Seven Ways to Fall for a Monster

by Nikushxmi

Chapter 1

Hello, amazing readers!

A quick Warning before we begin:

This is my very first Fanfiction, so please bear with me as I learn! I'm writing this as a hobby, not professionally, which means updates may take time.

Thank you for your patience.

CONTENT WARNINGS:

Horror and Psychological horror elements

Gore and violence

Future Chapters may contain Smut (I'll warn you at the beginning of those Chapters if you prefer to skip)

If any of this content makes you uncomfortable, please find something else to read that better suits your preferences.

IMPORTANT NOTE:

Remember not to trust anyone too quickly in this story.

Most of these characters are Serial Killers, after all, so guard your heart carefully.

Reader Tips:

If you're using Google Chrome, I highly recommend the "POV: Y/N Replacer" extension for Wattpad and AO3.

It let's you replace Y/N and similar placeholders with your actual name for better immersion!

I've chosen to stick with Y/N rather than using a random girl's name because I personally find that more annoying,

it makes the story feel like it's about an OC rather than truly being Reader-Insert.

Don't worry, I won't describe Y/N's physical appearance beyond occasional height comparisons (for example, Laughing Jack will obviously be much taller than Y/N, while Ben might be portrayed as slightly shorter).

If you're using the Extension, you'll only need to change two things:

Y/N = Your first name

L/N = Your last name

Enjoy!

Chapter 2

The sky clung to the early hours like a dirty bandage, heavy and reluctant in a dull shade of ashen blue that made everything look sickly.

Y/N had always hated mornings like this, the kind where the world felt pressed down by invisible weight, where even the birds seemed too tired to sing properly. A bitter wind whispered through the trees lining Elm Street, their bare branches reaching toward the gray sky. The wind carried with it the stale breath of winter not quite here, not quite gone, that liminal space between seasons that always made her feel unsettled, like something was waiting just around the corner, watching.

Y/N adjusted the straps of her backpack with a soft click of the zipper, tugging it higher on her shoulder making the keychain jostle behind. The weight of her textbooks felt heavier today, though she couldn’t explain why. She pulled her sleeves down over her hands, tucking her fingers inside the fabric. The cold air needled its way into her lungs with every breath, sharp and clean but somehow wrong. She stood still for a moment on the cracked sidewalk, scanning the quiet street with its rows of identical houses, their windows dark and empty-looking. Most of the neighborhood was still asleep, curtains drawn tight. Her heart gave a sharp, expectant thud as she spotted movement in the distance. Two figures emerged from the morning mist. The first was Liu, tall for fifteen, shoulders back, his walk slow and measured. He caught sight of her and raised a hand in greeting, offering that easy, lopsided smile he always wore, the one that made people feel safe without even trying.

Behind him was Jeff, who moved differently than his brother, hunched inward like he was trying to disappear into himself, his black hoodie pulled low over his face. Strands of messy brown hair stuck out from the edges, unwashed and tangled. He kept his gaze glued to the pavement, studying the cracks in the concrete. There was a tension in his shoulders that Y/N had noticed getting worse over the past few weeks.

“Morning.” Y/N called softly, her voice creating small clouds in the cold air. She waved, trying to inject some warmth into the gray morning.

Jeff’s response was barely audible, more of a grunt than actual words. “You’re early.”

“You know I live right there,” she said, pointing to the small two-story house behind them with its peeling blue paint and crooked mailbox. A faint grin tugged at her lips as she added, “Besides, early bird gets the worm, right?”

Jeff risked a sideways glance at her, and she caught the flush that crept up his neck, not from the cold this time. That familiar shade of embarrassment, or maybe something else, something deeper that he’d never put words to. His blue eyes met hers for just a moment before he looked away, his jaw tightening.

Liu snorted and gave his brother a light nudge with his elbow. “You show up outside her house almost every day, Jeff. Don’t act surprised when she beats you to the street.”

“Shut up, Liu.” Jeff muttered, his voice muffled by his hoodie, but Y/N caught the way his ears reddened despite the cold air.

“I’m just saying,” Liu continued, clearly enjoying his brother’s discomfort, “for someone who claims he doesn’t care about being on time, you sure do manage to be here every morning at exactly seven-fifteen.”

“I said shut up.” Jeff’s voice carried an edge now, sharper than it needed to be for simple teasing. There was something brittle in his tone.

They stood together in the soft. The hush was broken only by distant birdsong and the occasional bark of a dog echoing down the block, muffled by the fog that still clung to the ground.

Y/N’s eyes drifted toward Jeff again, studying the way he held himself, shoulders taut, hands buried deep in his pockets, that brittle quality about him like he was stitched together too tightly and might come apart at any moment.

There was something different about him lately, something that made the air around him feel electric and dangerous.

The wind caught his sleeve, tugging it up just enough for her to see a flash of purple-yellow against pale skin.

Her stomach dropped like a stone.

“Jeff?” Her voice was gentle, barely more than a breath.

“Are you… okay?”

He flinched at the word like it was a physical blow, like ‘okay’ was a foreign concept that didn’t apply to him anymore. “Yeah.” The lie came too quick, too practiced, with the hollow ring of something rehearsed.

“You sure?” She took a half-step closer, close enough to see the dark circles under his eyes, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched.

His jaw ticked, a muscle jumping under skin that looked too pale, too thin. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things that hung in the air like smoke.

Liu glanced between them, raising a brow but saying nothing. He’d gotten good at reading the undercurrents between his brother and Y/N, knew when to stay quiet and when to step in.

“Those bruises,” Y/N said quietly, her voice barely carrying over the wind. “They’re new, aren’t they?”

Jeff’s whole body went rigid, every muscle locking into place. “Drop it.”

“Jeff—”

“I said drop it!” The words came out harsh, violent, and immediately his expression crumbled into something that looked like regret mixed with panic. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled. “Just… leave it alone, okay? Please.”

Y/N wanted to push, wanted to grab him by the shoulders and demand answers, but something in his eyes stopped her. There was fear there, real, visceral fear and underneath it something that looked almost like shame.

They didn’t speak again for several minutes, the three of them just standing there in the growing light, each lost in their own thoughts. The morning felt different now, charged with an energy that made Y/N’s skin crawl. It wasn’t until the rhythm of heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed from behind them that the spell broke.

Randy.

The name sent a chill down Y/N’s spine that had nothing to do with the weather. She could feel him before she turned around, that particular brand of malicious energy that some people carried like a disease. He was swaggering down the street like he owned the cracked pavement beneath him, chewing his gum with exaggerated pops. Troy and Keith followed, their eyes sharp with the kind of amusement that came from anticipating someone else’s pain.

Their posture screamed practiced cruelty, the kind of casual violence that came from years of being bigger, meaner, and having nothing to lose. This wasn’t a random morning encounter, this was planned, calculated, inevitable.

“Well, well,” Randy said, his voice carrying that particular tone of false friendliness that made Y/N’s skin crawl. He held out his arms like he was greeting old friends at a reunion. “If it isn’t the emo brothers and their little groupie.”

Jeff went rigid beside her, every muscle in his body coiling like a spring under pressure. Y/N could practically feel the heat radiating off him, could sense the way his breathing changed.

Y/N instinctively took half a step back, her shoulder brushing against Liu’s arm. “We’re not looking for trouble.” she said, trying to keep her voice steady even though her heart was hammering against her ribs.

Randy tilted his head, that predatory smile never wavering. “That’s funny. ’Cause you just found it.”

Keith flexed his hands, cracking his knuckles with deliberate slowness. “Right here,” he echoed, his voice low and ugly, the kind that enjoyed the taste of fear.

“What do you want?” Liu asked, stepping slightly forward, his hands raised in a gesture that was part surrender, part preparation.

“Wallets,” Randy snapped, the friendly facade dropping immediately. “Empty your pockets. Now. And maybe nobody gets hurt today.”

Jeff didn’t move, but Y/N could see his hands shaking where they were clenched at his sides. Not from fear, from rage. From something building inside him like pressure in a boiler.

“Come on, man,” Liu said, his voice reasonable, trying to de-escalate. “Is this really how you want to start your morning? There’s got to be better ways to spend your time.”

Randy’s grin flattened into something uglier. “Don’t tell me how to spend my time, freak. Wallets. Now.”

Y/N’s breath caught as Jeff’s hoodie shifted again in the wind, and this time she saw more, a constellation of bruises across his collarbone, fingerprint-shaped marks on his wrist that looked fresh, angry. Her pulse roared in her ears as pieces clicked together in her mind, painting a picture she didn’t want to see but couldn’t unsee.

Randy stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the stale cigarette smoke on his clothes, see the cruel intelligence in his eyes. “What’s wrong, Woods?” Randy’s voice dropped to a whisper, intimate and vicious. “Cat got your tongue? Or are you just too stupid to understand simple instructions?”

Jeff’s fist connected with Randy’s face with a loud sound, bone against bone echoing sharp through the morning air.

Randy staggered back, stunned, blood streaming from his nose as chaos erupted around them.

Troy lunged at Y/N with a snarl, but Liu intercepted him, catching him by the collar and using his momentum to send him sprawling toward the pavement with a wet thud.

Keith tried to get to Jeff, but Jeff was beyond reason now, his fists moved fast, each punch carrying months of suppressed rage and pain that had nowhere else to go.

It was over in less than thirty seconds.

The three bullies lay in a crumpled, groaning heap on the cold concrete, Randy clutching his broken nose while blood seeped between his fingers and dripped onto the pavement.

Then, from somewhere in the distance, the low rumble of an engine. The school bus was rounding the corner, its yellow bulk emerging from the morning mist.

Jeff stood over the fallen boys, his whole body trembling with adrenaline and something darker. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, and his bloody hands shook.

“C’mon,” Liu said quietly, his voice cutting through the fog. He grabbed Jeff’s elbow, firm but gentle, guiding them toward the approaching bus. “Let’s go. Now.”

They climbed aboard in silence, Y/N’s legs shaking as she gripped the handrail. The bus driver, an older man with kind eyes and weathered hands, glanced at them with concern but didn’t ask questions. Maybe he’d learned not to. Maybe he’d seen too much over the years to be surprised by anything anymore.

Conversations throughout the bus stuttered into whispers as the other kids stared, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination. Y/N could feel their gazes.

“Did you see what he did to Randy’s face?”

“Jesus, there was so much blood…”

“I heard he’s been arrested before…”

“My mom says his family is fucked up…”

She sat between Jeff and Liu, creating a barrier between Jeff and the rest of the world. Her hand brushed Jeff’s arm accidentally, and she felt how cold his skin was, how the trembling hadn’t stopped. There was something different about him now, something that hadn’t been there before the fight.

“Jeff…” she began, then stopped, not sure what to say. What did you say to someone who’d just discovered they were capable of that kind of brutality?

His voice was quiet when he finally spoke, his gaze locked on the scuffed floor of the bus. “They came at me first.”

“I know,” she said, and meant it. She’d seen Randy’s expression, the way he’d moved like a predator circling wounded prey. “I saw. You were just defending yourself.”

“Defending us.” Liu corrected quietly, but there was worry in his voice, the kind that came from knowing your brother better than anyone else in the world. The kind that came from recognizing something new and terrible in someone you loved.

Jeff was silent for a moment, staring out the window at the passing houses. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible over the rumble of the engine. “It felt good.”

The words sent ice through Y/N’s veins. Not because they were violent, because they were honest. Because she could hear the surprise in his voice, the terrible discovery of something he hadn’t known about himself.

Then his thumb brushed against Y/N’s hand, so briefly she almost thought she’d imagined it. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, completely at odds with what she’d just witnessed.

“Thanks.” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

But she did, and something in his voice made her chest tight with emotion she couldn’t name. It sounded like goodbye.

The halls of Lincoln Middle School were electric with tension, the walls practically buzzing with rumors that grew more elaborate with each telling. Y/N felt a dozen pairs of eyes follow her as she made her way to her locker.

 

“Did you see what Jeffrey Woods did to Randy Miller?”

 

“I heard he broke his nose in three places and his jaw…”

 

“My cousin said there was blood everywhere, like a horror movie…”

 

“Those Woods boys are psycho, I’m telling you. It runs in the family…”

 

“I heard their dad beats them. That’s why Jeff snapped…”

 

She avoided most of the stares, but couldn’t dodge the questions when Sarah Chen cornered her at her locker, eyes bright with morbid curiosity and the kind of excitement that came from being close to drama without being in danger.

“Is it true?” Sarah asked, leaning in close like she was sharing state secrets. “Did Jeff really attack three guys at once?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Y/N said, spinning her combination lock with more force than necessary. The metal clicked with each turn. “They started it. Jeff was just—”

“Just what? Just being a violent freak?” Sarah’s voice carried that particular tone of false concern that made Y/N want to slam her locker door. “Y/N, you need to be careful around those boys. Everyone knows their family is messed up. My mom heard from Mrs. Peterson that CPS has been to their house twice this year.”

“You don’t know anything about their family,” Y/N snapped, louder than she’d intended. Several heads turned in their direction, feeding on the drama like vultures. She lowered her voice but kept the steel in it. “Just… mind your own business, okay?”

Sarah held up her hands in mock surrender, but her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Fine, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you end up on the evening news.”

The words followed Y/N down the hallway.

When Y/N reached their usual spot between classes, she caught sight of Jeff in her peripheral vision, head down, shoulders hunched like he was trying to become invisible. But there was something different about the way he moved now.

She hesitated, then approached him carefully. “Lunch today?” she asked, keeping her tone light. “Maybe we could sit outside, get away from all the staring?”

He looked up at her with his blue eyes. For a moment, she thought he might say no, might push her away like he’d been doing more and more lately. But then he nodded, just slightly.

“Yeah,” he said. “That… that sounds good.”

It felt like progress, small but significant. Like maybe whatever had changed in him hadn’t destroyed everything good.

In English class, Y/N watched Jeff struggle to take notes. His pencil hovered over the paper. His eyes kept darting to the door, to the teacher’s face, to the windows like he expected something to crack at any moment, like the world was made of glass and he could see all the fault lines spreading.

Mrs. Henderson was droning on about symbolism in Lord of the Flies, something about the beast being inside all of them, but Y/N couldn’t focus on her words. All she could think about was the way Jeff’s hand shook when he tried to write, the way he flinched every time someone laughed too loudly or moved too quickly. Why was he acting so strange?

When the bell rang, he was the first one out the door, like he was running from something only he could see.

Lunchtime felt like stepping into a bubble of normalcy, even though it was anything but normal. They sat at their usual table in the far corner of the cafeteria, Liu and Y/N flanking Jeff like bodyguards. A few of their usual friends had joined them, Marcus, who was obsessed with comic books and spoke in rapid-fire bursts about whatever was on his mind, and Emma, who could talk about soccer statistics until your ears bled but somehow made it interesting.

The conversation jumped between topics with the manic energy of teenagers trying too hard to be normal: the latest issue of X-Men, the upcoming soccer playoffs, the new English assignment that nobody understood.

“So Wolverine’s healing factor,” Marcus said, gesturing wildly with his sandwich, “it’s not just physical, right? Like, it heals psychological trauma too? That’s why he can remember all that Weapon X stuff without going completely insane.”

“That’s not how trauma works,” Emma said, rolling her eyes. “You can’t just heal your way out of PTSD.”

“But what if you could?” Marcus pressed. “What if you could just… reset? Start over with a clean slate?”

Jeff’s responses were clipped, but he was trying. Y/N could see the effort it took, the way he forced himself to engage even when everything in his body language screamed that he wanted to run.

When Marcus started going on about how violence in comics was just fantasy, just escapism, Jeff’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

“What if it’s not?” Jeff said quietly.

The table went silent.

“What do you mean?” Emma asked.

Jeff looked up, and Y/N saw something in his eyes that made her stomach clench. “What if the violence is the only real part? What if everything else is just… pretending?”

“Jeff.” Liu said carefully, like he was talking someone down from a ledge.

But Jeff was already retreating, looking down at his untouched food. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

Y/N tapped Jeff’s knee with her own under the table, trying to pull him back from whatever dark place his mind had wandered to. His head jerked up, eyes flicking to hers with something that looked almost like gratitude mixed with fear.

“You still with us?” she whispered, leaning in close enough to smell the faint scent of his shampoo.

“Yeah,” he said, but his voice was distant. “Just… thinking.”

“About what?”

He was quiet for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he whispered. “About what happens next.”

The words sent a chill down her spine, though she couldn’t say why. There was something prophetic about them, something that felt like a warning or maybe a promise.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “You’re not alone in this, okay? Whatever happens, you don’t have to face it by yourself.”

For a moment, something vulnerable flickered across his features. But then the mask slipped back into place, and he looked away.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” he hissed, and there was something in his voice that sounded almost like pity. Like he felt sorry for her for caring about him.

But she did know. She knew that whatever was happening to Jeff, whatever was eating at him from the inside like acid, she wasn’t going to let him face it alone. Even if it scared her. Even if she didn’t understand it. Even if caring about him was the most dangerous thing she’d ever done.

After lunch, they returned to homeroom where Mrs. Patterson announced a pop quiz on American history. Y/N watched the color drain from Jeff’s face as she passed out the papers.

Jeff stared at the quiz like it was written in a foreign language, his pencil motionless in his hand. The questions might as well have been asking about quantum physics for all the comprehension she saw in his eyes. Y/N wanted to help, wanted to whisper answers or slip him a note, but she couldn’t risk getting them both in trouble.

She finished her own quiz in ten minutes, then spent the rest of the time watching Jeff. He sat perfectly still, his breathing shallow and controlled, like he was trying to disappear. Every few seconds, his eyes would dart around the room, to the door, to the windows, to the other students like he was seeing something that she couldn’t.

When the bell rang, Jeff was the last to leave, still staring at his blank paper like it held the answers to questions he didn’t know how to ask. Mrs. Patterson approached him with concern creasing her forehead.

“Jeff? Are you feeling alright? You didn’t answer any of the questions.”

He looked up at her with those hollow eyes. “Sorry. I couldn’t… I couldn’t focus.”

“Would you like to retake it tomorrow? I could arrange for you to take it in the counselor’s office.”

Something flickered across Jeff’s face, panic, maybe, or desperation. “No. No counselors. I’m fine. Just… tired.”

Mrs. Patterson looked like she wanted to say more, but Jeff was already gathering his things, already moving toward the door.

Y/N caught up with him in the hallway. “Jeff, wait—”

“I can’t do this,” he said without stopping. “I can’t sit in rooms and pretend everything’s normal when it’s not. When I’m not.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

He stopped then, turned to look at her with an expression that was equal parts longing and terror. “Yes, I do. Because if I don’t pretend, if I let you see what I really am now, you’ll run. And I can’t… I can’t watch you run from me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You will,” he said with terrible certainty. “They always do.”

The ride home was quieter than usual, the bus filled with the kind of tense silence that followed drama. Kids stared openly now, no longer bothering to whisper. Y/N could feel their eyes like pinpricks, could sense the way they leaned away from the Woods brothers like whatever they had might be contagious.

When the bus pulled up to Y/N’s stop, she gathered her courage and turned to Jeff.

“Text me when you get home,” she said, loud enough for him to hear over the engine noise. “I want to know you’re okay.”

He looked at her with those blue eyes that seemed to see too much, seemed to strip away pretense and look directly into her soul. “Why do you care so much?”

The question caught her off guard with its naked vulnerability. “Because you’re my friend,” she said simply. “Because you matter to me.”

Something flickered across his face, surprise and disbelief. Like the idea that he mattered to someone was foreign to him, like care was a language he’d forgotten how to speak.

He didn’t reply, just watched as she climbed down the steps and walked toward her house. But when she turned back to wave, he was still watching her through the window, and for just a moment, his expression was unguarded. More human than the past few months.

That evening, Y/N sat at her kitchen table, supposedly doing homework but really just doodling circles on her notebook paper. She kept glancing at her phone, waiting for the text that never came.

No new messages.

Nothing from Jeff.

The silence felt ominous, heavy with implications she didn’t want to consider. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows and making the old house creak in ways that sounded almost like footsteps.

Her mother was humming in the kitchen, making dinner, the kind of normal domestic sounds that should have been comforting. But Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. That somewhere across town, in a house that looked just like hers, something terrible was building like pressure in a boiler.

The weekend stretched ahead of them, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change. Something big. Something that would alter the trajectory of all their lives.

She just didn’t know what.

At eleven o’clock, she finally gave up waiting and sent a simple text.

“Hope you’re doing okay. See you Monday.”

The message showed as delivered but never read.

Y/N stared at her phone for another hour before finally turning off the light, but sleep was a long time coming.

The weekend came and went like a ghost, leaving barely a trace of its presence. Y/N had tried texting Jeff multiple times, simple things, nothing pushy.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Want to hang out?”

 

“There’s a good movie on tonight if you’re interested.”

 

“Just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

 

But the responses, when they came at all, were distant.

 

Fine.

 

Busy.

 

Maybe later.

 

Everything’s peachy.

 

It was like someone else was responding, someone who didn’t know Jeff well enough to mimic his voice properly.

Which was strange, because Jeff had never been one to ignore her completely. He could be sarcastic, moody, stubborn to his core, but when it came to Y/N, he showed up. He had a way of making his presence known without saying much, and even when they weren’t talking, she could feel the weight of his attention.

Now it felt like he was evaporating, becoming less real with each passing hour. Like whatever had happened during the fight had started a process she didn’t understand.

Liu wasn’t answering his phone either, which was even more unusual. Liu was the responsible one, the brother who remembered to call back, who checked in, who made sure everyone was okay. His silence felt ominous in a way that made Y/N’s stomach churn with anxiety.

By Monday morning, she hadn’t seen or heard from either of them since Friday’s bus ride. She stood at her usual spot on the street corner, backpack heavy on her shoulders, watching the mist swirl around the empty pavement where they should have been standing.

Seven-fifteen came and went. Then seven-twenty. Seven-twenty-five.

The bus rumbled around the corner without them.

At school, their absence was like a void that everyone seemed to feel but no one mentioned. Teachers didn’t call their names during attendance, and no one asked questions. It was like the silence around the Woods family had become a rule.

Y/N found herself staring at Jeff’s empty desk in English class, at the spot where he usually sat in the cafeteria, at the window of the bus where his face should have been.

The normalcy of school felt wrong without him there to make it feel dangerous and real.

By Tuesday, the whispers started again.

 

“Did you hear about the Woods boys?”

 

“My mom said there were police at their house…”

 

“I heard Jeff got arrested again…”

 

“Someone said they saw an ambulance…”

 

But the whispers were just speculation, empty air given weight by fear and curiosity. No one knew anything for certain, and that made it worse. The unknown possibilities festered in the corners of conversation like infections.

Tuesday morning found Y/N eating breakfast in a haze of half-sleep, mechanically spooning cereal into her mouth while the TV droned softly in the background. Her mother was bustling around the kitchen, muttering about being late for work, while her father sat behind his newspaper.

The local news was running its usual parade of mundane stories, a city council meeting about parking meters, a charity drive for the animal shelter, an elderly woman who’d won the lottery and planned to buy her cat a diamond collar.

That’s when the knock came, three sharp raps on the front door, official and final.

Y/N’s spoon paused halfway to her mouth.

Her mother answered, and Y/N stayed where she was, chewing mechanically until she heard the words drift in from the entryway.

“…Jeffrey Alan Woods…under investigation…need to ask some questions…”

The spoon fell from her hand, clattering against the bowl with a sound like breaking bones.

By the time she crept around the corner to peek, she could see two police officers standing in their small foyer.

One was tall and thin with kind eyes and gray hair, the other shorter and broader with the kind of mustache that belonged in a different decade. They both had notebooks out, pens poised like weapons.

Y/N’s heart dropped like a stone into dark water.

Behind the officers, she could see part of the street, and there—

Jeff stood next to a police cruiser, hands cuffed behind his back.

But it wasn’t the Jeff she’d known. This boy looked smaller, somehow, like he’d collapsed in on himself. His hoodie hung off his frame like he’d shrunk inside it, and there were dark circles under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and waking nightmares. His hair was greasy, unwashed, and he stared at nothing with the blank expression of someone who’d stopped caring what happened to them.

But it was his stillness that terrified her most. The complete absence of the nervous energy that had always defined him. Like whatever had been sparking inside him had finally burned out.

Margaret Woods stood behind him, her face red and swollen from crying, her hands reaching toward her son but not quite touching. Peter Woods was trying to speak to one of the officers, but his words came out all wrong, sharp and panicked and desperate.

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked, stepping into the foyer on legs that felt like water.

The taller officer turned to look at her with practiced sympathy. “Are you Y/N? We understand you were friends with Jeffrey.”

Friends. Past tense. Like Jeff was already gone.

“Yes, I am. What’s he done?”

Jeff’s head turned at the sound of her voice, and for just a moment, their eyes met through the open door.

“There was an incident,” the shorter officer said carefully.

“Three boys were hospitalized Friday morning. Jeffrey has been charged with assault and battery.”

“But they attacked us first!” Y/N said, her voice cracking.

“Randy Miller pulled a knife! Jeff was defending himself!”

The officers exchanged a look. “We’ll need to speak with you about what you saw,” the tall one said gently. “But not here, not now.”

Her mother placed a protective hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “Go back to the kitchen, honey.”

“But—”

“Now.” Her mother’s voice had that quality that meant arguing was pointless.

Y/N retreated, but she positioned herself where she could still see through the window. She watched as they guided Jeff into the back of the cruiser, watched Margaret reach for him one last time before the door closed. Watched Peter stand there with his jaw clenched.

Just before the door shut, Jeff looked up at the window where Y/N stood. For a heartbeat, their eyes met again, and she saw something there that made her chest tight with emotion she couldn’t name.

It looked like an apology.

The cruiser pulled away, taking Jeff with it, and Y/N stood there watching until the red taillights disappeared around the corner. Even then, she stayed at the window, waiting for them to come back, waiting for someone to tell her this was all a mistake.

But the street stayed empty.

The news broke that evening like a dam bursting, flooding every channel with the same terrible story.

 

“MIDDLE SCHOOL STUDENT ARRESTED IN ASSAULT CASE”

 

The words scrolled across the bottom of the screen in stark white letters while a reporter stood in front of Lincoln Middle School, her voice grave and professional.

“Thirteen-year-old Jeffrey Alan Woods was arrested this morning in connection with what police are calling an unprovoked attack on three fellow students. The incident, which occurred Friday morning, left one victim with a broken nose and multiple contusions…”

Y/N stared at the screen, her world tilting sideways.

Unprovoked?

“Sources close to the investigation say the attack was premeditated and vicious, with no apparent motive. The defendant’s older brother, Liu Woods, was also taken into custody as an accessory…”

The remote slipped from Y/N’s nerveless fingers.

“Were they even there?” she whispered to the empty room.

She’d seen it happen. She’d watched Randy corner them, demand their wallets, move in like a predator. She’d seen the knife flash in the morning light, seen the way Troy and Keith had positioned themselves to cut off escape routes.

But the world didn’t care about the truth. It cared about the story, and the story was easier to swallow if the Woods boys were just violent thugs instead of kids who’d been pushed too far.

Her parents found her there an hour later, still staring at the blank screen.

“Y/N?” her mother said gently. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

She wasn’t okay, nothing was okay. Her friend was in jail for defending himself, and everyone was acting like he was some kind of monster.

“They started it,” she said, her voice small and fierce. “Randy started it. He had a knife.”

Her father sat down beside her, his expression troubled. “Sometimes things aren’t as simple as they seem, honey. Sometimes good kids make bad choices.”

“It wasn’t a bad choice!” The words exploded out of her. “They were going to hurt us! Jeff was protecting us!”

But even as she said it, she could see the doubt in her parents’ eyes. The same doubt that was spreading through the school, through the neighborhood, through the whole town like poison.

The Woods boys were trouble. Everyone knew it. This was just proof.

On Wednesday, another news bulletin shattered what was left of Y/N’s world.

Liu had confessed.

The fifteen-year-old had claiming he was the one who’d attacked the three boys not Jeff, insisting that his younger brother was innocent.

By evening, Liu was gone, shipped off to a juvenile detention facility two hours away. No contact allowed, pending further investigation.

And Jeff?

Jeff came home.

But he didn’t feel free. Not really. Y/N could see it in the way he moved when she glimpsed him through his bedroom window, like he was carrying invisible chains.

The Woods house felt like a mausoleum.

Y/N had only been inside once since Jeff’s release, when Margaret had called her mother and practically begged for Y/N to visit. “He needs to see a friendly face,” she’d said, her voice thick with desperation. “He won’t talk to us. Won’t eat. He just sits there like he’s waiting for something terrible to happen.”

When Y/N stepped through the front door that Friday afternoon, the change was immediate and unsettling. The air felt stale, recycled, like no one had opened a window in days. The lights were too dim, casting long shadows that seemed to move when she wasn’t looking directly at them. Even the normal sounds of a house, the hum of appliances, the creak of settling wood, seemed muffled, as if the building itself was holding its breath.

Jeff sat on the couch in the living room, staring at the television but not watching it. The screen flickered with some mindless sitcom, canned laughter echoing through the room like a mockery. Liu’s spot beside him was empty, the cushion still bearing the impression of his body like a ghost.

“Hey,” Y/N said softly, settling onto the coffee table so she could face him.

He didn’t look at her immediately, just continued staring at the screen like it held the answers to questions he was afraid to ask.

“Jeff…”

He blinked slowly, then turned his head toward her with the mechanical movement of someone operating on autopilot. His face was paler than usual, the bruise on his cheek faded to a sickly yellow-green. But it was his eyes that made her stomach clench. They looked hollow.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice flat and emotionless.

“Because I want to be,” she said, trying to inject warmth into her voice. “Because you’re my friend.”

“You shouldn’t be.” He turned back to the TV. “Your parents know you’re here?”

“They drove me over.”

“They won’t for much longer.” His laugh was bitter, empty. “Nobody wants their kid around the psycho.”

“You’re not a psycho.”

“Tell that to the news.” He gestured vaguely at the television. “Tell that to everyone at school. Tell that to the cops who spent three hours asking me about my ‘violent tendencies’ and ‘concerning behavior patterns.’”

Y/N felt her chest tighten. “What did you tell them?”

“The truth.” He shrugged, the movement sharp and angry. “That I snapped. That I lost control. That I wanted to hurt them.”

“Jeff—”

“Liu’s in juvie because of me.” The words came out like broken glass, sharp and jagged. “My brother is locked up in a cage because I couldn’t keep my fists to myself.”

“Liu made his own choice.”

“Liu tried to save me!” Jeff’s voice cracked, and for a moment, the hollow mask slipped, revealing the raw pain underneath. “He walked into that station with a knife and lied through his teeth because he thought it would help me. And now he’s gone, and I’m here, and everyone knows what I really am.”

“What are you?” Y/N asked quietly.

Jeff looked at her then, really looked, and what she saw in his eyes made her want to cry. “Broken,” he whispered. “I’m broken, and I break everything I touch.

“You haven’t broken me.”

“Give it time.”

They sat in silence after that, the laugh track from the TV filling the space between them like static. Y/N wanted to say something profound, something that would fix the cracks in her friend’s soul, but words felt inadequate. Instead, she reached out and took his hand.

His fingers were cold, trembling slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered, the same words she’d said before, but they felt heavier now, weighted with the knowledge of how much he was carrying.

For the first time since she’d arrived, something flickered in Jeff’s eyes. Not hope, exactly, but something almost like it. “Don’t say that,” he said, his voice rough. “I don’t want you to mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

He stared at her for a long moment, like he was trying to memorize her face. Then he looked away, and neither of them spoke again until Margaret called Y/N’s mother to come pick her up.

As Y/N was leaving, Jeff caught her arm gently. “Y/N,” he said, and his voice was different now, softer but somehow more urgent. “If something happens… if things get bad… I want you to know that knowing you made everything better. For a while.”

The words sent a chill down her spine. “What do you mean, if something happens?”

But he was already pulling away, retreating back to his room.

Saturday arrived with one of those strange, unseasonably warm days that felt like summer’s ghost haunting the tail end of autumn. The air was thick and still, heavy with the promise of rain that wouldn’t come. It was the kind of weather that made people restless, made them feel like something was building just beyond the horizon.

Jeff hadn’t wanted to go to the party.

The Harleys were neighbors, the kind of people who organized block parties and knew everyone’s business and thought that forced social interaction could solve any problem. When Margaret practically shoved the birthday invitation into Jeff’s hand and told him to go, to get out of the house, to stop marinating in his own misery, he’d wanted to tear it up and lock himself in his room.

But then Y/N had shown up at his door with that crooked smile and determination in her eyes.

“C’mon,” she’d said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the door. “I’m not letting you turn into a hermit. Besides, there’s supposed to be cake.”

And despite everything, the arrest, the shame, the way people looked at him now like he was a bomb waiting to explode, Jeff found himself following her.

The Harleys’ backyard was transformed into a carnival of childhood chaos. Balloons in primary colors bobbed from every available surface, streamers fluttered in the breeze, and a banner reading “HAPPY 8TH BIRTHDAY TOMMY!” stretched between two oak trees. The air was filled with the sound of children’s laughter, the smell of grilling hot dogs, and the constant chatter of parents trying to maintain order while clutching red plastic cups.

To Jeff, it looked like everything he’d never had, normal, safe, innocent. The kind of childhood that existed in movies and other people’s photo albums.

But for the first time in weeks, something inside him began to loosen.

It wasn’t the decorations or the smell of burnt hot dogs or the chaos of children running around with foam swords and water guns. It was Y/N. The way she moved through the crowd like she belonged anywhere she wanted to be.

The way she didn’t seem to care about the whispers that followed them, the way some of the other parents looked at Jeff like he was a dangerous animal that had wandered into their safe space.

She stayed close to him, not in a possessive way, but like a shield. Like she was saying to the world: This is my friend, and if you have a problem with him, you have a problem with me.

At one point, they found themselves sitting on the back porch steps, away from the worst of the noise. The laughter of children echoed around them, but it felt distant, muffled, like they were in their own bubble of quiet.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Jeff asked, bumping her shoulder with his. “Or are you just here for the cake?”

Y/N snorted, a sound that made something warm unfurl in his chest. “Is that a trick question? Because I’m definitely here for the cake.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, small, tentative, but real. It was the first genuine smile she’d seen from him in weeks. “Figures.”

“Hey, I’m also here for the company,” she added, and the way she said it made his cheeks flush a rosy color.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She turned to look at him fully, and there was something in her expression that made his heart start beating faster. “You look less like you want to punch the world today.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “Fresh air and sugar. Does wonders for the soul.”

“That, and you’re not and you’re not stuck in that house,” she said softly. “I was worried about you.”

Jeff looked at her then, really looked, and for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel like he was drowning. There was something in her eyes, concern, yes, but also something warmer. Something that made his chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with anxiety.

“You worry too muc.” he said, but his voice was gentle.

“Someone has to. You’re certainly not going to do it.”

He laughed, a sound that surprised them both. When was the last time he’d laughed? Really laughed, not the bitter, empty sounds he’d been making lately, but something genuine and light?

“There it is,” Y/N said, grinning. “I was starting to think I’d imagined that sound.”

“What sound?”

“You being happy.”

The words hit him like a physical blow, not painful but overwhelming. When had happiness become so foreign to him that hearing it was a surprise? When had he stopped believing he deserved it?He found himself leaning closer to her, drawn by something he couldn’t name. The afternoon sun caught the highlights in her hair, his eyes kept flicking down to her lips. She was looking at him with those warm eyes, and for a moment, the world felt like it made sense again.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

He leaned forward, slowly, cautiously. His heart was hammering against his ribs, but not with fear this time. With something else. Something that felt like hope.

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned closer, her breath warm against his cheek.

Jeff closed his eyes, gathering courage he didn’t know he had. This was it. This was the moment he’d been thinking about for months, dreaming about, too scared to even acknowledge himself.

Their lips were almost touching when—

“WELL, WELL, WELL.”

The voice crashed over them like ice water, shattering the moment into a thousand pieces.

 

Randy.

 

Jeff’s eyes snapped open, his whole body going rigid. He turned his head slowly, dread pooling in his stomach like acid. There they were, standing at the edge of the backyard. Randy, Troy, and Keith, all dressed in black, all wearing expressions that promised violence. Randy’s nose was still swollen from their last encounter, purple bruises spreading under both eyes.

The sounds of the party began to fade as people noticed the newcomers. Conversations died mid-sentence.

Parents instinctively moved closer to their children.

“Didn’t think we’d find you here,” Randy said, his voice carrying that same false friendliness that made Y/N’s skin crawl. But there was something different about him now, something harder. More dangerous.

Jeff stood up slowly, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Not here,” he said, his voice low and tight. “There are little kids here.”

“Oh, you care about that now?” Randy’s eyes glittered with malicious amusement. “Should’ve thought about that before you broke my nose, freak.”

“You pulled a knife on us,” Y/N said, standing beside Jeff. Her voice was steady, but Jeff could see the fear in her eyes.

Randy’s attention shifted to her, and his smile widened. “And you’re the little girlfriend who thinks she can protect him. How sweet.”

“Leave her out of this,” Jeff said, stepping partially in front of Y/N.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Randy gestured to his friends, and they began to spread out, forming a loose circle. “See, I’ve been thinking about our last conversation. And I realized I was being too nice. Too… civilized.”

From somewhere in the crowd, a parent called out: “Hey! You kids need to leave!”

Randy turned toward the voice, his expression shifting into something cold and ugly. “Or what? You’ll call the cops? Good luck with that.”

That’s when Keith pulled something from under his jacket.

The gun looked too big in his hands, like a toy that had grown beyond its intended purpose. But the way the adults in the crowd screamed and began backing away made it clear this was no toy.

“Nobody move!” Keith shouted, his voice cracking with adolescent rage. “Nobody calls anyone!”

Parents grabbed their children, some running for the house, others freezing in place like deer in headlights.

The birthday boy, little Tommy Harley, started crying, high, piercing wails that cut through the chaos.

Troy produced his own weapon, smaller but no less deadly. “Everyone stay calm,” he said, but his grin suggested he hoped they wouldn’t.

Y/N felt Jeff’s hand find hers, his fingers intertwining with hers in a grip that was almost painful. His palm was slick with sweat, and she could feel the tremor running through him, not fear for himself, but terror at the thought of her getting hurt because of him.

“This is between us,” Jeff said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. “Let everyone else go.”

Randy tilted his head, considering. “You know what? You’re right. This is between us.” He gestured to his friends. “But they’re part of us now. They’ve seen what happens when someone crosses Randy Miller.”

“Please,” Y/N said, hating how her voice shook. “Just… just let the kids go. Please.”

“The kids?” Randy laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “Honey, we are kids. And kids do stupid things. Dangerous things.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a bottle, glass, brown, smelling strongly of gasoline and something else, something chemical that made Y/N’s eyes water.

“You want to know what’s funny?” Randy continued, his voice conversational, almost friendly. “I was just going to beat the shit out of you. Maybe break a few bones. But then I got to thinking about your brother, locked up in juvie. About how he tried to take the fall for you.”

Jeff’s face went white. “Liu has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, but he does.” Randy’s grin widened. “See, I’ve got cousins in that facility. And they’re not very friendly to cop killers.”

“Liu never killed anyone!”

“Doesn’t matter. Word gets around. And in a place like that, reputation is everything.” Randy leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “So I started thinking: what’s the worst thing I could do to you? And then it hit me. I could make you just like him. A killer.”

The bottle flew through the air, glass shattering against Jeff’s head. The smell of gasoline exploded around them, sharp and acrid and wrong. Jeff stumbled backward, soaked, the liquid burning his eyes and throat.

“No!” Y/N screamed, lunging toward him.

Keith caught her arm, his grip painful, dragging her back.

“Stay put!”

Randy pulled out a lighter, his thumb hovering over the striker. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Woods. You’re going to burn. And everyone here is going to watch. And when the cops come, when they ask what happened, they’re going to say you attacked us. That you were a dangerous psycho who finally snapped.”

“They’ll never believe that,” Y/N said, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew they weren’t true. People would believe it. They wanted to believe it. It would be easier than admitting they’d failed to protect their children from monsters wearing familiar faces.

“Won’t they?” Randy’s thumb moved toward the striker.

“After everything that’s happened? After the arrest, the violence, the way he looks at people like he wants to hurt them? They’ll believe it because it makes sense. Because it fits the story they’ve already decided to tell.”

Jeff closed his eyes, his whole body shaking. He could smell the gasoline, could feel it soaking through his clothes, burning his skin. In his mind, he could see Liu’s face, could hear his brother’s voice: You don’t have to be what they say you are.

But maybe he did. Maybe this was always how it was going to end.

“Do it.” he said quietly.

“Jeff, no!” Y/N struggled against Keith’s grip, tears streaming down her face.

“I said do it!” Jeff’s voice cracked like a whip. “You want to see a monster? You want to see what I really am? Light the fucking match!”

Randy’s smile faltered for just a moment. He’d expected begging, pleading, maybe an attempt to fight back. He hadn’t expected this, this surrender, this acceptance.

“You’re crazy,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

“Yeah,” Jeff said, opening his eyes. “I am.”

 

The lighter clicked.

 

The flame caught.

 

Jeff screamed.

 

But it wasn’t the scream of a victim. It was something else, something primal and terrible and utterly inhuman.

The sound of something breaking apart and reforming into something new.

Something worse.

Y/N’s scream joined his, high and desperate and full of anguish. She fought against Keith’s grip with a strength born of desperation, but he held her fast, his eyes wide with shock at what they’d done. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, thick and nauseating. Parents covered their children’s eyes, but they couldn’t look away themselves, couldn’t escape the horrible fascination of watching someone’s humanity burn away. Through the flames and smoke, Jeff’s laughter began to rise. Not the bitter, empty sound from before, but something new. Something that made everyone who heard it take a step back, made their skin crawl with primitive fear.

By the time the fire department arrived, by the time they put out the flames, by the time the ambulances screamed up the street with their lights flashing, it was too late.

The Jeff who had sat on the porch steps that afternoon, who had almost kissed Y/N in the golden sunlight, who had laughed at her jokes and held her hand, that Jeff was gone.

What remained was something else entirely.

The hospital smelled like disinfectant and despair. Y/N sat in the waiting room for hours, her clothes still reeking of smoke, her hands shaking every time she tried to take a sip of the water her mother had brought her. The burns on her arms where Keith had grabbed her were minor, barely worth mentioning, but they throbbed with each heartbeat. She couldn’t stop replaying the moment in her mind. The sound of Jeff’s scream. The way his laughter had echoed through the chaos. The smell of—

“Y/N?”

She looked up to see Dr. Martinez, the same doctor who’d treated Jeff after the fight with Randy. His face was grave, lined with exhaustion. “How is he?” she asked, though part of her was afraid to know.

Dr. Martinez sat down beside her, his movements careful and deliberate. “He’s alive,” he said simply. “The burns are severe, but not life-threatening. He’ll need extensive plastic surgery, skin grafts, and months of recovery.”

“Can I see him?”

“I’m afraid not. He’s sedated, and… there are complications.”

“What kind of complications?”

Dr. Martinez was quiet for a long moment. “Y/N, I need you to understand something. Physical trauma can affect the mind in ways we don’t always expect. Sometimes, when someone goes through something like this, they… change.”

“Change how?”

“He’s been laughing,” Dr. Martinez said quietly. “For hours. Even through the sedation. The nurses are… concerned.”

Y/N felt ice form in her stomach. “What does that mean?”

