Ain't no fun when the rabbit got the gun (ON HOLD)

by XT4ry

Summary:

After being in a place equivalent of hell, Chance returned to the real world, carrying the kind of trauma that doesn’t fade with time. Then he met them. two bunnies that reminds him so much of his two exe's. Something CLEARLY is going on in here but who cares right? Now, he has to find his way back to his friends- carrying two bunnies and more questions than answers. Yay? He’s heading straight into something he doesn’t fully understand yet, and the road ahead feels a little... off.

Maybe you’ll walk with him and see where it all leads because you see, Forsaken things don’t always stay buried.

He’s about to learn that the hard way. Might as well follow with him because after all, a rabbit with a gun isn’t so fun when he stops aiming at the world and starts aiming at himself.

 

____________

(Where as mafioso and Itrapped isn't a killer. This is PRE reworked mafioso. Mafioso and Itrapped dated eachother after chance was forsaken and then later got turned into bunnies🤷‍♂️ it's their job to accompany chance lol also they're both chance's exes)
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Chapter 1: 1. All in the love for something forsaken.

The dizzy and blinding lights hit him like the claws of a certain corrupted man who tore straight through the survivors body.

 

Chance jolted upright with a ragged gasp once he felt his heart slamming against his ribs as though it, too, had been startled awake. His breath came in short bursts, sharp and so painful it had him choking on air. There was an unfamiliar sharp beeping stabbed at his ears. Where were his headphones? Why isn't he wearing them? He couldn't handle the sound of a gunshot and the survivors knew it. They wouldn't dare to casually take it off. Ring. Ring. The ringing was close and urgent but his mind couldn't place what it was. He grunted when his muscles screamed while he moved. His vision pulsed and his skin felt too tight for his bones. Admins. What the hell happened?!

 

Where is he?

Where the hell-?

 

His body screamed weakness and he realized that he couldn’t lift his arms. Shit. No, no, no, no!? Was it happening again? Weakness..luck.. coin where is his coin. He has weaknesses and admin above, he needs his coin to undo the weaknesses. The words clawed up the back of his mind. It repeated until his throat tightened.

 

I can’t breathe-

 

His throat tightened even more as panic set in. He was suffocating in his own skin with his chest locked in a vice. Every inhale scraped like broken glass and he has to muffle a sob because he cannot let a killer kill him. Where’s Elliot? Where’s the pizza? Where’s the goddamn medkit?!

 

He twitched violently, a cry escaping from his dry lips. Something or someone touched him and he Flinched. Hands so Cold. Human hands? It presses him back against the bed while he uselessly flails around.

 

They're holding him down. He's gonna die. He's gonna die- he's gonna die again.

 

"Mister!”

 

The voice cut through like a blade and it took him out of the submersion of his panic.

 

Chance gasped loudly, head snapping up And eyes blown wide like a deer in headlights. He sucked in a lungful of air like the time where he drowned himself in the sea to escape the hell. Where the hell is he!? His gaze locked on a figure above him. It's a bacon woman in nurse whites, hands raised and palms open. The bright blue eyes filled with concern and fear.

 

He blinked hard. Once. Twice. Where the fucking hell is he? Is she a new survivor? A bacon? Really? Guest wouldn't like her. What the fuck?

 

He turned his head in slow motion. He has to keep calm and see the situation clearly. The room was full of faces he didn’t recognize. People in coats? scrubs and uniforms. No one had dirt under their fingernails. No one carried weapons. The lights above flickered faintly as a sharp pain bloomed behind his eyes when the noise crashed in.

 

“He’s awake!”

 

“He’s alive!”

 

The words echoed and his ears rang with each overlapping words that were out of sync. Their voices felt like a swarm of corrupted codes crawling over his skin and it struck like static against an open nerve.

 

He pressed his hands to his temples, trying to make it all stop.

 

This isn’t real. This isn’t real. Where’s Elliot? Where’s the blood? Why isn’t anything burning?

 

His eyes darted across the faces, landing once more on the woman who had spoken. Her mouth moved again but he couldn’t hear it. The thudding in his head had become thunder with each inhale.

 

Is he hallucinating again?

 

He swallowed hard with his voice a rasp.

 

“Where… am I?” he asked and it's barely above a whisper. He needs answers now. Who are these people?

 

No one answered him clearly 

 

Instead, the words spun around him like a broken record as it echoes the way that old TV back in the house used to murmur calling out his sins.

 

“He’s awake.” “He’s awake.”

 

“He’s awake.” “He’s awake.”

 

“He’s awake.” “He’s awake.”

 

“He’s awake.” “He’s awake.”

 

“He’s awake.” “He’s awake.”

 

“He’s awake.” “He’s awake.”

 

“He’s awake.” “He’s awake.”

 

“He’s awake.” “He’s awake.”

 

“He’s awake.” “He’s forsaken.”

 

“He’s awake.” “He’s awake.”

 

“He’s awake.” “He’s awake.”

 

 

The world spun and everything went dark.

 

 

_________________

 

 

“Mr. _____ .”

 

 

The voice was soft but firm, drawing Chance from the numb, cotton-like fog swimming in his head ever since he woke up. He blinked slowly. eyes adjusting to the sterile brightness. The detective who is neatly dressed in a charcoal coat with a navy tie looked at him. He looked expensive-looking and he was holding out a glass of water for chance.

 

Chance wanted a soda so therefore he stared at it like it was a foreign object. It looks out of place in this worn-down reality. His fingers trembled slightly as he took the glass. Acknowledging the cold pressing against his palm. Back in that place, they didn't have the luxury to drink clear water. It was the weird popular brand of soda that kept them alive. Strange as it was.

 

He looked at the detective. His expression blank and distant before opening the dry, cracked lips that he didn't bother to wet.

 

“…Call me Chance, please. If ya don’t mind, sir.”

 

There was a pause. The detective smiled politely and it seemed rehearsed. Chance of course noticed it. "Okay, Mr. Chance-"

 

“No.” Chance cut in. His voice firmer this time and almost too fast. “It’s just Chance.”

 

“Chance.” The detective tested the nickname.

 

“Yes, don't call me mister. Sir.” There was something about being called a mister that felt too heavy and distant. It sounds foreign. Nobody from the house ever called him that. 

 

The detective nodded. their rehearsed smile softened though a flicker of something unreadable passed across his eyes.

 

“Greetings chance, can I inform you about something you need to know?” 

 

Chance swallowed, nervous and dry, the water forgotten in his lap. He shifted awkwardly on the bed and noticed how the softness was unnerving. It was almost too kind for a survivor like him. He didn’t belong in it. The supports should lay on it. They need the privilege to support the next round of the game. As for the frontliners like chance…

 

They had slept on cold floors the whole time they were there. The pool table when chance was lucky. The feel of blankets, cotton sheets, and a working bedframe under him was luxury he couldn't afford.

 

He glanced up and offered the detective a thin, crooked smirk but it didn’t reach his golden eyes.

 

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” he finally asked. His voice is quieter now. The question had been gnawing at his mind. He had to be dreaming. Hallucinating. Maybe still lying there, on that floor in that god forsaken hell.

 

The detective's smile faded. He pursed his lips, a sigh barely escaping through his nose. Chance noticed the way the man’s coat clung neatly to his shoulders. It looked expensive. Chance tucked his fingers under the thin hospital blanket, resisting the urge to reach out and feel the fabric. He wasn’t supposed to touch things like that.

 

“Chance,” the detective began. His voice is slower now, and carefully measured to see chance's reaction. “You were found in an alleyway just outside Meep City. Stab wounds. Severe blood loss. A concussion someone hit you hard, likely with the blunt end of a pipe. You were in a coma for two months.”

 

Chance blinked. Alleyway? Meep City?

 

thunderstorm thoughts, thudding one after another. He barely nodded, brows knitting. 

 

“We haven’t found the attacker.” the detective continued, voice darkening slightly. “There were no weapons in sight. No footage either. You were bleeding out near the dumpster but..”

 

Chance tilted his head, feeling a dull throb pulse behind his temples.

 

“But what?”

 

The detective folded his hands. “The bank that manages your estate robloxia Holdings covered your medical expenses while you were unconscious. They assumed responsibility immediately. Apparently… you have quite the financial backing.”

 

Chance frowned, staring at the ceiling as fragmented thoughts chased each other through the fog of his mind.

 

He is a casino owner.

 

Right. That was him wasn’t it? So that meant… he was alive. He was out. But why didn’t it feel real?

 

The hospital room hummed quietly. He heard the machines beeped with dull rhythm and the smell of antiseptic clung stubbornly to the air it made his nose itch. Chance blinked slowly, his eyes flicking toward the window. The sunlight pouring through the blinds was far too natural. Outside, he could make out the bustling shapes of Robloxians walking along the sidewalk, chatting, moving and living with no monsters chasing after them and tearing their body piece by piece nor beheading their heads.

 

So many robloxians. Familiar buildings, neon signs. There's voices drifting in from the open street. He hadn’t seen so many in so many years?

 

His chest tightened in disbelief.

 

Is this realm

Is this still part of the dream?

Is he Finally free?

 

His mind blanked further. He reached up and rubbed at his temple to search for answers beneath skin and bone. “I see.” he murmured finally. The words came out flat and meaningless.

 

The detective across from him shifted slightly and chance knew they were clearly expecting more. Sympathy lingered in his expression and it's rehearsed enough to sting.

 

But Chance merely lifted a hand, silencing any further words. His eyes returned to the window. His breath slowed down as he eagerly watched a father guide his child across the street. A man in a pinstripe suit laughed into a phone. It was all so normal.

 

“I won’t continue with the investigation,” he said suddenly, voice clearer now.

 

The detective blinked. “What?”

 

“I said I’m not going to help with it.” His tone didn’t waver, even as his fingers curled slightly around the edge of the blanket. “Let it go.”

 

The detective’s brow furrowed. “But Chance someone tried to kill you. You were nearly stabbed, unconscious for two months. We’re close to tracking down whoever did it. You could-”

 

“I said no.”

 

The words came firmer this time, slicing clean through the conversation. Chance turned his head to face him directly, lips curled in a tight, polite smile that didn’t touch his eyes.

 

“There’s nothing left to investigate. Not for me.”

 

silence settled between them For a moment,. He watched the detective open his mouth again to protest but then he saw the look in Chance’s eyes that was worn, exhausted and stubborn as hell.

 

The detective sighed in a long exhale. “Alright.” he said reluctantly. “For now.”

 

He left the room without another word after slipping a card near chance. the click of the door shutting behind him sounds so loud it made him flinch.

 

Chance exhaled slowly, rubbing at his temple again. A dull pain was blooming there, like a bruise behind his thoughts. He didn’t know what he felt right now. Two months.. it feels like years..

 

The door opened again.

 

“I said I’m not-” he snapped without looking.

 

But then he saw who it was and so he stopped due to his embarrassment from his sudden raised tone but the tension dropped from his shoulders like the heavy coat the doctor was wearing.

 

“Doc,” Chance breathed.

 

The doctor smiled in return.

 

“Chance,” the doctor greeted him. “Are you sure you want to discharge yourself?” the doctor asked carefully, stepping inside. “You’re still weak. I'm sure your mind hasn’t fully settled and you are still in n-”

 

“Yes,” Chance said firmly, sitting up straighter despite the sharp protest in his back. “I want to go.”

 

The doctor frowned. “Your body hasn’t fully recovered-”

 

“My mind’s not gonna recover here either.” Chance interrupted, then added with a tired grin, “And I’ve never been good at sittin’ still.”

 

 

______________________

 

 

The moment Chance was discharged he didn’t linger. Hospitals were strange to him. Usually when he needs medical help, a pizza would suffice. He signed the papers with a shaking hand and stepped out into the sunlight, blinking as the city of robloxia buzzed around him. There were horns honking, voices shouting and admins, there were street vendors calling out prices. it was all too much.

 

His flimsy, overpriced white-and-red suit flapped in the wind as he pulled out his phone. There were torn slashes cut across the fabric, especially around the abdomen but Chance couldn’t care less. What did he expect? It was the same suit he got stabbed in.

 

The phone felt strange in his hands. The screen was cracked but it worked. With stiff fingers, he dialed the number burned into his memory even though he was shocked that he got it right.

 

“Boss?” came a voice on the other end. his assistant, Hayden. Admins! It worked!? What the hell? It's been years since he last heard that voice.

 

“You still breathing?” Hayden asked, half-joking. “Thought you were well…”

 

“Dead?” Chance rasped. “Yeah. I died every day. Super funny by the way. Will recommend it buddy.”

 

A long silence passed and chance winced internally. He forgot that Hayden's humor isn't like the survivors he had long been familiar with.

 

“....”

 

“The casino’s still standing,” Hayden assured him quickly. “Had a few clients jump ship when you disappeared, but... we held it together…”

 

Chance smiled faintly, though there was no joy in it. “Good job.”

 

And then he hung up without another word.

 

He took the elevator up to his penthouse and craned his neck when the familiar chime rang in his ears. When the doors slid open, he stepped into silence. Glass walls overlooked the city skyline. Marble floors gleamed beneath dim designer lighting. Every inch of the penthouse screamed luxury. But none of it felt real.

 

The moment the door shut behind him, Chance stood still in the center of the living room as the silence caved in on him.

 

His knees buckled.

 

He collapsed onto the cold floor, still wearing his goddamn suit and hospital wristband. He began to sob, ugly and, broken sobs that tore from his throat 

 

Tears flooded his face. He clutched the fabric of his shirt, knuckles white while he ground himself in something before his mind unraveled again.

 

He was home. He was back. There are no more blood-slick floors. No more footsteps echoing down pitch-black road. No more screams. No more killers and no more deaths of his friends. it didn't make any sense.

 

He wept until his throat went raw and then he simply lay there. staring up at the ceiling with red, swollen eyes. He’d never realized how empty this place was. Not until he returned. The gold-framed portraits on the wall were crooked. The untouched wine bottles gathered dust. His favorite couch looked strange as hell. Everything felt like it belonged to someone else.

 

He dragged himself to bed eventually, though he didn’t sleep properly. As he just stared at the ceiling until morning.. doze off and wake up And the next night. And the next.

 

The days passed in a haze. His routines were robotic. He showers, he eats something tasteless, he checks the security cams, and paces the floor. Wash, rinse, repeat. There was no joy in reclaiming his old life. But he was alive.

 

That fact hit him one night as he stood on his penthouse balcony. He stared at the city lights below. “I made it out,” he whispered to himself with his voice trembling. “After all those years... I’m really out.”

 

Though beneath the relief, one question festered like a wound he couldn't stop picking at. What about the others? The survivors. The ones who made it through the nightmare with him. He hadn’t seen them ever since he woke up

 

Had they gotten out Or had he left them behind? just like that, the liberation twisted into guilt. He has to make a plan to reach out and about the ongoing investigation of his attempted murder…

 

Itrapped.

 

That name alone sent a grief through Chance’s spine. It made his stomach twist. He staggered back into the living, a hand over his mouth. 

 

Itrapped, his lover had killed him, yes. It had been years since he’d thought of that name. It’s years since the first death and the first betrayal. somewhere along the line, he had stopped blaming Itrapped. He knew it was the countless resets. The endless cycle of getting killed again and again. Maybe it was the way the monsters made the old one look laughable for that simple stab.

 

He had forgiven Itrapped. Or maybe he had simply become too tired to hate him. He acknowledged that Itrapped was the beginning and not the worst part. After all- years of dying over and over again made his first killer look like a joke. 

 

Chance didn’t want revenge and he didn’t want confrontation. To him now, itrapped was just.. there. 

 

He gripped his hair and stared at the floor of his luxurious penthouse. But still. Was it? Was any of this real? Or just the final hallucination of a mind? He had survived for years down there. The others also fought off the monsters. 

 

"Was it all real?" Chance whispered aloud and the damn silence didn’t answer him.

 

He remembered the pain But how would he explain this to anyone?

 

Would anyone believe him if he told them he was dragged into a hell run by something? That he also met literal admins, exploiters and the legends? 

 

He laughed bitterly, clutching at the couch.

 

Of course not. They’d call him insane. Say the trauma from the stabbing and coma must’ve rewired his brain. PTSD, maybe. Hallucinations.

 

Chance stared out the window, watching the glow of the city skyline pulse like a heartbeat and quietly match it with his own by inhaling and exhaling. 

 

If anyone had answers, it would be Builderman. The Builderman. The head of Robloxia. The one they all looked up to and one of the survivors.

 

But Builderman wasn’t just another rich figure he could call for lunch. He was an untouchable admin. An entity protected by levels of security and bureaucracy that no ordinary robloxians- no matter how wealthy could crack.

 

Chance’s contacts in high places weren’t enough. Still, he wondered.. Would Builderman recognize him?

 

He should. They’d met, hadn’t they? Back in that twisted place. “What if he’s still there?” Chance’s breath hitched. What really… What if Builderman never made it out? What if none of the others did? And he was the only one who escaped? Those questions repeated again and again until he suffocated himself to sleep.

 

 

_________________

 

 

The doorbell cut through the quiet of the penthouse like a blade and it forced Chance to jolt awake with a strangled gasp with his breath hitching as he flung the blanket aside. His heart was already hammering in his chest.

 

Instinct took over. His hand flew to the drawer beside his bed which is empty. No gun. Where the hell is his gun? he thought frantically. He patted around, threw open a closet door, nearly knocking over a coat rack in the process. Nothing. Panic was building under his skin the longer the seconds passed.

 

Then his eyes landed on a ceramic vase on a nearby console table.

 

He gripped it tight, knuckles white. He made sure that his footsteps were quiet. He took A long breath and then he cracked the door open, ready to swing and crack someone's head.

 

But what met him wasn’t an intruder nor a killer.

 

It was… a basket.

 

And inside the basket

 

“...What the hell.”

 

Two rabbits.

 

Chance blinked. The rabbits blinked back. The three of them stared at one another in complete, mutual disbelief.

 

He lowered the vase a fraction, staring down at the bundle of fluff and absurdity. The rabbits were nestled on a red velvet cushion. One was a plump white bunny with a ridiculous little fedora perched between its twitching ears. The other was slightly smaller, with soft yellow fur and a tiny blue crown askew on its head.

 

“What kind of fuck up symbolism is this” Chance thought, squinting.

 

He crouched slowly, hesitantly, as though the rabbits might explode. “Is this some kind of joke?” he muttered. Then he noticed the tag dangling from the side of the basket.

 

“Congratulations!”

 

That was it. There was no context.The hysteria was back in his throat before he could stop it. His fingers twitched around the vase again until a sobering thought struck him like a brick.

 

“…Wait. Shit. It’s probably from someone here.” He exhaled sharply as he let the panic drain just a little. “Of course. Of course. I’ve got too many damn people who know I like bunnies...”

 

Chance sighed and set down the vase then gingerly reached for the basket. The bunnies didn’t move as they just stared. Judging me. Chance thought bitterly. He lifted the basket and stood, eyeing them both again.

 

And then his brain really registered their appearance.

 

Fedora. Crown. White fur. Yellow fur. Red eyes and blue eyes. he froze.

 

His expression went completely blank. eyes gazing at them with mortification.

 

“…Wait a goddamn second.”

 

He leaned closer.

 

He looked at the fedora-wearing white bunny first. “You…” he whispered. “You look exactly like mafioso.” A soft scoff escaped his lips. half disbelief and half traumatized by the memory of that man. “Same.. fedora.”

 

Then he turned to the yellow one. Crown, cocked sideways. Innocent expression. Or maybe fake innocence.

 

“And you... you’re itrapped goddamnit.”

 

Chance stood there with the basket in hand, expressing a storm of confusion and amusement.

 

“Which absolute bastard thought this was funny?”

 

He looked around the hallway and expected someone might pop out. Ofcourse he had made it everyone's business in the past to flaunt his two lovers but those fucking little shits should know that he doesn't appreciate a gift of bunnies dressing up as his exes. 

 

He mumbled to himself as he carried the basket inside then setting it gently on the marble kitchen island. “Yeah, okay, Chance. Sure. Great. First you escape hell, and now your exes show up reincarnated as rabbits.”

 

The bunnies stared at him and he stared back.

 

“Yeah” he thought, dragging a hand down his face. “I'm losing it.”

 

Mafioso and Itrapped.

 

The names drifted back into Chance’s mind once more.

 

He let out a low grumble, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as if that would dispel the memories already surfacing. Itrapped. The most recent… lover and the one who attempted murder. Or something like it. As recent as it could be, considering the warped concept of time in that other place.

 

“God,” Chance muttered under his breath. “I really know how to pick them.”

 

Still, despite the bitter taste in his mouth, his eyes softened slightly as they landed on the two twitchy fluffballs huddled together in their ridiculous velvet-lined basket.

 

It had been so long since he’d seen an animal. Years. “…Spade.”

 

His voice cracked saying it. His old bunny. Coal-black fur, one ear always flopped down since it was too tired to stand it upright. Spade had been there during the early days of the casino when Chance still smiled for real and believed in comfort. 

 

“Alright,” he said, carefully placing the basket onto the counter. “Let’s see what you two are really about.”

 

He crouched slightly, lowering his hand toward the yellow one. It blinked at him bright-eyed, angry too? and allowed him to brush his fingers gently over its head, between the crown and its long ears.

 

“Soft" Chance murmured, almost to himself. “You’re spoiled. Typical. Whoever sent you to me studied his character well enough.”

 

But before he could go any further-

 

CHOMP. sharp little teeth sunk into the meat of his hand.

 

Chance yelped and jerk back.

 

“Ow-what the!”

 

The white one, hat slightly tilted on its head stared at him with narrowed crimson eyes. Chance hissed, shaking out his hand and narrowing his own eyes right back.

 

“Oh, possessive, are we?” he drawled, raising a brow. “Hitting already? That’s very on-brand, maff.”

 

He chuckled, poking the white bunny gently with a fingertip, earning an aggressive flick of the ears in return. The yellow bunny had turned its head away now. The whole thing was so surreal, Chance wasn’t sure if he should laugh or throw the basket out the nearest window.

 

Instead, he leaned on the counter, resting his chin on his bruised hand and staring at them.

 

“So what’s this supposed to be, huh? Some kind of joke?” he muttered. “A reminder? A message? Maybe that bastard itrapped did this. Yeah probably I mean he's probably mad that I'm still alive.” The bunnies, naturally, didn’t respond. They just sat there while judging him with uncanny familiarity. It made chance pursed his lips.

 

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” Chance said, half to them, half to the echoing silence around him. “Like I’m the one who screwed everything up. You two practically wrote the manual.”

 

He paused. Swallowed.

 

“…Not that I was perfect either.”

 

The weight in his chest tightened a bit. The old guilt creeping up the way it always did when he let his guard drop. He rubbed his temples, voice quieter now.

 

“Sorry, I'm just exhausted. I'm talking nonsense only I could understand. I don't know what to say. What should I say to you guys hm?”

 

A long beat passed. He watched yhe yellow bunny crept forward slightly and nuzzled The white one who kept watch. The little thing is protective and so stern it's adorable.

 

Chance let out a small, tired laugh.

 

“Alright,” he whispered. “Alright. You win. You can stay.”

 

He picked up the basket carefully and moved it to the plush sunlit area near the window. The bunnies nestled closer together as the afternoon rays spilled over them. 

 

He stared at them for a long time. There was a wistful smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

 

“Maybe I’m losing my mind,” he murmured, “but if you two are here to keep me company... I won’t complain.”

 

 

___________________

 

 

Okay. So the rabbits hates him. Un-fortunate. It hadn’t even been a full twenty-four hours And already, Chance had been firmly and repeatedly reminded that he was not welcome in his own penthouse by two judgmental, fuzzy guys with twitchy noses and the wrath of the exploiters. They were fun indeed, they distracted him from his thoughts.

 

Those two really act like his exes and it's absolutely insane.

 

10:23 AM.

 

 

Chance stood barefoot on the cold marble floor of his penthouse kitchen, dressed in a wrinkled silk shirt and pajama pants. He stared at the two bunnies in the basket. “Well, you’re cute,” he muttered to no one. “But so is arsenic in the right bottle.”

 

The white bunny who is as fluffy as a snowdrift and crowned with that infuriating tiny fedora sat upright with stiff posture, its red eyes always narrowed. The yellow one lounged beside it like royalty. Both were... unnervingly quiet and that's hilarious because bunnies are quiet creatures. Why the hell is chance complaining in the first place! “Okay,” Chance murmured, crouching down and holding out a leaf of romaine. “Let’s try this again. Peace treaty.”

 

The white bunny didn’t move.

 

“Come on,” Chance coaxed. “This is imported lettuce. Organic. Better than what I eat.” In one smooth, practiced motion, the bunny launched forward and chomped down on Chance’s finger.

 

“GOD DAMMIT” he yelped, reeling back and flailing his hand like it was on fire. The bunny calmly returned to its position. Chance stared at the red mark, then at the bunny. It blinked once. Slowly.

 

“I’m being intimidated by something that weighs less than a can of soup,” he muttered.

 

The yellow one snorted. No, seriously. It snorted.

 

 

12:34 PM

 

 the fucking water bowl.

 

Chance froze in the doorway of his living room, the bowl he’d placed just an hour ago was now lying upside-down. The expensive rug soaked through with an expanding puddle. The white bunny sat beside it.

 

“You little bastard” Chance whispered out loud. The white bunny thumped once, daring him to accuse. The yellow one, sitting smugly atop the backrest of the leather couch, looked down as it seemed amused by the struggles of chance.

 

Chance fetched a towel.

 

“I owned a multi-million dollar casino,” he muttered under his breath, blotting the floor. “i went through hell and back. Dude. And now you two are just-” The white bunny rolled the bowl again. It made a dull, hollow clink against the floor.

 

“I used to wear Italian shoes,” Chance growled, wrestling with the rug.

 

The bunnies thumped. Together.

 

“Now I clean up piss water.”

 

 

2:45 PM.

 

 

Chance thought he was being reasonable.

 

He chopped carrots. He mixed greens with soft pellets. He even drizzled the tiniest amount of honey over the kale. Because apparently that’s what pampered rabbits liked and he learned of that in just less in a day. He is an attentive owner. “dinner for kings.” he announced, placing the bowl near the two fuzzy tyrants.

 

The yellow bunny looked at him with all the warmth of a his ex lover. The white one sniffed the food… then turned its back. Chance blinked. He turned to fix the second bowl, muttering, “what the fuck.”

 

As he bent down again, the white bunny darted out, bit the inside of his ankle, and retreated 

 

“WHAT THE—?!”

 

He dropped the spoon. There was a tiny bunny toothmark on his skin. He glanced at the yellow one. It was chewing smugly now.

 

“Of course. You bastard gets fed. I get shanked.” chance snarled at the yellow one.

 

10:43 PM

 

 

Chance lay stretched across a faux-fur rug that had seen better days. His body was stiff, half-curled like a dog trying to protect its own ribs. His dress shirt clung to his skin which wrinkled, half-buttoned and stained faintly at the collar due to his scuffling with the Bunnies. His face was expressionless, save for the hollowness in his eyes. The empty feeling came back once again. In opposite corners of the room sat the two rabbits The cage, which he had lovingly set up with hay, soft blankets, and a ceramic water bowl, had been completely ignored. One bunny had kicked it over in protest. They clearly didn’t want to be confined.

 

Chance had taken it as a metaphor.

 

They didn’t want to be near him. Not even a little. And, honestly, who could blame them The yellow one had claimed the far window sill, back turned as if it couldn’t be bothered to look at him. The white one sat alert near the yellow one.

 

“You two are trying to kill me,” Chance whispered dryly, his voice hoarse from disuse. “Admit it.”

 

He smiled faintly and It didn’t reach his eyes. He watched them thumped their feet in perfect sync, and he flinched. His smile faltered. “Message received,” he mumbled, slowly reaching under the jacket folded beside him. His fingers brushed cold metal.

 

“Hey, guys,” he called softly. “Don’t make too much noise, alright?” He saw a twitch. The white rabbit froze as his hand wrapped around the weapon. That was strange.They shouldn't know what a gun is. Should they?

 

Chance stared back at them, now fully propped on one elbow. His gaze narrowed just a bit. “Unless you’re not really bunnies.”

 

He waited for a punchline. None came. He closed his eyes with a sigh, exhaustion pulling at the corners of his mind.

 

“I have really bad sleeping habits,” he added quietly. “Please don’t wake me up.” He rested his head back down and allowed himself to drift. The sleep didn’t last.

 

His body tensed before his mind even understood why. A sharp breath pulled him awake. The soft buzzing of the city beyond the window was drowned out by the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears. The glow of neon had turned a sickly, artificial green. His eyes snapped open, panic already rising like bile in his throat.

 

A flash of green through the window.

 

He didn’t think at all as he quickly rolled over, grabbing his gun in a single motion and diving behind the couch. His back hit the frame with a dull thud and he bit back a cry. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to run. To hide. To shoot. Protect Elliot. Protect noob. Protect everyone. Where is guest? His breathing was ragged. He peeked over the edge of the couch with his gun trained on the window.

 

Another flicker passed by. It's here. It's here. It saw him. He knows that silhouette. 

 

“Nononono-no-they're not-he’s not real-”

 

Chance muttered in a panic, words blurring together as he pressed tighter into the corner of the couch. He waited, waiting the long seconds ticked by. The green light outside shifted. It was just a glitching billboard. Some stupid promotional hologram flickering from across the block. The reflection had been warped through the rain on the window.

 

Just a billboard.

Just a billboard.

Just a billboard.

Just a billboard.

Just a goddamn billboard.

 

Chance sat still for a moment. Then he laughed.

 

It started small with just a short exhale but quickly crumbled into a breathless, choking sound. His shoulders trembled as the gun lowered against his chest. “I’m losing it.” he laughed, tears brimming in his eyes. “I’m actually fucking losing it again.” He curled tighter into himself, letting his head fall forward until his forehead touched the rug. The sob that escaped him then wasn’t loud. 

 

“the others .” he said. “where are the others.. admins above...”

 

Behind him, the bunnies shifted.

 

The white one stepped closer just a few inched and stared. Its red eyes glowed faintly under the lamp’s sickly hue. The yellow one twitched its nose but didn’t move. Its ears perked as it was listening but Chance didn’t notice. He was crying now, muttering to the rug, voice soft and hoarse.

 

"I'm real. This is real. Everything's real."

 

He clutched the gun closer.

 

Notes:

IM SICK OF WAITING FOR TWOHATS AND A CROWN WRITERS. WHERE ARE YOU GUYS!?! SOMEONE. PLEASE SEE MY VISION. DAWG. WHAT IF I START TWEAKING OUT HHH

also sorry IF some details are confusing. I wrote this at one am down to four am. I'll fix it soon. If you're still confused about the exes part, it will be revealed in the second chapter lol. Think of this as like a treat. Who knows, might gonna write 10k words in the next chapter if this fic gets ..😈 kudos.. mm.. kudos.. kudos I will eat them. Comments r also a treat too! Tell me whatcha think

(Also noob will have an appearance next chapter and you guess it. The jealousy trope is there)

Chapter 2: 2. even I knew he was just Fool’s Gold.

Chance didn’t notice when the sun had crept back into the sky. The night had slipped away. He watched the lights spilling through the cracks in the white walls. His limbs were trembling as he curled against the cold floor with breath shallow and uneven. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there after his panic attack. He shouldn't feel like this. What kind of a frontliner is he if he dares to act like this in the next round? He will let everyone get killed again and again. 

 

He's a disappointment. 

 

He curled in on himself but a soft rustling in the background finally pulled him out of whatever daze he’d sunken into.

 

There was murmuring. No... It's not quite voices and it's not words either. He heard a noise that tickled the edge of his hearing. He flinched, shoulders jerking and muscles locking with the sudden and irrational thought that something else was here with him. Slowly, with the stiffness of someone who hadn’t moved in hours, he turned his head toward the sound.

 

Two bunnies. His... bunnies.

 

They sat a few feet away, staring at him. Chance blinked. His whole body remained tight for a moment longer, half-expecting them to transform into something monstrous, like the things that crawled out of the ground but they didn’t. They didn't turn into red humanoids bearing resemblance to Elliot's pizza workers. They just watched with still and quiet. their tiny noses twitching adorably.

 

Despite their naturally expressionless faces, Chance somehow got the impression they were confused. Maybe even mildly concerned and he wondered if this is really just his shaken mind attempting to trick him again. They're bunnies. As intelligent as they are, they do not have the ability to express complicated emotions.

 

He let out a shaky exhale. The tension drained from his limbs while his hands fell limply to his sides. His expression softened into something close to relief. He's hesitant but genuine.

 

“They’re animals,” he reminded himself, almost in awe and disbelief. “Just actual, normal animals.”

 

There hadn’t been any in There. Not even insects. It was just silence and endless nothing So seeing the bunnies now. Who looks soft-furred and undeniably alive, really felt like some strange kind of miracle.

 

“You guys scared the crap outta me,” he muttered with a nervous laugh with his voice still hoarse from disuse. “But… it’s fine. You’re just bunnies. I’m not in There anymore.”

 

Gently, carefully, he reached a hand out and cooed, trying to coax them closer.

 

“C’mon… I’m not gonna hurt you. I swear. I’m a great guy. You’ll love me.”

 

The bunnies didn’t move.

 

Chance frowned, head tilting. “Wow. Rude. C’mere.”

 

He tried again. Nothing. The white one flicked its ears, though, almost disdainfully.

 

Chance snorted. “Okay, that’s just uncalled for,” he said with a crooked grin. “You’re both so rude and mean.”

 

The ear-flick felt personal, somehow. Still, he chuckled, reaching out again like a fool. The bunnies stayed frozen, little statues of disinterest. It would’ve stung more if he hadn’t just barely survived a living nightmare. Honestly, snobby bunnies were a welcome change.

 

“Fair enough,” he sighed. “We just met yesterday.”

 

He pushed himself upright with a groan, one hand on the ground, the other rubbing at his aching temple. Everything hurts. His back, his legs and his brain. 

 

A pane of cracked glass nearby caught his attention. He turned his head and saw his reflection distorted in the jagged surface, half-drenched in the orange glow of the setting sun. His eyes looked too big. His chin is stubbled and his hair is unkept.

 

“Getting worse and worse,” he muttered to himself. “Elliot won't like seeing me like this.”

 

There was silence. The bunnies moved in the corner of his eye but still didn’t approach. He squared his shoulders anyway and looked back at them with forced cheer.

 

“But you know what?”

 

His voice brightened and it's brittle but defiant. He beamed a tired, lopsided smile at the small creatures who now blinked slowly back at him as if begrudgingly acknowledging his determination.

 

“Tough luck.” Chance said, raising a hand in a mock toast. “I’m still here. I can do this.”

 

The bunnies didn’t respond but the wind outside rustled the leaves just a little softer and the sunlight seemed to linger a moment longer on his skin. Not like the endless nights he had come to get used to.

 

 

________________

 

 

 

Chance tugged open the fridge door and cold air spilled out that curled around his ankles. He stared at the shelves, scanning for the usual. His hand automatically reached for the cabbage.

 

“Breakfast guys.” he muttered, yanking it free. As he turned, he made a mental note to text his assistant once again.

 

“Don’t forget: buy me another rabbit that supplies veggies, hay, and whatever pellets those spoiled little monsters refuse to eat.”

 

He sighed, thankfully his assistant are used to delivering items for him back when spade was still alive. Crouching down, he placed the cabbage on the mat in front of them with all the reverence of presenting a peace offering. The two stared at him.

 

“You two.” he began, narrowing his eyes, “are the pickiest rabbits I’ve ever met.”

 

He glanced at the food bowl that sat nearby. It's upside down with. Pellets (expensive ones, mind you) spilled out. “You don’t even touch the damn pellets. Do you know how wasteful that is. Spade loves them.”

 

He reached over and gently flicked the yellow one’s forehead. Its ears twitched in passive annoyance, but it didn’t move. The white one, however, immediately lunged at his finger.

 

But this time, Chance was ready.

 

“Oh-ho! Not today.” he smirked, scooping up the white bunny mid-lunge with practiced reflexes. “Gotcha.”

 

The rabbit squirmed furiously, kicking and wiggling but Chance held it close, laughing as he nuzzled its soft fur.

 

“You try to bite me again and I swear I’m gonna smother you.”

 

The yellow one joined the rebellion, thumping against his ankle with its back paws. Chance burst out laughing and the sound echoed warmly through the kitchen. “Uh huh- keep acting tough. You two are gonna get loved to death.” He grinned, rubbing his cheek against the white bunny’s head.

 

In the scuffle, the tiny fedora on the white bunny’s head yes, he let them wear the hat still- stumbled off and landed on the floor with a little flop. The white rabbit wiggled indignantly, and the yellow one gave him a pointed thump like.

 

“Okay, okay jeez, drama queens, both of you.” He placed the bunny back down gently, brushing stray fur off his shirt with a huff and a crooked grin.

 

He leaned back on his heels, arms resting on his knees. “Now then… will you please eat the cabbage?”

 

Both rabbits stared at him with unimpressed judgement.

 

Chance sighed, letting his shoulders sag. “Right. Of course. What was I expecting.”

 

He watched the white one tilted its head and immediately began nuzzling into the yellow one, burying its face under the other’s chin. The yellow rabbit who is still refusing to acknowledge Chance’s existence, let it happen with his ears twitching ever so slightly.

 

Chance continued to watch them quietly. There was a flicker of something soft tugging at his expression. They looked ridiculous together. The white one is hatless, the yellow one wearing a miniature blue crown. together… they looked like them. His them.

 

He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled under his breath. “God, whoever sent you both sure love to fuck with me.”

 

The fedora sat upside down on the floor and He didn’t pick it up.

 

Instead, he watched as the bunnies snuggled closer, utterly content in their weird little world of excluding chance.

 

“Guess I’m just the third wheel now, huh?” he murmured, voice laced with amusement.

 

But when the white rabbit glanced up at him, blinking, Chance smiled. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, hands bracing the edge, but his eyes were far away. His gaze flicked to the white rabbit’s red eyes once more. 

 

Mafioso.

 

The name lingered in his mind and it's like the kind of cigarette smoke mafioso used to breathe in.

 

That rabbit had the same sharp, arrogant eyes. The same way of baring tiny teeth when annoyed. It was uncanny how much a rabbit could resemble a person.

 

"You idiot."

 

He let out a humorless laugh through his nose.

 

They’d been something once. briefly something. Chance had genuinely thought they could last longer than a handful of months. He’d even let himself believe Mafioso could change. But then chance made his move that destroyed their progress. Chance built his own casino using half of mafioso's money and partnered with a rival  syndicate of mafioso that made the man utterly furious.

 

He still remembered that last meeting.

 

Mafioso’s hands had been on his throat, shaking with restraint.

 

“If we weren’t lovers." Mafioso had whispered, breath hot against his ear, “you wouldn’t be breathing.”

 

That line had haunted him ever since. It frightened him because it had been said like a confession.

 

Chance rubbed his temple, sighing.

 

“That was a lifetime ago.” he muttered aloud, as if speaking it could finally sever the weight of it.

 

He lowered himself to the floor with a grunt, sitting cross-legged as the bunnies wrestled nearby, paying him no mind. He stared at them blankly. His mind should’ve been racing about other things. about the plan, about the others, about this reality he’d found himself tangled in. That’s when something caught his eye.

 

A glint was just barely visible beneath the edge of the couch cushion. a coin tucked away by time and one itrapped personally touched. His breath hitched.

 

He lunged.

 

The bunnies scattered in alarm as they darted in opposite directions but Chance barely registered the chaos. His hand shoved under the couch, scrabbling against dust and forgotten crumbs, until there.

 

He felt the Cold metal touched his fingertips.

 

He pulled it free with his hands trembling. A coin and it's not just any coin. That coin.

 

His breath left his lungs in a shaky exhale. “No way...”

 

He stared down at it with his eyes wide. emotions flickering through his expression of relief, disbelief, fear and joy. 

 

“This proves it. I’m not crazy,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly. “It happened. It all happened.”

 

He laughed suddenly. loud and manic in its release.

 

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he shouted to no one, clutching the coin to his chest, then holding it up to the light. His laughter filled the room and bouncing off the walls.

 

Then, with no hesitation, he flipped the coin.

 

Clink.

Heads.

 

He flipped it again.

Heads.

And again.

Heads.

 

His smile faltered. Just a bit.

 

Chance slowly lowered the coin, watching it rest in his palm.

 

“…Well,” he said, half-heartedly chuckling, “that’s… definitely something.”

 

The rabbits stared at him from under the coffee table as Chance leaned back on the couch, still flipping the coin over and over in his fingers.

 

Heads.

 

Heads.

 

Heads.

 

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore.

 

 

Tails. 

 

His body trembled from exhaustion and immediately, his strength was being siphoned out of him, one coin toss at a time. His fingers shook, his breath was uneven, and a deep ache settled behind his eyes but there was an undeniable happiness written in his face.

 

“tails.. tails… tails… tails…”

 

The coin flicked through the air again.

 

Chance’s eyes were unfocused, but his hand reached almost instinctively toward the nearby couch, where his fedora lay quietly. He picked it up and pressed it against his chest for a moment, steadying his breath, before placing it carefully on his head and adjusting the brim. Hat fix.

 

The metal coin flicked again in his hand, quick and obsessive with each toss.

 

“Come on, come on.” he muttered under his breath.

 

Survivor instincts. A gift or curse. Each of the survivors had something unique to tip the odds in their favor, and for Chance, it was this: his coin. His measure of luck. Heads meant strength. Tails meant vulnerability. Every flip told him how likely he was to survive.

 

Tails.

 

Tails.

 

Tails again.

 

He laughed, bitterly at first, but then another unstable grin cracked across his face

 

“Figures.” he muttered. “Luck never did like me much.”

 

The fedora’s brim hid his tearful eyes as he flicked the coin one more time.

 

Heads.

 

He stopped in anticipation.

 

His hand was clammy as he staggered toward the table. He reached down, picked up the gun lying in wait and cradled it.

 

He took a slow, deep breath through his nose. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

 

His hand trembled slightly as he raised the gun and pressed it against his jaw, just under the bone.

 

“Let’s see if you're still on my side.”

 

Click.

 

The hammer snapped down empty. The silence that followed was deafening… and then he burst out laughing.

 

“HAHA!”

 

Chance’s shout rang out.

 

He threw his fist triumphantly into the air, his voice hoarse and wild with relief. A raw, victorious grin broke across his face as he laughed, loud and unrestrained. 

 

“YES! Still got it! HA!”

 

His knees gave out, and he slid down to the floor, still clutching the revolver loosely, his hat slightly askew. He was still here. The odds weren’t done with him yet and he still has his abilities.

 

“It’s real… It’s FUCKING REAL!” He referred to his freedom and to his hellish experience. Chance’s voice cracked as he screamed more. He collapsed to his knees, scooping up the two frozen rabbits into his arms with trembling hands. Their tiny, rigid forms were cold to the touch, but there was weight to them and that is presence. That was all he needed to feel less lonely.

 

He crushed them against his chest, hugging them tightly.

 

Tears streamed down his face, unrelenting, blurring his vision and soaking into the rabbits’ fur. His heart pounded in his chest. “You’re real. Im really here. I’m not dreaming-I’m not hallucinating again… they've escaped too.” he whispered, voice shaking as his forehead pressed gently against the yellow rabbit’s head.

 

His breath came in ragged. "I'm so- I'm so happy."

 

The words came out choked with laughter, mingled with sobs. He slowly eased his grip on the rabbits, allowing them to breathe while his fingers trembled. He then brushed their fur back into place, careful not to startle them more.

 

 

_______________________

 

 

 

“Casino… casino-shit, I forgot about that.”

 

 

Chance muttered under his breath as he paced the room, already tugging his shirt over his head with a frustrated grunt. A pile of fabric hit the floor as he stormed toward his wardrobe, kicking it open with a bit more force than necessary.

 

His eyes darted from hanger to hanger.

 

That one is too bright. That one is too loud. That too looks inviting.

 

The inside of his closet was an explosion of colors. blinding reds, shimmering whites, gold-stitched lapels. Every single suit screamed attention. Flashy, flamboyant. Perfect for the casino floor but if he wanted to be hunted down. The killer is gonna get him. The killer is gonna notice him. The killers are out there.

 

His fingers trembled slightly as he shoved suits aside, hangers clanking loudly. He needed something that hid him. 

 

his hand stopped on black. He exhaled, his shoulders slowly lowering. the black suit hung near the back. He ran his fingers down the jacket's front. This was the suit where he had died countless times.

 

Suddenly, a sharp yelp escaped his lips when he stumbled forward because his foot had hit something soft.

 

“Wah—! Dammit!” he caught himself against the dresser, blinking down.

 

The yellow rabbit blinked lazily up at him, sitting atop one of Chance’s most expensive, blood-red suits. 

 

Chance let out a startled laugh. “You little fluff” he said with a huff, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “Trying to kill me before the killers even get the chance?”

 

The rabbit twitches its ears.

 

Chance chuckled, shook his head, and slid into the black suit. He tucked in the crisp shirt, adjusted the cuffs, and began tying the jet-black tie in the mirror. As he reached for the suit jacket, he noticed the rabbit hadn’t moved. Its gaze was fixed on the red suit beneath it.

 

Chance paused for a moment, studying the rabbit’s expression. It looks oddly contemplative.

 

“…Your look-alike gave that to me.”

 

His voice came quieter and nostalgia as he knelt down near the yellow bunny.

 

“One of the only gifts he ever gave me. No reason at all ya know. He just handed it to me.”

 

The rabbit shifted slightly. Chance reached out and gently brushed a speck of lint off the rabbit’s fur, then glanced at the red suit with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

“He had this smug way of giving things like they were afterthoughts,” he said, more to himself now. “But he always watched to see if I kept them.”

 

He stood, straightened the tie once more, and stared at his reflection.

 

“Come on now, don’t give me that suit another look. Do you like it?” Chance said, glancing down at the yellow bunny still perched atop the red suit. “You can’t wear that, you’re a bunny.”

 

He leaned down and scooped it into his arms, surprised by how still it was. It didn’t squirm like usual. Its small body was warm, its chest rising slowly in its usual calm rhythm. How weird and obedient.

 

“…Weird.” Chance mumbled, arching a brow. But he said nothing more and crouched again to pick up the white one, who immediately squinted at him in its tiny eyes.

 

“Oh don’t even start." Chance said, already anticipating the nip, but the rabbit only grumbled in that silent way as he lifted it into his arms. He carried both to the basket from where they were first brought to him.

 

“I can’t just leave you two here,” he informed, adjusting the edges of the velvet. “You’ll tear the entire apartment apart. And I’d rather not come home to shredded furniture and rabbit piss on my carpets again.”

He paused and looked at them with a crooked grin.

 

“So guess what? You’re both coming with me.”

 

There was no reaction. The two bunnies stared blankly as they nestled in the basket like two plush toys. One blinked slowly.

 

“Okay, okay. bring your pets to work day.” he quipped dryly. “Great. I’m that guy now.”

 

He stood still for a moment. The smile faded slightly. His fingers tightened around the wicker handles of the basket. He then inhaled. 

 

You can do this. You’ve faced worse. You’ve died worse.

 

And yet, his legs felt heavy.

 

He shifted the basket carefully to one arm and reached for the doorknob. His fingers hovered there for just a second too long.

 

This was his first time stepping out after locking himself in his penthouse for days. What if..

 

He shook the thoughts off with a shake of his head.

 

“I’m just gonna check on the place,” he said out loud, trying to convince himself more than anyone. “I’ll walk in, I’ll walk out. Easy.”

 

His ears rang faintly. His stomach clenched. It had been hours and days? since he last ate. He couldn’t even remember the last meal. The hunger gnawed at his inside but still, he squared his shoulders, opened the door, and stepped outside with the basket.

 

“…Alright, boys.” he muttered, glancing down at the rabbits. “Let’s go see if we still own a damn casino.”

 

 

___________________

 

 

 

"I won!" one of the gamblers shouted, laughing loudly as a stack of chips was pushed toward him. Around the crimson-draped table, the others cheered, clinked glasses and reveled in their shallow victory.

 

Chance sat quietly in his private lounge, just a short distance from the main tables. It is a regal suite nestled high above the casino floor and it's designed for exclusivity. The air was thick with perfume, cigar smoke, and champagne breath it disgusted him.

 

He was alone, technically, except for the two rabbits sitting still in a basket beside him. He watched the yellow one blinked sleepily while the white one’s ears twitched at every shout and cheer.

 

Chance flipped his coin silently between his fingers. Heads. Tails. Tails. Heads. Heads. Heads. The metal flickered beneath the dim light.

 

He looked down at the gambling crowd. They were so thrilled all for a game of cards. A puff of amusement left him. All this joy for something so petty. 

 

He wanted to join tonight initially. He’d approached the table with that old, cocky grin. Everyone had perked up, murmuring excitedly. “He’s gonna play." they whispered. “Chance is back.”

 

But as the dealer shuffled the cards and Chance reached for the first chip, his hand paused mid-air. The energy was gone.

 

He had gambled with far higher stakes. His own life. The lives of others. His coin was flipped with blood on the line, not chips. These games now we're just glittering child's play.

 

So he’d backed off, grumbling a soft, “Deal me out.” and returned to his corner, leaving a stunned silence.

 

Now, he slowly stood, brushing imaginary dust from his dark suit, and picked up the basket with the two rabbits. He turned to leave, steps quiet and deliberate.

 

But one of the gamblers called out, half-drunk, half-confused, “Hey! Where ya going, man?”

 

Chance paused. He turned his head slowly, offering a thin smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Just taking my leave. You all seem to be enjoying yourselves."

 

The gambler stood up, swaying slightly. “What? You lost your spark or something? This isn't you.” the man placed his hand on chance's shoulder.

 

Chance’s smile stiffened in response, eyes narrowing. In one sharp movement, he shoved the man aside. It was not harsh but with enough pressure to make his disinterest known. “Don’t touch me.”

 

The man stumbled back, blinking and stunned but chance ignored him and scanned the group slowly. Did he even recognize them anymore? These used to be his high rollers but he can't remember their names..

 

“Gentlemen,” Chance said coldly, "just play the game. It was… nice seeing you all again."

 

“You serious, Chance?” another gambler stood, annoyed now. “What gives?”

 

Chance turned fully, basket still in hand. His gaze sharpened and daring them to speak again. 

 

Silence fell as the only sound was the soft rustle of straw in the basket and the faint metallic clunk when chance’s coin fell back into his pocket.

 

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the lounge.

 

His fingers gripped the basket just a bit tighter before he exhaled softly as the door swung shut behind him.

 

Thankfully, they backed down.

 

Chance felt his shoulders loosen just slightly before he stepped out into the cool night, the city air of robloxia brushed past him. The glow of the casino lights faded behind him as he cradled the rabbit basket in his arms. 

 

The casino… it was still standing and it was still functional. His assistant had done a decent job managing things in his absence. papers signed, high rollers kept happy and money is still flowing but it didn’t feel like his anymore. 

 

Chance sighed, flipping his coin again.  Heads. Heads. Heads. Just as he turned down an alley, a shortcut he’d used a hundred times before in the past- he came to a hard stop.

 

He’s cornered.

 

A figure stepped into view, cutting off his path. The drunk idiot had indeed follow him.

 

“Chance…” he slurred mockingly, shaking his head. “What a pity you’ve turned into this.”

 

Chance’s jaw tightened. He kept calm, eyes flicking around for exits. The alley was narrows to run with the rabbits. He gently, carefully, set the basket on top of a nearby cement block. “stay.” he whispered to them. Hoping they won't hop off.

 

Straightening his coat, he faced the man fully.

 

“What are you doing?” Chance asked coolly, hiding the tension in his voice. “I thought we were done with our reunion? Or are we skipping to the threats?”

 

He watched the man step forward. His grin before is curled into something bitter. The irony. “You should’ve stayed dead.”

 

Chance didn’t flinch. 

 

“You should’ve stayed gone.” the man continued and his voice is thick with venom. “The casino thrived without you. The staff stopped walking on eggshells.”

 

Chance clenched his jaw, his hand tightening in his coat pocket. 

 

“Where are you going with this?” Chance said. Scowling. “Don't forget I can ban you from my casino-”

 

He was interrupted when the man spat at the ground. “bah! Don't act so cocky! You’re not special anymore. Just a washed-up man so don't go spouting off bullshit”

 

Chance’s eyes darkened. So this was it. It was envy and resentment. This man wanted him gone permanently.

 

“Itrapped should have ended you with a stab to the heart. That bastard failed to kill you! he had promised me that you'd be-”

 

With one last flick of his coin, he landed in heads and chance lunged forward like a man possessed.

 

His fist connected with a sickening crack against the man's jaw. the force sending the gambler stumbling back, blood spraying from split lips. That idiot seemed to snap out from the initial shock because he came at him from the side almost in an instant, but Chance ducked low and drove his knee into the man’s gut, winding him instantly. The alley echoed with the dull, wet thuds of fists hitting flesh.

 

Back in that hell- he had fought tooth and nail to survive. He had clawed his way through blood and bone, with only his coin and stubborn will to keep him breathing. He had survived and died over and over again.

 

This idiot is nothing.

 

Another punch where this time- he made sure it's sharp and sudden that it shattered the man’s nose and sent him against the wall. A tooth clattered to the ground beside the rabbits’ basket, slick with blood.

 

“Fucking moron.” Chance spat, panting. blood smeared across his knuckles. His chest rose and fell erratically.

 

The idiot is still standing somehow even when he was a mess of bruises. Chance watched him stagger up. blood pouring from a cut across his brow. His voice cracked with hysteria as he screamed at chance.

 

“You’re insane! You think you can crawl back here and act like you're still king? You're just a lunatic with a coin and a death wish! You're nothing now! You’re-”

 

His boot struck the edge of the cement block. The basket wobbled and one of the bunnies nearly toppled.

 

Chance saw white. His breath cut short and with no hesitation. His revolver was already in his hand.

 

Bang.

 

The shot rang through the alley like the countless times he had shot a living breathing K̵͈̼̱͎̣̺͇̱̜̈́́̈́̍̀į̷̦̫̟̆̀̍̐̀͘̚̚͝l̶̬̘̂̾̅͐͝l̴̢̥̪͓͈̬̖͚͋̒͑̔̀̎̀͠ě̷̢̨̼̫̜̯́̐̀̆͐͜r̶̜̈͊̅̑.

 

The man crumpled to the ground as he twitched. blood quickly pooling beneath him.

 

Chance didn’t move For a long time, he stood there. rooted in the middle of the narrow alleyway with the revolver still clutched in his shaking hand. His arm trembled violently, fingers clenched too tightly around the grip. He couldn't loosen them.

 

The only sound now was his breathing. Harsh and wet.

 

The body of the man M̶͇̹͙̓̿͒̉̏̈́͝ạ̵̧̠̲̝̏͐͒͗ņ̶̛̫̯͖̀͆͛̃̾͊̕͝͝ ̷̨̛͍͙̲͎̲̫͔̈́͌͋̊̾̓m̴̬͙̦̟͇̻͗͋͆â̸̤͎̳̤ň̷͕̜̤͔̪̻̥̅͗̎ ̴̥̘̺͐̏̿̆m̶̖̔͌̄̽͝a̶̤̩̞̙͒͒̓̌̓̈̾̎n̴̡̛̲̩͉̬̘̰̙̥̒̆͌̒̑̾̕͝ ̵̨͖̦̄̃m̷̡͚̥̘̦̗̯̃͜͜a̴̡̭̣̝̓̀̃n̷̡̢͎̳̯̙̫̳͕͌̓̕͜͝ ̸̘̏͘m̷̢̧͚͙̘̫͌̋̀̀͐̿̈͋̚a̸̦͚̙̻͈̲͚̾͛̍̑̄̌͋̕̕ṅ̶̥̮̫̭͇̩̋̆̍͌̄̎̔͝ ̴̢͍̫̘̬̟̺̇̋͝j̴̩͇͎͕̺̤̩̘̬̼̾̽̀̿̃̇̽͋̆͠a̴͎̞̥̖̮͙͈͑͂̎̂̎̅͋̀̍̊ṣ̸̢̳̙̹͉̔̓͂͠ͅo̶̥̿̈̀̌͌͠ņ̶͉̜̠͇̪̱̠͈̼̐͌͝ in front of him had already gone still. The shot had landed dead center, just like he meant it to but something wasn’t right.

 

He blinked. The world swayed. Slowly, his knees buckled, and he knelt on the cold concrete, the revolver slipping from his hand with a loud clatter. It spun once and twice before resting near his foot. He didn’t reach for it again.

 

Instead, he ran a hand back through his damp hair, pushing it out of his face and froze.

 

His fingers came away wet.

 

And it wasn't sweat but Blood. Bright, hot crimson smeared across his palm.

 

"...Shit."

 

Chance looked down at his right arm. The meat of his forearm was torn open, Tiny flecks of bone jutted out beneath ruined flesh. The revolver hadn’t just fired. it had detonated and still, he had hit his target.

 

"Got him..." he whispered. a strange, breathless laugh escaping his throat. "I actually got the bastard."

 

He let out a ragged breath, watching it mist in the cold air of night.

 

"Fuck you..fuck you.” He laughed again, hoarse and shaking. "This fucked up luck.”

 

The alley was silent except for the soft drip… drip… drip of his blood hitting the pavement.

 

He stared at the rabbits who were sitting still. He should have suspected why they hadn't run when they heard the loud sound but chance was too exhausted to think properly. 

 

They're safe. He did good.

 

 

________________________

 

 

The door slammed open.

 

Chance staggered through. his body trembling and his breath short and ragged. His blood-slick fingers left red smears on the handle as he forced it shut behind him But then opened it when he heard footsteps.

 

His assistant, who had just came and been ordered to knock but not speak, stood frozen in the hallway, holding a large pizza box with both hands. When he saw Chance’s condition, his face went pale, jaw slack.

 

“Chance, what the hell happened-?”

 

But Chance didn’t even look at him.

 

He snatched the box from the assistant’s hands with the motion jerky and desperate before he slammed the door shut once more  Inside, the penthouse was dim and suffocating.. Chance’s boots dragged across the floor as he began to pace back and forth like an animal cornered.

 

His right arm hung limp at his side, the bandages wrapped hastily and already leaking. His jacket sleeve was torn and crusted with dried blood.

 

“He’s injured. He’s injured. He’s a target now…”

 

Chance said aloud to himself, voice shaking.

 

“They’ll come for him next. He’s a liability. He’s gonna slow us down. They’ll gut him out- they're not…he's not.. I'm not.. I'm gonna die..”

 

He set the pizza box down with too much force and tore it open with both hands. His eyes were wide and pupils dilated. He grabbed a slice and practically shoved it into his mouth, chewing violently and barely swallowing before tearing into the next.

 

Crumbs and cheese clung to his lips. Sauce smeared across his cheek.

 

He ate like he was dying.

 

Why isn’t he healing?

 

His hands froze, a slice halfway to his mouth. Then came the thoughts, spiraling and multiplying-

 

Why isn’t he healing?  

 

Why isn’t he healing? 

 

Why isn’t he healing?  

 

Why isn’t he healing?  

 

Why isn’t he healing?  

 

Why isn’t he healing?  

 

Why isn’t he healing?  

 

Why isn’t he healing?

 

 

His mind screamed it, looping over and over like a broken recording. The words echoed faster and louder with every passing second. He clutched the edge of the table with his left hand, feeling his fingers digging into the wood so hard he splintered it.

 

“Why am I not healing!?” he shouted out in anger as his legs gave out. 

 

He collapsed to the ground like a puppet landing hard on his knees. His vision spun violently, black spots blooming in the corners. Sweat ran down his temples, stinging his eyes.

 

He was burning up inside.

 

“I can’t-” he gasped. “I can’t protect anyone in this state,-can’t even protect myself-”

 

His hand slid across the floor, knocking over a bottle and sending it spinning.

 

“I can’t-” His voice cracked.

 

“I’m sorry…”

 

A tear slipped down his cheek and landed silently on the floor.

 

“I can’t save you guys.”

 

He curled inward, wrapping his good arm around himself to hold himself together.

 

The room grew darker with his breath hitching, he collapsed onto his side, cheek pressing against the cold floorboards.

 

In the fog of half-consciousness, Chance drifted. He felt a touch of a hand that is large. Calloused and familiar.

 

It cupped his face. Rough fingers traced the line of his jaw, brushing away the sweat clinging to his skin. The heat of the palm grounded him more. His back pressed into something soft-a mattress? A couch? The warmth of fabric with the scent of leather and ash. 

 

Then there were arms wrapping around his waist.

 

And everything went dark.

 

________________________

 

.

 

 

"Hello- please, I just want to talk to your boss-”

 

Their voice cracked as they stood near the glittering entrance of the casino. The lights stung their tired eyes. Their blue sweater were dusted and shoes worn down from running.  

 

The bodyguard stationed by the door didn’t move an inch 

 

"Please," they tried again with their voice trembling with desperation. "I just want five minutes- I just-"  

 

They reached a hand forward, inching closer but the guard’s gaze sharpened. One more step and they'd be on the ground.  

 

Before they could say anything else an unfamiliar voice slipped through the air behind him.  

 

"sir itrapped?”

 

 

 

“Wh-who?”

 

Notes:

I know I promised 10k but something happened irl💔

Ilysm guys, shout-out to the commenters. You guys brought me back to work and to stop being lazy😔 the next chapter will prolly take long since again, something happened irl that I have to solve. Let me know whatcha think of this cjapter<3

 

Also I say the ship name of noob and chance is no chance.

Nochance at all

Chapter 3: 3. I don't care if it hurts, I wanna have control.

Notes:

This chapter is just chance waking up and falling asleep😭 dawg

“You okay?”

 

Those words were soft and concerned but they hit Chance coldly, dousing him in ice cold water. He blinked slowly, his vision still swimming with the haze of a faceless man. When his surroundings finally snapped back into place, he found himself staring into a pair of eyes that were entirely too familiar.

 

His breath hitched in his throat. This isn't him. this lad isn't him.

 

Chance forced out a shaky exhale, curling his lips into something that passed for a smile hopefully. His usual suave mask wavered around the edges and softened under the scrutiny of the newcomer.

 

"I'm fine.” he muttered. "Just... tired."

 

They watched him while tilting their head slightly, worry etched into the crease of their brow. They looked far too innocent to be in this hell. Wrapped in a cozy blue sweatshirt that was a few sizes, too big oversized sleeves bunched at his wrists, collar slightly crooked. They stood like a sore thumb.

 

Itrapped wouldn’t wear this. Chance noted that fact like a bitter sip of the wine itrapped used to sip.

 

No, Itrapped wore silks and an expensive coat. He walked like every hallway belonged to him. They look soft-spoken and Soft-faced And yet why did that fact not repulse him but instead endear him?

 

His eyes drifted again. The newcomer's pale cheeks were flushed from the bite of the night air, the tip of their nose a little red. Their fingers fiddled nervously with the hem of their sleeves, and they kept glancing at Chance like they aren't sure whether to stay or run.

 

Then they spoke.

 

"You-you look like someone I know."

 

Chance blinked, genuinely taken aback.
Wait. That’s my line.

 

A smirk tugged at his lips, more genuine this time. He's bemused, surprised and a little bit unnerved.

 

“Really?” he echoed, lifting a hand to rub his temple before trailing down to his jaw. “That’s funny. I was just thinking the same thing.”

 

His gaze settled on the curve of the their mouth again. It was subtle, but it's the same shape. The same twitch when they tried to hide a nervous smile. It's also the exact way Itrapped used to purse his lips when caught off guard.

 

No. Not him but it was so almost that they wanted to personally believe.

 

“No one’s ever told me that before,” Chance added, his voice quieter now. “What was their name?”

