Corporate Hell for Beginners: A Step-By-Step Guide to Surviving Your Evil Boss, His Ex-Boyfriend, and a Nightmare Elevator

by I_Just_Stole_Thy_Gender

Summary:

Sometimes your Corporate job is bad. Other times, it's literally Hell...

 

Writing style and character relationships heavily inspired by As the Rot Spreads

(Storyline not so much, but shout out to the author of ATRS for being a big inspiration!)

Notes:

Is this too much trauma for the first chapter? I think it might be lol. My bad. I’ll make chapter 2 a bit more lighthearted. Also, don’t expect all the chapters to be this long.

TW: Heavily implied/breifly mentioned suicidal ideation, panic attacks, and implications of and flashbacks to really bad trauma, child abuse. Also, a relatively small existential crisis.

Chapter 1: Step 1: Try (And Fail) Not to Have a Mental Breakdown

He couldn’t even remember his own name anymore. He supposed there wasn’t really a reason to know his name, but the fact he couldn’t remember still bothered him. He’d had a name before, he was pretty sure… He had to. Surely before , people had talked to him, surely before , his parents had called him something . But that didn’t matter, because whatever name it had been was gone. 

Gone, like everything else, the second he’d stepped onto that elevator. 

Gone, like his life. 

The Newbie was still attacking the door, his nails making terrible noises against the metal, like nails to a chalkboard. He really needed to stop , the doors weren’t going to open again, no matter how hard he tried. All he was going to get from trying was pain. Judging from the faint smears of blood on the door, the Newbie had already ripped out a couple of fingernails. 

This is your fault. The words cut through his mind like a knife, causing him to suck in a pained breath, dropping his head back against the elevator wall with a dull thud. A stab of physical pain shot through the back of his skull, but that was ok, it matched how he felt on the inside. It was his fault. His fault that he’d ruined their one shot to make it out of this hell elevator. 

The Newbie was still frantically attacking the door, screaming, crying, all of his emotions coming out in a blur of pounding fists, a whirlwind of curses and threats that had no purpose, because the people they were aimed at were gone, gone, and they’d never come back. Who would, honestly? He couldn’t blame them for leaving. It was almost a miracle that they’d come back the second time. 

He stared up at the familiar ceiling, not really seeing it as he breathed slowly. In through his nose, out through his mouth. It was in these moments especially that he wished he had a cigarette - and was simultaneously sort of glad he didn’t. The only thing a cigarette would do was piss off the Newbie even more. And facing the Newbie’s wrath was one of the last things he wanted to do. 

Judging by the heavy, angry breathing coming from the doors, though, it was pretty clear that he was probably going to have to face that wrath whether he wanted to or not, and soon. It seemed the Newbie had finally got the hint that he couldn’t get the other to come back no matter how loud he cursed. It was only a matter of time before that cursing, that rage, was directed at him. Only a matter of time before he was treated like that damn elevator door - beaten at, screamed at, the works. 

At least the Newbie didn’t have the scissors anymore. 

One small silver lining in a situation full of shit. 

At least he wouldn’t be stabbed again, over and over, the damn scissors being slammed through his eyes, his throat, his chest, over and over, rivers of his blood flowing through the elevator, splattering on the walls, and oh god, that was his blood, and the pain growing with every time the scissors were plunged into his flesh and the feeling of darkness creeping in his vision, in his mind, until all the pain faded and he slipped away into the dark void of death, but it couldn’t just end at that, no, then he’d come back, and he just wanted the darkness to come for him, to take him, to swallow him whole, to protect him from having to face that again, because oh god every time he came back was just a fucking countdown until he had to die again, until he had to feel himself wither away and– needless to say, being stabbed wasn’t a very pleasant experience. 

“They left. They fucking left .” The Newbie’s voice was ragged. “They said– They said they’d take our places! And they FUCKING LEFT US !”  He’d stopped attacking the door, finally, but the sudden silence in the elevator made his voice sound ten times louder. 

Honestly, though, what had the Newbie expected? That two presumably sane people would trade their freedom, their life, their sanity , for a pair of scissors? Nobody in their right mind would do that. Nobody in their right mind would take scissors as some shitty consolation prize as they sat in a broken elevator, dying over and over, for the rest of their lives. They weren’t coming back. They weren’t ever coming back. They had what they needed. 

The Newbie ran his hand down the elevator door, turning towards his companion. The look on his face sent a jolt of fear through his entire being, because oh god, did he know that look… That rage… the strange glint in his eyes… That was the expression that only ever came with pain. 

You deserve it. You deserve whatever he does. 

That expression. That damn expression. It usually meant he was about to die. 

You fucking deserve it, you fucking deserve it and you know it.

His hands were shaking. His hands shouldn’t be shaking. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. 

It’s a shame you can’t die forever, he’d be better off without you. 

His breath was stuck in his throat, like something was blocking it. Yes, something was blocking it. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe. 

Maybe if it weren’t for you, someone would be leaving this elevator. 

He felt some sort of pressure in the corners of his eyes, like he was about to cry. Fuck. No, he couldn’t cry. He didn’t like crying… The Newbie didn’t like when he cried either. Shit… 

He’s probably relieved every time you die, because just for one second, you’re not there, fucking everything up. 

He wasn’t crying. Yet. But the Newbie was still glaring at him, with that malice in his eyes, that terrifying but completely justified rage. And then, he took a step forward. 

“I- I’m sorry-...” He choked out, his back pressed painfully against the wall of the elevator. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-...” He tried to remind himself to breathe, taking a shaky breath in, but it was like there was a hand closed around his windpipe, he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs, he couldn’t fucking breathe . “I-...” 

“ Stop .” the Newbie hissed, looking positively murderous. He took another step closer. “Stop that.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to…” He was choking, he was suffocating, he couldn’t breathe, and there were tears falling down his face, and shit, the Newbie didn’t like it when he cried, he had to stop, he had to stop . “I-... F-fuck… I…” 

“I said stop it !” the Newbie was right there now, right there, and his hand was gripping his collar, the shirt was choking him, and oh god he was so close, and he was going to kill him, he was going to kill him again and oh god he didn’t want to die he didn’t want to die not again.

“Sorry-” He choked out, feeling another warm tear fall from his eye and trace a path down his face. “Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me…” 

For a split second, the Newbie’s expression seemed to soften ever so slightly. The malice and anger was replaced with… something else, a faint glimmer of something that he couldn’t quite place. In that second, he was able to breathe again. Just for that moment. In, and out. 

The next second, though, the Newbie’s fist had connected with his nose, with a crunch of breaking bones that echoed sickeningly through the elevator. 

“I thought I told you to fucking stop !” 

 

… 

 

The man let out a pitiful whimper as blood gushed from his now-crooked nose, tears filling his blue eyes again, as he reached up a shaking hand to his face, his breath shaky as he stared at his fingertips, now stained with his blood. 

He fucking deserved it. 

That’s what he got for ruining their one chance to escape with his stupid emotional outburst. 

That’s what he got for whining like a pathetic child. 

That’s what he got for putting faith in a monster. For begging a monster for mercy. For thinking that a monster would even be capable of showing him sympathy. 

Yeah, the man definitely deserved it. 

So why did the monster - as he’d begun to refer to himself as - feel so… bad? Monsters weren't supposed to feel sympathy, or pity. 

“Don’t-... Don’t, please…” The man was begging now. His face was coated with blood from his broken nose, and there were tears flowing from his eyes. 

The monster barely remembered a time when he’d been the one begging, the one with tears flowing from his own eyes. 

Begging never got anyone anywhere. He knew that from experience. 

“You’re fucking pathetic , you know that?” He spat, leaning down until he was centimeters from the man’s face. “Pathetic.” 

“I know, I know that…” The man whimpered, “I’m sorry, I-” 

He was sitting in his room, his head in his hands, his mother standing over him holding a drawing, and she was screaming, and she was angry and he had to apologize, he had to fix it- 

“Stop fucking apologizing!” He screamed, slamming his knee as hard as he could into the man’s chest, just to get him to shut up, to stop being so pathetic . 

The man let out a groan of pain, and a high pitched whimper, but he stopped talking. He stopped doing anything, lying helplessly on the elevator floor, blood dripping from his nose onto the ground, the panic in his eyes still visible, but masked behind a wall of… nothingness. Of numb acceptance of his fate. 

That look was worse than the pleading. 

People weren’t supposed to just lie down and accept their fate. 

People were supposed to fight the monster. 

He couldn’t fight back, he didn’t dare fight back, he just had to hold his breath and wait for it to be over, wait for it to be over, wait for her to stop – 

“You pathetic fucking piece of shit!” He kicked the man, and when he didn’t respond other than a weak groan, he kicked him harder. “How weak do you have to be, if that took you down? How fucking weak and pathetic are you?” 

“How pathetic you must be, in the sight of God!” She screamed, “To give in to temptation so easily!” She was holding the pair of scissors that he’d used to cut his hair, her eyes were wild, she was like a raging beast, and he had no other choice but to hide, because how could he fight back, how could he– 

“Come on, you coward, FIGHT BACK!” He screamed, flecks of spit flying from his mouth, hitting the man in the face, as he grabbed his collar, shaking him slightly. The man whimpered again, weakly muttering something, but making no move to fight back. 

“‘m sorry… it’s my fault…” The man’s voice was shaky, broken, “It’s my fault they left… I-...” 

Every night, he would pray, he would plead with God to fix him, to make him better. To make him the daughter his parents wanted. But God had abandoned him for his sins. So he tried to repent. He spent hours kneeling, pleading for forgiveness. 

“SHUT UP!” His head was beginning to hurt, a throbbing pain that just served to make him more… monstrous, “SHUT THE HELL UP! YOU FUCKING PATHETIC COWARD!” He shoved the man’s head back, letting it slam against the metal wall with a sickening crack. 

The man let out a quiet sob. “…” He seemed to be trying to say something, his face soaked with tears and blood, he was shaking like a leaf, but he still made no move to fight back. “Why…?” 

He was hiding under his bed, trembling, tears streaming down his face as his mother stalked around his room, her footsteps loud and monstrous. Why? Why him? Why did it have to be him that God chose to hate? That his mother chose to hate? Surely there were worse sins, right? Or was he really that bad? Did he really deserve this? 

“Stop it. Stop talking like that! I can’t stand it!” The monster growled, “You don’t get to fucking ask that. You don’t get to fucking ASK THAT, YOU LITTLE FUCKING-” 

“-PIECE OF SHIT!” This was bad. This was really bad. She never swore, not unless she was really angry. Her face was red, knuckles white around the crumpled paper, her eyes held a sort of insanity in them. Oh God… Oh God, no… 

He grabbed the man’s collar again, pulling him up so that once again, their faces were centimeters apart. “ Why me ?” he said in a mocking tone, “Get a fucking GRIP!” He shoved the man’s head back again, slamming the back of his head into the wall as hard as he could. Then he did it again. And again. The sounds of crying gradually faded,  replaced with the occasional pained whimper. “FIGHT BACK! FIGHT BACK OR I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU, I’LL KILL YOU, I’LL-” 

She was screaming again, so loud that he couldn’t understand what she was saying, all he knew was that it was bad, it was angry, and it was directed at him. He stood in front of her, legs barely supporting him, his breath coming in short gasps. God hated him. God hated him, and his mom hated him, and he hated himself. Hated himself for looking down at the ground, for apologizing, over and over again, for letting her walk all over him. 

“I’LL KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” He slammed the man’s head into the wall again, his poor victim’s eyes were becoming unfocused, his jaw had gone slack, his eyes were almost rolled back into his head - was he dead already? Again? That easily? 

That pathetic shit. 

He was like a fucking child, weak and pathetic. 

He was just a child , how was he supposed to deal with this, how was he supposed to stop this, what else could he do? There was nothing to do, nothing he could do, so when his mother started screaming, he just closed his eyes and waited through it. When she hit him, he just braced for impact, and sat there, face stinging, as though nothing had happened. How was he supposed to defend himself? 

“Fight… back…” He panted, standing over the man’s corpse, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead, into his eye. He wiped it away, smearing blood across his cheek. The man was clearly dead now, the monster had checked for a pulse and found none. His entire face was masked with half-dried blood, his eyes were cold and empty, full of nothing. He hadn’t fought back. 

Now that the man was dead again, some of the rage that defined the monster slipped away, replaced with something else, something he couldn’t quite place, as he stared at the corpse. At the mess he’d made. 

A tear fell from the corner of his eye, tracing its way down his face, to the end of his chin. Stupid… 

As he stared down, waiting for everything to reset, like it always did, he felt a cold numbness spread through his body, starting from his chest. His knuckles throbbed slightly, his fingers where he’d ripped out the nails trying to pry the door open burned with pain, but all that was forgotten as the cold swallowed him whole. 

He didn’t feel remorse for killing this man. He deserved it. He deserved it for trying to plead with a monster. 

Of course, there was some feeling stirring in his chest, some sick, terrible feeling, but that didn’t count. 

The world would reset any second now. Any second. And everything would be back to normal. And the cold would fade. 

It would just be a couple more seconds before- 

beeeeeeeep   

Chapter 2: Assess the (Hypothetical!) situation

Notes:

This is necessary stuff for the plot, but damn it’s so boring to write T^T Let me get back to my soul crushing angst please!
Chapter 3’s gonna be fun though!

