Chapter Text
The Tacoma went over the endless amount of pits in the dirt road, as your gps guided to your assigned delivery address. You cradled your head with freehand, propping your elbow on the armrest. Your brain began to ache, closing in on itself with a migraine. You wished you could go home sooner, but this was the last of the freightage. Worse part about all of this wasn’t being on shift, but you had been running on E for awhile. You surprised you made it this far, but you had a spare jerrycan in the back; as far as your boss concerned, you aren’t allowed to be suicidal on the clock. And hey, so far, 26 bucks in tips!
Cucks.
Whoever ordered the last pizza chose Hawaiian toppings; and their place of rez’ was out in the middle of the woods too. You doubted this guy would tip you for risking your life bringing him takeout in a fucking bear infested forest. Maybe you should let the bear take a shit in the cardboard box before handing to him. You steered the truck into another wide turn, as you felt your tires bump into dulled rocks, your annoyance refusing to subside. You were never one for anger issues, but this past 16 hour shift was getting on your last nerve. You rolled down your window to get some fresh air. Not the smartest move, being in the middle of the woods and all, but the damp scent of dirt and moss brought slight disgust upon you. The disgust subsided as the “reverence” for Mother Nature, taking stead in its’ place (you actually just felt pity for the shitstorm humanity caused her for their evolution).
The moon was resting in a crescent, its’ C-shape providing the man in the moon a rocking chair; if it wasn’t for the fact he was the one was carved into furniture. The spruce and pine tree reached out to the stars, while the others lacked motivation and slumped back. The fog seemed rather dense the further you rolled on, but you paid no mind as long as there was cell signal and a Tommy gun in your front seat. You found yourself more distracted by the smell of earth and shit than the opaque mass that consumed woodland.
You were just two minutes away (according to the satellite we launched into space) when you felt your engine sputter out.
Great.
All done.
You sighed. Should you fill up your truck first, or finish the job? You knew what your boss choose verbally. But you also knew what he would choose in your spot. So fuck him, you were going to both in one shot. Compared to his bushy eyebrow ass, your were the better employee in any situation. You tucked your phone into your butt pocket. You grab the emergency flashlight from the glove box, snagged your gun and locked your truck. Satisfied with the beep it made in response, you turned your back to the door. You left your headlights on as a safety measure to find your way back.
Feet planted on the ground now, You wondered what were the consequences where for shooting a bear out of hunting season. You weren’t even sure if it wasn’t hunting season. The last time you had associated yourself with killing animals was cat you had run over on the highway, and the 2006 movie named hunting season. That movie was weird. The bear and goat got stoned off convenience store sugar.
Eh.
Honestly checks out why you’d like it.
You flipped on the flashlight as you headed to the truck bed. Your head still itched with a migraine, as you popped the bed door open. You put the pizza box between your fingers while gripping the flashlight. You used your free hand to snag the jerry can, the light feeling of plastic making your heart sink.
Shit. It was out.
You threw the can on the ground, the patience you told yourself you had, withered. Whatever. Guess you had to die. In the dark. Alone. With no paycheck. You picked up the jerrycan and tossed it back into the truck bed. You headed toward your shotgun front seat and yanked the car door open. You slipped the greasy cardboard box under your armpit as you slapped the door shut. Flashlight on the dirt road ahead of you, you questioned yourself, which if you were reasonable, you would’ve done earlier. Should you really start walking around for some log cabin? Come to think of it, who the fuck would live here? You took in your surroundings once more. It looked more like a scenic hiking trail than someone’s driveway. You had a half thought through intuition that this seemed like the place you’d get sued for building or owning property on. To be fair you didn’t know shit about real estate issues, so you were wasting your head away along side the headache.
And what about your migraine… hybrid… uh, headache? The hell did that come from? You could blame it on stress but it was probably your shitty time management with your sleep schedule. Actually you couldn’t say that because you didn’t really have a schedule. You just were up ’n at em until you crashed. Poor choices, but you seemed to be so lost on when you had last slept. Did you take a Lunesta last night? Or did you nap at 4 (pm)? No wait… You’ve… Been working all day. Yeah. Stupid.