 

They hesitated, eyes flickering downward. “I... I don’t remember. Just a feeling, I guess.”

 

Chance inhaled deeply, fighting back the rush of air clawing at his ribs. He gave a low chuckle, shaking his head.

 

“Yeah. I know the feeling.”

 

He watched the newcomer looked down, meek and almost embarrassed, the tips of their ears flushed pink. Their hands fidgeted nervously with the ends of his sleeves, tugging at the fabric like it could protect them from Chance’s gaze. And yes, chance agree that it should’ve because he was staring far too much.

 

There was something adorable about the way the newcomer curled in on themself. Like a scared rabbit that had wandered into someone's den but was trying so hard not to bolt. Chance had seen his share of cowards back in the casino but he got the feeling that this newcomer isn't just a simple face. After all, everyone who's in here isn't someone to be underestimated for.

 

Aside from that, This newcomer arrived just a week ago and from the moment Chance laid eyes on them, he’d nearly reeled from the shock. Same color hair. Same body structure. Same shape of lips. Same- No. Not the same. This stranger was warmer and shy. There wasn't a trace of Itrapped’s smug smirk or venom-laced charm. And perhaps that’s why, despite how badly it unsettled him, Chance hadn’t hesitated to help.

 

He remembered that first round and how the newcomer trembled trying to fix the generator. how their voice cracked asking where the safe zones were. He also remembered how they looked at Chance like he was something worthwhile. Unlike itrapped.

 

Chance’s chest tightened at the name again. Admins, his itrapped. What he felt wasn’t resentment now. It's a hollow ache he had buried under the poker chips in his pocket and his blood-stained suit. He had no room left in his heart for grief especially not when each day felt like a borrowed hour. Still, it didn’t stop him from flinching sometimes.

 

From the way this stranger moved and from the way they'd say “goodluck” to the survivors every time the round starts and from the ghost they kept dragging behind their smile.

 

“im serious.. you you really look like my friend.” the newcomer said once more, voice hushed and firmed. They looked up through their lashes, unsure. “With the way you, uhm… do that jaw thingy. When you're thinking.”

 

Chance blinked. He touched his chin instinctively, thumb brushing his jaw. “Jaw thingy?”

 

“Yeah. That thing,” they mumbled, eyes darting away. “It’s… weird. But you do it exactly like him.”

 

There was a brief, awkward silence before Chance found himself blurting out without thinking, “You look like my buddy too.”

 

They both froze. Their Eyes locking with their awkward Expressions.

 

to his own surprise, Chance smiled and it's not the usual practiced smirk he gives to the survivors. It's a genuine, breathy chuckle that slipped past his guard before he could stop it. It bubbled out of his throat, catching him off guard. He watched the newcomer giggled in response. It was so soft and light. Chance nearly lost it.

 

He laughed.
They laughed.
And laughed until the cold in his chest cracked open just a little.

 

His ears rang from the sound of a laugh that is nothing like Itrapped.

 

“Guess we’ve got a few things in common, huh?”

 

Chance snorted, rubbing the back of his neck as their shared laughter faded into the night. The warmth lingering from the newcomer's laugh still echoed faintly in his chest. He shook his head with a crooked grin, the edges softening in amusement. “What’s your name?”

 

The newcomer’s smile faltered for just a moment.

 

“I—I…” they began, voice small, eyes darting down as his fingers fumbled with the hem of their blue sleeves again. Their lips trembled before they closed it.

 

Chance ofcourse, immediately caught the the way the newcomer clammed up. There's the faint look of guilt or was it fear? crossing their face. He didn’t push. He knew better than most that names could carry too much weight.

 

Chance raised a hand gently, cutting him off with a calm nod. “It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me. I get it.”

 

He offered a small smile, a reassuring smile but worn down at the corners. “I’m Chance,” he said, placing a hand to his chest. “He/they, Been here… hell, six years now.”

 

The moment the words left his mouth, he noticed The newcomer's face drained of color. Their eyes widened slightly, mouth parting in quiet disbelief. “Six… years?” they whispered.

 

Chance felt the ache creep back in. He didn’t respond right away as he just nodded slowly. the amusement melting off his face. His eyes dulled as he speak once more “Yes,” he said at last, voice flat and grim. “That long. Is something wrong?" The silence stretched between them. Then the newcomer finally broke the stillness, their voice shaky.

 

“no.. no.. nothing's wrong I’m… I’m okay, I guess. I mean, I’m not-I still don’t know what I’m doing here and you- you always save me. I feel… useless. Like everyone else knows what to do but I just keep-messing up.”

 

Chance’s expression shifted immediately. He frowned, taking a step closer, his brow furrowing in frustration. not at the newcomer, but at the way they spoke about theirself. He shook his head, firmly.

 

“Don’t say that,” chance said, tone low but resolute. “You’re not useless. You’re still breathing, aren’t you? You’re surviving. That’s more than most people could manage.”

 

He hesitated for a second, then tried to soften the mood. A small, crooked grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

 

“Though, if you are gonna call yourself useless, at least do it while watching me fumble every goddamn generator on this map. Did you see me tripping over the last one in the last round? Hell, I still fuck up the generators ya know?”

 

The newcomer blinked then laughed. A proper one this time. Eyes lighting up, shoulders loosening as the tension bled out of them.

 

And Chance smiled back. He wanted to see that smile again. Often. Would Itrapped ever smile at him like that? Would it ever have looked that soft? And that honest?

 

He didn't have the answer but perhaps he didn't need one when there was someone in front of him, laughing like that now.

 

“Yes-yes! I was so confused,” the newcomer stammered, words tumbling out in a flurry of breathless emotion. “And I know I’ve only been here for just a week but… but I’m glad someone-” they faltered, struggling to pull the right words from his chest.

 

Chance watched him with a quiet fondness, his head tilting slightly as he let the newcomer scramble through his thoughts. The way they excitedly but nervously spoke, eager yet uncertain made Chance’s lips twitch into a soft smile. The newcomer kept pausing like they are afraid of saying the wrong thing.

 

“…You know-” the newcomer added helplessly, hands fluttering in a vague gesture.

 

Chance chuckled, stepping in to catch the sentiment. “you’re glad someone understands, huh?

 

The newcomer gave a shy nod, clearly relieved.

 

“Yeah, I get it,” Chance added, voice warm. “You’re not the only one. We all land here feeling like we’ve been thrown in a blender.”

 

He leaned slightly forward, mischief returning to his grin.

 

“Hah, I’ve had the honor of being crowned the worst generator repairer in here. The others practically boo whenever I approach one,” he said, tipping his fedora with exaggerated flair. “But now that you’ve arrived… I’m afraid the sacred title of ‘Generator Noob’ is officially passed down to you.”

 

He gave a dramatic bow. “Congratulations, noble heir.”

 

There was a pause. Chance’s grin faltered. He blinked once. Twice. Did he just push it too far but calling the newcomer a noob? He quickly raised both hands, already ready to backpedal. “Hey- I was just joking, alright? If that came off wrong-”

 

But before he could finish, the newcomer suddenly surged forward and threw their arms around him. Chance tensed and flinched in Instinct. He wasn’t used to warmth hitting him like that. The hug was firm, tight, and chance had the impression that newcomer had been holding it in since the second they met. Chance stood frozen for a beat, arms awkwardly hovering in the air as the younger pressed close.

 

Then he heard the newcomer gasp.

 

“Oh- oh, I’m sorry!” they yelped, stumbling back as quickly as they'd moved away. Their face was burning red now, hands flailing like they were trying to erase the moment from memory. “I- I didn’t mean to-it’s just-!”

 

Chance coughed, hand at his collar as he tried to recover. “No, it’s… it’s fine. Just caught me off guard is all.”

 

The newcomer took a deep breath, their smile stretching brightly.

 

“Hi, Chance.”

 

Chance blinked, startled by the sudden shift in tone. “Uh… hi?”

 

“My name is Noob.” they said with a strange sort of pride. “Please call me Noob, Chance.”

 

The sheer sincerity in their voice made Chance pause.

 

Noob? Chance thought with a blink. That’s… That’s the name they had chosen?

 

But Noob stood there with such confidence and earnestness that Chance couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

 

Dumbfounded but charmed, he nodded.

 

“Alright,” Chance said with a real smile now tugging at his lips. “Hello, Noob. Nice to meet you.”

 

In Chance's view that night, he felt refreshed. Maybe that's why they ought to say it was nice to meet the newcomer as a way to try again once more.

 

 

                         _______________

 

 

“Chance?”

 

The voice is soft and persistent.

 

Chance cracked his eyes open with a grunt, still sore from the last round. He sat hunched over the pool table, the cue stick resting against his shoulder as he lined up a shot. The cue ball rolled weakly, missing its mark. He leaned back with a sigh, resting the stick across his lap, too tired to care.

 

“What’s up, Noob?” he asked, not looking up.

 

He heard the shuffle of hesitant feet.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

That made Chance glance at them.

 

Noob stood just a few steps away, fidgeting again with the sleeves of their hoodie as always, brows furrowed with concern. Chance’s shoulders tensed. “I’m okay,” he replied flatly. But Noob didn’t buy it. They stepped closer Carefully Then, gently, they tugged at the corner of Chance’s coat.

 

It was such a small annoying gesture but it made Chance freeze.

 

“You’ve been acting weird,” Noob said, their voice barely a whisper.

 

Chance swallowed in response and looked back at the pool table, trying to refocus. “I said I’m fine.”

 

But the words rang hollow even to himself.

 

“Leave me alone” he muttered, quieter this time.

 

There was a beat of silence.

 

Then chance felt a shove.

 

It wasn’t violent but it was enough to make him stumble back a step, eyes widening in disbelief.

 

“What the hell?” he snapped, spinning toward Noob.

 

Noob stood his ground, fists clenched, eyes shimmering with anger and confusion.

“I saw how you left us,” they said, voice cracking. “You just… sat in the corner while we got chased. You didn’t even try to help and you didn’t even look at us! Guest died chance!"

 

Chance opened his mouth but nothing came out. He remembered it ofcourse. He remembered the last round. He had sat with his back against a crumbling wall, flipping his coin over and over as he ignored the screams echoing in the distance.

 

“You just stared at that damn coin.” Noob continued, their voice rising with emotion. “Like none of it mattered and li-like we didn’t matter! Elliot had needed help chance.. taph was barely holding on and what were you doing!?”

 

“I didn’t mean to.” Chance finally said, his tone and ashamed.

 

“Then why?” Noob asked, taking another step closer. “Did we do something? Did I do something wrong? Just- say something o-or anything. I can’t keep guessing!”

 

Chance closed his eyes. He didn’t mean to drift away.

 

Drifting away had started subtly. He had missed a generator and a wrong turn. The faint ringing in his ears that wouldn’t stop. Then that fucking weight of the past crept in again. He heard Itrapped’s laugh, smell the blood on the grass and the sound of the killer’s footsteps.

 

He had hidden in plain sight. Sat in the open. When he opened his eyes again, everyone was looking at him in disappointment. And damn it… Chance didn’t know what to say.

 

“I just… couldn’t get up,” he admitted, voice rough. “i tried my damn best but I can't move.. I was sitting there and my body wouldn’t obey... I kept flipping the coin ya know? telling myself I’d stand and that I’d help. But the match was already over-”

 

Noob’s expression softened slightly, the fight draining from their posture.

 

“You could’ve told us,” they whispered. “I would’ve understood. I would've stayed with you.”

 

Chance looked away, jaw tightening. “Yeah… but that’s the problem.”

 

The words came out sharp. He turned back toward the pool table, jaw grinding as he picked up the cue stick again. His grip on it was tighter this time. white-knuckled. With a sudden crack, he lined up a shot and slammed the cue ball harder than necessary, sending it ricocheting off the sides before it jumped the edge and clattered to the floor.

 

“Damn it,” he muttered.

 

Noob flinched at the sound, but didn’t back away.

 

Chance let out a sharp exhale, then bent to pick up the ball again. But instead of resetting it calmly, he slammed it down onto the table. The wood groaned under the pressure. He leaned both hands on the edge, head bowed low, breathing heavy. His shoulders tremble.

 

“What’s the point, huh?” Chance growled suddenly, voice low and venom-laced. “What’s the goddamn point of trying? Of fixing generators, of hiding, of running? We just keep dying. Over and over.”

 

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “We’re rats in a maze. someone throw us in, chase us, kill us and what do we do? Get up and run again like idiots the next day.”

 

Noob’s lips parted, concern flashing in their eyes.

 

“Chance-”

 

But Chance was already pacing now, cue stick still in hand. He jabbed it toward the air with every word, like punctuating a speech meant for that goddamn bastard that did these to them.

 

“They want us to bond. To trust each other. But trust doesn’t matter when you're bleeding out alone. It doesn’t matter when the ones you do trust disappear on you without a word, or worse- stab you in the back!”

 

He slammed the stick down on the table again, the crack echoing in the quiet of the room.

 

“I tried,” he snarled. “I tried, Noob. Once. I put everything into surviving, into protecting everyone...”

 

The last word came out nearly choked.

 

“And what did it get me? Abandoned. Still in this fuckass of a place! You want me to talk? Fine. I’m tired. I’m so goddamn tired of watching everyone get killed over and over again.”

 

His eyes locked onto Noob. “So yeah. I stayed in the corner. I flipped my coin and watched the blood dry on my hands. Because it’s easier than pretending we’re going to make it out of here. Because I’d rather die numb than get up.”

 

Chance’s chest heaved as he finally stopped speaking. He looked like a man who’d been underwater too long and forgot how to breathe. Noob didn’t move and didn’t speak. They stood there, stunned.

 

Chance slowly looked down at his trembled hands.. “…Shit." he muttered, voice barely audible. "I-"

 

“Chance.."

 

Noob whispered, interrupting chance. “I don’t want to die.”

 

Chance blinked with chest still rising and falling with ragged breaths. “Huh?”

 

“I don’t want to die.” Noob said again. louder this time, a breathy tremor behind the words. They clenched their fists at their side.

 

And then they shoved Chance once more. A full-body push with desperation and anger. Chance stumbled backward a step, caught off-guard. “The hell are you?!” he snapped, his frustration boiling over. Without thinking, he shoved Noob back harder.

 

It wasn’t meant to hurt them. But the force sent Noob stumbling into the edge of the pool table. Their hips hit the rim and they fell flat onto the surface with a startled gasp, the back of their head bouncing lightly against the worn felt.

 

Chance’s eyes widened, hands twitching with the instinct to help but he froze when he realized where they were.

 

He was standing right between Noob’s legs, looming over them. Their eyes locked, Chance's fierce gaze looking at noob’s tearful ones.

 

Noob didn’t move to get up. Instead, they gripped the table’s edge with trembling hands, their chest rising and falling beneath the fabric of their sweater.

 

“I don’t want to die,” they whispered again, voice breaking apart. “It hurts. It hurts so much…”

 

Chance stared down at them. The light above the table flickered faintly, throwing thin shadows over Noob’s pale face. Their flushed cheeks glistened with the beginnings of tears. They looked pitiful and Pitiful to be in this place.

 

“I’m not like you,” Noob continued, swallowing hard. “You- you walk through this place like it doesn’t even scratch you. You’ve been here for six years, Chance. Six. Years. I can’t even survive six matches without falling apart.”

 

They let out a bitter, shaky breath.

 

“I wanna live, Chance. I want to live. Even if it’s just one more day. Even if it’s just one match where I don’t get stabbed or decapitated or scream my lungs out. I know- I know we come back every time but God it still hurts.”

 

Noob's hands clutched at their chest now.

 

“It hurts waking up again and again just to die. To see the same people scream, to feel the same claws in your gut, to cry while pretending you’re brave because no one else will say they’re scared. But I am, Chance. I’m scared. Every time I hear my own heartbeat, I panic. Every time someone screams, I freeze.”

 

Tears finally spilled from the corners of their eyes.

 

“I don’t want to be brave. I just want to live. Please.”

 

Chance hadn’t moved. He didn’t know how. His breath had slowed, his fury ebbing like a retreating tide he hears outside the cabin, leaving behind the wreckage of everything he said and everything Noob just revealed. He realized his hands were trembling and it's not from anger this time

 

Noob continued to lay there, tears streaking down the side of their face, voice hoarse and broken beneath him and chance..god. Chance's anger disappeared instantly.

 

“Don’t cry… don’t cry,” Chance whispered, almost more to himself than to Noob.

 

His voice had lost all its sharp edges. It's barely a breath. It's a plea. Slowly, his hand reached out, calloused thumb brushing against Noob’s damp cheek, wiping away a tear that had traced down to their jaw. They looked fragile beneath him, arms sprawled beside his head, legs still parted on either side of Chance’s body as they lay back fully on the pool table.

 

He hated this. Seeing someone this scared. This vulnerable. It reminded him of all the things he swore he’d never feel again.

 

“I’ll protect you, okay?” he murmured, fingers cupping Noob’s cheek more firmly now, anchoring them both in the moment. “Next round… I’m gonna do good. I swear.”

 

Noob looked up at him. eyes shimmering, lips parted just slightly. The fear still lingered in those eyes, but so did something else. Something stupid and hopeful. That look made chance’s breath hitched. His hand lingered a little too long on Noob’s cheek. He didn’t pull away.

 

“Mmf-”

 

Chance yelped in surprise when Noob’s arms suddenly wrapped around his neck, yanking him down. He braced both hands on the sides of the pool table, palms flat against the wood beside Noob’s hips, to stop himself from falling fully on top of him. The cue stick clattered to the floor. His knees bent slightly from the impact, and for a heartbeat, he was suspended. half-caught between falling and holding back. Before he could speak, think, or catch his breath- Noob kissed him. Soft lips against his moving in desperation. Their mouths crashed awkwardly at first, but it didn’t matter.

 

Chance’s heart slammed against his ribs, confusion and adrenaline twisting into something white-hot and overwhelming. He didn’t kiss back but then Noob made a soft sound, almost like a whimper and Chance’s body moved before his mind could catch up.

 

He kissed back as he tasted the soda in noob's tongue. He let himself melt into it, tilting his jaw to deepen the connection, noses brushing, breath mingling. He felt noob arched slightly beneath him, fingers curling into the back of Chance’s suit like they didn’t want him to go anywhere. Their legs shifted, drawing Chance closer, the firm press of their bodies locked together now.He felt everything and he felt alive. the rapid thump of Noob’s heartbeat through their clothes and the slight quake in their thighs as they pressed against Chance’s sides. The pool table creaked beneath their shifting weight as his knee slid up between Noob’s legs for balance, the motion is unintentional but the way their gazes met wasn’t.

 

“Noob, I don't want to die too.”

 

He whispered back.

 

 

I don't want to die. 

 

I don't want to die

 

I don't want to die

 

 

 

“I don't want to die.”

 

 

Chance’s body twitched violently on the blood-streaked floor, muscles spasming from the overwhelming burn under his skin. The world spun. His hearing came in muffled bursts like he was underwater but the screaming was still sharp enough to split through.

 

Guest was yelling at Elliot.

 

Elliot was kneeling beside him, frantic hands pressing against his stomach, trying to keep him from bleeding out.

 

But what’s the use? Chance’s skin was on fire. His breaths came out in sharp, short gasps, and every inhale felt like sucking in shards of glass.

 

He was going to die.

 

“I… I don’t want to die.” he whispered, barely audible. his lips trembling, stained with blood.

 

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, trailing down the side of his face and soaking into the dirt. His fingers twitched, reaching up with a limp desperation toward Guest, who was only a few feet away.

 

“Please…” his voice cracked. “Help me up-I can… I’ll go again-I can still move—”

 

Guest turned to him. And the look he gave said everything. Pity. Regret and resignation.

 

“No-no, don’t look at me like that,” Chance’s heart thudded, panic cracking through his chest. Guest had already turned back to block the the murderous child again, distracting him with shouting and misdirection like they were just playing some twisted version of tag.

 

He heard a scream tore from Guest's throat.

 

Chance didn’t get the chance to see what happened. He heard it instead. The sickening sound of a blade stabbing into flesh. Again. And again.

 

The wet, bone-deep noise made Chance choke on his breath. He curled in on himself, whimpering, clutching his chest like it would hold his panic in place.

 

“Where are my-my headphones-” he gasped in a half-delirious panic, trying to cover his ears. “I don’t want to hear it-I don’t want to listen anymore- please-”

 

“I don’t want to die,” he whispered again, voice thin and trembling. “I don’t want to die—”

 

He opened his eyes.

 

And his breath caught. Noob who is far ahead. They were limping. Bleeding. Alone. Chance’s vision blurred again, but he could make out the panic in Noob’s movements the way they kept looking back, the way their hand clutched a wound at their side.

 

No one was helping them. No one even saw them but the killer did. 

 

“Elliot.” Chance rasped, struggling to lift his head. “Elliot-”

 

The support turned, hands still covered in Chance’s blood.

 

“I need to help them,” Chance croaked. “Please- i need to help them. Pizza. Pizza..”

 

“Chance, you can’t move-”

 

“I have to.” Chance begged, tears running freely now. “Please-I don’t want to die but I can’t watch them die either-please they don't want to die- Elliot, just get me up- I’ll crawl if I have to.. just let me go to them-”

 

His hands slipped in the mud as he scrambled forward, dragging himself with all the strength he could muster. His breath came in sharp, panicked sobs.

 

“Noob-no, no-they gonna die,” he gasped. “they're gonna die out there alone-”

 

“Elliot..”

 

“Elliot..

 

“Elliot…”

 

"Elliot"

 

 

 

 

 

“Who is Elliot?”

 

The voice was a low growl. It's sharp and accusing and it's too close.

 

Chance didn’t try to open his eyes. His entire body throbbed on fire. Burning up. The burn crawled beneath his skin like electricity, yet the ground beneath him felt strangely soft, like thick blankets and silk sheets… like a bed. But he didn’t remember lying down. He didn’t even remember surviving the last round.

 

He was slipping.

 

“Who. Is. Elliot?”

 

The voice snapped like a whip, louder this time, anger lacing every syllable, piercing his eardrums.

 

Chance's eyes fluttered open, vision swimming. blurred color, smudged shapes. Then he saw red. A furious, glowing red eyes piercing through the haze.

 

He blinked. His breath caught.

 

A hand grabbed his chin roughly and possessively tilting his face upward with a strength that made his neck ache.

 

“Look at me. Who is Elliot?” the figure snarled, voice laced with such anger that Chance barely had time to process it. He couldn’t even recognize the face in front of him. Everything was too bright. His mind struggled to form coherent thought. His lips parted slightly, but no answer came.

 

“Maff.” another voice cut in. It's calmer but still tense. “He’s out of it. He’s burning up.”

 

That voice is so so familiar.

 

Chance’s heart skipped. His breath hitched.

 

“noob?” he slurred, barely audible.

 

But his head dropped weakly to the side. He was slipping deeper again into fever and into confusion, into something that didn’t feel like a dream but couldn’t possibly be real.

 

“Nghk-”

 

Arms wrapped around him suddenly. The embrace was too tight. A warm body pressed flush against his, chest to chest, fingers tangling in his sweat-drenched hair.

 

“You’re really pissing us off, Chance,” a voice snarled again but this time from above him.

 

He blinked blearily into a different pair of eyes. icy blue this time. So cold.

 

“You keep calling out those names.” the voice whispered. mocking and bitter, venom laced with something deeply strange. “tell us, who are they?”

 

Chance’s lips parted as his brain tried to form a word. what word? a name?

 

But he didn’t get the chance.

 

He was yanked forward, devoured in a suffocating embrace as one of them pressed their face into his throat, inhaling his scent.

 

“I don’t give a damn about Elliot,” the voice muttered against his skin, breath warm, possessive. “snap out of it.” Chance’s head lolled.

 

His breath stuttered.

 

Everything blurred.

 

Everything turned black

 

          ________________________________

 

 

“Chance.”

 

The voice filtered through the fog of sleep again. Chance stirred, a low groan tearing from his throat as he forced his heavy lids open. Everything hurt. He felt like he's drowning. 

 

He tried to sit up but a sharp throb lanced through his shoulder. He winced, glancing down to find his arm wrapped in fresh, clean bandages. The cloth was tight and pristine.

 

His head rolled weakly to the side, eyes landing on the familiar silhouette seated beside him.

 

“Hayden…” Chance rasped, his voice dry and hoarse. His assistant immediately moved to his side with practiced grace, holding a glass of water to his lips.

 

“Slowly, sir,” Hayden murmured, tilting the glass just enough for the cool liquid to soothe his burning throat.

 

Chance drank greedily, letting the water ground him back to the present. His thoughts were muddy and disconnected. He killed a man- he carried the bunnies back home-

 

The bunnies.

 

His eyes widened with panic.

 

He jerked his head toward the foot of the massive, luxurious bed, breath catching but there they were. Two tiny figures sat nestled in a soft pile of velvet blankets near the bed’s edge. They're Alive and safe. A shaky breath then escaped him. Relief struck like a wave. His entire body sagged into the pillows and his eyes falling shut for a second.

 

They're okay. They're okay.

 

He turned back to his arm, brows furrowed. Who bandaged him? The last thing he remembered was… falling. Screaming? Fire? Nothing clear.

 

Hayden was here. So, he must have done it. Good. That was good. Chance didn’t ask. He didn’t want the answer right now.

 

“Hayden,” he croaked again, voice still faint, “Go.”

 

His tone was flat and final. But Hayden didn’t move.

 

Chance’s jaw clenched. He could feel irritation bubbling under the surface. he was too tired for hesitation. “I said go.”

 

Still, Hayden lingered, lips pressed into a nervous line, shifting awkwardly in place. Chance’s eyes narrowed until finally, Hayden spoke cautiously.

 

“…Sir Chance… Sir Itrapped is here.”

 

Itrapped.

 

Chance’s heart skipped.

 

He heard a soft thump, one of the bunnies had flinched.

 

Chance almost bolted from the bed, reacting on pure instinct but he caught himself, exhaling sharply and lifting a shaky hand to gently pet the frightened bunny, his fingers gliding over soft fur with practiced care. “hey, hey it’s alright,” he murmured.

 

Itrapped. Itrapped. Itrapped. Itrapped. Itrapped. Itrapped. Itrapped. Itrapped. Itrapped. Itrapped. Itrapped. Itrapped.

 

His body hadn’t caught up yet, but his mind was already shutting down and refusing to acknowledge. It refused to react. He stared blankly at the foot of the bed, a cold sweat beading at his temple.

 

Itrapped.

 

Chance didn’t look at Hayden when he spoke.

 

“Let him in.”

 

His voice was blunt.There was no strength in it but there was finality.

 

Hayden bowed slightly and turned to leave, the air feeling ten degrees colder in his absence.

 

The door creaked soon open.

 

Chance lifted his gaze sluggishly, eyes still heavy from sleep and fever. His breath hitched as the silhouette stepped into view shorter, familiar, familiar 

 

That face. Those light blue eyes.

 

That soft blue sweater. "Noob!?"

 

The name escaped him in a choked breath, his voice cracking with disbelief. His lips parted in a stunned, breathless laugh as he sat up straighter despite the dull ache still radiating through his body.

 

“Noob, you- what are you…?”

 

Before he could finish, they were already sprinting across the room.

 

Chance barely had time to react before Noob threw himself at him, arms wrapping around his shoulders with an urgency that knocked the air from his lungs. Chance let out a stunned breath and instantly returned the embrace, crushing them to his chest, his good arm locked tightly around them.

 

He buried his face into Noob’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of dirt, sweat, and the smell of soda he never knew he missed so much.

 

“You’re here… You’re really here…” Chance whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought-I thought you were still there.”

 

Noob laughed softly against his neck, his breath warm, fingers fisting into the fabric of Chance’s shirt like they never wanted to let chance go.

 

“i woke up in my house- you said your casino is near my neighborhood.” Noob confessed, voice muffled. “i had a hard time trying to get in but thankfully, your assistant found me...”

 

Chance chuckled, voice cracking as he held them tighter. “You idiot… That’s dangerous.”

 

“I know,” Noob murmured. “I didn’t care.”

 

Their breathless laughter tangled in the air. It felt too good to be real.

 

Chance pulled back slightly, just enough to cup Noob’s face in his palm, thumb brushing over the edge of their jaw. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt?” His eyes scanned Noob’s face desperately, searching for any sign of injury.

 

Noob shook his head, smiling through teary eyes. “I’m okay, I'm okay.”

 

Chance let out a trembling breath and dropped his forehead to Noob’s. “God, I thought I lost you. I thought I left you behind.”

 

“You didn’t.” Noob whispered. “I’m here. I'm here chance.”

 

The words hit something deep in Chance’s chest. He pulled back just enough to look at Noob properly, his fingers still cradling their face. His thumb brushed along Noob’s cheekbone, memorizing the warmth, the softness. The way those eyes blinked slowly. 

 

His heart thundered.

 

He leaned in and their noses brushed.

 

Chance's breath trembled as he whispered, “I missed you so much.”

 

Noob’s breath caught but just before their lips could meet, Noob tilted his head to the side, the kiss landing faintly on their cheek instead.

 

It made Chance pause, stunned.

 

His brows knit together, voice barely audible. “Did I… do something wrong?”

 

Noob let out a soft laugh, dodging his question. Their hand coming up to gently stroke Chance’s hair, smoothing it back. “No. No, Chance. You didn’t.”

 

“Then why…?”

 

“Because,” Noob interrupted softly, lowering their voice. “You’re still hurting.”

 

Chance blinked, confused for a second but then the pain in his shoulder flared again.

 

“I-” He opened his mouth, but Noob leaned forward and rested their foreheads together, cutting off his words with gentle firmness.

 

“You need to sleep,” Noob whispered. “You’re burning up. You’ve barely healed. How did you get hurt chance?”

 

Chance’s jaw clenched, gaze flickering uncertainly. “...No.”

 

“ chance please...”

 

Chance bit the inside of his cheek, still looking up at him. It's vulnerable in a way he hated but couldn’t help.

 

“Just…” he said, voice breaking slightly, “Just stay here. Please. Be in my arms. I sleep better when you’re with me.”

 

Noob blinked, expression softening. He nodded once.

 

“Alright. Just for a while.”

 

With careful movements, they eased down beside Chance on the large bed. The moment they did, Chance turned and pulled them close, gently and firmly as he wrapped his good arm around them like a shield- like if he let go, Noob would disappear again.

 

Noob tucked himself against Chance’s chest, their fingers splaying across Chance’s ribs to feel the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his breath.

 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Noob whispered against his skin.

 

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Chance fell asleep peacefully.

 

 

 

_______________________________

 

 

 

 

Chance woke with a sharp inhale.

 

His body jolted while his injured arm throbbed. the sweat clinging to his brow was cold. The room was dark save for the flicker of moonlight through velvet curtains. Panic flooded his chest.

 

Where's Noob?

 

He turned to the side, empty. The bed still held Noob’s lingering warmth, but he was gone. His breath caught.

 

"Noob...?"

 

Chance swung his legs off the bed, his muscles aching as he tried to stand. A sharp jolt of pain shot up his side, and he stumbled forward, catching himself against the dresser. His leg buckled slightly beneath his weight but he forced himself forward, limping through the wide, dimly lit hallway of his penthouse.

 

The silence was unnerving. He took a moment to just stood there until he heard the footsteps, the creak of an old wooden floorboard.

 

A faint glow spilled from the living room ahead.

 

Chance froze at the corner before he saw Noob.

 

They were pacing in small, tight circles by the fireplace. Their expression tense, their fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of their sweater. Chance exhaled in relief, slumping against the wall briefly to compose himself.

 

“Noob?” Chance called out, his voice raspy but touched with warmth. “What are you… Come here. Come on.”

 

Noob turned sharply at the sound, their expression lighting up with a startled but genuine smile.

 

“Chance!” he yelped before rushing over and wrapping their arms around him in a tight hug. Admins, he really is used to noob's embrace.

 

Chance let out a breathy huff, returning the hug with a soft groan. “What are you doing out here? Let’s go back to sleep- you had me worried.”

 

“Haha, nah,” Noob laughed nervously, pulling back slightly. “I was just… looking for something.”

 

Chance narrowed his eyes. Something in the tone was off and that guilty look Noob gave him right after tightened the knot in his chest.

 

“Oh… okay,” Chance muttered, lips pressing into a line. He glanced past Noob to the soft light in the room, to where the two bunnies were curled together peacefully on the couch.

 

“Your bunnies are cute, by the way,” Noob added casually. Chance’s lips lifted slightly, a hint of pride in his voice. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah." Noob smiled again, but this time something about it really felt off.

 

There was a hesitation in their eyes.

 

“They don’t like me that much though, I think.”

 

Chance raised an eyebrow. “They’re just picky.” he said gently, trying to close the space between them again, reaching out.

 

But Noob stepped back and pushed his hand away. Chance’s heart sank at the contact.

 

“Noob-?”

 

But Noob cut him off before he could speak again. “Chance… you told me you have something. That can get me into the Banlands.”

 

Chance’s breath hitched.

 

He went still. His heart froze in his chest, and he felt the color drain from his face.

 

“What…” he whispered, voice barely audible, “where are you going with this?”

 

His eyes searched Noob’s face- looking for a sign of a joke but the look Noob gave him was desperate and hopeful.

 

And that terrified Chance.

 

He shook his head, backing away a step. “No… Noob, not you. Don’t ask me about that. Not now. Not when-” His voice cracked. “Why would you even want to go there?”

 

“..."

 

“Noob…?” Chance whispered, already sensing it. the way his gut twisted before the words even came out. He watched noob inhaled shakily, their lips parted, brows drawn together in an expression of anxious resolve.

 

“Chance, you- my friend… the one I told you about…” they said softly, voice tight as if afraid of chance's reaction.. “they're there. They're in the Banlands. I know it. I have to go find them. And you-please, Chance- you’re the only one I could approach. You’re the only one who could help me.”

 

Chance froze, his heart thudding loud enough that it echoed in his ears.

 

The room fell eerily silent Slowly, Chance's shoulders dropped, his breath trembling 

 

“So that’s it…?” he said, voice quiet and cold.

 

Noob blinked, confused.

 

“You’re telling me.” Chance began, his tone sharpening, “that you approached me… stayed by me… slept beside me-just because you wanted a way out? Because I was useful?” His voice rose with each syllable, until it cracked. “You wanted to go there? Out there where the exploiters are? Where the killers might be in?”

 

“No-Chance, it’s not like that-” Noob stepped forward, hands up in defense, but Chance flinched away.

 

“Oh, but it is isn’t it?” Chance snapped, the firelight catching the edge of his sneer. “You’ve barely been here a damn day and already you’re begging to run headfirst into hell for someone I haven’t even seen! I just saw you, Noob. Just had you back in my arms, and you can’t even spend a few days with me to celebrate our escape without bringing up your friend?”

 

Noob’s expression cracked, lips trembling. Their eyes glistened under the firelight. “Chance, please,” he said, voice choking. “I’m not using you-I swear I’m not-I just… I need to find him. I did something unforgivable and I-I can't sleep knowing he might be out there suffering. Please. You’re the only one I can trust-”

 

Chance let out a bitter laugh, a broken sound with no humor.

 

“Trust,” he spat. “You say that word like it means something. But you weren’t the one lying awake every night, hoping someone wouldn’t leave again.”

 

Noob stepped closer.

 

“I wasn’t, Chance. But I’m here now-”

 

“You were here,” Chance interrupted coldly. “And now you’re already halfway out the door, you're just begging to leave aren't you? Go on. Go fucking on! Stop- stop looking at me like that.”

 

He turned away, hiding the way his throat tightened. His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. His entire body trembled from the hurt.

 

And from the sheer exhaustion of never being enough.

 

Noob reached out again, fingers brushing Chance’s arm

 

“Please.” they whispered, breaking along with chance. “If you can’t help me, I’ll go alone. But please don’t hate me.”

 

Chance didn’t speak.

 

His silence was deafening to noob. His chest rose and fell, ragged and heavy. He Didn't move.

 

“Chance, please-” Noob’s voice cracked, their hands reaching out halfway before stopping. It was clear they're uncertain and afraid of pushing too far. But it's too late.

 

Chance moved this time. Furious. His feet struck the floor, each step heavier than the last as he crossed the room. Chance stood in front of the large family portrait that loomed over the sitting room like a relic of a lie. He stared at it with empty eyes, and With a sudden motion, he ripped it off the wall. The frame shattered against the floor, glass splintering in every direction like his restraint.

 

Noob jumped, nearly gasping as the crash jolted them. They covered their mouth, too stunned to speak.

 

From behind the broken canvas, Chance pulled out a small brass key. his hand trembling, knuckles white. For a moment, he just stared at it in his palm.

 

You're just like him.

 

The thought whispered in his mind.

 

You're just like him.

You smile the same.

 Ask for help the same.

Leave me the same.

 

He threw the key. Hard.

 

It skidded across the floor and landed at Noob’s feet with a final, cold clatter.

 

“There. That what you came here for?” Chance’s voice was low, fraying at the edges. “You want to run out there? To the Banlands? With your friend? Where the killers are?”

 

Noob’s mouth opened to speak, but Chance’s rage was already spreading faster than he could contain it.

 

“your friend isn't just a friend isn't it? Every damn second back in that hell was‘Chance, my friend; Chance, I need help Chance, help me find him” His voice cracked.

 

You're just like him.

You're just like him.

You’re just like him.

 

The words screamed in his skull, but he didn’t let them out. He couldn’t as they’d make it real

 

“Chance-”

 

“Get out.”

 

But Noob didn’t move.

 

Chance’s chest heaved, the fury barely restrained behind his clenched jaw, his trembling fingers twitching at his sides like they were searching for something to break.

 

His eyes flicked down.

To that key.

That goddamn brass key lying like a curse at Noob’s feet.

That key again.

 The fucking key.

 The same key.

 

He took a shaky step back, one hand dragging across his forehead, sweat cooling against his burning skin. His voice dropped lower.

 

“That key... led him to kill me.”

 

Noob blinked tearfully, confused, but Chance wasn’t looking at them anymore. He wasn’t even fully present. He was somewhere else. 

 

“That key made him lose his mind when he couldn't find it.” His laugh came bitter, cracked at the edges. “It was the only thing he wanted from me. Not me. Just... the damn key.”

 

He looked up, eyes bloodshot and wide. “And now you. You come here, smile at me like he did. Laugh. Hold me. Kiss me.”

 

He staggered forward, and Noob flinched.

 

“And then ask me for the one thing that destroyed me. The same way he did.”

 

Chance’s hands curled into fists as his voice grew louder, choking on betrayal.

 

“Was I just a stop on the way again? Just someone useful? Congratulations noob! You pulled a long game on to the gambler themself!" His lips pulled into a snarl, but his voice cracked on the next word- "admins, why does it always end like this?"

 

Noob tried to speak, stammering, “Chance-no, I didn’t mean to-”

 

“get out.”

 

The words exploded from him. he slammed his fist into the nearby shelf, knocking down picture frames and crystal glasses that shattered around him. Another arm injured but he didn't care.

 

“Get the hell out of here before I throw you out myself.”

 

He turned his back, jaw tight, and whispered the final word.

 

 

“…Go find your friend.”

 

 

Notes:

Okay first of all, the support is absolutely insane it got me scared because honestly guys, this fanfic is originally a three chapter pwp. I was frustrated when I couldn't find more content of the three banging eachother (leave me alone frfr)

So imagine my SHOCKED when you guys liked this fic😭

Hshsdh butt, let's move on from that. Now about this chapter- this is what I mean by expanding the fic.(Ignore how I got lazy at the ending of the chap.) Im planning to include more characters as this is just a beginning Two time will have an appearance next chapter<3 And yes. This chapter is just an excuse to express my love towards the concept of the nochance ship. It's so peak where r u guys. Where r the writers.

 

(Chance have some similarities with guest btw. Mafioso and itrapped+ especially itrapped now thinks chance cheated during their relationship because who the fuck is noob and how did chance know this dude who looks so similar to him. The key is like very important later on)

Gotta go to sleep now. It's 5am

Edited: I js woke up and oh man, I did the mistake of forgetting a crucial detail that noob uses they/them and is gender fluid. Dw I fixed it! I also fixed the noob words that translated to BOOB ALONG WITH THE WORD BANLANDS THAT TRANSLATED TO BADLANDS. I'm sobbing. I'm gonna respond to the other comments later since I'm gonna go to class rn<3 have fun reading and tysm again!!

Chapter 4: 4. Friends

Summary:

first time writing itrapped, kinda nervous

The odds were technically in the gambler's favor but statistics didn’t comfort the damned.

 

Chance sat at the blood-slick table, fingers trembling as they curled around the revolver. His wide eyes, dilated and glossy, flitted from corpse to corpse. There were four bodies. some fresh while some are barely recognizable. Their blood had already seeped into the thick stack of cash in the center like ink soaking through parchment.

 

His breath hitched then steadied before it hitched again. Tsk, hiccuping like this will only make him look more pathetic.

 

With a deep breath, he refused to look at the dead corpse beside him. Some nameless Bastard but wealthy enough to have a death wish. Instead he stared at the unmoving figure sitting further back in the shadows. His itrapped.

 

Chance’s lips pulled into a crooked grin, masking the tremor in his chin. He had to keep it together. He had to keep smiling. Itrapped was watching and if he cracked now, he wouldn’t just lose the game, he’d lose him.

 

Hell, Itrapped wouldn’t even look at him if he failed. Itrapped wouldn't even gloat nor sneer and chance knew he couldn’t take that from him.

 

"Funny, isn’t it?" Chance said suddenly, his voice hoarse from the fear and tension. "That this is what it takes for people to finally shut the hell up. Death is what it takes to shut these fuckers up.”

 

The last remaining opponent stood across the blood-soaked table. an old man in a wrinkled, once-white suit now stained red from too many wrong turns. His tie hung loose around his throat. His eyes, rimmed with delirium were wide but lucid. His fingers trembled as he held the revolver, the chamber still warm from the previous man’s final gamble.

 

The old man licked his cracked lips.

 

And then, in a voice low and gravel-choked, he responded.

 

“You know,” he rasped, raising his eyes to Chance while inhaling the cigarette between his two fingers. “the game isn’t about death. It’s about choice. Always has been. You either walk in knowing the odds… or you crawl in pretending you never had a choice to begin with.”

 

His thumb brushed the edge of the gun to stroke it like an old friend.

 

“This-” he gestured to the table, to the blood, the money, the coin, the corpses slumped in their chairs “-is the only time in your life where fate’s a straight dealer. Every other moment?” He smirked bitterly. “It lies to you, gambler.”

 

He looked straight at Chance, his eyes glinting, pupils sharp as knives.

 

“I killed a man I loved over a lie. Spent forty years trying to prove he was wrong for leaving. Never stopped spinning the chamber. I'm bleeding out years I’ll never get back and still making choices.” He held up the revolver. “Now I’m here. With another lovestruck fool who reminds me a little too much of my past naive self.”

 

He took a long, shaking breath, preparing to say something deeper but before the words could leave his mouth- Chance laughed a raw desperate laugh.

 

Chance leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the table, blood-speckled smile pulled too wide.

 

“Oh please,” he wheezed. “Spare me the tragic poetry, old man. You’re not dying on a battlefield. You’re dying in my fucking casino with a suit and a loaded gun.”

 

He wiped a smear of blood from his cheek with the back of his shaking hand, then gestured at the bodies.

 

"Fucking save it old man" he hissed, teeth flashing. "Play the game."

 

He leaned back, letting the chair creak beneath him, then undid two buttons from his shirt with a slow, exaggerated flourish. The exposed skin was flushed as he heard the thumping with the wild rhythm of his heart. He pressed the cold muzzle of the revolver to his chest, just above where his heart was trying to crawl up his throat.

 

His eyes flicked to Itrapped who is still calm and still sipping the wine he's holding in his gloved fingers.

 

"For you," he mouthed, lips moving silently across the room. He’s watching. Don’t fucking crack.

 

His hand shook violently, the barrel now pressed so hard against his skin he could  Feel the cold bite through bone.

 

You’re nothing if you disappoint him.

 

He was interrupted when the man snapped.

 

"What? Cheating your way out of this, kid? Take that gun on your head, coward."

 

The last man standing sneered with his voice sharp. The man's lips curled in a grin full of rot, cigarette smoke curling from his mouth. Chance didn’t flinch. Chance sneered back, wild-eyed, adrenaline-soaked and barely holding on.

 

“What?” he fired back, voice gravelly. “Too dumb to know I’m pointing straight at my heart? What flunked biology and basic observation? It ain't that different from shooting in my head.”

 

He jabbed the barrel harder into his chest, sweat trickling down his brow. “This isn’t some movie, old man. The heart doesn’t sit in the middle. It’s over here-” he tapped the barrel against his left side, over the thudding organ, “where it actually counts.”

 

The man laughed. A horrible, raspy sound.

 

“Right, right,” he wheezed, smoke spilling from his nose. “All heart, no brain. Sounds about right for someone still playing games for affection. Really just like me. Go on then gambler.”

 

Chance’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t answer that because it was fucking true, in a way. All this madness and this spiral into blood and death- He hadn’t done it for money as he was here for the one watching near them. He was here for him. His lover who hadn’t even blinked when the bodies hit the floor.

 

The revolver in Chance’s hand trembled. He inhaled, tried to calm the tremor in his fingers. Steeled his nerves.

 

Just one more click.

 

He closed his eyes, breathed in the iron-scented air, and pulled the trigger.

 

Click. 

 

He heard the sound of nothing. The chamber spun dry. His lips parted. His grin widened involuntarily. His vision swam, the adrenaline crashing into him like a truck. He gasped and gasped and fucking gasped and then let out a hysterical laugh, blinking the sweat from his eyes as he slammed the gun back on the table.

 

"Still your lucky bastard." he rasped, trying to sound smug. He watched Itrapped finally move. Itrapped lowered the wine glass, Tipped his head just slightly as if bored Then reached into his blue coat and pulled out a coin. With a flick of his thumb, he tossed it onto the bloodstained cash in the center.

 

Clink. It landed on tails.

 

Chance froze. Knowing the unspoken signal. The shift in the game which is "Tails. Keep going." Keep fucking going.

 

His blood turned cold as he looked back at the man across from him who looked deathly pale nkw. Sweat clung to his skin like dew on the corpse beside him.

 

Chance looked him over slowly, nervously chuckling under his breath. “You’re lookin’ a little ghostly there,” he said, letting the revolver rest casually on the table. “Don’t tell me you’re scared. I thought you were gonna win huh?”

 

The man stood up abruptly, his chair scraping back with a screech that echoed like a scream chance is keeping in. He leaned forward, breath thick with nicotine and desperation, letting the stink of it smack Chance in the face.

 

“I am gonna win this game, boy,” the man hissed, voice cracking with halfway between anger and fear. Chance didn’t blink in response. He gave the man a lazy smile, leaned back like he had all the time in the world despite the clawing agony of fear he could feel at the back of his tongue.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” the man spat. “And when I win? That little family vault of yours? That old estate you’re pretending you don't care about? That disgusting mountain of gold you Mob babies hide behind?” He grinned, teeth yellow. “It’s gonna be mine. All of it.”

 

Chance’s smile didn’t waver.

 

“Sounds like a pretty fantasy for someone about to redecorate the ceiling.”

 

The man snarled, grabbed the gun. His fingers were shaking now. He spun the cylinder, clicked it shut with far too much force. Then he raised it to his head.

 

“Behold the sin.” he whispered, almost reverently and almost like a prayer to win the game but chance got the impression that this man wanted to be punished so when the man looked up- chance froze. his breath caught when he saw how the man’s eyes were filled with tears. real, glistening tears that quivered before sliding down the creases of his face. At that moment, everything went still.

 

BANG.

 

Chance flinched violently.

 

The blood hit him instantly. It was ice cold Wet. A spray of crimson across his cheek, lips, even his eyelid. Chunks of brain hit the table with a wet slap.

 

The man’s body swayed in eerie silence. Chance stared for a single breathless second as the man kneeled with his head tilted, eyes glassy and a trail of smoke still curling from the barrel of the gun. Then he collapsed face-first onto the table. The thud shook the pile of bloodstained cash. His head struck the surface with a sickening crack, jostling the contents of the table. The small golden coin that Itrapped had tossed earlier toppled from the stack of money.

 

Clink. It slid. It Clatter. It rolled.

 

The sound cut through the ringing in Chance’s ears, drawing his wide, bloodshot eyes toward it. The coin danced across the blood-slick wood and it spins wildly in place so he shakily reached out and pressed his palm down gently.

 

The spinning stopped and under his hand, the metal was warm. He lifted his fingers slowly to see it.

 

Tails again.

 

The game was over and the man was dead.

 

One hand flew to his mouth but it was too late. He doubled over and vomit exploded from his throat. bile splashing across the ornate rug beneath his chair. He choked on the force of it, gagging, trembling, hands braced against his knees. He couldn’t breathe. His stomach clenched again, violently. His lungs refused to cooperate. His fingers scraped at his collar, tugging at it like it might give him air. The taste of metal from both the gun and the blood lingered in his mouth. He could feel it on his teeth.

 

He was choking. Chance shook. His eyes burned when he saw something from the corner of his eye, just beneath the bloodied hand that still clutched the revolver in death, Chance spotted a photograph that was bent and faded. Smudged with blood but still intact enough to see the smiles. A family of four.

 

A woman with soft eyes and a floral dress. A man- the same man who just painted the walls with his brains was beside her. His face gave a tired but proud grin. There was a young boy sitting on his shoulders, laughing so hard his cheeks puffed out and from behind the boy was a dog with a bandana around its neck, tongue hanging out, perfectly caught mid-jump.

 

They had a life. He had a family. Oh god this man had a family.

 

Chance's stomach turned violently again. A second wave of vomit surged up his throat, burning as it forced its way out. He couldn’t stop. He fell to his knees, palms hitting the bloody floor in a messy, wet slap as he dry-heaved. His whole body shuddered with the effort and he was trying to expel more than just bile. The guilt. The shame and the fear. 

 

He shouldn’t have seen that photo. He hadn’t signed up to feel this. He hadn't signed up to see their faces. He just wanted to survive. He just wanted to win. He just wanted-

 

A pair of strong, gloved hands grabbed him.

 

At first, Chance panicked, jerking, shoulders tense, gasping for breath. He was ready to scream until the smell of that expensive cologne washed over him. He was pulled away from the table and dragged through the blood-slick floor. His limbs were useless, limp, his legs dragging awkwardly behind him and all he could do was weakly clutch his stomach, trying and begging not to throw up again.

 

“Darlin-”

 

He collapsed into Itrapped’s arms with a weak gasp, barely registering the way his cheek pressed into the cold, silk-clad chest.

 

He shook in his grip. His breath rattled in his throat. His lips were wet with vomit and blood.

 

“I–I’m…” Chance tried to say, but it caught in his throat. The word never made it out. “Don’t-don’t let me…”

 

He squeezed his eyes shut. He just wanted warmth just once. But Itrapped’s arms were cold. The cold felt deliberate and detached. The cold arms treat Chance like a stray animal that might bite at any moment. There was no warmth in his embrace nor a squeeze of reassurance. There's no whispered praise and no fingers combing gently through his hair.

 

Chance let out a dry sob, his fingers curling into the fine fabric of Itrapped’s coat, leaving streaks of blood, sweat, and tears behind.

 

“I won.” he whispered hoarsely, giving itrapped a ahaky grin. “I didn’t—fuck, I won darling. I won.”

 

Itrapped didn’t answer and yet the gambler themself clung to that cold chest like it was the last thing tethering him to the brink of life. Even if it never once held him back.

 

From there, chance allowed himself to get dragged by his own casino through the back door as chance continued to smile crookedly and cling to itrapped side. “Darling, did you listen to me? I won…” Chance croaked out, the words slurring past bloodied lips and dry throat.. “I won, aren’tcha proud of me?” Chance whispered, tugging weakly at the hem of Itrapped’s coat. His fingers curled into the fabric, clinging with desperate affection. “I played your game. I did it. I made it. You saw, right? You were watching- ya always watch-”

 

His voice cracked.

 

“I couldn’t breathe and heck, I couldn’t even think at all.” he mumbled, eyes unfocused. “That guy had a photo. A kid. A fuckin’ dog. He blew his brains out. Why would he do that?”

 

Itrapped said nothing but it's not with words. Instead he demonstrated it with his actions as he suddenly grabbed Chance roughly.

 

His breath was yanked from his lungs as he was slammed against the back wall of the casino, the cold surface biting through the blood-soaked silk of his shirt. The impact knocked the air from his chest but before he could even gasp, itrapped was kissing him.

 

The kiss is fierce and hungry with their teeth clashing, lips crushed. It was violent affection and the kind that left bruises. Chance knew Itrapped could taste the vomit but the man seemed to be uncaring and only kiss him harder.

 

Ah is Itrapped mad? But how could he. Chance won didn't he? Chance grunted into the kiss, dazed, high on adrenaline and low on blood. His mind spun in dizzy spirals as he melted into it, arms instinctively rising to clutch at Itrapped’s shoulders. He kissed back, gasping between breaths, his knees nearly buckling.

 

Itrapped was devouring him and his mouth tasted like wine and the taste of chance's own vomit. those cold hands moved too fast, Gripping Chance by the waist, sliding up his chest and clawing at buttons until they came undone. Fingernails scraped lightly over skin, down his ribs and back up before it gripped his chest roughly.

 

Chance leaned more into the kiss in response. He wasn’t sure if it was pain or pleasure anymore. Then his head was yanked back sharply by the hair. He gasped, eyes flying open as Itrapped forced him to meet that stare.

 

Those unforgiving icy blue eyes.

 

“Chance,” Itrapped growled, low and close, “where is the key?”

 

Chance blinked rapidly, mind still foggy. 

 

“What…?”

 

“The key to the vault,” Itrapped hissed.

 

Chance swallowed, staring into that unblinking frost.

 

“…Key?” he repeated slowly, as if it were foreign. “The man… he wanted it too… I wonder why. I didn’t-was I supposed to-”

 

Itrapped didn’t wait for chance as he kissed them again. Deeper and Crueler this time and Chance, the fool that they are- melted once more. his body betraying him even as confusion clouded his thoughts. His fingers gripped Itrapped’s coat like he might disappear without it. Itrapped’s hands kept moving and searching across his body. 

 

Clink. He heard.

 

The small thing slipped from Chance’s palm. The coin hit the ground and bounced once before spinning to a stop. Chance flinched. His eyes shot open. He jerked away from the kiss, stumbling back with a ragged breath.

 

“D-Darlin’-the coin,” he gasped. “I–I have to-just let me pick it up."

 

“Chance. I'm talking to you.”

 

Chance ignored him as he bent down, scooping it up with shaking fingers, but something was wrong and if he had just trusted his gut.. none of this would have happened.

 

He touched the coin before he felt his chest twist. His body lurched forward and he was forced to look down to see what had happened. 

 

He saw a blade. He saw the long and gleaming sword, protruding through his abdomen. Blood poured in thick ribbons down his front, soaking his already ruined shirt.

 

His knees gave out.The coin slipped from his grasp again as he collapsed backward with a dull thud, vision flashing white.

 

He couldn’t even scream for itrapped to run away. 

 

He just lay there, gasping like a fish pulled from water, eyes locked on the blade. Who dares to stab him? Shit- his mind reeled too fast to keep up. Was it one of the dead losers men? 

 

“I… who stabbed me..” he croaked. “Itrapped.. run.. go run. Protect yourself.”

 

And above him, a shadow moved but Itrapped said nothing.

 

“Itrapped…” Chance rasped, blood pooling between his teeth. “My darlin’… don’t hurt him…”

 

He barely got the words out, his voice raw, lips trembling, barely forming syllables but his plea was cut short when he felt hand snapped forward. Gloved fingers firmly clamped around his chin. Rough leather dug into his skin, yanking his face up with brutal force.

 

Chance gasped.

 

His neck strained back, spine arching slightly as he was forced to stare into the cruel eyes of his lover.

 

“You don't get to beg now and you don't get to pretend that I'm not the one that did this. There's no someone else. It's only the two of us and I did this to you.” Itrapped hissed, voice like steel dragged across fire. Hot whiskey breath hit Chance’s face, and despite the blood, the pain, the sick twist in his gut- he crooned Like a lovesick fool.

 

His lips parted. A soft sound escaped. His ears were ringing. His vision swam.

 

But the heat on Itrapped's breath, the closeness. He always craves it.

 

“I gave you a chance,” Itrapped murmured, almost tenderly. Then his voice dropped, low and bitter:

 

“Over... and over again.”

 

Without warning, he shoved Chance back Hard.

 

Chance's skull cracked against the concrete floor with a sickening thud. Light burst across his vision making him more dizzy. His limbs jerked uselessly, body limp beneath the pain.

 

He then felt Itrapped climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. His coat swept around him like wings, shielding them from the outside world. The pressure of his weight grounded Chance, held him in place, made him feel trapped. 

 

His breath caught as he saw the blade being pulled out.

 

Chance blinked. His mouth opened. “Wait-no, you wouldn’t- darlin please..”

 

But he didn’t get to finish the sentence. Itrapped’s voice cut in and oh so exhausted.

 

“I’m sick and tired of you.”

 

The sword plunged straight into his chest-into the exact spot where Chance had once proudly pressed the gun and bragged, “For you.”

 

His body arched with the force of it, mouth gaping in silent shock. Itrapped didn’t flinch. He merely stared down at him coldly, 

 

“Always ruining my plans.” he hissed.

 

His gloved hand shoved the blade deeper, twisting it ever so slightly.

 

Chance choked on his own scream.

 

“I’m exhausted… I’m fucking exhausted… for you.” Itrapped's voice cracked, only slightly and then came the last blow:

 

“I just wanted my friends back, chance. Isn't that so simple for you to understand? But no, you just have to act like an idiot.”

 

Friends?

 

Chance’s lashes fluttered.

 

Friends?

 

Whose friend?

 

“Itrapped…” he whispered, voice weak. His vision blurred from blood loss. His hands were numb. He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. Itrapped pulled the sword back. It came free with a horrible sound. Chance coughed and blood spilled from his mouth, hot and thick. His body shook violently, vision flickering.

 

And still, Itrapped hovered over him. That cruel, unreadable expression carved into his face.

 

“This all could’ve been avoided,” he said softly, “If you just told me where the key was.”

 

He slammed the sword back down.

 

Chance jerked.

 

“I could’ve spared you.”

 

Another.

 

“I could’ve loved you.”

 

Another.

 

“But you ruined that too.”

 

Another deeper stab and this time, he felt his ribs give way. His eyes rolled back briefly but then, surprisingly, they returned. He was still awake and still aware. Somehow, his body clung to the final threads of consciousness.

 

This time, he understood what was happening. He knows it, even as darkness coiled around the edge of his vision. His thoughts blurred together.

 

My lover.

 hates me.

 

…

 

..

 

 

“Still alive?”

 

“…”

 

“Don’t fucking look at me like that."

 

 

Itrapped’s voice snapped through the stillness. "I said don't fucking look at me like that. I I owe you nothing. And you... you are nothing to me."

 

He felt the wetness of his cheeks. Was he crying? He saw the tears falling. But they weren’t his. They were Itrapped’s.

 

They slid down his pale cheeks silently, clean trails against the blood-stained skin. Tears that should’ve meant something and Could’ve meant everything.

 

For the smallest, most fragile moment, Chance wanted to believe. That this was a mistake. That Itrapped did care and that maybe, deep down, he hadn’t meant to say it. He hadn’t meant to hurt him. He hadn't meant to kill- But then Itrapped sneered. His lips curled back, disgust twitching in the corner of his mouth. His icy, beautiful eyes narrowed in loathing. The tears didn’t soften them and instead they sharpened them.

 

And Chance, halfway through lifting his trembling hand to wipe them away- stopped.

 

His fingers hovered in the air between them.

 

“...”

 

He let his hand fall. Limp. Boneless.He forced a smile. Bloody and Tired. Chance is tired too. 

 

“G… go find your friends.” he whispered, 

 

“I’m sorry for not helping you.”

 

A shallow breath.

 

“And I’m sorry for making you mad.”

 

He meant it.

 

With every ounce of what little remained in him, he meant it.

 

But the sword stabbed again.

 

And again.

 

And again.

 

And each time, he felt less of a human being. His body twitched, then stilled. Blood pooled around him. He blinked once more. One moment, Itrapped’s expression was still twisted in hatred, contorted by grief, rage and loss.

 

And the next. It was gone. Itrapped’s face was no longer twisted in hatred.

 

There's no eyes. No mouth. No expression. It's emptiness. A smooth, pale canvas where a face should’ve been.

 

“…Itrapped?”

 

There was no answer

 

Go find your friend.

 

 

 

______________________

 

 

Chance sat slumped on the couch, his body curled inward like he was trying to make himself disappear. Both of his arms were bandaged and bruised, resting awkwardly in his lap as he stared blankly at the flickering television- some horror movie called mimic or something humming in the background.

 

His mind wasn’t in the room. It was back there replaying the fight.

 

Noob’s face, Their voice and the moment it all fell apart.

 

“God, I shouldn't have said that… god, they're out there scared and confused and I just drove them away-”

 

Chance winced, a fresh wave of guilt crashing through his ribs. He sniffed quietly, eyes stinging. "Why am I always like this when it matters most?" He swallowed thickly. "Why is it so easy to ruin everything I care about?”

 

A sudden weight shifted on his lap. He blinked down, startled from his spiral.

 

The two rabbits, their soft little bodies were warm against his legs. They were both staring up at him, eyes impossibly round. One of them, the white one, gave a soft little nose twitch. The other, yellow bunny with that ridiculous tiny golden crown nestled between its ears, just glared.

 

Chance managed a small, tired smile.

 

“…You guys are too much.” he whispered.

 

The yellow rabbit flicked its ears sharply in disapproval, as if scolding him.

 

Chance tilted his head. “What? You mad too?”

 

There was silence.

 

“…oh I get it now. You’re curious about that cute person earlier, huh?” he said gently, brushing his fingers through the yellow rabbit’s fur. His voice dropped, just a murmur now. “Yeah. They’re… they’re my lover.”

 

The moment the word left his mouth, he saw the flick of the crowned rabbit’s ears. A twitch. Then another.

 

And without warning

 

WHAP.

 

"Ow- HEY!"

 

The crowned rabbit lunged at his face with all the fury a rabbit could have. Its sharp little nails scratched down his cheek like tiny blades, and Chance’s depression evaporated in an instant, replaced with sheer panic.

 

“Okay! Okay- AGH, stop! What’s gotten into you?!”

 

He flailed, scrambling backward off the couch while trying not to jostle his already-injured arms. He landed hard on the floor and grabbed the nearest pillow like a makeshift shield.

 

The crowned bunny sat on the couch, furious and puffed up like a tiny predator.. Chance’s eyes narrowed.

 

“…Are you being territorial right now?” he asked, stunned. “Are you jealous?!”

 

The bunny didn’t answer. Just narrowed its eyes. The white one nudged forward, nuzzling his ankle. Chance let out a breath and let his head fall back against the floor with a groan.

 

“I’m losing my mind,” he muttered. “im really losing my already gone mind.”

 

A pause. He peeked up toward the crowned rabbit’s glaring little face.

 

“If you're feeling territorial, then... it's okay, man.” Chance muttered, voice hoarse with the exhaustion of everything piling in his chest. He then snorted softly. half amused and half on the verge of breaking as he rubbed the heel of his palm against his eyes, wiping away the sting..

 

He eased himself back onto the couch with a sigh, careful not to agitate his bruised arms. Still, he scooted far to the opposite end of the seat, putting as much distance between himself and the crowned bunny as possible.