Bryce was starting to get really tired of the elevator. Yeah, sure, shit like this happened all the time at work - workplace hazards and all - and according to protocol, he was supposed to ignore it, pretend it never happened, and wait for it to go away. 

But it was kind of hard to ignore the fact that he’d just fucking died . 

“Uh-... Okay. Okay… He’s definitely real.” The short man beside him muttered, probably to himself. Bryce glanced over at him. His black-haired companion - who Bryce had started to call ‘Glasses’ in his head - was standing in the corner of the elevator, his knuckles white as he gripped the scissors from floor 8. 

“Whoah, dude. You good?” Bryce asked, chuckling nervously, “You, uh, look like you’re about to have a mental breakdown.” 

Glasses just shot Bryce a strange look, annoyance mixed with… something else. “I might. I feel like I’m on the verge of one, honestly.” He said quietly.  “Do you remember… Anything strange? At all?” It was desperation , that was the other thing in his expression. God, the poor guy had probably never experienced anything like this. 

Was this normal for people who weren’t related to the CEO? Or had the boss taken some sort of interest in Glasses? 

“Nope! Nothing strange!” Bryce said, noticing the slight strain in his voice. Lying to Glasses felt… wrong, especially when the poor guy seemed to be in such a fragile mental state. 

“Are you sure ?” Glasses asked, “You don’t remember anything ?” 

“No, why do you ask?” Bryce lied again, ignoring the guilt bubbling in the pit of his stomach. 

I’m just following company protocol. If this shit is happening, it’s happening for a reason… He told himself firmly, keeping a smile plastered on his face. Everything was fine. Everything was fine, everything was fine, and this was normal, and Glasses would get the hang of things soon. 

Or he’d be fired from the corporation. Which would not be good for him, or for the janitors who’d be cleaning up that mess. 

But he’d be fine. 

“Do you not remember…” Glasses’s voice trailed off for a second, before he finished his sentence, “I killed you.” 

Those three words sent a shiver down Bryce’s spine. Or, more accurately, the tone they were said in. Was he really that upset? It was just a temporary death! And sure, it’d been painful, excruciatingly so , and Bryce didn’t want to go through anything like that again anytime soon, and yes, thinking about how he’d just died made him want to throw up, but he hadn’t killed anyone permanently . 

“Hey, don’t sweat it, bro.” Bryce reassured, then quickly, remembering that he was supposed to ignore it, added, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” A couple of seconds of awkward silence passed, before Bryce muttered, “Hypothetically, if you had killed me, I’m sure you had a reason. So…” 

“No… not really…” Glasses muttered, “I…” 

“Well… In the hypothetical situation I’m thinking of, I was most likely acting very suspicious, so hypothetically nobody could blame you for killing me!”  Bryce reassured, patting the shorter man on the shoulder. 

Glasses just looked at him with a strange, almost scared, look on his face and said nothing. He was still holding the scissors, and after a few moments, he looked down at them. 

“So… you do remember?” He said, almost too quietly to hear. The poor guy looked so… lost. And Bryce couldn’t tell if it was his imagination or if Glasses’s hands were shaking. 

“No.” Bryce said hesitantly, ignoring the pang of fear as he continued, “But hypothetically , if everything you’re saying is true, the company wouldn’t want me to tell you if I did. So… Take that how you will, I guess.” The boss couldn’t get mad at him for saying that, right? He was still technically following the rules. He hadn’t said anything to show he wasn’t ignoring the supernatural crap, he’d just been speaking hypothetically. 

Glasses seemed to hesitate, contemplating Bryce’s words for a moment, before saying, “So, uh, hypothetically, this is normal?” 

“Well, hypothetically… Uh, hypothetically I wouldn’t really know, because I never had to do that entry-level stuff, and I rarely use the elevator anyway. But hypothetically, I’d say this wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary, I don’t think.” 

Glasses nodded, “And, hypothetically, you’re not supposed to talk about it?” 

“Yeah.” Bryce nodded, “Hypothetically this entire corporation could get shut down if someone were to talk about the weird shit that happens here. And nobody wants that…” 

“So what I’m getting, is that hypothetically this corporation is letting its employees suffer and die repeatedly , for whatever reason, because of some supernatural bullshit, but nobody can talk about it because then they’ll close.” Glasses’s voice took on an angry edge as he spoke, and Bryce could see that his hands were definitely shaking now. 

“No, it’s not-... Well when you put it like that , I-...” Bryce stammered. 

That was what the corporation was doing, wasn’t it? But it was fine! All the rules were there for a reason, Glasses was just making it sound worse than it was. Right? 

“It’s a hypothetical situation. Don’t think too hard about it.” He eventually muttered. 

“Right… And-... Hypothetically, the doubles on floor 8…? What’s their deal?” Glasses was staring down at the scissors in his hand. “Are they…” 

“Hypothetically, I have no fucking idea.” Bryce muttered. “Though, I did hear - Uh, hypothetically, I wasn’t supposed to hear this, but you won’t tell anyone, right?” 

Glasses shook his head, “I won’t tell anyone.” He said quietly, not looking up. 

Bryce was fairly certain he wasn’t supposed to say what he’d heard, but it was fine. It was fine, it was fine, it was- “I heard - hypothetically - that the boss here can create artificial life? Like whole other people.” 

Glasses seemed to contemplate that, “So, they weren’t real?” 

“I wouldn’t say that , per se, I’m sure they had their own minds and stuff, the boss is nothing if not thorough, so I doubt he’d make doubles that were literally just puppets… But I wouldn’t say they were real either. Hyp-” 

“Hypothetically. Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Glasses snapped, then took a deep, shaky sounding breath. “Do… Do you think they were actually… You know, trapped in the elevator?” 

Bryce sucked in a breath, “Yeah. Probably. Like I said, the boss is nothing if not thorough.” 

“Shit.” Glasses whispered, eyes distant as though he was lost in thought. 

It was almost the exact same expression he had worn right before he’d stabbed Bryce to death. 

“I’m… that’s fucked up.” Glasses looked up, his gaze meeting Bryce’s, “How do you stand this?” 

“It’s really not so bad, once you get used to it-” 

“Not that. The… the hurting other people. The… whatever it is that makes you want to hurt people.” The shorter man’s voice was shaking, “God. I stabbed you to death. I killed you. And-... And I fucking left two people stranded in an elevator for God knows how long… I took the one thing they had… How can you stand that?” 

How could he stand it? Bryce honestly had no idea. It was just how things were. It wasn’t that deep… was it?  It wasn’t… Natural for everything to be good. Betrayal was just a part of life. It was just a part of work. It was normal. Normal . Everything was as it should be.  

Bryce opened his mouth to say as much, but Glasses didn’t seem to be waiting for an answer. “Oh God… Oh fuck… Ten minutes on an elevator and I’m already… I’m already losing it.” He let out a laugh, “Fuck. Well, they say you know the most about someone when they’re in a tough situation. So I guess this is just… What I am.” A grin was starting to stretch across Glasses’s face, but there were tears gathering in his eyes. 

Oh shit. Shit. This wasn’t good, was it? 

“Hey, hey, calm down!” Bryce said, a bit too loudly, putting a hand on Glasses’s shoulder. 

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” Glasses spat, pulling away, rage and… fear?... in his eyes. But then he blinked, and sighed, the expression fading. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I- I didn’t-” 

He was losing his mind. Glasses was going insane. That wasn’t optimal. Especially seeing as Bryce had no idea how to comfort the man. 

“Sorry for what? Glasses, it’s fine! Just breathe or something, okay? Just… Try and breathe.” 

Glasses took a deep breath through his nose, and at the very least he didn’t seem to be shaking quite as much. “I’m… How do you handle this? Seriously.” 

Bryce started to speak, started to tell his coworker that he handled it by knowing it was normal, but then he hesitated.  He’d said this much, he might as well tell Glasses the truth. “I guess, I just… I know there’s not always a right answer. So I try to make up for any harm I might’ve made later. There’s always a way to make it right, somewhere. I just do that, to make up for the not good things.” 

“Make up for…” Glasses stared at the elevator wall, “Like fix your mistakes?” 

“Yeah! There’s always a way to fix things.” Bryce said, standing up straighter. 

Glasses stared off into the distance silently for a moment, his gaze calculating, before he let out a breath and said, “I think I know how to fix it.” 

Notes:

AND THANKS FOR READING THIS AAA

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Chapter 3: Step 3: Negotiate a Peace

Notes:

...Or negotiate a time or place. This is commonplace especially ‘tween recruits, most disputes die and no one shoots! (I need to stop listening to Hamilton lmao…)

TW: Existential crisis, mildly concerning threats

The Monster was tired. Not physically, the reset he’d just gone through actually had him feeling better than usual, but mentally, exhaustion weighed on him like… Like gravity. 

He’d felt like this before, many times, but this time it felt particularly bad. Maybe it was the exhaustion from killing someone - he always seemed to underestimate how bad that was. Or maybe now that his anger had somewhat dissipated, maybe he was just now getting the crushing despair of being stuck in the elevator still, after they’d been so close … 

Most likely it was a mix of both. 

The elevator was full of thick, suffocating silence, the other man was slumped over in the far corner of the elevator, looking like a wreck. Fucking pathetic… It almost looked like he was crying. 

He probably was. The dumbass. 

The Monster was also sitting in a corner of the elevator, the one closest to the vent - and furthest from the man he’d just killed. He sat in the corner, knees pulled up to his chest, head resting on his folded arms. He glanced from time to time at the door, and at his pitiful companion, but for the most part he just looked at the floor. 

The floor that just seconds ago had been stained with blood. 

The blood the Monster had spilt. 

Something about that seemed almost poetic. Either that, or the Monster was going more insane than he already was. 

He glanced at the doors again, the doors that hadn’t opened for months, the doors that he’d missed, that would never open again, and felt a pang of some emotion in his chest, some jolt of something he couldn’t quite place. 

The doors were closed. The doors were closed, and they’d never open again, forever. And the Monster and his companion couldn’t die. 

Forever. That was a long time. 

A really, really , long time. 

It made the Monster sick to his stomach to picture the concept of a ‘forever’, stuck in the elevator, dying over and over. Forever. Neverending. Just deaths, just sitting in the elevator, looping over and over until the end of time itself. 

And even that counted on time having an end. 

“The entire world could end, and we wouldn’t know.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until he heard his raspy voice echoing through the claustrophobic room. 

The room he’d be trapped in forever . 

From his corner of the elevator, the other man raised his head, giving the Monster a confused glance, but he said nothing. 

Once again, the elevator filled with silence, silence more deafening than any noise, as the Monster stared at the doors again. 

Those doors that would never open for them, the doors that would stay closed for that ‘forever’ amount of time. 

A low chuckle escaped the Monster’s throat, “They’re never coming back.” 

 

…

 

“We have to go back. We have to help them.” He spoke before he could stop himself, but even before the words left his mouth, he knew there was no going back. This was what he had to do, to fix it, to fix what he’d messed up. 

His companion, Bryce, just stared at him with wide eyes. “Please tell me you’re joking. You’re joking, right?” He laughed, “It’s… It’s not very funny.” 

Glasses - as Bryce called him (and he actually preferred the nickname to his other name) - shook his head. “I’m not joking. I… I can’t just leave them in that elevator forever.” 

Bryce looked absolutely aghast at that, his blue eyes filled with terror. “No, no, you-... They tried to kill us! If you open those doors again, they will kill us!”  

He was right. Glasses knew that. He knew that his double - and maybe Bryce’s double, too - wouldn’t hesitate to rip him to pieces. But hey, he definitely probably deserved it. After all, he had tricked them into giving away their one resource then trapped them in an elevator. 

“If they kill me, they kill me. I’ll-... I’ll come back.” Glasses muttered, hoping nobody noticed the way his voice and hands shook at the mere thought of another death. 

He couldn’t do that again, he couldn’t, he couldn’t– 

But he could do what he had to do. Now that he’d latched onto the idea of helping the doubles, he was not going to back down. He’d done enough of that in his childhood.  

He was going to save these people, he was going to save them if it killed him a million times. 

And nobody on this damn elevator, not Bryce, and not that scared little voice in his head, could stop him. 

 

… 

 

Forever. 

It was more terrifying the more the Monster thought about it. It was like looking into a mirror when there was another mirror behind it, and watching the reflections go on and on until you couldn’t see them anymore, except each reflection was a death. 

It was like seeing the light at the end of a tunnel, only to have it just out of reach no matter how far he ran. 

Forever. 

It was a fucked-up notion, once just a word thrown around casually around, now a terrifying punishment. The Monster had a feeling he’d never see the word ‘forever’ the same way again. 

Then again, he did have a literal eternity to come to terms with his fate. If he ever came to terms with it. 

The other man hadn’t said a word since his last death, in fact, he’d seemingly fallen asleep, his head resting against the elevator wall, mouth slightly open. He looked peaceful. Too peaceful. 

It pissed the Monster off. Made something deep inside him itch to ruin that peace, to rip it from the man’s undeserving hands. 

As he watched, though, the man grimaced, turning his head, and muttering something in his sleep. Something that sounded a lot like, “I can’t…” 

Well, at least he wasn’t peaceful anymore. The Monster felt a glimmer of some emotion, almost like satisfaction, in the pit of his stomach. It was immediately followed by a sick jolt of guilt. 