“We don’t know yet. But I think… I think it might be best if you stayed away for a while. Let him heal. Let us figure out what we’re dealing with.”

Three weeks later, Jeff was released.

And Y/N never saw him again.

Not the Jeff she’d known, anyway.

Y/N didn’t know what made her glance at the TV just then. Maybe it was the static shift. Maybe the way the rain thudded harder against the glass.

She looked.

A breaking news banner slid across the bottom of the screen in red.

“TRIPLE MURDER IN RESIDENTIAL HOME – SUSPECT MISSING”

Y/N sat up straight, the breath caught in her chest.

The screen changed.

There it was.

The Woods’ home. Swarmed by red and blue flashing lights. Crime scene tape. A news anchor standing in front, her voice grim:

“Just hours ago, police discovered the bodies of Peter and Margaret Woods, along with their teenage son Liu Woods, presumed dead. Officials say a fire had been set inside the home to cover the scene. But the fire failed to destroy the evidence…”

Y/N’s eyes widened.

“…Authorities are currently searching for 13-year-old Jeffrey Alan Woods, the only missing member of the household. He is considered extremely dangerous. Witnesses say his behavior at the hospital in the weeks before the murders was erratic and disturbing…”

The screen showed an old photo. Jeff before. Smiling faintly. His brown hair messy. A normal kid.

Y/N shook her head, whispered, “No, no…”

“If you see this boy, do not approach. Call 9-1-1 immediately.”

She dropped the remote.

Thunder cracked outside.

Her parents rushed into the room.

Her mother gasped when she saw the screen. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

The image on the TV blurred through tears.

“The suspect is still at large…”

Y/N stared at the screen long after it ended. Into the static. Into the black mirror.

The house on Elm Street stood empty for exactly forty-seven days.

Y/N knew because she counted. Every morning, she looked out her bedroom window at the dark windows of the Woods house, waiting for some sign of life, some indication that the family she’d cared about was trying to rebuild. But the windows stayed dark. The grass grew long. The newspapers piled up on the front steps until the delivery boy stopped coming altogether.

Then, one morning in early November, the moving truck arrived.

Y/N watched from her window as strangers carried furniture and boxes into the house. A middle-aged couple with a toddler, normal people with normal lives who had no idea what had happened in the rooms they were now claiming as their own. The Woods family was gone. Vanished. Like they’d never existed at all.

It was that night that Y/N realized she’d been holding her breath for over a month, waiting for something that was never going to come. She tried to go back to normal. She went to school, did her homework, and hung out with other friends. But there was always a part of her that was listening, waiting, watching the shadows for familiar faces that never appeared.

Winter came early that year, settling over the neighborhood like a gray blanket. The days grew shorter, the nights longer, and Y/N found herself staying awake until the early hours of morning, staring out at the darkness and wondering where Jeff was, what he was becoming in the silence between their old life and whatever came next.

She didn’t know that three states away, in a facility for severely disturbed youth, a boy with white skin and a carved smile was telling the other patients bedtime stories that made them wake up screaming.

She didn’t know that the doctors had stopped trying to treat him, that they’d given up on therapy and medication and hope.

She didn’t know that late at night, when the facility was quiet, Jeff would stare at the ceiling and whisper her name.

All she knew was that the boy she’d cared about was gone, and in his place was something else. Something that the world had created through neglect and cruelty and the kind of systemic failure that turned children into monsters.

The call came on a Tuesday night in February, nearly four months after the fire.

Y/N was in her room, pretending to study for a history test while actually reading the same paragraph about the Industrial Revolution over and over again. The words kept blurring together, meaningless black marks on white paper. She’d been having trouble concentrating lately, ever since the news reports stopped mentioning Jeff’s name. It was like the world had collectively decided to forget he’d ever existed, but Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that forgetting him was dangerous. Like ignoring a gas leak or a live wire.

The house was quiet except for the distant hum of the heater and her father’s muffled voice from downstairs, probably on a work call. Her mother was in the kitchen, making her nightly cup of chamomile tea before bed. The routine sounds of home, normal and comforting.

That’s when the phone rang.

Not her cell phone, the landline in the kitchen, the one that only rang for telemarketers and emergencies. Y/N heard her mother answer on the second ring, her voice bright and unsuspecting.

“Hello, L/N residence.”

A pause. Then her mother’s voice changed, became smaller, more careful. “Yes, this is she. Who is this?”

Another pause, longer this time. Y/N found herself holding her breath without knowing why.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that? There was a what?”

The textbook slipped from Y/N’s fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud. Something cold was crawling up her spine, an instinctual fear that made her stand up from her desk before her conscious mind had even processed why.

“When?” Her mother’s voice was barely above a whisper now. “How many?”

Y/N crept to her bedroom door, pressing her ear against the wood. Her father’s voice had stopped. The house felt suddenly fragile, like it was made of glass and one wrong sound would shatter everything.

“All of them?” Her mother’s voice cracked. “Dear God… all of them?”

Y/N opened her door and padded barefoot down the hallway, her heart hammering against her ribs. The kitchen light spilled into the darkened living room in a yellow rectangle, and she could see her mother’s silhouette, hunched over the phone like she was trying to curl into herself.

“And the boy? Jeffrey?” A long pause. “Missing? What do you mean missing? The whole building was—oh. Oh no.”

That’s when her mother screamed.

Not a loud scream, not the kind you’d hear in a horror movie. A quiet, broken sound that somehow managed to fill the entire house with dread. Y/N ran the rest of the way to the kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the cold hardwood.

Her mother was standing by the sink, the phone clutched in her white-knuckled grip, her face drained of all color. She looked like she’d aged ten years in the span of a phone call.

“Mom? What’s wrong?”

Her mother looked at her with wide eyes. “Jeff,” she whispered. “He… there was a fire.”

Y/N felt the world tilt sideways. “A fire where?”

“The facility. The Millbrook Youth Treatment Center. Where they were keeping him.” Her mother’s voice was hollow, mechanical. “It burned down tonight. All the staff… all the other patients… they’re all dead.”

“All of them?” Y/N’s voice came out as a squeak.

“Yes, all of them.” The phone was shaking in her mother’s hand. “So many people burned alive, and Jeff…” She swallowed hard. “Jeff is gone.”

“Gone how? You mean he’s—”

“Missing.” Her mother finally hung up the phone, setting it on the counter with exaggerated care. “They found everyone else. All the bodies. But not Jeff. He’s just… gone.”

Y/N’s father appeared in the doorway, his face creased with concern. “Honey, what’s going on? I heard you scream.”

Her mother turned to him, and Y/N saw something break in her expression. “The facility where Jeff Woods was staying. It burned down tonight. Everyone’s dead except…”

“Except Jeff,” Y/N finished quietly.

Her father went very still. He’d been following the news reports, had seen the photos of the damage from Jeff’s original “incident.” He knew what Jeff had become in the aftermath of Randy’s attack. They all did.

“How?” he asked.

“They don’t know.” Her mother sank into one of the kitchen chairs, suddenly looking exhausted. “The investigator said the fire started in multiple locations simultaneously. Like someone had doused the building in accelerant. The exits were all blocked from the inside. No one could get out.”

“Except Jeff.” Y/N repeated, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.

“The investigator asked if we’d had any contact with him. If we thought he might come here.” Her mother looked up at Y/N with frightened eyes. “I told them no, but… you were friends. If he was looking for familiar faces…”

“That’s not Jeff anymore,” her father said firmly. “Whatever that boy has become, it’s not the child you used to know.”

But Y/N wasn’t sure about that. Because standing there in the kitchen, listening to the details of mass murder and arson, all she could think about was the afternoon at the Harley’s birthday party. The way Jeff had looked at her just before Randy showed up. The gentleness in his voice when he’d said her name. Was that person really gone? Or was he still in there somewhere, trapped behind whatever mask of madness the world had forced him to wear?

“We need to call the police,” her father was saying. “Let them know we’ve been contacted. Make sure they patrol the neighborhood.”

“I already asked,” her mother replied. “They’re sending extra units. But the investigator said… he said Jeff’s not like other missing persons. He said the boy they’re looking for isn’t interested in being found. He’s interested in finding others.”

A chill ran down Y/N’s spine. “What does that mean?”

Her parents exchanged a look, one of those wordless conversations that adults had when they were trying to decide how much truth a child could handle.

“It means,” her father said carefully, “that the other patients at the facility… before they died… some of them had been telling stories. About Jeff. About things he would whisper to them at night.”

“What kind of stories?”

Another look between her parents.

“He would tell them about people he remembered,” her mother said softly. “About a life he used to have. About a girl who used to sit with him and hold his hand and make him feel normal.” She paused. “They think he might be looking for that life. Looking for those people.”

Y/N’s blood turned to ice water. “He’s looking for me.”

“We don’t know that,” her father said quickly. “It’s just speculation. The boy is traumatized, burned, probably not thinking clearly. He could go anywhere, do anything.”

But even as he said it, Y/N could see in his eyes that he didn’t believe it. None of them did.

Somewhere out there, in the darkness between their safe suburban life and the nightmares that lurked at the edges of civilization, Jeff was free. And whether he was coming to save what was left of his humanity or to destroy the last witness to his former self, no one could say. That night, Y/N lay awake listening to the sounds of her house settling around her. Every creak of wood, every whisper of wind, every distant car engine made her heart race. Her parents had checked all the locks twice, had set the security system, had even moved a kitchen chair in front of her bedroom door “just as a precaution.” But Y/N knew that locks and alarms and chairs wouldn’t stop what was coming.

The quiet suburban street where Y/N had grown up, where she’d learned to ride a bike and made snow angels and shared her first almost-kiss, was about to become a hunting ground.

Around three in the morning, as Y/N finally started to drift off to sleep, she could have sworn she heard something that resembled laughter, it made her blood freeze. The same laugh she’d heard echoing through the chaos at the Harley’s birthday party. The laugh of someone who had looked into the abyss and decided to dive in headfirst. She sat up in bed, listening, but the sound was gone. Maybe it had been the wind. Maybe it had been her imagination.

Maybe.

But in the morning, when she looked out her bedroom window, there were footprints in the fresh snow leading up to her house and stopping directly beneath her window. And carved into the frost on her window, in letters that seemed to glow in the early morning light, was a single message.

 

Soon.

Chapter 3

Nine years had passed since the fire, and Y/N had learned to live with ghosts.

Not the literal kind, though sometimes, in the space between sleep and waking, she could swear she heard familiar laughter echoing through her dreams. Or worse, she could hear screaming, smell smoke, and see a child’s eyes reflecting flames that had long since been extinguished.

At twenty-two, Y/N had built herself a life that looked normal from the outside.

She had a cozy one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a converted Victorian house, with windows that caught the morning light and a fire escape that served as an impromptu balcony where she could sit with her coffee and read a book. She was in her final year of psychology at the local university, maintaining a GPA that would make her professors proud and her younger self amazed.

She had friends, good friends who invited her to parties and study groups and late-night diners where they solved the world’s problems over greasy french fries and too much coffee. She’d had boyfriends, a few serious relationships that had lasted months before fizzling out for reasons she could never quite articulate. It wasn’t that she was afraid of commitment or intimacy; it was something deeper, more fundamental. Like part of her was always listening for something else, waiting for a voice that would never call her name again.

The trauma counselor she’d seen throughout high school had called it survivor’s guilt mixed with unresolved grief.

“You witnessed something horrific.” Dr. Peterson had said, her voice gentle but clinical. “And then you lost someone important to you without any closure. It’s natural that you’d struggle to form deep emotional connections when your foundational experience of caring for someone ended in such violence.”

Y/N had nodded and taken the prescribed medication and done the breathing exercises, and slowly, gradually, she’d learned to function. The nightmares came less frequently. The panic attacks became manageable. She’d even stopped checking the news compulsively for any mention of Jeff or fires or missing children.

She’d gotten better. Or so she’d thought.

The first sign that something was wrong came on a Tuesday morning in October, exactly nine years and three weeks after the fire that had changed everything.

Y/N was getting ready for her shift at the campus coffee shop, a part-time job that helped pay the bills and gave her something to do with her hands while her mind wrestled with developmental psychology textbooks and research papers on childhood trauma. While she was changing, there was a strange sensation of being watched. She’d been pulling on her work uniform, a simple black polo shirt with the shop’s logo embroidered on the chest, when she heard it.

A snicker. Soft, electronic, like it was coming from inside her laptop speakers.

She froze, one arm halfway through her sleeve, and turned toward the desk where her laptop sat open, the screen displaying her half-finished essay on cognitive behavioral therapy techniques. The document cursor blinked steadily, innocent and normal, but for just a moment…

Red eyes staring at her from the screen. Not reflected in the glass, not a trick of the light. Actually in the screen, like something was looking out at her from inside the digital world.

Y/N blinked, her heart skipping a beat, and the eyes were gone. Just her essay, black text on white background, cursor blinking patiently. “What the fuck?” she whispered, approaching the laptop cautiously. She clicked through her open programs. Word, Chrome with three tabs open, Spotify playing her study playlist on low volume. Everything normal. Everything exactly as it should be.

But as she finished getting dressed and grabbed her keys, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been watching her. Something that found her vulnerability amusing.

The coffee shop was called Grounded, a deliberately punny name that made Y/N wince every time she had to answer the phone, but it was a good job. The manager, Sarah, was fair and flexible with scheduling around classes. The customers were mostly students and professors, people who understood the sacred ritual of caffeine consumption and didn’t get upset when the espresso machine was temperamental.

Y/N had been working there for almost two years, long enough that she could make a perfect latte with her eyes closed, long enough that the regular customers knew her name and asked about her classes.

Which was why she noticed immediately when he walked in.

He didn’t look particularly threatening at first glance, mid-twenties, average height, brown hair that looked like he’d been running his hands through it. His clothes were worn but clean: faded jeans, scuffed boots, a red and black flannel shirt under a brown leather jacket that had seen better days. He could have been any college student, any young professional grabbing coffee before work.

But something about him set off every alarm bell Y/N had developed over the years.

Maybe it was the way he moved, too careful, too controlled, like every step was calculated. Maybe it was how his eyes swept the room like he was cataloging exits and potential threats, lingering on dark corners and blind spots. Maybe it was the careful blankness of his expression, the kind of practiced neutrality that came from years of hiding what you were really thinking.

Or maybe it was the way he looked at her when those dark eyes finally settled on her face.

“What can I get you?” Y/N asked when he reached the counter, forcing her voice to stay pleasant and professional.

His eyes met hers, and she felt a chill run down her spine. They were dark, almost black in the coffee shop’s warm lighting, and there was something behind them that made her think of empty rooms and long silences. Something that reminded her of hospital corridors and the smell of antiseptic.

“Coffee,” he said. His voice was rough, gravelly, like he didn’t use it often. Or like he’d damaged it somehow. “Black.”

“What size?”

“Large.” He paused, tilting his head slightly as he studied her face. “You work here often?”

The question was innocent enough, but something in his tone made her skin crawl. “Most days,” she said carefully. “Are you new in town?”

A smile ghosted across his lips, not reaching his eyes, holding no warmth. “You could say that. I’m here on… business.”

Y/N turned to fill the order, hyperaware of his presence behind her. She could feel him watching, studying the way she moved, the way she held herself. The espresso machine hissed and gurgled, but underneath the familiar sounds, she could swear she heard something else. A low humming, almost below the threshold of hearing, like the building itself was vibrating.

When she turned back with his coffee, he was closer to the counter than before. Not inappropriately close, nothing that would seem odd to a casual observer, but close enough that she could smell his cologne, something woody and dark that didn’t quite mask an underlying metallic scent.

“Thanks.” he said, and when their fingers brushed as she handed him the cup, his skin was cold. Not just cool, cold like he’d been standing outside in winter air. The contact sent an involuntary shiver through her.

“No problem.” Y/N managed, stepping back instinctively.

He paid in exact change, coins that he counted out slowly, deliberately. “I’m Tim, by the way,” he said, not looking up from the money. “Tim Wright.”

She wasn’t sure why he was introducing himself, but politeness demanded a response. “Y/N.”

“Y/N.” he repeated, and her name sounded different in his voice. Heavier somehow. Like he was tasting it. “Pretty name. Suits you.”

He pocketed his change and found a table in the corner, the kind of spot that offered a clear view of the entire shop while keeping his back to the wall. And he stayed.

For the next three hours, through Y/N’s entire shift, Tim sat in that corner booth with his black coffee and a paperback book that he never seemed to actually read. The book she caught glimpses of it when he occasionally turned a page looked old, the cover worn and faded. But his eyes never stayed on the pages long. Instead, they kept drifting to her, tracking her movements.

During her break, Y/N retreated to the back room and pulled out her phone, typing his name into the search bar. The results were frustratingly generic, dozens of Tim Wrights in various states, social media profiles for men who looked nothing like her customer, a few news articles about completely unrelated people.

“Everything okay back there?” Sarah called through the door.

“Fine!” Y/N called back, deleting her search history. “Just checking my schedule.”

But when she returned to the front, Tim was gone. His table had been cleared, his coffee cup removed, like he’d never been there at all. The only evidence of his presence was the faint metallic smell that lingered near his corner booth, and the way her hands still trembled slightly as she wiped down tables.

“Did you see where that guy in the brown jacket went?” she asked Marcus, the evening shift supervisor who was taking over.

Marcus looked confused. “What guy?”

“The one who was sitting in the corner all afternoon. Tim?”

“Y/N, that table’s been empty since I got here twenty minutes ago. Are you feeling okay? You look pale.”

She stared at the corner booth, at the clean table that showed no sign of recent occupation. Had she imagined the whole thing? The conversation, the introduction, the hours of uncomfortable observation?

But she could still smell that metallic scent, still feel the cold touch of his fingers against hers.

The walk back to her apartment took fifteen minutes on a good day, twenty when she stopped to grab groceries or got caught behind slow-moving pedestrians. Tonight, it took forty-five minutes, because Y/N kept doubling back, taking side streets, stopping to window-shop at stores she had no interest in.

She was being followed.

She could feel it, that prickle between her shoulder blades that meant unfriendly eyes were tracking her movement. But every time she turned around, the sidewalk behind her was empty. Just other students walking home from late classes, couples holding hands, the normal foot traffic of a college town on a weeknight.

But at one point, when she ducked into a bookstore and pretended to browse the bestseller display, she saw him. Tim was standing across the street under a broken streetlight, his brown jacket dark against the shadows. He wasn’t trying to hide, if anything, he seemed to want her to see him. When their eyes met through the store window, he raised one hand in a slow, deliberate wave.

Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs. She blinked, and he was gone, leaving only the pool of stuttering light where he’d been standing.

By the time she reached her building, Y/N had almost convinced herself she was being paranoid. The stress of school, the weird hallucination that morning, the unsettling customer at work it was all combining to make her jumpy, suspicious of shadows and coincidences.

She climbed the three flights of stairs to her apartment, keys already in hand, and unlocked her door.

Her apartment welcomed her with familiar comfort: the couch she’d found at a thrift store and reupholstered herself, the bookshelves that lined every available wall, the small kitchen where she’d learned to cook simple meals that didn’t require much skill or many dishes. It was tiny but it was hers, the first space she’d ever had that felt truly safe.

Y/N dropped her bag by the door, kicked off her shoes, and headed straight for the kitchen to make tea. Chamomile, something to calm her nerves and help her sleep. She had an early class tomorrow, a paper due Friday, a normal life that required her to be functional and present.

The kettle was just starting to whistle when she heard it.

Static.

Not from her radio or television, both were off. Not from a neighbor’s apartment, the sound was too close, too immediate. It was inside her head, a low, persistent buzz that made her teeth ache and her vision blur at the edges.

Y/N turned off the burner and pressed her palms against her ears, but the sound didn’t diminish. If anything, it grew louder, more insistent, like tuning into a radio station that was almost but not quite in range.

And underneath the static, something else. A whisper, too soft to make out the words but unmistakably there. Like someone was trying to speak to her from very far away.

 

“Can you hear me?” The voice was clearer now, cutting through the interference. “I know you can hear me.”

 

The voice was wrong somehow, not quite human, like it was being filtered through layers of distance and distortion. But there was something familiar about it, something that made her think of hospital rooms and the beeping of machines.

 

“You’ve been running for so long.” the voice continued. “But you can’t run forever. I've been waiting. I've been patient. But patience has limits.”

 

“Who are you?” Y/N whispered, not sure if she was speaking aloud or just thinking the words.

 

The static intensified, and for a moment she thought she could see something in the interference patterns behind her closed eyelids. A tall figure, impossibly thin, standing in a forest of dead trees. No face, just smooth emptiness where features should be. And reaching toward her with arms that were too long, fingers that ended in sharp points.

“You know who I am.” the voice said, and now she was certain it was familiar. “You’ve always known. Ever since that night. Ever since the fire.”

The sound lasted for maybe thirty seconds, though it felt like hours. Then it cut out abruptly, leaving Y/N gasping on her kitchen floor, her ears ringing with the sudden silence.

She stayed there for several minutes, waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal, trying to convince herself that what she’d experienced was some kind of hallucination brought on by stress and fear. But the metallic taste in her mouth, the way her hands shook as she pushed herself upright, suggested otherwise.

Something had been trying to communicate with her. Something that knew about the fire, about her past, about the night that had changed everything.

She made her tea with hands that shook only slightly, told herself it was tinnitus or stress or the weird acoustics of old buildings. But as she sat on her couch with the steaming mug, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been trying to tell her that her time was running out.

The next few days passed in a haze of forced normalcy. Y/N threw herself into her studies with an intensity that surprised even her, staying late in the library, joining study groups she’d normally avoid, anything to keep herself surrounded by other people and bright lights and the comforting hum of academic activity.

But the feelings didn’t go away.

The sense of being watched followed her everywhere, walking across campus, sitting in lecture halls, even in the safety of her own apartment. She’d catch glimpses of movement in her peripheral vision, turn her head to find nothing there. Sometimes it was just shadows playing tricks. Other times, she’d swear she saw Tim in the crowd, always at a distance, always watching.

She’d hear footsteps that matched her pace exactly, stop suddenly to listen, only to be met with silence. The static came randomly, usually when she was alone. Sometimes just a brief burst, like interference on a radio. Sometimes longer episodes that left her dizzy and disoriented, pressing her palms against her ears while the world seemed to tilt sideways.

And always, underneath it all, the whispers. Never clear enough to understand completely, but growing more insistent, more urgent, like someone was trying very hard to get her attention.

During her Abnormal Psychology class, Professor Chen was discussing paranoid delusions when Y/N felt her phone buzz.

 

A text from an unknown number:

You left your window open last night. Third floor, fire escape side. Someone could climb right in.

 

Her blood turned to ice. She looked around the lecture hall, scanning the faces of her classmates, but no one was paying attention to her. Everyone was focused on the professor’s discussion of persecution complexes and auditory hallucinations.

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

Y/N raised her hand, her voice surprisingly steady. “Professor Chen? What’s the difference between paranoid delusions and actual stalking?”

Professor Chen paused, considering the question. “Well, paranoid delusions typically involve beliefs that aren’t based in reality, the person believes they’re being followed or watched, but there’s no actual evidence. Real stalking involves documented behavior: following, surveillance, unwanted contact, threats. The key is evidence.”

“But what if someone is being stalked, but the evidence is… unconventional?”

“What do you mean by unconventional?”

Y/N hesitated, aware that the class was now paying attention to her. “Like, what if the stalker has access to technology or methods that make traditional evidence collection difficult?”

“That’s an interesting question. I suppose in that case, the victim would need to be creative about documentation. Keep detailed records, use multiple sources of evidence, involve law enforcement when possible.” Professor Chen’s expression grew concerned. “Y/N, is everything alright?”

“Just curious about a case study I was reading,” Y/N lied smoothly. “Thanks.”

But as the class continued, she found herself thinking about Professor Chen’s words. Evidence. Documentation. She pulled out her notebook and started writing down everything she could remember: Tim Wright’s appearance, the exact words of the static voices, the timeline of events, the feeling of being watched.

When she looked up, Tim was sitting three rows behind her.

He hadn’t been there when class started, Y/N was sure of it. But now he sat in the back row, that same paperback book open in his lap, dark eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her stomach churn.

She blinked, and he was gone. The seat was empty, like it had been all along.

Y/N’s pen slipped, leaving an ink blot across her notes.

It was during one of these determinedly normal activities, coffee with her friend Emma after their shared sociology class that Y/N first heard someone else mention the things that had been happening to her.

“I swear to God, I think someone’s been watching my apartment.” Emma said, stirring sugar into her latte with the kind of aggressive motion that suggested she’d been thinking about this for a while. “I know how that sounds, but I keep seeing this guy hanging around the building. Never the same guy, but always someone who doesn’t belong, you know?”

Y/N’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean, doesn’t belong?”

“Like, too old to be a student, too well-dressed to be homeless, too interested in the building to just be passing by. And they all have this look…” Emma shivered, despite the warmth of the coffee shop. “Like they’re evaluating something. Like they’re taking inventory.”

“Have you called the police?”

“And say what? That I’ve seen people on a public sidewalk? That they gave me weird vibes?” Emma shook her head. “Besides, I looked it up online. Apparently this kind of thing has been happening all over town. Students reporting feeling watched, seeing strange people in their neighborhoods, hearing weird sounds.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold. “Weird sounds?”

“Yeah, like electronic interference or something. Static. Some people say they hear voices.” Emma leaned forward, lowering her voice. “There’s this whole forum thread about it. People sharing stories, trying to figure out if it’s some kind of stalker network or what.”

“Network?”

“Like, organized. Multiple people working together. Some of the posts mention seeing the same individuals in different locations, like they’re coordinating surveillance.” Emma pulled out her phone, scrolling through a bookmarked page. “Look at this—‘Tall man in black jacket seen outside apartment complex on Tuesday, same man photographed near campus library on Thursday.’ And then someone else posted about seeing him at the grocery store.”

Y/N’s hands started shaking.

“Emma, can you forward me that forum link?”

“Sure, but Y/N… you look really pale. Has something happened to you?”

Y/N considered lying, considered keeping her experiences to herself like she had for days. But Emma was her friend, and she was clearly going through something similar.

“I think I’m being followed too,” she admitted quietly. “There’s this guy, Tim. He’s been showing up places, watching me. And I’ve been hearing things. Static, voices.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Oh my god. Y/N, we need to stick together. Safety in numbers, right? You could stay at my place, or I could stay at yours.”

Before Y/N could respond, her phone buzzed with another text from the unknown number:

Your friend Emma lives at 47 Maple Street, apartment 2B. She leaves her bedroom curtains open. We can see everything.

 

Y/N’s face must have gone white, because Emma grabbed her arm. “What is it?”

“They know where you live,” Y/N whispered, showing Emma the text. “They’re watching you too.”

Emma read the message, her face draining of color. “How… how do they have your number? How do they know my address?”

“I don’t know.” Y/N looked around the coffee shop, suddenly aware of how exposed they were. Large windows, multiple entrances, too many people to keep track of. “Emma, I think we need to get out of here.”

They gathered their things quickly, Emma’s hands shaking as she packed her laptop. As they stood to leave, Y/N caught a glimpse of movement outside the front window. Tim, standing across the street, that same paperback book in his hands. But this time he wasn’t alone.

Y/N could swear she saw something impossibly tall, standing perfectly still, watching.

“Emma,” Y/N said quietly, “don’t turn around. Don’t look outside. Just walk with me to the back exit.”

They slipped out through the rear of the coffee shop, into an alley that smelled of garbage and stale rain. Y/N’s phone buzzed again.

You can run, but you can’t hide. We know where you go. We know what you do. We know who you care about.

 

And then, a few seconds later:

Ask Y/N about the fire. Ask her about Jeff. Ask her about what she saw in her bedroom window the night he disappeared.

 

Emma read the messages over Y/N’s shoulder, her breath catching. “Y/N, what is this about a fire? Who’s Jeff?”

Y/N felt the world tilting around her, memories she’d buried clawing their way to the surface. “I… I can’t… not here.”

“Y/N, talk to me. What happened?”

“When I was thirteen,” Y/N said, her voice barely audible, “there was a fire. A boy I knew… Jeff… he was hurt, badly burned. And then he disappeared from the hospital, and people started dying, and…” She took a shuddering breath. “And after the police left, I saw something written on my bedroom window. From the outside, like someone had pressed their finger against the glass.”

“What did it say?”

Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper. “SOON.”

That night, Y/N didn’t sleep. She sat in her living room with all the lights on, her laptop open to the forums Emma had mentioned, trying to find some piece of information that would tell her how to fight back. The stories were remarkably consistent, which somehow made them more terrifying rather than less. If it was mass hysteria or some kind of urban legend, she would have expected more variation, more obvious embellishment. But these accounts read like police reports: factual, detailed, frightened.

And running through many of them was a common thread that made Y/N’s skin crawl.

People were disappearing.

Not all at once, not in any way that would attract media attention or police investigation. Just… gone. Students who stopped showing up to class, young adults who missed work shifts, people who seemed to vanish from their normal routines without explanation.

The forum moderators kept deleting posts that tried to connect the disappearances, claiming they were “spreading unsubstantiated rumors” and “causing unnecessary panic.” But Y/N could read between the lines, could see the pattern that others were trying to document.

Around three AM, the static returned.

This time, Y/N was ready for it. She grabbed a notebook and pen, determined to document everything she experienced, to record any details that might help her understand what was happening.

The sound started as a whisper, just a hint of interference at the edge of her consciousness. Then it grew louder, more insistent, until it filled her head with white noise that made it difficult to think.

 

“You cannot hide forever.” the voice said, clearer than ever before.

 

Y/N wrote frantically, trying to capture every word even as the sound made her handwriting shake and blur.

“What do you want from me?” she whispered.

 

“You know what you are.” the voice replied. “You have always known. The capacity to see, to understand, to serve.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“You will.” There was something that might have been amusement in the voice, if something inhuman could experience amusement. “The choice will be made for you, as it was made for the boy.”

 

Y/N’s blood froze. “What boy?”

 

“Jeffrey Alan Woods. He saw us too, heard my voice. He resisted at first, like you. But in the end, he understood his purpose.”

 

“Jeff is dead.” Y/N said, but even as the words left her mouth, she wasn’t sure she believed them.

 

“Death is a human concept. Jeffrey serves now, as you will serve. The man you call Tim is preparing the way. Soon, very soon, you will join your friend.”

 

“Tim works for you?”

 

“He serves my purposes.”

 

The static was fading now, but the voice remained clear. “Look to your past, Y/N. Look to the night Jeffrey disappeared. Look to what you saw but convinced yourself was imagination. The truth has been waiting for you.”

 

And then, just before the sound cut out completely. “We are coming. And when we arrive, you will understand everything.”

 

Y/N sat alone in her brightly lit apartment, staring at her notebook filled with the impossible conversation she’d just transcribed. The words seemed to pulse on the page, each letter a small violation of reality.

Jeff was alive. Or something that had been Jeff was alive.

Tim Wright was being controlled, or partially controlled, by whatever was hunting her.

And something, someone, was coming for her, something that had been planning this for years.

She stared at her notebook, at the words she’d managed to capture, and felt pieces of a horrible puzzle clicking into place. The timing wasn’t random. Her selection as a target wasn’t arbitrary. Something had been watching her since she was thirteen years old, waiting for the right moment, the right circumstances.

And it had taken Jeff first.

All these years, she’d assumed Jeff was dead, or in prison, or had simply vanished into the chaos of a broken system that failed damaged children. She’d never considered that his disappearance might be connected to something larger, something that had plans for the people it collected.

But if the voice was telling the truth, if Jeff was somehow involved in whatever was hunting her, then everything she thought she knew about the past nine years was wrong.

Y/N closed her laptop and sat in the artificial daylight of her living room, trying to process the magnitude of what she was facing. She wasn’t just being stalked by some ordinary predator. She was being hunted by something that had been watching her since she was thirteen years old, something that had already taken someone she cared about and was now coming for her.

The question was: what was she going to do about it?

Running seemed pointless, if this thing had been tracking her for years, it would find her wherever she went. Hiding was obviously impossible; it knew where she lived, where she worked, where she went to school. Contacting the authorities would be useless; how do you report a supernatural stalker that communicates through electronic interference?

But there was one option she hadn’t considered, one possibility that terrified her almost as much as the thing that was hunting her.

She could try to find Jeff.

 

Her phone rang, jolting her from her thoughts. Emma’s name flashed on the screen.

“Hey just checking in, are you okay?”

“I’m okay… just being careful. I have a bad feeling.” Y/N sighed.

“Oh God, really? Have you seen anyone suspicious again?”

“Yeah, and…Emma, I think it’s more serious than we thought.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, long enough that Y/N wondered if the call had dropped.

“Emma?”

“I’m here. I just… Y/N, I need to tell you something. My friend Lisa. She didn’t show up for work on Monday. Her roommate says she never came home.”

Y/N’s blood turned cold. “Did she call the police?”

“Yeah, but they won’t do anything for forty-eight hours. And when they finally did take a report, they basically said college students go missing all the time. They probably think she ran off with some guy or had a breakdown or something.”

“But you don’t think that.”

“No. Lisa was scared, Y/N. Really scared. She kept saying something was following her, that she could hear voices. She wouldn’t have just disappeared voluntarily.”

They were quiet for a moment, both processing the implications of what Emma had shared.

“What do we do?” Y/N asked finally.

“I don’t know. But maybe… we can do that thing I told you before, we could stay at my place, or I could stay at yours.”

The offer was tempting, but Y/N found herself hesitating. Whatever was happening to her, whatever was hunting in their town, she had a feeling that being around other people wouldn’t necessarily keep her safe. If anything, it might put Emma in danger too.

“Let me think about it,” she said. “But Emma? Be careful, okay? Don’t go anywhere alone, don’t stay out late, and if you hear static or voices or anything weird, get somewhere public immediately.”

“Okay. And Y/N? You be careful too. I’ve got a bad feeling about all this.”

After they hung up, Y/N sat in her apartment and tried to figure out what to do next. The rational part of her mind insisted that she should contact the police, regardless of how crazy her story sounded.

She froze when she heard a quiet sound by the front door, she remained still when the footsteps grew silent then she chose to stand up and check.

Tucked under her door was a single sheet of paper, folded neatly in half. With shaking hands, Y/N picked it up and unfolded it.

It was a photograph. Black and white, slightly grainy, taken from a distance with a telephoto lens.

It showed her sitting on her couch, visible through her apartment window, reading a book and drinking tea.

The photo had been taken the other night, after her shift at the coffee shop. After she’d thought she was safe in her own home.

On the back, written in neat block letters, was a single word:

SOON.

Y/N stared at the photograph for a long time, her hands trembling. Someone had been watching her apartment. Someone had been close enough to take pictures through her windows.

And they wanted her to know that they knew.

The familiar space felt different now, violated, like someone had been inside touching her things. Though nothing looked disturbed, she could feel the lingering presence of unfriendly eyes.

Y/N moved through the apartment systematically, checking locks, closing curtains, making sure every possible entry point was secured. Then she sat on her couch, the same couch from the photograph and tried to think rationally about what was happening to her.

Someone was stalking her. Someone organized, patient, and skilled enough to follow her without being detected, to take photographs without being seen. Tim was part of it, but probably not working alone. The forum posts suggested this was happening to multiple people, which meant…

What? Some kind of organized group? A cult? A human trafficking ring?

She wasn’t just being stalked by some ordinary predator. She was being hunted by something that had been watching her since she was thirteen years old, something that had already taken someone she cared about and was now coming for her.

Chapter 4

The coffee shop felt like a refuge from the growing paranoia that had consumed Y/N’s life, but even surrounded by the familiar sounds of the espresso machine and quiet conversations, she couldn’t shake the feeling that unseen eyes were tracking her every movement. Emma sat across from her, stirring her latte with nervous energy, her own anxiety evident in the way she kept glancing toward the windows.

“I still think you should just come stay with me tonight,” Emma said, her voice pitched low so the other customers wouldn’t overhear. “Whatever’s happening, whatever these people want, you don’t have to face it alone.”

Y/N wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, seeking warmth that seemed to elude her lately. The photograph tucked in her backpack was a constant reminder that her sanctuary had been violated, that nowhere was truly safe. But running to Emma’s place felt like admitting defeat, and Y/N had never been good at backing down from a fight.

“I appreciate it, I really do,” she said, meeting Emma’s concerned gaze with determination. “But I need tonight to get my shit together, figure out what I’m going to do long-term. Besides, if these assholes really are as dangerous as I think they are, I don’t want to put you at risk by showing up at your door in the middle of a crisis.”

Emma leaned forward, her expression serious. “Y/N, listen to me. Lisa is still missing. Three other students from the forum haven’t posted in over a week, and when people tried to contact them, nobody could reach them. This isn’t just paranoia anymore. People are disappearing, and whatever’s happening, it’s escalating fast.”

The words sent a chill down Y/N’s spine, but they also strengthened her resolve. She had survived one nightmare as a child; she could survive this one too. But first, she needed to understand what she was truly dealing with.

“One night,” Y/N said firmly, her jaw set in a way that brooked no argument. “I’ll pack my essentials, do some more research, try to figure out what these bastards want from me. Then tomorrow morning, I’ll come to your place and we can decide what to do next.”

Emma looked like she wanted to argue, but something in Y/N’s expression must have convinced her that further protest would be useless. “Fine. But you keep your phone on, and if anything happens, anything at all, you call me immediately. I don’t care if it’s three in the fucking morning.”

“Deal.” Y/N said, managing a small smile despite the circumstances.

They spent another hour talking, mostly Emma sharing what she’d learned from other forum users and Y/N carefully editing her own experiences to leave out the more supernatural elements. The static, the impossible voices, the sense that something inhuman was orchestrating her stalking, all of that remained her secret. How do you tell your friend that you think you’re being hunted by something that shouldn’t exist?

When they finally parted ways outside the coffee shop, Emma hugged her tightly. “Be careful,” she whispered. “I’ve got a really bad feeling about tonight.”

Y/N hugged her back, trying to memorize the warmth and safety of human contact. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

But as she walked home through the darkening streets, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that she was lying to both of them.

The apartment building looked the same as always, Y/N climbed the familiar stairs, her keys already in hand, hyperaware of every shadow and sound. The hallway was empty, just the usual collection of apartment doors and the soft sounds of people living their normal lives behind them.

Her door was still locked, just as she’d left it. No signs of tampering, no indication that anyone had tried to gain entry while she was gone. Y/N let herself in and immediately turned on every light, the same ritual she’d been performing for days now.

Everything looked normal.

Her books were still stacked on the coffee table, her laptop closed but exactly where she’d left it, her tea mug from this morning still sitting in the sink. But something felt wrong, fundamentally wrong, like the air itself had been disturbed.

Y/N dropped her bag by the door and moved through the apartment, checking the windows, the closets, the space under her bed. She felt foolish doing it, but she also felt safer having confirmed that she was alone.

Her backpack was already mostly packed with essentials, clothes for a few days, her tablet, important documents, the small amount of cash she kept for emergencies. She’d been preparing to run even before she’d consciously admitted to herself that running might become necessary.

Now she added a few more items: the photograph that had been left under her door, her notebook filled with research about disappearances and stalking, a kitchen knife that made her feel marginally safer even though she had no idea how to use it as a weapon.

The sun had set while she was packing, and the apartment felt different in the darkness. Y/N closed all the curtains and settled on her couch with her laptop, determined to spend the remaining hours of the evening doing more research.

But concentration was impossible. Every small sound made her freeze, listening intently for signs that she wasn’t alone. The building was old and full of normal settling noises, but tonight every creak seemed ominous, every footstep in the hallway made her pulse spike.

Around eleven PM, exhaustion finally began to overtake anxiety. Y/N’s eyes were burning from staring at the laptop screen, and her body ached from hours of tension. She needed sleep, even if rest seemed impossible.

She changed into comfortable clothes, checked the locks one more time, and settled into bed with her phone on the nightstand and the kitchen knife tucked discretely under her pillow. The logical part of her mind knew she was probably overreacting, but the part that had learned to trust her instincts insisted that preparation was better than regret.

Sleep came in fits and starts, her mind too active to fully relax. Y/N drifted in and out of consciousness, dreams mixing with reality until she wasn’t sure which was which. In one dream, she was thirteen again, watching Jeff’s body burning at the kids’ party. In another, she was running through empty streets while static filled her ears and voices whispered her name.

She was somewhere between sleep and waking when she heard it.

A sound so soft she almost missed it, just a whisper of noise that seemed to come from inside the walls themselves. Y/N’s eyes snapped open, and she lay perfectly still, straining to hear over the sound of her own heartbeat.

There it was again. Muffled voices, too quiet to make out individual words but definitely human, definitely real. For a moment, Y/N allowed herself to hope that the sounds were coming from one of the neighboring apartments, late-night conversations that were carrying through the old building’s thin walls.

But as she listened more carefully, the voices seemed to be coming from inside her own apartment.

“—can’t fucking b-believe we’re stuck in this shithole assignment when s-she gets to live in a p—place like this,” a young male voice was saying, the words broken by an odd stuttering pattern that made them difficult to follow. “Look at this c-couch, man, it’s probably worth more than our entire goddamn c-cabin.”

There was a dull smacking sound, followed by a sharp “Shut the hell up and focus, Toby. We’re not here to admire the fucking furniture.”

Y/N’s blood turned to ice. There were people in her apartment. Strange men who knew her name, who had been watching her long enough to form opinions about her living situation, who were now inside her space discussing her like she was some kind of prize to be collected.

“The photo was supposed to be subtle,” the second voice continued, clearer now that Y/N was actively listening. His voice was familiar in a way that made her skin crawl, she’d heard it before, somewhere. “It looked like a fucking threat, you idiot.”

“It w-wasn’t a threat!” The first voice, Toby? Sounded defensive and slightly whiny. “I just w-wanted her to know we were w-watching, that we’d be m-meeting her soon. How the fuck is that c-creepy?”

“Jesus Christ.” There was another smacking sound, harder this time. “Everything you do is creepy, you twitchy piece of shit. That’s why the Operator keeps you around, you’re good at being disturbing.”

Y/N’s mind raced as she processed the conversation. The Operator, that was the name she’d seen in her research, one of the terms used to describe the faceless figure that appeared in so many accounts of stalking and disappearance. These men weren’t just random intruders; they were connected to whatever had been hunting her.

And they were here to take her.

“Both of you shut up,” a third voice interjected, deeper and rougher than the other two. This speaker seemed to prefer economy of language, his words clipped and professional. “She’s probably awake by now. Toby’s big mouth carries through these old walls like a megaphone.”

“Hey!” Toby protested. “I w-was being quiet!”

“You were being your usual spastic self,” the man said with clear irritation. “Tim’s right, we need to move before she—”

Moving as quietly as possible, Y/N crept toward her dresser where she’d left her shoes and jacket. If she could get dressed and reach her backpack, she might be able to slip out through the fire escape window before they realized she was awake.

But as she was pulling on her sneakers, trying to move without making any sound, she heard footsteps approaching her bedroom door.

“She should be asleep by now,” the third voice, Tim? Fuck. “The surveillance showed she usually goes to bed around eleven.”

Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs as she realized just how thoroughly she’d been watched. The bedroom door was opening, revealing a figure that filled the entire doorframe.

He was tall, impossibly tall, with broad shoulders that blocked out the light from the living room. His face was hidden behind a black balaclava with two red dots where his eyes should be and a red frown drawn across the mouth area. The makeshift mask gave him an unsettling appearance that was made more disturbing by his imposing physical presence.