 

“Man,” he mumbled under his breath, “I can't even catch a break with rabbits…”

 

But the humor didn’t stick. His grin fell and the ache returned.

 

The silence in the room only made it louder.

 

His chest felt like it was caving in again, like guilt had hollowed him out from the inside and left nothing but sharp little echoes.

 

“Fuck…” he whispered, voice cracking as he leaned forward and buried his face into his hands. “I should’ve told them. I should’ve said something instead of pushing them away.”

 

He paused. “That look in their eyes…” he breathed. “Did you see it? When I told them to leave?”

 

His shoulders shook.

 

“Oh god. I miss them so much. Why did I-Why did I say that like I didn’t?”

 

Chomp.

 

“OW-WHAT THE FUCK!!”

 

The yellow bunny had lunged and bitten down hard on his fingers. Chance yelped, stumbling to his feet and cradling the demon of a rabbit.

 

“Okay, OKAY—this is getting ridiculous now."

 

The bunny wriggled in his arms, nipping at his wrist again, and Chance winced as he tried to gently lower it back onto the couch. But the moment he did, The crowned bunny stood upright and charged again.

 

“Oh admins—no, no, no what did I do!?”

 

Chance backpedaled in panic. The crown bounced askew on the bunny’s head as it continued to try and bite chance.

 

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

 

He pointed an accusing finger at the yellow bunny. he looked back at the white one blinked at him serenely, unbothered, 

 

“control your buddy.” Chance hissed at the white bunny. “you influenced it.” 

 

The crowned bunny thumped a hind leg once in warning.

 

Chance, panting and laughing in disbelief, buried his face into the pillow he held.

 

“…I just wanted someone to tell me I didn’t screw everything up. Oh man." he mumbled into the fabric and reached for the tv remote, wanting to switch to the other channel but he paused when he heard the monotone voice of the news anchor. Oh, it's been so long since he last heard a news channel.

 

Chance’s eyes drifted lazily up to the massive television screen hanging on the wall. The dull hum of the news anchor filled the room, but soon, something caught his attention.

 

His heart stuttered. his throat tightened so much that he nearly choked on his own saliva. He snapped upright, his bruised limbs trembling slightly as he stared at the screen in disbelief.

 

On the news broadcast, the grainy footage showed two figures. Two robloxians standing outside the gleaming headquarters of Robloxia HQ.

 

What set Chance’s heart racing wasn’t just the two figures themselves. it was the glaring obvious. One had the unmistakable emblem of the cult known as The Spawn emblazoned boldly across their chest, while the other… had a burger stacked on his head.

 

One of the figures held only a dagger, fingers wrapped tight around the hilt, eyes burning with determination as they called out for the head of the HQ, Builderman himself while the other man was trying to pull them away.

 

Chance’s mind froze. His mouth opened, but no words came. Instead, his trembling finger jabbed dumbly at the screen, 

 

“This... this..this-” Chance whispered, voice barely audible.

 

 

-one of the individuals, now identified as the missing robloxian, Two-Time was not acting alone. Accompanying them was another robloxian known to authorities as a high-profile exploiter, recognized by his signature burger stack hat. Both have been detained and are currently under investigation for potential threats against corporate security and unauthorized use of restricted assets is currently undergoing questioning. Robloxians, please remain calm and do not-”

 

“That’s- That’s two time and seven-!”

 

His voice cracked. His laugh followed. He snorted, hands on his knees, trying not to lose it.

 

“What?! Who told them that walking into corporate HQ with a dagger was a good plan, who told them also that bringing seven along is also a good idea? Pfft?!”

 

He cackled even more. “Oh my god. What was the plan? You two are not gonna catch the admins attention if you walked in there holding a dagger and-”

 

And just like that the laughter died.

 

Chance froze. Detainment?

 

He blinked. “Wait- detained?”

 

The screen cut to a clip of two time and 007n7 being restrained by five moderators with two time yelling what might have been a preach, or a death threat. Chance stared, slack-jawed for a second.

 

Then he laughed again and stood up, uncaring about the ache in his chest. This really, really confirmed it. The survivors are here and just like him too, they are trying to look for each other. They are trying to find the answers.

 

He dove toward the couch where the rabbits were loafed together. The white one blinked lazily, the yellow one twitched a single ear before immediately trying to hop away.

 

Too late.

 

Chance scooped them all into his arms.

 

“No time for tantrums or biting.” he said, breathless. “The crew’s getting back together.”

 

 

Notes:

653 kudos and 5k readers?! Oh my god. Oh my GOD. I literally have no words. I'm so so shock shock and sleepy. I’m way too stunned (and too close to passing out) to properly express how grateful I am. Like be honest guys. Is this fic really that good because holy freak, I could write a much better plot. As I said again, this was originally just a goon material for me💔

I can't reply to the previous comments yet because I need to sleep, but PLEASE know that I love you all sm and I will respond later as a way for me to be in a good mood to start my class, I promise. 🫶

I only opened my AO3 at like 12AM while trying to fall back asleep, and suddenly I saw THIS?? Bro 🥀 I actually had to fight my laziness and pump out a 5k chapter in under three hours. It’s 3:54AM now. Please send help.

 

Hshddh aside from that, This chapter is kinda chill and boring since not much happens, but it sets up a lot for what’s coming next. So yup. this one's the calm before the chaos.

 

Okay okay fine, tiny spoiler because I won’t be able to update for a while (💔 college is a battlefield and I’m losing. Wanna point a gun on my head fr). BUT the trio will make their way to the Banlands. And yes, the bunnies are tagging along. Emergency food rations?? Maybe😈

 

007n7 is a surprised guest so I didn't include him when I told you guys about who's gonna appear in this chapter :p

OH ONE MORE THING.

itrapped was afraid of chance dying in that small room. If that doesn't make any sense then 😈.... (Truly a hypocrite. Would rather let chance die in his own hands smh)

 

ANOTHER One more thing (this is the last), a teeny tiny start.

 

"Ah, thank the Spawn- we've found a comrade of ours."

Chance coughed awkwardly as two of the moderators in the room turned to face him. Recognition flickered across their expressions instantly. Of course, they knew who he was. he ran their favorite casino.

One of the mods raised an eyebrow. “Mr. ____, are you saying... you know these two?”

 

Chance glanced nervously at the all-too-pleased grin stretching across Two Time’s face, then turned his gaze to the flustered single father beside him.

 

"...Yes."

 

“Of course they knows us.” Two Time drawled, stepping forward. “For the Spawn delivers not just judgment, but reunion. Praise be. Another survivor drawn into our orbit by divine design.”

 

"..."

 

"They do this a lot” he muttered. Looking at the mods.

Chapter 5: 5. Everyone has someone pull a gun to that someone

Chance awkwardly shuffled toward the front desk, his boots clicking against the polished tile as he approached the checkpoint. The grand fucking lights above made his already sweat-streaked skin look a little paler and he could feel the heat building at the back of his neck. Admins, he's gonna swear that he'll blow up soon due to his very confused lawyer at his side who kept glancing at him. 

 

“Chance,” the lawyer whispered, adjusting his tie. “You didn’t mention live animals would be-”

 

“They’re not animals.” Chance mumbled quickly, eyes darting forward. “They’re my emotional support.” well it's more like emotional constipation but whatever. Whatever gets him inside.

 

“.. emotional support-”

 

“ehem.”

 

The lawyer stared as chance cleared his throat and stepped forward. The officer at the checkpoint narrowed his eyes the moment Chance approached.

 

“ID.” the officer said flatly.

 

Chance fumbled with his coat, nearly dropping one of the rabbits in the process. “Yeah, yeah, hold up.. this thing’s got like seventeen hidden pockets.” He yanked out his access card with a slight flourish while Grinning nervously.

 

He watched the officer scanned it with a frown, then looked him up and down. Oh great. The officer snapped, “No animals inside.”

 

Chance looked down at the two rabbits in his arms. Both as calm and smug. the white one blinking slowly while the yellow one subtly began chewing on the corner of his sleeve. He opened his mouth to argue, but the officer repeated with his tone sharper now.

 

“I said no animals inside.”

 

Chance lifted a brow and tilted his head slightly. “Okay but..hear me out.. what if they’re not technically animals?”

 

The officer didn’t blink.

 

“They’re plushies.” stupid.

 

The officer had no reaction so chance gave a sigh and looked down at the bunnies. They stared back and they are completely unmoved. “Well damn,” he muttered under his breath. “Y’all really ain’t gonna back me up, huh?”

 

The yellow bunny sneezed. The crown-wearing one flicked an ear. Chance looked back up at the officer with one brow raised. “Can they at least wait in the lobby? I mean, they’re house-trained. Mostly. Err, they don't have rabies.”

 

The lawyer groaned softly behind him. “chance, please. You’re not helping.”

 

Chance shot him a grin. “I’m trying to help Kay?”

 

The officer, unfazed, pointed to a small side bench near the entrance. “They wait there. Or they don’t come in.”

 

Chance glanced down at the bunnies again. “yeah, y’all hear that? You get the royal bench. Don’t say I never gave you luxury.” Chance then carefully walked over to the bench positioned near the front entrance. He knelt slightly, gently placing them down with consideration. “Alright.” he whispered, smoothing the ears of the white one. “Just stay here, look cute, daddy will be right back.”

 

The yellow one immediately tried to hop off the bench and chance hurriedly snapped a finger in front of its twitching nose. “No. Sit. Stay. Don’t bite any people. Or security. Or mods. I cannot get into trouble capiche.”

 

The bunny flicked an ear in clear defiance.

 

“Admins above, you were the most behaved. What happened.” Chance sighed dramatically again and backed away, eyeing them both as if they might explode or unionize. Admin forbid them. He turned just as his assistant approached to keep an eye on them, the man already visibly regretting his job title.

 

“Thanks hayden.” Chance muttered. “If they get into a slap fight with any pets, precisely those guard dogs, you didn't see anything.”

 

He was just about to rejoin his lawyer and move through the checkpoint when “Mr. Chance! What brings you here!?” The voice rang out like a foghorn in a library. Chance visibly flinched. His lawyer jumped, clutching his files to his chest like. One of the security guards jerked upright and adjusted their badge and chance thinks that they are probably bracing for inspection.

 

Chance turned slowly with a wince, already knowing exactly who it was. And yes, there they were. A tall, overly enthusiastic mod in crisp admin blues, striding toward him. The grin on their face was too wide; it made chance’s own grin look strained. The mod stopped just short of giving Chance a full bear hug.

 

Chance tilted his head with forced politeness, offering a smile that looked more like a grimace.

 

“Heyyyy... buddy. Long time.”

 

Of course he recognized the mod. Kind of. It's been so long but chance remembers all the mods..well some of their details. He can't keep track back in hell. Anyway, Now this guy was a regular at his casino. He remembered distinctly about him always dropping Robux like water and laughing too hard at rigged slot machines. He's quite loyal client. (One who definitely had a name Chance could not remember if his life depended on it)

 

T‘hink, think… was it Moddykins? No, maybe just ‘Mod’? Steve? Something with a number? Goddammit.

 

The mod beamed. “Didn’t expect to see you here! You bringing the party to national security now?”

 

“Something like that,” Chance said quickly. He scratched the back of his neck and tried not to look like he was internally screaming. “Just here to visit a few friends. Ye…know, detained ones. They're totally under control.” Chance added quickly, “And uh… also. I’d love to take them out. Just for a bit. Uhh Fresh air. Maybe a stroll. maybe bail them out, maybe not. depending on how badly they insulted Builderman… they're not cultists or criminals, if that’s what you’re asking. They're just really passionate people.”

 

"..."

 

The mod raised an eyebrow then tilted his head. “Is this about the detainees from the HQ issue?”

 

“And,” Chance added, ignoring the question with his eyes flicking toward the bench, “I was wondering if I could, uh… also bring in my emotional support rabbits. You know, for morale.”

 

The mod followed his gaze to the rabbits. The white one nuzzled the yellow one while the yellow one glared at the both of them.

 

Chance smiled a little too wide.

 

“They’re very therapeutic. Hugely beneficial for... uh, reformed felons. And cult members. And ya, anyone going through existential dread, which is basically all of us lately.”

 

The mod looked at him. Then at the rabbits. Then back.

 

Chance's panic crept up his throat like hot static. “I’ll give you a monthly VIP pass,” he blurted. “with top tier free drinks. No cooldowns. Unlimited spins on the roulette wheel- er the rigged one yea? you remember that one, right? No judgment.”

 

The mod blinked.

 

“…Unlimited?”

 

Chance nodded vigorously. “Unlimited.”

 

A slow grin stretched across the mod’s face. “Deal.” The mod then waved him through. “Pleasure doing business, Mr. Chance. And hey- soon? Let’s do lunch. That exclusive sushi bar in the upper quarter still your turf?”

 

“Hell yeah." he turned around to face his assistant and his lawyer.

 

“God bless corruptible officials.” Chance whispered under his breath. His lawyer pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s absolutely a bribe.”

 

“It’s hospitality,” Chance replied, not missing a beat. “There’s a difference.” he turned around to pat the mod’s shoulder as they passed by each other. “You’re doing spawn’s work, modman.” ah fuck, he's already practicing how to please two time.

 

The mod called after him, “It’s Monty and are you a believer of spawn?”

 

“Right! That’s what I was gonna say. Uh can't say for sure!” Chance lied with confidence, shooting finger guns as he disappeared into the hallway with his lawyer in tow.

 

“Holy glitch,” Chance muttered. “I need to start writing down people’s names. Also Hayden ya can stay here. Sir eni can you hold my bunnies.”

 

His lawyer just sighed as he followed chance's plea and scoop the bunnies in his arms. “You also need a new moral compass.”

 

Chance shrugged half-heartedly. “I’ll gamble for one.”

 

It was a joke but it soon fell flat against the silence of the detainment wing. Still, he let it hang in the air as he followed the mod deeper into the facility. He listened to the sound of his boots echoing against sterile white tiles. He rubbed absently at the bandages wrapped around both arms. His knuckles were still raw. His sleeves kept catching the gauze. It itched like hell, but it was better than remembering how he got the wounds in the first place.

 

Holy fuck, this place wasn’t a cell. It was a damn fortress. There's thick walls, multiple doors and reinforced glass. This is the biggest detainment unit in all of Robloxia. It reeked of guilt and the smell of codes. Honestly, if Two Time had been arrested alone, they probably would’ve been tossed in a lower-tier holding cell with the usual cult mumblers and failed protestors but Two had brought along an ex-exploiter. A well-known one so instead of a slap on the wrist, they’d dug themselves into a pit so deep even Chance’s old crimes looked manageable by comparison.

 

Luckily for everyone involved, Chance had dragged along his family lawyer. The lawyer is a good friend of his father's and he's Influential enough to request a visitation and manipulate some paperwork. Unfortunately, not influential enough to make chance meet with any high-tier admins. Still. He was here. And that was more than most could say.

 

As the final security door hissed open, Chance stepped into the room and felt every single head swivel in his direction.

 

“..”

 

He blinked, caught off-guard by the intensity of it until he caught sight of familiar faces. First, Seven, sitting rigid in the corner, posture tense and eyes wide, a subtle flush dusting his cheeks. Seven looks rightfully embarrassed.

 

“Ah,” Two Time said, voice rising in delight, “thank the Spawn, we’ve found a comrade of ours.”

 

Chance froze in the doorway, mid-step.

 

Two Time was beaming behind one of the moda, Seven shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Chance cleared his throat and coughed into his hand, offering a half-smile that looked more like a grimace.

 

From the other side of the room, two moderators looked up from a glowing tablet and turned toward him. Recognition flashed instantly across their faces. Ah, of course they recognized him since again, he ran Robloxia’s most exclusive underground casino. Half of the elite came through his doors.

 

One of the mods raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Chance… you know these two?”

 

Chance glanced sideways. Two Time was still smiling. Seven gave him a helpless look. He opened his mouth. Closed it and thought about lying. But eventually Instead, he sighed.

 

“…Yes.”

 

Before the moderators could speak again, Two Time took a step forward.

 

“Of course they know us,” they said smoothly. “For the Spawn delivers not only judgment, but reunion. Praise be. Another survivor drawn into our orbit by divine design.”

 

Chance shut his eyes briefly.

 

“yes . Uh.. ” he muttered to the mods, jerking a thumb at Two Time. “Just roll with it. It’s like a… performance art thing. Very loud and surprisingly harmless.” excuses excuses..

 

The mods exchanged a glance. One scribbled something in a datapad. The other sighed and looked away. Two Time beamed. “The frequency only proves the prophecy’s unfolding.”

 

Seven covered his face with one hand and exhaled slowly as chance gave the moderators his best PR smile. “Look. I know how it sounds. But we’re, uh, on the same side. Mostly. In spirit, if not in execution.”

 

One of the mods looked unimpressed. “They are a cultist and a blacklisted exploiter, sir.”

 

“They’re reformed.” Chance lied smoothly. “Probably.” Two Time tilted their head to interrupt . “Well, one of us is reformed. The other just repurposed.” Chance glared in response. “Not helping buddy.”

 

“Neither are you, Mr. Chance,” the mod interrupted them both flatly, arms crossed. “Are you here to post bail?”

 

“…”

 

The silence inside the room stretches. No one moved even the guards, the two detainees and not the lawyer holding the rabbits add also the twitchy prisoner in the far corner who hadn’t blinked in what looked like ten minutes. Then, somewhere in the back, someone coughed.

 

Chance blinked, broken from his frozen moment. He smiled and adjusted the brim of his fedora with a sway that was more instinct than style. He tilted it just slightly. Time to talk their way out of another hellhole.

 

“Ah,” he said, voice warm and what he thought was charming. “Apologies for the silence. You know how it is when reunions are…unexpected.”

 

He took a step forward, smoothing out the front of his coat with a sweep of his bandaged fingers. “I’m here under formal petition,” he began, “to request the temporary release of the two detainees registered under aliases ‘Two Time’ and 007n7.’ I believe they’ve been wrongfully categorized under high-risk status due to a…misunderstanding of intent”

 

He barely finished his breath before a familiar voice cut in.

 

“Release us, for the Spawn has willed it.”

 

Chance flinched slightly but kept going.

 

“-on grounds of miscommunication and cultural… spiritual expression. “I-uh, look. I’ve submitted the official documentation for temporary release. Paperwork’s filed. Legalities checked. I’ve got a lawyer right now-” he added quickly, eyes flicking toward the mods.

 

Two Time stepped forward. Goddamnit.

 

“Do you not see? This is no coincidence, the survivors gathering here is a summoning, born from the spawn's generosity. You shall release us because we have to find our esteemed admin who is a survivor himself..”

 

Chance’s eye twitched slightly but he pressed on, cutting off two time once again. “And I do fully understand the gravity of the situation.” he continued, holding his hands up calmly. “An attempted entrance to HQ with a dagger and an ex-exploiter does sound dramatic. I won’t pretend it wasn’t.” Two Time whispered something about 'the Silencing being foretold' and Chance quickly raised his voice “I’m formally requesting visitation rights, leniency under Article Four of Detainment Negotiation, and should you require, willing to offer full bail and sponsorship for both of them under my direct supervision.”

 

There was a long pause. One of the moderators continued to scribble notes, the other narrowed their eyes. Chance was ready with another follow-up, but-

 

“The Spawn has brought us together again, old friend, not for freedom in the mortal sense but for the unification of survivors. We have to seek builderman. For reclamation and for divine synchronization. We shall honor the spawn for finally freeing us.”

 

“Synchronization?” Chance muttered, turning toward the mods, who were now looking deeply exhausted.

 

"Ye-"

 

“Anyway-what I meant to say is that,” Chance continued quickly, “is that I take full responsibility for both individuals. One of them is a surprisingly responsible parent,” he said, nodding toward Seven, who was still red in the face. “And the other... is a motivational speaker. With, uh, unconventional methods.”

 

The moderators exchanged a look. Two Time clapped once before one of the moderators pinched the bridge of their nose. “Mr. Chance, are you seriously requesting bail for these two?”

 

“Yes,” Chance said immediately. “They’re useful.”

 

Two Time beamed again. Seven, looking mildly horrified, raised a hesitant hand. “I… don’t actually believe in any of this.”

 

“You will.” Two Time whispered reverently, placing a hand on Seven’s shoulder. “Don’t touch me-”

 

Chance ignored them both as he spread his arms slightly, his coat fluttering as he gestured to the group. “I’m here to take custody of these two, pending further review. I’ll take full responsibility. And if they start threatening our esteemed admin then remember I’ve got a casino that pays out well in hush money and coupons.”

 

 “Are you trying to bribe-”

 

“I’m trying to cooperate,” Chance said quickly, holding his hands up. “Big difference.”

 

Two Time leaned toward Seven and whispered, “The Spawn loves it when he lies for us.” Seven looked pleadingly at chance.

 

“so to simplify, I’ll take full responsibility for them. Temporary release. If they mess up, you can throw me back in the pit with ‘em. Scouts honor”

 

“You weren’t a scout,” the lawyer muttered.

 

“Gambler’s honor, then.”

 

The moderator looked at Chance. Then at Two Time, Then at Seven before they sighed. “We’ll need to process paperwork.”

 

 

 

____________________

 

 

 

“Oh… how nice,” Two Time murmured, their voice syrupy as their eyes landed on the sleek, obsidian-black limousine waiting just outside the detention facility gates.

 

The shine of the vehicle’s polished exterior reflected the afternoon sun, making it look more like a hearse for CEOs than a getaway car.  Two time's grin curled just a bit too wide. “how rich are you?”

 

Chance snorted and bumped their shoulder with his own, casual and teasing despite the cold sweat forming under his collar. “rich enough.”

 

From behind them, Seven gave a quiet hum of amusement. “It’s good to see you, Chance,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse but sincere as he stepped up behind the two.

 

Chance turned and laughed, genuinely this time, sharp and alive. “It’s great to see you both, man. Like, seriously. I thought, I honestly thought..” His smile faltered for just a second as emotion clawed its way up his throat. He shoved it down with a tight chuckle and quickly ushered them both inside.

 

The limo’s doors opened with a hiss.. Chance slid in first, the rabbits already curled up at the far end, their ears twitching at the presence of new passengers.

 

As Seven ducked in and sat beside him, Chance couldn’t help the question from tumbling out of his mouth.

 

“What about the others?” he asked quickly.. “Have you-have you found the rest yet? Elliot? Jane? Anyone?”

 

Seven froze just slightly, Then, carefully, Seven lowered himself into the seat across from Chance, his hands folded.

 

He shook his head. “We tried finding Elliot. We visited his house. His sister said he was missing for five months.”

 

Chance’s grin stiffened. He let out a forced laugh, fingers twitching slightly where they rested on his knees. “Ha… he’s probably just laying low, right? Right? You can't possibly suspect that some of the survivors are still in there-”

 

Neither of them responded. Chance’s chest tightened.

 

“It’s fine,” he said quietly, eyes flicking to the floor. “They’ll get out. If we are free then- then they're gonna be free in no time.”

 

Seven reached across the car, placing a firm hand on Chance’s shoulder. “They’ll get out,” Seven echoed softly.

 

Chance looked up at him and gave a shaky smile. His eyes glistened, but he blinked the feeling away with practiced ease.

 

“Pardon me.” Two Time suddenly chimed in, breaking the moment as they stared across the seat with a scowl, “but may we sacrifice the rabbits for good fortune?”

 

“..”

 

Chance slowly turned to look at them. His neck moved stiffly. The two rabbits were now upright, both glaring at Two Time.

 

“No." Chance deadpanned.

 

“But the Spawn accepts only the most-”

 

“No.”

 

“They are small and perfect vessels for transmutational channel-”

 

Chance grabbed both rabbits protectively and plopped them onto his lap. “Absolutely not. Try to touch them and I swear to builderman himself, I’ll trade your left shoe to a mod in exchange for a rollback.”

 

“Chance..”

 

“No.”

 

“‘chance, the rabbits,” they continued grimly. “They know something.” Chance blinked his eyes. “You think everything knows something.”

 

“No,” Two Time hissed, “These ones are watching me. Especially the one with the little crown”

 

“Oh my god, you’re serious.” Chance snorted, biting back a laugh. “You’re scared of the bunnies?”

 

“I am not afraid,” Two Time frowned. “I am aware. They radiate disdain. That one,” they pointed at the white one, “has not blinked once. It knows something.”

 

“Maybe they’re, uh… just not used to you,” Chance muttered, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as he adjusted the tiny fedora on the crowned bunny’s head. The bunny blinked up at him. “I mean, they’re new pets. Still figuring out stuff right now.” He glanced up. “So… where we going?”

 

There was a pause. Neither Seven nor Two Time answered. Instead, both of them exchanged a glance and promptly looked away in opposite directions. Chance frowned, eyes flicking between them. “Okay so… my place? I’m guessing the plan is-”

 

Chance rambled on until he turned to look at two time. Two Time didn’t respond. They kept their gaze fixed on the rabbit before finally, they turned toward Seven, who sat across from them. Seven didn’t look up and just stared at the bunnies. “I think the bunny’s about to bite Two.” 

 

The yellow rabbit was indeed leaning forward, ears pinned back, tiny mouth open in a perfect snarl. Two Time hissed and recoiled. “Demon beast! I knew it!”

 

“Okay so home it is.”

 

 

 

 

______________________

 

 

 

“Welcome to mi casa”

 

Chance announced with a dramatic flair, throwing open the door to his penthouse. He immediately winced. The place wasn’t filthy technically but it was very clear that he hadn't bothered to clean up after the fight with noob. Thankfully, neither Seven nor Two Time seemed to notice or care. Seven’s eyes wandered upward toward the chandelier and then around the sleek furniture with a quiet sort of awe. his lips parting just slightly. He stepped in gingerly and began unlacing his boots at the door like he was afraid to dirty the floor, even though the floor was already losing that battle.

 

Two Time, on the other hand, swept into the penthouse. Without a word, they immediately made a beeline to the darkest corner of the living room and knelt. Their fingers drawing invisible sigils on the hardwood floor.

 

“Uh,” Chance blinked, watching them squat. “Ritual already? You haven’t even seen the kitchen.”

 

“The night is coming.,” Two Time murmured. Chance sighed and awkwardly toed off his shoes. He set the bunnies down gently. He was just about to mumble something about dinner when he felt a sudden presence.

 

Seven leaned in close causing chance to freeze, his breath catching as Seven reached out. His heartbeat spiked for a second out of sheer confusion from the proximity. Then he saw Seven’s fingers brush gently along the bandages on his arm.

 

“How did you injure yourself.” Seven muttered. eyes focused on the injury rather than Chance’s face.

 

Chance snorted, the tension popping like a bubble. “im okay old man.” 

 

Seven didn’t laugh, but his lips curved slightly. He finished fixing the loose wrap, then patted Chance’s arm once before pulling back. Chance appreciated the lack of questions more than he could say.

 

“So, uh,” he started, scratching the back of his neck. “I guess I’ll go make us dinner-”

 

“I’ll make dinner,” Seven said at the same time, already walking toward the kitchen.

 

“No way,” Chance protested, chasing after him. “You guys are my guests. My house, my rules, I burn my food.”

 

“I don’t mind cooking,” Seven replied calmly, gesturing toward Chance’s still-bandaged hands. “You’re injured. Sit.”

 

“I-no-you’ll be tired, man. I’ve got pre-chopped onions, see?” Chance gestured vaguely at the fridge. “They’re only… mildly expired.”

 

Seven held out his hand expectantly, wordless. Chance stared at it and then he relented.

 

“Fine.” he muttered. “We’ll order takeout.”

 

From the corner, Two Time looked up with a serene smile. “The Spawn encourages rest.”

 

“Just go back to whatever you're doing, two.”

 

         

 

                     _____________________

 

 

 

 

The three of them sat on Chance’s couch, takeout boxes spread across the coffee table, steaming lo mein, pork dumplings, and orange chicken. The city’s glow filtered through the blinds as his eyes darted occasionally to the window. The night pressed in and he tried not to think about how many times night had meant death. He hated it. He still couldn’t sleep through the night sometimes and from the looks of it, he wasn’t the only one. He glanced sideways at his companions.

 

Seven was quiet, his hands idle in his lap. His eyes downcast and chance got the impression that his mind was somewhere far away. His jaw was tense. Two Time, on the other hand, had their knees pulled to their chest, chopsticks resting unused beside the box of noodles. Their fingers kept twitching near the collar of their shirt.

 

Chance ran a thumb over his chopsticks. “Okay… so, um.. let’s eat, yeah?”

 

His fingers trembled as he picked up his chopsticks. He noticed how badly they shook and quickly hid them under the table for a moment. He glanced at the others again, Two Time hadn’t moved, and Seven was staring the food.

 

The silence grew heavy. 

 

“Hey, uh... Two,” Chance started awkwardly. “You wanna lead a prayer or something? For the meal, maybe?”

 

He wasn’t sure why he said it. He didn’t believe in the Spawn. But Two looked like they were seconds away from falling apart, and if giving them something to say helped even a little, then it was worth it. He watched two Time blinks, slowly turning to look at him. Their eyes were already glassy.

 

“praise be,” they whispered, trying to smile, though their bottom lip trembled. “Uh…”

 

They clasped their hands together, resting them over their chest. “Thank you... for the food.” they said, voice thin. “And for letting us survive another day.” Their smile wavered. A tear slipped down their cheek, but they didn’t wipe it away.

 

“Please... protect the ones still out there.. alone..” Two Time continued, breath catching. “Especially my dear partner. Don’t let them be alone out there.”

 

The next sentence came quieter. “Give the remaining survivors another day. Just one more...”

 

They were trying to smile, but by now, tears had already started to roll freely down their cheeks. The prayer began to dissolve into broken breaths.

 

“Let us stay safe... with each other…”

 

The silence that followed was so thick it hurt. Two Time sat motionless. They're crying quietly but still smiling. Chance’s chest ached. He swallowed hard and looked at his untouched food.

 

“Amen.” he whispered.

 

Seven, still staring down, echoed faintly after him, “Amen.”

 

No one said anything else for a long moment. The only sound was Two Time’s quiet sniffles and the soft hum of the refrigerator. They sat there eating quietly, the scrape of chopsticks against takeout boxes the only sound between them. The food was warm but bland.

 

Chance chewed slowly, his eyes flicking between the two other survivors once more. His legs bounced slightly while his fingers twitched against his thighs. He hated the quiet as always. He hated how it reminded him of the aftermath of every hell they barely survive. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak even if his voice wobbled.

 

“So hey, uh… what’s the plan?”

 

Seven looked up slowly. His chopsticks paused mid-air. His voice was soft but resolute. “I want to find my son.”

 

Chance blinked. Right. He remembered. 

 

Two Time didn’t respond at first. Their gaze was locked on the far wall, eyes glossy from the prayer. But then they tilted their head slightly, just enough for chance to catch their expression.

 

“I want to find my partner." they said simply. 

 

Chance stared. He didn’t know what to say. He looked down at his lo mein and hoped it could give him something smart to respond with. Instead, all he felt was that familiar ache spreading in his chest again.

 

Everyone had someone and everyone has purpose after being free. He forced a shaky laugh, trying to mask the silence that followed.

 

“To the Banlands, then?” he asked, more joking than serious or at least he thought he was.

 

Neither of them answered. Seven looked down again. Two Time didn’t move.

 

The silence hit like a punch to the gut and suddenly Chance felt like he couldn’t breathe. His grip on the chopsticks tightened. He glared at his food, suddenly furious at the noodles for existing and at himself for being stupid enough to ask. His mouth went dry and his shoulders tensed. they were all three going there.

 

He didn’t ask anything else after that.

 

 

 

 

                      __________________

 

 

 

 

Chance grunted, stumbling through the alley as something hot and sharp lanced through his leg. His breath tore from his throat in ragged bursts, sweat soaking through the back of his shirt and gluing it to his spine. He could hear shouting behind him as he carried through with all the strength that he has.

 

“Heads up!” someone called from above he squinted and he saw a blur arced through the air. Thunk. A greasy box of pizza hit the pavement beside him with a wet smack.

 

“THANK YOU, ELLIOT!” Chance roared with all the breath he had left, scooping the box up with one hand while the other pressed hard against his side. He didn’t stop even if his legs burned, especially the injured one that dragged slightly behind, but his panic was stronger than pain. So he ran and ran.

 

Until the sounds of pursuit faded before he allowed his legs to finally buckle. He collapsed behind a half-toppled wall, panting like a wild dog, the box of pizza now squashed against his ribs. The flintlock pistol hung loose in his grip while his fingers twitching around the polished metal.

 

He sat there alone with his chest heaving and adrenaline humming underneath his skin. The flintlock caught the reflection of his disheveled state. He turned it over absently, again and again yet It only reminded him of what had happened earlier. His eyes widened slightly. Then narrowed. He pressed his lips into a thin line.

 

“…Noob’s dead,” he muttered to no one as he said it flatly. 

 

Coolkid’s face had emerged from the start of the round and he went straight to the nearest survivor which was noob, Chance remembered screaming. He remembered lunging and his body moved before his mind could. He’d thrown himself in front of Noob while trying to absorb the impact but the codefire didn’t care as It wrapped around them both and ate.

 

Noob had clutched at him, trembling, tears were already in their eyes. Chance remembered grabbing them and hugging them tight, even as Noob’s body glitched, cracked, and burned from the inside out.

 

“I-it’s okay,” Chance had whispered. “It’s okay, I got you. I got you, buddy. Doesn’t hurt. You won’t feel it soon. You’ll see me soon.” it wasn’t okay and It hadn’t been okay, especially to the both of them.

 

Chance blinked, fingers tightening around the flintlock as his chest seized. It hurt noob so much but noob had still try to be brave for him. He remembered pressing his forehead to Noob’s even as their skin burned hot enough to sear flesh. Admins, he will pull them close for a tight hug once this round ends since chance had broken his promises again.

 

“shit..”

 

He whispered to no one with his voice barely stirring the stillness as only the distant pop of broken scripts crackling in the wind reminded him that the hell hadn’t gone completely still.

 

Chance sat with his back against the crumbling concrete, head tipped back against the jagged edge. His fingers absently brushed dust off his pants, pointless, considering how soaked he was in grime, sweat, and dried blood.

 

Crunch.

 

His breath caught when he heard a sound before a shape dropped beside him suddenly then Chance nearly jumped out of his skin and had to slap a hand over his own mouth to keep from cursing louder.

 

“Son of a glitch.” he wheezed, grabbing at his chest, “ya scared me half to actual death!”

 

The figure beside him looked away, expression pained. His bloodied arm clutched his side, and his blue t-shirt was torn open at the shoulder, the fabric is disgusting blackened and damp. Chance blinked in the darkness, finally recognizing the face under the grime and blood.

 

“…Seven?” he muttered. Or, more accurately, 007n7 but most of the survivors just called him Seven. It's fewer syllables and it's less fear. 

 

Seven gave him a faint, strained smile and lowered himself into a sitting position beside him with a soft grunt. Chance exhaled through his nose. “yeah uh.. sit with me. It’s no problem.” he muttered, voice softer now. “I should’ve expected someone to sneak up on me. This place isn’t exactly unoccupied.”

 

They sat in silence for a moment.

 

Chance stared at the dark street, barely lit by the broken streetlamp ahead. He thought of Elliot. the man had smacked a half-eaten pizza on the ground and screamed at Chance to run. Elliot was probably dead- The others too and Seven and him was all that was left at this round.

 

Chance glanced sideways at him. The man’s breathing was labored. Blood crusted his side. He didn’t speak as he rarely ever did. Truthfully, Chance had always been a little intimidated by him, truth be told. Who wouldn’t be?

 

The 007n7. Ah, what a legend.

 

It's a name that made news headlines. Chance didn’t fully understand but it's definitely feared. Some small servers were wiped out and even one of builderman’s establishments was destroyed under that infamous name. During his time back In the living, There were casualties and now so it still is a surprise to think 007n7 was here and crouched beside Chance like any other worn-out survivor.

 

The other survivors said seven changed. He got quieter, older and Slower. Rumors said it was because of his son, the same rogue code that was currently hunting and killing survivors one by one.

 

Chance swallowed hard. He glanced over again. Seven wasn’t looking at him. The exploiter was just staring forward, with jaw tight. He was holding something back. Guilt, maybe or perhaps it was grief. Chance can't judge.

 

Chance rubbed the back of his neck, then quietly asked, “You good?”

 

Seven didn’t respond right away. Chance Just heard an exhale puff then, finally he gave the smallest nod.

 

Chance huffed out a breathless laugh in response which was part exhaustion and part absurd amusement. His ribs ached with the motion, but it didn’t stop him from reaching toward the crumpled box beside him. He picked it up without hesitation, brushing off the worst of the dirt. The only pizza inside was cold and smudged, but still intact.

 

“Whatever,” he muttered to himself. “Survivors once dove into literal poison water for pizza. Little dirt ain’t gonna kill anyone.”

 

He shuffled closer, holding the box out with a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

“Here, old man. Go heal yourself. Be the last man standing, yeah?”

 

He nudged the box toward Seven, offering it like a poorly wrapped bandage on a gaping wound. He thought Seven would take it but instead, Seven turned his head weakly and gave a faint shake. refusing without words. His body slumped a bit more against the cracked wall, blood dark on his lips and neck. Damn, he looked like a statue trying to keep upright from sheer will alone. It impressed chance.

 

Chance blinked, still awkwardly holding the pizza between them.

 

“…C’mon, it’s not like I made it” he joked softly. “Hey, I’m used to dying, alright? It’s nothing new. Noob-they…”

 

He swallowed.

 

“Noob’s gone. So honestly? I don’t want to win this messed-up round either. But you- your abilities are suited to survive. You should go on. Someone like you always does.”

 

He nudged the box again, more firmly this time. Seven didn’t even glance at it. He just exhaled through his nose, chest rising and falling in shallow rhythm, and let his head tip back until it rested against the cold concrete.

 

There was a long silence stretched between them. Chance, unsure of what else to say or do, lowered the pizza box to the ground beside him with a quiet, awkward sigh.

 

“…Okay.” he muttered. “Then I’m gonna protect you instead.”

 

He didn’t expect a response but he perked up when he saw seven parted his lips open.

 

“Help me."

 

The voice was hoarse and it's barely above a whisper. So sudden, Chance’s head snapped up, eyes wide. He scrambled forward instinctively as he misread the request, his hands already fumbling to lift the pizza again. “Right! Okay! I can-wait, you want me to force-feed it to you? I mean, I’ve never uh..”

 

Seven let out a quiet groan and weakly shook his head again.

 

Chance paused, hovering mid-motion.

 

“…You don’t want it?”

 

Another slow shake.

 

Chance blinked. “Then… what do you want?”

 

Seven turned his face slightly, blood drying around the corner of his mouth. His voice came out rasped.

 

“Fix my glasses.”

 

“…Your glasses?” Chance repeated.

 

Seven’s lips twitched. “My glasses.”

 

Chance looked down and realized the cracked frames had been dangling from Seven’s collar this whole time. It's bent out of shape, one lens fogged over with a smear of blood. Oh 

 

“Okay… okay, yeah. I can do that,” Chance said, shifting position. His hands were trembling slightly as he picked up the frames and carefully bent them back into place, wiping one lens on the edge of his shirt and blowing dust off the other.

 

He glanced up.

 

Seven was watching him now. his unfocused, hazy gaze slowly sharpened as the cracked glasses settled back onto the bridge of his nose.

 

“Better?” Chance asked.

 

Seven nodded and something about the way he looked at Chance in that moment made his throat tighten.

 

“Man…”

 

Chance exhaled, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he leaned his head back against the wall behind them. His breath fogged faintly in the chilled air, and he side-eyed the man beside him, hoping a smile in return but seven instead turned his head away and the silence that followed was awkward. chance frowned as he listened to his own heartbeat that sound too loud.

 

Chance let the silence stretch… until he couldn’t take it anymore.

 

“Your son’s a real energetic fellow, ain’t he?”

 

There was no reply. Only the soft twitch of Seven’s bloodied fingers against the cracked pavement, it's subtle but Chance noticed. It gave him enough courage to keep going.

 

He chuckled softly, rubbing his thumb against the hem of his sleeve.

 

“Though I really don’t like his claws. Seriously, one of those nearly took my arm off. But hey… he got your determination. That part I can admire.”

 

His voice dropped, softer now, as his gaze wandered upward to the night sky.

 

“Sometimes,” he muttered, “I envy everyone here.”

 

His voice caught in his throat for a second, but he pushed on.

 

“Especially you.”

 

That caught Seven’s attention. The man turned his head slowly with his amber eyes now focused fully on him.

 

Chance blinked and flushed instantly, cheeks going pink beneath the dirt and dried blood. “I mean, not in a weird way or anything- just… you’ve got a connection. A real one. Your son. Even if he’s- you know-hunting us all right now. It’s still something that counts.”

 

He picked at the corner of the broken pizza box beside them, trying to hide how nervous his rambling was making him.

 

“Must feel… not lonely, eh?”

 

Seven didn’t speak. But he nodded.

 

Chance smiled faintly, resting his chin on his knees. “You’re easy to talk to, you know that? What gives? And here I was thinking you were all about that loner stuff, old man.”

 

He shot a teasing look at Seven. To his surprise, the older survivor’s pale lips curved into a tired, faint smile.

 

“I’m twenty-eight,” Seven said, voice rasped but clear. “I’m not an old man.”

 

Chance laughed, the sound sharp and real in the still night.

 

“Pffft. You’ve got a kid. That’s old-man status, sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

 

Seven gave him a slow, narrowed glare that was more exasperated than threatening.

 

Chance snorted. “C’mon, you’ve got the whole ‘retired’ vibe going for you. What?”

 

Seven shook his head, clearly unimpressed.

 

Chance leaned his shoulder against Seven’s gently, casual but sincere. “Don’t worry. You wear the ‘old’ thing well.”

 

“Chance-”

 

“No, but I’m serious.”

 

Chance’s sighed cut through the quiet night, softer than before and interrupting seven's upcoming rant. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He let his shoulders sagged as he stared at the cracked concrete beneath them, fingers loosely playing with a small rock at his side. 

 

“I really… really envy you.”

 

Seven didn’t respond right away and chance didn’t expect him to.

 

“I mean- look at you,” Chance went on, his voice low, the words spilling faster now. “You’ve got… someone in here. Even if it’s complicated. you’ve got a son in here and you’ve got something to hold onto. Every survivors here are strangely all connected to come another. Why not me?”

 

He paused.

 

I’m just… this random guy that doesn't know anyone. Not even one of the killers.”

 

Chance’s breath stuttered in his chest, and he laughed bitterly but it's more like a shaky exhale than anything close to humor.

 

“It's just me in this place. Some idiot with a flintlock and a stupid rigged luck. I think I didn't live my life well.”

 

His voice cracked near the end. He clenched his jaw and blinked quickly, but the tears still came. They welled up hot at the corners of his eyes, blurring the edge of Seven’s silhouette beside him.

 

“it freaking sucks here.” he admitted. “It sucks so bad that half of us died before we could even live. And we just- we’re stuck. I mean, yeah, we survive. We laugh. We make do. But it’s not really living, is it?”

 

His hands tightened into fists in his lap.

 

“I really want a kid, too.” he whispered. “A family. I wanted to hold someone who’d call me dad. I wanted to raise them and give them a much more better life than mine. I wanted just… something to come home to. Someone to give a damn if I didn’t.”

 

He sniffled and looked up at the broken skyline, the pixelated stars flickering in and out of focus.

 

“I used to picture it,” he admitted. “Me at some dinner table. Kid yelling about their stupid day. Me trying to pretend I understand their teenage stuff- itrap- partner making fun of me while I burn breakfast. Dumb domestic stuff.”

 

He laughed quietly and let his head drop back against the wall.

 

“But instead, I died. I died and got stuck here. And now I’m just… running around in a nightmare where I get one more chance to do what, exactly? Get clawed a little slower this time.. pft what a joke.”

 

He let out another bitter laugh, then rubbed his eyes with the back of his wrist.

 

“I’m twenty-eight too, Seven,” Chance muttered. “And I’ve wasted almost all of it. I'm hella old enough. Hella old enough to realize the party’s over and you’re the last guy sitting in the VIP room with confetti stuck to your hair.”

 

“…"

 

“I spent years blowing my life away in casinos. It's no secret that I'm a gambler so when I'm still alive, I'm either drunk off wins and drowning in losses. I'm always trying to fill this hole in my chest with coins and cards and- and strangers who’d disappear when the lights came back on.”

 

He took a deep, shaky breath.

 

“I thought I was living life to the fullest, y’know? Thought I'm chasing thrills and taking risks..”

 

 

Chance looked down at his bruised and Scarred trembling hands.

 

“man, now im here sitting next to a man I used to be afraid of, hoping I said the right thing to the last person I ever loved before they disappeared.”

 

There was silence after that and chance has to bit his tongue to refrain from saying more.

 

“…”

 

“You’re not random." Seven said softly.

 

Chance blinked. The words were so faint.

 

“You’re still here and that counts, chance.”

 

Chance turned his head, stunned.

 

Seven wasn’t looking at him, but his gaze was steady. “Survivors who smile,” Seven added, “are rarer than you think. you still have a chance to build something.”

 

Chance chuckled, his voice thick with emotion. “That sounds like a cool line from a movie and what is that pun bud.”

 

Seven shrugged faintly with a chuckle. “Probably is.”

 

They sat in silence again. But this time, it was a little less painful in Chance's part.

 

“Though-” chance was interrupted by seven.

 

“You’ve already made friends with a guy who used to be a war criminal. I’d say you’re off to a weirdly solid start.”

 

Chance blinked. Then snorted. Weirdly strange snort. Since it's caught between a laugh and a sob.

 

“God, you’re a smug bastard.”

 

“I’m twenty-eight. I’m allowed to be smug.” Seven replied with a rasp.

 

Chance sniffed, wiping his face. “Thanks, old man.”

 

“I’m not old.”

 

“You’re a dad, that makes you old.”

 

Seven exhaled sharply through his nose.

 

 

“Just remember, you're not alone.”

 

 

Notes:

I wanted to make this chap so full of angst and despair.. but alas.. the voices convinced me to atleast make this chapter bearable and save the angst for later chapters. Say thank you to the voices☹️

 

BUT ANYWAY, HELLO?? 800 KUDOS AND 6K READS. HOW CRAZY IS THAT? guys, im actually so freaking happy like I'm serious. The comments are so sweet! Thank you for making my day in my class better. I really, really appreciate it. They're also like an adrenaline pump whenever I write. So please continue to interact with me, ilysm guys😭

 

Heldhdh moving on before I go ranting about unnecessary stuff, I'm sorry for the lack of builderman. He was really supposed to be in this chapter but I have the habit of getting carried along and forgetting I have to save words 😭 I don't really like exceeding to my word limits. Don't worry, I promise you that he will be in the next chapter.

 

ALSO COME CHECK @teaksteare in X art.
https://x.com/teaksteare/status/1937643165650960783?t=qFXtlRMPGLo0ROVkfLOqQg&s=19

OH GOSH THEIR ART IS SO PEAK

Chapter 6: 6. Penny for your thoughts

 

Chance jolted awake with breath catching in his throat as a throbbing pain exploded in his skull pounding behind his eyes like the dull hammer of Builderman himself. He gritted his teeth and sat up abruptly. His hand already scrambling for the gun he had placed beside him the night before.

 

Cold fingers brushed cold steel and relief unfurled in his chest. He wrapped his hand tightly around the pistol's grip and let out a slow exhale with shoulders sagging.

 

"Still here." he muttered under his breath. His voice was hoarse. dry from sleep or perhaps it's from stress. He noticed the dim morning light crept through the blinds, casting pale orange stripes across the floor. The sky outside was still painted in sleepy gray-blue. Chance rubbed his temples, wincing as another pulse of pain echoed through his skull. “Gotta stop falling asleep without checking the damn meds...” he murmured, dragging a hand down his face.

 

His eyes eventually landed on Seven, who was slumped over the worn-out coffee table across the room, head nestled on his crossed arms. He took a moment but decided to not bother to wake seven up as the guy wouldn’t wake up for hours. Especially not when he pushed himself like this.

 

Chance leaned back against the wall behind him, letting his gaze linger on the unmoving form. A soft sigh escaped his lips. Used Coolgui again, didn’t he? Burning himself up again. That old man.

 

The guy had a habit of overexerting himself. Using something as dangerous as Coolgui without cost. Every time Seven dipped into that power, he came back a little more cracked. Chance’s brows furrowed. Seven probably sent one of his clones out to scout for clues. 

 

Speaking of clues.. He looked down at his hands. Dirt under his fingernails. His bandaged knuckles were scraped, blood dried in thin cracks across the skin. He stared at them.

 

“What am I even doing...?” he whispered. The question felt so loud in the quiet that he had to clench his jaw.

 

He should be out there searching and Looking for the others. Looking for Noob.

 

Chance swallowed hard. He should be looking for them. Not sitting here and definitely not wasting time while Seven burns himself out trying to hold this mess together.

 

He stood slowly, the gun still in his grip. He looked toward the cracked window where weak light spilled in. Noob is out there..

 

Fuck.. noob, why did they do that to him? He scowled, pacing as sitting was starting to feel like drowning.

 

Noob is out there all alone. Stubborn fool. Chance bit down on his tongue, hard, trying to push back the pulsing headache clawing behind his eyes. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. He winced and then grunted before forcing himself to stand still with a shaky exhale.

 

He looked at his side where Two Time lay on the couch. The cultist is completely still. Their arms were folded neatly over their chest, legs straightened and chin slightly tilted. They looked like a corpse.

 

Chance narrowed his eyes.

 

“...Do they always sleep like that?” he muttered under his breath. Thinking about it, they probably do but chance can't say for sure because back in that hell, Two Time always vanished when a round was over. Sighing, Chance stepped over the clutter and reached for the blanket draped over a nearby chair. Carefully and gently, he leaned forward to lay it over their body but Just as he began to tuck it under their arm, Two Time’s eyes snapped open.

 

“GOD! What the-”

 

Chance let out a strangled yelp and stumbled back, nearly tripping over the carpet. Two Time didn’t even blink as their gaze locked with his. in a voice low and guttural, they spoke.

 

"Why... must you awaken me, gambler?"

 

They slowly rose to a sitting position, draping one hand over their brow. “Do you not understand the sanctity of sacred rest?”

 

Chance blinked at them with his jaw slack. “...Dude. I thought you- whaa-”

 

Two Time narrowed their eyes, their voice thick with exhaustion. “i was in the middle of a divine conversation with the oh gracious spawn, Chance. Do you know how rare those visitations are? They only come during optimal body paralysis.”

 

Well how would he know. Chance rubbed his temples. “You looked like you’d been embalmed. How would I know.”

 

Two Time’s gaze intensified. “You ripped me from a negotiation, Chance.”

 

“I was trying to tuck you in!”

 

“such a grievous sin.”

 

Chance threw up his hands. “Okay. Fine. Next time I’ll let the cold wake you up.”

 

They pursed their lips, lifting their chin with offense. “You mock what you don’t understand.”

 

“Okay, okay, go back to sleep. Telamon above.” Chance muttered, still half-exasperated as he tucked the blanket snugly around Two Time’s now-reclining figure. They still looked mildly offended.

 

As a final gesture of reluctant affection, Chance reached out and gave their hair a light, tousling ruffle. messy dark strands that immediately puffed up like static grass. Two Time narrowed their eyes but didn’t move. not even when Chance gave their shoulder a light pat.

 

“It’s Spawn above, not Telamon.” They sat up slightly, adjusting the blanket. “Telamon is outdated and Irrelevant. A false idol, some say.”

 

Chance squinted at them then threw his hands up. “Spawn above, indeed.”

 

Two Time gave a satisfied nod, sinking back into the cushions with a self-satisfied little hum. “Thank you. Respecting divine semantics is the first step toward enlightenment.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Chance chuckled and turned away again, sliding his gun into the inner pocket of his jacket. His hand lingered there for a moment. He moved toward the door but Two Time’s voice called out once more. this time softer and more curious.

 

“Where are you heading to?”

 

Chance’s steps halted halfway through the threshold. He didn’t turn around yet. He scratched the back of his neck, lips quirking to one side.

 

“hmh” he mumbled, “...I’m gonna feed my rabbits.”

 

There was a pause before he heard the warm and vaguely amused voice.

 

“Ah, The demons.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. The demons. You’re hilarious.”

 

Chance heard soft shuffling following behind him. It's very faint and delicate. He smirked.

 

"You're not exactly subtle, two." he called over his shoulder as he stepped into the kitchen. He saw on the window sill, nestled in a patch of warmth. His two bunnies were curled up together. sleeping peacefully. He crossed over to the counter, grabbing a fresh bag of hay from the shelf. “No pellets today,” he muttered, mostly to himself, as he filled the little ceramic bowl. “Y’all made your opinion very clear on that.”

 

The bunnies, as if on cue, stirred. First one, then the other. The one wearing the tiny crown hopped over first, followed by the white one who moved like they owned the place. Chance watched them for a moment. The amusement flickering in his eyes. “Royalty first.”

 

He turned and there they were.

 

Two Time, perched on the countertop. Legs crossed, hands neatly folded and back ramrod straight. Ofcourse, they're always with that present smile.

 

Chance raised a brow and leaned in, planting an elbow on the counter beside them. “What’s up? Ya hungry?”

 

Two Time didn’t answer. They just kept smiling.  

 

Chance snorted and gave a crooked grin of his own exaggerated, teeth bared, eyes wide with mock eeriness. “C’mon. Ya need somethin’? Eggs? Bacon?” He leaned in closer, voice dropping into a playful whisper. “Cereal? The souls of the damned?”

 

Two Time’s eyes didn’t move. Their smile twitched just slightly.

 

“Pizza,” they said, calm and clear.

 

Chance blinked. “Pizza.”

 

Two nodded solemnly.

 

Chance lowered his gaze, letting it linger on Two Time for a moment. Their posture was relaxed, draped against the edge of the counter. Chance squinted, searching for anything out of place. A limp or a bruise but there was nothing. There's no fresh blood chance had gotten used to seeing when it comes to survivors.

 

“You’re not injured.” he finally muttered as Two Time tilted their head slightly and offered another smile. 

 

Chance huffed and turned away, hoisting himself up onto the countertop with a grunt. His feet thudded softly against the cabinets as he shifted to get comfortable, letting his gaze settle on the rabbits hopping lazily in the corner.

 

Chance’s gaze lingered at the crowned rabbit then back at Two Time, who now stood beside him in silence with their arms crossed, blankly staring at the bunnies.

 

He hesitated before speaking, fingers absently tapping the counter’s chipped edge.

 

“...Two?”

 

“Hm?” They didn’t look away.

 

“You mentioned... that you once, uh... sacrificed your partner, right?” His voice came out lower than he intended.

 

There was a pause. Two Time’s expression didn’t change but the air around them seemed to still make things awkward. Chance of course immediately regretted asking, but the words were out now. He kept his eyes on the bunnies, feigning casual interest, but he was acutely aware of every shift in Two Time’s body beside him. They were quiet for a long moment.

 

Then finally, Two Time exhaled through their nose. “I did.”

 

Chance blinked slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “was it your only option?”

 

Two Time gave a slow nod, eyes still fixed on the rabbits.

 

“There were rules.” they said softly.

 

“And you chose… these rules?”

 

There was another pause.

 

“I chose a second life.” they answered. 

 

“…”

 

He finally turned his head to look at them. “Do you still?”

 

Two Time smiled again but this one didn’t reach their eyes.

 

“Perhaps.”

 

Chance looked away again, eyes finding the crowned rabbit one more time. “Do you feel remorse?” Chance asked again. “Why would you do it? Don’t you…” His voice hesitated, just a little. “Don’t you love your partner?”

 

There was a long silence until Two Time finally turned their head.

 

“I chose devotion to my god, Chance,” they said. their voice unnervingly calm and it's not defensive at all. “My god found my partner sinful. Corrupt. They had to be cleansed and join me in our second life.”

 

Chance blinked, slowly. The words didn’t settle because they itched under his skin. It scratched at some part of him that refused to accept blind obedience.

 

He stared at them, frowning. “And is your god not able to forgive them?”

 

Two’s lips parted, but no answer came. Their fingers twitched in their lap. Chance repeated. “Is your god not able to… to forgive your partner?”

 

“Is your god so cruel that love becomes a test you have to fail?” 

 

Two Time didn’t blink. 

 

“Forgiveness.” they echoed, tasting the word. “My god does not forgive. My god purifies. That which cannot be made holy must be broken and rebuilt.” A strange glint sparked in their eye.

 

“And my partner,” they continued, voice softening. “they understood that. In the final moments, they saw the beauty in it. In sacrifice. In becoming something more.”

 

Chance recoiled slightly, his brows furrowed. “That’s not love,” he muttered. “That’s not what love is supposed to be.”

 

Two’s gaze drifted downward. “Then perhaps I loved wrong. Or perhaps you do.”

 

Chance leaned back slightly on the counter, eyes flicking toward Two Time, who was still perched there like a porcelain figure then, out of nowhere, Chance let out a sharp laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet kitchen.

 

He shook his head, a crooked grin pulling at his lips. “Okay, okay. humor me. Let’s put this in a hypothetical.”

 

Chance leaned forward, resting his arms lazily on the counter, voice casual but laced with something pointed. “You’re with your god. And you’re with your partner. Both of ‘em are reaching out to you while they're stuck in a burning building. Both want your hand. But you can only save one. The other dies.”

 

Two’s brow furrowed, lips pressing into a tight line.

 

Chance caught the subtle shift in their posture and saw the flicker of offense in their eyes. Maybe it's his tone or maybe it was the audacity of putting their god in the same breath as their partner.

 

He quickly raised a hand, palm up, smirking. “Don’t get all holy on me. It’s hypothetical. Relax.”

 

Two Time clicked their tongue, gloved fingers beginning to tap rhythmically on the countertop. They didn’t look at him.

 

“What a ridiculous question…” they said at last, voice low. “Why this question?”

 

That made Chance’s smile waver for a second. This question.. ah, now he remembered why he suddenly asked this question to two. Mafioso used to ask him the same question. “If the world’s on fire,” Maf would ask, “who do you run to, the one who made you as you are, or the one you made memories with?”

 

He’d never answered and now here he was. He's asking someone else the same damn question.

 

Two Time finally met his eyes.

 

“I would save my god.”

 

Chance inhaled slowly.

 

“...”

 

“But,” Two added gently, “I would die with my partner.”

 

Chance stopped. Even the bunnies stopped hopping. Chance swallowed, his tongue heavy in his mouth. There was something cruel in the honesty or maybe it's just too much truth. Chance can't tell at all.

 

“That’s not fair.” he said quietly, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. He gave them a gentle nudge with his shoulder, light enough to pass as a joke. “What if your partner doesn’t want to die?”

 

What if your partner wants to live?

 

What if they wanted out. They wanted you to get them out. They believed in you. They trusted that, of all people, you'd save them. And now you're choosing to die beside them, not because they'd asked you to, but because you couldn't stand losing them. Do you not consider the possibility that they didn't want to die at all. Especially with the one they love beside them?

 

The words hovered in his throat but he didn’t say them. He looked away instead, eyes drifting toward the window where sunlight pooled like warm syrup over the floor. My situation is different, he told himself. Two time won’t get it so with a sharp huff, he changed the topic.

 

“Well atleast.. at least you get to see your partner. Your partner is one of the killers aren't they?”

 

“Indeed, they didn't left my side as promised by my god. We are living our.. second lives together.”

 

Chance stared at the floor for a long time, watching a dust mote drift lazily through the air. His voice broke the silence once more.

 

“Hey. Ya know my partner killed me. I think. I don't know. I'm supposed to be dead with that amount of stabs. Don't know why I'm alive honestly.”

 

The words dropped like lead as Two Time froze. Their head then turned slowly with their smile fading. Their eyes locked onto Chance, and for once, they said nothing.

 

Chance met their gaze, an empty smirk tugging at his lips. “But unlike you,” he said, voice rough at the edges, “he always wanted me dead.”

 

He laughed. Dry and bitter. A laugh that carried much more than amusement. “I mean… I used to think maybe he didn’t, right? That maybe it was complicated, or something stupid like that. But…” He trailed off, his throat tightening.

 

“I just… I wished he had something.” He rubbed his face with both hands, fingers pushing against his brow, trying to squeeze the thought out of his skull. “Something to reassure me that there's a reason other than hatred. He could have told me. It wouldn't hurt any less but maybe I wouldn't have to spend a long time wondering.”

 

Chance’s lips trembled before he pressed them into a tight line. “God, I don’t think he ever loved me.”

 

He bent forward a little, elbows on his knees, burying part of his face in his hands. 

 

“Even now,” he murmured, voice muffled, “I still wonder if he feels guilty, If he even thinks about it. He's probably furious out there that I'm alive right now..”

 

He looked up at Two again. “ if he’d just told me what he wanted- what he needed-I could’ve given it to him. I think I could’ve changed. I mean, I was acting stupid, sure, but I was going to be willing. He wants his friends? Ye-yeah. I could have help him”

 

He exhaled shakily.

 

“Does he hate me that much? So much that he couldn’t even let me try?” His voice cracked. “Not even give me somethin to work?”

 

His hands clenched tightly.

 

“But… he cried when he stabbed me, didn’t he?” Chance’s eyes widened just slightly, like he was trying to convince himself. “So it must’ve been guilt. Right? He didn’t want to do it.. He cried, so- so that means-”

 

He stopped. A gentle hand settled on his shoulder. Chance froze, his voice catching in his throat. He didn’t look up. He just stared ahead at the familiar blue eyes of the crowned bunny.

 

“The dog who weeps after it kills,” Two Time began softly, “is no better than the dog that doesn’t.”

 

Their voice was even. It's calm but it hit like a goddamn truck. Chance froze before his eyes widened as he looked at them. Two had placed a gloved hand gently over their heart with their eyes lowered in acknowledgment. 

 

“My guilt will not purify me,” they continued with their voice steady. “Neither will your partner. What I did was not a mistake.. I am a mistake.”

 

Everything was quiet for a moment. The only sound was the faint rustling of the bunnies shifting in their hay.

 

Chance’s lip trembled, his chest tightening until he thought it would crush him from the inside out. His throat felt raw. And then He laughed wholeheartedly. It broke out of him like a crack, bubbling up from somewhere between devastation and relief. Tears spilled from his eyes as he laughed, wiping them away uselessly with the back of his hand.

 

“Admin- I mean spawn above,” he gasped, breath hitching. “You’re something, Two. You really are.”

 

He didn’t hesitate. He stood and wrapped his arms tightly around them, pulling them into a sudden, desperate hug. Two stiffened slightly at first, unused to such full, unfiltered contact. But they didn’t pull away.

 

“you are not a mistake. The amount of times you have helped everyone- god. You helped noob. You helped me. Your presence has impacted more than you know. The kindness you showed- the times you listened and the times you kept going even when no one saw. You matter to me. You matter to the survivors.”

 

Chance clutched them tighter. “Fuck. Fuck.. That’s it. That’s it.” he muttered into their shoulder.

 

“We’re going to find your partner.”

 

Two blinked, lifting their head slightly.

 

Chance pulled back just enough to look them in the eyes, his own still glassy with tears but blazing with something fierce. “We’re gonna find Noob. We’re gonna find everyone.”

 

His fists clenched.

 

“We’re gonna free them. Every last one and I'm gonna acknowledge my sins.”

 

 

 

________

 

 

 

 

 

"You know what, Two." Chance began slowly, his voice low, careful, "I don’t… I don’t actually want to find everyone. This is a bad idea."

 

His confession was small but it was immediately forgotten because Two was already moving. Chance’s eyes went wide as he watched them shove Seven’s limp arms off the coffee table like brushing aside a coat. Two hoisted the Coolgui into the air with both hands, cradling it like a trophy. The device sparked faintly in the dim light its black and red interface flickering and twitching.