The man continued to mutter in his sleep, (“No, stop… Don’t make me go back…”) and the Monster continued to watch him for a couple of moments before turning back to the door. 

That damn elevator door. 

The door to his cell. It might as well be the gates to Hell, at this point. 

Honestly, he might prefer that. Facing damnation - how could it be any worse than staring at doors that would never open, knowing he’d be subjected to an eternity of… 

A faint noise on the other side of the door startled him out of his thoughts, as he sat up completely straight, hardly daring to breathe. 

No. No, he was being an idiot, he was imagining things, the doors would never open again. He was an idiot to even think there was a chance. 

But the noise came again, sounding like a voice coming from underwater. Or like a voice muffled by thick metal doors. 

But no, no, it wasn’t possible. He was probably just tired, just hallucinating because of sleep deprivation, he couldn’t dare to hope. 

The doors would never open, they’d never open, they would never-

Light flooded into the room, as the doors began to open, revealing the Monster’s other self, something like pity in his eyes, and everything faded away, as the Monster leaped to his feet, lunging for the other elevator, forgetting everything. Forgetting about forever, forgetting about his sleeping companion, the only thing he saw was the face of his other self, the one who’d tricked him, who’d tried to trap him. 

“You!” The word ripped itself from his throat, like a cross between a growl and a scream, as he leaped to tackle the weaker version of himself. 

The next thing he knew, there were scissors pressed against his throat. 

“We don’t want to fight.” He heard his double say, “I’m here to make a deal with you.” 

 

… 

 

Glasses’s hands were shaking as he held the scissors to his doppelganger’s throat. The other man glared up at him, but Glasses could see the fear and desperation in his expression. 

Behind him, the double of Bryce stirred, and started to stand up, his eyes widening as soon as he saw the open door. 

“Bryce! Make sure he doesn’t attack us.” Glasses hissed, never taking his eyes off of his other self. But the doppelganger of Bryce didn’t seem to want to fight, he just stood in the corner of the elevator looking utterly overwhelmed. 

“You want to make a deal?” His doppelganger finally rasped, “Like when you traded us for our scissors?” 

Glasses winced, “No. No, not like that. I’m not-... I’m not going to do that again.” 

He was telling the truth, but his doppelganger just looked at him skeptically. 

“Y-you said there was a weight limit, right?” 

“There’s only two people to an elevator…” Bryce chimed in from behind Glasses, his voice sounding weirdly strained, “Any more than that and it could break.” 

Glasses hummed in acknowledgement. Well then… He’d have to put a bit of faith in his coworker and his unhinged doppelganger. He’d been thinking about this the entire way up to floor eight, but he sounded really uncertain as he said, “So what we’re gonna do, if there can only be two people, is switch places. But only halfway. That way, in each elevator, there’s one person from… from each side. The people in this elevator try to find a way out, and… And we’ll take turns, and then get off the elevator one at a time, and whoever’s still on the elevator can come get the people from floor 8 - your elevator. If… that makes sense, at all?”

“That was completely incoherent.” His doppelganger hissed, “Lucky for you, I am you, so I know how you think.” 

“So? What do you say?” Glasses said, praying that his voice didn’t betray the fear he was feeling. 

It felt like an eternity, staring into his doppelganger’s eyes, before the other man said, “Fine. But if you try any stupid shit, I’ll make sure you have a slow and painful death.”

Notes:

I did not do the existential crisis justice. This thought of ‘forever’ was one that literally kept me up late at night. That’s disappointing.

Chapter 4: Step 4: Trauma Bond with your Coworker’s Double.

Notes:

Ahh angst, my old friend... we meet again.

The man didn’t know what to do as the Newbie stepped onto the other elevator without him, oh god he was leaving, he was leaving him, leaving him here , and the other Newbie joined the man in his elevator. 

He didn’t know what to do. All he could do was stare as the elevator closed again, without him.  

The Newbie’s double stared into the other elevator for the last time, saying, “Bryce, you’ll come back for us, right?” 

The real, not-broken version of him nodded, and then the doors shut, leaving the man in the same elevator he’d been in for months, the place where he’d died several times, and he didn’t think they were coming back. Why would anyone come back for him?  

He couldn’t breathe again, oh god why did this keep happening, it was pathetic, he was pathetic, just like the Newbie said. 

It was no wonder the Newbie left him, no wonder. He couldn’t handle anything. He was weak . He was weak, and cowardly, and pathetic. He was nothing worth saving. 

Get it together.  

The voice in his head was not his own, it was the voice of the Newbie. Instinctively, he recoiled, slamming his shoulder into the wall. 

That guy clearly thinks you’re worth saving, and right now you’re proving him wrong. 

Fuck. He was. He was being pathetic, he was showing the Newbie’s double just how pathetic he was, showing him just how much he deserved to stay on the elevator, he deserved to be left behind, he deserved- 

“Hey, uh, are you okay?” A voice said - the same voice as the Newbie’s, but different, softer, gentle, a voice filled with care. Care for… him. 

Before he could stop them, there were tears filling his eyes, dripping down his cheeks. He couldn’t talk, it was as if an invisible hand was tightening around his throat, he couldn’t make a noise, and he couldn’t breathe, and oh god, oh god , why was he like this…? 

“I’ll take that as a no, then…” the other Newbie said, “I, uh… Do you want to talk about it…?” 

“N–... I’m…  fine-...” His voice sounded strangled as it left his mouth, tears still trailing down his face. He tried to wipe the tears away. It didn’t work. 

The other Newbie’s face was an unreadable mask, as he reached out a hand as if to grab the man’s shoulder. 

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, he’d fucked up, he’d fucked up and now the other Newbie was going to kill him, oh fuck, he didn’t want do die, not again… 

He flinched away, slamming into the wall again, his shoulders pressing into the metal wall of the elevator. His breath was coming in short gasps, his head was spinning, and the metal dug into his skin a little bit, but he didn’t care, it didn’t matter, because he was about to die. 

The other Newbie took a step forward, his footsteps too loud in the small room, oh fuck he was probably angry, probably regretting trying to help. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just–... I–” His voice came out in choking sobs as he sunk to the floor, “Don’t– I’m sorry–’ 

“Don’t apologize…” the other Newbie said quietly, and though it was kind of hard to see his face, the man knew he’d be wearing an expression of anger, how could he not be angry? 

“I– I’m s-sorry–” He hated the way his voice shook as he spoke, hated the feeling of the hot tears streaming down his face, how the only thing he could say was ‘sorry’ on repeat like a broken record. 

“Hey, hey…” the other Newbie’s voice softened, almost sounding gentle. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

A hand pressed against his shoulder, and the man flinched, a sob escaping his lips, but the touch didn’t come with the usual pain he was used to. Not yet, at least. The touch was gentle, and kind, and he hated it, he hated it, he hated how he couldn't trust it. 

“Ah! Sorry, are you… not comfortable with that?” The hand was moved from his shoulder, as the other Newbie awkwardly cleared his throat. “I, uh, can try to help? Just… Talk to me. About anything. That usually… uh, that usually helps me when I have panic attacks.” 

This couldn’t be real, this could not be real, this wasn’t real , no real person would be so nice to him. But if this wasn’t real, what was the harm in talking to someone? In relishing the feeling of not dying for once? “I– c-can’t breathe–” 

“Yeah… That’s normal, I think. Try to breathe.” the other Newbie said softly, “Try to take deep breaths, if you can.” 

The man tried to obey, but his breath still caught in his throat, and he couldn’t, he couldn’t breathe, and the other Newbie was going to notice, and he was going to get mad, he would kill him, and- 

“It’s okay if you can’t. I think you’re having a really bad panic attack right now, so… Just do what you can, I guess.” the other Newbie’s voice was soft, never once rising in anger, what the hell kind of a trick was he trying to play, what was he trying to do? The man didn’t want to fall into a trap, he didn’t want to die again, he didn’t want to… 

A couple of moments passed in silence - well, except for the sounds of muffled crying - before the other Newbie said, “Oh! And, what can I call you? I’m–... Well, you can call me Glasses, that’s what Bryce calls me. Bryce is… He’s the other one who was in my elevator. If you didn’t know that.” 

Fuck. He still didn’t remember his name, he still couldn’t remember… Was his name Bryce, in that distant memory of life outside the elevator? He didn’t quite think it was, somehow. Which still left him without a name. 

“I– I don’t know.” He muttered, his shame and fear creeping through into his voice. “I can’t… I can’t remember… I’m sorry…” 

“That’s… Okay. But, I need something to call you.” The other Newbie - Glasses - said, then slightly quieter, “What about Clayton? I… I know that’s the name Bryce said, but that was a fake name, so… Well anyway, I think it kinda fits you.” 

A fake name. A fake name for a fake person. It fit. The man just nodded, making a noise that vaguely resembled a “Yes”, and trying and failing again to wipe the tears from his face. 

“Okay, then, Clayton.” Glasses placed his hand back on Clayton’s shoulder, the touch as gentle as it had been before. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, but not one he was used to. He tensed under the other man’s hand, his breath catching for just a moment, as a jolt of fear shot through him, but it was gone as soon as it had come. 

Glasses wasn’t like the Newbie. At least not for now, not yet. He was gentle, and quiet. 

Glasses moved his hand before Bryce could really finish his thought, letting out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot you don’t like tha-” 

“It’s fine, I– I don’t care.” Clayton managed to say, his voice sounding slightly less strangled, slightly more… sane. 

Glasses let out a short “Hm.” then put his hand back on Clayton’s shoulder. “You sound a bit better. Are you feeling any better?” 

“Maybe… Maybe a little bit.” Clayton wiped his eyes on his shirt, and more tears didn’t come. His breath was still ragged, it still felt like he was choking, but at least he wasn’t crying anymore. 

“Do you want to talk, or…? I’m sorry, I’m not the best at comforting people, so…” Glasses’s voice trailed off. 

“I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why–... Why any of this is happening, I–...” Clayton said shakily, then took a slow, deep breath, “I’m not usually like this, I swear! It’s just… I just don’t do well with sudden change, I wasn’t expecting things to happen, so I guess I panicked. I’m sorry you had to see that…” 

“No, it’s fine. I definitely would have panicked in your situation.” Glasses said calmly, an almost painful amount of sympathy in his voice. Sympathy Clayton knew he didn’t deserve, but who was he to complain?  

 

… 

 

Glasses looked at the man, at the double of Bryce… at Clayton , feeling something stirring in his chest as he glanced at the man’s tearstained face. 

Jesus Christ, what had this guy gone through? 

His hand was still resting gently on Clayton’s shoulder, and he could feel the man trembling. He had a sudden urge to pull him into a hug, but that would be awkward. 

“I… He doesn’t like it when I panic.” Clayton mumbled. The taller man had moved into a sitting position, hugging his knees close to his chest. 

“He?” Glasses asked, hoping that Clayton didn’t mean his double, the one who’d tried to kill Glasses and Bryce earlier. Though realistically, that was the only person it really could be. 

“Y– The other you.” Clayton seemed to tense at the mere mention of him. So, that wasn’t good. If the doubles were realistic copies of them, that meant Glasses had the potential to become… 

That wasn’t important. What was important was comforting the panicking man next to him. “What did he do?” Glasses asked, shifting so his arm was around both of Clayton’s shoulders. 

“He– I– He k-killed me…” Clayton’s voice got shaky again, something like anger or shame in his tone. 

Glasses felt his blood run cold. He… His other self had… “H-how many times?” 

“I don’t know, I… Just once, today, but… H-he…” Glasses tightened his grip around Clayton’s shoulders subconsciously as the taller man began to cry again, quiet sobs filling the elevator. “God, I’m… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be… Like this…” 

“Don’t apologize, it’s…” Glasses trailed off. He was going to say Okay , that it was okay, but it wasn’t. What this guy had gone through was anything but okay. So instead, he said, “I think that’s a normal, uh, justified response to what you went through.” 

Glasses could feel tears soaking through his white shirt - at some point, though Glasses couldn’t quite say when, Clayton had rested his head against Glasses’s shoulder. Clayton’s shoulders were shaking with sobs, but he was making very little noise. Glasses gently stroked his shoulder, trying to comfort the man. 

The man that he his double had hurt. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He whispered gently, trying to ignore the tears gathering in his own eyes. 

“No…” Clayton mumbled into Glasses’s shoulder, “I can’t…” 

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” Glasses said quickly, before Clayton could start apologizing again. 

He should be the one apologizing, it was his double – almost him – who had hurt this man so badly. If Clayton apologized again, Glasses was pretty sure he’d go insane. 

He’d already gone insane once, and when he’d done that, he’d snapped and killed Bryce. He’d hurt Bryce. He couldn’t hurt anyone else. 

He would not hurt anyone else. 

“Hey… Clayton.” He said, “I just want you to know, I’m… Sorry for whatever my double did. I…”  His voice trailed off. What the hell was he supposed to say? 

A couple of moments passed in silence, the only noise being Clayton’s shaky breaths, and the occasional sniffle, before the taller man finally spoke up. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re not him.” 

Glasses hummed quietly to show that he’d heard the man, but he didn’t say anything, sitting in silence as one thought floated to the front of his mind, and refused to go away. 

What if I am? 