For a moment, they stared at each other in perfect silence. Y/N crouched by her dresser with one shoe on and the kitchen knife clutched in her hand, while the hooded figure stood motionless in the doorway.

Then, slowly, almost lazily, he tilted his head to one side, studying her with what seemed like mild curiosity rather than surprise. Like he had expected to find her awake and was vaguely interested in her reaction to being discovered.

“She’s up.” he called over his shoulder, his voice the same deep, rough tone she’d heard giving orders moments before. “Hello sweetheart.”

“What? Fuck!” There was a scrambling sound from the living room, and suddenly the tall figure was pushed aside as two more men crowded into the doorway.

The one in front wore a simple white porcelain mask with black holes for eyes and a black line drawn across the mouth. Even with his features hidden, something about his build and the way he moved was familiar, this was the man who’d been following her. He was holding a gun, she realized with a spike of terror, the barrel pointed casually in her direction like this was just another day at the office.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Looks like our girl’s got some fight in her after all. I was starting to think this would be boring.”

Behind him was a shorter figure with curly brown hair and what looked like yellow-orange goggles pushed up on his forehead. His face was partially obscured by some kind of mouth guard, but Y/N could see enough to notice that something was wrong with the left side of his face, like part of it was missing or damaged. He was practically vibrating with energy, shifting his weight from foot to foot and cracking his neck with sharp, involuntary movements.

“O-Oh, look at th—that,” he said, his voice carrying the same stutter she’d heard through the walls. “Looks like sleeping beauty decided to j-join the party early. Hi there, Y/N!” He waved at her with disturbing enthusiasm, like they were old friends meeting for coffee instead of predators cornering their prey.

The man with the white mask, Tim, swore under his breath and reached out to smack Toby on the back of the head. “This is your fault, you hyperactive piece of shit. I told you to keep your fucking mouth shut.”

“Hey!” Toby protested, rubbing his head. “It’s not my f—fuh-fault she’s got good h-hearing. B-Besides, now we can have a p-p—proper introduction instead of doing this while she’s u-unconscious. Much more p-personal, don’t you think?”

Y/N found her voice, though it came out stronger than she’d expected. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

The three men exchanged glances, and she could sense some kind of silent communication passing between them. Finally, it was the tall one in the hoodie who answered.

“You’re coming with us,” he said simply, like he was stating an obvious fact. “The Operator has been waiting for you. Long time.”

“The hell I am.” Y/N’s grip tightened on the kitchen knife, and she slowly rose from her crouch, trying to project more confidence than she felt. She’d never backed down from a fight in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now. “I don’t know who you psychos are or what you want, but you need to get the fuck out of my apartment. Now.”

Toby laughed, a sound that was equal parts amusement and instability. “Oh, s—s-she’s got spirit! I fucking l-love that. This is g-guh—going to be so much more fun than I thought.”

“Language, Toby,” Tim said mockingly, though his own vocabulary had been far from clean. “We’re in the presence of a lady.”

“Fuck you,” Y/N spat, surprising herself with her venom. “And fuck your boss too. Whatever the hell this ‘Operator’ wants, he’s not getting it.”

The tall one, Brian, she realized, remembering the name from their earlier conversation took a step into the room. “You don’t understand the situation you’re in,” he said, his voice carrying a note of what might have been sympathy. “This isn’t a negotiation. This isn’t a choice. You’re coming with us whether you cooperate or not.”

“The only choice,” Tim added, adjusting his grip on the gun, “is whether you make this easy or hard. Easy means you walk out of here conscious. Hard means…” He shrugged. “Well, let’s just say the Operator didn’t specify what condition you needed to be in when we delivered you.”

But Y/N had spent years refusing to be intimidated, first by school bullies, then by professors who thought she didn’t belong in advanced classes, then by anyone who tried to make her feel small or powerless. She wasn’t about to start cowering now.

“Try me, you masked fuck,” she said, raising the kitchen knife. “I’ve had a really shitty week, and I’m looking for someone to take it out on.”

Toby clapped his hands together in delight. “Oh, I like her! Can we k-keep her, Tim? She’s got m-more personality than the last three combined!”

“Toby,” Brian warned, his tone sharp. “Focus.”

But Toby was already moving, pulling something from his belt with fluid, practiced motion. Y/N caught a glimpse of metal and wood, two hatchets, she realized with horror before her survival instincts kicked in and she was moving too.

“Time for s-some fun!” Toby called out, his voice taking on a sing-song quality. “Don’t worry, Y/N, I’ll try not to d-damage anything important!”

Y/N lunged toward the window, hoping to reach the fire escape before any of them could stop her, but Brian was faster than his size suggested. He stepped smoothly into her path, not grabbing for her but simply positioning himself as an immovable obstacle.

“Come on, Y/N,” he said, almost conversationally. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Y/N changed direction, aiming for the bedroom door, but Toby was there with his hatchets raised and that disturbing grin visible even through his mouth guard.

“Come on, come on!” he chanted. “Don’t m-make this harder than it has to be. We’re all going to be great f-fucking friends, you’ll see!”

Tim was moving too, trying to flank her, and Y/N realized she was trapped in her own bedroom with three armed intruders who seemed to know exactly what they were doing.

But she’d been trapped before, and she’d survived. She’d be damned if she was going down without a fight.

Y/N feinted toward Toby, then spun and threw herself at the window, the kitchen knife clutched in her hand. The old Victorian’s windows were large and opened easily, and she managed to get the latch undone before strong hands grabbed her around the waist.

“Oh no you f—fuh-fucking don’t,” Toby said, pulling her back into the room with surprising strength for his size. “The Operator wants you in one p-piece, but he didn’t say anything about undamaged.”

Y/N twisted in his grip, bringing the knife around in a wild arc that caught him across the forearm. She felt the blade bite into flesh, saw blood bloom across his sleeve, but Toby just laughed like she’d told him the funniest joke in the world.

“That t-tickled,” he said, his eyes bright with something that might have been pain or pleasure. “My turn!”

The hatchet came down, and Y/N barely managed to throw herself sideways, the blade embedding itself in the hardwood floor where she’d been standing. She rolled, came up in a crouch, and found herself facing Brian.

He moved faster than seemed possible for someone his size, and suddenly she was on the floor with her wrist pinned, the kitchen knife skittering away across the room.

“Enough,” he said, his voice calm and level despite the chaos. “We’re not here to play games.”

But Y/N had spent years in therapy learning to cope with trauma, learning to fight back against the helplessness that had consumed her after Jeff’s disappearance. She brought her knee up hard, aiming for what she hoped was a vulnerable spot, and felt a moment of savage satisfaction when Brian grunted and loosened his grip.

“Bitch.” he muttered, but there was something like respect in his voice.

She rolled away, scrambling for her backpack by the front door, her phone tucked in the side pocket. If she could just call 911, bring police sirens and flashing lights, maybe these intruders would retreat rather than risk exposure.

Toby was between her and the door, blood still seeping from the cut on his arm, his remaining hatchet ready. But his attention seemed divided, his head jerking to the side in rapid, involuntary movements that suggested some kind of neurological condition.

“You k—k-know,” he said conversationally, “most p-people would have given up by now. I respect that. I really do.”

Y/N waited for one of his tics, then darted past him, her fingers closing around her phone just as she heard the whistle of metal through air.

The hatchet caught her phone dead center, the blade cleaving through plastic and circuitry with a sound like breaking bones. Sparks flew, and the device split in half, useless pieces scattering across the floor.

“Oops,” Toby said, not sounding sorry at all. “G—guh-g-Guess you won’t be c-calling for help after all.”

“You’re really starting to piss me off.” Y/N snarled, but she was already moving, adrenaline and desperation giving her speed she didn’t know she possessed. She grabbed her backpack and threw herself toward the front door, her fingers working frantically at the locks.

The deadbolt turned just as hands grabbed her shoulders, trying to pull her back. Y/N twisted, swinging her backpack like a weapon, and felt it connect with something solid. Someone cursed creatively, and the grip on her shoulders loosened enough for her to wrench the door open.

“That’s it,” Tim’s voice followed her into the hallway. “No more playing nice. Toby, if she runs again, aim for her fucking legs.”

The hallway was empty, dimly lit. Y/N ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time, her bare feet slipping on the worn carpet.

Behind her, she could hear pursuit. Heavy footsteps, multiple sets, and Toby’s voice raised in what sounded like genuine excitement.

“T—T-This is the best part!” he was calling. “I love it when they r-run! It makes the catch so much sweeter!”

“Shut up and corner her,” Tim snapped. “Brian, cover the back exit. I’ll take the front.”

Y/N reached the second floor landing and kept going, her lungs already burning. The front entrance was too far, too predictable. They’d catch her before she reached the street. But there was another way out, if she could reach it.

The fire escape was accessible from a window at the end of the third-floor hallway, an old emergency exit that the landlord had never bothered to secure properly. Y/N had used it before, sneaking out late at night during her first year in the apartment when she’d felt too restless to sleep.

She reached the window and struggled with the latch, her hands shaking with adrenaline and fear. Behind her, she could hear her pursuers reaching the third floor, their voices echoing off the walls as they coordinated their search.

“She went up,” Tim was saying. “Toby, check the roof access. Brian, cover the back stairs.”

“What if she w-went for the fire escape?” Toby asked.

“Then we’ve got her cornered,” Tim replied. “It’s a dead end.”

The window finally opened, and Y/N threw herself onto the fire escape. The metal platform was slick with autumn condensation, and she nearly lost her footing as she scrambled for the stairs leading down.

Behind her, she heard the window slam open again, and Toby’s voice calling out in delight.

“Found her! She’s on the f—fire escape!”

“Jesus Christ,” Tim’s voice followed. “Can’t you do anything quietly?”

Y/N didn’t look back, just focused on getting down the narrow metal stairs as quickly as possible. The fire escape was old and not entirely stable, swaying slightly under her weight and the vibrations from her pursuers above.

She made it to the second floor platform before disaster struck. Her foot slipped on the wet metal, and suddenly she was falling, her backpack flying off her shoulder as she tumbled through the air.

Y/N hit the ground hard, her shoulder absorbing most of the impact, pain flaring through her entire right side. For a moment, the world went gray around the edges, and she wasn’t sure if she could move.

But above her, she could see figures moving on the fire escape, flashlight beams cutting through the darkness as they searched for her. Pain or no pain, she had to keep moving.

“Fuck,” she muttered, struggling to her feet with her right arm hanging useless at her side. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t give these assholes the satisfaction.”

Y/N stumbled toward the street, her backpack somewhere in the darkness behind her, but there was no time to search for it. She had to get away, had to find help, had to—

 

The street was empty.

 

Not just quiet, not just sparse with late-night traffic. Completely, impossibly empty. No cars, no pedestrians, no signs of life anywhere. The streetlights were working, casting pools of yellow illumination, but between them were pockets of darkness that seemed deeper and more absolute than they should be.

Y/N stood at the edge of the sidewalk, swaying slightly from shock and pain, and tried to process what she was seeing. This was a college town, there should be students out late, delivery drivers, someone. But the street stretched away in both directions like a movie set after the cameras stopped rolling.

“Help!” she called out, her voice echoing off empty buildings. “Someone help me!”

But even as she shouted, some instinct told her to stop, to be quiet, to avoid drawing attention to herself. Whatever was happening here went beyond three intruders in her apartment. This was bigger, more coordinated, involving resources and planning that suggested an organization with serious capabilities.

Y/N chose a direction at random and started walking, cradling her injured arm against her chest. Every few steps, she glanced back, expecting to see pursuit, but the street behind her remained empty. Either her attackers had lost track of her in the fall, or they were confident enough in their ultimate success that they weren’t worried about her temporary escape.

The silence was oppressive, broken only by her own footsteps and the distant hum of electrical equipment. No traffic, no voices, no signs of normal urban life. It was like the entire world had been evacuated while she wasn’t paying attention.

Y/N walked for what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes, her destination clear in her mind. Emma’s apartment was on the other side of campus, a route she’d walked dozens of times in daylight and normal circumstances.

“Just keep moving,” she muttered to herself. “One foot in front of the other. Don’t let the bastards win.”

Every few blocks, she’d stop and listen, straining to hear any signs of pursuit or signs of life. But the silence was complete, so absolute that she began to wonder if she’d gone deaf, if the trauma of the attack had damaged her hearing somehow.

It wasn’t until she was three blocks from Emma’s building that she heard the first sound that wasn’t her own footsteps.

A car engine, distant but approaching, the first sign of activity she’d encountered since escaping her apartment. Y/N felt a surge of relief so intense it made her dizzy. Help was coming, or at least the possibility of help.

She moved toward the sound, waving her good arm, ready to flag down whatever vehicle was approaching. But as the headlights came into view, something made her step back into the shadows instead.

The car was moving too slowly, prowling rather than traveling.

Y/N pressed herself against the side of a building and watched the car cruise past. Through the windshield, she caught a glimpse of the driver: a tall figure in dark clothing with something blue covering their face. Not one of the three men from her apartment, but clearly connected to whatever was happening.

They were searching for her. Systematically, methodically, with the kind of coordination that suggested they’d done this before.

“How many of these fuckers are there?” she whispered to herself, waiting until the car was out of sight before continuing toward Emma’s apartment.

She stayed in the shadows now, moving from building to building like some kind of urban guerrilla. Her shoulder throbbed with every step, and she was beginning to feel lightheaded from shock and blood loss, but the knowledge that she was being actively hunted kept her moving.

Emma’s building was a converted warehouse in the artsy district near campus, the kind of place that attracted students who couldn’t afford the nicer apartments but wanted something with character.

But as she approached the building, something felt wrong.

The front entrance was open, the heavy glass door that should have been locked after ten PM standing ajar. Light spilled from the opening onto the sidewalk, but it was the wrong kind of light, too harsh and clinical for the building’s usually warm ambiance.

Y/N approached the entrance cautiously, every sense screaming danger. She could hear something from inside the building, a low humming that seemed to vibrate through the walls, and underneath it, a sound that might have been voices or might have been something else entirely.

“Emma?” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please be okay. Please just be okay.”

She climbed the front steps, her injured arm pressed against her chest, and peered through the open door.

The lobby looked normal, if you ignored the fact that all the lights were on and there was no sign of the security guard who usually worked the front desk. The elevator was open, waiting, its interior lights bright enough to hurt her eyes.

Y/N chose the stairs instead, climbing slowly, listening for any indication of where the danger might be coming from. The humming was louder inside the building, seeming to come from the walls themselves, and she could swear she felt it in her bones, a vibration that made her teeth ache.

“This is so fucked up,” she muttered, forcing herself to keep climbing. “But I’m not abandoning Emma. Not happening.”

Emma’s apartment was on the second floor, unit 2B, at the end of a hallway lined with doors that all looked identical. Y/N had walked this route countless times, usually carrying coffee or textbooks, discussing classes and relationships and the normal concerns of college students.

The door to 2B was slightly open, just a crack, with light spilling out into the hallway. Y/N approached it carefully, every instinct telling her to turn around, to run, to get as far away from this place as possible.

But Emma was her friend, possibly her only remaining connection to normal life, and if she was in danger, Y/N couldn’t just abandon her.

“Emma?” she called softly, pushing the door open with her good hand. “Emma, are you okay? Talk to me.”

The apartment was too bright, every light turned on, including fixtures that Emma never used because they were too harsh. There was a smell in the air, metallic and wrong, that made Y/N’s stomach clench with dread.

She moved through the apartment slowly, calling Emma’s name, checking the kitchen, the bedroom, looking for any sign of her friend. Everything appeared normal, until she reached the bathroom.

The door was open, and light from inside spilled across the hardwood floor in a rectangle that should have been welcoming but somehow wasn’t. Y/N approached the doorway, her heart hammering against her ribs, some part of her already knowing what she was going to find.

Emma was on the floor.

She was lying in a pool of blood that had spread across the white tile, her brown eyes open and staring at nothing, her face frozen in an expression of surprise and terror. There were wounds on her throat, precise cuts, and horrific gaping holes in her sides where something had been removed with surgical precision.

“No,” Y/N whispered, sinking to her knees in the bathroom doorway. “No, no, no. Fuck. Emma, I’m so sorry. This is my fault. This is all my fucking fault.”

Y/N stared at her friend’s corpse, and felt something fundamental break inside her chest. Emma had been kind and loyal and trying to help, and now she was dead, probably because someone had used her to get to Y/N.

 

This was her fault. Her stalking, her danger, had spilled over into an innocent life and destroyed it.

Chapter 5

Y/N stared at Emma’s lifeless body, her mind struggling to process the horror before her. The metallic smell of blood was overwhelming, making her stomach churn and her head spin. But as the initial shock began to wear off, she noticed something that made the scene even more disturbing.

The wounds weren’t random. They weren’t the chaotic slashes of someone in a murderous rage or even the defensive cuts that might occur during a struggle. These were precise, surgical incisions along Emma’s sides, too clean and deliberate for someone who simply wanted to kill.

“What the fuck…” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible in the suffocating silence of the apartment.

She forced herself to look closer despite every instinct screaming at her to turn away. The cuts were deep, extending into the torso, and there was something missing. The way Emma’s body lay, the slight concavity where there should have been fullness, suggested that whoever had done this had taken something with them.

Someone had harvested Emma’s organs.

“You sick bastards.” Y/N hissed through gritted teeth, her hands clenching into fists. The realization hit her like a physical blow, and she stumbled backward from the bathroom doorway, her good hand flying to cover her nose and mouth. The smell of blood was getting stronger, more cloying, and she could taste copper in the back of her throat.

This wasn’t just murder. This was something far more calculated and horrific, the work of someone who knew exactly what they were doing and had done it before. Emma hadn’t just been killed to get to Y/N, she’d been butchered like livestock, reduced to spare parts for some unimaginable purpose.

Y/N’s vision blurred with tears, and she had to grip the doorframe with her good hand to keep from collapsing. “Emma, I’m so sorry.” she choked out, her voice breaking. “This is my fault. God damn it, this is all my fault.”

Emma had been trying to help her, had offered her a safe place to stay, and this was what she’d gotten in return. Death, mutilation, and violation at the hands of the same monsters who were hunting Y/N.

The guilt was crushing, but underneath it was a growing rage that burned hotter than her grief. These people, these things, had taken her friend’s life as casually as someone might swat a fly. They’d turned a kind, intelligent person into a crime scene, and they’d done it to send Y/N a message.

“I’ll make you pay for this.” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the tears streaming down her face. “I swear to God, I’ll make every last one of you pay.”

She had to call the police. Had to get help, had to make sure Emma’s body was found and treated with the dignity she deserved. Y/N stumbled through the apartment, looking for Emma’s phone, checking the kitchen counter, the coffee table, anywhere it might be.

Nothing. The apartment had been searched, and anything useful had been removed.

Y/N’s own phone was destroyed, smashed to pieces by that psychotic bastard’s hatchet back in her apartment. But there had to be something, some way to contact the outside world and bring help.

She remembered seeing a payphone on the corner near Emma’s building, one of the few remaining relics from before everyone carried mobile phones. It was probably her only option.

Y/N took one last look around the apartment, her gaze lingering on the bathroom door. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words feeling inadequate and hollow. “I’m so fucking sorry, Emma. But I’m going to end this.”

Then she was moving, her injured arm pressed against her chest, making her way out of the apartment and down the stairs.

The street was as empty as before, but now the silence felt more ominous than peaceful. Somewhere out there, the people who had killed Emma were still hunting, still coordinating their search with the kind of precision that suggested military or law enforcement training.

The payphone stood on the corner, its fluorescent light cutting through the darkness like a beacon of hope. Y/N approached it cautiously, checking the shadows, listening for any signs of danger. Her shoulder was throbbing with each heartbeat, and she was starting to feel dizzy from shock, but the knowledge that Emma’s killer was still out there kept her focused.

She reached into her pocket with her good hand, searching for the loose change she always carried. Her fingers closed around several coins, hopefully enough for a local call.

The payphone was old but functional, the receiver hanging heavy in her hand as she lifted it to her ear. The dial tone was reassuring, a sound that connected her to the normal world, to people who could help.

Y/N fed coins into the slot and dialed 911, her fingers shaking as she pressed each number. The phone rang once, twice, and then a voice answered.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, to explain about Emma, about the men who had broken into her apartment, about the coordinated hunt that was taking place in what should have been a safe college town.

But before she could form the words, her throat constricted, and she nearly choked on her own saliva.

The line went dead.

Not the familiar click of a disconnected call, but the abrupt silence that comes when a phone line is physically severed. Y/N stared at the receiver in her hand, trying to process what had just happened, when she became aware of a presence behind her.

She turned slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs, and found herself face to face with something that shouldn’t exist.

The man was tall, impossibly tall, with shoulders so broad they seemed to block out the streetlight behind him. He was dressed entirely in black, a hooded sweatshirt pulled up to cast his face in shadow. But it wasn’t shadow that hid his features; it was a blue mask with dark holes where the eyes should be.

And from those holes, something was dripping. Not tears, not water, but a mixture of blood and something darker, thicker, that caught the light from the payphone booth and gleamed like oil. The substance ran down the mask in steady streams, pooling at the collar of his sweatshirt, and Y/N could smell it now, metallic and wrong.

In one hand, he held the severed phone cord, the plastic and wire ends still sparking slightly. His other hand rose in a casual wave, almost friendly, as if he were greeting a neighbor on the street.

Between them was only the glass of the payphone booth, a barrier so thin it might as well not exist. The man leaned forward, bringing his masked face closer to the glass, and Y/N could see more details that made her stomach lurch.

His fingers weren’t quite human. They were longer than they should be, ending in what looked like claws rather than nails, and his skin had a grayish pallor that was visible even in the dim light.

For a moment, they stared at each other through the glass, predator and prey separated by a few millimeters of material that suddenly seemed as substantial as tissue paper. Y/N was paralyzed, her mind struggling to categorize what she was seeing, to find some rational explanation for the creature standing before her.

“Boo.”

Y/N stumbled out of the payphone booth, her injured arm forgotten, focused only on getting away from that thing.

Behind her, she could hear something that might have been laughter, low and rumbling, but when she glanced back over her shoulder, the creature wasn’t following. He was still standing by the payphone, watching her flee with what seemed like casual interest rather than predatory urgency.

Unlike the three men from her apartment, this one didn’t seem to be in a hurry. He was confident, patient, like he knew that eventually, she’d run out of places to hide and he’d be there waiting when she did.

But Y/N didn’t have time to analyze the psychology of her stalkers. She ran through the empty streets, her bare feet slapping against cold pavement, her injured arm pressed against her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps that turned to vapor in the night air.

The town was still eerily quiet, still empty of normal life. Streetlights illuminated patches of sidewalk and asphalt, but between them were pools of darkness that could hide anything. Y/N stuck to the lighted areas when possible, but sometimes the shadows were unavoidable, and she’d sprint through them with her heart hammering, expecting clawed hands to reach out and drag her into the blackness.

She ran past the campus, past the coffee shop where she and Emma had sat just hours ago planning for a tomorrow that would never come. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.” she panted as she ran, each word punctuating her footfalls on the pavement.

Her shoulder was on fire, and she was beginning to feel lightheaded again from exhaustion, but the memory of Emma’s mutilated body and the creature by the payphone kept her moving. She had to find help, had to reach someone who could make sense of what was happening, had to—

Headlights.

Y/N froze in the middle of an intersection, blinded by the sudden glare of approaching lights. For a moment, she was convinced it was another hunting party, another vehicle filled with the things that were stalking her. But as her eyes adjusted, she could see that this was different.

It was a pickup truck, old and battered, with a lone figure behind the wheel. Not the slow, predatory prowl of the car she’d seen earlier, but the normal speed of someone going about their business, unaware of the horror that had descended on the town.

The truck slowed as it approached her, and Y/N could see the driver’s face through the windshield. He was middle-aged, with a gray beard and a concerned expression, the kind of person who would stop to help someone in distress.

The truck pulled over, and the driver rolled down his window. “Jesus Christ, lady, are you okay?” he called out, his voice rough with fatigue but kind. “You look like you’re hurt bad.”

Y/N approached the truck cautiously, every instinct screaming caution, but her desperation overriding her paranoia. “I… I need help,” she managed, her voice hoarse from running. “Someone’s after me. My friend is… my friend is dead.”

The man’s expression shifted from concern to alarm. “Holy shit. Get in, we’ll get you to a hospital.” He leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Come on, don’t stand out there in the open.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, studying his face, looking for any sign that this was another trap, another hunter in disguise. But his concern seemed genuine, and she was running out of options. She climbed into the truck, favoring her injured shoulder, and pulled the door closed behind her.

The interior smelled like coffee and cigarettes, normal human smells that were comforting after the antiseptic horror of Emma’s apartment and the wrongness of the creature by the payphone. The driver put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the street.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked, glancing at her injured arm. “Who’s after you?”

Y/N shook her head, trying to organize her thoughts into something coherent. How do you explain to a stranger that you’re being hunted by things that shouldn’t exist, that your friend has been murdered and mutilated, that the entire town seems to have been evacuated except for the predators and their prey?

“I don’t know who they are,” she said finally. “Men in masks. They broke into my apartment, and when I ran to my friend’s place…” She swallowed hard, the memory of Emma’s corpse fresh in her mind. “They killed her. Cut her open. Took things.”

The man’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “Jesus fucking Christ. We need to get you to the police. This is beyond—”

“No,” Y/N interrupted firmly. “The town is empty. Something’s wrong, something bigger than just a few crazy people.” She looked at him, this stranger who had stopped to help when everyone else seemed to have vanished. “Can you just drive? Get me out of town, somewhere safe?”

The man was quiet for a moment, his jaw working as he processed what she’d told him. “Name’s Dave Morrison,” he said finally. “I run a small construction company, was working late on a project when I saw you in the street.”

“Y/N L/N.” she replied, grateful for the human contact, the normal conversation that helped ground her in reality. “Thank you for stopping, Dave. I don’t know what I would have done if…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but Dave nodded understanding. “Nobody should have to face something like that alone.” He paused, his expression troubled. “You know what’s weird though? I’ve been trying to call my wife for the last three hours, and my phone just… died. Not the battery, the whole damn thing just stopped working. And I haven’t seen another soul on the roads tonight except you.”

Y/N felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this whole place feels wrong,” Dave continued, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “Like the town just… emptied out. No traffic, no lights in the houses, nothing. It’s like everyone just disappeared, and we’re the only ones left.”

The Operator’s influence, Y/N realized with growing horror. Whatever that thing was, it had the power to isolate its hunting grounds, to create pockets of reality where only its servants and victims existed. Dave had just been unlucky enough to drive into the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Dave,” she said urgently, “we need to get out of here. Now. This isn’t just about me anymore. Something’s happening to this whole area, something supernatural.”

Dave glanced at her, and she could see him struggling between rational skepticism and the growing certainty that nothing about this night was normal. “Supernatural.” he repeated slowly.

“I know how it sounds, but—”

“No,” Dave said, his voice grim. “No, I believe you. I’ve been driving these roads for twenty years, and I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s like we’re in some kind of… dead zone.”

They were approaching the edge of town, passing the last few buildings before the road opened up into farmland and forest, when Y/N saw movement in her peripheral vision.

Something was flying through the air, spinning end over end, metal catching the truck’s headlights as it arced toward them.

“Look out!” she screamed, but it was too late.

The hatchet crashed through the driver’s side window in an explosion of glass and metal, the blade burying itself in Dave’s skull with a wet, final sound. His body jerked once, then went limp, his foot slipping off the accelerator as his hands fell away from the steering wheel.

“Dave!” Y/N screamed, but the kind man who had tried to help her was already gone, his eyes open but seeing nothing, the hatchet protruding from his head like some obscene decoration.

Blood spattered across the dashboard, across Y/N’s face and clothes, as the truck began to veer to the right, no longer under anyone’s control. She grabbed for the steering wheel with her good hand, trying to regain control of the vehicle, but the truck was already leaving the road, bouncing over the shoulder and into the trees that lined the highway. Branches scraped against the windshield, and she could hear the undercarriage scraping against rocks and fallen logs.

The truck slammed into a large oak tree, the impact throwing Y/N forward against the dashboard. Her head struck something hard, and for a moment, the world went gray around the edges, consciousness flickering like a candle in the wind.

When awareness returned, she was slumped against the passenger door, her head throbbing, her vision blurry. Steam was rising from the truck’s crumpled hood, and she could smell gasoline and coolant mixing with the metallic scent of Dave’s blood.

Through the ringing in her ears, she heard something that made her blood freeze.

Laughter. High-pitched, unstable, broken by that familiar stutter.

“D—D-Did you s-see that, Tim? Perfect fucking sh—sh-shot! Right through the w-window!” Toby’s voice was filled with manic glee, like he’d just accomplished something wonderful rather than murdered an innocent man. “I l-l-love it when they think t-they’re getting away!”

Y/N’s vision cleared enough to see him approaching the truck, his hatchets gleaming in the moonlight, his goggles pushed up on his forehead and that disturbing grin visible even through his mouth guard. Behind him, she could make out two more figures emerging from the trees.

The man in the white mask was shaking his head as he approached, his porcelain features emotionless in the moonlight. “You couldn’t have just disabled the vehicle? You had to kill the driver?”

“W—Where’s the f-fun in that?” Toby replied, already reaching for the truck’s door handle with his gloved hands. “Besides, w-we can’t have w-witnesses running around t-telling people about our business. The Operator w-wouldn’t like that.”

The third figure, the tall one in the red-stained balaclava she’d encountered in her apartment, said nothing, just moved with that same fluid efficiency she’d seen before, his rifle held ready.

Y/N looked at Dave’s corpse, at the hatchet still buried in his skull, at the blood that had splattered across everything, and felt something snap inside her chest. This man had died trying to help her, had shown her kindness when her world was collapsing, and these monsters had killed him as casually as swatting an insect.

“You bastards,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with venom. “You goddamn psychotic bastards.”

Tim tilted his head, the black holes of his mask’s eyes seeming to study her. “She’s got spirit. The Operator likes that in his… acquisitions.”

“He c-can have her spirit,” Toby giggled, his voice high and unhinged. “But first, w-we get to play a little, right? She’s been r-running around all night, causing us t-trouble. That deserves some… p-punishment.”

Brian finally spoke, his voice that same deep, rough tone she remembered. “The Operator wants her intact, Toby. No permanent damage.”

“I d-didn’t say anything about p-permanent,” Toby replied, his grin widening behind his mouth guard.

As Toby reached for the door handle, Y/N threw her weight against the passenger door, spilling out of the truck and onto the forest floor before any of them could react. Pain shot through her injured shoulder, but she forced herself to roll away from the vehicle and get to her feet.

“There s-she goes!” Toby called out, his voice filled with that same manic excitement. “I told y-you this would be more f-fun than just grabbing her while she w-was asleep!”

“Toby,” Tim’s voice was sharp with warning, his gloved hand moving to the gun at his hip. “We have a job to do. The Operator wants her brought back, not played with.”

“A l-little chase won’t h-hurt anything,” Toby replied, pulling his remaining hatchet from his belt. “She’s n-not going anywhere. We’re in the m-middle of nowhere, and she’s h-hurt.”

Brian chambered a round in his rifle, the sound echoing through the forest. “Recreational hunting, then. Just remember, she needs to be breathing when we bring her in.”

Y/N didn’t wait to hear the rest of their conversation. She stumbled into the trees, branches catching at her clothes and hair, roots and fallen logs threatening to trip her with every step. Behind her, she could hear them following, but not with the urgency she’d expected. They were confident, taking their time, like they knew the forest better than she did and were certain she couldn’t escape.

The trees were thick, old growth that blocked out most of the moonlight. Y/N tried to move quietly, but injured and exhausted as she was, stealth was impossible. Every step seemed to generate noise, every breath sounded loud enough to give away her position.

“Come on, Y/N!” Toby called out, his voice echoing through the trees with disturbing cheerfulness. “Don’t m-make this harder than it h-has to be! The Operator just w-wants to meet you. He’s been l-looking forward to it for a l-long time!”

The Operator. That name again, the entity that seemed to be orchestrating her stalking, the thing that had sent these killers after her. Y/N had read about it in her research, the tall figure without a face that appeared in photographs and stories about missing people.

She pushed deeper into the forest, her bare feet slipping on wet leaves and moss, her injured arm pressed against her chest. The pain was getting worse, and she was beginning to feel dizzy again, but the alternative to running was capture, and she’d rather die on her feet than whatever these psychos had planned for her.

“You know w-what I like about forest c-chases?” Toby’s voice seemed to come from all around her, echoing off the trees in a way that made it impossible to pinpoint his location. “All the p-places to hide. All the w-ways to get creative with the h-hunt.”

Tim’s voice came from a different direction entirely, cold and professional. “She’s moving northeast. Brian, circle around and cut off her escape route.”

“Copy that.” Brian’s voice was barely audible, but Y/N could hear the sound of movement through the undergrowth.

They were coordinating, using military tactics to box her in. These weren’t just random psychotics, they were trained killers, working as a team to run her to ground.

A hatchet blade bit into a tree trunk just inches from Y/N’s head, the impact sending wood chips flying. She spun, looking for the source of the throw, but saw only shadows and movement that could have been anything.

“Getting w-warmer!” Toby laughed, his voice filled with sadistic glee.

“Fuck you!” Y/N shouted back, surprising herself with the venom in her voice. She’d never been one to curse much, but nothing about this situation called for politeness.

Y/N changed direction, stumbling through a cluster of young saplings, their thin branches whipping across her face and arms. She could hear pursuit now, multiple sets of footsteps moving through the undergrowth.

They were herding her, she realized. Driving her deeper into the forest, away from any possibility of help, into terrain that favored them over her. This wasn’t a chase; it was a controlled hunt, and she was the prey.

The ground began to slope upward, and Y/N found herself climbing, using trees and rocks for support as she tried to gain elevation. Maybe if she could reach higher ground, she could see a way out, find a path back to civilization.

But the slope was steep, and her injured shoulder made climbing difficult. Twice she slipped, sliding back down several feet, dirt and leaves filling her clothes and hair. Behind her, she could hear her pursuers getting closer, their movements more confident on the familiar terrain.

“You’re just m-making this harder on yourself,” Toby called out, his voice carrying that disturbing note of genuine concern, as if he actually cared about her wellbeing. “The Operator is g-going to get you eventually. Why not j-just give up now and save yourself the p-pain?”

“Because fuck him and fuck all of you!” Y/N shouted back, pulling herself up over a fallen log. “I’m not going down without a fight!”

Tim’s voice came from somewhere behind her, closer than she’d expected. “Admirable spirit, but ultimately pointless. You can’t run forever, Y/N. We know these woods better than you ever will.”

Y/N reached what felt like the top of the ridge and paused, trying to catch her breath and get her bearings. Through the trees, she could see lights in the distance, maybe from the highway, maybe from another town. If she could reach them, if she could find someone who would believe her story…

A branch snapped behind her, and she spun to see Brian emerging from the shadows, moving with that same eerie silence she’d noticed in her apartment. In the moonlight, she could see his face more clearly than before. The balaclava covered most of his features, but his eyes were visible through the fabric, dark and intelligent and completely without mercy.

He was holding something in his hand, and it took Y/N a moment to realize it was a syringe.

“Easy way or hard way.” he said, his voice that same deep, rough tone she remembered. “Your choice, sweetheart.”

Y/N backed away from him, her foot slipping on loose rocks. “What the hell do you want from me? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Not our decision,” Brian replied, advancing slowly, the syringe held ready. “The Operator has plans for you. Has had them for a long time.”

“Since I was thirteen,” Y/N said, the pieces finally clicking into place. “Since Jeff. He took Jeff, and now he wants me too.”

Brian paused, tilting his head slightly. “You’re smarter than most. That’ll make you more useful to him.”

Useful. Not a person, not someone with her own life and goals and dreams, but a tool to be acquired and used. Y/N felt a surge of rage that momentarily overwhelmed her fear.

“Go to hell,” she spat. “All of you can go straight to fucking hell.”

Y/N threw herself to the side as Brian lunged forward with the syringe. She rolled down the slope, branches and rocks tearing at her clothes and skin, but she didn’t stop until she reached the bottom of the ridge.

Above her, she could hear cursing and the sound of pursuit. They were coming after her, all of them now, the game apparently over. Time to bring their prey to ground.

“Shit, she’s f-fast for someone who’s hurt.” Toby’s voice carried down the slope.

“Fast won’t save her,” Tim replied, his tone matter-of-fact. “Brian, flank left. I’ll take the right. We’ll box her in at the creek.”

Y/N struggled to her feet and kept running, deeper into the forest, away from the lights she’d seen, away from any hope of immediate rescue. She was lost now, completely disoriented, running blind through terrain that could hide a dozen different dangers.

But she was alive, and as long as she was alive, she had a chance. She’d survived this long, hadn’t she? She’d escaped from her apartment, evaded capture multiple times, and even though Emma and Dave were dead and everything was falling apart, she was still breathing.

The Operator wanted her? He could have her.

But he was going to have to catch her first.

The forest floor was treacherous beneath Y/N’s bare feet, roots and fallen branches creating an obstacle course that threatened to send her tumbling with every desperate step. Her injured shoulder screamed with each jarring movement, but the sound of pursuit behind her,
the crack of breaking twigs, the rustle of disturbed undergrowth, and Toby’s occasional manic laughter kept her moving forward.

“C—Come on, Y/N!” Toby’s voice echoed through the forest, that stuttering cadence making his words even more unsettling in the blackness. “You’re just m-making this more f-fun for me! I love a g-good chase!”

“Shut the hell up, Toby.” Tim’s voice cut through the darkness, sharp with irritation. “You’ll scare off every living thing for miles.”

“That’s the p-point!” Toby giggled back. “More f-fun when they’re terrified!”

Y/N pressed deeper into the woods, her breathing ragged and her vision blurring from exhaustion and pain. The moonlight barely penetrated the canopy above, leaving her stumbling through pools of shadow that could hide anything. Every few steps, she had to pause and listen, trying to determine which direction would take her further from her pursuers and hopefully toward some kind of safety.

But safety felt like a concept from another world, another life. The town had been empty, the phones dead, and now even the kind stranger who had tried to help her was nothing more than a corpse with a hatchet buried in his skull.

Behind her, she could hear Tim’s voice, lower and more controlled than Toby’s manic chatter. “Fan out. She’s injured and exhausted. She can’t have gone far.”

“The b-blood trail will be easy to f-follow,” Toby replied with obvious relish. “She’s l-leaving us breadcrumbs! Just like H-Hansel and Gretel, except w-we’re the witch!”

“Jesus Christ, your references are fucked up even for us.” Brian’s voice joined the conversation, that deep rasp carrying easily through the trees.

Y/N looked down at her feet and cursed silently. Toby was right, she’d gotten a pretty bad wound on her forehead during the truck crash, and dark drops were falling steadily from the side of her face where she pressed her good hand against the injury. In daylight, the trail would be obvious. Even in this darkness, someone with experience tracking prey would have no trouble following her.

She needed to find water, something to wash away the blood and throw them off her scent. Or higher ground where she could see her surroundings and plan her next move. But first, she needed distance.

Y/N pushed herself to move faster, ignoring the way her bare feet slipped on wet leaves and the sharp stones that bit into her soles. The forest seemed endless, an ocean of trees that stretched in every direction, and she was beginning to feel the disorientation that comes with running blind through unfamiliar terrain.

“You know what I d-don’t understand?” Toby’s voice drifted through the trees, conversational despite the circumstances. “Why do they always r-run deeper into the woods? Like, that’s w-where we want them to go!”

“Because they’re not thinking rationally,” Tim replied, his tone clinical. “Fear makes people stupid. They run toward what feels like safety instead of what actually is safe.”

“And what w-would actually be safe?” Toby asked with genuine curiosity.

“Nothing,” Brian answered grimly. “Not anymore. Not in the Operator’s territory.”

A branch whipped across Y/N’s face, drawing blood from her cheek, and she had to bite back a cry of pain. Any sound could give away her position, and she could still hear them behind her, their voices growing closer.

The ground began to slope downward, and Y/N followed the natural contours of the land, hoping it might lead to a stream or some other landmark she could use to orient herself. Her legs were shaking from exhaustion, and the steady throb in her shoulder was making her dizzy, but the alternative to running was capture.

Emma’s mutilated body flashed through her mind, those precise, surgical incisions, the way her friend had been reduced to spare parts for some unimaginable purpose. Dave’s shocked expression in the moment before the hatchet buried itself in his skull.

“She’s s-slowing down,” Toby observed, his voice filled with predatory satisfaction. “I can hear her b-breathing getting heavier.”

“Good,” Tim replied. “Let her wear herself out. Makes the capture easier.”

“Can we h-have some fun with her before we b-bring her to the Operator?” Toby asked, and there was something disturbing about the innocent way he phrased the question.

“The Operator wants her intact,” Brian warned. “No permanent damage.”

“I know, I know, y—y-you told me that already.” Toby sighed dramatically. “But a l-little fear never hurt anyone. Well, except the p-people it hurts, but they don’t m-matter.”

The slope grew steeper, and Y/N had to grab onto trees and exposed roots to keep from sliding down the hillside. Loose rocks scattered beneath her feet, clattering down into the darkness below, and she winced at each noise, knowing it would help her pursuers track her movement.

“She w-went down the hill!” Toby’s voice carried clearly through the night air. “I can h-hear the rocks falling!”

“Careful,” Tim warned. “The terrain gets rough down there. Lots of places to get hurt if you’re not watching where you step.”

“Since when do you c-care about our safety?” Toby asked with amusement.

“Since the Operator made it clear that losing operatives to stupidity isn’t acceptable.” Tim replied coldly.

Y/N almost laughed at the irony. They were worried about getting hurt while hunting her through a forest in the middle of the night, as if there were rules to this game that she wasn’t aware of. But then again, maybe there were. Maybe this was so routine for them that they had protocols, safety measures to ensure their own survival while they stalked their victims.

The thought made her feel sick, but it also gave her an idea. If they were being careful about the terrain, maybe she could use that against them. Take risks they wouldn’t take, go places they wouldn’t follow, even if it meant putting herself in danger.

Y/N reached the bottom of the slope and found herself in a small clearing where the moonlight was stronger. She could see more clearly here, make out the shapes of individual trees and the uneven ground ahead of her. But being visible was a double-edged sword, if she could see better, so could they.

She started across the clearing at a run, hoping to reach the tree line on the far side before they crested the hill behind her. But her exhausted legs betrayed her, and she stumbled over something hidden in the tall grass.

Y/N went down hard, her good hand shooting out to break her fall, and immediately felt something wrong beneath her palm. The ground gave way with a wet, crunching sound that made her stomach lurch, and a sharp pain shot through the side of her ankle as something cut deep into her flesh.

She bit back a scream, clamping her free hand over her mouth to stifle the sound that wanted to tear from her throat. The smell hit her then, decay, rot, the sweet-sick odor of death that had been hidden by the forest’s other scents until she was right on top of it.

Y/N looked down and immediately wished she hadn’t.

Her foot had gone through the ribcage of what had once been a man, the bones brittle with age and exposure. The corpse was partially buried under leaves and forest debris, but she could see enough to know that he’d been here for a while. Months, maybe longer. His clothes were rotted away to fragments, and what remained of his flesh had mummified in the dry forest air.

But it was the way he’d died that made Y/N’s blood freeze. His skull was caved in on one side, the bone splintered in a pattern that looked familiar. She’d seen similar damage on Dave’s head, right before the hatchet blade buried itself in his brain.

