Chapter Text
Dead, colorless leaves crunch underfoot, their brittle bodies being crushed into dust beneath your worn out sneakers. You breathe in the cool air. You died again. They killed you. The chill in the air cuts deep into your bones, your small jacket you came here with does little to help insulate you. The dead forest around seems to bend and twist, strangling itself with its branches. The large sticks create a canopy overhead. Like a net, trapping a poor animal underneath. but you are no animal, just an unfortunate victim. The space around you grows colder the deeper into the forest you travel. It’s a warning, You shouldn’t be here. You should be at the survivor camp.
But you are as safe out here as you are at the camp, your ‘curse’ as you like to call it places a target on your head. Your death grants reward. whoever’s hand steals your life is later gifted by the entity an item from the real world. An item from the person’s memory of their life, however much they may remember. Memories are precious here. The Entity likes to steal them away until you forget who you once were.
Why you were given this curse is beyond you, some of the survivors speculated that you were brought into the fog as an incentive for the killers, a reward for doing their job well. But what the Entity must not have expected is that the survivors would gladly turn their hand on a fellow teammate. You were still new when a few found out, you had just entered your fifth trial. Still confused and afraid, you seeked out your fellow survivors. They begged you to let them try, that if it worked they could get the upper hand. They promised they would do it fast. They promised it would only be once… Unfortunately for you, your curse works no matter who kills you, assigned killer or not.
That's when you assume things started to change. The masks they made for themselves melted away. Their true colors showing. They asked to do it a few more times after that, every time you declined, and they begrudgingly listened. And then, they stopped asking. You didn't know what happened the first time, you were working alone at a generator when you felt a sharp pain in the back of your head before everything went black. When you awoke, you were no longer in trial. Entering the campfire you didn't think too much about it when David was showing everyone the rugby ball he “found” last trial. Every time after that, you got to watch yourself be killed by those who were supposed to be on your team. It started as only a select few, and then they convinced more. You're not sure what made them break whatever morals they may have had. Perhaps it was an addiction to that nostalgic feeling of finding something you remember from your past. Or maybe it's simple greed. But after all, is a human life ever worth less than an object?
Yours is.
For a while you wondered how some of the more ‘sane’ survivors were able to be convinced to turn a blind eye at the betrayal of one of their own. In the end, you could only assume it was through threats and manipulation, after all Jeff tried for a long time to convince you that you were being selfish, that you’d “come back anyway.”. At least when they killed you it was fast, and didn’t feel like an eternity on a rusty meat hook. It was swift and in most cases almost painless. Well… until it wasn’t. Boredom is among some of the most common feelings in the fog, boredom is dangerous. It influences erratic and risky behavior and-
You sound like you're a teacher giving a lecture, when did YOU become so boring?
You audibly sigh, trying to remember where in your jumbled up mess of thoughts you left off and what you were trying to get at.
…
…
…
At one point, they must have gotten bored of the same old ‘object to the head’. Not only were they getting more creative with their ways of killing you every trial, a few have even started drawing out your pain. Taking the time to bruise you up before collecting their reward. Not everyone goes out of their way to kill you of course. Although they don’t try to stop it either, preferring not to get in the way and them too, facing the wrath of angry survivors like David.
A small bunch completely disagrees with the way you are treated, speaking out on multiple occasions on the inequality and abuse you were being projected too. Survivors like Zarina, Kate, and Quintin to name a few, try to help when they can. You appreciate them more than anything for that, but it makes you feel guilty. Guilty that you’re such a useless part of the team in trials.
Recently you’ve simply been hiding in trials, You’ve honestly had no choice, you die more to survivors than to the killers! Maybe you’re just petty, maybe you really are selfish, but you’d rather be pierced through the chest, and choke on your own blood than die to greedy hands who will be granted reward by your demise. So far, this strategy has worked, so long as you can hide before you run into anyone. Survivor or killer, you avoid them all the same. Hunched behind large boulders, creeping along the edges of the trial grounds. You don’t give generators a second thought, ignoring them no matter how out of the way they are from the action. You feel guilty every time someone is hooked, but that doesn’t rouse you from your hiding. You can’t be seen. You rarely escape a trial with your life, only when the hatch opens right beside you. But usually you aren’t so lucky, and the Entity’s claws, shaped like a spider’s leg, are what you see last piercing your insides, before waking up back at the edge of the campfire.