 

… 

 

Comfort. That’s what Clayton felt. Even if in the back of his mind, he knew that it was misplaced, that as soon as he messed up, that comfort would be taken away, he relished the feeling. 

It felt really good to be cared about, if just for a few moments. 

His head was resting against Glasses’s shoulder, his face wet from tears that were finally starting to slow. And he wasn’t shaking as badly any more, he could breathe now. So he was taking deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth, his eyes closed as he savored the moment of… well, peace. 

“You doing better now?” Glasses murmured, barely audible. 

“Mhm… Yeah, I think so.” He really did feel better, a bit… lighter, somehow, though it was mixed with exhaustion and the ever-present fear in his chest. 

Glasses let out a small hum of acknowledgement, “Well, that’s good. I… I’m glad you’re doing a bit better, you were really panicking for a minute.” He shifted slightly, moving his arm from around Clayton’s shoulders. 

Part of Clayton wanted to protest, to tell Glasses not to let go, but he knew better than to say something stupid like that. He was lucky he’d even been given a second glance by the other man. 

Next to him, Glasses stood up, stretching and pacing around the elevator for a moment, before he paused, reaching out a hand to help Clayton up. 

Clayton hesitated for a moment, a jolt of fear shooting through him for a moment, but then he took Glasses’s hand. 

It wasn’t anything special, it wasn’t as though Glasses wouldn’t have done the same for any other person, but still Clayton felt like he’d been given a gift from Heaven with that small touch. 

He got to his feet, with Glasses’s help, and the shorter man let go. Why did he have to let go? Clayton wiped the remaining tears from his face, straightening his suit as best he could. He glanced down at his undone tie, wondering if he should fix this, but he decided it wasn’t really necessary. And besides, he wasn’t sure if he even remembered how to tie a tie, anyway. 

He leaned against the elevator wall, watching as Glasses paced around the small room, so similar to how the Newbie paced when he was anxious, but… different somehow. 

“Thank you.” Clayton said, and Glasses turned, giving him a confused look. “Uh, for helping me.” Clayton turned his gaze away, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Oh!” Glasses’s face turned a light shade of pink, which Clayton chose to ignore, seeing as he could feel his own face burning as well. “It’s no problem, I…” 

“It… Really helped, actually. I don’t usually get comforted, so…” He let his sentence trail off, his face flushing even more. What was he saying? He sounded really pathetic when he talked like that. 

Glasses just stared at him for a few moments, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, before suddenly wrapping Clayton in a hug. 

He would be lying if he said his first instinct wasn’t to immediately pull away, if he tried to claim he didn’t feel a jolt of terror through his entire body, that his mind hadn’t screamed at him to get away, to get out, that he hadn’t  thought was about to die, that he hadn’t immediately tensed up and let out a gasp of shock. 

He would also be lying if he said that he didn’t like the hug. 

God, it had been so long since he’d been hugged. Maybe that’s why it felt a bit awkward, a bit like he was doing something wrong, somehow, when he wrapped his arms around the shorter man, returning the hug. 

It was like heaven, almost, the feeling of being… well, cared about, for once. He hardly dared to breathe, afraid that if he did anything, it would ruin the moment, shatter the sudden peace that had fallen over the elevator. 

After a few seconds, Glasses looked up at Clayton, his eyes full of emotion, and his voice full of conviction as he said, “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? I promise.” 

And though Clayton knew there was no way, no way , that Glasses could keep that promise, he pretended for just a moment that it was possible. That he’d get out of the elevator. 

The thought left a glimmer of hope in his empty heart. Maybe he could get out of here, maybe… maybe… 

A loud, high pitched beeping noise interrupted his thoughts - the sound that happened any time the elevator reset, any time he died - and just like that, Clayton was hugging nothing but air. 

Glasses was gone. Disappeared. As if he’d never been there. Maybe he never had, maybe Clayton was just going crazy. 

Clayton let his arms drop to his sides, staring blankly at the spot where he’d just been. 

In the other corner of the elevator, the Newbie - it was definitely the Newbie, the look in his eyes was… well, scary - cursed under his breath. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, as if this couldn’t get any worse, of course the Newbie was back too… 

Clayton took a deep breath, before he could break down again, fighting back tears. 

Because he should have known this would happen. 

He should have known that whatever happiness he found here would never last.

Notes:

His name is meant to be Glasses, I swear, Autocorrect!!

Chapter 5: Step 5: Light Someone on Fire

Notes:

Time to see what happened in the other elevator…

This chapter shoulda been fun to write but nooo, the ADHD gods had to make me too excited about a scene in the sequel for me to enjoy writing anything else.

TW: Some references to trauma, graphic depictions of burns and death, possible suicidal ideation (depending on how you read it), mild dirty humor.

The Monster was already sick of Bryce, and he’d only been in the elevator with him for about three seconds. 

“So, uh, what do I call you?” His voice, his annoying as fuck voice, echoed through the elevator, and the Monster let out a growl of annoyance. 

“I don’t fucking care, just shut up.” He hissed back, studying the buttons of the elevator. Floor 2 had killed him before, he didn’t really want to go back to that one, the button for floor 9 wasn’t working… Eventually, he settled on floor 3. He pressed the button, waiting as the elevator descended slowly into who-knows-where. 

“Hey!” Bryce protested, “No need to be so rude!” 

The Monster flipped him off, not bothering to turn around as the elevator doors slid open revealing… nothing. 

Well, not nothing , but a darkness that the Monster couldn’t see through. A pitch-black room, or maybe a pit, for all he could tell. 

The elevator also began to feel slightly humid. Strange… 

“I need something to call you. If you don’t give me a name, I’m making one up.” Bryce asked, his voice carefree, like he’d never had a bad day in his life - he probably never had, the bastard probably had everything handed to him on a silver platter. The Monster glanced back at him to see him leaning against the elevator wall, a faint smirk on his face. 

God, it was tempting to slap that expression off his face… But the Monster had other things to deal with. He could torture the other guy later. “Call me whatever you want.” 

Bryce’s smirk widened, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. “Alright… Philbert , then.” 

The Monster choked on his own spit upon hearing that atrocious name, finally turning around. “What?” He spat, his mouth slightly agape. 

What the fuck kind of a name was ‘Philbert’?  

“That’s what I want to call you.” Bryce chuckled, glancing at his expensive watch, “Philbert. The name suits you.” He teased. 

Philbert The Monster glared at Bryce, heat rushing to his face. “That’s the most stupid thing I have ever heard.”  He said slowly, instinctively reaching for the scissors in his pocket, before he remembered that his double still had them. 

Bryce just chuckled, “Yeah, yeah, I know you love it. No need to thank me.” 

“What?!” Phil– THE MONSTER stalked over to where Bryce was standing, the door temporarily forgotten as he glared up at the man. Damn, he was really tall… He’d never really noticed with the double from his elevator, that man was always cowering on the ground, but Bryce was… 

Bryce was almost the exact opposite of his double, confident, arrogant, even, lighthearted and cocky, but something about it seemed fake, seemed forced, like an act, and… 

And he’d be so damn easy to break, people like him always were, people who hid behind a wall of fake smiles and forced confidence, all the Monster had to do to utterly destroy this man was to break through the mask. 

Bryce Stryker, this tall smirking man in front of him, might even be easier to crush than his double. 

And that made the Monster feel… Well, he didn’t know how he felt. But it was certainly something. Some feeling, somewhere between satisfaction and a strange sort of… disgust? 

“Ay, why are you looking at me like that?” Bryce said, that ever-present carefree laughter in his voice. 

“I was zoned out, not looking at you.” the Monster muttered, “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

Bryce let out a small scoff, leaning back against the elevator wall. His mouth twitched up into a smile, “Aw, Phil, are you too embarrassed to admit you find me attractive?” 

“Shut up!” Phil– the Monster hissed, feeling his face flush. Shit, he was probably bright red. 

He didn’t find Bryce attractive in the slightest - well… He couldn’t deny that Bryce was objectively handsome with his muscular build, easygoing smile, and perfectly-styled hair, but that was just a fact. Anybody with eyes could tell that Bryce was handsome, and it certainly didn’t mean he was attracted to the man 

But try telling him that. 

“Oh?” Bryce chuckled with a raised eyebrow, seeming completely unbothered, completely happy , carefree in a way that really pissed the Monster off. 

The little voice in his head really, really wanted to see Bryce suffer. If only he still had those damn scissors… 

But then he remembered the door. And the fact that he was escaping. Torturing Bryce could wait, for now… 

Oh, but he really wanted to slap that expression off his face. 

The Monster settled for kicking Bryce as hard as he could in the knee before stalking over to the still-open door, and once again squinting into the darkness. 

“Ow– What the fuck, man?!” Bryce squawked, but the Monster made a conscious effort to ignore him as he tried desperately to see what might be beyond the elevator doors, and whether it would kill him. 

As he leaned forward, his glasses fogged up, making it completely impossible to see. As if the darkness weren’t enough. 

Muttering under his breath, he retreated to the back of the elevator, wiping the lenses of his glasses on his suit jacket. 

“Stupid fucking… fucking elevator.” He spat, glaring at the opening. He then glanced at Bryce, who was rubbing his leg where the Monster had kicked him, looking mildly offended. 

“ …” Bryce glared up at him, but it wasn’t an angry glare like the Monster was expecting. It seemed almost joking. “Are your shoes plated with steel or something, Phil?” He asked, when he noticed the Monster staring. 

“Unfortunately, no.” Phil retorted, silently thinking to himself that he should have kicked Bryce in the balls instead. Or maybe the mouth, that would’ve shut him up. 

Bryce just let out another goddamn infuriating chuckle, because nothing mattered to him, apparently, because everything was fine, because even though the world was going to shit and Phil– THE MONSTER (There was no way he was going by a name that this bastard gave him, even if he did kind of like it!)  - was actively threatening him, even though something was clearly wrong, it didn’t matter to him. It didn’t matter to Bryce, he kept smiling through everything, somehow… somehow being happy . 

The Monster wished he could be happy. But happiness was an illusion, one that had shattered after his fourth time dying of starvation in that damn elevator. 

One that had shattered when his mother had told him at the ripe age of seven years old that he would go to hell if he disrespected her. 

No. No. He wasn’t thinking about that, not now. It didn’t matter, it didn’t fucking matter… 

But he couldn’t stop the thoughts from bursting to the surface of his mind. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he did not need this, not now, he wasn’t that weak, was he, to have a breakdown, he didn’t want to have a fucking breakdown, especially not in front of Bryce, not in front of… 

Why did he care about panicking in front of Bryce? 

“Hey, are you… Okay? You’ve got a really scary expression on your face.” Bryce’s voice rang through the elevator. 

And that was the last fucking straw. 

 

… 

 

Bryce watched as the shorter man snarled at him, shaking a little, looking flat-out murderous. 

Holy shit, this guy was a fucking psychopath. It was honestly kind of amusing. 

It was slightly less amusing in the next second, when a fist connected with his stomach. Though at least this time he’d been somewhat expecting it, unlike when Phil had kicked him earlier. 

Phil’s hand gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling his face close to the other man’s, and Bryce felt a rush of blood to his face, and to other parts of his body , at the sudden proximity. 

“Are we about to kiss?” Bryce asked, his automatic response to being grabbed by the collar and pulled close to someone’s face. 

Phil responded by letting out an annoyed growl and shoving Bryce backward, almost slamming his head into the back of the elevator. The taller man gasped as instead his shoulder hit the wall, rather painfully. 

“Hey, hey-!” He shouted, panicked, “It was a joke!” But Phil didn’t seem to be listening. 

“You annoying bastard!” Phil hissed, his grip tightening around Bryce’s collar, making the fabric of his shirt almost choke him. “You damn— Damn motherfucker, you have no right –” 

Phil’s face was red with anger, his eyes having that same scary faraway look that Glasses’s had right before he’d killed Bryce with the scissors. 

That probably wasn’t good. 

“Jesus Christ!” Bryce gasped as Phil tried once again to shove his head against the elevator wall, “I didn’t know you’d hate that so much, sorry!” 

“ Don’t you fucking dare act like that ! You have no right to be so— So—” Phil yelled, his eyes wild. Then, he let go of Bryce’s collar, taking a step back, a muscle in his jaw twitching. 

Bryce took a couple of gasping breaths, letting air fill his lungs again, “ – Jeez, man… That was a bit homophobi—” He started to joke, his voice was cut off suddenly as Phil lunged at him, wrapping both hands around his neck and squeezing. 

Phil did not look like a very strong person, he certainly didn’t seem like the type of person who could strangle someone with his bare hands but… Goddamn it, his grip was much stronger than Bryce had been expecting. And it hurt ! The feeling of hands squeezing around his neck hurt like hell!  

He stumbled back, his back hitting the elevator wall, his vision starting to go black – already? It seemed too early to be blacking out. 

There was a ringing in his ears, but through that, Bryce swore he heard Phil say something like, “Not so perfect now, huh, pretty boy?” 

Normally Bryce would have responded to that in a heartbeat, but he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t talk, he could barely see – was he really that pathetic? 

He clawed at the hands around his neck, trying desperately to relieve the pressure, but no no avail. 

Oh God, he was about to die. He was about to be strangled by this short little feral raccoon of a man. That was just… sad. 