“Shit, shit, shit.” she whispered, the curse slipping out before she could stop it.

This wasn’t the first person these killers had murdered. This was a dumping ground, a place where they brought their victims’ bodies to rot away in the wilderness where no one would ever find them.

One of the broken ribs had sliced deep into her ankle when she fell, and she could feel warm blood running down her foot, mixing with the decay that clung to the corpse. The wound burned, and she knew that whatever bacteria and rot had been festering in the dead man’s remains was now in her bloodstream.

But she didn’t have time to worry about infection. Voices were getting closer, and she could see the beam of a flashlight cutting through the trees at the top of the hill.

Y/N carefully extracted her foot from the corpse’s ribcage, biting her lip to keep from making noise as the broken bone scraped against her ankle. She rolled away from the body and got back to her feet, testing her weight on the injured ankle. It hurt like hell, but it would hold her.

“She c-came this way,” Toby’s voice drifted down from the hillside. “I can smell the b-blood getting stronger.”

“And something else,” Brian added, his voice carrying a note of disgust. “She found one of the old graves.”

“P-Perfect!” Toby giggled. “Maybe she’s f—f-finally starting to understand w-what kind of place this is!”

Y/N limped toward the far side of the clearing, trying to move quietly despite the pain shooting up her leg with each step. Behind her, she could hear them descending the slope, their movements more careful now that they were navigating the steep terrain in darkness.

The tree line seemed impossibly far away, and Y/N knew she wouldn’t make it across the open ground before they reached the bottom. She needed cover, someplace to hide until they passed, or at least somewhere she could make a stand if running was no longer an option.

A fallen log near the edge of the clearing offered the only concealment available. It was old and massive, probably brought down in a storm years ago, and it created a small hollow where it had torn up the earth when it fell. Y/N crawled into the depression, pressing herself against the log’s rough bark and trying to control her breathing.

The smell of rot and decay clung to her clothes and skin from her encounter with the corpse, and she hoped it might mask her scent from her pursuers. But she could still feel blood running from both her shoulder and ankle wounds, and she knew that would be harder to hide.

Footsteps entered the clearing, and Y/N pressed herself deeper into the hollow, every muscle tensed, ready to run again if she was discovered.

“She was h-here,” Toby said, his voice much closer now. “Look at th-this.”

A beam of flashlight swept across the clearing, and Y/N held her breath as it passed just over her hiding spot.

“Old grave,” Tim’s voice was matter-of-fact, clinical. “Probably been here since we cleaned house last spring.”

“Cleaned house?” Y/N thought with growing horror. How many people had they killed? How many bodies were scattered through these woods?

“Think she s-saw it?” Toby asked, and Y/N could hear the grin in his voice. “Think she knows w-what’s waiting for her?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Brian spoke for the first time since entering the clearing. “She’s bleeding worse now. Won’t get far. The Operator wants her alive, but he didn’t say anything about uninjured.”

The flashlight beam swept the clearing again, more methodically this time, and Y/N pressed her face against the log, trying to become one with the shadows. The light passed over her hiding spot again, lingered for a moment, then moved on.

“Blood trail leads t-toward the other side,” Toby observed. “She’s h-heading deeper into the woods.”

“Good,” Tim replied. “Further from any roads or help.”

“How much f-further do you think she’ll get?” Toby asked conversationally. “With those w-wounds, I mean.”

“An hour, maybe two if she’s stubborn,” Brian answered. “Blood loss will do the rest.”

“I hope she l-lasts longer than that,” Toby said with genuine disappointment. “This is the most f-fun I’ve had in months.”

Y/N heard their footsteps moving away, following the trail she’d left when she crossed the clearing. She waited until the sound faded completely before carefully lifting her head to look around. The clearing was empty, moonlight painting everything in silver and black, but she knew they couldn’t have gone far.

This was her chance, maybe her only chance, to change direction and throw them off her trail. Instead of continuing deeper into the forest, she could try to circle back, find her way to a road or back to town. Even if the town was empty, there might be working phones or vehicles she could use.

But first, she needed to do something about her wounds. The ankle cut was deep and already starting to throb with the kind of heat that suggested infection. Her forehead was still bleeding slightly, and she was beginning to feel lightheaded from blood loss.

Y/N crawled out of her hiding spot and looked around for anything she could use to bandage the wounds. Her clothes were already torn and bloody, but maybe she could tear strips from her shirt to at least slow the bleeding.

She found a spot where a small stream trickled through the woods, probably fed by a spring higher up in the hills. The water was cold and clear, and she used it to wash the worst of the dirt and decay from her ankle wound and the cut on her forehead. It stung fiercely, but she gritted her teeth and cleaned her wounds as thoroughly as she could in the darkness.

“Fuck, that hurts,” she hissed through clenched teeth, the curse escaping before she could stop it.

The cut was deeper than she’d hoped, running along the outside of her ankle where the broken rib had sliced through skin and muscle. She could see white bone at the bottom of the wound, and blood kept welling up no matter how much pressure she applied.

Using her teeth, Y/N tore a strip from the bottom of her shirt and wrapped it around her ankle, pulling it as tight as she could stand. It wasn’t much, but it might slow the bleeding enough to buy her some time.

Her injured shoulder was harder to reach, but she managed to press another torn strip of fabric against the wound and tie it in place with her good hand and her teeth. The makeshift bandages were already soaking through, but they were better than nothing.

Y/N sat back against a tree, trying to catch her breath and plan her next move. The pain was constant now, a throbbing rhythm that matched her heartbeat, and she was starting to feel the disorientation that comes with significant blood loss.

But she was alive, and that was something. Emma was dead, Dave was dead, and who knows how many other victims were buried in these woods, but she was still breathing, still fighting.

“I’m not going down without a fight,” she whispered to herself, the words giving her strength. “You bastards want me? Come and fucking get me.”

The sound of a branch snapping nearby made her freeze. Had they doubled back? Had they realized she wasn’t ahead of them on the trail?

Y/N held her breath, listening for any other sounds that might indicate her pursuers had found her again. But what she heard instead was something that made every instinct she possessed scream danger.

It wasn’t human breathing. It was too deep, too rhythmic, like something much larger drawing air into massive lungs. And underneath that sound was something else, a wet, clicking noise that she couldn’t identify.

She looked up into the darkness between the trees, trying to make out the source of the sounds. At first, she saw nothing, just shadows and moonlight filtering through the canopy. But then something moved, separating itself from the darkness, and Y/N’s heart nearly stopped.

It was crouched on all fours, about twenty feet away, perfectly still except for the steady rise and fall of its breathing. The thing was tall, even crouched, it had to be close to six feet and its skin was so pale it almost seemed to glow in the moonlight. But it was the eyes that made Y/N’s blood freeze.

Three of them, solid green and unblinking, arranged in a triangle on what should have been a face but was instead a blank expanse of pale flesh. No nose, no mouth, just those three eyes watching her with predatory intelligence.

Y/N tried to move, tried to scramble backward away from the thing, but her body wouldn’t respond. Every muscle was locked in place by pure, primal terror. This wasn’t human, wasn’t even close to human. This was something else entirely, something that shouldn’t exist.

The creature tilted its head, studying her, and Y/N realized it had been watching her for some time. Just sitting there in the darkness, observing her as she tended to her wounds, waiting for… what?

The clicking sound came again, and Y/N realized it was coming from the creature. Some kind of communication, maybe, or just the sound it made when it breathed. Either way, it was getting closer.

The thing rose slowly from its crouch, unfolding itself with fluid grace until it stood at its full height. Y/N could see now that its limbs were too long, too thin, like someone had stretched a human body on a rack until the proportions became nightmare fuel.

And then, as she watched in frozen horror, something happened to its face.

A line appeared across the blank expanse of pale flesh, running horizontally just below the center eye. The line widened, revealing darkness within, and Y/N realized with sick fascination that it was a mouth. But not a normal mouth, this one opened like a hinged skull, the bottom half dropping down to reveal rows of small, dull teeth.

The creature took a step toward her, then another, its movements eerily silent despite its size. Y/N tried to scream, tried to run, tried to do anything, but her body remained frozen in place.

This was it. This was how she was going to die. Not at the hands of the masked killers who had been hunting her, but torn apart by some impossible creature in the middle of a forest that had become a hunting ground for monsters.

The thing was close enough now that she could smell it, a rank, animal odor that made her stomach turn. Its three eyes were fixed on her face, unblinking and alien, and she could see her own terrified reflection multiplied in their green depths.

It raised one elongated arm, fingers ending in what looked like claws, reaching toward her face.

Y/N finally found her voice and screamed.

It echoed through the forest, bouncing off the trees and probably alerting every predator for miles to her location.

But the creature paused, its head tilting again as if considering the sound. For a moment, Y/N thought it might back away, might decide she wasn’t worth the trouble.

Then it lunged.

Y/N threw herself sideways, her paralysis finally broken by the immediate threat of death. She rolled away from the creature’s claws, feeling them whistle through the air where her head had been a split second before.

The thing was fast, impossibly fast, already spinning to track her movement. Its mouth was fully open now, and Y/N could see that the small teeth went back much further than they should have, row after row disappearing into its throat.

She scrambled to her feet, her injured ankle screaming in protest, and started to run. Behind her, she could hear the creature giving chase, but its movement was different now, not the silent stalking from before, but a rapid scratching and clicking as its claws found purchase on the forest floor.

Y/N crashed through the undergrowth, branches tearing at her clothes and hair, her makeshift bandages coming loose and trailing behind her. She could hear the thing getting closer, could hear its breathing growing louder, more excited.

She wasn’t going to make it. The creature was faster, stronger, and she was already injured and exhausted. In seconds, those claws would tear through her back, those teeth would find her throat.

Instead, Y/N found herself lifted into the air, strong arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her against a solid chest. For a moment, she thought the creature had caught her, that those elongated limbs had finally reached their target.

But the arms holding her were human-sized, covered in black fabric, and the chest she was pressed against was warm and alive in a way the pale creature hadn’t been.

Her rescuer moved with inhuman speed, carrying her effortlessly through the forest as if she weighed nothing. Behind them, she could hear the creature crashing through the undergrowth, its clicking cries growing more frustrated as the distance increased.

Y/N tried to struggle, to break free, but the arms holding her tightened, and a voice spoke close to her ear.

“Easy there, love. Wouldn’t want you to fall.”

The voice was deep and smooth, with an undertone of amusement that made her skin crawl. She knew that voice, had heard it once before in circumstances that still gave her nightmares.

The creature from the payphone. The monster who wore a blue mask and wept blood from eyeless sockets.

Y/N renewed her struggles, trying to break free from his grip, but it was like fighting against steel bands. Jack chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest where she was pressed against him.

“Now, now.” he said, his voice taking on that mock-soothing tone she remembered. “Is that any way to thank someone who just saved your life?”

Behind them, the clicking cries of the pale creature were growing fainter, unable to match the speed of whatever inhuman endurance Jack possessed. Trees blurred past them in the moonlight, and Y/N realized they were moving deeper into the forest, further from any hope of rescue.

After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Jack finally slowed his pace. He set Y/N down against the trunk of a large oak tree, but before she could even think about running, he pressed his body against hers, pinning her in place.

Y/N found herself staring up at that horrible blue mask, at the dark recesses where eyes should have been, at the steady stream of blood and darker fluid that wept from those empty sockets.

Jack tilted his head, studying her with the same clinical interest she remembered from their first encounter. One of his hands came up to rest against the tree trunk beside her head, while the other moved to cover her mouth, cutting off the scream that was building in her throat.

“Shh.” he whispered, leaning closer until she could feel his breath through the mask, warm against her skin. “We wouldn’t want to attract any more unwanted attention, would we?”

His voice dropped to a purr, filled with dark amusement and something else, something that made Y/N’s skin crawl with its implications.

“Hello again, Y/N.”

Chapter 6

Jack’s eyeless gaze seemed to bore into Y/N’s soul as he studied her with half-amused interest, his head tilted at that unsettling angle that made her skin crawl. The hand pressed against her mouth was freezing cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body where she was pinned against the tree. She could feel his chest rising and falling with each breath, unnaturally steady and controlled.

His free hand moved away from the tree beside her head, and Y/N watched in horrified fascination as his fingers found the bottom edge of his blue mask. The material made a wet, peeling sound as he lifted it, revealing the lower half of his face.

Y/N’s eyes widened in terror at what was revealed beneath.

Jack’s grin was wide and predatory, stretching across his gray skin. But it was his teeth that made her blood freeze, rows of sharp, needle-like points that belonged more on a shark than anything remotely human. They gleamed white in the moonlight, each one perfectly formed for tearing flesh from bone.

A small, muffled squeal escaped from beneath his palm, and Jack’s grin widened even further, showing more of those terrifying teeth.

“Shh, shh.” he whispered, his voice taking on that mock-soothing tone she was beginning to hate. “There’s nothing to worry about, dove. I’m not allowed to hurt you. Or kill you, for that matter.” His grin turned almost petulant. “The Operator was very specific about that. Such a shame, really.”

Y/N tried to speak, tried to ask the million questions racing through her mind, but his cold hand kept her effectively silenced. How could he see without eyes? What the hell was he? Why did the Operator want her so badly that even this monster wasn’t allowed to harm her?

Jack seemed to sense her questions, his exposed mouth quirking into an amused smirk. “Curious, aren’t you? I can practically hear your little mind racing.” He leaned closer, close enough that she could feel his breath against her skin. “I’m curious too, darling. The Operator doesn’t usually take such a… personal interest in his acquisitions. Makes me wonder what makes you so special.”

His lips parted slightly, and Y/N’s stomach lurched as she saw not one, but four black tongues emerge from his mouth. They moved independently of each other, writhing like serpents.

“You’ve got a little cut on your cheek,” Jack murmured, his voice dropping to an almost intimate whisper. “From running through all those branches. I could clean that up for you…”

The black tongues extended toward her face, and Y/N pressed herself back against the tree as hard as she could, panic rising in her throat.

“Jack!”

Tim’s voice cut through, sharp with authority and irritation. Jack’s entire body went rigid, his exposed mouth twisting into a frown that revealed even more of those razor-sharp teeth.

“Fuck.” he muttered under his breath, quickly pushing his mask back down to hide his inhuman features. His head turned toward the sound of approaching footsteps, and Y/N could see the tension in his shoulders.

Tim emerged from the shadows between the trees, his white porcelain mask reflecting the moonlight as he strode toward them. Even from a distance, Y/N could see the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his gloved hands were clenched at his sides. He stopped a few feet away, his masked face turning between Jack and Y/N, taking in their compromising position.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tim’s voice was low and dangerous, the kind of tone that suggested immediate compliance would be wise. His hands moved to rest on his hips, and Y/N could see the outline of his gun beneath his jacket.

Jack sighed dramatically, but Y/N noticed he didn’t immediately step away from her. “Relax, Tim. I was just… examining the merchandise. Making sure she’s still in working condition.”

“Bullshit.” Tim took another step closer, and now Y/N could see the dark holes of his mask’s eyes, could feel the weight of his stare even through the porcelain. “You were about to sample her, weren’t you? The Operator was very clear about his instructions.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt her,” Jack protested, though his tone suggested he was more annoyed at being interrupted than sorry for his actions. “Just a little taste of blood. For medical purposes, of course.”

“Medical purposes, my ass.” Brian’s voice came from behind Tim as he pushed through the undergrowth, his ski mask making him look like some nightmare version of a bank robber. He took in the scene with his dark eyes, his rifle slung casually across his shoulder. “Let go of the lady, Jack.”

There was something in Brian’s tone that brooked no argument, a quiet authority that even Jack seemed to respect. The creature reluctantly stepped back, removing his freezing hand from her mouth.

Y/N immediately gasped for air, her lungs burning as she tried to catch her breath. Her legs were shaking so badly she had to lean against the tree for support, and she could taste blood in her mouth where she’d bitten her tongue in terror.

“There we go,” Brian said, his voice gentler now as he addressed her directly. “Just breathe, sweetheart. You’re safe now.”

Safe. The word was almost laughable given the circumstances, but something in Brian’s tone made her believe he meant it, at least relatively speaking.

“You’re all fucking insane,” Y/N managed between gasps, her voice hoarse and shaking. “Completely, certifiably insane.”

“The c-chase is already over?” Toby’s voice preceded his arrival as he crashed through the bushes with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. His orange goggles were pushed up on his forehead, and his mouth guard was slightly askew, giving him an even more unhinged appearance than usual. “Aw, that’s n-no fun! I was just getting w-warmed up!”

Tim’s hand moved faster than Y/N could track, the sharp crack of his palm connecting with the back of Toby’s head echoing through the forest.

“Ow! What was that f-f-for?” Toby whined, rubbing the back of his head with one gloved hand while his other instinctively moved toward one of his hatchets.

“For being an idiot,” Tim replied curtly. “We heard her scream from half a mile away. You know what else lives in these woods, Toby. She could have been killed.”

“What else lives in these woods?” Y/N demanded, her fear momentarily overridden by morbid curiosity. “What could be worse than you psychopaths? And what was that monster chasing me earlier?”

“Oh, dove,” Jack chuckled, his voice carrying that disturbing note of amusement. “You have no idea what kind of neighborhood you’ve wandered into.”

“But she w-wasn’t killed!” Toby protested, his voice taking on that whining quality. “And it w-would have been fun to watch!”

Y/N stared at them in disbelief. “Fun to watch? You think my death would be entertaining?”

“Well, y-yeah,” Toby said with genuine confusion, as if her question made no sense. “Death is always i-interesting. All those different sounds people make, the w-way their faces change…”

“Jesus Christ,” Y/N breathed, backing further against the tree. “You’re not just killers, you’re completely deranged.”

“The Rake was close,” Jack interjected, his voice carrying a note of genuine concern. “I could smell it on her when I picked her up. She’s lucky I got to her when I did.”

Tim’s masked head turned toward Jack, and Y/N could feel the weight of his stare. “How close?”

“Close enough to touch her,” Jack replied grimly. “Another few seconds and we would have been delivering pieces instead of a whole person.”

“What the hell is the Rake?” Y/N demanded, her voice rising with panic. “What are you talking about?”

“Something that makes us look like kindergarten teachers,” Brian said dryly. “And that’s saying something.”

The casual way they discussed her near-death experience made Y/N’s stomach churn. “This is insane. This whole situation is completely insane.”

“The car’s not far from here,” Tim said, his tone becoming businesslike. “We should get moving before anything else decides to investigate that scream. Jack, you’ll need to tend to her wounds once we’re mobile.”

“I don’t want him touching me,” Y/N said quickly, eyeing Jack’s elongated claws. “I’d rather bleed out.”

“That can be arranged,” Jack replied pleasantly. “Though I think the Operator would be disappointed.”

“Oh goody,” Toby clapped his hands together with childlike enthusiasm. “R-Road trip! Can we p-play twenty questions? I love t-twenty questions!”

“No.” Tim, Brian, and Jack said simultaneously.

“Why not?” Y/N found herself asking, then immediately regretted drawing attention to herself.

“Because Toby’s version of twenty questions usually ends with someone losing body parts.” Brian explained matter-of-factly.

“That was o-only one time!” Toby protested. “And he was being d-difficult!”

While they were talking, Y/N saw her chance. They were distracted, focused on their conversation rather than watching her. Her ankle was throbbing, but maybe she could make it to the trees, lose herself in the darkness again.

She took a careful step sideways, testing her weight on her injured foot. Pain shot up her leg, but it was bearable. Another step, then another, moving slowly toward the edge of the small clearing where Jack had brought her.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Brian’s voice was calm, almost conversational, but Y/N froze as she felt his presence behind her. She hadn’t even heard him move.

Before she could react, Brian’s hand tangled in her hair, fingers gripping tight enough to make her scalp burn. With a sharp yank, he pulled her back toward the group, ignoring her cry of pain.

“Fuck! Let go of me!” Y/N snarled, trying to twist out of his grip. “I said let go!”

“That wasn’t very smart, love.” Brian said, his tone disappointed rather than angry. “You can barely walk on that ankle. Where exactly did you think you were going to go?”

“Away from you psychopaths!” Y/N snapped, her fear giving way to anger. “As far away as possible!”

Tim’s masked face turned toward them, and Y/N could feel his irritation even through the porcelain. “Brian. Let go of her hair.”

“She tried to run.” Brian pointed out, though he released his grip on her hair.

“Of course she tried to run. She’s prey, and we’re predators. It’s instinct.” Tim ran his gloved fingers through his hair, a gesture that seemed oddly human despite the circumstances. “We need to restrain her before she tries something else stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” Y/N said defiantly. “I’m trapped with a bunch of murderers. Running seems like the logical response.”

“Rope’s in the car.” Brian said practically.

“No rope needed,” Toby chimed in cheerfully, pulling what looked like zip ties from one of his pockets. “I c-came prepared!”

Y/N tried to back away, but Jack moved behind her, his cold hands settling on her shoulders to hold her in place. “Easy, dove. The more you struggle, the tighter they’ll make them.”

“Please.” Y/N whispered, hating how broken her voice sounded. “I won’t run. I can barely walk. Just… please don’t.”

“You literally just tried to run.” Tim pointed out.

“I was scared,” Y/N said, which was true enough. “I’m still scared. But I’m not stupid. I know I can’t outrun you in this condition.”

“Smart girl.” Jack murmured behind her, his voice carrying that disturbing note of approval.

Tim sighed, a sound muffled by his mask. “Zip tie her wrists. Loose enough that she doesn’t lose circulation, tight enough that she can’t slip them.”

“Got it, b-boss!” Toby said with obvious enthusiasm, moving toward Y/N with the plastic restraints.

Y/N didn’t resist as Toby secured her wrists behind her back, though every instinct she possessed was screaming at her to fight. The zip ties were snug but not painful, professional work that suggested this wasn’t Toby’s first time restraining someone.

“There w—we go!” Toby said cheerfully, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “All t-trussed up like a Christmas present!”

“Your metaphors are disturbing.” Y/N muttered, testing the restraints. They were secure but not cutting off circulation.

“That’s what m-makes me special!” Toby replied with genuine pride.

Tim looked between them all, his masked face unreadable. “We’re wasting time. The longer we stay out here, the more likely we are to attract unwanted attention.” He paused, glancing at Y/N. “We’re lucky Nina wasn’t assigned to this job. She would have made this ten times more complicated.”

“Who’s Nina?” Y/N asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“N—N-Nina?” Toby asked, his voice taking on a note of genuine fear. “Oh fuck, yeah. She w-would have probably tried to carve her n-name in Y/N’s forehead by now.”

“Nina’s… enthusiastic about her work,” Brian explained diplomatically. “She has a tendency to get creative with her assignments.”

“Creative how?” Y/N pressed.

“You don’t want to know,” Tim said firmly. “Trust me on that.”

Y/N had no idea who Nina was, but from their reactions, she was grateful not to find out. These four were terrifying enough without adding another psychopath to the mix.

“Alright, enough chatter,” Tim decided. “Jack, you carry her. Her ankle’s fucked, and we need to move fast.”

Before Y/N could protest, Jack’s arms were around her again, lifting her effortlessly from the ground. With her hands restrained behind her back, she had no way to balance herself, leaving her completely dependent on his strength to keep from falling.

“I can walk.” Y/N protested weakly.

“No, you can’t,” Jack replied matter-of-factly. “Your ankle is severely damaged, and you’re going into shock from blood loss. Walking would only make things worse.”

“How would you know? You’re not a real doctor.”

“I studied medicine before… well, before my circumstances changed,” Jack said, his voice carrying a note of old bitterness. “I may not have finished my degree, but I learned enough to keep people alive. Or to kill them efficiently, depending on the situation.”

The casual way he discussed killing made Y/N shudder. “Comforting.”

The group moved through the forest with practiced efficiency, Tim taking point while Brian brought up the rear, his rifle ready. Toby bounded alongside them like an excited puppy, occasionally breaking into snatches of off-key humming that made Y/N’s skin crawl.

Jack moved with inhuman grace despite carrying her, his steps so smooth she might have been floating. She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, could smell that strange metallic scent that seemed to cling to him like cologne.

“So what’s your deal?” Y/N asked after several minutes of uncomfortable silence. “How did you end up working for this Operator?”

“Curious little thing, aren’t you?” Jack replied, amusement clear in his voice.

“I’m about to die, probably. Humor me.”

“You’re not going to die, dove. The Operator wants you alive for some reason.”

“That’s not necessarily better.” Y/N pointed out.

“Fair point,” Jack conceded. “As for my story, it’s not particularly interesting. I was studying medicine, had some… unconventional ideas about research. The university disagreed. The Operator found me when I was at my lowest point and offered me a chance to continue my work without interference.”

“What kind of unconventional ideas?”

“The kind that ethics committees frown upon.” Jack said evasively.

“Human experimentation.” Y/N said flatly.

“Such an ugly term,” Jack replied. “I prefer ‘advancing medical knowledge through alternative methods.’”

“That’s the same thing.”

“Semantics, dove. Semantics.”

“You’re all completely insane.” Y/N muttered.

“Sanity is overrated,” Toby chimed in cheerfully. “It’s m-much more fun being crazy!”

“Fun,” Y/N repeated sarcastically. “Right. Because murder and kidnapping are such a good time.”

“Well, y-yeah,” Toby said with genuine confusion. “Why else w-would we do it?”

Y/N stared at him in horror. “Because you’re being forced to? Because you’re afraid of this Operator person?”

“Afraid?” Toby laughed, the sound high and slightly hysterical. “I l-love the Operator! He saved me! G-gave me purpose!”

“What kind of purpose involves killing innocent people?”

“Everyone’s guilty of s-something,” Toby replied matter-of-factly. “We just help them p-pay their debts.”

“What was my friend Emma guilty of?” Y/N demanded, her voice sharp with pain and anger. “What was Dave guilty of? They were just trying to help me.”

Toby’s expression grew more serious. “They were in the w-way. Sometimes innocent people get in the way, and w-we have to move them aside. It’s not p-personal, Y/N. It’s just business.”

“Just business,” Y/N repeated, the words tasting like ashes. “You butchered my friends for business.”

“The Operator’s business,” Jack clarified. “Which is now your business too, dove. Whether you like it or not.”

They walked in relative silence for another ten minutes before the trees began to thin, revealing a narrow dirt road. Parked on the shoulder was a large black SUV, the kind of vehicle that could have belonged to federal agents or high-end security contractors.

“Finally,” Tim muttered, pulling keys from his pocket. “I was starting to think we’d have to carry her all the way back to base.”

“That w-would have been fun too!” Toby said with disturbing enthusiasm.

“Your definition of fun is seriously fucked up.” Y/N told him bluntly.

“Language, Y/N,” Brian said automatically, though there was no real reproach in his voice. “There might be children present.”

“I’m the only one being kidnapped here,” Y/N pointed out. “And I think the situation warrants some strong language.”

Tim unlocked the SUV and gestured toward the back seat. “Jack, you’re in the middle with her. Toby, you get the other side. Brian, you’re riding shotgun.”

“Why do I have to sit next to Toby?” Jack complained, though he was already moving toward the vehicle. “He smells like motor oil and insanity.”

“Hey!” Toby protested. “I s-showered this week! Probably!”

“That’s not reassuring.” Y/N observed.

“At least you’re developing a sense of humor about this.” Brian said as he climbed into the front passenger seat.

“It’s either laugh or scream,” Y/N replied. “And screaming didn’t work out so well last time.”

Jack deposited Y/N in the middle of the back seat with surprising gentleness, though she suspected that had more to do with preserving the Operator’s property than any actual concern for her comfort. With her hands zip-tied behind her back, she had to lean forward awkwardly to avoid putting pressure on her wrists.

Toby bounced into the seat beside her with characteristic enthusiasm, immediately scooting over until he was pressed against her side. “This is g-going to be so much fun! I love car rides!”

“Personal space,” Y/N said firmly, trying to shift away from him. “Have you heard of it?”

“Not really,” Toby admitted cheerfully, making no effort to move away. “Personal space is l-lonely.”

Jack settled in on her other side, his larger frame taking up most of the remaining space. Y/N found herself sandwiched between them, acutely aware of how trapped she was. Toby radiated manic energy, his leg bouncing constantly, while Jack was perfectly still, his presence both cold and oddly calming.

Tim started the engine, and they pulled onto the dirt road with a low rumble. The headlights cut through the darkness ahead, illuminating trees and empty pavement that seemed to stretch on forever.

“So,” Toby said, turning toward Y/N with obvious curiosity, “what’s it like b-being the Operator’s special project? Are you f-famous or something? Rich? Did you p-piss off the wrong people?”

“I have no idea why I’m here,” Y/N said honestly. “I’m nobody special. Just a college student trying to get through life.”

“The Operator doesn’t make m-mistakes,” Toby said with surprising seriousness. “If he w-wants you, there’s a reason. Even if w-we don’t know what it is.”

“Maybe you’re connected to someone he needs,” Brian suggested from the front seat. “Family member, friend, someone important.”

Y/N shook her head. “My parents live across the country. I don’t have any siblings. My friends were…” She swallowed hard. “Most of my friends are dead now.”

“What about r-romantic connections?” Toby asked with prurient interest. “Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Secret admirer w-who’s really a psychotic stalker?”

“No,” Y/N said firmly. “There’s no one like that. I was focused on school, not dating.”

“Smart girl,” Jack murmured approvingly. “Romance is a distraction from more important pursuits.”

“Like murder?” Y/N asked sarcastically.

“Like survival,” Jack corrected. “Though in our line of work, they’re often the same thing.”

“Your line of work,” Y/N emphasized. “I’m not part of this insanity.”

“You are now,” Tim said from the driver’s seat, his voice matter-of-fact. “Whether you want to be or not.”

“I still don’t understand,” Y/N said, frustration creeping into her voice. “Why me? What could this Operator possibly want with someone like me?”

“Maybe it’s s-something you don’t even know about yourself,” Toby suggested, unconsciously leaning more heavily against her side. “Something special that you h-haven’t discovered yet.”

“I’m not special,” Y/N insisted. “I’m completely ordinary. I study, I work like most people my age, I can barely balance my checking account. There’s nothing remarkable about me.”

“Everyone says that,” Brian observed. “But the Operator sees things we don’t. Potential, connections, possibilities. He’s been around for a very long time. He knows things.”

“How long?” Y/N asked.

“Long enough.” Tim said evasively.

Y/N leaned back in the seat as much as the zip ties would allow, trying to process everything that had happened. Her entire world had been turned upside down in the span of a few hours, and she was no closer to understanding why.

“This is fucked up.” she muttered.

“Sanity is overrated, r—remember?” Toby said again, this time leaning his head against her shoulder. “Crazy is m-much more interesting.”

“Get off me.” Y/N hissed, trying to shrug him away.

“No,” Toby replied simply, making himself more comfortable. “You’re w-warm, and I like warm things.”

“I said get off.”

“And I said no,” Toby countered, his voice taking on a slightly sharper edge. “I’m not h-hurting you, so what’s the problem?”

Y/N looked to the others for help, but Tim was focused on driving and Brian was staring out the passenger window. Jack seemed amused by the whole situation.

“The problem is that you’re a psychotic killer who’s invaded my personal space.” Y/N said bluntly.

“I-I love your personal space. And psychotic is s—such an ugly w-word,” Toby said, echoing Jack’s earlier comment. “I prefer ‘enthusiastically violent.’”

“That’s worse.” Y/N pointed out.

“Is it?” Toby asked with genuine curiosity. “I thought it sounded b-better.”

Despite everything, Y/N found herself almost wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. She was having a debate about terminology with a serial killer who was using her as a human pillow.

“We need gas,” Tim announced, breaking the moment. “And food. There’s a station about twenty miles ahead.”

“Can w-w—we get junk food?” Toby asked hopefully, his head still resting on Y/N’s shoulder. “I w-want Twinkies. And energy drinks. Lots of energy drinks.”

“You’re not getting energy drinks,” Brian said firmly. “You’re hyper enough without chemical assistance.”

“What a-about you, Y/N?” Toby asked. “Do you w-want anything? Candy? Soda? A nice sharp object to s-stab us with?”

“I want to go home.” Y/N said quietly.

The car fell silent for a moment.

“That’s not r-really an option anymore,” Toby said gently, his voice losing some of its manic edge. “But maybe the Operator will let you h-have other things. He’s not completely unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable?” Y/N repeated. “He had my friends murdered!”

“T—T-They were in the way,” Toby said matter-of-factly. “If they hadn’t interfered, they’d still be alive. It’s not the Operator’s fault they made p-poor choices.”

“They tried to help me,” Y/N said, her voice thick with grief. “That’s not a poor choice.”

“It was if it got them k-killed.” Toby pointed out with brutal logic.

Y/N wanted to argue, wanted to defend her friends’ memory, but she was exhausted and overwhelmed. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her feeling hollow and defeated.

The SUV crested a small hill, and Y/N could see lights in the distance. As they got closer, she could make out the familiar neon glow of a gas station, one of those all-night places that catered to long-distance truckers and insomniacs.

“Perfect,” Tim said, pulling into the parking lot. “Nobody here but us and that semi driver.”

Y/N looked through the windshield and saw a lone eighteen-wheeler parked near the diesel pumps, its driver probably inside grabbing coffee and snacks. For a moment, hope flared in her chest. Maybe she could somehow signal for help, maybe—

“Don’t even think about it,” Tim said, noticing her expression. “You so much as look at that trucker wrong, and Toby gets to play with his hatchets.”

“Ooh, c-can I?” Toby asked eagerly, lifting his head from her shoulder. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a g-good hatchet throw!”

“You literally killed someone yesterday.” Brian pointed out as Tim parked near the gas pumps.

“That was w-work,” Toby protested. “This would be for fun!”

“No unnecessary casualties,” Tim said firmly. “We’re trying to maintain a low profile.”

“Low profile is b-boring.” Toby whined, settling back against Y/N’s side.

Tim turned off the engine and looked back at them. “Alright, here’s how this works. I’m going inside to pay for gas and grab supplies. Brian, you do a perimeter sweep and fuel up. Jack, take a look at her injuries.”

“What a—a-about me?” Toby asked.

“You stay here and watch our guest,” Tim replied. “And Toby? She stays alive and unharmed. The Operator was very specific about that.”

“I know, I know!” Toby said with exaggerated patience. “No p-permanent damage. I got it.”

Tim’s masked face turned toward Y/N, and she could feel the weight of his stare. “You’re going to sit here quietly and not cause any problems. Because if you do cause problems, I’ll let Toby get creative with his supervision methods.”

Y/N glanced at Toby, who was grinning widely behind his mouth guard, his fingers already moving to stroke the handles of his hatchets.

“I’ll be good.”

“Smart girl.” Tim approved copying Jack's praise.

Jack turned toward Y/N, his eyeless mask tilting as he assessed her condition. “Let me see that ankle, dove. And your shoulder, you’re favoring it.”

“My shoulder’s fine.” Y/N lied, though the joint was throbbing from her earlier fall down the fire escape.

“No, it’s not.” Jack said matter-of-factly. “I can smell the inflammation. Turn sideways so I can examine you properly.”

With her hands still zip-tied behind her back and Toby clinging to her side, maneuvering in the cramped confines of the back seat was awkward and painful. Jack helped guide her movements with his cold hands, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“This ankle is infected,” Jack observed, carefully examining the blood-soaked fabric around her injury. “When did this happen?”

“When I fell through a corpse,” Y/N said bluntly. “One of your disposal sites, apparently.”

“Ah, yes. Not the most sanitary conditions for an open wound.” Jack reached into a bag on the floor, pulling out what looked like a professional medical kit. “You’re lucky gangrene hasn’t set in.”

“Yet.” Y/N added grimly.

“Don’t worry, dove. I may not have finished medical school, but I know enough to keep you healthy.” Jack began cutting away the blood-soaked fabric with small scissors. “This might sting.”

He worked with practiced efficiency, cleaning the wound with antiseptic that burned like liquid fire. Y/N bit her lip to keep from screaming, tears streaming down her face.

“There we go,” Jack murmured soothingly. “The worst part’s over. Now for your shoulder.”

He carefully examined the joint, his elongated fingers probing gently. “Dislocated,” he announced. “I’ll need to reset it.”

“Will it hurt?” Y/N asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Considerably,” Jack admitted. “But it’ll feel better afterward.”

“Just do it.” Y/N said through gritted teeth.

Jack positioned himself carefully, his hands finding the proper grip. “On three. One—”

He jerked her shoulder back into place on ‘one,’ the sharp crack followed immediately by a wave of relief as the constant ache faded.

“You said on three!” Y/N gasped.

“People tense up when they know it’s coming,” Jack explained, already wrapping her shoulder with an elastic bandage. “It’s easier this way.”

He returned his attention to her ankle, cleaning and suturing the wound with medical precision. Despite his lack of formal credentials, his hands moved with the confidence of someone who had performed this procedure many times.

“Thank you.” Y/N said quietly, the words escaping before she could stop them.

Jack’s eyeless mask tilted toward her. “You’re welcome, dove. Can’t have the Operator’s prize damaged, after all.”

The reminder of her situation made Y/N’s stomach clench, but she forced herself to remain calm. “What happens now?”

“Now we continue to the compound,” Jack replied, packing up his supplies. “Where you’ll meet the Operator and learn what he wants from you.”

“And if I refuse?”

Jack’s mask turned toward her, and she could feel his amusement even without seeing his face. “Oh, dove. You don’t get to refuse. Not anymore.”

He finished bandaging her ankle and began cleaning up his supplies. “I need to help with the perimeter check. Try not to let Toby get too creative while I’m gone.”

“Wait,” Y/N called as he moved toward the door. “Don’t leave me alone with him.”

“Toby’s harmless,” Jack said, though his tone suggested he didn’t entirely believe it. “As long as you don’t provoke him.”

“How do I avoid provoking him?”

“Don’t run, don’t scream, don’t try to attack him, and don’t insult his intelligence,” Jack listed off. “Oh, and don’t mention his family, especially his father. That’s a sore subject.”

With that helpful advice, Jack exited the SUV, leaving Y/N alone with Toby.

The silence stretched for a moment before Toby spoke up. “He’s right about my f-father, you know. That is a sore subject.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Y/N said carefully.

Toby shifted in his seat, turning to face her more fully. “So! What should we d-do while we wait? I know! Let’s play rock paper scissors!”

“My hands are literally tied behind my back.” Y/N pointed out.

Toby blinked at her through his goggles, processing this information. “Oh. Right. That does make it h-hard to play.”

“Very observant.” Y/N said dryly.

“What about twenty questions then?” Toby asked hopefully. “That doesn’t require h-hands!”

Y/N considered this. Talking to him was probably safer than sitting in uncomfortable silence. “Fine. But normal twenty questions. No violence.”

“Aw, you’re no f-fun,” Toby pouted. “But okay! I’ll think of s-something!”

He fell silent, apparently concentrating hard on his choice. Y/N watched him through the windshield as Tim moved around inside the gas station, gathering supplies with practiced efficiency. Brian was visible near the edge of the parking lot, and she could see Jack’s distinctive silhouette near the tree line.

“Okay, I’ve got it!” Toby announced suddenly. “Ask a-away!”

Y/N tried to think of a good opening question. “Is it alive?”

“That’s… c-complicated,” Toby said, his expression thoughtful. “It was alive, but n-now it’s not, but it’s also not exactly dead either?”

“That’s not a yes or no answer.” Y/N protested.

“It’s the b-best answer I can give,” Toby replied cheerfully. “Try another question!”

“Is it dangerous?” Y/N asked, though given her current circumstances, everything seemed dangerous.

“Oh, very d-dangerous,” Toby confirmed with obvious enthusiasm. “Extremely dangerous. The kind of d-dangerous that makes people wet themselves.”

“Lovely,” Y/N muttered. “Is it human?”

“Used to be!” Toby said happily. “Sort of. Maybe. It’s c-complicated.”

“Everything seems to be complicated with you people,” Y/N observed.

“That’s what makes l-life interesting!” Toby replied, bouncing slightly in his seat. “Boring is for normal p-people.”

“Normal people don’t kidnap college students.” Y/N pointed out.

“Exactly! We’re much m-more fun than normal people!”
Y/N stared at him in disbelief. “Your idea of fun involves murdering innocent people.”

“Well, when you put it l-like that, it sounds bad,” Toby said thoughtfully. “But think about it from our p-perspective! We get to travel, meet new people, solve interesting p-problems…”

“By killing them.” Y/N interrupted.

“Details, details,” Toby waved off her objection. “The important thing is that we’re h-happy with our work!”

“Are you happy?” Y/N asked, genuine curiosity overriding her disgust for a moment. “Really, truly happy living like this?”

Toby’s expression grew serious, his usual manic energy dimming slightly. “The Operator s-saved me, Y/N. Before him, I was… I was nothing. Just a b-broken kid with too many problems and not enough r-reasons to keep going. He gave me purpose. Direction. A f-family.” He gestured toward the front of the car where Tim was visible through the gas station windows. “These guys are my b-brothers. We take care of each other.”

“By murdering people together.” Y/N said.

“By surviving t-together,” Toby corrected. “The world is full of m-monsters, Y/N. At least we know what we are.”

There was something almost philosophical about his words that made Y/N uncomfortable. “What about before? Did you have a real family?”

Toby’s expression darkened, his hands unconsciously moving toward his hatchets. “My father was a d-drunk. My mother was… absent. My sister…” He trailed off, his voice becoming quieter. “My sister was the only g-good thing in my life, and she’s gone now.”

“What happened to her?”

“Car accident.” Toby said simply. “She was driving to pick me up from s-school. If I hadn’t been there, if she hadn’t h-had to come get me…”

“That’s not your fault.” Y/N said softly, recognizing the guilt in his voice.

“Isn’t it?” Toby asked, his eyes meeting hers through his goggles. “Everything g-good in my life dies, Y/N. Everyone who tries to h-help me ends up hurt. Maybe it’s better this w-way. Maybe I’m meant to be a monster.”

The raw pain in his voice caught Y/N off guard. For a moment, he didn’t sound like a killer, he sounded like a broken kid who’d never had a chance to heal.

“That’s not true,” she said quietly. “People aren’t born monsters. They’re made.”

“Made by w-what?”

“Pain. Trauma. People who hurt them when they should have protected them.” Y/N studied his face, seeing past the mouth guard and goggles to the damaged young man underneath. “How old were you when it started? The violence?”

“Which kind?” Toby asked matter-of-factly. “The kind I r-received or the kind I gave?”

The casual way he discussed his own abuse made Y/N’s heart ache. “Either. Both.”

“I was… young when my f-father started hitting me. Maybe seven? Eight? It’s h-hard to remember exactly. The giving part started l-later, after Lyra died. After I realized that hurting other people felt b-better than hurting myself.”

Y/N processed this information, trying to reconcile the cheerful killer beside her with the abused child he’d once been. “Have you ever tried to get help? Real help, not whatever the Operator offers?”

Toby laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Help? From who? The s-system that failed me the first time? The people who l-looked the other way when my father beat me bloody? The doctors who p-pumped me full of pills and called it treatment?”

“Not everyone is like that,” Y/N insisted. “There are good people in the world.”

“Where?” Toby asked, his voice sharp with old bitterness. “Where are these g-good people when kids are getting beaten? When they’re s-starving? When they’re so broken they can’t feel p-pain anymore?”