 

“Two-!” Chance hissed, eyes darting toward the couch. Seven lay there, dead asleep. the poor single father was completely unaware that his most dangerous possession was now in the hands of a cultist.

 

Two’s expressions were positively smug, their grin sharp enough to intimidate chance into silence.

 

“This,” they announced with grandeur, holding the Coolgui up. “shall be our first step in winning Builderman’s attention.”

 

Chance’s face paled. “Wait- Builderman?! Two, what are you even talking about?! How do you even know he’s still around?! What if he’s-he’s still there?!”

 

Two turned to him slowly, lowering the device they'd been holding. Their usual smugness was gone. 

 

“I know because I saw him,” Two said quietly.

 

Chance blinked. “What?”

 

Two huffed.

 

“They aired footage just yesterday when we were detained. The news press drones caught him stepping out of a secured transport. He's intact and walking.”

 

They looked up with their voice suddenly dropping.

 

“He’s back. And he made it official."

 

Chance stared at two with his breath caught.

 

“…hell yeah.”

 

Two didn’t blink. “spawn yeah.”

 

“…”

 

“We shall use the coolgui to catch his attention.”

 

And just like that, Chance groaned into his hand but he still stepped closer despite every neuron in his brain begging him not to. He approached the Coolgui hesitantly and watched the screen flicker and warp in hues of black and red. Code bled down its sides like it was alive. Unlike when Seven used it (limited) this one moved with endless menus, symbols in strange fonts and options that shimmered like they were trying to disappear before they were read.

 

One option blinked bright red.

 

Chance squinted. “Wait, what does ‘FIRE’ mean?”

 

Two hummed thoughtfully, tapping their chin. “Fascinating. When Seven uses it, his only options are. Clone creation. Defensive protocols.” Their grin widened. “Yet in our hands, it becomes possibility incarnate.”

 

Chance took a step back. “Two, please do not press-”

 

But the screen chirped and Two had already tapped it.

 

BOOM. An explosion rocked the house. The kitchen lit up with orange flame and smoke as something erupted from behind the fridge. Chance stumbled back, nearly falling flat on his ass. “OH FUCK- MY KITCHEN!” He clutched his chest, leaning against the counter. “That’s it. I’m dead. The admins will delete me for reckless asset misuse. Oh fuck I'm an exploiter.”

 

Two calmly fanned away the smoke with their sleeve. “Hm. Perhaps 'FIRE' was not symbolic.”

 

Chance looked at the cracked Coolgui, then at the fire now slowly eating through his spice rack, and finally at Two, who looked far too satisfied.

 

“I swear to your spawn, if you touch another button-”

 

Two turned toward him, face glowing with so much delight.

 

“Let’s press ice next.”

 

 

 

 

_______________

 

 

 

 

“We’re so dead.”

 

 

Chance stared up at the massive silhouette of the HQ, its towering structure casting a long suffocating shadow over the broken concrete plaza below. His stomach twisted. This wasn’t just any building. it was that fucking building. 

 

Right next to him, Two looked unfazed. Their expression didn’t match the tension pulsing in the air. They casually raised the coolgui, that damn device they carried like a toy. They then tapped something with deliberate ease.

 

Beep.

 

Chance’s heart dropped. “Wait.. wait-Two, goddamnit?!” he hissed, grabbing at their wrist in panic.

 

But Two simply raised a hand, palm open and chance got the feeling that two is treating him like a disobedient dog. “Relax,” they said, their tone oddly cheerful. “I’ve done the math.”

 

“That does not make me feel better” Chance thought, sweating through his suit jacket. Already, a few bystanders were glancing over with their faces puzzled. They’re curious. Chance shrank behind the lapels of his blazer like a turtle as he tried to hide his face beneath the edge of his headphones. . “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

BOOM.

 

The side of the HQ exploded in a controlled blast, fire and smoke blooming outward in a silent flash before the delayed shockwave hit. Screams erupted around them. Glass shattered and chance heard the sirens began to wail before a hot wind slammed against them.

 

Chance stumbled back, eyes wide in horror. “HOLY SPAWN!” he yelled, nearly dropping his headphones. “Did you even check if anyone was inside?!”

 

Two calmly lifted the coolgui again, their fingers dancing over the screen. An outline of the HQ appeared. a skeletal floor plan, and the section they just obliterated was highlighted. Blinking softly they said “No life signs detected”

 

“Empty sector.” Two added so casually.

 

Chance gawked, his breath catching somewhere between relief and absolute despair. His knees buckled slightly. “dude. You can’t just do things like that without a warning!”

 

“It was a distraction,” they said lightly. “Now Builderman knows we’re serious.”

 

Chance gave a dry laugh. “Serious? Two, we’re now wanted. For terrorism. And you’re smiling still!”

 

Just before Two could open their mouth, their lips barely parting and one finger raised to make yet another smug remark- something moved behind them fast as chance didn’t even have time to react.

 

A pair of heavy boots slammed against pavement and then the dull thud of a grappling line snapping tight.

 

“Wha-augh!”

 

Two were tackled clean off his feet with a grunt, the Coolgui flying from their hands and skittering across the concrete in a shower of sparks. Chance turned just in time to see a black-clad figure lunging for him too, but before he could raise his arms- he heard the sound of his ribs crunching. Fuck! His injured arms are completely useless.

 

A fist slammed into his side, knocking the wind out of him. He stumbled back, but the second attacker didn’t give him the luxury of regaining balance. He felt a hard shove then the back of his skull met the pavement with a dull thunk as his face was smashed into the cold concrete. A sharp, burning scrape bit across his cheek, and a low grunt tore from his throat. His suit jacket twisted around his injured arms uselessly as he struggled. 

 

Someone was on top of him with gloves gripping the back of his neck.

 

“Get off me!” Chance growled. His voice muffled against the ground. His pulse roared in his ears and panic flaring as boots scuffed near his ribs.

 

Not far off, Two was already getting apprehended under a pair of armored mods, one of whom was shouting into a comms device “suspects apprehended, repeat, HQ breach suspects detained”

 

“Two!” Chance tried to twist his neck to look, but the weight on his back increased, grinding his face deeper into the pavement.

 

Two, somehow, weren't even fighting. They're flat on the ground and grinning through the pain. They caught Chance’s eye sideways and said with breathless calm.

 

“Well. That was faster than I thought.”

 

Chance let out a pained, half-choked groan.

 

“I hate you.”

 

Two’s grin widened.

 

“I know.”

 

“ Release them!”

 

The command echoed through the alley like a thunderclap making everything stopped. Chance and Two Time froze in place. Chance, who is still half-sprawled on the concrete with blood dripping from his nose, squinted toward the direction of the voice. Two’s smile vanished for a moment. Even they looked stunned. “No way…”

 

Then the figures pinning them down hesitated. One by one, they began stepping back, hands raised. The pressure on Chance’s back lifted so he quickly rolled onto his side with a groan, wiped his face with his sleeve, and blinked up at the tall figure now emerging from the HQ entrance.

 

Holy shit.

 

Chance’s lips stretched into a bloody grin. His voice cracked as he shouted.

 

“yooo our guy!!”

 

Two threw both fists in the air behind him. “Builderman!”

 

The entire scene fell into stunned silence as all eyes bore at them.

 

Chance, limped forward before nearly collapsing into him. He wrapped a trembling arm around Builderman’s jacket, fingers gripping tightly onto the fabric bearing the iconic Roblox logo. His eyes welled up with relief. “Oh man, it’s really you… how nice it is to see you again-ack-”

 

His words cut off as he doubled over with a sharp cough. Blood flecked the edge of his mouth, but he laughed through it. Before Builderman could respond, a blur of motion crashed into him from behind.

 

“Builderman!!” Two Time shouted, practically leaping onto the man’s back. They clung to him, breathless and animated, their voice overlapping with Chance’s as they both began to speak over each other in an urgent mess.

 

“We have to find the other survivors-!” Chance said quickly, his hand trembling.

 

“They’re still out there, in anguish and in pain. The spawn needs their fellow god to save the survivors-” Two Time added. 

 

Builderman furrowed his brows as he tried to listen to both at once but before he could answer, a sharp voice cut through the chaos.

 

“You two-!!”

 

Chance immediately froze, his spine going rigid. He slowly turned his head toward the voice. The murmuring crowd around them went silent. They parted as a commanding figure shoved through the mass of stunned survivors. The moderators surrounding the area immediately stood straighter.

 

The figure of the single father approaching was unmistakable.

 

Seven strode forward with a thunderous glare with his eyes locked onto Chance and Two Time with an intensity that made both of them flinch. Chance's two bunnies were looped comfortably around his left arm, their ears twitching innocently despite the storm brewing in seven's expression.

 

“You two are in so much trouble.”

 

 

 

___________________

 

 

 

“Ah- hey! Watch it!” Chance yelped, his voice sharp with irritation as the admin harshly tugged at his ear and shoved him forward.

 

The four of them stumbled into what looked like a plain office inside HQ. harmless contrary to the legends that there's floating offices here. The fluorescent lights flickered above them, and a massive glowing logo of ROBLOX HQ loomed behind the desk at the center. 

 

Chance hissed again, clutching his ear. “Ow-okay! I can walk, no need to manhandle me ya know!”

 

Builderman slammed the door shut behind them and marched forward with heavy, disappointed footsteps. His normally composed face was now sharp with frustration.

 

“You two are now registered as mild exploiters in the system.” he growled, stabbing a finger into the air. “Do you have any idea how much trouble that causes? I have to write a report, clear your names, re-stabilize the code signature... This isn’t some casual bug you can laugh off!”

 

Chance opened his mouth as he was ready to argue but paused when he noticed Two Time casually strolling beside a still-furious Seven, who looked like he was about to explode with suppressed rage. Without hesitation, Chance jabbed a finger at his supposed partner-in-chaos.

 

“Hey! They're the one who suggested it!” Chance cried out indignantly. “Why am I the one getting blamed!?”

 

The admin yanked his ear again, even harder.

 

“Because you’re the sane one between you both!” Builderman snapped, voice echoing slightly… Chance blinked, then looked helplessly at Two Time who smiled back with that same annoying, innocent expression as always. Their hands behind his back. Seven stood beside them with his arms crossed and practically vibrating with fury.

 

Chance wanted to say something witty in his defense. He really did. But the moment he was released, he instinctively flopped onto the nearest plush sofa. It was far too soft for a room this tense. With a defeated sigh, he glanced at Builderman, who had already sat down across from him and was rubbing his temples.

 

“That is simply not true,” Chance muttered under his breath and it's honestly more to himself than anyone else.

 

Both Seven and Builderman snapped their eyes toward him at once. Chance sat up straighter while quickly raising his hands. “Okay. Poor timing.”

 

Two Time, without missing a beat, elegantly stepped forward. They placed a hand over their chest and spoke with solemnity.

 

“If I may, I confess. The blame falls on me. Our dear gambler here,” they gestured dramatically at Chance, “is merely the unwilling victim of my bold brilliance.”

 

“Yes! Thank you, finally!” Chance threw his hands in the air and slumped back against the couch. “Telamon above, it’s a miracle someone’s saying it!”

 

Two Time shot him a sideways scowl, lips twitching in disapproval.

 

Chance immediately corrected himself with a glance at Builderman. “Right- Spawn above. Spawn. That’s what I meant.”

 

Seven rolled his eyes so hard it looked like they might fall out of his skull. Builderman just groaned again, dragging his hands down his face. He then finally exhaled, his voice firm but calm. “Chance. Apologize to Seven. Right this instant. You too, Two.”

 

The room fell into a brief silence as chance and Two Time exchanged a glance before slowly turning toward the still-fuming Seven, who stood near the window, arms crossed tightly around the two twitching rabbits nestled in his hold. His expression was cold, unreadable but behind those narrowed eyes, Chance could fee the disappointment burning hotter than any scolding.

 

Chance pressed his lips into a thin line. The guilt settled in fast.

 

Seven wasn’t usually like this. He could be awkward and serious when needed but he was fair. He was patient. seeing him so angry like this only made it worse.

 

He sighed and shifted on the couch before mumbling, “...Sorry, man. Really. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

 

Seven said nothing at first, his eyes scanning Chance’s face, but his fingers absentmindedly stroked the ears of the white rabbit in his arms.

 

Then Two Time chimed in, not bothering to lift their head from where they now lounged across the arm of the sofa.

 

“Sorry, dear ex-exploiter.” they said. Seven’s brow twitched.

 

He looked at both of them, expression unreadable… then finally, with a sharp exhale, he shook his head. The bunnies squirmed.

 

Chance relaxed instantly, his shoulders dropping as he let out a grin. “Aww, you brought the bunnies,” he said, reaching out to gently pet one of their little heads. “Knew I could count on you, old man.”

 

Seven grunted but didn’t argue.

 

From the far corner of the room, Builderman didn’t say a word. He remained still in his chair, one hand curled under his chin, the other tapping an idle rhythm on the armrest. His gaze was far away, almost like he was staring past the walls of the HQ.

 

He frowned and elbowed Two Time lightly before nodding toward Builderman. Two glanced, then slowly sat up straight.

 

“Hey… uh… you good?” Chance asked carefully. “A penny for your thoughts?”

 

Builderman didn’t look up. His fingers, which had been steadily tapping against the armrest, finally stilled. The air in the room grew heavier.

 

“…Are you three the only ones who escaped?” he asked quietly with his voice barely above a murmur. Seven gave a firm nod, still holding the rabbits protectively. Two Time lifted a hand and gestured nonchalantly in agreement.

 

But Chance froze. His spine stiffened instantly. Something flickered in his eyes but he quickly masked it. He hesitated for just a second too long before muttering under his breath and he hoped no one would catch it.

 

“Noob is here too…”

 

The room went still. Builderman’s brow twitched. Seven and Two Time both turned their heads sharply toward him with their eyes wide in disbelief.

 

“What?” Seven asked, blinking. “Chance, why didn’t you say something sooner?”

 

Two Time’s voice was quieter, but no less sharp. “You didn’t inform us?”

 

Chance didn’t meet their gaze. His fingers curled into his lap and his shoulders hunched. He stared at the floor wishing it could swallow him. “I… didn't want to.” he muttered. “Can you guys just drop it?”

 

There was disappointment in their silence and it stung worse. Builderman, however, gave a slow nod, folding his hands in front of his mouth. “Then we’re not entirely alone.”

 

He paused, glancing sideways with his eyes sharp with thought. “Shedletsky is also here.”

 

That caught everyone’s attention. Seven’s ears perked up and for the first time since the argument earlier, a genuine smile began to bloom on his face. “Shedletsky? He made it? Where is he now?”

 

Builderman didn’t answer right away. His expression darkened.

 

“He’s…” Builderman inhaled slowly through his nose. “He’s in the Banlands.”

 

Just like that, the warmth in the room died instantly. All three stared at him silently.

 

“The Banlands?” Two Time echoed. “Is he looking for someone there too? Who is it”

 

“No one knows,” Builderman said with a poker face. “I warned him. I begged him not to go. But he didn’t listen.”

 

He ran a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking older than before. “And worse-he took our only key with him.”

 

“The Master Key?” Seven asked. his voice now tinged with worry.

 

Builderman nodded. “The only access point to the Archive Vault. I’ve been reaching out to every surviving contact I have. If we’re going to find him, we need all four primary key holders-wherever they are.”

 

He paused. Then slowly, his gaze landed on Chance.

 

Chance visibly tensed. His eyes darted to the side. He already knew what was coming.

 

“…The third key,” Builderman said carefully, “is in Noob’s possession, isn’t it?”

 

Chance didn’t respond immediately. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. He gave a tiny nod and he was almost ashamed to confirm it.

 

Builderman sat back from that response, sighing deeply. Two Time’s brow furrowed. Seven silently adjusted his grip on the rabbits. 

 

Then builderman stood up.

 

“We're going to destroy a part of robloxia.”

 

“...”

 

“Excuse me?” Chance blinked, straightening up from the couch. Builderman stood tall in front of them as he continued. “Chance, Head to your casino and retrieve the secret file. One of the admins who is someone your father once acquitted left behind a map to the Banlands. We need it.”

 

Chance’s jaw dropped. “Wait, my casino?”

 

Builderman nodded. “Your father left it in your care for a reason. That place was more than just a business. He used it to keep information hidden in plain sight.”

 

Chance’s mind reeled. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, then finally sputtered, “You’re telling me there’s been a secret Banland map stashed somewhere in my building and nobody thought to mention it until now?”

 

Builderman’s expression was unreadable. “It wasn't needed. Also bring two with you and don't get in trouble.”

 

“Shit, uh okay.”

 

 

_______

 

 

 

Chance adjusted his tie for the third time that night, fingers fumbling slightly from nerves. The knot was crooked again but he didn’t have the patience to fix it properly. He muttered under his breath.

 

The familiar, overwhelming dazzle of neon lights and polished marble surrounded them. There's slot machines chiming, Champagne flutes clinked and annoying laughter echoed under chandeliers that looked more expensive than most people's houses.

 

Two Time stood just a few paces ahead, already veering toward a gaudy statue in the center of the hall. a solid gold robloxian holding a pair of dice mid-toss. Their eyes gleamed with amusement as they gave the sculpture a once-over before tilting their head.

 

Chance reached out quickly and tugged at their hand. “Hey-hey, don’t wander.”

 

Two Time blinked and turned slightly. “i am not.”

 

Chance forced a strained grin as a pair of high-rolling regulars waved in his direction from across the room. clearly drunk and loud. They are shouting his name with far too much familiarity.

 

“Chance! Oi, Chance! Come spin a wheel with us! Bring your pretty friend!”

 

“Sir Chance of the House of Debt!” another hollered with a champagne bottle in hand.

 

Chance gave them a stiff wave without breaking his smile. “yeah, yeah. lovely to see you all still standing.” Then he hissed through his teeth at Two Time. “Please stay close. Seriously.”

 

Two raised an eyebrow, glancing around at the lavish decor. “why?”

 

“...”

 

Two noticed the exasperated expression so he nodded slightly. “Okay gambler. I’ll stay close.”

 

Chance offered a grateful nod, though the tightness never left his grin. The high rollers were still eyeing them from their tables. He took a breath, adjusted his crooked tie one last time, and whispered, “Let’s find that file and get out before someone bets us into a corner.”

 

Two Time glanced toward the gamblers but didn’t acknowledge them beyond a single blink. Just as they turned the corner to head for Chance’s office something went wrong.

 

A few feet ahead, a small group blocked their path. Its people Chance instantly recognized. Their familiar voices rang out like nails on glass and before he could retreat, they were already waving him over.

 

“Chance!” one of them grinned. Their arms wide as though nothing had changed. “Look who finally decided to wake up!”

 

Chance froze. His face paled, the color draining from his skin as a cold sweat trickled down his back. He didn’t need to fake familiarity. He knew them too well. These weren’t just old friends because they were his table buddies. No smooth talk could get him out of this.

 

“admins..” he muttered under his breath, heart pounding as he instinctively patted his pocket. His fingers found the familiar coin and he quickly flipped it silently.

 

Two Time was already being pulled in by the group. They were plopped into a seat beside one of the flirty girls, who gave Two a wink and a lazy grin. “Oho, look what telemon dragged back from slumber." she teased chance while clinging to Two Time’s arm in audacity. Two raised a brow with a scowl from her words. Chance got the impression that two time is just itching to stab the girl so chance quickly forced a smile and schooled his expression into neutrality, slipping into the seat they offered. The coin spun between his fingers under the table.

 

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked, too casually, 

 

One of the guys leaned back with a grin. “Well, you know, the usual. Casinos, debts, heartbreaks. And oh, the coma. We were so sorry to hear about it.”

 

“Real shame,” another chimed in. “We lit one up for you. We thought you weren’t coming back.”

 

Chance offered a polite nod, though his jaw clenched tightly. 

 

“You know,” one of the girls giggled, swirling her drink before gesturing lazily with her fingers. Her nails glittered under the casino lights. “That guy you always used to talk about when you were drunk off your ass. Real quiet. real pretty.”

 

Chance’s breath hitched as another girl chimed in with a grin. Her voice sticky with nostalgia and mischief. “You never even told us his name. Used to say he was ‘nobody worth mentioning,’ but then you’d spend all night staring at the door like he might walk in and take all your money but let's be honest, you would happily give it to em all.”

 

Chance tried to force a chuckle, but it died somewhere in his throat. “...Right. That guy.”

 

The table erupted into light laughter, but the sound bounced off of him. He suddenly felt far away.

 

“He used to wait for you ya?” the second girl continued, leaning closer. “Same spot. Corner booth. Elbows on the table. He looked so, so lost.”

 

“But now.. oh chance” The first girl smirked and sipped her drink. “He’s been spending a lot of time with that mob guy. You know the one. The one you’re always stuck with when things get dicey.”

 

Chance’s fingers tensed in his pocket, gripping the coin so hard. He hadn’t realized how hard he was squeezing it until the edges dug into his skin.

 

Mob guy?

 

The coin slipped from his fingers. Clink. It hit the floor and spun briefly before settling in a hush and chance didn’t look at it.

 

“…Who?” he asked.

 

“I got a picture!” one of the girls laughed, already digging into her purse. “Was gonna show it around to tease you when you got back. Thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

 

Chance didn’t breathe as he watch the photograph was slid across the table with a laugh and landing just in front of him. It was old. Clearly creased from being folded too many times but the image burned into his vision instantly. Two familiar men. One of them smiling with tired eyes, the other leaning in, their arm over the back of the booth and they are clearly too close to be anything casual.

 

Chance’s fingers went numb. He knew them all too well. 

 

The voices around him swirled again. “Man, it was wild,” one of the guys across the table continued with a smirk. “Back when you were in that little coma of yours.. Those two practically ran the casino.”

 

“Oh yeah,” another chimed in, leaning in with a grin. “Pretty boy and suit guy. God, they were a duo. All charm and smiles and lucky hands at the table. Kinda made us forget you even worked here. Oh- I mean own this haha”

 

Chance’s jaw tensed.

 

“They took your booth, too,” someone else added with a chuckle. “Same one he used to wait for you at.”

 

“You should’ve seen it, man,” the first guy laughed, pointing at the photo. “He used to look so miserable without you. But now? Looks like he finally realized how to have fun.”

 

Chance’s hand curled around the photo. His nails dug into the image, crumpling it just slightly. Laughter rolled through the table at his reaction. 

 

“Damn shame,” someone muttered, leaning back. “You lying in a hospital bed all broken up, and your boy out here dancing with devils.”

 

“You really thought he’d wait for you?” said another. “That’s cute.”

 

Chance snapped. He stood so fast his chair screeched across the floor. The table shook. His breath was ragged, fists clenched so tightly they trembled. He didn’t even realize he was stepping forward until The table cracked, then hurled across the room with a sudden burst of force.

 

All heads snapped to the source. Two Time. Their foot was still raised from the kick. They hadn’t even bothered to remove their gloves. Sparks crackled briefly along the floor where the metal legs had scraped the tile. The table landed upside down near the bar with a heavy crash, drinks and chips scattering.Two Time didn’t look at the others. They looked only at Chance.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

 

Notes:

10k READS and 1k kudos?? Bro. Who would've thought the gooner fic would Garner this much love. That’s actually insane. Like fr, thank you will never stop being in my author notes 'cause I really mean it. You guys are wild and sweet and I’m genuinely so happy I get to share this crazy ahh idea. (twas originally gonna be an overstimulation-dacryo but like... who’s keeping count vro 😭)

Anyway. YOU guys made ungoon the fic. That’s wild.

Yes, I removed the smut tag. Yes, I saw how many people messaged me or commented about how they loved the plot and were thanking me for writing something serious?? 😭 I love you for that actually. I don’t mind not including smut, fr. I can just write smut in another fic for my own gooner self. So yeah. this fic is becoming found family? Maybe slowburn romance? Possibly domestic? Possibly pain. We’ll see😈🙏

(The fic would still have some implied sexual themes)

Also. I'm expanding the ship list 'cause it would be boring if we just focused on the three. Dawg these three are not going to make out any soon with that amount of misunderstandings so lemme just feed you some side dish 😕

Okay poll time.
Pizza, burger, or chickenburger? Choose wisely. Also yes. Yes. It’s Shedletsky. Sue me. The idea of a god x sinner has me absolutely tweaking. I'm NOT well I'm gonna bark at u

 

Hshsh another ANYWAY. Thoughts on this chapter? Took me a while ‘cause oh my god being an English major is so dumb. I used to rage bait kids in Roblox now I rage bait professors by stuttering during oral recitations. Tis pain. Tis suffering. Grr.

I FORGOT TO ADD, THE OTHER ROBLOX ADMINS ARE IN THEIR OWN SERVERS, IDK FOR PLOT PURSPOSES?? ONLY BUILDERMAN IS IN ROBLOXIA HQ. Chance isn't also jealous at the end..

Chapter 7: 7. closing scene of a dissociation.

Notes:

Evil author day

The private office above the casino hummed while the faint echo of clinking glasses and slow jazz bled through the floorboards. There's a scent of smoke and bourbon lingered in the air.

 

Chance sat behind his desk, legs kicked up and one ankle crossed over the other. A scotch glass glinted in his hand. He was dressed in his usual overdress red suit. His white shirt had two buttons undone, his bunny-shaped pin still fastened to his lapel.

 

Across the room, Mafioso stood stiffly with his arms folded. Black coat still on and gloves tucked under one arm. He hadn’t even sat down. That alone should’ve told Chance something but Chance never noticed that kind of thing.

 

“Just a heads-up,” Chance said breezily, swirling the drink in his hand. “Rival gang’s picking up some shares next week. Gotta keep the place competitive.”

 

Mafioso blinked once. His face didn’t move but the temperature in the room shifted.

 

“You sold part of the casino,” he said slowly, “to those folks?”

 

Chance gave a little shrug as he raised his glass to offer a toast. “Yeah. I mean, technically, just shares. It’s still mine on paper. I’m not stupid.”

 

“East Strip.” Mafioso said it like a curse. His accent sharpened the words. “You gave them a seat in your house.”

 

Chance chuckled, setting the glass down with a clink. “Relax, Maff. They’ve got money. They said they won’t interfere. Just... backing. Logistics. Renovating the upper lounge, actually.”

 

He smiled and glanced at how mafioso’s fingers tightened around the gloves he was holding, leather creaking faintly.

 

“They’re not partners,” he said. “They’re parasites. They're gonna bleed you, gambler.”

 

Chance tilted his head. “Okay, bit dramatic.” Mafioso stepped forward once. just one measured step and the air in the room thinned causing chance to chuckle awkwardly.

 

“You don’t understand how deep this runs,” he said sharply. “They don’t want a share. They want access and information. They want leverage, chance.” Mafioso didn’t move. His jaw ticked and that stiff furious smile twitched.

 

“Chance,” he said slowly, “this place protects people. My people and you just let those wolves In.”

 

“Okay, ouch,” Chance muttered, raising an eyebrow. “They're not that bad. And look, if we’re being real? This place is the only reason your little misfits aren’t getting picked off in alleyways. I mean... they blend in here.”

 

He smiled. Genuinely proud of himself. “No one checks IDs. No one cares who owes what. They just come in, sit down, play cards, get a drink. It’s because of me." He tapped his chest. “I built what my father couldn't.”

 

Mafioso’s eyes darkened.

 

“You built it.” he echoed.

 

Chance nodded. “Exactly.”

 

There was a long silence. “You’re calling it mercy,” Mafioso said quietly, “to host the desperate and turn around and sell the floorboards out from under them.”

 

“I didn’t sell them,” Chance replied, frowning now. “I sold shares. It’s not the same thing.”

 

“It’s exactly the same thing,” Mafioso hissed.

 

Chance blinked at him. His tone shifted. mild defensively. “Why are you getting so worked up?”

 

Mafioso said nothing. He just looked at him. Like he was seeing something for the first time, and didn’t quite believe it. Chance didn’t like that. He didn't like that silence. It made him nervous. So he filled it, like always.

 

“You always get like this when I do something big. You’re acting like I betrayed you or something.” He rolled his eyes and forced a laugh. “You think I’m stupid. That’s what this is about. Ya think I'm an idiot huh?”

 

Mafioso’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t twist this into your pity party.”

 

Chance blinked at him, bewildered. “You’re mad.”

 

“I’m furious.”

 

“But like... why, though?” Chance leaned forward, frustration starting to show. “It’s just business. It’s not like I sold you out.

 

“You sold everyone out the moment you stopped thinking about anyone but yourself.”

 

“That’s not fair.”

 

“No,” Mafioso said, reaching for his gloves. “It’s not.”

 

He pulled them on slowly. Buttoned the cuffs then straightened his coat. “But you made the bed, sweetheart. Now let’s see if the house you love so much lets you sleep in it when they’re through.”

 

Just as Chance parted his lips to speak. His voice casual maybe even apologetic the office door slammed open with a thud that shook the glass shelves behind him. Mafioso’s head turned sharply. Chance flinched.

 

A nervous and sweating man who clearly one of Mafioso’s own stumbled inside. His eyes flicked between them like a deer between headlights and a cliff.

 

“Boss, I-”

 

“You barge into my presence without knocking?” Mafioso’s voice was a knife, cold and flat. Chance scowled, shifting in his seat. “The hell’s his problem?” he muttered, fingers curling around his drink. “At least knock, man.”

 

Before Mafioso could respond, the door opened again. Three more figures stepped in with far too much confidence. Their suits were expensive in that loud, oily way Chance never liked, but his posture relaxed instantly when he recognized them.

 

“Heyyy,” he said with a grin, sitting up straighter. “What’s this, a party?” His eyes lit up as he spread his arms wide, flashing a charming smile. “Didn’t think you’d stop by in person.”

 

The man in front the gang leader ignored Chance entirely. His eyes locked onto Mafioso resembling a snake eyeing a rival predator. He smiled, teeth too sharp for comfort.

 

“We heard there was a little… miscommunication,” the leader said smoothly, hands in his pockets. “Imagine our surprise when one of your dogs decided to bite. Pfft You’d think dogs like that would know when to roll over.”

 

Chance blinked. “Wait, what?”

 

The gang leader clicked his tongue and nodded toward the goon, who had gone pale, shoulders twitching with barely restrained fear.

 

“This one,” the gang leader continued, “laid hands on one of our boys. Terribly disrespectful. Doesn’t seem like the kind of discipline you’d allow, Mafioso.”

 

Mafioso didn’t blink. chance’s smile faltered just a bit.

 

“Hold on,” he said, sitting up straighter. “There’s no way- right? Maybe it was a misunderstanding.”

 

“Oh, we’ve already handled it.”

 

Bang.

 

Chance jolted violently in his chair, nearly dropping his glass. His ears rang with the echo. The smell of gunpowder and something far too sharp stung the air. He stared, breath catching in his throat.

 

The goon was dead just like that.

 

Sprawled face-first on the floor, blood seeping in slow, branching patterns around his head. His body twitched once. Then stilled. At his feet stood Mafioso.

 

Chance couldn’t move. He looked up slowly to meet Mafioso’s face. He was smiling.That same calm, polite smile he always wore but his eyes were so Sharp it pierced straight to chance.

 

Chance swallowed, throat dry. “Maff” he started, voice cracking. He took a hesitant step closer, reaching up without thinking but those eyes stopped him. Frozen. Stunned. His hand hovered in the air between them. He's unsure if it should touch or retreat.

 

Then the gang leader laughed.

 

“We’re all comrades here, Mafioso,” he said, casually kicking the dead man’s leg aside with his polished shoe. “You should thank us for keeping your sweetheart's house in order.”

 

Chance swallowed. His mouth dry. He's suddenly aware of how cold the room had gotten. Fuck. His breath was shallow as his eyes fixed somewhere but the body on the floor. The blood was creeping toward the edge of the rug now, staining it dark like the drink he drank. He saw it in the corner of his eye, but refused to look directly. His fingers were still hovering near Mafioso’s coat sleeve but he couldn’t bring himself to touch him.

 

“Okay,” Chance finally said. “So that… happened. Can we-can we maybe not shoot people in my office next time?”

 

Chance cleared his throat. “there’s probably a less uh explosive way to settle things, yeah?”

 

He tried to chuckle. It came out like a hiccup. Mafioso didn’t even glance his way. Instead, he spoke.

 

“Let’s get one thing clear,” Mafioso said at last, his tone velvet-lined steel. “You don’t discipline my men.”

 

“Now, now-” the gang leader started, still smiling. “That one was practically growling at us downstairs. All we did was help him settle down.”

 

“He was a boy, not a bloody dog.” Mafioso snapped not loudly. “And if one of your lot had so much as touched him, I’d be scraping bits of you off the tiles right now.”

 

Chance’s eyes darted between them, his heart pounding in his ears. “Guys-come on” he said, stepping forward. “Can we just… de-escalate a bit?”

 

Still, no one listened.

 

The gang leader stepped further into the room with a casual and cocky demeanor. His men lingered behind with their eyes scanning the place.

 

“You’re getting emotional, Mafioso,” the man said, grin sharp as a razor. “Is that what happens when your little casino buddy forgets to keep you on a leash?”

 

Chance stiffened.

 

““Hey,” he barked, voice cracking at the edge. “He’s not my dog- what the fuck are you guys-!”

 

He caught himself. When mafioso turned slowly, his cold eyes finally meeting Chance’s.

 

“No,” Mafioso said. “go on. Finish that sentence.”

 

Chance’s mouth opened but no words came out. He tried, but whatever had puffed him up moments ago deflated fast. His fingers curled into his palms. He swallowed, then glanced back down toward the blood creeping into the fibers of the carpet. He still refused to look at the body.

 

Mafioso turned back to the gang leader.

 

“Tell me, lad. Where, precisely, do you think you are?”

 

The gang leader’s smirk twitched, just a little. He spread his hands with false ease.

 

“We’re all friends here, aren’t we? You’ve got a stake in the future. We’ve got the funds. And your darling here-” he gestured at Chance with a tilt of the head, “-made it real clear they wanted us involved. We thought we were partners-”

 

“yes! We’re in a partnership, yeah?” Chance interrupted. his voice high and unsteady. “Business. Shared space, mutual profits. You shoot someone, they shoot someone- next thing you know, we’ve got headlines. Blood in the chips. That’s bad optics.”

 

The gang leader laughed.

 

“Your buddy is nervous,” he said, smirking at Mafioso. “Didn’t realise they'd be this soft.”

 

Mafioso’s eyes flicked briefly to Chance, then back. He was now standing toe to toe with the gang leader, posture straight as a blade. “You’re on thin ice already, mate,” he said, his accent dragging the words. “So unless you fancy decorating the rug next I'd leave. Now.”

 

The gang leader gave a tight-lipped smile, but his eyes flickered with the first hint of caution.

 

“We’ll talk again soon,” he muttered. “Assuming you're still invited to the table.” He motioned to his crew. One by one, they turned and left, not sparing a single glance at Chance or the body.

 

Silence fell. The smell of blood lingered thick in the air. The marble floor still glistened where the body lay untouched. Chance stood frozen. He hadn’t blinked in too long. His knees locked. His skin is clammy. He opened his mouth to say something but no words came. the world soon tilted. His body swayed once before his legs gave out beneath him. His hand barely caught the edge of the table as everything blurred at the corners. The office spun, just a bit. His knees hit the floor hard.

 

“Shit-”

 

He barely heard himself. His vision narrowed.

 

And then a hand closed around his throat with the fingers trembling. Chance blinked up through the haze, heart pounding in his ears.

 

“Maff?”

 

The grip wasn’t cruel. It was desperate restraint. Mafioso knelt in front of him with his expression contorted in a way Chance had never seen.

 

“Do you know how many of them I’ve buried?” Mafioso whispered, voice fraying at the edges. “How many names I remember better than my own?”

 

His grip tightened for half a second—just enough to make Chance’s breath catch but then loosened again just as fast.

 

”That man isn't just one of my men, Chance. He were mine. He were apart of my bloody family.”

 

Chance said nothing. His lips trembled, throat dry. Mafioso’s fingers finally slipped away from his neck, dragging gently across his jaw before falling to his lap.

 

“If we weren’t lovers." Mafioso whispered, breath hot against his ear, “you wouldn’t be breathing..”

 

His hands shook, and he stared down at them as if surprised by it. Chance reached up slowly, dazed, his voice hoarse.

 

“I didn’t know... I didn’t mean-”

 

Mafioso looked at him.

 

“I know.”

 

Then he stood and walked away, the echo of his boots filling the silence Chance left behind.

 

 

________________________

 

 

 

Two Time pursed their lips with the corners quirking into a soft, amused smile as they stared at the long table where the bunnies sat. Quiet little things aren't they? Ears twitching, paws neatly folded beneath their fuzzy chests like. They blinked slowly, gaze lingering on their unblinking stillness.

 

Seven and Builderman stood nearby. both facing the office door with barely concealed worry stretched across their faces. Builderman’s arms were crossed tight while seven’s fingers hovered near the map like they wanted to fold it again and again just to keep himself busy while two Time’s hands fidgeted instinctively when they saw both looking so concerned. Their fingers then twisted into knots in the fabric of their shirt. It's a nervous tic of theirs and one they'd never quite shaken. 

 

Finally, Seven exhaled with a sound halfway between a sigh and surrender. He laid the map flat on the table. the one Two Time had pulled out from Chance’s vault.

 

“I’ll check on them,” Seven said at last, adjusting their sleeves.

 

Builderman shook his head before the words even finished leaving his mouth. “Seven.”

 

The room went quiet as two Time tilted their head, a glint of something unreadable flashing in their eye as they watched Builderman quietly lay a hand on Seven’s shoulder.

 

No one spoke at all until Two Time slowly rose. Their long scarf made noises across the floor as they moved. They glanced at the two rabbits who sat eerily unmoving at the end of the table.

 

“I will go with the demons. They shall calm chance down.” Two Time said, voice soft and lightly singsong. “Up and ahead, dear demons.” They scooped the bunnies into their arms, one in each. The animals didn’t resist.

 

They walked as they turned toward the office door, their steps light. they then glanced down at the tiny creatures curled against their chest. Their gaze softened. Just a touch.

 

Azure always loved the small ones. they thought. Tiny, harmless things that shook when you picked them up. While they… they preferred the beasts. The loud ones.

 

They paused by the door.

 

They wondered if Azure consciousness wakes again in that new stitched-up second life of theirs… will they still find comfort in creatures like these?

 

The question was for no one. 

 

Two stood silently just outside the office door, lips pursed in thought, fingers curled lightly at their sides. With a soft huff, they pressed their palm to the door and eased it open. Their gaze landed immediately on the gambler slumped in the corner.

 

His body was folded into himself like he had long since stopped pretending to be whole. His legs stretched messily in front of him, back crooked, eyes sunk and vacant. Hollow. His fingers flipped a coin lazily over, and over, and over. Two of course noticed how his usually straightened suit was wrinkled. One sleeve had slid down, revealing the bruises and injuries along his bandaged arms.

 

Two stepped inside and placed the bunnies down with a gentleness. The soft thump of paws against the floor was the only response, the bunnies padding forward without hesitation toward the gambler.

 

Two crouched beside them, knees creaking just faintly, and folded their hands neatly in their lap. They said nothing and quietly watched as one of the rabbits, the snowy white one with a small, oddly charming fedora balanced between its ears nudged against Chance’s hand. Chance froze mid-flip.

 

The coin stayed caught between his thumb and index finger. His breath stuttered, and the shadows under his eyes seemed to darken with sudden clarity. He blinked once, twice, slow and dazed. Two tilted their head, curious.

 

Then they saw the way Chance’s eyes followed the curve of the bunny’s head and landed squarely on the tiny hat it wore.

 

The recognition didn’t creep into Chance’s face. Two could describe it as It crashed into him. Chance looked so distraught right at that moment.

 

Chance’s hand twitched and Two flinched. 

 

They saw Chance's fingers lifting off the coin like he might throw it or reach for the rabbit. Perhaps maybe pull at his own face just to make the image go away like two remembered that one time back in that hell. But then, without a word, Chance turned away. His shoulders curled inward and the coin resumed its slow, rhythmic flipping as two exhaled shakily. 

 

Clink. Clink. Clink.

 

Two glanced at the white rabbit who was as frozen as the other one beside it. Two didn’t speak. They simply reached out and picked up the rabbits. The white one shivered slightly in their arms. The other clung tighter to Chance’s leg, reluctant and angry? Two paused, then gently pried it loose.

 

Chance didn’t stop them. He didn’t even look up.

 

Two lingered for just a moment more. Their gaze flicking from Chance’s blank stare then finally turned and walked to the door. The door creaked as it closed, and the sound echoed down the HQ hallway.

 

Two stood there for a moment, bunnies pressed to their chest. The silence outside the room was heavier. They turned slowly and made their way back to the common room. When they entered, Seven looked up instantly, his eyes wide and hopeful. He stood halfway, already asking with his face, Did it work? Are they okay?

 

Two only shook their head.

 

Two watched as seven deflated, his shoulders sinking, lips pressing into a thin line. He sat back down slowly, hands clenched in his lap. Builderman sat farther back on the couch, elbows on knees, his head in his hands. He let out a long, tired sigh and leaned back.

 

“…Chance’s bunnies didn’t calm them down.” Builderman muttered. “Let’s leave them be.” he added. “Unless you want another repeat of last time.”

 

Seven flinched. It was small, but Two noticed as they always did. They saw the way his head dipped slightly and his fingers curled into fists against his legs. Two stared at him for a long moment, then sat down beside him. They placed the rabbits on the cushion between them and gave a small, closed-mouth smile.

 

“Chance will be okay.” Two exhaled, then slowly leaned back and closed their eyes. They opened their eyes and blinked. their mind had already started to drift.

 

 

 

_______________

 

 

 

 

Two gritted their teeth as they limped into the cabin, one hand pressed tightly against their side where the wound still burned. Each step hurt and their head was still ringing from the last hit. Behind them, Seven followed, walking stiffly with a ripped sleeve and dried blood on his knuckles. Builderman came in last, his shirt slashed open and claw marks still fresh across his chest.

 

The round was still going. The map hadn’t reset and already, Five were down. Noob was the first to die. The non spawn believer was too reckless. They ran off alone. Chance followed ofcourse, he went after them without thinking. Two tried to stab the killer but missed the mark. The blade bounced and the code fought back. Builderman got slashed while repairing the sentry turret. Seven got cornered trying to bait the killer away.

 

Two couldn't blame them. The killer wasn’t normal as this one was something new. Two noticed that Its body was a twisted shape of red and black, all claws and hunched limbs. It moved like a beast and its many eyes were so focused and Sharp. If two could describe it, it was a hound. A demonic hound.

 

Two hissed under their breath and leaned against the wall, their leg twitching. They wiped blood off their face with the back of their hand and looked up. That’s when they heard yelling inside the cabin. Everyone froze. The yelling was so loud and filled with desperation it made two hesitate to open the door.

 

Builderman stepped forward, gently moving Two aside and reaching for the door. He opened it carefully. Noob’s voice came through first.

 

“Get away from me! Don’t touch me!”

 

Chance’s voice followed, panicked. “Noob- please, listen to me- who are you talking about?!”

 

Inside the cabin, Noob was backed into the corner, curled up with their face in their hands, shoulders shaking like they couldn’t breathe properly. Their whole body was trembling. Their face was red from crying, snot running down his nose and their voice hoarse from screaming.

 

Chance stood a few feet away, hands out and it's shaking. His face was pale and sweaty. His suit was half off, and blood soaked the right side of his chest.

 

“Noob, please what are you talking about,” Chance said again.

 

Noob cried harder in return. “what happened to you?”

 

Chance froze. His mouth stayed open, but no more words came out. Chance then dropped to his knees.

 

Two stood in the doorway. Confused and bewildered. they looked at the crying boy then at Chance who was now silent and barely breathing. Thankfully, Seven stepped inside and walked over to Noob, crouching down carefully. Builderman stayed near the door in shock along with two.

 

Noob continued on. “You killed me! You killed me-how could you!?”

 

Noob cried much more hard now. ugly crying. Spit and snot and tears running together as their face twisted in rage. Their fists were clenched so tightly their nails dug into their palms. 

 

THWACK.

 

Two watched with wide eyes as a can of Bloxy Cola hit Chance square in the chest, bursting open on impact. The cold soda hissed, spilling down the front of his already soaked and dirtied suit. The fabric stuck to his skin instantly, cola dripping onto the floor in dark splatters.

 

Chance didn’t react. His head bowed and his arms limp at his sides with his breathing shallow.

 

Builderman voice boomed. “Enough! Both of you- stop this right now!”

 

Noob didn't listen. They kept shaking and they kept crying. They stumbled forward, pointing at Chance with shaking fingers, their voice sharp and trembling.

 

“You left me!” Noob choked. “You left me so you could be in here and kill everyone?!”

 

Chance looked up, finally. His eyes were wide, wet and confused that two couldn't help but pity them. He tried to speak though the words caught in his throat.

 

“No,” he whispered. “No, I didn’t-Noob, I didn’t-”

 

“You disappeared, Six!” Noob suddenly screamed. “You disappeared for years-!”

 

And that’s when something shifted in the room. Two, standing frozen in the doorway, flinched.

 

“…Six?”

 

Across the cabin, Seven’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at Two, confused. “Did they just say Six?” he whispered, leaning closer.

 

Two nodded slowly, brain working fast. Six… There is no Six in here.

 

Builderman’s expression darkened in realization and the three of them realized that Noob wasn’t looking at Chance. They were seeing someone else.

 

Chance's hands trembled, reaching out to pull noob down in a tight embrace. “Noob…” His voice cracked again. “It’s me. It’s Chance. I’m not-”

 

But he never got to finish because noob pushed him away from them. They shoved him hard with both arms, catching Chance completely off guard.

 

Chance stumbled and his back slammed into the floor in a painful thud. He gasped more from shock. Noob collapsed too, falling forward in their own mess. Their knees hit the wood hard. They scrambled up weakly, sobbing, but their body was done fighting.

 

Two's lips parted open, instinctively taking a step forward but Builderman was faster.

 

“ENOUGH!” Builderman’s voice snapped like thunder as he rushed in, crouching beside Noob before they could lash out again.

 

“Noob! Noob- hey! Look at me.” Builderman’s hands found their shoulders, firmly. Noob flinched hard, their entire body twitching at the contact. Tears streamed down their face as they tried to curl in on themselves.

 

“Noob. Noob. Breathe.” Builderman’s voice softened, but there was a strict edge to it. “I need you to breathe, okay? You’re not there anymore. Look at me.”

 

They didn’t respond. They were mumbling, shaking their head, eyes unfocused.

 

“Six,” Noob whimpered. “why are they here?.”

 

Builderman stilled. He looked at them carefully, his grip tightening slightly.

 

“Listen to me,” he said, sharper now. “That’s not Six. That’s Chance. You hear me? You’re safe now.”

 

Noob blinked and their breath hitched. They turned slightly. Their eyes landing on Chance, still on the floor with his back against the wooden wall, soaked in Bloxy cola. He stared at noob wide-eyes and a pale face.

 

“I’m not six.” Chance said quietly. “Noob, I swear to god. I’m not six.”

 

But Noob didn’t speak. They just sobbed harder and buried their face in Builderman’s chest. Seven walked beside Two, still watching the scene unfold. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a thin, troubled line.. “What the hell happened in their last run?” seven murmured under his breath.

 

Two didn’t answer right away. They kept their eyes on Chance who is still on the floor. his palms flat against the wood, pressing down to hold himself together. Chance’s breathing was shallow and erratic. His eyes were unfocused, darting between the cracks in the wooden floor and Noob’s sobs.

 

Then, slowly, he moved. Two flinched once more as Chance pushed himself to his feet. There was a stiffness in his limbs, He turned toward the door. But just as he took a step

 

“No- wait Chance! I’m sorry!”

 

Noob’s voice echoed through the cabin as they scrambled up and chased after him. Two and Seven instinctively stepped aside, unsure whether to interfere or get out of the way.

 

"Chance-"

 

What happened next caught them all off guard because noob threw their arms around Chance from behind in desperation and chance froze.His body went rigid, His eyes widened with his shoulders twitching before he slowly wrapped one trembling arm around Noob’s waist. The other hand pressed tightly over his abdomen, curling into the fabric like he was trying to protect himself from something sharp.

 

Noob then whimpered softly. The sound barely escaped their throat. Chance didn’t speak but Two saw the way his jaw clenched. the way his lips trembled before tightening into a grim line. His fingers dug just slightly into Noob’s sweater, gripping too hard it made noob gasp up out loud.

 

At this sight, Seven shifted uncomfortably beside Two. Builderman, standing a few feet away, narrowed his eyes, his patience finally giving out.

 

“i said enough of this nonsense.” His voice was stern as he was completely fed-up. He moved quickly, grabbing Noob’s wrist to pull them away. Noob were yanked back, and in that split-second Chance bolted.

 

He slipped through the doorway without a word, his footsteps thudding heavy and fast against the ground outside.

 

“Chance!” Seven called, immediately following, his feet already pounding behind him.

 

The cabin door creaked open wider, then slammed shut from the wind. And just like that. they were gone. Two stood frozen. They then slowly tilted their head back, eyes tracing the cracked beams of the ceiling above. The wood creaked. 

 

“…Who were you two seeing in each other?” two time softly asked.

 

Noob cried quietly in response.

 

 

 

__________________________

 

 

 

 

The door slammed open with a force that made the hinges rattle.

 

Two flinched hard, hand instinctively brushing toward the dagger at their belt out of sheer reflex. Their breath caught in their throat. Seven spun around fast, hand halfway raised while Builderman jerked upright from the chair he was leaning on. Both snapped their eyes toward the entrance.

 

And standing there was Chance. Smiling with his soaked shirt still clinging to his chest. Collar half-ripped. Hands tucked into his pockets like nothing had happened. His eyes wide. “Hey guys!” Chance chirped, voice a little too chipper. “Let’s find the others, yeah? Boss man, what’s the plan? The map is here so uh what's up?”

 

His grin never faltered. It stretched just a bit too wide. Seven blinked slowly. His entire body stayed frozen for a second. Builderman stared for a moment, face unreadable then let out a long, slow breath and ran a hand down his face. His shoulders dropped.

 

“God, Chance,” Builderman muttered. “Don’t do that. You scared the hell out of us.” Seven exhaled next. He forced a small, crooked smile. “You're alright… damn. For a second, I thought you-”

 

He didn’t finish. Chance only laughed. Two didn’t move. Chance’s gaze flicked toward Two just for a moment, and that smile twitched. Barely. But Two caught it.

 

They stared at him, stunned. Who are you pretending to be right now?

 

Builderman stepped forward, arms crossed, slipping back into focus. “Alright.  The plan is to-”

 

Time seemed to stopped as the others began moving Seven gathering gear, Builderman checking the map but Two just stood there, staring after Chance.

 

 

spawn above, this upcoming journey wouldn't be easy as two time had thought.

 

Notes:

OH MY FUCKING GOD.

 

I opened my AO3 account expecting you guys to comment about how Two Time is just so silly, but I did not expect that many comments?? OH MY LORD.

I immediately ran to Google Docs to finish this chapter when this chapter is supposed TO COME NEXT WEEK ODJRHFJDDH. I’m sorry if it’s just 4k words 😭 I was supposed to reply to the comments, but I figured I had to post this first to show MY gratitude. Really. I can’t reply right now because I’m super tired after speedrunning this chapter, but I swear to god, I’ll reply once I wake up.

 

Also, guys… I messed up my ear. I was prodding it and didn’t realize I injured it—there’s blood inside and now I can’t hear anything on my left side. I think I’ll be okay, but it sucks because I love listening to music while I write 😭 So this chapter was written with me feeling like I’m underwater because I literally can’t hear from one side.

I love you all so much!! This chapter is my thank-you to every single one of you!
Next chapter’s gonna be the Banlands and ELLIOT!! Hrhfhf grrr I know I contradicted myself by saying Elliot was gonna be in this chapter. I changed the plot, okay 💔

(I'm giggling so bad at the way maff said mate and lad like okay little dude)

Chapter 8: 8. The sky that watches the two

Chance blinked slowly, exhaustion pooling under his eyes as he stared across the room at Builderman who stood motionless in the center of the room. The plan was clear and absurdly simple. Builderman would trigger a massive structural collapse in a portion of Robloxia, large enough for the system to finally register it as a threat. Once flagged, the automated purge systems would activate, sweeping bans across anyone within range. Including them.

 

Chance exhaled. It's risky but neat, in theory. Two, ever the silent agreer, stood at attention nearby, arms crossed and expression unreadable with that same smile of theirs. They'd go along with anything that sounded halfway tactical. Seven, though.

 

Chance's eyes drifted to the far side of the room.

 

Seven sat curled in a shadowed corner, hands laced together tightly, head lowered, his red horns barely catching the edge of the room’s glow. Chance approached, weaving past flickering monitors, reached out and gently placed a hand on Seven’s shoulder.

 

“Hey.”

 

Seven glanced up at him, his expression guarded but softening for a moment. “Hey,” he echoed, offering a faint smile that barely lifted the corners of his mouth. He patted Chance’s hand in return.

 

Chance smirked and nudged him lightly. “Old man, what’s with the scowl?”

 

Seven didn’t answer immediately. His eyes flicked toward the room again, scanning Builderman and the others. Something passed across his face, then he looked away.

 

“I need a breath of air. ” he muttered under his breath.

 

Chance didn’t press. He nodded and gave a short laugh. “Yeah, this place reeks anyway.”

 

He guided Seven out of the suffocating HQ, their footsteps echoing down the marble hallways. The place was nearly empty. Chance remembered asking about it earlier, he was uneasy with how quiet everything had become. Builderman had only shrugged. "I dismissed the workers since the other admins are away handling important matters."

 

That was all he said. Thinking about the admins.. Did he tell them what really happened? Chance wasn’t sure. They continued down the corridor in wordless stride, toward the exit. Two mods stood by the doors, their eyes briefly scanning them before stepping aside. 

 

Chance then shoved his hands into his pockets, casting a sideways glance at Seven. The guy was always hard to read since he's closed off and distant. But over the years, something had changed. Not by much and not enough to call him open but he didn’t flinch every time Chance spoke to him anymore, hell chance could even call them best buddies and that alone said a lot. Seven were always there for him.

 

Chance cleared his throat, then glanced up at the sky.

 

“So,” he began, feigning casual, “you think Coolkid’s gonna show up?”

 

Seven slowed his pace. His expression didn't shift much, but the pause was telling.

 

“I don’t even know if he’s in the Banlands,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on nothing.

 

Chance tilted his head. “Wouldn’t hurt to try, though, yeah?”

 

Seven didn’t answer. The wind stirred slightly, brushing through his hair. He stared into the distance for a long moment before finally speaking.

 

“Something’s wrong with this." he murmured.

 

“Nothing works like anything anymore,” Chance said, then paused, glancing at him. “But ya wanna see him again, huh?”

 

Seven didn’t reply. Instead, after a long moment, he said, “The last time we spoke, I told him to clean his room.”

 

Chance rocked back on his heels. Then, casually, “So… do you even remember what it’s like to have a normal house? Like-like chores, dinner, all that boring stuff?”

 

Seven blinked, surprised by the shift in topic. “Normal?” He gave a soft huff, shaking his head. “You forget I used to live in a normal house.”

 

Chance snorted. “Yeah, but I mean before the hell.”

 

Seven gave him a look, but it was amused. “You really want to talk about housework now?”

 

“I mean... yeah.” Chance shrugged. “I dunno, it’s better than talking about Builderman’s mystery suicide plan. Besides. hearing you talk about anything is a win.”

 

That earned him a small, reluctant smile.

 

“I used to cook,” Seven said, finally. “Back when Coolkid was still young. He liked simple food. ramen, fried egg over rice, sometimes those weird processed hash browns from the store. I burnt the first few batches, but he didn’t care.”

 

Chance lit up, beaming. “Wait, you cook?”

 

Seven shrugged, almost sheepishly. “Not well. But enough.”

 

Chance grinned wider. “God, I can’t even picture you in a kitchen. Thinking about it, you haven't cooked at least once when we were back there right? Hm.. do you like wearing an apron and everything?”

 

“I had an old hoodie I used as a rag. Same thing.”

 

“And cleaning?”

 

Seven nodded. “Had to. Coolkid was messy. His idea of organizing was piling everything into a single drawer and calling it a day. I used to do midnight clean-ups while he slept.”

 

Chance’s grin softened a little as he listened. They had walked longer than either of them noticed. They were lost in the conversation until Seven came to a sudden stop. Chance blinked and nearly bumped into him, then turned his head to see where they were. His eyes widened momentarily, taking in the neon sign above the window. Builder Brothers Pizza. A little worn down but still standing proud. The old bell above the door gave a nostalgic jingle every time someone stepped inside. 

 

“Woah...” He looked over. “Why’d you bring us here?”

 

Seven didn’t answer right away. His eyes weren’t on the pizzeria but on the narrow alleyway beside it. A distant look filled his expression. Chance couldn’t quite name it. He tilted his head, concern lacing his voice.

 

“yo seven?”

 

Seven exhaled but he spoke anyway.

 

“Coolkid went missing here.”

 

Chance's voice faltered at the sudden words. “Oh.”

 

Coolkid went missing. He remembered Elliot mentioning it once, offhandedly. How Seven's kid vanished one night and how that was the place.

 

Seven finally looked at him,.

 

“We had an argument,” he murmured. “Can’t even remember what it was about now. Maybe he got upset about me telling him to clean his room. He got quiet after. Didn’t want to talk to me.”

 

Chance didn’t interrupt. He stayed still, listening.

 

“Then he said he saw something out the window. A weird thing in the alley. He got curious so he told me he wanted to ‘go check it out real quick.’”

 

“You let him?”

 

“I said I’d come with him,” Seven said, voice thin. “But he was fast. He said ‘I’ll just peek, Dad, promise.’” His hand clenched loosely at his side. “I let him go. And I gave him two minutes. I told him not to talk to anyone and not to wander.”

 

He closed his eyes for a second.

 

“I waited. Then five minutes passed. Then ten. He never came back.”

 

Chance felt a chill slide down his spine. His fingers curled but he didn’t say anything because fuck alleyways.

 

“I didn’t know that was the last time I’d see.” Seven’s voice caught in his throat, the words fracturing like glass before they could fully leave him. He pursed his lips and looked away, shoulders tensing ever so slightly. “I’ve told you this before, haven’t I?”

 

Chance let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he raked his fingers through his hair. He tried to think of a way to lighten the heaviness that clung to the moment. “Maybe. Probably did. But you know how my memory works in that place. Memory problems and stuff.”

 

Seven gave a small hum in reply. “Mhm..”

 

Silence drifted between them again. But Chance’s eyes lingered on Seven a little longer this time. Chance shoved his hands in his pockets again and smiled faintly. “But you know what?”

 

Seven blinked and looked at him. “What?”

 

“You’re a good father, Seven.”

 

The words landed softly as seven froze.

 

His brows knit slightly, and his lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out at first. He gave chance a long, quiet stare.

 

Then, quietly, he chuckled. “if my son had the chance to grow up, I wish he’d be just like you.”

 

Chance’s breath hitched.

 

He blinked fast, chest tightening under the weight of that unexpected praise. He tried to laugh it off while shaking his head furiously. “nah old man. Nah, nah. Don’t say that. Don’t ya let him be a gambler.” he said quickly, voice uneven.

 

Seven didn’t laugh but his lips curled into the smallest smile. “I mean it." he said simply.

 

Heat touched chance's cheeks. embarrassed, startled, and something else he couldn’t name at all. Damn. His laugh came out short and he quickly shook his head, stepping back a little.

 

“Woah, no. don’t say that.” He waved both hands. “Come on.” Chance puffed his cheeks, trying to breathe out the heat rising to his face. He turned around sharply, clearly flustered from the heavy moment with Seven. “Too much,” he mumbled to himself. “Way too much.”

 

But his awkward exit came to a halt as something caught his eye through the pizzeria window causing him to freeze.

 

Inside the warm glow, standing by the counter, was a familiar figure. Tall, confident and ponytail tied neatly behind his head, sleeves rolled just enough to show bandages peeking from his forearm. He was laughing, his voice lifted in genuine ease as a young girl beside him tugged on his wrist and tried to point at the toppings display.

 

The little girl barely reached his waist. She grinned up at him, and he crouched down to her level, adjusting her scarf.

 

Chance’s breath hitched. “Elliot.” he whispered. He instinctively reached out and grabbed at Seven’s shirt, tugging it hard. “Seven. Seven. Elliot’s here. He’s free. he’s okay. Fuck, he’s okay, he’s really.” His voice was climbing and his heart was thudding.

 

But Seven’s hand found his shoulder and gently stilled. Chance looked up in confusion. “What? What’s wrong?”

 

Seven’s expression was unreadable at first but then it softened with something that looked like sorrow.

 

“I think,” Seven said quietly, “we should leave him alone.”

 

Chance blinked. “What?”

 

Seven didn’t repeat himself. His hand lingered a moment longer before he pulled it back, slipping it into his shirt pocket.

 

“Chance,” he said again, gently this time.

 

Chance looked back through the window. Elliot’s back was turned to them now, laughing again. There wasn’t a hint of tension in his shoulders. There's no stiff jaw and no darting eyes to wait for a disaster to walk through the door this is definitely not the Elliot they had known in the hell and it was a breath of fresh air.

 

“Oh...” he breathed. “He’s... really free.”

 

Seven didn’t reply but the silence between them said everything.

 

“You don’t want to drag him into our mess, do you?” Chance said, quieter this time. “Back into that world.” He let out a dry chuckle, raking a hand through his hair as he stepped back. “Right,” he said, almost bitter but not quite. “He’s the only one who was wrongfully in there.”

 

Seven looked at him, surprised by the words.

 

“We’re not that selfish,” Chance added, his voice quieter now. “To pull someone back into another suicide mission just because we need them.”

 

Seven didn’t respond, but his eyes wavered.

 

Chance exhaled deeply, forcing a smile as he threw an arm over Seven’s shoulder. “Come on. We’ll see Elliot again.”

 

Seven didn’t argue. He simply let himself be pulled and as they turned and began to walk away, the bell above the pizzeria door jingled faintly. Inside, the man had stopped mid-sentence, his eyes wide and locked on the two figures heading down the street.

 

“seven?” he murmured but by the time he reached the door, they were already gone.

 

 

      _______________________

 

 

 

 

“You’re both back." Two said, their voice calm but pleased. They are seated cross-legged on the couch, with the two bunnies resting comfortably in their lap. They scratched behind their ears absently.

 

Chance entered first, face bright like the city lights of robloxia had followed him in. His grin was wide and it immediately made Builderman, who had been scanning a monitor nearby, glance up and stare in confusion.

 

“Elliot’s here,” Chance announced, breathless. “He’s free.”

 

Builderman blinked. Then slowly, a long sigh escaped him, easing off his chest. The tension between his shoulders eased. He gave a short nod.

 

Two, meanwhile, broke into a crooked smile. “That’s good.”

 

Chance strode forward, and without skipping a beat, offered Two a hand. They bumped knuckles in a smooth, well-worn rhythm. 

 

No one asked whether Elliot was coming back and no one questioned if they needed him for what was ahead because elliot had already done enough. Their support had done enough.

 

“Ah,” Two suddenly muttered, gaze flicking downward. “Your demons look upset.”

 

Chance raised an eyebrow, leaning over to glance at the bunnies on Two’s lap. They were twitching their noses rapidly, looking up at Chance with wide-eyed intensity. He chuckled and plopped down beside Two, immediately reaching out to ruffle the fur between their soft ears. He adjusted their accessories while humming a lazy tune under his breath.