But wait… Bryce felt a glimmer of an idea in the back of his mind, a fleeting thought, You’re a lot stronger than him.

He was a lot stronger than Phil. Probably. He could fight back, it wasn’t that hard– 

Forcing his body to move, he climbed to his feet - when had he ended up on the floor? - and somehow, without really thinking about it, slamming his arm into Phil’s face with all the force he could muster. 

Phil fell backwards, landing loudly on the floor of the elevator, a faint trickle of blood dripping from his nose. Bryce rubbed at his neck, wincing in pain slightly. 

Phil didn’t look so scary now. He looked… shocked. Scared, even. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape, and - Bryce shuddered slightly when he saw this - the blood from his nose was dripping into his mouth. Phil didn’t seem to care, though, so Bryce supposed he shouldn’t care either. 

“Y-you…” Phil said quietly, possibly to himself as his eyes looked a bit glazed over, as if mentally he weren’t in the same room. 

It was weird. Really weird. But weird stuff was the norm here, this was normal, this was fine . 

Except, the boss probably didn’t like that they were helping the doubles. 

But it was fine. It was fine. It was fine . 

Bryce, now feeling a little shaken since he’d almost been killed again, reached into his pocket, feeling around for his cigarettes and lighter. A good smoke would probably calm him down. 

Phil was still sprawled on the ground, but his expression was seeming to clear up, his dazed expression fading from his face. 

A couple of seconds passed in silence as Bryce fumbled with the pack of cigarettes, before Phil croaked out, “I wasn’t expecting you to fight back.” 

…What? Bryce’s head snapped up, and he fixed Phil with a confused glare. “Why wouldn’t I fight back when you were trying to kill me?” He rasped, his throat hurting as soon as the words left it. A side effect of being nearly strangled? They certainly didn’t talk about that in the medical dramas he watched. 

Phil didn’t answer, he just climbed to his feet, his eyes seeming to linger on Bryce for a bit too long. 

Bryce met his gaze, raising an eyebrow and smirking to show he noticed the short man’s staring. Phil snarled at him and turned away. 

As Bryce put the box of cigarettes back in his pocket, Phil returned to the door, staring into the darkness of floor 3 again. 

“So, do you think it’s safe-?” He began to ask, and Bryce paused in the act of lighting his cigarette. 

Bryce just shrugged, recalling how it had ended the last time he’d gone into that room. “Oh, absolutely not. Glasses - your double - already died in that one. But if you wanna go in there, I ain’t stopping you.” He lit his cigarette and took a long drag from it.  

Phil went completely still, before turning around, the light glinting off of his glasses as he glared back at Bryce. “And you didn’t think to tell me–” His statement was cut off suddenly, and he hesitated for a moment before asking, “How’d you light that cigarette?” 

Bryce chuckled, “With a lighter?” He explained. Honestly, it should be obvious! “What, did you think I used flint and steel or something?” 

“You have a fucking lighter ?” Phil hissed, but it was lacking his usual anger and grumpiness. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a lighter?” 

“You never asked.” Bryce said, a small cloud of smoke drifting from his mouth as he spoke, filling the elevator with the smell of cigarettes. 

“Dammit… You’re useless, you know that, pretty boy?” Phil muttered, before stalking over to Bryce, “Give it to me.” 

“Wha– No!” Bryce coughed, “Why would I do that ?” Then he processed the rest of what Phil had said, and felt a faint flush come to his cheeks as he asked with laughter in his voice, “Pretty boy, huh?” 

“Shut up. Give me your damn lighter, I want to see if I can use it to light up the floor out there.” 

Bryce just laughed and shook his head, “Buddy, no way in hell am I trusting you with fire-” But he was stopped mid-sentence as he felt a hand reach into his pocket. “Hey, hey, hey, what the hell?!” He quickly grabbed Phil’s wrist, stopping the little bastard from stealing from him. 

Phil glared at him, struggling against Bryce’s grip, as Bryce pried the lighter, his hundred-dollar lighter , from the man’s hand. 

“So, you want to go out there to light it up, then?” Phil asked, skepticism evident in his voice. 

“Not particularly!” Bryce responded, holding the lighter up and away from Phil’s reach. “Let’s just go to a different floor, alright?” 

“No. Give me your lighter, pretty boy, or I’ll just have to take it from your cold dead hands.” Phil growled, glaring up at Bryce in what he assumed was supposed to be an intimidating manner. 

It just made him resemble a feral raccoon even more. 

Bryce chuckled, holding the lighter over Phil’s head, “Get it if you can.” Phil was short enough - or rather, Bryce was tall enough - that there was no real way the short man could get to the lighter. 

Phil actually hissed at that statement, looking murderous - Bryce took a mental note to not let Phil’s hands anywhere near his neck - before he leaped up, trying to snatch the lighter from Bryce’s hand. 

It was pretty funny, and amusement must’ve shown on Bryce’s face, because the next thing he knew, Phil was lunging at him. This time, he was able to brace himself, and Phil was almost knocked to the ground again, only kept upright by grabbing onto Bryce’s suit jacket. The entire time, he was grabbing at the lighter. 

“You useless shit!” He shrieked, reaching up for the lighter that was just out of his reach, “Give me the fucking lighter! Unless you want me to fucking strangle you again?” 

Bryce flinched a bit at that statement, Phil was pretty close to him, and it wouldn’t be hard for him to strangle Bryce like he’d tried to do before. But Bryce could handle it, he now knew how to fight Phil off. So he just forced a laugh, saying, “Oh? I wouldn’t mind that, I don’t think. Your hands on me like that…” 

It wasn’t strictly true , what he’d said, (though it wasn’t completely untrue either) but Bryce was good at disarming his foes with well-placed words. 

It was a good strategy for winning an argument. Distract them. Make them uncomfortable. He’d used that in a couple of business meetings, to great results. 

But Phil, apparently, wasn’t like the businessmen that Bryce had weirded out before. Or maybe the statement he’d used was a bit… much, he’d never been quite that forward before. Because instead of backing away, Phil leaned closer, once again grabbing Bryce’s collar. He grinned slightly, though he did look slightly… off. “You don’t seem like the kinda guy who’d be into that sort of stuff.” He said, trying to pull Bryce down to his level, but this time Bryce didn’t let himself get pushed around. 

Was Phil trying to one-up him? Or… was he being serious?! Bryce couldn’t tell. But he sure as hell wasn’t gonna show any weakness. 

“People can surprise you, yeah?” He said, in the flirtiest voice he could manage, even throwing in a wink. 

He was so focused on this interaction, on talking to Phil, on figuring out if he was joking or serious, that he didn’t notice the cigarette fall from his mouth onto the carpeted elevator floor. 

 

… 

 

It was weird, flirting with Bryce. But sometimes the best way to break someone was to stoop to their level. To get into their head. 

And, Phil the Monster didn’t exactly hate the flirting. He didn’t like it, exactly, but he didn’t hate it. 

“I guess they can, huh pretty boy…” He muttered back, trying once again to pull Bryce down to eye level with him. Again, it didn’t work. 

The Monster cursed quietly under his breath, vaguely registering the feeling of something warm near his ankle. Like a campfire. And not only that, the elevator had gotten warmer. Hot and humid. Two things the Monster hated. 

Wait… the elevator wasn’t supposed to be that warm, was it? 

He glanced down at the floor to see… fire. Yellow-orange flames beginning to spread across the ground. 

“Shit…” He hissed, letting go of Bryce and stepping away from the flames.

“Wha– OH FUCK!” Bryce shrieked, also seemingly noticing the fire and scrambling away. He was a bit too late, however, and the flames leaped to his pant leg. “AGH! SHIT!” Bryce awkwardly kicked his leg as if trying to shake the flames off. It didn’t work, the fire continued to climb his leg. 

The Monster just stared, mesmerized by the flickering flames, and the smoke rising to the ceiling of the elevator, as Bryce’s screams of panic became screams of pain. 

“Phil– AUGH– a little help please?” He pleaded, but the Monster knew better than to get close to those flames. 

He knew better than to go around helping people. 

He was a monster, after all. He had a reputation to uphold.

Ignoring the burning in his chest - a mixture of smoke inhalation and emotions, probably - the Monster smirked. 

“You’re right, Bryce. You are pretty hot.” He mocked, pushing down the twinge of guilt. 

Bryce would come back. It would be alright. And besides, it wouldn’t exactly be fair to– 

A searing pain shot up his leg, and he looked down to see that the flames had spread, catching his clothes on fire as well. 

“Well, shit…” he hissed, panic rising in his chest like bile, as he breathed in the scent of… of his and Bryce’s burning flesh. 

It smelled like meat cooking over a fire. Almost like pork. 

The Monster gagged, actual bile rising up his throat, spilling from his mouth as he vomited into the flames. 

The fire did not go out. The only thing it accomplished was staining the front of the Monster’s white shirt. 

He retched again, dry heaving as he fell backward onto the elevator floor, hitting the edge of the door - the door that was still open! 

He could get through the door. He could get out of the flaming elevator… He began to drag himself towards the opening. 

Behind - or in front of? The Monster couldn’t tell - him, Bryce let out another agonized scream. 

Fuck. If he left, he’d be leaving Bryce behind. 

But Bryce was… Something. 

The Monster’s head hurt, his lungs ached, and he could barely see. But he could still hear Bryce shrieking in pain from somewhere in the elevator. 

He couldn’t just… leave him… right? 

He had to. 

Bryce would be fine. 

Bryce would come back. 

But somewhere in the locked-up pit of emotions in his heart, guilt managed to rise up. Could he really leave him to face a death this agonizing? Could he? 

He no longer felt the pain in his legs, it had moved up to his midriff. He glanced backward, and had to fight back vomit again. 

What had used to be his legs now resembled two bubbling white and red masses of… of meat, but it was all wrong, charred black spiderwebs covering them, bone visible through parts of it. 

Oh shit, oh shit, oh, shit, he was dying– He was… He was burning… he was melting , or… or whatever was happening. 

He looked back at the door, but it seemed so far away now, the exit, and the fire was creeping up his back and his shoulders, and oh fuck he wasn’t getting out of this, was he? 

Bryce’s screams had gone silent. But it was okay, because the silence was filled with his own shrieks. 

Or the Monster’s shrieks. 

Whatever his name was, it didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was… was… finding the lighter? 

No… Not that. 

All that mattered was getting out. 

“God… God help-... Dear… Father…” he croaked out, pleading for mercy inside his head, but he couldn’t get the words out, because there was smoke in his mouth. 

God please, give me strength, and if you can’t do that, just let it end. He thought, with all his might. 

And for once, God seemed to answer his prayer, as a faint beep rang in his ears, then the burning faded, and everything faded to black.

Notes:

300 hits?!?!

Chapter 6: Step 6: Admit you might have a problem

Notes:

After several weeks of staring at an empty page, pulling an all-nighter for the first time, four energy drinks, a small mental breakdown, and several counts of pop tart bribery, this chapter is finally done.

I kind of hate it.

TW: Breifly implied suicidal ideation (kind of), Antag being himself, trauma flashbacks, gender dysphoria, discussions of trauma, mild self-harm

 

The Newbie hadn’t done anything yet, he was just… pacing around, muttering quietly to himself. 

But that didn’t stop Clayton from being afraid. 

Glasses had disappeared, and the elevator doors were still closed, and… It hurt, it hurt more now that Clayton had let himself hope. 

At this point he was just numb. 

He didn’t even register when the doors slid open again. Well, at least at first. It sunk in when he heard the voice. 

“Clayton-?” 

That was the Newbie’s voice– No, it was Glasses’s voice. 

Oh God… Clayton turned his head, finally registering that the doors had opened, and he quickly stood. “Oh-... um, hi.” 

Hi? That’s all he said? After everything that had happened, after Glasses had helped him, after he’d seen him break and still come back , all he could say was ‘hi’? 

“Hey…” Glasses said, concern evident in his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, but Clayton’s double - Bryce - interrupted him. 

“Phil, nice to see you again!” he said, his enthusiastic voice on the brink of sarcasm. 

Clayton could only assume that Phil was The Newbie. He didn’t think the name quite fit the man. 

Apparently, the Newbie didn’t think the name fit him either, because he hissed, “That’s not my fucking name.” 

“Then what is?” Bryce asked, “C’mon, don’t tell me you forgot your own name-” 

“Shut up!” The Newbie spat, his voice dangerous, terrifyingly dangerous. 

Clayton instinctively flinched, taking in a sharp breath. 

It wasn’t at him, that tone, it wasn’t at him, he had to calm down, why was he so damn easy to break, so damn easy to push into panic, it was pathetic… 

Pathetic… 

No wonder they’d cast him aside like the trash he was, thrown him into the elevator instead of just killing him, he deserved it– 

Clayton stopped in his tracks, barely able to hear the sounds of Bryce and the Newbie arguing. 

Where the fuck had that thought come from? 

Wow… He really was losing it, wasn’t he…? 

 

… 

 

His other self - Phil? - was arguing loudly with Bryce, something about how Bryce wasn’t supposed to do something or say something, something to do with a cigarette lighter. It didn’t matter, really. To Glasses, it all sounded like a bunch of nonsense. 

What did matter, though, was how panicked Clayton looked, how he flinched every time Phil raised his voice. 

Glasses understood that feeling. He knew what it was like.  