Y/N didn’t have an answer for that. She’d been privileged enough to grow up in a stable home with parents who loved her. Her problems had been academic stress and social anxiety, not abuse and neglect.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Toby stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable behind his mouth guard. “You actually m-mean that.”

“Of course I mean it. No child should have to go through that.”

“Even if that child g-grows up to be a killer?”

Y/N considered this carefully. “The child isn’t responsible for what the adult becomes. The people who hurt him are.”

Toby was quiet for a long moment, his head still resting on her shoulder. “You’re w-weird, Y/N L/N.”

“How do you know my last name?” Y/N asked, suddenly alert.

“The Operator told us,” Toby said casually. “He knows l-lots of things about you. Where you go to s-school, where you work, what you study. He’s been w-watching you for a while.”

“How long?”

“Eight years, I-I think... Maybe longer. He doesn’t always t-tell us the details.”

The thought of being watched, studied, for years without knowing made Y/N’s skin crawl. “Why didn’t he just take me sooner?”

“Timing,” Toby said simply. “Everything has to h-happen at the right time. The Operator is very particular about that k-kind of thing.”

Through the windshield, Y/N could see Tim inside the gas station, moving through the aisles with casual efficiency. Brian was filling up the tank, his rifle concealed but ready.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Y/N asked quietly.

“I d-d—don’t know,” Toby admitted. “The Operator doesn’t usually explain his p-plans to us. We just follow orders.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“Curiosity is d-dangerous in our line of work,” Toby said, though his tone suggested he was indeed curious. “But… yeah. I w-wonder what makes you so special.”

“I keep telling everyone, I’m not special.”

“Maybe n-not to yourself,” Toby said thoughtfully. “But you m-must be special to him. Otherwise, why go to all this trouble?”

Y/N had been wondering the same thing. The Operator had sent four, maybe more, of his people to capture her, had specifically ordered them not to harm her, had been watching her for months. None of it made sense.

Before Y/N could ask Toby any more questions about what made her supposedly special to the Operator, she heard the distinctive sound of car doors opening. Tim emerged from the gas station with a plastic bag full of supplies, his brown jacket rustling as he moved with practiced efficiency. Brian finished with the gas pump and was already making his way back to the vehicle, his rifle completely concealed beneath his light brown jacket, the faded yellow hoodie underneath barely visible in the dim light.

Jack materialized from the shadows near the tree line, his blue mask tilted slightly, as if he’d been listening to something in the distance that the others couldn’t hear. The black liquid seeping from his empty sockets caught the fluorescent light from the gas station, creating an unsettling sheen across the blue surface.

“Everything clear?” Tim asked as he approached the SUV, his voice carrying that note of professional efficiency that suggested this was routine for them. His white mask remained clipped to his belt, the black-lined mouth seeming to grin mockingly in the artificial light.

“Perimeter’s clean,” Brian confirmed, settling into the passenger seat. The red frown drawn across his black ski mask seemed to deepen in the shadows. “That trucker’s been inside for twenty minutes. Probably crashed out in the back of his cab by now.”

“Good,” Tim said, tossing the bag of supplies into the front seat before climbing behind the wheel. His dark brown hair fell messily around his face as he adjusted the rearview mirror. “Jack, anything unusual?”

“A few curious animals, but nothing that concerns us,” Jack replied as he slid into the back seat beside Y/N. The temperature in the car seemed to drop several degrees with his presence. “Though I did catch the scent of another entity about fifteen miles east. Old trail, probably from last week.”

“Which one?” Tim asked, starting the engine. His brown eyes met Jack’s eyeless sockets in the rearview mirror.

“Hard to say. The scent was too faded to identify specifically,” Jack settled back in his seat, his elongated fingers with their claw-like nails drumming silently against his knee. The oversized black hoodie made him look even more imposing in the confined space. “How are you feeling, dove? Any dizziness or nausea from the blood loss?”

“I’m fine.” Y/N said automatically, though she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. The adrenaline from earlier had completely worn off, leaving her feeling hollow and exhausted.

“You’re lying,” Jack observed, his head tilting slightly. “Your body temperature has dropped two degrees, and I can smell the stress hormones flooding your system. Cortisol, adrenaline, norepinephrine. You’re going into mild shock.”

“I said I’m fine.” Y/N repeated more firmly, unsettled by how precisely he could read her physical state.

“Stubborn little thing, isn’t she?” Jack commented to the others, and despite the lack of eyes, Y/N could feel his attention focused on her like a weight. There was something almost approving in his tone, though it was hard to tell with the way his voice seemed to come from everywhere at once.

“She’ll learn,” Tim said as he pulled out of the gas station parking lot, the headlights cutting through the darkness ahead. His gloved hands gripped the steering wheel. “They always do.”

“Learn what?” Y/N demanded, crossing her arms defensively.

“That fighting us is pointless,” Brian said without turning around, his voice muffled by the ski mask. “That cooperation makes everything easier for everyone involved.”

“Cooperation with my own kidnapping?” Y/N asked incredulously. “That’s not cooperation, that’s Stockholm syndrome.”

“Such big words for such a little dove,” Jack murmured, his voice carrying that disturbing note of amusement. One of his four tongues flicked out briefly, tasting the air. “But Stockholm syndrome implies you’ll eventually sympathize with us. I don’t think that’s what Brian meant.”

“What did you mean?” Y/N asked Brian directly, leaning forward to try and catch his eyes in the side mirror.

Brian was quiet for a long moment. “I meant that you’ll learn to pick your battles. Fighting the inevitable only makes you tired.”

“And what’s inevitable?”

“That you belong to the Operator now,” Tim said simply, his messy hair catching the light from oncoming traffic. “Whether you accept it or not doesn’t change the reality of the situation.”

The casual way they discussed her ownership made Y/N’s stomach churn. “I’m not property.”

“Actually, dove, you are,” Jack corrected gently. “The Operator has claimed you. In our world, that makes you his possession, to do with as he sees fit.”

“Your world is insane.” Y/N said flatly.

“But it’s t-the world you’re living in n—now,” Toby added, his voice muffled against her shoulder where he’d resumed his position. His neck gave an audible crack as he settled against her, and she could feel the tremor of his tics through the contact. “M-might as well get comfortable with it.”

Y/N wanted to argue further, wanted to rage against the injustice of it all, but exhaustion was pulling at her like a weight. The steady rumble of the engine, combined with the stress of the day’s events, was making it increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open.

“How much further?” she asked, stifling a yawn.

“About seven hours,” Tim replied, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep? You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

“I can’t sleep,” Y/N protested, though her eyelids were already growing heavy. “Not with…” She gestured vaguely at Toby, who was still using her as a human pillow, his orange goggles pushed up on his forehead.

“I’m c-comfortable,” Toby mumbled contentedly, his brown eyes half-closed. “And warm. You’re really w-warm, Y/N.” His mouth guard muffled his words slightly, but she could still hear the genuine contentment in his voice.

“That’s because I have a normal body temperature, unlike some people.” Y/N said, shooting a pointed look at Jack.

“My body temperature runs significantly lower due to my… condition,” Jack explained, his head tilting in that unnaturally fluid way. “It’s nothing personal, dove.”

“Everything about this situation is personal.” Y/N muttered.

Despite her protests, the combination of exhaustion, stress, and the steady motion of the vehicle was taking its toll. Her head kept nodding forward, jerking back up whenever she caught herself dozing.

“Just sleep,” Brian said quietly from the front seat, adjusting his light brown jacket. “We’re not going to hurt you while you’re unconscious. There’s no point.”

“How reassuring.” Y/N said sarcastically, but she was too tired to put much venom into it.

“We could always knock you unconscious if you prefer,” Jack offered helpfully, flexing his elongated fingers. “I have several methods that would work without causing permanent damage.”

“I’ll pass on that offer.” Y/N said quickly, eyeing his claw-like nails with alarm.

“Suit yourself,” Jack replied with what might have been a shrug. “But you really should rest. The Operator doesn’t appreciate damaged goods.”

“I’m not goods.” Y/N protested weakly, but her eyes were already closing.

“You k-keep saying that,” Toby mumbled against her shoulder, his own voice getting drowsy. “But here you are, being d-delivered like a package.”

Y/N wanted to respond, wanted to argue, but the pull of sleep was too strong. Her last coherent thought before exhaustion claimed her was wondering what kind of monster she was becoming if she could fall asleep surrounded by killers.

The next thing Y/N was aware of was the uncomfortable crick in her neck and the sound of quiet voices. She kept her eyes closed, instinctively knowing that pretending to still be asleep might give her valuable information.

“—should have called Kate hours ago,” Brian was saying, his voice low and concerned. “She’s expecting a check-in.”

“We’ll call her when we stop for gas again,” Tim replied, his tone suggesting this was an ongoing disagreement. “Another hour, maybe two.”

“Kate doesn’t like waiting,” Brian pointed out. “You know how she gets when communication breaks down.”

Jack let out a low chuckle that made Y/N’s skin crawl, the sound seeming to come from multiple directions at once. “If we call her now, there’s a good chance Ben will detect the signal and try to make contact. You know how curious he gets about new acquisitions.”

“Ben?” Tim asked, and Y/N could hear the concern in his voice.

“He’s been monitoring our communications more frequently lately,” Jack explained, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “Something about being ‘bored’ and wanting ‘new playmates.’ If he realizes we’re transporting Y/N for the Operator…”

“He’ll want to meet her,” Brian finished grimly. “And knowing Ben, that could get complicated fast.”

“Very complicated,” Jack agreed. “The last thing we need is him trying to crawl out of someone’s phone screen while we’re in the middle of transport. Remember what happened with the Cincinnati job?”

“That was a nightmare,” Tim muttered. “Fine, we wait until we reach the compound to make contact. Kate will understand.”

“Kate will be pissed,” Brian corrected. “But she’ll understand.”

Y/N carefully shifted position, trying to relieve the pressure on her bound wrists without alerting them to the fact that she was awake. Toby was still sprawled against her side, and she could hear soft snoring coming from behind his mouth guard.

“The kid’s out cold.” Tim observed, presumably referring to both Toby and herself.

“Emotional exhaustion,” Jack diagnosed clinically. “Her stress levels have been elevated for hours. Sleep is the body’s natural coping mechanism.”

“What do you think the Operator wants with her?” Brian asked quietly.

There was a pause before Jack answered. “I have theories, but they’re just speculation. The Operator doesn’t usually explain his reasoning to the likes of us.”

“Care to share your theories?” Tim pressed.

Another pause, longer this time. Y/N could hear the subtle shift in Jack’s breathing, if it could be called breathing. “She’s connected to one of us somehow. Has to be. The Operator doesn’t go to this much trouble for random civilians.”

“Connected how?”

“Could be anything. Family, friends, past encounters. Maybe she witnessed something she wasn’t supposed to see. Maybe she has latent abilities she’s not aware of yet.” Jack’s voice dropped even lower. “Or maybe she’s connected to someone who’s already gone.”

“Gone how?” Brian pressed, his voice tense.

“Dead, missing, transformed. The Operator has long-term plans that span decades, sometimes centuries. This girl could be the key to something that started before any of us were even recruited.”

The casual way they discussed her potential connections, her possible abilities, made Y/N’s stomach churn. They were talking about her like she was a puzzle to be solved, a tool to be used.

“She’s been watched for years,” Tim pointed out. “That suggests very long-term planning.”

“Nine years, according to the briefing,” Jack confirmed. “Since she was thirteen. That’s a very specific starting point for surveillance.”

Thirteen. Y/N’s blood ran cold as she remembered being thirteen, remembered the friend she’d had that year, the friend who’d disappeared one night and was never seen again.

Jeff. Jeffrey Alan Woods.

Her childhood friend who’d vanished after that horrible incident with the bullies, the bleach, the fire. She’d been one of the last people to see him before… before whatever had happened to him happened.

“You’re thinking very loudly, dove,” Jack said suddenly, his eyeless mask turning toward her. “Your heart rate just spiked considerably.”

Y/N realized there was no point in pretending to sleep anymore. She opened her eyes, meeting Jack’s empty sockets with what she hoped was a steady gaze.

“How long have you known I was awake?” she asked.

“About fifteen minutes,” Jack replied. “Your breathing pattern changed, your muscle tension shifted, and your scent became more alert. Poor technique for surveillance, really.”

“I wasn’t surveilling anything,” Y/N protested. “I was just waking up.”

“Listening to our conversation,” Tim corrected from the front seat, his brown eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror. “Which is fine. You would have learned most of this information eventually anyway.”

“Who’s Ben?” Y/N asked, filing away the information about Kate for later. “And how… why would he want to crawl out of a phone screen?”

The three conscious men exchanged glances that spoke of shared experiences Y/N probably didn’t want to know about.

“Ben is…” Brian began, then seemed to struggle for words. His hands tightened on his jacket.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Tim said bluntly. “A digital entity with too much curiosity and not enough common sense.”

“A what now?”

“He exists primarily in electronic devices,” Jack explained, his voice taking on an almost clinical tone. “Computers, phones, gaming systems. He can manipulate technology, travel through networks, and manifest physically if he wants to.”

“That’s impossible.” Y/N said flatly.

“So is a boy who can’t feel pain and whose joints dislocate constantly,” Brian pointed out reasonably, gesturing toward the still-sleeping Toby. “So is whatever the hell Jack turns into when he’s really hungry.”

“What does Jack turn into?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious despite herself.

“Nothing you want to see,” Tim said grimly. “Trust me on that.”

Y/N looked at Jack, trying to imagine what could be worse than his current appearance. His elongated fingers drummed against his knee again, and she caught a glimpse of just how sharp those claws really were.

“The point is,” Jack continued, “impossible is a relative term in our line of work. Ben is very real, and he has a tendency to get… attached to new people in the Operator’s service.”

“I’m not in the Operator’s service.” Y/N said automatically.

“Y-You are now,” Toby mumbled against her shoulder, apparently having woken up during the conversation. His neck cracked audibly as he lifted his head slightly. “Whether you l-like it or not.”

“I keep hearing that,” Y/N muttered. “Still doesn’t make it true.”

“Denial is normal,” Brian said matter-of-factly. “It’s one of the stages of grief.”

“I’m not grieving anything.”

“Your old life,” Jack said with surprising gentleness. “Your freedom. Your innocence. Your belief that the world is rational and fair. Those things are gone now, dove. You’re mourning them even if you don’t realize it yet.”

The truth of his words hit harder than Y/N wanted to admit. She had lost those things, probably the moment she’d seen Emma’s body in her bathroom. Maybe even before that, when Jeff disappeared.

“So what’s the next stage?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light. “Bargaining?”

“Usually,” Tim confirmed, his gloved hands adjusting their grip on the steering wheel. “Trying to negotiate, making deals, promising things you think we want to hear in exchange for freedom that isn’t coming.”

“And after that?”

“Anger,” Brian said. “Lots of anger. That’s usually the most dangerous phase for everyone involved.”

“And then?”

“Acceptance,” Jack finished. “Understanding that this is your life now and making the best of it.”

“That’s assuming I survive long enough to reach acceptance.” Y/N pointed out.

“The Operator w-w—wants you alive,” Toby said, lifting his head from her shoulder to look at her properly. His brown eyes were serious behind his orange goggles. “That’s more protection than most p-people get in our world.”

“Lucky me.” Y/N said sarcastically.

“Actually, y-yeah,” Toby grumbled, his mouth guard shifting as he spoke. “Do you have any idea how many people w-would kill to have the Operator’s personal protection?”

“I’m guessing quite a few, considering your line of work.”

“The Operator doesn’t protect people lightly,” Brian added, though his voice was carefully neutral. “If he’s invested in keeping you alive, it’s because you’re valuable to him somehow.”

“Valuable how?”

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” Jack mused. “What makes Y/N L/N so special that the Operator would spend years watching her and then deploy four of his best assets to bring her in alive and unharmed? I usually work alone or with Ann, this is different.”

When Y/N tried to press for more information about their pasts, their recruitment, or their specific roles, the responses became increasingly evasive.

“How long have you been working for the Operator?” she asked Tim.

“Long enough.” Tim replied curtly, his brown eyes hardening slightly in the mirror.

“That’s not really an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting,” Tim said firmly. “Our histories aren’t up for discussion.”

“What about you, Brian? How did you end up here?”

Brian’s shoulders tensed under his jacket. “That’s not relevant to your situation.”

“I’d say everything about this is relevant to my situation.”

“You’d be wrong,” Jack interjected smoothly. “Our pasts are our own business, dove. Focus on your future instead.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment, thinking about what Jack had said earlier about her connection to someone who might be “gone.” The timeframe fit too perfectly to be coincidental.

“You said the Operator started watching me when I was thirteen.” she said carefully.

“That’s correct.” Tim confirmed, though his voice was guarded.

“That’s a very specific age to start surveillance on someone.”

“It is,” Jack agreed. “Care to share what was significant about that year?”

Y/N hesitated. Talking about Jeff felt like betraying a confidence, even after all these years, even knowing what he supposedly became. But if there was a connection, if it might explain why she was here…

“I had a friend,” she said slowly. “Jeff Woods. We were… close. He was my neighbor, and we hung out all the time. But then something happened to him. Something bad.”

The atmosphere in the car changed immediately. Y/N could feel the tension radiating from all three conscious men, could sense their sudden alertness.

“Jeff Woods,” Tim said quietly, and Y/N could hear the recognition in his voice. “Jeffrey Alan Woods.”

“You know him?” Y/N asked, though the answer was already obvious from their reactions.

“We know of him.” Brian corrected carefully, his voice more guarded than ever.

“How?”

“That’s not information we’re authorized to share.” Tim said firmly.

“Authorized by whom?”

“By people who outrank us,” Jack replied smoothly. “And that’s all you need to know about that.”

Y/N felt frustrated by their sudden stonewalling. “Is he alive? Is Jeff actually alive?”

The silence stretched uncomfortably before Brian spoke. “Some questions are better left unanswered.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Fair isn’t a concept that applies here,” Tim said bluntly. “The sooner you understand that, the better.”

Despite their refusal to give her direct answers, Y/N could read between the lines. Their reactions told her everything she needed to know. Jeff was not only alive but connected to their world somehow. The timing of her surveillance, their recognition of his name, the way they’d shut down when she’d mentioned him, it all pointed to the same conclusion.

Her childhood friend, the boy who’d vanished after that horrible night, was part of this nightmare world she’d been dragged into.

The rest of the drive passed in uncomfortable silence. Y/N dozed fitfully, waking periodically to find Toby still pressed against her side like a human-sized cat seeking warmth. The landscape outside grew progressively more rural as they traveled, cities giving way to small towns, small towns giving way to farmland, farmland giving way to forest.

It was nearly dawn when Tim finally pulled off the main highway onto a narrow gravel road that wound deep into a dense woodland. The trees here were ancient and massive, their branches forming a canopy so thick that very little daylight penetrated to the forest floor even at midday.

“We walk from here,” Tim announced, parking the SUV in a small clearing about a quarter mile from the road. “The Operator’s domain doesn’t like vehicles. They tend to break down or get lost.”

“His domain?” Y/N asked as they all climbed out of the vehicle, immediately wincing as her weight settled on her injured ankle.

“The deeper parts of this forest belong to him,” Brian explained, checking his rifle with practiced efficiency. “Reality works differently here. Space and time can be… flexible.”

“Flexible how?” Y/N tested her weight on the ankle again and barely suppressed a grimace. Walking for miles through unstable terrain was going to be agony.

“You might walk in a straight line for hours and end up back where you started,” Jack said, his elongated fingers adjusting something in a small pack. “Or you might take a single step and find yourself miles away. The forest responds to the Operator’s will, not the laws of physics.”

“That’s impossible,” Y/N said automatically, then caught herself. “Right, impossible is relative in your world.”

“You’re learning.” Tim said approvingly, pulling his white porcelain mask from his belt and securing it over his face.

His brown eyes assessed Y/N’s obvious discomfort with clinical detachment. “That ankle’s not going to hold up for a long trek through rough terrain.” He turned to Jack. “Carry her. And untie her, it’s not like she can do much anyway.”

“I can walk.” Y/N protested immediately, her pride flaring at the suggestion. She’d been handling herself just fine so far, thank you very much.

“No, you can’t,” Tim replied with a scoff. “Not effectively, and we can’t afford delays or injuries getting worse. Jack, carry her. That’s an order.”

Jack nodded once, his expressionless blue mask tilting toward Y/N. Despite having no eyes, she could feel his attention on her like a physical weight. “It’s more practical,” he said simply, his voice carrying no judgment. “I won’t drop you, dove.”

Before Y/N could voice another objection, Jack stepped forward using his sharp finger to cut the zip tie and scooped her up with surprising gentleness, cradling her against his massive frame in a bridal carry. His oversized black hoodie was soft against her cheek, though the scent clinging to it was distinctly metallic and unsettling.

“This is ridiculous,” Y/N muttered rubbing her sore wrists, though she had to admit the relief on her ankle was immediate. “I’m not some damsel in distress.”

“No,” Jack agreed, his multiple tongues flicking out briefly to taste the air. “You’re an injured asset that needs to reach its destination intact. There’s a difference.”

They began walking single file along what might generously be called a path. Tim led the way, his brown jacket blending with the forest shadows, followed by Brian, the red frown on his ski mask seeming to deepen in the dim light. Jack brought up the rear, his massive form moving with unnatural silence while Toby skipped happily beside him and Y/N.

The forest around them was eerily quiet, no bird songs, no rustling leaves, no buzzing insects. Just the sound of their footsteps on the soft earth and the occasional crack of a twig.

“It’s so quiet.” Y/N observed after they’d been walking for about twenty minutes.

“Animals avoid the Operator’s territory,” Jack explained, his breath warm against her hair as he spoke. She could feel the vibration of his voice in his chest. “They can sense the wrongness here, the places where reality bends.”

“But you can’t sense it?”

“We can,” Brian said without turning around. “We just don’t have the luxury of avoiding it.”

As they walked deeper into the forest, Y/N began to notice subtle signs that this place was indeed different from any woodland she’d ever experienced. The trees seemed to shift position when she wasn’t looking directly at them. Shadows fell at impossible angles. The path they were following sometimes seemed to curve upward even though the ground remained level.

“How do you navigate in here?” she asked, unconsciously relaxing further into Jack’s secure grip. His clawed fingers were careful not to pierce her clothing, and despite his intimidating appearance, she felt oddly safe in his arms.

“Experience,” Tim replied, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. “And the Operator’s guidance. He wants us to reach him, so the forest will eventually lead us where we need to go.”

“Eventually?”

“Time m-moves differently here,” Toby explained, his tics more pronounced than usual. “Sometimes the w-walk takes an hour, sometimes it takes all day. Depends on the Operator’s m-mood.”

They walked for what felt like several hours, though Y/N couldn’t be sure. The sun’s position in the sky, what little she could see of it through the canopy, didn’t seem to change at all.

“Are we lost?” she asked after what might have been the third time they’d passed the same distinctively shaped boulder.

“No,” Tim said confidently. “The forest is just… taking its time with us today.”

“Why?”

“Could be anything,” Brian said, adjusting his jacket. “Maybe the Operator is busy with other matters. Maybe he’s testing our patience. Maybe he just enjoys making us work for it.”

As if summoned by their conversation about him, Y/N suddenly felt a presence at the edge of her consciousness. It was vast and cold and utterly alien, pressing against her mind like a migraine made of malevolent intent.

She gasped and instinctively pressed closer to Jack’s chest, her fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie. His arms tightened protectively around her, and she heard him make a low rumbling sound that might have been meant to be soothing.

“He’s here.” Jack said quietly, and there was something like reverence in his voice.

Y/N looked around wildly but saw nothing except trees and shadows. “Where?”

“Everywhere,” Tim replied, coming to a stop in a small clearing that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago. “This is his domain. He is the forest, and the forest is him.”

The presence in Y/N’s mind grew stronger, and she had the distinct impression of being examined, evaluated, weighed and measured by something that existed on a scale she couldn’t comprehend. It wasn’t painful, exactly, but it was deeply uncomfortable, like having her thoughts rearranged by invisible fingers.

“Welcome, child.”

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, bypassing her ears entirely and speaking directly into her consciousness.

“I have been waiting for you.”

Y/N tried to speak but found her voice had abandoned her entirely. The presence pressed deeper into her mind, and suddenly she was flooded with images, flashes of her childhood, her friendship with Jeff, moments of kindness and cruelty, triumph and failure, all of it laid bare for examination.

“Yes.” the voice continued, and now there was something like satisfaction in it. “You will do nicely.”

“What do you want from me?” Y/N managed to whisper, though she wasn’t sure if she spoke aloud or only thought the words.

“Everything, child. And in return, I will give you purpose. Meaning. A reason to exist beyond the mundane concerns of mortal life.”

“I don’t want that.”

“What you want is irrelevant. What you need is what I provide.”

The presence withdrew slightly, and Y/N found she could breathe normally again. But she could still feel it there, watching, waiting, a constant pressure at the back of her mind.

“Your training begins immediately.” the Operator continued. “Timothy will oversee your initial education. Brian will handle your physical conditioning. Tobias will assist with your psychological adjustment. And Jack will monitor your health and… dietary requirements.”

“Dietary requirements?” Y/N asked, looking up at Jack’s masked face.

“All changes come with a price, child. You will learn what that means in time.”

“What changes? What are you going to do to me?”

But the presence was already fading, leaving behind only the echo of alien amusement and the impression of vast, patient plans unfolding across decades and centuries.

“That’s it?” Y/N asked the four men surrounding her. “That’s the big meeting with the Operator?”

“First meetings are usually brief,” Tim explained. “He’s got what he needs to know about you. The rest will come later.”

“What will come later?”

“Your transformation,” Jack said simply. “You’ll become what he needs you to be.”

“Can’t I refuse?”

“You can’t refuse,” Brian said matter-of-factly. “The process has already started. You felt him in your mind, didn’t you? That connection is permanent now. He’s part of you, and you’re part of him.”

Y/N wanted to argue, wanted to deny it, but she could feel the truth of Brian’s words. There was something different in her head now, a presence that hadn’t been there before. Small and quiet for now, but growing stronger with each passing moment.

“How long do I have?” she asked quietly, her hands still gripping Jack’s hoodie.

“Before w-what?” Toby asked, his goggles reflecting the strange light filtering through the canopy.

“Before I become someone else entirely. Before I lose myself the way you all have.”

The four men exchanged glances, and Y/N saw something like carefully controlled emotion in their expressions, quickly hidden, but there nonetheless.

“There’s no timeline,” Tim said finally, his voice professionally neutral. “The process varies by individual. You could remain the same or change completely.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“It’s all you’re getting.” Brian said curtly.

They began walking again, following a path that definitely hadn’t existed before their encounter with the Operator. The forest seemed more normal now, less threatening, as if their meeting had satisfied some cosmic requirement and they were now free to navigate by conventional means.

“Where are we going now?” Y/N asked, shifting slightly in Jack’s arms to get more comfortable.

“The compound,” Tim replied. “It’s where most of the Operator’s proxies live when they’re not on assignments. You’ll have your own room, access to training facilities, resources about the world you’re now part of.”

“It’s not as b-bad as it sounds,” Toby added helpfully, his neck cracking as he turned to look at her. “There’s a kitchen, a rec room with games and stuff, even a garden where Kate g-grows herbs and vegetables.”

“Kate?”

“Another proxy,” Brian explained. “She handles logistics, communications, training coordination.”

“Will I like her?”

“You’ll interact with her,” Tim corrected. “Whether you like her or not is irrelevant.”

“Everything seems to be irrelevant around here.”

“Your preferences, yes,” Jack confirmed, his clawed fingers adjusting their grip carefully. “Your survival and usefulness, no.”

They walked in silence for a while longer, the path gradually widening and becoming more clearly defined. Eventually, Y/N could see buildings ahead through the trees, a large main structure that looked like a cross between a lodge and a fortress, surrounded by smaller outbuildings and connected by covered walkways.

“Welcome to the compound,” Tim announced as they approached the main building. “Your new home.”

The architecture was distinctly unusual, too many angles that didn’t quite make sense, windows placed at heights that seemed randomly determined, doors that appeared to lead nowhere. It was as if someone had taken a normal building and allowed reality to bend around it in subtle but unsettling ways.

“It looks…” Y/N began, then struggled for words.

“Wrong?” Brian suggested. “That’s normal. The Operator’s influence affects everything here, including the buildings. You’ll adapt.”

“Do I want to adapt?”

“Want doesn’t factor into it,” Tim said pragmatically. “You’ll adapt because the alternative is constant discomfort, and constant discomfort is exhausting.”

As they approached the main entrance, Y/N heard something that made her blood run cold, laughter. High-pitched, manic laughter that seemed to echo from multiple directions at once.

“Shit,” Brian said grimly. “What’s he doing here?”

“Maybe the Operator s-summoned him too?” Toby suggested, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“Or maybe he’s just stirring up trouble like usual,” Tim muttered, his hand moving instinctively toward his weapon. “Jack, can you sense him?”

Jack tilted his head, his eyeless sockets turning toward the forest surrounding the compound. “He’s close. Very close. And he’s… agitated about something.”

“More than usual?”

“Much more than usual. His scent is…” Jack paused, his tongues flicking out to taste the air. “Angry, frustrated, violent even by his standards.”

“What did you do to piss him off this time?” Brian asked Jack directly.

“Nothing recent,” Jack replied carefully. “Though he might still be upset about last week’s… disagreement.”

“What disagreement?” Y/N asked.

The four men exchanged looks that spoke of shared knowledge they weren’t willing to share.

“Professional difference of opinion,” Jack said curtly. “Nothing that concerns you, dove.”

“Wonderful,” Tim muttered. “Just what we need right now.”

The laughter came again, closer this time, and Y/N felt something cold settle in her stomach. After all these years, after everything she’d learned about what Jeff had become, she was about to see him again. The boy who had been her closest friend, who had shared her secrets and protected her from bullies, who had vanished one night without a goodbye.

“Maybe we should go inside.” Brian suggested, his hand moving to the rifle on his back.

“Too late,” Jack said quietly. “He’s here.”

The laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by silence so complete it seemed to absorb sound from the surrounding forest. Then, without warning, a figure dropped from the trees directly in front of them, landing in a crouch with inhuman grace.

He was taller than Y/N remembered, wearing a white hoodie stained with what could only be blood, both old and fresh. His jeans were similarly stained, and his movements had a twitchy, unpredictable quality that suggested barely contained violence. But it was his face that made Y/N’s breath catch in her throat.

His skin was bleached white, burned and scarred. His hair, once sandy brown, was now black and hung in greasy strings around his face. But worst of all were his eyes, still blue, still recognizably Jeff’s, but now wide and staring with a madness that seemed to burn from within. And his mouth…

Someone had carved a smile into his face, cutting from the corners of his mouth almost to his ears, creating a permanent grin that stretched wider than any human mouth should.

“Well, well, well.” Jeff said, and his voice was exactly as Y/N remembered it, which somehow made everything worse. The familiar tone coming from that mutilated face created a cognitive dissonance that made her stomach lurch. “Look what the cat dragged in. Jack, you eyeless fuck, I thought I told you what would happen if you kept giving me attitude.”

Jeff lunged forward with inhuman speed, a knife in his hand. His burning gaze was fixed entirely on Jack’s masked face, his carved smile stretched wide with manic glee. Jack immediately shifted to shield Y/N with his body. But just as Jeff was about to reach them, his eyes finally looked down and fell on the figure cradled in Jack’s arms.

He froze mid-attack, the knife clattering from suddenly nerveless fingers. His carved smile remained fixed in place, but his expression somehow managed to convey complete and total shock. The wide, staring eyes that had been filled with manic glee a moment before now showed something almost human, recognition, disbelief, and something that might have been pain.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with nine years of separation, nine years of wondering what had happened to her best friend. Y/N found herself staring into eyes that belonged to the boy who used to walk her home from school, who had been her first crush and almost her first kiss.

Jeff’s hands moved slowly to his hair, gripping it in trembling fingers. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly several times. When he finally spoke, his voice had lost all its manic edge, becoming something small and broken.

“Y/N?”

Chapter 7

The single word hung in the air between them like a prayer and a curse combined. Y/N stared into those familiar blue eyes, now wide and unblinking due to his burned-off eyelids, and for a moment she could see past the carved smile and bleached skin to the boy she knew nine years ago. The boy who used to sneak through her bedroom window at midnight just to talk about everything and nothing. The boy who’d promised they’d always be best friends, no matter what happened.

“Jeff.” she whispered back, her voice barely audible even in the oppressive silence of the forest.

But the moment of recognition seemed to shatter something inside Jeff. His hands flew to his head, gripping his black hair so tightly that his knuckles went white against his pale skin. He stumbled backward, his wide eyes never leaving her face, his carved smile creating a horrible parody of joy while his expression showed nothing but raw, desperate anguish.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, shaking his head violently, his unwashed hair whipping back and forth. “This isn’t… you can’t… you shouldn’t be here… fuck, FUCK!” His voice cracked on the last word, higher and more desperate than Y/N had ever heard it.

Without another word, Jeff spun around and bolted into the forest, his white hoodie disappearing between the trees with inhuman speed. The sound of his sneakers hitting the forest floor faded quickly, leaving only the echo of his panicked breathing and the disturbing memory of his carved smile burned into Y/N’s retinas.

The remaining five stood in stunned silence for several heartbeats. Y/N felt Jack’s arms tighten protectively around her, his clawed fingers careful not to pierce her clothing even as his grip became more secure. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back, the only indication he was even breathing.

“Well,” Toby said finally, breaking the tension with a delighted giggle that bordered on hysteric. His neck cracked audibly as his head jerked to one side. “That was n-new! I’ve never seen Jeff run from anything before!” He bounced on his toes with obvious amusement. “Usually he’s the one ch-chasing people through the woods! This is fucking h-hilarious!”

Toby skipped forward happily to where Jeff’s knife lay abandoned on the grass, the blade catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. “Ooh, he d-dropped his favorite toy! Can I k—keep it?” He bent down to examine the weapon, his striped brown hoodie riding up slightly to reveal the handle of one of his hatchets strapped to his belt. “Look at that craftsmanship! The w-way the blood stains have soaked into the handle… it’s like art!”

“Leave it.” Tim said sharply, his white mask turning to scan the tree line where Jeff had vanished. His brown eyes behind the porcelain were hard and calculating. “He’ll come back for it eventually. And when he does, he’ll be even more unstable than usual.”

“But it’s s-such a nice knife!” Toby protested, though he didn’t actually pick it up. His neck cracked again as he tilted his head to study the blade. “Better than the c-cheap shit they give us for missions. This one’s got character! History!”

“Toby,” Brian’s voice carried a warning note, deeper and more menacing than his usual quiet tone. “Step away from the knife.”

Toby sighed dramatically but complied, bouncing back toward the group with his characteristic manic energy. His left shoulder twitched violently, making him stumble slightly before he caught himself. “Y-You guys never let me have any fun. It’s always ‘don’t touch that, Toby’ and ‘put the w-weapon down, Toby’ and ‘stop setting things on fire, Toby.’”

“Your idea of fun usually involves emergency room visits.” Tim pointed out dryly, his brown eyes still scanning the forest through the eye holes of his mask. “Or morgue visits, depending on how creative you get.”

“That was only t-twice!” Toby protested, his voice rising to a whine. “And technically, t—t-the morgue thing wasn’t even my fault! How was I supposed to know that guy had a p-pacemaker?”

Meanwhile, Y/N was still processing what had just happened. After nine years of wondering, nine years of guilt and grief and unanswered questions about what had happened to her childhood friend, she’d finally seen him again. And he’d run from her like she was something terrible, something that brought back memories too painful to bear.

“That was really him.” she said quietly, more to herself than to the others. Her voice was steady, but Jack could feel the tension in her muscles, the way her breathing had become shallow and controlled.

“Jeffrey Alan Woods.” Jack confirmed, his eyeless mask tilting toward her. The black liquid seeping from his empty sockets seemed to flow more heavily, dripping onto his oversized black hoodie. “Though he goes by Jeff the Killer now. Has for years. The transition wasn’t… voluntary.”

“He looked…” Y/N struggled for words. The carved smile that stretched from ear to ear, the burned skin that was an unnatural ghostly pale, the wild eyes that never seemed to blink because he no longer had eyelids to close them with. “What happened to him?”

“Nothing good,” Brian said quietly, his voice muffled by the ski mask. The red frown drawn across the fabric seemed to deepen in the shadows. “But that’s his story to tell, not ours. If he ever chooses to tell it.”

“Will he… will I see him again?”

“Oh, you’ll see him again,” Tim said grimly, finally turning away from the tree line. His white mask caught the light, making the black painted features look even more stark and emotionless. “Jeff doesn’t like unfinished business, and you represent about nine years of very unfinished business. Princess.”

The way he said the nickname made Y/N’s jaw clench. There was nothing affectionate about it, just pure mockery wrapped in false courtesy.

“He seemed scared of me.” Y/N observed, still trying to reconcile the terrified figure who’d fled with the confident boy she’d once known. The Jeff she remembered had never backed down from anything, had faced bullies twice his size without flinching.

“Not scared,” Jack corrected gently, his four tongues flicking out briefly to taste the air. “Overwhelmed. Seeing you again triggered memories he’s spent years trying to bury. Jeff doesn’t handle emotional turmoil well.”

“How does he handle it?” Y/N asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

“Violently.” Tim, Brian, and Toby said simultaneously, their voices creating an eerie chorus.

“Which is why we’re going to get you settled before he decides to deal with his feelings,” Tim continued, gesturing toward the main building with one gloved hand. “The last thing we need is Jeff having a breakdown in the middle of the compound. Again. Last time he did that, we had to replace half the furniture and three proxies ended up in the medical bay.”

“What d-did he do?” Toby asked with obvious glee, his brown eyes bright behind his orange goggles.

“You were there, you little psychopath.” Tim said flatly. “You helped him throw Nina through a wall.”

“Oh yeah!” Toby giggled, bouncing on his toes. “That was f-fun! She made such interesting sounds when she hit t-the plaster!”

As they approached the entrance, Y/N got a better look at the building’s bizarre architecture. The main structure appeared to be three stories tall, but the windows suggested there were at least five floors. Some windows were bricked up entirely, while others opened onto nothing but empty air. Staircases climbed the outside walls at impossible angles, leading to doors that should have opened into rooms but instead revealed glimpses of star-filled void.

The whole thing hurt to look at directly, as if her eyes couldn’t quite process what they were seeing. The angles were wrong, the proportions didn’t make sense, and the shadows fell in directions that defied the position of the sun. Y/N found herself getting dizzy just trying to follow the roofline with her gaze.

“This place gives me a headache.” Y/N muttered, pressing closer to Jack’s chest as he carried her through the entrance hall. The building seemed to pulse around them, walls breathing like living tissue.

“That’ll fade,” Tim assured her, pulling off his white mask and clipping it to his belt. His messy dark brown hair was damp with sweat, falling in unkempt waves around his face and accentuated by sideburns. Without the mask, he looked almost normal. Almost. His brown eyes held too much knowledge, too much exhaustion for someone who looked to be in his mid-twenties. “Most proxies adjust within a few days. The ones who don’t usually end up in the medical wing with Ann taking care of them.”

“And that’s what I’m going to become? A proxy?”

“That depends on what he needs from you,” Jack said, his clawed fingers adjusting their grip as they climbed a staircase that definitely hadn’t been there when Y/N had looked at the building from outside. The steps seemed to multiply under their feet, and she could swear she heard distant laughter echoing from somewhere above them. “Some proxies are killers. Others are scouts, researchers, logistics coordinators.”

“What are you?”

“I’m the medic,” Jack replied simply, his mask turning slightly toward her. “And occasionally the interrogator when my… dietary needs… align with mission requirements.”

Y/N decided she didn’t want to know what his dietary needs involved, though she had a sinking suspicion it wasn’t anything she’d find in a normal grocery store.

The interior of the building was more conventional than the outside, though still subtly wrong in ways Y/N couldn’t quite identify. The hallways were wider than they appeared from the outside, the ceiling higher, the shadows deeper. Doors appeared and disappeared when she wasn’t looking directly at them, and she could swear the wallpaper was moving slightly, patterns shifting like living things.

They reached what should have been the second floor and walked down a hallway lined with doors, most of them closed. From behind some of the doors, Y/N could hear sounds: conversation, music, laughter, and in one case, what sounded like screaming. The screaming was rhythmic, almost musical, punctuated by a female voice offering what sounded like encouragement.

“Training exercise,” Tim explained, noticing her alarmed expression. “Nina’s working with one of the newer recruits.”

“Training for what?” Y/N asked, though she was already dreading the answer.

“Pain tolerance,” Brian said casually, his yellow hoodie rustling as he shrugged. The light brown jacket over it was just as worn as Tim’s, with patches sewn over holes and stains that looked suspiciously like blood. “It’s one of the basic skills all proxies need to develop.”

“By screaming?”

“Some people learn faster when they have strong incentives,” Jack said, and Y/N could hear the hint of approval in his voice. His four tongues flicked out again, and she realized he was probably tasting the fear in the air. “Fear is an excellent teacher. Pain even better.”

“Jesus Christ.” Y/N muttered under her breath.

“He’s not here, sweetheart,” Brian said with what might have been amusement. “Wrong deity entirely.”

They stopped in front of a door marked with a simple wooden plaque reading ‘Guest Room 7.’ Tim pulled out an old-fashioned brass key and unlocked it, pushing the door open to reveal a space that was surprisingly normal compared to the rest of the building.

The room was about the size of a college dorm, with a single bed covered in plain white linens, a small wooden desk with a chair, a dresser that looked like it had seen better decades, and a window that looked out onto the forest. Everything was clean and functional, if spartan. The only unusual feature was that the window had bars that definitely hadn’t been visible from outside.

“Home sweet home, Princess.” Tim said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he gestured for Jack to enter.

Jack carried Y/N inside and gently deposited her on the bed, his movements careful and controlled despite his massive size. The mattress dipped under her weight, and she realized it was actually quite comfortable. “Your ankle should be fine for walking short distances, but don’t overdo it. The sutures need time to set properly, and I’d hate to have to restitch them. It’s so much messier the second time.”

“How thoughtful.” Y/N said sarcastically, rubbing her wrists where the zip ties had left angry red marks.

“I take my medical responsibilities seriously,” Jack replied, apparently missing her sarcasm entirely. Or choosing to ignore it. “The Operator expects his assets to be maintained in optimal condition. Damaged goods are of no use to anyone.”

“Assets,” Y/N repeated flatly, her voice hard. “Right. Not people. Assets.”

“You’re catching on quick, Princess,” Tim said with mock approval. He moved to the window and adjusted the heavy curtains, blocking most of the view of the forest. Y/N caught a glimpse of movement between the trees, shapes that didn’t look quite human flitting between the shadows. “You’ll stay here until the Operator decides what to do with you. After that, you’ll have a better room for yourself, assuming you survive whatever he has planned. You’ll have supervised access to common areas during designated hours. You won’t be accompanied every second, but make sure to remember that someone will always be keeping an eye on you.”

“Supervised by whom?” Y/N asked, testing the flexibility of her injured ankle.

“Various proxies,” Brian said, leaning against the doorframe. His brown eyes were barely visible behind the ski mask, but Y/N could feel them studying her. “We’ll rotate shifts to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

“Like what?” Y/N’s voice carried a challenge that made Tim’s lips twitch into what might have been a smirk.

“Like trying to escape,” Tim said bluntly, counting off on his gloved fingers. “Like hurting yourself. Like attempting to contact the outside world. Like trying to steal weapons. Like any of the dozen other stupid things panicked civilians usually try.”