You knew you would get more sleep if it wasn’t for the fact you insisted on playing video games before bedtime to destress. You could’ve been normal, honestly. You could’ve been like the majority of the census and fucked your cluster c disorders away; But noooooo. That was too gross for her majesty– yours truly. Instead your woes were whisked away with micro transactions. And gambling. Lots, and lots, and lots, of mindless claw games and stacker at the arcade. You were hopeless; yet nihilistically you proud of your self destructive (it was more menacing towards your bank account balance if anything) habits.
After being completely lost in your mentally verbal conversation with yourself, you had failed process yourself walking in forward on autopilot. Unknowingly, you kicked a rock. And another. And another. Eventually, one of the rocks hit something. The noise of the stone colliding against something on the forest floor cracked you out of your day dream, causing your head to snap up. Fuck, you got distracted again, You found your body in defensive stance, biting back the urge to scream irrationally. You couldn’t do that. You would probably attract the pack of wolves on their way to snap you up. Examining your surroundings once more, ahead was a house; there was an unnaturally placed cool-colored light protruding from the second story window. The fog was even denser, almost cradling the structure like a newborn.
As you approached your believed destination–your cell was lagging–the deterioration of said building was less comforting than hiding alongside whatever else was in the woods. Starting up an actual paved the driveway, you felt your spine chill. You felt exposed out in the open; had this ever been this creepy 5, 7 minutes ago? You were at the porch when your stomach felt like doing a French exit out of your colon. The door wasn’t there; the wooden(?) hinges looked like splintered, as if the typical commodity had been ripped right off like paper. Yikes.
The house itself was not inviting at all; there hadn’t been any lighting except for the ghostly light in the upstairs. There was noise coming from up there that sounded like a machine running and shuddering in on itself. The thumping noise stayed consistent, never once going off its beat. You stood at the front do– err, front porch, silent with your observations. You waited patiently, unsure if you should call out the name on the order. You had seen the order visual so many times on your way here you didn’t even need to double check your phone to see if you were right. You felt you would breaking some type of unspoken taboo if you bothered to speak though.
The shock of seeing the house in such a shoddy state being able to afford a large pizza had worn off rather quickly after you had analyzed your surroundings. Yeah. It was a prank call. You were going to ‘No Shit Sherlock’ yourself aloud, but caught yourself before you could be a cornball. You doubt you would be getting a pay raise from willingly going to place so shady just so your boss wouldn’t yell at you for wasting food. It wasn’t your fault you gotten unlucky, or teenage foreplay was pranking minimum wage workers with 4 sick days or less. You rolled your eyes as you kept your focus on the dirt road, ready to mindlessly wander to your car again. You were immediately sidetracked however, when you heard grunts of pain and weeping coming from a bush. Maybe the teenagers were ghosts. Teenage ghosts. Horny Teenage Ghosts. You couldn’t have been that fucking oblivious to miss that in the beginning, right?
You ignored it, because last time you checked your mama told you bringing attention to the dead only brought attention to you. Last thing you wanted was getting nutted on by a ghost. Or being forced to nut on the ghost. God. You were really fucking repressed. Before you could even reprimand your degeneracy, the grunts of pain were behind you; the cries becoming clearer as you felt a tug at your ratty Pizza Hut uniform. You were about to absolutely shit yourself. The tugging became more frantic as you reminded yourself that you would rather get contagious lung cancer than face the skin walker behind you.
Just like clocking in, you had no choice in this matter. The entity behind you used its’ force of its appendages to whip you around, the force wearing off as soon as it brought you to an angle to facing toward it.
Oh.
It was a woman.
A dying woman.
Yikes.
