knew Mafioso was relentless—but hearing it put so plainly made it all the more real. They weren’t just being chased; they were being stalked, hunted like a rabbit in a wolf’s den.

Chance clenched their fists. "Yeah, well, fuck that. I’m not gonna let him get me."

Nashatra smirked, a glint of admiration in her gaze. "Good. ‘Cause if he does, I’m the only one allowed to beat the shit outta you."

Chance chuckled weakly, some of the tension lifting. "Gee, thanks. That makes me feel so much better."

Nashatra rolled her eyes but patted their back. "Come on, let’s get out of here before that lunatic gets back up. I don’t think one crowbar hit is enough to keep him down for long."

Chance nodded, casting one last glance over their shoulder. Their chest felt tight, their nerves still frayed, but they knew one thing for certain—Mafioso wasn't done with them. Not by a long shot.

Chapter 52: Walking past

Summary:

(HEHEHE TIME TO COOK , im gonna throw my own head canons at how chance got spade. BC WHY NOT )

As Nashatra looked outside, she signaled for Chance to follow. They walked through the dim corridors of the dying mall, the flickering lights casting long, eerie shadows on the cracked tiled floors. The distant hum of malfunctioning machinery and the occasional creak of shifting debris filled the silence between them.

 

After a while, Nashatra glanced at the small, trembling bunny cradled in Chance’s arms. Its tiny body pressed close to Chance’s chest as they stroked its soft fur.

 

"Why do you have a bunny in your hands?" Nashatra finally asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

 

Chance let out a soft sigh. "The poor thing was injured," they replied, carefully adjusting their grip on the creature. "It got its paw stuck under some debris, and it was crying. I couldn’t just leave it there."

 

Nashatra hummed thoughtfully, her gaze drifting toward the many small, white bunnies scattered throughout the mall. "A lot of them end up getting injured because of the falling objects or the unstable ground," she murmured. "It’s honestly a miracle that they survive at all."

 

Chance’s chest tightened at the thought. The image of the tiny, helpless creatures suffering in this broken, rotting place gnawed at them. Nashatra must have noticed their expression darken because she suddenly smiled, a rare, warm expression softening her usually sharp features.

 

"You really like bunnies, huh?" she teased lightly.

 

Chance gave a small chuckle, scratching the back of their head. "I wouldn’t have one if I didn’t."

 

Nashatra smirked, then tilted her head slightly. "Speaking of which... how did you even get your bunny?" she asked, clearly intrigued.

 

Chance looked down at the injured bunny in their arms, running a gentle finger along its ear as they thought back to Spade. A nostalgic glimmer flickered in their eyes before they answered, "It’s abit of a story."

 

Chapter 53: The first encounter , the tears on the rain.

Summary:

(go my headcanons GO! , heehhe >:) )

The rain poured relentlessly, thick sheets of water cascading down the city streets, pooling into rivers along the pavement. The neon lights of the casinos reflected off the rain-slicked roads, their colors blurring into distorted pools of reds, blues, and purples. Chance had just finished another long night at their casino, exhaustion weighing heavy on their shoulders as they stepped outside, only to be immediately assaulted by the downpour. They groaned, realizing they had forgotten their umbrella.

Their black coat was the only thing offering them any semblance of protection, but it did little to keep them dry. With a frustrated sigh, they jogged across the sidewalk, their boots splashing into puddles until they finally found some temporary respite beneath a bus stop. The cold air bit at their damp skin as they pulled out their phone, their fingers trembling slightly from the chill as they dialed a taxi. The call was brief.

“Yeah, I’m at the casino district. Pick-up at the corner of Franklin and 8th… Got it.”

Hanging up, they stuffed their phone back into their pocket, wrapping their arms around themselves in an attempt to keep warm. The city, usually so alive with sound, felt muted under the weight of the storm. The occasional honk of a car, the distant chatter of late-night wanderers, and the rhythmic drumming of the rain were all that filled the air.

Then, something caught their eye.

A faint rustling at the edge of their vision, just by a lamppost where the wind howled the strongest. Their brows furrowed, curiosity pricking at them. There, half-drowned in the storm, was a small, tattered cardboard box. It was barely standing, the edges curling in from the water seeping into its feeble structure. It shuddered as the wind whipped around it, but what truly made their heart clench was the tiny, broken noises coming from within.

Chance hesitated for only a moment before moving closer, their breath catching as they crouched down. Peeling back the top of the box, their heart stopped.

Inside, curled up in a shivering ball, was a tiny black bunny. Its fur was soaked, clumped together in patches, and dirtied from whatever cruel hands had left it there. Its little body trembled violently, and when Chance's shadow loomed over it, the bunny let out a pitiful, weak noise—half a cry, half a frightened whimper. Its small chest rose and fell rapidly, its breathing erratic from the cold and terror.

Chance’s breath hitched. The bunny's hind leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, a deep wound marring the once-soft fur. Worse still, parts of its coat looked as though they had been forcefully torn out, exposing raw, pink skin. The sight made Chance’s stomach churn with anger, a dark fury bubbling inside them. Who the hell would do something like this?

The bunny flinched as Chance reached towards it, its big, terrified eyes darting around as if expecting another cruel hand to strike it down. Chance softened their movements, their fingers barely brushing against its tiny head.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” Chance murmured, their voice low, gentle. “I’m not gonna hurt you, little guy.”

The bunny recoiled at first, but its exhaustion won over its fear. It was too weak to fight. Chance carefully scooped it up, feeling its fragile form tremble against their palm. The cold radiating from its tiny body sent a sharp pang through their chest. It was freezing.

Acting quickly, Chance shrugged off their soaked coat and wrapped it around the bunny, cocooning it in as much warmth as they could offer. The fabric was damp, but it was better than nothing. The bunny whimpered again, pressing its tiny nose into the crook of the makeshift blanket.

“There you go… you’re safe now.”

Chance pulled the bundle close, cradling it against their chest. Their hands, usually so steady in the face of risk and uncertainty, shook ever so slightly as they stroked over the bunny’s tiny head. A raw, unexpected tenderness filled them as they held the fragile creature, shielding it from the harsh world outside.

They had no idea who had abandoned it or why, but they knew one thing for certain.

They weren’t leaving it behind.

As the rain continued to fall, drumming against the pavement in a rhythmic lullaby, Chance whispered, “I got you.” And for the first time in a long time, they felt something warm bloom inside their chest, a small ember of something they thought they had lost a long time ago.

Chapter 54: The vet rescue.

Summary:

(EEEEEEEEEEE)

As Chance’s taxi arrived, they made a firm decision—this bunny was theirs now. There was no way they were going to leave it alone to die in the cold, abandoned and suffering. As they stepped into the taxi, cradling the fragile creature in their arms, they gave the driver a new destination.

"Take me to the best vet in town," they instructed, their voice unwavering despite the storm raging outside.

The taxi sped through the rain-slicked streets, and Chance barely noticed the city lights flashing by. Their attention was fixed solely on the tiny, trembling life in their arms. They gently stroked the bunny’s soft ears, their touch featherlight, as if the creature would shatter under the slightest pressure.

"You’ll be okay," they murmured, their breath warm against the bunny’s damp fur. "I promise."

The bunny's tiny chest rose and fell rapidly, its heartbeat fluttering against Chance’s palm. It was still terrified, still weak, still hurting. Chance’s fingers traced carefully around its injured foot, their heart tightening at the sight of the small limb bent awkwardly. What if it was broken? What if it never healed properly? The thought made their stomach twist with worry.

By the time they arrived at the vet’s clinic, Chance had already made up their mind—they were going to do whatever it took to ensure this little one survived. Stepping out into the rain once more, they hurried inside, their coat shielding the bunny from the cold. The clinic was warm, the scent of antiseptic filling the air. A receptionist looked up as Chance approached the desk, their soaked form leaving small puddles on the pristine floor.

"Please," they said, urgency lacing their words. "This bunny is hurt. I need someone to help him."

The receptionist nodded, immediately calling for a veterinarian. Within minutes, a kind-eyed doctor took the bunny from Chance’s hands and carried it into an examination room. Chance followed, their heart pounding as they watched every movement with intense focus. The vet worked gently, assessing the bunny’s injuries, carefully running their hands along its fragile frame.

After what felt like an eternity, the vet finally spoke. "You got here just in time," they said, offering Chance a reassuring smile. "His foot isn’t broken—just sprained. His fur, though… looks like it was ripped out, possibly by another animal or a rough encounter. But he’s strong. He’ll heal."

Chance let out a breath they hadn't realized they were holding. Relief flooded through them, making their hands tremble slightly. "So he’ll be okay?"

The vet nodded. "With proper care, yes. I’ll give you everything you need—bandages, medication, pain relief. The fur will take time to grow back, but he’s a fighter. He’ll make it."

Chance exhaled again, this time more steadily. They watched as the vet carefully wrapped the bunny’s tiny foot in a soft bandage, treating his wounds with practiced hands. The bunny twitched slightly, his little nose scrunching up in discomfort, but he didn’t cry out this time. It was as if he understood, somehow, that he was safe now.

Once everything was done, the vet gently placed the bunny back in Chance’s waiting arms. The creature hesitated for a moment, as though unused to warmth, to kindness. Chance, without thinking, pressed a small, tender kiss to the bunny’s forehead. The little body tensed at first—unfamiliar with such a soft touch—but then, slowly, it relaxed into their embrace.

Chance smiled, something warm unfurling in their chest. "I’ll give you the best life you deserve," they whispered, their voice barely above a breath. "I swear it."

The bunny nestled closer, its tiny heartbeat finally slowing, steadying.

As Chance paid the bill and stepped back into the stormy night, they held the little creature closer, their mind already racing with thoughts of home—the warm, safe space waiting for them both. This wasn’t just a rescue.

It was the start of something new

Chapter 55: The comfort of your embrance.

Summary:

(idk what to put in those don't mind me)

As Chance finally arrived home, they let out a sigh of relief. It had been a long and exhausting night, but at least they weren’t alone anymore. In their arms, the small black bunny nestled against them, its tiny body still trembling from fear and exhaustion. Chance gently set the bunny down on their bed, watching as it hesitated before curling up into a small ball.

Chance frowned. They didn’t have a pet bed or proper supplies yet, but they would make do for now. The least they could do was make the bunny comfortable. With careful steps, they made their way to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for anything that could serve as a makeshift meal. They found some fresh greens, a small piece of fruit, and a handful of oats—nothing fancy, but hopefully enough to keep the little one fed for now.

Grabbing a bowl, they filled it with cool, fresh water before returning to the bedroom. The bunny lifted its head slightly as Chance approached, ears twitching warily. Kneeling beside the bed, they set down the food and water, nudging it closer to the hesitant creature.

“It’s okay,” Chance murmured, their voice as soft as a whisper. “You’re safe now.”

The bunny’s nose twitched as it inspected the food, hesitant at first but eventually giving in to its hunger. Slowly, it took a small bite, then another, until it was munching away with a quiet determination.

Chance felt a pang in their chest as they observed the tiny animal. The bunny was painfully skinny, its fur patchy in some areas. Who knew how long it had gone without a proper meal? It wasn’t fair—something so small and fragile shouldn’t have had to suffer like this.

They reached out, gently stroking the bunny’s back as it ate, feeling the sharp outline of its ribs beneath their fingers. “You need to eat as much as you can, alright? I’ll make sure you never go hungry again.”

When the bunny finally finished, Chance smiled, offering quiet praise as they cleaned up the dishes. The night outside was dark, the moonlight casting a soft glow through the curtains. It was far past their usual bedtime, exhaustion creeping in after the long day, but they couldn’t bring themselves to leave the bunny alone. Not tonight.

Carefully, Chance lifted the small creature and settled into bed, placing it gently on their chest. The bunny tensed for a moment, unused to the warmth, but then slowly relaxed, its tiny body sinking into them. A soft sigh left Chance’s lips as they pulled the covers over both of them, their arms cradling the bunny protectively.

As their eyes grew heavy, they pressed a small kiss to the bunny’s head, feeling the gentle rise and fall of its breathing against their own. This was the beginning. A new start. And as they drifted off to sleep, one thought echoed in their mind:

“I promise…I’ll give you the best life you deserve.”

Chapter 56: End of flashback

Summary:

(i am so good at titles , cant u tell ?)

As the flashback faded, Chance found themselves staring at Nashatra, their voice growing softer as they finished telling the story. The memory of that rainy night, the fragile bunny trembling in their arms, and the quiet promise they had made still lingered in their chest. They had never regretted that decision—not once.

Nashatra, who had been listening intently, tilted her head with a small, amused smile. "You really have a sensitive heart, huh?" she mused, resting her hands on her hips. "Not many people would go through all that trouble for a little bunny. Poor thing... At least he got a good owner now."

Chance huffed, rubbing the back of their neck. "I just—" They paused for a moment, struggling to find the right words. "I couldn’t just leave him there. He wouldn’t have survived the night."

"And now he’s probably the most spoiled bunny in the world," Nashatra teased, nudging Chance’s shoulder.

Chance smirked but didn’t deny it. Instead, Nashatra leaned in slightly, a curious glint in her eye. "Alright, but tell me—why the name ‘Spade’?"

Chance chuckled, as if they had been expecting the question. "In a deck of cards, the spade suit has always been my favorite," they explained. "And most spade cards are black—just like him. It just felt right."

Nashatra let out an exaggerated hum, pretending to consider their answer. Then, with a playful smirk, she said, "Wow, you really put a lot of thought into that one, huh?"

Chance rolled their eyes dramatically. "Pfft, shut up. It’s an amazing name, and you know it."

Nashatra laughed, shaking her head, and Chance couldn’t help but smile. Despite everything—the chaos, the danger, the relentless chase—this moment of lighthearted conversation was a brief but welcome relief.

And no matter what happened next, Chance knew one thing for certain: they would always keep their promise to Spade.

Chapter 57: Keycard found!

Summary:

(YIPPPPEE.)

Chance and Nashatra moved cautiously, their steps light against the cold, tiled floor of the store. The dim, flickering lights above cast jagged shadows along the aisles, making every shelf look like a monolith in an abandoned city. The air was thick with the scent of dust, stale food, and something faintly metallic. Chance’s heartbeat was steady but attentive as they maneuvered between the cluttered shelves, their gaze fixed ahead.

Nestled behind the counter, a squire was slumped over, completely lost in sleep. Their breaths came in slow, heavy sighs, and their shoulders moved up and down in a rhythmic motion. Chance and Nashatra exchanged glances, silently agreeing to move past them as quietly as possible.

Then, as they edged closer, something caught Chance’s sharp eyes—a glint of plastic barely peeking from the squire’s pocket. Their breath hitched slightly. A keycard.

Their mind immediately clicked back to when Nashatra had been looking for one in the Ocean Dream. It was their ticket forward, a crucial piece to their escape puzzle. Chance subtly nudged Nashatra, nodding towards the squire’s pocket.

Nashatra’s eyes gleamed with understanding and a hint of mischief. Slowly, she crouched, her movements precise and fluid. Her fingers barely brushed against the pocket before she expertly pinched the keycard and eased it out with the grace of a seasoned thief. Chance watched with a mix of admiration and tension, ready to bolt at the first sign of the squire stirring. But they remained undisturbed, still lost in their slumber.

Exchanging satisfied smirks, they carefully crept back the way they had come, slipping out without so much as a whisper left behind. Their bodies didn’t fully relax until they were out of the store and making their way back to the small house with the bed.

As they entered, the air inside was warmer, a comforting contrast to the outside. Their eyes immediately landed on the dark grey bunny sprawled lazily on the bed, its small form rising and falling with each gentle breath. Its fur was slightly ruffled, ears twitching from whatever little dreams it was having.

The moment Chance got close, the bunny suddenly launched forward, tiny paws gripping at the fabric of their suit. Nashatra let out a snicker as she plopped down onto the mattress, watching the scene unfold with amusement.

“Oh, looks like you got yourself a little fan,” she teased, arms crossed as she observed the bunny’s relentless attack on Chance’s clothing.

Chance rolled their eyes but couldn’t hide the fond smile creeping onto their lips. “Hey now, cut that out,” they murmured, scooping up the small creature into their hands.

The bunny squealed, its tiny paws batting at Chance’s fingers in playful protest. Its nose twitched, ears flicking as it tried to squirm but ultimately gave in as Chance gently held its face between their hands, rubbing soothing circles into the soft fur.

“You are such a menace,” Chance muttered affectionately, pressing a feather-light kiss onto the bunny’s forehead.

The bunny let out a quiet, pleased noise, completely melting under the attention. It pawed at Chance’s fingers again, but this time with a clear demand for more pats.

Nashatra chuckled, shaking her head. “You have a thing for bunnies, huh?”

Chance didn’t even try to deny it. They simply smiled down at the tiny creature cradled in their hands, warmth spreading through their chest.

Chapter 58: Cheezburger

Summary:

(cheezburger.)

Chance sat on the bed, their gloved fingers delicately stroking the soft fur of the little bunny nestled in their lap. The small creature let out soft noises, its tiny paws pressing against Chance’s suit as it squirmed, nibbling lightly at the fabric. Chance chuckled at the feeling, rubbing its head gently as the bunny nuzzled into their touch.

Meanwhile, Nashatra sat beside them, her fingers spinning the keycard between them, a smug smile playing on her lips. She turned to Chance, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Hey,” she said, nudging them with her elbow. “Wanna see something cool?”

 

Chance, still distracted by the affectionate bunny clinging to their suit, glanced up with mild curiosity. “Hell yeah, of course I want to.”

 

With an exaggerated flourish, Nashatra reached into her pocket and pulled out… a cheeseburger.

 

Chance blinked, staring at the slightly squished fast-food item now sitting in Nashatra’s open palm. They raised an eyebrow, their expression caught somewhere between amusement and genuine confusion. “Uh… you’re kidding, right?”

 

Before Nashatra could answer, the bunny in Chance’s arms suddenly started crying.

 

Chance’s eyes widened in panic. “What—what did I do?! What’s wrong?!” They adjusted their hold, cradling the bunny closer, their mind racing with concern. “Did I pet it too hard? Oh my god, did I do something to its foot—?”

 

Nashatra, however, only laughed, waving her hand dismissively. “Relax. It’s not you.”

 

Chance shot her a look of bewilderment. “Then what is it?”

 

Nashatra grinned as she held up the cheeseburger slightly. “It’s this.”

 

Chance gawked at her. “You’re telling me this little guy is crying because of a cheeseburger?”

 

Nashatra nodded, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Yep. Everyone in the dreamscape cries when they see a cheeseburger. They want it so bad it actually makes them emotional.”

 

Chance blinked. “...What?”

 

Nashatra shrugged. “It just happens. I don’t make the rules.”

 

Chance stared down at the bunny in their lap, whose tiny face was scrunched up in utter distress as it pawed weakly at the air, clearly reaching for the food. They looked back up at Nashatra incredulously. “You’re telling me everyone? Like, even the Mafia guys?”

 

Nashatra smirked. “Yup. Even the Mafia.”

 

Chance took a second to let that sink in, then immediately burst into laughter. “No way! Are you telling me I could wave a damn cheeseburger in front of Mafioso’s face and he’d just break down like a whimpering mess?!”

 

Nashatra grinned. “It’s possible. He’s not immune.”

 

Chance leaned back against the bed, still chuckling at the ridiculousness of the revelation. “Holy shit… This could be such a powerful weapon.”

 

They sat in silence for a moment, the mental image forming in Chance’s mind. A grown-ass man, Mafioso, the same terrifying figure that had chased them down while humming some creepy rabbit song, dropping to his knees, tears in his eyes, desperately reaching out for a mere cheeseburger. The thought alone made them start wheezing with laughter again.

 

“Oh my god,” Chance gasped between fits of laughter. “I need to see this happen.”

 

Nashatra grinned. “We could test it out sometime.”

 

Chance wiped a tear from their eye. “This just might be the greatest discovery yet.”

 

Meanwhile, the bunny in their lap gave a small, pitiful squeak, still staring longingly at the cheeseburger. Chance let out a sigh, lifting the small creature up and nuzzling its head before glancing back at Nashatra.

 

“You better not tease it too much,” Chance warned, watching as Nashatra smirked and took a dramatic bite of the cheeseburger.

 

The bunny squeaked louder.

 

Chance groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

 

Chapter 59: Feeding.

Summary:

(im so creative with titles..)

Chance smirked as they carefully pinched off a small chunk of the cheezburger, making sure it wasn’t too big for the tiny creature in their hands. The bunny, still nestled in their grasp, twitched its little nose and let out another soft squeal, its big dark eyes locked onto the piece of food with undeniable excitement.

 

“Alright, alright, here you go,” Chance murmured, holding the bite-sized portion just above the bunny’s mouth. The little creature hesitated for only a second before gently nibbling at the piece, its tiny teeth working quickly to devour the morsel. The moment the taste hit, its entire body seemed to vibrate with joy, an almost delighted chirp escaping its mouth as its paws flexed and wiggled against Chance’s hand.

 

Chance couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh my god, you’re actually adorable. Like, too adorable. This should be illegal.”

 

Nashatra, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, watched the scene unfold with an amused smirk. “You act like you’ve never seen a bunny before.”

 

Chance shot her a playful glare. “I have! But none of them have ever reacted to food like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to them.”

 

Nashatra chuckled. “Guess that proves my point from earlier. Cheezburgers are like currency here. Even tiny animals aren’t immune to their power.”

 

Chance raised an eyebrow, still stroking the bunny’s soft ears as it chewed happily. “You’re telling me this could work on, like, anybody? Even the mafia guys?”

 

Nashatra nodded knowingly. “Oh yeah. You ever seen a full-grown, terrifying mobster get misty-eyed over fast food? Because I have. It’s kind of magical.”

“You know what?” Chance said, looking back down at the bunny, who had finished its bite and was now eagerly pawing at their hand for more. “I think I just discovered my new favorite weapon.”

 

Nashatra tilted her head. “A bunny?”

 

Chance grinned. “Nope. A cheezburger.”

 

As Nashatra let out a bark of laughter, Chance couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of power. Maybe, just maybe, they had finally found a way to get an upper hand in this wild, unpredictable world. Or, at the very least, a way to make even the scariest enemies cry like spoiled children.

 

Chapter 60: Dreamer.

Summary:

(EEE , i love cooking , my motivation legt le earlier but meh.. , cooking chapters at 2 am..)

As Chance lay down on the bed, they let out a tired sigh, glancing over at Nashatra, who was still sitting on the floor, idly spinning the keycard between her fingers. The dim glow of the dreamscape cast long shadows on the walls, giving the small house a cozy yet eerie atmosphere.

 

"Alright, I'm heading to sleep now," Chance murmured, shifting under the thin blanket. "You be careful with the mafia, okay?"

 

Nashatra smirked, looking up at them. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine. You worry too much."

 

They expected Nashatra to just scoff or wave them off, but instead, she went quiet for a moment before responding in an oddly gentle tone. "See ya tomorrow."

 

That simple phrase sent a warmth through Chance's chest. A soft, almost wistful smile crossed their lips as they closed their eyes, whispering one last time, "Yeah… see ya tomorrow."

 

Their consciousness began to slip away, and the strange, surreal atmosphere of the dreamscape started to dissolve into the comforting embrace of reality. Slowly, they drifted back into wakefulness, the sounds of their real surroundings creeping in.

 

As their eyes fluttered open, the familiar sight of their own bedroom greeted them. The soft sheets, the warm light filtering through the curtains—it was a stark contrast to the odd world they had just been in. But what caught their attention the most was the tiny, mischievous creature staring at them from the pillow beside them.

 

Spade, their beloved bunny, sat there with an unmistakable twinkle of mischief in their dark eyes. Their little nose twitched as they observed Chance with a knowing look, as if they were waiting for something.

 

Chance barely had time to react before Spade let out an impatient little squeak. With a grin, they reached forward in a sudden attack, scooping up the small bunny in their hands and launching into an assault of tickles and gentle caresses.

 

"Oh-ho, you thought you could just sit there looking cute and not expect me to attack?" Chance teased, rubbing their cheek against the bunny’s soft fur.

 

Spade squeaked in spoiled protest, flailing their tiny paws but making no real effort to escape. Instead, they kicked their little feet, dramatically flopping backward in Chance’s hands like a pampered ruler demanding tribute.

 

Chance laughed, holding the bunny close. "You’re so spoiled, you know that?" They gave Spade a small kiss between the ears, feeling the bunny’s tiny body relax in contentment.

Chapter 61: Pineapple on pizza

Summary:

(i hc that elliot doesn't like hawaii pizza , they think its a crime LOLL.)

As Chance got up, an unusual silence filled the hideout. It was a rare moment of peace, something that felt almost foreign to them. Stretching their arms, they glanced down at Spade, who had curled up beside them. The small black bunny twitched its nose and peeked up at them with drowsy eyes. Chance chuckled, running a gentle hand over Spade’s soft fur before scooping them up.

“Come on, you little menace. Let’s get some breakfast.”

Spade let out a small squeak, clearly not ready to leave the warmth of the bed, but Chance carried them downstairs anyway. The hideout was still dim, the early morning light barely filtering through the covered windows. As they reached the kitchen, they spotted Elliot standing by the counter, focused on preparing a pizza. The smell of fresh dough and melted cheese filled the air, making Chance’s stomach growl.

Chance leaned against the doorway with a smirk. “A pizza this early in the morning? You sure you ain’t secretly a raccoon or something?”

Elliot turned his head, grinning. “Listen, pizza is an all-day kind of meal, alright? Breakfast, lunch, dinner—doesn’t matter.” He sprinkled some extra cheese over the pizza before carefully sliding it into the oven.

Chance snorted, shaking their head as they placed Spade on the counter and grabbed some food to fill the bunny’s bowl. As they did, an idea formed in their mind—one that would surely be legendary.

They glanced toward Elliot, who had turned his back to clean up the counter, oblivious to what was about to unfold. Chance stealthily opened the fridge, eyes scanning the shelves until they found exactly what they needed. A small container of sliced pineapple sat tucked away in the corner. A devilish grin spread across their face as they took a handful and, with the precision of a master saboteur, scattered the pieces across Elliot’s perfect, pineapple-free pizza.

The moment Elliot turned back around, his expression froze. His blue eyes slowly widened in horror as he stared at the abomination before him.

“No…” Elliot whispered, his voice laced with genuine devastation. “Chance… what did you just do?”

Chance burst into laughter, backing away with their hands raised. “I made it better! Come on, don’t tell me you’re one of those pineapple pizza haters.”

Elliot’s face twisted in disgust. “One of those—?! You—you just ruined my masterpiece! This is a crime against humanity!”

Grabbing the nearest weapon at his disposal—a pizza cutter—Elliot let out an exaggerated battle cry and charged. Chance yelped and bolted, laughter echoing through the hideout as Elliot pursued them with vengeance.

Builderman and Shedletsky, sitting comfortably in the living room, turned their heads just in time to see Chance dodging furniture while Elliot wielded the pizza cutter like a sword.

Builderman sighed, sipping his coffee. “You know, I used to think this place was full of hardened survivors.”

Shedletsky leaned back with a grin. “Yeah,Well it's fun atleast.”

Spade, now sitting comfortably on the plush pet bed, simply twitched their nose and watched the chaos unfold, their tiny paws resting on the plush surface.

Chapter 62: Fallen.

Summary:

(I COOKED ALL DAY IMA ABOUT TO FEED YOU GUYS HEHEHE.)

As Chance and Elliot continued their chaotic chase through the hideout, the world around them suddenly shifted. A blinding light engulfed everything, and before they could react, they found themselves pulled into a new environment. The familiar walls of the hideout vanished, replaced by an open landscape—one that signaled the beginning of a new round.

Chance barely had time to process the abrupt change before they realized they were falling—straight into a pond of cold water. The shock sent a shiver down their spine as they surfaced, gasping for air. Water dripped from their hair as they blinked in confusion, trying to figure out where they were.

The moment their head popped above the surface, a loud burst of laughter erupted from nearby. Elliot, standing safely on dry ground, was doubled over, holding his stomach as he wheezed in amusement.

"Ahaha! Oh man, that was perfect!" Elliot cackled, wiping a tear from his eye. "Chance, you should've seen your face!"

Chance glared up at him, unamused. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Help me out already!"

Before Elliot could respond, another presence stepped into view. Guest 1337 appeared, his signature confident smirk playing at his lips. Without hesitation, he reached out a hand toward Chance.

"Need a hand?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying a hint of amusement.

Chance hesitated for just a moment before grasping his hand. The moment their fingers intertwined, Chance felt a jolt—not from the water’s chill, but from something deeper. As Guest 1337 pulled them up, their bodies pressed close, the space between them nonexistent. The warmth of Guest’s body against theirs sent a shock through Chance, their heart skipping a beat.

For a brief second, neither of them moved. The sounds of the game, the presence of Elliot—everything seemed distant as Chance found themselves caught in the intensity of the moment. Their gaze locked with Guest’s, and an unspoken energy passed between them.

Then, as quickly as it happened, Chance cleared their throat and stepped back, shaking off the moment as if it never happened.

"Uh, thanks," they muttered, rubbing the back of their neck.

Guest chuckled, his smirk widening. "No problem. Try not to go for another swim."

Elliot, who had witnessed the entire exchange, raised a brow before nudging Chance with his elbow. "Wow, that was something. You two gonna start holding hands during rounds now, too?"

Chance groaned, shoving Elliot lightly. "Shut up!"

Chapter 63: Cowboys!

Summary:

(hehehehe <3)

The round continued as normal, the air tense with the thrill of the game. Chance found themselves ducking and weaving through the chaotic battlefield, their sharp eyes locked onto their target—Jason, the killer. With precise aim, they managed to land a few well-placed shots, their heart pounding in exhilaration as Jason staggered back.

Meanwhile, across the map, a different kind of chaos was unfolding. Builderman was furiously chasing after Shedletsky, his expression twisted in pure frustration.

"You absolute menace!" Builderman bellowed, his voice carrying over the battleground. "Do you have any idea how long that build took?!"

Shedletsky, who was sprinting ahead with a mischievous grin, cackled loudly. "Well, maybe you should build something that can handle my epicness!"

The cause of Builderman’s fury was apparent—a massive chunk of his latest structure was in ruins, thanks to Shedletsky’s poorly aimed sword swing. The blade had gotten lodged in the build’s frame, and the entire structure had crumbled spectacularly as a result.

The chaotic chase continued until, at last, the round came to an end. A wave of relief washed over the players as they were all teleported back to the hideout. It had been a rough match, but at least there was only one round today.

Chance exhaled deeply, stretching their arms over their head as they plopped down onto the couch. The exhaustion from the match was already settling in, but a familiar comfort washed over them as they grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels. They settled on some old cowboy show, the black-and-white screen flickering as dramatic music played in the background.

As they got comfortable, they suddenly felt a presence beside them. Guest 1337 had silently taken a seat next to them, his body language relaxed but his gaze fixated on the screen. Chance felt a slight warmth creep up their neck, an odd sense of awareness settling in at their unexpected closeness.

With a small chuckle, Guest 1337 glanced at them. "Cowboys, huh? Didn't think you'd be into something so old-fashioned."

Chance smirked, trying to play it cool. "What can I say? There's just something about dramatic cowboy duels that speaks to me."

Guest 1337 hummed in amusement, his arm casually resting along the back of the couch. The two of them sat there, the sounds of the old western playing softly in the background, a peaceful silence settling between them.

Chapter 64: Shotting aim!

Summary:

(YEYAYE , god my motivation left me for a couple of hours , but i gotta cook)

As Chance and Guest 1337 sat comfortably on the couch, their eyes glued to the television screen as a classic cowboy show played. The scene unfolded with a gunslinger stepping out of a saloon, his fingers twitching over his holster, ready to draw. A duel was about to begin.

Chance scoffed, crossing their arms with a smirk. "Pfft, these cowboys ain't got nothing on me. I'm way better at shooting than they are."

Guest 1337 turned his head slightly, his ever-present smirk growing wider. "Oh? Well, they certainly aren't as good at missing their shots like you are."

Chance’s face immediately burned with embarrassment, their cheeks turning a soft shade of pink as they let out a small, indignant huff. They puffed out their cheeks in a pout and muttered under their breath, "I do not miss my shots…"

Guest 1337 chuckled at their reaction, shaking his head. "Mhm, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, cowboy."

Chance narrowed their eyes. They needed to prove him wrong. Their pride was on the line. Without hesitation, they pulled out their gun and aimed at the apple sitting on the table. "Watch and learn," they declared, their grip steady as they pulled the trigger.

The bullet shot forward—only to completely miss the apple. Instead, it ricocheted off the metal corner of the table, zipped past a chair leg, bounced off the side of the bookshelf, and finally struck a decorative vase perched precariously on the highest shelf. With a loud crash, the vase shattered into a thousand pieces, sending ceramic shards flying everywhere.

Chance froze.

Guest 1337 slowly turned to look at them, one eyebrow raised in silent judgment. His smirk was gone, replaced with a deadpan stare that screamed Seriously?

Chance gulped, their lips pressing together as they shifted their gaze back and forth between the broken vase and Guest 1337. "Uh…" They rubbed the back of their neck awkwardly. "That was just—uh—calculating wind resistance. Y’know, science stuff."

Guest 1337 finally let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. Science."

Chance groaned, covering their face with their hands. "Ugh, shut up…"

"Nah," Guest 1337 teased, leaning back into the couch with an amused expression. "This is way too fun."

 

Chapter 65: Broken vase.

Summary:

(HEHEHEEH , cooking.)

As the sound of shattering glass echoed through the hideout, the room fell into a stunned silence. Chance and Guest 1337 froze, their eyes widening in pure, unfiltered panic. A single glance at each other confirmed what they both knew—this was bad.

Before either of them could react further, a deep, authoritative voice boomed from across the hideout.

"WHAT WAS THAT NOISE?"

Chance let out a panicked squeak, their survival instincts kicking in immediately. Without a second thought, they shoved their gun into Guest 1337’s hands, their movements quick and desperate. Guest 1337 barely had time to register the cold metal being forced into his grip before Chance took off like a bolt of lightning, their footsteps slapping against the floor as they fled the scene of the crime.

"IT WAS GUEST 1337!" Chance yelled at the top of their lungs as they darted down the hallway, hoping to shift the blame before the real culprit (them) could be caught.

Guest 1337 blinked, staring down at the gun in his hands, then at the broken vase, then back at the direction Chance had bolted off in. He slowly exhaled through his nose before deadpanning, "Wow. Betrayal."

Builderman stormed into the room, his sharp gaze sweeping across the mess before landing on Guest 1337, who was still holding the gun like Chance had just cursed it into his hands. Builderman’s eyes then flicked toward the doorway where Chance had just disappeared. He didn’t even need to say anything. The situation was clear.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Builderman rubbed his temples as if he were bracing himself for the headache this was about to cause him.

Meanwhile, Chance, still convinced they had gotten away scot-free, was sprinting down the hall, arms pumping, mind racing with escape plans. They had almost reached the stairwell when, without warning, a firm hand grabbed the back of their collar, yanking them to an abrupt halt.

"Gotcha."

Chance let out a dramatic wail as they were effortlessly pulled backward.

"NOOOOO, I WAS SO CLOSE!" they whined, thrashing slightly as Builderman hoisted them up like a misbehaving kitten.

Builderman rolled his eyes before setting them back on the ground. Before Chance could bolt again, he placed both hands on their head and aggressively ruffled their hair, messing it up beyond repair.

"You little troublemaker," Builderman sighed, shaking his head as Chance pouted and tried to fix the absolute disaster that was now their hair. "Next time, maybe don’t go shooting at things inside the hideout?"

Chance crossed their arms and muttered under their breath, "It was a scientific experiment..."

Builderman raised a brow. "Oh? And what exactly were you trying to test?"

Chance hesitated before mumbling, "...My aim."

Builderman simply gave them an unimpressed look before sighing again. "Just be careful next time, alright? And clean up the mess."

Chance sighed dramatically. "Fiiiine."

As Builderman walked off, shaking his head, Chance turned around to see Guest 1337 standing in the doorway, arms crossed, with a look that screamed betrayal.

"Really?" Guest 1337 said dryly. "Threw me under the bus that fast?"

Chance snickered, rubbing the back of their neck. "Hey, you lived! That’s what matters!"

Guest 1337 just shook his head with a chuckle, knowing full well this wouldn’t be the last time Chance got them both into trouble.

Chapter 66: Get the pieces.

Summary:

(i am ver ycreative with titles TRUST , ANYWAYS HEADCANON TIME!! , i know its not canon at all , BUT LET ME HC ALRIGHT , SO , i like to hc that builderman is Chance's dad , THEY ARE BOTH GREY AND HONESTLY I SEE IT.)

As Chance carefully picked up the shattered remains of the vase, they let out a dramatic sigh, holding up a particularly sharp piece between their fingers. "You know, this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t challenged me," they muttered, side-eyeing Guest 1337, who merely chuckled and leaned back against the couch, clearly unbothered by the blame being shifted onto them.

Builderman, seated comfortably on the couch with a thick book in his hands, turned a page with a slow, deliberate motion before glancing over his reading glasses at the scene unfolding. His eyes flickered toward Chance, who was crouched on the floor, sweeping the porcelain shards into a dustpan with exaggerated care.

"Careful with that, son," Builderman said, his voice holding a tone of amusement. "Wouldn’t want you cutting yourself just to get out of doing actual work."

Chance huffed, brushing a few stray strands of hair from their forehead before dumping some of the broken pieces into the trash. "Oh please, as if I’d ever try to avoid work," they said, feigning offense. Then, they straightened up and stretched, turning their gaze toward Builderman, who had already returned his attention to his book.

"Speaking of which, what’s with you and that book, old man?" Chance teased, walking over to peek at the cover. "Didn’t take you for a nerd."

Builderman scoffed, shutting the book with a soft thud before resting it on his lap. He lifted an eyebrow at Chance, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "At least I can read, son."

Chance gasped, clutching their chest as if they'd been mortally wounded. "Ouch!  Uncalled for!" They turned toward Guest 1337 for support, but all they got was a quiet chuckle from guest 1337, who looked more amused than sympathetic.

Shaking their head in playful defeat, Chance turned back to finish sweeping up the last of the debris. "Y'know," they mused, tossing the final bits of broken ceramic into the trash, "for someone who runs a whole operation, I didn’t expect you to spend your downtime being a bookworm."

Builderman shrugged, picking up the book again and flipping it open to where he left off. "There’s more to running things than just standing around looking important, kid. Maybe if you read more, you’d actually hit your targets instead of vases."

Chance narrowed their eyes. "Wow. You’re really out here kicking me while I’m down, huh?"

Builderman chuckled. "Nah, just keeping you humble. Now clean up properly before you trip over your own mess."

Chance rolled their eyes but couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at their lips. "Yeah, yeah. Nerd."

"Illiterate troublemaker."

Chapter 67: Easy rest.

Summary:

(YIPPPPPE.)

As Chance finished sweeping up the last of the broken vase shards, they let out an exaggerated sigh, stretching their arms over their head dramatically. "Alright, alright, crisis averted. The floor is safe again!" they announced, brushing off invisible dust from their sleeves before glancing over at Builderman, who was sitting on the couch, nose buried in a thick book.

 

Builderman only chuckled, turning a page. "Go to bed before you break something else."

 

"Fine, fine!" Chance grumbled, throwing their hands up in defeat. "Goodnight, nerd."

 

"Goodnight, troublemaker."

 

With that, Chance made their way to their room, rubbing their tired eyes. As soon as they pushed the door open, they were greeted by an impatient sight—Spade, their tiny, spoiled bunny, was sitting on their bed, thumping his foot against the mattress with all the authority of a tiny emperor.

 

Chance groaned playfully. "Oh, don't give me that look. I was busy."

 

Spade's foot thumped again, his fluffy face unamused, his ears twitching expectantly. If he could talk, Chance was sure he'd be saying, You are late for my daily brushing session. Unacceptable.

 

"Oh, so now you’ve got a schedule for this, huh?" Chance chuckled, walking over to the nightstand and picking up the brush. "Alright, alright, you win, Your Royal Highness. C’mere."

 

Spade wasted no time hopping straight into their lap, curling up as if this was his rightful throne. Chance shook their head with a small smile and began brushing through the bunny’s soft fur, long and gentle strokes, making sure to get all the fluffy spots. Spade let out a pleased little squeak, his nose twitching as he leaned into the touch.

 

"Brush, brush, brush," Chance mumbled sleepily as they worked through Spade’s fur, their fingers growing slower with each stroke. Spade, entirely content, wriggled comfortably against them, soaking up all the attention like a spoiled little prince.

 

The warmth of the bunny and the rhythmic brushing soon began lulling Chance into drowsiness, their eyelids growing heavier by the second. Eventually, their hand stilled, the brush slipping from their fingers as sleep overtook them, Spade nestled comfortably on their lap.

 

The room was peaceful, filled with the soft sounds of their steady breathing. Another day survived, another night of rest—until the next round of chaos inevitably found them.

 

Chapter 68: The valley and the tree.

Summary:

(HEHEHE HERE IS UR FOOD , alsojust so uk , i like search for symbolism in small things ;).)

Chance’s vision swam as they drifted into sleep, the familiar pull of the dreamscape tugging at them. When their eyes fluttered open, they found themselves in the small, cozy house that had become their frequent point of arrival. The atmosphere was warm and still, the soft glow of the ever-present ambient light making the surroundings feel as though they existed outside of time itself.

 

Across the room, Nashatra sat on the edge of the bed, gently caressing the grey bunny that had become a peculiar fixture in this world. Chance’s brows furrowed slightly as they noticed something unusual—the bunny, once a dull grey, was slowly regaining its pure white coat. The transformation was subtle, a soft shimmer of change coursing through its fur, almost like the petals of a flower unfurling to reveal its true color.

 

“Whoa,” Chance murmured, stepping closer. “Is it just me, or is that bunny getting whiter?”

 

Nashatra grinned, her hands never stopping their slow, comforting strokes along the bunny’s ears. “It’s changing,” she confirmed. “Bit by bit.”

 

Chance crouched down beside her, peering at the small creature as it lazily blinked up at them. “Wonder what’s causing it.”

 

“Maybe it’s the dream,” Nashatra mused, tilting her head. “Or maybe… something’s healing.”

 

Chance hummed thoughtfully before stretching. “So, what kind of dream are we in this time?”

 

At that, Nashatra perked up, as if she had been waiting for that exact question. “A new one,” she said, excitement glinting in her eyes. “One we haven’t been to before, so we’ll need to be careful.”

 

Chance exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of their neck. “Great. New territory.” Despite their words, there was a thrill to the unknown, a curiosity that tugged at them. “Let’s check it out.”

 

Together, they stepped outside the small house and were immediately greeted by a landscape so vast and stunning that Chance felt their breath hitch. Rolling fields of fresh, lush grass stretched out as far as the eye could see, swaying gently with a breeze that carried the scent of something earthy and floral. Dotted throughout the field were thousands of flowers—wild and untamed, blooming in a myriad of colors that painted the world like a living canvas.

 

Chance took a few steps forward, their boots sinking slightly into the soft ground. Their eyes scanned the flowers, noting their shapes and hues, before something struck them as odd. Interspersed among the brilliant blossoms were clusters of wormwood flowers, their muted green-grey tones standing out in contrast to the lively, colorful blooms surrounding them. There was something about the sight that sent a shiver down Chance’s spine.

 

“Wormwood,” Nashatra murmured, having noticed them too. “That’s… interesting.”

 

“You sound like you know something,” Chance noted, glancing at her.

 

She shook her head. “Just a gut feeling.”

 

Chance wasn’t sure they liked that answer, but before they could press further, their attention was drawn to something in the distance—a tree, standing alone in the very center of this strange world. It loomed tall and unmoving, its presence undeniable and commanding. But what struck Chance the most was the way it looked. Unlike the vibrant landscape around it, the tree was barren, its branches skeletal and devoid of any leaves or blossoms. It stood like a monument to something long forgotten, waiting.

 

Curiosity piqued, they exchanged a glance with Nashatra before making their way toward it. The closer they got, the more details emerged—the rough texture of its bark, the way its limbs twisted toward the sky as if frozen mid-reach, the subtle cracks along its trunk. Nashatra reached out a hand and ran her fingers along the surface.

 

“This…” she began, voice thoughtful. “This is a cherry blossom tree.”

 

Chance blinked. “You sure? It doesn’t look like it.”

 

“I’ve seen plenty of them before,” Nashatra said, her tone firm. “This shape, these branches—they’re cherry blossom trees, even without the flowers.”

 

Chance tilted their head, stepping closer. “So why’s it dead?”

 

“I don’t know.” Nashatra’s eyes darkened slightly. “But something tells me… it’s not supposed to be.”

 

They both stood in silence for a moment, staring at the barren tree. The air around it felt different, heavier, as if this place held something neither of them could yet understand.

 

Chance exhaled. “Guess we’ll have to figure it out.”

 

Chapter 69: The rustling peace.

Summary:

(god the urge to write AND having no motivation is killing me)

The soft rustling of grass accompanied Chance and Nashatra as they stood before the massive tree, its thick trunk standing strong and unmoving against the gentle breeze that swept through the open field. The surrounding meadow was vibrant, dotted with flowers of all colors—bright blues, deep purples, warm yellows—but what stood out the most were the numerous wormwood flowers scattered across the area. They swayed gently under the sunlight, their eerie beauty casting an odd contrast to the lush, lively scenery.

 

Chance tilted their head as they gazed up at the large tree, its bark dark and rich, its branches stretching out like open arms. Despite its grand presence, something was… off. It was completely bare. No blossoms, no leaves, just the skeleton of a tree standing tall in the middle of this otherwise flourishing meadow.

 

Nashatra, still holding the grey bunny in her arms, took a step closer, inspecting the tree more carefully. She ran her fingers lightly across the bark, feeling its texture beneath her fingertips. It didn’t seem sick. In fact, it looked perfectly healthy. There were no signs of decay, no cracks in its surface, no withering of any kind. It was simply… empty.

 

Chance crossed their arms, tapping their fingers against their elbow. “Maybe it just hasn’t grown enough?” they suggested, shrugging lightly. “Maybe it’s still young or something.”

 

Nashatra hummed thoughtfully, clearly not convinced but unwilling to argue. “Maybe,” she said, nodding slightly. But there was something about it that didn’t quite sit right with her. Trees like this—especially cherry blossoms—should have at least some sign of blooming. Even the leaves should have started appearing, but there was nothing. Just an empty, towering structure standing in solitude.

 

Letting out a small sigh, she turned back to Chance, who was still looking up at the tree with mild curiosity. “It doesn’t feel wrong,” she admitted. “But it doesn’t feel right either.”

 

Chance shrugged again before plopping down onto the soft grass beneath them. “Well, no point overthinking it now. Let’s just chill for a bit.” They patted the spot beside them, inviting Nashatra to sit. She hesitated for a second before following suit, adjusting the bunny in her arms as she settled down.

 

The cool shade of the tree was a welcome relief from the warm sun. Despite its lack of leaves, the area beneath the branches still carried a comfortable shadow, allowing a moment of rest in the otherwise open and bright field. The soft sounds of the wind passing through the grass, the faint hum of distant insects, and the occasional chirp of an unseen bird created a peaceful atmosphere, almost enough to make them forget the strange emptiness of the tree.

 

Chance leaned back on their hands, looking up at the sky. The dreamscape was unpredictable—one moment they could be in the middle of an endless ocean, and the next, trapped in a dark labyrinth. This was one of the more pleasant places they had ended up in. But that didn’t mean it was safe.

 

That thought reminded them of something. “Hey,” Chance spoke up, turning their gaze toward Nashatra, “you think the mafia could find us here?”

 

Nashatra, who had been absentmindedly stroking the bunny’s fur, paused for a moment. The question hung in the air between them, bringing back the lingering tension that never truly disappeared. She pursed her lips slightly before shaking her head. “I don’t really know,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “The dreamscape works in strange ways. It’s hard to tell if they can track us here or not.”

 

Chance frowned slightly, looking down at the grass as they absentmindedly plucked at a few blades. “So, there’s a chance they could?”

 

Nashatra sighed, adjusting the bunny in her lap as it nuzzled against her. “There’s always a chance. But for now, we should take advantage of the peace while we have it.”

 

Chance clicked their tongue but nodded, letting the matter rest. Worrying about it wouldn’t change anything. They glanced at the bunny, who had started twitching its nose, as if sniffing the air curiously. Its once completely dark fur was beginning to lighten, subtle patches of white slowly emerging from the grey. The transformation was slow but noticeable. It was almost as if something within the dreamscape itself was changing the bunny bit by bit.

 

Chance reached out, lightly poking the bunny’s tiny nose. It twitched in response, making them chuckle. “You think it’s turning back to normal?” they asked, watching the slow shift in color.

 

Nashatra gave a small smile. “Seems like it.”

 

They both sat there for a while longer, letting the silence settle between them. Despite the lingering uncertainty of their situation, there was an undeniable sense of calm in this place. Maybe it was temporary, maybe danger was still lurking somewhere unseen, but for now, they allowed themselves this moment of quiet.

 

Chapter 70: The gentle breeze.

Summary:

(BNUYS.)

The air was crisp with the scent of fresh grass and the faintest hint of blossoms that had long since fallen away. A gentle breeze rolled through the vast field, causing the sea of wildflowers to sway like waves in an unseen tide. Chance sat beneath the towering, barren cherry blossom tree with Nashatra beside them, their back against its sturdy trunk. Though its branches stretched out as if yearning for the sky, there was something uncanny about its emptiness. No blossoms adorned its limbs, not even a stray petal.

Nashatra nodded absently, though her expression carried a quiet doubt. Something about this tree unsettled her, but she pushed the thought away. Instead, she let out a soft sigh and leaned her head back against the trunk, closing her eyes.

"I think I'll take a nap," she mumbled, already making herself comfortable.

Chance let out a laugh, raising a brow. "A nap? In a dream? Isn’t that, like, redundant?"

Nashatra didn’t even open her eyes, just giving a lazy nod. "Yep."

Chance chuckled but didn’t argue. Letting Nashatra rest, their gaze wandered across the landscape, and that was when they saw it—a small cluster of white bunnies hopping about a few feet away. Their round bodies and twitching noses were almost too much for Chance’s heart to handle.

Eyes lighting up with childlike excitement, they shot up from their spot. "Bunnies!" they gasped, their voice practically sparkling with glee.

Nashatra barely cracked an eye open, watching Chance with an amused smile. "Go on, have fun. Just don’t get lost," she said sleepily before settling back in.

Chance hardly needed to be told twice. With a newfound burst of energy, they bounded towards the small fluffy creatures, careful not to startle them. The bunnies, however, were just as excited as they were. The moment Chance crouched down, the little creatures let out tiny, delighted squeals and practically launched themselves at them, nuzzling into their hands and lap.

"Oh my god, you guys are so cute," Chance whispered, overwhelmed by the sheer fluffiness. They gently ran their fingers through the soft fur of one bunny, while another wiggled its nose against their cheek. The rest of the tiny herd bounced around them, their little paws pressing against their arms and legs as if begging for attention.

Chance couldn’t stop themselves from giggling. "This is heaven. This is what pure bliss feels like."

One particularly bold bunny clambered onto Chance’s lap, staring up at them with beady little eyes before nudging its head against their palm insistently. Chance happily obliged, scratching behind its ears.

"You’re just a little spoiled, aren’t you?" they teased, voice full of affection. The bunny responded by dramatically flopping onto its side, exposing its fluffy belly. "Okay, okay, I get it. Maximum attention required."

As they continued doting on their newfound friends, the breeze picked up once more, rustling through the grass. Despite the peaceful moment, there was still an odd feeling lingering in the air, like something unseen watching from afar. But Chance didn’t notice—not when they were surrounded by tiny, adorable bunnies demanding their full attention.

Chapter 71: Finding you again.

Summary:

(HEHEH , alone time again! , im tryignt o make longer chapters , idk if its better or too long ?)

Chance was completely immersed in the soft warmth of the bunnies surrounding them, their small paws pressing gently against their legs as they eagerly nudged closer for more pets. Their fur was impossibly fluffy, and the way they squeaked happily made Chance’s heart swell. They ran their fingers through the silky coats, chuckling softly as one particularly energetic bunny hopped onto their lap, demanding more attention than the others.

The peaceful moment was undisturbed—at least, until something shifted in the air. A presence. Heavy, imposing, watching.

A dark shadow loomed over Chance, stretching across the grass like an ominous omen. The moment was so serene that it took a second for Chance to even register the feeling of someone standing behind them. The wind had stopped. Even the bunnies hesitated for a brief moment before continuing their gleeful hopping, oblivious to the dark presence approaching.

Mafioso stood a few feet away, his crimson eyes locked onto the unsuspecting gambler. He held a small greyish bunny in his hands, his fingers curling slightly around its delicate form. His gaze was unreadable as he examined it, noting how the color was slowly fading into pure white. He had never seen a dreamscape like this before. It was unsettling, unfamiliar. The vast, open space, the cherry blossom tree standing eerily still with no flowers, and the bunnies—too many of them, all drawn to Chance like moths to a flame.

Why?

Mafioso didn’t understand, but something compelled him forward. His boots pressed against the soft grass, silent yet firm. Each step he took was deliberate, his figure growing closer and closer until he stood directly behind Chance, his towering presence swallowing them in his shadow.

Chance felt the shift too late.

The moment they noticed the sudden darkness cast over them, a chill crawled up their spine. They paused, their hand frozen mid-pet as the realization sank in. Slowly, hesitantly, they turned their head, only to find themselves staring directly into the piercing, blood-red gaze of Mafioso.

Their breath hitched. Their heart skipped.

Mafioso said nothing. He simply stared, the expression on his face unreadable. The small bunny in his grip wiggled slightly, its nose twitching, but he barely reacted, his attention solely fixated on Chance.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. The only sound was the distant rustling of the grass and the soft, innocent squeaks of the bunnies still gathered around Chance’s legs.

Chance, being Chance, was the first to break the silence.

“Uh…” They blinked, scrambling for words. “Hey there, big guy… fancy seeing you here.”

Mafioso didn’t respond, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, as if amused by the sheer audacity of the greeting. His fingers absentmindedly caressed the bunny’s fur, his gaze never leaving Chance’s face.

“What brings you to this fine, bunny-infested establishment?” Chance continued, trying to keep their voice light despite the weight of the situation pressing down on them. Their hands were still resting on the bunnies, but they were acutely aware of how close Mafioso was, how easily he could reach out and—

Mafioso finally moved. Not aggressively, not suddenly, but slowly, deliberately. He crouched down, his long coat brushing against the grass as he lowered himself to their level. The bunnies didn’t scatter. They didn’t even seem fazed by him, as if they knew he wasn’t truly a threat.

Chance, however, wasn’t so sure.

Mafioso extended his hand—the one not holding the bunny—and, to Chance’s surprise, he didn’t reach for them. Instead, he reached for one of the small, white rabbits still pressed against their leg. He scooped one up carefully, almost gently, his fingers brushing against the soft fur as he examined it.

“They’re drawn to you,” Mafioso murmured, almost to himself. His voice was as smooth as silk yet carried an edge, like a blade hidden beneath fine fabric.

Chance swallowed, trying to suppress the shiver running down their spine. “Uh… yeah. I guess I’ve got that bunny magnetism.” They gave a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of their neck. “Didn’t know you were a fan of fluffy creatures, Mafia man.”

Mafioso tilted his head slightly, considering their words. His thumb ran along the bunny’s ear, and for a fleeting moment, something softer flickered in his gaze. Something almost… thoughtful. But just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, replaced by the ever-present unreadable expression he wore like a mask.

“This dream…” he murmured, looking past Chance, past the bunnies, past everything. “It’s different.”

Chance followed his gaze, their own expression growing serious. They weren’t sure why, but something about the way he said that made their chest feel tight. Something about the way Mafioso was here, in a place he seemingly belong, sent an uneasy ripple through the peaceful atmosphere.

“Yeah,” Chance admitted. “It is.”

Chapter 72: The void beneath your feets.

Summary:

(hehehe tension!)

Chance sat stiffly beside Mafioso, their fingers idly running through the soft fur of one of the bunnies that had gathered around them. Their mind was racing, trying to make sense of the strange situation. Mafioso had always been a figure of menace, an ever-present danger lurking in the shadows of their dreams, yet here he was, merely sitting beside them. Not attacking. Not threatening. Just... watching.

 

Curiosity gnawed at Chance until they couldn’t hold it in anymore. “So… what exactly are you doing here?” they asked, glancing at him from the corner of their eye.

 

Mafioso remained silent for a long moment, his fedora tilted just enough to obscure his face. The greyish bunny by his side twitched its ears, shifting slightly as Mafioso’s gloved fingers absently stroked its fur. Then, in a low, measured voice, he responded, “I could kill you right now, you know.”

 

Chance blinked before snorting. “Geez, relax. Quick temper much?” They flashed a lopsided grin, trying to ignore the way their pulse quickened.

 

That, however, seemed to be the wrong move.

 

Mafioso stood abruptly, the motion sending an unsettling ripple through the air. His gloved hand moved smoothly, drawing his sword with a soft, chilling shing. The blade gleamed under the surreal dreamscape’s soft light as he took a step closer to Chance.

 

“That cockiness of yours,” he said, his voice razor-sharp. “It’ll get you killed.”

 

Chance instinctively took a step back, but their stomach immediately dropped. Their foot met nothing but empty space.

 

The void loomed behind them. A gaping abyss, bottomless and absolute.

 

A startled gasp escaped them as they tilted backward, gravity beginning to take hold—

 

But before they could fall, a firm grip seized their collar.

 

Mafioso lifted them effortlessly, dangling them over the endless blackness below. The sheer strength in his grip sent a shudder through Chance’s spine, but what truly unnerved them was the intensity in Mafioso’s eyes. Though his face remained shadowed beneath his fedora, his gaze bore into them, sharp and unyielding.

 

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice low but dangerously serious.

 

Chance swallowed hard, their usual bravado wavering. For the first time in a long while, they felt the weight of his presence, the sheer power he held in this space. Their feet dangled helplessly above the void, and for once, they were truly at his mercy.

 

And yet, despite the threat, despite the danger, a small, nervous smirk still curled at the edge of their lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

Chapter 73: It stretches below.

Summary:

(TIME TO COOK.)

Chance barely had time to process the way the void stretched endlessly below them before Mafioso's dark chuckle rumbled in the air. It was brief, sharp, and mocking, sending a shiver down Chance’s spine. His grip on their collar was unrelenting, his fingers digging into the fabric as if daring them to make the wrong move.

 

"You can't even shut your mouth when you're faced with danger, can you?" Mafioso drawled, his voice smooth yet laced with irritation. The way his fedora obscured most of his face only made the moment more unnerving.

 

Chance, despite their predicament, scoffed. "Well, what am I supposed to do? Cry? Beg for my life? I don’t think so."

 

Mafioso’s grip tightened, yanking Chance closer until their noses were almost touching. His scent was sharp—gunpowder and the faintest trace of something smoky. The edges of his lips curled into something cruel, something amused.

 

"Oh, but I would love to see you cry," he murmured, his tone dark with amusement. "That confidence of yours... shattered, reduced to nothing but fear. That would be incredible to witness."

 

Chance tilted their head, arching a brow as they let out a slow, unimpressed breath. "Okay, can you stop being so damn edgy? Mister Edge Lord over here, acting like some tragic villain from a bad noir film."

 

Mafioso's eye twitched ever so slightly. For a second, it seemed like he might actually drop them into the void just to shut them up. But then, with a frustrated growl, he tossed them to the ground instead. Chance hit the grassy surface with an oof, quickly sitting up and brushing themselves off.

 

"Seriously, man. What’s your deal? You lurking everywhere i go now? That’s kind of creepy, y’know," Chance huffed, shaking their head before flashing a smug grin. "Didn’t know you were that interested in me."

 

Mafioso scoffed, running a gloved hand down the front of his coat, as if dusting off their presence. "Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for my own reasons."

 

Chance stretched their legs out, leaning back on their hands. "Uh-huh. Sure. And those reasons just so happened to involve dangling me over a never-ending abyss?"

 

Mafioso exhaled sharply, his fedora casting a shadow over his face once more. "You're insufferable."

 

"And yet, here we are," Chance shot back with a wink.

 

Chapter 74: Countdown.

Summary:

(EEEE I AM COOKING , COOKING COOKING HEHEHE.)

As Chance stood there, ever the picture of smug defiance, Mafioso merely watched them with a dark intensity. His posture was calm, almost relaxed, but there was a sense of quiet calculation behind his shadowed expression. His fedora cast a deeper gloom over his face, but Chance could still see the slight, almost amused quirk of his lips.

 

Then, he began to count.

 

"Ten."

 

Chance blinked. "Huh?"

 

"Nine."

 

Mafioso's voice was steady, deliberate, and dripping with something ominous. Chance tilted their head in confusion before realization dawned on them.

 

"Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding—"

 

"Eight."

 

Chance’s stomach dropped. It wasn’t a taunt. It was a warning.

 

"Seven."

 

A very clear, very real warning.

 

"Oh, shit—"

 

"Six."

 

They turned on their heel and bolted.

 

"Five."

 

The dreamscape was vast, but the terrain was treacherous, shifting unpredictably as if conspiring against them. Chance’s boots hit the soft earth in quick, frantic strides, grass and dirt kicking up behind them.

 

"Four."

 

Chance could still hear Mafioso’s voice, smooth and unbothered, like a predator merely humoring the prey.

 

"Three."

 

They risked a glance back—big mistake.

 

Mafioso hadn’t moved yet. He stood there, still and patient, like a snake coiling for the perfect strike.

 

"Two."

 

Chance’s heart pounded.

 

"One."

 

Silence.

 

Then—

 

"Zero."

 

A rush of movement, an explosion of speed. Mafioso was gone from where he stood, and Chance barely had a second to process before he was right behind them.

 

"FUCK!" Chance yelped, throwing themselves forward just as Mafioso reached out. Their breath hitched as they felt a sharp gust of air at their back—too close.

 

"C’mon, old man!" Chance called over their shoulder, their adrenaline overriding any sense of self-preservation. "You’re fast, but are you fast enough?"

 

Mafioso didn’t reply, but Chance could feel the weight of his focus on them, the sheer thrill of the chase making the dreamscape tremble.

Chapter 75: Pinning down.

Summary:

(YIPPPE)

Before Chance could even process it, a rough force collided with their back, sending them tumbling to the ground with a harsh thud. Dust kicked up around them as they groaned, barely catching their breath before they were flipped onto their back. Mafioso’s weight bore down on them, his knee pressing into their side, one gloved hand gripping their wrist against the dirt, the other hand brandishing his sword inches from their throat.

 

Chance gasped, their heart hammering in their chest. “Shit—okay, I get it. You’re stronger. No need to flex.”

 

Mafioso’s face remained shadowed beneath his tilted fedora, but his eyes gleamed with cold amusement. “You never shut up, do you?”

 

Chance gave a lopsided grin. “If you wanted me speechless, you should’ve taken me to dinner first.”

 

Mafioso exhaled sharply, a mix between a scoff and a chuckle, though his grip on the sword never wavered. The tip of the blade pressed just slightly into the soft skin of Chance’s neck, enough to sting but not enough to draw blood. Chance swallowed, feeling the fine edge of steel against their pulse.

 

Then, before the tension could thicken any further, a voice rang out through the dreamscape.

 

“Oh, for Eunoia’s sake. Get a room, you two.”

 

Both Chance and Mafioso froze.

 

Chance turned their head just enough to see Nashatra standing a few feet away, arms crossed, expression unreadable yet somehow exuding pure exasperation. They couldn’t believe what they just heard. Did she seriously just—

 

Mafioso, still pinning them down, turned his head slightly toward Nashatra, his grip momentarily loosening. Chance seized the opportunity and immediately burst out laughing.

 

“You—” Chance wheezed between breaths, “You really just said that?”

 

Nashatra shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, you’re pinned down, he’s on top of you, there’s a whole lot of tension… I just call it like I see it.”

 

Chance cackled, their body shaking beneath Mafioso, who still had them trapped. Even the mobster seemed momentarily thrown off, his grasp faltering slightly before he huffed in annoyance. He pressed the flat of his blade harder against Chance’s throat, though the action now felt less menacing and more like he was just trying to salvage his dignity.

 

“You’re insufferable,” Mafioso muttered.

 

Chance grinned wider. “And yet, you haven’t killed me yet. Which means I must be growing on you.”

 

Nashatra sighed, rubbing her temples. “Can you two finish your little flirt-fight later? Some of us actually want to enjoy a peaceful dream for once.”

 

Mafioso made a low, irritated noise before finally pulling back, standing to his full height and flicking his sword away from Chance’s throat. He adjusted his fedora, obscuring his face once more. “This isn’t over , you are lucky eunoia is expecting me now.”

 

Chance propped themselves up on their elbows, still grinning like an idiot. “Oh, I hope not.”

 

Mafioso shot them a sharp glare before turning on his heel and vanishing into the shadows.

 

Chance sighed dramatically, lying back down. “Man, I think he likes me.”

 

Nashatra justs hook her head, muttering, “You’re hopeless.”

 

Chapter 76: Lingering pain.

Summary:

(cooking cooking..)

The moment Chance turned away from Mafioso, ready to leave with Nashatra and shake off whatever strange tension had been hanging between them, something sharp tore through their chest.

 

Pain. Blinding, searing pain.

 

Chance barely registered the glint of a blade before it sank deep, Mafioso’s hand steady on the hilt. Their breath hitched, a choked sound escaping their throat as a shockwave of agony rippled through them. Their vision blurred, darkness creeping at the edges as the dreamscape twisted, distorting into something unstable, something wrong. Nashatra’s voice was distant, muffled, like she was speaking through water.

 

And then—

 

Chance’s eyes snapped open, their heart hammering wildly against their ribs as they bolted upright in bed.

 

“Motherfucker!” they cursed, gripping their chest. The pain was gone, but the sensation lingered, ghostly and sickening. Their breathing was uneven, their mind scrambling to piece together reality from the lingering remnants of the dream. The sun wasn’t even fully up yet, just a pale glow barely seeping through the windows. Way too early for this shit.

 

A soft squeak snapped them out of their daze.

 

Spade, their ever-entitled little bunny, had been rudely awakened from his royal slumber. He blinked up at them, ears twitching in mild irritation, as if personally offended that Chance had dared disturb his beauty sleep. With a lazy stretch, he thumped his foot against the bed in disapproval.

 

Chance exhaled sharply, running a hand through their hair. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Not my fault some asshole decided stabbing me was the best way to say goodnight.”

 

Spade responded with another squeak before hopping onto their lap, his warm weight grounding them slightly. Chance sighed, rubbing at their face. The dream felt too real. The way Mafioso’s blade cut through them, the way his grip was unwavering—

 

Chance shook their head. It was just a dream. Just a damn dream.