 

“Hm, they must’ve missed me.”

 

“No,” Two replied plainly. “They were fine. Until you mentioned Elliot’s name.”

 

Chance blinked, then laughed, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Oh? You think they’re jealous?”

 

“They are jealous,” Two answered, completely deadpan. Chance though, amused, decided to go along with it. Chance lifted the white bunny and gently nuzzled his nose against his. The bunny squirmed a little, unimpressed.

 

He picked up the yellow one next, holding it like a baby and cradling it in his arms, rocking slightly with a grin. “Come on, don’t be dramatic. Elliot’s just a guy.”

 

“They sense unresolved emotional dependency,” Two added casually, petting the yellow bunny. “Bunnies are very perceptive creatures.” Chance glanced down at the bunnies. The white one flicked its ear, while the yellow one pawed at his shirt, squeaking softly.

 

“You think too much, Two.”

 

“I do not. Spawn above.” Two replied dryly.

 

“You definitely do.”

 

Builderman didn’t look up from his desk, but his voice cut through the chatter with practiced authority. “Guys. Get back to work.”

 

“Okay bro.” 

 

“Don’t test me, Chance.”

 

Two smirked, quietly shifting a bunny off their knee as they finally sat forward.

 

“May we have a safe journey tomorrow.”

 

____________________

 

 

Well it's definitely safe alright.

 

 

 

“No one fell asleep?”

 

Builderman’s voice was hoarse, barely cutting through the morning chill as they walked across the ground. The air was thin and dry, with faint fog clinging to the ground. Everyone shook their heads. 

 

Chance adjusted his grip on the two bunnies nestled in his arms, pulling them closer against his chest. Their ears twitched at the shifting wind. Two, walking just ahead, glanced back with narrowed eyes.

 

“Must you always bring them?” they asked. “I cannot help but feel we are tempting spawn. Those creatures may be soft in fur, but I assure you, misfortune often arrives in gentlest forms.”

 

Chance chuckled under his breath. “Yes, Two. I need them.”

 

Two turned fully this time, their long scarf catching the wind. “Need is such a curious thing. I wonder if you truly know the difference between comfort and dependency.”

 

“I do,” Chance muttered. “And I’m still keeping them.”

 

Two sighed quietly, but didn’t push further. “Then I suppose I’ll simply brace myself for whatever consequence your bunnies invite.”

 

The group continued through the barren plains in silence, shoes crunching over brittle soil. Dawn was cracking over the horizon now. They were nearing the edge of stability and into the Banlands.

 

Chance had only heard whispers. It was where the irreparable went. It's place warped by the exploiter’s powers. The only way in was to be detected or flagged by the Primordial System itself unless we're talking about the four keys.

 

“Wait,” Chance piped up, gaze flicking to Builderman. “Aren’t you a god, boss? If the system detects you too… won’t you get banned?”

 

Seven looked over then. Builderman’s steps didn’t falter, but his expression darkened. “I built the system to enforce law over all things. gods included. Status doesn’t shield anyone from detection. It sees deviation and not titles.”

 

His voice dropped lower. “I’ve had to ban an admin before.”

 

Chance blinked. “Oh. Cool.”

 

“It wasn’t cool for him.” Builderman murmured, mostly to himself.

.

.

 

“Was the admin… Telamon?” Seven asked, his voice low.

 

The group halted mid-step.

 

Builderman turned slowly with his eyes fixed on seven. For a moment, he said nothing.

 

“Telamon.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Golden eyes ablaze, he soars with wings vast. a sword-born god, time’s first and final champion

 

𝘚𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘕

 

 

Seven remembered it all too vividly. the golden eyes that are radiant and cruel watched from above like the god that he is surveying his arena. Back then, he was just a kid. He was small and unnoticed enough to be swallowed by the crowd of men cheering for blood. Young as he is, his heart boiled with hatred. He hated the golden eyed god. Every admin actually. Every last one of them.

 

These admins cloaked themselves in authority as they reigned over Robloxia and suppressing those who are born in their eyes as evil.

 

Seven had always believed his suffering, his alienation and his unwanted birthright as an exploiter was all their fault. He didn’t ask to be born wrong. He didn’t ask for his presence to trigger system warnings and soft bans just by existing. The other kids screamed when they saw him. Mods whispered his name like a curse. “007n7 in” they had said. “Shut it down.”

 

So when word spread that one of the original admins, the one Builderman himself appointed as the fourth throne, had returned to host a public blood sport. Seven knew he had to be there but as a witness.

 

He shoved through the chanting masses while his oversized hoodie slipped over his eyes. It covered the rage glowing beneath his lashes. Above them, twin pillars of flame lit the suspended ring where two men dueled. The sound of swords clashed with clangs that echoed across the metal spires of the arena. an impossible arena built high above. The whole place floated in a chunked-out region of Robloxia.

 

And in the center of it all, that admin stood like a statue of war. Golden wings spread behind him while golden eyes watched without blinking.

 

He winced as the crowd roared when blades met steel. The cheers were so loud Seven felt them rattle his bones. But he continued to push forward through the noise and heat until he stood at the edge of the arena platform, peering over the railing.

 

He watched as one of the duelists froze mid-step, his form twitching unnaturally. A chunk of his sword phased out of existence before snapping back. His foot clipped through the floor for a moment. Then he duplicated just for a frame. two bodies blinking into one.

 

The noise from the crowd shifted in an instant from cheers to outrage.

 

The fire around the ring surged, burning brighter than before and casting everything in a harsh amber glow. Seven squinted, shielding his eyes with his hand until he caught a glimpse of the scene.

 

One of the duelists was exploiting. One of him. Seven’s breath caught in his throat. He should have felt proud but instead a cold feeling settled in his chest because he knew what was coming next.

 

He felt a gust followed. a force of wind so strong it nearly knocked him off his feet. He caught the sight of golden wings unfurled from the admin’s back. It stretched wide enough to cast the entire stadium in their shadow. The air crackled as golden particles danced around them. It flickered between the lights until the the arena fire died instantly with a single flap of those large wings. 

 

The crowd sank into reverent stillness. One by one, they all dropped to their knees. Seven tried to stay standing with his legs trembling as the weight of the his status burned into the very architecture of his being.

 

He clenched his jaw.

 

I don’t worship you.

I don’t kneel for you.

You’re not a god.

 

“Down!” someone spat behind him and shoved his shoulder. Seven stumbled forward and hit the stone floor with a muffled grunt. His knees cracked against the ground, and he caught himself with his hands only to see, to his horror, that his fingers were flickering again. That tell-tale sign of his identity.

 

He yanked his hoodie sleeves down and curled his hands into fists. The movement was fast as his breath hitched. His heartbeat thudded in his ears. Don’t look at me. Please don’t look at me.

 

He slowly raised his head just enough to see the admin descending.

 

The wings behind him folded slowly, feathers clicking into place. His robe was black, stitched with golden thread that glowed faintly in what could be described as veins of energy pulsing beneath cloth. It trailed behind him while he stepped into the ring. Seven could barely breathe.

 

The duelist still stood mid-glitch in the center of the ring, his body twitching with particle interference. His knees buckled slightly while sparks flew off his chest. He didn’t dare to move when the admin stood before him.

 

A few agonizing seconds passed until from the hood, glowing slits of golden light emerged. Those piercing eyes radiated a hatred deeper than any ban or strike could ever convey. They stared and they hated.

 

The admin raised his sword in one slow, unhurried motion as the blade came down.

 

SCHLK—!

 

It cleaved clean through the exploiter’s neck, severing his life in an instant. The head rolled across the arena floor with a soft, muted plink, then disintegrated into particles before it could even stop. Then the admin lowered his blade. The arena held its breath as the crowd didn’t dare move.

 

Seven could only watch with eyes wide. His chest refused to rise but then those hateful golden eyes turned slowly and precisely towards him. Seven’s heart stopped and that was all it took for him to ran up from his knees. Behind him, the wind howled as the wings had flared again but he didn't look back. Never again.

 

______________ 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“How the fuck do you take care of a baby?”

 

 

The words slipped out of Seven’s mouth in a muttered sharp hiss while he stared down at the squirming bundle in front of him. It was a ticking bomb made of drool. He scratched at his stubble, nails rasping against uneven growth as his red eyes blinked, sluggish and dry from lack of sleep. He hadn't slept in four days. Not since he found it curled up inside that basket and wrapped in nothing but error data and some sort of protective script layer. Noli, his friend, was against the idea but whatever. Seven will prove that he can do this parenting thing. What's the worst thing that could happen? 

 

Seven sighed and reached down awkwardly, lifting the child with both arms.

 

“You're warm,” he murmured, as the child stirred. “Weird.”

 

The infant made a gurgling sound, little fists clenched tight. Red pixels flickered across the blanket. The baby’s eyes wide and impossibly bright blinked up at him.

 

Seven tilted his head slightly. His lips quirk into a small, unpracticed smirk.

 

“You’re cute,” he admitted, his voice softer now, begrudging. “too cute, actually. That’s suspicious.”

 

He cradled the baby in the crook of his elbow, adjusting the weight so the tiny head leaned gently against his hoodie.

 

“You remind me of myself,” he muttered. “Except... smaller. And uh..red.”

 

The baby cooed that tickled Seven’s chest. It reached up with a hand barely larger than his coolgue. Seven stared at it for a second, not knowing what to do.

 

“Well,” he continued after a beat, rocking gently side to side. “it’s just you and me, little one. No ma and pa coming back for you. I checked the records twice.

 

He took a moment to shake off his guilt. “I tried,” he said more softly. “Can’t seem to find them, kiddo.”

 

The child babbled in response, smacking his gums together in some garbled, adorable protest.

 

“Oh don’t start crying now,” Seven warned half-heartedly while narrowing one eye. “We don’t do that in this house.”

 

The baby responded by gleefully slapping Seven’s cheek with a tiny open hand. It didn’t hurt, but it made a loud smack.

 

Seven froze. “…You little punk,” he said, stunned as the baby let out a triumphant squeal.

 

“Alright. Fine. I get it.” Seven adjusted the kid on his shoulder and let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “I’ll be your pa. Yeah, yeah. I hear you loud and clear.”

 

The baby let out a delighted hiccup and drooled on his shoulder.

 

Seven blinked. “Gross.”

 

He looked down at the child again “…Guess I’m a dad now,” he whispered. Seven’s eyes softened more as he looked down at the baby who now sprawled peacefully on the mat, gurgling to himself with his tiny fists curled in the air. A rare warmth flickered in Seven’s usually red, tired eyes.

 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

 

The sharp, annoying sound cracked through the air and disrupting the moment. Seven’s expression shifted in a blink before the softness vanished. His eyes sharpened while his jaw clenched.

 

He scowled. “Oh, for the love of-”

 

He gently set the baby down on the mat, where neon toys blinked weakly beside him. The child giggled, reaching up to grab a nearby plushie. 

 

Seven stomped toward the door, muttering, “What is it now? You people really need to start getting hobbies.”

 

He stopped mid-step, hissed as he yanked a plastic rattle tangled in his already chaotic, brown hair. The thing squeaked pathetically in his hand.

 

“…right,” he muttered dryly, tossing it aside. “how did it get there.”

 

Then, raising his voice, he shouted through the cracked door, “Leave me the fuck alone! I have a license, okay?! A real one! I’m not pending for a ban, I passed the latest patch audit, and if you're here about the fucking pizzeria-!”

 

Silence answered.

 

Seven’s scowl deepened. He stumbled over a pair of discarded boots near the doorway, shoved them aside, then yanked open the door harshly.

 

“WHAT!?”

 

He froze dead in his tracks when he saw who was standing just outside the threshold.

 

Robed in admin-black with gold-threaded sigils glowing faintly down the sleeves. Behind the hood, two familiar gleaming golden eyes stared back. Seven didn’t breathe. His fingers twitched at his side, glitching for half a second before stabilizing. 

 

Why the hell is he here? Seven thought, his heartbeat drumming like corrupted bass in his ears. No error reports and no ban notices so what the hell could a god want with someone like him? The fuck? Is he hallucinating?

 

Seven’s first instinct was to slam the door shut and his second was to run. But something about the way the admin’s hand slowly rose made his stomach twist.

 

Shit. He’s not here to talk.

 

That's when seven’s reflexes kicked in. He slammed his palm and a slick, glowing interface flashed to life between them, forming a transparent wall of neon red code.

 

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Seven barked, holding the shield up. “Hands to yourself, goldie. The hell did I do?!”

 

The admin didn’t flinch. His eyes that are sharp as blades remained fixed on Seven. Seven’s lip curled into a cocky smirk, though his shoulders were taut with restraint. 

 

“a god on my doorstep.” he spoke, voice dripping with sarcasm. He stepped forward, posture confident but his eyes watched for any movement. The CoolGUI hummed between them.

 

“I mean, I’m flattered. Really. You must have gone through five layers of protocol to find me. What’d I do this time, hmm. A god coming to find me and not one of their little mods..” He placed a hand over his heart. “Is it because I said you're a loser?”

 

the admin sneered, the air grew heavier and thicker before the lights in the room flickered, one by one. Golden eyes burned with focused fury. Fuck. Fuck. He saw the way the admin’s hand lifted slightly from beneath his robe with his fingers curling slight. Every instinct in Seven’s body screamed for him to back down but it was too late. The admin have now launched forward and he's faster than seven could even register. A blast of force shattered across the Coolgui. The black-tinted barrier sparked in protest as the admin’s palm struck it full-on.

 

Seven staggered back, shoes skidding against the cracked floor of his apartment. He raised his arm again, summoning another GUI panel in desperation. His fingers trembled as he slammed the command, lips pulled into a half-snarl. “Oh, we’re skipping the divine lectures today, huh?” he hissed through his teeth. “Straight to smiting. I respect the direct approach, telamon.”

 

The light around the admin pulsed, gold and blinding. He stepped forward, his boots suspicious silent against the ground and seven braced for another strike but instead, the admin spoke.

 

His voice echoed through the walls and into the marrow of Seven’s bones. 

 

“You mortal… You’re the one corrupting the life of Builderman’s niece.”

 

His golden eyes flared with disgust, their glow searing against the dimness.

 

“Piece of nasty exploiters. Your kind infects everything you touch.”

 

Seven’s blood ran cold.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

He clutched the broken screen of his glitched weapon tighter, his heart racing. His mind then fliipped through every face he’d encountered, every job he’d taken and every mod or robloxians he’d crossed. He's trying to remember anyone remotely connected to Builderman but his memory came up blank.

 

“I don’t even know Builderman’s niece!” he shouted back, sweat trailing down his temple. “I don’t-what, you think I just get up in the morning and go ruin family trees?”

 

He barely rolled away in time as another swing came crashing down. This one carved a jagged slice through his floor, deleting everything in a three-foot radius. Seven coughed from the heat and light, thrown back hard. His shoulder slammed against the wall, and this time, he didn’t bounce up immediately.

 

Shit. He can't keep up like this. He gritted his teeth and pulled his arm up over his face, dragging code in the coolgui with his finger. barriers, reflectors and delay scripts. It was sloppy and messy but it's all he had left.

 

“I don’t know who the hell you think I am,” he snarled, “but I haven’t corrupted a damn niece!”

 

The baby cried from the other room due to the loud sounds. Seven's eyes flicked toward the far end of the hall instinctively while the admin’s gaze followed.

 

Seven shot forward, throwing another GUI shield between the admin and him as his voice turned raw with panic.

 

“Don’t you look at him! He has nothing to do with this!”

 

The admin halted in return. Seven’s breath came fast and ragged. He could feel his body trembling under the pressure of the admin’s proximity. He wasn’t winning this fight so he switched tactics. Defense was the only thing left.

 

He summoned another rotating script dome to cover himself as fragments of the last shield dissolved at his feet. His voice was steadier even as the corner of his lip bled.

 

“You’re chasing no one.” Seven growled, behind the protective veil. “Maybe your little golden family should learn how to protect themselves. I’ve got a kid to protect and zero idea what you’re on about. So unless you want to explain properly I’m done playing this shit.”

 

The admin’s blade lowered slightly but his glare did not. “No one touches divine blood and walks away clean.”

 

Just as seven was about to snap back, the baby’s cry cut through the air once more. He met the admin’s gaze, that searing golden stare burning into him but he didn’t look away even with every instinct screaming at him to drop, to kneel and to beg, he stood his ground until the crying grew louder.

 

“Is that a mortal child?”

 

Seven’s lips tightened. Then he turned on his heel and bolted.

 

The hallway to the room was narrow and cluttered, filled with loose wires, broken server chips and noli’s snapped console he never bothered to fix. His shoes thundered against the floor as he shoved the door open, eyes locking immediately onto the baby on the mat.

 

“Hey-hey, I got you-” he breathed, rushing forward and scooping the crying child into his arms. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.”

 

The warmth of the child against his chest calmed him down. He quickly knelt to the floor and cradled the child close, pressing his face into the top of the baby's soft hair. His eyes slipped shut as he gritted his teeth and braced himself.

 

This is it. He followed him. He's going to delete him right here. There's going to be a sword through the back. Baby in his arms. He's going to fucking die.

 

However, moments passed and the strike never came. 

 

Seven’s brow furrowed while he slowly opened his eyes.

 

And there at the entrance of the room the admin stood still. His hand no longer held the sword aloft. It remained at his side, glowing faintly. His face as always was mostly obscured beneath the dark hood, only the lower half visible that set into a hard, unreadable frown.

 

Seven stared up at him, wide-eyed, confused.

 

“…What.” he blurted, half-whispered.

 

The admin tilted his head slightly, shadows shifting across his face. “May I see the baby.”

 

The words came deep and low and it made seven blink. Then, suddenly and very loudly he laughed at the absurdity. The laugh came out in a rush, all breath and disbelief. Seven sounds like he's choking on their own nerves.

 

“Are you serious?!” he cackled. “You-” he waved vaguely at the glowing god standing in his hallway, “you come in here trying to kill me- illegally by the way. I still have a license- and now you want to see the baby?"

 

The baby gurgled softly in his arms. Seven huffed, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to calm the racing in his chest. His shoulders then slumped, eyes wide, mouth half-open as the situation fully sank in.

 

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “Holy shit. There's a god in my house.”

 

He looked down at his child, then back up before he slowly stood up.

 

“it didn't fully sank in because I was half asleep earlier but what the fuck.”

 

The admin, Telamon, did not respond. He stood there still silently watching. His scowl hadn’t changed but the edge of bloodthirst was dulled. Seven stared at him for a long moment while he held the baby tighter.

 

Seven didn’t know what he expected Telamon to do next, maybe smite him or drop a mod hammer through the ceiling but instead… telamon gestured for the baby.

 

And now, he was approaching and crouching down In infront of him.

 

It's clear that the motion was deliberate for seven and he couldn't help but realize how telamon moved like gravity didn't apply to him the same way it did to everyone else. He bent slowly, gracefully, until his towering presence shrank to a level where Seven and the child stood. Seven could barely comprehend it. His body had gone still. He stood frozen, shoulders tense and eyes narrowed. He then tilted his head up warily and squinted beneath the admin’s hood.

 

And what he saw made him hesitate.

 

The face beneath the shadows wasn’t faceless contrary to the legends.

 

It was just a man. A man with a crooked nose, soft freckles scattered along pale skin and a strong jaw left partially shadowed by the hood’s edge. He looked human.

 

That’s not fair. Seven thought numbly. He is not supposed to look human.

 

The baby blinked up at Telamon, somehow wide-eyed and unafraid. His baby stared with the quiet, open curiosity only a child could muster and Telamon stared right back.

 

Seven’s breath caught. He didn’t know what to do with this situation but thankfully, telamon's hand never lifted. His sword remained sheathed. All he did was look, clearly trying to understand something Seven would never grasp. 

 

The baby yawned, telamon didn’t flinch but seven felt like he might pass out.

 

His knees started to tremble, slowly at first then all at once. He blinked fast, shaking his head and hoping it might fix the fatigue crawling through him. The adrenaline that had held him up all this time was leaving.

 

Maybe it was the stress or maybe the lack of sleep but well- whatever it was, Seven swayed slightly. His legs buckled before he could catch himself. He expected to fall and to hit the floor hard so he embraced his child tightly but the sound of a thud didn't come.

 

He felt warm arms caught him and hr didn’t resist. The exhaustion flooded him too fast. His body slumped into the admin’s hold, still clutching his child tightly but he's no longer able to hold his own weight. Seven’s head lolled slightly to the side, resting against the fabric of the cloak.

 

And then everything went black.

 

____________

 

 

 

 

Seven woke up with a sharp inhale, the breath dragging through his chest because he felt like he just surfaced from drowning. His eyes snapped open and for a moment, he didn’t know where he was. His fingers twitched against warm fabric and a soft weight cradled against his chest. 

 

He looked around. It was dark now. The curtains had been drawn closed, but still enough to dim the room into soft blue shadows. Seven blinked slowly, trying to remember. His mind was still sluggish and hell, his mouth tasted like dust.

 

What happened? Then he looked down.

 

The child in his arms, nestled comfortably is fast asleep. One tiny hand was curled around the hem of Seven’s hoodie, and the other was tucked under his own chin. Seven’s heart stuttered for a second, then resumed. The kid was fine. 

 

“Oh shit.” he breathed, sitting up carefully, scanning over the baby for any sign of harm or change. His hand moved to the child’s head, brushing his soft hair, then down to his chest, just to feel the rhythm of his breathing.

 

He was okay and they were okay.

 

Seven exhaled shakily, trying to will away the static in his brain. But as he looked around the room, memories came rushing back.

 

The admin.

Fuck Telamon was here.

 

Seven's spine stiffened. His eyes darted toward the door. His heart ready to sprint at any trace of that overwhelming golden light.

 

And there sitting still as stone across the room in a wooden chair was Telamon.

 

The first thing he saw was those eyes. That same piercing, divine gold because even without a glow, they stood out in the dark.

 

Seven froze. He stared and the breath he'd just reclaimed vanished again.

 

He watched telamon didn’t move. His posture was calm, seven noticed. One arm draped over the back of the chair, the other resting in his lap. The cloak had shifted slightly, revealing more of his silhouette.

 

Without thinking, Seven blurted, “Are your eyes always like that, Telamon?”

 

Telamon blinked once. The gold flickered like light glancing off metal. Then, without a word, he lifted a long sleeve and gently covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow.

 

“Yes.” he said.

 

There was a long pause.

 

Seven shifted upright, confused by the strange gesture. “Hey uh, you don’t need to do that. I don't have a problem with your eyes lol”

 

Telamon didn’t respond as he just kept his eyes hidden.

 

Seven tilted his head. 

 

He didn’t know what he expected. 

 

“…I mean,” Seven continued, voice quieter now, “what are you even doing here? For real. I mean I'm still alive so you’re not gonna kill me right?”

 

He glanced down at his child again, still safely asleep against him, then looked back up.

 

“Are you going to hurt my son?”

 

There was a beat of silence before Telamon finally answered.

 

“Your son.”

 

Seven blinked. “What about him?”

 

“You don’t know who he is.”

 

Seven’s expression shifted with his eyes narrowing slightly while his arms tightened around the baby again. “He’s mine,” he said slowly and carefully. “I found him. I’ve been taking care of him. That’s enough.”

 

Telamon lowered his arm, his eyes visible once again. He looked at Seven and seven couldn’t tell if it was good or bad.

 

“…You think he’s dangerous?” he asked, voice dipping.

 

“No,” Telamon replied simply. “I think he’s strange.”

 

Seven's jaw clenched. He looked down for a moment, watching his hand unconsciously curl into a fist. His knuckles turned pale. Yeah… his son was strange, wasn’t he? Red skin and tiny, budding horns pushing through his soft scalp, resembling his own horns. His eyes weren’t normal either. They glowed faintly sometimes.

 

“…You’re not taking him,” he said at last.

 

‘Your son is really strange.”

 

Seven stiffened with a scowl.

 

“I don't like you repeating that to me.” he snapped, holding the baby a little tighter. “Hey-if you think he’s got the blood of an exploiter or some kind then you're wrong. I’m not raising him to be like that. I’m not turning him… I know what that life’s like and I’m not-”

 

Telamon’s head tilted slightly, almost like a curious bird and seven was taken aback by how ridiculous his own thought process is. I mean a bird? Really seven?

 

“You misunderstand.”

 

“Then enlighten me, birdie.”

 

Telamon, somehow, didn’t look offended. If anything, a quiet huff of air slipped from him. His posture loosened the tiniest bit.

 

“He’s not corrupted,” Telamon said. “But he doesn’t follow the expected pattern of any child born on robloxia. He exists in a way he shouldn't.”

 

“That’s just babies,” Seven muttered, bristling. “They’re weird. They cry and poop and break…I don't know.. robloxia rules sometimes??”

 

“Calm yourself,” the god said. “I said he was strange, not broken.”

 

“Yeah, well, around your kind those tend to mean the same thing.” Seven muttered.

 

Telamon raised a brow. “Do they?”

 

Seven hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek. “They sure used to.”

 

For the first time, the corner of Telamon’s mouth twitched upward just barely. It isn't quite a smile per say but it's lighter. Seven caught it and his expression softened just slightly.

 

“Well, that makes two of us.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Seven shot back. “Thanks for the reminder, birdie. Kinda hard to forget with every admin breathing down my neck since I was fifteen.”

 

“Technically,” Telamon said, calm as ever, “you’re twenty-three.”

 

Seven narrowed his eyes. “woah we got creepy mc. Birdie over here.”

 

Telamon’s face didn’t move. “I read your file.”

 

“You read my file?” Seven’s eyebrows raised. “You broke into my baby room and you read my file?”

 

“I did not break in. You fainted.”

 

Seven blinked again. That… didn’t sound sarcastic.

 

“…I fainted?”

 

There was silence for a long moment. Telamon didn’t respond.

 

Seven frowned. “i did not-”

 

Telamon turned his head slightly toward the window. “You should rest.”

 

Seven snorted. “I just woke up.”

 

“You should rest more.”

 

“will you still be here?”

 

“I have not left.”

 

“You really don’t know how to answer normally, do you?”

 

“I speak clearly.”

 

Seven gaped at him. mouth half open, brow scrunched together. He didn’t move for a few seconds. He stared at Telamon. Nothing about this was normal actually. He leaned back slowly against the headboard, dragging a hand down his face, fingers brushing over the bridge of his nose so he could rub the disbelief away. He can't believe this mythic asshole he used to curse in forums when he was thirteen is really here. 

 

Seven squinted at him, rubbing his tired eyes.

 

“…What time is it?” he muttered under his breath.

 

Telamon blinked once. “10:04 PM.”

 

Seven blinked back. “Right. Night. Awesome.”

 

He huffed, staring at the ceiling for a long second. His voice was quieter when he spoke next, not entirely sarcastic or else the god might really smite him. “You’re gonna come back, aren’t you?”

 

Telamon didn’t even hesitate. “Yes. Your son intrigues me.”

 

Seven winced. “That’s never a good sentence coming from an admin.”

 

“I mean no harm right now.” 

 

Seven sighed and shook his head, already regretting the words before they left his mouth.

 

“…Aight,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his messy brown hair. “Fine. You wanna come back? Sure. Knock or whatever. Just-” He paused, then raised a finger toward the admin with mock sternness.

 

“As long as you don’t hurt me or the kid… we’re good.”

 

Telamon stood up, the chair creaked quietly behind him as he rose. Seven immediately sat up straighter on instinct, the bed springs groaning under him. His arms tightened protectively around his child, who shifted faintly in his sleep but didn’t wake. The golden shimmer around the admin’s cloak seemed to ripple as he approached and Seven’s breath caught in his throat.

 

Seven’s pulse jumped as the god leaned forward, the hood dipping lower and casting shadows across his sharp features But it was those same eyes that rooted Seven in place. molten, gold-lined eyes burning beneath the shadow of the hood, watching him so closely like the day he had first seen the god.

 

Seven’s heartbeat pounded. His voice cracked when he tried to speak. “What… what are you doing?”

 

Telamon didn’t answer. He was so close now Seven could see the faint freckling along the bridge of his nose again, the inhuman smoothness of his movements.

 

Seven stared into those golden eyes, forcing himself not to blink and not to flinch. But just as fast as he had come, Telamon vanished.

 

Seven let out a strangled breath as he slumped back into the bed with a heavy thud, his muscles trembling now that the pressure was gone. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead when he realized he’d started sweating.

 

He stared at the empty space where Telamon had been.

 

 

“…I still hate gods.”

 

 

_________

 

 

“Hey, hey-don’t go anywhere!” Seven snapped, one hand reaching out in warning as the baby, full of gurgling determination, began to crawl away from the mat.

 

The child let out a soft, mischievous squeak and slapped both palms against the floor, dragging his tiny body forward. Seven exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple as he quickly typed into his CoolGUI with his free hand. A projection of code shimmered in front of him, and a carbon-copy clone of himself spawned to the left. It's a basic script he’d been trying to improve to help watch the baby during coding sessions. It stood there doing absolutely nothing.

 

Seven scowled. “Useless prick.” he muttered, flicking his fingers to dismiss an error pop-up. “You have one job. One.”

 

Should he stop cursing? he thought. Like, for real? Kids pick up on that stuff, right? Shit-he mean, shoot. Dammit. He mean-argh. He groaned, rubbing at his temple. 

 

He focused back on the GUI, intent on fixing the clone AI's responsiveness when he heard a voice behind him.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

The voice wasn’t his son definitely.

 

It wasn’t the clone’s also and It was too fucking close. 

 

Seven screamed. “AAAAA-DUDE-DUDE!! WHAT THE HELL?!”

 

His son immediately joined in, startled by the noise. The baby’s wailing rose so loudly, his tiny fists flailing and legs kicking as Seven lunged away from the coolgui, slamming his hand to shut the interface down mid-code. He practically slid across the floor to grab the crying child, scooping the baby up with both panic and apology.

 

Standing calmly across the room, as if he'd been there the whole damn time, was Telamon. His hands were behind his back, expression unreadable, those golden eyes glinting faintly under the shadows of his hood.

 

“I see that you are busy exploiting,” The god’s disapproving golden eyes locked onto him. Seven squirmed under the gaze. he scrunched his nose, trying not to visibly fidget. He held his son a little tighter in one arm, while gesturing vaguely toward the still-standing clone with the other. “What? Look, yeah, with morals. I'm coding something for the clone so it can actually do stuff… help out. Babysit, grab groceries, punch gods who knock without knocking.” His voice dropped to a mutter at the end.

 

Telamon didn’t respond. He blinked once and turned toward the clone..

 

Seven continued talking, voice growing slightly louder in his own attempt to keep the silence from swallowing him whole. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve got a fancy degree backing me up here. I dropped out of college, in case that wasn’t obvious. I need a job to support myself.”

 

Seven fell silent. watching as Telamon approached the clone. He stopped just in front of it and then he tilted his head ever so slightly and raised a hand. His fingers moved with startling gentleness as he reached out and tilted the clone’s chin toward him, inspecting its face. The clone didn’t respond. Its eyes just stared through Telamon.

 

“hey-” Seven’s face flushed hard. A creeping red spread across his cheeks, up the bridge of his nose, ears warming with the heat of mortified awareness. “What are you doing?” he snapped.

 

Telamon continued to study the clone. his fingers now lightly brushing the edge of its jaw. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.

 

“This construct has no soul.”

 

Seven gawked at him. “Of course it doesn’t-it’s a clone! It’s a shell, not a person. That’s kind of the point! It’s just code.”

 

“You gave it your face,” Telamon said, now turning his gaze slowly toward Seven. “But nothing else.”

 

Seven’s mouth opened, then closed. His fingers curled tighter against the baby’s back. “That’s not-okay, hold on. This is not a morality test. It’s a utility asset. It’s not sentient. It just... stands there and maybe folds laundry if I ever get the command lines working.”

 

“This is your idea of support.”

 

“Dude stop being so fucking rude.”

 

Seven snapped back into reality the moment Telamon drew his hands back from the clone’s jaw. The god’s fingers didn’t retreat in hesitation instead, they roamed slowly. Gliding down the clone’s chest and tracing across the fabric of its hoodie. There was nothing wrong about the gesture, but Seven’s brain hit panic mode anyway.

 

“Okay-hey, you stop that,” Seven barked, the words loud and defensive, but his voice cracked halfway when telamon moved to touch something near it's heart. “Dude, that is my clone, and you’re touching it like it’s-what even is this?” He wanted to say more but the words caught in his throat and died when the clone blinked.

 

Seven’s eyes widened as the clone shifted its weight, its limbs no longer stiff or code-locked. It turned then, without a word, it stepped away from Telamon and walked-yes, walked. Seven had to blink to fully register what he's seeing because why is it walking across the room with perfect balance.

 

“What the actual-”

 

The clone bent down and calmly picked up a hairbrush from the edge of the baby mat then It turned around with precise movements and began brushing its own hair.

 

“WHAT?!”

 

His son babbled happily at the sight. Seven barely registered, setting the child down gently on the mat.

 

“Did-did you fix it?” Seven asked, his voice rising. “No, wait, what did you do to it? oh my god did you put a soul in my clone!?”

 

“I enabled what you began.”

 

Telamon’s golden eyes burned steady from beneath his hood, and Seven, arms crossed now, stared back with the stubborn kind of defiance he’d cultivated for years. So he fixed it. Big deal. He's a god. Seven isn't offended at all.

 

The silence shattered when a loud, high cry cut through the air. Seven who is startled, flinched back slightly. “Shit-”

 

The baby's wail cracked upward again, sharper this time, and Seven whipped around just in time to see his son crawling away from the mat and toward the clone.

 

“son, wait-” Seven stepped forward, alarm in his voice but Telamon simply held up a hand. Seven froze mid-step, unsure why he obeyed that command but he did.

 

The child paused, small fists gripping the fabric, lower lip wobbling. And then he giggled a soft, bubbly laugh, high-pitched and happy. Then, without warning, his son turned his head, looked across the room and spotted Seven. The smile vanished. His face crumpled. His eyes welled. A tiny, trembling finger reached out toward Seven.

 

He looked back and forth rapidly- at the clone, then at Seven, then the clone again and wailed even more.

 

“Hey-hey, hey,” seven instantly rushed forward, crouching to scoop his son into his arms. “It’s okay, I’m here, it’s me-see? Me. I'm your real dad.”

 

His son buried his face into Seven’s chest, clutching fistfuls of hoodie, still sobbing but quieter now, muffled against his father’s heartbeat but even in Seven's arms he continued to sob, small fists trembling against his chest. Seven rocked him gently, murmuring soft things under his breath

 

“Hey... hey, what’s wrong? I’m here. It’s me. Dad’s right here…”

 

But the child pulled back. He leaned out of his arms away from him. eyes red and cheeks wet, the sound of distress rising again and then his small, shaking hand reached out towards Telamon.

 

“Wait-what? Are you-? You’re crying over him?” he said aloud, a note of betrayal slipping into his voice before he could stop it. “No, no, buddy, he’s the one who activated the clone and creeped us all out. I make you bottles and change your-ugh.”

 

His son only wailed louder, squirming in his arms, reaching still. Seven stood there in stunned silence and Telamon did not react. Seven then exhaled sharply through his nose. “Oh.” he muttered. “Fine. Fine.”

 

He shuffled forward reluctantly, awkwardly, still holding his son. He turned slightly toward Telamon, arms halfway extended.

 

“I swear,” Seven muttered, “If you-” he was interrupted when telamon stepped forward, extending his arms with unnatural stillness. His golden eyes did not blink as Seven awkwardly transferred the child into his grasp.

 

His son let out one final hiccup then fell quiet.

 

His little body slumped against Telamon’s chest. His fingers gripped the edge of the god’s cloak, and his face turned into the cloth, sniffling softly. 

 

Seven could only just stare. His arms were still half-extended, empty, hovering because he didn’t know what to do with them anymore. His brows were drawn together.

 

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

The child babbled softly into Telamon’s cloak But then he lifted his head again once more. His wide, watery eyes turned between the two of them first to Telamon, then to Seven and then his little hands reached out in both directions.

 

Seven blinked, stunned. “Wait, what? I-are you reaching for me now?” He glanced at Telamon, who, for once, looked just as confused under that hood. The child let out a loud, frustrated huff, his tiny arms waving.

 

Seven took a slow step forward, unsure. “Okay, okay, I’m here, don't cry.”

 

That’s when Telamon moved. His gloved hand closed firmly around Seven’s wrist and pulled him forward with a strength that wasn’t rough. Seven stumbled, startled by the closeness as he found himself shoulder to shoulder with the admin, standing so close he could feel the subtle shift of warmth beneath the cloak. Seven, baffled and flustered could only stiffened.

 

Telamon didn’t seem to mind him. His eyes were fixed on the child, whose cries had faded into happy coos the moment Seven was within reach. The child curled one hand around Seven’s sleeve, the other still clinging to Telamon’s cloak, perfectly nestled between the two figures.

 

“Your son’s code reacts when something doesn’t go in his way.”

 

Seven’s head snapped up. “...What?”

 

Telamon didn’t elaborate.

 

_______________

 

 

 

 

From that day on, Telamon simply lingered.

 

 

He didn’t officially announce his stay nor didn’t declare his intentions and he sure as hell didn’t ask permission. But somehow, he was always there. Seven would often find him sitting silently at the corner of the room, watching or standing beside the crib that it creeped seven out. Sometimes, he would Occasionally brush past Seven in the kitchen.

 

Seven didn’t stop it. He found no reason to so he simply let it happened.

 

The same man he’d cursed out during his teenage years was now routinely in his house, sometimes holding the baby and sometimes hovering by the window. it was… weird but weirdly helpful.

 

“Free babysitter’s a free babysitter.” Seven muttered more than once as he left the room to shower, or code, or take a nap for the first time in 36 hours. All that fire-and-fury hatred he’d once nursed for Telamon had flickered out. It's honestly replaced by the numbing exhaustion of parenthood and the surreal realization that he wasn’t doing this entirely alone anymore.

 

Back to the present, Seven was humming softly one afternoon, rocking side to side on the floor with the child in his arms, his cheek pressed to his son’s soft, chubby one. His voice was low, gentle. It's a lullaby made up on the spot, just a lazy string of nonsense syllables and breathy melody.

 

Ready or not, Daddy’s coming to you.

With open arms and a heart that’s true.

You’ll giggle and squirm, but still you’ll plead, ‘One more hug, Daddy, that’s all I need.

 

The child had been quiet for a few minutes, oddly still but Seven had chalked it up to drowsiness. It was only when his cheek brushed the baby’s forehead that everything inside him went cold.

 

He stopped humming when he realized the child was burning up.

 

Seven jerked his head back and stared down, eyes wide. His son’s face was flushed. His breathing was shallow and strange and it's definitely not the usual soft hiccup-snores.

 

His heart dropped.

 

“Hey-hey, buddy?” Seven’s voice cracked as he jostled the baby gently. “C’mon. Don’t freak me out right now, kid.”

 

No response and the panic slammed into him hard. He scrambled up, nearly tripping over a stray toy as he stumbled toward the counter, clutching the child close, his mind spiraling into static. What do you do with a sick baby? He didn’t have a pediatrician. He didn’t have insurance. He didn’t have a goddamn manual.

 

He rushed to the kitchen. Formula. Right. Fluids?

 

He set the baby down carefully on the cleanest towel he could find and spun toward the counter, knocking over a bottle in the process. “Shit-shit, where’s the scoop”

 

He fumbled with the container, powder spilling out like sand through shaking hands. His grip slipped, and the baby bottle clattered to the floor and rolled under the counter.

 

“Dammit-!” he shouted, his hand pressed to the child’s overheated back, the other clenched hard in his own hair with his eyes wide with fear.

 

“Telamon!?”

 

silence answered him.

 

He choked on a breath and let out a frustrated noise, a snarl and a sob. 

 

“Get it together, Seven. He’s just sick. Just a fever. You’ve seen worse. Probably.”

 

He didn’t know what to do. He was not a doctor. He wasn’t even a functioning adult on most days. All he knew how to do was write scripts, debug exploits, and keep his kid from swallowing USB sticks. 

 

Seven finally managed to reach for another baby bottle, his hands trembling so hard he nearly dropped it again. The formula was too foamy, maybe a bit too warm but it would have to do. There wasn’t time to be perfect when his son was suffering in his arms. He grabbed the thermometer from the counter with his other hand and half-stumbled his way down the hall, the bottle clenched in one fist, the child clutched close to his chest in the other.

 

The hallway stretched longer than it should have. The white noise of panic still buzzed behind his ears, aching his head as he pushed open his bedroom door and kicked it shut behind him. He sat down hard on the bed. Cradling his son in his arms again, he let out a long, ragged breath.

 

Seven gently slipped the thermometer under his son’s arm. Feeling his fingers brushing over flushed, fever-hot skin. He rocked him lightly, side to side. He then pressed his cheek gently against his son’s flushed forehead.

 

Godfuckingdamnit. he felt the wetness in the corner of his eye. He blinked. Once. Twice then tried to breathe it away but it didn’t work.

 

He wasn’t supposed to cry. What the hell? He never cried when he got suspended and when he dropped out of college, not even when his old friends cut him off after he got flagged. He was used to screwing up. He’d gotten good at pretending none of it mattered. But tonight, his chest was tight, his breath shallow and his throat burned in a way he couldn’t blame on allergies or dust.

 

What was he even doing?

 

Some dropout mess of a man that he is.. how he supposed to be a father?

 

His hand moved without thinking, slowly opening to look at his fingers. He had no right raising someone like this. He hated every line of corrupted data that made up his body. He hated the way his fingers twitched when his emotions overloaded, hated the odd pulses of static when he got too close to clean-coded objects. He hated the looks mods gave him like he was lesser.

 

Seven sat hunched on the edge of the bed, the bottle half-full in one hand, his son nestled weakly against his chest.

 

Then the air shifted. Seven didn’t hear the door open and he didn’t hear footsteps. He just felt something. He looked up, his vision blurry, and there stood Telamon.

 

Golden eyes flickering dim in the doorway with that same unreadable calm painted over his face.

 

He said nothing.

 

Seven’s throat closed. His arms trembled And without a word, he stood shakily and stepped forward. tears brimming hot in his eyes. He gently handed his child to the god, his fingers lingered for a second, unwilling to let go, but he did.

 

He had no idea what he was doing anymore. But he knew, Telamon does.

 

Seven sank back onto the bed, one hand covering his face as a sob wracked through his chest. He turned his head to the side, unable to watch. He didn’t want to see his failure reflected in Telamon’s eyes. Is this what it’s like for normal Robloxians? he wondered bitterly, his jaw tightening against another choked cry. To have faith in their god? To just hand things over when they’re too much?

 

From the corner of his eye, he watched Telamon kneel, setting the child down gently on the cool blanket. The god’s movements weren’t mechanical, they were strangely delicate and Thoughtful. And then, from the folds of his cloak, Telamon produced something.

 

A toy sword. He offered it without a word. Seven was confused but he stayed silent.

 

His son, glassy-eyed and feverish, reached out with a weak little hand and grasped it. He watched the baby sniffle, blinked, and slowly lifted the sword. Waved it weakly through the air.

 

He heard another hiccup. Saw another tiny swing before a quiet, broken giggle and like a miracle happening, his small body began to ease. The redness in his cheeks began to fade. The heat slowly drained a little at a time.

 

Seven covered his mouth as his eyes widened. He then felt the panic bleed out of him. His muscles slumped. He was still trembling and still exhausted but something inside him had unclenched. He looked at Telamon, who remained crouched at his son's side with one hand steady on the blanket.

 

Funny, he thought bitterly. Why does he trust telamon so much?

 

An exploiter was supposed to despise admins. Every line of code in his blood told him to resist and to spit in the face of authority. He can't really apply that logic now that.. Now that telamon is the only thing keeping him from falling apart. in the softest part of his chest, the part he rarely let breathe, Seven finally allowed himself to believe in the admins.

 

Seven didn’t know how long he had been lying there and thinking about his past.

 

The haze of panic had long been turned into fatigue, leaving behind only the dull ache of exhaustion. At one point he was on the floor, cheek pressed against the old blanket, watching his son bat at the little plastic sword with small, clumsy hands. His fever had cooled enough for him to giggle again.

 

The toy clattered gently against the mat. 

 

Seven let out a sigh, dragging one arm over his eyes. His body felt heavier than usual. He barely noticed when Telamon shifted beside the child. The god lay on his side, mirroring the child’s position. His cloak pooled gently behind him, and for a moment, the god and the child lay face to face. 

 

Seven blinked blearily, watching the strange scene as telamon’s golden eyes shifted slightly towards him.

 

Seven swallowed, voice dry and cracked as he croaked out the first question that came to mind. “Where’s your wings?”

 

There was a pause until telamon answered, “Modified. To keep them hidden.”

 

“Oh,” Seven murmured, his lips twitching faintly. “Figures. Can’t just go around flexing those in front of noobs.”

 

Telamon didn’t smile. The silence stretched out and then, Telamon spoke again.

 

“Your son is a cool kid.”

 

Seven blinked.

 

He turned his head fully now, brows furrowed, meeting those glowing golden eyes.

 

“I never thought someone like you would say that.”

 

“I learned it from the others." Telamon replied plainly

 

Seven stared at him a moment longer Then his eyes drifted down again, to the child still swinging the toy sword in drowsy contentment and occasionally babbling nonsense.

 

“Cool kid, huh…” Seven murmured under his breath, letting the phrase sit on his tongue. 

 

He let his eyes flutter closed, still lying there on the floor, head turned just enough to keep the child in his sight. His voice was softer now, just above a whisper.

 

“nice name, I’ll call him that.”

 

 

 

_______________

 

 

 

 

Seven woke with a sharp inhale. The room was pale with pre-dawn light. It's cold enough to make his breath hitch. his mind blanked for a moment. His hand immediately reached beside him and he felt how empty it was.

 

The blanket was rumpled but cold. Where is he? He shot upright, eyes wide, heart thudding a beat too fast. His son wasn’t there. no babbling and no little foot sticking out from under the blanket. His breath hitched as he staggered out of bed, scanning the small room with his chest tightening.

 

Then it hit him. Telamon. He relaxed but only slightly. Yeah, sure. Telamon was a god or whatever. But that didn’t mean he liked the idea of not knowing where they were. Especially with the sun barely up.

 

Seven stepped toward the nearest window, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm. He squinted past the glass and froze.

 

Outside, standing in the dew-soaked grass of their backyard, was Telamon. His cloak shifted gently in the wind, golden eyes bright even in the half-light. Sitting cross-legged at his feet, face lit up with joy, was his son. Coolkid giggled, high-pitched and wild, as tiny white specks stars twinkled and danced around him in the dimness. They floated like bubbles, glowing softly. The whole field shimmered like the sky flipped upside down.

 

“What the hell-” Seven muttered, stumbling toward the door in bare feet.

 

He stepped outside, blinking against the scene. He stared, baffled, as Telamon waved his hand again, and the scenery subtly shifted. trees bending back, clouds rearranging themselves, light dimming into a soft, dreamlike dusk.

 

Seven paused near the edge of the porch, arms crossed tightly over his hoodie, the morning chill slipping through the seams.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked bluntly, voice still thick with sleep. Telamon didn’t turn.

 

“The child wouldn’t sleep,” he replied. “I heard stars make them sleep.”

 

Seven blinked. That… wasn’t a response he expected.

 

He looked at his son, now trying to chase a star across the grass with tiny, stumbling hands, sword still gripped in one of them. He let out another delighted giggle as one star landed on his nose and blinked out like a spark. And for once, Seven couldn’t bring himself to say anything sarcastic.

 

The sight was beautiful.

 

He sat down on the porch steps with a huff, fingers twitching in his lap as he watched the stars continue to swirl, Telamon standing as still as a statue beside them.

 

A thought hit him and it's a strange, childish urge. He hesitated then waved his hand, summoning his own coolgui with a flick of the wrist.

 

“Alright, let’s see if I can do something even half that nice…”

 

He tried to mimic it. Stars flickered into existence… but they weren’t like Telamon’s. They were red.

 

The stars were jagged and broken as each one glitched at the edges, stuttering in and out of view that resembled corrupted particles. They didn’t float because they twitched. Flickering in awkward bursts. Seven’s heart dropped. His cheeks burned with shame.

 

He winced. Shaking his head. He swore under his breath and waved his coolgui up again, ready to dismiss the mess and forget he ever tried but a hand caught his wrist causing him to flinch. The god gently held his wrist steady then lowered it back down.

 

Seven blinked at him, caught off guard. “They’re- messed up. It’s not like yours. I don’t want to ruin it.”

 

“They are yours,” Telamon said.

 

Seven blinked. “...What?”

 

“your son adores it.”’

 

Seven swallowed. He let the glitched stars flicker a moment longer. He let them stay. His son laughed at them too, it didn't matter what color they were. To his childish mind, stars were stars.

 

“Little champion,” Telamon finally murmured after a moment of silence, voice as soft as the stars danced around them, “won’t you sleep?”

 

His tone wasn’t stern or distant like usual because It was quiet. Seven continued to watch with his arms crossed. Coolkid, seated in the middle of the field, babbled softly, puffing his cheeks and blowing at the floating red orbs. His breath disturbed one of the star-like lights, making it spin and trail sparkles behind it. He giggled again, kicking his socked feet.

 

The air shimmered with a calm hush. It was so peaceful that when Telamon flinched, the sound of rustling cloth made Seven’s skin crawl.

 

“Telamon?” he asked, brows furrowing. “Hey, are you-”

 

Then he saw the god’s gloved hand had twitched once. Then again, violently this time as green-glitch static rippled through it like lightning crawling under his skin.

 

Seven's stomach dropped. Green? And not admin gold. . But green. A color that shouldn’t exist in a being like Telamon.

 

Seven watched wide eyed as telamon slowly lifted his hand, staring at the trails of code breaking across his palm. His entire arm spasmed once more, and his body froze.

 

The stars above them dimmed.

 

“Hey!” Seven stepped forward instinctively. “Are you okay-? What the hell is that? That’s not supposed to happen to you, right?”

 

He tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Telamon turned to him and seven saw his face under the hood completely. Golden eyes, wide and glowing far too bright with hostility.

 

“Stay here,” he said quietly. “I’ll be right back.”

 

“What? Wait, hold on, you can’t just-”

 

One by one, Telamon’s white lights flickered out. The air pulled tight and in the span of a blink, the god disappeared.

 

all the stars went with him.

 

Only the red glitch-stars remained, flickering above Seven’s head. Coolkid stared up at them, wide-eyed, but made no sound.

 

 

 

Seven stood there with his baby alone.

 

 

 

 

 

___________

 

 

 

 

Telamon never came back. Days passed. Then the weeks followed.

 

 

At first, Seven made excuses since after all, he's an admin. He's just busy. Maybe Builderman called him. Gods vanish sometimes. Right? It wasn’t new. 

 

Soon, his son started to always babble for the stars he had seen for the first and the last time. The strange, floating lights Telamon conjured for Coolkid were gone. Seven tried replicating them again, his fingers fumbling over his coolgui. All he managed were his own red, jittering glitches. 

 

Coolkid would stare at the sky with his toy sword clutched tight in both hands, eyes waiting. Seven knew he remembered despite his young age. he knew.

 

Seven stopped trying after the fourth night of failure.

 

The mornings turned slow and empty. The routines stayed, of course. bottle, playtime, coding, more bottle, sleep. Seven hummed his lullabies. Sometimes Seven looked out into the yard, half-expecting to see a familiar robe but no figure ever came.

 

One evening, he sat hunched on the old sofa, a worn blanket draped over his shoulders, holding Coolkid against his chest. The child had grown a little heavier and a little more active. But tonight, he was unusually quiet, head nestled against Seven’s collarbone.

 

The TV blared softly in the background. Seven wasn’t watching. Until the tone of the newscaster’s voice shifted.

 

He blinked tired and turned his eyes lazily to the screen.

 

“-and in today’s Council Report: Telamon, our fourth throne and server protector, has been declared officially missing. The throne will remain vacant until reallocation is finalized. As of this cycle, esteemed Builderman has appointed a new lead admin. Please welcome Shedletsky, the latest Champion of-”

 

Click. The TV cut to black. Seven stared at the blank screen with his remote still clenched in his fingers. The silence in the room rang louder.. “Missing.” he repeated quietly, lips barely moving.

 

He looked down to see coolkid had fallen asleep in his arms, mouth open slightly while his hand grasped at the soft fold of Seven’s hoodie. The same child Telamon had watched over. Seven held his son closer. His breath hitched. He stared at the screen and slowly, bitterly, rested his chin on Coolkid’s soft hair.

 

From that night, Seven quietly stopped believing in admins.

 

_______________________

 

 

 

 

“Oh, I know you,” the kid said, voice smug and certain. “I killed you.”

 

The man’s light amber eyes flicked down to meet the child’s stare, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. A low, rasping chuckle escaped him as he cradled his corrupted arm. The dark green veins pulsating with unstable energy that shimmered faintly under his torn sleeve.

 

“You know me?” he repeated, tilting his head like a curious animal. 

 

“Yes." the child said firmly, fists clenched at his sides. “I do.”

 

“No.” the man drawled, dragging the word out with deliberate patience. “You don’t.”

 

“Yes I do,” the child repeated, stepping forward.

 

The man leaned down, too closely, the grin on his face widening into mischief. “Nooo, you really don’t.”

 

Then, like a child himself, he stuck his tongue out.

 

The child’s brows furrowed at that sight. his nostrils flaring. “Yes I do!” he snapped, voice rising in pitch. His hands trembled with frustration.

 

The man’s grin only grew. “Well then…” he said softly, almost sweetly, “Who am I, little champ?”

 

The child’s throat tightened. He stared up at the amber eyes, at the corrupted veins coiling down the man’s arm and at the familiar smile.

 

“...Sky.” he said.

 

this time, it was the man who went still with his smile faltering.

 

 

Notes:

Hi guys! I finally wrote a 10k chapter - cheers to me! <3
Aside from that, man. Thank. You. Like, thank you so much.
I think I’ve already thanked you a hundred times, so I’m not gonna repeat it - otherwise, you’ll think I’m annoying 😞

I’ve been super busy since our preliminary term is next week. You can probably tell I’m not responding to comments as much as before, and I feel really freaking bad 😭
You don’t know how much I sobbed while reading all the support.
Ik, IT’S CRINGE - like, what do you mean I’m reading comments while multitasking and finishing assignments? That’s crazy 💔
If you randomly get a notification from me, even if you commented days ago, that’s just me crying over your comment and squeezing out whatever free time I have just to say how grateful I am 😞

Back to the fic. Well... I got carried away.
I distinctly remembered someone commenting about chicken burger being the past while pizzaburger is the present. It made me think. Since some of you guys nearly matched in votes (chicken burger won by 6 votes 🫶), I decided to ask you again - now that I’ve written what chicken is in my own interpretation.
If you’re displeased by it, you can tell me! If you don’t like the dynamic - pssh, easy peasy <3
This is just, like, a free feature of what chickenburger is so that you guys can think about which vote you’d want.
Pizza burger or chicken burger?
(Gang, as much as I like the poly option, I would tweak out because the plot would expand so much.)

Ilysm guys. Just remember I always read your comment, your support, and your enthusiasm for this fic.

Breaking news: Roblox God arrives to kill an exploiter but instead finds he has a child. Soon enough after zero thought whatsoever decides to start co-parenting mostly against the will of the actual parent. More after the next chapter.

 

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Chapter 9: 9. Forsaken things don't stay buried

Summary:

TW: suicide

 

"We're here."

 

The voice is calm as it carried a warning that made chance blink. His gaze shifted to Two Time, who stood with their arms crossed and frowning at the empty expanse before them which is understandable because there was nothing but dry wind and cracked land stretching beyond the horizon.

 

Chance frowned. “Why are we in the middle of a damn field?” He waved a hand at the barren land with visible exasperation then squinted against the sunlight. “This looks like the middle of nowhere.”

 

Before he could say more, a sharp glare from Builderman silenced him. The man didn’t raise his voice. “We’ll destroy a portion of Robloxia.” Builderman said coolly, “not the entire thing.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Chance rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and took a half-step back, his eyes darting awkwardly to the others.

 

He saw Two Time chuckled under their breath, their expression softening as they gently stroked the white bunny in their arms. For someone who constantly declared they were a demon, they sure liked animals. Two scratched behind the bunny’s ear, murmuring something inaudible.

 

Chance sighed then looked down at the yellow bunny in his arms. It blinked up at him with big red eyes. His fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted his hold, not quite sure how to feel. 

 

“Well uh..”

 

He turned to Seven, who stood with a vacant expression, then back at builderman who stood beside him, twirling the Coolgui. Unlike the rest of them, Builderman said he wasn’t bound by standard protocols unlike the other admins who can get banned too. It was his world, after all. His code and his tech. He couldn’t be banned as he wrote the ban system but he could trick the system into thinking he'll pay a visit to the exiled exploiters.

 

So he used Seven’s weapon. The exploiter trigger. “Well,” Builderman said, taking a step forward, “anyone ready?”

 

Two Time grinned like a fox. “Born ready.”

 

Seven gave a silent nod, eyes flickering with the faintest gleam of uneasiness as chance swallowed. His palms were sweaty against the bunny’s fur. “Yeah,” he said, trying not to let his voice shake. “Let’s get it over with.”

 

Builderman closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before he then pressed a button on the Coolgui.

 

The entire world detonated. A shockwave waved through the air as the land cracked apart, roaring louder than any thunderstorm. Chance didn’t even get to see the explosion as he just saw a brilliant white light that swallowed his vision whole. He flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as his instinct took over. Silence. He heard nothing. 

 

When he opened his eyes, everything was gone. Just endless, blinding and untouched white. They stood on nothing. He staggered back a step, blinking furiously. “What the fuck?”

 

“...” everyone looked at builderman with different expressions at once.

 

“I- I never knew the Coolgui could cause that kind of destruction.”

 

Chance’s voice wavered, his fingers trembling from the shock of the explosion. He stared at the Coolgui with wide eyes and hell, the silence of the blank realm around them only made everything more unsettling.

 

Builderman let out a low chuckle when he saw Chance's shocked expression. “Aye,” he said, handing the Coolgui back to Seven, who accepted it with cautious fingers and a deep, wary breath. “That’s because it doesn’t.”

 

Chance’s brows furrowed. “Then what the hell was that?”

 

Builderman didn’t answer right away as his eyes drifted across the white void before he finally spoke. “In the hands of an admin, the code warps. It bends itself to the rules of Robloxia that the admins rule. It momentarily changes form. The Coolgui becomes something else entirely to which the law of Robloxia recognizes. The weapon will bend to my own hands.”

 

Two Time, who had gone unusually quiet, tilted their head slightly. Even the white bunny in their arms seemed more still than before. Chance, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back. “Wait-does that mean we did destroy a part of Robloxia?”

 

His voice cracked with panic. He stepped forward instinctively while clutching the yellow bunny a bit too tightly.

 

Builderman looked at him, then calmly shook his head. “No,” he said. “The system detected our presence and moved us. It brought us to the edge of stability.”

 

Chance let out a breath so shaky it nearly turned into a laugh. Two Time exhaled too, smiling again. Seven’s shoulders finally lowered, tension draining from his stance as he clipped the Coolgui back into place.

 

But Chance still couldn’t help staring at Builderman. “Wait what?” he asked. “I thought we were already at the edge of stability.”

 

Builderman turned to face them fully now. “We are,” he said. “This is it. The edge of stability. But beyond this point is the Banlands.”

 

Chance and Seven exchanged a look. The confusion painted clearly in their eyes.

 

Builderman sighed. “Most Robloxians never make it this far. This realm sits between what the system deems 'stable'... and what it fears. The Banlands are not just a place. It's a prison and another realm, chance.”

 

He then added. “This is why no normal robloxians citizens can’t access the Banlands freely unless they have the keys.” Builderman looked at them. “we’ve breached that veil that separates the exploiters and the citizens.”

 

“...Ah,” Chance mumbled, staring at nothing. Chance rubbed his arms, suddenly cold despite the blankness.

 

“So,” he muttered. “We’re basically standing on the edge of a myth. Cool”

 

Builderman looked at him solemnly. “Yes, we are.”

 

“Can we walk forward?” Two Time squinted toward the horizon.

 

“You can." Builderman said, his voice low and steady with his gray eyes fixed on the shifting grey haze ahead. “But what meets you on the other side…”

 

He paused. Then, slowly, he lifted one hand toward the dim mist curling at nothing. It shimmered faintly. “Robloxia is made of memories,” he continued. “Exploiters, citizens... even the land itself is born of code and memory. every interaction, leaves a mark. The Banland were designed to hold those who corrupted that memory.”

 

He hesitated.

 

“The Banlands are intended for exploiters who went too far. Not just hackers. The ones who broke reality to hurt others. It was created as a-”

 

“A jail replacement." Seven cut in quietly. “In exchange for the removal of public execution... of my kind.”

 

Chance’s lips parted slightly as Two Time, who had went back to gently stroking the white bunny in Chance's arms, stilled completely. They lowered their head slightly, letting the silence hang and neither of them said anything.

 

Builderman didn’t meet Seven’s gaze. He looked away, jaw clenched and hands curling into fists at his sides.

 

“If you’re in the Banlands…” Builderman said finally, “you’re not just removed. You’re erased. You exist, but only within it. You're forgotten by the system.”

 

“But we’ll find the two keys.” he added, quieter now. “We’ll find them. We have to.”

 

“I still don’t get it-” Chance began, his brows knit, trying to make sense of it all. “What’s the risk for me if I go in?”

 

Builderman turned sharply. “Chance… if you step forward, the system will assign you a memory.”

 

Chance blinked. “A memory?”

 

“It will give you the memory of your regret. It's..a first form of punishment at exploiting.."

 

Chance gave a short, nervous laugh. “You mean like… I have to relive getting killed? Over and over again? I'm dead aren't i- wait.. what..”

 

“No. Being banned is equivalent to being declared dead in Robloxia. Since we're already registered as dead… the system won’t distinguish our experience from that unknown realm- This might be-”

 

“We survived a literal primordial code-corrupted man and a demi god.” Chance interrupted with a grin, though his voice betrayed a nervous edge. “I think we’ll be okay.”

 

Two Time nodded, giving him a supportive glance. “The Spawn will guide us still. Their hand is upon our journey, and their memory guards our path.” they added with quiet conviction, fingers brushing over the bunny’s ear like a talisman.

 

Chance turned to them, half-smiling. “You're still calm even with all this freaky talk, huh?”

 

He watched two smiled softly.. “Faith is not the absence of fear, gambler. It is the devotion that persists despite it.”

 

Builderman studied them for a long moment before nodding.

 

“Seven,” he said finally, his tone softening, “you cannot go back. Not until we reach the far side of the Banlands. If we find your son…”

 

Seven didn’t hesitate. “As long as I can see my son,” he murmured, “I’ll be okay.”

 

Builderman turned to Two.

 

“And you?”

 

Two Time lifted their head, straightening their posture. “My partner awaits beyond these. They have foreseen this convergence. They will welcome your arrival… and walk beside us through it.”

 

Everyone winced as one memory rose. The vivid memory of a seven-foot-tall shadow-creature with tentacle-like limbs and a babbling hat that speaks of malice.

 

Chance cleared his throat and laughed nervously. “Oh, that partner.” he said, waving a hand. “Yeah, no big deal. We’ll be fine. Right?”

 

He looked around at the others with forced optimism.

 

Two gave a thumbs-up, smiling. “we are aligned.”

 

Seven nodded silently.

 

Builderman looked at each of them again, searching their faces before he then, finally, turned forward and gestured into nothing.

 

“…We’ll be alright.”

