Chapter Text
Lav3 watched from the shadows, blood dripping from his mace. The scarlet stain was thick and heavy, lingering with a sense of malice. Noob's limp body hung from the weapon like a ragdoll, and Lav3 pulled it back with a sharp flick of his wrist, scowling. Cleaning the mess would be a hassle.
His eyes flicked upward. His target was gone. 007n7 must have teleported when Lav3 broke eye contact—just like always.
Lav3's gaze hardened. 007n7. The only one who ever evaded him. Why? No one knew.
A sharp beep echoed in his ears, and the timer blinked 0:03. As expected, 007n7 was the last one standing. It was always this way—007n7, the survivor, always slipping away just before the kill. The notification flashed:
Survivors Win.
---
Lav3 returned to the killer’s cabin, wiping the blood off his mace with a grim frown. Another round. Another failed attempt.
C00lkidd, ever excitable, dashed around Lav3 like a hyperactive tornado, his chatter grating on Lav3's nerves. “You did it again, didn’t you? You almost got them, right?”
Lav3 let out a long sigh. “Relax,” he muttered, wiping his hands on his pants.
“Oh! Sorry, Mister Lav3!” C00lkidd’s apology was genuine, but it did little to quiet his bubbly enthusiasm. The kid grabbed Lav3 by the sleeve, dragging him to the kitchen. “Come help me cook! I need your help!”
Lav3's mind went blank. Cooking? Why him? He had no idea why C00lkidd had taken up baking recently, nor why he thought Lav3 was a good teacher. The last thing Lav3 wanted to do was fake his way through cooking lessons. But he followed anyway.
Pity? Maybe. Or maybe just an acknowledgment of the kid’s naïve optimism. The drakkobloxxer had no clue what he was doing, and Lav3 wasn’t sure if anything he “helped” with was even working.
Eventually, 1x1x1x1 entered the scene, clearly annoyed. They took over the kitchen with a few swift movements, saving the meal from total disaster. "Go outside, Lav3. You two are a fire hazard."
Grateful for the escape, Lav3 stepped out into the cool evening air, away from the suffocating cabin. He sank down on the grass, claws running over the surface. What now? The timer still ticked in his mind, and a sudden idea popped into his head: water.
The lake. He’d go there. It was quiet, isolated, and no one ever ventured to that part of the map. At least, not often enough.
---
007n7 had spent countless hours thinking about Lav3, trying to make sense of the situation. Why had Lav3 always spared him? Why had Lav3 never fully hunted him down when he had the chance?
The past was a blur now—too many rounds, too many confrontations. Lav3 had been an admin once, one of the ones assigned to capture him before 007n7 disappeared into the shadows. It was hard to remember the details, but the key part stuck: Lav3 never finished the job. He always let him go. No one knew why, least of all 007n7 himself. The possibility that Lav3 had “corrupted” lingered in his mind like a nagging itch.
Before, he had barely been able to catch his breath between dodging admins. It was a constant sprint, a marathon of evasion. But now? Now, he found himself wondering why Lav3 had never truly hunted him. The thought gnawed at him, even as he lay on his cheap, ragged bed, staring at the cracked ceiling.
He rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. It smelled like the Spectre’s cleaning detergent. He exhaled softly, contemplating his options for the day.
1. Go eat with the survivors. He never did that. He just waited until everyone was finished, grabbed a slice of pizza, and retreated to his room. Eating wasn’t a priority. After all, back when C00lkidd had been around, he had barely eaten anything. He gave most of his food to the kid, watching him devour it with that innocent enthusiasm.
2. Sleep. Though, it felt pointless. His mind was too restless, his thoughts always too tangled.
3. Have a breakdown. Wonder if any of this meant anything. Why keep running? Why keep hiding? Was any of it worth it? The existential weight of it all pressed down on him like a constant fog.
4. Go outside. The lake. Maybe he could find some peace there. The killers and survivors had an unspoken truce in-between rounds, a temporary ceasefire. The forest was supposed to be safe—supposed to be. But, he couldn’t help but wonder. What if they broke it? What happened if you died outside of a round?
He didn’t know. And the unknown was always worse than the known.
Sighing, 007n7 pulled himself up. He might as well go. It wasn’t like he had anything to lose—except, of course, his life.