Chapter 77: River tears

Summary:

(ive been cooking since this morning, HEHEHE HAVE THE FOOD)

Chance sighed, swinging their legs over the edge of the bed. Spade, ever the shadow, followed close behind as they made their way out of their room and into the living area.

 

The hideout was still, save for the soft ticking of a clock in the background. As Chance walked in, their gaze landed on the couch, where Two Time was curled up, their frame hunched as if they were trying to disappear into themselves. Even from a distance, Chance could tell something was off. The usual sharp-witted energy that Two Time carried was missing, replaced by something fragile, something raw.

 

Drawing closer, Chance noticed the faint shimmer of dried tears on Two Time's cheeks. Their breathing was slow, steady but uneven, as if their sleep was anything but restful. Chance hesitated, watching for a moment before deciding to do something about it.

 

Grabbing a blanket from the nearby armchair, they carefully draped it over Two Time’s curled-up form, making sure not to wake them. As soon as the warmth settled around them, Two Time unconsciously loosened their tight posture, relaxing slightly into a deeper sleep. Chance lingered for a moment, studying their softened features. It was strange seeing them like this—so vulnerable.

 

With a quiet sigh, Chance stepped away and made their way to the opposite couch, sinking into the cushions. Spade hopped up beside them, making himself comfortable against their side. Absentmindedly, Chance reached for their knitting kit, pulling it onto their lap. Their fingers hovered over the yarn as they mulled over what to make.

 

Something comforting, maybe. Something warm.

Chapter 78: Preparing.

Summary:

(YIPPPPPPEEE)

The rhythmic clinking of knitting needles filled the quiet living room, Chance's hands moving methodically as they wove yarn into a growing blanket. The soft weight of the half-finished piece rested on their lap, the repetitive motion lulling them into a sense of calm. Spade had curled up at their feet, his tiny, warm body pressed against their ankles. The steady rise and fall of his small chest was oddly comforting.

 

But fatigue crept up on them, heavier with each passing second. Their head bobbed slightly, the familiar haze of sleep pulling them in before they could even fight it. Before they knew it, their eyes slipped shut completely, and the world around them faded into darkness.

 

When Chance's eyes opened again, they were no longer in the cozy warmth of the living room. Instead, they stood in the middle of a vast, abandoned shopping mall.

 

"Oh, come on," they muttered under their breath. "Not this place again."

 

The air smelled of dust and stale air, and the overhead lights flickered weakly, barely holding onto the last of their glow. Some of the stores were completely abandoned, their windows shattered, their shelves stripped bare. Others were eerily intact, mannequins still standing in place, their blank stares watching Chance as they moved forward. The silence of the mall was overwhelming, broken only by the distant sound of a flickering light and the occasional groan of settling walls.

 

Chance let out a sigh as they made their way further inside. The scent of artificial sweetness suddenly caught their nose, and they turned their head toward a nearby store. It looked like an old convenience shop. The shelves were still stocked—though just barely—lined with long-expired candy bars and bags of chips whose packaging had begun to dull with age.

 

Chance picked up a chocolate bar, flipping it over in their hands. The expiration date was comically old, and they quickly tossed it back onto the shelf with a grimace.

 

"Well, not gonna eat that unless I wanna meet Death personally," they muttered.

 

But then, something else caught their attention. Nestled between the dusty shelves was a small knitting kit, untouched, pristine even. Beside it, an assortment of yarn in various colors. Their fingers twitched with interest.

 

Then an idea struck them.

 

Their lips curled into a small, mischievous smile as they plucked a black ball of yarn from the pile. It was silly—ridiculous even—but why not?

 

"A bunny plushie for Mafioso," they mused aloud. "As a peace offering."

 

Would it work? Probably not. Would Mafioso care? Definitely not. But was it worth a try? Absolutely.

 

Chance chuckled to themselves as they sat cross-legged on the ground, pushing aside old snack wrappers to make room. They pulled out the knitting kit, unraveling the black yarn, and set to work.

 

The stitches were slow at first, their fingers working carefully to shape the fabric. They decided on long ears, making them droop slightly like a real rabbit’s. As they stitched, they couldn't help but imagine Mafioso’s reaction. Would he scoff? Probably. Would he throw it back at them? Also probable. But part of Chance hoped—just a tiny, ridiculous part—that he might keep it. Maybe even begrudgingly.

 

The mall remained eerily quiet as they worked, save for the soft sound of knitting needles clicking together. They lost track of time, their mind fully focused on forming the small creature. Each loop, each careful pull of the thread was done with surprising care. By the time the plushie started taking shape, Chance felt an odd sense of pride in their work.

 

The bunny was small, about the size of their hand, its fabric soft despite coming from a dreamscape store. They gave it little button eyes, tying off the last stitch with a satisfied sigh.

 

Holding it up, they examined their work. The bunny plushie was entirely black, its ears flopping slightly to the sides. It was a little lopsided—one ear slightly longer than the other—but that just made it more endearing.

 

"He’s gonna hate it," Chance mused, grinning. "Perfect."

 

Leaning back against the shelf, they exhaled, their fingers gently brushing over the plushie's soft exterior. For a moment, they let themselves imagine a scenario where Mafioso actually accepted the gift. Maybe he’d huff and roll his eyes, maybe he’d grumble about how childish it was, but what if he kept it anyway? What if, late at night, when no one was looking, he actually liked it?

 

The thought made Chance chuckle to themselves.

 

A peace offering. An inside joke. A test of sorts.

 

Whatever it was, it was now complete. And now all that was left was to figure out how the hell they were going to get Mafioso to take it.

 

For now, though, Chance let their eyes flutter shut once more, the plushie still clutched in their hands. The dreamscape around them flickered, the mall growing hazy at the edges as sleep pulled them deeper.

 

Chapter 79: Cheez.

Summary:

(very creative with titles YIPPPEE)

Chance held the small black bunny plushie in their hands, inspecting every stitch with a sense of pride. It wasn’t perfect—one ear was slightly longer than the other, and the eyes were just a little crooked—but it had charm. They ran their thumb over the soft yarn, contemplating whether or not this would be a suitable peace offering for Mafioso. Would he even accept it? Would he just slice it in half without a second thought? The mental image of the stoic, intimidating figure holding a tiny plushie in his hands was amusing, to say the least.

 

Then, suddenly, something Nashatra had told them earlier clicked in their mind.

 

"Wait—the cheeseburgers!"

 

Chance’s eyes lit up with realization. Nashatra had mentioned that a proper meal could make anything better, even the mood of a temperamental, fedora-wearing killer. If the plushie didn’t work, then maybe a cheeseburger could help smooth things over. But where the hell were they going to find a burger in this eerie dreamscape?

 

With renewed determination, they glanced around, trying to spot anything remotely resembling a restaurant. Most of the stores lining the halls of the mall were long abandoned, their windows shattered and their interiors looted. A few mannequins still stood, eerily frozen in time, draped in tattered clothing. Dust coated every visible surface, and the flickering lights overhead cast long, uncertain shadows.

 

But then—out of sheer, absurd luck—they saw it.

 

A restaurant.

 

And not just any restaurant—it looked oddly new, as if untouched by the decay around it. The neon sign above the entrance flickered faintly, the word "Diner" barely visible. The windows were clean, the metal door handles gleamed, and the faint scent of sizzling food filled the air. It was such a stark contrast to the lifeless atmosphere outside that Chance felt an immediate sense of unease. But their stomach growled, and their mission remained clear.

 

"Alright," they muttered to themselves. "Let's see if we can whip something up."

 

Stepping inside, Chance was hit with a wave of warmth. The walls were lined with red leather booths, the floor gleamed as if freshly polished, and the jukebox in the corner hummed faintly. It felt… inviting. Almost too inviting. Still, they weren’t about to pass up this opportunity.

 

They made their way behind the counter, stepping into the kitchen. To their surprise, the kitchen was stocked—like, actually stocked—with fresh ingredients. Crisp lettuce, ripe tomatoes, fluffy hamburger buns, and thick, juicy patties just waiting to be cooked. This was too good to be true.

 

"Well, no use questioning a miracle," Chance said with a shrug, rolling up their sleeves. "Time to get to work."

 

They grabbed a bun and set it aside, then reached for one of the patties, inspecting it before tossing it onto the grill. The sizzle was immediate, the scent of beef filling the air. Next, they sliced up a tomato, tearing off a few fresh leaves of lettuce before arranging them neatly. As the patty cooked, they rummaged around for condiments, finding a bottle of mustard and ketchup still full and sealed.

 

They flipped the patty, humming a little tune as they watched it brown perfectly. "Damn, I should start my own dreamscape burger joint. Nashatra would eat here all the time."

 

After a few more minutes, they placed a slice of cheese on top of the patty, watching as it melted into gooey perfection. Finally, the burger was assembled: a beautifully toasted bun, crisp lettuce, fresh tomato, a perfectly cooked patty with melted cheese, and just the right amount of ketchup and mustard. It was a masterpiece.

 

Chance took a step back, admiring their creation. "Alright, Mafioso, if this doesn’t at least get me a few seconds of hesitation before you try to murder me, I don’t know what will."

 

They carefully wrapped the cheeseburger in a napkin, placing it beside the bunny plushie in their hands. Looking at both items, they couldn’t help but chuckle.

 

"A hitman’s ultimate peace offering—a stuffed animal and a cheeseburger. I have truly outdone myself."

 

With their offering ready, Chance took a deep breath and prepared to find Mafioso again. If this didn’t work, well… at least they’d get to eat a damn good burger before meeting their end.

 

Chapter 80: At your doorstep.

Summary:

(HEHEHE COOKING COOKING!)

ensuring everything was secure before placing it inside a small takeout box to keep it warm.

With the burger secured, they turned their attention to the black bunny plushie they had knitted earlier. The soft fabric was comforting under their fingers, and they couldn’t help but give it one last squeeze before tucking it under their arm. It was ridiculous, really—who would’ve thought they’d be giving a notorious figure like Mafioso a plushie as some sort of peace offering? But the idea amused them, and maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to show they weren’t exactly enemies.

With both the plushie and the burger in hand, Chance began walking through the empty, decaying mall once more. The eerie silence was only occasionally broken by the distant creak of a broken sign swinging or the faint echo of their own footsteps. They weren’t even entirely sure where Mafioso could be, but luck seemed to be on their side today. In the distance, past a row of abandoned stores, they spotted a shadowed figure moving toward what seemed to be a hideout—a door tucked away at the far end of the mall.

Chance stopped a few feet away, watching as Mafioso disappeared inside. Their heart pounded a little. This was either going to be the best idea they ever had, or the absolute dumbest. Still, backing out now wasn’t an option.

They crouched down, carefully setting the box with the cheeseburger and the black bunny plushie by the door. Reaching into their pocket, they pulled out a small scrap of paper and scribbled a quick note:

Hope you like it - Chancey ;p

The little winking face at the end was just to be annoying—because why not?

Satisfied with their handiwork, Chance took a deep breath, knocked on the door, and bolted. They didn’t dare stick around to see Mafioso’s reaction. Whether he would be confused, amused, or pissed off, they weren’t about to find out firsthand. Instead, they disappeared into the shadows, grinning to themselves as they imagined his expression upon finding the unexpected gifts.

“Let’s see how this plays out,” Chance muttered under their breath, chuckling as they made their escape.

Chapter 81: Man-child.

Summary:

(HEEHEHE last chapter i cooked this afternoon , ima go take a bit of water and stuff before trying to see what to write next <3 ENJOY THE FOOD <3)

Mafioso heard the knock at the door, his sharp ears twitching beneath the brim of his fedora. Expecting one of his squires or perhaps a debt collector returning with news, he rose from his chair with slow deliberation. But when he pulled the door open, he was met with nothing but the cold emptiness of the dimly lit corridor. His sharp gaze flicked downward, and his brow furrowed slightly at the sight before him.

There, neatly placed upon the ground, was a small, black bunny plushie, its round stitched eyes gazing up at him. Beside it sat a simple takeout box, still warm to the touch. Mafioso bent down, picking up both items with careful fingers. His grip lingered on the plush for a moment longer than intended—its softness was unexpected, and the craftsmanship surprisingly well done. He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head, before retreating into his office.

The door clicked shut behind him, the heavy wood muffling the outside world. Mafioso strode over to his luxurious leather chair, the seat welcoming him as he set the bunny plushie before him on the polished mahogany desk. The dim light of his office lamp cast a glow over it, accentuating the delicate stitching. He leaned back, arms crossed, regarding it with quiet contemplation.

His attention then shifted to the takeout box. Lifting the lid, he was met with the sight—and scent—of a perfectly crafted cheeseburger, the melted cheese dripping slightly over the edges of the toasted bun. He looked around, ensuring that no one was watching, before grabbing the burger and taking a large, unceremonious bite.

Flavor exploded across his tongue, rich and savory, a perfect blend of meat, cheese, and sauce. A low hum of satisfaction escaped him as he continued to devour the meal, not caring for the ketchup and grease that smeared onto his fingers and chin. For a man who typically carried himself with such composed elegance, he now looked like an overgrown child indulging in a guilty pleasure.

His black bunny ears twitched beneath his fedora, a subtle giveaway of his rare contentment. His small, fluffy tail gave an involuntary wiggle, though he refused to acknowledge it. By the time he finished, he let out a content sigh, leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping against the desk absentmindedly.

That’s when his gaze landed on the note. The small piece of paper, slightly crumpled from where it had been tucked beside the box, bore a few scrawled words:

Hope you like it! -Chancey ;p

Mafioso felt heat creep up his face, a mixture of irritation and something else—something he refused to name. He had just accepted something from his target. Worse still, he had enjoyed it. His jaw clenched, his fingers curling around the note as his narrowed eyes fixated on the plush bunny still sitting in front of him.

“…That damn gambler,” he muttered under his breath, but despite his grumbling, he made no move to discard either gift. Instead, he reached out, gripping the bunny plushie lightly before placing it on the far corner of his desk—just out of sight, yet still within reach. His fingers lingered on the soft fabric before he pulled away, shaking his head as he slumped further into his chair.

Mafioso exhaled heavily, arms folded as he stared at the ceiling. “This is getting ridiculous.”

Chapter 82: Gambler.

Summary:

(IVE BEEN COOKING FOR SO LONG , my motivation had kicked me once more , but HERE'S UR FOOD.)

As Mafioso sat in his luxurious chair, his fingers idly drumming against the plush fabric, he could still taste the lingering flavors of the cheeseburger Chance had left for him. The rich blend of melted cheese and tangy ketchup clung stubbornly to his fingers and the corners of his mouth, a reminder of the indulgence he had just partaken in. He huffed, reaching for a handkerchief, but before he could properly wipe his face, the door creaked open.

 

Eunoia stepped inside, her sharp eyes immediately locking onto him. Her gaze flickered downward, noting his attempt to discreetly rub his face against his sleeve. A smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she approached, plucking a handkerchief from her pocket.

 

"Messy eater, aren't we?" she teased, kneeling beside him and tilting his chin slightly.

 

Mafioso grumbled but didn’t resist as Eunoia gently dabbed at the remnants of ketchup and cheese smudged across his skin. Her touch was light, methodical, yet undeniably amused.

 

"What? Never seen a man eat before?" he muttered, still averting his gaze.

 

Eunoia chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, I've seen plenty, but none who try so hard to pretend they didn't just inhale a cheeseburger like a starved street cat."

 

Mafioso tensed slightly, his bunny ears twitching under his fedora. He shifted in his seat, feeling inexplicably exposed under her knowing gaze. He opened his mouth to change the subject, but before he could speak, Eunoia’s quick fingers snatched the small note that had been tucked beside the plushie on his desk.

 

She read it aloud with a growing grin. "'Hope you like it -Chancey ;p'"

 

A beat of silence stretched between them before Eunoia let out a low, entertained chuckle. "So, it’s from that little gambler?"

 

Mafioso stiffened, his face darkening as he turned away. "Tch. It was just left outside the door. Doesn’t mean anything."

 

Eunoia arched an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. "Oh, really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks an awful lot like you just accepted gifts from your target." She tapped the plush bunny’s head for emphasis.

 

Mafioso crossed his arms, his voice dropping into a low grumble. "I was hungry."

 

Eunoia laughed softly, shaking her head. "Right, right. And the plushie? Are you starving for companionship too?"

 

Mafioso shot her a glare, but the slight pink dusting his cheeks betrayed him. Eunoia saw right through him, and they both knew it.

 

"You know," she continued, leaning on his desk, "for someone who talks big about eliminating them, you're getting awfully cozy with the idea of letting them live."

 

Mafioso exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. "They’re an idiot. That’s all."

 

Eunoia hummed in amusement. "An idiot who made you a cheeseburger and a plush bunny. Seems to me like they’re winning you over."

 

Mafioso clicked his tongue but didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze flickered back to the bunny plushie sitting on his desk. Long and fluffy, its black fur reminiscent of his own ears. He had yet to push it away.

 

Eunoia shook her head fondly before straightening up. "Well, don’t let me stop you. Just don’t let them wrap you around their finger too easily, yeah?"

 

Mafioso scoffed but said nothing as Eunoia turned and strolled toward the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

 

As the door clicked shut behind her, he glanced once more at the plush bunny. Against his better judgment, his fingers reached out, brushing over its soft fur. His ears twitched again, and he exhaled, muttering under his breath.

 

"Damn gambler."

 

Chapter 83: The life you never thought you would have.

Summary:

(MY MOTIVATION LEFT ME SO MANY TIMES AAAAAAAAAAAA, i am here with ur food ? ENJOY <3)

Mafioso sat alone in his dimly lit office, his fingers drumming idly against the polished wood of his desk. The only thing breaking the silence was the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. His sharp golden eyes lingered on the plush bunny sitting before him, its long black ears flopping slightly to the side, its small embroidered eyes staring back at him with an innocence that contrasted sharply with the world he lived in.

He scoffed under his breath, leaning back in his chair, tilting his fedora lower to hide his expression even though no one was there to see it. His fingers twitched as if tempted to push the plush aside, but he never did. Instead, his gaze softened, conflicted.

"Who are you, and why did you suddenly walk into my life?" he muttered, voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loud would make the words real.

He had spent years perfecting the art of being untouchable. And yet, that ridiculous gambler, Chance, had thrown a wrench into everything. They had left him a meal, something comforting and warm, something that had left him feeling human for just a moment. It unsettled him.

Shaking his head, Mafioso reached for the plush, his fingers brushing over the soft material. It was well-made. Every stitch, every detail, intentional. Chance had taken their time with this, and that knowledge only made the feeling in his chest tighten further.

He hated it. He hated them.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

 

♦-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-♦

 

 

Meanwhile, Chance strolled through the desolate halls of the dying mall, their hands tucked in their pockets, their mind drifting between thoughts. The dreamscape had its way of feeling eerily empty yet suffocating, as if it were waiting for something—or someone—to break the silence.

They were used to this by now. Used to the strange shifts, the surreal environment, the feeling of being both awake and not. And yet, something felt off.

A tug at their pants.

Chance blinked, glancing down, only to see a small light grey bunny clutching onto the fabric. Its ears twitched, its small black eyes filled with something unreadable. It was tugging, insistent, determined.

"Oh? And what do you want, little guy?" Chance asked, crouching down, curiosity flickering in their gaze.

The bunny didn't make a sound but pulled again, hopping forward, looking back as if waiting for them to follow.

Chance exhaled, standing up straight. "Alright, alright, I get it. Lead the way, tiny tour guide."

With that, the bunny hopped ahead, its pace steady but urgent. Chance followed, their steps echoing faintly through the hollow corridors. The further they walked, the colder the air seemed to become.

A chill crept up their spine.

They were being watched.

Chance knew that feeling all too well. That crawling sensation, the weight of unseen eyes pressing into them like a predator stalking its prey. They didn’t turn around, didn’t break their pace, but they could feel it lurking just beyond their sight.

Their grip on their jacket tightened slightly, fingers itching with an unspoken tension. The mall, usually just eerie in its emptiness, now felt suffocating. The walls seemed taller, the shadows darker, stretching unnaturally along the cracked tile floor.

The bunny stopped.

Chance did too.

They looked up.

A store stood before them, untouched by time. Unlike the others, which had been rotting away with age, this one seemed… preserved. The glass was clean, the sign above it still glowing faintly with neon light. A clothing boutique, of all things.

Chance hesitated.

The bunny, however, was insistent, hopping forward and nudging the door open just enough to slip inside.

Chance sighed. "Yeah, no way this is a trap or anything."

Despite the sarcasm, they stepped in, their hands casually in their pockets, but their muscles tense, ready. The atmosphere shifted the moment they entered, the air thick with something unexplainable.

The boutique was pristine. Shelves lined with folded clothes, mannequins dressed in elegant attire. There was no dust, no decay. Everything was as it should be, as if the world outside wasn't crumbling.

Then, a sound.

A deep, slow exhale.

Chance froze.

Their heart pounded once, twice, before they forced themselves to move, their gaze flickering across the room. The bunny was sitting beside a chair, as if waiting for them.

Chance swallowed. "Right. Okay. Sure."

They approached cautiously, their own breathing steady but controlled. As they neared the chair, a single note was placed on the small table beside it.

Their fingers hovered over it before finally picking it up.

"DO NOT LINGER TOO LONG."

Chance's smirk faltered.

A noise behind them.

They spun around—

Nothing.

Their pulse quickened.

"Alright, okay, spooky time is over. I'm leaving." They took a step back—

Another exhale.

This time, closer.

The shadows shifted.

The bunny suddenly jumped back, its ears flattened as it let out a tiny noise—something akin to fear.

That was all the warning Chance needed.

They bolted.

Out of the store, into the halls, back the way they came. The air behind them felt heavy, pressing against their back like something unseen was trying to reach for them, to grab hold.

But they didn’t stop. Didn’t look back.

Only when they finally turned a corner, the bunny still right at their heels, did the weight ease. The suffocating presence faded, the cold dissipating into something more bearable.

Chance took a sharp breath, placing their hands on their knees, catching themselves. "Okay. Yeah. That was fun. Let's never do that again."

The bunny, as if satisfied, hopped in place before rubbing against their leg, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill that had clung to them moments ago.

Chance looked down at it, a small huff escaping them before they crouched again, ruffling its soft fur. "You little gremlin, you knew something was off, didn’t you? Could've warned me a little better."

The bunny simply nudged their hand.

Chance let out a breathy chuckle, shaking their head. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks, I guess."

Despite the unease still lingering in their bones, they couldn’t help but glance back toward where they had come from, eyes narrowing slightly.

Something—no, someone—was watching them.

Chapter 84

Summary:

(IVE PREPARED Many CHAPTERS , ENJOY THE FOOD!!)

“Man, this place is dead.” Chance muttered, kicking a loose piece of tile and watching as it clattered somewhere into the dimly lit void ahead. “You’d think a dreamscape could at least be a little less boring, right?”

 

The bunny didn’t answer, of course. Instead, it tugged at the hem of Chance’s pants with insistent little paws, demanding attention. Chance huffed but smirked as they scooped the small creature up and plopped down onto a nearby bench. The bunny settled onto their lap immediately, wriggling until it found a comfortable spot before nudging its head into Chance’s palm.

 

“Needy little thing, huh?” Chance chuckled, running their fingers over the bunny’s fur. It was soft—strangely so, considering how everything else in this dreamscape always felt just slightly off.

 

A moment of stillness passed. Chance let their eyes slip shut, allowing the quiet hum of the dreamscape to settle around them. It wasn’t peaceful, not really—something about this place was always just a little too heavy, a little too cold. But for now, with the small warmth of the bunny pressing into them, it was the closest they’d gotten to comfort in a while.

 

Then, something shifted.

 

The air around them turned dense, thick with an unseen weight. Instinct jolted through Chance’s spine, and they snapped their eyes open—only to nearly jump out of their skin.

 

Eunoia was sitting right in front of them.

 

Silent. Unmoving. Watching.

 

Chance’s heart slammed against their ribs. “Shit—can you not do that?!”

 

Eunoia blinked up at them, unbothered, her head tilting slightly as if she had been watching them for a while now.

 

Chance exhaled sharply, rubbing at their face before shooting her an irritated glance. “You scared the hell outta me.”

 

“Did I?” Eunoia’s voice was as smooth as ever, but there was something in her gaze that made Chance uneasy.

 

She sat about a foot away, legs crossed, her expression unreadable. Her presence was unnerving in a way that didn’t quite make sense. It wasn’t outright threatening, but it was knowing—like she had figured something out that Chance hadn’t even begun to grasp.

 

Chance frowned, leaning back against the bench. “What do you want?”

 

Eunoia didn’t answer immediately. Instead, her gaze drifted around the dreamscape, her fingers tapping lightly against her knee.

 

“Tell me,” she finally said, “have you noticed something?”

 

Chance raised a brow. “Uh. Like what?”

 

Eunoia smiled, but it wasn’t an answer.

 

“Something has changed here.” She continued, her voice quiet but certain. “It’s subtle—but it’s there.”

 

Chance scoffed. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know. I don’t exactly get a tour guide every time I wake up in this place.”

 

Eunoia chuckled softly, but there was a sharp edge to it. She shook her head. “You don’t notice because you haven’t been here as long as I have. But me?” Her gaze flickered with something unreadable. “I noticed.”

 

Chance shifted, a flicker of unease worming its way into their chest. They weren’t sure if it was just Eunoia being cryptic as usual or if there really was something different about this place—something they hadn’t quite caught onto yet.

 

“Okay,” Chance said slowly, “and what exactly is this change you’re talking about?”

 

Eunoia just smiled again, but this time it was more amused than anything else.

 

“There’s something blossoming.”

 

Chance blinked. “Huh?”

 

Eunoia tilted her head. “You don’t see it yet, do you?”

 

Chance huffed, crossing their arms. “No, and I’m starting to think you just enjoy talking in riddles.”

 

Eunoia only chuckled, but then her gaze sharpened slightly, the amusement still there but now tinged with something more serious.

 

“Tell me, gambler,” she said, her voice soft yet unwavering. “What captivates you so close to my best debt collector?”

 

Chance froze.

 

The air around them seemed to shift again, a quiet tension weaving into the moment. They stared at Eunoia, her words sinking in slow, deliberate steps.

 

Mafioso.

 

Chance felt their mouth go dry, but they forced a smirk onto their face. “Captivates? That’s a strong word.”

 

Eunoia merely hummed, watching them closely, waiting.

 

Chance could still feel the weight of the bunny in their lap, its warmth grounding them as their mind scrambled for a response. But for the first time in a long time, they weren’t entirely sure what to say.

 

Chapter 85: Questions.

Summary:

(HERES UR FOOD , IM FEEDING U)

Chance didn’t answer immediately. Their fingers idly traced over the fur of the bunny in their lap, feeling its warmth seep through them like an anchor. Eunoia’s question hung in the air between them, its weight far heavier than her casual tone suggested. What captivates you so close to my best debt collector?

 

They frowned, their gaze dropping to the bunny, as if it might hold the answer. Why was she even asking this? What did she care? They weren’t about to admit they had no clear answer themselves.

 

“Why are you asking?” Chance deflected, glancing up at Eunoia with mild suspicion. “What’s it to you?”

 

She simply chuckled, her laughter light but unreadable, as though she already knew something they didn’t. “Just wondering,” she mused. “You are quite persistent with him. It’s almost admirable.”

 

Chance snorted. “Persistent is a nice way of putting it.”

 

Their voice was laced with sarcasm, but the words still felt strange coming out of their mouth. Why were they persistent? Mafioso had been trying to kill them. The rational thing to do would have been to run, to avoid him at all costs, not… whatever this was. Leaving little gifts. Watching for him in the shadows of the dreamscape. Feeling something twist in their gut when he was near.

 

Eunoia tilted her head, her sharp eyes flickering down to the bunny resting comfortably against Chance. “The bunnies like you,” she said, almost absently. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that by now.”

 

Chance blinked, caught off guard by the shift in conversation. “Uh… I guess?”

 

She continued, her gaze turning sharper. “And I’ve seen that feral one turn quickly into his original form when it was with you.”

 

Chance tilted their head. “What?”

 

Eunoia chuckled again, but this time, there was something almost pointed in her tone. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

 

Chance’s brows furrowed. “No, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped talking like a fortune cookie and actually explained.”

 

Eunoia sighed, shaking her head, amusement dancing in her expression. “Some things aren’t meant to be explained outright. But if you really think about it, you might start to notice the way things change when you’re around.”

 

Chance scoffed but couldn’t shake the odd weight of her words.

 

They thought about the bunnies, how they seemed drawn to them. How one had guided them just earlier. How Mafioso—

 

Chance’s thoughts stilled, a creeping realization tugging at the edges of their mind, but they shook it off quickly. That was stupid. It didn’t mean anything.

 

“I don’t have time for riddles,” they muttered. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

 

Eunoia hummed, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Maybe one day, you’ll understand. For now… just keep doing what you’re doing. I’m enjoying the show.”

 

Chance narrowed their eyes. “Creepy.”

 

She only laughed before standing up, dusting off her dress. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts, little gambler.”

 

And with that, she was gone, leaving Chance alone in the dim light of the dreamscape, the bunny in their lap shifting as if sensing their confusion.

 

Chance sighed, running a hand through their hair. They didn’t like this. They didn’t like how Eunoia’s words lingered, how they made them second-guess things.

 

Chapter 86: Answers.

Summary:

(HEHEHE)

Chance sat there, staring after Eunoia as she began to walk away, their mind swirling with thoughts. The light grey bunny in their lap twitched its nose, its warmth grounding them slightly, but the silence stretched too long, and something inside them stirred—something restless, something reluctant to be alone in this hollow space.

 

Before they could fully process it, their voice called out on its own.

 

“Wait.”

 

Eunoia stopped mid-step, her posture unreadable. She turned just enough to glance back at them over her shoulder, her golden gaze calm, but there was something else beneath it—a quiet curiosity.

 

Chance swallowed, suddenly unsure of why they had stopped her. But the words came anyway, hesitant but honest. “Can you… stay?”

 

Eunoia blinked at them, tilting her head in mild surprise, but her expression didn’t shift into mockery or dismissal. Instead, after a beat of silence, her lips curled into something soft—not her usual smirk, not laced with knowing mischief, but a small, genuine smile.

 

“I suppose I can spare some time,” she said lightly, turning back toward them fully before lowering herself gracefully to the ground. She sat across from them, the flickering lights of the dying mall casting long shadows between them. The bunny in Chance’s lap flicked its ears, watching the exchange with its tiny, beady eyes.

 

Chance let out a breath, unsure why they had felt such relief when she agreed. Maybe it was the way Nashatra’s absence made this place feel heavier. Maybe it was the way Eunoia, despite her cryptic words and knowing looks, was still something familiar in this space of shifting, uneasy dreams.

 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Chance toyed with the hem of their sleeve, fingers absentmindedly brushing the fur of the bunny that had nestled comfortably against them. Eunoia, on the other hand, simply watched them with her usual patient amusement, waiting. The weight of her stare was expectant, as if she knew they had something to ask but was allowing them the space to figure it out themselves.

 

Chance huffed, breaking the silence. “You act like you’ve got all the time in the world.”

 

Eunoia chuckled, crossing one leg over the other. “In here? Time bends and twists, doesn’t it?”

 

Chance frowned, resting their chin in their palm. “That’s not an answer.”

 

“Maybe not.” She tilted her head. “But I’m curious. What was it you wanted from me, Chance?”

 

Chance hesitated, trying to put their thoughts into words. “I don’t know. Just… you’re the only one here. Nashatra is gone. Everything feels weird.”

 

Eunoia hummed in acknowledgment, her gaze flickering to the bunny in their lap before meeting their eyes again. “Lonely?”

 

Chance rolled their eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

 

“No, but I heard it anyway,” she mused, a teasing lilt in her voice but lacking the sharpness of mockery. “It’s rare, isn’t it? That feeling.”

 

Chance frowned, not entirely sure what she meant. But something about the way she said it made their stomach twist slightly. They had never considered themselves the type to seek company just for the sake of it, but lately… maybe something had changed.

 

“So,” Eunoia said after a pause, her tone gentle yet curious, “what is it you’d like to ask me?”

 

Chance exhaled, their fingers tightening slightly around the bunny’s fur before loosening again. There were a hundred things they could ask her—about the dreamscape, about Mafioso, about the strange things she had hinted at earlier. But for some reason, those didn’t feel like the right questions just yet.

 

Instead, they looked at her directly and asked, “Why did you smile like that earlier?”

 

Eunoia blinked, genuinely surprised this time. “Like what?”

 

“Like it was real,” Chance said, narrowing their eyes slightly, watching her carefully. “Like—like you weren’t just playing around, like you actually…” They trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

 

Eunoia considered them for a moment, then let out a quiet sigh, amused yet contemplative. “You’re perceptive when you want to be,” she admitted, tilting her head. “It’s rare that someone asks me something so directly.”

 

Chance shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward under her gaze. “So? What was it?”

 

Eunoia was silent for a long moment before she answered, “I suppose I just found it… endearing.”

 

Chance blinked, their brain short-circuiting for a second. “Endearing?”

 

Eunoia chuckled at their dumbfounded expression, resting her chin on her hand. “Yes. Your persistence, your strange acts of goodwill, your refusal to bow to expectations… It’s amusing, but more than that, it’s refreshing.”

 

Chance wasn’t sure how to respond to that, their face heating slightly before they scoffed, looking away. “You’re weird.”

 

“Perhaps,” Eunoia said easily. “But then again, so are you.”

 

Chance groaned, slumping slightly. “Great. I’m stuck in a dream with a woman who thinks I’m refreshing.”

 

Eunoia laughed softly, the sound more genuine than they had ever heard from her before. “Could be worse.”

 

Chance muttered under their breath but didn’t argue. The bunny in their lap stretched, its tiny paws pushing against their stomach before settling back down with a content sigh.

Chapter 87: The first meeting.

Summary:

(so yuriful.)

Chance leaned forward, intrigued by the way Eunoia's expression softened for the first time since they'd met her. She wasn't laughing in that knowing, enigmatic way she usually did. No teasing smirk or cryptic chuckle. Instead, there was a quiet nostalgia in her eyes, something almost fond.

 

"So... how did you and Nashatra meet?" Chance asked, tilting their head.

 

Eunoia blinked at them, momentarily caught off guard, before exhaling a small chuckle. "That’s what you want to ask?"

 

Chance shrugged, watching her curiously. "Well, yeah. You two seem close. Nashatra doesn’t really talk about herself much, and I’m curious."

 

Eunoia leaned back, arms crossed, before humming in thought. "I suppose I can share. It's nothing dramatic, if that's what you're expecting." She paused, tilting her head slightly as if peering into the past. "The first time I met Nashatra was in my candy store."

 

Chance blinked. "The same store me and Nash were last time?"

 

"Mhm" Eunoia said with a slight smirk. "This was long ago. A quaint little shop, shelves stacked with sweets of every kind. I always enjoyed watching people's eyes light up when they found their favorite treat. Nashatra was one of those customers—though she wasn’t exactly in a state to be indulging."

 

Chance listened intently, their fingers idly running over the soft fur of the bunny in their lap. "What do you mean?"

 

Eunoia’s gaze drifted, as if she were watching the memory play out in front of her. "She was standing by the candy aisles, staring at the shelves, but she wasn’t really looking. No studs back then. No extravagant look. Just Nashatra, standing stiffly with her hands clenched, trying to make herself small."

 

Chance stayed quiet, sensing the weight in her words.

 

"I noticed the way she clutched her stomach, her fingers digging into her side like she was holding something back. At first, I thought she might be sick, but then her gaze flickered to the candy—just for a moment. She was hungry." Eunoia chuckled softly, her voice carrying something delicate, something almost wistful. "I don’t think she meant to linger, but she did. And when I chuckled, she turned as red as a cherry lollipop."

 

Chance grinned at the mental image. "She blushed? Nashatra?"

 

"Oh, like a startled rabbit," Eunoia mused. "And she panicked. I think she was trying to escape before I could say anything, but in her hurry, she nearly crashed straight into the doorframe." Eunoia shook her head, amusement dancing in her gaze. "It would have been tragic if it weren’t so endearing."

 

Chance let out a small laugh, imagining it perfectly. "So what did you do?"

 

"I did what anyone would do when they see a flustered, hungry girl who refuses to ask for help," Eunoia said simply. "I reached out and gently caught her hand before she could bolt. She froze like a deer in headlights. And then, before she could make another excuse, I told her she could have a candy—on the house."

 

Chance tilted their head, something warm settling in their chest. "Did she take it?"

 

Eunoia smiled, this time more genuinely than before. "She hesitated. Pride, I suppose. But hunger won out. I passed her a bar of waffle chocolate, and she devoured it in seconds. I don’t even think she realized what she was doing until the wrapper was empty."

 

Chapter 88: First debt , first pay.

Summary:

(EEEEE)

Eunoia leaned back slightly, her gaze distant as she recalled the past. "After that day, I didn’t see Nashatra for a while. I figured she had just been passing through. But then, one of my squires came running to me, all flustered, telling me we had a new debtor—Nashatra."

 

Chance tilted their head. "Wait, how much debt?"

 

Eunoia sighed, rubbing her temple. "Two hundred thousand in one day."

 

Chance choked on air. "Excuse me?! What the hell did she even do to rack up that much?!"

 

Eunoia chuckled, though there was a hint of exasperation in her voice. "Freedom, obviously. And not even the cautious kind. She played like she had nothing to lose, like the world didn’t matter. It was reckless, almost tragic to watch. But she didn’t seem to care. And that’s what caught my attention."

 

Chance frowned, absorbing the words. "So, what did you do?"

 

Eunoia exhaled, brushing some imaginary dust off her skirt. "What I always do. I ordered Mafioso to collect the debt. It was just another case, another foolish debtor who dug their own grave."

 

But her voice faltered slightly, and Chance caught it. "You hesitated," they noted, narrowing their eyes at her. "Didn’t you?"

 

Eunoia’s fingers twitched before she folded her hands neatly in her lap. "...I did. And that was unusual for me."

 

Chance stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate. Eunoia sighed again, shaking her head. "I've seen countless debtors walk in and out of my life, Chance. Most of them desperate, some of them cocky, others just plain stupid. But Nashatra..." Her gaze softened, and there was something almost fond in her expression. "She was different. When I looked at her, I saw someone who had nothing but still acted like she had everything. She was starving, yet she smiled at me when I gave her that candy bar. She had lost everything, yet she threw herself into it like she had nothing left to fear. She intrigued me."

 

Chance remained silent, letting the weight of her words settle. Eunoia chuckled, shaking her head as she continued. "I told myself it didn’t matter, that I was just being foolish. But when Mafioso came back from his first collection attempt, looking uncharacteristically annoyed, I knew Nashatra had made an impression on him too."

 

Chance raised an eyebrow. "He was annoyed?"

 

"Very." Eunoia smirked, her tone amused. "He said she was impossible to shake down, that she kept slipping through his fingers, evading payment like it was a game."

 

Chance absorbed all of this, their mind racing. Nashatra had always been a bit of a mystery to them, but now? Now they were even more curious. "So, what happened next?"

 

Eunoia smiled, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. "That, my dear gambler, is a story for another time."

 

Chapter 89: The real world.

Summary:

(I am very creative with titles like always)

 

Eunoia tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable as she studied Chance. The dim glow of the dreamscape flickered around them, casting soft shadows that swayed like specters in the distance. The light gray bunny nestled against Chance's lap twitched its ears, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

 

"My turn to ask a question," Eunoia finally said, her voice smooth yet laced with something unreadable. "What’s it like in the real world? And if you die there, do you come back like you do here?"

 

Chance blinked at her, slightly caught off guard by the question. They hadn't really expected Eunoia to be curious about the real world. Most entities here didn't seem to care, or at least they pretended not to. But there was something in the way she asked, a quiet kind of yearning, as if she were reaching for something beyond her grasp.

 

They exhaled slowly before answering, "The real world is... different. Duller, I guess. Less lively than the dreamscape." They glanced around at their surroundings, at the eerie yet strangely beautiful architecture of the dying mall, at the way the colors seemed more vivid here, even in decay. "Things don't glow or shift like they do here. There aren’t places that change with your thoughts or emotions. Everything is set in stone, solid, unchanging in a way that can be both comforting and suffocating."

 

Eunoia hummed, mulling over their words. "And death?" she pressed, leaning slightly forward. "If you die, do you just wake up somewhere else like you do here?"

 

Chance's gaze darkened for a moment, their fingers absentmindedly brushing over the bunny's soft fur. "No," they said, their voice quieter now. "When people die in the real world... they just die. There’s no coming back. No second chances. No waking up in another part of the world like nothing happened."

 

Eunoia’s expression shifted, something almost akin to disappointment flashing across her face before she masked it again with a neutral stare. "So, there's no reset button? No way to cheat death?"

 

Chance shook their head. "Nope. Once you're gone, that's it. Game over."

 

A beat of silence stretched between them. The dreamscape around them seemed to pulse faintly, as if it, too, was contemplating the weight of their words. The bunny in their lap shifted slightly, nudging at Chance’s hand as if sensing the tension.

 

Eunoia crossed her arms, her nails tapping against her sleeve in thought. "Do you know what happens after?" she asked, her tone careful, like she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

 

Chance hesitated, staring at the ground as they contemplated the question. "I don’t know," they admitted. "And honestly... I hope I won’t find out anytime soon."

 

Eunoia let out a quiet chuckle, though there was no real humor in it. "Fair enough," she murmured. She looked up, her gaze locking onto Chance’s with something almost unreadable. "Must be scary, though. Knowing that once you die, you’re just... gone."

 

Chance thought about that for a moment before giving a small, bittersweet smile. "Yeah. It is. But that’s why people try to make the most of the time they have."

 

Eunoia seemed to take that in, her gaze lingering on them for a little longer before she finally leaned back slightly, letting out a small sigh. "Huh," was all she said, but the weight in her voice spoke volumes.

 

The conversation left a lingering silence between them, one that neither seemed too eager to break. And for the first time since meeting Eunoia, Chance got the feeling that, despite her knowing smirks and composed demeanor, she was just aslost in thought as they were.

 

Chapter 90: Connections.

Summary:

(final chapter I cooked today! I hope you enjoyed the food!!)

Chance leaned back against the cold surface behind them, fingers absentmindedly running through the soft fur of the grey bunny resting in their lap. Eunoia sat across from them, eyes locked onto their expression, as if searching for something hidden beneath the layers of exhaustion and defiance.

 

"So," Eunoia began, tilting her head slightly, "what exactly do you do in the real world? What’s it like?"

 

Chance exhaled sharply, looking up at the ceiling as if the answer were written there. "It’s... different. Than here. Less alive than the dreamscape." Their voice was quiet, contemplative. "Every day, I wake up in the same place. A sort of limbo. Purgatory, maybe. And then the game starts."

 

"The game?" Eunoia echoed, raising an eyebrow.

 

Chance gave a humorless chuckle. "Yeah. Rounds and rounds of being pursued and killed. Over and over again. There’s no end. No escape. I just get thrown back in every time. Like some sick loop." They paused, watching the flickering lights overhead cast shifting shadows across the abandoned mall’s floor. "Sometimes I wonder if I was ever really alive to begin with. Or if this is all I’ve ever been. A player in someone else’s twisted game."

 

Eunoia studied them for a moment, her usual composed demeanor softening just a fraction. "And you have no way out? No way to break the cycle?"

 

Chance shook their head. "If there is, I haven’t found it."

 

Silence settled between them, thick and heavy, the hum of the dreamscape pressing in on them from all sides. Then, Eunoia spoke again, her voice quieter, more deliberate.

 

"Did you know," she mused, "that entities and people in the dreamscape can cross into the real world?"

 

Chance’s attention snapped back to her, their brow furrowing. "What? That’s possible?"

 

Eunoia nodded, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Yes. But only under one condition."

 

"What condition?" Chance asked, leaning forward slightly, their curiosity piqued.

 

Eunoia’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable. "The dreamscape person must successfully connect with the real person. A true bond must be forged." Her gaze flickered down to the bunny in Chance’s lap before meeting their eyes once more. "And only then can they step through."

 

Chance processed her words, their heartbeat quickening just a little. If what she was saying was true, then—

 

"That means—"

 

"That if someone here truly reaches you," Eunoia interjected smoothly, "they can leave this place. They can be with you. In your endless game." She tilted her head again, almost playfully. "Intriguing, isn’t it?"

 

Chapter 91: Fluttering heart.

Summary:

(SO YURIFULLL , ALSO I HAVE COOKED FOOD FOR U , 6 CHAPTERS ALL FOR UR ENJOYEMENT! ENJOY)

Nashatra had just entered the dreamscape, waking up in the familiar bed. She stretched, taking a deep breath, the air of the dying mall thick with the scent of dust and something faintly metallic.

"I gotta be careful," she thought to herself as she rose to her feet. The flickering lights above cast eerie shadows along the empty corridors. She had been here countless times, but the uncertainty of the dreamscape never failed to make her wary.

As she walked, her footsteps light, she suddenly heard voices in the distance. Quickly, she ducked behind a corner, pressing her back against the cold, cracked wall. Peeking out, she saw them—Eunoia and Chance, deep in conversation.

Her heart fluttered lightly, catching sight of Eunoia. The way her hair was perfectly brushed, each strand seeming to shimmer despite the dullness of their surroundings. Her eyes, sharp yet warm, held an intensity that sent an involuntary shiver down Nashatra’s spine. Her face—her expression—it was all too much.

Fuck, she was so perfect. It was unfair.

Nashatra clenched her hands into fists, feeling a sudden wave of frustration wash over her. Someone like Eunoia was leagues above her. Even if she wanted to get closer, Mafioso would likely kill her before she ever got the chance to hold her hand.

She exhaled softly, trying to push the thoughts away, but she couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t stop admiring the way Eunoia carried herself with such effortless grace. The way she listened to Chance, her head tilted ever so slightly in curiosity, the smallest, barely-there smile gracing her lips.

Lost in her thoughts, Nashatra almost didn’t realize when the conversation had come to a halt. A sudden shift in the air made her stomach drop. She quickly turned her gaze back to Eunoia, only to find those piercing eyes staring directly at her.

“Nashatra…”

Her voice was calm, smooth, yet carried an undeniable weight.

Nashatra’s breath hitched. She had been caught.

Chapter 92: Your hand in mine.

Summary:

( yuri YIPPPE)

Eunoia’s gaze lingered on Nashatra, a soft yet unreadable expression in her eyes as she gestured to the seat beside her. Nashatra hesitated, her pulse quickening, but she forced herself to move, carefully taking her place. As soon as she sat, Chance wasted no time in throwing their arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug.

"You took so long to get here!" Chance whined dramatically, their voice filled with playful exaggeration. Nashatra laughed, gently pushing them away with a smirk.

"Oh please, I wasn’t that long," she replied, shaking her head.

"Long enough!" Chance pouted before leaning back, arms crossed. "We were talking about my world. You know, the real world."

Nashatra raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but before she could ask anything further, Eunoia’s hand lightly grasped her wrist, guiding her closer.

"Sit," Eunoia said, her voice smooth, her fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary before letting go. "There’s no need to waste energy standing."

Nashatra's heart nearly lurched out of her chest. She felt the heat rising up her neck, but she forced herself to remain composed, merely nodding as she settled more comfortably beside Eunoia. Meanwhile, her mind was in utter chaos. How was she supposed to handle this? Eunoia was right there—closer than ever—so effortlessly elegant, so effortlessly captivating.

Chance, of course, noticed the tension instantly, their lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Well, I’ll leave you two alone," they teased, standing up with a playful stretch. "Good luck, Nashatra. Try not to pass out."

"What—?" Nashatra turned sharply, but Chance was already sauntering off, whistling as they disappeared down the dim hallways of the dying mall. She swallowed thickly, suddenly hyper-aware of the way Eunoia’s presence seemed to fill every space around her.

Silence stretched between them for a few moments, not uncomfortable but weighted. Nashatra’s fingers drummed idly against her knee as she tried to find something—anything—to say. But before she could, Eunoia spoke first.

"You’re staring."

Nashatra stiffened, eyes darting away immediately. "I—No, I was just—"

Eunoia chuckled softly, tilting her head in amusement. "It’s alright. I don’t mind."

The way she said it, so calm and unbothered, made Nashatra’s chest tighten. She let out a breath, trying to shake off the nervous energy buzzing through her veins. "I was just…thinking."

"About?" Eunoia prompted, her tone light yet genuinely curious.

Nashatra hesitated for only a second before deciding to be honest. "About...you."

Eunoia blinked at her, momentarily surprised, before a slow, knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Nashatra exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "I mean, I just—I think you’re…fascinating."

Eunoia chuckled, amused by Nashatra’s clear struggle to put her thoughts into words. "Fascinating? That’s an interesting choice of words."

Nashatra groaned, covering her face with one hand. "You know what I mean."

Eunoia only smiled, her voice laced with quiet amusement. "Perhaps. But I’d rather hear you say it."

Nashatra peeked through her fingers before sighing, dropping her hand back into her lap. "Fine. I think you’re…incredible, alright? You’re smart, and composed, and you always seem to know exactly what to do. And—" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "You’re just…so out of my league."

Eunoia's smile softened, and for the first time, there was something almost vulnerable in her gaze. "Is that what you think?"

Nashatra glanced at her, confused. "Isn’t it obvious? I mean, look at me. I’m—" She motioned vaguely at herself. "And then there’s you. You’re just…"

Eunoia reached forward, gently placing her fingers beneath Nashatra’s chin, tilting her face slightly upward. "Don’t diminish yourself like that," she murmured, her voice softer than Nashatra had ever heard it. "You’re more than you think."

Nashatra felt her breath hitch, her entire body frozen in place as Eunoia’s touch lingered for just a second longer before pulling away. The space between them felt both impossibly close and yet still too far.

Eunoia leaned back slightly, her expression unreadable once more. "You’re interesting, Nashatra. That’s not something I say lightly."

Nashatra swallowed, her fingers gripping the fabric of her pants as she tried to steady herself. "I… I don’t know what to say to that."

Eunoia chuckled, tilting her head slightly. "You don’t have to say anything. Just…be here."

Chapter 93: Stay with me.

Summary:

(EEE)

Nashatra’s breath hitched as she felt Eunoia’s fingers gently wrap around her wrist, keeping her in place. Her instincts screamed at her to flee, to break away from this overwhelming moment, but Eunoia’s touch was light, careful, as if she were holding something precious. The warmth of her palm against Nashatra’s skin sent a wave of emotions crashing over her—fear, admiration, longing.

"Don't go," Eunoia whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "You've run enough from me already."

Nashatra swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry as Eunoia guided her hand up, pressing it softly against her own cheek. Eunoia’s skin was warm, smooth beneath her trembling fingers. Nashatra could feel the steady rise and fall of her breath, the way she leaned into her touch with an almost unnoticeable sigh.

"Stay," Eunoia murmured. This time, there was something else in her voice—something fragile, something that made Nashatra’s heart stutter in its rhythm. It wasn’t just a request. It was a plea.

Nashatra’s body refused to move. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might betray her, might expose just how much she wanted to give in. The scent of Eunoia’s hair, the gentle way her fingers curled around Nashatra’s hand, it was intoxicating.

Eunoia lifted her other hand, brushing it gently against Nashatra’s cheek. The touch was featherlight, yet it sent a spark through her entire being. "You are so much prettier up close," Eunoia murmured, her gaze tracing every detail of Nashatra’s face. "It's been a long time since I've seen you so close to me."

Nashatra’s breath came in shallow gasps, her entire body betraying her. She wanted to say something—anything—but words wouldn’t come. Her lips parted, but only silence followed.

Eunoia’s thumb traced lightly over Nashatra’s cheekbone, as if memorizing her. "You’re so nervous," she chuckled softly. "Why?"

Nashatra let out a shaky exhale, finally managing to find her voice, though it was barely above a whisper. "Because you’re... you’re unfairly beautiful," she admitted, almost embarrassed by the confession. "And I don’t know how to act around you."

Eunoia tilted her head slightly, amusement dancing in her eyes. "That’s a rather sweet thing to say," she mused, her fingers never leaving Nashatra’s skin. "You always did have a way of flustering yourself."

Nashatra groaned softly, looking away. "And you always have a way of making it worse."

Eunoia laughed, the sound like a soft chime in the stillness between them. "Would you rather I stop?"

Nashatra hesitated before shaking her head. "No."

Eunoia smiled, her fingers trailing down to Nashatra’s jaw before letting them rest just beneath her chin. She held her there for a moment, watching her closely. "Then stay with me a little longer.

Chapter 94: Close.

Summary:

(for context we are back to chance <3)

Chance walked across the dimly lit halls of the Dying Mall, their steps echoing in the eerie silence. They were lost in thought when suddenly, a hand yanked at the back of their suit with enough force to knock the air out of them.

"Can YOU not scare the shit out of me every time?!" they barked, spinning around to face their assailant.

It was Mafioso.

He just stared at them, his expression unreadable before he spoke. "Where is Eunoia?"

Chance narrowed their eyes, crossing their arms. "Why should I tell you?"

Mafioso took a step forward, closing the distance between them in an instant. His fangs bared in a clear warning, his dark presence suffocating. But instead of backing away, Chance simply reached out and—

Boop.

They pressed a finger against the tip of his nose.

Mafioso recoiled slightly, blinking in surprise, and Chance smirked. "Yeah, real tough big guy. Real intimidating."

A growl rumbled from Mafioso's throat, his irritation boiling over as he unsheathed his sword. The blade gleamed under the flickering mall lights, a sharp contrast to the amusement in Chance’s eyes.

"Really?" Chance deadpanned, raising an eyebrow. "This again?"

Without missing a beat, they reached out and tugged on the lapel of his coat, pulling him slightly forward. "What are you, tell me? You hungry or something? That why you're so pissed?" Their smirk widened, their tone dripping with mockery.

Mafioso's grip on his sword tightened. His patience was hanging by a thread, but Chance, ever the instigator, simply grinned up at him, waiting to see if he’d snap.

Chapter 95: Chasing after.

Summary:

(LOLLLL , gotta love urself a good chase scene bc why not)

Mafioso was about to snap back at Chance, irritation sparking in his gaze, but before he could utter a word, Chance tugged on his cape again. The movement was firm but playful, like a child trying to drag an impatient adult along. Mafioso’s fangs pressed against his lower lip as he let out a sharp exhale through his nose, glaring down at the gambler. Yet, without fully understanding why, he followed. His boots struck heavily against the floor, his coat billowing slightly behind him as he moved. He cursed himself inwardly.

Why was he allowing this reckless, insufferable gambler to lead him anywhere?

Chance, completely unbothered by the silent storm raging within Mafioso’s head, walked ahead, confidently at first. They didn’t even look back to see if he was following—they just knew he was.

But then, the certainty in their steps started to waver. Their head tilted slightly as they glanced down each hallway they passed, their pace slowing little by little. Mafioso noticed immediately, the crease between his brows deepening. His patience, already thin, started to fray.

“Why did you stop?” His voice was sharp, each syllable clipped. His foot tapped impatiently against the floor, the sound echoing through the dim corridor. “Where are you taking me?”

Chance hesitated for a beat before glancing back at him, a sheepish grin creeping onto their face. “Okay, so… I might be lost.”

Silence.

Mafioso’s expression darkened. His golden eyes flickered with fury, his entire body tensing as his fingers gripped the hilt of his sword. Chance barely had time to register the shift before Mafioso lunged forward, his sword scraping free from its sheath with a sharp ring.

“You reckless little—!”

Chance yelped, pivoting on their heel and taking off in the opposite direction. “Wait, wait—come on, it was an accident!” they called over their shoulder, their laughter betraying any actual fear. They weaved through the unfamiliar hallways of the dying mall, their coat flaring as they barely managed to dodge an overhead swing from Mafioso’s blade.

“I am going to cut you into pieces, you little rat!” Mafioso snarled, his long strides closing the distance between them at an alarming rate. His sword slashed at the air just inches from Chance’s back.

Chance cackled, ducking around a corner. “Ohhh, real scary, big guy! Almost had me that time!”

Mafioso growled low in his throat, seething. His grip on his sword tightened. He didn’t even know why he was so furious—was it because they wasted his time? Because they had the audacity to tug him around like some obedient hound? Or was it because they weren’t taking him seriously? Whatever the reason, his body moved on instinct, his predatory nature taking full control as he pursued them with relentless precision.

Chance, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying themselves. Sure, they were technically running for their life, but it wasn’t the first time, and probably wouldn’t be the last. They darted past a row of old storefronts, their eyes scanning desperately for some kind of escape route. But then, suddenly, they felt it—

A sharp yank.

Mafioso had grabbed them by the collar, wrenching them back with a force that sent them stumbling. Before they could react, they were slammed against a cold, rusting metal pillar. The impact knocked the air from their lungs, and they barely had time to suck in a breath before the tip of Mafioso’s sword pressed against their throat.

Their eyes met his. He was livid, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his grip on the sword unwavering. There was a dangerous glint in his gaze, a warning that Chance should tread carefully.

Chance, grinning through their panting breaths, raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay… Maybe I deserved that one.”

Mafioso didn’t move, his jaw clenched so tightly it might shatter. His sword pressed just a fraction closer, the cold steel biting into Chance’s skin. “You think this is funny?” he hissed.

Chance’s grin widened. “I mean… yeah?”

Mafioso let out a guttural growl, but before he could decide whether to follow through with his threat, Chance swiftly reached out and booped his nose again.

The sheer audacity of it made Mafioso recoil, his grip faltering for a split second. Chance seized the moment, ducking under his arm and bolting away once more, their laughter echoing through the halls.

Mafioso stood frozen for a beat, eyes wide with disbelief. Then, his eye twitched.

“Oh, you little—” He took off after them again, sword raised.

Chance, still laughing as they ran, knew they were about to get their ass kicked. But honestly?

It was worth it.

Chapter 96: Sleeping away

Summary:

(HEHEHE , thats the last chapter i got for now , i hope you enjoyed)

 

Chance's breath was heavy as they sprinted down the dimly lit halls of the dying mall, their feet barely making a sound against the cold tiled floor. Behind them, Mafioso’s presence loomed dangerously close, the sharp sound of his boots hitting the ground echoing in the distance. The glint of his sword flickered under the flickering overhead lights, ready to strike.

Chance turned a sharp corner, nearly tripping over their own feet in the process. As they steadied themselves, their eyes landed on an unexpected sight—Eunoia and Nashatra. They were sitting together on one of the worn-down mall benches, their bodies leaned into each other in peaceful slumber. Nashatra's head rested gently against Eunoia’s shoulder, while Eunoia’s head tilted slightly, resting atop Nashatra’s. Their breathing was steady, synchronized in an almost perfect rhythm, their faces serene and undisturbed.

Chance immediately slowed their pace, instinctively lowering their body as they tiptoed past the two, holding their breath as if any slight movement could wake them. They glanced back momentarily, taking in the rare sight of Eunoia looking so at ease. It was strange—Eunoia never slept unless absolutely necessary. To see her like this, completely unguarded, was almost unnatural.

Mafioso skidded around the corner behind them, sword raised and ready to strike, but his steps faltered when his eyes landed on Eunoia. His gaze flickered to Nashatra, narrowing slightly as a cold anger twisted in his chest. She was too close—far too close. The rational part of him told him to act, to separate them immediately, to rid Eunoia of such a pest. But as his eyes traced over Eunoia’s face, so uncharacteristically relaxed, the tension in his grip loosened.

Eunoia never allowed herself moments of weakness. She always carried an air of unwavering composure, as if she had no time for trivial things like rest. Yet here she was, nestled into Nashatra without a single sign of discomfort. It was an image Mafioso couldn’t easily dismiss.

His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching against the hilt of his weapon, but he made his decision. He would deal with Nashatra later. For now, Eunoia would sleep.

Without another word, he turned his attention back to Chance, who was already several feet away, throwing them an impatient glare. Chance, noticing Mafioso’s hesitation, smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” they whispered under their breath before resuming their escape.

Mafioso let out a low growl before giving chase once again, his earlier moment of hesitation pushed aside. Chance might have gained a few seconds of distance, but this game was far from over.

Chapter 97: Check.

Summary:

(HERES UR FOOD HEHEHEH)

Chance barely had a moment to catch their breath before Mafioso caught up with them, moving with an unnatural speed that made escaping feel almost impossible. Before they could even think of their next move, a rough hand grabbed them by the collar, yanking them forcefully backward and slamming them against the nearest wall. The impact knocked the air out of them, making them wince as they looked up into the face of their captor.

Mafioso was terrifyingly close, his breath steady despite the chase. The slight shift of his fedora due to their sprint revealed more of his face than Chance had ever seen before. Piercing eyes, cold and sharp like a blade, bore into them with an intensity that sent an involuntary shiver down their spine. His angular features, the way the dim lighting of the dying mall cast shadows over his sharp cheekbones and defined jawline—it was unfair how good he looked for someone currently holding a sword to their throat.

Chance swallowed hard, feeling the edge of the weapon press just close enough to their skin to be threatening but not enough to break through.

"You really like to get on my nerves, don't you?" Mafioso's voice was low, carrying an edge of irritation that sent a thrill through Chance.

Chance, being Chance, couldn't let a perfectly good moment go to waste. They smirked, despite the very real danger they were in, and lifted their hands up in a pair of lazy finger guns.

"Hell yeah, I do."

Mafioso did not look amused. His grip on their collar tightened for a second before he let out a slow exhale, almost as if he was trying to keep himself from actually stabbing them out of sheer annoyance. The patience he exhibited was almost admirable.

"You're insufferable," he muttered, his gaze unwavering. "Do you ever shut up?"

"Not when I'm having fun," Chance shot back with a wink.

Mafioso rolled his eyes before suddenly leaning in closer. Chance's smirk faltered just slightly as they realized how very little space was left between them. His eyes bore into theirs, and for a moment, there was something unreadable in his expression—analyzing, calculating, something that made Chance's stomach twist in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

"I could kill you right now," Mafioso murmured, pressing the blade just a fraction closer to emphasize his point.

Chance tilted their head, their grin widening despite the very real threat. "But you won't."

Mafioso's expression didn't change, but there was the faintest twitch of his fingers against the hilt of his sword. His grip on Chance's collar loosened slightly, though he didn't move away.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

"Because I make life interesting for you," Chance replied smoothly. "Come on, admit it. If I weren’t here, you’d be brooding in some dark corner, glaring at the wall or sharpening that sword of yours for the hundredth time. You need someone like me around to keep you on your toes."

Mafioso scoffed, but Chance could tell they weren’t entirely wrong.

Chance could feel the tension in the air, thick and almost suffocating, yet oddly exhilarating. They didn't mind being this close, even with a blade at their throat. If anything, it just made everything more fun. They licked their lips, watching the way Mafioso’s gaze flickered briefly downward before snapping back up.

"You're playing a dangerous game," Mafioso muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

Chance grinned. "I always do."

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The dim lighting cast eerie shadows across Mafioso’s face, making him look even more intense. Chance was keenly aware of every breath between them, every subtle shift in his expression. Then, without a word, Mafioso finally stepped back, sheathing his sword in one smooth motion.

"You're lucky I have better things to do," he muttered before turning on his heel.

Chance let out a breath they hadn't realized they were holding. As Mafioso walked away, they couldn’t help but smirk to themselves.

Chapter 98: Teasing you.

Summary:

(EEEEEEEEEE)

As Mafioso walked away, Chance decided to follow him, determined to be the most annoying presence possible. Their grin was wide as they skipped a step ahead to match his pace. "So," they drawled, hands behind their back, "did you see what I gifted you earlier? The cheeseburger and the bunny plushie?"

Mafioso grimaced, his jaw tightening. He turned his head away, ignoring them entirely.

Chance gasped dramatically. "SO, you did see them! Was I a good cook? Come on, admit it! I'm the best cook there is!"

Mafioso scoffed, shaking his head. "Even a rat could cook better than you."

Chance placed a hand over their chest, as if personally wounded, before perking up. "Well, Ratatouille was a rat, and he cooked great. I’m taking that as a compliment!"

Mafioso muttered something under his breath, but Chance didn’t catch it. Instead, they merely smirked, knowing they were getting under his skin.

"So, what was your favorite part? The plushie or the burger?" they asked, nudging his arm.

Mafioso’s eye twitched. "Neither."

"Awww, you totally loved them," Chance sang. "I bet you hugged that bunny when no one was looking. Maybe even gave it a name—"

Before they could finish, Mafioso’s patience finally snapped. He reached for his sword, pulling it out just enough to make the metal gleam in the dim lighting of the mall. "Keep talking and I’ll carve that smile off your face."

Chance blinked before raising their hands in surrender. "Wow, wow, touchy subject, huh? You really did name the bunny, didn’t you?"

Mafioso glared at them, his grip tightening.

"Okay, okay, backing off… a little." Chance smirked before stepping just out of striking distance.

Before Mafioso could truly decide whether he was going to actually stab them or just continue ignoring them, a new voice cut through the space.

"Hello."

Chance screamed.

"JESUS! What is with all of you appearing out of fucking nowhere?!" They clutched their chest, whipping around to see Eunoia standing behind them, an amused glint in her eye.

She chuckled softly before shifting her gaze to Mafioso, her eyebrow raised. "Surprised you haven’t killed them yet."

Mafioso scoffed. "I was going to."

Eunoia tilted her head. "You sure about that?"

Silence. Mafioso said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Chance, sensing victory, grinned wider. "Ha! You like me, don’t you?"

Mafioso sighed, rubbing his temples. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

Eunoia smirked. "But you didn’t."

Mafioso let out a sharp breath through his nose, clearly trying to suppress his rising irritation.Chance immediately talked with him again, humming happily to themselves.

"So about that bunny—"

Mafioso’s sword was out in a flash, and Chance barely dodged, laughing as they ran ahead.

Eunoia chuckled, shaking her head as she watched chance disappear down the hallway. "Idiot..."

 

Chapter 99: Office.

Summary:

(FOOD)

Eunoia and Mafioso stood in silence as Chance disappeared into the distance. The stillness of the dying mall wrapped around them, only the faint hum of flickering lights filling the void. Mafioso adjusted his gloves, his sharp gaze settling on Eunoia.

"That girl did not harm you, right?" he asked, his tone neutral but laced with concern. "I don't know why you were with one of your most wanted debtors. That could have been dangerous."

Eunoia simply hummed in response, her expression unreadable. Then, with a small smile, she reached up and patted the brim of his fedora. "Do not worry about me."

Mafioso stiffened slightly at the unexpected touch, but before he could retort, a muffled ringing sound came from Eunoia's pocket.

"Oh?" She tilted her head, fishing out her phone. The caller ID made her eyebrows arch slightly in amusement. The call was coming from inside Mafioso’s office.

Mafioso tensed, his jaw clenching. Someone was in his office—without his permission. His mind instantly ran through the possible culprits, but he already knew who it was before Eunoia even answered the call.

"Hello?" she said smoothly, placing the phone against her ear.