“Clayton, are you okay?” He said, trying to keep his voice quiet while still making it able to be heard over Bryce’s yelling. 

The taller man looked up, his eyes just slightly off as if he were purposefully avoiding eye contact, and gave a halfhearted shrug. 

No, then. 

Well. Glasses probably shouldn’t have expected anything else, to be honest. But now he didn’t know what to do. 

Maybe he could try and get Phil to shut up. 

“Guys, guys ! Bryce!” Glasses hissed, and at the very least, Bryce stopped yelling. 

“Hm? Yeah?” He said, with a smirk. 

Phil on the other hand, kept ranting. “No, this conversation is not over, I got burned alive because of you–” 

“Oh, shut up , I also got burned alive, and you’re the one who made me drop my cigarette–” Bryce immediately protested. 

Well, so much for trying to get them to stop… He shot an apologetic look at Clayton, ignoring the pain he felt for the man, because God did he understand the fear, and the pain, and he wanted to help but there was nothing he could do . 

“I tried…” He muttered. “Seems like these guys want to argue. Sorry…” 

Clayton blinked, looking slightly… confused? “It’s… It’s fine. I’m fine. Just… Overwhelmed, a little bit.” He gestured vaguely towards where the other two were standing. 

Phil screamed something at Bryce, and Clayton winced, taking a step away from him. He was clearly not fine. 

But he definitely seemed to be doing better, at least. 

Bryce once again said something that seemed to really piss Phill off, and this time, the unhinged man fucking launched himself at Bryce, as if he was going to attack him. 

Clayton let out a small gasp and turned away, flinching as if Phil had lunged at him instead. Glasses froze, ready to pull the other two apart if he had to. 

Phil’s attack didn’t work, though. Mainly because Bryce was holding him back by putting his hand over Phil’s face. 

“Agh, fucking… Sweaty fucking hand…!” Phil struggled and cursed for a second, before he suddenly went quiet. 

A couple of seconds later, Bryce’s expression morphed into one of disgust, and he pulled his hand away as if Phil had burned him. 

“Did you just fucking lick me ?!” He whined, wiping his hand on his pants. 

Phil grinned like a shark, “You’re the one who put your hand over my face, you were asking for it.” 

There was no way that Phil was supposed to be Glasses. No way. That wasn’t him, it couldn’t be him… Right? 

Bryce was silent, staring down at Phil with his mouth slightly agape, nose wrinkled like he’d smelled something disgusting. 

But for once, he was quiet. So Glasses took the opportunity to speak, clearing his throat and trying to push the existential crisis thoughts out of his mind. 

“So, are we gonna get off this elevator, or not?” He asked, and Bryce turned to him. 

“Ohh, yeah! We should probably focus on that, instead of licking people .” With the last two words, he shot a glare at Phil. 

Phil just scowled and flipped Bryce off. 

“Anyway, um, it’s me and Clayton’s turn to be in this elevator, so…” Glasses said, giving Bryce a look. 

Bryce nodded, looking mildly uneasy as he stepped into the other elevator. 

“Hang on, who the fuck is Clayton?” Phil spat. 

Clayton visibly paled, his eyes widening slightly. The poor guy looked like he was about to pass out… 

“I-...” he cleared his throat, “That’s just what, uh… What he calls me.” He pointed to Glasses. 

“Yeah, his name’s Clayton.” Glasses confirmed, feeling a sudden defensiveness, a sudden need to protect Clayton from Phil. 

Phil didn’t seem to be very… threatening, at least not at that moment, however, he just half-glared at Clayton, seeming lost in thought. 

“It fits you.” Phil muttered, his expression softening. He almost looked calm, like he had when Glasses had first met him. It was unnerving. 

And wasn’t that the exact same thing Glasses had said about the name too?

He really was just like this guy, he was just like him, they were the same, they were the same damn person… 

“ Anyway , um, Clayton, you’re in this elevator so…” Glasses muttered, trying to push those thoughts to the back of his mind. 

He had to focus on getting people out of the elevator. That’s what he needed to think about. Not whether or not he really had the potential to end up like his double, angry and vengeful and violent (and hurt, and scared, he was already that, he was already part way there) 

“Oh–... Yeah. Right. Sorry!” Clayton said, rubbing the back of his neck. He stepped onto the elevator with Glasses, shooting Phil a wary look, as though he thought he was going to be punished or something. 

Phil let out an annoyed huff, but made no move to attack Clayton, or anything like that, which Glasses figured was probably a good thing. 

But he didn’t miss the way Clayton’s hands shook as he got onto the elevator. 

 

… 

 

If he had to be honest with himself, The Monster was still very shaken up by the death he’d just been through. Sure, he’d died before in the elevator, but never like that ! 

Maybe that’s why he felt so out of it, that and Bryce’s weird-ass behavior. His… flirting? Fake flirting? Whatever the fuck it was, Phil The Monster had no idea how to react to it. 

Was he supposed to flirt back? That just seemed to egg Bryce on even more… 

And what about the fact that Bryce had actually fought back? The Monster thought he’d be easy to break, but everything he’d seen so far had proven otherwise. 

He’d tried to kill Bryce, and within seconds, the man was flirting with him again as if nothing had happened. It was confusing as hell. 

“You know, I still can’t believe you licked me.” Bryce said suddenly, his deep voice echoing through the elevator. 

The sound of Bryce’s voice, the tone and pitch and the Bryce-ness to his voice grated on The Monster’s nerves, and he glared at the tall dumb blonde. “What, I thought you liked that kinda shit?” 

“No!” The disgust was painfully evident in Bryce’s voice, “Bro do you know how many germs there are in spit?” 

“...” It took a couple of seconds for The Monster to process what Bryce had said, he’d been prepared for the idiot to say some flirty thing. 

Honestly he was a bit disappointed that he hadn’t, The Monster had been preparing some interesting comebacks. 

Then, Bryce’s words sunk in, and The Monster let out a small laugh, “Wait, wait, you’re afraid of germs ?” 

“You’re not?!” Bryce gasped, as though he were actually shocked - and he might have been, based on the expression on his face. 

His handsome annoyingly pretty stupid face. 

Bryce continued talking, something about how dangerous germs were or some shit, saying a lot more words than he needed to get the point across. The Monster noticed he seemed to do that a lot, just… ramble. The bastard probably just loved the sound of his own voice. 

He had a good reason, though, his voice was deep and strangely soothing, if not a bit whiny. It was the kind of voice The Monster wished he had. 

But no. The universe, or God, or whatever created him had to stick him in his stupid feminine body. And on top of that, he had every important person in his life insist that because his body was built wrong, he was wrong, and… 

“Where did you hear that?” An accusation, her tone was harsh, cold, like the edge of a knife, “Who told you that?” her voice getting harsher, face twisting into a glare, an angry line between her eyebrows, and he was afraid, “You’ve been hanging around those kids again, haven’t you?” Oh no, oh God, she was going to take them away, she was going to take away the only people he could be himself around, the only people he felt safe around, she was gonna take them away from him- “God made you a woman for a reason. You are not, and will never be a man.” Her voice was final, harsh, as if she spoke from the authority of God Himself, as if He had told her directly that he was a girl, he was doomed to be a woman, doomed to that sort of life, and it hurt, it hurt to be called that, it made him want to sink into the floor and disappear, to sink down to Hell where he belonged– 

“Phil?” Bryce said, in that voice, that unfairly masculine voice, that he never had to work for, that God just gifted him. 

Phil The Monster let out a growl of annoyance, snapping “What?” 

“You good?” Bryce asked, his face full of fake concern. 

“What do you think, Bryce?” He instinctively reached for the scissors in his pocket, only to remember he still didn’t have them. “What do you fucking think?” 

“Eh, yeah, probably not then.” Bryce said with a shrug, then his brows furrowed, “And since when have you called me Bryce? I liked it when you called me Pretty Boy.” A half-smirk stretched across his face as he let out a low chuckle. 

The Monster felt annoyance and anger bubbling inside of him, as if he were a soda can that had been shaken just a bit too much, like he was about to explode with emotions, as he slowly hissed, “Okay then, Pretty Boy . You do realize that’s supposed to be an insult, right?” 

Bryce just laughed, but not in a mocking way, it sounded more… surprised. A shocked laugh. Not at all what The Monster had expected. 

He felt some of the tension leave his body. Not a lot, but some, as he waited for Bryce to speak. 

“Wait, so calling someone ‘pretty’ is an insult?” Bryce shook his head, “No way. No. Way. I don’t believe that.” 

“It is an insult.” Phil muttered, though he had to give Bryce some credit, it really didn’t make sense for “Pretty boy” to be an insulting term. Though Phil – The Monster – Whatever – would probably be offended if anyone called him “Pretty”...  

“Damn, if ‘Pretty boy’ is an insult to you, that’s just sad…” Bryce muttered, “Damn… No, like seriously, who hurt you?” 

Bryce let out a small chuckle after he said that, his face in it’s usual easygoing smile. 

He was joking. Of course he was joking. 

But before that fact registered in Phil’s mind, he’d already blurted out, “Well my mom threw a bible at my head when I was three because I accidentally took the lord’s name in vain, does that count?” 

The smile slid from Bryce’s face so quickly that it was like it had never been there, and before Phil knew it, Bryce was saying with far too much pity in his voice, “Oh, oh shit man, I’m sorry, I didn’t know–...!” 

Why did he say that? Why had he fucking said that?! Bryce didn’t need to know that shit! He was gonna use it, he was gonna use it against him… Or worse, he would pity him… 

Phil felt himself starting to hyperventilate a little bit. Shit… shitshitshitshit no… Not in front of Bryce, not in front of people, he couldn’t panic in front of people, then they’d see how weak he was, they’d know , and he’d be nothing, nothing but a stepping stone for them… 

He forced himself to breathe slowly, in and out, scratching at the sides of his neck, his fingernails raking across his skin, the pain grounding him just a little bit. 

“I, uh, do you, uhm… Do you wanna talk about it or something? I’m not really good with comforting people ‘n shit, but… I mean, I can shut up for a little while and listen, if, uh, if you, uh, need me to?” Bryce, for once, seemed unsure of what to say, as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly (Just like Clayton did when he was nervous) . His voice was a bit stronger when he repeated, “No, but I can listen. If you need to talk. Do you need to talk about it?” 

Did he? 

Fuck no. Fuck no , he didn’t need Bryce to know all of the shit, all of the things that filled his mind, that popped up randomly in his thoughts as if sent by God to torture him– 

But despite all of that, he found himself saying, “Maybe, yeah. Maybe I do.” 

Notes:

lmaooo reading through this again what the fuck even is this chapter

Chapter 7: Step 7: Choose the Right

Notes:

a/n: I drank too many energy drinks while writing chapter 6, I thought I was having a heart attack. Turns out I just damaged my ribs a little but I’m fine. Anyway enjoy the chapter. More Clayton torture.

Choose the right, when two corpses hang before you, choose the right, don’t choose the left, you’ll die… (any exmos here that get the reference?)

 

TW: Panic attacks, blood and gore, drugging, kidnapping, implied threat of sexual violence (It doesn't happen but it's accidentally implied)

“I already checked most of the floors, I think…” Glasses muttered, mostly to himself, “It might be good to check them again, though. I… What floor do you want to try?” He turned to Clayton. 

Clayton looked really surprised that Glasses was talking to him, and he took a second to respond, “Uh, I don’t really care, honestly. Whatever you want.” 

“Hm… Okay. The button for floor 9 doesn’t work, and…” Glasses continued contemplating which floor to go to, then he turned back to Clayton, “Um, you said you don’t care, did you mean that? Like, are you saying that you don’t care because you actually don’t care, or are you just… I mean, I guess what I’m trying to say is, are you sure you don’t have a preference?” 

“Hm? No, I, uh… I don’t care. I…” Clayton rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the ground, “I’d prefer not to go to floor 2. Uhm… That’s the floor we went to when… You know. Uhm… But… It, ah, wasn’t good. I… Yeah.” 

So they’d gone to floor 2 after they’d tried to take their places. And presumably died, judging by Clayton’s expression. 

So that’s why Glasses and Bryce had reappeared in their original elevator. He’d kind of suspected as much…  

“Yeah, no, we don’t have to go to floor 2.” Glasses reassured. “Are you okay with floor 7?” 

Clayton nodded, still not making eye contact. “Yeah, that’s fine…” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he just cleared his throat and continued looking at the ground. 

Glasses watched him for a second, waiting to see if he was going to say whatever it was he clearly wanted to say, but it didn’t seem like he was going to. Glasses considered asking him what it was, but… No, he wasn’t going to push Clayton to say something if he wasn’t comfortable with it. 

He pressed the button for floor 7, muttering, “I honestly have no idea what’s on that floor, I forgot…” 

Clayton looked up briefly, but still didn’t say anything as the elevator began to move down, the faint sound of grinding gears filling the silence. 

Since they were only going down one floor, it wasn’t very long before the elevator came to a stop, and the doors slid open, the stench of rot and blood wafting in, making Glasses’s stomach churn unpleasantly.  

Oh, yeah. That was what was on floor 7. The carcasses. 

Behind him, Clayton shrunk back slightly, and Glasses heard his breath shaking slightly. 

“Ugh…” Clayton’s shaky voice echoed through the elevator, and Glasses  turned around. 