She bore into you with weeping doe eyes frantically trying to form a signal that you couldn’t seem to catch on to. Her glasses were sliding off her wet, tear stained face when your own vision had finally seemed to kick in. She was BLEEDING. HARD. IT WAS FUCKING EVERYWHERE; you laughed your stupid unintended sex joke at that internally, which accidentally might’ve shown on your face (judging by the fear growing in her eyes at her assumption that you were indifferent). Then your denial wore off (to some degree) and the situation cracked you on the head.
“WOAH THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOU LADY?!”She automatically flinched back at your volume, seeming even more distressed than she was before. She shakily raised a finger to her lips, frantically trying to make a shushing motion. She began to dig into her pockets before throwing something at you and looked at you intently. It landed on the ground with a soft thud. It was a box of kiddie bandages, practically empty.
“What the fuck lady, what is this supposed to do?” You whispered in angrier tone, disturbed that she wanted you to patch her bleeding out abdomen with 3 cheap ladybug themed strips of plastic. You were even more concerned that she wanted you be quiet, and wanted to rip your skin of for being so fucking loud when her abuser– attacker?– whoeverthehellattemptedfirstdegreemurder– was probably still around.
Despite the absurdity of it, the woman groaned in light irritation; something you barely made out among the heavy panting. She began to try to communicate, but her voice was hoarse, and all she could do was softly grunt in pain. She sighed in annoyance as she snatched your hands, placing your pizza box on her lap before it fell. The woman start rubbing your hands together until you could feel the friction start to build up. Before you could protest or make sense of this bullshit the woman pressed your palms flat against her back, and held them there. You tried to pull back, but she looked back up at you pleadingly. Ok so maybe this was self-harming druggie; she was trying to get you to participate in healing ritual together.
….
If this her dying wish, you might as well humor her. It was weird as shit, sure. But there was also no dispatcher that was going to navigate their way here in time before she succumbed to her bloodloss. You stood there is dumb silence as you let her melt underneath your touch. You awkwardly stood there as she started to steady her breathing, hiccuping in the process. You watched her blankly, head somewhere else. You tried to rack your head for any missing person poster that might have her face slapped across it. You broke the stale silence as you brought you focus back on to the female. “Girl… What the heck is this going to do?”
As if on cue, she finally let go of your hands, dropping them to your sides. You are then, convinced, the savior, redeemer, lord Jesus Christ, has returned and descended back upon the earth in the form of helpless soul. This woman had no injures.
None.
Fuckin' zilch.
It was almost like they fucking evaporated when you were distracted. She started up, pushing the pizza box back into your hands. A look of sadness flashed across her face when she met you dumbfounded look. Being able to study her features now, her face looked… Generic. No. Familiar? You felt like you could recall her face from somewhere in your mind, without all the individual details. You snap out of your strive to recollect when she attempted to speak once more; instead, her throat gave out once more as she sputtered into a coughing fit. Trying to pat her back down, you heard a branch snap, at least 20 feet away. It came from somewhere in the dense wilderness surrounding this road. You hear the crunch of footsteps making their toward your location and music (the fuck) coming from somewhere; each footfall threatening to send you into a coma.
She suddenly grasped your shoulders, pushing you in a direction so hard you swore you jumped 7 feet. You barely hear a feminine voice call out something similar to “go” over your drum set of circulatory system, but her voice cracks in the middle of the vowel. You don’t look back, opting to zigzag down the dirt road. Godspeed methhead, it was nice knowing you for 4 uncomfortable minutes. She was absolutely fucking screwed, but you didn’t know what the fuck you should anymore. Your common sense bangs you on the head again, harder than your heartbeat. Oh right. 911. Duh.
She was clearly no longer going to die from hemorrhaging before they could make it up here, so you might as well call them to see if they could make it before it happens again. Ahead you saw lights’. 2 lights. Headlights. Your headlights. You didn’t even think the path was that short, but you didn’t question it as you beelined for your truck. You might’ve just given up and dropped to your ass at this point at your new realization. There was no truck. There was two lights. Two flashlights. Two flashlights, with people attached to them. And you were still holding a definitely cold pizza. Your mind split in two for another second. You left your car with the pizza, a gun, your phone, and flashlight. Flashlight was no longer crudely wrapped around your belt. It was no longer resting against your torso. But more importantly, your gun was. You were going to eat a pile of shit when you went home. You could’ve fucking saved her.