 

 

_______________

 

 

 

 

Two Time blinked. A breeze swept past their cheek, fragrant with a scent they hadn’t felt in what seems like eons. nightshades. The air was cool and kissed by the fading light of dawn. It clung to their skin like memories. They gasped softly, and their fingers twitched to grasp someone long gone.

 

“Oh, dear Spawn…” Their voice broke.. “This is…” They couldn’t bring themself to say it. Their feet refused to move but Two was no coward in the eyes of the divine. They clenched their jaw, wrapped trembling fingers around their scarf, and forced themself forward one step at a time. Each step sank softly into grass littered with dark purple flowers, petals curled beautifully. They knew this field. Their breath caught in their throat.

 

They hadn’t noticed when it started, only that now, tears were streaming freely down their cheeks, dripping onto their collarbone. With shaking hands, they gripped their scarf tighter, hoping that it'll strangle the memory out of them.

 

But the field waited and so did someone else.

 

“Hello?”

 

The voice was small.

 

“Hi.”

 

Two Time’s soul stopped. They turned, slowly and unwillingly until they saw beneath the slow-breaking sky, lay themself. 

 

On their back in the field of nightshades, the other Two clutched a decaying man’s hand with the same desperation. The man’s face was gray and sunken yet still, the other Two held him close with hands bloodied, eyes wide with madness and lips trembling.

 

Two’s knees gave way, and they sank down beside the scene, legs folded neatly. Their lips quivered, but they forced a brittle smile.

 

“...”

 

“Are you me?”

 

The broken version looked up as it asked the question, still cradling the corpse in fragile arms.

 

“Indeed.” two replied hoarsely. “I am you.”

 

Two watched as their past self shuddered violently, a cough wracking their body. The poison was working through them still.

 

"It's nice to see meet you." the other Two bury their face deeper into the rotting man’s shoulder, holding him so close. One hand that is scarred and trembling threaded through the man’s thinning hair.

 

Two did not stop them as they couldn't. They could only sit and watch.

 

“I assume,” the memory-echo of Two Time spoke gently, “that we have carried our second life well… You look alive and you look whole.”

 

Two Time inhaled shakily, grounding themself in the sound of their own breath. The sky above was painted in hues of lavender and gold. The field of nightshades glowed under the light.

 

“Yes,” they whispered. “Yes, we did.”

 

A smile bloomed on their face. The past self- the version that is still poisoned and half in death lifted the dead man’s hand closer before cradling it against their cheek. Their eyes fluttered shut as a trembling sigh escaped them.

 

“Dear Spawn,” they murmured softly and reverent, “can you hear that, love?”

 

“DO YOU HEAR THAT, MY DEAR?” They pounded a fist weakly into the grass then the memory Two brushed their cracked lips against the man’s palm before something like peace passed over their face. “Your sacrifice was not in vain.” they whispered. “Do you hear me? I was right.” Their old self, younger and feverish- streaked with dirt and sweat then sat hunched in the brush. Their scarf was half-torn, soaked with tears with their body curled around the corpse’s hand.

 

A fresh tear traced a silent path down present-Two’s cheek, hot against their skin but they didn’t wipe it away. 

 

“Did we gain his life?” the dying memory asked, eyes still closed, voice cracking.

 

“Did we carry him with us?”

 

Two Time pressed a trembling hand against their own chest and over their heart.

 

“yes.. his life is within us.. but he has gained a third life also” they said with certainty, “in the nearby future. He walks forward in fragments but alive nonetheless.”

 

The memory-Two laughed suddenly. A gleeful, breathless sound and filled with awe. They kissed the palm of the decaying hand again. nails digging into the lifeless palm they refused to release. “thank the spawn! Thank the stars! I carried you on my back and my blood and my faith, and now you have returned… my dear..”

 

“I gained your life, don't you hear?” they whispered to the corpse. “you have been reborn. Praise the Spawn. We have achieved our dream.”

 

Two Time broke at that sight. The smile faltered. The sobs came hard as they buried their face into their scarf, trying to muffle the sounds but they couldn’t stop trembling.

 

The memory-Two turned to them with soft concern, still clutching the body.

 

“I do not understand,” they said. “Why are you crying? Why do you still look like me?”

 

Two Time shook their head quickly. “Nothing,” they said, voice small and brittle. “It’s just…”

 

It wasn’t nothing, of course. It was everything. The memory waited for them before Two took a shaky breath and looked up, forcing composure.

 

“How is our future?” the echo asked again gently. “Does it shine like the spawn's prophecy? 

 

Two Time managed a thin smile. “We meet a family.”

 

The younger self looked up, their eyes wide with disbelief and hope trembling on their lips.

 

“…Yes?” they asked so small.

 

“Yes,” Two Time nodded. “Yes, we did.”

 

The memory’s expression changed

 

“Like our fellow Spawnians?”

 

Two Time shook their head slowly. “No. A new family," they whispered. “they are not forged by belief but by bonds we never expected to form.”

 

The memory version of them closed their eyes and rested their cheek against the cold hand once more.

 

“Will they love us?” the memory asked, so quietly it nearly didn’t reach the air.

 

“…Yes.”

 

“…Then it was worth everything,” they murmured.

 

Two Time swallowed thickly and whispered back, “Yes. It was.”

 

The younger self curled around the body once more as the nightshades swayed quietly around them. bearing witness to two's memory.

 

“He always smelled like nightshade. Isn’t that funny…?”

 

__________________

 

 

Two woke up with a sharp gasp, lungs dragging in air like it was the first breath they'd taken in hours. Sweat clung to their skin, their fingers digging into the cold land as their wide, frantic eyes darted around. They're struggling to grasp if they are still in the field or if they'd actually made it back. Their heart pounded in his ears until a blurry silhouette leaned over them.

 

“Builderman…?”

 

The figure stilled. Then the face sharpened into focus. It was him. A shaky laugh burst from Two’s lips, and without hesitation, they threw himself forward, nearly knocking Builderman off balance as they crashed into his arms, burying their face into his chest like a child.

 

“The Spawn blessed me!” Two cried, voice cracking as they clung tightly. Their arms trembled as they wrapped around Builderman’s back, fingers curling into the fabric. “It brought me back- I thought-”

 

“I know. I know.” Builderman’s voice was gentle but firm, his arms wrapping around Two in return and anchoring them. “Yes, it did. It did.”

 

_______________

 

 

 

Seven blinked.

 

 

The world around him settled slowly as he stood in front of a familiar, lonely doorstep. his home. He felt the chipped paint on the door, the faint scent of rain-soaked land and the way the wind whistled past him.

 

He inhaled deeply, his breath shaky, before reaching up to fix his glasses. They slid down the bridge of his nose more often these days. His hand trembled as he raised it, knuckles brushing the weather-worn wood.

 

“…I’m home.”

 

The words slipped from his mouth and it's more of a breath than a voice, his thumb stroking along the wood grain. From the other side, a voice replied. His own voice, but not how it sounded now. It was rougher and emptier.

 

“Come in.”

 

Seven froze. He didn’t move at first. He merely stood there frozen in disbelief. That was him. His hand hovered over the doorknob for what felt like hours before it finally turned, creaking open.

 

The living room was in shambles. Toys littered the floor. There's little cars and figurines scattered like the aftermath of a tantrum. Crumpled missing papers, half-folded laundry and dust gathering in corners. He stepped inside. His fingers brushed one of the toy cars. a little red one with a chipped wheel and he swallowed hard.

 

“Why didn’t I throw these out?” he whispered.

 

He placed the toy gently atop a cabinet until he heard shuffling from the kitchen.

 

Seven tensed, instinctively pressing a hand to his chest. He moved slowly with deliberate footsteps but what he saw when he turned the corner shocked him in place.

 

So this is how he had looked back then…?

 

The man sitting at the ground was himself. Haggard and unshaven. His face sunken, glasses cracked at the rim. His red-rimmed eyes stared blankly at the wall, with a trembling hand clutching a gun too tightly. There's empty bottles surrounding him.

 

Seven couldn't bear it. He backed away while feeling his heart pounding and his stomach twisting. He turned without a word and went back into the living room. He wasn’t ready to face it so instead, he started to clean. He picked up the toys, folded the laundry, threw out the bottles, and wiped the dust. It was like penance. if he made this place whole maybe he could face the fractured memory in the kitchen.

 

It was only when the living room gleamed. did he return. He walked back in, hands trembling and his steps quieter.

 

“I cleaned the house,” Seven said quietly, barely louder than a whisper.

 

His voice seemed to vanish into the dim air of the old home. He stood there, knees trembling slightly before he moved closer and sat beside the ghost of his past. hunched over and broken.The memory didn’t even flinch. He just raised a trembling hand, sipped from the half-empty bottle and continued to cry. The cry had no sound. It's only the occasional gasp for air between stifled sobs.

 

Seven tilted his head, cautiously meeting his own tired gaze. Red-rimmed, swollen eyes blinked slowly at him, then looked away, ashamed.

 

“Thank you,” the past version rasped, voice ragged. “I… I wouldn’t want my kid to come home to a place like this.”

 

Seven's breath caught. His mouth opened, then shut again. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to keep quiet even as the aching guilt pressed down on his ribs like a weight. He closed his eyes, trying to push back the rising wave of grief, but it was already crawling its way up his throat. He reached up and tugged at his hair hard. His fingers tangled and pulled.

 

“What happened to your kid?” he asked. The pointless words slipped out. Of course he knew the answer. Of course he fucking knew. There was a long pause.

 

“he’s gone.” the other Seven whispered. He said it like it was final and gone.

 

Seven inhaled shakily, rubbing at his face as hot tears slid down his cheeks, mixing with the dust and sweat of the day. He stared at his hands. The same goddamn hands that once built towers of blocks with that little boy, that caught him when he tripped and that held him when he cried. The same hands that had been too slow at the night it all fell apart.

 

“He's missing.”

 

Present Seven closed his eyes shut. His nails dug deeper into his scalp and sharp enough to sting. He couldn’t breathe through the guilt.

 

But Past Seven kept talking, his voice growing brittle.

 

“Do you think I was a bad father?”

 

The question hit as present Seven looked up again, tears brimming.

 

“Stop,” he whispered.

 

“I yelled at him once.” Past Seven continued as if he hadn’t heard. “Because he stole my coolgui and nearly hurt people. I didn’t mean it- I didn’t mean to be loud. I just…”

 

He choked. “What if that’s what he remembered when he went missing?” He let out a laugh that sounded. “What if he died remembering that?”

 

“No-he wouldn’t-”

 

“I killed people, you know that?” Past Seven interrupted. His wild and unfocused eyes were wide now. “So did the admins. The system retaliated my sin. Retaliated me. Tit for tat, right?”

 

“Stop it-”

 

He turned his wet, wild eyes to the present, desperate and furious. “Tell me. TELL ME. Did I damn my own kid because I couldn’t keep my hands clean?!”

 

“…”

 

The older Seven sat hunched on the floor, his fingers trembling as they gripped his own face, hiding behind his calloused palms. His shoulders quaked, breaths hitching unevenly. Across from him, the present Seven watched paralyzed, mirroring every twitch and every sob.

 

“I suppose… we’re still alive, right?” the memory whispered, voice cracked and almost childlike. “Somehow. That counts for something doesn’t it?”

 

The room remained silent except for the ticking of a wall clock stuck at 10:04 PM and the clinking of an empty bottle rolling under the table. Present Seven stared at the floor because he's unable to say anything. 

 

The older Seven let out a breathless laugh, full of bitterness from his silence. “His other father...”

 

Present Seven flinched violently. His hands shot up to grip his scalp harder, fingers twisting in his hair, nails digging in. desperate to shut it out, to muffle that voice that sounded too much like his own pain.

 

“I shouldn’t say it, right?” the older version said softly. “But he went missing, too and he left just like that..”

 

Tears spilled freely from Present Seven’s eyes now, thick and hot, leaving burning trails down his cheeks. He didn’t bother wiping them. His shoulders heaved as he let out a sob.

 

“I treated that goddamn thing like my son’s father." the memory continued, voice unsteady but still sardonic. “I let him near my child. I trusted him. Isn't that funny?” He let out a wheezing laugh, eyes shining with wetness and madness both. “An admin. I let it raise my boy.”

 

Seven covered his ears.

 

“No one tells you gods can be cowards too.”

 

“Stop it! Stop-don’t you dare say it like that! He's not-” 

 

But the past laughed. A broken, high-pitched sound that echoed through the empty kitchen. “You’re crying like I used to. Guess some things stick,” he chuckled, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. “It’s funny, isn’t it? When you start treating that god like your kid’s father.”

 

“...”

 

The memory’s laughter deepened, more unstable. “Hey… look at you,” he said, eyes glancing up with a cracked smile. “You look alive. Healthier than I ever did. That means something, right? Did we… did we see him again?”

 

“No…”

 

It came out like a whisper drowned in his own agony because he couldn't lie and says that he recognizes that monster that had tormented him for years.

 

“No, we didn’t.”

 

More sobs clawed their way up. Seven’s vision blurred. His chest heaved.

 

“They never came back home.”

 

“...”

 

“Then that’s all I need.”

 

The click was soft. The gun was already in the memory’s lap. His hand steady, despite the tears still falling down his hollow cheeks.

 

The trigger pulled.

 

 

 

____________

 

 

 

Seven flinched as the deafening ring of a gunshot echoed in his skull. His ears screamed with static, the sound reverberating long after the source had faded. His vision sharpened just enough to make out a silhouette leaning over him.

 

Two time.

 

Seven’s eyes widened, the cold air catching in his throat. “Wha...”

 

He tried to sit up, but the pain jolted through his shoulder. His muscles barely responded before gentle hands cupped his cheeks, grounding him. Two leaned closer, their expression soft.

 

“The Spawn blessed you too.” Two whispered. Seven blinked. His body still ached and his mind was reeling.

 

“I know,” Seven rasped, a breathless laugh escaping him. “I know.”

 

He tried to rise again, but before he could move, Two suddenly wrapped their arms tightly around him, burying their face in his shoulder. For a second, he was frozen and stunned by the firmness in Two’s grip.

 

Then he exhaled shakily and returned the embrace, his arms circling Two’s back with just as much force. His hands curled into the fabric of their shirt.

 

He turned his head slowly, and there who is just within reach stood Builderman. The man said nothing at first. He simply stepped forward and placed a firm, grounding hand on Seven’s shoulder.

 

“I believed in you.”

 

 

_____________

 

 

 

 

Chance stopped. The alley was too familiar. A single, broken streetlamp buzzed above him, lighting up a dim orange glow across the cracked concrete and the grime-covered bricks. The air cold with the metallic stench of old blood and rain. His breath hitched as he tried to take a step back but something like a hand at his back nudged him forward.

 

He clenched his fists tightly at his sides, nails biting into his palms. His shoes echoed on the wet ground as he walked with each step heavier than the last until he came face to face with himself.

 

There, sprawled out on the pavement like discarded trash was his memory.

 

The other him was barely conscious, blood pooling beneath his body, mouth open in a silent wheeze. His chest rose and fell erratically. The blood on his clothes had dried in strange patterns, mixing with dirt and rain. His unfocused eyes fluttered, searching and when they finally locked onto Chance, they widened.

 

Chance flinched.

 

He didn’t want to admit it, but it was almost grotesque to look at. Not just the injuries. the ribs showing through torn clothes, the way the lips trembled without forming words.

 

Is that really how he had looked?

 

His past self’s voice came out..

 

“itrapped…”

 

The name of the man- his murderer followed weakly. Chance’s throat tightened. With a shaking hand, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit, fingers fumbling until they closed around a familiar shape. He pulled his coin out and the cold metal felt heavier than usual. He flipped it nervously into the air, watched it spin and watched it fall then caught it in a trembling hand.

 

“He left you,” Chance mumbled to the bleeding version of himself.. “Itrapped left you.”

 

The dying memory’s head lolled toward him, dark strands of gray hair sticking to his bloodied face. His lips twitched, and he croaked out.

 

“I feel… so alone..”

 

Chance’s shoulders trembled as the guilt hit him like a crashing wave. He continued to flip the coin, leaning against the wall and refusing to look.

 

“Yeah, well that’s your fault for betting on a losing dog.” Chance muttered, voice hoarse. He let out a dry chuckle as his fingers raked back through his sweat-slicked hair. “That’s your fault.”

 

The memory stared at him from the ground. He's bloody and broken but still he's alive.

 

“Why are you so mean?” they croaked, the trembling voice barely masking the hurt behind it.

 

Chance inhaled sharply as the words hit something he tried to bury. His thumb fidgeted on the edge of the old coin in his palm, flipping it into the air with trembling fingers as the clink of the metal felt so loud in the quiet alleyway.

 

The memory’s glasses had slipped off somewhere. Now, Chance was face-to-face with their own eyes. “Why was everyone so mean to me?” the memory whispered. “All I wanted was…”

 

It didn’t finish the sentence because chance already knew what came after.

 

“You look okay,” the memory whispered. “What happened? Did he come back to save me? Did you-”

 

“We’re dead,” Chance cut in, low and final. “We’re dead, man. I mean fuck. We're still alive but I just know shit.. shit."

 

He crouched down slowly. His fingers brushed along the torn lapel of the blood-soaked suit the memory wore. He tugged the fabric flat and fixed it gently

 

“I miss him,” the memory breathed.

 

“Who?”

 

“...”

 

Then, softly, “Did we ever take the prize back to him? Did we finish the job? Did we make it matter?”

 

Chance’s hands froze. He stared at himself. “No,” he answered. The memory’s lips parted, but no words came. There was only the sound of a shallow, shaky breath.

 

“But you know what?” Chance whispered, voice brittle. “Everything went well for them… after our death. So stop. Being. Guilty.”

 

The memory blinked in confusion. “Wh… what?”

 

“The irony is. they’re together now. After us.” Chance’s lips curled into a smile too tired to be bitter. “Isn’t that fucking hilarious...."

 

"The two men you have loved are together. Funny yeah?"

 

“No,” the memory whispered. “No… I’m happy for them.”

 

Chance choked on a breath. His throat closed up as he turned away for a second, blinking fast. His nails dug into his palms so deep they almost broke skin. When that didn’t work, he bit his lip so hard it bled. The metallic taste grounded him barely.

 

“Why are you happy?” he snapped, turning back to face him. His voice cracked at the edges. “Why the hell are you happy?”

 

The memory’s eyes glistened.

 

“They’re happy with each other.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

The word hit the alley like a gunshot. Chance’s voice trembled with rage. “Bull. Fucking. Shit.”

 

“They were happy because we died. Because we were the fucking barrier. So no. Don’t give me that noble martyr crap and don’t pretend it’s okay.”

 

The memory just stared at him, eyes wide and lips trembling.

 

Chance finally let the coin fall. It hit the blood-stained concrete with a soft ping, spinning once before it stilled. He looked down at the coin, then at himself and whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

 

“im not happy, I think.”

 

 

 

____________________

 

 

 

“Chance. Chance… hey. look at me.”

 

The voice cut through the fog in his mind. Chance’s shoulders jolted as he sat up straighter, breath hitching. His vision blurred with tears and his throat burned from sobbing. Cold sweat clung to his skin as the world around him shifted. The bloodied alleyway was gone and it's replaced now by oak woods and three familiar faces.

 

He saw builderman knelt right in front of him, gripping his face with firm hands. Seven hovered nearby with his eyes wide, his palm gently patting Chance’s back in a futile attempt to steady the tremors that wracked through his body. Two was standing close, arms protectively curled around the small, blinking bunnies clutched to their chest.

 

“i.. I can’t breathe.” Chance rasped, clutching his chest as his lungs rebelled but builderman’s grip tightened. “Hey. Look at me. Snap out of it.”

 

Chance sobbed harder, unable to control it, broken sounds tearing from his throat. “I saw-"

 

Crack. A slap echoed, jarring enough that Chance’s ears rang. His head snapped slightly to the side and when he looked back, Builderman’s face was pale with worry.

 

“calm down.” Builderman asked, voice low and eyes scanning Chance’s features. He blinked as his breath caught. He gave a small, cracked nod.

 

“I’m okay,” he whispered. Then again, this time a little louder. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

 

He let out a bitter laugh and wiped his face roughly with the back of his sleeve to try and erase the tears that just kept coming anyway. Builderman didn’t say anything else as he just pulled Chance into a crushing hug, one hand thumping heavily on his back.

 

“there ya go!" Builderman said, holding them close.

 

Chance let his head fall against his chest, numb. Slowly, his gaze shifted to Two, who hadn’t moved except to gently rock the rabbits in his arms. Two offered a soft smile, one that didn’t need words.  

 

“We’re here.” they said simply.

 

Chance swallowed hard, throat sore.

 

“…Yeah. We are.”

 

“Welcome to the first script land in the banlands.”

 

 

 

_______________

 

 

 

 

 

Chance’s shoes crunched softly against the dried leaves carpeting the oak forest. A brittle wind whistled between the trees. Every few steps, he glanced over his shoulder, hand brushing the gun in his pocket. His thumb tapped against the trigger guard anxiously while his other arm clutched the obedient bunnies. They shouldn’t let their guard down.

 

Behind him, Builderman kept a steady pace, his sharp eyes scanning every shadow between the trunks. Beside him, Two held their dagger tightly, blade resting just beneath their scarf. Seven, further off, was thumbing through his CoolGUI while his eyes flicked nervously with each snap of a twig.

 

“Feels too quiet not gonna lie, chat.” Chance muttered, low enough not to alarm the others. “It feels like someone is watching.”

 

Seven chuckled, halfheartedly. “You say that every time we breathe.”

 

Chance smirked over his shoulder. “And how many times was I right?”

 

Before Seven could retort, Two suddenly froze in place. 

 

“By the sacred Spawn above,” Two whispered with a tone as sharp as the blade they are holding. “I hear footsteps among the roots. unfamiliar. Not of our own.”

 

Exploiter. Chance thought immediately. It slammed into his chest like a punch. Builderman’s hand went instinctively to his sidearm, while Chance immediately moved in front of the group, placing himself beside Two. His hand gripped the handle of his pistol, knuckles white. His other arms clutched the two behaved dangling bunnies.

 

Two raised their dagger slightly. “Stand back, my kin. If wickedness dares approach, it shall taste the fury of silvered steel and our spawn.”

 

Seven stopped flipping his GUI and flicked a stare in their direction. “two please lower your voice-”

 

“I speak as the danger demands,” Two said primly, tightening their stance. “Besides, it soothes mine nerves.”

 

Chance clicked his tongue. “Just focus.”

 

“…”

...

...

 

 

“Nothin?”

 

“False alarm?” Builderman asked.

 

“I... am uncertain,” Two murmured, lowering their dagger slightly. “Mayhaps they believe we’re naught but babes in the wood. Let us remind them. wolves dwell here, too.”

 

Chance snorted, amused. “Speak for yourself.”

 

Two smirked. “I do. Often.”

 

They stood frozen in the stillness of the woods until a twig cracked somewhere in the underbrush. Chance's muscles tensed. His eyes darted toward the source, his grip tightening on the firearm in his hands. He shifted subtly in front of the bunnies, shielding them with his body until a familiar loud voice came.

 

“Coolkid, stop that- HEY–!”

 

Before he could even register what was happening, a blur of red came barreling out of the trees and slammed into him.

 

“Whoa-!” Chance stumbled back a few steps, his eyes wide and heart skipping a beat. His gun clattered uselessly to the ground. He braced himself for claws, fire and a six-foot demon with glowing white eyes but instead he felt tiny arms wrapped around his middle. Chance blinked down, breath caught in his throat.

 

He saw a toddler?

 

A small, red-haired child clung to him, eyes squinting in glee. Chance stared, stunned, as confusion warred with instinct. His body was still tense until the child leaned back slightly and beamed up at him.

 

“Hi." the toddler chirped.

 

Chance stared for a second longer. Then he blinked rapidly, exhaled shakily, and echoed back in disbelief, “Hi.”

 

He crouched slightly, gently shifting the toddler off of him while still keeping a protective hand on the bunny siblings nestled behind him. 

 

The child plopped down onto the dirt with a giggle, then bounced up just as fast, his eyes lighting up as he turned and spotted someone behind Chance.

 

“Dad! Daddy!!”

 

The excited shout carried through the trees. Everyone turned.

 

Seven stood still, he's completely mortified. His usually calm expression had twisted into one of pure shock. His arms moved on instinct, catching the flailing toddler who launched at him. The child in return squealed with joy as Seven awkwardly caught him.

 

Chance turned back to the treeline, heart still hammering in his chest.

 

Another figure emerged from the shadows of the trees, brushing a few leaves off their shoulders. The glow of recognition was instant. A familiar figure stepped forward and they immediately recognized the low-ranking admin. His mouth tugged up into a crooked smile, sheepish and slightly out of breath.

 

“Glad yer all here, chat.” he drawled, lifting one hand in a lazy wave.

 

Chance didn’t know whether to laugh or just sit down and cry from the near shock. He looked from the toddler to Seven then back at shedletsky. Without warning, he saw a fist slammed into Shedletsky’s jaw.

 

“Hey, hey-easy!” he sputtered, reeling slightly but laughing through gritted teeth, his voice still annoyingly cheerful despite the hit.

 

Builderman’s eyes burned with fury. He didn’t wait for a retort as he shoved Shedletsky hard, fists trembling with rage. “The fuck did you do, huh?” he snarled. “You stubborn mule of a goddamn system-do you ever think before thinking!”

 

Chance instinctively flinched at the sudden violence, stepping back as he gently lowered the bunnies to the ground. The two small creatures nestled together, wide-eyed and confused from the outburst. Chance’s gaze lingered on them before

 

“ack-"”

 

Strong arms yanked him forward and spun him around. His fedora was snatched clean off his head and flung aside. Fingers dug into his scalp, and a knuckle-heavy fist tousled his hair with overexaggerated vigor.

 

“Chance, my man!” Shedletsky grinned, as if Builderman’s punch hadn’t just nearly dislocated his jaw. “What’s up with you, huh? You’re here! You! And-”

 

He suddenly noticed two time behind Chance. His eyes widened with delight.

 

“And Two!”

 

The figure in the background flinched, eyes flicking wildly toward the nearest escape route. Two’s expression crumpled with distress as they raised a hand to shield their hair, clearly not in the mood for whatever energy Shedletsky was radiating. They took a shaky step back, trying to flee but they didn’t get far.

 

A hand snapped out and grabbed the back of their shirt, yanking them back into the spotlight.

 

“Ah-ah-ah, don’t run from me, Twooo” Shedletsky cooed with enthusiasm. “Two, Two-my How are you, huh?” He gave them a hearty shake. “Still worshipping spawn yea?"

 

“you wretched non believer of-” Two’s voice cracked as they curled away, trying to avoid eye contact just as Shedletsky’s finger jabbed forward and poke them right on the cheek. “Boop. There it is. That’s the face of our spawnian.” He winked.

 

Two groaned quietly while builderman, however, was still vibrating with suppressed rage, arms folded tightly over his chest as he glared daggers into Shedletsky’s back.

 

“Stop playing around,” he growled. “Where is the goddamn key?"

 

Shedletsky waved him off with an exaggerated sigh, tossing an arm lazily around Chance’s shoulders. “Relax, Boss. We’re fine. The cavalry’s here! Look we’ve got Chance, Two, and even the bunnies!” He looked down at the pair then his eyes shifted to look at the distance.

 

"And sev.."

 

Under the shocked gazes of everyone present. Shedletsky’s grin faded gentler and uncharacteristically soft. He quietly patted Chance’s shoulder, giving him a small push back. Chance stepped away, confusion furrowing his brow.

 

All eyes then turned to the strange trio. Shedletsky, the small child squirming in Seven’s arms, and Seven himself who is still in disbelief. They watched Shedletsky stepped forward. He leaned in slowly and wrapped his arms around both the flailing toddler and the stiff, stunned figure of Seven. 

 

Shedletsky pressed his forehead against Seven’s collarbone. His unusually quiet voice, slipped out like a breath.

 

“Hi, Sev.”

Notes:

"Did you atleast kissed the brick" NO I DID NOT. WHATCHU GONNA DO ABOUT IT HUH. YOU'RE ALL NOT SLICK WITH THE "author I'm hiding under your bed" GUESS WHAT. IM GONNA TWIST THE DAGGER AND AIM IT SO PERFECTLY 🙏

be good to author..😈 be good. Be good.. be so very good..

AS ALWAYS MAN, IM SO BUSY UN TWEAKING OUT. THE PRELIMINARY TERM GOT MOVED TO LIKE THE LAST WEEK OF THE MONTH AND NOW THEY'RE BURYING US WITH ORAL RECITATION, TESTS, QUIZZES, REPORTS AND PROJECTA IM GONNA SCREAM GRAAAAAH

ILYSM GUYSSS

Chapter 10: 10. Betray someone or betray yourself

Everyone, including Builderman, stood frozen as they were still processing what they were witnessing. All except for Seven and Shedletsky. The two remained rooted in place while the rest of the group exchanged glances.

 

Chance, Two Time, and the ever-observant Builderman took a few cautious steps away from the three people then formed a loose triangle. The silence was awkward as they turned to face each other. Chance is the first to speak up as he rubs his temples and whispers, “Okay hey guys. If that’s supposed to be Coolkid.. the Coolkid then why the hell is he still a toddler? Isn’t he supposed to, ya know…” He waved his hand vaguely, mimicking a growth spurt with a whistle. “Be older? Two feet taller than me?”

 

Two mirrored Chance’s tilt of the head, their brows furrowed as they both looked at the trio in the center.

 

Everyone could clearly see that coolkid looked impossibly young. He clung to Seven’s pant leg. The toddler looked up at him with big, unblinking eyes. Seven, on the other hand looked like someone had just flipped his brain upside down. He hadn’t said a word as he just stared at the child in shock.  

 

And ofcourse there was Shedletsky… talking animatedly? Smiling and laughing even? Chance’s eye twitched. What the actual hell is happening?

 

Builderman exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose . “Shed’s… acting strange. But the appearance of Coolkid?” He lowered his hand and looked meaningfully at Chance and Two. “i supposed that part is not shocking.”

 

“Huh?” the two of them echoed..

 

“There are endless possibilities for a exploiter born child like that to change their appearance.." Builderman said. “Anything can happen especially when something impossible has already happened.”

 

He paused, then stared between the two.

 

“...”

 

“…Right,” Chance muttered under his breath, looking away. Builderman eventually turned and walked off toward the perimeter, muttering about needing to reinforce the boundaries. He left the two confused people. With a huff, Chance folded his arms, squinting across the scene. “Do you think the admin’s acting kinda… off?” he asked in a half-whisper.

 

Two Time gave a single nod, their expression unreadable as always. Chance glanced again, his confusion deepening. “I mean… Last I remember, Shedletsky couldn’t even stand being near Seven. Flinched anytime the guy entered the cabin. He’d stiffen, avoid eye contact like Seven and stuff.”

 

Well It was true. Chance had been there and he remembered vividly. There were times when Seven just walked into the main cabin and the admins would either leave without a word or keep to themselves. ESPECIALLY shedletsky. He would whisper something to Builderman before vanishing. 

 

There was one specific memory that flickered through Chance’s mind. Shedletsky had been fiddling with a generator, he was intertwining wires with furrowed brows. Seven appeared behind him silently and Shedletsky jumped visibly. He had glanced over his shoulder and muttered, “shouldn’t be here..” before walking away. The tension was so thick it had made even Chance nervous to move.

 

There's also another memory about how he remembered once- Shedletsky and Seven standing on opposite ends. They were barely acknowledging each other. Seven had cracked an awkward joke in response to chance's teasing, something dumb about "banning Builderman for fun," and Shedletsky had stiffened. His reply had been clipped and monotone, Stay in your lane." He hadn’t even looked at Seven directly. 

 

And yet now Shedletsky stood too close to Seven. The admin leaned in with his hands on his knees and talking to the toddler clinging to Seven’s leg. 

 

“There’s something seriously wrong here.” Chance muttered. 

 

“...”

 

“Okay this is weird. Is seven not gonna question that?”

 

Two exhaled gently, nodding at chance. “I believe he is questioning it. He simply hasn’t decided whether he’s awake or dreaming yet.” Chance turned toward them, arms flopping to his sides. “Okay, and you? You’re usually sharp with this kind of thing. Do you think the admin’s acting weird?”

 

Two gave a small nod, thoughtful. “He is behaving in a manner inconsistent with his past patterns, yes.”

 

"That’s putting it mildly.”

 

Two tilted their head slightly. “There is an unmistakable familiarity in his posture.. an ease that contradicts every prior interaction I’ve noticed between him and Seven.”

 

“Right?!” Chance threw up a hand. “You remember it too.” His eyes trailed back to the way Shedletsky was talking beside Seven. patiently waiting for the single father to say something. Coolkid had crawled into Seven’s lap and was now babbling nonsense and Seven, who is still recovering, had just barely started to lift a hand to place it over the toddler’s.

 

“Okay, let’s stay here for the night.”

 

The sentence cut into the quiet conversation between Chance and Two and halting their theories mid-whisper. Chance exhaled through his nose. They hadn’t even gotten halfway through decoding what the hell was going on with Shedletsky and Seven before Builderman made the call.

 

They watched builderman, who had been stubbornly insisting on carrying the oversized, overstuffed backpack, dropped it with a grunt beside a crumbling stone bench. His expression soured as he straightened his back and glared sharply at Shedletsky, who stood just a little too close to Seven

 

“get ready,” Builderman said flatly, brushing dust from his sleeves. “We’re covering more ground tomorrow. Tonight, we rest. But first thing at dawn, we will head deeper in the banlands to look for Noob and two time's partner...”

 

At that, Two tilted their head once more, their eyes flicking from Builderman to Shedletsky. They leaned close to Chance and whispered with their tone crisp but quiet enough not to draw attention. “Shedletsky appeared... markedly unaffected at the mention of Noob. One would expect more alarm, or at the very least, confusion. Could it be they’ve already encountered him? Perhaps even traveled together.”

 

Chance furrowed his brow, his chest aching suddenly at the mention of the name. “Yeah,” he muttered back. “Either they crossed paths already, or he knows something we don’t.”

 

He pursed his lips, watching as Shedletsky leaned toward Seven again. Not going to lie, he was amused at the way Seven was reacting. The poor confused man subtly leaned back away from shedletsky who kept getting in his face. Chance laughed, rubbing at his temple. “Admins weirdly know things. Always have. But I mean. hell.”

 

He turned his head, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. A flick of ears and a twitch of a cotton tail. nestled on the steps of an old lodge structure, the two little bunnies sat still and quiet, side by side and ears slightly perked. Chance’s expression softened. He pointed subtly. “So well behaved,” he cooed, genuinely.

 

Two snorted under their breath beside him. “demons.”

 

“Shut up,” Chance said, but his voice was fond, distracted. “I’m trying to have a moment with the rabbits.”

 

They both stared a little longer. “Bet they’re smarter than all of us.”

 

“I’m certain they would fare better in negotiation than half the people present,” two remarked, their gaze flickering back toward Shedletsky and Seven. “Perhaps we ought to ask the rabbits what they think of all this.”

 

Chance chuckled. “Not a bad idea. Might actually get a straight answer.”

 

“Alright..” Builderman began, dragging his pack forward and exhaling heavily. His shoulders were stiff as the fading light meant they’d be camping in this spot whether they liked it or not. “I only brought three tents. Two of you will have to share.” He straightened, rubbing the back of his neck with a grimace. “I’ll take the first watch. In case any exploiters caught wind of our presence. So please-”

 

“I’m pairing up with Sev.”

 

There was a full second of stunned silence.

 

Chance’s face scrunched up as if he had lick a battery. “Huh?” He turned his head in time to see Seven freeze mid-step. Clearly visibly startled from the admin's insistence. “Wait, what. no, that’s not necessary, I can just”

 

But Shedletsky was already beside him, draping a casual arm around his shoulder in a display of sudden possessiveness. “Come on, it’s fine. You’ll be safer with me anyway, sev.” he said, lips curled in a sly grin that sent every red flag flapping in Chance’s brain.

 

“Dude,” Chance mumbled, watching the scene unfold. His brow scrunched in disbelief. “..Sev?” he echoed under his breath, the word tasted weird in his mouth. “Sev? You’re calling him-Sev? You.. you never even used to look him in the eyes before. You used to call him ‘that hacker thing.”

 

Seven looked like he wanted to argue more but maybe it was the way Shedletsky gently rubbed a hand on his shoulder that made seven dumbfounded enough to not speak. The moment dragged on too uncomfortably long.

 

Two then looked at chance with a smile. “Affirmative. The nickname is a classic tactic. linguistic intimacy as a prelude to more physical courtship rituals.”

 

Chance gagged in response.

 

“Ah,” Two continued. “I see it now. Shedletsky is exhibiting strong indicators of attachment. His physical proximity, verbal insistence, and overfamiliar language suggest a clear desire to mate with our dear, formerly exploiter.”

 

Chance choked on air. “What the fuck, dude-!” he quickly looked around to see if anyone else heard. Unfortunately, Builderman had. He had definitely heard.

 

The man had paused halfway through pitching the first tent and was now staring at Two and yes, Two, ever elegant and devoid of shame simply returned the stare with confidence. “I merely made an observation regarding Shedletsky’s behavior. It’s not my fault if the mating rituals of higher-ranking administrators resemble a poorly-”

 

Builderman blinked once. His left eye twitched and without a word, he turned on his heel and briskly walked to the other side of the camp.

 

Two turned back to look at chance, their clasped their hands together in innocence. “Just an observation,” they said coolly. “Shedletsky appears to have transitioned from hostility to affection. It's truly quite moving. Perhaps if we remain here long enough, they’ll braid each other’s hair and whisper sweet nothings by the fire.”

 

“…”

 

“Would you prefer I said ‘engage in emotionally complicated tent-sharing rituals involving back warmth ?”

 

“That’s worse!”

 

They both whipped around as Shedletsky guided Seven toward a tent with a hand on the small of his back. Seven looked back at them helplessly before looking coolkid from the side who continued to play with the rabbits.

 

“…I’m sleeping with you later.” Chance said finally.

 

Two tilted their head, an amused smirk tugging at their lips. “My dear gambler, if I had a bloxy cola for every time someone told me that-”

 

“telamon, shut up.”

 

 

_____________

 

 

 

Everyone had settled into a loose circle around the fire. Watching the soft flickering glow licking their faces in brief bursts of orange. The heat was a welcome contrast to the cold wind gnawing at their backs. The fire, courtesy of Two’s efficient handiwork crackled quietly as dry twigs collapsed into cinders.

 

Chance hugged his knees to his chest before his gaze flickered between the flames and the group. There was something oddly domestic about the scene, if not for the collective tension which is the murderous child sitting across from them.

 

Seven sat slightly apart from the others, keeping his body curled protectively around the toddler in his arms. Coolkid, who by all logic should have been a bloodthirsty demon was instead yawning softly and rubbing his eyes against Seven’s shirt. It was so surreal.

 

No one dared speak the obvious. Everyone, except Shedletsky. The former admin was seated far too comfortably beside Seven, knees practically bumping. His body leaned just slightly forward with his eyes never straying too far from the ex-exploiter and the child curled in his hold. If Seven noticed, he said nothing although his shoulders were noticeably stiffer.

 

“...You all look funny.”

 

The innocent, piping voice startled some. A few visibly flinched. Chance included. His gaze shot up toward the kid, half-expecting to see white eyes or something like wings peeking out. Instead, Coolkid blinked up at them sleepily, nestled deeper into Seven’s arms.

 

Chance couldn’t help it. he snorted, lips curling into an amused grin. “You got guts saying that, squirt.”

 

From the side, Two turned their head with a half-smile. Their eyes gleaming with curiosity. “It is ironic, is it not? That we all suspect the child of doom, and yet he addresses us as peculiar.” Builderman, seated a little apart and chewing on what looked like a strip of dried ration, exhaled through his nose. “That’s because we are peculiar through the eyes of a child.” he muttered. “ Great team.”

 

“awesome team if I might say.” Chance mumbled under his breath, glancing at Shedletsky who was currently offering Coolkid a small cube of dehydrated fruit. Coolkid turned it down with a shake of his head and muttered something indecipherable. Still, Shedletsky nodded like he understood perfectly.

 

Chance raised a brow, leaning closer to Two. “I still don’t get this. He’s always been cold around Seven. He keep distance and he didn’t even wanna be near him back then. Now he’s acting like he wants to co-parent.” he stifled a snort.

 

Two, watching them both with narrowed eyes, spoke thoughtfully. “It is a notable departure from his prior behavior. If I did not know better, I might assume he is attempting to compensate for something perhaps guilt. Or…”

 

They trailed off.

 

Chance blinked. “Or what?”

 

Two smiled faintly. “Or he harbors affections buried beneath years of rigid professionalism. And now, with the presence of a child, he is disarmed.”

 

Chance almost choked on the bite of biscuit he was chewing. “You think Shedletsky’s… got a thing for Seven?”

 

“I proposed no certainties,” Two said calmly. “I am merely observing the signs. Consider. emotional fixation, sudden nickname usage, refusal to leave his side, and inexplicable tolerance of the child’s presence. These are not platonic behaviors.”

 

Builderman groaned aloud, interrupting them. “Can you two not start another conspiracy?”

 

“Too late,” Chance grinned, nudging Two with his shoulder. “We’re building a whole theory right here, buddy. Mark my words. romance in the banlands.”

 

Two chuckled softly, brushing ash off their sleeves. “Ah, the eternal resilience of foolish love.”

 

They all turned to look at seven who in return- shifted uncomfortably at the attention, turning his body slightly away from the group and adjusting Coolkid in his lap. His eyes briefly met Chance’s. There was weariness there but he didn’t look angry. He looks uncertain and maybe even nervous. Chance sobered slightly. He didn’t like seeing that expression on Seven. Chance lowered his voice. “Man. This ‘gonna get weird, huh?”

 

"Telamon above.."

 

Chance muttered under his breath, changing the topic while stretching his arms with a groan. The flames licked the night air lazily, casting orange hues over their faces. "Spawn above." Two corrected primly, barely glancing up from the way they were tending to the flame. 

 

Chance tilted his head and groaned. "Telamon is not a hoax, you know. He's real. Legend.. an icon, founder of the foundational founders. The one and only fourth throne."

 

"Telamon is a hoax," Two replied coolly, fixing their scarf. "A fabrication of the old saying to inspire fear and obedience. An executioner in the guise of a god."

 

Chance squinted at Builderman nearby, searching for backup. "Aughh, Builderman," he grumbled. "Help me out here, would you?"

 

But Builderman only looked vaguely uncomfortable, staring into the fire as he sensed the awkwardness building in the circle. That’s when Shedletsky perked up. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Telamon? Oh, he’s cool. Chill guy, always knew how to crash a party."

 

"Yeah! My favorite admin!" Chance added with a grin which made shedletsky beamed at him.

 

"Didn't he vanish because of his crimes against exploiters?" Two suddenly interjected smoothly, voice calm and even, but their words carved through the tension. "And in return, the system erased his legacy under hush protocols? He was the executioner of exploiters, wasn’t he? His judgments so cruel, even the Admin Assembly panicked. That’s what pushed the Banlands into formal law.”

 

The campfire crackled as silence thickened around them. From the corner of chance's gaze, Shedletsky’s smile faltered just for a second. His shoulders tightened, and his gaze flickered toward Seven, then to the child sleeping in his arms. His usual laid-back mask returned, but the crack was visible now. "Hah. Well. That’s just one version of the story, aight?"

 

"Histories are written by those who survive system wipes." Two said, plucking a stick from the fire to inspect it.

 

Chance coughed into his fist, trying to dispel the awkward air and salvage the mood. "Wow. Light-hearted fire talk, huh? Who’s ready for bedtime stories about mass banishments and public executions?"

 

Builderman coughed also and looked away. “He did... push boundaries.” that made two smirked faintly, resting their chin on their hand. "I only speak the truth. It's hardly my fault if the truth is grim."

 

“Oh, you wound me,” Chance said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Next you’ll tell me Shedletsky didn’t code the original market script.”

 

“I didn’t,” Shedletsky mumbled. “I outsourced it.”

 

Two nodded once. “See?”

 

“Shut up, both of you..” Builderman muttered.

 

“Also,” Two added calmly ignoring builderman. their voice laced with a faint, eerie reverence, “Telamon is widely regarded as the embodiment of hatred itself. Hatred personified. His loathing for exploiters was so absolute, so consuming, that it twisted the entire foundation of admin doctrine. They say his wrath corrupted the very command lines that held order together.”

 

“...right..” Shedletsky looked uncomfortable again as his body shifted from where he sat. Builderman averted his eyes. Chance, however, exhaled slowly and leaned back on his hands, gazing up at the sky as a wistful grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “That’s our god for ya,” he said softly, almost fondly. “Ruthless. Cruel. But efficient.”

 

He chuckled under his breath. “I remember this old poem I heard as a kid. One of those hushed recitations was told around data camps.”

 

…

 

“Golden eyes ablaze, he soars with wings vast-” Chance began, voice low as he gestured toward the fire. “A sword-born god,” Seven interrupted. His voice was quiet yet firm, “time’s first and final champion.”

 

The words slipped out of him instinctively. Everyone turned to look at him.

 

“Yo?” Chance blinked in surprise, before a wide grin stretched across his face. “Hey! I didn’t think you knew that one.” He leaned in, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “You’re a blood-born exploiter, Seven. What do you think of him?”

 

The question hung in the air and before Seven could answer, Shedletsky’s voice cut through the moment.

 

“dl you think he's cruel, Seven?” he asked with his tone oddly sharp. Everyone turned to look at Shedletsky now. His stiff posture and saw the way he stared hard at Seven, as though digging for a specific answer. Chance tilted his head, bemused. “Dude, what kind of question is that?”

 

"Uh.." Shedletsky gave a half-hearted shrug and cleared his throat, trying to brush off the intensity. “Might be a lower-ranking admin” he muttered, “but I still know things.”

 

Seven was silent for a moment, caught off guard. “No…” he said softly. “He isn’t cruel.”

 

“Telamon is my dad!”

 

the toddler suddenly blurted out, eyes shining as they clung tightly to Seven’s hand with their voice full of unfiltered excitement. The entire campfire circle paused when the toddler interrupted their discussion. A beat of silence passed before amused chuckles began to echo through the group.

 

Shedletsky immediately leaned forward and pointed proudly, supporting the toddler's words. “Hell yeah, kiddo! Big ol’ Telamon is your dad!” he declared with a nod. Seven cleared his throat loudly, clearly flustered. His shoulders tensed as he rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “Shed.” he muttered, his voice low and dry. "Don't encourage him. You know how kids are with the admins.” But the toddler wasn’t letting go. They tugged on Seven’s sleeve, determined. “But dad! Telamon is really my dad. I remember! He was there when I- you know! Was a baby!!!”

 

Laughter erupted. 

 

It started with a snort from chance, then spilled into full-blown giggles from the group. Even the more composed ones- two time and builderman couldn’t hide their amusement except for the two figures who stood by with proud grins.

 

Two spoke up, voice smooth, “The Robloxians are children of the admins. This is not a theory it is truth. I, for one, am the revered child of Spawn themself.” they puffed out their chest.

 

Chance nearly doubled over from laughing, slapping his knee as he wiped a tear from his eye. “Okay, okay-hold up.” He turned to Builderman with a wide grin, nudging him in the side. “Hey! My dad is Builderman,” he declared, voice dropping an octave as he struck an exaggerated pose. “Gray hair, gray skin, a jawline sharp enough to ban you!”

 

He flexed his bicep, his lips twitching with smug satisfaction. “Heh. Inherited it all, baby.”

 

Just as he was about to continue the bit, a loud sniffle cut through the laughter. Everyone turned as the toddler’s bottom lip quivered. His eyes welled up, a tear sliding down their cheek. A hush fell over the group. Chance’s face immediately paled as guilt washed over him. He froze for a second before Builderman who without a word, smacked the back of Chance’s head.

 

“Ow-hey!” Chance winced, rubbing the spot. “Okay, okay! I wasn’t trying to make fun of the kid!”

 

"Telamon is really my dad!"

 

“Yes, I believe you,” Chance said quickly, coaxing the toddler while flashing a playful wink as he leaned back on his hands. He turned his head back to look at Builderman. He met their gaze with a weary, tight-lipped expression. one that hovered between exasperation and a reluctant fondness.

 

“No, but seriously,” Chance continued, gesturing loosely with one hand, “why do half the citizens look like each other? It’s kinda freaky. I passed three people who looked like my neighbor.”

 

Builderman sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand. “In Robloxia, there’s about a sixty-percent chance you’ll bump into someone who looks genetically identical to someone else you know. We’re what you’d call a clone-heavy society.”

 

Chance raised an eyebrow. “Clone-heavy?”

 

Builderman gave a half-shrug. “Face templates, recycled DNA batches, re-used mesh data. The whole system’s built on convenience. Some of the earlier population generators in robloxia HQ used to glitch and duplicate, and we never bothered fixing it. It Makes things stable.”

 

“Efficient,” Two added quietly, sharpening a stick with their dagger. “But eerie.”

 

“yeaaa it's messy, too.” Shedletsky said. “Algorithms started merging behavior patterns. You’ll see two completely unrelated citizens laughing at the same joke in sync. Gives me the hibbie jibbies I swear.”

 

Builderman stood up, stretching his shoulders as he dusted soot from his knees. “Alright. Everyone, wrap it up. It’s late. Go to sleep.”

 

Shedletsky chuckled under his breath as he stood up too, brushing dirt from his white shirt. Two had already begun carefully dousing the edge of the firepit with sand. Above them, the banland’s night sky stretched endlessly. stars glimmering in response to their own thoughts.

 

 

___________________

 

 

 

Seven gently clutched the toddler’s tiny palm then bringing it close to his cheek. The boy’s skin was soft, warm and so real. His little chest rose and fell with each peaceful breath, his lips parted slightly as he mumbled nonsense in his sleep.

 

Seven just stared. His baby. His baby was here. Safe and breathing In his arms again. He didn’t know how to process it because he felt like every moment was a hallucination. He's afraid that any second now the boy would turn into something else.

 

He's here. Seven thought, his eyes stinging. He's here and this time… he won’t lose him again.

 

He shut his eyes, breathing in and out to calm his racing heart but a weight shifted beside him. The quiet rustle of fabric as he sensed a body adjusting in the cramped tent. Seven tensed immediately.

 

He tilted his head subtly and was met with the faint silhouette of Shedletsky, casually reclining on his elbow, barely a few inches away. The admin’s familiar, smug tone broke the silence. “So, heya,” Shedletsky said lightly. “What’s up? Can’t sleep?”

 

Seven’s eye twitched. His jaw tightened, but he forced out a tight, nervous laugh, trying not to startle the toddler still nestled against his chest. He pressed his child closer. The tent was too small for three grown figures and a toddler and the admin’s presence felt suffocating.

 

Why the hell is he even here? Seven thought. Last seven remembered, shedletsky was pretending he didn’t exist so why is the admin acting strangely? Shedletsky adjusted again, letting out a soft exhale. 

 

“How are you, Seven?”

 

Seven didn’t respond right away. He didn’t trust himself to speak without sounding sharp. Truth be told, he felt strange and Conflicted. Back then in hell-when he was first brought there, Seven hid his hatred towards the admins. But they had saved him.. indeed. He remembered being shielded by dusekkar, Builderman building him a sentry and shedletsky distracting the killers for him. Gratitude’s a bitter pill. Seven thought grimly, watching Shedletsky out of the corner of his eye. Especially when it comes wrapped in admin arrogance.

 

Still, he couldn’t just accuse him of anything. So instead, Seven hummed low in his throat, a noncommittal sound. He tightened his grip around the toddler’s small body.

 

Cold air leaked through the seams of the tent, chilling his back as Shedletsky babbled beside him about something pointless. Seven didn’t really listen.

 

“You look tired. Like… really tired. You should rest.”

 

“..” fine. Seven will respond to him.

 

“I’m fine.” seven mumbled more quietly as Shedletsky laughed, soft and breathy. “Right. ‘course you are.”

 

Seven looked down at the toddler and awkwardly adjusted the blanket around his shoulders. “He just got back. I’m not used to it yet.”

 

Shedletsky nodded, watching him. There was something strangely warm in his gaze causing seven to suppress a shudder. He quickly turned around, closing his eyes shut.

 

“..hey?”

 

“...”

 

“So, are you gonna keep pretending I don’t exist? Or do I gotta trip over something just to get your attention?”

 

Seven’s jaw tensed. 

 

Shed clicked his tongue. “C’mon, man. You’ve been acting like I got a sign over my head that says ‘avoid.’ ye sure you’re not just scared of making eye contact with me?”

 

“...”

 

“I’m not-”

 

Seven’s voice faltered mid-sentence.

 

His breath hitched as his eyes met Shedletsky’s. Those amber eyes glowing faintly in the tent. They were narrowed slightly, amused and focused only on him.

 

Seven froze, the words crumbling in his throat before he quickly turned away, sharply. Ignoring the warmth in his face disappear and erasing the sudden tightness in his chest. Truthfully, there was always something about Shedletsky that unsettled him. If he could describe it, it's a familiarity that tugged at his suppressed memories. He couldn’t pin it down and he couldn't explain it but every time they locked eyes, he just know he knew shed in another time.

 

“Get it together,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face as the cold pressed in harder.

 

He pulled the child closer to his side for warmth, but it didn’t help. The blankets were thin. He gritted his teeth and wrapped his arms tighter around his son. Before he could dozed off- he suddenly felt a sudden pressure. Seven’s body jolted as he felt an arm curl around his back. firm and steady and it pulled him closer with no warning, dragging him against someone’s side that is solid and warm.

 

He stiffened, nearly flinching as his head jerked to the side.

 

“What are you doing?” he snapped too fast. His voice cracked slightly. More startled than angry. Shedletsky’s voice came just behind his ear.

 

“It’s cold.”

 

Seven blinked.

 

He tried to wriggle away a weak, half-hearted motion but the arm tightened slightly around him.

 

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, though his voice lacked bite.

 

“You’re shivering.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“Liar.”

 

“You really don’t know how to answer normally, do you?”

 

“Mm.”

 

 

_________________

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seven tried to keep pace with the chaotic bundle of energy in front of him. The toddler darted through the dry leaves, giggling as he half-ran And half-skipped ahead. His small arms flailed with every step, and every so often he’d look back to make sure Seven was still there.

 

Seven reached forward in an attempt to lift him, his fingers brushing the soft fabric of the child’s worn hoodie. But the toddler squirmed and huffed, puffing his cheeks in protest.

 

“Noooo! I can walk!” he declared, stomping in place.

 

Seven chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Of course you can,” he murmured, his voice raspy with emotion. He let his arms fall back down and just walked beside the little one instead with his eyes soft. His little boy. Tears pricked his eyes and he looked upward to try and blink them away. Misbehave all his little boy wants. Seven thought, just don’t leave him again.

 

“Coolkid-” Seven began, his voice quiet and affectionate.

 

“man.”

 

The loud voice cut through the quiet woods as everyone stopped walking. Leaves rustled in the sudden halt. The toddler jumped a little, startled. All heads turned toward Chance, who stood with his hands lazily slung into his pockets, an exaggerated expression of confusion plastered across his face.

 

“Is this really the Banlands?” Chance asked, looking around with squinted eyes. “Like, just… endless trees? Thought it’d be all red skies and screaming faces or something. Like that hell, ya know? Where are the actual exploiters?”

 

Seven watched as builderman sighed, his patience thinning. He opened the crinkled map in his hands and glanced over it before giving Chance a tired look.

 

“The Banlands aren't meant to be hell,” he explained. “They’re a containment realm. The admins created it to hold and trap exploiters, not torture them. We’re not monsters.”

 

“Oh.” Chance muttered.

 

The group started moving again, crunching over dead leaves and branches. Seven, meanwhile, wasn’t listening anymore. His focus had shifted completely back to the tiny hand curled around his own. “Papa,” the toddler said suddenly, tugging insistently.

 

Seven glanced down, immediately alert. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” the child beamed. “I was just thinkin’… those bunnies. The ones that guy Chance and friend two time is carrying. I like them. They're adorable.”

 

Seven blinked before letting out a small chuckle. “You mean Chance’s bunnies?”

 

“Yeah!” The toddler nodded enthusiastically, eyes lighting up. “They were soft like clouds and that one with the floppy ears? I wanna name him Dumpling.”

 

“Dumpling, huh?” Seven raised an amused brow. “Why Dumpling?”

 

“‘Cause he looked squishy and yummy.”

 

Seven gave a snort of laughter, ruffling his son’s hair. “Let’s not eat Chance’s rabbits, okay?”

 

“I wasn’t gonna eat them,” the boy insisted, wrinkling his nose. “I was just sayin’.”

 

“Mm.” Seven slowed his pace and knelt down a little so they were eye level. He gently cupped his son’s cheeks, brushing dirt and wind-tangled strands of hair away from his face.

 

“Hey, Papa?” the boy asked after a moment, his hand still in Seven’s.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Can we keep one of the bunnies when we get back?”

 

Seven paused.

 

If they got back. If coolkid wouldn't leave him again. he didn’t let any unease of that reach his face. He squeezed the little hand in his. “Yeah,” he said softly. “We’ll ask Chance. And maybe we’ll build them a little pen near our room.”

 

“With a roof so the birds don’t get them,” the boy added wisely.

 

Seven nodded. “Exactly.” God, he missed this.

 

"Halt." Suddenly, Builderman stopped Causing everyone to also stop. He then looked at shedletsky. “Shed. The key.” The words came low and flat from Builderman. Seven glanced sideways, watching as Shedletsky opened his mouth- no doubt about to crack a joke like he always did. Something playful and along the lines of ‘Password, please,’ or ‘Only if you say I’m your favorite admin.’ But it died quickly.

 

Shed’s smile faltered as his gaze met Builderman's. The tension in the air was thick and no one else spoke.

 

Seven’s brows furrowed slightly, watching as Shedletsky sighed and finally reached into his pocket until he found the key. It clinked softly against something in his pocket before he pulled it out. “There. One legendary key, as requested,” Shed muttered, voice quieter than usual as he handed it over.

 

Instantly, Seven’s grip on his son tightened unconsciously as he felt a subtle curl of unease folding in his stomach. Something felt off.

 

 

There. A movement caught his eye. He saw how chance had silently stepped back, cradling his yellow bunny. The thing blinked lazily, but its ears were stiff and alert. Chance wasn’t speaking anymore. He just stared past them with his eyes narrowed.

 

“Chance?” Seven hesitated, gaze lowering to the tiny form clinging to his side. The toddler was half-asleep, murmuring nonsense into Seven’s shoulder with one tiny hand clutched in the fabric of his sleeve. Seven gently adjusted him, his heart softening as he ran a thumb along the child’s hair. 

 

He looked back up just in time to see TwoTime holding the white bunny that Chance usually guarded. Seven blinked, surprised. Chance must’ve handed it over when no one was looking. That wasn’t like him.

 

What the hell is going on?

 

“Alright,” Builderman said quietly, already turning around, fingers tight around the key. “Let’s go.”

 

Seven followed, adjusting his grip on Coolkid, who was now fully curled against him. The trees ahead loomed taller now, darker and more eerie. The deeper they walked, the quieter the group became.

 

Until the group heard a sound. Seven barely had time to register the shift when the world around him lurched his stomach flipped, and everything twisted in on itself. He heard shouting, muffled, like he's underwater and the last thing he saw before darkness swallowed him whole was chance reaching out towards his son. His arm stretched out desperately and face wild with panic.

 

Coolkid...

 

 

everything went black as the last thing he felt was those warm arms catching him before he hit the ground.

 

 

____________

 

 

"Coolkid- ?"

 

Seven gasped as consciousness slammed back into him like a punch to the chest. His body jerked upright, a cold sweat breaking over his skin. He choked on the thick air, lungs burning and brain fogged with disorientation.

 

The first thing he registered was warmth. The second was arms around him and holding his body.

 

Seven blinked rapidly, turning his head before instantly recognizing the curly haired man. The admin had both arms wrapped around him in a protective grip, amber eyes wide with concern and fear. Dirt was smudged across his face and there's a shallow cut bleeding at his temple. “Seven, hey. Seven,” Shed murmured urgently, his voice shaking but Seven wasn’t listening. His eyes shot past Shed, darting frantically across the dark clearing. Tree branches twisted like claws overhead. The white bunny was nudging at Two’s limp form trying to rouse them. But the rest of the world was a blur because all Seven could think was

 

Where’s my son?

 

“Where is he?” Seven croaked out, voice raw, panic thick in his throat. “Where’s my- where’s Coolkid?” He tried to push himself up, but his knees buckled instantly, the adrenaline crashing against the pain in his chest and legs. The fall must’ve hit harder than he realized.

 

“Seven. Seven, breathe.” Shedletsky’s hands found his shoulders again, grounding him with a firm but gentle grip. “You passed out. Something hit us-”

 

“I just got him back…” Seven whispered, barely audible. His lips trembled, his body starting to shake. “I just-he was right here, Shed-he was right here..”

 

“I know. I know, I saw—” Shed’s voice cracked. “I'm sorry.”

 

Seven’s breathing grew ragged. He pulled at Shed’s arms, trying to stand again.

 

“Let go.”

 

“Seven-”

 

“I have to find him.”

 

“We will, okay? We will, but you’re hurt, you need-”

 

“Let go of me!” Seven snapped his red eyes burning with fury as his voice echoed through the trees, startling the white bunny, who looked up. Yet, shedletsky didn’t flinch. Instead, he did something Seven didn’t expect. He reached for Seven’s hands. those trembling, furious hands and wrapped his fingers around them tightly. 

 

“Seven. Look at me.”

 

Seven gritted his teeth, chest heaving, but he looked. “I promise you. We’ll find him. I’m not letting you go through this alone.”

 

Seven’s lips parted, heart thudding so loud it echoed in his ears.

 

“You don’t understand,” he whispered. “That’s my son. He’s not supposed to be here. He’s now just a kid. He- he gets scared when I’m not around at this age. He-” His voice broke. Shedletsky’s face softened and he leaned in, his forehead almost touching Seven’s.

 

“We’re getting him back,” he said quietly. “I swear it. I won’t let you lose him again.”

 

“…” Shedletsky’s eyes weren’t just amber anymore. For a flickering heartbeat, they shimmered in a familiar golden glow- pulsing beneath the irises.  Shedletsky must’ve noticed, because he blinked fast, the glow vanishing as quickly as it appeared. “We’re going to find him,” he said quietly, almost pleading now. “I promise you.”

 

Seven’s trembling fingers curled into fists.

 

“Telamon.”

 

 

 

_______________

 

 

 

”Agh. what happened…”

 

Chance’s voice came out dry and strained. His eyelids fluttered as blinding white light pierced through his vision and for a split second, he thought he was back at the edge of stability. He laid still until the pain settled in. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes, and his back screamed from lying too long on an uneven terrain. Grass tickled his cheek.

 

Something soft was pressed tightly against his chest so chance blinked slowly at first until his vision cleared just enough for him to see a shape hovering over him. His heart nearly jumped.

 

The toddler stood above him, close enough to cast a shadow across his face. A pair of wide, amused eyes stared down at him with amusement. Their cheeks puffed with a beaming grin, messy red hair sticking out in all. Chance tensed instinctively, shoulders stiffening.

 

“…Coolkid?” he croaked.

 

“Hi!” the toddler chirped brightly, tilting his head. Chance stared as the gears in his head turned once. “…Hi..” Chance finally replied, warily pushing himself upright only to freeze when something small nuzzled against his chest. He looked down and inhaled in relief.