The response was immediate, loud, and entirely expected. "HEYYY!" Chance's voice practically burst through the speaker. "I found your OFFICE AND I WAS RIGHT, YOU DO STILL HAVE MY PLUSHIE, HAHAHA!"

Mafioso’s expression darkened in an instant. His eye twitched as the realization hit him—Chance was inside his office, touching his things. Violating his space. Probably rummaging through his belongings with those reckless hands of theirs.

A deadly aura emanated from him as he bolted forward, his coat billowing behind him as he rushed toward his office with murderous intent.

"You're dead," he muttered under his breath, his fangs slightly baring. "You are so dead."

Eunoia chuckled softly, pocketing her phone as she followed behind at a more leisurely pace. "This should be interesting," she mused, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

Meanwhile, inside the office, Chance was spinning around in Mafioso's chair, holding up the small bunny plushie they had once gifted him. "I knew it! You DO have a soft side! You kept it all this time! Wow, Did you Fluff its ears? Give it a lil' goodnight kiss—?"

The door SLAMMED open with enough force to shake the walls.

Chance froze mid-spin, locking eyes with a very, very pissed-off Mafioso. The man's glare alone could burn a hole through solid steel.

"Oh," Chance said, still holding the plushie in one hand. "Heyyy, buddy!"

Mafioso cracked his knuckles. "You have exactly three seconds to run."

 

Chapter 100: Wake up call

Summary:

(EEEEEEEE)

As Chance spun wildly in Mafioso's office chair, their laughter echoed through the dimly lit room. The plush carpet beneath the chair barely muffled the sound of the spinning, and Chance was clearly enjoying themselves far too much.

Mafioso, however, was not amused. With swift, precise movements, he strode forward, grabbing the chair by the armrest and stopping it abruptly. Chance barely had a second to react before Mafioso seized them by the collar and slammed them down against the heavy mahogany desk. Papers scattered to the floor as the impact sent a dull thud through the wood.

"Do you ever shut up?" Mafioso growled, his piercing eyes locked onto Chance's.

Chance, despite their predicament, only grinned up at him. "Aw, you know you’d miss me if I did." They wiggled their eyebrows playfully, completely ignoring the sword now hovering dangerously close to their throat.

Mafioso sighed, his patience wearing thinner by the second. "You're insufferable."

"And yet, you still haven't killed me," Chance shot back, smirking. "That means you like me, right?"

That was the final straw. With a sharp movement, Mafioso plunged his sword straight through Chance’s torso. The moment the blade made contact, everything around them dissolved into a blinding light.

 

 

Chance jolted awake, gasping as they shot up from their position. Their body felt weightless for a moment before the weight of reality settled back in. They glanced around, realizing they were no longer in the dreamscape. Instead, they were back in the real world, lying on a couch in their usual spot.

Blinking, they rubbed their face groggily before glancing at the clock nearby. "Huh… thirty more minutes than usual," they mumbled to themselves. "Damn, Mafioso really did me dirty that time."

A sudden tug at their hair made them yelp.

"Ow! Hey!"

Looking to their side, they saw Spade, their little furry companion, happily nibbling on a stray lock of their hair. His tiny teeth gently tugged, a mindless little habit of his whenever he wanted attention.

Chance sighed but couldn't suppress a fond chuckle. "Alright, alright, I get it. You missed me, huh?" They scooped up Spade, lifting him into their hands before holding him up to their face. "You little menace, you know that?"

Spade only squeaked, kicking his tiny feet before wiggling his nose at them.

Chance sighed again, leaning back into the couch. "Man… that dream was something else. I swear, next time I see Mafioso, I’m messing with him even harder." They grinned to themselves, already plotting their next move.

For now, though, they simply relaxed, letting Spade curl up on their chest as they lazily stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.

 

Chapter 101: Kissing , chickens.

Summary:

(SON AND DADDDD TIMEE)

Chance stretched their arms with a yawn, Spade happily hopping beside them as they made their way to the kitchen. Their hair was a mess from sleep, but they didn’t care much. The only thing on their mind right now was food.

As they turned the corner into the kitchen, they were immediately met with a sight that made them stop in their tracks. Builderman was leaning in, pressing a kiss to Shedletsky’s lips. It wasn’t even a quick peck—no, it was a real kiss. Shedletsky grinned into it, clearly enjoying himself, while Builderman looked unbothered.

Chance let out a dramatic groan, throwing their arms up. “EWWWW, Dad, Shed! Do that somewhere else!”

Shedletsky immediately burst out laughing, throwing his head back like this was the funniest thing he’d heard all week. Builderman, however, turned to glare at him before smacking the back of his head. Shedletsky only laughed harder.

“Calm down, kid,” Builderman said, turning back to Chance with a bemused expression. “One day, you’ll have that too.”

Chance made a face, groaning even more exaggeratedly this time. “Yeah, no thanks.” They plopped down at the kitchen table, Spade jumping onto their lap as they slumped against the chair.

Builderman shook his head, clearly amused, as he went back to the stove. “Alright, alright. Since you’re up, I’ll make pancakes. You look like you could use a real meal.”

Chance perked up a little at that. “Pancakes? Okay, maybe you’re onto something.”

Shedletsky, still grinning, leaned against the table and patted Chance’s shoulder. “Hey, kid, look on the bright side—you could’ve had a worse other dad than me.”

Chance gave him a deadpan look. “I dunno, I think I’d rather take my chances.”

Shedletsky gasped, hand over his heart like he’d just been mortally wounded. “You wound me, Chance. Deeply.”

Builderman rolled his eyes. “You’ll live.”

Shedletsky pouted dramatically before reaching over and messing up Chance’s hair even more. “You’re lucky I like you, you little gremlin.”

Chance swatted at his hand, trying to fix their already-messy hair. “Whatever, old man.”

Chapter 102: Escape!

Summary:

(WOOOOO ROOLL)

As Chance ate their pancakes, Spade was busy munching away at the food in his bowl, his little nose twitching as he happily chewed. Chance leaned back in their chair, casually glancing over at Shedletsky, who was still lingering around the kitchen with his usual chaotic energy.

"Hey, Shed, whatever happened to that chicken of yours?" Chance asked, mouth half-full of pancake.

The second the words left their mouth, Builderman—who was flipping pancakes at the stove—froze mid-motion, his grip on the spatula tightening. His eyes drilled holes into the back of Shedletsky’s head, and the air in the kitchen suddenly felt much heavier.

Shedletsky, sensing the tension, slowly turned around with the most unconvincing, forced grin. "Oh, uh… I got rid of her?" His voice cracked slightly at the end, making the statement sound more like a question than a fact.

Builderman didn’t buy it. Not for a second. Without missing a beat, he raised the spatula, pointing it at Shedletsky like a weapon. "You better not be lying."

Shedletsky’s eyes widened before he immediately turned on his heel and bolted out of the kitchen, yelling over his shoulder, "You'll never catch me or Wings alive!"

Builderman let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing his temples as he turned back to the stove. Chance watched the scene unfold with amusement, shaking their head before looking at their dad with a raised eyebrow.

"Seriously, Dad, what do you even see in that guy?"

Builderman huffed, flipping another pancake before finally letting out a small chuckle. "He makes me laugh."

Chance gave him a skeptical look. "Suuure, sure, Dad."

Builderman turned his head slightly, giving them an unimpressed glare before casually raising the spatula in their direction, much like he had done with Shedletsky earlier. "Be grateful. I'm letting that bunny of yours live because at least they're educated—compared to a certain chicken."

Chance snorted, stuffing another bite of pancake into their mouth, while Spade let out a triumphant little squeak from his bowl, as if he understood exactly what Builderman meant.

 

Chapter 103: Time to go again.

Summary:

(LAST CHAPTER I GOT FOR NOW, its a bit short sorry <3)

Chance ate the rest of their pancakes, enjoying the warmth of the meal as Spade finished eating from his own bowl. Just as they were about to get up and leave, Builderman cleared his throat loudly.

"Ya ain't forgetting something, son?" he said, arms crossed as he looked at them expectantly.

Chance rolled their eyes playfully before walking up to Builderman and wrapping their arms around him. "Good morning, Dad!" they said in a slightly exaggerated tone.

Builderman smirked and returned the hug, but instead of letting go right away, he tightened his grip around Chance, squeezing them in his arms. "Good morning, son!" he said with a deep chuckle.

"Ahhh! Dad, you're crushing me!" Chance whined, flailing slightly in his grasp.

Builderman laughed heartily before finally letting go. Chance took a dramatic step back, pretending to catch their breath, and stared at him with a mock-angry expression.

"I'll get you for that," they warned, pointing a finger at him.

Builderman only grinned, ruffling their already-messy hair. "Yeah, sure you will, bud."

Chance groaned as they tried to fix their hair while Builderman walked toward the door. Just before leaving, he turned back and added, "Get ready, rounds are about to start soon."

Chance sighed, stretching their arms over their head before looking at Spade, who had hopped onto the table and was now nudging their arm.

"Guess duty calls, huh?" Chance said with a smirk, giving Spade a small pat on the head before finally heading off to prepare for the day ahead.

Chapter 104: Oops!

Summary:

(LOLLLL TIME TO FEED , UPDATE : 1X4 HAS BEEN TRANSLATED TO MAKE IT EASIER FOR SOME PEOPEL TO READ, I HOPE YOU LIEK IT!! <3)

Chance was in the middle of getting dressed, humming a tune as they adjusted the collar of their coat. They had taken their time picking out their usual classy upper look—a crisp button-up, a well-fitted coat, and their signature accessories—but had yet to put on their pants. Instead, they were still in their boxers, casually sorting through their wardrobe for the perfect choice when, without warning, the familiar disorienting sensation of teleportation kicked in.

 

The world around them shifted instantly. One moment, they were standing in their room; the next, they were in the middle of a match.

 

"Huh?—"

 

Before Chance could even process what had happened, they heard the unmistakable sound of Elliot’s laughter echoing across the area. Spinning on their heel, Chance was met with the sight of their friend practically doubled over, struggling to keep himself upright as he wheezed between fits of uncontrollable laughter.

 

"OH—OH MY GOD—" Elliot clutched his sides, barely able to get his words out. "CHANCE—YOU LOOK LIKE YOU’RE ABOUT TO GIVE A FANCY SPEECH BUT FORGOT YOUR PANTS—HAHAHAHA!"

 

Chance was not amused. Their face immediately turned an embarrassed shade of red, a deep scowl forming on their lips. "Oh, shut up," they grumbled, crossing their arms while resisting the urge to storm off in frustration.

 

Before they could come up with a way to salvage their dignity, a mechanical voice rang out from nearby.

 

"1 S33 Y0U."

(i see you)

 

Chance froze. Their head snapped toward the source of the voice, spotting 1x1x1x1 watching them from afar. The entity’s usual glitchy, unreadable aura faltered for a brief moment as their singular glowing eye seemed to scan Chance’s… unique attire.

 

A heavy pause filled the air before 1x1x1x1 finally broke the silence.

 

"Wh4t th3 fUck."

 

Chance's face burned even brighter. "IT'S NOT MY FAULT THE ROUNDS START OUT OF NOWHERE!" they yelled in frustration, throwing their arms in the air.

 

Elliot was still laughing, tears forming in his eyes as he struggled to breathe. He barely had time to react before Chance, in a fit of panic, snatched a slice of pizza straight from Elliot’s hands and shoved it into their mouth. Without another word, they bolted away, leaving behind a dumbfounded Elliot and an incredibly confused 1x1x1x1.

 

"CHANCE! THAT WASN'T FOR YOU!" Elliot shouted after them, his previous laughter replaced with betrayal.

 

Chance didn’t slow down, tearing through the battlefield with only one goal in mind—finding cover. The map was a hauntingly eerie place, resembling a massive, decrepit mansion with shattered windows, flickering chandeliers, and an unsettling aura of mystery. It was the perfect place to lay low until they could figure out what to do about their unfortunate wardrobe malfunction.

 

They dashed past a broken gate, leaping over fallen debris before pushing open the heavy wooden doors of the haunted mansion. The moment they stepped inside, a chilling draft sent shivers down their spine. The dim lighting cast eerie shadows across the torn wallpaper and antique furniture. It was deathly quiet, save for the distant sound of the wind whistling through the cracked windows.

 

Chance leaned against the wall, catching their breath. "Okay… okay… Just gotta find something to wear… or at least avoid getting seen like this any longer."

 

As if on cue, the faint sound of footsteps echoed through the halls. Chance tensed, instinctively pressing themselves against the wall. Their eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape route.

 

"Come out, come out, wherever you are~" a voice called out, playful yet eerily sinister.

 

Chance recognized that voice immediately. It belonged to none other than another opponent in the round—someone they definitely didn’t want seeing them in this state.

 

"Oh, fantastic," they muttered under their breath. "Of course, the one time I get thrown into a match like this, I have to deal with them too."

 

Thinking fast, Chance spotted a nearby tattered curtain and immediately dove behind it, hoping the shadows would obscure their presence. They held their breath, waiting.

 

The footsteps grew louder. Whoever was approaching took their time, their pace deliberate.

 

Chance clenched their fists, feeling their heart pound in their chest. They weren’t scared—just incredibly, incredibly embarrassed at the thought of getting caught like this.

 

Seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity. Then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the footsteps receded, fading back down the hall.

 

Chance let out a relieved sigh, stepping out from their hiding spot. "Alright… now to figure out how to get some actual pants before someone else sees me—"

 

Before they could finish their sentence, something cold and metallic tapped their shoulder.

 

Chance stiffened. Slowly, they turned their head and were met with the glowing, static-ridden eye of 1x1x1x1, who had somehow managed to sneak up on them without making a single sound.

 

"Y0u kn0w…" 1x1x1x1 began, tilting their head slightly. "1’v3 s33n s0m3 b1zarr3 th1ngs 1n my t1m3… but th1s? Th1s 1s n3w."

(i've seen some bizarre things in my life.. but this ? , this is new"

 

Chance's eye twitched. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I swear—"

 

1x1x1x1 made a static-like noise that suspiciously sounded like snickering. "N0 pr0m1s3s."

(no promises)

 

Chance groaned, slapping a hand over their face. "I hate this game."

 

Meanwhile, back at the starting area, Elliot had finally calmed down from his laughing fit, though he was still wiping away tears of amusement. He turned toward noob who had yet to jump into the fray, shaking his head. "I swear, Chance always finds a way to make these matches more interesting."

 

Noob raised an eyebrow. "What happened this time?"

 

Elliot grinned, crossing his arms. "Let’s just say they were a little underprepared for the occasion."

Chapter 105: Gossip time

Summary:

(HC TIME, U CANT STOP ME , ul how 1x4 is genderfluid? , YEAH SOLIKE , i hc they change their pronouns depending the situation, during gossip tome its her/she BC I SAID SO. , another hc! , guest exist , and they can switch from their monstrous form to their normal guest just for a few moments to get a break from the torment.)

Chance rummaged through the dusty wardrobe, searching for something—anything—that could substitute for the pants they were so rudely deprived of when they were abruptly teleported into the round. After shoving aside some outdated coats and a very questionable feather boa, their hand landed on a pair of striped pants. They looked ridiculous, but at least they were pants. With a sigh, they yanked them on, fastening them as best they could.

 

Through all of this, 1x1x1x1 was standing nearby, watching in complete boredom, their glowing white eyes half-lidded as if they were on the verge of falling asleep right then and there.

 

Chance glanced at them, raising an eyebrow. "Ya ain't gonna kill me? Not feeling it today?"

 

1x1x1x1 shrugged lazily, the glow in their eyes flickering slightly. "N0p3. 1m B0r3d. T1r3d 4s Fck. J0hn fck1ng sn0r3d 4ll n1ght."

(Nope , im bored , tired as fuck, john fucking snored all night)

 

Chance blinked, their hands still at the waistband of the pants they were adjusting. "Damn. He snores?"

 

"Y34h," 1x1x1x1 replied, shaking their head with the disappointment of someone who had survived a war.

 

"Like, loud?"

 

"L0ud3r th4n Sp4d3 ch3w1ng 0n m3t4l. L0ud3r th4n Buld3rm4n y3ll1ng wh3n Sh3d br34ks s0m3th1ng. L0ud3r th4n—"

(Louder than soade chewing on metal , louder than builderman yelling what shed breaks something , louder than-)

 

Chance put up a hand. "Alright, alright, I get it. So what, now you're just too exhausted to vaporize me or something?"

 

1x1x1x1 didn’t answer right away. Instead, they suddenly reached out and grabbed Chance’s arm. Chance tensed instinctively, but rather than an attack, 1x1x1x1 just yanked them towards a nearby wooden chair.

 

"G0ss1p T1m3," 1x1x1x1 declared with finality, shoving Chance into the chair before dramatically flopping into their own.

(Gossip time)

 

Chance hesitated for a second, then smirked. "Well, I guess I got time to kill. Alright, what's the tea this time?"

 

1x1x1x1 stretched out their arms before leaning forward, eyes flickering mischievously. "Y4 Kn0w J0hn? R3ckl3ss b4st4rd..."

(Ya know john ? reckless bastard...)

 

Chance leaned in. "Girl, what did he do again?"

 

1x1x1x1 threw their hands up. "1m N3V3R l3tt1ng h1m c00k 3v3r 4g4in. H3 c0nfus3d th3 fl0ur f0r f*ck1ng sug4r."

(Im never letting him cook ever again , he confused the flour for fucking sugar.)

 

Chance slapped a hand over their mouth, eyes widening. "Nah, really? FR?"

 

"FR. H3 m4d3 p4nc4k3s, Ch4nc3. P4nc4k3s th4t w3r3 s0 sw33t 1 th0ught 1 w4s g0nn4 3v4p0r4t3. Th3 s1rup? S4lt. H3 d1d th3 0pp0s1t3 0f wh4t h3 w4s supp0s3d t0 d0."

(FR. he made pancakes , chance , panckes that were so sweet,  i thought , i was gonan evaporate. , the sirup ?, salt , he did the opposite of what he was supposed to do.)

 

Chance gasped dramatically, clutching their chest. "No way. Tell me you didn't eat them."

 

"1 w1sh 1 c0uld s4y th4t."

(i wish i coudl say that.)

 

Chance stared at them in horror. "You poor thing. I'm so sorry for your loss."

 

"Th4nk y0u. 1t w4s tr4um4t1z1ng."

(thank you it was traumatizing.)

 

They sat in silence for a few moments as if mourning the culinary tragedy, before Chance tilted their head. "Wait, where was Guest in all of this?"

 

"H3 w4s th3 0n3 wh0 t0ld J0hn t0 c00k. S41d 'G1v3 h1m 4 ch4nc3.' B1gg3st m1st4k3 0f h1s l1f3."

(He was the one who told john to cook , said "give him a chance" , biggest mistake of his life.)

 

Chance wheezed. "Bro, you got sabotaged."

 

"Y34h, 4nd 1m h0ld1ng 4 grudg3."

(Yeah and i am holding a grudge)

 

They both dissolved into laughter, shaking their heads. It was always something with this team. One second they were hunting each other down in brutal battles, and the next? They were sitting together in a haunted mansion, sharing horror stories about culinary disasters.

 

"Alright, alright," Chance wiped a tear from their eye. "So what happened after you ate those monstrosities?"

 

1x1x1x1 groaned. "1 h4d t0 l4y d0wn f0r 4n h0ur. 1 sw34r 1 s4w G0d."

(I had to lay down for an hour , i swear i saw god."

 

"Which one , you?"

 

"N0pe 4nd D0nt kn0w. Pr0b4bly 4ll 0f th3m. Th3y w3r3 l00k1ng d0wn 0n m3 l1k3 'Y0u d1d th1s t0 y0urs3lf.'"

(Nope and  don't know. probably all of them , they were looking down at on me , like "you did this to yourself.")

 

Chance snorted, covering their mouth with their sleeve. "Okay, but tell me you got revenge."

 

1x1x1x1 grinned. "Oh y34h. 1 r1gg3d h1s b3d t0 c0ll4ps3 wh3n h3 l4y d0wn."

(oh yeah , i rigged his bed to collapse when he lays down."

 

Chance gasped, scandalized. "You didn’t!"

 

"1 d1d."

 

"How did he react?"

 

"L1k3 4 d4mn c4rto0n ch4r4ct3r. H3 f3ll str41ght thr0ugh, h1s h34d w4s sp1nn1ng wh3n h3 g0t up."

(like a damn cartoon character , he fell straight through , his head was spinning when he got up.)

 

Chance wheezed again, slapping the armrest of their chair. "Okay, okay, that's fair. But what about Guest? He started it!"

 

1x1x1x1's grin widened. "Oh, d0n't y0u w0rry. H3's n3xt."

"oh don't you worry , he's next.)

 

Chance leaned back in their chair, thoroughly entertained. "Man, I love gossip time."

 

"S4m3. B3st p4rt 0f my j0b."

(same , best part of my job.)

 

For a moment, neither of them spoke, just soaking in the ridiculousness of it all. Eventually, Chance stood up, stretching their arms over their head. "Alright, as much as I love this, I should probably go find some real pants before someone else sees me in these hideous things."

 

1x1x1x1 nodded sagely. "Y34h, th3y'r3 4b0m1n4t10ns."

(yeah, they're abominations.=

 

"Thanks for the honesty, girl."

 

"4lw4ys."

(always)

 

With that, Chance gave them a casual salute before heading off deeper into the haunted mansion, already wondering what kind of chaos awaited them next.

 

Chapter 106: Glitching kiss

Summary:

(HHEHHEEHE them gays , HEHEHE , doing 1x4's speech is HELL... , 1XDOE MY BELOVEDDD)

1x1x1x1 sat alone, slouched in a chair, tapping their fingers against the wooden armrest in a rhythmic but bored pattern. They had finally gotten some peace and quiet after Chance had left, though peace wasn’t exactly something they were fond of. Still, they figured a little time alone wouldn’t kill them.

Then, like nails scraping against glass, a glitchy voice rang out through the dimly lit room.

"Foooound you~"

1x1x1x1 tensed immediately, their head snapping around to find the source. Before they could fully process it, a figure was already up in their face, mere inches away—far too close for comfort.

John Doe.

1x1x1x1 immediately leaned back, attempting to create some distance, but the chair wasn’t exactly cooperating. "I l1k3 my p3rson4l sp4ce, th4nk y0u v3ry much," they grumbled, pressing a palm against John’s chest in an effort to push him back.

(i like my personal space , thank you very much)

 

John, of course, was unfazed, his usual smirk plastered across his face. "Oh, I like your personal space too," he purred, leaning in even closer, if that was even possible.

1x1x1x1 groaned, their head falling back against the chair’s headrest. "Y0u 4r3 s0 1nsuff3r4bl3."

(you are so  insufferable)

 

John chuckled, and before 1x1x1x1 could react, he leaned forward and pressed a quick, teasing kiss to their lips.

1x1x1x1 immediately recoiled, their face heating up as they glared at him. "Wh4t th3 f—"

John cut them off, still grinning. "Oh, come on. You love me."

1x1x1x1 folded their arms, looking off to the side with an annoyed huff. "Unf0rtun4t3ly."

(unfortunatly)

 

John laughed, clearly satisfied with the response. He reached into his inventory, pulling out a small, slightly dented box and holding it out toward 1x1x1x1. "Here. Got something for you."

Suspicious, 1x1x1x1 raised an eyebrow before glancing at the box. "1f th1s 3xpl0d3s 1n my f4c3, 1’m d3l3ting y0ur 3nt1r3 3x1st3nc3."

(if this explodes in my face , im deleting your entire existence)

 

John placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I followed the recipe this time. No tricks. No sabotage. Just… brownies."

1x1x1x1 hesitated, narrowing their eyes at the box before cautiously taking it. They opened the lid, revealing slightly overcooked, somewhat uneven brownies inside. They were dark—maybe a little too dark—but they actually smelled… decent.

"Y0u 4ctu4lly m4n4g3d t0 f0ll0w 4 r3cip3?" 1x1x1x1 asked, skepticism laced in their tone.

((you actually managed to follow a recipe?)

 

John sighed dramatically. "Look, I know I don’t have the best track record, but I genuinely tried. No sugar-and-flour mix-ups this time."

1x1x1x1 scoffed but picked up one of the brownies anyway. They inspected it, giving it a cautious sniff before finally taking a bite.

Chewy. A little dry. But… not awful.

They chewed for a moment before shrugging. "P4ss4ble."

(Passable.)

 

John’s face lit up like he had just won the jackpot. "Passable?! That’s practically a Michelin star from you!"

1x1x1x1 rolled their eyes, taking another bite. However, before they could finish chewing, John suddenly reached out, gripping their chin.

1x1x1x1 blinked, confused, only for their eyes to widen in horror as John leaned in and licked a long stripe across their lips, collecting the stray crumbs that had been left behind.

1x1x1x1 froze for a split second before shoving him away violently. "3W! TH4T’S G4Y!"

(EW THATS GAY.)

 

John only cackled, already bolting for the door as 1x1x1x1 shot up from their seat, their face burning red. "Y0U’R3 S0 FUCK1NG D34D!"

(YOU'RE SO FUCKING DEAD)

 

John, still laughing, threw a teasing glance over his shoulder. "Catch me if you can, babe!"

1x1x1x1 didn’t hesitate, immediately launching themselves after him, their feet pounding against the floor as they tore through the room and into the hallway.

John was fast, but 1x1x1x1 had motivation—rage-fueled, flustered motivation.

"G3T Y0UR GL1TCHY 4SS B4CK H3R3!" 1x1x1x1 yelled, dodging furniture as they pursued John through the winding corridors.

(GET YOUR GLITCHY ASS BACK HERE.)

 

John only laughed harder, leaping over a low table with a surprising amount of grace. "Oh, admit it! You liked it!"

"1 W1LL K1CK Y0UR 4SS, J0HN!"

(I WILL KICK YOUR ASS JOHN!)

 

John turned a corner sharply, skidding slightly before bursting into an open area filled with random objects left behind from previous battles. 1x1x1x1 followed close behind, their eyes blazing as they prepared to tackle him.

But just as they lunged, John suddenly teleported mid-step, disappearing in a blink and reappearing several feet ahead.

1x1x1x1 barely had time to stop themselves from slamming face-first into the wall.

"Y0U L1TTL3—"

(YOU LITTLE-)

 

John grinned, wagging a finger at them. "Gotta be quicker than that."

1x1x1x1 exhaled sharply through their nose, their fists clenching at their sides. "Y0u 4r3 4 p41n 1n th3 4ss."

(you are a pain in the ass.)

 

John winked. "And yet, you still haven’t killed me. Wonder why?"

1x1x1x1 scowled, but their flushed face betrayed them. "ShUt Up."

John’s smirk softened into something more genuine. "Awww, see? That’s why you’re my favorite."

1x1x1x1 groaned, rubbing their face in exasperation before pointing a sharp finger at him. "St4y th3 fuck 4w4y fr0m my f4c3 next t1m3, 0r 1’m g1v1ng y0u th3 blU3 scr33n 0f d34th."

(stay the fuck away from my face next time , or im giving you the blue screen of death.)

 

John chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. No more surprise kisses."

1x1x1x1 squinted at him. "…Y0u’re ly1ng."

John’s grin widened. "Maybe a little."

1x1x1x1 sighed, crossing their arms before finally relaxing their stance. They were still red-faced, but at least their murderous rage had simmered down to mild irritation.

John reached into his inventory again and pulled out another small box, tossing it to them. "Here. For real this time. These ones are actually good."

1x1x1x1 caught it, cautiously opening the lid. Inside, neatly arranged, were fresh, properly baked brownies. They looked perfect—golden, slightly crispy edges with a soft, gooey center.

1x1x1x1 eyed him suspiciously. "Y0u d1dn’t m4k3 th3s3, d1d y0u?"

(you didn't make these , did you ?)

 

John snorted. "Hell no. I bought them."

1x1x1x1 hummed, finally breaking off a piece and popping it into their mouth. Immediately, their shoulders relaxed.

"4lr1ght," they muttered, "y0u’r3 s4v3d. F0r n0w."

(alright) (you're saved for now.)

 

John beamed. "That’s all I ask for."

1x1x1x1 sighed, shaking their head as they took another bite. Maybe John was insufferable, but at least he was entertaining.

And, annoyingly enough, they did love him.

Chapter 107: relaxing.

Summary:

(1XDOE LETS GOOOO. HEHEHE)

John Doe tugged insistently at 1x1x1x1’s arm, his grip tight but playful. "Come on, let’s go chase the survivors for fun," he urged, his voice carrying a singsong lilt of mischief.

1x1x1x1 barely spared him a glance before pulling their arm free, making their way to one of the large, worn-out chairs in the haunted mansion’s dining hall. The room was dimly lit, dust motes swirling in the faint light of the flickering chandelier. Shadows stretched along the walls, creating eerie shapes, but 1x1x1x1 didn’t seem to mind. They plopped into the seat without a word, sinking into the plush, albeit tattered, cushions. They reached into their pocket and pulled out a piece of chocolate, unwrapping it slowly before popping it into their mouth.

John huffed, crossing his arms. "Ugh, you’re so boring when you get like this." He dramatically slumped forward, groaning. "I wanna do something fun!"

1x1x1x1 blinked at him slowly, chewing deliberately. "Th3n g0 d0 1t y0urs3lf."

(then go do it yourself.)

 

John grumbled, dragging a chair noisily across the wooden floor before flopping down right next to them. The scraping sound made 1x1x1x1 wince slightly, but they didn’t say anything. Instead, they let their gaze wander around the room, idly noting the spiderwebs in the corners and the old, dusty plates still set on the long dining table. The place looked abandoned, but it had a strange charm to it, like a home stuck in time.

With a heavy sigh, John leaned against 1x1x1x1’s shoulder. "If you’re gonna be lazy, I’m just gonna sit here and suffer next to you," he declared.

1x1x1x1 rolled their eyes but didn’t push him away. Instead, they wordlessly adjusted their cape, the heavy fabric shifting over both of them. With a flick of their wrist, they draped it around John as well, enveloping them in its warmth.

John giggled softly.

1x1x1x1 arched an eyebrow, looking down at him. "Wh4t’s s0 funny?"

(what's so funny?)

 

John grinned, wiggling slightly under the fabric. "The fluff on the inside of your cape is tickling me. It’s soft but kinda pokes at my neck in places."

1x1x1x1 exhaled through their nose in mild amusement, shaking their head. "1d10t," they murmured.

(idiot.)

 

John only hummed in response, closing his eyes. He adjusted himself slightly, nuzzling into 1x1x1x1’s chest as he got more comfortable. The warmth of the cape, combined with the natural heat of their body, was comforting. It wasn’t long before John’s breathing evened out, his body slowly relaxing.

1x1x1x1 felt the shift and let out a soft sigh. They weren’t one to indulge in naps often, but with the way John had nestled into them, their own exhaustion started creeping in. Resting their head lightly against the top of John’s, they let their eyes flutter shut, their mind drifting into a state of quiet drowsiness.

The mansion creaked around them, the wind outside howling softly through the cracks in the walls. The occasional sound of distant footsteps echoed through the corridors—likely a survivor trying to make their way through the map. Normally, 1x1x1x1 would be alert, ready to take advantage of the moment, but right now, they just couldn’t bring themselves to care. For once, they allowed themselves to be still.

Minutes passed, maybe more. The warmth wrapped around them made it easy to lose track of time. At some point, John shifted, his arms loosely wrapping around 1x1x1x1’s waist, his face now fully buried against their chest. A soft mumble left his lips, though it was incoherent. 1x1x1x1 smirked slightly at the sight but didn’t move.

Chapter 108: Meet your maker.

Summary:

(HEHEHEHE , yes i am bringing you food :sparkles , I REALLY LOVED DOING THIS CHAPTER , i really wanted to implied 1x4's and shed relation in this one , kinda why it's long!.)

The haunted mansion was still and silent, the dim glow of old chandeliers barely illuminating the dust-coated furniture and cobweb-strewn walls. The eerie ambiance did little to disturb the two figures nestled in one of the chairs in the dining hall. Wrapped in the flowing cape of 1x1x1x1, John Doe and the enigmatic entity were peacefully slumbering, their soft breaths the only sound in the room.

Then, light footsteps echoed from the entrance of the mansion.

Shedletsky strode in with confidence, his smirk ever-present as he navigated through the eerie interior. His eyes swept the area, scanning for any sign of danger, but what he found instead made him pause. There, in the middle of the room, were 1x1x1x1 and John Doe, huddled together in sleep. His usual cocky demeanor faltered for just a moment as his gaze softened at the sight before him.

He had never seen either of them like this—completely at peace, their usual chaotic and glitchy presence replaced with a rare, almost fragile tranquility. He let out a quiet sigh, shifting his focus to the generator sitting in the corner of the room. That was his goal. If he could get it running, he could secure an escape route before things got hectic.

As he took slow, measured steps toward the generator, his mind warred with itself. He needed to be quiet. Even though John Doe wasn’t much of a threat when he was in a good mood, waking 1x1x1x1 could be a death sentence. The entity was unpredictable, their power overwhelming, and their mood volatile. Any wrong move, and he could end up as nothing more than a corrupted line of code.

He glanced around for anything that could muffle the cold air creeping through the mansion. His gaze settled on the long, dust-ridden table in the center of the room. Draped over it was a tattered, but thick, carpet-like cloth. It wasn’t the best option, but it was the only thing available.

Carefully, Shedletsky reached forward and peeled the cloth from the table. The dust made him want to sneeze, but he held it back, biting the inside of his cheek as he slowly moved toward the two sleeping figures. With a gentleness that contrasted his usual energetic nature, he draped the cloth over them, covering them from the slight draft that ran through the mansion.

“There,” he muttered under his breath. “Not exactly luxury, but it’ll do.”

Satisfied, he turned and tiptoed toward the generator, crouching down as he examined it. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small toolkit he always carried for situations like these. Adjusting the wires, he began to work, moving with precision and carefulness to ensure he didn’t make too much noise.

For a while, it seemed like everything was going well. The generator was responding, albeit sluggishly, and Shedletsky was making progress. That is, until he heard a shift in movement behind him.

His entire body tensed. Slowly, cautiously, he turned his head.

Two glowing, glitchy eyes stared directly at him.

“...Oh.”

1x1x1x1 blinked slowly, their gaze narrowing as they fully registered the sight before them. Their body remained partially wrapped in the makeshift blanket, but their sharp, jagged aura was beginning to flicker to life.

“...Sh3dl3tskY,” 1x1x1x1’s voice was low, their corrupted tone vibrating in the air like static. Their mind was still foggy from sleep, but that didn’t stop them from recognizing the intruder in their presence.

Shedletsky let out an awkward chuckle, his usual smirk returning in an attempt to defuse the situation. “Heeeey, buddy. Fancy meeting you here.”

1x1x1x1’s expression didn’t change. Their gaze flickered to the generator he was working on, then back to him. The realization was immediate.

“Y0u’r3 d01ng th3 g3n3r4t0r.”

(You're doing the generator.)

 

“Uhh. Yeah?” Shedletsky took a small step back, calculating his escape route.

1x1x1x1’s glitching became slightly more erratic. The haze of sleep was fully leaving them now, and their processing speed was kicking in at full force.

“...”

A beat of silence passed.

Then, in an instant, 1x1x1x1 grabbed their dual swords from thin air and lunged forward.

“SH3DL3TSKY, Y0U B4ST4RD!”

(SHEDLETSKY , YOU BASTARD!)

 

“OH SHIT—”

Shedletsky barely managed to dodge as a corrupted slash nearly took his head clean off. He rolled to the side, stumbling to his feet as he bolted for the nearest exit. His heart pounded in his chest as the sound of rapid, glitched footsteps chased after him, accompanied by the unmistakable distortion of an enraged entity.

John Doe, still sitting in the chair, simply watched as 1x1x1x1 stormed off in pursuit of Shedletsky. He blinked slowly, stretching his arms before leaning back into the chair with a lazy smirk.

“Awww,” he mused to himself, “i was having a nice rest.."

Outside the mansion, Shedletsky ducked and weaved through the trees, panting as he tried to put distance between himself and his pursuer. 1x1x1x1 was relentless, warping through the terrain like a living glitch, appearing and disappearing in rapid bursts.

“C0m3 B4ck H3r3, Y0U G0D W4NN4B3”

(COME BACK HERE ,  YOU GOD WANNABE

 

“god wannabe?! That’s rich coming from someone who always  says they are god!” Shedletsky shot back, narrowly avoiding another slash.

The two continued their chase through the abandoned estate, their movements kicking up dust and leaves as they tore through the landscape. Shedletsky, despite being agile, knew he couldn’t keep running forever. He needed a distraction.

Then, he spotted it—a broken-down carriage near the entrance of the estate. A plan quickly formed in his mind.

As he ran past it, he grabbed onto one of the old lanterns hanging from its side and yanked it free. Then, with a swift motion, he hurled it behind him, aiming for the ground just in front of 1x1x1x1.

The lantern shattered, sparks flying into the dry leaves scattered around. Instantly, a small burst of flame erupted, blocking 1x1x1x1’s direct path. They skidded to a halt, their eyes flashing as they processed the sudden obstruction.

Shedletsky took this moment to make his escape, vaulting over a fallen log and disappearing deeper into the shadows of the walls. His breath was ragged, his pulse racing, but a victorious grin was spread across his face.

Back near the fire, 1x1x1x1 stared at the flames for a moment before letting out an exaggerated groan.

“G0D D4MM1T,” they muttered, sheathing their swords. They kicked at the dirt, snuffing out the fire before turning back toward the mansion.

(GOD DAMNIT.)

 

John Doe was still there, exactly as they had left him, humming to himself as he leaned against the chair.

1x1x1x1 exhaled sharply. “Y0u kn3w h3 w4s h3r3, d1dn’t y0u?”

(you knew he was here didn't you?)

 

John Doe grinned. “M4yb3~”

1x1x1x1 groaned again, plopping back down into the chair and rubbing their temples. “Y0u'r3 lucky , 1m t00 t1r3d f0r th1s bullsh1t..”

(You're lucky im too tired for this bullshit..)

Chapter 109: Memories..

Summary:

(THIS IS A FLASHBACK BTW! , like i said before i imagine shed to be the dad of like 1x4 , and builderman the dad of chance, SO LIKE YIPPPE!)

The grand hall of the early Roblox HQ was still under construction, its walls lined with scaffolding and blueprints strewn across large wooden tables. The air smelled of fresh paint and sawdust, and the faint hum of distant coding filled the atmosphere like an unseen melody. Shedletsky stood with Builderman, both poring over the blueprints of their creation, discussing the foundation of the world they were building.

"We need to reinforce this section here," Builderman noted, tracing his finger along one of the sketches. "The framework should hold, but I don’t want any glitches in the core structure."

Shedletsky nodded in agreement, adjusting his gloves as he analyzed the plans, his usual smirk playing at his lips. His focus was sharp—until he felt a small tug on the hem of his shirt. A familiar touch. His gaze shifted downward, and there, standing at his side, was a small figure with grey skin, grey hair, and bright, curious eyes.

1x1x1x1.

His creation. His... son.

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of Shedletsky’s mouth as he knelt down to meet their eye level. His hand ruffled the child’s grey locks, a warmth settling in his chest.

"Hey, what’s up, buddy?" he asked softly, his tone filled with quiet affection.

1x1x1x1 hesitated for a moment before pointing a small finger toward another child across the room. Chance. The excitable, ever-moving bundle of energy that was currently toying with a fake gun, aiming it at imaginary enemies with the dramatic flair only a child could muster.

"Can I have a sword?" 1x1x1x1 asked shyly, their voice small but determined. "Chance has a gun, but we can't play fair!"

Shedletsky chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Oh? You think a sword is better than a gun?" he teased lightly.

1x1x1x1 nodded rapidly, their hands gripping the edge of Shedletsky’s coat. There was an innocent eagerness in their expression, something that made Shedletsky’s heart ache in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

Builderman, who had been listening, chuckled under his breath. "You spoil that kid too much, Shed."

"Oh, please," Shedletsky scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "If I didn't, who would?"

With that, he conjured up a command panel in front of him, his fingers typing with a practiced ease. The air shimmered as two wooden swords materialized before them, polished and smooth. He picked them up, their weight just right for a child’s hands, and turned to 1x1x1x1.

"Here you go," he said, holding the swords out. "One for you, one for Chance. That way, it's fair."

1x1x1x1's eyes widened, a spark of joy lighting them up. Without hesitation, they threw their arms around Shedletsky, hugging him tightly. For a brief second, the world outside that moment disappeared, and all that mattered was the warmth of the embrace.

Shedletsky chuckled, his hand resting gently on 1x1x1x1's back. "Alright, alright, don’t get all mushy on me," he teased, though he didn't pull away.

With the swords clutched in their hands, 1x1x1x1 ran over to Chance, who had been watching the interaction with bouncy excitement. The moment they saw the swords, their eyes lit up like fireworks.

"Ohhh, sick! Now we can really fight!" Chance exclaimed, taking one of the wooden swords and immediately assuming a battle stance.

1x1x1x1 mirrored them, their small feet planting firmly on the ground, gripping the sword tightly. Their movements were careful, precise, but there was an undeniable excitement behind them.

The first swing was slow, deliberate, and Chance parried with dramatic flair, twirling their weapon as if they were in a grand duel. "Haha! Is that all you got?!" Chance teased, grinning widely.

1x1x1x1 narrowed their eyes in determination before stepping forward with another swing, this time with a little more force. The wooden swords clacked together, the sound echoing in the grand but unfinished hall.

Builderman, who had been overseeing the playful battle, placed his hands on his hips. "Be careful, you two! No real injuries, got it?"

"We will, Dad, don't worry!" Chance called back, barely sparing him a glance as they lunged forward again.

Shedletsky leaned back against the table, watching the two with a fond smile. There was something about watching them play that made the world feel a little softer, a little less serious. Maybe it was the innocence of childhood, or maybe it was just the simple joy of watching something he had a hand in creating find happiness in the smallest things.

"You ever think about how weird this all is?" Builderman mused beside him, arms crossed as he observed the scene. "We're out here, building an entire world, and yet... these kids make it feel like it’s already alive."

Shedletsky hummed in agreement, his gaze never leaving the two children as they continued their sparring match. "Yeah," he murmured. "It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?"

Builderman scoffed. "Don't get all sentimental on me."

"Oh, please," Shedletsky retorted, smirking. "If I didn't, who would?"

The wooden swords clacked together again, laughter echoing through the half-built halls of Roblox HQ. The world they were building was far from finished, but in that moment before, it didn’t matter.

Chapter 110: A promise.

Summary:

(GET HIT WITH ANGST MFS ,HEHEHEHEHE..)

The day had been long, filled with laughter and playful duels, but now the sun had set, casting a golden glow over the partially built headquarters. The air was still warm, though the coolness of the evening was creeping in.

Chance was already fast asleep in Builderman’s arms, their small form completely relaxed, their head tucked against their father’s shoulder. Builderman carried them effortlessly, his expression soft as he looked down at his sleeping child, before glancing up at Shedletsky.

“Looks like you’ve got a little fighter on your hands,” Builderman said quietly, his voice laced with warmth.

Shedletsky glanced down at his own child—1x1x1x1—who, despite their best efforts, was struggling to keep their eyes open. Their grey hair was slightly disheveled from the long day of play, and their small hands clutched the front of Shedletsky’s shirt tightly. Even as their body slumped with exhaustion, they still mumbled, “I’m not tired… I wanna keep playing…”

But their words were immediately followed by a traitorous yawn, which made Shedletsky chuckle softly. “Sure you do, buddy,” he murmured, shifting them in his arms as he began walking toward their room.

Builderman and Shedletsky exchanged one last look before parting ways, Builderman disappearing down the hallway to tuck Chance in, while Shedletsky made his way to 1x1x1x1’s small but cozy room.

The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a single lamp, casting warm shadows against the walls. Shedletsky carefully lowered 1x1x1x1 onto their bed, pulling the blankets up over their small body. Their eyes were half-lidded now, barely managing to stay awake, but just as Shedletsky was about to stand up and leave, a tiny hand reached out, tugging at his sleeve.

“Dad…” 1x1x1x1’s voice was barely above a whisper. Shedletsky immediately leaned down, resting an elbow against the bed as he looked at them, his expression gentle. “What is it, kiddo?”

1x1x1x1 hesitated for a moment, their sleepy eyes scanning Shedletsky’s face as if searching for reassurance before they finally murmured, “Can we have a sparring match one day? With real swords? Just like you and Builderman do?”

Shedletsky exhaled slowly, his lips curling into a faint smile. He had always known that 1x1x1x1 admired him, looked up to him, and wanted to be just like him. There was no doubt in his mind that they would one day grow into something formidable. But right now… they were still just a kid, and it was moments like these that reminded him of that.

He reached out, ruffling their grey hair affectionately before letting out a quiet chuckle. “Yeah, we will,” he said softly. “I’ll teach you all the ways we can spar. And maybe…” he paused, feigning suspense. “Maybe i'll will even teach you how to use the Venomshanks.”

At that, 1x1x1x1’s tired eyes lit up with excitement. They sat up slightly, their fatigue momentarily forgotten. “Really??” they asked, their voice filled with eager anticipation.

Shedletsky chuckled again, nodding. “Uh-huh. You’ve got the best dad to show you how, too.”

1x1x1x1 stared up at him, their small fingers still clutching his sleeve. They seemed to consider something for a moment before their expression turned serious. “You promise?” they asked, their voice quiet, but there was an undeniable weight behind their words.

Shedletsky’s heart ached just a little at the sincerity in their gaze. He reached down and gently cupped their face, his thumb brushing against their cheek. “I promise.”

Satisfied, 1x1x1x1 let out a sleepy sigh and finally sank back into the pillows. Shedletsky took the blanket and tucked it more snugly around their small form, making sure they were warm and comfortable.

“Get some rest, kiddo,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to their forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

1x1x1x1 mumbled something incoherent, already halfway to sleep, but their grip on his sleeve had loosened. Shedletsky stayed there for a moment longer, watching as their breathing slowed into a peaceful rhythm.

With one last fond look, he stood up, turned off the lamp, and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him with the softest click.

Outside, the halls of the HQ were silent, save for the faint hum of unfinished systems still being worked on. Shedletsky stood there for a moment, letting out a small breath before he finally turned and made his way to his own quarters, his mind still lingering on his child’s words.

A promise.

Chapter 111: tearful.

Summary:

(HHEHE TIME FOR UR FEEDING , COME HERE !!)

shedletsky’s boots pounded against the ground as he ran, breath coming in ragged gasps. The dim, eerie lighting of the haunted mansion faded into the distance as he sprinted toward the spawn point, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his face was twisted in an expression of quiet devastation.

The memory had come rushing back to him, unbidden and painful. The promise. The one he had made all those years ago. He had said he would teach them, show them everything he knew. He had sworn to be there, to guide them, to help them grow stronger. And yet… here he was, running away.

He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to remember.

But he couldn’t stop.

His mind replayed the image of 1x1x1x1’s younger self, the small child with grey hair and bright, curious eyes. The child who had hugged him so tightly, who had trusted him without hesitation. And now? That child had grown into something distant, something pained, something he had failed.

Shedletsky grit his teeth as he pushed himself forward, his wings twitching anxiously. The spawn point wasn’t far now, and just as he neared the clearing, his eyes landed on the one person he needed to see the most.

Builderman.

Standing near the generator, scanning the surroundings with his usual calculating gaze, Builderman seemed unaware at first. But the moment he caught sight of Shedletsky, his expression changed.

Something was wrong.

Shedletsky quickly wiped at his eyes, trying to school his features into his usual grin, but his hands were trembling. His chest ached. He knew Builderman could see right through him.

“Hey,” Builderman said, his voice calm but laced with quiet concern. “You alright?”

Shedletsky let out a forced chuckle, waving a hand dismissively. “Pfft, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Builderman narrowed his eyes. “Shed.”

“I’m fine.”

“Shed.”

The name was spoken more firmly this time, and it was enough to make Shedletsky falter. His breath hitched, his wings tensed, and despite everything in him screaming to hold it together, he couldn’t.

He broke.

A small, choked sob escaped before he could stop it, and in the next moment, Builderman pulled him into a firm embrace.

Shedletsky stiffened for only a second before his body sagged, and he gripped the fabric of Builderman’s coat with trembling fingers. He buried his face into Builderman’s chest, his shoulders shaking as the dam finally burst.

Tears streamed down his face, silent at first, but soon his breathing grew uneven, and he let out a quiet, broken sound.

Builderman’s arms tightened around him, one hand moving up to rest against Shedletsky’s back while the other gently stroked his wings. The touch was familiar, grounding.

“You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?” Builderman murmured.

Shedletsky let out another small sob, unable to respond with anything more than a nod.

The weight of everything pressed against his chest. The guilt. The regret. The ache of knowing he had broken a promise that had once meant the world to him. He had been so sure, so certain that he would always be there.

But he hadn’t been.

“I let them down,” he finally whispered, voice cracking. “I said I’d teach them… I said I’d be there.”

Builderman didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he simply held Shedletsky closer, letting him get it out, letting him fall apart in the safety of his presence.

“You didn’t mean to,” Builderman finally said, his voice steady. “You didn’t want this.”

“But it happened.”

Builderman sighed softly. “Yeah. It did.”

Silence settled between them for a long moment, broken only by Shedletsky’s uneven breaths. His hands curled into fists, gripping the fabric of Builderman’s coat tightly.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “I don’t even know if I can.”

Builderman exhaled, pulling back just enough to look at Shedletsky properly. His expression was serious but not unkind. “Then don’t focus on fixing everything all at once,” he said. “Just… take a step forward. Even if it’s small.”

Shedletsky blinked at him, his vision still blurry from tears.

“I broke my promise,” he whispered.

Chapter 112: White bunny lily

Summary:

(GOING BACK TOCHANCE POV BTW!)

Chance leaned back against the dark orange wall, catching their breath as the game continued around them. They glanced at the timer: two minutes left. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to stay hidden. With a satisfied sigh, they crossed their arms and let their body slide down the wall until they were sitting. Their eyes fluttered closed. Just a small nap... just until the round ended.

Then, everything changed.

The darkness behind their eyelids morphed into a vibrant green hue, and when they opened their eyes, they found themselves standing in an endless field. The grass was lush, swaying gently as if brushed by an unseen breeze. The sky above was soft and cloudless, its color shifting like the gradient of an early morning sunrise. The air smelled of fresh leaves and something sweet, like honey.

Chance blinked, confused but oddly calm. The dreamscape felt comforting, though they had no idea how they had ended up here. They took a slow step forward, their boots pressing softly into the grass, and just as they did, they felt the slightest tug on their pants.

Looking down, they found the culprit.

A tiny, white bunny sat at their feet, its ears perked up and twitching curiously. A delicate pink bow was tied neatly around its neck, making it look almost regal in its smallness. Chance’s heart nearly melted at the sight.

“Oh my god, you’re adorable,” they whispered, immediately dropping to their knees. They extended a cautious hand, and the bunny didn’t hesitate. Instead, it hopped onto their lap as if it had been waiting for them all along.

Chance laughed softly, running their fingers through its soft fur. The little creature nuzzled against their hand, its tiny nose twitching as if in approval. Chance cradled the bunny in their arms, marveling at how tiny and delicate it felt.

Then, something caught their eye.

There was a small name tag attached to the bow. Curious, Chance carefully flipped it over, their smile widening as they read the name engraved into the metal.

“Lily,” they murmured. “That’s a cute name.”

Lily’s ears twitched in response, as if she acknowledged the praise. Chance chuckled, brushing a gentle hand along her back. But then, their eyes caught something else. There was more writing on the back of the tag. They turned it over—and felt their heart drop.

Owner: Mafioso. Return immediately if lost.

Chance’s fingers tensed around the tag, their entire body stilling as their mind processed the words.

Mafioso? As in that Mafioso? The one with the sharp smirk and air of danger lingering around him? He owned this tiny, precious bunny?

Chance blinked in disbelief, staring at Lily, who merely tilted her head, completely unbothered. The contrast was almost hilarious. A hardened, calculating individual like Mafioso having a soft spot for something this adorable?

A quiet laugh escaped them before they could stop it.

“You’re telling me that big scary Mafioso has a pet bunny? Oh, this is priceless.”

Lily twitched her nose, as if agreeing, before curling up in their lap. Chance absentmindedly continued to stroke her fur, their mind running in circles. What did this mean? Did Mafioso actually have a soft side? He always carried himself like an enigma, hard to read and full of calculated steps. And yet, somewhere out there, he had a bunny he cared for enough to put a tag on.

Chance smirked to themselves. “You must be a little princess in his eyes, huh?”

Lily simply stretched her tiny paws and snuggled further into their lap.

The dreamscape around them remained peaceful, and for a moment, Chance simply sat there, taking it all in. The wind brushed against their face, the grass rustled softly, and Lily’s small, warm body was a comforting weight against them. It was a rare moment of quiet, a contrast to the chaotic, unpredictable world they were used to.

But then, something in the distance shifted.

The horizon rippled, like a reflection on water being disturbed. A shadow flickered at the edge of their vision. Chance’s instincts kicked in, and their body tensed, ready to react. They looked down at Lily, who was suddenly sitting up, ears alert and body stiff.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Chance asked quietly.

Lily’s nose twitched, and then—

Everything went black.

Chance gasped as they snapped awake, their back hitting the orange wall they had been leaning against. Their breathing was uneven, their heart hammering in their chest as they tried to process what had just happened.

The game was still ongoing. They were still hiding. But the dream...

Chance brought a hand to their head, rubbing their temple. “What the hell was that?”

It felt too real. Too detailed to be just a random dream. And Lily...

Their mind raced as they tried to connect the pieces. If that had been more than just a dream,

The timer beeped. The round had ended.

Chance sighed, shaking their head. “Guess I’ll figure it out later.”

Pushing themselves up from the ground, they dusted off their clothes and stretched. Whatever had just happened, one thing was clear:

Mafioso’s bunny was named Lily.

And Chance wasn’t about to forget that anytime soon.

Chapter 113: BATH TIME!

Summary:

(HHEHE BATH TIME FOR SPADE!)

Chance barely had a moment to process being teleported back with the other survivors before they took off sprinting toward their room. Their heart was still racing from the dream they had—it was strange, surreal, but also oddly warm. That bunny, Lily, with its soft white fur and delicate pink bow, had nestled into their lap like it belonged there. And then that name on the tag… Mafioso’s bunny. Who would have thought? Chance shook their head, dispelling the thought for now. They had more pressing matters.

Kicking the door open with their foot, they hurried inside and immediately tore off the ridiculous pants they had been forced to wear during the round. They tossed them into the growing heap of discarded clothes in the corner before digging through their dresser to grab their usual comfortable pair. A sigh of relief escaped their lips as they tugged them on. Finally, back to normal.

A soft rustling sound caught their attention, and Chance turned to see Spade, their beloved pet, curled up in the middle of their bed, happily munching on a piece of yarn. The little creature’s sharp teeth made quick work of the frayed fibers, his tiny paws holding it tightly as if afraid someone would steal it. Chance rolled their eyes, amused, and walked over to the bed.

"Hey, hey, hey—what did I tell you about eating random things?" they scolded playfully, reaching out to tug at the other end of the yarn.

Spade let out an indignant squeak and bit down harder, pulling back with surprising strength for such a small creature. Chance chuckled, engaging in the impromptu tug-of-war, letting Spade think he had the upper hand before suddenly sweeping him up into their arms. The tiny pet squealed angrily, squirming as Chance adjusted their grip.

"Bath time!" Chance announced with a mischievous grin, holding Spade securely despite his desperate attempts to wriggle free.

The moment the words left their mouth, Spade let out a noise that could only be described as a screech of betrayal. His tiny paws flailed wildly, his little fangs bared as he protested against the horror of hygiene. Chance, however, was unfazed. They had wrestled with Spade before—this was just part of their routine now.

As they made their way toward the bathroom, Spade continued his valiant struggle, twisting and turning in Chance’s grasp, his fur puffing up in sheer indignation. Just as Chance was about to reach the bathroom door, they heard a chuckle from the hallway.

Dusekkar, one of the other survivors, stood leaning against the wall, his glowing blue and yellow pumpkin-like head tilted in amusement. "Bath time?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Chance nodded rapidly, struggling to keep Spade from slipping out of their grasp. "Yep, and he’s fighting for his life."

Dusekkar laughed, shaking his head. "Good luck with that."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence!" Chance called back before kicking open the bathroom door and quickly locking it behind them. Now it was just them and Spade, who was currently giving them a death glare from within their grasp.

"Alright, buddy. You can hate me all you want, but you’re getting clean today." Chance set him down in the bathtub, keeping one hand firmly on his back to prevent any sudden escapes.

Spade let out a pitiful whine as the water started to fill the tub. He flattened his ears and huffed dramatically, staring at Chance like they had just personally ruined his entire existence. Chance couldn’t help but laugh.

"Don’t look at me like that, dude. You smell like you rolled in the worst parts of the map. You’ll thank me later."

Spade clearly did not believe that. The moment Chance reached for the soap, Spade made his move—launching himself upward in a desperate attempt to flee. Chance, having expected this, caught him mid-air and gently but firmly placed him back into the warm water.

"Nope, not happening," they said, grabbing the soap and lathering up their hands. "Just sit still for like, five minutes, and I promise it’ll be over before you know it."

Spade, thoroughly defeated, let out another long, dramatic sigh but begrudgingly allowed Chance to scrub his fur. His ears twitched every time the water touched them, and his tail flicked in annoyance, but he didn’t put up nearly as much of a fight as before. Chance took their time, making sure to be as gentle as possible, massaging the soap into his fur until it formed soft bubbles.

"See? Not so bad, right?" Chance said, scratching behind Spade’s ear. The little creature let out a tiny, reluctant purr, and Chance grinned. "Knew you’d come around."

Once Spade was sufficiently scrubbed and rinsed, Chance wrapped him in a fluffy towel, rubbing him down until his fur was only slightly damp. Spade, exhausted from his struggle, lay limp in their arms, his little paws twitching occasionally as he let out soft, sleepy grumbles.

"Told you you’d feel better," Chance whispered, carrying him back into their room. They plopped down onto their bed, setting Spade beside them. The pet immediately curled up against their side, nuzzling into the warmth of their hoodie.

Chance yawned, feeling exhaustion settle into their bones. Today had been weird, from the strange dream to the chaos of the round to this impromptu bath session. But as they lay there, listening to Spade’s quiet breathing, they felt… content. Safe, even.

Chapter 114: up to the top!

Summary:

(THATS ALL I GOT FOR NOW YIPPPE! , time for the main squad HEHEHE)

Chance let out a tired sigh as they collapsed onto their bed, the warmth of the blankets wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. Spade had finally calmed down after his unwilling bath, curling up at the foot of the bed, his fur still slightly damp. The exhaustion of the day was settling in, and soon enough, Chance drifted off into slumber.

When their eyes opened again, they found themselves in the dreamscape, waking up in the familiar red bed. The world around them had shifted—it was different from the previous times they'd been here. The landscape stretched wide with towering rocky formations, layered with small platforms that seemed to ascend endlessly into the sky. It reminded Chance of some sort of mountainous trial course, one that invited climbers to test their skills.

Before they could make sense of their surroundings, a loud grumble echoed nearby. Turning their head, Chance saw Nashatra materializing in front of them, arms crossed and an irritated expression on her face.

"I HATE THOSE STUPID ARROW BUNNIES KNOCKING ME OFF!" she half-screamed, stomping her foot. Then, as if realizing Chance was there, she quickly composed herself, cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassment.

Chance blinked. "Hi. Uh… where the hell are we?"

Nashatra sighed, rubbing her temples. "Well, we're in a sort of platforming world? It's hard to explain."

Chance looked up towards the sky, eyeing the towering platforms and ledges stacked high above them. "What's at the top?" they asked.

Nashatra shrugged. "I don’t know. I keep getting knocked off too much to see it."

Chance studied the terrain before them. The platforms were made of a smooth, greyish stone, forming a complex path upward. Some were sturdy and wide, while others were narrow and floating in midair.

"Looks climbable," Chance muttered, flexing their fingers before reaching for the first ledge.

"Be careful," Nashatra called after them as she followed close behind.

Chance climbed carefully, using their agility to hop from one platform to the next. They paused to glance around, taking in the strange but intriguing atmosphere. "Is the mafia here too?" they asked over their shoulder.

Nashatra huffed. "Yup. They're at the top, and they tend to drop down on you when you least expect—"

Before she could finish her sentence, a sudden blur of movement interrupted her.

A squire leaped down from above, landing between them with practiced ease. Before Chance could react, the squire grabbed them, throwing them over his shoulder like a sack of loot.

"Hey! HEY!" Chance struggled, kicking their legs and trying to wiggle free, but the squire was fast—too fast. With a speed that made Chance's stomach lurch, the squire darted upwards, jumping across platforms effortlessly, carrying them toward the unknown heights.

"WHAT THE HELL?! PUT ME DOWN!" Chance shouted, twisting in their grasp.

"CHANCE!" Nashatra's voice rang out below as she scrambled to chase after them, fury in her tone.

The squire ignored the protests, their grip on Chance unyielding as they continued their ascent, dodging obstacles and expertly maneuvering through the treacherous terrain.

Chance thrashed again. "Where are you even taking me?!"

The squire didn't answer. Instead, they tightened their hold, leaped up to the next ledge, and kept climbing, determination in every movement.

Panic surged through Chance’s chest. Wherever they were going, they had a feeling it wasn’t anywhere good.

And Nashatra was getting further and further away.

They needed to think of something—and fast.

Chapter 115: Meeting two!

Summary:

(HHEHEHE! this is part of a hc names i saw on twitter of the mafioso's minions , the congiliere is Gunther aka britalian , and Mael the squire ! , HEHEHHE!)

Chance struggled against Mael’s grasp, their arms flailing as they attempted to pry themselves free from the squire’s surprisingly firm hold. They twisted, kicked, and squirmed, but Mael gritted his teeth and held tight, his grip unwavering despite the constant movement. The climb had been strenuous enough, but carrying a thrashing individual while ascending precarious stone platforms had only made it worse.

Nashatra’s warning still echoed in Chance’s mind: the mafia is at the top, and they drop down when you least expect it. That had been an understatement. Chance had barely registered what Nashatra had said before the squire had swooped down, effortlessly plucking them from the platform and leaving Nashatra behind.

Chance turned their head just in time to see Nashatra get hit square in the chest by one of the arrow bunnies’ projectiles. The force sent her flying backward, her startled yell turning into a string of curses as she spiraled down toward the endless void below.

“FUCK!” Chance shouted, their voice laced with panic. There goes my only hope of getting out of this mess.

The squire, seemingly unfazed by Nashatra’s misfortune, grumbled under his breath. “Ahhh, tu es lourd... j’ai des muscles, mais là...”

(You are heavy , i've got muscles but this..)

 

Chance blinked. “What? What the hell are you saying?”

Mael huffed but didn’t answer. Instead, he adjusted his white top hat, trying to maintain his balance as Chance continued to thrash in his arms. The climb was already difficult, but Chance's resistance was making it even more of a challenge.

“Put me down, you stupid French bastard!” Chance yelled, delivering a particularly strong kick to Mael’s ribs. The impact nearly made him lose his footing. His arms tightened around Chance in response, his grip shifting to ensure they didn’t slip away.

“Arrête de bouger! You’re going to make us both fall, crétin!” Mael snapped, finally switching to English as his patience wore thin.

(Stop moving!)

Chance responded by trying to bite his arm. Mael cursed, yanking his arm back just in time. “Merde, you are like a wild animal.”

The journey to the top continued with much resistance from Chance and much complaining from Mael. Despite all the setbacks, he finally made it, hauling them onto the summit of the mountain.

Chance took in their surroundings, their breath catching in their throat. The top of the mountain was nothing like they had expected. A large pool of molten lava bubbled and hissed, the heat radiating in waves that made the air shimmer. Small stone platforms dotted the landscape, acting as makeshift walkways around the searing pit below. The sky above was a deep red, almost unnatural in color, casting everything in an eerie glow.

Standing near the edge of the lava pool was another figure. This one was dressed differently from Mael, wearing a black cap and a pair of sleek headphones. Unlike Mael, whose uniform still held some sense of elegance despite its wear, this person looked more casual, yet there was an air of command about them.

As Mael approached with Chance still slung over his shoulder, the figure turned to face them. His expression was unimpressed but mildly amused.

“Hallo Mael, wie ich sehe, hast du sie endlich hierher gebracht.” The man’s voice was smooth, but his words were foreign to Chance’s ears.

(Hi Mael, I see you've finally brought them here)

 

Mael exhaled heavily, dropping down onto one of the nearby stone platforms and finally setting Chance on the ground—though his grip remained firm enough to prevent them from bolting. “Ouais ben pardon, mais ils sont lourd. C’est pas toi qui a dû le porter jusqu’en haut, Gunther.”

(Yeah, well, sorry, but they're heavy. It wasn't you who had to carry them all the way up, Gunther.=

 

Gunther, as the man was apparently named, smirked and rolled his eyes. “Ach, you complain too much. Maybe you should train more, get some real muscles instead of just wearing that fancy uniform.”

Mael shot him a glare. “Je te déteste.”

(I hate you.)

 

Chance groaned, rubbing their sore arms. “Okay, can someone tell me what the hell is going on? And why do you two sound like you’re plotting something in code?”

Gunther turned his attention to Chance, tilting his head slightly. “Oh, don’t worry. We were just exchanging pleasantries.”

Chance narrowed their eyes. “Yeah, sure. Totally believe that.”

Gunther chuckled, crossing his arms. “Well, now that you’re here, we can finally begin.”

Chance tensed. “Begin what?”

Mael sighed, clearly tired from the whole ordeal. “Our boss wanted to speak to you. And since you didn’t come willingly, we had to take some... alternative measures.”

Chance swallowed. The words ‘boss’ and ‘speak to you’ were never a good combination, especially when the mafia was involved.

Gunther gestured toward the center of the summit, where a tall, ominous figure now stood, waiting. The presence radiated authority, sending a shiver down Chance’s spine.

“Well,” Gunther said with a smirk. “I hope you’re ready for an interesting conversation.”

Chance clenched their fists. Shit.

Chapter 116: waiting.

Summary:

(YIPPEPPEE!!)

The minutes dragged on, stretching into what felt like an eternity. Chance sat on the cold, rocky ground, their legs sprawled out in front of them as they let out a long, exaggerated groan. “Ahhhhhh!! When can I go? This is boring.” Their voice echoed off the stone walls, cutting through the tense silence that had settled over the mountaintop.

Gunther and Mael, who had been engaged in their own quiet conversation, turned to glance at each other, exchanging a brief, wordless conversation through their eyes.

"Das ist es also, was den Chef am meisten interessiert?" Gunther muttered under his breath in German, his lips barely moving as he kept his gaze locked onto Chance.

(So that's what the boss is most interested in?)

 

Mael, the French-speaking squire, just shrugged, adjusting the grip on his sword as it rested precariously near Chance's throat. "Je sais pas... Je préfère pas juger les goûts du boss, il va pas être content.."