Whoever was in front of you holding their stupid flashlights finally noticed your presence and yelped. It was some white twink and a braided ginger that looked at you in fear, glancing between your goddamned delivery and the Tommy gun perched across your back. That’s when it hit you.
You laughed. You chuckled again before tilting your head back to look for god and his know-it-all divinity in the pitch-black sky. “Wow.” You threw hands up the air, pizza in hand rattling against the box. “Ya got me!” You did another set of exasperated sarcastic hand motions. You flipped off the Big Dipper as it gleamed back down at you. It was clueless, not knowing what you’ve said until 3 centuries later. Didn’t matter, it would hear you eventually.
You stared into the barrel. It stared back at you. Unmoving. Inanimate without your mental breakdown. Your staring contest was cut short by Dwight’s shit luck, as he stepped back onto another fucking twig. This forest was flagrantly covered in stray sticks. Something you hadn’t noticed on your joyride up here. You whip your head in his direction, making the poor pathetic white man let out small scream of terror as he faced your dilated eyes. It wasn’t loud enough to be considered location revealing, but the woman next to him slapped his mouth none the less.
You stood there facing them, your body language probably akin to something like Tuco Salamanca. You actually could not even fucking fathom this. You locked eyes with your two new forest roommates for life in smiling denial as they stared back, unsure if they should retreat while you were stationary. Their intentions had clear as day absence of not wanting to talk to you. You really couldn’t blame them, you looked like a fucking psycho as you connected the dots like an elementary schooler. Meg was about to whisper something incoherent to the man when you stole her chance.
“How many bitch.”
They frog blinked back at you.
You simply stared back waiting a response. You decided you would check them out while whatever the fuck was going on in their heads finished processing. Starting off with Dwight, you checked him out head to shoes before doing the same to Meg. Dwight was taller than you had at least expected, if he was standing up straight. His hunchback of Notre dame posture got the better him, taking off a whopping 3 or 4 inches. Meg seemed to fit from what you remember in within gameplay. She was hunched too, sure, but her situation looked actually retractable. They pretty much looked like how they would without player made customizations; Save for the pair of white sweatpants Meg wore. They were both covered in blood and dirt, though few wounds were seen. Nothing fatal, just scrapes you would get from walking through a thorn bush; it wouldn’t cause limping.
You snapped your fingers in front of them. Nothing.
You couldn’t take it anymore. “BROTHER, HOW FUCKING MANY?”
“TWO LEFT–”
“WAIT WAIT, YOU’RE IN HELL; THIS IS SO HARD EXPLAIN A TRIAL—“
“SHUT UP!”
“WELL YOU’RE IN THIS WEIRD LIMBO, IT'S EXTREMELY IMPORTANT, ALBEIT THESE ARE NOT IDEAL CIR–“
The ginger slapped the back of his head. “YOUR FUCKING PROVOKING IT!”
Recovering from the unneeded blow., the man sputtered out: “UH, UH, LOOK, IT DOESN’T MATTER, HAVE YOU SEEN CLAUDETTE?”
They stared back stupidly at you, and you did the same. Did they seriously call you it? Was everyone suddenly above people who had an hourly wage of 13 dollars? And comedically (it wasn’t comedic) on cue, Claudette screamed harder than her attempt at talking as the sound of splurged flesh echoed across the forest.
Tweedle dum and Tweedle dee looked at each other. “Who’s gonna get her?”
There was a sharp metallic ring heard for miles– er, meters; the hook. And then anorexic spider legs clutched the poor woman as they flew up high into the sky. The white string bean of a man audibly gulped, and Meg was going to start pulling out her hair in clumps. Jeez, aren’t they the oldest people here? That thought was caught off shortly when you heard running fast enough to put olympic candidates to shame. You spoke unconsciously.