 

"Good boy.” he whispered, gently cradling it in his arms as the bunny snuggled closer in return His voice softened. “Where’s your crown, huh?” he cooed, adjusting the crooked thing with two fingers. “There it is, buddy. Can’t go losing that.”

 

The bunny gave a little sneeze in response. Chance let out a shaky exhale, finally taking in the environment around them. Soon, memories came flooding back. He had been walking with the group- Builder had been acting weird, fidgeting with something behind his back. He had then asked for the key until something fast cut through the air. Chance hadn’t even seen what hit them, he only saw the way Seven’s eyes widened in horror. Chance remembered the moment clearly. He had made a split-second choice with no hesitation. He lunged to shove the kid out of the way and everything went black after that.

 

Now… he's in here., Chance looked up at Toddler coolkid again, who was sitting on the grass now, poking at a flower.

 

“…Hey,” Chance said slowly, scanning the trees for any signs of danger, “uh… I think we’re lost.”

 

Coolkid’s head perked up instantly. “Yup!” he agreed, smiling. Chance squinted. “You don’t seem very concerned.”

 

“Why would I be?” Coolkid shrugged, kicking his little feet. “I’ve got you, I’ve got Prince Fluffytail-”

 

“Prince what?”

 

Coolkid pointed confidently at the bunny. “That’s Prince Fluffytail the Third. He’s royalty. His kingdom was destroyed by duck pirates.”

 

The bunny blinked slowly. Chance sighed. “...Of course it was.” Coolkid leaned closer and whispered, “Don’t mention ducks around him. It’s a sore topic.”

 

Chance rubbed his temples with his free hand. “Right. Okay. Step one.. figure out where we are. Step two.. find the others. Step three.. uh take care of you.”

 

Coolkid popped to his feet, arms raised. “I'm hungry.”

 

 

___________________

 

 

 

“And that’s how you catch a fish!” Chance declared with triumphant cheer, holding up the wriggling trout like it was a trophy. Water droplets sparkled as they dripped from its silver scales under the early morning sun. His suit jacket was flung haphazardly over a nearby rock, his slacks rolled to his ankles, exposing pale legs speckled with mosquito bites.

 

He turned to beam at his companion, the little toddler who sat cross-legged on the grass, the yellow bunny clutched tightly to their chest. The toddler blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes before finally breaking into a smile.

 

“Yay.” The praise was half-hearted at best, the kind of obligatory cheer a toddler gives when distracted. Coolkid was far more invested in adjusting a tiny handmade scarf around the bunny’s neck than watching the fish flail in the air.

 

Chance exhaled a sigh and muttered as he plopped the fish into a leaf. “Telamon above, I nearly threw out my spine for that and that’s all I get? Can’t ya cheer for your dear ol’ uncle?”

 

The toddler tilted their head without missing a beat. “You’re not my uncle.”

 

Chance placed both hands on his hips, eyes narrowing. “Tough luck, bud. I’m friends with your dad. That’s close enough. In some cultures, that is uncle status.”

 

“that’s not how it works.” Coolkid squinted at him suspiciously, tapping the bunny on the nose.

 

Chance chuckled under his breath, lowering himself to sit on a flat rock beside the water’s edge. “It is now,” Chance huffed, ruffling the kid’s hair with wet fingers. Coolkid let out a groan, flailing like he was being attacked. Chance only laughed. Thinking about it, it's really hard to compare the demon who had killed him a hundred times and the current toddler before him. 

 

There was a gleam in his eyes as he looked back at the fish. He was proud because back when he was dating Maff. There were these early mornings where he’d be dragged out of bed, grumbling and groggy, just to stand by a lake while someone went on and on about patience and “reading the ripples.” psh. Well even if time had passed, chance still got it.

 

He puffed his chest. “Master angler. King of the rod and reel. Fear me.”

 

“Your line got stuck in a boot earlier,” Coolkid mumbled without looking up.

 

Chance fell backward onto the grass with a groan. “One time. You catch one slimy old boot instead of a fish and suddenly you’re a joke to your fans.”

 

“Fan.” Coolkid corrected. “Just one.”

 

Chance propped himself up on his elbows and grinned at the kid. “So you do admit to being a fan.”

 

Coolkid paused. The bunny was now lying on its back in their lap, arms raised toward the sun. “Only of the bunny,” they said flatly.

 

Chance gasped. “You wound me. Do you know how much effort it takes to keep a suit this clean near a muddy riverbank?”

 

“Hmph..whatever...Can we eat it?” Coolkid asked after a beat.

 

Chance raised a brow. “The fish?”

 

“No, the bunny,” Coolkid said flatly, then smirked. “Yes, the fish.” Chance burst into laughter. “Attaboy. Now that’s the energy I needed earlier.” He stood again, stretching his arms out wide “Come on. Let’s go build a fire. Uncle got breakfast covered.”

 

 

____________________

 

 

 

The afternoon sun stretched long shadows across the banlands well..land... A soft wind rustled the tall, dry grass surrounding the worn trail they followed. Chance walked a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, shoes dusty from the day’s trek. His suit jacket had been slung over his shoulder hours ago, sweat dampening the white collar of his dress shirt. Coolkid walked beside him, dragging a stick lazily through the dirt, the yellow bunny in his other hand swinging with every step.

 

Neither of them spoke for a while. Finally, Chance broke it.

 

“Y’ever get that feeling like you’re going in circles?” he asked, eyes scanning the horizon. “Like you’re walking and walking, but the world’s playing some joke on you?”

 

Coolkid shrugged. “Maybe you just suck at directions.”

 

Chance snorted. “Thanks, navigator. Remind me again who thought we were heading west when the sun was rising?”

 

“That was the bunny,” Coolkid said innocently, holding the yellow plush up. “He’s bad with compasses.”

 

“Hm.”

 

Chance chuckled and shook his head. The air around them had a golden warmth to it, lazy and slow.

 

“Still no smoke,” he muttered, scanning the distant hills. “That’s either really good or really bad.”

 

Coolkid leaned his cheek against the bunny’s head. “What would smoke mean?”

 

“Could mean your dad’s group found shelter. Could mean they're making camp. Could also mean exploiters, so... let’s cross our fingers it’s the first one.”

 

They had barely left the dirt path and stepped onto the mossy clearing when it happened. Coolkid, mid-step and distracted by a dragonfly, suddenly stumbled. His leg caught on a root hidden beneath the tall grass. He pitched forward with a surprised yelp.

 

“Coolkid!” 

 

Chance’s voice snapped. His body reacted before his brain did as he immediately sprinted forward. He saw how coolkid was already pushing himself up but sluggishly. The bunny had jumped from his grip and landed in the grass nearby. He tried to reach for it but winced, swaying slightly before collapsing to his knees. Chance skidded to the ground beside him, hands moving to steady the boy. “Hey.. hey, hey, hold still.”

 

He crouched, brushing Coolkid’s bangs back, and the color drained from his face. Coolkid’s cheeks were flushed, his breath coming in quick, shallow puffs. His skin was hot too.

 

“Shit. This isn’t good.”

 

Chance pressed his palm to the boy’s forehead again to be sure, but it was no fever dream. He was overheating, fast.

 

“Hey, kiddo look at me.” He gently tilted Coolkid’s face up, but the toddler’s eyelids fluttered weakly. His body leaned into Chance's without strength. Panic seized Chance’s chest. “Nonononono, you were fine an hour ago. Don’t you pull this on me now.”

 

Scooping him into his arms, Chance held him close, one arm cradled under his legs, the other bracing his back. The yellow bunny was retrieved with a swift motion and tucked between them. He stood and turned toward the clearing again, eye scanning the area. It was secluded, shaded and close to the creek. he had no choice.

 

"Alright, alright. we’re stopping here. We rest for the night.”

 

His voice trembled as he laid Coolkid gently onto the softest patch of moss, stripping off his own suit vest and rolling it up into a makeshift pillow.

 

“Telamon above,” he muttered, pressing his knuckles to his lips for a moment. “I hope the others are okay.” He looked back down. “Hang in there, bud,” he whispered. “Uncle Chance’s got you. You just rest now, alright?”

 

 

____________

 

 

 

 

The coin danced between Chance’s fingers, flipping silently through the air. He caught it, flipped it over onto the back of his hand, and peeked beneath his palm. Heads. A faint breath escaped him. It was Good enough.

 

Arms folding behind his head, he leaned back against the trunk of a tree. The fire he’d built had long since burned down to gentle embers, casting a soft orange glow against the creeping dusk. Coolkid was curled up beside the yellow bunny, sound asleep, little breaths fluttering. Chance allowed himself to relax, head tilting down, lashes falling heavy over his eyes. For once, he felt something close to peace.

 

---

 

The cold hit first.Chance jolted awake.

 

The fire was dead. The sky had blackened into an ink-slick void. Everything was drowned in darkness.

 

And Coolkid is Gone.

 

Chance’s heart slammed into his ribs as he scrambled upright, eyes wide, pupils struggling to adjust. He spun in place, chest tight. “Hey- Kid?” His voice cracked in the silence.

 

There was no answer. “Uh, don’t- don’t play that game on me..” he called again, a trembling edge creeping into his tone. “This isn’t funny.” His gaze dropped to the ground, landing on the yellow bunny. It sat there right where Coolkid had been sleeping. something was wrong.

 

Chance’s skin prickle until he saw a flicker of red in the dark. It pulsed once from the treeline, and the moment it touched the edge of his vision, his entire body went rigid. He dropped to the side instinctively, scooping the bunny into his arms just as something heavy landed with a crack where he'd been standing. The ground shook beneath the impact.

 

Slowly with his heart pounding, Chance turned his head and stared. There, a figure towered above him. Its skin glowed molten red, veins of flame pulsing beneath the surface. Massive, curled horns spiraled back from its head. Burning white eyes locked onto Chance’s with predatory glee.

 

“...Fuck.”

 

It was all he could say. All his breath could carry. His body surged with adrenaline with his panic shooting through every nerve. He should’ve mourned for the toddler he’d shared fire and food with just earlier ago. But he couldn’t. Not when the child was back to being the familiar nightmare chance had died countless times. 

 

“Peekaboo,” came Coolkid’s voice, lilting and sweet. Chance’s gun was already in his hand before he could think. The safety clicked off.

 

Bang.

 

The shot was clean as he saw a burst of light in the darkness. The demon reeled, snarling. Chance didn’t wait to see if it dropped. He ran. Branches tore at his arms, thorns scratched his face, but he didn’t stop. Especially not when the searing pain of something sharp sliced across his shoulder. He bit back a cry, nearly tripping over a root as blood soaked into his shirt. He dove behind a jagged rock and collapsed there, clutching the bunny tight to his chest. His breath came in ragged gasps.

 

“You’re safe… You’re safe…” he whispered to the bunny, voice cracking. “You’re okay… I’ve got you…”

 

His vision doubled. Then blurred. His hands were shaking. He then soon felt cold fingers brushed his jaw. Chance blinked through the haze, eyes unfocused. A crown gleamed in the dark. It hovered above a ghostly silhouette leaning in with theirs arms slowly encircling him.

 

He knew that crown and he knew that presence.

 

“...You…?”

 

Darkness pulled him under before he could finish.

 

 

 

 

__________

 

 

“So then,” Two-Time said, “Shall I be so bold as to inquire… who or perhaps what you are?”

 

The white bunny was gone. Without sound and without a trace. One blink and one turn of their back, and now in its place is a man. Six feet of polished silence clad in a black coat. His fedora concealed his face, yet the weight of his gaze pressed against Two-Time’s chest.

 

Two-Time stood their ground, their posture refined. They are not intimidated at all. 

 

There was a long, thoughtful silence stretched between them. The figure remained unmoving.

 

“…You are not the rabbit,” Two-Time started at last.. “Yet I turned only a moment. And now you stand where it once did.”

 

They clasped their hands behind their back momentarily before letting one drift subtly to the hilt of the dagger at their side. Their fingers curled around it in a smooth motion. “Now tell me, stranger- should I be prepared to extend courtesy or steel?”

 

Still, the figure remained silent.

 

“…An exploiter, perhaps?” they continued, voice tinged with an icy tone . “If so, I advise you tread carefully. I have little patience for the disruptive or the dishonest.”

 

 

"I see.."

Notes:

I just logged in back and was immediately flashed by the 20k reads. I'm actually so happy rn I'm sobbing Guys, I can't respond yet because I really am so busy. We have an oral recitation tomorrow and I have to study 😭 I posted this chapter earlier because I'm gonna be gone until next month 💔

BUT REALLY guys, I freaking love you all. I know I would have a blast reading the comments after my hardwork in school hddhdh ilysm guys I'm cryigjgjfjfr

ALSO HI TO MY TWITTER MOOTS HI HI HI you're all gonna be eaten by me someday. Come check @Faewithagun peak art.

 

https://x.com/Faewithagun/status/1947566868212158591?t=urtT8By6EfFp0_f55zF2_A&s=19

(This is actually so rushed 😭)

Chapter 11: 11. Forsaken Memories

To you- Or what’s left of you.

Do you know what disorder looks like?

It looks like you. 

 

Everything was dim aside from the overhead chandelier that flickered and could sputter out at any second. Itrapped could smell the scent of old cigar smoke but it was the rot of decaying paper bills that clung deepest and reminding him always of his unashamed desire. Seated at the table were a few of itrapped’s so-called acquaintances. “Registered exploiters” if you wanted to give them titles. These cheats with charisma, Liars with confidence and Sycophants dressed in designer sunglasses. Itrapped, a kin of them kept his eyes locked on each one of them. They joked, they laughed and they grated on his every nerve.

 

“Man, you’re winnin’ again,” one of them barked while nudging the player beside him with a half-drunk grin. Itrapped in return let out a low, noncommittal hum. His cold fingers rested on his cards while his gaze flicked across the table to dissect each flaw as none of his kin knew the rules.

 

“Say…” a voice drawled, snapping itrapped's thoughts. A man leaned in toward the table, reeking of whiskey and stale pride that exploiters always have. His grin gleamed under the dim light making itrapped’s eyes narrowed. The glower he offered in return was enough to shut most men up but this one was too far gone or too arrogant to notice the temperature drop.

 

“You play like someone’s life depends on it.” The man laughed, slow and low. “Ain’t that how your ex used to play too?”

 

The whole table stopped speaking as they all looked over at him making his fingers twitch against the edges of the cards. He grit his teeth and then smiled while tilting his head. “Is that so?” he asked, his thumb scraping hard along the edge of a card. 

 

“So that’s what we’re doing now?” he laughed slowly, maintaining eye contact with each one of his kin. “We’re poking into things we don’t understand.”

 

“c’mon trap, It was a joke-”

 

“No.. no.. no.” Itrapped tilted his head, icy eyes widening slightly. “Don’t backpedal.” He leaned forward. “What do you want to say?”

 

No one answered his words and instead, these cowards looked away. With a sneer, he turned his head slowly, gaze drifting past them and toward the empty chair at the far end of the table. It was empty until it wasn’t. In the blink of an eye, someone was there sitting still. A figure lounged in the seat. Their fingers were unmistakably tapping rhythmically. the same way they used to when bluffing. Tap, tap, tap. three times.

 

A single chip slipped from itrapped's stiff hand and clattered onto the table. His hand then trembled noticeably. “You good?” someone asked. “It’s nothing." itrapped snapped, continuing to look across the table. He watched the figure smile at him so Lovingly. It was the way they used to when they let him win just to make him feel clever. The way they used to before… before…

 

Their mouth moved. “Your tell is showing.”

 

Itrapped stared. His throat was tight and he didn't dare to blink. “Oh, am I showing too much? What do you want me to do, darling cry? Fold? Apologize? Don’t patronize me! I know what you’re doing.”

 

The man beside him shifted awkwardly. “It’s just a game, man. Chill. Code above, he didn’t mean to bring them up-”

 

"Quiet." Itrapped hissed through his teeth, eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t want to see them but a second later, despite himself, his gaze slid back toward the chair and just like before, he snapped his eyes away. Their ghost was still there and still mouthing something more insistent this time from the corner of his eyes. Itrapped’s lips moved before he could stop them.

 

“No,” he answered out loud. “I don’t regret it.”

 

“…” 

 

"Fold.” he gritted his teeth as the cards hit the table like the dead body of his lover.

 

 

________

 

 

I remember a time where you asked me, once, what my limit was. I found it and it wore your face. My god forsaken disorder. 

 

 

 

“Prize, huh? A mafioso’s treasure, you say?”

 

Itrapped’s low and mocking voice slithered out as his gloved fingers pressed into Chance’s cheek. The gambler hissed in response between clenched teeth before trying to twist away but Itrapped only dug harder, forcing Chance’s head to tilt back until the tendons in his neck strained. The red velvet couch beneath them groaned under Itrapped’s weight with the old springs whining in protest. one knee anchoring his balance beside Chance’s hip.

 

“Don’t look away.” Itrapped’s cold breath brush against Chance’s jaw. “You don’t need those worthless things, not when you have me. Don’t you?”

 

Chance’s half-lidded and defiant eyes flickered with uneasiness he refused to show. His lips parted to spit out a retort but before the words could form, the gambler’s body slackened as their consciousness drifted away. 

 

Itrapped tilted his head, studying them before a sharp grin crept across his face. “Chance,” he whispered sweetly, “look at me.” His voice lowered, a command rather than a plea. “Wake up. I’m not done with you.”

 

“...”

 

Itrapped’s hand dropped to his side while his other reached for the sword at his side. The steel sang in his ears as it was unsheathed with its blackened edge catching the dim light in the casino's VIP lounge. His gaze turned cold while hovering the blade just above Chance’s throat.

 

“prize.. tsk..”

 

“I’m the treasure, baby.” he murmured, crouching lower until his lips nearly brushed Chance’s ear. “I’m your prize.” The blade kissed the gambler’s skin, leaving a pale line where it threatened to break through. “You need me.”

 

The words came out desperate much to his own dismay and that realization made his breath uneven. His fingers trembled as he pressed the flat of the sword against Chance’s neck. He then sneered suddenly, jerking the sword back before he did something irreversible. His trembling fingers clenched the hilt so tight his knuckles turned white while he forced his emotions back into their cage. For a long second, he stood there. His chest rising and falling while glaring down at the unconscious gambler. daring them to wake and deny him again. Why do they keep surviving him? Why does he keep letting them?

 

Finally, Itrapped slid the blade away. He straightened his vest, tugging at the fabric to force himself back into composure.

 

“Wake up soon, gambler,” he muttered, turning toward the door. “Because the longer you stay quiet, the more I start to wonder if I actually need you alive.”

 

 

__________

 

 

Let me tell you something even more cruel. You were not my weakness. You were just the one who stood too close when I had to prove I had none.

So no, I’m not sorry.

But if you want to haunt me then haunt me properly.

 

 

 

The office hadn’t changed at all. Itrapped could still see that the glass desk still bore the lazy fingerprint smudges Chance always left behind. The blinds hung crooked. Chance used to hate when the blinds are like that. Itrapped walked in like he belonged there, which, of course, he always had. His eyes fixed ahead to which he knew who he would find there.

 

And there they was by the window. His Chance. Itrapped didn’t pause. His smile spread naturally, teeth flashing white like polished marble. “There you are,” he said lightly. He stepped past the desk, giving it a lazy tap with his fingers. “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to. You always had a knack for vanishing when I needed you the most.”

 

He chuckled. “I’m looking for the Banland key. You remember where you put it? I checked the vault, the archive, even behind the” He paused, waving a hand. “I want to know where it is, darlin..”

 

Chance said nothing as his figure stood there in silence, unbothered by itrapped's performance. “Really now,” Itrapped went on, brushing lint from his sleeve. “I’ve had a long day, and the last thing I want is to play this little passive-aggressive charade again. Just tell me where it is.”

 

”...”

 

His smile remained, but his eyes narrowed just slightly. “I see. We’re doing that again.” He rounded the desk and sank into the leather chair with a casual sigh. He adjusted his cuffs. Rested one ankle over the opposite knee. His posture is perfect and still, just as chance like it.

 

“You think this is going to rattle me?” he asked, still smiling. “Your silence doesn’t wound me because it never did.”

 

Still, Chance watched and the silence stretched.

 

Itrapped’s gaze drifted up to him, chin tilted slightly in a mock-thoughtful way. “You know, I never once lied to you. I told you how things would be. How I would choose the bigger picture every time.” He gave a small shrug. “Some of us are just built for the long game. Others... weren’t.” He said it gently.

 

“...”

 

“Silent treatment it is, then.” he said quietly, fingers lacing together. “You always did like theatrics. And fine if that’s the game we’re playing, I’ll play.”

 

Still nothing. Itrapped was now fed up. “If you're trying to punish me, Chance,” he said, voice with a snarl. “then you’re wasting your time. I don’t break under ghosts.” He exhaled, eyes closing just for a moment. “We’ll find the key another day,” he concluded, rising to his feet. “I’m sure you’ve hidden it somewhere pathetic.”

 

 

 

 

____________

 

 

You always were dramatic. finish the performance, gambler.

 

 

The air was colder than he remembered. Itrapped moved stiffly with the soles of his boots clicking sharply against the cracked pavement as he exited the alley and reentered the quiet world of robloxia. His coat trailed behind him, freshly pressed and not a single wrinkle out of place. You wouldn’t have known where he had been unless you looked too closely at his eyes.

 

He didn’t glance back at chance’s body that had been left curled, head tilted just so, eyes wide and glassy. That signature smirk that Chance wore even in arguments and even in ruin had gone slack, finally at peace in the filth.

 

Itrapped hadn’t stayed long. Itrapped’s eyes had only lingered on the body briefly long enough to burn the shape into his memory. that spilled red beneath the white collar, the loose fingers and the still chest. Long enough to inhale the copper stench and let it crawl behind his eyes. He could feel the irony of silence surrounding a man so loud in life.

 

He had stood above, unmoving, and looked down at that corpse that he’d already grown bored of.

 

Now, hours.. days? later, Itrapped sat in his apartment alone, perched on the edge of a velvet chair that never quite fit his frame. His apartment was clean. immaculate as always just as he prefers. Shelves of books sat untouched behind glass. The sink had been dry for days. He hadn't eaten because there was still a performance to finish.

 

He watched the news with the volume low, his eyes glazed over. Reporters buzzed about a devs scandal, an upcoming auction And a lost dog that had been found three blocks away. Nothing about the casino nor about Chance. trapped adjusted his cufflink. He waited. And waited. The world was supposed to react. That was the point. The casino owner wasn’t just another gambler. He was a spectacle in itrapped's eyes. A tower of laughter and arrogance that begged to be noticed even in death.

 

But the city of robloxia was silent. It was as though Chance had never existed and was forsaken for the sin of being with Itrapped. The news should’ve sung the tale like a final act. Well-known casino magnate found dead in alleyway. “Community shocked” Chance Be Damned.

 

By the fifth day, Itrapped couldn’t sit still. 

 

He told himself he was only going out for a walk just to stretch his legs and to clear his mind. But his feet knew better. They carried him, back to that same alley behind the rusting dumpster where the neon flickered. The closer he got, the colder the air became. The streetlights hummed overhead. He turned the familiar corner and stopped. He had expected decomposition and he had prepared himself for it. Maybe he’d see the slump of Chance’s body still curled or rats chewing at silk but there was nothing there.

 

The alley was quiet and the ground where Chance had fallen was dry and unsullied.

 

 

__________

 

 

If there's a hell, I hope you're louder there. I hope your laugh fills every corner of it. I hope I'll listen to it properly.

 

You always wanted honesty.

 

So there it is.

 

I.

 

 

The bathwater had gone tepid, he noticed.

 

the once-clouded warmth stilled into a glassy surface, and disturbed only by the slow, idle movement of Itrapped’s fingers trailing along the rim. The lights above flickered softly in amber hues. He was slouched low, his arms draped over the porcelain edge of the tub, legs parted lazily beneath the water. His eyes were half-lidded. the silence held too long until the ripple came. Hands not his began to wash over him with soft cloth and softer motions, gliding from shoulder to chest, careful not to disturb the false peace. Itrapped didn’t look down. He didn’t need to as chance’s presence was unmistakable.

 

Chance knelt in the water, pale-eyed, gray hair darker now from the bath. His hands were cupping water, fingers sliding across Itrapped’s skin- the other steadying his thigh with featherlight touch. His gaze wasn’t harsh. He looked up, and for a moment Itrapped let himself believe he was really there.  

 

“You always forgot to scrub behind your ears.” Chance murmured.

 

Itrapped tilted his head, lips curling faintly. “You say that as though I wasn’t preoccupied managing every catastrophe you brought home.”

 

Chance only chuckled. a low, familiar sound that always reminded itrapped of velvet over dice. Perhaps it comes with being a gambler. 

 

“Maybe. Or maybe you just liked pretending you were busier than you were.” The sponge moved in circles over Itrapped’s arm, up to his shoulder and over his collarbone. The bathwater sloshed gently as Chance adjusted, shifting slightly, and for a moment Itrapped closed his eyes and let his head tilt back against the marble.

 

“What would you know?” Itrapped said softly, voice curving with false amusement. “You were always too distracted to notice anything unless it glittered.”

 

“You're beautiful.”

 

Chance’s hand lingered at his chest, pressing flat over his heart. Only there was no warmth in the touch and there's no pulse mirrored in return.

 

Itrapped opened his eyes.

 

“You glittered like gold to me.”

 

“...”

 

“chance what use are those words if you're not here? Besides, you wouldn’t be kneeling if you were.”

 

His fingers hovered just above Chance’s phantom face, it trembles slightly, before curling back into his palm. “Still,” he breathed, smiling faintly, “it’s a nicer image than most.” 

 

Chance shifted forward, resting his cheek against Itrapped’s thigh, arms loosely hugging his leg. The silence accompanied them both until itrapped parted his lips to speak.

 

“Chance… come close.”

 

Itrapped’s voice barely breached the surface of the water. He lay back as he sank deeper into the lukewarm bath. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, lashes damp. He breathed in then opened them again looking straight ahead, to the illusion at the tub’s edge. Chance moved silently, as all ghosts do in itrapped eyes. Those golden eyes patient and expression unreadable. Itrapped smiled at that. cracked and faint in the corners of his mouth.

 

“Closer,” he whispered. Chance leaned in and without warning, Itrapped pulled. Water surged violently as the two figures sank beneath the surface. The world went muffled and cold while their forms disappeared. Itrapped kept his eyes open, the water burned his gaze while he held the ghost beneath with him, deeper and deeper. His arms stayed tight around Chance’s neck to anchor him there but the illusion dissolved in his grip. Bubbles escaped his mouth as he blinked through the blur, now holding only the water itself. He broke the surface, gasping, arms outstretched and aching from the effort. Long blonde hair slicked back, chest rising, he sat alone in the bath. Water trailed down his face like tears he will never shed in this lifetime.

 

Nothing remained in his embrace, Nothing but memory. And memory, he realized bitterly, never drowns.

 

 

_________________________

 

 

 

 

"Get away from me."

 

Chance’s voice came out ragged with his breath hitching as his back hit the jagged surface of a boulder. His boots slid slightly against the earth, one hand clutching the torn fabric of his shoulder but it wasn’t enough to stop the tremble in his other hand as he raised the pistol. The figure before him stood still. The blue crown caught the last shred of moonlight. That crown.. How could Chance have been so stupid?

 

"I said get the hell away from me!" he barked louder with his voice cracking under the weight of his fury. His breathing was desperate with his chest heaving under the strain. He couldn’t see itrapped’s face at all. He never remembered. A face will always blur together when chance deems them dead. His parents, his ‘friends’ and itrapped. It was always about the shape, the voice and the way someone moved. That’s how Chance remembered and chance fucking remembered who had tormented his mind in the earliest days of being in hell.

 

He watched the man’s shoulders rolled back with a sigh. "You’re shaking," Itrapped muttered, stepping forward while ignoring the barrel of a gun that was aimed straight at him. “Put the gun down, Chance. You’re bleeding too much to think.”

 

Chance’s fingers twitched on the trigger.

 

“I'm going to shoot you,” he hissed, his lips pale and his arm trembling under the weight of the weapon. “I swear to telamon, I’ll-I'll do it.”

 

His vision swam. The pain in his shoulder- white hot felt like a nail had driven through his body. Though the ache of being fooled distracted from the real pain which is the one splitting him open inside.  He should have known. How could he have trusted someone who wore a crown? a damn animal with a crown. 

 

Chance’s eyes locked on the blurry outline of Itrapped. That crown so fucking bright. How did he turn into a damn animal? Unless.. the memories soon hit him.

 

“I carry the blood of an exploiter” Itrapped had once said, his voice detached from chance's enthusiasm . “But I never exploited. I’ve always chosen restraint.”

 

“Why tell me that?” Chance had asked back then, lips curled around a half-smile. “Trying to prove you’re better than your bloodline?”

 

“No,” ”Itrapped had replied. “I just wanted you to know the truth in case... something ever happened.”

 

what a fucking godforsaken exploiter.

 

Chance snapped back to reality with a shuddered breath, pain flaring anew across his chest. His body sagged against the cold surface of a jagged stone wall as the rough edges bit through his already-soaked shirt. The blood was spreading and shit The world around him seemed to blur at the edges. “Hey- hey, you stay there,” Chance hissed. He scrambled back, boots scraping over dirt and fallen leaves only to slam harder into the stone at his back when that figure took another step forward. His outline blurred in the dappled sunlight slipping through the trees. Fuck. Chance’s fingers trembled even more. He stared past Itrapped’s head, anywhere but at him. “Don’t come closer.”

 

“You’re going to die.” the other said. Chance barked out a weak, breathless laugh that ended in a cough. “What’s it to you, genius? You killed me. Remember that?”

 

There was a pause before Itrapped snapped sharply.. “You’re alive.”

 

Chance narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? After you killed me.”

 

They both fell quiet. Chance could only hear the wind whispering through the leaves, a bird calling out once. He blinked slowly, lifting his eyes to the sky, vision warping. He heard Itrapped exhaled. A sound so small, but to Chance, it was a gunshot.

 

He flinched. “Don’t- don’t you dare sigh like that.”

 

Itrapped didn’t respond immediately, and Chance hated how quiet he was. “We’re going to find your friends,” Itrapped muttered.

 

Chance let out a snort that was more spit than amusement. “Right. Friends.” He coughed into his arm, biting back the metallic tang of blood. “You sure they’re not already rotting in a ditch somewhere with that kid roaming around? You’re a little late for heroics, don’t you think?”

 

“And I want an explanation.” Itrapped continued. Chance turned his head slowly, teeth clenched and jaw twitching. “Explanation about what?”

 

“Everything,” Itrapped said firmly. “But especially what. Are. You. Doing. In. The. Banlands.”

 

Chance glared in response, teeth gritted until his jaw ached.

 

“Oh, now you care?” he growled. “After everything? You think you’re owed answers? You don’t get to ask questions, Itrapped. You don’t get to-”

 

He stopped himself. He could feel the heat crawling up his throat. The rage and exhaustion. The two tasted the same.

 

“I hate you.”

 

 

 

______________________

 

 

 

 

Two Time gazed coolly at the man in the fedora, who stood with a placid grin spread across his face. The sunlight, filtered through the leaves above, it caught the edge of his hat and cast a sharp sliver of shadow across his eye.

 

The man’s smile widened.

 

Tsk. Two Time’s own lips curled in response to an unsettling, sharp-edged grin that didn’t reach their eyes. At that- The man’s smile faltered at once, and his eyes, darted away.

 

“Mm,” Two Time hummed in satisfaction, taking the small retreat as a prize. “As I suspected. The trickster cannot hold his gaze long, when faced with something he cannot outplay.”

 

Then, they turned, scarf swaying behind them. Their boots crunched softly over the dead grass as they moved toward the Seven, whose glare could have ignited the banlands, and Shedletsky, whose face seemed to have forgotten how to arrange itself into anything but guilty awkwardness.

 

“Come now,” Two Time intoned grandly with a lazy sweep of their hand. “Allow me the honor of introductions. Do gather your patience, dear Seven and try not to burn shedletsky alive. Now then, please extend your wariness to our guest.”

 

The fedora-wearing man raised a brow. “ya referring to me?”

 

“Indeed,” Two Time said, their voice airy. “Meet demon number one. Do not let the hat fool you. He is neither charming nor competent.”

 

“I beg your pardon? I am not a demon.” the man said, frowning now, his arms crossing in protest. “You are pardoned.” Two Time replied flatly as they turned away. “Though undeserved.” 

 

“I’m not an exploiter nor a demon,” the man interrupted again, louder this time and it made two time stifle a sneer. “For code’s sake, how many times must I say it?”

 

“You are the first exploiter we have encountered in the Banlands,” Two Time interrupted matter-of-factly, ignoring the interruption. “And more curiously, you are the infamous white rabbit our beloved Chance was seen lugging about.”

 

The man opened his mouth, only for it to shut again, his expression freezing. Seven's brow twitched as he eyed the fedora suspiciously. “So that’s who you are,” he mumbled, moving away from shedletsky while the admin laughed nervously. It came out too loud and dry. “well..” shedletsky began, forcing his hands into his pockets as if they might escape. “This isn't exactly the first time I’ve encountered a beastblooded exploiter..”

 

“I am not an exploiter,” the fedora man snapped again, turning to Shedletsky in disbelief. “codes above- How many times-! I am a self-restrained user of unauthorized scripts. There’s nuance.”

 

“Mm. Yes,” Two Time mused, tapping their chin, “and I am merely a selective eater of souls. Labels are such burdensome little things, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

The man's eye twitch. “You lot are impossible.”

 

“And you are inconsistent,” Two Time shot back sweetly. “Your accent changes every time you lie, did you know that?”

 

“I do not have an accent.”

 

“Indeed and you also do not become a rabbit at will.”

 

“I don’t become anything. I adapt.”

 

“It’s called lunacy,” Two Time answered calmly just as Seven lifted a hand. “Enough.”

 

His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the argument . Both Two Time and the fedora-wearing man froze mid-retort. Even Shedletsky straightened slightly. Seven then exhaled a long, shaky breath, lowering his arm. His shoulders drooped, heavy with fatigue. His lips pressed into a tight frown as he rubbed at his red and swollen eyes, the evidence of earlier tears that are still raw across his features. Two Time, seeing this, tilted their head, watching with an unreadable expression. For all their barbs and wit, even they knew when to step back.

 

Seven's voice came again. “What is your name?”

 

The man adjusted his fedora and bowed slightly while placing a hand to his chest. “Sonnelino. A pleasure to finally introduce myself properly, 007n7.” He straightened with a smirk. “But you can call me Maff, 007n7.”

 

From the edge of his vision, Seven saw Two Time twitch in annoyance. He glanced sideways, catching the flick of their eye and at the same time, Shedletsky’s reaction was less subtle. He turned his full body toward Maff. Seven pressed his lips together tightly.

 

“I see.” He took a deep breath, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “We don’t have time for games. We need to find Builderman. We need to find Chance. And...” his voice caught slightly, “We need to find my son.”

 

He turned, facing the trail ahead. “We have to go. Now.” Then, he pivoted, pinning Maff with a final glance.

 

“And you, what do you want with us?”

 

Maff adjusted his cuffs then tilted his head.

 

“To find Chance,” he said simply.

 

“Nothing more?” Seven asked with his gaze sharp. Clearly refusing to believe maff's reason. Maff paused. His expression faltered before snapping back into place. “Well,” he said lightly, “I wouldn't say anything But finding Chance is a good start, don’t you think?”

 

Two Time snorted. “It’s called evasion,” they muttered.

 

“It’s called priorities,” Maff countered, brushing past them. “And mine happens to be alive and somewhere out there bleeding in the dirt with my..bunny In hand..”

 

Two Time let out another sharp snort. The noise echoed with disbelief and disinterest all at once. Without another word, they spun on their heel. Their boots crunched as they strode toward the nearest tree making maff raised a brow, watching warily from behind.

 

“Oi,” Maf called after them. “You goin’ for a piss or somethin’? What’s with the theatrics?”

 

Two Time paid him no mind as they came to a halt at the base of the tree and without hesitation, they pulled their thin, jagged blade from the inside of their sleeve and began carving into the bark with controlled, aggressive strokes. Long, angular lines then circles inside triangles before abruptly stabbing into the center of the mark, over and over. the blade thudding into the wood with every stab rhythm. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

 

Maff flinched from behind. “Bloody hell lad, what are you doing?”

 

Two Time didn’t look back. “To mark our location.” they said calmly. “In case we are hunted down and butchered like livestock in our sleep.” They jabbed the knife in one final time, twisting it just slightly before withdrawing it.

 

 

“...”

 

 

 

____________________

 

 

 

 

"You are ridiculous."

 

Itrapped’s voice floated ahead with restrained irritation. He didn’t look back as he kept on walking, black boots crunching softly over broken leaves and damp soil. Chance followed a few paces behind, limping. His breath came in short bursts, and his arm trembled as he held the gun forward, both hands locked in a weak grip. The muzzle wavered, dipping every few seconds, but he kept it up anyway.

 

He had already snapped at Itrapped minutes ago, demanding (begging) for space. But the man refused to leave. So Chance had drawn a line. "You go first," he had growled through clenched teeth. "You don’t wanna leave? Fine. Then you go ahead. I stay in the back." It was a compromise born out of pure spite.

 

Chance limped over a root, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back a groan. Hell, His leg throbbed with every step but still, he kept the gun raised. Even if his hand shook or even if he could barely see straight. He had to. He squinted behind Itrapped’s broad shoulders, the silence stretched until it broke when itrapped decided to open his mouth again.

 

“Chance.”

 

Chance flinched. “What?!” he snapped sharply. Itrapped didn’t answer right away.

 

Chance’s grip tightened on the gun. He didn’t like the way the forest suddenly seemed to hush. It felt like a long time has passed when finally, Itrapped spoke again.

 

“…When did you learn to use a gun?”

 

The question hit Chance sideways, unexpected. He snorted, his breath hot with sarcasm. “Oh, well ya, I learned playing Russian roulette, obviously. Great for group bonding.”

 

He didn’t slow down and kept walking careful steps, favoring his right side, gun still trembling in his grasp. If he focused on that, maybe the conversation would stop. Maybe Itrapped would shut up and stay shut up but Itrapped stopped walking. Which meant Chance had to stop, too.

 

He cursed under his breath and stumbled to a halt. fuck. Itrapped turned to face him, slowly and telamon above, he felt those nonsexistent eyes locked onto Chance’s own. Chance then took a step back automatically, shoulders tensing.

 

Itrapped tilted his head.

 

“You don’t learn how to use a gun like that unless you’ve been doing it,” Itrapped continued. “And you definitely don’t learn how to shoot someone else that cleanly because you were in a coma, chance.”

 

“So?”

 

“You don’t just wake up and know how to aim like that.”

 

“I woke up and the world was different.”

 

“That doesn’t teach you how to shoot someone clean through the head.”

 

Chance’s mouth opened but nothing came out. His eyes flicked down to the weapon in his hand. 

 

“How the fuck did you turn into a bunny anyway?”

 

Chance deflected the topic as he leaned against the tree with one arm clutching his ribs. He was winded again and furious about it. The bark scraped against his torn shirt, but he didn’t care. He needed a break and something to anchor himself. His eyes darted to Itrapped, who stood a few paces ahead, avoiding his gaze by tilting his head away so chance took the moment to really look at him.

 

Of course, the asshole still had the crown. That stupid, untouched crown like none of this bullshit had ever happened. He wore a royal blue vest that looked almost freshly pressed, a white shirt buttoned all the way up tucked under his skin. Boots in hand and Sword on his belt.

 

“I do not know." Itrapped finally said. His voice was cool and clipped. Chance squinted at him to try and will a better answer out of him.

 

“Right,” Chance muttered, letting out a short breath. “So one day you’re a killer and the next you’re Peter fucking Rabbit?”

 

Itrapped didn’t even flinch. Chance rolled his eyes so hard he saw spots. “Is the other bunny mafioso too?”

 

Itrapped simply adjusted his belt, sheathed the sword a little tighter and kept his damn silence. Chance’s jaw twitched. “So that’s a yes.”

 

“...”

 

“Oh, good,” Chance hissed under his breath. “Because nothing screams ‘well-adjusted’ like forming alliances with the same goddamn man that I had dated.”

 

His voice cracked a bit on “dated.” But damn everything, He didn’t care. He crossed his arms and looked away, shaking his head with a bitter scoff as suppressed memories soon found their way in his head. He remembered the hallway and the crimson velvet then the sound of boots that weren’t his. He remembered waking up to cold champagne and Mafioso’s lips somewhere near his throat.

 

“Since when did you and the mafia start playing house?” Chance spat, venom rising before he could swallow it. “You didn’t even like him..”

 

Itrapped said nothing but his shoulders stiffened.

 

Chance laughed. “telamon. Whatever. Doesn’t matter.” He pushed himself off the tree with a groan and started walking again. Every step felt like his body was being stitched together with wire. He didn’t ask what happened between them. He’d rather die again than admit he cared. He didn’t give a single goddamn shit. Really. …Right? He didn’t bother turning until he heard Itrapped’s voice.

 

“Stop. The river look.”

 

Chance barely lifted his head before feeling a warm hand touch his elbow causing chance to step away, halting him just before the silver shimmer of water. The sun above lit the river. He squinted toward it, unsure what Itrapped was playing at now.

 

“I’m not going to have you dying on me,” Itrapped said flatly. Chance scoffed, rolling his eyes before spitting his answer out like venom. “Stop being a hypocrite.” But the sarcasm didn’t have time to land when Itrapped suddenly stepped forward and before Chance could back away- arms were wrapped tightly around him. In an instant, all of his bitterness cracked under the heat of that embrace. His knees weakened. “What the hell hey! Ya don’t need to- stop it!” He writhed uselessly in Itrapped’s arms, voice growing shrill with panic. “What are you doing!?” He shoved and kicked as pain flared through his shoulder. The world spun before he felt the water splashed violently as the two fell into the shallows of the lake. Cold bit into Chance’s skin, the blood on his shirt washing out in. He gasped, sputtering, trying to scramble up but Itrapped’s grip only loosened once he was kneeling there, soaked to the bone.

 

“You’re going to wipe away that blood,” Itrapped ordered. “Clean yourself in the river. I’ll find the help you need.”

 

“I don’t need your help!”

 

“You need to stop bleeding out in front of me,” Itrapped replied as he stood above him, soaked from the waist down, blue vest clinging to his frame and blonde hair wet and dripping while the sunlight caught on the ice crown atop his head. “Again.”

 

“I said g-”

 

“Keep still.” A gloved hand pressed firmly against his waist. Chance hissed in response. He continued squirmjng beneath the faceless man’s grip while the cold river water bit through his blood-soaked shirt. He shuddered as each time Itrapped touched the hem of his shirt- he fought the urge to flinch or to shrink away. Beyond that, he couldn't move. the pain in his shoulder had numbed a heatless throbbing accompanied by a spreading dampness.

 

“Goddamn it, Chance.. you’re so fucking stubborn.” Itrapped’s voice cut through the silence. His incomprehensible face hovered close causing chance’s breath to hitched. Fuck, he was so close. Chance’s eyes flickered to the sword at Itrapped’s hip and hell- He knew this man could gut him in one second flat. Just like before. 

 

His whole body immediately tensed and Itrapped noticed. The man stilled then, without a word, he reached down to unbuckle it with one smooth pull then tossed it to the side. He soon heard the blade clattered against a rock.

 

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he murmured as he returned to Chance. “Let me help.”

 

Before Chance could protest again- Itrapped had already leaned in, pulling him forward. His fingers curled into the fabric of Chance’s soaked shirt and began peeling it back slowly. Beneath the fabric was his arm skin slick with blood and bruised from the force of coolkid’s aim. The deep gash is still weeping red. The cold should have numbed him by now, but all Chance could feel was the burn of exposure and the unwanted warmth of itrapped.

 

Itrapped’s hand hovered over the wound. “It’s deep.” he murmured. Chance didn’t respond. His chest rose and fell with labored breath, trembling with effort. He refused to look up, feeling his throat tightened. “Look at me,” Itrapped ordered. 

 

Chance’s gaze remained glued to the river they're in. “Chance.” Itrapped repeated more softly this time. He then reached forward and gently tilted Chance’s chin up with his fingertips but yet Chance couldn’t see him. His vision blurred. His lashes were damp with river water or tears. He didn’t know. Itrapped’s touch stilled. “Why can’t you look me in the eyes?”

 

“Because you don’t have any,” Chance snapper before he could stop himself. His voice cracked and his throat burned. “Because I can’t fucking see you.”

 

“…” An arm moved to slid behind the back of his neck. Another came around to brace against his ribs and then Itrapped leaned in until his forehead came to rest just at the base of Chance’s neck. Chance froze. The wet strands of Itrapped’s hair clung to his skin. Chance’s muscles tensed instinctively, he was ready to recoil but his numb legs refrained him to do so.

 

“Did I become just like them, huh?”

 

“No,” chance hissed, the word shaking. “You didn’t become like them.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “i don't know what the hell you've become.”

 

 

 

__________________

 

 

 

Chance sat shirtless by the water’s edge, his chest still faintly rising and falling with the aftershocks of exhaustion. His shirt and blazer had been draped neatly over a sun-warmed rock nearby, drying in the daylight. The soft hiss of the wind combed through the dry grass behind them. Across from him, Itrapped sat in silence with their legs folded beneath them. His eyes occasionally drift toward Chance. They were fixing their vest again, pulling and smoothing out the soaked blue fabric in that meticulous, absent-minded way Chance remembered all too well. It was one of those things that stuck in his mind when it comes to Itrapped’s mannerisms. Chance didn’t say a word. His jaw was locked tight. Every now and then, his fingers twitched against the grip of the gun resting in his lap. He didn’t look at Itrapped after being pulled into the river.

 

Silence stretched between them until they heard sudden footsteps crunching the brittle grass underfoot. From the corner of his eyes he saw- Itrapped stood up in an instant, their hand going instinctively to their belt while Chance was already moving. He grabbed his gun and aimed with sharp precision despite the tremble in his bad arm.

 

From the trees, a young man stepped out.

 

“Chance?”

 

“Elliot?”

 

Emerging from behind the low ridge of the trail was a young familiar man, his long blond ponytail tousled and glinting under the harsh sun. He had a red satchel slung around his shoulder, dust covering his boots and bus eyes wide in disbelief..Chance's grip on the gun loosened. His breath hitched while recognition bloomed across his face. It really was Elliot.

 

“Elliot-!” Chance’s voice cracked with sudden relief. Without thinking, he staggered forward while ignoring the throb in his shoulder and the heat of the sun on his skin. He threw his arms around the other man tightly, nearly knocking the breath out of him.

 

“What the hell, what are you doing in the Banlands!? How did you even?!”

 

“W-wait Careful, your shoulder-!” Elliot yelped and gently pushed Chance back just enough to get a better look at the blood-soaked bandage beneath his arm. His fingers ghosted over the wound. “How did you get injured like this?”

 

Chance just laughed. His smile was crooked, reckless and full of affection and disbelief. The pain didn’t matter at all. “Hey, hey, don’t change the topic-” Chance poked Elliot in the chest with his uninjured hand. “How the hell did you get here, huh bud?” It was a shock to see Elliot standing right In front of him because the others- chance included thought that Elliot wouldn't be anywhere other than his family and they all had understood Elliot's choice so why is he here!?

 

Elliot blinked at him, then let out a sheepish laugh with his fingers moving to scratch the back of his neck. “I… kinda followed you guys.”

 

Chance stared. “Ya what?”

 

“I mean, I didn’t plan to, exactly,” Elliot chuckled. “But I saw the direction you guys were going and I just… Well, I couldn’t help it. I wanted to know what was going on. And before I knew it, I was marked and swept by the system. I'm banned...”

 

“Oh,” Chance muttered, still trying to piece it together. He frowned, glancing at the terrain around them. This land wasn’t where Elliot belonged. He huffed, shaking his head. “But I thought you’d you know stay with your family. Elliot, we’re finally free. Why would you follow us into this-” He gestured vaguely around them. “the goddamn Banlands?”

 

Elliot smiled faintly at that. “All I wanted,” Elliot said softly, “was to know if my family was doing okay. And I found out. They are safe chance. That’s all I needed to know."

 

Chance's brows furrowed because the answer did not satisfy the unease in his chest. “Then why?” he pressed roughly, “Why come here? Why stay here, why risk everything again?"

 

Elliot looked down. “Because who else would support you guys?” Chance’s mouth opened but nothing came out. “…Dumbass,” Chance muttered finally, voice hoarse as he blinked quickly. “You shouldn’t have followed us. You don’t know what’s waiting for us out here.”

 

“I-”

 

Chance barely got the word out before a hand settled firmly on his shoulder.

 

“Chance, who is he?” Itrapped cut in sharply as chance stiffened at the contact. The warmth of their hand might as well have been a live wire. He turned his head, shooting Itrapped a narrow glare with his lips pressing into a thin line. Itrapped blinked at the look before they stepped back.

 

Of course, Elliot noticed.

 

He noticed everything when it comes to the sentinels and the survivors. The taller man moved instantly, stepping beside Chance with an ease that showed just how used he was to reading him. His shoulders squared as he positioned himself just slightly in front of Chance So now Itrapped and Elliot stood eye-to-eye. Both of them frustratingly tall. Chance couldn’t help but think bitterly as to why his luck hates him today when he could have been one inch taller than them.

 

“What are y'all doin” He instinctively tried to drift closer to Elliot’s side to seek distance from Itrapped but Itrapped subtly moved in sync catching chance off guard.

 

He pivot just enough to stand between him and elliot- while the support raised an eyebrow, their tone puzzled. “Noob?”

 

Chance winced at the name while Itrapped’s shoulders went stiff, their spine straightening like a rod of iron. 

 

“No,” Itrapped bit out coldly.

 

“Oh,” Elliot replied, blinking. “My bad.”

 

A beat passed until Itrapped’s biting voice came low. “...Chance. Is he your friend?”

 

The question was simple but it wasn’t asked with curiosity. Chance lifted a brow at them, confused and slightly defensive. “Yeah. Course he’s my friend.”

 

That answer didn’t settle anything. If anything, it seemed to agitate Itrapped further. “Friend,” they echoed, tasting the word and finding it bitter. “Where were they, huh? Where were these friends when I-”

 

“Chance,” Elliot interrupted suddenly, voice pointed, “do you know him?”

 

Chance turned toward him, surprised. Elliot rarely cut in like that unless he felt it necessary. “What are you not telling me?” Elliot asked quietly and softer this time. disappointed. “You flinched when he touched you.”

 

“Elliot.”

 

Chance’s laced with exasperation tried to get his friend’s attention away from the topic. His fingers twitched as he leaned against a tree to push himself up with a grunt. The motion tugged sharply at his injured shoulder. Immediately, Elliot was at his side, hands out and brows furrowed in concern.

 

“Don’t move like that, idiot,” Elliot scolded gently, brushing a hand under Chance’s arm to steady him. “I’m fine,” Chance bit back, though his face twisted. But without a word, Elliot reached into the red pouch at his side and pulled out a slice of slightly squished pizza. “Here,” he said and promptly stuffed it into Chance’s mouth before the other could protest.

 

Chance blinked, mouth full of greasy cheese and pepperoni. “Mmph-what the hell, El” He chewed anyway. the magic-infused food coursed through him causing the pain in his shoulder to dull. “You still have your abilities.” he muttered between chews while Elliot gave a wry grin, his own breath catching. “Mmhm. You still have yours?”

 

Before Chance could respond, a voice cut in again.

 

“An exploiter’s blood?”

 

Elliot turned slowly with his jaw clenching. “No… no, I’m not.” Itrapped tilted their head. “Tsk. What kind of exploiter denies their heritage?” they said smoothly. “You can heal. That’s not mundane.”

 

“I'm not an exploiter,” Elliot snapped, a sharp edge in his voice, though his hands remained calm at his sides. “Right.” Itrapped’s voice dripped with dry sarcasm. He then tilted his head slowly, they trailed down Elliot’s outfit. That crumpled red uniform and the grease-stained name tag clinging on by a single thread. “You work at a pizzeria?” Itrapped asked with faux innocence causing Chance to flinch, chewing slower as his eyes flicked warily between the two.

 

Elliot paused. “What’s it to you?” Elliot muttered, trying to keep his voice level. But Itrapped leaned forward slightly. “Nothing. Just... impressive,” Itrapped drawled. “Most people would think a exploiter with rare blood would land somewhere... higher than delivering pepperoni slices. I mean, I knew the market was bad but pizza? That’s rough.”

 

Elliot stiffened.

 

Chance, still chewing, swallowed hard. “Hey-”

 

“No, no, I’m genuinely curious,” Itrapped went on,. “Do they at least give you tips for? Or is that just part of the... minimum wage benefits?” Itrapped gave a soft scoff, tossing his head to the side. “Right. Nothing wrong with humble roots,” he said, though every syllable dripped with mockery. “Chance always did like strays.”

 

Chance cleared his throat, “Okay,” he began, tone clipped and shaking with irritation. “Let’s not do this.”Chance turned to Elliot, sparing him a glance that was half-apology and half-warning. “Elliot. Just ignore him.”

 

Itrapped, arms crossed was about to speak again when Chance slowly turned to face him fully.

 

“And you-” Chance said, eyes locked onto the incomprehensible face. Their voice trembling ever so slightly with the fury behind it. “…You.”

 

Itrapped tilted his head like a curious animal. “Me?” Chance didn’t hesitate. “Shut up.” That made Itrapped’s posture stiffen. 

 

Elliot’s wary eyes darted between the two of them before he, too, cleared his throat. “Chance… where are the others?”

 

Chance blinked. His shoulders sank ever so slightly, and he ran a hand down his face, trying to wipe away the sweat lingering. “We got lost,” he muttered. “And… Seven.”

 

Elliot’s brows furrowed. “Seven?”

 

Chance nodded slowly, lips thinning. “Yes. Seven, builderman and twotime along with shedletsky got separated.”

 

“We have to find seven.” Elliot suddenly said quite loudly.

 

 

“?”

 

 

_______________

 

 

 

 

 

“Elliot-Elliot!?”

 

Elliot flinched so hard he nearly knocked over the napkin dispenser. His manager’s sharp voice sliced through the murmur of the kitchen behind him, and he quickly spun around, wide-eyed. His gaze met the unimpressed face of a balding man with a permanent frown etched into his doughy features.

 

“Sorry manager!” Elliot blurted out, tongue flicking over his braced teeth anxiously while he forced his expression back into one of calm. He dipped his rag into the lukewarm sanitizer bucket and resumed wiping down the already spotless table with frantic, circular motions. Two months. Two whole months since he got this job at his father's company. a modest chain of pizza restaurants under the cheesy name Builder Brother’s Pizza. His dad had practically thrown him into it and Elliot liked it more than he expected. The cold hum of the AC brushing sweat across his neck, the way the late afternoon sun beamed through the dusty window slats. He paused mid-wipe and tilted his head toward the TV mounted in the upper corner of the room. His lips moved along with the words of a song stuck in his head, but his eyes were focused on the screen.

 

He heard the news anchor's voice that was tight with urgency.

 

“…another strike on May 18th by the unidentified group. Roblox currency was wiped from dozens of accounts. Investigators believe the exploiters used an underground data loop-”

 

“Damn,” Elliot muttered under his breath. “Uncle’s gonna be pissed.” He gave a half-snort and shook his head, scrubbing at a smudge of imaginary grime when the door chimed. The bell rang. The bright, familiar ding that had become routine background noise.

 

“Welcome to Builder Brother’s Pizza, how many I-”

 

His voice died in his throat. Footsteps echoed as the cheerful air inside the restaurant froze. Elliot looked up and nearly stumbled backward. A man stood before him and his presence felt jagged. Elliot could swear it felt like static crawling across Elliot’s skin. Horns curved out from his messy Brunette hair, and his face glitched with his grin wide and cracked. A tail lazily swayed behind him. Elliot turned to look at his outfit. His jacket was torn and singed at the edges while hung open. The sleeves were patched with stolen logos and mismatched symbols.

 

“Hey,” the man said, voice weirdly smooth and teasing. It oozed with confidence. Elliot tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. His smile had frozen awkwardly on his face. “H…Hello. What can I get for you today?”

 

The man leaned forward slightly, smirking. “Aren’t you a cute little thing.”

 

The words slithered into Elliot’s ears and his spine stiffened. He opened his mouth to respond when he heard the second set of footsteps behind the man. Another figure emerged and this time, his presence was somehow worse. Elliot couldn’t make out his features. Wherever the first man's presence felt like static, this one was pure shadow. Black and purple. That's all Elliot could register. The moment he tried to focus on the newcomer, his vision blurred. His eyes couldn’t hold on. He blinked furiously, then looked away. The horned man turned slightly, glancing back at the second figure, then turned back to Elliot. “We want a… hmm. What do we want, bud?”

 

The glitching man’s voice dropped into a mocking purr. “Something edible, if this establishment knows how to manage that.”

 

“I’d say a pizza, but judging by the smell, it’s more like mold.” A soft chuckle followed and uncle above, their laugh sounded wrong and dissonant. It sounds like two voices overlapping.

 

"Uhm.."

 

“so, you work at a pizzeria?” the horned one drawled, raising an eyebrow at Elliot’s uniform. Elliot’s cheeks flushed red, his mouth parting to defend himself, but the man didn’t let him. “Builder Brother’s, huh? Cute.” His eyes flicked toward the grimy counter. “You must be very proud. It takes a certain kind of man to wear polyester in this economy.”

 

The other man laughed again. It made Elliot’s heart race but definitely not in any good way. “I mean, don’t be shy,” the glitching man added, smirking as he stepped closer. “Do they pay you in coupons or just expired soda credits? Oh wait no need to answer that. You're sweating.”

 

Elliot forced a breath through his nose. He straightened his shoulders despite the burn crawling under his skin. “Ca-cann I take your order?”

 

“Oh, we already did.” The man’s grin split wider. “We just haven’t collected yet.”

 

"Sev, don’t scare the poor worker"

 

Elliot’s hands clenched behind the counter. He then blinked rapidly once more, trying to make out the source, but something in his vision warped again. The second figure spoke again. “Look at him.”

 

“Shut up, Noli,” Sev replied, not even glancing back while he waved a glitched hand with dismissive motion. “Don't act like you weren't laughing just a second ago..” Noli chuckled low in response. “I wasn’t laughing, I was smiling. Big difference. You’re the one scaring the baby.” Sev turned his head just enough to snarl, “You encourage me, freak.”

 

“You’re the freak,” Noli answered “and i’m the one keeping us hidden, idiot. Watch it.”

 

“Yeah? From what? This place is full of cheap pizza and one little red-suited loser. I hope they see me.”

 

Elliot stiffened when Sev’s eyes slid back to him. He shrank a little further, his knuckles whitening against the edge of the table he’d been wiping. Sweat rolled from his temple, even with the cold blast of the pizzeria’s A/C unit humming in the background.

 

“Say...” sev drawled, his gaze sharp . He tilted his head. “You work here long, little red?” Elliot stiffened. “Y-Yeah,” he said automatically, wishing he could take the words back. “Since two months ago.” now why the hell did he admit that.

 

Sev gave a mocking whistle. “Damn. Look at you. Rockin’ the uniform.” He leaned on the counter, his elbow glitching through the plastic display case. “You got dreams, pizza boy?”

 

“Um..”

 

Then Sev stopped dead still. His head cocked slowly. Something changed in his posture. “Huh,” Sev muttered under his breath. Noli, now watching more intently, tilted his head too. “Wait a minute…”

 

Elliot shifted back slightly, sensing the shift in atmosphere. “Wh-What?” Sev walked back up to the counter and planted both palms down. His glitching face flickered as he narrowed his gaze. “You’re not just some worker,” he said darkly. “I-I am. I’m just-”

 

“Don’t lie to me.” Sev’s voice turned sharped. “You’ve got that stink. That code on you. You're… no, wait a second…” His lips curled into a sharp delighted smile.. “You’re that idiot’s nephew, aren’t you?”

 

Elliot’s breath caught in his throat. “Wh-Who?”

 

“Builderman.” Sev spat the name like a curse.

 

Noli’s grin widened. “Well now. That’s an interesting turn of events.”

 

“I knew there was something off about you,” Sev growled. In one swift motion, he reached over the counter and grabbed Elliot’s cheeks in one hand, squeezing them between his fingers. Elliot winced, “Stop-!” Sev didn’t listen. He leaned in, pulling Elliot toward him by the collar of his shirt. Their faces inches apart. Brown eyes met glitched crimson ones. “Why don’t I…” Sev’s breath was warm. “...send your uncle a little message, huh?”

 

“...”

 

BOOM! He heard an explosion erupted from the kitchen, sending a shockwave through the pizzeria. The walls rattled and a few ceiling tiles dislodged as it crashed to the ground. Sev’s grip on Elliot’s collar snapped tight for just a heartbeat longer and it was enough to send a jolt of ice through the younger man’s veins. He then shoved him backward that would’ve thrown a lesser person to the floor. Elliot stumbled, arms flailing, before righting himself against the counter.

 

Sev shot a contemptuous glance at the room. He flicked a thumb toward the smoking kitchen doorway. “Let’s go, Noli. This place sucks.”

 

“…”

 

 

_____________

 

 

 

Elliot sat stiffly on the polished leather couch inside the towering glass lobby of Roblox HQ, his arms crossed and brows knitted together in a deep frown. The sterile hum of the air conditioning did little to calm the nerves rattling inside his chest. The encounter with Sev and Noli refused to leave his mind. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply.

 

A low, sudden thump beside him made him yelp.

 

“Good heavens, what has gotten into you, dear dough?”

 

Elliot flinched again as the all-too-familiar voice coiled into his ears. He didn’t need to look to know who it was. His uncle's friend- Telamon. A being older than Elliot could comprehend. Elliot tensed further when a hand settled gently atop his head.

 

He tried not to visibly shudder as golden eyes met his wide brown ones. “N-Nothing, uncle,” Elliot lied quickly, sitting up straighter and forcing a tight smile. “Just some exploiters bothering me.”

 

Telamon’s expression darkened at once. He leaned back, his fingers folding elegantly across one knee. “Filthy mistakes of code,” he spat with a sneer. “What are their names?”

 

Elliot hesitated, glancing nervously at the floor, then the ceiling. Should he tell? I mean it is mandatory to spill all truths towards an admin. “Um… Sev. A guy with red horns. Tail. glitchy.”

 

“Sev?” Telamon repeated slowly, tasting the name with clear disdain as elliot swallowed. “Yeah.”

 

A thin smile curved Telamon’s lips, though his eyes didn’t reflect it. “Alright then. Uncle Telamon will do the honor of bringing justice to you.”

 

He raised his hand slowly. Elliot sat bolt upright. “Uhm uncle it’s really okay!” he blurted, waving his hands quickly. “It was just a scare. They didn’t do anything too bad.”

 

Telamon tilted his head. “Elliot,” he said with calm, “do you think the code waits to break until after it’s dangerous? These ‘exploiters’… they rot the foundation. One flick and your precious little world unravels.”

 

Elliot looked away. “...They just talk big. They probably don’t even know what they’re doing.”

 

Telamon didn’t answer immediately, simply drumming two fingers on the couch cushion. “Horns and tail,” he muttered. “Red eyes. I thought that one was deleted…”

 

Elliot blinked. “You.. know him?”

 

“I’ve seen many like him,” Telamon said vaguely. “But very few make me flinch.”

 

 

“…”

 

“Tell Builderman I had dropped by,” Telamon added smoothly without turning while Elliot nodded slowly, dumbfounded. And so just like that, Telamon disappeared.