“I’m not panicked!” Y/N protested, though she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Her heart was still racing, and her hands kept trembling no matter how hard she tried to control them.

“You’re in shock,” Jack corrected with clinical precision. “It presents differently than panic, but it’s just as dangerous. You need rest, proper nutrition, and time to process what’s happened to you. The mind can only take so much trauma before it starts to fracture.”

“What’s happened to me is that I’ve been kidnapped by a bunch of psychopaths and told I belong to some cosmic horror entity,” Y/N said bluntly, her voice gaining strength as anger started to override fear. “I think a little shock is perfectly reasonable.”

“More than reasonable,” Brian agreed unexpectedly, his voice softer than usual. “The fact that you’re still forming coherent sentences is actually impressive. Most people are catatonic by this point. Or screaming. Lots of screaming, usually.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Y/N said dryly.

“I’m going to f-find Cody!” Toby announced suddenly, his brown eyes bright with excitement behind his orange goggles. His whole body twitched with barely contained energy. “He’ll want to know about the n-new girl! And maybe he’ll let me play with his experiments! The last one was so interesting when it c-came apart!”

“Toby.” Tim said warningly, his brown eyes narrowing.

“I know, I know, no m-messing with the asset,” Toby said with exaggerated patience, his mouth guard shifting as he spoke. His left shoulder jerked violently, making his striped hoodie bunch up. “But I can still t-tell him about her, right? And about Jeff’s w-weird reaction? That’s not touching, that’s just talking!”

Tim considered this for a moment, his pale face thoughtful. “Fine. But emphasize that she’s off-limits for now. The Operator was very specific about that. And if I find out you’ve been ‘accidentally’ showing her Cody’s work, you’ll be the next test subject.”

“G-Got it!” Toby said cheerfully, already bouncing toward the door with manic enthusiasm. His hatchets clinked against each other with each movement. “See you l-later, Y/N! Try not to do anything stupid while we’re g-gone! Though if you do, make sure it’s entertaining!”

“I’ll do my best.” Y/N replied, watching him leave with a mixture of relief and apprehension. There was something deeply unsettling about his cheerful demeanor paired with his obvious instability.

Tim turned to the remaining two men, his expression all business. “Jack, you’re on first watch. Four-hour shifts. Brian, you take second. I’ll handle third and fourth.”

“What about sleep?” Y/N asked, genuine concern creeping into her voice despite everything. “When do you guys rest?”

“Sleep is for people who don’t have responsibilities,” Tim said curtly, but Y/N caught the exhaustion in his brown eyes. “We’ll manage.”

“That’s not sustainable,” Y/N pointed out. “You can’t function properly without sleep.”

“Nothing about our lives is sustainable,” Brian pointed out reasonably, his voice muffled by the ski mask. “We make it work anyway. Sustainability is a luxury for people with choices.”

Y/N wanted to argue further, but exhaustion was pulling at her again like a physical weight. The bed looked incredibly inviting after hours of being carried and the stress of everything that had happened. Her body was finally starting to process the trauma, and she could feel herself beginning to crash.

“There’s a bathroom through that door,” Tim said, pointing to a door Y/N hadn’t noticed before. It was painted the same color as the wall, making it almost invisible unless you were looking directly at it. “Basic toiletries are provided. There’s also a change of clothes in the dresser, though someone will bring you better options later.”

“Who?” Y/N asked, though she had a feeling she already knew.

“Clockwork.” Tim replied simply, his tone suggesting he wasn’t looking forward to that particular interaction.

“Clockwork?”

“Her real name is Natalie,” Jack explained, settling into the single chair by the window. Even seated, his massive frame made the furniture look child-sized. His elongated fingers rested casually on his knees, and the black liquid from his empty sockets dripped steadily onto his hoodie. “But she prefers to be called Nat. Don’t use her full name unless you want to see how effective those knives of hers really are.”

“Noted,” Y/N said. “What’s she like?”

“Aggressive,” Tim said immediately, his voice flat. “Sarcastic, hostile to most people, especially men. She’s got issues with authority and a tendency to solve problems with violence.”

“Sounds like she’ll fit right in around here.” Y/N observed.

“She’s also one of the most sane proxies we have,” Brian added. “Which isn’t saying much, but it’s something. Her grip on reality is at least consistent.”

“The bar for sanity is apparently very low in this place.”

“You have no idea,” Tim said grimly, adjusting his worn brown jacket. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, Princess.”

With that ominous statement, Tim and Brian left, closing the door behind them with a soft click. Y/N heard the distinctive sound of a lock engaging from the outside, followed by the creak of floorboards as someone settled into position in the hallway.

“Locked in,” she said to Jack, who remained seated by the window like a gargoyle. “How comforting.”

“Standard procedure,” Jack replied, his eyeless mask turning toward her. The black liquid seemed to flow more freely when he moved, and Y/N realized it was probably reacting to her emotions somehow. “New acquisitions always get a period of supervised adjustment. It’s for everyone’s safety.”

“Mine or yours?”

“Both,” Jack said honestly, his voice carrying no inflection whatsoever. “Panicked civilians can be surprisingly creative when it comes to self-harm or escape attempts. And some of the proxies here have impulse control issues. Ben, for instance, has a tendency to… play… with new arrivals.”

Y/N studied Jack’s massive form, noting the way his elongated fingers rested casually on his knees, the steady rise and fall of his chest that suggested breathing even though she wasn’t sure he actually needed oxygen. There was something predatory about his stillness, like a spider waiting in its web.

“What exactly are you?” she asked bluntly.

Jack’s mask tilted slightly, and for a moment Y/N thought she saw something shift in the empty sockets. “That’s complicated, dove. Let’s just say I’m no longer entirely human.”

“None of you are, are you?”

“The Operator doesn’t collect normal people,” Jack said with what might have been amusement. “Normal people break too easily. We’re all… modified… in various ways.”

Y/N shifted on the bed, testing her ankle’s range of motion. Jack’s sutures held firm, and while it was still tender, she could probably walk short distances without too much discomfort. The pain was manageable, which was more than she’d hoped for.

“I need a shower,” she said, mainly to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them. “I feel like I’ve got blood and dirt ground into my skin.”

“The bathroom is through that door,” Jack confirmed, gesturing with one elongated finger. “Towels are in the cabinet under the sink. Take your time, I’ll be here when you’re finished.”

Y/N stood carefully, putting weight on her injured ankle. It hurt, but it was manageable. She limped toward the bathroom door, pausing when Jack spoke again.

“Dove?”

“What?”

“The window in the bathroom is reinforced and opens only three inches. The drain is too small to fit anything larger than a coin. There are no sharp objects that could be used as weapons, and the mirror is made of polished metal rather than glass.” His voice was matter-of-fact, almost helpful.

Y/N stared at him. “You’re telling me this why?”

“Because you’re thinking about escape routes and potential weapons,” Jack said matter-of-factly, and Y/N realized he was absolutely right. “It’s written all over your body language. Your eyes are cataloguing everything, your posture is defensive, your breathing is shallow and controlled. I’m simply saving you the time and effort of discovering these things yourself.”

“How considerate of you.”

“I try to be helpful.” Jack replied, and Y/N couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic. With the mask, it was impossible to read his expression.

She entered the bathroom and immediately began cataloguing everything Jack had told her. He was right about the window, it was reinforced with some kind of wire mesh and opened only a few inches, barely enough for a small cat to squeeze through. The mirror was indeed metal, polished to a reflective shine but impossible to break into sharp shards. Even the toiletries were in plastic containers rather than glass bottles.

But Jack had missed something, or perhaps he’d deliberately omitted it. The toilet tank lid was ceramic and heavy enough to do serious damage if swung with sufficient force. Y/N carefully lifted it, testing its weight and balance. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

She hid the improvised weapon behind the toilet where it wouldn’t be immediately visible, then started the shower. The hot water felt like heaven after hours of fear and stress, washing away the blood and dirt and sweat from her ordeal in the forest. She let herself stand under the spray for several minutes, just breathing and trying to process everything that had happened.

As she washed, Y/N allowed herself to really think about her situation for the first time since this nightmare had started. Emma was dead, her body cold and bloody in her bathroom. Her other friends were dead too, probably, if the pattern held. Her old life was gone, erased as if it had never existed. She was trapped in a compound full of killers who served some cosmic entity that claimed to own her now.

But she was alive. Against all odds, despite everything that had happened, she was still breathing and thinking and planning. That had to count for something. She wasn’t going to go down without a fight, no matter how impossible the odds seemed.

And Jeff was here. Jeff was alive, transformed and clearly damaged, but alive. The friend she’d mourned for nine years was part of this world now, just like she was apparently going to be. Maybe there was still hope. Maybe there was still a way to reach him, to help him, to find some kind of redemption in this hellish place.

Or maybe she was just being naive. Maybe the Jeff she’d known was truly dead, and what remained was nothing more than a hollow shell filled with violence and madness.

While she showered, she heard Jack grunt after someone called out his name through the door. “Dove, I need to go for a while,” his muffled voice came through the bathroom door. “Nat will be here soon, so don’t try anything funny. She’s less patient than I am, and her knives are very sharp.”

Y/N finished her shower and wrapped herself in one of the provided towels, a thick white terry cloth that was softer than she’d expected. Everything in this place was a contradiction, moments of unexpected kindness surrounded by casual cruelty, comfort mixed with constant threat.

She was just reaching for the makeshift weapon when she heard loud, impatient knocking at the main door.

“Y/N!” a female voice called out, muffled by the bathroom door but clearly annoyed. “Open up! I’ve got your shit and I don’t have all fucking day!”

Y/N froze, the ceramic tank lid halfway to its hiding spot under her pillow.

“I don’t have time for this bullshit!” the voice snapped, and Y/N heard the distinct sound of someone kicking the door. “I’ve got better things to do than play delivery girl for the Operator’s new pet!”

Y/N quickly hid the tank lid under her pillow and called out, “Just a minute!”

The knocking came again, even more impatient than before, accompanied by what sounded like someone pacing back and forth in the hallway.

“Seriously! Open the fucking door! Some of us have actual work to do!”

Y/N limped to the main door as quickly as her injured ankle would allow, still wearing only the towel. Through the door, she could hear someone pacing and muttering angrily under their breath, occasionally punctuated by creative swearing that would make a sailor blush.

She turned the handle and pulled the door open carefully, ready to slam it shut again if necessary.

Standing in the hallway was a young woman about Y/N’s age, maybe slightly older. She had long, messy brown hair that looked like it had been cut with a knife, and droopy hazel-green eyes that seemed perpetually annoyed. Y/N noticed immediately that her left eye had been replaced with a pocket watch that ticked audibly in the silence, the brass gleaming dully in the hallway light. Black stitches were sewn into the corners of her mouth, pulling them up into a permanent upward curve that looked more disturbing than cheerful, like a doll’s smile carved into living flesh.

The woman was wearing a white tank top under a greyish-green hoodie with white fur lining the hood, black skinny jeans that were torn at the knees, and knee-high black boots that looked like they could deliver a serious kick. Y/N could see the handles of two large serrated knives sticking out from sheaths on her belt, the metal worn smooth from constant use.

“Finally!” the woman said, hefting a black backpack that looked like it weighed a ton. “I’ve been standing out here for—” She stopped mid-sentence as she took in Y/N’s towel-clad appearance, her face immediately turning bright red.

“What the FUCK?” she shouted, taking several steps backward and nearly tripping over her own boots. “Why are you naked?!”

Before Y/N could respond that she wasn’t completely naked, the woman threw the backpack at her, the heavy bag hitting Y/N in the chest and nearly knocking her off balance. “Jesus Christ, put some fucking clothes on! What’s wrong with you?!”

“I was just getting out of the shower!” Y/N protested, catching the backpack and holding it defensively in front of herself. “You were the one banging on the door like the building was on fire!”

“I didn’t know you were a…” the woman gestured vaguely at Y/N’s form, her face still red, the pocket watch in her left socket ticking faster. “They said the new acquisition was named Y/N! That’s not exactly a gender-specific name, you know!”

“What do you mean by not a gender-specific name? Well, I’m a girl,” Y/N said unnecessarily, raising an eyebrow at the other woman’s obvious discomfort. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” the woman muttered, looking anywhere but directly at Y/N. She shoved her hands deep into her hoodie pockets, her shoulders hunched defensively. The stitches in her mouth pulled tighter, making her permanent smile look even more grotesque. “At least that means I don’t have to deal with only crazy-ass Nina and Kate around here anymore. Sally doesn’t count, she’s like twelve and dead.”

“Nina and Kate?”

“Other female proxies,” the woman explained curtly, still avoiding eye contact. Her pocket watch ticked steadily, and Y/N realized it was probably connected to her somehow, maybe even functioning as an actual eye. “Nina’s completely fucking psychotic, like, more psychotic than Jeff on his worst day. Kate’s actually decent, but she’s on a mission right now. Probably won’t be back for days.”

“And you are?”

“Nat,” the woman said immediately, her hazel-green eye finally meeting Y/N’s gaze. “Just Nat. Don’t call me anything else unless you want these knives to get acquainted with your internal organs.”

“Noted,” Y/N said, remembering Jack’s warning about her real name. “I’m Y/N.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Nat said with a snort, her stitched mouth twisting into what might have been genuine amusement. “You’re the one Jeff freaked out about. Never seen him run through here so fast in my life.”

“You heard about that?”

“Everyone heard about that,” Nat said, finally relaxing slightly. Her shoulders came down, and she leaned against the doorframe. “Jeff doesn’t run from anything. Ever. The fact that he took one look at you and bolted like his ass was on fire has got everyone talking.”

“What are they saying?”

“That you must be someone special. Someone from his past, maybe.” Nat studied Y/N’s expression carefully, her functioning eye sharp and calculating. “You know him, don’t you? From before he became a walking nightmare.”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “We were friends. Close friends. Before… whatever happened to him happened.”

“No shit,” Nat said, her eyebrows rising. “That explains a lot. Jeff doesn’t exactly handle emotional complications well. Hell, he doesn’t handle any emotions well except for rage and bloodlust.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Yeah, well, word of advice?” Nat’s expression grew serious, and she straightened up from the doorframe. “Stay away from him for a while. Or forever, if you’re smart. Let him process whatever the hell seeing you again stirred up. Jeff in a bad mood is dangerous for everyone in a five-mile radius.”

“How bad of a mood are we talking about?”

“The kind where innocent proxies end up with knife wounds,” Nat said matter-of-factly, unconsciously touching one of the knives at her belt. “Jeff’s idea of anger management involves stabbing things. Lots of things. And when he can’t find things to stab, he gets creative about making new targets.”

“Wonderful.” Y/N muttered with a sigh.

“Look, just…” Nat shifted uncomfortably, her hands buried deep in her pockets. The fabric rustled with each nervous movement, and her pocket watch ticked faster, almost like a heartbeat. “Get dressed, for fuck’s sake. And get some rest tonight.” She paused, her functioning eye growing distant. “You’re gonna need it for tomorrow morning.”

Y/N’s grip tightened on the backpack, her wet hair dripping onto her shoulders. “What do you mean? What’s happening tomorrow morning?”

Nat’s stitched mouth curved into what might have been a smirk, the black threads pulling at her skin in a way that made Y/N’s stomach turn. She rolled her shoulders in a casual shrug, but her hazel-green eye gleamed with something that looked almost like anticipation. “Let’s just say you’ve got a little… challenge ahead of you. You and a few other people who are considered ‘guests’ here.”

The way she said ‘guests’ made Y/N’s stomach twist. “What kind of challenge?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Nat’s gaze flickered downward for a split second before snapping back to Y/N’s face, her cheeks flushing bright red again. She hissed through her teeth, taking an aggressive step forward. “And for fuck’s sake, don’t answer doors half-naked! Especially not in this house. There are some sick fucks here who wouldn’t think twice about—” She cut herself off, shaking her head violently. “Just don’t, okay? Some of these assholes have no boundaries whatsoever.”

Before Y/N could respond, Nat spun on her heel and stomped down the hallway, her heavy boots echoing angrily off the walls. Y/N could hear her muttering under her breath as she walked away, the words too quiet to make out but the tone clearly irritated.

Y/N sighed, limping back to the bed with the backpack clutched against her chest. Her ankle throbbed with each step, Jack’s sutures pulling uncomfortably. She set the bag down and unzipped it, curious to see what passed for acceptable clothing in this place.

Inside, she found several sets of clothes: dark jeans in what looked like her exact size, plain t-shirts in various muted colors, a thick hoodie that looked warm and comfortable, underwear still in packaging, thick socks, and what looked like hiking boots that were definitely her size. There was also a basic toiletry kit with a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, and other necessities. Everything was practical and generic, like someone had gone to a department store and grabbed items off the rack without much thought to style or preference.

Y/N dropped the towel and pulled on the softest clothes she could find, a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a black long-sleeved shirt. The fabric was surprisingly comfortable against her skin, though the clothes hung loose on her frame in a way that suggested they were meant to be functional rather than flattering. She slipped on the thick socks, grateful for the warmth they provided against the cool air that seemed to seep through the walls.

Moving carefully on her injured ankle, she made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth. The minty toothpaste felt refreshing after everything she’d been through, and she took her time, savoring this small bit of normalcy. When she finished, she caught sight of herself in the polished metal mirror. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and stress written across her features in the tight lines around her mouth and the hollow look in her eyes.

Back in the main room, Y/N settled onto the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. The mattress was firmer than she was used to, but after the day she’d had, it felt like luxury. The sheets smelled like industrial detergent, clean and sterile, but there was something oddly comforting about their crisp coolness against her skin.

She closed her eyes and tried to push away thoughts of what tomorrow’s ‘challenge’ might involve, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of her breathing. The building around her creaked and settled, and she could hear distant sounds, footsteps in the hallway, doors closing, muffled conversations that she couldn’t quite make out.

Sleep came eventually, deep and dreamless, her exhausted body finally giving in to the need for rest.

Y/N jolted awake to the harsh sound of static filling the room, loud enough to make her ears ring. The old television in the corner, which had been dark when she’d gone to sleep, now glowed with an eerie blue light that cast shifting shadows on the walls. The static grew louder, more aggressive, and through the chaotic pattern of white and black dots, she could make out a pair of glowing red eyes watching her.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she watched in horror as a figure began to emerge from the screen, the static parting around him like water. First came pale hands with elongated fingers, then thin arms, then a head of messy blonde hair that looked like it had been styled with electricity.

Y/N let out a piercing screech that echoed off the walls and grabbed one of her pillows, hurling it with all her strength at the intruder’s face.

“Hey—!” The word was muffled as the pillow made contact with a satisfying thump.

The figure tumbled the rest of the way out of the TV with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, landing in a graceless heap on the floor. He pushed the pillow off his face with obvious irritation, revealing features that made Y/N’s blood run cold, those same red, bleeding eyes.

Ben sat up, brushing dust off his green shirt, and shot her a grumpy glare. “What the hell was that for?” His voice was higher than she’d expected, with a petulant edge that made him sound younger than he looked.

Y/N’s voice came out as a growl. “Who the fuck are you? What are you doing in my room?”

Ben’s expression shifted from annoyed to something that might have been recognition. He tilted his head, studying her with those unsettling bleeding eyes. Y/N froze as memory crashed over her, those eyes in her computer screen, in her phone, in her television. Always watching.

“I know you!” she shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You’ve been stalking me! Those red eyes, that was you, wasn’t it? Watching me in my apartment!”

A cocky grin spread across Ben’s pale features, like she’d just complimented him on a particularly clever trick. He floated up from the floor, actually floated, his feet leaving the ground entirely and dusted off his green pointed hat with casual indifference.

“The Operator ordered me to keep an eye on you,” he said with a careless shrug, as if supernatural stalking was the most normal thing in the world. “Just following orders.”

“Keep an eye on me?” Y/N’s voice rose dangerously. “I always saw those red eyes when I was changing clothes, you sick freak!”

Ben’s gaze shifted away, suddenly finding the ceiling very interesting. He waved a dismissive hand, his cocky demeanor not quite hiding the hint of guilt that flashed across his features. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Like hell you don’t—”

“Look, I’m Ben.” he interrupted, floating closer with a smirk that was all sharp teeth and mischief. “And you’re the famous Y/N L/N who made Jeff lose his shit. Pleasure to finally meet you properly instead of through a screen.”

Before Y/N could tell him exactly what she thought of him, the door burst open with such force it slammed against the wall. Both Y/N and Ben jumped, Ben dropping a few inches in his hover.

Brian stood in the doorway, chest heaving like he’d run up the stairs. His brown eyes swept the room, taking in Ben’s floating form and Y/N’s defensive posture on the bed. His shoulders relaxed slightly as he realized there was no immediate danger.

“I heard screaming,” Brian said, his voice slightly muffled by the ski mask. He straightened to his full height, looking imposing even in his casual clothes. His attention turned to Ben with clear disapproval. “What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”

Ben whined like a petulant child, his feet finally touching the ground. “Aw, come on, Hoodie. I was just introducing myself. No harm, no foul.”

“Out.” Brian’s voice brooked no argument. He stepped aside and gestured toward the door. “Now.”

“But—”

“Now, Ben.”

Ben’s shoulders slumped in defeat, but as he passed Y/N’s bed, he shot her a wink that was equal parts playful and threatening. “See you around, Y/N. This won’t be our last chat.”

Once Ben was gone, Brian remained in the doorway for a long moment, his masked face studying Y/N. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken questions.

“Goodnight.” he said finally, his voice softer than before.

The door closed with a quiet click, and Y/N heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway, not walking away, but settling into position. She realized with a sinking heart that Brian would probably be standing guard outside her door for the rest of the night.

Y/N pulled the covers back over herself, but sleep was a long time coming. Every shadow seemed to hide red eyes, and every creak of the building made her wonder what other horrors might be lurking in the darkness.

Y/N was jolted awake by rough hands shaking her shoulders. Her eyes snapped open to find Tim standing over her bed, his white mask already in place. The morning light filtering through the curtains was weak and gray, suggesting it was barely dawn.

“Time to go.” Tim said curtly, his brown eyes visible through the mask’s eye holes showing no sympathy for her grogginess. “Get dressed. Now.”

Y/N sat up, wincing as her injured ankle protested the movement. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out.” Tim stepped back as she swung her legs out of bed. “You have two minutes.”

Y/N quickly pulled on the jeans and hiking boots from the backpack, her movements stiff from sleep and stress. Her ankle was tender but manageable as long as she was careful. Tim waited impatiently outside of her room, tapping his gloved fingers against his thigh.

“Ready.” she said, though she felt anything but ready.

Tim nodded and gestured for her to follow him. They walked through the compound’s twisting hallways, past doors that remained firmly closed. Y/N could hear sounds from behind some of them, muffled voices, what sounded like crying, and in one case, maniacal laughter that made her skin crawl.

They exited through a back door Y/N hadn’t seen before, emerging into the pre-dawn forest. The air was cold and damp, filled with the scent of pine and something else, something metallic that made her stomach churn.

A group was already assembled in a small clearing. Toby was bouncing excitedly on his toes, his neck cracking audibly with each movement. Jack stood motionless as a statue, thick black liquid seeping from his empty sockets and dripping steadily onto the forest floor. Brian leaned against a tree with his arms crossed, the red frown painted on his ski mask somehow more unsettling in the dim morning light. And Nat stood off to the side, picking at her fingernails with disinterest.

But it was the other group that made Y/N’s blood run cold.

Fifteen people, all roughly her age, stood huddled together in the center of the clearing. They were blindfolded with dark cloth, their hands zip-tied behind their backs. Some were crying, others trembling, and a few stood with the rigid stillness of barely controlled panic. Their clothes were dirty and torn, suggesting they’d been here for a while. Dark stains on their shirts looked suspiciously like dried blood.

Y/N felt her stomach drop. These were the other ‘guests’ Nat had mentioned.

“What the hell is this?” Y/N demanded, turning to Tim.

Before he could answer, the air around them grew thick and oppressive. The shadows between the trees seemed to deepen and writhe like living things, and a sound like television static filled the clearing. The temperature dropped noticeably, and Y/N’s breath came out in visible puffs that dissipated too quickly, as if the very air was being consumed.

The Operator’s presence pressed against her mind like ice water, and his voice echoed inside her skull with the weight of inevitability.

“Good morning, children.”

The blindfolded captives whimpered and pressed closer together, even though they couldn’t see the source of their terror. Their bodies seemed to recognize the cosmic wrongness on a cellular level. Y/N found herself taking an involuntary step backward, her injured ankle nearly giving out.

“Y/N.” the voice continued, each syllable vibrating through her bones. “You have been selected for the honor of joining my family as my newest proxy. However, I believe in… fair competition.”

Y/N’s hands clenched into fists. “What are you talking about?”

“These fifteen individuals were also considered for the position. I have decided to give them one final chance to prove their worth.” The static in the air grew louder, more aggressive, until it felt like needles piercing her eardrums. “If any of them can kill you within the next two hours, they will be granted their freedom. If you survive, you will take your rightful place as my proxy.”

The words hit Y/N like a physical blow. “You’re making them hunt me?”

“I am giving them motivation.”

Y/N felt her body go rigid with fury and fear. She was about to become prey to fifteen desperate people who had nothing left to lose. The realization that these weren’t killers or criminals, they were just people, terrified people who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time somehow made it worse.

From the sidelines, she could hear Toby’s delighted laughter and clapping. Next to him, a boy she didn’t recognize, pale with messy brown hair and blue goggles was grinning and bouncing on his toes just as enthusiastically.

“This is gonna be f-fucking amazing Cody!” Toby giggled, his neck cracking audibly with his tics. “Better than the l-last batch!”

The other boy, Cody, Y/N realized, nodded eagerly. “I wonder how long this one will last! The last girl only made it forty-three minutes before she started begging!”

Tim and Brian stood with their arms crossed, expressions hidden behind their masks but their body language suggesting boredom rather than excitement. Jack simply yawned, as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

Nat looked away entirely, though Y/N caught her shooting a brief look of what might have been sympathy in her direction.

Notably absent was Jeff, though Y/N found herself both relieved and disappointed by his absence.

“The rules are simple.” the Operator continued. “Y/N will be given a five-minute head start to enter the forest. The other candidates will then be released to pursue her. My proxies are forbidden from interfering in either direction. Y/N may defend herself by any means necessary.”

“This is insane.” Y/N said, but her voice was lost in the growing static.

“The challenge begins… now.”

The oppressive presence lifted slightly, and Y/N found she could move again. Tim stepped forward and cut the zip-ties binding the captives’ wrists with a sharp blade, though their blindfolds remained in place.

“Five minutes,” Tim said to Y/N, checking his watch with mechanical precision. “Use them wisely.”

Y/N looked at the fifteen people who would soon be hunting her. They were already tensing, sensing their restraints had been removed. One woman, probably in her early twenties with auburn hair, was crying silently, tears soaking through her blindfold and dripping onto her torn blouse.

Y/N made her decision in an instant. She turned and ran.

Her ankle screamed in protest with each step, sending lightning bolts of agony up her leg, but adrenaline carried her forward. She crashed through the underbrush, branches catching at her clothes and scratching at her exposed skin. Behind her, she could hear Toby’s voice counting down with sadistic glee.

“Four m—minutes and thirty seconds! Better h-hurry, little piggy!”

Y/N pushed deeper into the forest, her lungs already burning from the effort and the thin, cold air. She needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and the starting point. More importantly, she needed to find somewhere defensible, or better yet, a way out of this nightmare entirely.

The trees around her were wrong somehow, their trunks twisted into impossible angles that hurt to look at directly, their branches reaching toward each other like grasping fingers. The deeper she went, the more the forest seemed to close in around her, the canopy above becoming so thick that barely any light penetrated. This was the Operator’s domain, and she was beginning to understand that escape might not be possible.

But she’d be damned if she wouldn’t try.

“T-Three minutes!” Toby’s voice called out, closer than it should have been. The sound seemed to come from all directions at once, echoing off trees that shouldn’t exist in the same space.

Y/N pressed on, fighting through her growing panic. Her breathing was becoming ragged, each exhale visible in the unnaturally cold air. She needed a plan beyond just running. Fifteen people against one injured woman wasn’t good odds, even if those fifteen people were just as scared as she was.

That thought stopped her cold for just a moment. They weren’t killers. They were victims, just like her. People who’d been grabbed off the street or taken from their homes and told their only chance at survival was to murder a stranger.

Could she really defend herself against them? Could she hurt innocent people to save her own life?

“Two minutes!”

The countdown continued, each number bringing her closer to the moment when fifteen desperate people would be set loose in the forest with her blood as their ticket to freedom.

Y/N gritted her teeth and kept running, pushing through the pain in her ankle that was now throbbing in time with her heartbeat. She’d figure out the moral implications later, right now she needed to survive.

The forest around her grew denser, more oppressive. The morning light barely penetrated the canopy above, leaving everything in a twilight gloom that made it hard to see more than a few feet ahead. Every shadow could hide a pursuer, every sound could signal danger. The very air seemed to whisper threats and promises of violence.

“One minute!” Toby’s gleeful voice echoed through the trees, followed by his distinctive giggle. “Get ready to r-run, little piggies! Time to play tag!”

Y/N found herself in a small ravine with steep sides and what looked like the remains of an old stone foundation, probably a house or cabin that had long since rotted away. She scrambled up onto the crumbling stones, testing her footing carefully. The higher ground would give her a better view of anyone approaching, but it also made her more visible.

Her ankle throbbed viciously, and she could feel moisture in her boot, the sutures had probably torn. But there was no time to worry about that now. She could hear her heart hammering in her ears, so loud she was sure it could be heard for miles.

“T-Time’s up!” Toby’s voice rang out with sadistic joy. “Let t-the hunt begin! May the odds be ever in your f-favor!”

In the distance, Y/N could hear the sound of running feet crashing through the underbrush. Branches snapped with sharp reports like gunshots. Someone, probably more than one person, was crying. And underneath it all was a sound that made her blood run cold: the desperate panting of people running for their lives.

They were coming.

Y/N crouched behind the stone ruins, trying to control her breathing. Her heart hammered so hard she was sure it could be heard for miles. Every instinct screamed at her to keep running, but she knew she couldn’t outrun fifteen people for two hours, especially not on an injured ankle that was getting worse by the minute.

The sounds were getting closer. She could make out individual voices now, someone pleading with God, someone else cursing, the unmistakable sound of someone being sick with fear. The cacophony of terror was almost overwhelming.

Through the trees, she caught glimpses of movement. The auburn-haired woman stumbled into view first, no longer blindfolded but clearly disoriented. She looked around wildly, tears streaming down her face, her hands shaking as she tried to wipe them away.

“I can’t do this,” the woman whispered to herself, her voice cracking. “I can’t kill someone. I can’t—please, God, I can’t—”

More figures emerged from the forest. A tall man with a patchy beard, moving with grim determination, his jaw set in a way that suggested he’d already made his terrible choice. A teenage boy who couldn’t be more than sixteen, shaking so badly he could barely walk, his face pale and streaked with tears. A middle-aged woman with blood on her shirt from fighting through thorns, her eyes wild with panic.

They spread out through the area below Y/N’s hiding spot, some calling her name in voices thick with desperation, others moving in terrified silence. Y/N realized with growing horror that she recognized some of them, they looked like ordinary people. A college student with a backpack still strapped to her shoulders. An office worker in a torn button-down shirt. A mother with a wedding ring glinting on her finger.

“Y/N!” the bearded man called out, his voice cracking with desperation. “Please! I have kids! I have twin daughters! I just want to go home to my kids!”

The teenage boy was crying openly now, snot and tears mingling on his face. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed to no one in particular. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die here.”

Y/N pressed herself flatter against the stones, guilt and terror warring in her chest. These people weren’t monsters. They were victims, forced into an impossible situation by a creature that fed on suffering like others fed on bread.

But that didn’t change the fact that they were hunting her.

The auburn-haired woman suddenly looked up, her tear-stained eyes scanning the ruins methodically. For a moment that felt like an eternity, their eyes locked across the clearing. Y/N saw her own terror reflected in the woman’s face, along with something worse, recognition of what she was about to do.

“There!” the woman screamed, pointing up at the ruins with a trembling finger. “She’s there! Oh God, I’m sorry, but she’s there!”

The effect was immediate and devastating. All fifteen pairs of eyes turned toward Y/N’s position like searchlights, and she saw the exact moment when desperation overcame their remaining humanity. Their faces changed, becoming something primal and hungry.

Y/N scrambled to her feet and ran.

Behind her, fifteen people who had nothing left to lose gave chase.

The next hour and forty-seven minutes would be the longest of Y/N’s life.

She crashed through the forest with the pack in pursuit, their combined footsteps creating a thunderous cacophony that seemed to shake the very ground beneath her feet. Her injured ankle screamed with every step, sending white-hot spears of agony up her leg that made her vision blur at the edges, but terror pushed her beyond her physical limitations. Each impact felt like stepping on broken glass wrapped in barbed wire, the pain so intense it made her stomach lurch.

The terrain worked against her with malicious intent. Fallen logs threatened to trip her, their bark slick with moisture and decay that made every surface treacherous. Thorny vines caught at her clothes, tearing fabric and leaving bloody scratches that burned like fire across her exposed skin. The uneven ground made every step a gamble, hidden roots and holes waiting to snap her other ankle and leave her completely helpless.

Behind her, she could hear her pursuers spreading out, trying to flank her, cut off her escape routes. They were learning, adapting, working together despite their terror. Their breathing was becoming more ragged, more desperate, but their determination only seemed to intensify as the minutes ticked by.

“Please!” the bearded man’s voice called out, closer than before, his breathing harsh and labored. “I don’t want to hurt you! Just let me do this quick! I promise it’ll be quick! My daughters… oh God, my little girls need their daddy!”

Y/N risked a glance over her shoulder and immediately wished she hadn’t. The teenage boy had somehow gotten ahead of the pack and was gaining on her fast, a jagged piece of stone clutched in his shaking hand. His face was streaked with tears and snot, his eyes red-rimmed and wild, but beneath the terror was the kind of desperate determination that made people capable of unthinkable acts. Blood dripped from cuts on his palms where he gripped the sharp stone too tightly.

Y/N put on a burst of speed, her lungs burning, she managed to put some distance between them. But she could hear more of them flanking her from the sides, their voices calling out coordinates like a military operation gone horribly wrong.

“She went left!

“Blood trail going left!”

“Cut her off at the creek!”

“Don’t let her reach the water!”

“I can see blood on the leaves! Fresh blood!”

“She’s slowing down—we can catch her now!”

The sound of her own ragged breathing filled her ears, mixing with the thunderous pounding of her heart. Every breath felt insufficient, her lungs working overtime but never quite getting enough oxygen. Sweat stung her eyes and mixed with the blood from thorn scratches, creating a burning cocktail that made it even harder to see where she was going.

Twenty minutes in, she made her first critical mistake.

A fallen tree blocked her path, its massive trunk easily six feet high and covered in slippery moss and bark that crumbled under her fingers. With her injured ankle, climbing over it was like trying to scale a mountain. As she scrambled up its bark-covered surface, her foot slipped on a patch of slimy moss. She tumbled down the other side, landing hard on her shoulder and rolling into a patch of thorny undergrowth that seemed specifically designed to inflict maximum pain.

The agony was immediate and overwhelming. Dozens of thorns pierced her skin like needles, each one finding flesh and driving deep. Her shoulder screamed in protest from the impact, the joint making a grinding sound that suggested something was seriously damaged. But worse was the sound of her pursuers reaching the log. She could hear them climbing over, their voices getting closer, filled with renewed hope and predatory excitement.

“She went this way! I can see where she fell!”

“Look at all that blood on the thorns!”

“She’s hurt bad—we can catch her now!”

“There’s so much blood…”

“She can’t run much further, not like that!”

Y/N forced herself to her feet, ignoring the fire in her ankle and the dozens of cuts from the thorns that felt like tiny mouths biting at her flesh. Blood was seeping through her boot, the fabric squelching with each step, and staining her jeans in dark patches that would be impossible to miss. She could feel warm wetness running down her arms from the thorn cuts, dripping from her fingertips to mark her passage through the forest.

She limped forward as quickly as she could manage, but she knew they were gaining ground. The forest seemed to be conspiring against her, branches caught her hair and yanked her backward, roots tried to trip her with malicious intent, and the very air seemed to grow thicker with each passing minute, making it harder and harder to breathe.

The middle-aged woman appeared through the trees ahead of her, blocking her path like a vengeful spirit. In her hands was a heavy branch that she held like a club, her knuckles white with the intensity of her grip. Her face was a mask of grim resolve streaked with dirt and tears, her eyes holding the hollow look of someone who had already died inside but whose body refused to stop moving.

“I… I’m sorry, dear.” the woman said, and Y/N could see that she meant it. Her voice shook with emotion, cracking on every word. “But I have grandchildren. Three beautiful grandchildren who need their grandmother. Little Elena just turned five last month, and Tommy’s only two… I can’t die here. I won’t die here and leave them alone in this world.”

Y/N tried to dodge around her, but the woman was ready, moving with the desperate agility of someone fighting for everything that mattered. The branch came down hard, and Y/N barely got her arms up in time to block it. The impact sent shockwaves up her arms and knocked her backward into the path of the pursuing group, her vision sparkling with stars as pain radiated through her forearms.

Hands grabbed at her from multiple directions like the claws of some many-armed beast. Someone yanked her hair hard enough to bring tears to her eyes and make her scalp burn with pain. Another person tried to wrap their arms around her waist, their grip slippery with sweat and desperation. The teenage boy appeared at her side, the jagged stone raised high above his head like an executioner’s axe, his face a mask of desperate determination mixed with genuine anguish.

For a moment, Y/N saw her death reflected in his tear-filled eyes.

Then her survival instincts kicked in with vicious clarity, overriding every moral consideration.

She grabbed the teenager’s wrist and twisted hard, using his own momentum against him with a brutality she didn’t know she possessed. He cried out in pain and surprise, the sound high and broken like a wounded animal, stumbling into the middle-aged woman. Y/N broke free from the grasping hands and ran again, leaving behind the sounds of confused struggling and pained cursing that echoed through the trees.

But she’d lost precious time, and her ankle was deteriorating rapidly. The pain so intense it made her nauseous. She could feel bone grinding against bone, a sensation that made her stomach lurch violently.

The chase continued through terrain that grew increasingly hostile and surreal. The trees seemed to press closer together, their branches forming a claustrophobic tunnel that barely allowed passage. The ground beneath her feet became soft and treacherous, threatening to trap her with each step. Mud sucked at her boots like grasping hands, trying to pull her down into the earth itself. The very air seemed to thicken, making each breath a struggle.

An hour in, Y/N realized with sick certainty that she was being herded.

The forest was guiding their movement, funneling the entire group toward some predetermined destination like cattle being led to slaughter. Every time she tried to veer off in a new direction, impassable barriers of dense undergrowth or steep ravines forced her back onto the path. Thorny walls appeared where none had been moments before. Streams suddenly turned into raging torrents. The Operator was playing with them all, she realized with mounting horror. This wasn’t just a test of survival, it was entertainment, a sick game for a creature that fed on human suffering like others fed on bread.

The thought filled her with rage that momentarily overcame her fear, a white-hot fury that burned away her exhaustion and pain. She was not going to be this thing’s plaything. She was not going to die for its amusement.

Y/N started fighting back more aggressively, her survival instincts overriding her conscience. When the auburn-haired woman cornered her beside a stream that bubbled with water too dark to be natural, Y/N didn’t try to flee. Instead, she grabbed a handful of mud and rocks from the streambed and hurled it into the woman’s face with vicious accuracy, temporarily blinding her and sending her stumbling backward with a cry of pain and surprise.

When two of the men tried to tackle her simultaneously, their faces twisted with desperate determination, she managed to trip one of them into the other, sending both tumbling into a thorny bush where they thrashed and cursed.

She wasn’t trying to seriously hurt them, these people were victims too, forced into an impossible situation but she wasn’t going to make it easy for them to kill her either. Every fiber of her being rebelled against the idea of dying in this nightmare forest.

The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness, each second feeling like an hour. Y/N’s clothing was torn and bloodied, hanging off her body in strips that caught on every branch and thorn. Her body ached from dozens of impacts and scratches, each movement sending fresh waves of agony through her battered frame. Her ankle had swollen so badly that her boot was cutting off circulation, but removing it wasn’t an option, she needed what support it provided, no matter how inadequate.

The group pursuing her had thinned somewhat as exhaustion and horror took their toll. A few had given up, overcome by exhaustion or unable to continue hunting another human being like animals. She’d heard some of them breaking down completely, their sobs echoing through the forest. But the core group of seven or eight remained, driven by desperation and the terrible arithmetic of survival. Their faces had changed over the course of the hunt, becoming something primal and hungry, their humanity stripped away by circumstance.

With forty-five minutes left, Y/N’s strength was beginning to fail her. Her breathing came in harsh gasps that burned her throat, her vision was blurring at the edges, and her injured ankle could barely support her weight. She stumbled more frequently, catching herself on trees that seemed to shift and move when she wasn’t looking directly at them.

That’s when she saw it.

A flash of black moving through the underbrush, too quick and purposeful to be a shadow. Y/N blinked, wondering if exhaustion and blood loss were making her hallucinate, but then she saw it again, a sleek black cat weaving between the trees with unnatural grace.

The cat stopped and looked back at her, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Its face was wrong, horribly wrong. Where a normal cat’s mouth should be was a massive, unnaturally wide grin filled with too many teeth, all perfectly white and humanoid. The smile stretched from ear to ear, literally, creating a grotesque parody of joy that made her stomach turn. Its eyes were bright red and far too intelligent, holding an alien awareness that seemed to see straight through to her soul.

But instead of fear, Y/N felt a strange sense of… guidance? The creature, because it was definitely not a normal cat, seemed to be trying to show her something. It took a few steps in a specific direction, then looked back at her expectantly, that horrifying grin somehow managing to convey urgency.

Behind her, the voices of her pursuers were getting closer, their excitement growing as they sensed she was weakening.

“She’s slowing down!”

“The blood trail is getting thicker!”

“We’re going to catch her!”

“Finally going to end this nightmare!”

Y/N made a split-second decision and followed the cat, limping as quickly as her damaged ankle would allow. The creature led her through a maze of twisted trees and thorny undergrowth, always staying just within sight, its massive grin the only constant in a world that seemed to shift and change with each step.

The cat stopped beside what looked like a completely unremarkable patch of forest floor covered in fallen leaves and debris. It sat down and stared at her with those unnaturally bright eyes, its grin somehow managing to become even wider and more disturbing.

Y/N looked around frantically, hearing her pursuers getting closer, their voices filled with renewed hope as they followed her blood trail. “What?” she whispered desperately to the cat. “What are you trying to show me?”

The cat raised one paw and pointed, actually pointed, like a human would, at the ground beneath the debris. Then, without warning, it bounded away into the underbrush, disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving only the lingering impression of that terrible, knowing smile.

Y/N dropped to her knees and began frantically brushing away leaves and debris, her hands shaking with exhaustion and adrenaline. Her fingers were slick with blood from the thorn cuts, making it hard to grip anything properly. After several precious seconds, she felt something hard and metallic beneath the organic litter.

Hidden beneath a fallen tree, partially concealed by years of forest debris, was a rusted metal hatch set into the ground. Some kind of old cellar or bunker, probably dating back decades. The metal was corroded and pitted with age, covered in a layer of rust so thick it looked like dried blood. Hope flared in her chest, finally somewhere to hide.