“Oh. You’re shitting me.” The guitar solo peaked.
SHING.
Dwight was almost snapped up immediately as his back bled out, his spine bubbling to surface from his skin. Meg attempted to flash her light, only to find it was out of juice trying to detain you. It made a pathetic flicker, revealing who the killer was. Not like you needed it to see with his theme pounding into your skull, probably happily inaudible to literally anyone else. The guy wore a mask that resembled a crude depiction of that fuckass suicidal spoon from Toy Story 4. The male (the only difference from Julie being he didn’t have boulder shoulders and had varsity jacket on) started to launch next at Meg, who was within reach thanks to her fuck up with her flashlight. You weren’t flight or fight person. You were freeze. And that gave you the option to choose one of the previous two while he was caught up in something else. Oh. That’s right.
“OI! SPORKY!” Would calling him water boy have done more damage?
His attempt to slice into Meg failed as he suddenly faltered. He turned slowly to you, but not without snagging the fabric of Meg’s vest as she tried to redirect his attention to her (presumably because she didn’t want you dying in your first trial). Guess not. A trembling breath was exhaled from the crude craft mask. He plunged his knife backwards, hitting meg without needing to look. She screamed as she sagged into his grip permanently.
“What.” The voice exhausted, and unstable, staggered out of his mask. He was tall, had bad posture, and was that muscular lean that you had seen is most basketball white boys. He pretty much looked like he was ripped from the loading screen and given a realistic texture pack; best way to put it was those shitty AI videos that tried to bring cartoon characters to realism with scary accuracy.
“Did you happen to get promoted to water boy from bench warmer so you could actually be in the game?” You spoke flatly.
You were a fucking cornball. You were a fucking cornball.
And with that, He let Meg kiss the floor as he ran for you. He raised the knife to give your forehead a new buttcrack, when you slammed the trashed pizza box into his ribcage. He sputtered back, and before the stun could even process, you smashed a now open pizza box into his head. The chunks of pineapple stuck to the sides of his high school varsity hood. Frank laid in the dirt, quiet. You weren’t going to bother. You snatched Meg off the ground as you carried her bridal style into the wood. Dwight was cooked. But hey, judging off the little lore you remember for the archives and tomes, he would’ve reprimanded you if you didn’t take someone else but him.
Meg looked at you in shock. Not the look where you would feel proud of the fact you saved her, more like what the fuck is going through your cracked head to pull that shit. Tired, she falls back in your arms like limp balloon, not before giving you a vile side eye. You would’ve shrugged in response, but right now your shoulders were her only life line. You ran aimlessly forward, until you made it to a shack straight out of the game. You were even luckier, there was a basement. The stench of iron and decay hit you, but you couldn’t hear the screams of the impaled lingering on the meat hooks.
Eh.
Saves you sanity. You throw her on to the ground with a muttered sorry as you kick open the chest behind the corner, not even bothering with the rusted lock. Surprisingly obedient, it pops right fucking off.
You find what you’re looking for, as you pop open the red metal case for the bandages. You start immediately wrapping her like mummy, as she cries in protest as if you were tying her up for bait. You drown her out, throwing on whatever’s left in the case.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” The ginger screams, although her volume is at a practiced precision; loud enough to display her anger, and not your guys’ hiding spot.
“I’m not groping your ass right now so you can heal if we have a first aid kit.”
...
She looked even more disturbed. She was going talk again, but the bandages of their own accord loosened and fell, revealing healthy skin. You were not doing this shit right. At all.
A male scream echoed in the distance as another hook clattered to the ground, ringing. You noticed Meg was already up, as her chest started heaving, fast. Eliminating the idea that her heart pounding isn’t because of the fact you’re a complete total new freak who’s managed to defy 3 different principles of the trials, You personally didn’t feel shit pounding against your ribcage. This was the one thing in 40 minutes worth being concerned about since Claudette. You didn’t have time to ponder further on that as you heard the imaginary guitar riff stumble through your head. Almost immediately, Frank popped out of the corner of the stairwell, swiping at Meg viciously. She uttered Damnnit, as tried to dodge the next hit comes towards her. Frank seemed to recover faster than he usually did in his base build, so you just had to assume he had Unrelenting or some shit. And just like whenever you were in your head to reflect, something happened.