 

 

____________

 

 

 

 

 

Elliot ran a tired hand through his tousled blonde hair, his shoulders sagging as he leaned against the counter. The lights above him buzzed faintly. He forced a polite smile, waving off the last family with kids that had come in late.

 

"Thank you! Come again Builder Brothers Pizza appreciates your patronage," he called out automatically, his voice smooth from years of customer service. As the door closed behind them with a final chime, Elliot let out a sigh, rotating his stiff neck and checking the time.

 

Twenty-five.

 

He was twenty-five now, and somehow still working front-counter shifts in his father’s pizza chain. Not that he minded. He liked it here. The warmth all felt more real than boardroom meetings and developer documents. His father never said it aloud, but Elliot knew the expectation hung over him. He scoffed to himself and rubbed his hands clean with a towel.

 

He was interrupted when the familiar jingle of the front door bell rang. Elliot perked up, leaning forward with his customer-ready smile already forming.

 

"Welcome to Builder Brothers Piz-”

 

His voice trailed off.

 

Standing in the doorway was a face he hadn’t seen in years but one that never left his memory. The exploiter looks older now, more worn but undeniably him. Once inch smaller than Elliot remembered, less smug, but still radiating that cold aura that exploiters carry around. For a second, he was eighteen again and wondering why that man was even allowed to around robloxia without being banned.

 

Elliot stiffened, his jaw tensing as he unconsciously stepped slightly to the side, putting distance between himself and the man. He couldn't help the flicker of annoyance that curled in his chest. But still, he shouldn't be too afraid. The system is secure now. The Admins had tightened security, cleaned up the backend and enforced ban waves. The exploiters' days of freedom are long gone.

 

“...”

 

"Hello!"

 

Elliot jumped, glancing down as he saw a toddler. A little boy with soft red curls and bright, wide eyes stood in front of the counter, grinning up at him. His hands barely reached the edge of the counter. Elliot blinked, then flicked his gaze back to the man. His expression faltered. The child’s presence… unsettled him more. The exploiter is a father now?

 

“Hi,” Elliot managed dumbly, blinking at the boy before returning a cautious glance to the man behind him but sev? Yes sev didn’t meet his eyes. He looked... tired.. to be honest. His glitchy face was now clear and his clothes were normal. 

 

"Can I get pepperoni cheezy pizza with no pineapples please?" the boy chirped happily, rocking back on his feet. Elliot’s brain lagged for a moment. Then he nodded slowly.

 

“Uh… yeah. Sure, kid.” He glanced at sev again. “That’ll be one large?”

 

The man’s voice came. 

 

“Two. Please.”

 

Elliot narrowed his eyes slightly, watching the subtle way the man kept looking past him. For a moment, Elliot didn’t know what to feel. He didn’t like him, hell he didn't like exploiters. Still, Elliot moved toward the kitchen and calling the order back. he grabbed the order slip and keyed it in, his thoughts buzzed. What’s he doing here again? Why now? And who’s that kid? Was he even allowed in this place anymore?

 

As he set the order to process, he cast one last wary glance over his shoulder. The man had taken a seat in the corner booth, the toddler drawing something with a crayon on a napkin.

 

Neither of them looked at him.. thankfully..

 

Minutes dragged and soon Elliot balanced the steaming two pizza box on one arm and approached the table near the window. His feet hesitated slightly. Elliot cleared his throat and gently placed the box on the table. “Here’s your pepperoni cheesy, no pineapples.”

 

Sev gave a half-hearted nod and didn't look up. “Thanks.”

 

Elliot turned to leave. He didn't need a tip but the feeling of tiny fingers grabbing the edge of his apron made his heart jump.

 

"Hi.."

 

Elliot blinked down, startled. The toddler was staring at him with the same wide, red eyes.."Uh…" Elliot stammered. "Hi."

 

"Can you sit with me and dad?"

 

“I-uh. What?"

 

The kid patted the seat beside him. “We don’t know anyone here. I want to talk to someone.”

 

“Coolkid,” Sev muttered, rubbing his temple. He finally looked up, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What did I tell you about talking to random waiters?”

 

"He's not random! He brought the pizza."

 

“Coolkid,” Sev growled again, clearly on the brink of losing whatever remained of his patience. “Sit your butt down and eat your damn food.”

 

Wait who the hell names their kid coolkid?

 

“But I like him.”

 

“You like everyone.”

 

The toddler huffed, folding his arms. “You’re just grumpy ‘cause you had to pay real robux.”

 

Elliot blinked while Sev narrowed his eyes. “Say that again and you’re eating pineapple next time.”

 

“You wouldn’t.”

 

“Watch me.”

 

The two stared each other down for a moment and it was such a ridiculous contest until Coolkid broke into a mischievous giggle then returned to picking at his slice.

 

Elliot cleared his throat. “Um… if it’s okay, I don’t mind… sitting. Just for a minute.” well he's a complete dumbass.

 

"Yay!" Coolkid cheered, scooting over with a shuffle to make room so reluctantly, Elliot slid into the booth while awkwardly adjusting his apron. he smoothed his hair back and tied it again behind his head. He then sat stiffly at first, glancing between the quiet, brooding Sev and the beaming toddler.

 

"What's your name?" Coolkid asked, swinging his legs.

 

"Elliot," he said with a polite nod.

 

"You have pretty hair, Mr. Elliot," the child grinned.

 

“Ah.. thanks,” Elliot chuckled awkwardly, brushing his bangs aside. “Yours is nice too.” Coolkid turned to point at Sev. “That’s my dad. He pretends to be mean, but he’s just tired.”

 

Elliot blinked at the direct honesty, glancing to Sev who, to his surprise, was now fast asleep on the table, head cradled on one folded arm, red horns barely visible through a curtain of dark hair. “huh?” Elliot muttered, eyes wide. “Is he… okay?”

 

“He does that a lot,” Coolkid whispered. “When he gets sad or bored, he sleeps.”

 

Elliot lowered his gaze, catching the slight furrow between Sev’s brows even in slumber. Coolkid reached forward and poked at the pizza, then leaned close to Elliot.

 

"Do you like cheese or pepperoni more?"

 

“I.. uh,” Elliot smiled faintly, shifting more comfortably in his seat. “Both, I guess.”

 

“That’s boring,” Coolkid huffed dramatically, causing Elliot to laugh despite himself. Their conversation continued until he sighed softly, eyes flicking toward the ticking wall clock. He looked back and somehow the little guy had managed to eat half the pepperoni pizza already, stringy cheese clinging to his chin while a smudge of tomato sauce right below his nose. Elliot chuckled softly under his breath. “Messy little guy, aren’t you?” he muttered, and without thinking, he reached for a napkin from the table’s dispenser.

 

Coolkid blinked at him curiously but didn’t flinch as Elliot gently dabbed at the corner of his lips and wiped the sauce from his cheeks.

 

“There we go. Good as new.” He gave a small, satisfied smile. It reminded him of Mia and how she used to blow kisses after he cleaned her up. “Thank you!” Coolkid beamed up at him, cheeks puffed with pizza and delight. Then, without warning, the toddler leaned forward and threw his little arms around Elliot’s midsection, hugging him tightly.

 

“Whoa-!” Elliot yelped, nearly falling off the booth seat from the force of the hug. His cheeks flushed brightly as his hands hovered awkwardly in the air before he cautiously patted the child’s back. “Uh… you’re welcome?”

 

The noise and motion must’ve stirred Sev, who had been dozing off against his folded arms. He stiffened visibly, crimson eyes shooting open. His gaze snapped toward Elliot and Coolkid, blinking rapidly before he visibly forced himself to relax. Sev rubbed at his eyes, groaning low.

 

“Coolkid,” Sev muttered, voice rough and groggy. “How many times do I have to tell you not to ambush strangers like that?”

 

“He’s not a stranger now duh!” Coolkid chirped, grinning up at Elliot. “He’s my friend now.”

 

Sev exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening as he pushed himself up from the table. He glanced toward Elliot and surprisingly offered a sheepish smile, the sharp angles of his face softening slightly. “Sorry,” he murmured. “He gets clingy when someone gives him attention.”

 

Elliot stood up as well, quickly brushing off his apron, but his eyes remained trained on Sev’s oddly gentle expression. And what the actual fuck. Something fluttered in his chest. “That’s… okay,” Elliot replied, voice a little quieter than usual. “He’s sweet. Just really energetic.”

 

Sev gave a soft huff of a laugh. “You’ve got no idea.”

 

The two of them stood awkwardly in front of the table, Coolkid slipping between them as he grabbed both their hands with sticky fingers. Sev let him. Elliot didn’t even pull away.

 

Then, unexpectedly, Sev tilted his head, red eyes briefly scanning Elliot’s face. Clearly noticing his flushed cheeks, the hair tie he was adjusting again and the slight twitch of his lips still caught between a smile and embarrassment.

 

“Thanks,” Sev said simply, voice lower. “For humoring him.”

 

Coolkid pouted. “Can I take him with us?”

 

“No,” Sev said quickly. He then smiled that made something strange bloom in Elliot’s chest. “See you around, pizza guy,” Sev said, turning. “Bye-bye!” Coolkid called out with a wave.

 

Elliot stood by the table, hand hovering over his apron with his heart pounding faintly in his ears. “…Yeah,” he said quietly, watching the two walk away. “See you around.”

 

 

 

____________

 

 

 

Elliot wasn’t quite sure when it happened but it was definitely between wiping tomato sauce off Coolkid’s cheek and the awkward but heartwarming hug that followed. Or maybe it was during that rare moment when Sev- Seven, as Coolkid had called him, smiled at him. So now ‘that’ and now he's friends with both of the father and son duo. It was definitely strange. He never thought he’d befriend exploiters of all people especially Blood-born ones at that. If you’d told him last month that he’d be sharing pizza with one of the most feared script kiddies in the entire city and his little… Son? He would've laughed, rolled his eyes then go back to washing dishes.

 

Yet here he was and yes, oddly enough he didn’t hate it.

 

It reminded him of something uncle Shedletsky once said, in that gruff tone of his: “We don’t judge ‘em by what they were born with, kid. We judge ‘em by what they choose to do with it. If they’re not a bad exploiter, they’re frankly alright.” Well.. that chicken loving joy of an uncle is quite correct.

 

Elliot sat, elbows resting on the booth’s table as he glanced across from him. Sev had slumped to the side and was dead asleep, one arm draped loosely over Coolkid’s shoulder, the other curled under his head like a pillow. Coolkid, on the other hand was still nibbling the crust of his pizza while swinging his legs idly under the table. Elliot glanced at the kitchen clock and nearly shot upright.

 

“Ah, crap,” he muttered, standing quickly. “It’s my turn to do the dishes.”

 

He hesitated, turning back to the table. Sev hadn’t moved while Coolkid looked up at him, curious. Elliot scratched the back of his neck, biting the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t just leave the little guy here unattended, and waking Sev seemed cruel. 

 

“Hey, uh…” Elliot cleared his throat and crouched a little, placing his hands on his knees to level with Coolkid. “Wanna come with me to the kitchen? I gotta do dishes, but you can sit and hang out.”

 

Coolkid’s face brightened instantly. “Okay!”

 

Elliot smiled, a little relieved. “Cool. Let’s not wake sleeping beauty over there.”

 

They made their way into the back kitchen. Elliot helped Coolkid up onto a barstool tucked near the sink and handed him a clean spoon to fiddle with. He then rolled up his sleeves and began washing plates while he stole the occasional glance over at Coolkid. The boy was tapping the spoon on the counter in a rhythm. Silence settled for a bit until Elliot felt that creeping curiosity worming its way up again.

 

He wanted to know more about Sev and more about their lives. 

 

He bit his tongue, considered his words. Then, perhaps too casually, he blurted out, “So… uh. Do you have a mother?”

 

And instantly regretted it.

 

What the hell is wrong with him? Elliot grimaced. Why would he ask that? That’s the kind of question people don’t ask, Elliot. What the actual fuck.

 

“No, I don’t have a mom,” Coolkid replied simply as elliot froze, hands submerged in the sink.

 

“…Oh,” he said quietly. Fuck his life.

 

“But I did have another dad!”

 

The words fell so casually from Coolkid’s mouth that Elliot nearly dropped the plate he was rinsing. He blinked down at the dish in his hand, his heart giving an inexplicable squeeze. “Oh,” Elliot said softly. He shut the tap while he turned his gaze to Coolkid. “I miss my dad,” Coolkid said suddenly, picking at his sleeve. “Not this dad. I mean, my other one.”

 

Elliot leaned his hip against the sink, arms crossed. “Your… other dad?” he echoed gently.

 

Coolkid nodded. “Yeah. I still remember him sometimes, but Dad-” he paused, eyes flicking toward the kitchen door. “Dad doesn’t like talking about him. He says stuff like… I must’ve imagined things.”

 

Elliot’s brows furrowed. “Do you think you imagined it?”

 

“No!” Coolkid said quickly, and then quieter, “No. I remember him. I remember him well… I know he’s real,” Coolkid murmured. “Because… sometimes, when Dad thinks I’m not looking, he stares at the creepy chair in the corner of our living room. Or look outside our yard for a really long time and I know he's waiting.”

 

Elliot swallowed hard. “Waiting for what?”

 

Coolkid looked up at him “dunno. Maybe waiting for my other dad to come home.”

 

Elliot didn’t know what to say to that. A lump had settled in his throat, and he was sure if he spoke again too quickly, it’d crack. So instead, he knelt in front of the stool and placed a careful hand on the boy’s shoulder.

 

“I think,” Elliot said slowly, “your other dad must’ve loved you a lot if you remember him so well.”

 

 “Yeah… I think so too!”

 

They stayed like that for a moment before from the corner of the room, a soft yawn echoed. Elliot looked up just in time to see sev stood in the doorway, rubbing at his eyes groggily, a faint crease of worry between his brows. “Coolkid,” he said, voice hoarse from sleep. “Let's go home.”

 

Seven walked over and picked Coolkid up with practiced ease. The boy waved from his dad’s arms.

 

“Bye, Mister Elliot!”

 

“Bye!!”

 

As they walked away, Seven gave one last glance back at him and it lingered.

 

 

 

_____________

 

 

 

Elliot lingered outside the weatherworn house, fingers twitching around the edges of the gift he had spent too long wrapping. The pastel paper was now creased from his nerves. He took a breath and raised a hand to knock and before his knuckles could fully leave the door, it was yanked open with a sudden click.

 

“You came, you came!”

 

Coolkid practically launched into his arms, catching Elliot so off guard he stumbled a step back. The boy’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck, his face buried against Elliot’s shoulder. The gift crunched awkwardly between them.

 

Elliot blinked... “Ah hey.. Easy there.”

 

Coolkid didn’t let go, just kept rambling in that bubbly, breathless way. “I knew you’d come! I told Dad you would! I said Mister Elliot is nice and he would come and you did!”

 

“I… yeah,” Elliot managed, trying to breathe around the boy’s grip. “I’m here.”

 

Coolkid finally looked down to spy the gift now squished between them. “Is that for me?!” Without waiting for a reply, he snatched it and sprinted off up the stairs with a triumphant, “Yaaaay!”

 

Elliot barely had time to process before the door creaked again. Sev stood there, His brown hair was slightly messy and sticking in strange angles. It was clear that he’d run his hands through it too many times. His eyes were rimmed red. “Thanks for coming to my boy’s birthday,” Sev said, voice quieter than usual. “I appreciate it.”

 

Elliot hesitated. “It’s… good to be here.”

 

He didn’t ask what happened even if he wanted to. He stepped inside and carefully set his shoes by the door. The house was filled with colorful stuff, handmade drawings taped to the wall, a lopsided balloon arch in one corner. There was a distinct effort to make it festive but the silence gnawed at the decorations. It was just Elliot, Sev and coolkid. 

 

Elliot followed Sev into the living room and sat awkwardly on the couch. The silence stretched. Sev looked down at his hands while Elliot glanced at the hallway. Before either could say anything, Coolkid barreled down the stairs, flopping onto the couch right between them with a big grin on his face. His party hat was slightly crooked.

 

“Dad!” he chirped, reaching for Sev’s sleeve. “Mister Elliot’s here! Can you get my cake now? I want Uncle Elliot to sing to me!”

 

Elliot choked slightly. “Uncle?”

 

Sev gave a rare, breathy chuckle under his breath. “He’s been calling you that since you gave him juice that one time. You’re officially family now, apparently.”

 

“Oh.” Elliot scratched the back of his head, flushed. “Well. That escalated quickly.”

 

Coolkid beamed at both of them, tugging at Sev’s shirt again. “Caaaake!”

 

“Alright, alright,” Sev muttered, standing slowly. “You win, birthday boss.” He ruffled Coolkid’s hair, who giggled and leaned into the affection before Sev disappeared into the kitchen.

 

Left alone for a moment, Coolkid turned to Elliot and leaned into him, resting his cheek against his arm. “Uncle Elliot?”

 

“…Yeah?”

 

“Thanks for coming.”

 

Elliot swallowed the lump in his throat. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

 

Sev soon returned with a small cake balanced carefully in his hands. The frosting was a little uneven and a single candle stood proudly in the center. Coolkid sat up straighter, eyes wide and sparkling. He clasped his hands in his lap, practically vibrating with excitement. “That’s mine?!”

 

Sev set the cake on the coffee table in front of them and gave a soft smile. “All yours, birthday boy.” Elliot then began clapping that echoed softly in the quiet living room. “Happy birthday to you…” he started, his voice unsure at first until Sev joined in after a beat, clapping too.

 

“Happy birthday to you…”

“Happy birthday dear Coolkid…”

“Happy birthday to you…”

 

Coolkid’s grin stretched from ear to ear. His legs kicked excitedly off the couch as he watched them, his little cheeks flushed from joy. 

 

“Make a wish..” Sev said softly, leaning down a little.

 

Coolkid stared at the flickering candle. For a moment, he closed his eyes. He held his breath then he blew out the flame. The three of them watch the candle sputtered before vanishing into smoke.

 

“Thank you for being here, Mr. Elliot.”

 

 

 

____________

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Mister Elliot?”

 

 

Elliot staggered to his feet, his shoes scraping against the cracked street. He stifled a cough due to the smoke and the sharp tang of burning metal and grease. His head pounded while warm blood trickled steadily from his forehead and stinging his eye. His vision swam.

 

He turned toward the sound and froze.

 

Coolkid stood at the edge of the lot. His little body framed by the flames of the collapsing pizzeria behind him. The fire painted his silhouette in flickering orange and gold, but what caught Elliot’s breath were the boy’s eyes that are glowing faintly and impossibly. the white of his pupils unnaturally bright in the dark.

 

“Coolkid...?” Elliot choked out.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Notes:

25k readers. Wow. This is all just.. wow.cWOW. WOWOWWOWOWIW I LOVE YOU GUYS PLEASE IM GONNA CRY. I'm sorry if my grammar is off in this note But like OHMYGOD. OHMYGOD ohmyhffid. The preliminary exam week went uhh. Bad. Bad definitely. BUT my oomfs in Twitter were my only source of happiness argh I love them so much did you know that we voted stuff such as chance and itrapped's dynamic? The switch enthusiasts won while the bottom chance enthusiasts...🙁 Lost two times. I'm sorry soldiers.

 

Also GOT YOU. You think I'm gonna leave Elliot alone?! Hell no, I typed his name so many times in this fic. He is fr one of the characters that I had planned long before I decided Builderman is gonna appear. Shout-out to my moots who guessed the special character<3 love you sm guys

I think that's all I have to say. Really, thank you so much. Heh now that I'm free, I'm gonna take my time replying to the comments. I'm buzzing in happiness at the thought of finally replying back gosh ilysm guys and I mean it. Thank you for being my source of inspiration<3

Also ALSO Elliot was 18 when he met the twenty three year old seven

Chapter 12: 12. Tomorrow yesterday

Time's first and final champion shall break his chains and in that sacred act of liberation, he will unknowingly summon the end carved in his own shadow. 

 

 

 

The square was full and buzzing with the murmurs of citizens and the silent reverence they held for the stone god who loomed over them. The statue towered twenty feet high, each carver feather of its wings unfurled in a perfect spread of authority. The marble face bore no name but everyone knew who it was meant to represent. The executor- yet to Shedletsky, it was just a joke of a glorified stone.

 

He stood in the center of the plaza while tapping his sandals lightly against the polished obsidian tiles. he stared up at it. His disinterested eyes scanning every feature. He rolled his eyes at it's its outstretched hand and the hollow gaze that pretended to look upon the world with mercy. It made him scoff.

 

“They still worship this thing,” he muttered under his breath. His fingers flexed at his sides, twitching in restraint. “tsk tsk tsk.” A mod cleanly dressed in navy robes with the mark of order stitched on his shoulder walked by. He caught sight of Shedletsky and paused to offer a short, practiced salute.

 

“Sir,” the mod said cautiously. Shedletsky merely gave a dismissive nod in return, lips twitching into a smile that never reached his amber eyes. The mod lingered for a moment longer and then moved on. Shedletsky exhaled slowly from that, rolling his shoulders as he stretched. His body crackled with suppressed energy that will always remind the admin of what had coursed through him since the beginning.

 

He licked his lips, tasting the dry wind of the plaza and glanced around. The citizens bowed their heads with the sun dipped low in the sky. His smirk widened. he snapped his fingers. The sound was small but the effect was immediate. Well don't look at him.

 

A crack split down the center of the statue like a lightning bolt Then the entire monument groaned. The wings shattered and the outstretched hand crumbled. There was a deafening crash echoed as the head split from the shoulders and tumbled to the tiles below. Bullseye 

 

He heard the screams erupted as the citizens scattered like frightened insects. Some dropped to their knees in terror while others wailed much to his own disbelief, they were really overacting. The mod who had saluted him earlier turned back with their eyes wide in horror and his hand twitching toward his comm-link to call for help.

 

However shedletsky only tilted his head and met the mod’s shocked gaze. “What?” he said casually with his tone bored. “It was just a statue.”

 

The mod's lips moved as they struggled to form word but Shedletsky had already turned away. He stepped over the rubble. The dust clung to his expensive sandals but he didn’t care. No one would stop him because he was free.

 

Once long ago he had been like them. Bound by rules. Expectations. Worshipped by many and obeyed by more, yet still confined within the golden cage of godhood. They praised him then. They feared him too. But behind every worshiper's chant was the same quiet demand.

 

“Be who we want you to be.”

 

Well he fulfilled that.

 

His eyes flicked up to the fading light in the sky and to the horizon painted in gold and dusk.

 

“did I forgot something?” he whispered, half-laughing. “Well i gotta ask if my memories are okayish to builderman sometime soon.”

 

 

 

 

_______________

 

 

 

In liberating himself, he stripped away not just hatred, but the hatred that comes from love, especially love for a mortal. How laughable that even gods were once loved but did not understand it.

 

 

___________

 

 

It had been what? Six years? Twenty? Well that ain't a problem cus’ time didn't pass right In this stinking, rotted pit of reality and looping bloodshed. Shedletsky had long since stopped trying to count because the calendar meant nothing when every non-existent morning turns into the next massacre. What mattered was survival and more importantly- what mattered was keeping them alive and tonight they all lived. 

 

Shedletsky let out a soft, ragged laugh with one hand clutching the hilt of his blade while the other bracing his sore side. The sword wounds he’d taken for the group are still throbbing under the bandages. His dulled amber eyes with fatigue blinked through sweat. Has he always been this tired? Or had it just been since he faced it himself? That grotesque, twisted manifestation of hatred that hiss all the things he tried so hard to forget.

 

“Hell of a way to meet your inner demons,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face and then looking up to face the survivors. They thanked him, a few with trembling smiles while others just with nods. He waved them off, muttering, “Don’t mention it,” and slung his sword over one broad shoulder. He let his weight fall against the cracked wooden wall behind him and exhaled deep breaths. A fog of warmth curled from his lips and into the cold air. He stared at the ceiling. Hell. He dislikes this place and he dislikes himself more for starting to get used to it.

 

The silence didn’t last long because a gentle tug at his arm snapped him out of his daze. Instinctively, his hand shot to his side but it was no enemy. The silhouette stood in front of him, The hood was the first thing he noticed. The dark, shapeless and practically swallowing the figure’s face. But even under that, a thin layer of black fabric or a balaclava? something thinner concealed the rest. The only thing visible was the glint of sharp, focused eyes. Shedletsky sniffed his nose. Taph’s gear always smelled like gunpowder and rust. He often joked that the demolitionist could probably sneak into a chemical plant and go undetected. Heh, it's fun teasing the guy’s fashion sense more than once. Somethin’, about suffocating under all that layering but Taph would just shake his head in gentle defiance and yes, that's why the admin liked him.

 

“Hm?” Shedletsky muttered, rolling his neck as Taph raised both calloused hands and began to sign. He raises one hand with fingers splayed then makes a circle with thumb and forefinger. He taps his chest twice, then draws a sharp line horizontally across the air.

 

Have you seen Seven?

 

Shedletsky blinked. He is… mildly confused. He blankly looked at the demolitionist before pointing to himself. “Me? Why me?”

 

Taph didn’t answer right away. His hands paused midair with his fingers curling slightly then dropping to his sides. 

 

“...”

 

Shedletsky sighed in exasperation at the silence while pushing off from the wall. With a tired chuckle, he clapped a heavy hand on Taph’s shoulder. “Alright, alright. I’ll go check on the dude. Don’t go all silent guilt-trip on me and fon’t look like I bit your head off. I was just askin’. I’ll go check up on him.”

 

Taph gave two enthusiastic thumbs up. The motion was so childishly earnest it almost made Shedletsky laugh. Well.. He did, actually. a soft, breathy thing that broke the weight in his chest.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Now scram. Go eat dinner before someone blows up the rations again.”

 

Taph didn’t move as shedletsky smirked knowingly.

 

“And go check out dusk while you’re at it, alright?”

 

Taph gave another thumbs up then walked backward into the cabin with a half-skip to his step. Shedletsky waited until the sound of Taph’s boots faded down the corridor before sighing again and muttering to himself.

 

“Seven, huh…”

 

He pushed off the wall again while forcing his legs to move. He wasn’t in a hurry even if he was supposed to be looking for someone. His footsteps were heavy and unbothered. Truth be told, he wasn’t eager to find Seven and not because he disliked the guy-!? of course not! He’d told the others that more than once and too many times. When the survivors gave him odd looks after watching him fumble through yet another awkward conversation with Seven, he was quick to wave them off.

 

“You hate him or something?”

 

“Hate? No. No! Of course not!” he had said, all defensive smiles and forced laughter. “I don’t even do hate anymore. I kicked that habit years ago, trust me.” And that was true. After everything, Shedletsky didn’t feel hate like he used to. He had bled himself clean of that feeling and frankly, he didn’t have the strength or the desire to carry that heavy weight anymore.

 

But whatever he felt when he looked at Seven was unsettling. It's just a feeling that makes his skin crawl. He could describe it as- his body remembered something his mind didn’t so he acted strange around him. He gave him that wide space , cracked a joke too quickly and made excuses to turn the other way. He didn’t mean to…. It's just.. the effect of the exploiter on him. 

 

He stepped outside as the air hit him like a slap. It's cold and dry with the distant stench of pine trees. His sandals crunched against the dirt as he walked a few steps forward before pausing on the porch.

 

Seven sat on the dock. His back was to the cabin, one leg bent, the other dangling freely over the sea. Shedletsky’s amber eyes lingered on him then clicked his tongue. He quickly looked away once his chest ached again.

 

Damn him.

 

____________

 

 

 

 

“Damn you.”

 

The words left Seven's mouth. a curse spat from the bottom of his soul. His voice cracked under the realization of betrayal. He didn’t turn around because If he saw that face, he might shatter once more but he knew he was there. He could feel his presence just behind him. Shedletsky. Or rather Telamon. So all this time… it had been him. Him.

 

Seven’s fists clenched at his sides, feeling his nails biting into flesh. He felt so cold from the dusk air biting against his tear-stained cheeks and the sheer betrayal eating away at his insides. 

 

“Seven-”

 

“Don’t,” Seven snapped, finally spinning to face him with swollen eyes that narrowed sharply. “Don’t say my name.” he watched shedletsky’s lips parted to protest, but no words came out. 

 

So all this time… Shedletsky was Telamon? The “acquintance” who left him behind?

 

“You should’ve told me,” Seven muttered, voice cracking as he kept moving but his steps began to falter. He came to a stop. His eyes, swollen and sore from crying through the entire, stared blankly at the horizon. The light didn’t reach him. Behind him, Shedletsky stopped too.

 

“...”

 

“Speak up,” shedletsky demanded. “Do you hate me?”

 

With sudden resolve, Shedletsky surged forward and wrapped his arms around Seven, pulling him into a tight, desperate embrace. The contact was sudden causing Seven to stiffened but Shedletsky didn’t let go. He pressed their foreheads together. “Seven… I’m sorry.” but no, that wasn't enough. “No-” Seven hissed, his voice hoarse with rage. His red-rimmed eyes flared, glaring up at the man. “You don’t just get to come back and say that. You don’t get to just say sorry.” Seven’s chest rose and fell rapidly, breath shallow. He watched the admin closed his eyes when seven parted his lips to speak again.

 

“That is unfair to me and to my son.”

 

"I'm sorry."

 

Shedletsky said it so softly, it almost didn’t reach Seven’s ears. His voice was tight with his eyes squeeze shut. His shoulders were rigid and tense with hands curling slightly at his sides.

 

“Open your eyes, shed.” he snapped. Seeing Shedletsky hesitated. Until slowly, his lids lifted. And there they were. Those goddamn golden eyes. Instantly, seven reached forward and grabbed a fistful of Shedletsky’s shirt, yanking him slightly closer. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice cracked. “Why did you leave? Why did you act like like-?”

 

The words came fast and tumbling over each other like because he’d been waiting years to let these come out.

 

“...”

 

“Because I don’t remember.”

 

Seven stared. His fingers stayed curled in Shedletsky’s shirt, but his strength faltered. He blinked once. As a unsteady breath stuttered out of him.

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t remember,” Shedletsky repeated, softly. “i.. I only remembered you the moment I was out of that hell.” Shedletsky lifted a hand carefully, trying his best not to startle seven. His thumb brushed under one eye to wipe a tear that had escaped without permission. “You understand, don’t you?” he whispered. “My memories… our memories...”

 

“Seven, please-”

 

“No.”

 

“Seven, please-”

 

“I said no.”

 

Seven’s voice trembled with more than anger. He twisted in place to wriggle free from the way Shedletsky loomed close. Shedletsky didn’t step back. He leaned in a steady press forward. His hot breath spilled out slowly that warmed the thin space between them and catching on Seven’s trembling lips. His gaze shifted up and saw those gold-flecked irises that weren’t focused his mouth, like Seven expected. Shedletsky was looking straight into him. 

 

“I’ve always admired you.”

 

Seven’s throat went dry. His breath shook as it left him and brushing against Shedletsky’s own.

 

“You left,” the exploiter said.

 

“I know.”

 

“You forgot us.”

 

“I know.”

 

“…”

 

Seven swallowed, watching how the admin tilted his head just slightly, golden eyes flicking down to Seven’s trembling mouth, then back up to meet his gaze again. He then brushed the tip of his nose against Seven’s. Slowly, his trembled hand came up, uncertain fingers grazing Shedletsky’s jaw that was roughened slightly from past battles though warm beneath the touch. He watched shedletsky lean into it gently, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

 

Seven’s lips hovered and then he finally kissed him. And codes above, in this moment- Seven remembered every night he had tried to convince himself that what he felt wasn’t real. Those nights where he stayed up in the quiet and listened to his thoughts that betrayed him. The way he would stare at the stars and pretend they didn’t remind him of the glint in telamon's eyes. He remembered the late nights his son would ask, “Do you miss him?” and Seven who is caught between shame and honesty, would only nod. He remembered how it hurt him so, not because he was forgotten by the admin but because he had never gotten the chance to say it back, that he loved him, quietly and oh so unknowingly. 

 

He let out a soft breath when shedletsky tilted his head just slightly to indicate that the admin was close enough to pull away if Seven didn’t want this. 

 

Damn you, damn you-

 

A sudden cough made seven jerk back, lips still tingling and his breath catching in his throat. A sharp sting of heat spread across his cheeks and ears when his gaze shot forward only to meet a pair of unimpressed, half-lidded eyes. Two stood just a few paces away with their arms crossed. Their mouth opened, then shut, then opened again to find the right words for a situation that had clearly taken them by surprise.

 

And beside them stood Maff who is utterly motionless. Seven coughed a weak, nervous sound then rubbed the back of his neck in a desperate attempt to look casual.

 

“Well, I certainly…” Two began, then hesitated. They gave a tight-lipped smile that vanished as quickly as it came. “...did not expect to witness that.”

 

They busied themselves adjusting their scarf. They tug it left, then right, then giving up entirely and letting it hang unevenly. The blank stare they leveled at the pair made Seven’s flush deepen. His heart was still hammering against his ribs. Shedletsky, in contrast, seemed wholly unbothered. He turned his back smoothly as if he’d just remembered that they were supposed to be looking out.

 

"..."

 

Two continued to stare. Seven opened his mouth to explain but what was there to explain? Just as silence threatened to devour the air entirely, Two suddenly pointed upward.

 

“Oh dear, oh my!” they exclaimed, in a voice dripping with forced enthusiasm. “Look at the sky, demon! The clouds, the hue-positively divine!”

 

Maff blinked once, stiffly, tilting his head upward.

 

“Oh dear, oh my,” he echoed, flatly. “Such a beautiful sight.” His voice was devoid of feeling, but Seven appreciated the effort as he groaned, burying his face in his hands then peek between his fingers and glanced at Shedletsky, who was still facing back, ears tinted pink. The four of them were quiet until the admin sighed and ran a hand through his disheveled curly brown hair. He cleared his throat then turned his back to them and sternly regarded the distant treeline.

 

“We’ve lingered too long,” he murmured, his voice stripped of its earlier gentleness. “Night’s begun to sink its claws, and we got to keep moving.” Seven sobered instantly. The haze of the kiss vanished at the reminder. His brow furrowed, and he clenched his fists at his sides. “There’s no trail,” Seven said grimly. “Something’s not right.”

 

“Hm,” Two hummed, their eyes narrowing. Without another word, they crouched low, their dirty fingers brushing the dirt with care. They took their blade and began etching symbols into the ground, the clean strokes carving out the start of a ritual circle. Meanwhile, Maff watched Two from the corner of his eye, arms folded and mouth tight. He sighed and then exhaled a puff of breath. “If none of you can be arsed to find Chance, perhaps I shall do the honour of bringing them to me, hmm?”

 

Two’s spine stiffened at the declaration, rising slowly from their crouch. They sharply turned. “There is really something off about you, demon.” Two said coolly. “And I shan’t place my trust or worse, Chance’s safety in your suspect intentions.”

 

That struck a nerve because maff bristled instantly, brows knitting with offence. “And who the bloody hell are you to Chance, eh?”

 

Two’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I have stood beside Chance longer than your presence has been tolerated.”

 

“Oh, bravo,” Maff snapped. “How noble of you. Shall I clap?” He gritted his teeth, ignoring the heat in his chest. He yanked off his gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. A swift movement followed with his hand smoothing down his coat, adjusting the black tie with one jerk. Then, he pulled a sleek, matte cigarette case from inside his coat, popping it open with one snap and taking a cigarette between his lips. “I don’t need your permission. I need results.”

 

Maff glanced around, tapping ash from his cigarette. “I saw it.” That froze everyone. Shedletsky’s head snapped toward him. Seven blinked out of his daze, gaze flicking up. Two pursed their lips.

 

“It wasn’t a person who attacked us all” he muttered in disbelief. “It was a wave. A bloody tidal wave of corrupted code. Hissing, writhing…” Smoke curled from his lips. “It hit the ground first then spread. The trees, the terrain… infected.”

 

Shedletsky stiffened, turning fully now, abandoning his inspection of the trees. “Corrupted code?” his expression tightened as he stepped forward. The fading daylight cast a dull glint on the blade now unsheathed in his hand. With a flick of his wrist and a sharp breath through his teeth, he threw the sword precisely. It embedded itself deep into the large, decaying tree ahead as the impact resonated with a solid, resonant thunk.He walked briskly after it, sandals crunching the leaves. His shoulders squared, he reached the embedded sword, he grasped the hilt and hauled himself up, muscles shifting beneath his shirt. One arm, then the other he climbed, jamming the weapon higher again to gain further leverage.

 

Seven tilted his head at the display, blinking. There was a curious stillness to him now while the others stood quiet. The idea of a corrupted code wave was unheard of but this was the banlands.

 

It took a long moment for the trees to creak and the wind to rustle low. Finally, Shedletsky reached the top of the slope. With a clean motion, he tore his sword free from the bark and landed softly on his feet, knees bending to absorb the impact. He turned with his hand resting back on the hilt of his sword. “I see light from afar,” he said flatly. “Northwest.”

 

 

______________________

 

 

 

 

“Father?”

 

The small voice pierced the heavy stillness of the office. It came from the doorway, where a boy no older than five stood, dressed in a tailored navy coat two sizes too big for his frame. His hair, golden and slightly tousled from sleep caught the warm amber light of the late afternoon sun.

 

The man behind the desk who's an admin known to the world by many names but to this boy simply as Father turned slowly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a rare, fond smile. His stern features softened, the creases in his brow fading as he stood and stepped toward the child.

 

“Oh, my dear boy…” he murmured, voice a gentle rumble. He crouched down and gathered the child in his arms with practiced ease, lifting him high off the ground as the boy let out a delighted giggle. His tiny hands reached for his father’s face, touching the familiar contours with gleeful recognition. The admin walked toward the tall arched window that framed the city beyond. The view stretched wide. “See them?” the admin asked.

 

The child pressed his small palms to the glass with eyes wide with wonder. “They’re so tiny,” he whispered.

 

“Yes,” the father chuckled, the sound low and wistful. The boy clapped, enchanted by the distant glow of movement below. He still had no concept of responsibility, of code or corruption, of power or legacy. The admin gently pressed a kiss to the child’s soft forehead, pausing there for a moment as if trying to memorize the warmth. His hand rose to tousle the boy’s golden hair. “All of it will be yours soon, John.” he whispered.

 

The boy beamed at the words, unaware of their weight. But the admin stared through the glass, eyes darkening slightly.

 

“…Memories,” he added quietly, more to himself now than to the boy. “Memories will never be forgotten.”

 

But even as he said it, a shadow moved in the reflection of the glass to make his jaw tighten. He turned away, holding John just a little closer to his chest. There was still time but not much.

 

 

_______________

 

 

 

The night wrapped around them with shadows stretching long over the forest clearing and the wind barely rustled through the brittle trees. Stars above blinked faintly behind thin clouds. Chance inched closer to Elliot, his shoes crunching against fallen leaves. His fedora dipped low, obscuring half his face and the only thing moving was his fingers playing with the coin he kept flipping over and over.

 

He could see Elliot out of the corner of his eye, hands fidgeting. The support looked wired and wide-eyed. He kept glancing around and expect the trees might lunge at him. That is how Elliot is. That panic always came crawling back when the sun dipped below the hills. Chance flipped the coin again, letting the metallic sound calm him. Heads. Tails. Heads. Tails. Heads. Heads. Fix.

 

Ahead of them, Itrapped hadn’t moved. fingers clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword, knuckles pale beneath his black gloves. Something about how still he was made Chance’s skin itch but Chance didn’t spare him a glance. 

 

Soon, elliot finally broke the silence with his voice low. “We’ll rest here for the night.” Chance didn’t argue because he was tired. His joints ached and the weight of his coat felt heavier so heavy. As he leaned back against the bark of the tree, Elliot bent to help him down, a hand on his arm.

 

“Pff, I got it.” Chance snorted, but didn’t shake him off. He patted Elliot’s shoulder once, a gruff thanks. Elliot smiled faintly until Itrapped stood abruptly, the motion sharp and sudden enough to make Elliot jolt.

 

“I’ll be back,” he muttered, already turning away.

 

“Yeah?” Chance muttered, eyes locked on his coin now. “Don’t hurry.” Itrapped didn’t respond. He disappeared into the trees until the silence poured in. 

 

“ …” Elliot rustled through his bag and pulled out a small box of cold pizza, handing a slice toward Chance.

 

“You want?”

 

Chance blinked slowly, looked at it, then at him. “nah I'm not hungry.. and injured anymore.”

 

Elliot shrugged, watching chance continued flipping his coin, occasionally pausing to adjust his fedora, pushing it back up so his eyes could catch the firelight and reload his luck. He stopped when Elliot spoke, his voice cautious but sincere. “What’s going on between you and him?”

 

Chance froze mid-flip. The coin landed clumsily in his palm. He didn’t see Elliot’s eyes this time.

 

“Chance.”

 

A sigh escaped him, more tired than annoyed. “Ya don’t give up, do ya?”

 

Elliot laughed under his breath. Chance leaned back against the bark, one leg outstretched, his coat draped half-off one shoulder. “He’s... Nothin.”

 

“You’re scared of him?” Elliot asked, teasing slightly.

 

Chance chuckled dryly. “I ain’t scared of anyone, kid. I just don’t like him.”

 

They sat in silence again. The fire crackled softly. Elliot shifted closer, wrapping one arm securely around Chance’s shoulders and chance didn’t shrug it off this time.

 

“You okay?” Elliot asked again, voice even softer.

 

“He’s the one who killed me.”

 

The words dropped like stones into the silence. The coin stopped mid-roll. He held it between thumb and forefinger, still. Elliot didn’t move. “I figured,” came the soft reply. Chance’s head snapped toward him. His eyes widened, lips parting. “You-what?” Elliot didn’t meet his gaze immediately and that made chance gaped at him, barely blinking. “How?”

 

Elliot said nothing making chance’s jaw clenched. He looked away, eyes squeezing shut. Well he shouldn't be surprised goddamnit. He breathed in then exhaled through gritted teeth. “And what should I feel, Elliot?”

 

His voice cracked. “It’s been years,” he said, shaking his head. “Years of bleeding, Over and over. You know how many times I’ve died since that first time?” He didn’t wait for an answer and continued on. “Too many to count. So many, that his first murder almost feels laughable.”

 

He laughed watching as the support turned to him now. “I shouldn’t be this angry,” he muttered. “But gods, Elliot. What the hell was I supposed to do with it all? If he hadn’t killed me back then, I wouldn’t have ended up in that..that place.”

 

“That hell.”

 

He coughed to swallow a sudden lump in his throat. “I died in there,” he whispered, “again and again.” He rubbed his face with one hand. “Itrapped didn’t just kill me, Elliot. He sentenced me and tossed me into a pit and left me there to rot.”

 

“So tell me, what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

 

Elliot's brows furrowed faintly before his eyes drifted closed, lashes brushing against his temple. He inhaled slowly. “I understand you, but our situations are different. Remember when I told you how I hated seven?”

 

Chance didn’t look at him and just listened, remembering how Elliot's death had been all over robloxia. ‘Nephew of the Head Admin. Pulled from the wreckage of a pizzeria gone up in flames. They said it was arson which an exploiter blood broke through the firewall and started corrupting the place from the inside out. Chance initially thought it was seven's own doing but Elliot had shook his head bitterly and said it was seven’s own son.

 

“I… I finally got the closure I needed when I'm alive again..” Elliot continued, snapping chance back from the memory. “My sister she’s okay. And that was enough. I forgave. I let the memories go bygone.”

 

“...”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Elliot opened his eyes. They stared into each other then burst into laughter. Chance leaned back and clutched his stomach with one hand. “Gods, you almost had me there with that poetic crap.”

 

“I was being serious,” Elliot wheezed through his grin.

 

“Oh sure,” Chance snorted. “Closure, forgiveness, bygone what, did you rehearse that in a mirror?”

 

Elliot wiped at the corner of his eye with his reath still shaky from the laughter. “Okay, okay,” he admitted, chuckling. “Maybe I haven’t fully let it go.”

 

“Damn right you haven’t,” Chance smirked as their laughter softened. Elliot exhaled and looked down at his shoes. His fingers played absently with a loose thread on his fed shirt. “Truth is… I hate what happened to me. I hate how I lost control of everything back then and how helpless I felt. But really,” Elliot said, lifting his gaze, “I can’t change the past. All I can do now is figure out how to live with it and with him.”

 

“With who?”

 

Elliot paused, flustered all at once. “I mean what I feel for him, it’s more of a... uh... a...”

 

His voice trailed off, and a red flush climbed up his neck like a slow-burning fuse. He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously and that made chance's expression contort.

 

 “Uhm, what now?”

 

Elliot coughed into his fist, refusing to meet the gambler's eyes. “It’s complicated, okay?”

 

“Ah.” Chance leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “So ways than one, huh? Are we talkin about a certain-”

 

“Chance-!”

 

“I’m not judging!” Chance held up both hands. “I’m just saying… I mean .” Elliot groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I hate you,” he muttered through his fingers. “Nah, You just hate how accurate I am.”

 

They both sat in silence again, but this time it was easier. After a while, Chance looked back at the stars. "He still killed me,” he murmured, dragging them back to the previous topic to which elliot groaned . “But I don’t have to stay dead forever.” He glanced at Elliot, tired eyes meeting his.

 

“Heads... we survive the night.” 

 

Elliot leaned into him a little more. “And tails?”

 

Chance smiled with all teeth. “Tails I lie through it!” he yelped when he felt Elliot wrapped his arms around him.

 

“Whoa what the hell ?”

 

“You’re burning,” Elliot said against his skin, You have a fever.” Chance stilled. Puffing a short breath through his nose. “Eh,” he muttered, voice rough. “Thought I was done with that. Guess it’s back.”

 

“You didn’t say anything.”

 

“I didn’t want to make a thing out of it.” The gambler sighed and let his head tilt slightly, letting Elliot stay where he was. “Should’ve guessed it,” Chance mumbled. “Everything’s been feelin’ heavier lately.”

 

Elliot pulled back just enough to look at him. His brow furrowed deep. “You can’t keep brushing this stuff off. Also don't think I forgot your injury? Uncle telamon above, what would you do without me?”

 

“Wasn’t planning on dying again tonight.”

 

“That’s not funny.”

 

“Not a joke dude, spawn above”

 

“WHAT”

 

 

_________________________

 

 

 

 

 

“Back.”

 

The single word was spoken without urgency but Seven heard the shift in the air that came with it. He stopped in his tracks, shoes pressing against damp leaves, and turned just in time to see Shedletsky exhale a sharp breath. The admin’s shoulders were tense as he led them deeper into the forest. Behind them, Maff was quiet and the usual low grumbling or sarcastic bite in his tone had vanished, replaced by the soft click of a lighter and the steady inhale of smoke curling from the cigarette clenched between his lips. 

 

Seven sighed, unable to stop the breath from escaping him. It came out tired and the sound did not go unnoticed. Shedletsky’s head turned ever so slightly, his expression unreadable beneath the dark sky but without a word, he wrapped an arm around Seven’s shoulders, Seven tensed. His head tilted away from the contact but he didn’t shrug him off. He could see shedletsky's soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips but seven didn't pay any more attention to him.

 

They kept walking until suddenly, a sharp crack broke the rhythm and It wasn’t one of theirs because It was too quick.

 

“Ahh!” 

 

Two Time, who had been trailing behind in silence, moved faster than the wind. They lunged toward the sound, all “By the stars above-!” they hissed, their voice sharp as they tackled someone hidden in the underbrush.

 

“Two-wait!” Seven shouted, running forward but Shedletsky was faster. He reached out, grabbing Two’s arm and pulling them back just in time to reveal a crumpled figure beneath them.

 

They saw a blonde bloodied robloxian Barely able to sit up as they wheezed.

 

“Noob?”

 

Shedletsky’s voice cracked with disbelief. Noob looked up, their eyes swimming with tears that refused to fall. Their face was smeared with dirt and their clothes torn. 

 

“Noob!?” Two Time stumbled back a step, their face draining of color. “Spawn above…!” they whispered. “Who in creation did this to you!?”

 

Noob winced “We- We have to keep moving,” they gasped with voice hoarse and strained. Their entire body shook as they forced himself toward Seven- causing seven to hurriedly stepped forward instinctively and caught them just as they collapsed into his arms.

 

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, supporting Noob’s weight against his chest. His hands brushed across torn fabric and fresh wounds. “God, what happened to you…?” Noob didn’t answer. They just clung to him tighter.

 

Maff flicked the end of his cigarette to the ground, his brows furrowing as he stepped forward. “you. I recognize you.” he muttered but no one paid attention to him. 

 

Shedletsky’s expression was hardening. “We don't have time to sit. Is this the work of exploiter?” he said coldly, but even he couldn’t hide the way his gaze lingered on Noob’s bleeding arm. “Help them walk, Seven. Two, take the rear.”

 

“Yes, admin.” Two said, the sarcasm thinly veiled beneath their breath. Seven adjusted Noob’s arm around his shoulders and began walking. They leaned into him with all the strength they had left which wasn’t much.

 

“You guys…”

 

Noob’s voice cracked barely louder than a whisper and before Seven could react, he felt a sharp tug at his shoulder. Noob’s fingers gripped him hard, shaking slightly with effort. He turned just as they gasped, “Seven, please c00lkid is out there. He’s hunting us.”

 

Everything stopped and one by one, the others turned to look at Noob then at each other but it was Seven who changed most drastically. His face lost all color in an instant. The warmth bled from his skin, his lips parted in horror, and a dull pressure crawled over his scalp. Before he could steady himself, Seven dropped to his knees, the forest floor scraping his pants as he collapsed. He stared ahead in blank disbelief, unable to move or speak.

 

At the sight of that, Shedletsky stepped forward, his eyes narrowing at Noob. “Explain,” he ordered, devoid of patience. Noob stammered, breath hitching with every word. “We’re not- we’re not- he’s a killer-” Two Time tensed beside a tree, their eyes flickering with something unreadable. Even the ever-calm Shedletsky looked shaken.

 

However, Maff reacted differently. “For fuck’s sake.” With a heavy sigh, he stepped forward, cigarette still dangling from his lips. He moved toward Noob and grabbed their chin with rough fingers, forcing them to look up at him.

 

“Oi,” he said coldly, “we’re not in the Banlands, are we?” Immediately, Two Time stilled, their shoulders locking up as they looked at noob waiting for answers. “I-I-” Noob faltered. “I don’t know… I was just-I don’t know, I didn't imagine it-” Their voice was trembling. 

 

“Tch. That ain’t an answer, rookie,” Maff growled, shaking their chin slightly before letting go. “You show up beat to hell, blurt that's kid's name like a damn curse, and now you don’t even know where we are? Ya think this is a game?”

 

“No-I wasn’t trying to-!”

 

“Then think coward!” Maff barked. “Did you see an exploiter? One. Just one. anything?!” At that moment, Maff's voice lowered, almost daring. “Did ya encounter a single exploiter here?”

 

“...”

 

“no?... FUCK, WHERE DID THAT BASTARD ADMIN BROUGHT US?"

 

"I-i-"

 

“listen, lad. I don’t care if you imagined it,” Maff growled. “But I’ll tell you what I don’t imagine.” He stepped closer again, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what he sees in a coward like you,” he sneered as noob flinched.

 

“My darlin’ would never act like you. stand your fuckin’ ground.”

 

A laugh echoed from somewhere behind them and it slid under their skin and seven’s breath audibly caught in his throat. Before the others could process what they were hearing, Shedletsky moved In a blur of muscle and survival instinct, he grabbed Seven by the arm and yanked him off the ground. “Move!” Shedletsky barked. Without hesitation, he dragged Seven forward into the woods. Noob’s eyes widened in terror, and they sprinted after them without a word, pushing past broken branches and thorns scraping at their arms with two swiftly following. Behind them, Maff stood stunned for a single beat. “The fuck was that!?” he snapped to no one.

 

Another flicker of that distorted laughter echoed again closely. “Oi! Don’t just- bloody hell!” he growled, snapping the cigarette from his lips and tossing it to the dirt. With a curse louder than necessary, Maff bolted after the others, the branches whipped his face, and he ducked just in time to avoid a low-hanging bough.

 

 

_____________________

 

 

 

Elliot’s sleep was ripped away by the sharp sensation of frantic gloved hands grabbing his shoulders. His eyes flew open and standing over him was Itrapped’s grim, pale face drenched in sweat.

 

“I-I-Are you oka-?”

 

“Get up,” he snapped that it took Elliot by surprise. His voice was raw and short-tempered. His eyes darted behind them and. Before Elliot could fully register the words, Itrapped already had him halfway upright, gripping his arm. Dizzy and disoriented, Elliot’s head jerked upward. His vision spun for a moment then settled only to fill with horror.

 

Itrapped’s face was torn in places. Burn marks marred the edges of his jaw. His usually crisp, high-end vest was soaked through with blood as The fabric clung to his chest. Elliot instinctively reached for the lukewarm pizza he had stashed earlier, half-delirious with worry.

 

but Itrapped shoved his hand aside with a gritted jaw.

 

“Not now. Wake them.”

 

Elliot opened his mouth hesitantly He turned and reached for the lump beside him in the night. “Chance,” he whispered, then shook him harder. “Chance.”

 

The gambler didn’t move and elliot’s heart stuttered. “Chance come on, wake up.”

 

Chance’s head lolled to the side limply, his skin glistening with sweat. He was truly burning up. “He’s burning,” Elliot said, panic sharpening in his throat. “He’s not responding.” Itrapped’s expression darkened instantly. His lips curled into a low, furious snarl directed at Elliot.

 

“Move,” he said, brushing Elliot aside and leaning down to Chance’s side. “Chance. Get up.” they both watch chance stirred but it was sluggish and resistance without recognition. He pushed back weakly, His gray skin was pale, flushed at the cheeks and neck yet his breaths came shallow and sharp. “Chance, listen to me,” Itrapped growled again, gripping his shoulders tightly. “You have to wake up. Now.”

 

He gave him a small shake urgently. Both Breathing a sigh of relief when Chance groaned, eyes fluttering open just barely before slamming shut again.  

 

“Chance!” Itrapped pleaded. “I need you conscious.”

 

The sight was so strange that Elliot pulled back slightly, heart pounding against his ribs. What is happening ? He turned to survey the area until his eyes caught movement and quickly his blood ran cold. Two Dragging, Red, Rotten bodies. 

 

“No…” he breathed. “No, no, no…”

 

His legs moved before he realized it, stepping back instinctively. Coolkid is here?

 

“Chance… Chance, goddamnit!” Itrapped’s voice rose with every bit of his control cracking. At there, elliot saw Itrapped differently because gone was the two-faced asshole that he had come to known. What knelt before Chance now was a man desperate. Itrapped was running his hand down Chance’s arm, feeling the burning skin and checking his pulse with trembling fingers. “Come on. Come on.”

 

With a low growl, the gambler's hand lashed out, swiping blindly at Itrapped’s arm. “Get off me!” he slurred, eyes wild with confusion, the aggression clearly bleeding through fever-induced delirium.

 

“Chance, it’s me-” Itrapped tried, grabbing his shoulder, but Chance shoved him with all the strength his burning body could muster. “I said get OFF!” Chance thrashed, swinging his arm again. His elbow caught Itrapped’s jaw and the impact wasn’t enough to knock him back, but it stunned him enough to pinned chance’s wrists with force, panting. Desperation etched lines deeper into his burned face. His whole frame trembled. He let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh.

 

Without a word, Itrapped lifted the crooked ice crown from his head and set it gently on the floor beside them.

 

Elliot blinked, disoriented but Itrapped didn't look at him. His gaze stayed fixed on Chance and slowly his fingers found Chance’s palm and held it close to his face. He shut his eyes Then, softly, with a voice too uncharacteristically gentle for the man Elliot had thought he knew, he whispered, “Listen… Chance. Can you stand up, please? Please… It’s me. It’s Noob.”

 

Elliot reeled, staring at the man In shock. 

 

Oh.

 

Oh.

 

“…Noob?” chance whispered and Itrapped gave the smallest nod, teeth clenched and it was obvious that the act alone took everything his pride had. His breath hitched, and he shut his eyes tight, forehead dropping against Chance’s knuckles. Behind them, the sound of dragging limbs grew louder and the realization struck Elliot as a slap across the face. Whatever trance he had fallen into shattered instantly.

 

“Grab Chance!” he shouted, voice cracking with urgency and let out a breath of relief when Itrapped’s head shot up, eyes wild and snapping out of his own haze. Without hesitation, he hooked his arms under Chance’s shoulders just as Elliot lunged forward, wrapping one arm around Itrapped’s back to support his limp side. Blood soaked Itrapped’s vest, and his gait was uneven from a gash running down his thigh, but neither of them paused so Together, the three bolted.

 

Their feet thundered against the soil leaves crunched beneath their soles. Chance was dead weight in Itrapped’s arms, his limbs twitching with feverish spasms. His breath was ragged and hot and his head lolled against Itrapped’s chest. “Keep moving!” Elliot barked. He could hear the thing behind them getting closer.

 

“Someone’s there!”

 

Elliot shouted, desperate hope lighting up his voice when he saw people ahead but Itrapped’s steps faltered. “That might not be a someone!” he muttered under his breath as Elliot glanced at him, jaw tightening. “Do you wanna die here, then?!”

 

Itrapped didn’t answer. He tightened his grip around Chance’s waist, hoisted him higher, and together they pushed forward onward until they finally saw who the group was causing them to stopped.

 

“Uncle shed!?” 

 

“Elliot!?”

 

The voice cracked through the tension. “What are ya doing here???” two pairs of eyes met locking in a stunned silence. He recognized his uncle's friend in an instant but the stranger beside him was unfamiliar. The fedora atop the stranger’s head cast a deep shadow over his features, and though something about the man tickled at a memory, Elliot couldn’t place him. That was until the man stepped forward. The stranger didn’t head toward him, but instead veered sharply toward Itrapped, whose normally composed stance had begun to visibly falter. Itrapped was trembling. His grip on Chance tightened while the man in the fedora leaned in to whisper into Itrapped’s ear that only they could hear.

 

He turned and from the corner of his eye, Elliot saw movement and recognized them. noob was standing behind the stranger, their expression ranged between worry and disbelief. Their eyes fixed on who Itrapped was carrying. At that Itrapped’s grip shifted ever so slightly, fingers curling tighter around the fabric of Chance’s coat, his expression darkening into something unreadable. when noob took a step forward and about to reach out- Itrapped’s glare froze noob mid-step. 

 

“Elliot.”

 

Elliot looked back just in time to see Shedletsky move between him and the path forward. “Elliot, this isn't the damn banlands” he muttered darkly. Elliot tensed, startled by the venom in those words. He met Shedletsky’s gaze with his own face etched with disbelief. “What?” he breathed, trying to step around him to check on seven but Shedletsky blocked the path entirely as something In the background groaned which made Elliot swore under his breath, his eyes darting to the source of the sound. The noise was getting closer and closer. Shedletsky reached behind his back and yanked his sword free but then-

 

Bang.

 

The shot rang making all heads turned to see chance was awake. Still leaning on Itrapped’s side, barely upright, face flushed with fever and breath ragged. His hand gripped a pistol, smoke curling from the barrel. His other hand clutched Itrapped’s shirt tightly for balance.

 

“Aw, you killed my friends, uncle chance.”

 

Behind the tree a massive clawed hand tore through the debris,na red figure emerged towering at nearly six feet. His eyes glowed bright white. It chuckled and elliot stumbled back, hand flying to his mouth. “That’s not-no, that can’t be.. what is he doing here.”

 

“What in the bloody hell is that!?”

 

the fedora man shouted and without waiting for an answer, he lunged forward to grab Itrapped by the wrist and jerking him back to which Itrapped staggered mid-step, still holding tightly onto Chance. “MOVE, damn it!” the fedora man barked again, practically dragging both of them away. 

 

Meanwhile, Seven froze from the distance. “No…” he choked out, voice barely above a whisper. His knees gave slightly. Coolkid smiled eerily then tilted his head with childlike playfulness. His voice carried over the stunned clearing. “Hi, Papa, you brought all your friends today! How nice. I wanted to see everyone before the fun ends.” Seven’s lips parted. He wanted to say anything but the words failed. “Sorry, Papa and Papa’s friends,” Coolkid continued, voice still light. “I think our playtime is over.”

 

There was a crack in the air and before anyone could react, Coolkid raised his corrupted hand and slammed it into the earth. With an audible thud, a pulse of red and black code erupted outward in a wave. Roots withered and code patterns spread across the bark resembling infection. Static crawled into the air, and Elliot's eyes snapped shut from the harsh light, instinctively shielding his face.

 

“SHIT!” Shedletsky yelled, stumbling back as the corrupted code fizzled past him, eating away at the leaves and rotting the grass under their feet.

 

 

________________

 

 

 

The sound of waves crashing echoed in his ears. It was distant at first, the sound feeling like suppressed memories clawing their way through a thick fog. Chance groaned softly. His throat was dry, mouth coated with the bitter sting of salt and sand. Grainy sediment clung to his lips and lashes and it's gritty against his skin as he blinked back into reality. The world felt slow when he pushed himself up with a trembling arm, his muscles aching from exhaustion. Blinking wearily, his gaze swept the shoreline.

 

Everyone was unconscious Except Two Time. The tall figure stood deathly still, clothes soaked and clinging, hair plastered to their face. Two Time didn’t look at him. Their gaze was fixed ahead because it was locked on the distant wooden cabin at the treeline, tears streaming openly, silently. Their shoulders trembled, but they didn’t speak. Chance followed their line of sight as his blood ran cold. His breath hitched sharply with the loud ringing that grew louder in his ears. His knees almost buckled.

 

He limped forward, ignoring the way his soaked wetsuit clung tightly to his frame, Two Time never turned to him. They stood like a statue as chance passed them silently. His hand met the cabin wooden door. Slowly, he pushed the door open and the hinges creaked softly. The Light spilled out and stabbed at his eyes. He flinched, raising a hand to shield himself, stepping into the glow.

 

Inside, the room was eerily calm with some of the survivors avoiding to look at his eyes but him. Standing with his back turned and watching the flickering fire in the fireplace. Builderman didn’t turn at first, only slightly tilting his head when he heard Chance's footsteps against the creaking floorboards.

 

“Welcome back, Chance.” Builderman said softly as chance's legs gave out beneath him, he collapsed right there on the cabin’s doorstep, soaked arms limp at his sides and palms scraping against the wooden floor while his body slumped forward. 

 

Soon, Tears slipped down his cheeks.

 

 

 

 

 

"What?"

 

 

Notes:

Hi!! I'm so busy tonight because it's now our midterm. Yes, I'm tweaking out but I just want to say that thank you so much for everything. For the support. I read all the comments but I had no time to reply because either I'm studying or just using my free time to quickly write this chapter for you all. But just know I have read everything. Especially to the readers that crashed out last chapter, I'm sorry 😭😭

ALSO IM SO SORRY TO SAY THAT ELLERNATE AND CALEB IS SCRAPPED

I really have to go back studying once I post this chapter, don't be discouraged to comment if I don't respond, please I love reading them and they're my inspo, I am just really so busy huhuhuffhfh 😭

Also blame MOX. Yes I KNOW YOU ARE READING THIS FAVOURITE READER. BLAME EM. BLAME EMMMM

Chapter 13: AIN'T NO FUN WHEN THE RABBIT GOT THE GUN.

PERSONAL NOTE.

 

HEYA GUYS!! Okay so I created this note just because why not. Why not💔 Wattpad authors are doing this so why not me too😞 JOKES ASIDE, treat this note as a personal hangout. Like you get to know more about me and stuff! You can also ask questions and stuff :D

@XT4ry in Twitter.

 

________

 

 

 

ARTS MADE BY PEAK ARTISTS, ILYSM GUYS. ILYYYY ILYYY SO PEAK SO PEAK SO PEAKKKK

 

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