“Are you–?” 

“I’m fine.” Clayton said from behind him, his voice sounding… slightly strained. “I just don’t like the smell…” 

Glasses let out a small chuckle at that, “Yeah, that’s understandable. You want to try a different floor or…?” 

“No, no, I’m–... I’m fine, you don’t have to ask me… y’know… about that stuff.” Clayton said, his voice getting softer and more unsure. A couple of seconds passed, before he muttered, “Don’t… I don’t want to hold you back, or anything…” 

Glasses turned around, not missing the way Clayton flinched when their eyes met. 

Shit. 

“If you’re not comfortable with something, I’m not gonna force you…” Glasses said, “Well, unless it’s absolutely necessary for some reason. But right now it’s not.” 

“Hm…” Clayton didn’t really respond to that, he just stared down at the ground. After a few moments of awkward silence, he spoke so quietly that Glasses almost couldn’t hear him. “I’m okay here. I’m fine.” 

And as much as Glasses doubted that, he wasn’t going to push it any further. So he just turned back to face the room, looking at the blood-covered walls, and the two carcasses hanging in the center of them. 

Two carcasses with cutting lines on them. 

Oh. Oh shit . He was going to have to cut open the carcass. 

Gross. 

Well, the sooner he did it, the sooner it was over with, right…? He let out a frustrated sigh, reaching for the scissors in his pocket. He was willing to do what he had to do to get everyone out… 

 

… 

 

Clayton watched as Glasses reached into his pocket, feeling a familiar feeling of dread in his stomach. He was going for the scissors. He was going for the scissors, he was going to kill Clayton, he was– 

No, that was ridiculous. There was no way Glasses would hurt him, right? He hadn’t done anything wrong yet, right ? It was fine, it was fine, it was fine it was fine it was fine – 

Something silver flashed in the dim fluorescent lights of the elevator, and– 

No, shit, no… Fuck… 

It was the scissors. It was– 

He probably wasn’t going to hurt Clayton– 

Fuck, he was going to kill Clayton

What else would he use the scissors for? What else would he need them for? And he had sounded frustrated earlier. He’d sounded angry . Clayton had fucked up, he’d fucked up and oh God, oh God he was going to die again, right when he thought he could trust someone– 

“Clayton?”  

What had he even done, what had he done to deserve this, he’d been trying Goddamn it! He’d been trying, and he still hadn’t– He still hadn’t… 

“Are you-”  

He’d still fucked up, even when trying his best, it was no wonder Glasses wanted him dead, it was no wonder The Newbie wanted him dead, if he couldn’t even do well when he was trying what hope did he even have? He deserved this. He deserved it, he deserved it… 

“Please– Don’t– I’m sorry, I’m sorry, imsorry–”  

Footsteps getting closer, the Newbie was getting closer with the scissors, the damn scissors. 

No, it wasn’t the Newbie it was Glasses. It was Glasses. Glasses was safe. 

But he wasn’t, not when he was holding the scissors like that, not with that look in his eyes, he wasn’t safe, nobody was safe, nobody was safe as long as Clayton was the way he was, as long as he was this fucked up as long as he kept messing up. 

A faint pain shot up his arm, and up his shoulder, and Clayton was staring up at the ceiling, his arm twisted painfully under him, his back pressing against the wall, had he fucking collapsed? 

He was shaking. He could feel it. Shaking like a scared child. And he was crying again, goddamn it, his face was already soaked in his own tears as he whimpered and whined like a pathetic dog. 

He knew he deserved this, he did, he deserved the pain, deserved whatever Glasses was about to do– He fucking deserved it. 

More footsteps. 

His vision swam, going blurry, fuzzy, like tv static. 

He couldn’t move. 

Couldn’t breathe. 

Someone was there. Someone was standing over him. 

It was almost time. 

He was almost relieved. The sooner it happened, the sooner he died, the sooner it was just… done. 

But he wasn’t relieved, his body felt like it was being torn from the inside out by an electric terrifying fear, like something inside him was squeezing his throat, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t– 

There was a voice now. Someone talking. Words. 

He couldn’t fucking understand. 

It didn’t matter. 

He’d thought Glasses was safe , he’d thought he could be vulnerable around him, he’d thought this would never happen. 

Goddamn he was a fucking idiot. 

Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot… In its panicked state, his mind latched onto the word, running it through his head over and over like a broken record. 

He was an idiot. A dumbass. A fucked up shell of a man. 

He wasn’t even real, he wasn’t even a person at this point. Just a being, going through the motions, mimicking humanity. 

He wasn’t something worth saving, that was for damn sure. He really couldn’t blame them for wanting to kill him. 

For wanting to kill whatever it was that he had become. 

But he’d thought he was safe, he’d fucking thought he was safe that he could be okay for once and somewhere in his chest - his chest, because he didn’t have a heart, he wasn’t real, he wasn’t human - he felt a sense of betrayal. Of cold disappointment. 

How could he have been so goddam stupid? 

“I’m not gonna– Do you think I’m gonna stab you?” 

Words again. 

This time they made sense. They actually formed… something more than noise in Clayton’s fucked up head. 

Clayton wanted to say something like, “Yeah. Are you not? Is this some kind of joke? If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with. I know I deserve to die, but I don’t want to be mocked while you kill me.” , but all that came out of his mouth was a strangled, “hh–god–sorry–”  

 

… 

 

Somewhere far away - but not too far - from the building with the elevator, where Clayton was panicking, there was a bar. 

It was kind of weird, a little fancier than Manon was used to. But hey, that was where Vincent wanted to meet, and that was fine by her. She did hope he didn’t expect her to buy drinks. 

Making her way through the crowd, she found an empty area where nobody was sitting, and sat in one of the chairs, waiting for Vincent to show up. 

He was almost always late. Or maybe Manon was almost always early. Either way, she was always at the meeting places before Vincent. 

Back when she’d thought they were dating, it had really annoyed her. It had reminded her too much of how Rody used to show up “fashionably late” to every single date. But when they were just hanging out as friends? It wasn’t a big deal. 

She did wish he’d hurry up, though. She was beginning to get bored. 

“Excuse me, miss?” A deep, even voice came from behind her. 

Oh. 

Oh . They were probably talking to her. 

“Oh, hi.”  She said, turning to face the stranger. 

He was tall, with black hair and a calm smile that made her heart almost skip a beat, dressed in an overly nice suit that seemed to accentuate his hourglass figure. There was something a bit… off… about his appearance. It was probably just the weird lighting, but the man looked like he had stepped straight from the screen of an old black-and-white film. Like the lighting had just sucked all the color out of him. 

“I just noticed you from across the bar, and wondered if I could buy you a drink?” He said politely, his eyes sparkling, and his soft smile widening slightly. 

“Ah. Well, I’m actually waiting for someone, but it looks like he’s gonna be late, so… Sure, I guess.” She said with a smile. 

The man gestured to the bartender, ordering some weird fruity drink that Manon had never heard of, before turning back to her. 

“So, tell me about yourself!” He said, sitting at the seat next to her. 

Manon looked at the man, “You first. What’s your name?” 

“You can call me Norman. How about you?” He responded instantly, sounding a little too rehearsed. 

Hm… Well, Manon didn’t want to write him off too quickly. Maybe he was just getting used to a new name, or something. She knew she’d been awkward as hell for a while once she’d started going by ‘Manon’. 

But she still watched the bartender a little closer as he made her drink. 

“I’m Marianne. Or Manon. It’s nice to meet you, Norman.” Manon said, a bit distracted by the bartender setting a neon-fucking-blue drink down in front of her. 

“Likewise. Are you from around here, Manon?” The man smiled, a nice smile. 

Manon glanced back at the door. Damn. Vincent still hadn’t shown up yet… It was almost as if he didn’t want advice on how to get a boyfriend. 

“Uh, well, I’m originally from France, but I’ve lived here a while.” She responded, taking a small sip of her drink. 

It was surprisingly good, considering she usually preferred straight up beer. The taste was nice and balanced, sweet and sour with a little bit of a bitter aftertaste. She took another sip. 

“Ah. I thought so! The accent gives it away.” The man replied cheerfully - with that same scripted feeling Manon had noticed earlier - his eyes squinting slightly with his smile. “When did you move here, Manon?” 

“Around five years ago.” Manon replied distractedly, as she took another sip of her drink. It was really, really good. And… Ah, fuck it… with only a brief hesitation, she drank the whole thing. Enough of that ‘sipping politely.’ 

The bitter aftertaste was a lot stronger. 

“Fascinating!” The man leaned forward in his chair, “Are you enjoying it here so far, Manon?” 

Manon blinked. “Uh… Yeah, I guess.” 

Something was wrong. Something felt… off. And Vincent still hadn’t shown up. 

“Wonderful! We wouldn’t want you to be unhappy here, Manon…” 

Something was definitely wrong. Something about that sentence… It was just off-putting somehow. 

A small wave of nausea rolled through Manon’s stomach. 

If Vincent didn’t show up in the next five minutes, Manon was going to leave. 

“Ah, I’m so sorry, am I making you uncomfortable, Manon?” Norman’s eyes were trained directly on Manon, and she noticed that he hadn’t even touched his own drink. As he spoke, a sharp pain shot through her head. A migraine? Damn, this was inconvenient timing.

She went to reply, but her tongue felt heavy and awkward in her mouth as she said, “Ah– little bit–...”  

What the fuck? That wasn’t— that wasn’t normal was it? 

And then it hit her. 

This bastard had drugged her drink. 

But… But she’d watched the bartender. She hadn’t turned away for more than a couple of seconds! And… and this was nothing like how Rody had described being drugged as… 

Her vision started to go dark. Oh… oh shit… She tried to stand, but her body wouldn’t cooperate, she was… 

She was… 

What was she? 

“Is she alright?” A gruff voice asked from somewhere near Manon. 

“It certainly doesn’t seem like it.” Norman’s voice replied, a little too loud, and as she tried to stand again, she felt his arm wrap around her waist to support her. 

No, no, no this couldn’t be fucking happening, nononono– 

“I’m going to take you home, alright?” Norman said into her ear. 

NonononoNONONO FUCK NO– 

“I promise I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you.” 

He was carrying her now, his arms wrapped tightly around her, and she could feel his cold breath against her cheek. 

FUCK NO FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK SHE HAD TO GET OUT SHE HAD TO– 

“Mhh– Let me– go–...”  She managed to whimper, but Norman didn’t. 

Instead, he brushed a strand of hair out of her face, saying softly, “It’s okay. Shh. It’s okay.” 

And as she looked up at the rapidly fading sky above her, she realized she wasn’t in the bar anymore.

Notes:

Manon has appeared.

I promise she's okay! He's just kidnapping her that's it.

Chapter 8: Chapter 8 - Step 8: Awkwardly comfort someone by messing with their hair in some way

Notes:

Apparently I just really wanted to write some awkward comfort that had to do with running your hands through someone’s hair or brushing someone’s hair out of their face.

Tw: kidnapping, general creepiness, dirty humor, mild discussion of sex

The girl was still asleep. Manon. Still lying peacefully in her cell room. 

Manon. The French girl from the bar. The one who’d caught his eye months ago, that he’d known, the second he’d caught a glimpse of her through Rody Lamoree’s eyes, was the girl he needed . 

She was the perfect vessel. The perfect body to house his daughter’s soul. She had the same build, the same hair color, the only truly notable difference was the accent, and that could easily be changed. 

She was the one who was going to bring Lucien back. After he acquired Lucien’s soul, all that was left to do was wait. 

And Normandus could wait. Even if it would be hard. Even if he just wanted Lucien back right now , he could wait. 

Just six more months. 

Stepping closer to the girl, Normandus stroked her hair out of her face again, just like he’d done with Lucien, almost letting himself smile. He was so close. So close to having her back. 

“I’m sorry, Manon. I’m sure you were a perfectly lovely person.” He said softly, “But in the long run, this will be better. Sometimes sacrifices must be made.” 

 

… 

 

Bryce had never been good at dealing with people and their emotions, so he had absolutely no idea what to do when Phil started to cry. 

Yeah, he could see that the dishevelled-looking man had plenty of reason to cry. That didn’t make it any easier to deal with, though. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just… Remembering shit. Y’know.” Phil said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “Fuck. I wasn’t tryn’ to get emotional…” 

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t care if you cry.” Bryce said, feeling extremely awkward. 

What the actual fuck was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to respond? He’d never dealt with shit like this before, hell he barely even dealt with his own emotions! 

Phil sniffed, then muttered, “Glad to know I have your fucking permission.” 

Bryce had said the wrong thing. Great. 

“I wasn’t– That wasn’t what I was trying to say!” Bryce cringed. God, he sounded like an asshole. 

Phil didn’t respond. He just shot Bryce a deadly glare. 

“I didn’t mean it like that! Jeez!” Bryce said, a little too defensively. Then, he sighed. “Sorry.” 

Phil looked outright shocked at the apology, then grinned - in an outright evil way - wiping the remnants of tears from his face. “I didn’t think you’d know that word, good job!” 

“What?” Bryce felt his face grow hot, “Yeah, I know how to apologize. I don’t do it often but…” 

“Well I for one am flattered you chose to use a precious apology on me.” Phil said in a teasing voice. 