(I don't know... I'd rather not judge the boss's taste, he's not going to be happy...)

 

Gunther let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment but said nothing more. Chance, who had been watching them with a mixture of curiosity and impatience, decided to break the awkward silence. "Sooo... who the hell are you guys, anyway?" They tilted their head, eyes darting between the two men.

Gunther narrowed his eyes slightly, as if weighing whether or not Chance was even worth answering. Mael, however, spared a quick glance at Gunther, silently asking for his approval to answer. After a brief moment of hesitation, Gunther sighed and gave a small nod.

"My name is Gunther, and this is Mael. We are the best men among Mafioso's minions," Gunther stated in a clipped, matter-of-fact tone.

Chance raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Best men? And yet you two are out here babysitting me instead of doing something cool? Sounds kinda lame."

Mael's grip on his sword tightened slightly, but he held his tongue. Gunther, however, merely crossed his arms, clearly unfazed by the remark. "Orders are orders. We don't question the boss."

Chance, clearly amused, suddenly jumped to their feet. Instinctively, both Gunther and Mael drew their weapons in a flash, their movements sharp and precise. Chance, unfazed, simply raised their hands in mock surrender. "Chillax, chillax, I'm not trying to run."

Gunther and Mael exchanged wary glances before lowering their weapons slightly, though they remained on edge. Chance extended a hand toward them, a wide grin spreading across their face. "The name's Chance. Nice to meet ya!"

Mael hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching out and shaking Chance's hand. It was a brief shake, lasting only a second before Gunther shot him a sharp glare, causing Mael to quickly pull his hand back, an awkward smile playing at his lips.

Chance chuckled. "Wow, tough crowd. You guys really need to lighten up."

Mael muttered something under his breath in French, rubbing the back of his head. Gunther, however, simply exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed. "We have no reason to entertain pleasantries with a prisoner."

Chance rolled their eyes dramatically before plopping back down onto the ground. "Pffft, whatever. If you guys are the best men, then I gotta say, your boss has pretty low standards. No offense."

Mael let out a quiet snort, quickly covering it up with a cough when Gunther shot him a sharp glance. Chance smirked, clearly enjoying the way they were getting under Gunther's skin. "Oh come on, lighten up, Gunther. We're just three people sitting around waiting for some late dude. We might as well pass the time with a little conversation."

Gunther's jaw clenched slightly, but he said nothing. Mael, however, seemed to be warming up to Chance's antics. "Bon... c'est vrai qu'on attend depuis un bon moment..." he murmured, crossing his arms.

(Well it's true that we've been waiting a good bit.)

 

Chance perked up. "Exactly! So, tell me something interesting. You guys gotta have cool stories, right? If you're really Mafioso's best men, then you must have been on some wild missions."

Gunther exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "We are not here to entertain you."

Gunther pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're oversharing."

Chance laughed. "Damn, that's actually cool! See, now we're bonding. Isn't this way better than awkward silence?"

Gunther let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "You are insufferable."

Chance grinned. "And yet, here we are. Stuck together. Ain't life funny?"

Before Gunther could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed from the distance. The three of them snapped to attention, looking toward the source of the noise.

Mafioso was finally arriving.

 

Chapter 117: Questions are better than answers.

Summary:

(IME FOR UR DAILY FEEDING! <3)

As Chance, Gunther, and Mael looked ahead, they saw Mafioso and Eunoia approaching from the edge. Mafioso stood protectively next to Eunoia, guarding her, while she wore a faint smile. A small, hot breeze passed through the area, ruffling their clothes slightly as the tension in the air grew thicker. The two figures finally stopped in front of them, standing tall and composed.

Mael and Gunther immediately bowed in respect, their movements precise and synchronized, a testament to their loyalty. Meanwhile, Chance awkwardly looked away, feeling the unmistakable weight of Mafioso’s intense gaze boring into them. The heat from the lava pool nearby wasn’t nearly as suffocating as the sheer presence of the mafia leader standing before them.

Eunoia then coughed softly, breaking the silence and drawing everyone’s attention. Her voice was gentle but firm as she spoke, addressing Chance directly. “Chance…”

She glanced around, her gaze scanning the area as if she were expecting someone else to be there. Her lips twitched slightly, and for the briefest moment, a flicker of sadness passed through her expression. “Where’s Nashatra?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of concern.

Chance scratched the back of their head, shifting on their feet before answering, “Oh… I think she got knocked by one of the arrows.” Their tone was casual, but there was an underlying guilt in their voice.

Before Eunoia could respond, a voice, breathless and exhausted, called out from the edge of the platform. “CHANCE!!”

Everyone turned sharply toward the source of the voice. Nashatra was finally at the top, panting heavily, her face flushed from the effort. She looked ahead, her gaze quickly taking in the number of people gathered there.

Oh shit… Mafioso… and Eunoia, she thought, her stomach twisting slightly at the sight of them standing together. But she quickly shook the thoughts away, snapping her focus back to the situation at hand.

She hurried over to Chance’s side, her movements tense and wary. Her eyes flickered toward the two men standing before them—Gunther and Mael—who were still holding their weapons. She felt her hands clench into fists, preparing herself for whatever came next.

Then, without hesitation, she turned her full attention to Mafioso, her tone sharp and demanding. “Why are you guys after them? They aren’t in debt.”

The accusation hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Nashatra’s stance was defensive, protective even, as if she were ready to fight for Chance if necessary. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to back down.

Mafioso remained silent, his expression unreadable. His piercing gaze remained locked onto Nashatra, his calculating mind weighing the situation. Then, just as Nashatra was about to press him further, Eunoia’s gaze softened, and a look of almost guilt crossed her face.

The silence stretched on, heavy and charged, as if the answer to Nashatra’s question was far more complicated than anyone wanted to admit…

Chapter 118: Angel gun

Summary:

(i am very creative with guns names anyways ,angst time!)

Before anyone could react , Mael and gunther immediatly went to nashatra and restrained her , holding a glowing gun against her forehead.

 

Chance's heart pounded in their chest as the tension in the air thickened, suffocating and inescapable. Nashatra struggled against the iron grip of Mael and Gunther, but it was useless—their hold on her was unyielding. Gunther’s hand remained steady, his fingers curled tightly around the glowing gun aimed directly at Nashatra’s head. The eerie glow of the weapon cast ominous reflections on her face, illuminating the beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

"Let me go, you bastards!" Nashatra snarled, her voice raw with anger and panic. She thrashed, trying to break free, but Gunther and Mael only tightened their hold, their expressions unreadable. Her usually sharp, confident gaze flickered with uncertainty as she turned to Chance, her breath hitching.

Chance lunged forward, desperate to pull Nashatra away, but before they could even take a step, a firm hand clamped down on their shoulder. A wave of cold dread washed over them as they looked up to meet the piercing, predatory eyes of Mafioso. His grip was firm, unrelenting, as if he were grasping something fragile that he could shatter with minimal effort.

Chance’s teeth clenched. "What the hell is going on?!" They turned to Eunoia, their voice cracking slightly from the sheer desperation clawing at their throat. "Tell me, Eunoia. What the hell is this?!"

Eunoia stood silent for a moment, her hands clasped together tightly in front of her, her gaze shifting from Nashatra to Mafioso, then back to Chance. There was something unreadable in her expression—guilt, hesitation, something deeper.

Nashatra, still struggling, locked eyes with Eunoia, her voice dripping with raw betrayal. "You... you knew about this, didn’t you? You let them plan this. You let them—"

"Shut up," Mafioso’s voice cut through the moment like a blade, sharp and unwavering. He stepped closer to Nashatra, towering over her, his presence suffocating. Gunther adjusted his grip, ensuring Nashatra couldn’t even flinch without his permission.

Mafioso's smirk was cold as he reached out, his fingers brushing under Nashatra’s chin before gripping it, forcing her to look directly at the weapon trained on her skull. "Don’t bother fighting," he murmured, his voice laced with something dark, something deadly. "If you do, we’ll pull the trigger."

Nashatra scoffed, her voice defiant despite the fear creeping into her eyes. "So what? I’ll just respawn, you idiot. Killing me here won’t do a damn thing!"

Mafioso chuckled, and the sound was devoid of warmth—it was low, calculated, filled with something far more sinister than mere amusement. It wasn’t just a laugh; it was a promise of something far worse. The hairs on Chance’s arms stood on end, and even Gunther and Mael exchanged uneasy glances, their usual confidence faltering for just a second.

"Oh, you think so?" Mafioso whispered, stepping behind Nashatra and wrapping an arm around her shoulders in what could have been mistaken for a friendly gesture if not for the sheer menace dripping from his touch. His other hand trailed lazily to the glowing gun, his fingers brushing the barrel. "You see this beauty?" He tilted Nashatra’s head slightly so she was forced to stare at the weapon inches from her face. "It’s an Angel Gun. One of a kind. It only has one shot. But do you know what makes it special?"

He leaned in, his lips dangerously close to Nashatra’s ear. "Once you’re shot with it, there is no coming back. No respawning. Not in this world. Not in the real world. You die. Forever."

A tense silence fell over them like a thick, suffocating fog. Nashatra’s breathing grew unsteady, her eyes widening slightly despite herself. It was subtle, but Chance saw it—the flicker of real, undeniable fear. This wasn’t something she could fight her way out of. This wasn’t something she could shrug off.

Chance’s hands curled into fists at their sides, nails digging into their palms so hard it almost hurt. Their pulse roared in their ears. "You’re bluffing," they spat, though their voice lacked the certainty they wished it had.

Mafioso smiled, slow and knowing, and it made Chance’s stomach churn. "Am I?" he mused, his tone almost playful. "You want to bet Nashatra’s life on that, Chance?"

Chance’s breath hitched. The weight of those words crushed them. Their mind raced, searching for some kind of plan, some kind of way out of this, but every possibility led back to that damned gun.

Nashatra swallowed hard, her bravado slipping just slightly. Her voice came out quieter than before, but still laced with venom. "You wouldn’t dare. Eunoia wouldn’t let you."

Mafioso hummed, feigning deep thought. "Eunoia?" He glanced over at her, and for a brief second, something passed between them. Something unspoken. Eunoia’s fists clenched, but she remained silent. She didn’t move. She didn’t intervene. And that silence alone sent another jolt of fear through Nashatra’s chest.

"You’re out of options, Nashatra," Mafioso murmured, his fingers tightening on her jaw. "You can either cooperate, or... well, I’m sure you can figure out the alternative."

Chance’s heart pounded so hard they thought it might burst. Their eyes darted to Nashatra, to Eunoia, to that damned gun, searching for something—anything—that could change the course of this nightmare. But all they found was that suffocating silence. That goddamn silence.

 

Chapter 119: Saved for now

Summary:

(YIPPPEE! , SPOILER! beforey ou ask where she got the gun its form a dead mafia men lol)

Chance's hands shook as they gripped their gun, heart pounding so loud they swore even Gunther and Mael could hear it. Nashatra was still trapped, her body tense, eyes darting between them and the barrel of the angel gun pressed to her head. Mafioso’s grin widened, his fingers lightly tapping against the hilt of his ornate dagger, savoring the moment of absolute power. This was it—after months of chasing, of near-misses and daring escapes, Nashatra was finally cornered, finally caught.

Chance clenched their teeth, gripping their gun so tight their knuckles turned white. The plan forming in their mind was reckless, absurd, but it was the only way. If they could just shoot Nashatra first—if they could hit her before Mafioso’s trigger was pulled—she would respawn at the bottom of the mountain, where the small penthouse was. Safe. Out of their reach.

But there was a problem.

The angel gun.

If Mafioso didn’t get to kill Nashatra, then Chance was sure the barrel would turn on them next. Would they be able to get out in time? Could they dodge a bullet meant to erase them from existence permanently?

It didn’t matter. They weren’t about to let Nashatra die—not like this.

Their gaze met Nashatra’s, and to their surprise, she was shaking her head—subtle but desperate, eyes pleading. Don’t, she seemed to say. Don’t risk yourself for me.

Too bad.

Chance exhaled sharply, giving her a small, knowing smile. Then, in a blur of motion, they ripped their gun from its holster.

Time slowed.

Mafioso’s eyes widened, amusement twisting into surprise. Gunther and Mael reacted just a second too late, hands twitching toward their weapons. Nashatra let out a strangled gasp, realization hitting her as she saw the gun aimed right at her.

A single shot rang out.

The bullet struck Nashatra dead center. Her body glitched, warping and distorting as if the very fabric of the dream world rejected her presence. Sparks of glitching code flickered around her frame, her mouth opened in shock—then, in the blink of an eye, she was gone.

Silence fell over the mountaintop.

Chance barely had time to lower their gun before the weight of what they’d done crashed down on them. Nashatra was safe. She had respawned far below, out of Mafioso’s reach. But now—

“You little—!” Mafioso’s voice came out as a growl, his expression twisting with rage as his fingers curled tighter around his dagger.

Gunther and Mael recovered from their shock first, both of them moving in unison. Gunther swung his sword toward Chance, finger twitching on the handle. Mael reached for them, moving to grab their wrist, probably to pin them down before they could fire another shot.

Chance barely managed to duck, heart slamming against their ribs as they twisted away, dodging Mael’s grasp by inches. Gunther swinged—a sharp, swing—but Chance threw themselves to the ground, rolling just in time to dodge the swing.

Shit. This was bad.

Mafioso didn’t look furious anymore. He looked amused again, which was somehow worse.

“Well, well,” Mafioso purred, tilting his head. “That was quite the stunt. I must admit, I didn’t expect you to be so bold.” His grip on the angel gun tightened. “But you do realize what this means, don’t you?”

Chance didn’t respond. They were already scrambling to their feet, scanning the area for a way out. But they were on top of a mountain, surrounded by lava pools and scattered stone platforms. There was nowhere to run.

Mafioso sighed, shaking his head. “A shame. I was going to let you live.”

Then, without hesitation, he aimed the angel gun right at Chance’s chest.

Chance’s breath caught. There was no dodging this. Not at this range.

The moment stretched, impossibly long. They could see Gunther smirking out of the corner of their eye, Mael straightening up, adjusting his top hat as if this was already decided. Mafioso’s finger curled around the trigger—

And then, out of nowhere—

A gunshot. But not from Mafioso.

From above.

The bullet struck the ground right at Mafioso’s feet, sending bits of rock and molten debris scattering. He stumbled back, just enough for Chance to snap back into action, throwing themselves to the side.

A voice rang out from the ledge of the mountain. “I suggest you put that gun down, Mafioso.”

Chance’s heart leapt. That voice—

Nashatra.

She was standing at the edge of the cliff, breathing hard, her own gun still raised and smoking from the shot. She must’ve climbed all the way back up, against all odds, just in time.

Mafioso’s expression darkened. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Nashatra grinned, but there was fire behind her eyes. “You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”

Gunther cursed under his breath. Mael’s smile twitched, his fingers flexing. For the first time, the balance of power shifted.

Chance took the opportunity. They dove forward, aiming their gun at the nearest lava pool, and fired. The heatwave created a sudden explosion of steam, shrouding the area in thick mist.

“Run!” Nashatra shouted.

Chance didn’t need to be told twice. They bolted, feet barely finding solid ground as they sprinted through the mist, hoping Nashatra was right behind them.

Mafioso’s enraged shout echoed behind them, followed by the sound of more gunfire—but they didn’t stop.

They couldn’t.

They had bought themselves another chance.

But this wasn’t over.

Chapter 120: Comfort.

Summary:

(YIPPPEPE!)

The entire mountain trembled violently, the roar of the erupting lava deafening against the darkened sky. The moment Chance's bullet had struck the lava, the delicate balance of the peak had shattered, and now molten rock poured down the jagged terrain like an apocalyptic flood. The heat was unbearable, waves of scorching air distorting the world around them as cracks spread across the stone platforms beneath their feet.

"MOVE!" Nashatra yelled, grabbing Chance's wrist and pulling them forward. There was no time to think—only to run. The platforms leading down the mountain were collapsing one by one, devoured by the river of lava that surged from the peak. Each step was a gamble, each leap a desperate attempt to stay ahead of the destruction.

Chance barely had time to process what had just happened. The tension of the past hour still gripped their chest, and now they were sprinting for their lives. Behind them, the shouts of Mael, Gunther, and Mafioso were swallowed by the molten chaos, their silhouettes barely visible through the blazing heatwaves. Whether they had a way out or not, Chance didn’t know—nor did they care. The only thing that mattered was getting out of this hell alive.

"This way!" Nashatra shouted, spotting a narrow ledge that curved around the base of the mountain. It was risky, but the only other path was already gone, melted into a glowing lake of death. She tightened her grip on her crowbar, readying herself as she yanked Chance with her. "We have to make this jump!"

Chance’s heart pounded in their ears as they braced themselves. The ledge was crumbling, bits of rock slipping into the lava below. But hesitation meant death. Swallowing their fear, they took the leap, Nashatra right beside them. For a second, time seemed to stretch—then, with a rough landing, they made it to the other side, barely avoiding a deadly slip into the abyss.

The penthouse was still far below, its lights barely visible through the thick, rising smoke. Nashatra gritted her teeth. There was no way they could keep going down the normal way. At this rate, the whole mountain would be gone before they even got halfway.

Chance’s mind raced for solutions. Then, suddenly, an idea. "Nashatra! Can you teleport us?"

She hesitated for only a second. "I can try, but I need a clear space to land, and I need to focus!"

Chance immediately nodded. They turned back towards the mountain peak. The lava had nearly reached them now. There was no time left.

"Do it!" Chance shouted. "Now!"

Nashatra took a deep breath, tightening her hold on Chance’s wrist. In a split second, she gripped her crowbar, channeled her focus, and—

A crackle of energy erupted around them, a blinding flash consuming their vision as they vanished from the collapsing mountainside.

The next thing Chance knew, they were falling—just for a moment—before they both crashed onto the floor of the penthouse with a hard thud. The air was filled with the smell of smoke and ash. The sound of distant explosions echoed outside, but they were alive. They had made it.

The moment they landed, Nashatra slumped onto the floor, gasping for breath, her crowbar clattering beside her. Her body trembled, her adrenaline fading, leaving exhaustion in its place.

"Are you okay?!" Chance scrambled over to her, checking for injuries. Nashatra just gave a weak nod, her face pale, sweat dripping from her forehead.

"That... was too close," she whispered, still panting. "I think... I overdid it."

Chance could feel their own heart hammering against their ribs. They had survived, but barely. And outside, the world was still burning. They stumbled to their feet, peering out the window.

The lava had poured over almost everything. The entire mountainside was covered in a sea of molten rock, the only safe place left untouched was the penthouse—by sheer luck, or something else. The bright orange glow illuminated the night sky, casting eerie shadows through the glass windows. They were trapped for now, but at least they were alive.

A heavy silence hung between them, the reality of the situation finally settling in. Nashatra sat up slowly, wrapping her arms around herself, staring blankly at the floor. Chance knew that look. Something was wrong—something beyond just the immediate danger.

They hesitated for only a moment before moving closer, wrapping their arms around Nashatra in a tight hug. "Hey… we made it. We’re okay."

For a second, she didn’t respond. Then, slowly, she leaned into the embrace, burying her face against Chance’s shoulder. A small, barely audible sob escaped her.

"I saw her again," Nashatra murmured, her voice trembling. "Eunoia… she looked at me like...i don't know.."

Chance clenched their jaw, holding her closer. "I know. I saw it too."

A bitter silence followed. Nashatra’s hands curled into fists against Chance’s back. "I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that she’s still went with Mafioso's plan… or the fact that part of me still wants to believe she can change."

Chance didn’t have an answer. They wished they did. But they had seen the same look on Eunoia’s face—regret, hesitation, something fragile beneath the surface. Maybe Nashatra wasn’t wrong to still hope. But hope was dangerous.

"We’ll figure it out," Chance finally said. "Together."

Nashatra let out a shaky breath, nodding slightly. They stayed like that for a long time, just holding onto each other in the dim glow of the burning world outside.

Chapter 121: Crossing paths.

Summary:

(time for your daily feeding , ENJOY THE FOOD)

Chance sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Nashatra’s form flickered before finally vanishing. They sighed, running a hand through their hair, exhaustion creeping into their bones. Everything that had happened still felt unreal. The encounter with Mafioso, the angel gun, the lava swallowing the mountain—too much, too fast. But at least Nashatra was safe, for now.

They let themselves relax, sinking back onto the bed. Maybe it was time to wake up, to escape this nightmarish world and clear their head. But just as they closed their eyes, a sharp, deliberate knock echoed from the window.

Chance’s eyes snapped open.

Slowly, cautiously, they turned their head toward the glass. Their heart sank as they saw him—Mafioso. He stood just outside the penthouse window, his expression unreadable, his presence sending an immediate chill through the air.

Chance immediately sat up, reaching for their gun and pointing it directly at him. “How the hell are you alive?” they demanded, voice sharp with disbelief.

Mafioso’s piercing stare never wavered as he sneered. “Dream entities… don’t die, you fool.” His voice was low, filled with barely contained rage. He slammed his fist against the glass, but something held him back, something invisible but powerful. The penthouse was protecting Chance, preventing Mafioso from stepping inside.

Chance blinked at the invisible barrier, before smirking. “Ohhh, I get it. You can’t get in, can you?” They tilted their head mockingly, holstering their gun. “Aww, is the lil’ bunny angy?”

Mafioso’s expression darkened. In a blur of motion, he slammed his fist into the glass again—this time, it shattered.

Chance barely had time to react as shards of glass rained onto the floor. But something strange happened. The protective aura remained, stopping Mafioso from fully entering. Instead, his arm hovered just beyond the broken glass, the jagged edges digging into his skin, slicing through his flesh. Blood ran down his arm, dripping onto the penthouse floor.

Chance pressed themselves against the far wall, heart pounding. “HEY MAN, what the hell are you doing? Aren’t you in pain or something?!”

Mafioso chuckled, dark and menacing. “I don’t feel pain.” His voice was eerily calm, sending a shiver down Chance’s spine. His sharp claws flexed, testing the boundary between them. “Can you say the same?”

Chance rolled their eyes, trying to ignore the very real threat standing just feet away. “Yeah, yeah. Let me guess—you don’t feel pain, your heart is cold and black, and your soul is as dead as your personality?” They scoffed. “Real original, Edgelord.”

Mafioso narrowed his eyes but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he watched them, calculating.

Chance hesitated, glancing at the glass embedded in Mafioso’s arm. The shards stuck out at odd angles, deep and bloody, but he hadn’t even flinched. That was… unsettling.

Then, out of nowhere, they stepped forward. Carefully, they reached toward Mafioso’s wounded arm and gently plucked one of the glass shards free.

Mafioso’s eyes flicked down to their hand, then back up. “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, almost curious.

Chance shrugged, plucking another shard free. “Well, you’re standing there looking like a damn pincushion. Figured I’d help.”

Mafioso’s grip tightened on the window frame. “You think that’s wise?”

“Nope,” Chance replied, popping the ‘p’ as they continued removing the shards. “But I’m already stuck in this hellscape, so might as well do something useful.”

Mafioso studied them, an amused glint in his otherwise cold eyes. “You’re either incredibly foolish or fearless.”

Chance snorted. “Bit of both, honestly.”

A long silence stretched between them. Chance focused on carefully removing the remaining shards, their fingers slick with his blood. Mafioso just watched them, an unreadable expression settling over his face.

Finally, Chance stepped back, wiping their hands on their pants. “There. All done. Not that you seem to care, but still.”

Mafioso flexed his fingers, watching the small wounds seal themselves as if they had never been there. “You’re an enigma,” he muttered.

Chance grinned. “And you’re an asshole, so I guess we’re even.”

Mafioso didn’t laugh. Instead, he moved suddenly, reaching through the broken window and grabbing Chance’s wrist in a vice-like grip.

Chance froze, every muscle in their body tensing.

“I could kill you right now,” Mafioso murmured, his voice low and deliberate. “I could drag you to the other side and make you pay for what you did.” His fingers tightened around their wrist, just enough to remind them of his strength.

Chance swallowed hard. Their instincts screamed at them to fight, to pull away, but something in Mafioso’s eyes made them hesitate.

They took a slow, steady breath. “You could,” they admitted, voice softer than before. “But you won’t.”

Mafioso’s grip didn’t loosen. “And why’s that?”

Chance met his gaze without flinching. “Because if you wanted me dead, you wouldn’t be standing here talking to me. You’d have killed me the second you broke that glass.”

Mafioso stared at them, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched, heavy with tension. Then, finally, his grip loosened.

Chance pulled their wrist free, rubbing it absentmindedly. “See? You’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.”

Mafioso exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Chance smirked. “Maybe. But I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

Mafioso said nothing. He stepped back, fading into the darkness outside the penthouse, his piercing eyes lingering on them for a moment longer before he finally disappeared.

Chance let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. They sank onto the bed, heart still hammering in their chest.

What the hell had just happened?

 

Chapter 122: Your shadow

Summary:

(HEHEHHE YIPPE! , i hc that mafioso can just disseaper like a shadow bc why not.)

The wind howled across the ruined landscape, its eerie whisper the only sound in the silence that had followed the chaos. Chance stood at the penthouse window, the protective aura still crackling faintly against the shattered glass where Mafioso had tried to force his way in. Beyond the safety of the barrier, the crime lord stood at the edge of the platform, his dark cape billowing behind him like a storm about to break.

Chance narrowed their eyes, studying the figure standing there, unmoving. There was something oddly unsettling about him now, something beyond the usual air of menace he carried. They glanced down at the lava still pooling from the mountainside, slow-moving but inevitable, creeping towards the lower levels of the ruined dreamscape. It would eventually swallow everything in its path.

Chance sighed, leaning against the window frame. "Is Eunoia okay? She doesn't seem to be here with you."

Mafioso didn't move for a moment. Then, with a slow, deliberate turn of his head, he fixed them with a cold stare. "What Lady Eunoia is up to is none of your business, gambler."

Chance rolled their eyes. "Chance."

The response was immediate. Mafioso’s brow twitched slightly under the shadow of his fedora. "Excuse me?"

"Chance," they repeated, folding their arms. "That's my name."

Mafioso studied them in silence. He tilted his head just slightly, as if the name was something distasteful rolling around in his mind. "I only call those I respect by their name. You, do not have my respect."

Chance snorted. "Ouch. Tough crowd. Can't you relax for once? Do you sleep with one eye open or something?" They smirked. "Wait, actually, I bet you do. Just in case someone tries to steal that stick up your ass."

A twitch. Barely noticeable, but Chance caught it. A flicker of irritation in the tight way Mafioso’s jaw clenched, the way his fingers flexed at his sides. 'What an annoying pest,' he thought, his fingers curling into a fist. 'Why haven’t I killed them yet?'

Chance let the silence stretch for a moment before shifting their gaze to the landscape outside. The lava was creeping closer, licking hungrily at the edges of the debris-strewn battlefield. Soon, this place would be completely consumed. "How are you going to get out of here?" Chance asked, glancing back at him.

Mafioso didn't answer. Instead, he took one slow step backward, his form already beginning to darken, his outline becoming less solid. The shadows swallowed him like ink dissolving into water. He was vanishing, retreating into whatever dark places creatures like him lurked when they weren’t terrorizing the dream world.

Chance watched as the last traces of him disappeared, leaving only the sound of the wind in his place. They exhaled, shaking their head. "Guess I'll take that as an answer."

They stretched, rubbing the back of their neck before stepping away from the window. Another close call, but they had made it through. Another victory, if only a small one.

Crossing the room, they collapsed onto the bed with a huff. The events of the night weighed heavily on them, pressing into their limbs like exhaustion seeping into their bones. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving only the dull ache of tension in its place.

Time to wake up.

Chance closed their eyes, letting the dream world dissolve around them, ready to return to the waking world once more.

 

Chapter 123: Dagger's cultist

Summary:

(YIPPPPPEE TWO TIME !)

Chance stirred awake, the familiar feeling of reality seeping back into their consciousness. Their head felt heavy, the remnants of the dream world lingering for a few seconds before fully dissipating. They blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim lighting of their bedroom, before shifting slightly and feeling a warm, fluffy presence pressed against them.

Spade was curled up beside them, their small form rising and falling with each slow breath. The bunny looked even fluffier than usual, no doubt a result of the bath from the previous day. Chance reached out with a gentle hand, running their fingers through Spade’s fur, murmuring a soft "Good morning, buddy."

Spade twitched an ear but didn’t stir much, content in their cozy spot. Chance smiled, enjoying the moment of peace before sighing and rolling out of bed. The memory of last time—teleporting into the dream world in just their boxers—was still fresh in their mind, so they made sure to properly dress themselves this time. They pulled on a clean shirt, adjusted their pants, and even double-checked their socks before standing in front of the mirror to make sure everything was in place. Satisfied, they turned back toward the bed, leaning down to press a small kiss to Spade’s tiny head.

"I'll be back soon," they whispered, before heading out of their room.

As they descended the stairs, voices from the kitchen reached their ears. They immediately recognized Elliot’s voice, steady and reassuring, guiding someone through what seemed to be an exercise.

"Yeah, just like that, Two Time. You’re doing good. Remember to breathe, yeah? These exercises are meant to help you calm down."

Chance stepped into the kitchen, catching sight of the scene before them. Elliot was standing beside Two Time, who was visibly tense, gripping a dagger tightly. Their posture was rigid, and their eyes flickered with uncertainty as Elliot gently guided their hand, helping them adjust their stance. The dagger’s edge gleamed under the kitchen lights.

Chance barely had a second to react before Two Time, startled by the sound of their entrance, instinctively threw the dagger in their direction. The blade whizzed past Chance’s head, embedding itself into the wooden cabinet behind them with a solid thunk.

Chance let out a sharp yelp, jumping back. "Holy—!"

Elliot, however, merely sighed, shaking his head. "We have a long way to go."

Two Time looked horrified, their face paling as they whispered, "Sorry... I didn’t mean to..."

Chance, recovering from the near-death experience, smirked and waved a dismissive hand. "Ahh, don’t worry about it! Hey, at least you’ll be a quick wielder!"

Two Time gave a hesitant, awkward smile in return, their grip loosening slightly on the handle of their second dagger.

Elliot crossed his arms and explained, "Guest 1337 had an idea yesterday. They wanted to teach Two Time how to defend themselves during a round since, well… they don’t really have any abilities to rely on. So, we figured weapon training would be the next best thing."

Chance nodded, glancing at Two Time’s weapon. It was a strange-looking dagger, its blade bent at odd angles, forming two sharp tips at the end. It had an eerie, almost ritualistic design, the kind of weapon cultists would wield in horror movies. Just staring at it sent an uneasy chill down their spine.

"Yeahhh… well, at least that’s good," Chance muttered, still eyeing the dagger with suspicion.

Two Time noticed their gaze and quickly lowered the weapon. "I… found it in my room. It's my favourite, and it feels right to use it."

Chance rubbed the back of their neck. "Right. Well, uh… let’s just hope you get better at aiming before you take someone’s eye out. Preferably mine."

Elliot chuckled, patting Two Time on the back reassuringly. "Don’t worry, we’ll make sure they get the hang of it."

Chance exhaled, glancing around the kitchen before making their way to the fridge. "Well, if we’re all training and dodging knives today, I’m at least making myself some breakfast first."

Two Time still looked guilty, but there was something else in their expression—a determination that wasn’t there before. They gripped the hilt of their dagger tighter, nodding slowly.

"I’ll get better. I have to."

Chance glanced at them, a smirk tugging at their lips. "Yeah, you better. Because next time, I’m dodging it right back at you."

Two Time’s eyes widened, and Elliot laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, let’s focus on actually training first before we start throwing things back and forth."

 

 

Chapter 124: Pizza!

Summary:

(YIPPPPEPEE!)

Chance sighed in contentment as they finished their breakfast, pushing the plate away before stretching with a yawn. Their hair, freshly brushed, was still slightly damp from their earlier shower. The peaceful moment, however, was quickly interrupted when Builderman walked into the room, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. Without warning, he ruffled Chance's hair with a chuckle.

"Daddd! I just brushed that!" Chance whined, swatting at his hand but with no real anger behind it.

Builderman only chuckled more, shaking his head. "Ehhh, you're used to it at this point, son."

Chance huffed, smoothing their hair back down while shooting him a half-hearted glare. Just as they were about to retort, a strange sensation suddenly wrapped around them, making their stomach twist. The familiar feeling of being dragged into a round overtook them, and before they knew it, their surroundings blurred and changed.

A loud, energetic, and childish voice rang out through the map. "READY OR NOT! HERE I COME!"

Chance groaned internally. Coolkidd.

As their vision cleared, they found themselves in an area that looked like an oversized playroom. The walls were painted with bright primary colors, and a giant ball pit stretched across one side of the room. There were various structures—plastic slides, jungle gyms, and foam pits scattered throughout. It looked like a chaotic child's dream.

Chance's mind immediately went to work, forming a plan. This was the perfect opportunity for revenge against Elliot after what he had done to humiliate them in the last round. Grinning to themselves, Chance maneuvered through the playroom, weaving between structures until they spotted exactly what they were looking for—Coolkidd chasing after Dusekkar.

Dusekkar's eyes locked onto Chance, and his face twisted into an expression of pure desperation. His silent plea was evident: "HELP ME, PLEASE."

Chance's smirk widened as an idea struck them. Without hesitation, they called out, "Hey, Coolkidd! Come here!"

Coolkidd skidded to a stop, nearly tripping over his own feet in his excitement. "YEAH??" he chirped, bouncing toward Chance with wide, eager eyes.

Chance leaned in slightly, speaking in a hushed, conspiratorial whisper. "You see Elliot over there? Yeah, him. He has the pizza you like—the one with extra cheese."

Coolkidd's eyes practically sparkled with excitement. "NO WAY! REALLY?!"

Chance nodded solemnly, barely holding back their laughter. "Yep. If I were you, I’d chase him down before he eats it all himself."

Coolkidd gasped dramatically before spinning on his heel. "ELLIOT!! YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME!" he shrieked before taking off in a blur of energy.

Chance barely had time to dodge out of the way before Coolkidd barreled past them, making a beeline for Elliot, who had been minding his own business on the other side of the playroom. Elliot barely had a chance to react before Coolkidd tackled him with surprising force, sending them both tumbling into the ball pit.

A loud, exaggerated wail erupted from Elliot as he flailed helplessly, balls flying in every direction. "WHY ME?!!"

Chance burst out laughing, clutching their stomach as they watched the chaotic scene unfold. Dusekkar, now free from Coolkidd’s relentless pursuit, took the opportunity to scramble onto one of the jungle gyms, panting heavily.

"You are truly evil," Dusekkar muttered, peering down at Chance with narrowed eyes.

Chance simply grinned. "What can I say? I have a talent."

Elliot finally managed to crawl out of the ball pit, his hair disheveled, his visor slightly askew, and an exasperated expression on his face. "Chance! I’m going to get you for this!"

Chance smirked, already backing away. "Aww, what’s wrong? Not having fun? I thought you loved training! Consider this... reaction time practice."

Elliot groaned dramatically, brushing himself off before pointing an accusing finger at them. "Oh, you’re so dead next round."

"We’ll see about that!" Chance called over their shoulder before making a run for it, laughing the entire time.

As they dashed away, they could still hear Coolkidd energetically yelling something about getting his pizza, while Elliot desperately tried to run away from coolkidd

Dusekkar, shaking his head, muttered, "Idiots. The lot of you."

 

Chapter 125: Red and blue!

Summary:

(i just spent 5 hours on 5 more chapters MY HANDSSSSSSFJUQBFJQVUFJCQJFQCQSJUCVIQ, H OPE YOU ENJOY THE FOOD , ima take a break after writing that much omg , my fingers cracked after i was done..)

As Chance finished repairing the generator, the familiar hum of the machine filled the air. The countdown was ticking away, signaling the round’s nearing end. Across the room, Coolkidd was darting around with boundless energy, a massive slice of pizza sticking out of his mouth as he excitedly bounced around the space. His red hoodie flapped slightly as he moved, and his expression was filled with glee.

Bluudud, on the other hand, stood stiffly in place, arms crossed, looking utterly unimpressed. His glitchy voice rang out with irritation, “I’m too cool to play childish games like this.” His body flickered slightly, a side effect of his corrupted form, but his glare at Coolkidd was unwavering.

Coolkidd didn’t seem to care about Bluudud’s disinterest, continuing to hop around, seemingly in his own world. He laughed as he nibbled on his pizza, red eyes gleaming with excitement.

Chance leaned against a broken piece of furniture and smirked, watching the ongoing situation. They had long since gotten used to the rivalry between Coolkidd and Bluudud—no matter the scenario, those two always found a way to get under each other’s skin.

Bluudud let out an annoyed sigh before turning his sharp gaze towards Chance. “Hey, Gambler! How about you try to help me instead of standing there doing nothing?” His voice carried that usual grating edge, impatient and demanding.

Chance raised an eyebrow and crossed their arms. “Help you with what? Dealing with your deep-seated hatred for fun?” they quipped, their lips curling into a smirk.

Bluudud scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Ugh. You don’t get it. That red brat is so annoying. Look at him!” He gestured aggressively at Coolkidd, who was now spinning in circles for no apparent reason.

Chance hummed in amusement before an idea struck them. “How about you guys settle this with a game of tag?” They suggested nonchalantly, hiding their grin as they baited Bluudud.

Bluudud immediately wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Ew, tag? That’s a game for babies! Do I look like I play little kid games?” He glared at Chance as if they had suggested something utterly beneath him.

Chance knew exactly how to push the right buttons. They tilted their head and feigned disappointment. “Oh really? What, are you scared? Scared Coolkidd is going to tag you easilyyy?” Their voice was sing-songy, full of playful mockery.

Bluudud twitched. That did it.

“Oh nah, YOU DIDN’T JUST CHALLENGE ME, OLD MAN. You’re on!” Bluudud declared, his glitchy energy sparking slightly from sheer determination. Without another word, he lunged forward towards Coolkidd, who let out a shriek of delight before bolting away.

Coolkidd laughed, dodging Bluudud’s swipes with impressive agility. “You’ll never catch me, slowpoke!” he taunted, sticking his tongue out as he ducked under a broken chair.

Bluudud growled, frustration clear on his face. “Oh, you are SO getting tagged!” He pushed forward with more speed, his glitched-out form flickering as he moved erratically. He was fast, but Coolkidd was lighter on his feet.

Chance leaned back and watched in amusement as the two sprinted around the space, dodging obstacles and each other. Coolkidd climbed onto the remains of an old slide in the ruined playroom, using it to propel himself forward. Bluudud wasn’t far behind, his focus unwavering.

“I thought you were too ‘cool’ for this,” Chance called out with a chuckle, dodging to the side as Bluudud almost ran into them while chasing Coolkidd.

Bluudud didn’t answer, too absorbed in the chase. He reached out, almost tagging Coolkidd’s shoulder—only for the red-clad kid to duck at the last second, causing Bluudud to stumble forward with a startled yelp.

Coolkidd giggled and ran in circles around Bluudud. “C’mon, try harder! I thought you were tough, Bluubluu~” he teased in a sing-song voice.

Bluudud’s eye twitched. “Stop. Calling. Me. That.” His voice was a mixture of a growl and static distortion.

Chance had to bite the inside of their cheek to keep from bursting into laughter. The dynamic between these two was pure entertainment.

The chase continued, with Bluudud getting increasingly desperate to tag Coolkidd. The younger boy was quick, agile, and had an uncanny ability to slip through small spaces Bluudud couldn’t easily maneuver. The two zipped across the ruined playroom, dodging broken furniture and avoiding the glowing hazards scattered around the map.

Just as Bluudud finally got close enough to tag Coolkidd, the countdown reached its final seconds. A loud siren rang out, signaling the end of the round.

Coolkidd threw his hands up in victory. “HAH! I win!” he cheered, spinning around with excitement.

Bluudud groaned, rubbing his temples. “Ugh, this was a waste of time,” he grumbled, though the faintest flicker of enjoyment had crossed his face during the game.

Chance stretched their arms and smirked. “I don’t know, Bluudud. Looked like you were having fun.”

Bluudud immediately turned away, huffing. “Tch. Whatever. You’re all a bunch of fools.”

Coolkidd, still bouncing with energy, grinned at Chance. “That was fun! Let’s do it again sometime!”

Chance chuckled, shaking their head. “We’ll see, kid.”

As the world around them began to distort and fade, signaling their exit from the round, Chance stole one last glance at Bluudud. Despite his grumbling, there was something a little lighter in his expression. Maybe, just maybe, he had actually enjoyed himself.

With that thought, the light engulfed them, pulling them back to reality.

 

Chapter 126: Training again

Summary:

(

Chance felt the familiar pull of teleportation before their feet hit the ground back in the hideout. The moment they arrived, a rapid thumping sound echoed against the wooden floorboards. Looking down, they saw Spade at their feet, the tiny bunny impatiently drumming his foot against the floor. His small, fluffy body quivered with dramatic insistence, ears twitching in expectation.

Chance chuckled, bending down to scratch the bunny’s head, earning them an indignant huff. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re starving, huh?” they teased, scooping up Spade gently. The bunny let out a soft squeak before snuggling into Chance’s chest, his fluffy body warm against their hands.

Carrying Spade with them, Chance made their way to the kitchen. The scent of slightly burnt toast and leftover coffee from earlier lingered in the air. They grabbed a small dish and filled it with Spade’s favorite food mix before setting him down so he could eat. The moment his paws touched the floor, Spade dove into the food like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, despite having had breakfast just this morning.

As Chance watched the dramatic display, the kitchen door suddenly swung open with a loud creak, and Noob trudged in. Their arms were filled with empty cans, some still clattering against each other as they made their way to the trash can. Their posture screamed defeat as they let out a dramatic sigh and dropped the cans inside.

Chance raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. “Let me guess—Elliot told you to get rid of them?”

Noob groaned, rubbing their forehead as if recalling a painful memory. “Yeah… there was mold in them. I swear they were fine yesterday! My poor limiteds…” they sank against the counter, mourning the loss of their precious collection.

Chance laughed, patting Noob’s back in mock sympathy. “Hey, hey buddy, we’ll get others soon. It’s better you don’t keep moldy ones.”

Noob stretched, shaking off their sorrow before suddenly gasping dramatically. “WAIT! I need to finish the other ones before he sees them! Byebye, Chance!”

Before Chance could respond, Noob bolted out of the kitchen, a blur of panic and determination.

Shaking their head with amusement, Chance grabbed a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, watching Spade as he finished his meal. Life in the hideout was never dull, that was for sure.

Just as Chance took their first sip, a familiar voice called out from the hallway. “Chance! You in here?”

Recognizing Guest 1337’s voice, they set their cup down. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Guest 1337 stepped into the kitchen, their usual unreadable expression in place. “Two Time wants to do more training today. They asked if you’d join.”

Chance tilted their head. “Training? Like, with the weird cultist dagger again?”

Guest 1337 nodded. “They want to get better at handling themselves during rounds. Figured you’d be a good partner.”

Chance smirked, grabbing their coffee before gesturing for Guest 1337 to lead the way. “Alright, let’s see if I survive another one of their ‘accidental’ throws.”

 

Chapter 127: Gone wrong!

Summary:

(HEHEH , dagger go stab stab)

Chance followed Guest 1337 to the training grounds, their boots scuffing slightly against the ground as they walked. The place was dimly lit, the occasional flickering bulb casting eerie shadows across the old mannequins used for combat practice. As they stepped closer, the dull sound of metal slicing through fabric reached their ears.

Two Time was hunched over a training mannequin, twisting their dagger into its already shredded torso, their grip so tight their knuckles had turned white. Chance stopped in their tracks, watching with an arched brow.

‘Oh lord…’ they thought to themselves, eyes darting to Guest 1337, silently questioning, ‘Are you sure about this?’

Guest 1337 simply nodded, walking forward with a firm but casual stride. Without hesitation, they reached down and picked Two Time up by the back of their collar, lifting them effortlessly as if they were no heavier than a cat.

Two Time immediately tensed, limbs stiffening like a startled feline caught mid-scratch. Their dagger was still clenched tightly in their fingers, the blade glinting slightly under the dim lighting.

Guest 1337 carried them a few feet before unceremoniously plopping them down next to Chance. Chance raised an eyebrow at the sudden action, looking between Guest 1337 and Two Time, confused yet intrigued.

“I want you to practice your stabs on Chance,” Guest 1337 said, voice unwavering.

Chance’s eyes widened instantly. “What?! Are you crazy?! I’m not dying today, nuh uh!” they protested, immediately stepping back, arms raised defensively.

Guest 1337 swiftly reached out, gripping Chance’s shoulder to stop them. “Hold it. They won’t stab you.”

“Oh, won’t they? You see that look in their eye?” Chance shot back, gesturing toward Two Time, who was still gripping the dagger with unsettling intensity.

“I told them to try their best not to,” Guest 1337 clarified, though that wasn’t as reassuring as they might’ve thought.

Chance exhaled sharply, rubbing their temples. This had to be one of the worst ideas they had ever agreed to. But Two Time… they needed the training, didn’t they? After all, Two Time wasn’t much of a fighter in actual rounds. If they were going to survive, they needed this.

Chance sighed before stepping a few feet back, shaking their arms out before getting into a loose stance. “Alright, fine. Go on then, give me all you got.”

Two Time hesitated, shifting their weight awkwardly. They were used to practicing on stationary targets, not people. Their fingers twitched around the hilt of the dagger.

Guest 1337 gave a short nod. “Go.”

Two Time lunged forward without warning, dagger swinging in a controlled yet swift arc. Chance barely dodged in time, twisting their body to the side to avoid the strike. They felt the wind from the blade cut close, their heartbeat kicking up slightly.

“Whoa there, easy now!” Chance yelped, staggering back.

Two Time didn’t stop. They adjusted their grip and immediately went for another strike, a downward slash aimed toward Chance’s shoulder. Chance reacted instinctively, stepping in and grabbing Two Time’s wrist before the dagger could make contact.

“You’re actually trying to kill me!” Chance wheezed, staring at Two Time with wide eyes.

Two Time blinked at them, tilting their head slightly. “I thought you said to give it all I’ve got?”

“Not literally, dude!” Chance groaned, quickly letting go and putting some distance between them.

Guest 1337, watching with arms crossed, simply smirked. “Keep going.”

Two Time lunged again. This time, Chance sidestepped and countered by lightly pushing them off balance, forcing them to stumble forward. Two Time quickly recovered, spinning on their heel and adjusting their grip, their expression focused.

Chance had to admit Two Time was a fast learner.

They continued their sparring, with Chance dodging and redirecting Two Time’s strikes rather than outright fighting back. After a while, Chance could feel the fatigue creeping into their limbs, but Two Time wasn’t slowing down at all. If anything, they were getting sharper, more precise.

Guest 1337 finally clapped their hands together, signaling them to stop. “That’s enough.”

Two Time stopped mid-strike, stepping back, their breath slightly uneven. They looked down at their dagger, flexing their fingers experimentally.

Chance exhaled heavily, bending over with hands on their knees. “I swear… if I get stabbed one day, I’m haunting both of you.”

Guest 1337 just chuckled. “You did well.”

Two Time stared at their hands, then nodded slowly. “…I feel better.”

Chance tilted their head. “Yeah?”

Two Time gave a hesitant smile. “Yeah.”

Chance grinned, throwing an arm around them. “Alright, alright, I guess I can take a few near-death experiences if it means you get a little confidence boost.”

Guest 1337 rolled their eyes. “Let’s get back inside.”

As they left the training grounds, Chance let out a deep sigh.

‘Yeah… I need a drink.’

 

Chapter 128: Nighmarish dance

Summary:

WARNING WARNING THIS CHAPTERS INCLUDED : TOXIC RELATIONSHIP!

Chance walked into the kitchen, still feeling the tension from the earlier training session with Two Time. Their muscles ached slightly, and they sighed as they grabbed a small carton of cold chocolate milk from the fridge. They pierced the straw through the top and took a deep sip, letting the cool, sweet taste calm them. Spade was at their feet, thumping impatiently, so they bent down and picked up the tiny bunny in their arms, cradling them gently.

“Alright, buddy, bedtime,” Chance murmured, carrying Spade back to their room. The exhaustion was hitting them like a wave, and as soon as they flopped onto their bed, they felt themselves slipping into sleep almost immediately.

The moment their eyes closed, they knew something was wrong.

It was the same place. The same nightmare.

The casino stretched out before them, suffocatingly familiar. Dim, golden lights flickered against the dark red carpets. The faint scent of cigar smoke and aged whiskey clung to the air. Chance swallowed hard, their heartbeat already picking up as they realized where they were. They had been here before—this was no ordinary dream. It was the nightmare, the one they dreaded the most.

And then they saw him.

Itrapped.

He was lounging at a pool table, idly rolling one of the billiard balls between his fingers before knocking it against the others with a quiet click. His movements were slow, casual, yet dripping with an eerie patience. Then, as if sensing Chance’s presence, he turned to look at them.

His eyes gleamed in the dim light, his smile sickly sweet as he lifted a hand and gestured for them to come closer.

Chance didn’t move.

Their breath came quicker, their mind already racing for an escape. The exits—they needed to find the exits. Their eyes darted to the corners of the room, searching for any door, any hallway, anything that could lead them out of this nightmare.

Before they could even take a step, Itrapped was suddenly in front of them.

Chance gasped, their body frozen in place as a cold hand wrapped around their wrist. A shiver crawled down their spine, the grip both firm and possessive. Itrapped’s touch felt real, too real, like something that shouldn’t exist in a dream.

Chance barely had time to react before the nightmare took full control.

Itrapped pulled them into the center of the casino, clicking his fingers. Instantly, a haunting melody began to play, its slow, agonizing notes filling the air. The song was familiar—Chance knew it too well.

It was Old Doll.

The chilling tune crept into their ears, making their blood run cold. The music box-like melody twisted in the air, its delicate, ghostly notes suffocating them.

“No,” Chance whispered, trying to pull away. “No, no, no—”

But Itrapped’s grip only tightened, his smile never faltering. He pulled them close, forcing them into a slow waltz. Their bodies moved in sync, not by Chance’s will, but by some unnatural force that dictated their steps. The casino floor seemed to stretch and shift beneath them, the lights dimming until only a spotlight remained, illuminating their twisted dance.

“Why do you look so scared?” Itrapped’s voice was gentle, mocking. “Just dance with me, love.”

Chance’s breath hitched. That word. Love.

A thousand memories crashed down on them, suffocating and sickly sweet. There had been a time when those words meant something. When they had danced together under the soft glow of neon lights, when Itrapped’s touch had been warm instead of icy. But those days were gone. That Itrapped was gone.

And this thing holding them now was nothing but a monster wearing a familiar face.

Chance struggled, their heart pounding. Their hands pushed at Itrapped’s chest, but he wouldn’t budge. He only laughed, twirling them around as the music played on. The casino felt like it was spinning, the walls distorting, shifting in unnatural ways.

“Stop,” Chance gasped, their voice cracking. “Let me go.”

Itrapped tilted his head, his grin stretching wider. “Why would I do that? This is our song, remember?”

Their pulse skyrocketed, panic fully setting in. They had to get out. Now.

Chance mustered every ounce of strength and shoved Itrapped with all their might. This time, their hands connected with something solid. Itrapped staggered back a step, his expression momentarily flickering with something unreadable.

Then the music stopped.

Dead silence.

Chance’s breath came in heavy gasps, their chest rising and falling rapidly. But something was wrong. The air around them felt heavier, suffocating, as if the very casino itself was holding its breath.

Itrapped stood there, unmoving. His face was unreadable, his smile gone.

Then, the shadows swallowed him.

His figure dissolved into darkness, the only thing visible now were his eyes. Cold, dead eyes. They stared at Chance, unwavering, unblinking.

A slow, deep chuckle echoed in the void.

Chance’s feet refused to move. Their body was paralyzed with terror, their mind screaming at them to run, to escape, but they couldn’t. It was as if invisible hands had wrapped around their limbs, keeping them still.

Itrapped’s eyes glowed brighter in the darkness as he took a single step forward.

Then another.

Then another.

Closer. And closer. And closer.

A whisper snaked through the air, slithering into Chance’s ears.

“You can’t run from me.”

Something ice-cold touched their throat.

Chance’s breath hitched, their entire body breaking out into a cold sweat. A sharp, invisible pressure pressed against their skin, and for the first time, they truly felt it.

They were going to die.

Itrapped leaned in, his voice a low murmur against their ear. “You can’t escape, love. I'm not letting you..”

A sharp pain erupted in Chance’s chest, and they screamed—

Then they woke up.

Their body jerked up from the bed, drenched in sweat, their breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. Their hands clutched at their chest, feeling for any wounds, any signs that it had been real.

Nothing.

It was just a nightmare.

Spade was at their side, thumping his foot in concern, his tiny nose twitching as he nudged Chance’s hand. They let out a shaky breath, running a trembling hand through their hair.

It was just a nightmare.

But as they sat there, heart still hammering, one thought refused to leave their mind.

It didn’t feel like just a dream.

 

Chapter 129: Comfort you , why do you do this?

Summary:

(COMFORT AND ANGSTTTTT)

Chance awoke with a sharp gasp, their chest rising and falling rapidly as they tried to steady their breathing. A cold sweat clung to their skin, and they realized with a dull ache in their heart that there were tears staining their cheeks. The remnants of the nightmare still clung to them, the suffocating feeling of Itrapped’s grip lingering like ghostly fingers wrapped around their wrists.

Before they could fully process the dream, the bedroom door creaked open. The familiar sound made their breath hitch, but as their vision adjusted to the dim lighting, they saw the tall, reassuring figure of their father standing in the doorway.

Builderman.

His expression softened instantly when he saw the state Chance was in. Without a word, he stepped inside, moving with a careful but purposeful stride, as if not to startle them further. Chance quickly wiped their eyes with the back of their hand, but it was pointless—Builderman had already seen the tears.

With a sigh, Builderman sat down beside them on the bed and pulled them into a strong, grounding hug. He didn’t need to ask what had happened; he already knew. He had known for years.

“You had a nightmare about him again, didn’t you?” Builderman murmured, his voice gentle but firm, laced with an unspoken promise of protection.

Chance nodded wordlessly against his shoulder, gripping onto the fabric of his coat as if it were the only thing anchoring them to reality. “I... I swear I’m trying not to,” they choked out, their voice barely above a whisper.

Builderman pulled back slightly, just enough to look at them properly. His gaze was steady, filled with concern but not pity. “Shh,” he hushed, brushing a few stray strands of hair from their face. “You did everything you could. Do not blame yourself.”

But that was the problem. Chance did blame themselves.

They blamed themselves for staying too long. For ignoring the red flags. For letting Itrapped sink his claws so deep into them that even now, after all this time, he still haunted their dreams.

Builderman’s jaw tightened as he looked down at them, and Chance could tell he was thinking about something—something that made his grip on them tighten slightly, as if reliving his own anger. “I knew from day one he wasn’t a good person,” he muttered, voice edged with barely contained resentment. “The way he treated you... Even when you two were together, it didn’t sit right with me.”

Chance swallowed thickly, their gaze dropping to their lap. They remembered that first meeting all too well.

Itrapped had been charming in front of others, but Builderman had seen right through it. Chance had introduced them in a casual setting, a simple dinner meant to be a warm gathering, but it had been anything but.

Builderman had watched the way Itrapped’s fingers dug just a little too hard into Chance’s wrist when they reached for something across the table. He noticed the way Itrapped spoke over them, shutting down their thoughts with passive-aggressive remarks disguised as ‘jokes.’ And then there were the darker, more sinister moments—the way Itrapped barely reacted when Chance winced in pain after bumping into something, the way he had laughed at the idea of them getting hurt, as if it were some amusing little game.

At the time, Builderman had clenched his fists under the table, forcing himself to stay calm. He hadn’t wanted to scare Chance, hadn’t wanted to push too hard and make them defend Itrapped. He had tried to be patient, to let Chance see for themselves. But now, looking at them—so small, so exhausted, so haunted—he wished he had done more.

He wished he had ripped Itrapped out of their life sooner.

“I should’ve stopped it earlier,” Builderman admitted, his voice quieter this time. “I should’ve done something before it got that bad.”

Chance looked up at him, surprised by his words. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” they muttered. “Itrapped knew how to manipulate me. He made sure I wouldn’t listen.”

Builderman let out a slow exhale, his expression darkening. “That’s what makes people like him so dangerous,” he said, the anger simmering just beneath his words. “They twist everything. Make you feel like you’re the problem. Like you’re the one overreacting.”

Chance’s fingers curled into the bedsheets. “Yeah,” they whispered. “That’s exactly what he did.”

For a long moment, silence stretched between them. But it wasn’t empty. It was filled with all the unsaid things, all the memories, all the scars left behind.

Builderman pulled them close again, his arms wrapping around them securely. “He can’t hurt you anymore,” he said softly. “You’re safe now.”

Chance wanted to believe that. They really did. But deep down, they knew that Itrapped’s grip wasn’t just physical it was mental. Emotional. Psychological. And even though he was gone, he had left pieces of himself behind, embedded deep in their subconscious.

“I just want the nightmares to stop,” Chance admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Builderman pressed a reassuring kiss to the top of their head. “They will,” he promised. “It’ll take time, but they will.”

Chance sighed, leaning into the warmth of their father’s embrace. For the first time that night, they allowed themselves to breathe, to let go even if just a little.

 

Chapter 130: Your hugs.

Summary:

(I AM BACK WITH YOUR DAILY FEEDINGS , ENJOY THE FOOD MY CHILDRENS (?) )

Builderman continued to pat Chance’s back in slow, comforting strokes, his presence a solid anchor in the storm of emotions swirling within his child. Chance’s breathing had steadied somewhat, but the dampness of their cheeks still betrayed the remnants of their nightmare. Builderman sighed quietly, feeling the familiar frustration that always surfaced when he thought about Itrapped and the scars he had left on Chance’s heart.

A faint creak in the doorway caught their attention, and both Builderman and Chance turned their heads. Standing there was Shedletsky, his golden wings half-unfurled in the dim light of the room. His usual mischievous smirk was absent, replaced with a look of quiet concern.

Builderman had already told him what had happened—how Itrapped had haunted Chance even long after their escape—but seeing Chance like this, trembling, teary-eyed, and vulnerable, struck something deep inside Shedletsky. He didn’t hesitate before stepping forward, crouching down beside them, and gently wrapping Chance in his arms. His wing instinctively curled around them like a shield, warm and soft, offering silent reassurance.

“Nightmare again?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, lacking its usual teasing lilt.

Chance gave a small, hesitant nod.

Shedletsky exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening just a bit before he reached up to brush away the lingering tears with his thumb. “Here, here, it’ll be okay…” he murmured, his voice comforting.

Chance sniffled, feeling the warmth surrounding them. From the strong, protective embrace of Builderman to the soft, feathery wrap of Shedletsky’s wing, they felt safe. For the first time that night, the weight on their chest seemed a little lighter.

Spade, who had been curled up at the edge of the bed, noticed the shift and hopped over, nosing into Chance’s lap. The tiny bunny pressed his face into theirs, his tiny tongue flicking out to lick the salty traces of tears away. Chance let out a soft giggle, the simple gesture breaking through the remnants of fear still clinging to them.

Shedletsky immediately perked up at the sound, his mind whirring with an idea. “Well,” he started, his grin creeping back onto his face, “you won’t be able to sleep for at least a bit. So, how about we have a sleepover?”

Builderman sighed, already knowing where this was going. “Shed, that’s—”

Before he could finish, Chance’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah!”

Shedletsky laughed, ruffling their hair. “That’s the spirit!” Then, with a wicked grin, he added, “And you know what? We’re building a pillow fort in Builderman’s room.”

Builderman blinked. “Wait—”

“Yup, no take-backs, old man!” Shedletsky hoisted Chance up to their feet. “Come on, grab all the pillows and blankets you can find. This is happening!”

Chance, energized by the idea, immediately scrambled off the bed, nearly toppling over Spade, who made a disgruntled squeak before hopping out of the way.

"Oh sorry spade" chance muttered while patting spade gently.

“Shedletsky…” Builderman began in an exasperated tone.

But it was too late. The duo was already running down the hall, giggling like children on a sugar rush, raiding every available closet and linen shelf for supplies. Builderman rubbed his temples. “Idiots…” he muttered, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

By the time he made it to his room, it was already too late. His once-pristine space had been transformed into absolute chaos. Pillows were stacked precariously in various towers, blankets draped over furniture, forming the skeleton of an impressive fort. Shedletsky was barking orders like a self-proclaimed architect, guiding Chance as they built their masterpiece.

“No, no, that blanket needs to be the roof! We want it to be structurally sound.”

Chance stuck out their tongue. “You’re acting like this is a real construction project.”

“This is a real construction project,” Shedletsky said with dramatic importance. “A project of the heart, Chance. The heart.”

Builderman crossed his arms, watching from the doorway. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s genius,” Shedletsky corrected, grinning as he secured a particularly wobbly pillow.

Builderman sighed, stepping in. “At least let me make it stable before you two bring the whole room down.”

Chance grinned. “See? He’s joining in!”

And, despite himself, Builderman did. Because even if this was childish, even if this was ridiculous, seeing Chance laughing again made it all worth it.

A little while later, the three of them were sprawled inside the completed fort, the glow of a small lantern giving the space a cozy warmth. Spade was nestled in the crook of Chance’s arm, already fast asleep.

Shedletsky grinned as he looked over at Builderman. “Admit it, you love it.”

Builderman rolled his eyes. “Shut up.” But there was no mistaking the way his expression had softened, the tired lines on his face lessened as he watched Chance curled up in their blanket, safe, warm, and, for now, happy.

 

Chapter 131: Pillow and Nails.

Summary:

(YIPPPEE SLAYYY.)

As the pillow fort was built, Chance and Shedletsky settled in, pampering their pets and making themselves comfortable. The room was dimly lit by a string of fairy lights that Shedletsky had insisted on setting up, casting a warm glow over the chaotic mess of pillows, blankets, and scattered snacks.

Shedletsky was busy putting a tiny red bow on his beloved chicken, Wing, while Chance was gently brushing Spade’s soft fur. The little rabbit kicked his feet contently, clearly enjoying the attention. Builderman, however, had already succumbed to exhaustion. The older man was snoring slightly, his body comfortably nestled within a mountain of pillows, unaware of the mischievous scheme brewing in the minds of the two troublemakers next to him.

Chance suddenly had an idea, their eyes gleaming with mischief as they leaned in close to Shedletsky. “Let’s paint Builderman’s nails red,” they whispered, their voice barely containing their excitement.

Shedletsky immediately perked up at the suggestion, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Ohhh, that’s a fantastic idea,” he whispered back, stifling a laugh. “You’re an evil genius.”

With that, they scrambled to find the nail polish. Shedletsky, being the eccentric collector he was, had a stash of random self-care products tucked away somewhere. After some quiet rummaging, he triumphantly pulled out a small bottle of deep red polish. Chance held back a snicker as they both scooted closer to Builderman’s sleeping form.

“Okay, be careful,” Chance murmured, unscrewing the bottle.

Shedletsky nodded solemnly. “We have to be precise. Like surgeons. This is a high-stakes mission.”

They got to work, carefully taking Builderman’s large hands and applying the polish with the precision of master artists. Each stroke of the brush was accompanied by muffled giggles as they tried their hardest not to wake him. The sight of Builderman’s rugged hands with elegant, long red tips was simply too much.

Chance bit their lip to contain their laughter. “He’s gonna be so pissed when he wakes up.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Shedletsky agreed, shaking the bottle for a second coat. “But it’ll be worth it.”

Once they were satisfied with their work, they sat back, admiring their masterpiece. Builderman, completely unaware, continued snoring lightly.

Feeling victorious, Shedletsky suddenly had another idea. He stood up and retrieved two face masks from his bag, tossing one to Chance. “Here,” he said. “Let’s do some self-care while we’re at it. We deserve it after that incredible heist.”

Chance grinned, catching the mask. “Oh, we’re getting fancy now?”

“Of course,” Shedletsky said, ripping open the package. “This is a high-class sleepover.”

They both applied their masks, their faces now covered in a slick, hydrating sheet of cooling serum. Sitting cross-legged, they started doing their own nails, chatting about anything and everything while Spade and Wing rested peacefully beside them.

Chance glanced over at Builderman again, still marveling at the sight of his freshly painted nails. “You know,” they mused, “if he doesn’t notice in the morning, we should just… never tell him.”

Shedletsky burst out laughing, nearly knocking over the nail polish. “Imagine him walking around, shaking hands with people, completely unaware.”

“Oh my god,” Chance wheezed, “imagine the first time he tries to point at something and just sees it.”

They cackled quietly, trying their hardest not to wake Builderman. The rest of the night continued with more shenanigans—eating snacks, making fun of each other’s face masks, and attempting to stack pillows on Builderman’s sleeping body just to see how many they could balance before he stirred.

Eventually, exhaustion caught up to them. Chance yawned, stretching before curling up next to Spade. Shedletsky did the same, tucking Wing under his arm. The fairy lights flickered softly, and the room settled into a peaceful quiet.

 

Chapter 132: Slay queen!

Summary:

(builderman is baby girl.)

The morning air was crisp, and the scent of sizzling eggs filled the kitchen as Builderman stood over the stove, flipping them with a practiced hand. The faint golden light of dawn filtered through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the countertops. The hideout was unusually quiet, given how chaotic it usually was during the day. It was early—far too early for most of the others to be awake—but Builderman had always been an early riser.

Chance groggily stumbled into the kitchen, their hair an absolute mess, their shirt slightly wrinkled from sleep. Their bunny, Spade, had rudely awoken them by nibbling on their hair as if demanding they start their day. Stretching with a groan, Chance rubbed their eyes and yawned before finally catching sight of Builderman standing at the stove, completely unfazed, his back turned to them.

Chance was about to greet him casually, but then they saw it.

Builderman’s hands.

Long, fresh, red-tipped nails.

Chance slapped a hand over their mouth, eyes widening. They had completely forgotten about their little prank from last night. The realization hit them like a truck, and they had to bite down on their lip to keep from bursting out laughing then and there. But before they could even say anything, Builderman turned to face them with an expression that said everything: ‘I know what you did.’

That was it—Chance lost it.

A loud cackle echoed through the kitchen as Chance doubled over, barely able to contain their laughter. “Oh my god—do you feel slay, girly pop?” they managed to wheeze between fits of laughter, their voice exaggerated as they waved their hands flamboyantly in the air.

Builderman, rather than getting mad, just let out a long, dramatic sigh before extending his hands, flipping them palm-up and wiggling his fingers with a flourish. “Yesss, slay queen!” he declared in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, striking a ridiculous pose.

That was it—Chance collapsed against the counter, holding onto their stomach as they gasped for air. “Holy shit—where did you learn that term, old man?” they choked out, wiping away a stray tear.

Builderman just rolled his eyes, flipping the eggs onto a plate with ease. “I ain’t that old,” he muttered, setting the food down on the counter. “Unlike some people, I actually keep up with the times.”