She grabbed a heavy branch and began prying at the edges, trying to clear away the debris. The metal was corroded but solid, and it took precious seconds to get enough leverage to even make it budge. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely maintain her grip on the makeshift tool.

The hatch began to shift slightly, rust flaking down like snow, when—

Pain exploded across her back as someone crashed into her from behind with force.

Y/N went down hard, her makeshift tool flying from her hands as she hit the forest floor face-first. Leaves and dirt filled her mouth, and she could taste blood, whether from a split lip or internal bleeding, she couldn’t tell. She rolled over, spitting out debris, to see the auburn-haired woman standing above her.

The woman’s face was streaked with mud and tears, her eyes wild with desperation and something that might have been madness. Her clothes were torn and bloody from fighting through the thorny underbrush, and her hair hung in matted tangles around her face. In her hands was a jagged branch with a broken end as sharp as a spear, raised above her head like a primitive weapon.

“I’m sorry.” the woman sobbed, her voice breaking with genuine anguish. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go home. I have to see my family again. My boyfriend… he doesn’t even know where I am. My babies are probably wondering why mommy didn’t come home from work. I can’t die here. I can’t leave them alone. Please understand, I have to do this!”

The woman lunged downward with the makeshift weapon, aiming for Y/N’s chest with desperate accuracy. Her face was twisted with a combination of grief and determination.

Y/N rolled to the side, her hands instinctively coming up to defend herself. Her fingers closed around her own branch, a dead limb with a broken end as sharp as a knife that had fallen during their struggle. She hadn’t consciously grabbed it; pure survival instinct had guided her movements.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the auburn-haired woman fell forward, her momentum carrying her downward even as Y/N tried to push the branch away from herself.

The sharp end of Y/N’s branch punched through Sarah’s chest with a wet, tearing sound that would haunt Y/N’s dreams for the rest of her life. She felt the resistance as it pierced fabric, then skin, then the softer tissue beneath. The sensation was horrible, like cutting through raw meat, but worse because she could feel the woman’s life ending on the other end of the weapon.

For a moment that lasted an eternity, they stared at each other in mutual shock. Sarah’s eyes went wide, her mouth opening in a silent gasp of surprise and pain. Her face was so close Y/N could see the individual tears on her cheeks, could see the exact moment when understanding dawned in her eyes. Blood bubbled up from her lips, bright red and warm, spraying across Y/N’s face in hot droplets that tasted metallic and wrong.

“Oh God,” Y/N whispered, feeling her weight settling on top of her, feeling the warmth of blood flowing over her hands and down her arms in sticky rivulets. “Oh God, I didn’t—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

The woman tried to speak, more blood spilling from her mouth with each attempt. Her body convulsed once, twice, her hands clawing weakly at Y/N’s shoulders as if trying to hold onto life itself. Then her eyes rolled back, showing only the whites, and she went still with a final, rattling exhale that seemed to echo in the sudden silence of the forest.

Y/N lay there for precious seconds that felt like hours, trembling uncontrollably as she stared into the woman’s lifeless eyes. Her face was frozen in an expression of shock and pain, her mouth still open in that final, silent gasp. Blood was everywhere, on Y/N’s face, in her hair, soaking through her clothes and pooling on the ground beneath them. The metallic taste filled her mouth, making her gag and retch.

She had killed someone. An innocent person who just wanted to go home to her family, see her children again, hold her boyfriend. She had been a victim just like her, forced into this nightmare situation, and now she was dead because of Y/N’s hands.

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped her back to reality.

“Where did she go?”

“I heard something this way! Sounded like screaming!”

“Was that Sarah? Sarah, where are you?”

“There’s more blood on these leaves—fresh blood!”

Y/N pushed Sarah’s corpse off her with a small scream that she quickly stifled, clamping her blood-slicked hand over her mouth. Her whole body was shaking as if she had hypothermia, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. She fumbled for the hatch with trembling fingers, finally managing to pry it open with strength born of desperation and terror.

The space below was larger than she’d expected, a rectangular concrete room that might have been a Cold War fallout shelter. The air that wafted up was stale and musty, carrying the scent of decades of abandonment. It was empty except for some rotted wooden shelves along one wall and a thick layer of dust and leaves that had filtered down through cracks over the years. Ancient water stains on the walls suggested it had flooded at some point, but it was dry now.

Y/N climbed down the rusted ladder into the darkness, each rung slippery with her own blood. She pulled the hatch closed above her just as voices reached the spot where she’d been, sealing herself into a tomb-like silence that was somehow more terrifying than the sounds of pursuit.

“Holy shit—is that Sarah?!”

“Oh God, she’s dead! She’s actually dead!”

“Who did this? Who killed her?”

“It had to be Y/N, she’s the only one unaccounted for!”

“That bitch murdered Sarah! Sarah was just trying to get home!”

“She had kids! Sarah had kids waiting for her!”

“When we find that murdering bitch, we’re going to make her pay!”

Y/N pressed herself against the concrete wall, her hands still sticky with Sarah’s blood, her whole body trembling with shock and adrenaline. She tried to wipe the blood from her face, but her hands were covered in it too, creating smears that probably made her look like some kind of monster. Sarah’s blood was everywhere, under her fingernails, in her hair, soaking into her clothes until the fabric clung to her skin.

Above, she could hear her pursuers spreading out, searching for her with renewed fury and purpose. Their voices had changed, becoming harder, more vicious, filled with righteous anger. She was no longer just their ticket to freedom, she was a cold-blooded murderer who had killed one of their own. The fact that it had been self-defense wouldn’t matter to them. All they would see was Sarah’s body and Y/N’s absence.

“Find her!”

“She can’t have gone far, not with all that blood!”

“Check every tree, every bush, every rock!”

“When we catch that bitch, we’re going to make her suffer for what she did to Sarah!”

“She’s going to pay for every tear Sarah’s kids are going to cry!”

Y/N bit her lip to keep from sobbing, tasting blood, whether hers or Sarah’s, she couldn’t tell and didn’t want to know. She had killed someone. The thought kept circling through her mind like a vulture, growing more terrible with each repetition. An innocent person who just wanted to go home to her family. A mother, someone with children who were probably waiting for her to come home from work, wondering where mommy was.

The image of Sarah’s shocked face, blood bubbling from her lips, was burned into her mind like a brand. The sensation of the branch punching through flesh and bone was something she knew she would never forget, no matter how long she lived.

For several agonizing minutes that felt like hours, the search continued above. Someone walked directly over the hatch, their footsteps echoing through the concrete chamber like thunder. Y/N held her breath until her lungs burned, praying they wouldn’t notice the slightly raised metal surface beneath the debris. She could hear them moving debris around, their voices muffled but still audible through the metal.

“Anything over here?”

“Just more blood trails leading in different directions.”

“She’s trying to confuse us, throwing us off her scent.”

“The clever bitch. But we’ll find her.”

Eventually, the voices moved away, heading deeper into the forest, following false trails and phantom sounds. But Y/N didn’t trust it. She remained motionless in the darkness, counting down the minutes until this nightmare would be over, Sarah’s blood slowly drying on her skin and clothes.

In the bunker’s oppressive silence, Y/N finally had time to assess her injuries properly. Her ankle was definitely broken, she could feel the bones grinding against each other when she moved, sending sharp spikes of agony up her leg. The cuts from thorns were numerous but shallow, though they burned like fire and continued to seep blood. More concerning was a deep gash on her shoulder from her fall earlier, which had bled enough to soak through her shirt and was still trickling steadily.

But she was alive, and she only had to stay that way for thirty-eight more minutes.

Thirty-eight minutes until this nightmare was over.

Thirty-eight minutes until she could emerge from this concrete tomb.

Thirty-eight minutes until she would have to face what she had become.

The silence above was almost worse than the pursuit had been. Y/N strained her ears for any sound that might indicate her hunters’ positions, but the concrete walls seemed to muffle everything. Were they still searching the area? Had they moved on? Were they setting up an ambush for when she eventually had to emerge?

The darkness was absolute, pressing against her like a living thing. She couldn’t see her own hands in front of her face, couldn’t see the blood she knew covered them. In the blackness, her imagination began to run wild. She could swear she felt things moving in the shadows, hear whispers that might have been wind through cracks in the concrete or might have been something else entirely.

Twenty-five minutes left.

Y/N heard footsteps returning, moving more systematically this time. Someone was conducting a grid search of the area, checking every possible hiding spot with methodical precision. The footsteps moved in a pattern, forward, stop, check, move on. Forward, stop, check, move on.

They were getting closer to the hatch.

The footsteps stopped directly above the hatch.

Y/N’s heart hammered so loudly she was certain it could be heard through the metal. She pressed herself flatter against the wall, trying to become one with the shadows, trying to disappear entirely. Sarah’s blood felt like it was burning on her skin, marking her as a killer, making her glow like a beacon in the darkness.

“Hey!” a voice called out, the bearded man, the one with daughters. “I found something over here!”

More footsteps converged on the spot, moving quickly now, filled with hope and anticipation. Y/N could hear them scraping away debris from the hatch, their movements urgent and excited. Metal scraped against stone, rust flaked down like snow.

“It’s some kind of door.”

“Looks old. Really old.”

“Can we open it?”

“Has to be where she went. There’s nowhere else she could have gone.”

“Stand back, I’ll try.”

The hatch groaned as someone tried to lift it, the sound echoing through the concrete chamber like the cry of some ancient beast. Y/N looked up at the ladder, realizing with sick certainty that there was nowhere to go. The bunker was a dead end. If they got that hatch open, she would be trapped like a rat in a hole.

But the hatch was heavy and rusted, and whoever was trying to open it was already exhausted from the chase. After several attempts that made the metal scream and shower rust down on her head, she heard frustrated cursing.

“It’s stuck solid.”

“Let me try.”

Another person attempted to open it, with the same result. Y/N could hear their labored breathing, their growing frustration, the sound of them trying to find better leverage.

“The whole thing’s rusted shut.”

“Been here for decades, probably.”

“Forget it,” someone said, a woman’s voice, thick with exhaustion and defeat. “She’s not down there anyway. That thing probably hasn’t been opened in years. Look at all this rust.”

“But where else could she have gone?”

“The stream,” someone suggested. “Maybe she went into the water to hide her trail. Water doesn’t hold scent as well.”

“Or she doubled back. Could be hiding behind us now, watching us waste time.”

The voices gradually moved away again, but Y/N didn’t trust it this time. She remained motionless in the darkness, Sarah’s blood drying sticky and tight on her skin, counting down the minutes until this nightmare would be over.

But the minutes passed with agonizing slowness. Each second felt like an hour, each minute like a day. The darkness pressed against her like a living thing, and she began to imagine things moving in the shadows, whispers that might have been wind or might have been the voices of the dead.

Ten minutes.

Five minutes.

Two minutes.

At one minute remaining, Y/N heard a new sound from above, a rhythmic scraping, like metal on metal. Someone had found a tool and was working to pry open the hatch with renewed determination. The scraping grew more frantic as whoever it was realized time was almost up.

The hatch began to shift, rust flaking down into the bunker like radioactive snow.

Fifty seconds.

The hatch flew open with a screech of protesting metal that sounded like the gates of hell opening. Daylight flooded the chamber, temporarily blinding Y/N after so long in absolute darkness. A silhouette appeared at the opening, the teenage boy, still clutching his jagged stone, his face streaked with tears and dirt and something that might have been blood.

Forty seconds.

He started down the ladder, moving with desperate haste, his breathing ragged with exhaustion and fear and the terrible knowledge of what he was about to do. Each step on the rusted rungs rang out like a funeral bell.

Thirty seconds.

Y/N pressed herself against the wall, hoping against hope that time would run out before he reached the bottom. She could see him clearly now in the light filtering down from above. His eyes were red from crying, his face streaked with dirt and blood. He looked like he was about to be sick.

Twenty seconds.

His feet touched the concrete floor with a solid thud that seemed to echo forever. In the dim light filtering down from above, his eyes found hers across the small space. They stared at each other for a heartbeat that felt like eternity, hunter and prey, both equally terrified, both equally desperate.

Fifteen seconds.

The boy raised his stone weapon with hands that shook so badly he could barely hold it. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with dirt and blood to create muddy tracks on his cheeks. “I-I’m sorry.” he whispered, his voice breaking like glass. “I’m so sorry, but I want to live. I want to see my mom again. I want to go home. Please forgive me.”

Ten seconds.

Y/N froze, covering her head with her blood-stained hands as the boy stepped forward. Through her fingers, she saw him raising the stone high above his head, saw the exact moment when desperation overcame his remaining humanity. His face twisted with anguish and determination, and she knew this was how she was going to die, killed by a terrified child in a concrete tomb, covered in an innocent woman’s blood.

Five seconds.

A shadow dropped through the hatch opening behind the boy, silent as death itself.

Three seconds.

A kitchen knife slid between the teenager’s ribs with a sickening sound, like tearing wet fabric, but worse. The boy’s eyes went wide with shock and pain, the stone falling from nerveless fingers to clatter on the concrete floor.

One second.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH HER!” Jeff’s voice was a roar of fury that echoed off the concrete walls.

Zero.

The oppressive presence of the Operator suddenly filled the bunker, pressing against their minds like ice water and broken glass. The static sound that Y/N had learned to dread echoed off the concrete walls, growing louder and more aggressive until it felt like needles piercing her eardrums. The temperature dropped so suddenly that both Y/N and the dying boy could see their breath misting in the suddenly frigid air.

“Time.”

The boy collapsed to his knees, Jeff’s knife still buried in his chest, blood spreading across his shirt in a dark stain that looked black in the dim light. His eyes were already glazing over as he looked at Y/N with fading confusion, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“The challenge is complete. Y/N has survived the two hours and proven herself worthy of joining the family.”

Jeff pulled his knife free with a wet sound that made Y/N’s stomach lurch, letting the boy’s body crumple to the concrete floor like a discarded doll. His wide, lidless eyes were fixed on Y/N with an intensity that was both protective and terrifying, his carved smile somehow managing to look both triumphant and concerned.

Above them, Y/N could hear the other survivors breaking down as they realized what the Operator’s words meant for them. Their cries of despair and terror filtered down through the hatch like rain, and Y/N knew that the nightmare was far from over.

It was just beginning.

The screams from above pierced through the concrete bunker like knives. Y/N remained frozen at the bottom of the ladder, her blood-stained hands pressed against her ears in a futile attempt to block out the sounds of the other survivors meeting their fate. The voices she had heard just minutes ago, desperate, pleading, human, were now reduced to inhuman shrieks that seemed to stretch on endlessly, growing more distant but somehow more agonizing as they were dragged deeper into the forest.

Sarah’s blood had dried sticky and dark on Y/N’s skin, coating her arms from fingertips to elbows in crimson streaks that had begun to flake and crack. More blood matted her hair, turning the strands into stiff, copper-scented clumps that stuck to her scalp and neck. The metallic tang filled her nostrils with every breath, a constant reminder of the life she had accidentally taken. The woman’s shocked face, the way her eyes had widened in that final moment, the warmth of blood bubbling from her lips, it all played on repeat in Y/N’s mind. She could still feel the weight of Sarah’s body on top of her, could still smell the metallic scent of blood mixed with fear-induced sweat.

The teenage boy lay crumpled on the concrete floor beside her, Jeff’s kitchen knife having done its work. Blood had pooled beneath his frame, mixing with the dust and debris that had accumulated in the bunker over the years. His eyes, which had held such desperate hope just moments before, now stared sightlessly at the concrete ceiling above.

Y/N stumbled backward, her injured ankle screaming in protest, but the pain felt distant compared to the crushing weight of what had just occurred. Two people were dead because of her, one by her own hand, one because someone had tried to save himself. The guilt was suffocating.

Jeff stood over the boy’s corpse, his kitchen knife dripping crimson onto the floor. His hands were shaking violently as he stared down at what he had done, his wide, lidless eyes reflecting a mixture of protective fury and something that looked almost like regret. The carved smile on his face seemed even more grotesque in the dim light filtering down from above, a permanent grin that contrasted sharply with the turmoil visible in his eyes.

“I—” Jeff’s voice cracked as he spoke, his usual cocky demeanor completely shattered. “I just wanted to keep you safe.” His trembling intensified as he pulled the knife free from the boy’s chest with a wet, sucking sound that made Y/N’s stomach lurch. “This was for you, Y/N. I couldn’t let him… I couldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

Y/N’s face twisted with fury, Sarah’s blood flaking off her skin as she shook her head violently. “You could’ve just pushed him off!” she snapped, her voice raw with emotion and razor-sharp with anger. “You didn’t have to—Christ, Jeff, you didn’t have to stab him to death! He was just a kid! A fucking terrified kid who wanted to go home!”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, the dried blood on her knuckles cracking like old paint. The rage felt good, cleaner than the guilt, something to focus on that wasn’t the weight of Sarah’s lifeless body or the sound her body had made when it hit the ground.

Jeff’s scared, almost vulnerable expression instantly morphed into something darker and more familiar, the sour, angry mask he wore when his instability took over. His grip tightened on the blood-slicked handle of his knife as he turned to face her fully, his body language shifting from protective to defensive in the span of a heartbeat.

“You don’t understand!” he snarled, his voice echoing off the concrete walls with startling vehemence. “You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about! You think a little push would’ve stopped him? You think any of them would’ve just given up and walked away?” He gestured wildly with the knife, droplets of blood flying from the blade to spatter against the walls. “That kid would’ve kept coming, would’ve kept trying to bash your skull in until one of you was dead!”

Jeff’s breathing was ragged now, his chest heaving with the force of his emotions. “I gave him mercy, Y/N! A quick death, clean and fast, that’s more than the Operator would’ve given him! You want to know what happens to the ones who fail his little games? They get dragged into the deep woods where time moves wrong and pain lasts forever. They get torn apart slowly, piece by piece, while that thing feeds on their suffering like it’s a fucking five-course meal!”

The fury in Jeff’s voice was matched by something else, a deep, bone-deep terror that he was trying desperately to hide behind his anger. “So don’t you fucking dare stand there and judge me for giving that kid a quick end when the alternative was so much worse!”

Y/N’s eyes blazed with unrepentant fury. “Don’t you dare try to justify what you did!” she spat back, taking a step toward him despite her injured ankle. “You didn’t kill him out of mercy, you killed him because you’re a fucking psychopath who can’t control himself! You enjoyed it, didn’t you? The power, the control, the way he looked at you when he realized he was going to die!”

The words hit Jeff like physical blows, his face contorting with a mixture of rage and something that might have been hurt. But Y/N wasn’t finished, the words pouring out of her like poison that had been building up for too long.

“And you know what the really sick part is? You think I should be grateful! You think I should thank you for murdering a scared kid who was just trying to survive!” She laughed, but there was no humor in it, just bitter, cutting sarcasm. “Well here’s a newsflash, Jeff, I’m not grateful. I’m disgusted. I’m fucking horrified that I ever called you my best friend.”

Jeff’s face went white, even paler than his usual ghostly complexion, and for a moment he looked like she had physically struck him. The knife trembled in his grip, and Y/N could see the war playing out across his features, the desperate need to make her understand warring with the volcanic rage that always simmered just beneath his surface.

Y/N stumbled toward the ladder, her legs shaky and unsteady. She needed to get out of this tomb, needed to escape the smell of blood and death that seemed to permeate every molecule of air in the bunker. But as she reached for the first rung, Jeff moved to help her, his blood-stained hand reaching out toward her arm.

“Don’t touch me!” Y/N snapped, jerking away from his grasp with such force that she nearly lost her balance. The rejection hit Jeff like a physical blow, his face crumpling as if she had slapped him. “Just… don’t. I can do it myself.”

The venom in her voice could have stripped paint, and she saw Jeff physically recoil from the hatred in her tone. His hands fell to his sides, trembling with barely contained emotion. His wide eyes followed her movement as she began to climb, and Y/N could feel the weight of his gaze on her back like a physical presence. She could hear him breathing heavily below, could sense the turmoil radiating from him in waves, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not right now. Not when Sarah’s blood was still under her fingernails and that boy’s shocked face was burned into her memory.

The climb up the ladder felt endless, each rung a monumental effort that sent fresh waves of agony shooting through her injured ankle. Her hands, still sticky with Sarah’s blood, slipped slightly on the metal rungs, forcing her to grip tighter and move more carefully. The sounds from above had changed, the screaming had mostly stopped, replaced by something worse. An unnatural silence broken only by the occasional snap of branches and a low, rhythmic sound like heavy fabric being dragged across the forest floor.

When Y/N finally emerged from the bunker, she was greeted by a scene that would haunt her dreams for years to come. The forest clearing where the “game” had begun was empty except for dark stains on the ground and the lingering smell of terror-sweat and blood. The other proxies had returned. They stood in a loose semicircle, watching her with varying degrees of interest, amusement, and indifference.

Tim stood with his arms crossed, his white porcelain mask reflecting the weak sunlight filtering through the canopy above. Even with his face hidden, Y/N could sense his impatience radiating from his rigid posture, the way his fingers drummed against his bicep in an irritated rhythm. Brian leaned against a gnarled tree trunk, his red-frowning ski mask turned in her direction, but his body language suggested complete disinterest in the proceedings. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his worn light brown jacket, and he might as well have been watching paint dry for all the emotional investment he showed.

Toby was practically bouncing with excitement, his neck cracking audibly with each enthusiastic movement. His orange goggles caught the light as his head snapped back and forth in violent tics, but his attention was laser-focused on Y/N as she stumbled into the clearing. Cody stood beside him, the boy with messy brown hair and blue goggles grinning widely as he watched Y/N emerge covered in blood. Both of them looked like children who had just witnessed the world’s most entertaining magic show.

But it was Toby’s reaction that made Y/N’s skin crawl. His visible brown eye went wide as he took in her appearance, the blood coating her arms and matted in her hair, the way it had dried in rusty streaks across her skin. His mouth fell open behind the mouth guard, and she could actually see him start to drool as his gaze traveled over her blood-soaked form with obvious fascination.

“Holy sh-shit,” Toby breathed, his voice thick with what sounded disturbingly like arousal. “You l-look really, really nice like that. I—I-I think I have a boner right now. The blood, it’s just—” His neck cracked violently as he tilted his head, studying her like a work of art. “It s-suits you. Makes you look all d-dangerous and—”

The sharp crack of Tim’s hand connecting with the back of Toby’s head cut him off mid-sentence. Toby yelped and stumbled forward, his goggles sliding down his nose as he rubbed the back of his skull.

“Keep your sick fantasies to yourself, Rogers.” Tim growled, his voice muffled but clearly disgusted behind the porcelain mask. “Nobody wants to hear your twisted commentary.”

Toby pouted, straightening his goggles with a petulant expression. “I was j-just saying she looked n-nice! What’s wrong with c-compliments?”

“That wasn’t a compliment, you little freak,” Tim shot back, his attention already turning away from Toby toward Y/N. “That was you being a creepy little shit, which is your default setting.”

Natalie stood slightly apart from the group, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The clockwork eye that replaced her left socket ticked steadily, the only sound in the oppressive silence that had settled over the clearing. She wasn’t looking directly at Y/N, but her posture suggested she was acutely aware of everything happening around her. When she did glance over, her hazel green eye took in Y/N’s blood-soaked appearance with something that might have been sympathy, though it was quickly hidden behind her usual mask of indifference.

Notably absent was Jack, though Y/N found herself both relieved and somehow disappointed by his absence. His towering presence and eyeless mask had become strangely familiar, a twisted constant in this nightmare she found herself trapped in.

Y/N barely made it three steps from the bunker entrance before one of the remaining survivors broke from whatever hiding place they had found in the forest. It was the office worker, the man in the torn button-down shirt who had looked so ordinary, so normal when this nightmare began. Now his face was streaked with dirt and tears, his shirt hanging in tatters, his eyes wild with the kind of desperation that came from watching friends and strangers alike get torn apart by forces beyond human comprehension.

“Please!” he sobbed as he threw himself at Y/N’s feet, his hands clutching at her blood-stained jeans with desperate fingers. “Please, I don’t want to die! I have a wife, I have kids, they’re waiting for me to come home! Please, there has to be another way! There has to be something I can do, someone I can pay, some deal I can make! Please, I’ll do anything!”

His words were cut off as a long, black tendril erupted from the shadow of the trees behind him. The appendage wrapping around the man’s waist and lifting him off the ground as easily as a parent might lift a crying child. His scream of terror was deafening as more tendrils emerged from the darkness, coiling around his arms and legs with the inexorable strength of boa constrictors.

Y/N instinctively stepped forward, her hand reaching out toward the trapped man, but before she could take more than a single step, the tendrils contracted and dragged him backward into the forest. His screams echoed through the trees, growing more distant but not quieter, as if the very forest was amplifying his terror for the entertainment of whatever watched from the shadows. The sound stretched and warped, becoming something barely human, a wail of pure anguish that seemed to go on forever.

More survivors emerged from their hiding places, driven by panic and the horrible realization that their time had run out. The college student with the backpack, the middle-aged woman with the wedding ring, two men Y/N didn’t recognize, all of them broke cover simultaneously in a desperate final attempt to reach safety that didn’t exist. Their faces were masks of pure terror, eyes wide and wild, mouths open in wordless screams of despair.

The tendrils came for them all.

Y/N watched in frozen horror as each survivor was grabbed by the writhing black appendages and dragged screaming into the depths of the twisted forest. The sounds they made weren’t quite human anymore, primal shrieks of terror that spoke to something deep and instinctual in her brain, the kind of sounds that made every primitive survival instinct scream at her to run, to hide, to get as far away as possible.

The college student’s backpack came open as he was dragged away, spilling textbooks and papers across the blood-stained ground. Family photos scattered in the dirt, smiling faces looking up at the uncaring sky. The middle-aged woman’s wedding ring caught the light as her hand clawed desperately at the air, reaching for help that would never come.

Y/N collapsed to her knees on the blood-stained ground, her hands pressed over her ears, but the screams seemed to bypass her physical senses entirely and echo directly in her mind. The sounds grew more distant but somehow more intense, as if they were being stretched and distorted by the unnatural properties of the forest itself. She could hear them being torn apart, could hear the wet sounds of flesh separating from bone, could hear their final, desperate prayers to gods that weren’t listening.

That’s when the static began.

It started as a low hum at the base of her skull, barely noticeable beneath the din of distant screams. But it grew steadily stronger, building like the approach of a massive electrical storm. The sound filled her head, drowning out her own thoughts and replacing them with white noise that felt like ice picks being driven into her brain. The sensation was nauseating, disorienting, like having her skull filled with angry wasps.

Y/N’s nose began to bleed, thin streams of crimson running down her face to mix with Sarah’s dried blood on her chin. The static grew louder, more invasive, until she could feel it vibrating in her bones, resonating through every cell of her body. Her vision began to blur around the edges, and she had to fight the urge to vomit as the pressure in her head reached unbearable levels.

The Operator was approaching.

Jeff emerged from the bunker just as the first wave of psychic pressure hit. He took one look at Y/N’s bleeding nose and the way she was clutching her head in obvious agony, and immediately positioned himself between her and the source of the approaching presence. His knife was still in his hand, though Y/N doubted it would be of any use against something like the Operator. The blade was still wet with the boy’s blood, still dripping slowly onto the forest floor.

“Back off!” Jeff shouted into the forest, his voice cracking with strain and fury. “She could’ve died in that fucking game! You could’ve killed her! This whole thing was rigged from the start, and you know it!”

Tim’s bitter laughter cut through the static. “Are you a complete fucking fool, Jeffrey?” His voice was muffled by the porcelain mask, but the disdain was unmistakable, dripping from every word like acid. “If she’d died, He would’ve just brought her back. Death isn’t permanent for His chosen ones, you should know that better than anyone.”

Tim stepped forward, his brown eyes visible through the mask’s eye holes, fixed on Jeff with obvious contempt. His posture radiated authority and barely contained irritation, like a teacher dealing with a particularly stupid student. “This was just a little exercise to see how our dear princess here would react under pressure. Would she break down crying? Would she try to save the others? Would she run and hide like a coward?” His head tilted slightly as he looked at Y/N, still kneeling on the bloody ground. “Turns out she’s got more spine than expected. Even managed to kill one of them herself.”

Toby giggled, his neck cracking with a particularly violent tic that made his head snap to the side at an unnatural angle. “She k-killed Sarah real good! All that b-blood, it was so pretty! Like red p-paint all over her!”

Y/N’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing with fury despite the blood still trickling from her nose. The rage that had been simmering inside her since the bunker finally boiled over, hot and clean and infinitely preferable to the crushing guilt.

“Those were innocent people!” she snarled, struggling to get back to her feet despite the waves of nausea washing over her. Her legs shook with the effort, but she forced herself upright through sheer stubborn will. “They didn’t deserve to die! None of them deserved what happened to them! They were just trying to survive, trying to get home to their families!”

“Innocent?” Brian spoke for the first time since the “game” had ended, his voice a low rumble from behind the red-frowning mask. He pushed himself away from the tree he’d been leaning against. “Sweetheart, there’s no such thing as innocent. Every one of those people had darkness in their hearts, fear, selfishness, the willingness to kill a stranger to save their own skin. We just brought it to the surface.”

“They were terrified!” Y/N shot back, her voice growing stronger despite the pain in her head. Sarah’s blood flaked off her arms as she gestured angrily, the dried crimson falling. “Anyone would have done the same thing when faced with that kind of choice! When you’re staring death in the face, survival instinct kicks in! That doesn’t make them evil!”

“Exactly.” The Operator’s presence grew stronger, and Y/N could feel Him approaching through the twisted trees. The static in her head reached a crescendo that made her vision blur and her knees buckle, but she forced herself to remain standing through pure spite. “Fear reveals truth, child. It strips away pretense and social conditioning to show what lies beneath.”

The voice didn’t come from any specific direction, it seemed to emanate from the air itself, vibrating through Y/N’s bones and settling into her marrow like ice. The words bypassed her ears entirely, speaking directly into her mind with the weight of falling mountains and the cold of deep space.

When He finally emerged from the shadows between the trees, Y/N felt her sanity strain against the fundamental wrongness of His presence. The air itself seemed to recoil from Him, creating a pocket of unnatural stillness that made her ears pop and her skin crawl.

The Operator stood nearly eleven feet tall, His form a study in impossible geometry that hurt to look at directly. His pale, featureless face was a blank canvas that somehow managed to convey infinite malevolence, and the dark suit He wore seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, creating the illusion that He was a hole cut in reality itself. But it was the tendrils that truly marked Him as something beyond human comprehension, dozens of writhing black appendages that moved gracefully, reaching out from His form to caress the twisted trees and disturbed earth around Him. They moved with a life of their own, some as thick as tree trunks, others as thin as wire, all of them radiating a wrongness that made Y/N’s brain scream warnings.

“You have proven yourself… adequate,” the Operator continued, His voice bypassing Y/N’s ears entirely and speaking directly into her mind. The words felt like ice water being injected into her skull. “You survived. You adapted. You killed when necessary. Most importantly, you did not break under pressure.”

Jeff stepped forward, his carved smile twisted into an even more grotesque expression by his fury. His hands were shaking so badly the knife rattled against his belt buckle. “Adequate? She’s more than fucking adequate! She’s—”

“SILENCE.” The command hit Jeff like a physical blow, sending him staggering backward into the side of the bunker. The metal rang like a bell from the impact, and Jeff slumped against it, gasping for air as if the word had crushed his lungs. The Operator’s attention turned to him with the weight of a falling mountain. “Your interference was… premature. The boy still had one second remaining when you struck him down.”

Jeff’s defiance crumbled in the face of that attention, his wide eyes reflecting genuine terror for the first time since Y/N had known him. His face had gone so pale it was almost translucent, and she could see the pulse hammering in his throat. “I… I was protecting her. I couldn’t let him—”

“You acted on emotion rather than logic. You displayed the kind of weakness that threatens the efficiency of my operations.” The tendrils writhed more aggressively, reaching toward Jeff with obvious intent. Some of them were stained with what looked like blood and other, less identifiable substances. “Such behavior requires… correction.”

Jeff went rigid, his face paling to an even more ghostly white than usual. The knife fell from his nerveless fingers to clatter on the ground, and Y/N could actually hear his teeth chattering. “No. No, please, I won’t do it again. I swear, I’ll follow orders exactly, I’ll—”

“Three days,” the Operator announced with finality, and Y/N could feel the satisfaction radiating from Him like heat from a furnace. “You will spend three days in the deep chambers, contemplating the consequences of your actions. Perhaps the isolation will help you remember your place in my hierarchy.”

Jeff’s shoulders sagged in defeat, his hands falling limply to his sides. Y/N had no idea what the “deep chambers” were, but the way Jeff reacted suggested they were something to be feared above almost anything else. His whole body was trembling now, and she could see tears gathering in his lidless eyes. The other proxies showed no sympathy, Tim and Brian looked bored, Toby seemed amused by the whole thing, and even Natalie appeared indifferent to Jeff’s fate.

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, to argue that Jeff had been trying to protect her, but the Operator’s attention turned to her before she could speak. The weight of His regard was crushing, pressing down on her mind like a vice made of ice and static and the screams of the damned.

“You feel sympathy for him,” the Operator observed, and Y/N could hear amusement in that terrible voice, like the sound of children crying played backwards. “How… quaint. You will learn, in time, that such emotions are luxuries you can no longer afford.”

A burning sensation erupted across Y/N’s back, starting between her shoulder blades and spreading outward like liquid fire. She cried out in pain, arching her back as something was burned or carved into her skin. The agony was indescribable, not just physical pain, but something deeper, as if her very soul was being branded with invisible chains. She could smell burning flesh and something else, something ozone-sharp and metallic that made her stomach heave and her vision go white around the edges.

The marking process seemed to last forever, each second an eternity of burning, tearing agony that left Y/N gasping and trembling. She could feel the Operator’s presence pressing into her mind, rewriting something fundamental about who she was, claiming her on a level that went deeper than mere ownership. The pain was so intense she couldn’t even scream, all that came out was a thin, whistling sound as her lungs forgot how to work properly.

When it finally stopped, she collapsed forward onto her hands and knees, her entire body shaking with the aftershocks. Blood dripped from her nose to pool in the dirt beneath her face, mixing with the other stains that decorated the forest floor.

“It is done,” the Operator announced with satisfaction, and Y/N could feel His pleasure like a warm hand stroking her spine. “You belong to me now, child. The mark ensures that you can never truly escape, never truly die, never truly be free. You are mine until I decide otherwise.”

The oppressive presence began to recede, taking with it the crushing weight of psychic pressure and the worst of the static in Y/N’s head. The temperature began to rise back toward normal, and the shadows between the trees seemed to lighten slightly, though they never fully returned to natural darkness. The air stopped feeling quite so thick, and Y/N could finally take a full breath without feeling like she was drowning.

“You will find that your body heals faster now,” the Operator’s voice continued as He faded back into the twisted forest, His form becoming indistinct and shifting like smoke. “Pain will be temporary. Death will be… negotiable. These gifts come with a price, of course. You will serve me faithfully, or you will learn that there are fates far worse than simple death.”

When the Operator finally disappeared entirely, Y/N found she could breathe again. The air rushed into her lungs and she gasped in relief at the sudden absence of that terrible presence. It was like stepping out of a freezer into summer sunshine, the contrast almost overwhelming.

Tim moved forward and grasped the back of her torn shirt, his grip firm but not painful. His leather gloves were warm against her skin, and she could smell gun oil and tobacco smoke clinging to his worn jacket. “Time to go, princess,” he said, his voice carrying its usual note of sarcastic authority. “The medical bay awaits.”

Before Y/N could respond, Natalie stepped forward with an angry expression, her hazel green eye flashing with irritation. “I’ll take her,” she announced, her voice carrying a note of challenge as she glared at Tim through her ticking clockwork eye. The mechanical timepiece clicked steadily, marking the seconds with tiny metallic sounds.

Tim returned her glare silently for several long seconds, the tension between them palpable. Finally, he scoffed and pushed Y/N roughly toward Natalie, his hands leaving wrinkles in her torn shirt. “Fine. One babysitting assignment is as good as another.”

Natalie rolled her eyes at his dismissive tone and reached out to support Y/N’s weight as she struggled to stay upright. Her hands were surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to her usual prickly demeanor. “Come on,” she muttered, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s waist. “Let’s get you patched up before you bleed all over the compound.”

“I can walk on my own,” Y/N protested weakly, though she made no move to pull away from Natalie’s support. The truth was that her legs felt like jelly, and her injured ankle was throbbing with renewed intensity now that the adrenaline was wearing off. The blood loss wasn’t helping either, she could feel a persistent dizziness that made the world tilt at odd angles.

“Sure you can,” Natalie said dryly, adjusting her grip to better support Y/N’s weight. “And I can tap dance. Come on, tough girl, lean on me. You’ve never been to the basement level where Jack and Ann work, and trust me, you don’t want to get lost down there.”

As they began walking toward the compound, Y/N’s curiosity overcame her exhaustion. The building loomed ahead of them through the twisted trees, its impossible architecture making her eyes water when she tried to focus on it for too long. “Who’s Ann?” she asked, grateful for any distraction from the pain in her back and the horrific memories of what had just transpired.

“Another lovely member of our happy family,” Natalie replied with bitter sarcasm, her voice dropping to a more conversational tone as they moved away from the others. “Imagine someone who makes Jack look warm and cuddly by comparison. She literally hates everyone and everything, especially newcomers. Lucky for you, she’s out on a mission, so you get to deal with Jack instead.”

Y/N huffed in frustration, her breath still coming in short gasps from the lingering effects of the Operator’s presence. “Jack isn’t exactly a picnic either.”

Natalie’s lips curved into a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes, the stitched corners of her mouth pulling tight. “True, but at least Jack won’t try to dissect you just for the fun of it. Ann… well, let’s just say she has a very hands-on approach to medicine.” She paused, glancing sideways at Y/N with something that might have been concern. “Speaking of Jack, try not to let his attitude get to you. He’s actually pretty decent at the medical stuff.”

They walked in relative silence for several minutes, making their way through the compound’s twisting corridors toward the basement levels. Y/N found herself leaning more heavily on Natalie’s support as they descended, her injured ankle screaming with each step downward. The pain in her back from the Operator’s mark had settled into a constant burning sensation that felt like someone had tattooed her spine with molten metal, and she could feel something wet trickling down her back beneath her torn shirt.

The compound’s interior was just as impossible as its exterior, corridors that seemed to stretch on forever, stairways that led to places they shouldn’t, and a constant sense that the walls were watching. Y/N’s head began to pound again, a dull throbbing that matched the rhythm of her heartbeat.

As they walked, Natalie seemed to be wrestling with something, her expression shifting between annoyance and what might have been sympathy. Finally, she spoke again, her voice deliberately casual but carrying an undertone of something else.

“You know,” she said, not looking directly at Y/N, “Jeff looked like a kicked puppy when you rejected his help back there. Poor bastard’s probably going to be moping around like a lost dog when his punishment ends.”

Y/N felt a stab of guilt at the words, but she pushed it down. The anger was still burning bright in her chest, clean and uncomplicated compared to the messy tangle of other emotions. “He killed that boy,” she said quietly, but with steel in her voice. “That kid was terrified and desperate, and Jeff just… he didn’t have to die like that.”

“Maybe not,” Natalie conceded, her clockwork eye ticking steadily as they descended another flight of stairs. “But Jeff wasn’t wrong about what would’ve happened to him otherwise. The Operator doesn’t do quick deaths, Y/N. He feeds on suffering, on fear, on prolonged agony. That kid would’ve been taken apart piece by piece while fully conscious, and it would’ve lasted for days.”

They reached the basement level, and Natalie guided Y/N through a maze of metal corridors that seemed to extend far beyond what the compound’s footprint should have allowed. The air down here was cooler and carried a sharp, antiseptic smell mixed with something organic and unsettling, like flowers left too long in water, sweet and rotten at the same time.

“Still doesn’t make it right,” Y/N muttered, though her conviction wavered slightly in the face of Natalie’s matter-of-fact explanation. The dried blood on her arms was beginning to itch, and she could feel more flaking off with every movement.

“Right and wrong don’t mean much down here,” Natalie replied with a shrug, her voice echoing off the metal walls. “There’s survival, and there’s death. Everything else is just philosophical masturbation.”

They finally reached a reinforced metal door marked with a simple red cross, the paint faded and chipped with age. Natalie knocked twice before pushing it open without waiting for a response. The medical bay beyond was surprisingly well-equipped, looking more like a proper hospital room than anything Y/N would have expected to find in this place. The walls were lined with cabinets full of medical supplies, and the air hummed with the sound of various machines.

Jack was waiting for them, his tall frame bent over what appeared to be a medical chart. He looked up as they entered, and Y/N could sense his attention focusing on her despite the expressionless mask that covered his features. The thick black liquid that constantly seeped from his empty sockets seemed to flow more freely as his interest was piqued, dripping steadily onto the chart beneath him.

“Ah, dove,” Jack said, his voice carrying that strange combination of cultured intelligence and predatory hunger that always made Y/N’s skin crawl. He straightened to his full, intimidating height, and she had to crane her neck to meet where his eyes should have been. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. The scent of fresh blood and terror makes for quite an… intriguing aromatic profile.”

His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, and Y/N could see his elongated fingers twitching with barely contained interest. “And such a delightful quantity of it, too. You’re practically marinated in the stuff.”

“Down, boy,” Natalie said dryly as she helped Y/N over to the examination table, though there was less bite in her voice than usual. “She’s here for medical attention, not to be your midnight snack.”

Jack chuckled, the sound coming from deep in his chest like a cat’s purr. “Of course. Forgive me, dove.” He moved closer, his elongated fingers clasped behind his back, the claws clicking together softly. “I understand you’ve received the Operator’s mark? I’d very much like to examine it, if you don’t mind.”

Y/N huffed in resignation but nodded her consent. She wasn’t in any position to refuse, and her back was still burning with unnatural fire. “Fine, but make it quick. I’ve had enough poking and prodding for one day.”

What she hadn’t expected was for Jack to use his razor-sharp claws to simply tear away the back of her shirt in one swift motion. The fabric parted like tissue paper, leaving her back completely exposed to the cool air of the medical bay, Y/N quickly wrapped her arms around her chest to prevent her torn shirt from falling down completely.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jack!” Natalie let out a choked sound, her face flushing red as she quickly averted her eyes. “A little warning next time! Some of us don’t want a repeat performance! I don’t want to see her naked again!”

“Again?” Jack asked with mild curiosity, tilting his masked head toward Natalie before he laughed. “Ah yes, I remember now. You had quite the view when you delivered her new clothes while I was… otherwise occupied.”

Natalie’s flush deepened, and she crossed her arms defensively. “It’s not like I wanted to see anything! I was just dropping off supplies and Y/N opened the door wearing that little towel and—!”

“And got a full anatomy lesson.” Y/N finished dryly, surprising herself with how easily the sarcasm came. Maybe this place was already changing her more than she realized.

“Of course.” Jack interrupted with obvious amusement before turning his attention back to Y/N’s exposed back. His tone shifted to something more clinical as he studied the mark. “Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating.”

Y/N could feel his clawed fingers tracing the edges of the mark, the touch surprisingly gentle despite the sharpness of his nails. The burning sensation intensified where he touched, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, more like the warmth of a heating pad applied to sore muscles.