You wonder if the killers notice the absence of a survivor in their trials. You wonder if they hate you too. You know your cowardice agitates the other survivors, especially the ones that hunt you. But what do the killers think from their perspective? How long do they roam around a near empty trial, searching for the last survivor, going from generator to generator in hopes of finally being able to finish the trial. Do they hear your screams at the end of the endgame timer? Do they know why you hide? No, probably not. And you don’t want them too. You don’t need to give them another reason to specifically hunt you. You doubt the killers need a reward for shedding MORE blood. After all it seems hiding may have pissed at least a few of the killers off, on the off chance the killer finds you before a survivor does. They don’t stop chasing you until you’re downed, and then you’re pushed much rougher than necessary onto the cold metal of a meat hook where you can quickly put yourself into struggle and be pierced by the Entity’s strange arachnid legs. Sometimes you don’t get the Pleasure of a fast demise. Sometimes you’re moried as soon as you're downed, the killer's frustration visible in the way they draw your death out just a little longer than usual.
A crow caws somewhere distant, pulling you out of thought, the sound reverberating through the dead trees. Looking up at what little sky you can see through the branch canopy, some ways ahead of you a flock, or you suppose a murder, of crows are soaring through the cloudless sky. The small black birds are flying fast, who knows where, you almost want to think they were spooked by something, but that is not a train of thought you want to get stuck on. The whole sight looks like a painting, their black body’s against the perpetually dusk sky. You lose the birds as they leave the deep oranges and purples in the center of the sky and enter a starry maze of dark blue off to the side. You let your head lower back to what’s in front of you, the scenery never once changing. Always the same dead forest, shrouded in fog, with eyes watching through the dark. But not eyes you have to worry about. Just the Entity’s Little feathery spies.
Despite the cold you do prefer to be out here, mostly, alone. Death outside of trials is always met with harsh punishment from the Entity, for killer or survivor. Unfortunately pain itself doesn’t count, anyone could make you bleed here, so long as you don’t die they can torture you here as much as they do inside trials. Wounds gained out here regenerate into debuffs in the next trial, some survivors call it the ‘no mither’ effect. It’s one reason why the survivors stay far away from where the killers reside even out of trial. You didn’t come into the fog with much. Just the clothes on your back and a few items that were in your tiny Bag. your hand brushes against the rough bark of the dead trees as you groan. This place actually fucking sucks. Excitingly enough however, you have realized that some items can be snuck and kept outside of a trial. You try to steal a new book from the RPD library whenever possible.
The quiet is interrupted by the soft sound of running water and your face visibly brightens at the sound. Recently during your after-trial mope sessions, you’ve been going farther and farther into the forest. Even more recently however, you’ve come across a wide river that seems to separate survivor territory from killers. Although on none of your trips so far, have you come across any unwanted faces, it’s always just you and the crows. You've followed the river until it disappeared into the thick, impenetrable wall of fog that acts as the barrier, or rather, cage of this realm. An interesting find you did make however, was that on both ends of the river there is an old, decrepit, wooden bridge. From what you can remember of each, they are near identical copies of one another. How or why they are there is beyond you, no one ever crosses sides as far as you know. You’ve definitely never crossed the river, you’re too afraid of who you might run into.
Just ahead you can see the opening to the small clearance of trees surrounding the river. You hesitate at the threshold of trees, peering at the other side of the river. You see no one. Neither bridge is in sight so you know you’re somewhere in the middle of the river. Finally emerging through the safety the shadows provide, you walk slowly up to the river. The current is rapid. water climbs up the sides, turning dirt into mud. You crouch just in front of the running water, careful not to slip on the moist soil. The water is crystal clear, just like the small ponds at the Yamaoka Estate. You feel a little bit lighter, staring at your warped reflection in the water. You look tired.
…
You are tired.
You reach forward, flexing your hand so the water can run between your fingers. The water is ice cold, the chill cuts deep into your palm. The feeling of the water rushing past your hand is peaceful. You inhale a deep breath, the fresh smell of moss and foliage a welcome difference from the choking smoke you inhale at the campfire. You create small ripples in the water, gliding your fingers through the current.
A flap of wings is heard before a crow lands directly across from you on the other side of the river. You tilt your head up to look at it, withdrawing your hand from the icy water. The crows' large black eyes stare up at you. It caws inquisitively, small head tilting slightly. You hum softly in admiration, crows really are a beautiful bird despite being completely black. You continue to study the crow as it hops about the mud, pecking at moist soil.