Chance, still recovering, just smirked. “Sure, sure, old man. Keep telling yourself that.”

Builderman ruffled their hair roughly, making them groan. “Little rascal. Just sit down and eat your breakfast before I decide to revoke your food privileges.”

Chance, now grinning, plopped into a chair as Builderman served them eggs and bacon. “Damn, what a threat,” they teased, grabbing a fork. “You really think I wouldn’t just steal food from Shedletsky’s stash?”

Builderman chuckled, shaking his head. “That idiot would just hand it to you if you asked.”

Chance snickered at the truth of that statement, happily digging into their breakfast. The warm food was comforting, filling them with much-needed energy. Despite the nightmares that haunted them last night, moments like these made everything feel… normal. Safe.

A sudden thud made them look up. Shedletsky, looking absolutely disheveled, stood in the doorway, his hair an absolute mess, his wings twitching slightly as if he had just woken up. His eyes were still half-closed, and he let out a loud yawn before groggily stumbling into the kitchen.

“What are you two screaming about?” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes before sitting down heavily at the table.

Chance, barely able to contain themselves, turned to face Shedletsky with an all-too-knowing smirk. “Oh, just admiring Builderman’s new slay nails.”

Shedletsky blinked, looking confused before his gaze drifted to Builderman’s hands. A beat of silence. Then—

A slow grin spread across Shedletsky’s face. “Oh. My. God.”

Builderman groaned, rubbing his temples. “Here we go.”

Shedletsky snatched Builderman’s hand off the table, inspecting the nails with a dramatic gasp. “GIRL, YOU LOOK FABULOUS!” he shrieked, his exhaustion seemingly vanishing in an instant.

Chance once again fell into a fit of laughter as Shedletsky immediately went into full chaos mode, grabbing Builderman’s other hand and holding it up like he was showing off a prized artifact. “Look at this craftsmanship! The artistry! The attention to detail!”

Builderman just let out a long, suffering sigh as Shedletsky dramatically fanned himself. “You two are impossible.”

Shedletsky grinned before grabbing Chance’s hand. “Yeah but like them no?”

Chance puffed out their chest proudly. “Long fresh red tips, baby. Our old man is now a certified baddie.”

Builderman pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to regret ever waking up today.”

Shedletsky burst into laughter before finally letting go of Builderman’s hand, standing up. “You know what? We should ALL get matching nails.”

Chance’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Ooooh, I like the sound of that.”

Builderman immediately shook his head. “No.”

Shedletsky gasped dramatically. “Oh, come on! You already have yours done, you might as well embrace the lifestyle!”

“No.”

Chance and Shedletsky exchanged glances before turning back to Builderman with the most innocent expressions they could muster.

“Pretty please?” Chance said sweetly.

“No.”

Shedletsky clasped his hands together. “With sugar on top?”

“No.”

Chance and Shedletsky both got up from their seats, moving to either side of Builderman like two scheming devils.

“What if we made you breakfast in bed tomorrow?” Chance offered.

“No.”

“What if we did all your chores for a week?” Shedletsky added.

Builderman snorted. “You wouldn’t last a day.”

Chance pouted. “Come on, Pops, where’s your sense of fun?”

Builderman sighed, looking between the two of them. “You two are the biggest pains in my ass.”

Shedletsky grinned. “That’s a maybe.”

Chance gasped. “We’re making progress!”

Builderman rolled his eyes before finally relenting. “Fine. Just… nothing crazy.”

Shedletsky and Chance high-fived. “Hell yeah! let’s go!”

Builderman groaned, already regretting this decision.

But deep down, he knew he wouldn’t trade these moments for anything.

 

Chapter 133: Self care time!

Summary:

(YIPPPEEE moment of bond!)

Chance, Shedletsky, and Builderman remained at the hideout, deciding to spend the day indulging in some well-deserved self-care. It wasn’t often they had moments like this, where they could relax without the looming weight of responsibility. With an assortment of nail polishes spread out on the table before them, they got to work.

Chance took Shedletsky’s hands in theirs, carefully brushing on a cute orange nail polish. It was a warm, lively color that suited him well, reminding everyone of Builderman’s signature colors and, of course, Shedletsky’s love for chicken wings. Builderman watched in quiet amusement, shaking his head but clearly entertained by the scene unfolding before him.

As Chance painted, Shedletsky admired his freshly polished nails, wiggling his fingers. “Not bad, huh?” he said, holding up his hands to the dim light of the hideout. Chance grinned in satisfaction. “You look fabulous,” they teased, winking at him.

Builderman chuckled and, in a rare display of affection, leaned in and placed a light kiss on Shedletsky’s cheek. Shedletsky blinked in surprise before laughing heartily, the corners of his eyes crinkling in genuine delight. Chance rolled their eyes playfully. “Oh, get a room, you two,” they said, sticking out their tongue before turning back to the nail polish. They were next, after all.

Now, it was Chance’s turn. They picked up a bottle of dark black polish and began painting their own nails, the deep color contrasting sharply against their skin. As they worked, they felt a comforting sense of normalcy in the quiet companionship of their makeshift family.

After finishing their nails, they all exchanged looks before diving into the next stage of their impromptu spa day. Face masks were applied with exaggerated care Shedletsky, ever the dramatic one, made a show of patting his mask into place as if he were about to walk onto the runway. “Beauty takes commitment,” he declared, tilting his chin up like a nobleman. Chance snorted while Builderman merely shook his head in amusement, muttering something about “these damn kids.”

With their self-care session in full swing, they moved onto watching one of the dramatic television series that Shedletsky had insisted on. He was absolutely invested, gasping at every twist and turn in the plot, occasionally throwing a cushion at the screen when a character made a particularly dumb decision. Builderman watched him with barely contained amusement, chuckling softly at how animated he got.

Chance, however, felt the creeping pull of exhaustion. The warmth of the hideout, the steady hum of the show, and the feeling of being surrounded by the people they trusted most made them feel incredibly safe. Their eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment.

Just as they were about to drift off completely, they felt something soft and warm settle over their shoulders. It was a blanket—Builderman must have placed it there without saying a word. Chance barely had the energy to acknowledge it, only managing a tiny hum of appreciation before fully succumbing to sleep, their breathing evening out.

 

Chapter 134: Dead sandwish.

Summary:

(YAYS)

As Chance drifted into sleep, their consciousness slipped into the dreamscape once more. The familiar sensation of soft silk sheets against their skin made them stir, their eyes fluttering open to the dimly lit penthouse they had come to know so well. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore outside sent a chill of recognition down their spine. They were back in the ocean dream again.

With a groggy stretch, Chance pushed themselves out of the plush bed, their bare feet pressing against the cool wooden floor. A faint, salty breeze filtered in through the slightly open balcony doors. Taking a deep breath, they stepped outside, letting the ocean air wash over them as they looked up. The bridge stood out against the horizon, its brownish metal glinting under the artificial glows.

And there she was—Nashatra, perched atop the bridge’s railing, her gaze fixed on the distance. When she spotted Chance, her face lit up, and she eagerly waved them over. “Come here! You won’t believe this!” she called, her voice carrying over the night breeze.

Curiosity piqued, Chance made their way toward her, the metallic structure groaning under their weight as they climbed. As they reached Nashatra’s side, they followed her gaze to a panel embedded in the structure—a panel she hadn’t been able to access last time.

With a mischievous grin, Nashatra pulled out a card—the very card they had worked together to steal. She held it up triumphantly before sliding it into the slot. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a sudden jolt, the floor beneath them began to tremble.

Chance barely had time to react before the entire section of the bridge they were standing on started to descend. A hidden elevator, camouflaged within the structure, slowly lowered them into the unknown.

As the walls around them shifted, an eerie blue light flickered to life, illuminating their descent. Chance swallowed hard, gripping the railing tightly as the sense of weightlessness made their stomach churn. Nashatra, on the other hand, seemed utterly thrilled by the discovery.

When the elevator came to a halt, the doors hissed open to reveal an underground chamber. The air was thick with the scent of dust and something vaguely metallic. Scattered across the dimly lit space were rows of bizarre machinery, their once-operational states frozen in time by years of abandonment. Some were covered with dust-laden tarps, while others stood eerily exposed, wires hanging loose from their frames.

“What the hell is this place…?” Chance muttered, stepping cautiously onto the grated floor.

Nashatra, undeterred by the unsettling atmosphere, was already bounding toward a pile of lost crates stacked haphazardly against the far wall. She rummaged through them with childlike enthusiasm, tossing aside random trinkets and components until something caught her attention.

“Ooooh, look at this!” she chirped, pulling out what looked like a perfectly preserved sandwich. Without hesitation, she unwrapped it and devoured it in one massive bite.

Chance’s eyes widened in a mixture of awe and horror. “Did you just—did you even check if that was safe?!”

Nashatra merely grinned, chewing contentedly. “Tasted fine to me!” she replied, her voice muffled by the food.

Chance shook their head, utterly baffled. “You just ate a sandwich from god knows how long ago, in a hidden underground facility, and you’re acting like that’s normal?”

Nashatra simply shrugged. “Hey, I’ve had worse.”

Sighing, Chance turned their attention back to the room. Their fingers brushed against the cold metal of one of the dormant machines. Something about this place felt… off. The way the machinery loomed around them, the faint hum of residual energy still clinging to the air—it was as if the room itself was waiting for something.

“We need to be careful,” Chance murmured, their instincts screaming that this place was more than just an abandoned storage facility. But Nashatra was already skipping further into the room, eager to see what else they could uncover.

Reluctantly, Chance followed, their every step echoing ominously through the cavernous space.

 

Chapter 135: 4 vs 2

Summary:

(THE GANG OF SOLDIERS ARE HERE MAKE HASTE!)

As Chance and Nashatra continued their exploration of the mysterious underground facility, the dim glow of the monitors illuminated their faces. The room smelled of dust and old machinery, the air thick with the scent of something ancient and forgotten. The monitors displayed strange symbols, some entirely indecipherable, while others showed familiar landscapes—dreamscapes Chance had visited before. Their eyes lingered on the screen depicting the volcanic mountain from their last venture. The place looked eerily normal, as if the chaos from before had never happened.

Nashatra rubbed her arms, shivering slightly despite the warmth of the room. "Well, that’s... creepy," she muttered under her breath. Her voice echoed slightly, amplifying the tension between them.

Chance nodded, their eyes still scanning the screens. "Yeah. It’s like someone’s watching all of this, recording it. But who? And why?"

Nashatra took a step back. "I don’t know, but I don’t like it. We should go."

Chance hesitated but eventually agreed. "Yeah, let’s get out of here."

As they turned away from the screens, completely unaware of the figures lurking in the shadows, unseen eyes tracked their every movement.

Gunther and Mael watched from a concealed vantage point, their expressions unreadable. They weren’t alone this time. Two more figures stood with them—Borys and Fazio. Borys, a tall man with a cold, calculating stare, spoke in a thick Russian accent. "So, these are the ones causing all the trouble?" His voice was low, skeptical, almost disinterested.

Fazio, the Italian, leaned against the rusted wall, arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes studied Chance with mild curiosity. "That’s the person we are so worried about? Looks pretty normal to me."

Mael,, let out an amused chuckle. "Yeah, but don’t underestimate them. Boss is extremely pissed at that one. We’ve been given strict orders to get them alone."

Gunther exhaled sharply, frustration evident in his posture. "Listen, I don’t know how we’re going to do this. Even if we are four against two, they’ve proven to be more complicated than normal."

Borys scoffed, cracking his knuckles. "So what? We take them by force. What’s the worst that could happen?"

Gunther shot him a glare. "You don’t get it. This isn’t like our usual jobs. These two are unpredictable. Chance especially. They have a way of slipping through tight situations. And Nashatra... she’s not to be messed with either. We need to be smart."

Fazio smirked, tilting his head. "And what’s your genius plan then, Gunther? We wait until they walk into our arms willingly?"

Gunther’s jaw tightened. "We observe them for now. Find a moment when they separate. Then we strike."

Mael nodded, agreeing with the logic. "Fine, but we don’t wait too long. Boss doesn’t have patience."

As the four men continued their discussion, Chance and Nashatra walked further down a narrow corridor, the flickering lights above casting eerie shadows along the walls. They could feel something wasn’t right, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on it.

Chance frowned, glancing around. "You ever get that feeling like you’re being watched?"

Nashatra tensed. "Yeah. All the time. Especially in places like this."

"Maybe we should move faster," Chance suggested, picking up their pace.

As they reached the end of the hallway, a large metal door stood before them, slightly ajar. The room beyond was darker than the others, filled with towering machines and flickering control panels. Nashatra hesitated. "Do we go in?"

Chance took a deep breath and nodded. "Only one way to find out."

Unbeknownst to them, the four men in the shadows prepared to make their move. The hunt had begun.

 

Chapter 136: Petting time!

Summary:

(TIME FOR UR DAILING FEEDING, i HC THAT FAZIO AND MAEL ARE SEA BUNNIES AND GUNTHER AND BORYS LEMONSHARKS , ANYWYAS YIPPE, HERE IS UR FOOD)

 

Chance had barely enough time to react, nashatra had left , after she noticed something out of the corner of her eyes, leaving them completly alone

The shift had been almost instant. One second, Mael and Fazio were standing tall, swords gleaming under the strange lights of the dreamscape, eyes sharp and focused. The next, Mael let out a high-pitched yelp when Chance tugged on what looked like a tiny, twitching sea bunny ear hidden beneath his hat. His hands immediately flew up to soothe the spot, ears flattening against his head as he whined dramatically.

“Owie! That hurted…” Mael pouted, rubbing the sensitive gill-lined ears atop his head. His expression was somewhere between betrayal and shock, his tail giving a tiny, irritated flick.

Chance’s eyebrows shot up. Their fingers twitched as they observed the strange, twitchy appendages.

“Wait a minute… are those—?”

Before they could even finish their sentence, Fazio growled, stepping forward, his sword raised. “Hey! That was uncalled for! What do you think you’re—”

And then Chance saw it—another pair of sea bunny ears, blending almost seamlessly with Fazio’s yellow curls. Their fingers acted before their brain did.

Rub.

Fazio froze mid-step.

His entire body went rigid, a strangled noise escaping his lips. His tail, which had been twitching aggressively behind him, suddenly flicked in slow, lazy waves. The corners of his mouth twitched, fighting against a reaction that was obviously out of his control.

Chance, still completely thrown by the turn of events, blinked and rubbed the ears again.

Fazio exhaled sharply through his nose, a small, unintentional coo escaping him. His knees wobbled slightly, and he barely held onto his sword. His expression betrayed him—his eyes fluttered shut for just a second too long, his breath a little too shaky.

Mael, standing nearby, was gaping. “Fazio! What the hell are you doing?! We were supposed to capture them, not—”

Chance’s other hand reached out and found Mael’s ears again.

Rub, rub.

A tiny bubbling noise, like air rising in water, slipped from Mael’s lips. His tail twitched, his ears flicking between Chance’s fingers as if torn between resisting and melting completely. His knees knocked together slightly, and his grip on his sword loosened.

“Wha— Hey— That’s not—” Mael sputtered, but his protests died the moment Chance gently scratched at the base of his ear. He let out another soft, gurgling coo, his face turning an embarrassing shade of red.

Chance watched, utterly fascinated. The ears were unlike anything they had ever touched—velvety soft, lined with faintly twitching gills that pulsed under their fingertips. And the noises these two were making? Absolutely ridiculous.

Fazio’s initial resistance had crumbled entirely. His head tilted into Chance’s hand as if involuntarily, his tail flicking lazily behind him. His sword had clattered to the floor unnoticed.

Mael was faring no better. His hands hung limply at his sides, ears twitching under Chance’s careful strokes. His expression wavered between bliss and pure mortification.

“Oh, this is hilarious,” Chance muttered to themselves, grinning.

They alternated between gentle rubs and slow scratches, observing how both of their supposed captors twitched and sighed under the affection. Occasionally, Fazio would grumble something in Italian under his breath, but his words lacked any real bite, and Chance could tell he was struggling not to melt completely.

Mael, on the other hand, was absolutely lost. His ears flicked every time Chance found a new sensitive spot, his little bubble-like noises slipping out in soft bursts. His hands weakly tried to push Chance away, but the effort was laughable at best.

Chance chuckled, tilting their head. “Y’know, for guys who were about to kidnap me, you’re both awfully soft.”

Fazio grumbled, eyes half-lidded. “Shut up.”

Chance smirked and scratched behind his ears again. Fazio let out a barely suppressed whimper, his tail flicking traitorously.

Mael’s head drooped forward, resting against Chance’s shoulder. His ears twitched happily as his tail wiggled. “Not fair… this is dirty…” he mumbled.

Chance grinned. “Oh, I dunno. Seems pretty fair to me.”

They continued their gentle ministrations, thoroughly enjoying the sight of two dangerous captors reduced to puddles under their hands. This was far more effective than fighting, that was for sure.

Somewhere in the distance, Borys and Gunther were still tracking Nashatra, completely unaware that their teammates had already been defeated—not by force, but by the overwhelming power of affectionate head pats.

And Chance? Well, they were having the time of their life.

 

Chapter 137: Hurted down

Summary:

(GOING BACK TO NASH HEHEHE)

Nashatra ran as fast as her legs could carry her, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. The dimly lit halls of the strange underground facility stretched endlessly before her, twisting and turning like a maze. She had lost sight of Chance, and now she was alone, with nothing but the sound of her own frantic breathing and the heavy footfalls of her pursuers behind her.

Borys and Gunther were relentless. They moved like predators, swift and precise, their sharpened teeth glinting in the dull glow of the overhead lights. They weren’t just chasing her for sport; they were hunting her, and Nashatra felt like a small, helpless fish being pursued by two hungry sharks.

She skidded around a corner, nearly slipping as her boots struggled to gain traction on the cold, metallic floor. "Chance!" she screamed, hoping against hope that they would hear her. But the walls of the facility seemed unnaturally thick, swallowing her voice before it could travel far. It was as if the very structure was designed to mute desperate cries for help.

Gunther chuckled behind her, a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Scream all you want, little fish. No one's coming for you."

Nashatra cursed under her breath, pushing herself harder. Her lungs burned, her legs ached, but she couldn't stop—not now. She darted down another corridor, her mind racing. She needed a plan. She couldn't outrun them forever.

Then, disaster struck.

She didn't see the thick, exposed wire lying haphazardly across the floor until it was too late. Her foot caught on it, and she went sprawling forward, crashing hard onto the unforgiving metal. Pain shot through her legs as she felt the wire dig into her skin, the exposed metal burning against her flesh.

"FUCK!" she cried out, wincing as she tried to pull herself free. The more she struggled, the more the wire tangled around her ankles, cutting deeper and sending sharp jolts of pain through her body. She clawed at the cords, desperate to free herself before—

A shadow loomed over her. Before she could react, a heavy boot came down on the side of her head, pressing her cheek against the cold floor. A fresh wave of pain erupted in her skull as she groaned in agony.

"Got you," Gunther sneered, his voice filled with cruel amusement. His lemon shark tail swayed lazily behind him, a stark reminder of the predatory nature that fueled him.

Borys crouched beside her, his sharp yellow eyes gleaming as he reached down and yanked the wire tighter around her legs. Nashatra let out a strangled gasp as the metal bit into her flesh, leaving deep, stinging welts.

"You gave us a good chase," Borys admitted, his voice carrying a heavy Russian accent. "But it's over now. No more running."

Nashatra grit her teeth, fury bubbling up within her despite the pain. "Like hell it is!" She tried to reach for the crowbar in her inventory, her fingers fumbling as she attempted to summon it into her grasp.

Gunther’s eyes flicked to her hand just in time. With a smirk, he reached out and grabbed the crowbar before she could.

"Oh no, you don’t," he growled. He held up the weapon, inspecting it like it was a cheap toy. "Cute. You really thought this would save you?"

Nashatra’s stomach twisted with dread as she realized just how dire her situation had become. Her weapon—her one chance at fighting back—was gone. She struggled against the wire again, but Borys only tightened his grip, sending another wave of pain through her limbs.

"NO!" she screamed, but her defiance was met with nothing but laughter.

Gunther tapped the crowbar against his palm a few times, then, without warning, swung it down hard against her head.

A sharp, blinding pain exploded in Nashatra’s skull. Her vision swam, the world around her spinning as her consciousness teetered on the edge of oblivion. She let out a weak, pained gasp before her body went limp.

Borys caught her before she could fully collapse, effortlessly hoisting her unconscious form over his shoulder.

"We got her," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Let’s go back to the boss. The others should be dealing with Chance by now."

Gunther rolled his shoulders, still smirking. "Heh. Hope they put up a good fight. It'd be boring if they went down as easy as this one."

Borys didn’t respond. He simply adjusted Nashatra’s weight and began walking. Gunther followed behind, twirling the stolen crowbar in his grip as they disappeared into the darkened corridors, leaving nothing but silence in their wake.

 

Chapter 138: 1 , 2 ,3 ACTIONS!

Summary:

(CHANCE TO THE RESCUE!)

Chance was happily petting Fazio and Mael, who were letting out small coos and bubble-like noises. The three of them were sprawled on the floor, Mael and Fazio on each side of Chance, their bodies practically melting into their lap. Their soft sea bunny ears twitched with each gentle stroke, and their small tails wiggled lazily. Chance couldn’t help but chuckle at the adorable sight. Mael let out a drowsy sigh, his head pressing lightly against Chance’s side, while Fazio snuggled closer, their breathing slow and relaxed.

The peaceful moment, however, was shattered when the radio on Fazio’s waist crackled to life.

“Hey, Gunther and Borys here. We got Nashatra. We’ll meet you back at the hideout. Roger.”

The voice cut out, leaving only silence behind.

Chance’s heart dropped. Their eyes widened in horror as they processed the words. ‘Fuck, they got Nash. I need to save her!’ The thought raced through their mind as adrenaline kicked in. They looked down at Mael and Fazio, who were still fast asleep, completely unaware of the situation. ‘Kinda cute,’ Chance thought, snickering to themself despite the urgency of the situation. Carefully, they began to shift, moving inch by inch to avoid waking them.

Slowly, Chance managed to slide out from beneath them. Mael mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, but neither of them stirred. With one last glance at the sleeping duo, Chance bolted down the hallway, their heartbeat pounding in their ears.

They ran, their feet barely touching the ground as they navigated the twisting halls. ‘Where would they go?’ Chance thought frantically. Their answer came sooner than expected. In the distance, they spotted Gunther and Borys standing inside the elevator, the doors about to close. Nashatra was slung over Gunther’s shoulder, completely unconscious, her body limp. Chance could see burns on her ankles, and bruises forming on her arms. A surge of rage overtook them.

“HEY, FUCKERS!” Chance bellowed, sprinting toward the elevator, desperation fueling their steps.

Gunther and Borys turned to face them, surprise flashing across their faces. Without thinking, Gunther grabbed something from his belt and hurled it at Chance. It was Nashatra’s crowbar.

The weapon flew through the air, completely missing its intended target and clattering uselessly against the floor.

“WHAT?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YOU IDIOT?!” Borys shouted, glaring at Gunther.

Gunther had a nervous smile, but before either of them could react further, the elevator doors closed, sealing them off.

Chance skidded to a halt, panting heavily, their eyes locked onto the spot where Nashatra had just been. Their fists clenched, frustration boiling inside them. “Shit,” they muttered under their breath. Their gaze then flickered down to the crowbar on the ground. Cautiously, they picked it up, turning it over in their hands. It was the same one Nashatra had used before, but now, it was all they had left of her in this moment.

‘Fuck, i need to save Nashatra. But how?’ Their mind raced, trying to piece together a plan.

They turned to the elevator, pressing the button repeatedly, willing it to open faster. The doors finally parted, and Chance jumped inside, pressing the button to go up. The machine hummed as it ascended, but it was too late. Gunther and Borys were already gone, likely taking Nashatra to their hideout.

Chance gritted their teeth in frustration as the elevator came to a stop, opening into the penthouse.

Walking inside, they made their way to the bed and collapsed onto it, gripping the crowbar tightly in their hands. They stared at the ceiling, their mind spiraling with thoughts.

‘The dying mall,’ they reminded themselves. That was where they were taking her. They had to get there fast, but rushing in without a plan would be suicide. They needed to be smart about this.

Their fingers tightened around the crowbar, determination settling in their chest.

‘I’m coming, Nash.’

 

Chapter 139

Chance sat on the bed, the dim light of the penthouse casting long shadows on the walls as they clutched the crowbar tightly in their hands. The weight of Nashatra's capture pressed on their mind, a suffocating wave of anxiety mixed with frustration. How could they have let this happen? How could they have been so careless?

Their thoughts swirled in a relentless loop until exhaustion finally overtook them. Their body gave in, muscles slackening as they collapsed backward onto the bed, eyes slipping shut before they could fight it. Expecting to wake up back at the hideout, their heart pounded in anticipation of whatever nightmare their subconscious might conjure up. But when their eyes fluttered open, they weren’t in the penthouse. They weren’t even anywhere familiar.

The air smelled of aged wood, of something ancient and warm, and the room around them was dimly lit by the flickering glow of candlelight. The wooden walls and intricate carvings along the furniture told them this was a place of significance, a home lived in with care. Confused, they pushed themselves up, blinking away the grogginess. Their gaze landed on a small nightstand next to the bed, where a strange collection of items was neatly arranged: a weathered wooden cross, an old revolver, and—most unsettling of all—a picture of Nashatra.

Chance’s breath hitched. Was this Nashatra’s home? It had to be. But how? They hadn’t traveled, hadn’t moved from the penthouse bed. Was it the crowbar? Could it have somehow transported them here? The idea seemed absurd, but considering everything they had encountered so far, it wasn’t entirely impossible.

Chance stood up, carefully stepping toward the door. As they did, the wooden floor creaked beneath their weight. A long corridor stretched out before them, leading left and right, but what caught their eye were the large open doors directly ahead. Beyond them, the outside world was bathed in a dark, eerie sunset—an unsettling twilight where the sky bled into shades of deep purple and crimson, barely casting any light over the land.

Stepping forward, Chance took in the surreal scenery. Strange structures dotted the landscape: a lone windmill turning lazily in the distance, a football field that seemed eerily pristine despite the abandoned air of the place, and trees that defied logic—some white as bone, others golden like the sun, and even a few with soft pink hues that reminded them of cotton candy.

In the corner of their vision, something glowed faintly. A pond? No, multiple ponds. As they walked closer, they realized there were three of them, each filled with an oddly luminescent liquid, the colors shifting subtly beneath the surface. A panel stood in front of each pond, etched with symbols and Latin letters.

Chance furrowed their brows. What was this place? And more importantly, what did these symbols mean? Curiosity gnawed at them as they reached out and pressed a finger against the first panel. Immediately, the liquid in the corresponding pond changed from a deep, mysterious blue to a dark, ominous red. Chance pulled their hand back, heart pounding.

Could this be a puzzle? Some kind of mechanism? They had no idea what it meant, but it had to be important. Maybe it was connected to Nashatra. Maybe it could help them find a way to her.

Turning on their heels, Chance started exploring further, moving back toward the house. They turned right down the corridor, eventually stumbling upon a small yet cozy living room. A single book lay atop a wooden table in the center of the room, its worn cover reading "Book of Dreams."

Chance hesitated before picking it up, fingers trailing over the old, leather-bound edges. Opening it carefully, they scanned the pages, each filled with a meticulous list of codes, symbols, and corresponding locations , and a strange looking crystal , chance took it. Their eyes darted across the pages until they found it—the words that made their heart leap into their throat.

"Dying Mall."

"Yes!" Chance practically shouted, the word echoing in the empty room. If this book contained the code to the Dying Mall, then that meant—

Chance nearly tripped over their own feet as they bolted back outside, the book clutched tightly in their arms. They skidded to a halt in front of the ponds, quickly flipping to the correct page and scanning the sequence of symbols. Carefully, with precise movements, they entered the code into each panel, their fingers shaking slightly with anticipation. The symbols on the panels glowed briefly, and the ponds rippled violently before settling into a new, uniform color—a dark, swirling gray.

Something inside them told them it had worked.

Chance turned on their heels and rushed back toward the mansion, heading straight for the bedroom where they had first woken up. If this place operated on some kind of dream logic, then maybe… just maybe… lying down in the same place they arrived would send them back.

Climbing onto the bed, they clutched the book to their chest, taking one last deep breath before allowing their body to relax. Their mind focused on one singular thought—

'I'm coming, Nash.'

Their vision faded to black.

As the darkness swallowed them whole, the last thing they felt was the familiar sensation of weightlessness, as if drifting between two worlds, before everything went silent.

 

Chapter 140: Hostage

Summary:

(TIME FOR YOU DAILY FEEDINGS, COME HERE.)

Nashatra's consciousness returned slowly, her senses muddled by pain and disorientation. The first thing she noticed was the throbbing in her head, a deep ache spreading from her skull down to her shoulders. Her legs burned, the sharp sting of raw skin and bruises making it clear that whatever had happened before she blacked out had not been a dream. She tried to move, but something resisted her—ropes, tightly bound, restraining her arms to the arms of the chair and her ankles to its legs.

Panic rose in her throat like bile. The room was dimly lit but lavishly furnished, a stark contrast to the brutality she had just endured. Ornate gold and crimson decor lined the walls, a fireplace at the far end of the room flickering with only embers, offering no real warmth. The chill in the air seeped into her bones, making her shiver violently. Despite the elegance of the room, there was an undeniable aura of menace, and she knew she was not alone.

A voice, smooth yet dripping with mockery, echoed from behind her. "Need me to turn on the heat, princess?" The words slithered through the air, filled with disdain.

Nashatra turned her head toward the voice, but before she could get a glimpse of the speaker, a sharp yank on her hair wrenched her head back, forcing a yelp from her lips. A strong grip twisted her brown locks, holding her in place. She found herself staring up into the face of Mafioso, his dark eyes glinting with amusement and something far more sinister. He loomed over her, smirking as though she were nothing more than an insect he could squash at any moment.

Her stomach churned with dread as she saw what he held in his other hand—the Angel Gun. The mere sight of it sent ice through her veins. That gun was no ordinary weapon. If fired, there would be no coming back. No respawning. No second chances.

Mafioso tilted his head, as if enjoying the sheer terror written across her face. "Don't... don't do this," she stammered, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"'Don't do it'?" he mimicked in a whiny tone, rolling his eyes before his grip on her hair tightened, making her wince. "After all the trouble you’ve caused me for months? Running around, getting in my way, making things worse? And now," his voice dropped to a growl, "that damn gambler is involved."

Chance. Nashatra’s heart pounded at the mention of them. She clenched her fists, trying to push down the fear threatening to paralyze her. If they were still out there, maybe, just maybe, there was hope.

Mafioso’s sneer deepened. "I should leave you here to freeze to death. Maybe then you’d finally learn a lesson." He pressed the barrel of the Angel Gun against her temple, the cold metal making her flinch. "Or," he mused, voice sickly sweet, "I could make this quick. End it here and now. No more games. No more debts. Just peace, forever."

Nashatra swallowed hard, her breath shallow. "You don’t have to do this. You want your debt repaid? Let me live. I can fix this."

Mafioso laughed, a cruel sound that echoed in the cold room. "Fix it? You think this is about money? Oh, sweetheart, we’re way past that." His grip loosened slightly, but the gun remained firm against her skull. "This is about principle. About respect. And you? You have neither."

He pulled back, stepping away, pacing in front of her. Nashatra sucked in a shaky breath, her mind racing. She needed to find a way out, but the ropes bit into her wrists, her legs were barely functioning, and she was unarmed.

Mafioso’s pacing stopped abruptly. "I’ll give you one chance to convince me," he said, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Why should I let you live? And don’t waste my time with nonsense."

Nashatra’s mind scrambled for something—anything—that would buy her time. She took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing herself to steady her voice. "Because I have something you need."

Mafioso raised a brow, intrigued but skeptical. "Oh? And what would that be?"

She hesitated only for a fraction of a second before speaking. "Information. About the gambler. About Chance."

His expression darkened instantly. "Careful, princess. You’re treading on dangerous ground."

Nashatra pushed on. "You want to get rid of them, don’t you? They’re a thorn in your side, just like I was. But unlike me, they’re not tied to this chair. They’re out there, free, and if you kill me now, you’ll lose any advantage you have."

Mafioso studied her carefully, silent for a long moment. The gun in his hand remained steady, but his fingers twitched slightly on the grip. "Go on."

Nashatra exhaled, sensing a sliver of an opening. "I know where they’ll go next. I know their habits, their weaknesses. You want them gone? You need me alive."

Mafioso let out a slow chuckle, shaking his head. "You’re a clever one, I’ll give you that. But tell me—why should I trust a single word out of your lying mouth?"

She met his gaze directly, summoning every ounce of defiance she had left. "Because at this moment, I know you hate them and wish nothing more than to get rid of them."

It was a gamble. A dangerous, reckless gamble. But for the first time since waking up in that chair, she saw the briefest flicker of hesitation in Mafioso’s expression.

He twirled the gun between his fingers before finally lowering it slightly. "You might just be useful after all."

Relief flooded Nashatra, but she knew better than to let it show. She had bought herself time—but how much? And more importantly, how long until Chance found her?

Mafioso turned away, moving toward the fireplace, and with a flick of his wrist, he adjusted something on the mantel. A second later, warm air began to flow into the room, the temperature rising slightly. He glanced back at her, smirking. "Can’t have you dying before I decide what to do with you."

 

Chapter 141: Information.

Summary:

(YAYSS, im ver ycreative with tiles like always-)

Nashatra sat frozen in the chair, her breath heavy as Mafioso circled her like a predator toying with its prey. The air in the room was thick with tension, the dim light casting eerie shadows across the elegant yet cold space. Her wrists ached from the tight restraints, her ankles still burned from whatever method they had used to incapacitate her before. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay calm. Panic wouldn’t help her now.

Mafioso’s voice slithered into her ears, smooth yet laced with condescension. “You want your debt repaid, don’t you? I don’t normally do this, but you,” he paused, stopping just behind her chair, “are an exception.”

Nashatra’s body tensed as he placed a firm hand on her shoulder, his grip just tight enough to remind her who was in control. He continued, his tone deceptively soothing. “Your freedom. Your debt paid. No more running, no more hiding. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

Nashatra swallowed hard. She knew better than to trust him, but the temptation of freedom dangled in front of her like a cruel mirage. Mafioso’s smirk widened as he saw the flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

“And all I ask in return,” he said, now leaning closer, his breath ghosting against her cheek, “is everything you know about Chance. Most importantly, their weakness.”

Nashatra’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected Mafioso to take the bait about Chance. She had only mentioned their name to stall for time, but now… now it was clear Mafioso had been waiting for an opportunity like this.

She looked away, trying to steady her thoughts. Chance was strong, but was she willing to gamble with their safety? Was she willing to put them in harm’s way just for her own freedom? The weight of the decision pressed heavily against her chest.

“And what if I refuse?” she asked, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

Mafioso raised an eyebrow before tapping the angel gun in his hand, letting the subtle click of metal echo in the silent room. “Simple. This.”

Nashatra shuddered. The angel gun. If he fired that, there would be no coming back. No respawning. No second chances. The thought sent a chill down her spine, colder than the room itself.

Her mind raced, forming a plan. If she played her cards right, she could turn this situation around. She had to be careful—Mafioso wasn’t someone she could outmuscle, but maybe, just maybe, she could outthink him.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” she asked, feigning skepticism.

Mafioso chuckled, clearly amused by her attempt to negotiate. Without a word, he walked to a sleek wooden desk across the room and turned around a computer monitor. The screen flickered to life, displaying a list of numbers and names. Debt records. Nashatra’s stomach churned as she saw her own name highlighted in red, the number beside it glaring at her like a death sentence.

-489K studs.

Mafioso clicked a button, and the number shifted.

-488K.

“You see?” he mused, gesturing toward the screen. “I’m a man of my word. This can go down… or it can stay the way it is. Your choice.”

Nashatra’s hands clenched into fists beneath the restraints. He had anticipated her hesitation. He knew exactly how to manipulate her. And worst of all, he wasn’t wrong—he could erase her debt, and with it, the years of suffering she had endured.

She forced herself to remain composed, to bury the emotions clawing at her chest. She needed to sell the act. Needed him to believe she was willing to comply.

“Deal,” she said, voice firm but measured.

Mafioso smirked, satisfaction gleaming in his dark eyes. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

He leaned down, his fingers gripping her chin, forcing her to look at him directly. “You better not be lying to me, Nashatra,” he warned, his tone dripping with venom. “You’ll face a fate worse than death.”

With a final smirk, he turned back to the computer, his fingers dancing over the keys. One more click, and the number beside her name began to drop, steadily declining until it hit absolute zero.

Her debt was gone.

Nashatra exhaled shakily, her mind spinning. She had won herself a sliver of freedom, but at what cost? What had she just gotten herself into?

Her eyes flickered to the angel gun still resting in Mafioso’s grip. She had no choice but to play along for now, but she wasn’t about to let this be the end of her story. If she was going to betray Mafioso, she had to be smart about it.

She just hoped Chance would come for her before it was too late.

 

Chapter 142: Abandonned

Summary:

(THE RETURN OF THE LIL LILYYY)

Chapter 142

Chance materialized into the eerie, dimly lit corridors of the Dying Mall, their body tensing as the weight of their mission settled over them. The air was thick with dust and the faint scent of old, decaying wood. Flickering lights above cast erratic shadows across the cracked tiles, creating the illusion that something was moving just out of sight. They took a slow breath, trying to gather their thoughts.

Mafioso wasn’t stupid. If he had taken Nashatra, he wouldn’t just bring her back to his usual office space. That would be too predictable. No, he had to have another location, somewhere secret, somewhere Chance hadn’t considered before. But where?

A sudden, unexpected tug at their pants snapped them out of their thoughts. Chance instinctively tensed, ready for a fight, before glancing down.

A small, familiar white bunny sat at their feet, its large eyes blinking up at them with innocent curiosity. The soft pink bow around its ear confirmed it: Lily, Mafioso’s precious pet.

Chance furrowed their brows.

“What the hell are you doing here, girl?” they muttered, crouching down. The little rabbit sat there like royalty, staring at them as if she had all the answers in the world. Chance reached out, gently ruffling her fur, feeling a small moment of reprieve from the tension knotting in their shoulders. “You’re way calmer than Spade, huh?”

Lily responded by primly grooming her paws, an act so delicate and self-important that Chance couldn’t help but crack a small, fleeting smile.

“Ahh, why are bunnies so damn cute?” they whispered, shaking their head. It was almost funny, the contrast between Mafioso’s brutal demeanor and this tiny, fluffy creature that he pampered like a princess. If she was here, though… that meant something. Chance just had to figure out what.

They carefully scooped Lily up into their arms, cradling her gently as she settled against their chest, still content and unbothered.

“Alright, girl,” they murmured. “Where’s your owner, huh?”

Lily let out a soft cooing noise, snuggling further into Chance’s grasp. They sighed.

‘Did she get lost? No way. Mafioso wouldn’t just lose track of her—not with how obsessed he is with keeping her safe. Then why is she here…? Unless she got away. Or was left behind.’

Chance’s grip on Lily tightened slightly.

‘what an asshole , was he really i nsuch a hurry he abandonned her?’

A cold sensation curled in their gut. That was a bad sign. That meant Nashatra wasn’t just being held—Mafioso might be planning something permanent. The thought sent a sharp pulse of urgency through Chance’s veins.

Their fingers twitched against Lily’s fur. They needed to move. Fast.

With Lily still secured in their arms, Chance took off through the mall, their boots echoing against the cracked floor as they scanned their surroundings for any clue as to where Mafioso could have taken Nashatra. The escalators loomed ahead, their once-polished metal now rusted and creaking under the weight of time. The upper levels stretched into darkness, eerie silence filling the empty halls where, once upon a time, voices and laughter might have echoed.

Chance’s eyes darted to a set of broken-down storefronts, their signs barely legible from years of neglect. Cafés, clothing stores, electronics—nothing that screamed ‘hidden hostage location.’ But that didn’t mean the answer wasn’t buried somewhere within these walls.

Then something caught their eye.

A dark smudge on the floor. A trail.

Chance’s breath hitched. Slowly, carefully, they approached the marks, their pulse quickening. Blood? No… upon closer inspection, it looked more like dirt, dragged along the tiles in uneven streaks. Like someone had been carried through here.

Chance followed the trail, gripping Lily a little closer.

“I swear, if he hurt her too bad…” They muttered under their breath, their jaw tightening.

The trail led them toward a side entrance of what once was a high-end department store. The large glass windows were shattered, the insides cloaked in eerie darkness. The air here felt… different. Heavier. Like something was watching.

Chance exhaled sharply. There was no turning back now.

They stepped inside.

The scent of dust and mildew clung to the air as they moved carefully past toppled mannequins and abandoned clothing racks. A faint clicking noise rang out from above—loose wiring, maybe? It was hard to tell. The further in they went, the more suffocating the silence became.

Then Lily suddenly squirmed in their grasp, her tiny ears twitching.

Chance stopped.

“…You sense something, girl?”

Lily wiggled again, this time turning her head toward a barely noticeable doorway near the back of the store, its frame partially hidden behind a collapsed shelf.

Chance narrowed their eyes.

‘Bingo.’

Carefully setting Lily down, they whispered, “Stay here.”

The rabbit, to their surprise, actually listened, sitting obediently against the fabric of an old, discarded coat. Chance smirked a little before creeping forward, their heart thudding as they reached the doorway.

It was unlocked.

Chance pressed forward, entering a dimly lit stairwell that led down, the air growing colder with each step.

At the bottom, a heavy metal door stood slightly ajar. Beyond it, the sound of muffled voices.

Chance’s grip on their weapon tightened as they pressed closer, peering through the gap.

Inside, Nashatra sat slumped in a chair, her wrists bound tightly. Her head hung low, exhaustion evident in every fiber of her being. Standing in front of her was Mafioso, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim glow of a nearby lamp.

“…I’ve been generous, Nashatra,” Mafioso was saying, his tone oddly casual, almost amused. “But my patience isn’t endless. You gave me your word, so I suggest you start talking.”

Chance’s blood ran hot. They had to act fast.

They glanced down at Lily, who was still watching them with large, unblinking eyes. An idea formed in their mind. It was risky. Stupid, even. But it just might work.

Taking a deep breath, Chance braced themself.

Then, with all the force they could muster, they kicked the door open.

The sound was deafening in the silence, the metal slamming against the wall as both Nashatra and Mafioso snapped their heads up in alarm.

Chance stepped in, eyes blazing.

“Hey, asshole,” they snarled. “I think you have something that belongs to me.”

Mafioso’s expression twisted into one of surprised amusement.

“Well, well,” he drawled, casually turning to face them. “Looks like the gambler finally found their way to the table.”

Chance smirked, flipping their crowbar into their hand.

“Yeah,” they said, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “And I’m about to tip the odds in my favor.”

Nashatra looked up, eyes widening slightly as hope flickered through her exhausted gaze.

Chance didn’t take their eyes off Mafioso.

 

 

Chapter 143: Poor girl!

Summary:

(AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

Before Mafioso could place another word, Chance took out a newspaper, folding it with precision before striking Mafioso right at the back of his head.

"FIRST OF ALL, EDGELORD," Chance growled, their voice laced with both irritation and something almost playful. "You DON'T hurt her."

With a swift movement, they landed another hit, this time on Mafioso’s shoulder. "SECOND OF ALL," Chance continued, their glare intensifying, "you just abandoned your bunny! That's a fucking crime right here!"

Mafioso barely registered the hits themselves; they were nothing more than minor annoyances. What truly shocked him was the sheer audacity of Chance to even lay a hand on him in the first place. His eyes narrowed, amusement flickering across his features before settling into something more dangerous. He had not anticipated such recklessness.

Nashatra, meanwhile, stared at the scene unfolding before her in a state that was equal parts horror and awe. Her expression practically screamed: What the fuck did you just do? Do you have a death wish?!

Chance ignored her look entirely. Instead, they turned back toward the entrance, where a small figure had been quietly sniffling. Lily, the pristine white bunny with her signature pink bow, sat trembling, her big, glossy eyes brimming with tears. Her tiny whimpers were heartbreakingly soft, and the sight of her in such distress only fueled the fire within Chance.

"Look what you’ve done!" they snapped, shoving the distressed bunny into Mafioso’s line of sight. "Ya proud of yourself, huh?!" Their voice dripped with venom, the sheer indignation of it all radiating off them in waves.

Mafioso, for all his composed demeanor, visibly tensed at the sight of Lily’s sorrow. A flicker of something unreadable—perhaps even guilt—crossed his features, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced once more by his usual mask of arrogance.

Chance, wasting no time, reached for one of the knives resting atop the desk. With a practiced motion, they sliced through the ropes binding Nashatra, the blade gliding effortlessly through the restraints.

For a brief moment, Nashatra didn’t even register that she was free. She was too preoccupied staring at Chance with an expression that could only be described as pure disbelief.

How the fuck are you even still alive, Chance?

She didn’t voice it, but the thought screamed in her mind. Chance simply shot her a wink before gripping the knife tighter in their hand, turning their attention back to Mafioso.

"So," Chance said, cracking their neck slightly. "We doin’ this the easy way, or the fun way?"

Mafioso let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You’ve got some real nerve, gambler."

Chance merely grinned. "Yeah, yeah. Let’s cut to the part where I kick your ass, shall we?"

 

Chapter 144: Taking care.

Summary:

(YAYSSSS)

Chance voiced to Nashatra to run. At first, Nashatra hesitated, her legs frozen in place. She wanted to protest, to tell Chance that this was a terrible idea, that they should run together. But then, Chance turned to her, their eyes filled with an intensity that left no room for argument. The look they gave her was absolute. They would handle this, and she needed to go.

With a sharp inhale, Nashatra swallowed her words and bolted for the door. Her footsteps echoed in the large, dimly lit room as she sprinted, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She barely registered the moment she crossed the threshold and disappeared down the dark hallway. Her only thought was escape.

Back in the room, Mafioso was eerily silent, his gaze fixed on Lily. The only sound filling the space was the soft whimpers of Lily, the small white rabbit trembling in Chance’s arms. Her little body quivered, and her bright eyes were wet with tears. She let out tiny hiccups, her soft pink bow slightly askew from all the movement.

Chance glared at Mafioso, their grip tightening on the fragile creature. "Listen here." They hissed, voice laced with venom. They adjusted their hold on Lily, cradling her carefully. "She was out there, crying, lost and abandoned. That’s your doing, and I’m not letting this slide."

Mafioso remained silent, watching them with a neutral expression, but Chance wasn’t fooled. They knew he was assessing them, measuring their worth, deciding what to do next. Mafioso was unpredictable, and that was dangerous.

Before he could react, Chance made their move. With a swift motion, they reached out and roughly tugged on one of Mafioso’s black bunny ears. The action was unexpected, and even though the crime boss barely showed pain, he let out a low, involuntary grunt. His brow twitched in irritation, but he didn’t retaliate. Not yet.

"You listen here, asshole," Chance spat, their grip on his ear tightening. "We are taking care of this bunny right now, whether you like it or not. And you are going to treat her like royalty to make up for leaving her in the dust earlier."

Mafioso narrowed his eyes but said nothing. His ears twitched slightly under Chance’s grip, and they noted the small flicker of irritation in his otherwise calm demeanor. He didn’t like being manhandled. Good.

With surprising strength, Chance began pulling him forward by the ear, dragging him toward one of the other doors. It was a bold move, one that could get them killed if Mafioso lost his patience, but they didn’t care. They were pissed, and they weren’t about to let this go without consequences.

They yanked the crime lord through the doorway, into what appeared to be a large kitchen. The scent of old wood and faint traces of spices filled the air. The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a few scattered lamps.

Chance stopped once they reached the kitchen table, finally letting go of Mafioso’s ear. They shoved him down into one of the wooden chairs with enough force to make it creak. Lily let out another whimper, burying her face into Chance’s chest.

"First things first," Chance muttered, setting Lily down gently on the table. "She needs food. You got anything for her, or do I need to raid this place myself?"

Mafioso leaned back in his chair, adjusting his ear as he fixed Chance with an unimpressed look. "You’re seriously making demands right now? Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?"

Chance slammed their hands on the table, making Lily flinch. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?" They shot back. "I don't care how scary you think you are, you don’t get to abandon a living creature and act like it’s no big deal. Now, food. Where is it?"

There was a tense silence. Then, without breaking eye contact, Mafioso exhaled through his nose and slowly gestured toward a cabinet. "Second shelf. Carrots and greens. Knock yourself out."

Chance didn't waste time. They strode to the cabinet, yanked it open, and grabbed whatever looked fresh. Returning to the table, they placed the food in front of Lily, who sniffed at it hesitantly before nibbling on a piece of carrot. Her tiny ears twitched as she chewed, slowly calming down.

Mafioso watched the entire exchange with a blank expression. Chance could tell he was still trying to process the absurdity of the situation. Here he was, a powerful crime lord, sitting at a kitchen table while some gambler berated him over a rabbit.

"This is ridiculous," Mafioso muttered, rubbing his temple.

"No," Chance corrected, arms crossed. "This is justice."

Mafioso gave them a long, unreadable stare before finally shaking his head. "You really are something else, you know that?"

Chance smirked. "I get that a lot."

Lily, now more relaxed, hopped into Chance’s lap and curled up. The sight made Chance’s heart melt. They stroked her fur gently, glancing up at Mafioso.

 

 

Chapter 145: Soft spot.

Summary:

(MAFIOSO HAS A SOFT SPOTTTTTTTTTT)

As Chance carefully spooned some food into Lily’s dish, the small white bunny twitched her nose and stared at Mafioso with those pleading, sorrowful eyes. She whimpered softly, her little body trembling with need for affection. Mafioso kept his arms crossed, attempting to act indifferent, but something in him wavered. He adored Lily. That much was undeniable. But he refused to show weakness—especially not in front of Chance.

With a frustrated sigh, Mafioso pulled out a chair near the kitchen table and rested his head on his folded arms. Maybe if he ignored the situation long enough, Chance would lose interest and move on. However, Lily had other plans. The bunny hopped onto the table, crawled under Mafioso’s head, and pressed her warm, soft body against his face.

Mafioso’s red eyes softened slightly as he looked at the tiny creature nudging him. He could feel her tiny heart beating fast against his cheek, her little paws shifting restlessly. His tough facade melted just a little, and he let out a quiet sigh before lowering his head further, pressing gentle kisses on Lily’s soft fur. His fingers traced over her back, petting her lightly, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of her tiny body. For a brief moment, he forgot Chance was even in the room.

That was until he heard a loud, obnoxious coo from the other side of the table.

"Awww, look at you, big bad Mafioso! A total softie for a little bunny!" Chance teased, a smug grin plastered across their face.

Mafioso immediately tensed, his moment of affection vanishing in an instant. His head snapped up, eyes burning with irritation.

"Shut it, gambler." He growled, but Chance only laughed, leaning back in their chair with satisfaction.

"Hey, hey, I’m just sayin’. At least she forgives you. Consider yourself lucky. If I even abandoned Spade outside for five minutes, he’d hold that grudge for months." Chance shook their head dramatically, as if recalling past horrors.

Mafioso raised an eyebrow. Well, if he had eyebrows that could be seen under his mask. "Spade?" His voice was flat.

"Yeah, Spade," Chance confirmed with a shrug. "He’s my black bunny."

A moment of silence passed before Mafioso spoke again, his tone sharper this time. "So you dare lecture me about taking care of Lily, and yet you leave your own rabbit out in the cold?" His eyes narrowed, voice laced with accusation.

Chance blinked before scoffing. "The hell are you talkin’ about?"

Mafioso leaned back in his chair, arms folded. "It's a black bunny. That means he's feral."

Chance stared at him for a moment before realization dawned. They groaned and rubbed their temples. "Okay, you do know that real-world bunnies and Dreamscape bunnies don't work the same, right? Sure, Dreamscape might have only white ones, but in reality, they come in different colors."

Mafioso tilted his head slightly, as if weighing the information. "...Hmph."

Chance smirked, shaking their head. "What, don’t believe me? I’ve had Spade for years. He’s the most spoiled brat you’ll ever meet. Acts like a king, demands food at all hours, and if I don’t cuddle him, he gets dramatic and flops over like he’s dying. You should see it, it’s hilarious."

Lily twitched her ears, as if understanding the conversation. She nestled deeper into Mafioso’s arms, making herself comfortable.

"Sounds like you created a bratty bunny to me," Mafioso muttered, scratching behind Lily’s ear absentmindedly.

"Ain’t that just parenting?" Chance joked, watching Mafioso’s hand move gently over Lily’s fur. "Look at you, though. Thought you were all business, no heart. Guess I was wrong."

Mafioso rolled his eyes, but he didn’t push Lily away. Instead, he just sighed and shifted his position so she could sit more comfortably on his arm.

Chance leaned forward, resting their chin on their hands. "So, tell me, Mafioso. Why the sudden shift? You had Nashatra tied up, gun in hand, full-on villain mode, and now? Now you’re cuddling your bunny like a doting dad."

Mafioso shot them a glare. "I still have a job to do."

"Uh-huh. And that job is?"

A heavy silence settled between them. Mafioso didn't answer immediately. His fingers drummed lightly against the table. "I need information."

Chance raised an eyebrow. "On?"

"You know who."

"Oh, c’mon, use their name." Chance grinned. "You sound ridiculous."

Mafioso clenched his jaw. "you."

"There it is!" Chance smirked, pointing at him. "I knew you could do it."

Mafioso exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to throttle them. "I need to know how to beat you."

Chance leaned back, grinning. "Oof. Tough request. You sure you wanna know? It might hurt your ego."

"Gambler."

Chance held up their hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. But let me ask you this—why do you care so much? You’ve been chasing me for what? weeks, and yet here we are, sharing a nice little family dinner with your bunny."

Mafioso tensed. "This isn't a dinner."

"Close enough."

Mafioso’s grip on the table tightened. "Enough games. Either you talk, or—"

"Or what?" Chance challenged, tilting their head. "You gonna shoot me? In front of Lily? That’s cold, man."

Mafioso hesitated, just for a second, but it was enough for Chance to catch it. They smirked.

"Thought so."

Mafioso exhaled through his nose. He had to admit—Chance was good at reading people. And they were infuriating. But there was something else too, something gnawing at him. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

Lily twitched her ears again and nuzzled closer. Mafioso’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but his mind remained sharp.

"Fine," he said. "We’ll do this your way. For now."

Chance chuckled. "Now that’s progress."

 

Chapter 146: Family dinner.

Summary:

(TIEM FOR UR DAILY FEEDING , HERE U GO MY HUNGRY BEANS.)

Mafioso sat at the table, gently petting Lily as the small bunny nestled into his arms. He tried to focus only on her, ignoring the irritating presence of Chance, who had taken it upon themselves to rummage through his kitchen like they owned the place. His black bunny ears twitched as he observed them opening the fridge, pulling out ingredients, and inspecting each item with an almost methodical curiosity.

Chance, oblivious to the daggers being mentally thrown at them, reached inside and grabbed a bright orange carrot. They turned around, waving it playfully in front of Mafioso’s face. "You want a carrot, bunny?" Chance teased, wiggling their eyebrows.

Mafioso simply stared, unamused. His glare alone should have been enough to make them back off, but Chance? No, Chance had the audacity to take a bite of the carrot right in front of him, chewing dramatically before smirking. "What’s up, doc?"

Rolling his eyes, Mafioso ignored them, refocusing his attention on Lily. The little bunny pawed at his chest, her big eyes pleading for more affection. He sighed but obliged, pressing a few gentle kisses against her soft fur. She cooed happily, nuzzling into his touch, completely content.

Chance watched the moment unfold and couldn’t help but find it endearing. It was rare to see Mafioso genuinely soften, even if it was only for a rabbit. Still, they weren’t about to let this opportunity go to waste. They set the carrot down and turned their attention to the stove, pulling out more ingredients and beginning to prep for a meal.

Mafioso narrowed his eyes. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Chance glanced over their shoulder, already rolling up their sleeves. "Cooking, duh. You’ve got some decent ingredients in here, might as well use them."

Mafioso scoffed. "You can’t just waltz into my kitchen and start cooking."

Chance grinned. "Too late."

Mafioso huffed but didn’t make any move to stop them. Instead, he simply watched as Chance began working, their movements surprisingly precise as they prepared the dough and shaped the pasta. Soon enough, the smell of freshly made ravioli filled the kitchen, rich and enticing.

Against his better judgment, Mafioso felt himself relax slightly. He hadn't had a proper home-cooked meal in a long time. As much as he wanted to remain indifferent, the comforting aroma was making it difficult.

Just as he was beginning to accept the bizarre situation, the door swung open, and in walked four of his soldiers—Gunther, Borys, Mael, and Fazio. They stopped dead in their tracks, their eyes darting between Chance, the cooking food, and their boss, who sat at the table still holding Lily.

Gunther was the first to speak. "Uh... Boss? What the hell is going on here?"

Mael crossed his arms. "Are we just... ignoring the fact Chance is in our kitchen?"

Fazio’s eyes flicked to Chance. "And cooking, no less."

Chance turned around, waving a hand casually. "Oh, hey. Dinner’s almost ready. You guys should sit down."

The soldiers exchanged glances, clearly confused and looking to Mafioso for an answer. Mafioso, however, simply rubbed his temple, already feeling a headache coming on. He didn’t bother to answer them.

Chance, however, clapped their hands together. "Come on, don’t just stand there like statues. Sit."

There was something in their tone—warm, yet commanding—that made it impossible to argue. Hesitantly, the four soldiers obeyed, taking their seats at the table while still casting questioning looks at their boss. Mafioso merely leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

Chance continued cooking, humming softly to themselves as they plated the ravioli, garnishing it with care before setting the plates down in front of everyone. "There. Now eat."

Gunther hesitated before picking up his fork and taking a cautious bite. His eyes widened slightly. "Holy shit, this is actually really good."

Mael took a bite as well, nodding in agreement. "Alright, I’ll admit, I didn’t expect much, but this is impressive."

Fazio grinned. "I could get used to this."

Chance smirked proudly. "See? Good food makes everything better."

Mafioso sighed, picking up his fork with mild reluctance. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the ravioli was good—really good. He chewed thoughtfully, saying nothing, but Chance could see the slight softening in his posture.

Lily, still nestled in his arms, wiggled her nose before reaching up with her tiny paws, clearly wanting a taste. Mafioso sighed again before cutting off a small, plain piece of pasta and offering it to her. The soldiers all stared in a mix of disbelief and amusement.

Gunther leaned over to Borys, whispering, "Did you ever think you’d see the boss feeding a bunny at the dinner table?"

Borys shook his head. "Nope. But here we are."

Mafioso shot them both a glare, effectively silencing them.

Chance, meanwhile, leaned forward on the table, resting their chin in their hands. "See? Told you she forgives you. You should consider yourself lucky. spade would have had holded that grudge."

Chance smirked. "Oh, he’s a menace, don’t get me wrong. But he’s mine. That makes all the difference."

Mafioso hummed, saying nothing more as he returned to eating. The atmosphere had shifted—still tense, but slightly less hostile. The soldiers continued eating, still confused about the entire situation but unwilling to question it further.

Chance, satisfied with the way things had unfolded, leaned back in their chair. "Well, this turned out better than expected. See, Mafioso? I can be civil."

Mafioso simply grunted in response, but the fact that he hadn’t immediately thrown them out spoke volumes.

Lily, still in his arms, let out a soft, contented sigh. And for the first time in a long time, Mafioso allowed himself to relax—if only just a little.

Chapter 147: Shark attack

Summary:

(HEHEHEHE)

Gunther and Borys stared at Chance, their shark tails swinging like predators waiting for the right moment to strike. Meanwhile, Chance remained unfazed, calmly eating their ravioli as though they weren’t surrounded by individuals who would likely kill them given the chance. Fazio and Mael, however, were much more preoccupied with their meal, their sea bunny ears twitching in contentment.

Gunther shot them a sharp look as if to say, "What are you doing? This is Chance. We are supposed to be capturing them—probably killing them too!" But Fazio merely shot him a look back, his expression calm and unbothered, "Relax for once! Boss isn’t doing anything. Must mean it's clear for now."

Gunther, still unconvinced, turned his gaze to Mafioso. The boss was sitting there, petting Lily absentmindedly. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a slight relaxation in his posture. It wasn’t as though he was letting his guard down entirely, but there was an unmistakable hint of softness that had crept into his demeanor. Gunther, for all his instincts, could recognize that much.

Borys, on the other hand, was glaring daggers at Chance, his tail swinging in irritation. Gunther noticed this and, despite his own unease, he knew that if they acted without permission, Mafioso would not take kindly to it. Instead of giving in to his own irritation, he shifted closer to Borys, rubbing his tail against his in a slow, deliberate motion. Borys turned to him, eyes filled with silent discontent, but Gunther merely continued the motion. Slowly, Borys relaxed under the familiar gesture. Without a word, Gunther leaned in slightly, rubbing his face and gill-like ears against Borys’s head in a comforting manner. Borys let out a small, quiet huff before his tail intertwined with Gunther’s, their silent conversation of mutual understanding settling between them.

While the two sharks settled down, Fazio and Mael turned their expectant gazes to Chance, silently asking for another plate.

Chance chuckled at the sight before sliding them more ravioli. "You guys look like you haven't been fed in years," Chance remarked in amusement.

Fazio swallowed his bite before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, Eunoia has been away, and we... don't know how to cook much apart from canned stuff." His sea bunny ears flattened slightly, as if embarrassed by the admission.

Mafioso’s sharp eyes followed Chance, watching them closely, analyzing them with that calculating mind of his. The way they casually interacted with his men, the way they cared enough to feed them without hesitation—it made something stir within him. Not that he would ever admit it.

Gunther noticed too. He could see that, even though Mafioso was acting as if nothing was different, there was an unmistakable shift in his aura. He was still tense, still alert, but there was something else there—something softer. Gunther didn’t know if he liked it.

Borys, however, was far less concerned with subtleties. "Why are you acting like this is some kind of family dinner?" he growled, finally speaking up.

Chance smirked at him, completely undeterred. "Why not? If you’re going to kill me, might as well get a good meal out of it, right?"

Borys bared his teeth, but before he could say anything else, Mafioso finally spoke, his voice low and commanding. "Enough."

The room fell silent immediately. Everyone turned their attention to him. His gaze was unreadable, his fingers idly petting Lily, who had curled up comfortably in his lap. His black bunny ears twitched slightly, but his focus was still on Chance.

"Let them eat," he said simply.

Borys clenched his jaw but said nothing further. Gunther merely sighed, tightening his grip around Borys’s tail in silent reassurance. Fazio and Mael, on the other hand, happily resumed eating, taking the rare opportunity to enjoy a properly cooked meal.

Chance leaned back, twirling their fork between their fingers. "See? Even your boss gets it. Food is meant to be enjoyed, not wasted."

Mafioso exhaled sharply through his nose, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he continued stroking Lily’s fur, watching Chance with an expression that was both wary and intrigued. Chance knew they were being analyzed, that every word and action was being calculated in Mafioso’s mind, but they didn't mind. If anything, they welcomed it.

Chapter 148: Cuddles!

Summary:

(I LVOE THE GOONS! you cant tell /silly )

As everyone finished eating, Chance took it upon themselves to do the dishes, humming a tune as they scrubbed the plates clean. The room carried a rare moment of peace, the tension between the mafioso and Chance still lingering in the air but softened by the comfort of full stomachs and the warmth of a home-cooked meal. Fazio and Mael had made their way to the couch in the corner of the room, their sea bunny ears twitching in contentment as they snuggled close to each other. Meanwhile, Borys and Gunther sat on the opposite couch, their shark tails idly swaying as they observed Chance from a distance.

Not one to let a moment pass without teasing, Fazio suddenly got up and padded toward Borys, while Mael made a beeline for Gunther. Borys, feeling Fazio's presence looming over him, barely had time to react before the smaller one practically draped themselves over him, cuddling into his chest. A deep growl of annoyance rumbled from Borys' throat, but he made no move to push Fazio away, his instincts kicking in as his shark tail instinctively wrapped around them protectively.

"You should relax for once, you know..." Fazio murmured, rubbing their cheek against Borys' shoulder.

Borys exhaled sharply, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "We can't let our guard down. Who knows what they plan to do?"

Fazio chuckled, their sea bunny ears twitching before they pressed their face against Borys' neck. The soft gills against his skin sent a shiver down Borys' spine.

"Hehe... stop it..." Borys muttered, his voice quieter than before, a rare moment of vulnerability slipping through his tough demeanor. He tried to keep his face neutral, but Fazio could feel the way his muscles tensed, his breathing slightly uneven.

Fazio, of course, took that as a challenge.

With a mischievous glint in their eye, they rubbed their ears directly against Borys' neck again, this time more insistently. The reaction was instant—Borys clenched his jaw, his face twitching as he fought the urge to laugh. His tail gave an involuntary flick, tightening protectively around Fazio, as if that would somehow stop them from tormenting him further.

Gunther and Mael, comfortably cuddling on the couch beside them, watched the scene unfold with barely concealed amusement. Gunther, who had been lazily running his fingers through Mael's soft ears, raised an eyebrow at the sight of Borys desperately trying to maintain his composure.

"You know," Gunther mused, "it's not often we get to see Borys struggle like this."

Mael, resting their head against Gunther's shoulder, smirked. "Yeah, it's a real treat."

Borys shot them both a glare, his tail flicking sharply. "Shut it."

Fazio only giggled, their fingers playing with the fabric of Borys' shirt as they buried their face deeper against him. "You're so warm when you're flustered. It's adorable."

Borys groaned. "You're impossible."

Meanwhile, Gunther had his own hands full. Mael, who had been quietly observing the situation, suddenly turned the tables on him, shifting so that they were practically curled up against his chest. Gunther raised an eyebrow but made no move to push them away. Instead, he simply ran his fingers through Mael's ears again, his movements slow and soothing.

Mael let out a soft sigh, their sea bunny ears twitching against Gunther's touch. "You always know how to calm me down," they murmured.

Gunther smirked. "Someone has to keep you from getting too antsy."

Mael hummed in agreement, content to simply lay against him.

Across the room, Chance was finishing up with the dishes, casting a glance at the group of enforcers now curled up together in pairs. They chuckled to themselves, drying their hands on a cloth before leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

"You guys look like a bunch of house pets." Chance teased, smirking.

Gunther raised an eyebrow but didn't move, still gently stroking Mael's ears. "Say what you want, but at least we know how to appreciate downtime."

Borys, still trapped in Fazio’s embrace, growled lowly. "We are not pets."

Chance only laughed, walking over and leaning slightly toward Borys and Fazio. "Sure you're not. But if I had a camera, this would make for a pretty damn cute picture."

Borys shot Chance a deadly glare, his shark tail flicking aggressively, but Chance was unfazed, grinning like they'd just won something.