That was… strange. Bryce was used to the angry, obnoxious Phil. Not this version of him. The one who cried, and was vulnerable, and had a sense of humor ! 

Part of him kinda missed pissing off the dark-haired man by flirting. But a bigger part of him was flattered that Phil was comfortable enough to be vulnerable around him. 

Most people didn’t trust him. Not that he blamed them. So it was nice, for a change, to have someone show the tiniest bit of faith in him. 

Even if it was confusing, and he was fucking it all up, and he was only being trusted because he was the only one there, it still felt nice. 

Bryce grinned, “You should be.” He then reached over and lightly ruffled Phil’s hair. 

Phil snorted, batting Bryce’s hand away. “What the fuck?” 

Bryce laughed with him, quietly, but it still filled the elevator. 

It was a nice little moment, and Bryce hoped it would never end. 

His hopes were immediately crushed. 

 

… 

 

Phil was surprised to find himself laughing for the first time in god-knew-how-long. 

Because of some blonde-haired nepo baby who all logic said he should probably have hated. 

It made him feel… real, again. For just a couple of seconds. Like he was actually someone. 

But then reality came crashing in on him, and the laughter died in his throat. 

This was wrong. 

Phil had killed a man. Several times. He’d enjoyed it. 

He was a monster. 

He didn’t deserve this. 

Phil was a monster, and Bryce was just another person he was supposed to break ! Not a person he was supposed to break in front of! 

God damn it! Bryce had been too damn… Too damn Bryce ! Phil had almost felt safe with him! 

But Bryce was not his friend. He couldn’t be his friend. 

Monsters didn’t fucking have friends. Just victims. 

And Phil was a monster. 

 

… 

 

Phil wasn’t laughing anymore. He was just kind of… Sitting there. Staring at nothing. 

It was a bit scary. 

Bryce leaned over, and waved a hand in front of Phil’s face, hoping to snap him out of whatever trance he was in. “Hello? You good?” 

Phil snarled, and backed away like an angry cornered raccoon. God, that man was exactly like an angry raccoon sometimes, it was almost uncanny. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re trying to do?” He hissed. 

Bryce blinked, dumbfounded. 

“Do you think you can just fucking win me over like that?” Phil’s voice raised slightly. 

Oh. So he was back to being angry, then. 

Bryce tried to ignore the sinking disappointment in his chest. 

Phil stood, reaching in his pockets, then cursed slightly, “Damn idiot still has my scissors. You’re lucky, or I woulda killed you with them!”

Bryce blinked again, head still spinning from the abrupt change. “What the hell’s going on with you? What’d I even do?” 

Phil growled - actually growled - before snapping, “Stop trying to be my friend! Stop trying to be nice to me!”  

“What…?” Bryce muttered, standing up as well. 

“I’m a fucking monster , Bryce!” Phil spat. 

Bryce still wasn’t quite sure what was going on, and his mouth ran faster than his brain. “What, like in bed?” 

Phil froze, slowly turning to Bryce, his jaw slack, and… unless Bryce was hallucinating, a dark flush across his cheeks. 

A couple of moments of silence passed before Phil spoke. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” 

“I don’t know!” Bryce responded without thinking again, “I just said that!” 

Phil continued to stare in shocked silence. “I… What the fuck. What the actual fuck.” 

“What, I’ve been flirting with you this entire time! Why are you so shocked by this?” Bryce weakly tried to defend himself. 

It wouldn’t work, though. It was the stupidest excuse he’d ever come up with. 

“What– We were talking about something completely unrelated and you brought up sex ?! Is this how you have all your conversations?!” 

“With hot people, yeah!” Bryce blurted. 

Fuck. 

He had not meant to say that out loud. 

Though, he’d already dug himself into a pretty deep hole. He supposed that one little line wouldn’t hurt him too much. 

Phil was definitely blushing now. “Hot people…?” 

“Yeah…” Bryce muttered, feeling his own cheeks flush with heat. 

Well. If he was in this situation, he was gonna find his way out of it the only way he knew how… With more flirting. 

“It’s not my fault you’re like a fucking succubus or something.” He said, pasting his trademark cocky grin onto his face. Or at least trying to. 

“Wha– Succubus ?!” Phil sputtered. 

“You heard me.” 

Phil was almost beet red at this point. “No, no there are so many things wrong with that, for one, I’m a guy so I’d be an Incubus , you dumbass–” 

“Not necessarily.” Bryce interrupted. 

Phil froze again. But he didn’t speak, so Bryce continued to talk. 

“If you look at the latin root words…” He explained, “Incubus, or the root word Incubare, means ‘one who lies upon’, and Succubare - Succubus - means ‘one who lies beneath’.” 

Phil just stared at him again. “How the hell do you just know that off the top of your head…?” 

“Best if you don’t ask.” Bryce replied.

Notes:

I don't even know what this was.

We'll get back to angst soon dw.

Chapter 9

Notes:

a/n:  I have a discord server for this fic now its not very good tho https://discord.com/channels/1386739912069611575/1386739912908476500

 

TW: Implied self harm and self harm urges, Panic attacks, dissociation, negative self-talk, generally sad tone idk

Clayton hadn't died yet.

Even though the Newbie Glasses had pulled out the scissors. That almost always meant death. But nothing had happened. No cold metal had been stabbed through his neck, nobody had screamed at him, hell Glasses seemed to be trying to comfort him-

What the hell was going on? This wasn't right. It wasn't right, and as much as Clayton didn't want to die, he preferred it to this half-aware state of panic and confusion he was currently stuck in.

He could kind of tell now that Glasses was not going to stab him, but every muscle in his body was tensed up, preparing for the worst. He knew Glasses wasn't like the Newbie, but that little part of his brain couldn't quite seem to understand that.

God, why was he like this. How had he fallen so far?

His face was stained with his own tears, his breath coming in short gasps as his lungs seemed unable to perform their usual function of letting him fucking breathe. His knees were pulled close to his chest, hands shaking as he gripped the fabric of his suit jacket sleeves.

He was fine. He wasn't in danger, or any more danger than normal, he wasn't going to die, Glasses wasn't going to kill him.

So why was he still panicking?!

He was pathetic.

Barely human.

If he'd even been human to begin with.

He didn't need to give Glasses another reason to leave him, another reason to kill him, another reason to treat him like the garbage he was.

Because he was garbage, a pathetic man who couldn't stand up for himself, who let himself be pushed around.

The last time he'd died, the Newbie had been screaming at him to get up, and to fight back, and he hadn't. He couldn't. If he couldn't fight back when his abuser was screaming at him to do so, couldn't even fight back even if it would stop the pain, what did that make him?

Pathetic.

Absolutely fucking pathetic.

 

…

 

Clayton had stopped crying, but to be honest, that made Glasses a bit more worried. The man was just… sitting in the corner of the elevator, hiz gaze completely blank and empty.

Staring at nothing.

It was fucking terrifying.

"Hey." His voice filled the silence, the single word bouncing around the cramped space of the elevator.

Clayton looked up, his eyes still empty of emotion, the skin around them red and puffy from crying.

"Uhm… Are-… Are you okay?" Glasses asked, then realized just how stupid he sounded, "Like. Uh, you're kind of scaring me right now, and obviously you're not okay, I just… Please just say something."

There was silence for a few seconds, before Clayton mumbled, "I don't know what to say…"

"Okay… Uhm… I-I'm sorry for scaring you." Glasses said, walking over to Clayton, "I didn't realize the scissors would be such a big trigger for you. I should've guessed, though… I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Clayton's voice sounded empty.

Glasses continued talking, "The reason I got the scissors out was because-"

"No, I know why. I'm just being irrational." Clayton interrupted, "It has something to do with the cutting lines on the carcasses. I just…" He sighed, voice still void of most emotion, "I'm sorry I'm like this."

The tone of his voice was terrifying, because Glasses knew that tone. He'd used that emotionless voice before, right before he'd…

He didn't want to think about it.

"Would it make you more comfortable if we went to a different floor, or… Would you be more comfortable if I wasn't the one holding the scissors…?"

Clayton blinked, "I'm fine."

"That's not… That's not what I was asking though."

Clayton sighed, his breath shaking slightly, "I think I'd be more comfortable holding the scissors."

 

…

 

He wanted to do something. To be helpful. To serve some bigger purpose than sitting in the corner crying.

Maybe that's why he lied and said he wanted the scissors. In truth, he wanted them nowhere near him.

But his need to be useful had at least temporarily outweighed the discomfort and fear.

And besides, if he had the scissors, nobody could hurt him with them.

Except for him, of course.

But he wouldn't do that. Probably.

Glasses picked the scissors up from the floor - when had he put them on the floor? Clayton must have been distracted when he'd done that - And, holding them by the sharp part, handed them to Clayton.

It didn't really feel real, nothing did.

It was the strangest sensation, like he was in a dream.

God he better not be dreaming.

He took the scissors, holding them in his hand for a couple of seconds, just… staring at them.

The weapon that had been used to take his life so many times.

In his hand.

It was… strange.

Not good, but… not bad.

Or whatever. Clayton wasn't quite sure what he was feeling, actually.

A faint hiss of pain snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see Glasses looking down at his hand (the one he'd been holding the scissors in) with an expression of pain on his face.

A couple seconds later is when Clayton saw the blood.

What had he done…?

 

…

 

The blood was filling up Glasses's palm, dripping through his fingers onto the elevator floor.

Damn… The scissors had been sharper than he'd expected.

His hand throbbed as more blood spilled out from between his fingers. He just stared at it, a little surprised but mostly calm. He'd dealt with shit like this before. It was fine.

"Oh-… Oh God, I'm so sorry!" Clayton's voice broke through his thoughts, "Are you okay?"

Glasses looked up to see Clayton staring at him with wide, panicked eyes.

"I-I didn't mean to-… I'm so sorry!" The man's eyes were filling up with tears again. At least it was better than the emotionless tone.

Glasses wiped the blood off on his pants, "It's fine. It's just a scratch, I'll be fine."

It was more than 'just a scratch', but Clayton didn't need to know that. God damn, how sharp were the scissors?!

"Are you sure? I-…"

"I'm sure." Glasses assured the man, then added with a small smile "But thanks for the concern."

It really was nice to have someone care about him, even just a little.

"Can I see?" Clayton asked, so quietly Glasses almost didn't hear him.

He blinked, slightly startled, but held out his hand. Clayton grabbed it gently and ran his thumb over the cut.

Glasses took in a sharp breath as pain shot through his hand.

"That's-… Oh, shit," Clayton muttered, "Oh God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to cut you, I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine, I promise." Glasses said, feeling himself blush.

When had been the last time soneone had cared about him? The last time someone had tried to help him?

It had been… a really long time.

"Thank you…" Glasses muttered, not meeting Clayton's gaze.

 

…

 

Glasses was bleeding, and Clayton wasn't quite sure what to do, but he knew he needed to stop the bleeding somehow.

"Uhm… Hang on. I-…" He looked around for anything he could use to stop or slow the bleeding, even though it probably wasn't that bad, he still wanted to help.

For a couple of seconds he couldn't find anything to use as a makeshift bandage, but then he remembered he had a tie. A tie he never really wore anyway. That should work.

He pulled his tie off, wrapping it around Glasses's hand, hoping it worked well enough to soak up the blood. He wished he had real bandages, but this would have to do for now.

He vaguely heard Glasses thanking him in a somewhat confused tone, but he was too… nervous? to really register it.

He held the scissors in his hand - god, it felt so wrong, to be holding the weapon that had been turned against him so many times, but he couldn't dwell on that now, or he'd spiral again and he really didn't need to spiral again in front of Glasses.

Even if Glasses was kind to him now, everyone would leave eventually if he kept fucking up. That was just how life was.

People only stay for you if they can pretend you're perfect.

The floor and walls of the room were completely covered in blood, and Clayton almost wanted to turn around and get the hell out of there but he couldn't, he had to be useful, he had to do this one thing just to prove to Glasses that he wasn't as pathetic as he seemed.

He walked towards one of the carcasses, almost in a trance, almost feeling like he was marching to his own death, but mostly feeling nothing.

Or, not nothing, but no emotion he could put into words.

Moving like a robot, he started to cut open the carcass, following the cutting lines. The smell was terrible, the organs inside were rotted and spilling from the incision, and oh God Clayton could not do this.

The scissors shouldn't be in his hand, he shouldn't be cutting open random carcasses and-

He turned back to Glasses, feeling a mix of shame and the panic from earlier seeping back in.

Almost as soon as he locked eyes with the shorter man, one of the hooks from the ceiling came down, slicing straight through his neck.

 

Notes:

Sorry for the late update, and for the absolutely shitty quality of this chapter, I only ever worked on it past 11 at night :)

ALSO if the formatting changed, it's because I moved off of Google Docs and that fucked with my formatting a little.

Chapter 10: update

hey everyone, I'm taking a break from writing this due to school, I'm not sure how long I'll be gone. I am NOT abandoning this work, it just might take a while for me to update. Sorry! 

Chapter 11: Update 2

Hi, sorry to update this with another thing that isn't part of the story, but I've decided to completely rewrite this to fix a couple of pretty big problems with characterization and plot, and take the plot in a different direction. I'll leave this original version up because I don't feel like taking it down, but I'll have an entirely rewritten version on here soon!

Thanks for your patience, and sorry!