Do the crows get hungry?
You haven’t been hungry in a long time.
The bird's feathers are glossy, almost soft looking. Its beak is sharp and its eyes are unblinking. The bird ruffles and fluffs its feathers, puffing its chest in confidence, and you’d like to think it did that because it knows you’re admiring its beauty. You can’t stop a small smile from reaching your face, at least the Entity takes good care of its pets. The bird's gaze lands back on you and you stare back. Its eyes shine with knowledge you’ll never understand. The bird makes a noise in the back of its throat, stepping a little closer to the water separating you two.
Hmm..
Well it’s worth a try.
You hold out your hand. The crow tilts it’s head. You give a short whistle, beckoning the bird towards you. It inches forward, and you hold your breath. It hunches, body tensing in preparation for flight. You stay deathly still, hand outreached so the bird can perch. It’s going to happen, the bird spreads it’s wings. You’ve never held a bird before, this is so cool! You lean slightly closer, the bird hops to the edge of the river, it’s wings flap down and-
A twig snaps to your left.
You flinch, there’s a startled caw and in an instant the crow is gone. Disappearing into the shadows of the forest. You rise from your crouched position slowly, your outstretched hand falling back to your side. Tilting your head to look farther left, you see it. A figure walking along the tree line, following the river. The Pig, you think the survivors call her. The name seems fitting because right now, a long pig snout is faced in your direction. You freeze like you've been caught trespassing.
…
Does she see you?
…
Does she always wear that mask outside of trials?
….
..Ew..
You can answer that first thought, yes. She most definitely sees you. Your head follows her steps until she stops parallel with you, body shifting to stare at you with her full attention. your eyes narrow as you take in her appearance. Her red waistcoat stops just inches from the dirt floor, it's honestly a mystery how the coat is so clean despite being dragged on the ground every time she’s crouched. It seems her blue cargo pants aren’t as lucky. The are bottoms caked in dried mud, the stiff fabric clinging to her black boots.
You can’t see her eyes, the pig mask, carcass? You're not sure, but it covers every bit of her face. Can she even breathe in that thing? It must be a mask, pigs don’t usually have a full head of hair after all. Unless it’s neither and that’s actually just her face… no, that’s crazy even for this realm. She takes a step forward and your gaze lingers on her sleeve. Is she armed? You know her weapon is usually strapped to her wrist, but you can’t see anything past the red sleeve.
…
Another step.
…
Your eyes meet her hidden ones.
…
You aren’t near any bridge, she wouldn’t cross the river just to get to you. Right? Maybe you’re underestimating a killer’s lust for blood. You want to run, your legs twitch with the need to move but you force yourself to stay still. Do not run. Running will only prove you are afraid, running might induce chase.
She can’t get you.
you are allowed here.
Stand your ground.
You’re wrong.
You see a small amount of head movement. She’s Looking you up and down, sizing you up maybe. You feel bare underneath her gaze, you wish you could see her face. She takes another slow step towards the river bed and you clench your fists tightly, she’s approaching like you’re a wild animal. The whole forest seems to hold its breath. Neither of you speak, if she even can. You only move to tighten your jacket around you, the chill starting to seep back in with your lack of movement. You think you hear a sound come from the Pig, but if you did it’s already drowned by the Continuous silence of the forest.
She has to be messing with you, she won’t cross.
You are exactly on the riverbed, small amounts of water splash up and hit your shoes. Maybe you should back up a few steps. Your mind feels overloaded in the face of danger, every command your head gives you ties itself into a giant knot. Your head feels heavy, you don’t know what happens next. She’s close To the edge now, close to you, closer than you should have let her get.
Run
Run
Run
She takes one last cautious step and that’s finally what does it for you. You inhale sharply and recoil, retreating a few steps back. Your hands are held together in front of your chest, your narrowed eyes now wide with a surge of panic. But The Pig is stopped at the riverbed, body stiff and head now tilted slightly. You feel her gaze raking over your form and a shiver travels down your spine. You turn and run. Back into the forest. Back into the dark.
You think you might have heard a grunt. You look back only once, just as you reach the forest's threshold. Her arms are crossed, gaze zeroed on your retreat. You look back ahead of you, and you don't look back again. Your feet trips over sticks and dead leaves but you don’t falter, running until the Entity’s black smoke starts to surround you.
A telltale sign that you're being taken into a trial.