Fazio, on the other hand, was outright beaming. "I wouldn't mind a picture!"

Borys groaned, dropping his head back against the couch in exasperation. "I'm surrounded by idiots."

Gunther smirked. "Yeah, but they're our idiots."

Borys huffed but didn't argue, letting Fazio snuggle in closer. Gunther and Mael exchanged knowing glances before Gunther pressed a light kiss to Mael's forehead, a rare but tender gesture.

Chance watched the whole thing unfold, their expression softening slightly. Even in the middle of enemy territory, surrounded by people who were supposed to be dangerous, there was something oddly comforting about seeing them like this. It reminded them of something—a distant feeling of camaraderie, of a found family that existed despite all odds.

Mafioso, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, finally spoke up, his voice smooth but laced with exhaustion. "Enough with the sentimental nonsense. We still have things to discuss."

Chance glanced at him, their smirk still in place. "Oh? And here I thought you were enjoying the show."

Mafioso shot them a look, but there was no real bite behind it. "Hardly."

Chance chuckled, pushing off the counter. "Alright, alright. Back to business, then. But admit it—you liked it a little."

Mafioso didn't respond, but the way his gaze lingered on his men—on the rare moment of peace they were allowed—spoke volumes. And for now, that was enough.

Chapter 149: Get out forever.

Summary:

(you will ahve to learn that in thsi fanfic. , happiness never stays long , SUFFER /j)

Chance sat across from Mafioso, arms crossed, legs spread slightly in a relaxed manner, listening carefully to what the mafioso had to say. There was an unusual heaviness in the air, a tension that neither of them could quite name. Mafioso, his black bunny ears twitching in irritation, finally spoke.

"So. You are troublesome, to say the least."

Chance gave a slow nod, waiting for him to continue.

Mafioso leaned forward, his sharp eyes boring into them. "I don't know why, but the dreamscape seems too eager to have you in it. Things have gotten brighter in each dream, and things aren't as usual."

Chance raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Mafioso exhaled, his tone growing sharper. "The volcanic mountains. The lava at the top was always calm, no matter if you threw something in it. It would never budge. But yet, you shot a mere bullet in it, and it erupted. That’s not normal."

Chance tapped their fingers against the table. "Okay... well, maybe I'm just lucky?"

Mafioso shook his head, clearly irritated. "It would have been the case if it wasn't for a specific dream. The Cherry Blossom Dream." He watched for Chance’s reaction, but they remained neutral. "The screen of different dreams only shows that specific dream when you are in the dreamscape. Otherwise, it's gone when you aren’t here."

Chance narrowed their eyes. "Okay, what do you want me to do about it? Summon a genie or something?"

Mafioso’s patience snapped. He grabbed Chance by the collar, yanking them forward, his grip strong, desperate. "I want you gone. That’s what I want."

Chance's breath hitched slightly, their usual nonchalant demeanor faltering for just a moment. Mafioso's grip was firm but not entirely cruel—more desperate than anything. He let go just as suddenly, stepping back, running a hand through his hair before pacing with measured steps. Each footfall echoed his frustration.

"I'm so tired of this chase. I don't know why I haven't killed you yet, considering you are the most reckless and annoying person I've ever met. And I'm so tired of this... this fucking feeling—"

Mafioso turned sharply, eyes burning with a mixture of anger and something unspoken. "Get out. I want you out of this dreamscape, and I never want to see you again."

Chance had been backed into the wall, their chin lifted by Mafioso's fingers, forcing them to look directly into his furious, conflicted eyes. The usual arrogance in Mafioso’s posture was gone. Instead, there was an unspoken, almost pleading look, like he was afraid. Not of them—but of himself. Of whatever emotion was clawing at his chest, something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

For once, Chance didn't have a witty remark. They stared, their lips parting slightly, but no words came out. Mafioso wanted them gone—forever. That was what struck them silent. They had never heard that level of finality from him before, never seen him this unguarded and raw.

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. And for once, Chance didn’t know what to say.

 

Chapter 150: The rain under your parade.

Summary:

(time for some food , sorry for the lack of update ive been sick as hell xd)

As Chance stared at Mafioso, their mismatched eyes reflecting the dim glow of the hideout, Mafioso’s heart pounded against his ribs. There was a rhythm to it that unsettled him, a quickening that shouldn’t have been there. He was supposed to be in control. He always was. And yet, something gnawed at him, something beyond understanding. Why? Why couldn’t he shake this?

Chance’s gaze lingered for a second longer before they slowly began to back away. Mafioso remained still, but the tension in his posture betrayed him—there was a slight tremble in his fingers, a ghost of hesitation. Chance noticed. They always noticed. But they didn’t say anything. They only turned away, stepping lightly out of the hideout.

One last glance back. One last unreadable look.

And then they were gone.

The dying mall stretched before them, its once-grand halls now hollow, filled with the ghosts of a past life. It didn’t feel right. The world itself felt like it was shifting under their feet, like an unseen force had twisted the very air. Every shadow in the corner of their vision seemed deeper than before, every echo of their own footsteps more distorted.

Chance made their way back to the penthouse. The walk felt longer than usual, their body heavier with an unseen burden. When they finally reached the familiar red bed, they collapsed onto it, exhaling sharply.

Sleep. That’s all they needed. Just to sleep and wake up. Shake off whatever this was.

But the moment their eyes shut, they were somewhere else.

The cherry blossom dream. Again.

But it wasn’t the same.

The sky above was a deep, foreboding grey, clouds rolling overhead as the first signs of rain began to fall. Droplets landed on their skin, cold and real, each one sending a strange shiver down their spine. They knew this dream. They had been here before, many times. But something was wrong.

The cherry blossoms—so vibrant, so full of life—were withering. The soft pink petals had turned brittle, crumbling under the weight of the rain. The wind, usually warm and carrying the scent of spring, was biting and sharp, cutting through them like a blade.

And the flowers.

The field that once bloomed with gentle cherry blossoms had been overtaken by something else entirely.

Purple hyacinths.

A vast, endless stretch of them. Their deep, sorrowful hue spread across the ground like an infection, their scent thick and suffocating. Chance’s stomach twisted at the sight, unease clawing at their throat. They didn’t belong here. They weren’t supposed to be here.

Their hands clenched at their sides, and they turned toward the tree. The grand, ancient tree that had always stood in the heart of this dream, its branches once strong and full. But now, the bark was darkened, cracked in places where the rain had seeped into its core. Its roots, once stable, seemed to be decaying, curling inward as if in agony.

A gust of wind carried the scent of the purple hyacinths toward them, and for the first time in a long while, Chance felt fear grip their chest. Something was happening. Something they couldn’t understand.

A presence. A shift in the very air around them.

They took a cautious step forward, their breath uneven. The rain continued to fall, soaking through their clothes, making the chill settle deep in their bones. Their hands reached out toward the tree, fingers hovering just above the rough, cracking bark.

And then

A whisper.

Soft, almost drowned out by the rain, but unmistakable.

They froze.

The voice was familiar, yet distant. A distorted echo of something they had heard before, something that had been buried in the depths of their memories.

Their breath hitched. Their pulse pounded.

The cherry blossoms were dying.

The tree was rotting.

And the flowers that surrounded them—those wretched, sorrowful flowers were blooming in their place.

Something was very, very wrong.

Chance swallowed hard, a sense of dread creeping up their spine. The rain pressed heavier against them, the whisper turning into a low hum, almost like a song just at the edge of hearing.

Their fingers curled inward.

What was going on?

And why did it feel like something was watching them?

A gust of wind tore through the field, sending the brittle cherry blossom petals into the air, scattering them like ashes. The sight sent a shudder through Chance’s entire being. The world around them felt like it was unraveling, twisting into something unfamiliar. The ground beneath their feet was shifting, the sky growing darker by the second.

And then, suddenly—

A sharp pain lanced through their chest.

Their breath caught. Their vision blurred.

The rain poured harder now, washing away the last remnants of the cherry blossoms, leaving only the hyacinths behind.

Chance staggered back, gripping their chest. Their mind was screaming at them, warning them, but of what they didn’t know.

Chapter 151: Never come back ?

Summary:

(yeaaaaaaaaa)

Chance clutched their chest, gasping as a sharp pain coursed through them. It hurt it hurt so badly that their knees buckled, and they collapsed onto the damp earth. The scent of purple hyacinths grew overwhelming, clogging their lungs, suffocating them. The petals clung to their skin, cold and damp from the rain, pressing into their senses like an inescapable weight. The world blurred at the edges, their vision swimming between the fading cherry blossoms and the invasive spread of violet flowers. Something was wrong. So, so wrong.

A heavy fog settled over their mind as their body gave way to the pain. The pounding in their chest grew unbearable, their breath hitching as they fell backwards. The rain continued to pour, soaking through their clothes, yet it was distant now muted. Darkness crept in at the edges of their vision, and then

They woke up.

A sharp inhale. A desperate grasp at reality. Chance's eyes shot open as they bolted upright in their bed at the hideout, their chest still heaving as though they had just broken through the surface of water after nearly drowning. Their fingers clenched the fabric over their heart, as if trying to physically hold themselves together. The pain lingered, but the suffocating scent of hyacinths had vanished, replaced by the faint mustiness of the hideout and the familiar warmth of the room.

A soft, twitching nose brushed against their hand. Chance blinked, looking down to see Spade, their small, spoiled bunny, gazing up at them with wide, worried eyes. The little creature pawed at their chest, his tiny claws barely pressing against the fabric of their shirt, as if trying to soothe whatever unseen wound had just wrenched them from their sleep.

Chance exhaled shakily, their fingers relaxing as they scooped Spade into their arms. The bunny nuzzled against them, his ears twitching slightly as he settled in their hold. The warmth of his fur was grounding, pulling them away from the remnants of the nightmare—if it was even a nightmare at all.

Because it felt too real. Too vivid. Too much like something that wasn’t just in their mind.

Chance sat there for a moment, staring at the wall as they gently stroked Spade’s fur, their thoughts racing. The dream the dream had been different. The cherry blossoms, which usually bloomed in their subconscious, had withered. The sky had been a deep, sickly gray. The rain had felt colder than usual. And the flowers…

Purple hyacinths.

Their fingers tensed against Spade’s fur as the weight of it all sank in. They weren’t sure what disturbed them more the symbolism that had twisted their once peaceful dream, or the aching, gnawing feeling in their chest that something was slipping through their fingers.

And then there was Mafioso.

Chance shut their eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply. They could still picture the way he had tensed up, the way his posture had shifted ever so slightly, trembling under a weight Chance couldn’t quite see. The way his heartbeat had quickened, his breaths uneven. That unreadable expression in his eyes, caught somewhere between something fierce and something fragile. And the words..

“I never want to see you again...”

Chance exhaled slowly, their arms tightening around Spade. The little bunny twitched his nose again, as if sensing their distress, and snuggled closer. It was a command. A warning. A demand laced with finality. And yet, all Chance could focus on was the subtle tremor in Mafioso’s frame, the hesitation in his voice, as though the words weren’t entirely his own.

Why?

Why had Mafioso reacted that way? What had shifted? Had they done something wrong? Had something changed between them in a way they couldn’t understand?

And why did it feel like this was only the beginning of something far worse?

The rain still echoed in their mind, the scent of hyacinths lingering like a ghost of a warning. Chance had always trusted their instincts, and right now, those instincts were screaming at them.

Something was very, very wrong.

Chapter 152: The new plan!

Summary:

(BEFORE U SAY ANYTHING , NO THE A03 CURSE DIDNT GET ME , I JUST HAD A MASSIVE BURNT OUT + SICK AS HELL 3 , ANYWAYS HERE IS YOUR FOOD.)

Mafioso remained frozen in place, his piercing gaze locked onto the door Chance had just left through. The dim glow of the hideout's flickering overhead lights cast long shadows across the room, the silence so thick it felt suffocating. He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. It was as if an invisible force anchored him to that very spot, refusing to let him turn away. His mind was a warzone—an unrelenting battle between impulse and restraint. His gut twisted painfully, the clawing sensation of regret sinking into his chest, yet he knew he had already made his choice.

He had told Chance to leave. To never come back. And yet…

A tremor ran through him. His hands, usually steady and firm, twitched at his sides before moving up to grip his bunny ears, dragging them down to partially hide his face. He buried himself in them, his breathing uneven as he tried to suppress the storm of emotions raging within him. The air in the room felt heavier, pressing down on his shoulders, suffocating him like an iron grip around his throat.

Across the room, four pairs of eyes observed him with varying degrees of concern, frustration, and calculation. The couch creaked softly as Fazio sank deeper into its cushions, his sea bunny tail flicking slightly against the upholstery. His usual lighthearted smirk was gone, replaced by a contemplative frown. Beside him, Mael stilted his head, arms crossed as his eyes flicked between Mafioso and the closed door. His sea bunny ears twitched, a telltale sign of deep thought.

Borys and Gunther,, were another matter entirely. Borys’ arms were crossed so tightly over his broad chest that his muscles strained against his suit, his cold eyes filled with nothing but disdain. Gunther sat beside him, jaw clenched, his hands gripping his thighs so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Both of them radiated hostility, their feelings about Chance well known.

“The boss is acting strange,” Fazio finally murmured, breaking the silence, his tone light yet serious. He drummed his fingers against the couch, his webbed digits tapping rhythmically. “He hasn’t moved since they left. That’s not normal.”

Mael exhaled through his nose, arms still crossed. “Of course it’s not normal. But we all saw it. The way he looked at Chance. The way his hands shook when they left.” His voice was softer, more thoughtful, but there was a weight behind it that made the other three listen. “He told them to leave, but I don’t think he wanted them to.”

Borys scoffed, his deep Russian voice filled with bitterness. “Good. Let them be gone. They never should have gotten close to him in the first place.” His lip curled, his sharp teeth flashing slightly. “They’re a distraction. A liability. They make him weak.”

Gunther nodded in agreement. “Borys is right. Ever since Chance showed up, the boss has been… different.” His golden eyes narrowed as he leaned forward slightly. “Softer. Less decisive. They cloud his judgment, and we can’t afford that. Not in our line of work.”

Fazio huffed, shaking his head. “You two act like being ‘soft’ is a crime.” He gestured toward Mafioso, who was still motionless, still gripping his ears like he was trying to drown out the world around him. “Does that look like strength to you? He’s miserable. You think ignoring this is going to make it better?”

Mael sighed, rubbing his temple. “Arguing about it won’t solve anything.” His violet eyes darkened slightly as he looked between his companions. “We need a plan.”

Borys growled lowly, clearly displeased. “A plan for what?”

“To bring Chance back,” Fazio said simply, his lips curving into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Gunther snapped his head toward him, eyes flaring with rage. “You can’t be serious.”

Fazio merely shrugged. “Why not? Like it or not, they have a hold on the boss. He’s not thinking straight. If we just leave things like this, it could make things worse.”

“Or it could fix things,” Borys argued. “Letting them stay gone could be exactly what he needs.”

Mael sighed again, this time more frustrated. “You’re both missing the bigger picture. If Mafioso himself doesn’t want to let go of Chance, then it doesn’t matter if they’re physically gone. He’s going to keep thinking about them. He’s going to keep hurting. And a distracted boss is a weak boss.”

Silence hung over the room as the weight of his words settled in.

Gunther exhaled sharply through his nose, scowling. “So what do you propose?”

Fazio grinned. “Simple. We make sure Chance comes back to the dreamscape. Even if Mafioso doesn’t want them to.”

Borys glared at him. “You are playing with fire.”

Fazio smirked, leaning back lazily. “Maybe. But what’s life without a little risk?”

Mael ignored their bickering, his mind already racing through possible strategies. If they wanted to lure Chance back, they had to be subtle. Direct force wouldn’t work they were too unpredictable, too independent. But if they could manipulate the circumstances, create the perfect storm of events to draw them back in…

He met Fazio’s gaze, silent understanding passing between them.

They had a plan.

And whether Mafioso wanted it or not, Chance would return.

 

Chapter 153: To the mission!

Summary:

(YIPPPEPE)

The air was heavy outside the hideout.

A still, heavy silence lingered as the four soldiers stood just beyond the rusted metal door that Mafioso hadn't moved from since Chance left. None of them spoke. Not yet. The soft hum of electric wires and the mechanical groan of a vent somewhere overhead were the only background noises, save for the muffled, rhythmic drip of water echoing down from the fractured pipes above the dying mall.

Mael, ever the observant one, was the first to stand from the couch. His sea bunny ears twitched slightly as he tilted his head, watching the slight, trembling motion of their boss’s shoulders beneath the heavy coat. Fazio’s worried eyes followed him up before the Italian hybrid stood as well. Borys, silent and unreadable, remained a moment longer before standing with a sigh, and Gunther followed without a word. The tension in the air was suffocating—thick and sticky with unsaid emotion and unspoken intentions.

"We need to fix this," Gunther muttered, voice low.

Before they left, Borys leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the foreheads of Mael and Fazio. "Annoyingly cute," he muttered with a rare smirk. Fazio stuck out his tongue, but his cheeks were warm, and Mael simply looked flustered.

With one last glance toward Mafioso—who still hadn't moved, hadn't breathed deeply, hadn’t looked away from that cursed door—they slipped out as quietly as they could. The metal door closed behind them with a soft thud, the sound hollow in the vast corridor.

Outside, the dying mall stretched out before them in shadows and flickering lights. Once a bustling center of artificial warmth and noise, it now stood in eerie silence, a skeleton of its former self. The escalator groaned to life as they stepped onto it, the ancient metal grinding under their combined weight. Advertisements flickered and twitched with corrupted messages overhead—ghosts of marketing slogans long past.

"You think he's going to be okay?" Fazio asked quietly, glancing up at Mael.

"No," Mael said. "But we can't help him until we fix this."

"And fixing this means bringing Chance back," Gunther said flatly. "Even if Mafioso says otherwise."

"He doesn’t mean it," Borys added. "He never has. Not with Chance."

Reaching the lower level, the group made their way through the cracked tile floor and broken display windows until they reached a nondescript, graffiti-tagged metal door tucked between two long-abandoned storefronts. Behind it, the small penthouse remained mostly intact, a hidden gem amidst the decay. The place still smelled faintly of strawberries and old perfume, mingling with the scent of dust and time.

Gunther moved quickly, his boots echoing sharply on the floor. He crossed to a corner drawer—half-buried under old newspapers and cables—and pulled it open.

Inside, a mirror rested flat against the lining, and next to it, an old iron cross. But this was no ordinary mirror. Its frame pulsed faintly, inscribed with markings that shimmered slightly under certain light—a relic, long since forgotten, that linked the real world to the dreamscape. It was supposed to have been sealed.

"Hope this thing still works," Gunther muttered, lifting the mirror and holding the cross against it.

He whispered something under his breath—something none of the others could make out.

The mirror flickered.

Light bled from its surface, swirling in hues of lavender and ghostly white, then settled. The mirror had connected. Gunther squinted.

"Looks like the kitchen mirror. In the survivors' hideout."

"Seriously? That tiny one?" Fazio leaned in.

Through the shimmer, they could see a cozy, though somewhat chaotic, kitchen. A man stood at the counter, humming to himself as he stirred something in a saucepan. The flickering of the kitchen lights above barely registered to him. He adjusted his hardhat, then sipped from a mug of steaming Bloxy Cola.

Builderman.

Chance's father.

Fazio took a deep breath and leaned down toward the mirror. "HEY! EXCUSE ME!"

His voice traveled through the glass.

Builderman paused.

He glanced around.

"Huh?" he blinked, confused. "Did I... drink too much Bloxy Cola or..." he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

The voice came again.

"HELLO? Over here, in the mirror!"

Builderman turned and stepped toward the mirror. He froze.

His reflection wasn’t there.

Instead, he saw four unfamiliar figures peering through the other side. One of them—slim, with wide eyes and floppy sea bunny ears—was waving furiously at him.

"...hello?" Builderman said, cautiously, stepping closer.

Gunther stepped forward now, taking the lead. "Listen. We’re contacting you through a mirror that connects to the dreamscape. We’re Chance’s... "acquaintances." We need your help."

Builderman raised a brow , hsi eyes narrowing. "Dreamscape? You mean the weird place my kid keeps ending up in with all the emotional damage..?"

Mael coughed.

"Yes," Gunther said dryly.

Builderman exhaled. He looked thoughtful, tapping his spoon against the counter. "Alright. Go on. What’s the emergency?"

"Chance left the hideout after an incident with Mafioso.Mafioso told them to never come back," Gunther said, voice clipped.

"But he didn't mean it," Mael added.

"He's a fool," Borys growled. "He hurts when he loves."

Fazio leaned closer. "We think if we can get Chance to see something , something personal, something meaningful inside the dreamscape, we might be able to pull them back emotionally."

Builderman scratched the back of his head.

"You're asking me to emotionally manipulate my own kid?"

"No!" Fazio shook his head. "Just... please bring them here.."

Builderman paused.

Then sighing

"You’re lucky. I just made green tea. and im too tired for this bullshit."

As the four watched him prepare something with careful hands, a sense of strange hope bloomed among them. The dying mall still loomed outside, but in that small penthouse, inside that flickering mirror,

 

 

Chapter 154: RIsk going back.

Summary:

(YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY)

"Coming!"

Chance's voice echoed through the stairwell of the survivor hideout, quick and light, as if nothing in the world could weigh them down. Their boots thudded against the old wooden steps with rhythmic urgency. They practically bounced down the last two steps, landing with a soft grin as they spotted Builderman standing near the kitchen counter. The smell of grilled Bloxy bacon filled the air, oddly comforting.

"There you are, kid," Builderman said with a smirk, his sleeves rolled up and his hardhat tilted ever so slightly, revealing some of his greying, messy hair. He reached out and ruffled Chance's dark hair, causing a short burst of laughter from them.

"Dad, c'mon—!" Chance half-whined, trying to smooth down their messed-up hair, only to pause mid-motion. Their eyes landed on something odd behind Builderman. A mirror, small and slightly crooked, leaned against the corner of the counter.

Except it wasn’t just any mirror.

Within its surface shimmered the faces of four very familiar hybrids: Mael, Fazio, Gunther, and Borys. The reflection rippled like disturbed water, alive, glowing faintly with a bluish sheen. Chance blinked, their amusement fading into something more uncertain.

"Dad... Why are there people in your mirror?"

Builderman looked over his shoulder, unfazed. He gave a small shrug as if seeing a magical communication channel open in his kitchen was the most mundane part of his day.

"Some guys yelled at me through it while I was flipping pancakes. I figured I'd wait for you."

Before Chance could say another word, Mael leaned forward in the mirror, his sea bunny ears twitching slightly. His voice was soft, desperate, almost cracking with emotion.

"Chance... please, listen. We need to talk."

Sighing deeply, Chance crossed their arms and stepped closer to the mirror, eyeing the four of them suspiciously. "Alright. Talk."

Mael wasted no time. "It’s about the boss. He’s... He hasn’t been the same since you left. He’s quieter. Not that he was ever chatty, but now he’s completely shut off. He hasn’t spoken to any of us since."

Chance narrowed their eyes. "Mafioso told me to never come back. Why the sudden change of mind?"

The mirror was quiet for a moment. Then Fazio stepped forward, a faint blush creeping up the base of his cheeks, curling into his ears. He looked away as he spoke.

"Because... he’s like a father to us," he muttered. "He took us in. Protected us. Raised us. And now? Seeing him like this... It sucks."

Borys and Gunther didn’t speak, but their nods were firm. Even Borys, who normally growled at the very mention of Chance’s name, looked serious, as if forced to admit a bitter truth.

Chance looked at them all, then let out another sigh, rubbing the back of their neck. Their confidence faltered for just a second. "But how do I get back in? What’s the plan? He might shoot me on sight."

Gunther stepped up this time, his posture stiff and precise as always. "We’ve secured an apartment. Just outside the central wing of the mall. It’s neutral ground. He doesn’t know about it. You’ll stay there, hidden for now. We’ll... work on softening him."

He hesitated, something unusual for Gunther, then lifted his gloved hand, placing it gently on the surface of the mirror. "So... are you in? Please."

That final word hit differently. Not a demand. A request. A quiet plea.

Chance stared at him. Then, with a crooked smile and that familiar spark of chaotic confidence, they stepped forward. "Hell yeah, I’m in."

Their palm pressed flat against the mirror, right over Gunther’s hand. A warm surge of magic pulsed beneath their skin an invitation, a pact.

Then it faded.

The mirror returned to its usual reflection.

Builderman raised a brow. "You’re really going back?"

Chance turned to him, still grinning. "What can I say? I like risks."

Builderman chuckled and flicked a piece of toast toward them. "Then good luck on that son , be careful thought.."

As Chance smirked. They weren’t sure what awaited in the dying mall, nor how Mafioso would react. But their gut told them one thing:

it wasn’t over.

 

Chapter 155: Secret place.

Summary:

(i am so creative with titles once again <3)

The day had passed in a blur.

It had been a typical mission for the survivors — if nearly getting your head blown off twice could be called typical. Chance’s ears still rang faintly from the near-miss explosion, and their legs were aching from sprinting through half-collapsing ruins. The moment the survivors had been safely teleported back to the hideout, Chance wasted no time darting up the creaky stairs, their heart pounding erratically in their chest.

The familiar scent of dust, old wood, and faint lingering heat greeted them as they pushed their bedroom door open. They barely managed to shut the door behind them before flopping face-first into their bed, burying their face into the slightly rumpled covers. The familiar softness brought a small exhale of relief from their lungs.

Spade, their tiny spoiled bunny, was already bounding over, his little nose twitching as he gave Chance a few quick sniffs. His soft paws pressed against Chance’s arm as if checking for injury. With a fond smile, Chance reached out to gently pet the top of Spade’s head, their fingers ruffling the soft fur behind his ears. The bunny gave a pleased squeak before curling up beside them, a comforting warmth at their side.

Chance closed their eyes, breath evening out.

Sleep came swiftly.

...

When they opened their eyes again, they were no longer in the hideout.

Instead, they found themself back in the dreamscape. The air carried that surreal stillness it always did, like time was suspended. Their body was resting on the familiar red bed in the penthouse. A subtle chill pressed against their skin, and a hint of rain could be heard in the distance — though none fell here.

The room was quiet, save for one thing:

Four intense stares.

Chance blinked, slowly propping themself up on one elbow. Sitting just a few feet away were Mael, Fazio, Gunther, and Borys, all of them looking at them with a level of focus that bordered on uncomfortable.

“Jesus Christ, could you not?” Chance muttered, rubbing their face with a groan.

Mael was the first to react, his face lighting up like a child seeing candy. With a squeal of delight, he threw himself onto the bed, landing so abruptly that Chance bounced slightly.

“Come on, let’s go, let’s go!” Mael chirped, grabbing their wrist with excitement.

Chance blinked, caught off guard, but couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped. As they sat up, they reached out with both hands, ruffling Mael’s sea bunny ears, then Fazio’s when he came closer. The soft, velvety texture of their hybrid ears made Chance smile without thinking. The two of them purred softly in contentment, leaning into the touch.

Of course, not everyone in the room shared their enthusiasm.

Gunther and Borys stood with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, staring holes into Chance’s skull. Borys made a slight grunt and muttered, “Now is not the time for that.”

Chance sighed dramatically and rolled their eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.” They pulled their hands away, though they gave the sea bunnies a playful wink on the way down.

Gunther didn’t wait for any more distractions. “Follow me,” he said gruffly, already turning toward the hallway.

The group exited the penthouse, walking down the eerily quiet dreamscape corridor. The dreamscape’s dying mall stretched endlessly around them — empty escalators, flickering neon signs that led to nowhere, and mannequins missing limbs in forgotten storefronts. The world here was half-melted, surreal, and dream-warped, but it was stable enough to walk.

Gunther led the way through the corridors, eventually stopping at an abandoned shop with a boarded-up entrance. It looked like nothing special  a defunct boutique, its windows too fogged to see inside.

Gunther pushed the door open, and they all slipped in.

Inside, dust floated lazily in the beam of a flickering overhead light. The floorboards creaked with each step, but the shop looked undisturbed. Mannequins lined the walls, most headless or with cracked glass eyes. Clothes still hung limply from racks, long faded with time.

Gunther walked to the back wall, stopping at a crooked painting of a forgettable landscape. Without a word, he reached behind it and pulled. The painting clicked, then swung open on unseen hinges, revealing a narrow entrance into darkness.

"In," Borys muttered, nodding for Chance to step forward.

One by one, they all slipped through. The space inside was small, barely wide enough for them to walk single-file. The air was stale and warm, lit only by a faint glow coming from deeper in the tunnel.

After a short descent, the cramped hallway opened into a hidden room.

It was surprisingly well-kept.

There was a small round table in the center, surrounded by mismatched chairs. A map of the dreamscape was pinned against one wall, marked with red ink. A mattress was rolled into the corner with a couple of spare blankets. Books, weapons, and supplies were neatly stacked around shelves and crates.

“Welcome to the safe house,” Gunther said as he stepped inside, folding his arms.

Chance let out a low whistle. “Not bad. What is this, your secret clubhouse?”

“It’s where you’ll be staying,” Borys said, walking past them to check a box of rations. “Until we figure out what to do.”

Chance stepped further in, They looked around, then glanced over their shoulder toward the narrow exit.

No way Mafioso would find them here.

At least, not yet.

Fazio leaned against the wall, ears still twitching with leftover excitement. “We figured it’d be safer to keep you here, at least until the boss cools down… if he ever does.”

Chance flopped down into one of the chairs, crossing their legs casually. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t try to skin me alive the moment he catches wind of this.”

“He won’t,” Mael said cheerfully. “Because he won’t know. Not until we want him to.”

Gunther glanced at the mirror embedded into one corner of the room — the same one connected to the real world.

“We’ve got eyes now,” he said. “And ears. Let’s make this count.”

Chance leaned back in the chair, eyes flicking toward the map.

“Alright,” they muttered, their grin returning.

“Let’s see what kind of trouble we can start.”

 

Chapter 156: Your view.

Summary:

(MY BEANS, I HAVE COME TO FEED YOU.)

 

The quiet hush of the hideout was broken only by the soft, rhythmic hum of the ventilation above. Mafioso sat in his office, the dim lighting casting long shadows against the ornate wallpaper. His large velvet chair, as always, cradled him like a throne, and nestled comfortably in his lap was Lily, his delicate little princess bunny. Her soft white fur was pressed against the black fabric of his suit, a stark contrast that soothed him in its familiarity.

He ran his gloved fingers through the fluff of Lily’s back, gently stroking her with an idle touch. But his mind was far from calm.

“I don’t understand why I feel this way…” he murmured to the silence, his voice hoarse, carrying the weight of confusion and frustration.

Lily sniffed, twitching her tiny pink nose. Her paws nudged against his chest right where his heart was. Mafioso glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow.

“My heart?” he echoed, eyes narrowing. A low, scoffing laugh rolled from his lips. "Love? You think I’m capable of loving?"

Lily responded the only way she knew how she rubbed her little head against his chest, her ears flopping forward as if to say, 'Well, you do love me, no?'

Mafioso sighed, fingers pausing in her fur. “It’s different,” he said quietly. “You’re a rabbit. You don’t talk back. You don’t betray me.”

Yet despite his words, his tone lacked conviction. He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, expression unreadable. The thoughts of Chance still burned in the back of his mind like a brand. The way they looked at him before they left. The hurt. The defiance. The softness he couldn’t explain.

A faint noise broke the silence. Mafioso looked up sharply, eyes shifting to the large window near the far wall of the office. Beyond the glass, just beneath the dim hue of the twilight sky, something moved.

It was small, gray, and hopping.

He stood, carefully placing Lily on the velvet cushion as he moved toward the window. There it was a gray rabbit, feral by the look of it, staring at him with wide, watery eyes.

“Oh?” Mafioso’s voice softened in a way it rarely did, except when speaking to creatures of fur. “What do we have here?”

He opened the heavy door and stepped out, the crisp air brushing through his coat as he approached the creature. The bunny didn’t run. Instead, it squeaked loud and desperate as though asking for help.

Mafioso bent down and gently scooped it up into his arms. It was trembling, cold, and something about it reminded him of Chance somehow.

He carried the rabbit inside, closing the door behind him. The animal quivered in his grasp, one of its hind paws trembling noticeably. Mafioso frowned. Blood. A thin, sharp splinter was lodged deep into its foot.

He moved swiftly. Years of having to care of Lily taught him to always keep a small emergency kit for his animals. He retrieved it from the drawer beneath his desk, opened it with a flick of his wrist, and sat back down.

“Shh… shh now…” he murmured, carefully stabilizing the bunny in his lap. His fingers moved with a surgeon’s care, tweezers finding the splinter and slowly pulling it out. The bunny let out a sharp cry, its little body curling inward, but Mafioso kept whispering reassurances.

“There. All done.”

He wrapped the paw with a small bit of gauze, securing it lightly. Lily had climbed back onto his lap at some point, snuggling up against the injured bunny, and he allowed the two to curl up together, one white and the other gray a mirror of contrast, just like the feelings warring in his chest.

He leaned back, watching the two bunnies nuzzle together.

Outside, the wind had picked up, carrying the smell of dust and rain through a crack in the window. Mafioso’s gaze turned toward the open sky, pale and brooding. It mirrored the storm inside his mind.

How did this happen? How did Chance become more than a thorn in his side? How had their stubbornness and snark etched themselves into his memory so deeply?

He wanted to believe he hated them. He needed to.

Yet every time he thought about their voice, their laugh even their damn smug grin it pulled at something inside him he didn’t recognize. Not anger. Not vengeance.

But longing.

He gritted his teeth. “I hope they listened. I told them to never come back.”

His fingers curled slightly, pressing into the arms of his chair.

“But if they didn’t… if they come back… what the hell am I supposed to do then?”

Lily and the gray rabbit snuggled closer together, their gentle breathing filling the space. They didn’t have the answer. Neither did Mafioso.

And that terrified him more than any enemy he’d ever faced.

He turned away from the window, back toward the soft hum of the office.

Uncertainty loomed over him like a shadow.

 

Chapter 157: Plan , date

Summary:

(YAYSYSAA)

The room was dimly lit by the soft hum of the overhead lights, casting gentle glows across the scattered papers, mismatched furniture, and faintly glowing dreamscape runes etched into the walls. Chance lounged lazily on the couch, one leg thrown over the backrest, arms draped dramatically as they stared at the cracked ceiling. dozing soundly despite the rising tension building up between the four soldiers.

Fazio had his head resting against the cold wall, mumbling incoherently in frustration before suddenly bursting up. "The hell are we supposed to do?! We’ve been turning in circles for like hours now! What’s the plan?!" His sea bunny ears flopped dramatically with the force of his exasperation.

Borys rubbed at his temples, his shark tail thumping loudly against the ground with each swing. The loud slaps echoed through the room. "I don’t know! It’s just… UGH. Every possible solution ends with the boss mounting our heads like trophies!"

"He wouldn’t mount our heads," Mael added nervously. "He’d… probably just glare at us. Really, really intensely. Like that time I sneezed during his tea time."

"That’s not the point, Mael!" Gunther snapped, arms crossed, his lemonshark gills flaring slightly in annoyance. His glare could have cut through steel. "We’re wasting time. Nothing we come up with is gonna make Mafioso budge. He told Chance to never come back. Period."

Mael tapped a clawed finger to his lips, eyes glowing faintly with quiet thought. "What about… a date?"

The room fell into silence.

Four heads turned simultaneously toward Mael, eyes wide with disbelief as if he had just spoken in a long-lost ancient language. Gunther blinked once, then twice. "You serious? A date? Ah yes, excellent plan! Let’s throw Chance into a candlelit dinner with Mafioso and hope he doesn’t use the steak knife on them instead of the food."

Mael shrank slightly under the sudden spotlight of sarcasm, ears twitching in embarrassment. "I just thought… maybe if they talked alone…"

"Wowowowow—" Fazio waved his arms dramatically like he was clearing a board, interrupting Gunther before another insult flew. "Let’s not shoot it down right away. Think about it. Boss isn’t totally heartless. Maybe—just maybe—if they get to talk properly, without all the pressure or interruptions, something will click."

Gunther scoffed,, before whispering to him , teeth flashing as he turned away. "Yeah? And how do we get Mafioso to agree to that? We can’t even get him to admit he misses Chance, let alone sit down and eat food cooked by them."

From their place on the couch, Chance raised a lazy hand. "I mean… I can try to convince him?"

"Oh yeah?" Borys arched a brow. "How? Go on, genius. Enlighten us."

Chance sat up, puffing their chest proudly. "I can cook. And clean."

Gunther stared, then started slow-clapping, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Woooow. You know how to do the bear fucking minimum of living. Good job! Gold star!"

Chance scoffed. "Hey! Not everyone here can whip up actual edible meals!"

"That’s not a resume that’s gonna charm the boss, sweetheart," Gunther muttered.

Mael, meanwhile, was still thinking. He started pacing, claws tapping lightly on the floor. "Wait… wait! What about that cherry blossom dream? Remember??"

Fazio’s ears perked. "Wait, you mean that one? The one that boss mentioned , that suddenly appeared out of no where?"

"Yes! That one!" Mael said, eyes lighting up. "What if… what if we input that code and trick the system into pulling Mafioso into it? Just the two of them. And if things go south? The penthouse isn’t far. We’ll be on standby to pull Chance out."

Borys blinked slowly. "That… is the first good idea I’ve heard in hours."

Gunther grunted. "Still sounds like suicide, but… better than spinning our wheels."

Chance grinned. "So what you’re saying is, it’s a date."

"It’s not a date," Gunther snapped. "It’s a diplomatic ambush."

"That I’m gonna look very good for," Chance added, standing up and stretching. "Because if I’m gonna get killed by Mafioso, I might as well look hot doing it."

Mael was already darting to the corner of the secret room, fumbling with the dream console embedded into the wall. The ancient, flickering machine looked like a mix between a steampunk typewriter and an altar. He quickly began typing, inserting coordinates with rapid precision.

Fazio leaned against the table, watching. "We’ll have to make sure the dream doesn’t auto-collapse. The cherry blossom one is a bit unstable, remember? We’ll anchor it to the penthouse entry code. That way, if things go wrong, we yank Chance out."

Gunther grumbled but began double-checking Mael’s input. "We’ll set it to initiate at the next sleep cycle. That gives us time to prep a signal code if Chance needs to be rescued."

"I don’t need rescuing," Chance protested. "I’m literally amazing."

"Says the person who almost gotten killed multiple times here," Borys added flatly.

Chance huffed, flipping them off playfully. "Whatever. I’m still in."

The machine gave a soft whine as the final input was locked. The console pulsed, runes lighting up along the walls and a faint pink hue blooming in the center of the room.

"It’s done," Mael said.

Fazio turned to Chance. "You sure about this?"

Chance placed a hand on their hip, smirking confidently. "One hundred percent!"

The room held its breath for a moment longer, the pink light deepening. Somewhere, far above them, the world began to shift. The dreamscape was preparing.

Chapter 158: Anger.

Summary:

(I AM HERE TO FEED YOU MY CHILDRENS, IT IS TIME FOR PROGRESS SPARKLES SPARKLES.)

Everything was set. The plan, reckless and teetering on a dream, was in motion. Chance stood at the heart of it all. They had made their way back into the penthouse with the four soldiers in tow, the air thick with nerves and uncertainty. Each step echoed with the question: would it work?

The penthouse felt more still than usual. The weight of what was about to unfold sat heavy in their lungs. Chance glanced around, nodded once to the others, and laid down on the bed. There was no ceremony, no drawn-out farewell. Just a final breath, a slow blink... and silence.

Minutes passed.

Then Chance's eyes opened again.

They were alone.

The room was quiet, humming with a familiar low pulse of the dreamscape. Chance stood and moved towards the wide glass windows. Beyond it, the world had shifted once again to the Blossom Dream—the landscape that appeared soft, delicate, almost fragile, yet was teeming with meaning.

The cherry blossom tree stood not far from the penthouse, majestic but odd. Its blossoms barely unfurled, delicate pink petals wrapped tightly in unopened buds. Like it was holding its breath.

The field of purple hyacinths around the base of the tree swayed gently, as if welcoming Chance back. But the air was different now heavier, charged with something waiting to snap.

Chance walked toward the tree slowly, footsteps muffled by the tall, wild grass. They looked up at the cherry blossom. The last time they'd been here, the tree had bloomed in full, but now it seemed to mirror the tension coiling in their chest.

They waited.

-------------------------------------------

 

Back in reality, the four soldiers remained gathered around the bed where Chance had just disappeared. The soft shimmer of dream-entry faded into the air, leaving a void in its place.

It worked. At least, the first part.

Now came the harder one.

They needed to get the boss into the dream.

The four of them moved quickly and quietly, heading back toward the mafia hideout, hearts pounding, adrenaline sharpening their senses. Their steps echoed in the worn hallways of the underground base as the tension clung to their backs like a storm cloud.

They found him where he often was his office, steeped in dusk light, a silent haze of smoke curling around the shelves and windows. Mafioso sat on his office chair, his black cloak draped over the seat, one hand stroking his beloved princess bunny, Lily, who was curled lazily in his lap. The small grey rabbit they'd recently rescued was pressed up against Lily, both cradled gently.

He glanced up lazily when they entered, a brow raised. "Where were you?"

Borys took a breath, stepping forward first. His tail swished nervously. "We were investigating that... dream, boss. The one you mentioned before. The one that appeared out of nowhere."

Mafioso narrowed his eyes slightly.

Gunther followed up quickly. "It seems to be shifting more. Changing. It may be worth a second look. Something's not right about it."

There was a long pause.

Mafioso slowly lifted Lily and the grey rabbit from his lap, placing them gently into the plush pet bed beside his desk. He stood. Tall, unreadable, dangerous. He walked to the front of the four soldiers and stopped, staring them down. The silence stretched until it burned.

"Why do you suddenly care about that dream?"

His voice was low. Untrusting.

No one answered.

His eyes narrowed further. Something dark flickered across his face. Then, realization slammed into him—sharp, violent.

His lips curled back.

"You let that gambler come back?!"

His voice was a roar, echoing off the walls. The bunnies flinched in their bed, ears twitching.

The four soldiers tensed, trying to calm him.

"Boss, wait, listen—"

"It was just to see if—"

"There’s a reason- please-!"

But Mafioso wasn’t hearing any of it.

He turned, already unsheathing his sword, the edge gleaming with menace. His jaw clenched. His steps were heavy, determined, merciless.

"You think this is a game?!"

He shoved the doors open with a force that made the hinges groan, storming down the hall like a tidal wave about to crush everything in his path. Fazio and Mael ran after him, trying again to reason with him, but it was useless. The boss was done listening.

He reached the machine.

The dream-link interface blinked quietly in standby, unaware of the chaos it had just ignited. Mafioso typed the code the one he still remembered from that cursed cherry blossom dream. The keypad clicked rapidly beneath his fingers.

And then the portal shimmered open in the middle of the room.

A gust of wind blew from it, curling like fingers reaching from another world.

Without hesitation, Mafioso stepped through.

 

--------------------------------------

 

The blossom dream awaited him.

The light was soft but strange. The air shimmered with tension. The tree stood tall in the distance, surrounded by a field of hyacinths. At its base was a single figure.

Chance.

He saw them immediately. They stood facing the tree, back turned, completely unaware that they were no longer alone.

Mafioso’s body stiffened. The grip on his sword tightened.

The blossoms rustled lightly above them, as if the tree itself was holding its breath.

His jaw clenched. His eyes locked on them, fury like fire crawling up his spine.

They dared to come back.

He stepped forward.

The grass parted beneath his boots.

 

Chapter 159: Your beauty , your touch.

Summary:

(HEHEHE ANGST MFS)

The portal shimmered, light swirling and folding in on itself until the gateway closed with a quiet hum behind him. Mafioso didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He made sure it sealed properly. No one could interfere now—not Fazio, not Gunther, not Mael nor Borys. He didn’t want distractions. This was something he had to finish.

His boots made no sound on the delicate dreamscape floor. The grass here was so soft, so unnaturally quiet, like velvet underfoot. The purple hyacinths barely swayed in the breeze, still heavy in their early bloom, casting long shadows under the blossoming cherry tree. The petals fell so gently, almost in slow motion, framing the scene like an image from a time long lost.

And there they were. Chance. Curled gently beneath the tree, their chest rising and falling slowly with each breath. Asleep. Defenseless. Peaceful.

It would be so easy.

He stepped forward, hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. The weight of it had always comforted him. He'd drawn it in worse moments, struck down greater enemies without hesitation. So why now? Why did his grip feel wrong?

Still, he raised it.

The blade glinted dully in the half-light, hovering just above Chance’s chest. All he needed to do was push down. One motion. One swift strike.

But his arm didn’t move.

Fingers trembled against the hilt.

His jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed. They were right there.

Do it, Mafioso. Do it.

End this.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

He remained still, body locked in tension. His muscles strained, and yet the blade didn’t fall. Sweat formed at his brow, his breath catching, heart racing in uneven stutters. Why? Why couldn’t he kill them?

The purple hyacinths shuddered in the breeze, and then, slowly, impossibly, began to change.

He watched, eyes wide.

The hyacinths, , shifted hue before his eyes. Their purple faded into a deeper, richer color—red. Red and purple carnations sprouted around them, blooming from the earth as if memory itself painted them into existence. They merged and danced  until the entire field was a sea of red and violet.

Carnations.

Mafioso felt his legs grow weak. His balance faltered, and he dropped to his knees next to Chance, sword falling quietly to his side, the blade sinking partway into the soft earth.

His eyes remained on them.

They looked so peaceful. So unaware. That same little furrow in their brow was there, even in sleep they always had that expression, like their mind never rested.

Why were they here?

Why did they come back, when he told them not to?

He hated them.

He wanted them gone.

He...

His hand moved on its own, fingers hovering just above their cheek. A strand of their hair was out of place. So gently, he brushed it aside, revealing more of their resting face. His thumb lingered too long, brushing across their cheekbone with a softness that betrayed everything he thought he was.

And still, they slept.

Still, they trusted this place.

Trusted him.

The wind blew again, gentle, fragrant, carrying the scent of cherry blossoms and carnations. Mafioso closed his eyes. The weight in his chest pressed deeper.

What was this feeling?

It wasn’t the fury he was used to. It wasn’t even the distant affection he had for Lily or the little grey bunny back in his lap. This was something more raw. Unfamiliar. Terrifying.

And yet it warmed him, clutched him like a desperate heartbeat. A part of him that wanted to pull away couldn’t. His hand still rested against Chance’s cheek, and he stared at them like they held every answer he was never brave enough to ask for.

"Why..."

His voice cracked. He swallowed thickly.

"Why do you do this to me..."

Chance stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Their lips parted slightly with a sigh, as though dreaming of something gentle.

Mafioso exhaled.

He looked up. The tree towered above them, a mix of opened and unopened blossoms swaying in the breeze. The whole dream felt frozen in time, a quiet, breathing thing made just for this moment.

He looked back down at the sword in the grass. A part of him still screamed to pick it up, to finish it, to do what was necessary. But his hand didn’t move.

His fingers stayed tangled in Chance’s hair.

His heart remained trembling.

He didn’t understand it.

He was Mafioso.

He didn’t feel like this.

And yet—

He did.

He always did.

Even if he never admitted it. Even if he drowned it in rage or masked it in indifference.

Something about Chance reached into the part of him that had been closed off for too long. They didn’t obey him. They didn’t fear him the same way others did. And they came back. Even when he told them not to.

Why?

Why would they come back?

Were they stupid?

Or were they just...

Brave?

A tear threatened at the corner of his eye, and he quickly turned his face, jaw locking tight.

He was not going to cry.

He would not let them see him like this.

But his hand never left their face.

He stayed there, on his knees, sword forgotten, emotions raw.

And for the first time in what felt like forever..

Mafioso felt small.

 

Chapter 160: First blossom

Summary:

(YIPPPEPEPEPEEE)

Mafioso's breath came slow and heavy as he stared at Chance, the fingers that had just touched their cheek curling in on themselves like they were ashamed to exist. His hand retreated reluctantly, leaving his skin colder than it should have felt—like even warmth recoiled from what he was about to do. His black bunny ears drooped low, an unconscious display of defeat or confusion he didn’t notice until it was too late.

Chance stirred, eyelids fluttering open slowly, still heavy with sleep. Mafioso’s instincts kicked in like a reflex, and he grabbed the sword by his side and stood up with military precision, pointing the blade directly at their heart. A sharp metallic sound cut through the quiet air as the blade steadied.

Chance blinked rapidly, registering the blade, the tension, the weight of the stare they were now under. They scrambled up and stepped backward a few paces, hands instinctively raised halfway. Their usual smugness flickered in place, shaky, but there.

"Whoa, hey, okay! no need for pointy introductions," Chance said, their voice a bit too light, their body language guarded. They noticed the flowers now, the red and purple carnations blooming across the dreamscape where purple hyacinths used to be. The change was subtle, then sudden—just like Mafioso himself.

Mafioso didn’t say anything for a long while, and the brim of his fedora kept his face in shadow. He didn’t move, didn’t advance. The sword remained in his hand, but his grip loosened. He looked like a statue of a man at war with himself, cold marble cracked by something internal.

Chance dared a step closer, their smirk growing out of nerves more than confidence.

"So, uh, funny story—I know you told me to never come back," they started, scratching the back of their neck. "But, you know, dreams are weird..heh"

Silence.

The sword lowered slightly.

Then finally, Mafioso exhaled deeply, the sound carrying centuries of exhaustion in it.

"I'm tired," he muttered.

The voice didn’t match the sharp blade. It was quiet. Raw. Fraying at the edges.

He walked toward the tree the one now surrounded by vibrant purple and red carnations and sat down against its bark, the sword still resting in his lap but forgotten. He didn’t look at Chance. He didn’t need to. Everything in him said, 'Leave me alone.'

Of course, this was Chance.

Chance, who never knew how to stay in line, who never backed down when they probably should, who saw pain and poked at it until it laughed or cried.

They slowly stepped forward and dropped to sit beside him. The distance between them was small. Not touching. Just there. Their presence like a single drop in a still lake.

Mafioso said nothing.

So Chance reached over.

And poked his arm.

Mafioso stiffened. "Don’t."

Another poke.

"I’m warning you."

Poke.

His ears twitched. His jaw clenched. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword not to use it, but to anchor himself.

Chance grinned that signature grin. That infuriating, smirk that said: 'I know what I’m doing, and I’m gonna do it anyway.'

Mafioso looked away. His face was unreadable under the fedora, but the silence spoke volumes.

The sky above them shifted slightly, like the dream responded to their interaction. The cherry blossoms remained closed above, not yet ready to bloom. The petals quivered gently, like they were holding their breath.

Chance let their smile soften. Their voice came out quieter this time.

"You don’t have to talk. You don’t even have to look at me. I’ll just sit here. That’s all."

Mafioso tilted his head slightly, his fedora casting a deeper shadow across his eyes. But he didn’t speak. His body had relaxed, just a bit.

A breeze passed through the field, causing the carnations to sway like they were listening.

Chance leaned back against the tree beside him, mirroring his posture.

"Y’know, for a dream, this place has pretty decent ambience," they muttered, watching the flowers. "It’s kinda pretty."

Still nothing. Mafioso’s silence now held less anger and more… fatigue. Like his voice had rusted over and he didn’t know how to use it anymore.

Chance dared to glance at him. The fedora’s brim made it hard to see, but his lips weren’t tight anymore. His hands were open. The sword rested gently across his lap, the point tucked into the grass.

The wind shifted again. A cherry blossom finally bloomed from the tree above them.

Just one.

Chance let out a small sigh of their own.

"Hey, for what it’s worth… I didn’t come back to piss you off."

Mafioso didn’t answer.

But he didn’t leave either.

And that was something.

 

Chapter 161: Seiing your face full for the first time.

Summary:

(TIME TO FEED YOU GUYS , BC WHY NOT , ENJOY!)

 

The silence between them was thick, but not hostile. Mafioso leaned back against the tree, eyes distant as Chance sat beside him, arms lazily draped around their knees. The warm, faint breeze carried the sweet scent of the hyacinths and carnations, brushing softly against both of them like a whisper.

Chance shifted a bit, nudging Mafioso with their shoulder. "So," they said casually, but not without weight, "Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?"

The question hung in the air like smoke. Mafioso said nothing at first, his gaze fixed forward, unfocused. Then, slowly, a reply.

"I don’t know."

It was quiet. Honest.

Chance turned to look at him, brows slightly furrowed, but said nothing in return. Mafioso, however, turned his head, his eyes locking with Chance’s. He didn’t blink. He just stared. Their eyes—black and golden—met like two storms in collision, but instead of crashing, they held.

Chance huffed, breaking the tension with a teasing grin. "Not fair, y'know. You get to look at me, but I can’t even see what you look like."

Mafioso raised a brow. “What, the fedora?”

"Yeah," Chance said, gesturing toward the fedora. "Might as well be wearing a mask with how low you keep that thing."

They didn’t expect him to do anything. Maybe a scoff. Maybe a sarcastic retort.

But instead, Mafioso reached up, fingers brushing the rim of his hat. Then he lifted it off.

Chance blinked. Once. Twice.

“Oh.”

His face—Mafioso’s face—was sharp, with clean angles and a strong jaw. Scars decorated him like silver strokes on a painting: one slicing across his right cheek, another faint but defined on the bridge of his nose. He looked like someone carved from moonstone and firelight, and Chance’s heart had the absolute audacity to skip a beat.

“Fuck,” they whispered. “You’re handsome. What the fuck?”

Mafioso blinked, slightly taken aback, but the smallest trace of amusement curled at the corner of his lips.

“Better?” he asked, voice low.

Chance nodded dumbly, eyes still scanning his face. But then, they noticed something else something subtle, but impossible to ignore. Mafioso's black bunny ears were pinned back, cramped and tucked painfully behind his head like they were meant to stay hidden.

Chance didn’t even think. Their hand moved on its own, lifting to gently brush along one of the ears. Mafioso flinched slightly but didn’t pull away. In fact, after a moment of hesitation, he leaned a little closer, silently granting permission.

Chance’s fingertips found the soft fur, gently stroking along the fold. They looked at him curiously.

“Doesn’t it hurt? Always keeping them folded like that under the hat?”

Mafioso shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’m used to it.”

Chance frowned a little. “Still… not exactly healthy.”

Their hand moved to the other ear, slowly coaxing it upward. Mafioso’s ears twitched slightly, finally standing at their full height. Chance grinned, mischief lighting up their face like a kid discovering something rare.

“Hey hey, look at the handsome bunny, woooo!”

They waved their arms like a cheerleader before laughing. Really laughing. Loud, playful, genuine. That laughter echoed in the air like sunlight pouring into a cold room.

Mafioso stared at them, stunned. It was like he’d been hit in the chest by something soft. His face began to flush, warmth crawling up his neck to his cheeks.

Chance had called him handsome.

No one ever called him that.

The scars on his face were stories of survival, of cruelty, of coldness. They were remnants of a life of blood, of iron and control. And yet here Chance was, acting like it didn’t matter. Like the lines that marked him weren’t reasons to look away, but reasons to look closer.

Chance continued to pet his ears gently, even cooing again. “Look at you!”

Mafioso looked away, attempting to hide the deepening blush, but it was no use. He could feel it in his ears, his cheeks—hell, even his chest felt warm. Like something bloomed inside.

And he hated it. But he didn’t stop it.

The petals above them rustled, and from the once slumbering cherry blossom tree, a few more blooms unfurled. Four new blossoms. Each pink petal stretching open like sleepy eyes waking to sunlight.

Chance noticed, and gently leaned back, gazing up at the tree.

"They’re opening more," they said softly. "Think it means anything?"

Mafioso followed their gaze, watching the blossoms sway gently in the wind.

He didn’t know.

But the warmth inside him stayed.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter 162: Winter forest

Summary:

(small angst <3)

 

Mafioso’s long black ears twitched slightly under Chance’s fingers, the tension in his body slowly easing under the gentle pets. Chance chuckled softly as they continued, but there was a different look in Mafioso’s eyes this time. Thoughtful, maybe even… longing?

He shifted a little, eyes casting down toward the field of now gently blooming cherry blossoms and the still vibrant bed of carnations.

"What’s the real world like where you’re from?" Mafioso asked, voice low, almost hesitant.

Chance’s hand paused mid-pet.

They blinked, their expression faltering slightly. "Heh… I’m not exactly in the real world, Mafioso. I’m kinda in hell… literally."

Mafioso turned to look at them, one thick brow raising. "Hell?"

Chance gave a half-hearted shrug, lips tugging into a bitter smile. "Well, more like purgatory, I guess. It’s still so confusing, even after all this time."

Mafioso tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze narrowing in curiosity. "Purgatory... does that mean you’re dead?"

Chance nodded slowly. "Yeah. Like everyone is in the hideout. We’re kinda stuck there, held to endure round after round. It’s endless. Everyone’s tired—even the killers are tired. But it’s not like we can do much against an entity that’s basically… just a voice. A void. Something massive we can’t even touch."

They turned their gaze away, eyes staring blankly at the sea of carnations.

Mafioso remained quiet for a moment, the soft sound of wind brushing through the flowers filling the silence. Then came the question.

"If you’re dead… then how did you die?"

Chance’s breath hitched. Their hand slowly dropped from his ear.

Their heart pounded against their chest like a war drum. The world blurred slightly at the edges.

--------------------

(flashback)

Snow. Trees. Cold. Pain.

A flash. Their feet crashing through the undergrowth of a snow-covered forest. Each breath like a puff of smoke in the cold air. A hand pressing desperately against their bleeding side. They had been stabbed. More than once.

Their mind screamed for them to keep going, to run, to escape. But their body—

—collapsed.

The snow swallowed them. Everything ached. Everything burned.

Tears, warm and useless, slid down their cheeks as they looked around desperately, crying out for help. But no one came.

And then, a figure loomed. A shadow with glowing eyes and a glimmer of a darkheart sword. They had been betrayed. Betrayed and hunted.

That final blow right through the heart. The last thing they ever saw.

(end of flashback)

--------------

"Chance?"

Mafioso’s voice pulled them out of the flashback like a hook in their gut. Their eyes snapped back into focus, and they realized they were shaking.

He was staring at them, one hand hovering near their shoulder but not quite touching.

"Tough subject?" he asked quietly.

Chance swallowed, nodding slowly. "Yeah… it’s just… not the best memory, you know? I guess I kind of… had it coming."

Mafioso’s brows knit together, but he didn’t ask what they meant by that. Not yet. Instead, he looked down at the fabric of his coat for a moment, gripping its edge tightly. Then, with a slight hesitation, he pulled it from his shoulders and draped it over Chance.

Warm.

The coat still smelled faintly of his cologne and leather. It swallowed them whole, oversized and heavy.

"Don’t think about it anymore," Mafioso murmured, his voice like velvet gravel. "It’s just us… for now."

Chance looked at him, their heart skipping again. The softness in his eyes, the weight of the coat, the way the cherry blossoms began to bloom around them , 5 more blossoms

It felt like, for the first time in a long while…

They were safe.

 

Chapter 163: Chase your hand

Summary:

(I AM BACK TO FEED YOU , no i did not get the curse , school hitted me like a fucking train in the ass.. , BUT ANWYAYS ENJOY THE FOOD)

 

The blooms were still opening.

One by one, they breathed into the world like tiny miracles soft pinks, rich pinks, pale whites blending together under the lazy caress of spring sunlight. Mafioso stood beneath the tree, letting the wind ruffle the hem of his coat, letting silence fill his chest, a silence he hadn’t known in what felt like centuries.

And then—

Chance.

With a sudden burst of laughter, they shot up from their spot beside him and bolted through the flower field like a stray sunbeam. Mafioso blinked, startled by the sudden movement, by the sound of such genuine joy. Chance’s arms spread as they ran, catching the wind like a pair of wings, their laughter ringing in the air like bells.

Mafioso’s brows furrowed faintly as he straightened. "What are you doing?" he called, his voice half-serious, half-curious.

Chance spun on their heel and ran back toward him, grabbing his sleeve, tugging on it like a child begging for play. "Come on! Relax a bit. Come run with me!" Their golden eyes sparkled in the sunlight, almost glowing.

Mafioso stared.

For a moment, just a fleeting one, he simply looked. At them. The way the wind played in their hair. The way the field looked too small to contain that kind of freedom. The way his chest hurt with something he couldn’t name.

And then, finally, he allowed himself. His boots crushed softly against the grass as he followed.

He wasn’t used to chasing things for fun. But Chance , Chance made even the impossible feel weightless.

He approached slowly, as though unsure of how to move like this, how to simply walk for pleasure instead of pursuit. But when he reached them, Chance flopped into the field again, laughing breathlessly as blossoms surrounded their head like a makeshift crown.

"You know," Mafioso said, voice dry as ever, "there’s still bugs in those flowers and grass, right?"

Chance instantly sprang up with a squeak, running their hands through their hair like they could shake out every imaginary ant. "Ugh! Don’t SAY that! I don’t need to think about that now!"

Mafioso gave a small genuine ,chuckle. "I’m kidding."

Chance narrowed their eyes at him and huffed. They bent down, scooping up a few petals that had fluttered down from the tree, and without warning, hurled them in his direction.

"That’s what you get for scaring me like that!"

Mafioso brushed a petal off his shoulder, amused.

"Catch me if you can, bunny!" Chance stuck out their tongue before they turned, bolting off again through the fields, their voice trailing behind in laughter.

He stood there. Stunned, again.

A few days ago, those same footsteps had meant danger. A chase with purpose , to capture, to corner, to kill. But now… it was different. The chase still thumped through his chest, but it was lighter. No swords. No rage.

Just breath. And wind. And a smile he didn’t know he had.

He started after them. Slow at first. Then faster.

The field bowed around him as he ran, the blossoms bending under his steps like waves. Chance darted between flowers, turning their head to see how close he was getting, laughing like a melody Mafioso never wanted to forget.

And then he caught them.

In a sudden move, he wrapped his arms around their waist and spun them, lifting them from the ground. Chance yelped and laughed, their feet kicking into the air, hands gripping his coat as the world whirled around them.

Mafioso’s chuckle was soft , softer than it had any right to be. Barely audible. Like a secret.

He set them down gently.

Chance staggered a little, dizzy and bright-eyed. "Not fair," they mumbled, swaying, grinning stupidly.

He looked at them. Really looked. The sunlight dappled across their face, and for a moment, they didn’t seem like someone trapped in purgatory. They looked alive. Gloriously, recklessly alive.

His hands lingered a second longer on their waist before he pulled them back.

"You were slow," he muttered.

"No, you were fast."

"You’re the one who told me to run."

"Yeah, and now I regret it," Chance teased, flopping dramatically onto the flowerbed again.

The cherry blossom tree behind them rustled. Five more blossoms opened.

Mafioso stood there. Unsure of what to say. Unsure of why his chest felt light and heavy at the same time.

Chance peeked up at him. "You gonna stand there all day, or lie down with me?"

And though his instincts warned him ,warned him not to get too close ,he found himself moving anyway.

Drawn like gravity.

 

Chapter 164: Calling back to reality

Summary:

(YIPPEPEPEPEPEEE)

 

As the petals danced in the breeze, Mafioso and Chance laid side by side in the heart of the dream field. The sky above was streaked in watercolor hues, slowly beginning to fade light slipping away, warmth trailing after it. Chance’s hand was just barely touching Mafioso’s coat, their fingers brushing the fabric softly as if afraid it would vanish. And in a sense, it would.

Because the dream was ending.

The world trembled around them softly at first, like a breath held too long before slowly blurring at the edges. The trees bent in impossible angles, the blossoms began to dissolve like ink in water. Chance’s golden eyes darted around before landing back on Mafioso.

"No, not yet..." Chance whispered, a frown tugging on their lips.

Mafioso, quiet as ever, exhaled. His hand moved on its own again, brushing a stray lock of hair from Chance’s face. The motion was tender more than Chance had expected. His voice, rough but steady, followed.

"Good luck... in the real world."

Chance's breath caught. They nodded slowly, eyes still fixated on his on the way he didn’t flinch this time, the way his black eyes stayed steady and firm. Then the dream broke completely.

The field vanished.

----------------------

 

Chance awoke.

Back in the hideout. In their bed.

The ceiling was all too familiar, the hum of the old lamp above them quietly crackling as it always did. But something had changed. They sat up slowly, hand pressing to their chest. Their heart raced not from fear, but from the residual warmth that hadn’t yet left their skin.

Even now... even in this world... they felt Mafioso’s presence lingering.

Their cheeks were slightly flushed. They shook their head, trying to compose themselves, running fingers through their messy bedhead before sliding off the sheets. With a stretch and a quiet yawn, they opened their door and peeked out into the hallway.

Downstairs was soft with morning stillness.

In the living room, Guest 1337 , always up too late , was passed out on the couch. His jacket had slipped halfway off his shoulder, and in his arms, 007n7 and Elliot were curled against him, the three of them tangled like cats in a pile of dreams.

Chance stopped, grinning slightly at the sight. They reached for their phone and snapped a quick picture. Blackmail material? Maybe. But mostly, it was just cute.

They tiptoed to the kitchen, nose catching the scent of something... chaotic.

Inside, chaos indeed reigned.

Shedletsky stood tall, a frying pan in one hand and a whole, very alive chicken Wings ,in the other. He was making the chicken dance, using both hands now, swaying Wings side to side like some kind of puppet master.

Builderman, on the other hand, sat at the counter, head in his hand, absolutely defeated.

"Morning, son," Builderman mumbled as Chance walked in, rubbing his temple.

"Morning, Dad..." Chance replied, glancing at the dancing bird on the table. "Why is the chicken on the table?"

"Oh, I don't know," Builderman grumbled. "Maybe I’ll serve it for dinner next time."

Shedletsky gasped, scandalized, immediately shielding Wings with both arms.

"WHAT? You’re not touching Wings! He’s a performer, not poultry!"

Builderman rolled his eyes and muttered something unintelligible. Then, without looking up, he reached for the pan of pancakes behind him, placing a warm stack on Chance’s plate. He gave Shedletsky a light kiss on the cheek as he passed.

"Idiot," he mumbled with just a little too much affection.

Shedletsky grinned like a fool.

Chance took a seat, heart still a little fluttery, the scent of syrup filling the air. They glanced at the others from the kitchen doorway ,the soft snores, the quiet sounds of breakfast, the bickering, the laughter

And they thought of Mafioso again.

The world had changed a little.

Chapter 165: Arguments

Summary:

(why have one ship only when you can ahve them all. , HEHEHEHEEH , MY FIC MY RULES FUCKERSSSS)

 

Chance sat at the kitchen counter, poking idly at the pancakes Builderman had plopped onto their plate. The syrup slowly bled across the surface of the stack, but their mind was elsewhere. That lingering feeling of warmth, like a half-remembered dream, still pulsed quietly in their chest.

They turned their head to glance back at the living room.

"Hey," Chance asked, "why were Guest 1337, 007n7, and Elliot cuddling like that?"