Meg hollered in agony as she was slid harshly on to the hook like a pig carcass. You fucking face palmed. You don’t even get the chance to see if she’s unhookable before the Slasher wannabe hurtled toward you. You were going to run around the hook until there was an opening to snatch her, when the hook clatters to the ground. Shit. Did they all suck? Your thought process was broken up into intervals as you focused on skipping steps up the stairs to gain any sort of advantage over the high school dropout. He swung dumbly in the complete opposite direction, blinded by his rage. You could say proudly this was the longest you’ve lasted against the legion that wasn’t a newbie; you didn’t know if the fact it was the lucid hallucination you made up or the real deal that made the fact worse. Whatever the case, you were freaking out.
“GODDAMNIT, GET OFF MY BUNS! BITCH!” You flipped off the air, refusing to look back. Being back in the main part of the shack, you started pathing as soon as possible. You were always an on and off case when you were in chase with a killer. You never were consistent enough to be expected to finish a 2 generator chase, or be downed in the first 30 seconds. You wanted to put the blame on how it was dependent upon the map you were on, not the fact alone you were ass. You couldn't even 360.
And that's when it hits you.
He hits you.
The taste of of iron becomes apparent, the flavor alone having you more occupied than the instinct to yawp in pain. However, the pain of having your back split open never came. Instead, your back went completely numb. Your torso no longer felt attached to you, a drast difference to what a sleeping arm would've felt like. You press forward regardless, coming to a realization that you continuely forgot in your personal hysteria.
Like clockwork, since you were a kid, the machinery became an extension of your arm. You aimed for the spot between the two carved out eyes as you stumbled to jump over a cut out widow.
"YO, YO, YO EH HEY HEY WAIT-"
RA TAH TA TA TA TAT.
3 bullets is all you had, as the man in front of you stumbled back. A hand to his mask covering the area shot, his arms were previously in the air.
You prayed with every thing you had that he would be out of commission.
But no.
Once his hand was cast aside, your 3 bullets fell to the floor. The only thing you had to show for your ammo were 3 circular dents that punctured his mask like paper plate, not a single wound. Aw shit.
Why on earth did you think that work?
"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING HELL YOU BITCH?" The man had his arms splayed in exasperation before pointing at you. "WHA- WHA THE- WHAT IN THE ACTUAL STEAMING DOGSHIT WAS THAT?" The man was about to rip his mask off his face, likely to get a breather. He stopped himself. He looked at his knife. He rolled his head, cracking his neck and shoulders and snapped it back to you, using his knife to point at you like an index finger.
"You know what? Fuck you, and your little fucking pizza job, and whatever shit hole you came from you dick. I don't give flying fuck if you're new, I'll make sure your noodle replaces the toppings in your fuckass pizza specia. And if we weren't stuck here, I'll make sure it's the the last reminder you employer has of you when I hand him the box and ask for a refund." Ending his edgelord monologue.
"That was way too much clarity for someone who has paper plate on their face."
He raised his hand to strike; his momentum was no doubt going to give him a fast vault. So you pulled out the one other thing you had, and prayed to the god who had rejected you several times other times tonight, that it would work.
You took a flash photo, once again catching him off guard. Light seeped into the cabin, the carvings of his mask glinting in the artifical light source, the tomato sauce and all. You booked it as soon as it went off, probably blurring your new souvenir. You weaved through everything you could, as it grew apparent that you no longer had a pair of footsteps behind you. You ran foward still, but looked back; it was just pine trees and rocks. The shack was no longer in view, having made a few turns to escape his line of vision. You whipepd your head foward, and the rest of the story follows as so. You tripped on a rock, and dived face first into the hatch.