Builderman leaned back in his chair, sipping lazily from a chipped mug. He didn’t look up as he answered.

"007n7 and Elliot got into another fight. Pretty bad one."

Chance blinked. "Again? What happened this time?"

Builderman sighed. "It got heated enough that Elliot ripped out some of his own hair. Guest 1337 had to step in, talked 'em both down. He sat with them while they calmed down, rubbed some cream on Elliot’s scalp where the hair came out. Ended up knocking out on the couch like that."

Chance turned to look again—sure enough, the three of them were still dozing there. Guest 1337 in the middle, upright and stiff as ever, arms gently resting around 007n7 and Elliot who were curled into his sides. 007n7 clutched a pillow, their head tucked just under Guest's shoulder, while Elliot’s bangs covered the part of his scalp that had gone bare.

"What were they even fighting about?" Chance asked.

Builderman finally set his mug down. He paused before speaking. "Elliot still has nightmares. About his pizzeria. About what happened there. He’s not over it."

Chance frowned, their appetite waning.

"Still... even after all this time?" they murmured.

Builderman nodded solemnly. "You don’t just forget betrayal. Especially not when your whole dream burns down with it.Coolkidd and 007n7 made a mess of it, and Elliot... he took it personal. It was his life."

Chance quietly picked at their food. The pizzeria... yeah, they remembered it. Elliot’s energy, the passion he had when talking about pizza or the bright neon lights. It had all been so warm, so full of life.

Then it had gone dark. Literally and figuratively.

"It’s hard," Builderman muttered, looking toward the couch. "Seeing people you care about hurt each other. Even harder when you see 'em try to heal and it just... keeps reopening."

There was silence for a moment.

Shedletsky, still next to Builderman, suddenly cleared his throat.

"I tried cheering 'em up by making Wings dance," he said, gesturing to the chicken who now sat perched on the counter like royalty.

Builderman gave him a dry look, but he didn’t protest as Shedletsky leaned into him.

"You’re soft for them," Shedletsky said with a smirk.

"You’re one to talk," Builderman retorted.

Still, his hand drifted up and began to idly rub at the yellow wings on Shedletsky’s back. The feathers twitched under his touch, soft and warm. They sat like that in silence Builderman’s head resting against Shedletsky’s, and the weight of morning slowly settling in.

Chance turned away from the living room. The quiet snores of Guest 1337 and the others, the low hum of Builderman and Shedletsky just being... normal it felt safe.

Still, their fingers gently touched their lips. There was a memory there. One they hadn’t quite processed yet. One they weren’t sure they wanted to.

The kitchen felt warm.

The room felt still.

 

Chapter 166: comfort your side

Summary:

(HELLLO I AM HERE TO FEED YOU , it has been so hot for like weeks , i dont do well with hot temperature and also sickness kicked me in the ass so like..YEAH ANWYAS ENJOY THE FOOD MY BEANS!)

 

The morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains of the hideout’s common room, casting a golden hue across the dusty furniture and still forms lying nestled into the couch. It was warm safe and the kind of silence that felt rare in a world governed by chaos.

Guest 1337 stirred first. His body, honed by years of harshness and discipline, shifted with quiet precision as he woke. Despite the stiffness in his back and shoulders from sleeping sitting up, he didn’t move right away. Instead, he opened his eyes slowly, letting the stillness of the room seep into his senses.

Two smaller forms lay tucked against him. 007n7 was pressed to his right, curled slightly inward, while Elliot leaned heavily against his left side, his breathing even but shallow.

Guest’s eyes moved to Elliot first. The patch of irritated skin where hair had been torn out was no longer red, thanks to the ointment he had carefully applied hours earlier. His fingers ghosted gently over it now, checking for any remaining warmth or sensitivity. Nothing too alarming. Still tender. But healing.

Then, his attention shifted.

007n7’s face was half buried in the fabric of Guest’s military vest, his expression scrunched up in restless sleep. Tracks of dried tears still marked his round cheeks. Guest’s heart gave a soft tug at the sight. No matter how awkward or quiet 007n7 was, that argument had clearly broken something fragile in him.

Guest lifted a hand, rough and calloused from training and war, and brushed away the remnants of the tears. 007n7 stirred faintly but didn’t pull away. Instead, his head subtly leaned into the touch, like a kitten seeking warmth.

A breath escaped Guest’s nose half sigh, half something fond.

He rested his right hand gently against the center of 007n7’s back, his thumb tracing small, rhythmic circles. The chubby man relaxed further, letting out a shaky exhale even in sleep. There was still tension coiled in his shoulders, but it was fading, softened under the careful touch.

Guest’s left hand remained on Elliot’s head, stroking gently along the roots of his thick yellow hair. He remembered the way Elliot had stood stiffly last night, radiating frustration and pain, the way his voice had cracked even when he tried to shout. The hatred hadn’t faded completely, not by a long shot, but the exhaustion had won in the end.

Elliot’s fingers twitched faintly now, brushing against Guest’s knee as if searching for something. Guest adjusted slightly, letting the movement bring the three of them even closer.

There was something surreal in it. Guest 1337 , a man built for order, for survival, for battle was sitting there, encased in the warmth of two wounded souls, cradling them like glass.

The old soldier let his head fall back against the couch cushion. The fabric was scratchy against his scalp, but he didn’t mind. Not with 007n7’s chest rising and falling steadily beside him, not with Elliot’s silent breathing against his ribs.

Guest let out one last breath slow, deliberate.

Then his eyes closed again, hands still resting protectively on both of them.

Just for now… this moment of peace was enough.

The couch creaked faintly as the three figures settled again, tangled in quiet, human connection.

And sleep reclaimed him once more.

 

Chapter 167: trickster

Summary:

(HEHH E TAPH MENTIONED!!)

 

The kitchen still held a soft golden hue from the morning sunlight peeking through the windows, the smell of pancakes still hanging in the air as Chance finished the last few bites of their breakfast. They stretched slowly with a small yawn, pushing the plate forward and standing up from the stool. Builderman gave them a lazy thumbs-up from the corner where he was still half-focused on reading an old paper, while Shedletsky, with Wings now perched on his shoulder, was busy trying to teach the chicken how to wave.

Chance chuckled under their breath, stepping toward the hallway with the intent of heading back to their room and maybe laying down again for a moment longer.

But just as their hand reached for the doorknob, a firm tug at their sleeve pulled them back.

They blinked, startled at first until they turned and saw Taph standing there. The silent trickster’s wide eyes sparkled with mischief, his arms flailing in excitement. Taph immediately began signing, his movements fluid and expressive.

[Do you want to do something silly?]

Chance's lips curled into a grin, eyes brightening. “Hell yeah, always,” they replied with a low chuckle, now intrigued.

Taph nodded with eager approval, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet before signing again.

[Let’s prank Dusekkar. I’ve got a tripmine. We set it above his door. Glitter explosion. It’ll be amazing. Come help me.]

The absurdity of it made Chance snort-laugh. “You’re evil. I love it.”

Within seconds, the two of them were tiptoeing through the corridors like children on a mission. Taph had already prepared the trap just needed a second pair of hands. The trap was more homemade than military-grade, a little rig of string, springs, and of cource the tripmine.

Arriving at Dusekkar’s room, Taph gestured for silence and set to work.

Chance crouched down, securing the near-invisible tripwire across the bottom edge of the door frame while Taph carefully affixed the spring trigger above the door, where it would jolt the bag open once the door was pushed inward. They worked like seasoned pranksters no words, just glances, gestures, and pure unspoken rhythm.

As soon as the trap was set, they backed away from the hallway, ducking behind a corner to wait.

Moments later, the heavy sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Dusekkar, fresh from his bath, towel draped around his shoulder, whistling to himself, stepped casually toward his door. His blue pumpkin-head reflected a glimmer of light, skin dry and fresh.

He turned the knob and stepped in

FWOMP!!

A magnificent, shimmering cloud of pink glitter exploded out like a magic trick gone rogue. The sparkles coated the air, the floor, and—most hilariously Dusekkar himself. His towel flew up comically as he flinched, coughing and flailing slightly in the midst of the cloudburst.

Silence.

Dusekkar stood still for a beat. Completely still. Glitter sparkled in the creases of his robes, clung to the stalk of his pumpkin stem, and coated his face with blinding sheen.

Slowly, his head turned.

His pumpkin-eyes narrowed as he looked into the hallway where he could feel the presence of two culprits.

“Chance. Taph.”

It wasn’t a shout. It was calm. Very calm. Dangerously calm.

From around the corner, a snort escaped Chance. They clamped a hand over their mouth, trying not to giggle out loud. Taph was shaking beside them, silent laughter rippling through his shoulders.

“Go. GO,” Chance whisper laughed, nudging Taph, and they both bolted like mischievous foxes fleeing the henhouse.

They crashed into the kitchen with winded laughs. Taph nearly slid into the counter, and Chance stumbled beside him, both of them flushed and grinning like mad.

Shedletsky, still at the kitchen table now feeding Wings tiny breadcrumbs, turned and raised an amused brow. "You two look like you just did war crimes in glitter."

Builderman looked up from pouring coffee, his voice dry and unimpressed. “What the hell did you two do now?”

Chance puffed up innocently, holding their hands up. “Nothing! Just, uh... spreading a little color in Dusekkar’s life.”

Taph proudly signed with exaggerated flair: [He needed more pink in his aura.]

Shedletsky burst out laughing.

Builderman sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before sipping his coffee. “He’s going to murder one of you someday. I just know it.”

“I’ll haunt you with glitter if I die,” Chance teased.

At that moment, Dusekkar's distant voice echoed down the hall. “THERE’S GLITTER IN MY TEA KETTLE.”

Everyone in the kitchen paused.

Chance blinked. “...Okay, that one wasn’t me..”

Builderman grumbled, “I’m banning everyone from the kitchen except me.”

Taph signed quickly to Chance: [Wanna prank Builderman next?]

Chance smirked. “Always.”

Builderman shooted a stare at chance and taph "do not even think of it."

 

Chapter 168: Your call , my destiny

Summary:

(time to make u GUYS SUFFER HEHEHAAAAA)

 

Shedletsky leaned forward, his eyes fixated on Taph's yellow bird wings as he gently ushered the other into the chair by the counter. With one arm across Taph’s back and the other tugging the chair back just slightly, he guided him down to sit with practiced care. Taph tilted his head, blinking curiously at Shedletsky, who gave a small nod, eyes glimmering with that soft, familial mischief he so rarely let anyone but Taph see.

Shedletsky reached behind the kitchen counter and pulled out a soft bristle brush, holding it up between two fingers like a prized tool. Taph squirmed in the seat, hesitant but ultimately allowing himself to stay still. Shedletsky crouched behind him and began preening the wings gently, brushing through the tangled, unkempt feathers that had gathered dust and glitter from the earlier prank.

"You keep trying to do this yourself and end up mangling your wings, you silly bird," Shedletsky muttered under his breath, though he knew Taph couldn’t hear. Taph, however, turned slightly and signed with a sly smile, ["I only mangle them a little."]

 

Shedletsky chuckled, brushing delicately, careful to untangle each stubborn feather without tugging too hard. The room was silent save for the occasional flick of the brush and the distant sizzling of something cooking on the stove. Builderman looked over with a tired but fond glance before returning to his morning crossword, seated at the far end of the kitchen.

Chance watched quietly from the side of the room, hands still tucked into their hoodie pockets. There was a warm familiarity in this routine, the intimacy of care and the unsaid affection in each motion Shedletsky made. After a few moments, Chance gave the two one last glance before slipping quietly out, climbing the steps that led back to their room.

 

The hallway upstairs was dimly lit, only the weak glow of morning sun filtering through the wooden blinds at the end of the corridor. Their room greeted them with that familiar scent of dust and fresh cotton. They pushed the door open with their shoulder and closed it softly behind them. For the first time that morning, a quiet sigh left their lips.

Crossing the room, Chance approached the window, the panes still frosted slightly from the cool morning air. They reached out and adjusted the windshields metal flaps Builderman had helped them install to control the draft. As they secured the latches, their eyes caught movement below.

The garden.

Nestled right behind the hideout, surrounded by stone walls and creeping ivy, was the sanctuary lovingly cultivated by Two Time. The rows of flowers were alive with color: blood-red roses, sunlit yellows, soft pinks, and rare blue blossoms all of them clustered near the deep purple blooms of the nightshades. The flowers shimmered faintly with dew, their colors intensified by the sunlight.

There, knelt in the center, was Two Time.

Their long coat flowed gently behind them as they moved from patch to patch, watering can in hand. Their white eyes were trained on the blossoms with a kind of religious focus, as if each petal held a secret. Chance leaned on the window sill, chin resting on their hand.

There was something about Two Time something that always struck Chance as deeply sad, though they wore that sadness like a mask, hidden beneath jokes and cryptic sermons about the spawn, about cycles and rebirth, about endings.

Today, Two Time seemed quieter than usual. They were crouched low near the nightshades, watering the base with extreme care. Their gloved fingers reached out, tenderly brushing the stem of one bloom as if it might fall apart. Then, slowly, they sat down amidst the flowers and held the can in their lap.

Chance squinted as they watched.

Two Time’s hand lingered on a fully bloomed nightshade. Their thumb swept the edge of the petal slowly. Their gaze was unfocused staring not at the flower but past it, as though a memory were unfolding in their mind.

A brief flash.

Azure.

That name, almost like a whisper in the wind. A person? A memory?

In Two Time’s mind, they saw Azure standing again holding a bouquet of roses, laughing, teasing them with that same reckless smile they hadn’t seen in so long. Roses, just like the ones they’d planted here. The weight of it crushed their chest.

Their throat tightened. The hand holding the flower trembled. Two Time closed their eyes tightly, willing the tears to stay back, to stay buried with everything else. But grief is stubborn and so is memory. A tear slipped down their cheek.

Still, they smiled.

It was a broken smile, one forged from loss and time, from the ache of something never forgotten. Two Time raised their hand again and gently touched the flower like they were tracing the lines of a face.

 

Chance, watching from above, felt their heart tug. They leaned further on the window, shadows hiding their face now. It was strange, how someone so distant could hold so much inside. Two Time rarely showed much they were always eccentric, always buried in mythos and cryptic logic. But now, in that moment, they looked like a person grieving, a soul still trying to cradle something lost.

Chance stepped away from the window quietly. They didn’t want to intrude.

Back in the garden, Two Time inhaled deeply. They wiped their face quickly with the back of their gloved hand and leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss against the nightshade blossom, as if apologizing.

"You’d laugh at me, wouldn’t you?" they whispered to the flower, their voice barely audible over the wind. "Still crying over you. Still trying to grow something where nothing’s left."

The garden was still. The only answer came in the breeze rustling through the roses.

Two Time stood, brushing soil from their knees. They looked down at their hands, still damp from watering, and then up toward the sky. The weight remained, but there was peace too. Some days were better than others. Some days, the pain turned to gentleness.

As they returned to the path leading back to the hideout, they turned and looked back one last time not at the entire garden, but at the single nightshade bloom, still kissed with dew.

They gave it one last nod.

The wind carried the softest whisper.

"See you tomorrow."

 

Chapter 169: Punishment

Summary:

(YAYYYYYYYYYYYY)

 

The soft creak of floorboards echoed behind Two Time as they stepped away from the garden, from the world blooming with life and memories far too painful to hold gently. The air inside the hideout shifted as the door to their room was pushed open. They shut it quietly, the latch clicking into place with a sound far too loud for the moment. Silence settled around them like fog.

Their room was dim lit only by the faint glow of a lone candle resting atop a crooked, black-painted dresser. The room bore little in the way of comfort, save for a few soft drapes and a solitary bed in the far corner. Yet, in the corner opposite, behind the door, was something sacred.

A small altar.

It was modest built from worn wood and framed by lines of string shaped into jagged, interwoven symbols of the Spawn. Hanging ribbons of black and violet dangled from each corner of the frame. At the base, nestled among scorched candles and bones delicately arranged like an offering, was a tattered photograph. Two Time stared at it, their pupils dilating under the weight of memory.

They walked toward it slowly, as if approaching something fragile, something living. Falling to their knees, their scarf pooling around them, they pressed their hands together. Fingers trembled. Lips parted.

"Oh, Spawn... please... I beg... I pray..."

Their voice cracked, eyes fluttering shut as if in shame, in devotion, in despair.

"Please..please... why are you punishing me."

They opened their eyes again. The photo rested gently against a blackened candle. In it, Two Time was younger soft-eyed, smiling with something rare and real. Next to them stood Azure. His arms were slung around their shoulders, their faces pressed together, cheek to cheek, eyes crinkled with laughter frozen in time. There was sunlight in that photo. There was peace.

Two Time reached out, their fingertips grazing the picture frame like it might shatter under their touch.

"Why..." they whispered. "Why can't you bring him back to me..."

The silence answered with a hollow stillness.

"I did everything," they said, voice rising, trembling like glass about to fall. "Everything you asked of me. Every rite, every sacrifice. Every drop of pain I offered. Was it not enough?"

Their voice was breaking now. Their shoulders began to shake.

"I did everything... I... I gave you everything... so why—"

Their words crumbled into silence. They stared at the photo as their knees buckled forward, head bowing down low, hands clasped. Their lips moved in prayer, in grief, in a desperate and wordless plea that no god seemed to answer.

Time passed. Minutes stretched like years. Their tears dripped silently onto the floor, absorbed by old wood and prayer.

Eventually, exhaustion began to tug at them.

"It’s not fair..." they murmured, voice so small, barely audible. "It’s not... fair..."

Their eyelids fluttered, heavy with the weight of grief and weariness. With trembling limbs, Two Time rose from the floor. Their gaze drifted over to the bed, sheets unmade, pillow slumped over the side. The room, like their heart, felt far too empty.

They stepped toward the bed, their steps slow. Deliberate. Their eyes wandered to the ceiling as they laid down, scanning the wood above like it held answers. But there was nothing. Just silence. The kind that wraps around the soul.

Their hands reached out an instinct, a need. But they found no one there. Just cold sheets. The side where Azure used to sleep was hollow. Their chest ached.

So they took a pillow and pulled it close.

Hugged it as tightly as they could.

Buried their face into it.

And cried.

The kind of cry that didn’t make sound. Just the trembling of breath and the quivering of the soul. Tears streamed into the pillow as memories flickered behind their closed eyes of soft laughter, of shared jokes, of being held without fear.

Of being loved.

The weight of all they lost settled over them like a shroud. Their breathing slowed. Their arms clutched tighter.

And in time, like a ghost in mourning, Two Time slipped into sleep.

Dreamless. Hollow. Alone.

 

Chapter 170: Wow you are back!!

Summary:

AAAAAAA SORRY FOR THE LACK OF UPDATES!! I HAD EXAMS THE ENTIRE WEEK!! , AND TODA YIS MY BIRTHDAY!! SO IVE BEEN BUSYY <33 , BUT HERES A LIL FOOD!!

The quiet of the night wrapped itself around the penthouse like a velvet blanket. Upstairs, the gentle creak of old wooden floorboards marked Chance's return to their room. Their bare feet padded softly over the rug, and a faint breeze from the window kissed the skin of their neck. They exhaled slowly, shedding the remnants of the day like an old coat. Everything downstairs the laughter, the glitter bomb, Taph’s signing, and the sight of Two Time quietly watering their garden still lingered in the air like an aftertaste, but Chance was tired. Bone-deep tired.

They fell into bed, pulling the blanket over them. The fabric smelled faintly of mint and something older, something familiar. With a sigh, they closed their eyes.

But sleep was never just sleep for Chance.

It never came empty.

 

 

 

The red sheets beneath them were soft and warm when their eyes blinked open.

The penthouse. The dream again.

Chance sat up slowly, hands running through their sleep-messed hair. That same soft light filtered through the gauzy curtains, painting the room in surreal, lazy hues. The walls still looked out was too still. There were no birds, no clouds. Not even a sun. Just light.

They stood up and quietly made their way toward the door, already knowing what lay beyond. The tall hallway. The creaking floor. The endless, empty mall.

Sure enough, the moment the doors of the penthouse slid open, Chance stepped into the cold concrete echo of the abandoned shopping mall. Its corridors stretched endlessly in either direction, lit only by the occasional flickering ceiling light. Dust drifted lazily through the air. The smell of rusted metal and forgotten memories clung to everything.

Chance took a breath and began to run. It was instinct. No destination just the urge to move. To find someone. To find something.

Then 

“ACK!”

A weight slammed into them from the side, knocking them flat onto the dusty tiles. They hit the ground with a grunt, the impact knocking the air from their lungs.

Laughter.

Not mocking. Familiar.

Chance blinked, heart stuttering.

“Nashatra?!”

The girl grinned down at them, her long brown hair spilling over her shoulder like ink. Her laughter softened into a giggle as she helped Chance up.

“Nashatra! Where were you?!” Chance said breathlessly, arms wrapping around her without thinking. Relief hit like a wave.

She chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck with a sheepish grin. “I was with Eunoia.”

Chance pulled back, brows raised. “All this time?”

Nashatra’s expression softened. “After you saved me from Mafioso… I ran back to the penthouse. But before I could sleep, Eunoia stopped me.”

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

“I didn’t want to hear any excuses from her. I was still angry. Still hurt. But… the way she looked at me. Her tears. Her face. It wasn’t something I could ignore.”

A small smile curled on her lips.

“I gave her a chance. We’ve… been hanging out. Talking. Healing. Until now.”

Chance nodded slowly, heart still beating fast from the impact and now from something else. “At least everything’s okay now, right?”

They glanced around. “Where’s Eunoia, though..”

“I’m right here, Chance.”

Chance jumped at the sudden voice behind them.

“JESUS stop doing that!”

Eunoia’s smile was small, but genuine. “You’re still so jumpy.”

Nashatra burst out laughing, nearly falling over from how hard she was trying to hold it in.

“Haha, very funny,” Chance grumbled, brushing off their sleeves. “You’re going to cause my death someday, I swear.”

“You’ll survive,” Eunoia said lightly.

Nashatra straightened up, still smiling, and then gently hugged Chance again. “I’m glad you’re okay. I really am. At least Mafioso didn’t kill you…”

Chance’s cheeks flushed at the mention. The memory of the cherry blossom dream lingered too vivid. Too warm. That moment...

Eunoia seemed to notice.

“Oh, I know that face.” She chuckled.

Chance opened their mouth to say something, but before the words could come out, Eunoia stepped in, her hand grabbing the front of their shirt collar.

Her gaze changed.

The calm, gentle expression dropped. Now her eyes were sharp. Protective. Piercing.

“Listen to me, Chance,” she said in a tone that was low and firm. “You better not do. Anything. To him. Understood?”

Chance’s eyes went wide. They nodded rapidly, the collar of their shirt wrinkling in her grip.

Then just as suddenly, Eunoia let go, her smile returning as if nothing had happened.

“Perfect!” she chimed.

Chance stood there like their soul had been yanked out of their body.

Nashatra leaned against the wall, laughing again, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

“Your face!”

Chance groaned. “I’m never going to be taken seriously again…”

The three of them stood there for a moment, bathed in the eerie dreamlight of the abandoned mall. For all its emptiness, this place held something… nostalgic. Soft. Almost safe. At least when they were together.

Chance let out a breath they hadn’t realized they’d been holding. “So… what now?”

Nashatra looked around the mall. “Wanna go walk?”

Eunoia shrugged. “Might as well.”

And so they walked.

Chance in the middle, flanked by Nashatra’s warm, familiar presence and Eunoia’s tall, quiet one

Chapter 171: dinner

Summary:

YIPEPEPEPEPEPEE!! (all i got for now , IMA SPEND TOMMOROW HAVING my BIRTHDAY BUT IMA TRY TO COOK STAY TUNED!!)

The echo of Eunoia’s soft chuckle still lingered in the dreamscape air as the trio walked along the familiar linoleum floors of the abandoned mall. The overhead lights flickered now and then, casting long shadows and lending a surreal hue to the dream. Chance walked between Nashatra and Eunoia, hands tucked into their pockets, their expression still vaguely stunned from Eunoia’s sudden burst of overprotectiveness. Nashatra had taken it in stride, still softly laughing under her breath while Eunoia acted like nothing had happened at all.

But that peace didn’t last long.

"CHANCE!"

The voice rang out with such clarity, such energy, that it pierced the atmosphere. Chance barely had time to turn before someone practically tackled them in a fullbodied hug.

"Oh my god, you’re alive!" Fazio’s voice was ecstatic, his arms wrapped tightly around them like they might vanish again if he let go.

Chance laughed, a surprised but genuine sound. "Yeah, I am!" they grinned, gently patting Fazio on the back.

Fazio pulled back just far enough to look them in the eye, his own filled with glee and just a touch of disbelief. "We know what happened in the cherry blossom dream! I knew you could do it!"

Chance blinked. "Wait, what? What do you mean you know-"

Fazio was already shaking them by the shoulders, enthusiasm pouring out of every gesture. "We all know! And we were so proud, so relieved we organized something. A dinner."

Chance froze. "A... a dinner?"

Fazio's grin widened. "Yeah! A dinner. For you. And Mafioso."

Chance’s entire body tensed, their face flushing with heat. "W-what?!"

Fazio didn’t respond immediately. His eyes had landed on Eunoia, who stood just a few paces away with Nashatra. Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees and clasped his hands together in a pleading motion.

"Please! Lady Eunoia! Can Chance have dinner with Mafioso?!"

Eunoia arched a brow, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She stepped forward, gently patting Fazio’s head with amusement glimmering in her eyes. "Of course. But make sure everything goes alright between the two, okay?"

"YIPPPPE!" Fazio shouted with pure joy, hopping back to his feet. Without giving Chance a chance to protest or even form a coherent thought, he grabbed their hand. "Let’s go! Let’s go!"

"W-wait, hold on—" Chance stammered, looking helplessly at Eunoia and Nashatra as Fazio began to tug them away. Nashatra offered a concerned glance.

"Are they gonna be alright?" she asked.

Eunoia tilted her head, watching Chance with a quiet fondness. Then she leaned down and gently kissed Nashatra on the cheek.

"You worry too much. Let them have this."

Nashatra smiled, cheeks flushing slightly, and nodded as the two of them resumed their walk deeper into the dreamscape.

 

 

 

Fazio, meanwhile, was practically skipping beside Chance, dragging them toward what appeared to be one of the glowing dream portals forming in the hallway of the mall. He pulled out a tablet, swiping quickly and typing in a string of numbers before gesturing with pride.

"Ta-da!" he grinned. "Go ahead!"

Chance eyed the portal warily. "Where are we going now...?"

"Just go, trust me!"

With a resigned sigh and a quick breath, Chance stepped through the portal.

 

 

The familiar scent of expensive cologne and polished wood hit them instantly. When their eyes opened, they found themselves standing in the middle of a luxurious casino not just any casino. Their casino.

Everything was just how it used to be: the velvet carpets, the gold-trimmed curtains, the hum of slot machines and faint jazz playing in the background. The chandeliers cast warm glows over polished card tables. But there were no strangers here. No background figures. It was quiet, still. Dreamlike.

Chance blinked. Their chest tightened with a mixture of nostalgia and nervousness.

Fazio stepped through the portal behind them. "Don't freak out. It's just a replica."

"A... replica?"

"Yeah! We searched up your name and this casino came up! So we figured, why not make this place feel like home, right?"

Chance didn’t respond immediately. They stared around, eyes scanning the details right down to the etched carvings on the table legs. It was comforting, in a strange way.

"You guys really went all out, huh," Chance muttered, their heart hammering a little too fast.

Fazio grinned, nudging them forward. "C'mon, this is supposed to be a nice surprise. Now look over there."

He pointed toward a table at the far end of the casino, tucked in a soft glow of amber lighting.

"Look who’s waiting."

Chance turned.

And their breath hitched.

There, seated casually with one arm resting on the table, was Mafioso. But it wasn’t the all-black suited, somber figure Chance was used to seeing.

He was dressed to impress.

His outfit was opulent , a deep black jacket embroidered with rose patterns in a darker red, gold jewelry glittering around his wrists and fingers. The usual fedora was perched on his head, but this time adorned with a vivid red rose. He looked like someone straight out of a romantic noir film, all charm and danger wrapped into one.

He hadn’t noticed them yet.

Chance swallowed hard.

Fazio leaned in and whispered, "Good luck," before giving them one final push forward.

The world around them felt impossibly large all of a sudden.

Every step they took toward that glowing table echoed with nervous anticipation, like the slot machines had fallen silent to watch what would happen next.

 

 

Chapter 172: Your gaze upon me

Summary:

HEHEHEHE HELLOOO HELLLOOO!!
no i didnt get the curse AGAIN
just work , work.. lots of boring work...
AND IWAS TRYING TO FIGUREOUT A COUPLE OF THINGS TOO!

SO ANYWYAS
HERES A BIT OF FOOD
i HAVE AN IMPORTANT THING TO ASK ON THE NEXT CHAPTER!

Chance approached the table slowly, nervously, their steps slightly uneven on the lush crimson carpet beneath their feet. The distant jingle of the slot machines and low jazz music in the background provided a surreal ambiance, almost dreamlike. Their heart pounded in their chest, echoing against their ribcage like the rhythm of some internal war drum. The warm lighting of the casino glinted off golden surfaces, red velvet chairs, and crystal chandeliers that sparkled above.

Mafioso sat there at one of the farthest tables, perfectly centered beneath a hanging golden lamp. His posture was calm, composed, and even elegant. His usual fedora still sat on his head, casting a shadow over his eyes. Chance couldn't see them clearly, and yet they knew they were being watched. Not with judgment, not with coldness, but with that same intensity Mafioso always had when he looked at them, like they were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

As Chance finally sat on the chair across from him, the leather seat whispering slightly under their weight, they tried to force their body to relax. It wasn't working. They glanced up, and Mafioso was still staring. The silence hung between them for a moment, not awkward, not tense just... suspended, like time.

 

Then Mafioso spoke, his voice deeper and softer than expected. “So... this is your casino?”

Chance blinked, then looked around, trying to hide their nervousness behind a half-smile. The pride, though, was genuine. “Yup! Ain’t it a real beauty? I worked hard to get it to this...”

Mafioso’s lips twitched slightly into a small, rare smile. “I saw. It’s well established.”

That caught Chance off-guard more than they wanted to admit. Their cheeks warmed, and they glanced away quickly, fingers fidgeting slightly with the hem of their jacket. A compliment, from him. And not just any compliment—a real, earnest one.

To distract themselves, Chance picked up the menu. Mafioso followed their movements silently, hands resting calmly on the polished blackwood table, fingers occasionally tapping in slow, thoughtful rhythms.

“Well then,” he said after a moment, leaning back slightly, “Since it’s your casino... surprise me.”

 

Chance blinked, then chuckled softly, the tension in their shoulders lessening just a bit. “Alright, but no complaining, got it?”

Mafioso raised one eyebrow under the shadow of his fedora, his expression unreadable but vaguely amused. “I would never.”

They browsed the menu with more calm now, though their fingers trembled just slightly as they flipped through the pages. Eventually, they settled on something classic, something simple and comforting two bowls of spaghetti bolognese.

When they announced their choice, Mafioso tilted his head slightly, playful skepticism creeping into his voice. “Really?”

 

Chance huffed in mock offense, crossing their arms and grinning. “Oh come on! It’s a classic! Can’t go wrong with spaghetti.”

Mafioso smirked slightly, clearly entertained, but said nothing more on the matter.

The waitress arrived, bowing slightly to Chance a strange detail they hadn’t expected, but they supposed this version of the casino still recognized them as its owner. She took their orders without question and disappeared just as quickly, the soft tap of her shoes fading into the jazzy background.

And then there they were.

 

Chance and Mafioso, seated at the same table, alone in a dream-replica of Chance’s most intimate space. The casino lights bathed them both in gold and red. The chandelier above flickered ever so slightly, casting occasional shadows that danced over their expressions.

They sat in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

Chance shifted, fingers brushing against the cool silverware beside their plate. Every now and then, they glanced up at Mafioso, who sat like a statue of quiet intensity, occasionally letting his gaze drift across the casino floor.

And yet he kept returning his gaze to Chance.

 

Their eyes would meet. Just for a second. And Chance would quickly look away, flustered, heart hammering far louder than any roulette wheel ever could.

Mafioso finally spoke again. “I have to admit... this is not how I expected today to go.”

Chance smiled faintly, eyes still on the polished table. “Yeah? What did you expect?”

He tilted his head again, thoughtful. “Not dinner. Certainly not here.”

 

Chance laughed a little, nervous but warm. “Well... I guess even you get surprises now and then.”

Mafioso didn’t laugh. But his eyes did soften. The shadow from his hat hadn’t moved, but there was something unmistakable in his body language like an invisible tension had started to bleed away, bit by bit.

Chance dared to meet his gaze a little longer this time.

“I’m glad you came,” they said softly.

 

The silence returned, deeper this time. But Mafioso didn’t look away.

“So am I,” he said.

The warmth that bloomed in Chance’s chest was unexpected. Sudden. Dangerous.

They both fell silent again as the clinking of dishes from the kitchen could be faintly heard, the smell of tomato sauce and fresh herbs starting to waft through the air.

Outside the fake windows of the casino dreamscape, it looked like night. A velvet dark sky with distant artificial stars sparkled in place, as if the dream tried to mimic the calm of the real world, the comfort of something beyond chaos.

Chance leaned forward slightly, fingers brushing the edge of their water glass.

“Mafioso,” they began, quietly.

 

His eyes turned to them immediately, silently attentive.

They opened their mouth to continue—but the words caught. The moment caught. The waiter was approaching. Two plates in hand. Steam rose from the bowls of pasta, and the rich smell filled the air.

Mafioso sat up slightly, readying himself as if this meal were some kind of sacred ritual.

And maybe it was.

Chance looked down at their food, trying to focus.

But the flutter in their chest wouldn’t go away.

Chapter 173: Sweet flavor

Summary:

HEHEH
I OPENED A BLOG ON TUMBLR!!
FOR REQUESTS!!
so like you can requests headcanons and stuff !
UK LIKE EXEMPLE :
"how would you think two time would be with you being part of the cult ?"
UK WHAT I MEAN , ITS DIFFICULT TO SAY BUT LIKE!
i opened it today!
SO PLEASE FEEL FREE TO FOLLOW IT AND REQUESTS WHENEVER THEY ARE OPEN!!
https://www.tumblr.com/sebmindbreak

The two sat at the velvet-draped table, the gentle hum of overhead chandeliers bathing everything in golden warmth. The flicker of light reflected on the polished gold accents of the casino, dancing over the marble floor and casting long shadows across the room. Chance twirled their fork through the bolognese with an eager glint in their eye. The scent rising from the steaming dish was rich, hearty, and layered with warmth the kind that made one's chest loosen.

Mafioso sat across from them, his posture relaxed, yet composed. One leg crossed over the other, his elbow propped gently on the table’s edge. He leaned back ever so slightly, watching with a peaceful sort of look that seemed almost out of place on his normally stern features. His black fedora was tilted low, casting a shadow across his eyes, but his expression was unmistakably calm. The occasional twitch of his soft bunny ears gave away how much he was enjoying the meal.

"That's... delicious," Mafioso said at last, his deep voice breaking the comfortable silence. He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a black linen napkin, then glanced up at Chance with a flicker of amusement lingering in his tone. "You've got good cooks here."

 

Chance’s face lit up, cheeks bulging slightly with spaghetti. Their eyes crinkled in delight as they gave a muffled, joyful sound something between a hum and a laugh as if to say, Of course we do.

Mafioso raised a brow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "The food isn't going anywhere. Slow down, would you?"

"Nuh uh," Chance mumbled through their full mouth, their tone playful and mock-defiant. They pointed their fork at him with an exaggerated waggle before quickly shoveling in another bite. A bit of sauce had slipped past their lip, dotting the corner of their mouth.

 

Mafioso stared for a brief second, then quietly chuckled.

Without a word, he reached into the breast pocket of his coat and retrieved a neatly folded tissue. His fingers were steady, careful. He leaned in across the table, his gloved hand reaching out not hesitating. He dabbed gently at Chance’s face, wiping away the spot of red with an ease that made time slow down.

Chance’s entire body stilled. Fork still in hand. Eyes wide.

There was something surreal in the moment. The way Mafioso’s gloved hand moved so tenderly, how the fabric brushed against their skin. The closeness of him the scent of his cologne, warm and woodsy. The silence held them both in a fragile pocket of stillness.

 

Chance’s cheeks turned a deep, startled red. They quickly swallowed their bite, trying not to look too shaken. They glanced up, just in time to catch the smallest shift in Mafioso’s face a smile, brief and unreadable.

And then, he leaned back slowly, setting the tissue aside with the kind of grace that only years of control could grant. He tilted his head slightly.

"Come on," he said softly, voice hushed and low. One hand reached up not toward his drink, but toward Chance’s face again. His fingers brushed the edge of their sunglasses. "I want to see your eyes. Just this once."

Chance stiffened.

 

The glasses had always been a kind of armor. The one thing they wore not for fashion, but for safety. A barrier. A veil. The idea of removing them in front of someone like Mafioso someone so dangerous, so enigmatic—felt like peeling off a layer of skin.

But something about his voice. The gentleness of it. The way he asked instead of commanded...

They hesitated.

And then they nodded.

Click.

 

The hinges of the glasses folded in with a delicate snap, and Mafioso set them gently on the table.

Golden eyes. Bright and nervous and vulnerable.

Chance blinked once, twice adjusting to the lighting, trying to still their own breath. The room hadn’t changed, but something about it felt suddenly more exposed.

Mafioso didn’t speak at first. He simply studied them. His eyes still shrouded in the fedora’s shadow, yet the tension in his shoulders had eased entirely. There was no mockery. No smug amusement. Only a long, quiet look.

The corners of his mouth softened.

 

Chance tried to look away, murmuring shyly, "They’re weird, huh..."

Mafioso shook his head slowly, voice just above a whisper. "No. They're beautiful."

Chance's breath hitched.

The words struck with a surprising weight. Not just because of what they meant but because of who was saying them. Mafioso never spoke like this. Not often. Not unless he meant it.

Their cheeks flushed an even deeper shade, and they quickly looked down at their plate.

 

The waitress returned quietly, almost invisible, dropping off a fresh pair of drinks with practiced elegance. She said nothing, sensing the delicate atmosphere between the two. Chance didn't even register her presence.

The clink of ice in the glass. The shimmer of golden liquid. But neither of them moved to drink.

Mafioso let his fingers trail along the edge of his cup, his gaze still on Chance. His breath even. Silent.

Chance finally glanced up again, catching the shadowed eyes across from them.

 

The air between them tightened something not quite romantic, not quite electric. Something older. Deeper. Like two people who’d already seen one another at their worst, and still chose to sit across the table again.

Forks forgotten.

Glasses untouched.

Hearts beating.

And still, neither looked away.

 

Chapter 174: We'll meet again

Summary:

I DONT HAE THE AUTHOR CURSE
I AM HERE TO FEED YALLL
i had a massive burnt out , and i was tryign to figure out , where to go , especialy with the new lore and shit
and with what happened with soul made me want to puke.
ANYWYAS
FUCK YOU SOUL.
but anywyas
heheh you thought this would stay happy for long ?
THIS IS A SLOW BURNN MWAHAHA
I HAVE ALOT OF CHAPTERS I WROTE PLEASE ENJOY THE FOOD <33

The silence had been golden. A rare warmth had settled over the table, something sacred in the way neither of them looked away

 two gazes stitched together by invisible thread. Mafioso's fingers lingered near his glass. Chance's fork had long since paused mid-air. Time felt gentle here. The low lighting of the casino, the velvet drapes, the music fading into a soft hum from hidden speakers it all made the world feel paused.

Until it wasn't.

CRACK

 

A sharp sound split the stillness. One of the overhead lights popped violently, glass shattering and clinking down onto the marble tiles below. Sparks flared briefly, and then darkness flickered overhead as the remaining bulbs buzzed in protest.

Chance jumped in their seat.

Mafioso's head snapped upward, eyes narrowed under the shadow of his fedora. The shadows of the chandelier stuttered across his face like dancing ghosts.

Something twisted in his stomach. A gut-deep instinct.

Danger.

 

It slithered down his spine like ice water. He felt it in his bones, in his blood. Something wasn’t right. This place , a replica of Chance's casino , was meant to feel safe. But now, it felt too quiet. Too calculated. what was going on ?..

Chance looked over at him, eyes wide with confusion. "Mafioso... what was that?"

Before Mafioso could answer, it began.

Clap.

 

Clap.

 

Clap.

 

A slow, deliberate, mockingly theatrical applause. It echoed through the casino, bouncing off the gold columns and reflecting ceilings, chilling the air.

Clap.

 

The sound grew louder, more sarcastic with every beat. Chance froze.

Then the heavy red curtains over the stage at the end of the casino groaned open. The velvet parted like a wound, revealing someone seated calmly at a stool center stage. A piano glistened under the now-dim lights. Spotlights flickered as though unsure whether to obey.

And there he was.

 

Itrapped.

 

Sat with one leg crossed over the other, dressed in his signature polished cruelty. His smile curled with something that wasn’t quite joy more like hunger. His fingers trailed over the piano keys, testing their tune, the sound a soft, eerie lullaby.

He looked older. Sharper. Shadows clung to him like smoke. And yet, when he opened his mouth to speak, his voice rang clear and elegant.

 

"We'll meet again..."

The notes struck the room like ghostly bells.

"Don't know where... Don't know when..."

He sang.

 

His eyes locked directly on Chance.

Mafioso didn't recognize him. But Chance, Chance had gone pale, their hand shaking slightly on the table. Their posture shrunk. They moved closer to Mafioso instinctively, their shoulder brushing his, like a moth seeking a flame it once feared.

Mafioso didn’t speak.

 

But his eyes narrowed, scanning this stranger with a coldness that hadn’t been there before. The air around him changed tense, ready.

Itrapped smiled sweetly as he continued to sing.

"But I know we'll meet again some sunny day..."

"Who the hell is that?" Mafioso asked lowly, not taking his eyes off the man at the piano.

 

Chance swallowed hard. Their voice came out like a ghost's whisper. "His name is... Itrapped."

Mafioso tilted his head slightly. "Ex?"

Chance nodded, eyes locked on the stage. They couldn’t blink. Couldn’t look away. It was as if Itrapped had reached into the core of their fears and strung them up like marionette wires.

Itrapped's fingers danced on the piano.

His voice flowed like silk. Sweet. Almost tender.

Almost.

 

"Keep smiling through, just like you always do..."

"He's the one who..." Chance couldn't even finish.

They didn’t need to.

Something in their voice cracked. And Mafioso who'd seen death in many forms, who’d tasted betrayal and loss and violence felt an anger begin to stir. It wasn’t loud. Not yet. But it was there. A coil of fury wrapping itself tight in his gut.

The song continued.

 

Itrapped's hands never faltered. His gaze never left Chance.

Chance looked like a child again, like someone haunted by a story they thought had ended. But Mafioso could see it now.

It hadn’t ended.

Itrapped was here.

 

And he had come back with a stage, a piano, a performance like this was just another game. Another scene to control.

"We'll meet again..."

The tune swelled softly.

"Don’t know where..."

The lights dimmed.

"Don’t know when..."

Mafioso stood slowly, pushing back his chair without breaking eye contact. He reached across the table and took Chance's hand. The golden eyes flicked toward him, startled.

Mafioso leaned in slightly.

"Stay behind me."

The command was low. Firm.

Chance nodded.

 

On stage, Itrapped's fingers slowed. He hummed the final lines softly, lips almost pouting in faux sentimentality.

"But I know we'll meet again"

A final chord.

"Some sunny day."

Silence.

 

And then that smile.

"Hello again, darling," Itrapped purred, resting his chin on his hand. "Miss me?"

Chance’s breath hitched.

 

Mafioso stepped fully in front of them now. Protective. Still. His coat billowed slightly as the casino vents shivered from the broken lights.

Itrapped leaned forward over the piano, eyes twinkling with theatrical delight.

"Tsk tsk. You didn’t even invite me to dinner. After all the good times we had..."

He gestured at the plates still on the table. "Spaghetti, though? Really? Bit basic, don’t you think?"

Mafioso didn’t respond.

He just stared.

 

Memorizing every inch of this bastard’s face.

Chance clenched their fists behind him. Their legs wanted to run. Their heart wanted to crumble. But Mafioso stood like a wall in front of them, unwavering. And slowly, something in Chance started to straighten.

Not quite courage.

But the memory of it.

 

Chapter 175: Don't know where

Summary:

HEHEH ANGSTTT
as you can see i am very creative for the name i choosen for the monster.. y e s

The lights still flickered erratically overhead, casting shadows that crawled like insects across the polished floor of the casino.

Chance stood frozen behind Mafioso, their hand trembling lightly against the back of his jacket. Mafioso said nothing for a moment, eyes pinned to the dark figure on the stage. Itrapped had finished his song, but now he stood, slowly, dramatically, as if savoring the moment.

 

With each footstep descending the stage stairs, Mafioso instinctively stepped in front of Chance. The tension in the room shifted with a pulse-like force, thick with an invisible energy that coiled around their throats.

Itrapped walked slowly, hands in his coat pockets, the same smug smirk draped on his face like an ill-fitting mask. His eyes didn’t leave Chance, not for a second.

“Oh, I see,” he said, voice smooth but vibrating with restrained fury. “You replaced me already? After everything I’ve done for you?”

Chance flinched. Their mouth opened, then closed, but then finally, something in them sparked.

 

“You didn’t do anything for me!” they barked, though their voice trembled. “You tricked me! You… you used me. You killed me.”

Itrapped stopped walking and tilted his head, still smiling, but now there was something bitter behind his teeth.

“Tricked you?” he echoed. Then a short laugh burst from him, dry and ugly. “No, no, my sweet. I saved you.”

 

His words wrapped around the room like barbed wire. Chance staggered back, shaken, but Mafioso stepped forward.

“This is enough,” he said, voice low, but firm. Each syllable rang like steel. “Leave Chance alone.”

For a moment, silence. Then, something shifted.

Itrapped’s grin vanished.

 

His form twisted. Bones snapped. A sickening slurp echoed through the air. His skin rippled like water, then darkened into an unnatural, void-black. Limbs contorted into eerie proportions, stretching like smoke. His face lost all its human features, except for two eyes, glowing a violent red.

From the center of his chest, thick veins throbbed with black ichor, pulsing as though a second heart beat within. Blood began to trickle from his now eyeless sockets thick, clotting chunks that dragged themselves slowly down his cheeks like ink.

A voice, no longer his own, erupted from the twisted figure. It screeched like chalk on a whiteboard, like a dying cassette reel.

 

"You. Can’t. Escape."

"I don’t care. You can’t have someone else."

"I’ll just kill you again."

"You won’t get anyone else."

The lights dimmed.

 

Chance staggered backward, colliding with a velvet column. Their entire body trembled, golden eyes wide and glistening with dread.

Mafioso didn’t move.

But his expression darkened.

He wasn’t looking at Itrapped anymore. Not truly. His eyes had gone past the horror, past the trick of the familiar shape. He saw it. The real shape. The truth under the skin.

“Nightmaren,” he whispered.

 

Chance looked up at him, confused.

“That’s not your ex,” Mafioso said, stepping in front of Chance fully now, like a wall. “That’s a creature from the Dreamworld. They take on the faces of our pain. The ones who broke us. The ones we couldn’t let go.”

The Nightmaren hissed, the sound rattling the glassware on the tables. The blood from its eyes spattered the ground like tar.

 

“He… he looks like Itrapped,” Chance muttered, voice paper thin (like really really low if you will)

“That’s because he knows it will hurt you the most,” Mafioso said. “He wants to keep you trapped here, in this moment. In fear.”

Itrapped took a single step forward. The floor beneath him cracked, long spidering fractures echoing outward. Its eyes glowed brighter, hungrily fixated on Chance.

Chance backed up instinctively, but Mafioso stayed firm.

“You’re not getting them,” Mafioso said calmly.

 

"Then I’ll devour you first."

The voice hit the walls and bounced around like nails on mirror-glass.

Chance squeezed their eyes shut, fists balled against their chest.

Mafioso reached for something inside his coat.

 

The Nightmaren’s limbs shifted again, elongating. His fingers had turned into thin, rope-like claws. The scent of ash filled the air.

One step closer. Two.

 

Chapter 176: Don't know when

Summary:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAEYAYEYEA
THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTING!!!

The lights of the casino flickered violently as the air itself seemed to grow thicker, oppressive. Time no longer felt real the once comforting hum of music and clinking glasses was replaced by an eerie, muffled stillness, interrupted only by the ghostly echo of piano notes and that taunting, velvet-slick voice.

Mafioso's breath hitched.

 

He could sense the shift immediately. This wasn't just some deranged ex. This wasn't a man anymore. This was something else. Something wrong.

His jaw tightened. Without a second thought, Mafioso reached behind him, wrapping an arm around Chance’s waist and hoisting them cleanly onto his shoulder.

"Wha- , Mafioso?!" Chance yelped, arms flailing in surprise.

 

"No time!" he barked, turning swiftly on his heel. He sprinted across the room, weaving through chairs, flipped tables, and spilled silverware. His shoes scraped against the marble floor, catching the confused stares of stunned patrons as he barreled into the casino's inner halls.

Behind them, Itrapped’s laughter echoed, low and smug. "Running? Now that’s rude."

The halls were long and winding, filled with mirrors and golden sconces. Mafioso hadn’t memorized the layout he hadn’t expected to need to. The dinner was supposed to be calm. A meeting. A chance.

Not this.

 

Itrapped's voice slithered through the corridors like a snake. "Chance, darling. You don’t have to run. You know you still feel it… that spark. Come back to me. Just like before."

Chance stiffened on Mafioso’s shoulder, hands gripping the back of his coat. The voice, that voice, dug into old wounds. It sounded so real. So sweet. Like honey over poison.

"Don’t listen," Mafioso muttered, sharp and focused. "Keep your mind steady. Don’t let him in."

He turned a corner sharply, eyes scanning for anything a storage room, an office, anything that might hold a weapon. His coat was light today. No blade. No gun. Nothing but instinct and urgency.

Another hallway. Another echoing footstep behind.

 

Chance buried their face into Mafioso's shoulder, trying to shut out the voice. Itrapped kept talking, that coaxing edge turning more twisted.

"I missed you, you know. It was lonely without you. But if you won’t love me again, I’ll make sure no one else gets to."

A low snarl at the end of the sentence. Like a predator baring its teeth.

Mafioso didn’t look back. He reached into his inner pocket with one hand, still running, and yanked out his phone. With practiced speed, he hit a contact and pressed it to his ear.

"Come on, pick up," he muttered.

 

A click.

 

"Boss?" Borys answered, his voice sharp and alert.

"I need help here. Code LUCID," Mafioso growled, breath tight. "Nightmaren at the Dream I’m in. He’s heavily violent."

Silence. Then:

"Yes, boss!" Borys responded without hesitation.

 

Click.

 

Mafioso stuffed the phone back into his coat and leapt over an overturned roulette table. The casino lights above him shattered with a sudden bang, raining down sparks as Itrapped's distorted silhouette gained ground.

He could hear the wet footsteps. The snarls. The whisper of inhuman breath.

"Come on, mafioso," Itrapped mocked. "What are you going to do?"

 

But Mafioso wasn't listening. He wasn't focusing on the voice. He was focusing on the way Chance trembled in his arms, how they clung to him as if he were the only anchor left in this storm.

He had to protect them.

Another hallway. A storage door at the end. Locked.

"Damn it," he hissed, lowering Chance down.

"What are you"

"Cover your ears and don't look back," he ordered. Then, with a grunt, he pulled his arm back and drove a powerful kick straight into the door.

CRACK.

 

The wood splintered and gave way. The two of them tumbled inside.

Dust. Broken furniture. A mop. An old security locker.

Mafioso slammed the door shut and dragged a shelf in front of it.

"Not gonna hold him long," he muttered, moving quickly to the locker. It was rusted shut.

Chance, shaking, backed against the wall. "He sounds the same. Just like before. His voice…"

 

Mafioso turned. His voice dropped low.

"Chance. Look at me."

They hesitated, then lifted their head.

"He isn’t real. You hear me? Not anymore. He’s a Nightmaren now. He wears the skin of something you knew, but that thing is gone. What we’re fighting is your memory of it."

Chance nodded slowly, tears at the edge of their lashes.

BOOM.

 

The door shuddered. A fist-shaped dent caved inward.

"You can’t hide," came the screeching, echoing voice. It no longer sounded sweet. It was layered, glitchy. Like multiple voices speaking at once, all crawling out of a static-filled void.

Mafioso yanked at the locker until it popped open. Inside

A security baton. Pepper spray. And a sleek emergency pistol.

 

"Lucky," he muttered, loading the weapon quickly.

He turned, handing the baton to Chance.

"If he gets too close, you swing this like hell. Got it?"

Chance nodded.

 

Another slam.

 

Another dent.

 

Mafioso positioned himself between the door and Chance, pistol aimed.

"We hold out until Borys gets here," he said.

Outside, the voice laughed.

 

"I’m going to enjoy breaking you again, Chance. Watching the light die in your pretty golden eyes."

Chance shivered. But this time, they raised the baton.

And they stood.

Chapter 177: But i'll know we'll meet again

Summary:

YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
MY FIC MY RULES
HYPNOTISM MFS

The door slammed off its hinges with a thunderous crash.

Wood splinters scattered across the dark floor like shards of bone, and the dim emergency lighting of the casino hallway flickered violently as the twisted silhouette of Itrapped stepped into view. His shoulders rose and fell like a beast caught between breath and rage. Pitch-black skin, oily and voidlike, consumed all detail of his former appearance. Only his blood-caked eyes remained those awful, unnatural eyes, glowing with the sheen of something ancient, something wrong.

 

Mafioso stood his ground, the heavy weight of Chance curled behind him. He raised the handgun he had snatched from the emergency case just moments prior, the barrel locked directly onto Itrapped's chest. Mafioso’s jaw clenched so tight the muscles beneath his fedora twitched.

Itrapped paused when he saw the gun, and for a split second, the world froze.

Then he laughed.

 

A sound so dry, so drenched in mockery, it rattled against the walls.

"Really? A gun?" he sneered, wiping at the blood leaking like molasses from his eye sockets, smearing it across his cheek. "Is that what you think will stop me? This? This little toy?"

Mafioso didn’t flinch.

 

"Fucking bastard," he muttered under his breath. His finger curled tighter around the trigger, though his heart was pounding in his ears. Chance was breathing shallowly behind him, and he could feel the rise and fall of their chest against his back. Too fast. Too frightened.

Itrapped’s grin widened, sharp and splitting, as his head tilted ever so slightly. Then, his voice turned smooth like the coo of a lover, sickly sweet and poisoned to its core.

"Chance," he called out.

 

A whisper in a storm.

"Sweetheart... I know you’re scared. But you don’t have to run. Not from me. I missed you. Come here, love. I can make it all better. We’ll start again. Just like before. Remember our little cabin in the woods? Remember the firelight? The promises?"

Chance stirred.

Mafioso's eyes flicked back in time to see it the subtle shift in their shoulders, the way their eyes unfocused like glass.

Blue.

Piercing, luminescent blue began to shimmer in Itrapped’s gaze. They pulsed like a heartbeat stronger with every word, every lie spun into melody.

This was it.

 

This was what made Nightmarens the most dangerous entities in the dreamscape. Not their strength. Not their violence.

Their voice , their eyes

Their ability to lure victims back into hell.

"I forgive you for running," Itrapped whispered. "I know it was scary. But you don’t have to be afraid anymore. Just step away from him. Come back to me."

Chance moved.

Barely.

 

But Mafioso caught it. The way their foot shifted forward, as if of its own will.

"No," he hissed. "No. No no no"

He dropped the gun to his side for a heartbeat and reached back, his gloved hand pressing firmly over Chance’s eyes.

"Don’t look. Don’t fucking look."

 

Chance blinked behind his palm, trembling violently. Their breathing hitched, and they sagged slightly into him, like a puppet with a string cut. Mafioso kept his eyes locked on Itrapped, who now looked amused and furious at once.

"You’re cheating," the Nightmaren rasped. The voice was less human now. Thinner. Scratchier. Like nails dragged across a chalkboard.

Mafioso gritted his teeth. "You’re not getting them."

 

Itrapped took a step forward, and the light sputtered above him. The smell of burnt ozone filled the corridor.

"Oh, but I already did once. I will again. You’re just another wall, Mafioso. And walls fall."

Behind his palm, Chance whimpered.

 

Mafioso tightened his grip. Not enough to hurt never that but enough to ground them.

"You’re not hearing him anymore," he whispered. "You’re hearing me."

Itrapped snarled, the blue in his eyes now casting light on the walls like twin lanterns of dread.

And Mafioso, still shielding Chance with his body, raised the gun again. His hand was steady. Steadier than it had any right to be.

"You want them?"

The words were low.

Deadly.

 

"Then you go through me."

The Nightmaren hesitated, something twitching in its jaw, like a parasite writhing beneath the surface.

Chance began to speak, voice faint. "I... I don't want to go back..."

Mafioso felt something powerful and electric pulse through his chest.

Good.

 

They were fighting it.

Itrapped’s blood-caked smile faltered.

And then Mafioso took a step forward.

"Try me."

Chapter 178: Some sunny day..

Summary:

HEHHE
i love leaving you guys on cliffhangers
SUFFFFERRRR
SUFFFFFFFFFFERRRR

The phone in Mafioso's pocket buzzed and glowed an urgent green. His heart gave a lurch. That color meant one thing: Borys and the crew had arrived. Reinforcements were on-site.

A breath of relief nearly escaped his lips, but it was cut off by the snarl echoing off the casino walls. Time was not on their side.

He turned to face the nightmare in front of him Itrapped, still leaking thick, glistening blood from the eyes, twisted with rage and desire, his voice echoing with venom.

Mafioso made a split-second decision.

 

With sharp, practiced precision, he lunged forward and delivered a brutal dropkick to Itrapped's stomach. The impact knocked the creature off balance, hurling him into the wall with a deafening crack. Chunks of plaster and wallpaper flaked off around the monster as it crumpled to the floor with a choked sound, momentarily stunned.

"Fucking bastard," Mafioso hissed, already turning.

 

He hoisted Chance over his shoulder again gentler this time, like protecting something too precious to bruise. His legs moved without thought, dodging overturned chairs and broken tiles as he sprinted through the glowing, flickering halls of the dream-casino. He could almost smell the boundary now. Borys had to be near. If he could just get Chance to him...

But the nightmare didn’t stay down for long.

A screech tore through the air not just of voice, but of presence. Itrapped's form twisted unnaturally, bones cracking as if rearranging themselves, his eyes glowing an impossibly bright blue.

That blue light.

 

Mafioso’s stomach dropped.

"Chance, don't look!" he yelled instinctively, but it was too late.

They were running. He couldn't block their eyes or cover their ears now. Chance’s head slowly lifted in his arms, caught in that shimmering, unnatural light. Their breathing hitched.

"Chance?" Mafioso asked, panic lacing his voice.

But their arms had gone limp.

Then suddenly they moved.

Trying to climb off of him.

Wriggling out of his grip.

 

"What the hell no, no, no, nonononono!"

He felt the shift. The slow loosening of their body language. The vacant glow in their golden eyes, overtaken now by a misty blue sheen.

"Get back to me," Mafioso barked, adjusting his grip, nearly stumbling as Chance began to twist violently in his arms.

Itrapped's voice was a lullaby through the chaos:

"That’s it... come back to me, darling. You remember me now, don’t you?"

 

Mafioso’s hands were shaking. He gripped Chance tighter, forcefully keeping their face turned away from the blue glow.

"Don’t listen, Chance," he hissed. "Fight it."

But Chance was crying now.

Not from fear.

Not even from pain.

But from something deeper.

 

Guilt. Grief. The fog of manipulation that had been woven into them long ago, now resurfacing like rot blooming under their skin.

They whimpered, "...It hurts..."

And that was when Mafioso ran.

He didn’t think. He didn’t blink. He launched through another pair of hall doors, shouldering them open with brute force.

"Borys!" he shouted into the dim, dreamlike mist beyond.

No answer.

 

He swore under his breath again. He had no choice.

He ducked into a dim corridor, pressing Chance against the wall as gently but firmly as he could, hand gripping their jaw to keep their gaze away from the flickering light behind them.

"Stay with me. Look at me. Just look at me, alright?"

Chance's eyes quivered, still tinged blue, fighting to blink.

 

"You’re here. You’re not in those woods anymore. You’re not with him."

Chance trembled, their hands fisting the fabric of his coat.

And then the air behind them split open with a growl.

"Give. Them. To. Me."

 

Itrapped’s voice wasn’t even human anymore. It scraped through the air like blades across bone.

Mafioso turned, placing himself fully in front of Chance, shielding them with every inch of his frame.

"Not. A. Fucking. Chance."

(get the joke ? i know i am so funny)

 

And just as the nightmare lunged

The phone buzzed green again.

Borys's voice came through the comms with urgency: "We see you. Hold position. Weapons hot."

Mafioso exhaled through his teeth.

"It’s over, bastard."

Chapter 179: Holding you close

Summary:

HEHEH I AM HERE TO FEED U ALL !!

The red glow of the sniper sights pulsed like heartbeats across the velvet carpet of the casino’s upper balcony. Borys and Gunther stood in perfect silence, guns aimed steadily, eyes locked on the abomination that snarled infront of them iTrapped.

Black ichor dripped from the tips of iTrapped’s claws as he stood crouched, his wild hair obscuring part of his yellow face. His expression was a twisted mixture of hatred and mockery, those cold, glacier-like eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

 

Mafioso held Chance tightly in his arms below the balcony, one arm looped under their legs and the other braced across their back. Chance wasn’t struggling not in the way someone trying to escape would , but their body jerked, trembled, twitched unnaturally. They whimpered and sobbed, trying to wriggle free of Mafioso’s hold as though compelled by some invisible force.

iTrapped’s voice cut through the thick tension like a jagged blade, cruel and gloating.

 

“You FUCKING FOOL,” he bellowed, one clawed hand pointing directly at Mafioso. “IF I DIE CHANCE DIES! You hear me?! They’re tethered to me now. A beautiful little thread of obedience and despair. Kill me, and that thread will SNAP. And when it does, their mind will crumble. They’ll beg for death.”

Mafioso didn’t flinch.

 

His grip only tightened around Chance. He could feel the subtle shifts in their breathing, how their chest heaved against his own, how their arms trembled even as they tried to reach out toward iTrapped, sobs wracking their body.

“Please…” Chance whispered, eyes distant, glowing faintly with that cursed, unnatural blue. “I have to go to him… I have to…”

“No, you don’t,” Mafioso whispered back, his voice raw with emotion. He pressed his forehead against theirs, shielding them with his presence, with everything he had left to give. “Stay with me. Please stay.”

But iTrapped only laughed louder.

It wasn’t just madness it was victory.

 

“You’re too late,” he crooned. “They belong to me now. Their thoughts, their feelings, their soul all mine. You can't protect them. You never could.”

Mafioso raised his head slowly. His ears twitched. He inhaled deeply, not in fear, but in preparation.

The phone in his pocket vibrated. A flash of green lit up the screen: Connected. Borys is in position.

He exhaled sharply.

 

He didn’t wait another second.

“SHOTS FIRED!” he roared.

Borys and Gunther didn’t hesitate. The moment iTrapped lunged, both snipers let loose a barrage of bullets.

The first shot caught iTrapped in the shoulder, making him stumble mid-sprint. A splatter of black goo hit the wall behind him, hissing as it corroded the wallpaper. The next hit his leg, then his chest, each impact making a sickening, gurgling noise as black sludge erupted like tar from a shattered pipe.

But he didn’t stop.

 

“CHANCE!” iTrapped screamed, claws dragging through the carpet as he crawled desperately toward them. “COME BACK TO ME!”

Gunther’s shot hit him directly in the face.

The creature fell.

And then the screaming began.

It wasn’t iTrapped this time it was Chance.

 

The instant iTrapped’s body hit the floor and began dissolving into a pool of viscous black goo, Chance convulsed in Mafioso’s arms. Their cries pierced the casino air like glass shattering in slow motion.

Mafioso’s world narrowed to that sound.

They were screaming. Screaming so hard their voice cracked, their throat tearing with every syllable that didn’t make sense. Their arms flailed and clawed at his coat. Tears streamed down their cheeks as they sobbed, screamed, whimpered no longer knowing where they were.

“Stop! Please! Don’t let him go! Don’t let him die! Don’t leave me!”

Their eyes rolled back.

 

Their body went limp for a second just one second and Mafioso nearly panicked.

“Chance!” he shouted, shaking them. “Hey , hey, stay with me!”

They blinked. And then began sobbing again, but it was different now less rage, more agony. More despair.

They weren’t hypnotized anymore.

But something had broken.

 

“Chance, I’m here,” he whispered, cupping their face gently. “You’re safe. He’s gone. It’s over.”

They shook their head violently. “No. No, it’s not. It’s not over , it’s never over , he’s in my head, I can feel him—”

Borys and Gunther were already descending from the balcony, weapons still raised, eyes sharp.

“Is the creature dead?” Borys asked, voice cold but concerned.

 

Mafioso didn’t answer. He was focused entirely on Chance, who had curled up in his lap now, clawing at their arms as if trying to rip the lingering sensation of iTrapped’s influence out of their flesh.

Gunther stepped forward. “Boss. We need to move. This place isn’t safe.”

“Then make it safe,” Mafioso snapped. “Secure the exits. I’m not leaving until they stop shaking.”

Borys and Gunther exchanged a look but nodded.

 

Mafioso removed his coat and wrapped it tightly around Chance, shielding them from the world, shielding the trembling mess they’d become. He stroked their back with one hand, murmuring gentle reassurances he was never trained to give. He wasn’t good at this. He didn’t do comfort.

But for them… he’d learn.

 

This wasn’t over.

But they had survived.

 

Chapter 180: Crumbling despair

Summary:

HEHEHE

The casino was unraveling around them.

Glass chandeliers shattered from the ceiling like falling stars, bursting on the marbled floors below. Cracks spread across the walls like spiderwebs, splitting through the lavish wallpaper and ornate gold-trimmed plaster. The dream was deteriorating coming apart at the seams like a sinking ship. The very structure groaned in agony as time and space folded inward.

Mafioso stood in the middle of it all, his arms locked tightly around Chance.

 

They were sobbing full-bodied, painful sobs that wracked their trembling form. Their fists clutched the front of Mafioso’s suit, crumpling the fine fabric, desperately seeking something solid to hold onto. But even now, their dazed, glassy eyes searched the space around them for anything—anything sharp, anything deadly, anything they could use to end it all. It was as if Itrapped’s influence still slithered inside their mind, whispering poison even from beyond the grave.

Mafioso refused to let go.

 

His grip remained firm, one arm around Chance’s back, the other cradling the back of their head, fingers gently threading into their hair.

“Shhh... I got you,” he murmured against the side of their face. “I got you, bunny. You’re okay. I’m not letting go.”

The floor beneath them gave a violent shudder.

 

“Boss!” Borys’ voice crackled over the phone in Mafioso’s pocket, sharp and commanding. “We need to MOVE. The entrance is collapsing we’re trapped on the other side!”

Mafioso tilted his head, eyes flicking toward the massive, crumbling archway that led out of the grand casino hall. Boulders of stone and debris tumbled down with deafening crashes, sealing the main exit.

He hissed between his teeth, cursing as he clutched Chance tighter.

 

“We’re on the balcony!” he barked into the phone. “I’ve got Chance. They’re alive. But they’re not... they’re not right.”

Gunther’s voice was next, distorted through static. “Are you safe? Are you two safe?”

Mafioso glanced at the moonlit balcony just ahead, where cold wind poured in from the open sky. He stepped forward slowly, dragging one foot at a time, like moving through water. Chance was limp now, but he could feel them twitching still trying to move, still stuck between their will and Itrapped’s influence.

“We’re safe for now,” he responded. “But I can’t leave them alone, not even for a second.”

Borys’ voice came again, harsh and urgent. “A portal to the lair should open soon. Hold on. Just HOLD ON.”

The phone cut off with a sharp beep.

 

Mafioso slipped it back into his coat, finally stepping through the shattered doorway onto the balcony.

The air out here was eerily calm.

Cool, gentle wind brushed his face, fluttering his coat as he looked out over the void. The casino, once massive and alive, now stood over an endless abyss black, churning nothingness that swallowed all light below. Only the stars above and the pale full moon remained, casting their soft glow across the broken balcony.

And in his arms, Chance trembled.

 

They hadn’t stopped crying. Their body shook with every breath, but their hands now pushed against his chest, feebly trying to pull away. Then suddenly they lurched.

“Chance!”

They tried to throw themselves from his arms, toward the railing, toward the void.

Mafioso caught them just in time.

“No. No, no, no!!!”

 

He pulled them in with force, wrapping both arms around their middle, holding them flush to his chest. He stumbled backward, slamming his back into the stone wall beside the door, letting out a sharp breath as he kept them pinned to him.

Their fingers clawed weakly at his coat, their head shaking, eyes filled with tears and pain and something far more broken.

“Let me go,” they rasped. “I can’t , I can’t stay!”

 

“You’re not leaving me,” Mafioso whispered, voice low and intense. “Not like this.”

He cupped their face gently, thumbs brushing tears from their cheeks. His heart was racing in his chest, panic curling in his throat.

“You hear me?” he whispered. “You’re still here. He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Chance’s lips trembled. “It still hurts...”

 

“I know.” Mafioso rested his forehead against theirs. “I know, bunny. But I need you to stay with me. Just a little longer. You’re strong. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Their breath hitched, and for a brief moment, their hands curled into the fabric of his coat not to push him away, but to hold on.

“I’m scared,” they admitted.

 

Mafioso’s voice was barely a whisper. “I know...”

He glanced past their shoulder at the crumbling ruins of the casino. Time was running out. The dream would collapse soon, taking them with it unless that portal opened. But for now, all he could do was hold them. Keep them grounded.

Keep them alive.

The moonlight bathed them in silver. Their tear-streaked face glistened in the glow, eyes shimmering as they looked up at him.

God, they were beautiful.

 

Even now, even broken, even with their heart in pieces, they were so beautiful it hurt.

Mafioso swallowed hard, eyes locked on theirs.

“I’m not losing you,” he murmured. “No matter what it takes.”

And just as he said those words, the air behind him began to warp rippling like water, a faint blue glow appearing in the far corner of the balcony.

The portal.

 

Gunther and Borys had kept their word. It was here.

But Mafioso didn’t move.

Not yet.

 

He stayed there, arms wrapped tight around Chance, eyes never leaving theirs as the dream continued to unravel.

He just needed one more moment. One more breath.

And maybe…

It wouldn’t be too late to bring them back.

 

Chapter 181: Say my name

Summary:

hehhe , the moment ALL BEEN WAITING FOR !!

The moonlight shimmered down like a divine spotlight, casting a pale glow over the fractured balcony. Mafioso held Chance tightly in his arms, shielding them from the void that loomed beyond the crumbling ledge. The wind howled around them, tugging at their clothes, but neither moved.

All Mafioso could focus on were Chance's eyes those golden, luminous eyes, swimming in pain, confusion, and something deeper. Something that cut through the storm roaring around them and slammed into his chest like a bullet. He held his breath.

 

His gloved hand trembled slightly as he reached up, gently brushing the tears that stained Chance's cheek with the back of his fingers. They were warm, alive. Real. But they were also dangerous so full of grief, of torment, of darkness left behind by iTrapped's manipulation. And now, in this fleeting moment between destruction and escape, Mafioso realized he might lose them anyway.

His lips parted, a soft gasp escaping him as he searched their expression. His heart pounded in his chest, a heavy, erratic rhythm. "Chance..." he whispered. The name tasted like prayer on his tongue, like a plea.

Chance didn’t speak. Their breaths were shaky, their eyes shimmering in the silver light of the moon. Mafioso leaned closer, drawn to them like a moth to flame. His fingers lingered at their jawline, his thumb trailing the edge of their face.

Closer.

 

His forehead brushed against theirs, and he could feel the warmth of their breath, the tremble of their lips. "Come back to me," he murmured, so quietly that only the wind could’ve carried it.

Then, his lips touched theirs.

A gentle kiss.

 

A soft, fragile thing filled with desperation and hope.

The moment their mouths met, a brilliant light burst from Chance’s chest, illuminating the night like the heart of a fallen star. It wasn't blinding , no, it was gentle, a wash of pure golden radiance that seemed to melt the shadows clinging to Chance’s form. The curse shattered silently, like glass breaking underwater.

Mafioso pulled away, just slightly, his lips still tingling from the kiss. His hand rested on Chance’s cheek, eyes wide in awe and disbelief. He could feel it feel them. Chance’s presence returning like a tide, washing away the empty void iTrapped had left behind.

 

Chance blinked. Once. Twice.

Then their eyes focused , truly focused on him.

“Mafioso?” they breathed, the confusion slowly being replaced by recognition.

He began to look away, guilt clawing at his chest. "I—"

But Chance surged forward, grabbing the front of his suit and tugging his tie, pulling him back into another kiss.

This one wasn’t desperate or uncertain. It was fast, raw with emotion but brief, as if Chance was afraid they'd break something if they went too far. They pulled back, eyes wide again, breathing fast, almost embarrassed.

And then Mafioso laughed.

 

A soft, genuine chuckle, the kind that warmed the cold air between them. "You little idiot," he murmured affectionately.

Before Chance could question him, Mafioso spun them gently in his arms.

Their coat flared as he twirled them on the balcony, the moonlight catching every movement like a waltz performed in a broken dream. And under that silver light, they looked ethereal , more beautiful than Mafioso could have ever imagined.

As they came to a stop, he pulled them close again.

Another kiss.

 

This one was slower, deep and full of unspoken feelings. It lasted longer than the others, their lips moving in sync, melting into one another as the wind died down around them. The moon shined even brighter, like it approved.

When they finally parted, both of them were gasping for breath. They held each other close, faces mere inches apart, eyes wide and vulnerable.

 

Mafioso reached up again, brushing a stray strand of hair from Chance’s face, tucking it gently behind their ear. “There you are,” he whispered, smiling softly.

Chance let out a small laugh, tears finally falling again but this time, they weren’t from pain. “You’re such a sap,” they whispered, voice cracking.

And Mafioso? He didn’t deny it. He just pressed his forehead to theirs and held them tight, not ready to let go.

 

Not now.

Chapter 182: Collapse

Summary:

I AM BACKK , MY SCHOOL IS OVER IM GONAN BE ABLE TO UPDATE THIS A BIT MORE YAYS!! <33
heres just two new chapters :D , i was trying to figure out between two options for a while and ifinally set on one so LETS GO

The air trembled around them.

Dust floated like stardust in the moonlight, catching on the strands of Chance's hair as Mafioso gently tucked it behind their ear. Their foreheads were still nearly touching, breaths syncing, hearts thudding in tandem like the rhythm of a delicate waltz. Time had slowed. Nothing else existed but the shimmer in Chance's golden eyes and the quiet resolve in Mafioso's steady gaze.

Their fingertips hovered near each other, almost as if afraid that the other would vanish with one wrong move. Mafioso's thumb grazed Chance's cheek, wiping away the trail of a tear that had lingered far too long.

Then

 

"OI, LOVEBIRDSS!"

The voice crashed through their perfect little world like a hammer against stained glass.

"THE BUILDING'S STILL COLLAPSING! GET DOWN!"

 

Chance jumped a bit as Gunther's voice rang out from above. Mafioso blinked, visibly pulled from his trance, before his eyes widened slightly. The sound of groaning beams and cracking stone rushed back into the world around them. The casino was continuing to collapse, dream or not it was imploding into itself.

"Tch hold on," Mafioso muttered.

Before Chance could even speak, Mafioso scooped them up with ease, lifting them into his arms like they weighed nothing at all. Chance let out a startled sound but instinctively wrapped their arms around his neck as he bolted toward the edge of the balcony.

He didn't hesitate..

 

With a powerful leap, Mafioso landed onto a lower rooftop, his boots hitting the stone with a heavy thud. The building shook under his weight, already unstable from the structural damage. He took off in a sprint, his coat billowing behind him, wind rushing past both of them. Chance gripped onto him tighter, their face half-buried against his collarbone.

The portal shimmered up ahead like a mirror of liquid mercury, held open by Borys, who stood steady with his weapon still at the ready. Gunther was behind him, waving them over.

"MOVE IT! NOW!" Borys barked.

Mafioso didn’t need to be told twice. He picked up speed, leaping over a collapsing beam and ducking under a falling light fixture, until finally

They crossed.

 

As they fell through the portal, the world behind them let out a deep, almost mournful sound. Like the sigh of a dying god. The casino its glittering lights, its velvet curtains, the piano stage, the shattered chandelier imploded and broken fragments.

The portal closed with a flash of white.

They were back in the lair.

 

Soft lights, steady ground, and the faint hum of machines greeted them as the emergency ward flickered to life. Mafioso was still holding Chance, breath heavy from the run, eyes scanning the surroundings like a wolf waiting for the next attack.

"You can put me down now, y’know," Chance murmured, their voice calm but tinged with amusement.

Mafioso blinked.

 

It was only then that he realized he was still holding them.

Chance, ever the opportunist, let out a dramatic gasp and fluttered their fingers as if they were fainting. "Oh! Thank you, my prince charming! You saved me from certain doom! I was ever so distressed..."

Their voice carried the theatrical flair of someone trying to make a point. And it did.

Mafioso stared at them, deadpan.

 

Then, without a word, he tilted slightly forward and let them fall.

Chance yelped as they landed flat on their rear with a loud thump, blinking up at him.

Gunther couldn’t contain his snort. Even Borys’ lip twitched.

"Seriously?" Chance muttered, pouting.

 

Mafioso looked down at them, then finally smirked. A quiet, fond smile played at the edges of his lips. It was faint, but it was there. Genuine.

"You were fine the whole time," he said, his voice low and teasing.

Chance crossed their arms, pouting even harder. "I was playing the damsel in distress! You ruined the illusion."

"Good," Mafioso replied. "Illusions are for con artists."

He offered them a hand.

 

Chance looked at it, then took it, allowing Mafioso to pull them to their feet. For a moment, they stood close again, hands still linked, the quiet tension crackling in the space between them.

Their cheeks were still flushed. Their clothes were dusted with dream ash and glitter from the earlier chaos. The scent of roses and smoke lingered in the air around them.

"You really are annoying sometimes," Mafioso muttered.

Chance smiled, lopsided and warm. "You too. But you like it."

Mafioso didn’t deny it.

 

Gunther groaned audibly.

Borys muttered something in Russian under his breath.

And Chance just laughed freely, heartfully.

It echoed in the quiet corridor, warming the space that just minutes ago had been filled with tension, blood, and near-death.

The dream had ended. The nightmare had passed.

But something real had started.

 

Chapter 183: Call back up

Summary:

FATHER BUILDERMAN MOMENTTT and shed being a gossip queen <3

The dream was unraveling.

Chance felt it in their chest a gentle tug, like the pull of gravity waking them from a long, slow descent into sleep. Mafioso's arms around them were the only tether left, the warmth of his touch grounding them even as their body began to fade. Their fingers trembled slightly as they pressed into the fabric of his suit, holding on just a little longer, not ready to go.

"I guess… this is goodbye for now," Chance whispered, voice soft, uncertain.

 

Mafioso didn't answer at first. His hand came to cradle their cheek, thumb brushing lightly under their eye as he stared into their golden gaze. The moonlight spilled across their features like silver silk, painting them in something too beautiful, too fragile.

"Not goodbye," he said finally, voice husky. "Just 'see you later'."

Before Chance could respond, Mafioso leaned in and kissed them.

It was soft. Gentle. The kind of kiss that said everything he hadn’t found words for.

A quiet glow bloomed in Chance’s chest, spreading outward, until their whole form shimmered with pale golden light. Chance gasped against Mafioso’s lips, their eyes snapping wide as clarity rushed back in.

The dream was ending, but their heart felt full.

 

Mafioso began to pull back, but Chance caught him by the tie, yanking him close again.

Their lips met once more, in a kiss bolder than before, passionate but brief. A kiss that said: I’m here. I’m myself again. Thank you.

Mafioso blinked, stunned by the suddenness of it.

Then he chuckled.

 

He caught them by the waist and spun them once in the silver glow of the collapsing balcony, Chance’s laughter ringing through the dream like wind chimes.

"You’re unbelievable," he murmured.

"You love it," Chance replied breathlessly.

And he did.

 

He leaned down again and kissed them under the moonlight deeper this time, the kiss long and unhurried, their lips pressed together like a vow.

The dream world around them shimmered. The portal's collapse behind them slowed, as if the world itself wanted to linger on this moment.

When they parted, their foreheads pressed together, they were both breathing hard.

Mafioso gently tugged some loose strands of hair from Chance’s face, his eyes searching theirs.

"Cya chance," he murmured.

 

Chance nodded, eyes glossy. "Yeah."

Then, just like that the dream released them.

 

------------------------------------

(because they wakes up)

 

 

Chance shot upright in their bed.

Their sheets were tangled, chest rising and falling rapidly, sweat along their brow. But the air was cool, their room dimly lit by the soft morning light streaming through the windows.

Spade was curled up beside them, the black-furred creature immediately lifting his head, long ears perking. The look on his face read clearly: What the hell?

Chance blinked, then grinned.

 

A wide, dopey smile spread across their face as they laughed not because something was funny, but because they couldn’t contain the rush of warmth surging through them.

They scrambled out of bed with a burst of energy, nearly tripping over their slippers. Spade blinked and jumped off the bed too, trailing behind them as they ran a hand through their hair, heart still pounding.

They reached down to pat Spade on the head. "Oh my god. Spade. SPAAADE."

Spade snorted.

 

Chance practically skipped down the stairs, humming softly, their smile still impossible to hide.

The kitchen was quiet at first.

Builderman was sipping his coffee, reading the morning report, his construction hat placed beside him. Shedletsky was seated beside him, scrolling through his tablet with one leg kicked up over the other. Both of them looked up as Chance walked in.

Shedletsky was the first to speak, his gaze narrowing mischievously. "Oh, I know that look."

Chance blinked. "What look?"

 

Shedletsky grinned wide, standing up and circling them like a shark sensing blood in the water. He finally sat on the edge of the table, arms crossed. "That’s the ‘I got a crush’ look."

Chance rolled their eyes, trying to hide their flushed cheeks. "You’re ridiculous."

Builderman set his mug down with a faint smirk, finally turning to them with a narrowed stare. There was protectiveness there stern and fatherly.

"I know that look too," he said. "Whoever it is... they better watch out."

Chance groaned. "Dad. Come on."

 

Shedletsky leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. "Tell us who it is and I’ll be slightly less annoying."

"Lies," Chance muttered.

 

 

Chapter 184: Our meeting

Summary:

SORRY FOR THE INACTIVITY I WASNT DOING VERY GOOD WITH MY HEALTH 3

"Come on!" he exclaimed dramatically, circling the table with exaggerated flair until he flopped down directly in front of Chance, arms folded and eyes narrowed with glee. "Whose name made you smile like that this morning, hm? Spill it. I demand tea."

Chance rolled their eyes, trying to hide behind their glass. "You’re imagining things, Shed."

Builderman turned from the stove with a plate in hand and a fatherly smirk curling on his face. "Shed," he said, voice low and amused. "Come on, truly the lad is too scared to admit."

"Dad! Come on…" Chance groaned, burying their face into their hands.

 

The trio laughed, the sound echoing warmly through the room. They began eating, chatting lightly about everything and nothing until Builderman suddenly put his fork down and leaned back in his chair. His gaze grew distant.

"I remember when Shed and I met for the first time," he said quietly, with the kind of nostalgic weight that slowed the air around them.

Shedletsky perked up, his smirk fading into something more genuine. "Yeah..."

 

Chance blinked, eyebrows raising in curiosity. "Ohhh, random lore drop? Don’t mind if I do."

Builderman chuckled at their enthusiasm, exhaling through his nose as he settled back further, folding his arms.

 

(flashbacks <3 , i putted the narration in black so you can tell what is narration and what's dialogue)

 

 

"I remember... waking up in a field."

 

The memory unfolded like an old film.

He had been lying in the middle of a plain flat, soft, and eerily quiet. The grass had been cool against his skin, brushing over him gently, as if the world was trying to figure out if he belonged. When his eyes opened, the sky above had been a bleak grey, cut down the center by four jagged beams of light.

He sat up slowly, fingers curling into the grass beneath him. It felt too real. Too sharp. But in his chest, there was nothing no memory, no name, not even a sense of whether he had existed before that moment.

"I couldn't tell who I was, or what I was. I couldn't tell if I existed before... or if I was just created."

 

The landscape was a grid of four massive quadrants, each one stretched far beyond what the eye could see. On his right: a dry, golden desert, its dunes lazily shifting under invisible winds. On his left: solid rock cliffs, sharp and weathered. Behind him: flat plains like the one he had awoken in, endless and silent. Ahead: a blank slate of earth, unnaturally still.

The corners between these lands cut off like someone had sliced the world into pieces and pasted them together. None of them matched. None of them made sense.

"The world confused me."

 

And yet, in the distance....there was something else.

A portal.

It stood like a vertical slice in space, humming with a strange light that pulsed in a rhythm that echoed something inside him. With tentative steps, Builderman began to walk toward it, the grass brushing his legs with each motion.

"I saw the light in a corner. It was bright, but at the same time, it was dark. So, so dark."

 

As his hand reached forward and touched it, the world seemed to implode in silence.

Light swallowed him whole.

His body stretched like a ribbon through time and space until

 

 

"When my eyes opened... I was in a different place."

He stood on the edge of an orange--hued battlefield, floating in the void. The platform beneath his feet was rough and cracked, as if the place had been forged in chaos and left to drift in purgatory. Around him, pieces of broken arenas floated some glowing, others crumbling.

 

In front of him stood four more portals, each distinct in color and energy: red, purple, blue, and green.

He approached the red one.

And the moment he stepped through

 

 

He was standing atop a floating platform, suspended high above the rest of the world.

The full view now stretched before him lands colliding, glitching at their seams, vast networks of floating islands, battlefields, code-like structures stretching into infinity.

"I don't know where I was supposed to go. The sky was a fire-orange, like the very land was on fire."

 

The wind howled around him.

The air crackled.

And he wasn’t alone.

Chapter 185: Illumina

Summary:

BUILDERMON TIMEEEE

Builderman didn’t know how long he’d been walking. Maybe it was a trick of the mind, or maybe he’d fallen into something outside of time altogether. But the truth remained: he was walking. And he had been walking for what felt like eternity.

"In the distance," his voice murmured in a low echo, as if retelling the memory to himself, "one platform stood out to me."

 

A blur at first, like a smear of light across the eternal black canvas of the void, then clearer with each exhausted blink. The orange stone of the platform shimmered subtly under the unseen light of this place. It floated still, anchored by thick, white columns that pierced the heavens like the bones of a dead god.

But it wasn’t the architecture alone that caught his eye.

 

From those tall, ethereal pillars, vines spilled out alive, writhing, luminescent. They came twisting down from the heights above and draped along the sides of the structure like white blood vessels from a divine heart. The vines spread far, seeping into the abyss below like veins into an endless body. The way they breathed, slowly pulsing with light, made his skin crawl.

And yet he was drawn.

 

The stairs to the top were long. Towering. It was impossible to see the summit from where he stood. They spiraled and twisted like they belonged to some old, forgotten place. They looked endless. Yet the platform itself glowed so clearly despite the distance, he could make out its shape perfectly.

"I couldn’t really determine what I was seeing," he muttered under his breath. "Was it a hallucination? It seemed so far... yet I could see it clearly."

There was a tension in his body, a pull behind his navel that yanked him forward. Before he realized it, his hand had reached out toward the first step. He didn’t remember deciding to climb. His feet moved on their own.

"I don’t know why I was walking up those stairs. What was waiting for me up there? Why was I even walking?"

But walk he did.

(walking and walking /ref)

 

The first hours were tolerable. His legs burned, his back ached, but it felt like any other arduous task. A test. A trial. But then time started to slip. The sky never changed always that deep firey stretch without stars, clouds, or even wind. The silence pressed in, and with it, the steps dragged on.

Days passed.

 

He wasn’t sure when, but his clothes had become ragged. His hoodie felt heavier, drenched in the weight of invisible exhaustion. Still, he walked. Still, the top stayed far above.

Weeks passed.

 

His lips no longer cracked from dryness. He no longer felt the sting of hunger or the throb of thirst. That terrified him more than anything. His body stopped reminding him it needed anything. As if the act of walking had replaced every necessity. As if the climb was his survival.

"I couldn’t tell how long it’s been," he thought aloud, voice raspy and thin. "I couldn’t feel hunger, nor thirst. I just knew I had to continue walking... even if my legs were starting to give up."

At some point, he had dropped to his knees. Crawling. Scraping his palms on the smooth, otherworldly stone. His arms trembled under his weight, breath ragged, heart barely a whisper against his ribs.

Then, with one last desperate push, he made it.

His face hit the ground.

 

"I was finally at the top. I couldn’t stand up that well. Every single one of my limbs felt sore. Felt exhausted..."

He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. Even tears had abandoned him.

He rolled onto his side, eyes squinting up against the white blue light that flooded the center of the altar. There, in the middle of the platform, surrounded by every glowing vine that had crawled its way into this place was it.

An altar. Simple, yet godlike.

 

The vines intertwined and wrapped tightly around it, breathing into its stone like roots feeding a heart. It felt alive. It felt sentient. A beacon in the dark.

At its center, suspended just inches from the pedestal, was a sword.

A glowing, radiant blade.

 

White as starlight. Its core shimmered like diamond, but the edges bled into a bright, violent violet as if charged with something cosmic. Electric. Dangerous.

"Illumina," Builderman breathed.

The name was carved into the stone below the weapon. Glowing faintly, the letters were smooth and precise, humming with an energy he could almost hear. It sounded like singing. Like whispering winds and far-off bells, carrying the name through the void.

 

He couldn’t move. Not yet. He just stared. His body was still trembling, limbs still begging for rest. But his heart, small and distant as it felt, surged at the sight of the sword.

"I knew that name," he whispered. "I don’t know how, but I did."

He could almost feel it calling to him. A soundless, wordless voice. Not a temptation a promise.

A choice.

 

Builderman braced his palms against the stone floor. With a groan, he pushed himself up, his body screaming in protest. Every inch of his muscles felt like molten stone. But still, he moved.

One step. Another.

Until he was there.

 

His hands hovered near the hilt. It was sleek, shaped with elegance, yet something about it felt... ancient. Older than the platform. Older than the void. Older than him. It shimmered with something he couldn’t describe.

He reached.

 

Just as his fingers were about to brush the handle

Something pulsed beneath his feet.

A flash of violet light. The vines reacted.

Builderman stumbled back, breathing hard.

 

From the altar, the vines began to peel away unwrapping slowly from the base, as if yielding to his presence. Their glow pulsed in rhythm. Like a heartbeat. Like approval.

The sword rose slightly, turning in the air to face him. Point-down.

And as he stared, motionless, the world seemed to tilt. His ears filled with a soft humming.

Then, a voice.

 

Not from around him. Not from the void. Not from the sword.

From within.

"A mortal , in my realm?"

Builderman’s eyes widened.

He swallowed.

Chapter 186: Stay now.

Summary:

LELELELELELELEEEEEEEEEEEE
HEADCANON TIME : i hc that telamon used to speak like very very ancient , and that he isnt that used to human things..

His fingers twitched against the polished floor. He wasn’t even sure he was alive anymore. Something about this place made the senses dull, but sharpened other things the mind, the wonder, the fear. Especially now.

Because something was standing in front of him.

No. Something was appearing in front of him.

 

The sword in the altar Illumina was no longer glowing alone. The radiant white vines pulsing with light bent backward as if bowing to something greater. And from that light, a shape began to form.

The shine emerged first, brilliant enough to sear his vision. Builderman squinted, even through his groggy haze. Then came the silhouette, tall and imposing, shimmering like the outline of a solar eclipse.

He tried to lift himself again. His elbows shook under his weight.

Then, with the quiet dignity of a god, the light solidified into form.

 

Four massive golden wings unfurled behind the figure. They spread out like divine curtains pulled wide, golden feathers catching every ray of the world and throwing it back in blinding beauty. A deep brown cloak, aged and heavy, draped across his shoulders, hiding his upper face in shadows, but not the faint glow beneath the hood. The stone beneath him didn’t echo his footsteps they resonated, like bells in the head.

Builderman froze.

 

The figure stood tall, proud, before the altar. Not a word spoken. Not yet.

The man raised his clawed hand and wrapped it around the hilt of Illumina.

And for a brief moment, all the vines of light pulled inward toward the blade and him. Builderman felt the force ripple through the very marrow of his bones. It wasn’t just energy. It wasn’t magic. It was presence.

He had no idea who this was. But he knew one thing: this was a god.

And that god turned to look at him.

 

Builderman was frozen, arms trembling. He could only meet what little he could see of the gaze beneath that hood. There were no eyes in view. Yet he felt them lock onto him. A stillness took the air, the kind that presses your lungs with invisible fingers.

Then came a voice. Slow. Luxurious. Rich like honey, but heavy with ancient weight.

“Aren’t you a sight...”

The god stepped closer.

 

The yellow wings dragged gentle breezes behind them as they folded back slightly, almost relaxed. He took another step. Builderman tensed.

Then claws reached out.

 

A single hand, cool and calloused and inhuman, took Builderman’s jaw.

He flinched instinctively. But the claw only tilted his face upward.

“Mmm,” the god mused aloud, tracing a thumb beneath Builderman’s tired eyes. “Such ravishing features. You are most pleasant to look at.”

Builderman blinked rapidly. His heart was racing. He didn’t know whether it was from fear, awe, or something else entirely. The touch wasn’t rough. It wasn’t kind either. It was clinical. Curious. Like a cat pawing at an insect that didn’t die.

He cleared his throat. “Thank... you?”

 

The god’s mouth curled. A low chuckle, almost amused, rumbled from his chest.

“Dear mortal,” the voice echoed around the altar like chimes in a canyon. “How you amuse me. Is this how you thank me, after receiving high praise from a god, no less? People would crawl. They would beg for even an ounce of my attention. And yet you... you offer meek gratitude.”

The hand dropped from his chin slowly, lingering like it didn’t want to let go.

 

Builderman didn’t know what to say. Or do. His muscles wouldn’t even respond right now. He was lightheaded, dizzy, and his body still hadn’t recovered from the climb. It had been weeks. Or longer. It felt like he had shed time like skin. He didn’t even remember what the sun looked like.

But the golden figure in front of him the one who still held the sword like it was part of his very soul was real. Undeniably.

“I don’t understand,” Builderman said quietly, still kneeling. “Who are you?”

The god tilted his head slightly, amused.

“You do not know me?”

 

Builderman blinked. “Should I?”

“Hah...” the god let out something between a sigh and a laugh. “Perhaps not. The world below is so small. So full of forgetting. They chanted my name once. Before your time.”

He turned his back to Builderman, walking slowly toward the altar again. The Illumina pulsed once in his hand, reacting to his presence like a loyal pet.

“I was the Sun of the Skies. They called me Telamon.”

The name hit something in Builderman’s memory.

 

That name. It was familiar. Not from stories but from dreams.

He watched as Telamon traced a clawed finger along the altar’s edge.

“You climbed all the way up here,” Telamon murmured, not looking back. “Why? You are not a knight. Not a hunter. You do not bear the eyes of greed.”

Builderman swallowed, forcing himself upright to sit on his knees. His limbs shook in protest.

“I... don’t know,” he said honestly. “I saw it. I needed to come here. It felt like... something was waiting for me.”

Telamon turned slowly.

 

His wings glimmered as he stepped close again, crouching slightly, now on Builderman’s level. The hood shifted with the motion, revealing just the faintest hint of golden skin beneath, glowing softly.

“Something was,” he said quietly.

Builderman’s breath caught.

 

Telamon reached again. This time, he rested two claws just over Builderman’s heart. Not touching. Hovering. Feeling.

“I do not know you,” Telamon whispered. “And yet I felt you coming. A mortal presence, pure in its confusion. Not tainted by want or arrogance. A vessel, waiting to be filled. How curious you are...”

Builderman stared into the shadowed hood, feeling the weight of Telamon’s presence more than seeing any face.

Telamon tilted his head again, slower this time.

“What shall I do with you?”

The air was colder now.

 

His claws lowered. They touched Builderman’s shirt, tracing down slowly. He wasn’t hurting him. But he wasn’t being gentle either. It was exploratory. Studying. Like Builderman was a puzzle he hadn’t yet solved.

“Tell me your name,” Telamon asked.

 

“Builderman,” he answered automatically , was this even his real name?

A silence followed. Telamon repeated it in a low whisper.

“Builder... man.”

Then the god smiled.

“How utterly quaint.”

Builderman didn’t respond.

 

His chest ached. From breathing. From the climb. From the impossible sensation of being seen in a way he never had before.

Telamon stood again.

 

He turned toward the edge of the altar, staring down at the world below the endless void, the distant stars, the long, winding staircase.

“Stay, mortal,” he said. Not a request. A command. “You amuse me. And I intend to find out why.”

Builderman didn’t move.

He wasn’t sure he could.

 

The golden wings flared once. Telamon lifted the sword slightly, letting its glow bathe the altar in pure light.

And far below, the vines pulsed again.

Builderman, still kneeling, still shaking, realized something terrible:

He had made it.

 

But he was no longer the one walking.

He had arrived.

Chapter 187: Small steps forward

Summary:

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
the slow burn between those two <333

"At first," Builderman said, in the quiet of his mind, as his fingers slowly brushed over the cold, silver surface of the temple stones, "he treated me as nothing more than a toy. A simple creature, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Entertainment, perhaps. A thing to pass time."

The void of Telamon’s realm stretched endlessly around him now, cold winds howling through the infinite sky like distant, ancient voices whispering cruel tales. The memory began to flood in, unbidden but vivid, as though it had only happened moments ago.

 

"He toyed with me," Builderman muttered.

The memory shifted.

He was falling.

 

No ground. No sky. Only the void beneath his feet. The temple’s stone edge had vanished. He was plummeting into a storm of endless black, his body suspended between nothing and nothing. The wind screamed around him, pulling at his limbs.

And then a golden arm shot down like a comet.

Telamon.

 

He caught Builderman a second before impact with... whatever horror waited beneath.

Their eyes met.

 

"You mortals and your gravity," Telamon said, almost bored. But his hold on Builderman was secure. Not tight, but firm. His wings glowed behind him like burning halos. "I wonder what would break first. Your bones... or your mind."

Builderman couldn’t respond. Breathless. Dazed. Embarrassed. Rage would have been easy. But instead, he saw it in Telamon's shadowed expression. A slight flicker of something. Curiosity, perhaps. Or something deeper, more... delicate.

 

 

"Then, strangely... he began to bring me things," Builderman recalled, voice flat with disbelief.

 

 

Another memory took root.

The altar. The temple.

He clutched his stomach.

 

He hadn’t eaten in... days? Or hours? It was hard to tell in this place, where time bent and twisted like vines. The hunger crawled through his veins like fire ants.

He was about to collapse when he heard him somehow....

Telamon.

 

He approached with a strange look in his eyes. Detached, as always, but... watchful.

"You look like you're wilting," the god said dryly.

 

Builderman didn’t reply. He just tried to sit up straighter.

Telamon reached into... something. The air? A portal? And from it, he produced a hamburger. A soda. A meal.

Builderman blinked at it.

 

"I believe this is what you mortals... call food," Telamon said, holding the items like foreign relics.

Before he could protest, Telamon shoved them into his hands and turned away.

Builderman stared after him, bewildered, burger in hand.

 

He ate. It tasted strange familiar and yet... not. Almost like a dream of food, rather than food itself. But it filled him. It helped.

And as he bit into the last mouthful, he glanced up.

Telamon had stopped walking. He was staring back at him.

Builderman smiled faintly.

Something in Telamon’s expression shifted. He turned his head, wings twitching. Silent.

 

 

"And then, when I began to rival him..." Builderman whispered.

 

 

Swords clashed.

The screech of steel on steel echoed across the sky.

Telamon was no longer merely a floating god but a dancing blur of gold and grace. And Builderman? Builderman moved like he did it for years.

He had the Firebrand now. The sword of flame. A twin to Illumina.

And he used it well.

 

Telamon wasn’t trying to win. Not really. Builderman knew that. He was testing him. Pushing him.

And Builderman met every blow.

 

They spun around the broken spires of the temple, blades flashing like starlight. Sparks burst as they collided, and the heat of Firebrand rippled in the air.

Telamon stopped suddenly, halting their battle.

 

Builderman stood still, breathing hard. Sweat lined his brow.

The god watched him.

Not in judgment.

But awe.

A heartbeat passed.

 

Telamon stepped forward. He lifted a hand no claws this time. Just a hand. He reached for Builderman’s cheek but hesitated.

Builderman tilted his head, confused.

Telamon drew back.

He looked away, as though ashamed.

 

 

"He began to see me as more," Builderman thought.

"And I...

...I began to look back."

Chapter 188: Your creation , a disgrace to your own eyes

Summary:

TIME TO FEED YOUUUU GUYSSSS AFTTER MAKIGN U WAIT ALOT , honestly i was waiting for the mafioso redesign , to see if there was anything i needed to add that couldb e interresting , but the lore is getting rewrite again , WHY DEVS WHYYYY

anyways enjoy the food , honestly im trying to spend alot more time on those chapters because i often get the feed back that they are a bit to short sometimes , which i do apologies for , i do them depending on if i have the courage to write that much ,sometimes its a pain to do so 3

So with the future chapters , i will try to add more words into it , and i hope it will be more enjoyable for you guys <3
I just want to build more and more momentum into what i am writting so you can feel the emotions on what i write <3

"We got closer and closer.."

 

The memory burned into Builderman’s mind, unshakable in its quiet intensity.

 

there were moments when Builderman and Telamon stood side by side, closer than they ever should have been. There were nights when the world felt small enough to be held between them, and mornings when silence carried a strange kind of peace. But like every fragile bond forged in fire, there was always something waiting beneath the surface a crack, a fault line, a threat swelling into eruption.

 

"But then one day.."

 

The Heights were restless that day, the clouds above circling like crows. The Sword Fights of the Heights arena (or map if you prefer to call it that? xd)

glimmered under the glow of the sun, yet something unnatural pulsed in its center. Builderman’s boots clanged against the cold stone as he sprinted toward the strange light, his heart hammering in a rhythm he hadn’t felt in years. And there! , there in the middle of it all , stood Telamon.

 

He was motionless, framed by a fiery ring that spun around him, blazing with a life of its own. The glow was too bright, almost blinding, the air trembling with a vibration that pierced the ears. It wasn’t just power it was instability, danger on the verge of bursting. Builderman knew what uncontrolled power looked like, and this was the kind that could unmake entire maps.

this wasn't the first bullshit Telamon has pulled on him since they've knew each toher , but this time ?

it felt serious.

 

“TELAMON!” Builderman’s voice ripped through the arena. “What have you done?!”

 

Telamon didn’t move at first, his back still turned, hands lifted slightly as though orchestrating the swirling flames. But then he tilted his head, just enough that Builderman caught the gleam of his eyes, cool and indifferent against the chaos. For a heartbeat, it was as if Telamon were detached from reality itself, a puppeteer above his own strings.

Before Builderman could demand another answer, the fiery ring ruptured. A violent explosion burst outward, shockwaves rippling through the entire structure of the Heights. Builderman’s body slammed against the stone floor, his ears ringing, vision swimming as heat and smoke choked the air. Pain seared across his ribs, but he forced himself to rise, coughing, eyes straining through the haze.

 

Telamon was on the ground too, the impact having knocked him down "OOF!"

Their gazes locked across the scorched stone, silent, heavy, almost unbearable. Builderman staggered forward, the dust swirling around him, and with a sudden surge of anger he grabbed Telamon by the coat, dragging him closer.

“What did you do?” Builderman’s voice was low, furious, edged with desperation.

Telamon blinked, still dazed, lips parting as if to speak but before any words came, the sound reached them.

 

Small cries.

what?..

They pierced through the silence, fragile, quivering, echoing strangely against the ruins of the arena. Builderman froze, brows furrowing, his grip on Telamon loosening as both of them turned toward the source.

There, in the very center of the arena where the explosion had torn the ground , lay something they never could have expected. A small figure, pale grey in skin, tiny body trembling as it cried into the chaos. Builderman’s breath caught. A child.

wait..

A CHILD??

 

As the smoke cleared more, its details became sharper the baby had small, delicate wings, one pair sprouting from the sides of its head, another pair nestled against its lower back. They twitched faintly as the infant wailed, filling the calm space.

 

Builderman’s stomach sank. Telamon’s face was unreadable, shadowed by the firelight still lingering around them.

“What did you do?” Builderman demanded again, his voice breaking as he shoved Telamon’s coat. “Why… why did you create a baby?!”

Telamon tilted his head slowly, as though the question itself were absurd. His expression was strange neither guilty nor proud, only distant. His eyes fell upon the tiny creature, studying it with the same detached curiosity he gave to enemies, weapons, experiments.

“A baby?” Telamon murmured, almost to himself.

 

Builderman’s chest tightened. He could hear the child’s cries growing louder, thinner, desperate. But when he looked back to Telamon, the man’s hand was already moving. With a smooth, almost instinctive motion, Telamon unsheathed his Illumina. The blade shimmered with an otherworldly light, humming faintly as he raised it.

 

Builderman’s eyes widened. “Telamon-!?"

Without thinking, he lunged forward, stepping between Telamon and the infant. The blade’s glow reflected off his face as he glared at the man he once thought he knew.

“Are you crazy?!” Builderman’s voice cracked with raw fury. “You seriously gonna kill something you created?!”

 

Telamon’s expression flickered barely, but enough for Builderman to see hesitation. The faintest crease of confusion pulled at his brow. But still, the Illumina remained raised , Before Telamon could answer, Builderman snapped. His voice came out louder than before, fierce and unyielding

“Nuh uh mister! You CREATED it! We take care of it! I’m not letting you take the easy way out of this.”

 

Telamon blinked again, the faintest flicker of doubt crossing his features. For the first time since the explosion, silence fell not because the world was quiet, but because the weight of Builderman’s words pressed down heavier than any fire , Builderman turned away from him, walking toward the wailing child. His heart thundered in his chest, a strange mix of anger, fear, and something softer he couldn’t yet name. As he crouched down, the baby’s tiny wings fluttered weakly, as though sensing the change in presence. Carefully, gently, Builderman scooped the infant into his arms.

 

The crying quieted a little, the baby shifting against his chest, its small body trembling but alive. Builderman swallowed hard, staring down at it as if the world had tilted beneath his feet. He wasn’t prepared for this. None of them were. But his hands cradled the baby instinctively, as if they’d always known how.

“Hey there, lil guy…” Builderman whispered, his voice cracking as he cooed softly. He rocked the child just enough, his rough voice turning gentle in a way that felt unnatural, but right. The baby blinked at him with cloudy eyes, the tears slowing.

Behind him, Telamon remained frozen, Illumina in hand, gaze locked on Builderman and the child. For once, no words came from him. Only silence, heavy with conflict, the weight of something neither of them yet understood.

 

The wind carried the faint, soft sound of the baby’s breaths. The smoke curled higher above the Heights, fading into the horizon.

Builderman holding the child close, his heart racing, his mind screaming.

Telamon standing behind, blade still glowing, eyes unreadable.

Why did you do that Telamon , builderman had thought to himself that day..

Chapter 189: Did you really name it 1x1x1x1?

Summary:

HEHEH BACKSTORYYYY

And so we took care of it. Telamon had the BRIGHTESS idea to name it 1x1x1x1.'

 

Telamon and Builderman were in their nest, the small chamber filled with the soft glow of an artificial flame that never burned out. Builderman was gently holding the tiny bundle in his arms the little one, fragile and strange, but undeniably theirs.

Builderman’s heavy eyes softened as he cradled the newborn.

 

“I can’t believe you want to name it that.” His voice was tired, carrying the weight of disbelief. The name itself felt more like a curse, a string of harsh numbers and letters bound together. Not something fitting for a child.

Telamon, with his usual cocky grin, leaned closer. His eyes gleamed with mischief and stubborn pride. “My baby… my rules.”

 

Builderman groaned and rolled his eyes, but there was no winning against Telamon when he spoke like that. With a resigned sigh, he settled the child deeper into the nest of fabrics and pillows, careful not to jostle him. The baby shifted slightly, his small frame trembling, before relaxing again.

 

'It was hard at the beginning. Telamon did not know how to take care of 1x1x1x1 at all.'

 

The chamber that served as their nest was quiet save for the sound of a faint whimpering. Telamon sat with the infant in his lap, a bottle of milk in his hand. His hands were steady, but his face betrayed his impatience. He tilted the bottle forward, pressing it against the child’s lips. The little one tried, clumsily, to drink, but the milk spilled out of his mouth, dribbling down his chin.

 

“Drink,” Telamon muttered, brows furrowing as though he could command the baby into doing so.

The infant squirmed, choking slightly when the tip of the bottle pressed too far down. Still, Telamon pushed insistently, his jaw tight. “Drink, I said.”

 

Builderman stepped in immediately, his hand snapping out to stop him. His voice was sharp, cutting through the dim light of the chamber. “You’re hurting him.”

Telamon froze. His eyes turned toward Builderman slowly, confusion flickering in them. As if the words didn’t make sense, as if he couldn’t quite grasp what he had done wrong. He held the bottle there, caught between his pride and the reality Builderman was forcing him to see.

 

Builderman gently pried the bottle from his hands. He held the baby close, rubbing his back softly, rocking him until the choking gave way to small, shaky breaths. Builderman leaned close to the child, whispering in a low, soothing tone before carefully guiding the bottle back to his lips slowly this time, gently, letting the baby take his time , The difference was immediate. The baby suckled, hesitant at first, then steadily. His small fists unclenched. Builderman glanced at Telamon, his expression tight.

“You can’t force him. He’s not like us.”

Telamon said nothing. He only stared, his lips pressed into a thin line, his pride wounded in a way he refused to admit.

 

As 1x1x1x1 grew, the distance between him and Telamon only widened. Though the boy admired his father’s towering presence from afar, up close, Telamon’s form remained too frightening. He never softened, never shifted his appearance into something less intimidating. He clung to his godlike visage glowing eyes, sharp features, a presence that felt closer to a storm than to a man. For a child, it was overwhelming , And so, when the nights grew long and nightmares clawed at the boy’s mind, it was Builderman’s arms he sought. Builderman, with his weary but gentle touch. Builderman, who whispered comfort instead of commands. Builderman, who made himself small enough for the boy to feel safe.

 

Telamon noticed. He always noticed. The way the boy would glance at him and quickly look away. The way his footsteps would falter when Telamon entered a room. The way his nightmares never drove him toward Telamon’s side of the nest. Each time, Telamon would sit in silence, his pride shielding him from admitting the truth: the boy was afraid of him.

 

'It was hard to make Telamon understand things, and I couldn’t be there 24/7 for the kid…'

 

Builderman found himself carrying the burden of parenthood almost alone. Telamon remained stubborn, unyielding, refusing to change his form, his methods, his pride. Builderman had patience, but patience alone was not enough. The boy needed safety, love, guidance things Builderman could offer, yes, but not without cost.

And so, one night, when Telamon was gone, Builderman wandered. He entered the private chamber that belonged only to Telamon, the place where the air always seemed heavy and strange, thick with the smell of something burnt strangely?. Builderman hesitated only for a moment before stepping in. His footsteps echoed in the silence.

 

The desk was cluttered with scrolls, trinkets, and books bound in strange material that seemed to hum faintly if touched. Builderman’s fingers brushed over them carefully, searching for something. And then, he found it.

A book. The book. The one Telamon had used to bring life. Its cover pulsed faintly, as though it were breathing.

Builderman stared at it, his throat tight.

 

'I knew I had to do something. The kid couldn’t grow older alone…'

 

He reached out, his hand hovering over the book, knowing full well what it meant to touch it. What it meant to use it. His chest rose and fell heavily as he made his choice.

Even if it might cost his life.

Chapter 190: Chance , my beautiful child.

Summary:

how chance came into the world , yeyeyes LELELE

The flames of the ritual circle licked and danced wildly, swirling higher and higher until they became a towering ring of fire. Builderman stood at the center of it,

his hard hat casting shadows across his tired, stern face. His hoodie clung to him from the heat, sweat dripping from his temple, but he didn’t falter. Not this time.

 

The fire glowed brighter, the runes beneath his boots sparking with golden energy as if the heavens themselves were pouring into this moment. Builderman raised his hand, his voice deep and resolute, carrying the weight of both command and prayer.

"By the power of creation, by the fires that birth the dawn, I call forth what has been denied to me. A child. A CHANCE (haha get it?? , im so funny). One who will carry my legacy, who will stand by his sibling when I am not here."

 

The flames coiled inward, wrapping into themselves until their searing light softened. In the very center of the ring, the air shimmered.

 

Slowly, as if the fabric of existence was stitching together, a small figure began to form. Limbs curled inward, fragile and new, then a chest that rose with a sudden gasp of air. The child’s skin was gray, not unlike that of his sibling 1x1x1x1, but his eyes when they first opened were gold. Bright, shining, pure. Eyes that mirrored the very light of creation.

Spawn , they looked like him..

 

Builderman’s lips parted, trembling with the fragile weight of triumph. "It worked... it actually worked..." He lowered his arms, stepping forward carefully, almost afraid that if he touched the child, it would vanish like smoke. But no it stayed. Alive. Breathing. Small fingers curled in the air, searching.

He bent down and scooped the newborn into his arms, the weight no heavier than a bundle of feathers, and yet heavier than all his burdens combined. Builderman looked into those golden eyes, and with a shaky smile, whispered:

"You are my second son. My Chance."

The fire ring sputtered, then vanished with a hiss, leaving behind only faint smoke and the crackle of burnt earth. Builderman turned, clutching the infant close to his chest as though the entire world might try to rip him away. He walked back toward the nest, heart pounding not from strain but from something he hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever hope.

 

(back at the nest :3)

 

Inside the nest, 1x1x1x1 sat cross-legged on the floor. The boy, though still young, had grown sharper features and a restless energy that never seemed to settle. His greyscale skin glistened faintly in the low torchlight, and in his hands, he held a wooden sword. He swung it clumsily at the shadows, pretending they were enemies, his little huffs of effort filling the otherwise quiet space.

"Ayaaa! take that!"

 

With each swing, he muttered something under his breath snippets of stories Builderman had told him of great battles and brave warriors. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to be someone his fathers could be proud of. Even alone, even when the silence pressed against him, he trained.

 

The sound of footsteps echoed. Heavy, slow, deliberate. 1x1x1x1 froze mid-swing, his head snapping toward the doorway. His eyes widened, and immediately, joy bloomed across his face.

"Daddy!" he cried, dropping the wooden sword as he scrambled to his feet. He rushed toward Builderman with open arms, eager to leap into his embrace.

 

But then

he stopped , his little body froze mid-run. His eyes fell not on Builderman’s face, but on what he was holding. A bundle of cloth. A tiny hand poking out. Golden eyes staring back at him.

1x1x1x1 tilted his head, curiosity flooding him. "...What’s that?" His voice was filled with genuine wonder, innocent and unfiltered.

 

Builderman’s face softened, the lines of exhaustion eased by the faintest smile. He lowered himself to one knee so his son could see better. Carefully, he shifted the newborn in his arms, pulling the cloth back to reveal the little gray face beneath.

"This," Builderman said warmly, "is your new baby brother. Say hello... to Chance."

 

1x1x1x1 blinked. His mouth opened slightly, then closed, unsure of what words could fit this moment. A brother? Another child? Someone else like him? The thoughts buzzed in his head. He stepped closer, peering down at the small, fragile figure.

Chance’s golden eyes flickered toward him, curious yet calm, as if already sensing something familiar in the older boy. A tiny sound escaped the baby something between a coo and a sigh.

Builderman chuckled quietly, pride radiating from his chest. He looked at his older son. "Would you like to hold him?"

 

1x1x1x1’s eyes widened, and his body stiffened. He looked at the child, then back at his father. His hands twitched at his sides, but he didn’t move. "...I dunno," he admitted softly. His voice carried hesitation, not out of rejection, but out of fear. "He looks so... small. What if I hurt him?"

Builderman placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, his voice steady and kind. "You won’t. You’re stronger than you think, but you also know how to be gentle. Trust yourself, son."

 

The boy hesitated a moment longer, then slowly, carefully, lifted his arms. Builderman adjusted, lowering Chance into them with a father’s steady guidance. For a moment, 1x1x1x1’s breath caught in his throat. The weight in his arms felt unreal, terrifyingly delicate, as though one wrong move could shatter him.

 

But Chance didn’t cry. He didn’t squirm. He simply looked up at his big brother with wide golden eyes, blinking slowly, calmly.

1x1x1x1’s lips curved into a small smile. His voice came out soft, almost like a secret. "Hi, Chance..." His grip tightened just slightly not out of fear, but out of a newfound protectiveness. His eyes gleamed with a spark of determination. "I’m gonna be the best big brother ever!"

 

Builderman’s chest swelled, his smile deepening as he ruffled his older son’s hair. "That you will do, bud. That you will." He paused, his voice lowering, filled with a quiet, almost painful tenderness. He looked at both his children the strong, eager 1x1x1x1 and Chance. His heart ached with both pride and guilt , he didn't know how telamon would react...

But at least..

He patted his eldest’s head, steadying his voice. "At least you won’t be alone."

 

The words hung in the air, heavy with promise and unspoken fear. 1x1x1x1 looked back down at his baby brother, smiling wider, whispering things only Chance could hear. Builderman watched them, his eyes glowing faintly in the low light, his heart both lighter and heavier than it had ever been.

Chapter 191: Going back at present

Summary:

heh , going back to present time

Chance leaned back in their chair, one elbow resting casually on the tabletop, eyes flicking between Shedletsky and Builderman. The air was warm with a kind of unspoken comfort, though the sharpness in their conversations never truly faded. It couldn’t, not with these three. Not with everything they’d been through.

 

“Damn,” Chance said suddenly, a sly grin tugging at their lips. Their tone was teasing, though the weight of exhaustion still lingered behind their eyes. “You sounded like an asshole back then dad.”

 

Shedletsky, lounging in his chair with his wings lazily spread behind him, puffed them out even wider in response, as if offended. “Nuh uh, I didn’t!” His voice cracked with faux indignation, his boyish grin betraying how little he actually cared about defending himself.

 

Builderman, seated across from him, pinched the bridge of his nose and rolled his eyes so hard it seemed to physically pain him. “Sure you didn’t, pal. You didn’t cause me grey hair at all.”

Shedletsky immediately perked up, leaning forward across the table with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “But your hair is already grey!” he shot back, laughter spilling from him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Builderman’s jaw clenched, his lips flattening into a line as he muttered, “You know what I mean.” His tone was dry, exhausted, but not without warmth. It was the way he always sounded when dealing with Shedletsky, like he’d given up trying to win but still went through the motions anyway.

“No I don’t,” Shed said, crossing his arms in an exaggerated display of mock innocence. “Enlighten me.”

 

The older man groaned audibly, dragging a hand down his face. He turned instead to Chance, searching for an ally or maybe just someone sane to latch onto. “Do me a favour,” he muttered. “Never have someone like your father.”

 

Chance blinked, the corners of their lips twitching upward at the statement. Before they could respond, Shedletsky gasped dramatically, throwing one hand to his chest as though he’d just been mortally wounded. His wings fluttered behind him for added effect. “How dare you! I am the best type of partner!”

“Sure you are,” Builderman deadpanned, not even bothering to glance at him.

 

Shedletsky pouted, his lower lip jutting out just enough to seem comical rather than serious. He slouched back in his chair, arms crossed and wings drooping, the very picture of overblown sulkiness. Chance couldn’t hold it in any longer—they burst out laughing, the sound breaking the fragile quiet of the room. “Damn,” they wheezed between chuckles, “love is in the air, huh?”

Builderman shot them a withering look, though his eyes betrayed the faintest flicker of amusement. “That’s what you get when you’re married to a god,” he grumbled.

 

The words hung in the air heavier than they should have. It was a joke, tossed like a stone skipping across water, but the ripples it caused spread further than anyone expected. The silence that followed was thin, sharp, and in it hung the weight of things unsaid.

Shedletsky, of course, was the first to break it. He leaned back further in his chair, balancing precariously on two legs as his wings flared for balance. “Well,” he said smugly, “at least he admits it.”

Builderman groaned again, leaning forward and bracing his elbows against the table. “I didn’t admit anything.”

 

“You so did!” Shed shot back, grinning like a child who’d just won an argument. “Don’t even try to wiggle out of this one. You said it. With your own grumpy old-man mouth.”

Chance snorted, covering their mouth with their hand as they tried and failed to keep from laughing again.

The two bickered like this so often that it should’ve been background noise by now, but there was something different in the air tonight. Something softer. Like the tension that usually hung thick in their little hideout had been nudged away, replaced with something warmer. Something dangerously close to peace.

 

The minutes ticked by with the three of them orbiting one another’s words, each exchange pulling them deeper into the strange rhythm they’d built together.

It was a strange family. Strange, and yet it worked..?

Shedletsky eventually grew restless, as he always did when left to sit still too long. He leaned forward suddenly, resting his chin on his folded arms, wings twitching like restless hands. “Hey, Builderman,” he said, voice lighter now, “if I’m such a terrible partner, then why haven’t you dumped me yet, huh?”

 

Builderman froze mid-sip of his drink, coughing when the liquid nearly went down the wrong pipe. He set the cup down hard enough to make the table creak. “Because I haven’t had the time,” he said flatly, though the faint pink creeping into his cheeks betrayed him.

Chance’s laughter broke the room again. “Oh my god,” they wheezed, clutching their stomach. “You two are hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love,” Shedletsky corrected, waggling his brows dramatically.

Builderman shoved him lightly in the shoulder, muttering, “Shut up.”

But he didn’t deny it.

 

Chapter 192: Spending time again

Summary:

heheh FAMILY TIMEEE

The voices of Builderman and Shedletsky ricocheted endlessly through the common room, a constant back--and-forth that had long since drowned out whatever original point the argument had been about. Their voices grew louder by the second, each one determined not to be the first to back down , even tho chance knew it was gonna be never ending.

 

Chance sat at the edge of one of the worn couches, their chin propped lazily on their hand, eyes glazing over as they listened without really listening. Builderman’s gruff tone paired with Shedletsky’s smug drawl had blended into background noise, like the droning hum of an engine. It was the kind of noise one could tune out so completely that the world around them blurred. And blur it did.

 

Their mind wandered elsewhere far from this cramped space filled with bickering and tired fluorescent lights. Instead, their thoughts drifted to a certain sharp-dressed man with the kind of presence that lingered long after he was gone.

 

Mafioso.

 

Chance felt their lips twitch faintly upward at the memory. The way he carried himself at the casino, as if the world was just another piece on his chessboard, had always gotten under their skin. And yet, despite all that bravado, despite the undeniable danger he carried in his shadow, he’d kissed them. The thought replayed in their head like a song stuck on loop. That moment unexpected, heavy with meaning had burrowed deep under their skin.

 

They lifted a hand, almost absentmindedly tracing their lips with their fingers, as though the ghost of that kiss still lingered there. Heat pooled faintly in their cheeks, their heart skipping just enough of a beat to remind them that this was dangerous ground they were standing on. A slow inhale, a quiet exhale, their chest tightening with the realization.

 

Damn. They were in DEEP.

 

Was he back at the mafia’s hideout now?

Chance’s gaze softened as they leaned back against the couch, eyes half-lidded as the memory wrapped around them. The world outside blurred completely until

 

Bzzt! Bzzt!

 

Their phone rattled to life against their thigh, pulling them abruptly from their thoughts. Chance blinked, blinking again as reality snapped back into place. Builderman and Shedletsky’s voices slammed into their ears once more, and they groaned under their breath, fumbling for their phone.

The screen lit up, a familiar contact flashing across it.

 

(i putted it on bold so you can tell it's phone if it makes sense-)

1x1x1x1: …

 

Chance raised an eyebrow, thumbing the screen open. A second message followed quickly after:

 

1x1x1x1: hey , i can hear them from all the way over here in the killer's hideout , im bored and princess dragged me into a tea party , do you want to come?

 

Chance couldn’t help the smirk that tugged across their lips. Their fingers tapped quickly over the screen.

 

Chance: awww is my bro in distress?

 

It didn’t take long for the reply to flash back.

 

1x1x1x1: haha very funny..

 

A second message dropped right after:

 

1x1x1x1: seriously though come , it's boring as fuck in here and i wanna gossip.

 

Chance’s smirk deepened into something sharper, mischievous even. A spark of relief lit inside them an excuse to get out of here. Their thumbs flew over the keys one last time.

 

Chance: coming!

 

They locked the screen with a satisfying click, sliding the phone into their pocket just as Builderman’s gravelly voice rose an octave higher.

“You still can’t have the chicken here.” Builderman’s tone was firm, exasperated. His brows knit together as he gestured at the ridiculous fowl clucking near Shedletsky’s boots.

Shedletsky, arms crossed and grinning with that infuriating confidence, retorted, “You can’t make me.”

 

And then, he bolted. The man darted past Builderman and down the hall, the sound of his laughter echoing even as Builderman called after him.

Builderman’s sigh was audible even from where Chance sat. He muttered something about “immature idiots” before trudging after him, his heavy footsteps receding into the distance.

That was their chance.

 

Quietly, with a practiced ease, Chance rose from the couch. Their footsteps padded softly across the floor as they slipped toward the exit, making sure Builderman was too distracted to notice. The cool air of the outside world hit their face as soon as they pushed open the door, a welcome relief compared to the stifling tension inside.

 

They tugged their jacket tighter around themselves as they started down the path that wound toward the killer’s hideout. Each step carried them farther from the bickering, closer to something that promised…well, maybe not peace, but at least a distraction. Their mind buzzed with lingering thoughts of Mafioso, their lips still tingling from memory, but the anticipation of meeting 1x1x1x1 tugged them forward all the same , the path stretched ahead, shadows draping across it as the sun sank lower, painting the world in gold and crimson. Chance’s footsteps were steady, but their heart… their heart was a storm of uncertainty, tangled between memories of a kiss and the promise of gossip in a place that spelled trouble.

 

They had no idea what waited for them once they reached the hideout.

oh boy, they were going to find out real soon-

Chapter 193: Tea party is always fun

Summary:

I LOVE HEADCANONNNINGGGG

Sliding the phone back into their pocket, they adjusted their pace, quickening their steps as the hideout came into view in the distance.

The structure loomed ahead, tucked away in shadow, its edges sharp against the night sky. They could almost hear the faint noise of life inside , voices, movement, the restless stirring of those who called it home.

 

As Chance pushed open the heavy door, the dim glow of lanterns met their eyes. The first thing they saw was John Doe.

He was hunched near the entryway, his body shifting uncomfortably as though even the act of existing was painful. His yellow torso were stained by time and corruption, the right arm twisted into a grotesque spike of blackened code. Red binary flickered off the limb like embers, fading and reigniting with no pattern. His right eye was a well of crimson corruption, glowing faintly, the same sickness seeping into his back.

 

John Doe’s head tilted as Chance entered, his yellow hair slicked back, his expression unreadable. His movements were jagged, animalistic liek they always were his body responding slower than his instincts. The corrupted arm twitched, and his spiky tail wagged, almost hesitant, like he was trying to mimic some long-forgotten gesture of greeting.

Chance’s face softened. They approached without hesitation, reaching out to pat the corrupted arm gently. The surface was hard and uneven under their hand, but it was grounding, a silent signal of acknowledgment. “Heyy, what’s up, big guy,” they said quietly, their voice gentle in the stillness. “Trouble sleeping?”

 

John Doe’s one good eye lingered on them, searching, though whether he understood or simply observed was impossible to tell. He glanced toward the couch in the corner of the room, then slowly lumbered back to it, movements awkward and weighted. He collapsed onto the cushions in a heap, curling slightly, his corrupted limb twitching as though even sleep couldn’t ease the pain that riddled him.

Chance let out a soft chuckle, shaking their head. “Yeah, figured.”

 

They lingered a moment longer, watching him breathe, then turned toward the stairs. Their footsteps creaked softly against the wood as they climbed, each step leading them closer to the muffled sound of voices and laughter above.

The door creaked open, revealing a sight that made Chance stop in their tracks.

 

There, in the middle of the room, Princess sat prim and proper, her light pink form practically glowing in the lamplight. The diamond-shaped head tilted slightly as she poured tea into porcelain cups, her darker pink bow bouncing lightly with each movement. Her dress shimmered faintly, the tiara atop her head gleaming as if to cement her role as the perfect princess.

And across from her sat 1x1x1x1.

In a ridiculous, frilly green princess dress.

 

Chance’s hand flew to their mouth to stifle the laugh threatening to burst out, but it was no use. Their eyes watered from the sheer sight of it 1x1x1x1, the intimidating, corrupted, untouchable figure, now trapped in layers of green satin and lace. The tiara sat lopsided on his head, and his expression was a mixture of murder and resignation.

He turned, spotting Chance at the doorway, and immediately groaned. “Don’t ask.”

That was it. Chance lost it.

 

They doubled over, laughter spilling uncontrollably from them as they stumbled into the room. The sound filled the space, loud and unrestrained, a mix of disbelief and pure amusement. Tears welled in their eyes as they clutched their stomach. “Oh my god,” they gasped between wheezes. "this is priceless , oh god!.”

1x1x1x1 buried his face in his hands, muttering curses under his breath. Princess, however, clapped her hands together gleefully, oblivious to his suffering. “See? They think it’s wonderful too!” she exclaimed, beaming.

 

Chance wiped at their eyes, trying and failing to get themselves under control. “I can’t-!” they wheezed again. “I needed this.”

Chapter 194: Siblings attack

Summary:

YIPPPPEEE
i love making 1x1x1x1 and chance moments
a bit short , but YEAYEYAE

Princess’s eyes darted toward the doorway just as Chance wiped the last of their tears, still catching their breath from the sight of 1x1x1x1 in a princess dress. Her smile faltered, lips pursing into a thin line as she stomped across the rug with all the indignation of royalty wronged.

 

“Tell me you didn’t bring in that FREAK!” she snapped, her small hands balled into fists at her side. The tiara on her head glittered in the lamplight, but her expression was anything but regal furious, protective.

Chance straightened, their grin softening into something gentler. They tilted their head, tone calm but firm as they replied, “Nahh. And also come on, don’t be too hard on them, Princess.”

 

Princess’s arms shot up, crossing defiantly across her chest. “Nuh uh!” she huffed, turning her head sharply away. “After the many times they chased me around with that dagger, they are banned from my tea parties forever!” She punctuated the sentence with a stomp of her slippered foot, her bow bobbing as if to agree with her.

 

Chance sighed lightly, shoulders sagging as they glanced toward 1x1x1x1, who had taken the opportunity to straighten his tiara with a deadpan glare. “What’s the tea this time?” Chance asked, raising an eyebrow. Their voice was playful, but the smirk tugging at their lips betrayed their curiosity.

 

Princess beamed, the fury instantly melting into mischief She leaned across the table, whispering something into 1x1x1x1’s ear. His crimson eyes glinted as a smirk spread across his face, slow and dangerous. When he looked up at Chance, the silence in the room thickened , Chance froze. Their heart skipped, then picked up a nervous pace as they took one instinctive step back. They forced a nervous laugh, raising both hands as though surrendering. “Hey..y, what’s that look for?..”

Princess giggled behind her hands before skipping toward a corner of the room. She pulled open a small chest, revealing a vibrant yellow princess dress and a gleaming tiara to match. Turning back, she held them up with a grin so wide it was nearly sinister. “This one’s perfect!”

 

Chance’s eyes widened. “Oh, hell no—”

 

But it was too late. Princess thrust the outfit into 1x1x1x1’s arms, shouting with all the commanding force of royalty, “Go get them!”

1x1x1x1 didn’t need to be told twice. With a laugh that rumbled low and wicked, he lunged forward.

 

“Come here, Chance!” he barked between laughs, his ridiculous pink skirts bouncing as he charged after them.

“Hell nah!” Chance shouted, bolting for the stairs, their laughter echoing through the halls. “Catch me if you can!”

 

The house erupted into chaos. Their footsteps thundered against the wooden floorboards as Chance dashed down the stairs, nearly colliding with the wall before rebounding into the kitchen hallway. Behind them, 1x1x1x1’s laughter chased like a storm, relentless, giddy, and merciless.

 

In the kitchen, Coolkidd and Bluudud sat side by side at the counter, Coolkidd was leaning on bluudud watching him play , Coolkidd’s wide eyes tracked the scene as Chance sprinted past, hair flying, the sound of laughter trailing after them. A moment later, 1x1x1x1 barreled through, skirts rustling absurdly as he reached out a hand just shy of Chance’s shoulder.

 

Bluudud didn’t even look up from his console. His thumbs tapped at the buttons in rhythm, eyes fixed on the glowing screen. He let out a long, tired groan. “Girls…”

Coolkidd snorted, barely containing his laughter as he watched the chaos loop around the room. “This is better than TV,” he whispered.

 

Chance skidded across the kitchen tiles, nearly crashing into a chair before pivoting around it. They grabbed a spoon from the counter and brandished it like a sword, breathing heavily but grinning wide. “Stay back! I’m armed!”

1x1x1x1 only laughed harder, skirts flaring as he lunged again. Princess’s voice rang from upstairs, shrill and gleeful “Don’t let them escape, 1x1x1x1! Get them dressed properly!"

"I'm on it!"