“Well?” Y/N asked impatiently when the silence stretched too long. “Are you going to share your medical insights, or just keep fondling my back like some kind of perverted chiropractor?”

Natalie snorted with laughter despite herself, while Jack’s clinical demeanor never wavered.

“The design is quite elaborate,” Jack continued, his voice taking on the tone of a scholar examining a rare manuscript. “The central symbol runs directly over your spine, a circle with an X through the center, surrounded by text in a language far older than human civilization. Only the Operator himself can read these markings, but they serve as both a claim of ownership and a source of… enhancement.”

His clawed finger traced a particularly intricate section of the marking, and Y/N shivered involuntarily. “Enhancement of what exactly? My ability to attract psychotic killers? Because if so, it’s working overtime.”

“Your cellular regeneration, pain tolerance, physical capabilities,” Jack explained, ignoring her sarcasm. “The artwork extends from the base of your neck all the way down to the small of your back. It’s really quite beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way.”

“Great,” Y/N muttered. “I’m a walking supernatural science experiment. Just what every girl dreams of.”

When Jack finally stepped back, Natalie quickly shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over Y/N’s shoulders, covering her exposed back. “There. Now you don’t have to worry about wandering the halls half-naked.”

“Thanks.” Y/N murmured, grateful for both the coverage and the gesture of kindness. The jacket smelled like motor oil and cigarettes, scents that were oddly comforting after everything she’d been through. “Though I have a feeling modesty is probably the least of my concerns in this place.”

“You’d be surprised,” Natalie replied grimly. “Some of these freaks have weird hang-ups about the strangest things.”

Jack spent the next several minutes conducting a thorough examination, checking Y/N’s various injuries with the clinical efficiency of a trained medical professional. Her ankle was indeed broken, but as he worked, Y/N could feel the bones shifting and healing at an unnaturally rapid rate.

“That’s deeply unsettling,” Y/N commented, watching her ankle move on its own accord. “Please tell me I’m not going to start glowing or sprouting extra limbs.”

“The Operator’s influence accelerates cellular regeneration.” Jack explained as he wrapped her ankle in fresh bandages. “You’ll find that injuries that would normally take weeks to heal will mend themselves in a matter of days or even hours, depending on the severity.”

He treated the various cuts and scratches she’d acquired during the chase, his clawed fingers surprisingly deft with medical instruments. The thorn punctures were cleaned and bandaged, and he applied a salve to the rope burns on her wrists that immediately began to reduce the swelling.

“Your shoulder will be tender for another day or so,” he said as he finished his work, “but the dislocation has already corrected itself. The enhanced healing comes with some interesting side effects, your body will actually reshape itself to optimal condition over time, repairing old injuries and genetic flaws.”

“And the downside?” Y/N asked, because there was always a downside. “And don’t you dare tell me there isn’t one. Nothing this good comes without a price.”

Jack’s masked face tilted toward her, and she could sense his smile behind the expressionless facade. “The downside, my dear dove, is that you’re now essentially immortal. Death will no longer provide an escape from whatever horrors await you. You can be killed, but you’ll simply wake up to begin again.”

The implications of his words settled over Y/N like a shroud. She was trapped here not just physically, but metaphysically. There would be no escape through death, no final rest, no peace. Just endless service to a creature that fed on suffering and terror.

“Wonderful.” she said flatly.

“Chin up,” Natalie said, noticing Y/N’s dejected expression. “It’s not all bad. The healing factor means you can take risks that would kill normal people. And trust me, in this place, that’s going to come in handy.”

“Risks like what? Jumping off buildings for fun? Playing catch with chainsaws?”

“You joke now,” Natalie replied seriously, “but wait until you see what passes for entertainment around here.”

After Jack finished his examination and pronounced Y/N medically stable, Natalie led her through more twisting corridors toward what would be her new living quarters. The route took them past several other doors, some of which were open, revealing glimpses of other residents going about their daily routines.

“So,” Y/N said as they walked, “what’s the social hierarchy here? Do I need to worry about stepping on anyone’s toes, or can I just be my naturally charming self?”

“Your naturally charming self is probably what got you into this mess in the first place,” Natalie replied dryly. “But seriously, just keep your head down for the first few weeks. Some of these assholes have territorial issues.”

“Territorial about what? The good seats in the cafeteria? Premium bathroom stalls?”

“Territorial about everything. Food, sleeping arrangements, who gets to use the shower first, who Jeff talks to…” Natalie’s voice trailed off on the last point.

Y/N caught the implication immediately. “Ah. So there are people here who won’t appreciate my history with Jeff.”

“Nina Hopkins, specifically. She’s… obsessed doesn’t begin to cover it.”

“Let me guess, crazy stalker girl who thinks she owns him?”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

It was while they were passing through one of the main corridors that they encountered a little girl.

The kid was sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor, surrounded by a collection of dolls in various states of repair. Her long wavy brown hair fell around her shoulders, and her big green eyes glowed with an otherworldly light. The pink nightgown she wore was clean and pristine despite the constant stream of blood that flowed from her cranial wound.

Sally looked up as they approached, her face brightening with genuine delight. “Oh! A new person!” she exclaimed, scrambling to her feet with the enthusiasm only children could muster. “Hi there! I’m Sally! What’s your name?”

Y/N stopped walking, struck by the jarring contrast between the child’s obvious injuries and her cheerful demeanor. The wound on Sally’s head was horrific, a gaping crack in her skull that revealed bloody brain matter beneath, but Sally seemed completely unaware of it, or at least unbothered by the continuous stream of blood that flowed down her face.

“I… I’m Y/N,” she managed, though her voice remained steady despite the shock. “It’s nice to meet you, Sally.”

“Y/N! That’s such a pretty name!” Sally beamed, seemingly oblivious to Y/N’s shock at her appearance. “Are you going to be living here with us now? That’s so exciting! We don’t get many new people, and most of the ones we do get are kind of scary… but you seem nice!”

Y/N found herself oddly touched by the child’s enthusiasm. “I seem to be staying, yes. Are you the welcoming committee?”

Sally giggled, a sound that would have been perfectly normal if not for the blood dripping from her head. “I guess I am! I like meeting new people. Most of the others here are really grumpy all the time.”

Natalie’s expression softened noticeably in the presence of the child, the harsh lines of her face relaxing into something almost maternal. “Hey there, kiddo,” she said gently. “Y/N’s going to be staying with us for a while. Maybe you can show her around later, once she’s settled in?”

“Oh, I’d love to!” Sally clapped her hands together. “I know all the best hiding spots and the rooms where the scary people don’t go! And the places where you can find the prettiest flowers in the forest!”

“That sounds wonderful,” Y/N said, managing a genuine smile despite her exhaustion and confusion. “I’d like that very much.”

“Really?” Sally’s eyes lit up even brighter. “Most grown-ups just pretend to be interested. But you seem like you really mean it!”

“I do mean it.” Y/N replied, and realized she actually did. There was something about Sally’s innocent enthusiasm that felt like a lifeline in this place of horrors.

“Yay! We’re going to be such good friends!” Sally bounced on her toes excitedly. “I have so many things to show you! There’s this one place where the trees grow upside down, and another spot where you can hear music even though nobody’s playing anything!”

“We have to go now,” Natalie said, gently but firmly steering Y/N away from the child. “And I’ve got… important stuff to take care of. But I’ll ask someone else to show you around the compound later, okay?”

As they continued down the corridor, Y/N glanced back to see Sally waving enthusiastically, still smiling despite the blood streaming down her face. “Is she…?”

“Dead? Yeah, about as dead as it gets.” Natalie replied matter-of-factly. “She doesn’t remember the details, and nobody asks. She’s been here longer than almost anyone else.”

“But she seems so… normal. Happy, even.”

“Death affects everyone differently,” Natalie explained with a shrug. “Some people go insane, some become monsters, and some, like Sally, just… stay themselves. She’s probably the most well-adjusted person in this entire place, which tells you something about the rest of us.”

“And that something is deeply disturbing.” Y/N muttered.

“You’re starting to get the picture.”

They finally reached Y/N’s new room, which was significantly better than her previous accommodations. The space was larger, with a king-sized bed, a small desk, and a window that looked out onto the twisted forest beyond. It wasn’t luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but it felt like a palace compared to where she’d been staying before.

“Home sweet home.” Natalie said, pushing open the door before pouring at another door. “Bathroom is over there, communal kitchen is on the first floor, and try not to wander around alone after dark. Some of the residents get… cranky when they’re disturbed.”

Y/N stepped inside and looked around, testing the mattress with one hand. “Define ‘cranky.’ Are we talking grumpy bear cranky, or homicidal maniac cranky?”

“In this place? Both, usually at the same time.”

She turned to leave, then paused in the doorway. “For what it’s worth, Y/N, I’m sorry about what happened today. The game, the innocents, all of it. It’s not fair, but fairness isn’t exactly a priority around here.”

“Thanks,” Y/N said quietly. “For everything. You didn’t have to help me, but you did.”

Natalie’s expression softened slightly. “Yeah, well… don’t get used to it. I’m not in the habit of playing nursemaid to newbies. But you seem like you might actually survive this place, which puts you ahead of most of the people who end up here.”

“High praise,” Y/N replied dryly. “I’ll try to live up to your confidence in my survival skills.”

After Natalie left, Y/N was finally alone with her thoughts for the first time since the nightmare had begun. She stood in the center of her new room, looking around at the sparse furnishings and trying to process everything that had happened in the past few hours.

She had killed someone. An innocent person who was just trying to survive, just trying to get home to her family. The weight of that knowledge settled into her chest like a stone, heavy and inescapable. Sarah’s blood was still under her fingernails, still staining her clothes, a constant reminder of the life she had taken.

And Jeff… God, what was she supposed to think about Jeff? Part of her understood that he had been trying to protect her, that his actions had come from a place of genuine care. But the image of that boy’s shocked face as the knife slid between his ribs was burned into her memory. Jeff had killed without hesitation, without mercy, and the worst part was that he seemed to think he’d done the right thing.

Y/N walked into the small bathroom attached to her room and stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like she’d been through a war zone, blood in her hair, scratches covering her exposed skin, her clothes torn and filthy. But it was her eyes that disturbed her the most. They looked different somehow, harder, as if something fundamental had changed in the depths of her soul.

The shower was a blessed relief, washing away the blood and grime of the day’s horrors. Y/N stood under the hot water until it began to run cold, scrubbing her skin until it was raw in an attempt to remove every trace of what had happened. But no amount of soap could wash away the memories, the guilt, or the horrible knowledge that this was only the beginning.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel that had seen better days, Y/N found clean clothes laid out on her bed. Someone had been in her room while she showered, a thought that should have been disturbing but somehow wasn’t. Privacy was apparently another luxury she’d have to learn to live without.

The clothes were simple but practical: dark jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, and clean undergarments. Everything fit reasonably well, though she wondered who had taken the time to estimate her sizes, though given Natalie’s earlier embarrassment, she had a pretty good idea.

Y/N had barely finished dressing when her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything substantial in over twenty-four hours. The communal kitchen Natalie had mentioned was on the first floor, and despite her exhaustion, hunger drove her to venture out of her room in search of food.

The compound’s layout was even more confusing at night. Corridors that had seemed straightforward during the day now twisted and turned in ways that defied logic. Doors appeared where Y/N was certain there had been blank walls before, and hallways seemed to stretch longer than they should have based on the building’s exterior dimensions.

“This place is like a damn maze designed by a drunk architect.” she muttered under her breath, taking yet another wrong turn.

After what felt like an eternity of wandering, Y/N finally found the kitchen. It was larger than she’d expected, with industrial-grade appliances and enough space to feed a small army. Several other residents were scattered around the room, some eating in silence, others engaged in quiet conversations.

The first thing she noticed was Toby sitting at a corner table across from a figure slumped in his chair. Brian sat completely motionless, his masked face turned toward the wall as if he were staring at something only he could see. His brown denim trousers and scuffed black boots were visible beneath his faded yellow hoodie and light brown jacket, but everything about his posture screamed disinterest in his surroundings.

Toby, however, was anything but disinterested. He was systematically poking Brian’s shoulder with increasing intensity, his neck cracking audibly with each tic.

“C-Come on, Brian,” Toby whined, his voice muffled by the mouth guard covering the lower half of his face. “You’ve been s-sitting there like a fucking statue for twenty minutes. Don’t you have anything b-better to do?”

Brian didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge Toby’s existence. He remained perfectly still, his masked face fixed on whatever he was observing in the distance.

“I b-bet if I poke you hard enough, you’ll f-finally crack,” Toby continued, his tics causing his movements to be jerky and unpredictable as he jabbed at Brian’s shoulder again. “Come on, give me s-something. Anything. Even telling me to f-fuck off would be progress.”

Still nothing. Brian might as well have been carved from stone.

Sitting across from them, Cody watched the one-sided interaction with obvious fascination, his messy brown hair falling into his green eyes as he leaned forward with interest. His grin never faltered as he observed Toby’s increasingly desperate attempts to get a reaction.

“He’s been at it for an hour.” Cody commented to no one in particular, his voice carrying an undertone of amusement. “I’m starting to think Brian’s actually asleep under that mask.”

“B-Brian doesn’t sleep,” Toby replied without missing a beat, still poking at the unresponsive figure. “He just… exists. Like a really b-boring piece of furniture.”

A girl that resembled Jeff was there too, perched on a counter and swinging her legs like a child. Her disfigured face was turned toward Y/N with obvious interest, the fixed smile carved into her features making her expression impossible to read. The pink bow in her hair was perfectly positioned despite the obvious chaos of her lifestyle.

Y/N tried to ignore the stares as she made her way to the refrigerator, which was surprisingly well-stocked with normal food. She grabbed the ingredients for a simple sandwich, moving quickly and efficiently while trying not to draw any more attention to herself.

“So you’re the famous Y/N,” the girl on the counter called out, her voice sickeningly sweet despite the malice underlying her tone. “I’m Nina. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Y/N glanced up from her sandwich-making. “All good things, I hope.”

Nina’s carved smile seemed to widen impossibly. “Oh, the very best. Especially the part about how you used to play house with my Jeff when you were little.”

The possessive emphasis on ‘my Jeff’ was unmistakable, and Y/N felt her jaw clench involuntarily. “He’s not your anything,” she replied evenly, not looking up from the mayonnaise she was spreading. “Jeff doesn’t belong to anyone.”

“Is that so?” Nina’s voice turned sharp, the false sweetness evaporating instantly. “We’ll see about that.”

Y/N jolted violently when a kitchen knife suddenly embedded itself in the wooden cabinet right beside her head with a sharp thunk, the blade quivering from the force of impact. Wood splinters scattered across the counter as she instinctively pressed herself back against the surface, her heart hammering against her ribs as she stared at the weapon that had missed her by mere inches.

“Jesus Christ!” Y/N snapped, her fear quickly transforming into anger. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Y/N’s blood ran cold as Nina hopped down from the counter, her disfigured smile stretched impossibly wide across her mutilated face. The girl’s brown eyes, hidden behind blue contact lenses, were bright with malicious glee as she stalked forward. Her pink cardigan was pristine despite the violent gesture she’d just made, and the red bow in her long black and pink-streaked hair bounced with each step.

“You think you’re so fucking special, don’t you?” Nina continued, her voice taking on a sharp, venomous edge that made the false sweetness even more disturbing. She cornered Y/N against the counter, her fixed smile resembling more of a snarl now as spittle flew from her lipless mouth. “Coming in here with your perfect little face, stealing my Jeff from me. It’s pathetic, really.”

Y/N straightened to her full height, meeting Nina’s crazed gaze head-on. “First of all, back the fuck up. Second, I’m not stealing anyone. Jeff and I have history that predates your obsession by about a decade.”

“History?” Nina shrieked, leaning in closer. “Childhood games don’t mean shit! I’m the one who’s been here for him! I’m the one who understands what he’s become!”

“Understanding and stalking are two different things,” Y/N shot back, her temper flaring. “And from what I’ve seen so far, you lean heavily toward the stalking side.”

Nina’s face twisted with rage as she reached for another knife from the block on the counter, her movements sharp and erratic. “Maybe I should carve up that pretty face of yours,” she hissed, the blade catching the fluorescent light as she raised it. “See how special Jeff thinks you are when you look just like the rest of us freaks.”

“Try it,” Y/N said coldly, her hands gripping the counter edge. “See what happens.”

But before Nina could bring the knife down, a harsh shove sent her sprawling across the linoleum floor with a surprised yelp. She landed hard on her side, her carefully arranged bow askew and her pink cardigan now stained with whatever had been spilled on the kitchen floor earlier.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock as she realized who had come to her defense, though not for the reasons she’d expected.

Toby stood between Y/N and Nina, his brown eyes blazing with irritation rather than any protective instinct. His tics seemed worse than usual, his neck cracking audibly every few seconds while his left shoulder jerked involuntarily.

“Jesus f—f-fucking Christ, Nina,” Toby groaned, his attention finally diverted from his attempts to annoy Brian. “You’re such a goddamn p-pain in the ass. Can’t a guy r-relax in peace without you screeching l—l-like a banshee?”

Nina scrambled to her feet, her false eyelashes slightly askew and her contact lenses making her eyes look even more unnatural in the harsh kitchen lighting. “Stay out of this, Ticci!” she snarled, using his nickname like a curse. “This doesn’t concern you!”

“D-Doesn’t it?” Toby asked with mock curiosity, his head tilting at an unnatural angle that made his neck crack again. “Because from where I’m st-standing, it looks like you’re making a scene and ruining everyone’s entertainment. I was having f-fun watching Brian ignore me, and now you’ve gone and fucked it up.”

Cody nodded sagely from his seat. “He’s got a point. The Brian-poking was getting to the good part.”

Nina’s mutilated mouth twisted into an even more grotesque expression of fury. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you!” she taunted, her voice dripping with venom. “I thought you couldn’t feel pain, Toby. What’s the matter? Did the new girl hurt your feelings?”

Toby pulled down his mouth guard with deliberate slowness, revealing the horrific damage to the left side of his face. The flesh had deteriorated completely, exposing his teeth and gums.

“It’s not because of p-pain, you stupid b—bitch,” he said, his words slightly slurred by the missing tissue. “It’s because your voice is so f-fucking annoying that it makes me want to bite through my own tongue. And trust me, I’ve tried.”

The words hit Nina like physical blows, her entire body going rigid with rage. Her brown eyes behind the blue contacts blazed with murderous fury as she took a step toward Toby, her painted nails curled into claws.

“Why are you siding with her?” Nina demanded, her voice cracking with emotion that sounded almost genuinely hurt beneath the anger. “What’s so special about this bitch that makes everyone want to protect her?”

“Who s-says I’m protecting her?” Toby asked with a casual shrug, his voice taking on a playful, almost sing-song quality that somehow made it more unsettling. “Maybe I just think if anyone’s going to f-fuck with Y/N, it should be me. Can’t have you b-breaking my new toy before I figure out what makes her tick.”

Y/N felt her stomach drop at his words, realizing that while Toby had indeed stopped Nina from attacking her, his motivations were far from altruistic. She was simply trading one predator for another, and this one was arguably more unpredictable than the first.

“Your new toy?” Nina’s voice rose to a near-shriek. “Since when do you give a shit about anyone but yourself?”

“Since I got bored watching Brian pretend to be a m-mannequin,” Toby replied, glancing back at the still-motionless figure at the table. “At least Y/N here might actually react to things. Could be f-fun.”

Y/N stepped forward, having heard enough. “I’m nobody’s toy,” she said firmly, glaring between Toby and Nina. “And I’m certainly not going to stand here while you two psychopaths discuss me like I’m some kind of entertainment system.”

Toby’s head snapped toward her with obvious delight, his tics causing his movements to be jerky and unpredictable. “Ooh, she’s got f-fight in her! Even better. Most newbies just c-cry and beg by this point.”

“Most newbies probably have more sense than to mouth off to the locals.” Y/N replied with an hiss, she was shocked by seeing the state of Toby's mouth for the first time.

Toby noticed her staring and tilted his head with obvious amusement, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief.
“W-What’s wrong, maus?” He asked with mock concern, stepping closer. His voice carried a distinctly predatory undertone that made Y/N’s skin crawl. “Never seen a p-pretty smile before? Or maybe…” He tilted his head with obvious amusement. “Maybe y-you want a kiss? I bet you’re c-curious about what it would feel like.”

Before Y/N could even process the suggestion, let alone respond, Toby’s head snapped forward as a sharp slap connected with the back of his skull. The sound echoed through the kitchen like a gunshot, and Toby stumbled forward a step.

“Stop fucking flirting with Y/N.” Tim’s voice cut through the kitchen with authoritative sharpness. He stood behind Toby, his brown eyes hard with irritation beneath his messy dark hair. “We’ve got enough problems without you harassing the new acquisition on her first day.”

Tim’s appearance had an immediate effect on the atmosphere in the kitchen. The other residents went back to their meals, the free entertainment apparently over now that one of the more senior proxies had intervened. Even Nina seemed to deflate slightly, though she continued to glare daggers at Y/N from across the room.

“I was just being f-friendly,” Toby whined, rubbing the back of his head where Tim had struck him. His neck cracked twice as he looked back at Y/N with a grin that was equal parts playful and threatening. “Maus looked like she n-needed some social interaction.”

“Social interaction my ass.” Tim replied dryly, his attention shifting to Y/N. “Princess, grab your food and get out of here. Kitchen’s apparently too crowded tonight.”

“Don’t call me princess.” Y/N said automatically, her irritation with the nickname overriding her better judgment.

Tim raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I’m not some helpless princess who needs rescuing. I can handle myself.”

“Can you now?” Tim’s voice carried a note of amusement that was somehow more unsettling than outright hostility. “That’s good to know. Maybe next time I’ll let Toby finish whatever he was planning.”

“I’d prefer that, actually,” Y/N replied coolly. “At least then I’d know where I stand instead of having to guess whether you’re helping or just postponing the inevitable.”

The kitchen went completely quiet, all eyes turning toward the confrontation between Y/N and Tim. Even Brian seemed to stir slightly, though he still didn’t turn away from whatever he was staring at.

Tim studied Y/N for a long moment, his brown eyes unreadable. “You’ve got balls, Princess. Stupid balls, but balls nonetheless.”

“Still not a princess.”

“We’ll see about that.” Tim’s smirk widened slightly. “Grab your food and go. That’s not a suggestion.”

Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. She quickly assembled her sandwich with hands that trembled only slightly, hyperaware of the various sets of eyes tracking her movements. As she worked, she became acutely aware of just how many residents were scattered throughout the kitchen, and how truly bizarre each of them appeared.

In one corner, a tall figure with pale skin and black hair was bent over what appeared to be a canvas, though Y/N couldn’t see what he was painting from her angle. His movements were precise and controlled, completely absorbed in his artistic endeavor to the point where he seemed oblivious to the drama that had just unfolded.

Cody was still sitting at the table with the motionless Brian, his messy brown hair falling into his face as he watched the proceedings with obvious fascination. His green eyes tracked Y/N’s movements with keen interest, his grin never faltering despite the tension in the air.

But it was the figure on the ceiling that made Y/N’s blood run cold.

A man was casually suspended upside down from the ceiling tiles, his body positioned as if gravity simply didn’t apply to him. His grey skin had an otherworldly quality that made Y/N’s eyes water when she tried to focus on it directly, and his black hair hung down toward the floor in defiance of physics. The most disturbing feature was his mask, a split black-and-white design that seemed to shift and change depending on the angle from which she viewed it.

As Y/N stared in horrified fascination, the figure seemed to sense her attention. His head turned until he was looking directly at her, and she could swear she saw his eyes glowing white through the mask’s eye holes. His lips curved into what might have been a smile, though the mask made it impossible to be certain.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he raised one hand and gave her a small, almost playful wave. His other hand came up to form a heart shape with his fingers, the gesture somehow more threatening than romantic given the circumstances.

“What the actual hell…” Y/N muttered, unable to look away from the impossible sight.

“That’s just Kagekao.” Cody called out helpfully. “He likes to hang out up there. Literally.”

The figure, Kagekao, seemed delighted by the introduction and began to slowly rotate in place, still suspended from the ceiling. The movement was hypnotic and deeply wrong, defying every law of physics Y/N understood.

“Ignore him,” Tim advised dryly. “He’s showing off because there’s a new face around. Give it a week and he’ll get bored.”

Y/N grabbed her sandwich and bolted for the kitchen door, her heart hammering against her ribs as she tried to process what she’d just witnessed. Behind her, she could hear Toby’s distinctive laughter mixed with what sounded like snickering from the ceiling-dwelling figure.

The compound’s corridors seemed even more maze-like in her panicked state, walls shifting and doors appearing where they hadn’t been before. Y/N found herself taking wrong turns and backtracking repeatedly, her injured ankle throbbing with each hurried step despite the supernatural healing.

“Fucking impossible architecture.” she grumbled, trying yet another corridor that looked familiar but led somewhere completely different than expected.

Just as she thought she’d finally found the correct corridor leading to her room, a familiar figure materialized directly in front of her, floating at eye level with his feet dangling several inches above the floor.

“Hey there,” Ben said with obvious delight, his red pupils gleaming in the dim hallway lighting. “Look who’s wandering the halls all by herself. Having trouble finding your way, Y/N?”

Ben began to float in lazy circles around her, his green pointed hat bobbing with each movement. The red liquid that constantly wept from his black eyes had left dark stains down his cheeks, giving him an even more unsettling appearance in the dim lighting.

“I’m fine, Ben,” Y/N said curtly, trying to step around him. “Just taking the scenic route.”

Ben simply floated to block her path again, his grin widening to reveal teeth that seemed slightly too sharp for a human mouth. “Oh, come now,” he said with mock hurt, pressing a hand to his chest in an exaggerated gesture of wounded feelings. “Is that any way to greet an old friend? Especially after I went to all the trouble of keeping you company during your… adjustment period?”

The reminder of his stalking behavior made Y/N’s jaw clench with anger. “You mean when you were spying on me through my electronics like some kind of digital peeping tom?”

“I prefer ‘providing remote surveillance for the Operator’s benefit,’” Ben replied with a casual shrug, his floating form rotating slowly in the air. “Much more professional sounding, don’t you think?”

He leaned forward, his face coming uncomfortably close to hers despite the fact that his feet were still floating above the ground. “So tell me, how was your little game today? Did you enjoy the thrill of the hunt? The adrenaline rush of kill-or-be-killed survival?”

The casual way he mentioned the horror of what she’d experienced made Y/N’s stomach turn. “You’re sick.” she said quietly, but with unmistakable venom in her voice.

“Am I?” Ben asked with genuine curiosity, tilting his head like a confused puppy. “I thought it was rather entertaining. Fifteen desperate humans, one injured girl, two hours of pure terror and survival instinct. Better than anything Netflix has to offer.”

His expression shifted to one of theatrical disappointment. “Unfortunately, I didn’t get to observe the entire event. Had some… business to attend to in the digital realm. What a pity. I would have loved to see the look on your face when you realized you’d have to kill to survive.”

“I didn’t want to kill anyone!” Y/N said through gritted teeth, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

“But you did it anyway,” Ben pointed out with obvious glee. “That’s the beautiful thing about survival instinct, Y/N. It strips away all that pesky morality and reveals what’s really underneath. And what’s underneath is a killer, just like the rest of us.”

Before Y/N could respond, Ben floated backward with a laugh that sounded like static electricity crackling through speakers. “Sweet dreams, Y/N. Try not to have too many nightmares about poor Sarah, and what was your friend's name…? Oh yeah, Emma.”

He vanished into the wall like smoke, leaving Y/N alone in the corridor with the taste of bile rising in her throat. The casual cruelty of his words hit harder than any physical blow, especially because there was an uncomfortable grain of truth in what he’d said.

Y/N finally managed to find her room, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the door handle. The familiar space felt like a sanctuary after the nightmare of the kitchen encounter and Ben’s psychological torment. She set her sandwich on the small desk and collapsed onto the bed, her entire body aching from the day’s trauma.

The room was exactly as she’d left it, sparse but clean, with the window looking out onto the twisted forest beyond. The late evening light filtering through the glass cast strange shadows across the floor, patterns that seemed to shift and move when she wasn’t looking directly at them.

Y/N tried to eat her sandwich, but each bite seemed to turn to cardboard in her mouth. The events of the day kept replaying in her mind: Sarah’s shocked face as the branch pierced her chest, the teenager’s desperate attempt to survive, Jeff’s knife sliding between his ribs, the screams of the other survivors as they were dragged away by those writhing black tendrils.

She was so lost in these horrible memories that she almost missed the sound of movement from her bathroom.

Y/N’s head snapped up, her entire body going rigid with alarm. Someone was in her room, moving around in the small bathroom attached to her quarters. She could hear the soft shuffle of footsteps on tile, the quiet scrape of something being moved across a surface.

Her eyes darted around the room, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. The furniture was too heavy to move quickly, and she had no idea where her backpack with the few possessions she’d been given had ended up. Finally, her gaze settled on a small table lamp on the desk, its metal base heavy enough to do some damage if swung with sufficient force.

Y/N grabbed the lamp and yanked the cord from the wall, her heart hammering so loudly she was sure it could be heard throughout the compound. She crept toward the bathroom door, which stood slightly ajar, allowing a thin slice of light to spill into the main room.

The footsteps had stopped, but Y/N could sense a presence on the other side of the door. Someone was definitely in there, waiting, possibly listening for her approach. She raised the lamp above her head, preparing to strike at whatever emerged from the bathroom.

The door swung open just as she reached it.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind, pulling her back against a hard, muscular chest. One large hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream, the grip firm but not painful, more concerned with silence than with causing harm.

“Shh,” came a soft, familiar voice right next to her ear, warm breath tickling her skin. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

The voice made Y/N’s blood freeze in her veins. It was impossible, absolutely impossible, but she recognized those tones despite the years that had passed. Slowly, carefully, the hand over her mouth loosened, allowing her to turn around in the protective embrace.

Y/N found herself staring into deep green eyes that haunted her dreams for years, set in a face that was both familiar and strange. The man holding her was tall, easily over six feet tall, with messy brown hair that fell across his forehead in waves. But it was the scars that made her heart stop, particularly the large, jagged line that stretched across his face and down his neck, a permanent reminder of a night nine years ago when her world had been torn apart.

“Liu?” she whispered, her voice breaking on his name.

Liu Woods smiled at her, the expression gentle despite the scarred tissue that pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Hello, Y/N.” he said softly, his voice carrying all the warmth and affection she remembered from their childhood. “I missed you.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as the impossible truth hit her with the force of a physical blow. Liu was alive. After nine years of thinking he was dead, of mourning the loss of both Woods brothers on that terrible night, Liu was standing in her room, holding her like she was something precious and fragile.

“But you’re…” she stammered, her hands coming up to touch his face, to convince herself he was real. Her fingers traced the scars with infinite gentleness, feeling the raised tissue and the warmth of living skin beneath. “They said you were dead. Everyone said Jeff killed you.”

Liu’s expression darkened for just a moment, something passing through his green eyes. But then his gentle smile returned, and he pulled her closer against his chest, his arms wrapping around her with protective warmth.

“Jeff tried,” Liu said quietly, his voice carrying no anger or resentment, just a statement of fact. “But it takes more than a kitchen knife to kill a Woods brother. We’re tougher than we look.”

He pulled back slightly so he could look into her eyes, his scarred hands cupping her face with infinite tenderness. “I’ve been looking for you for years, Y/N. When I heard you were here, I couldn’t believe it. I thought I’d lost you forever.”

The tears Y/N had been holding back finally spilled over, running down her cheeks in hot streams. Nine years of grief and guilt and wondering what might have been seemed to pour out of her all at once. Liu was alive, and despite everything that had happened, despite the scars and the obvious trauma he’d endured, he was still the gentle, caring person she remembered.

“I thought about you every day,” she whispered against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent that brought back memories of childhood adventures and shared secrets. “I blamed myself for what happened. If I…”

“Shh,” Liu murmured, stroking her hair with gentle fingers. “None of it was your fault. What Jeff did, what happened to our family, none of that was because of you.”

Chapter 8

Y/N’s mind reeled as she stared into Liu’s scarred but familiar face, her hands still trembling as they traced the raised tissue along his cheek. The weight of nine years of grief and guilt seemed to lift from her shoulders, only to be replaced by a crushing sense of confusion and disbelief. This was impossible. Everyone had told her Liu was dead, that Jeff had killed his own brother in that blood-soaked night that had destroyed both their childhoods.

“How?” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. “How are you alive? I went to your funeral, Liu. I saw them lower your coffin into the ground. I threw dirt on your grave and cried until I couldn’t breathe.”

Liu’s expression softened, his deep green eyes filled with a mixture of pain and understanding. His scarred hands moved to cup her face gently, thumbs brushing away the tears that continued to stream down her cheeks. The touch was warm, achingly familiar despite the years that had passed between them.

“The funeral was for show,” he explained quietly, his voice carrying that same gentle cadence she remembered from their childhood, though now it held undertones of weariness that spoke of years of suffering. “The town needed to believe the Woods family tragedy was over, that there were no more loose ends to worry about. A dead victim was easier to digest than a survivor who might ask uncomfortable questions.”

He pulled her closer, and Y/N could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her chest, solid proof that he was real, that this wasn’t some cruel hallucination brought on by trauma and exhaustion. The warmth of his body seeped through her clothes, chasing away the persistent chill that had settled into her bones since arriving at this nightmare compound. She could smell the faint scent of soap and something distinctly woodsy clinging to his dark sweater, a combination that was both foreign and achingly familiar.

“But I was in the hospital for months,” Liu continued, his voice taking on a distant quality as if he were recounting someone else’s story. His fingers traced absent patterns on her back as he spoke. “Multiple surgeries, skin grafts, physical therapy that felt like torture. The doctors said it was a miracle I survived at all, considering how much blood I’d lost.”

He paused, his jaw clenching as darker memories surfaced. “Jeff… he was very thorough in his attempt to gut me like a fish. The knife went in just below my ribs and dragged down to my hip. If our neighbor hadn’t heard the screaming and called 911 when he did…”

Y/N pulled back slightly to look at him, her eyes traveling over the network of scars that covered his visible skin. The largest one, the jagged line that stretched across his face and disappeared beneath the collar of his black sweater, looked like it had been carved with deliberate cruelty rather than in a moment of madness. But there were others too, smaller marks on his hands, a thin line along his jaw, the way he held his left shoulder slightly higher than his right as if compensating for damage beneath the fabric.

“The scars,” she said softly, her fingers hovering just above the raised tissue on his cheek. “Does it… do they hurt?”

“Not anymore,” Liu replied with a sad smile, the expression pulling at the damaged skin around his mouth. “Physical pain becomes background noise after a while. It’s the other kind of pain that never really fades.” His green eyes grew distant, and Y/N could see shadows of memories flickering behind them. “The pain of losing your family, of realizing the person you loved most in the world tried to kill you… that kind of hurt goes deeper than any knife ever could.”

He stepped back slightly, giving her space to process his presence while still staying within arm’s reach. Y/N noticed he was taller than she remembered, his frame broader and more muscular than the lanky teenager she’d known. The years had changed him in ways beyond just the scars, there was a hardness in his posture, a wariness in the way his eyes constantly scanned their surroundings, as if he expected attack from any direction.

“How long have you been here?” Y/N asked, gesturing vaguely at the room around them. “In this place, I mean. With… with him.”

“I’ve been here for three years,” Liu answered, his voice growing quieter. “Jeff has been here for nine years, since shortly after he… after what happened.” He ran a hand through his messy brown hair, a gesture that was so achingly familiar it made Y/N’s chest tight. “Give or take a few months. Time works differently here, days blend together when you’re not entirely sure you’re still human.”

The casual way he mentioned questioning his humanity made Y/N’s blood run cold. She’d been here for barely a day and already felt like something fundamental about herself had been altered, marked and claimed by a creature that defied every natural law she understood. The thought of spending years in this place, slowly losing pieces of herself until she wasn’t sure what remained…

“What happened to you?” she pressed, needing to understand how the gentle boy she’d known had ended up in this nightmare realm. “After the hospital, I mean. How did you go from recovery to… this?”

Liu’s expression darkened, something shifting behind his green eyes. For just a moment, his entire demeanor changed, his shoulders straightened, his jaw clenched, his eyes taking on a harder edge that made him look like a completely different person. When he moved, it was with a predatory grace that was nothing like the careful control she’d observed moments before.

“That’s not important,” he said, and his voice had changed too, becoming sharper, more aggressive. The gentle cadence was gone, replaced by something cold and dangerous. “What matters is that we’re both here now. That we survived when we should have died.”

But then he blinked, and the moment passed. His shoulders relaxed, his expression softened, and he was back to being the Liu she remembered, gentle and concerned and infinitely patient. The transformation was so complete and sudden that Y/N might have thought she’d imagined it if not for the lingering tension in the air.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair again, the gesture now seeming more agitated than nervous. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just… talking about the past is difficult sometimes. Some memories are better left buried, especially in a place like this where dwelling on trauma can literally drive you insane.”

Y/N studied his face carefully, noting the way his expression had shifted so completely in the span of a few seconds. There was something else going on here, something beyond just trauma from his brother’s attack. The change had been too complete, too distinct, like watching one person step out of a room and another step in using the same body.

“Tell me about you,” Liu said, deliberately changing the subject with the kind of smooth deflection that spoke of years of practice. His hands found hers, fingers intertwining in a gesture that was both comforting and grounding. “What happened to you after that night? Did you finish school? Go to college? Did you build a good life for yourself?”

The innocent question hit Y/N like a physical blow, reminding her of everything she’d lost in the past few days. Her apartment with its collection of books and plants, her job that she’d actually enjoyed despite the occasional difficult client, her routine of morning coffee and evening walks. And Emma… God, poor Emma, whose only crime had been being Y/N’s friend.

“I tried to build a good life,” Y/N said finally, her voice thick with emotion. “I really did. I went to school, got a decent job, made new friends.” Her voice cracked slightly. “But I never forgot you, Liu. Either of you. I carried that guilt around for nine years, wondering if I could have done something different, if I could have prevented what happened.”

“Y/N…” Liu started, but she cut him off with a shake of her head, her stubborn nature asserting itself despite her emotional state.

“No, let me finish,” she said firmly, straightening her shoulders in the way she always did when preparing for a difficult conversation. “I blamed myself for Jeff’s breakdown. I thought maybe if I’d been a better friend, if I’d noticed the signs earlier, if I’d tried harder to help him deal with the bullying instead of just encouraging him to ignore it…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Liu interrupted gently but firmly, his hands tightening around hers. “What Jeff became, the choices he made, none of that was because of you. He was already changing long before that night, becoming something darker, more violent. The bullying was just an excuse, a catalyst for something that was already brewing inside him.”

“But if I hadn’t stopped visiting as much,” she pressed, her voice growing stronger as old guilt poured out of her. “If I hadn’t started pulling away when he got weird and snappy, when he started talking about making people pay for what they’d done…”

“Then you probably would have ended up dead too,” Liu said bluntly, his voice carrying a hard edge that made Y/N flinch. “Or worse, you might have become his first accomplice. Jeff doesn’t just hurt people, Y/N. He corrupts them, draws them into his worldview until they start to see violence as the only solution to life’s problems. The fact that you kept your distance probably saved your soul as much as your life.”

The harsh truth of his words settled between them like a physical presence. Y/N had always wondered why she’d started feeling uncomfortable around Jeff in those final weeks, why his intensity had started to feel more threatening than flattering. His jokes about getting back at their tormentors had grown darker, more detailed, and there had been something in his eyes when he talked about revenge that had made her skin crawl.

“I saw him today,” Y/N said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Jeff, I mean. He… he helped me during the trial, guided me through the forest when I was being hunted. But then he killed someone, Liu. Just a terrified teenager who was trying to survive, and Jeff put a knife in his chest without hesitation.”

She looked up at Liu, searching his scarred features for any sign of surprise or horror, but found only grim acceptance. The lack of shock on his face was almost as disturbing as Jeff’s casual violence had been.

“He told me he was protecting me,” she continued, her voice growing stronger with indignation. “That he was giving the boy a mercy killing compared to what the Operator would have done. But the way he looked when he did it… there was no mercy in it.”

Liu nodded slowly, his expression growing distant as he processed her words. “That sounds like Jeff. He’s always been good at convincing himself that his violence serves some higher purpose, that he’s actually helping people by killing them quickly instead of letting them suffer longer deaths. It’s how he sleeps at night, telling himself he’s some kind of dark angel of mercy.”

“Do you believe that?” Y/N asked, studying his face carefully. “That he was showing mercy?”

“I believe Jeff believes it,” Liu replied carefully, his tone suggesting he’d had this conversation with himself many times before. “But I also know my brother well enough to recognize when he’s lying to himself. Jeff doesn’t kill out of mercy, Y/N. He kills because it’s what he is now, what he’s been shaped into by this place and the thing that runs it. The justifications come later, a way to make sense of actions that don’t really need reasons beyond simple bloodlust.”

The casual way Liu discussed his brother’s homicidal nature was deeply unsettling. There was no anger in his voice, no condemnation, just a matter-of-fact acceptance that made Y/N’s skin crawl. It was like listening to someone discuss the weather while describing mass murder.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” she asked, her voice sharpening with disbelief. “Knowing what he’s become? What he’s done to innocent people?”

Something flickered across Liu’s features again, that same hard edge she’d seen earlier. But this time it lasted longer, his entire posture shifting as his expression became cold and calculating. When he spoke, his voice was different, sharper, more aggressive, carrying an undercurrent of barely controlled violence.

“Bother me?” he asked, and there was something almost predatory in the way he smiled. “Oh, sweetness, you have no idea how much it bothers me. Jeff took everything from me, my face, my family, my normal life. He left me scarred and broken and then had the audacity to act surprised when I didn’t just lie down and die like a good little victim.”

Y/N took an unconscious step backward, alarmed by the sudden change in his demeanor. This wasn’t the gentle Liu she remembered, this was someone else entirely, someone with murder in their eyes and violence in their voice.

“Liu?” she said uncertainly, her survival instincts screaming at her to put more distance between them. “Are you…”

But then he blinked again, and the moment passed. His shoulders relaxed, his expression softened, and he was back to being the concerned, caring person she’d known as a child. The transformation was so complete it was almost disorienting.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, looking genuinely distressed by his outburst. His hands shook slightly as he ran them through his hair. “I don’t know what came over me. Sometimes I just… I get angry, and it’s hard to control. The doctors said it was normal after trauma like mine, but sometimes I worry…”

Y/N studied his face carefully, noting the way his personality seemed to shift like mercury, changing from gentle to violent and back again in the space of seconds. There was definitely something else going on here, something beyond just trauma from his brother’s attack.

“Liu,” she said carefully, keeping her voice calm and non-threatening, “when you change like that, do you remember what you say? What you do?”

“Of course I remember,” Liu replied, though there was something uncertain in his voice, a hesitation that suggested he wasn’t entirely sure. “It’s just… sometimes the anger gets overwhelming, and I say things I don’t mean. It’s not… it’s nothing to worry about. I have it under control.”

But Y/N could see the worry in his own eyes, the fear that maybe he wasn’t as in control as he wanted to believe. She’d heard stories about people developing multiple personalities after severe trauma, but she’d never witnessed it firsthand. The idea that gentle Liu might be sharing headspace with someone far more dangerous was terrifying.

Before she could probe further, a soft knock came at her door. Both Y/N and Liu froze, their heads turning toward the sound in perfect unison.

“Y/N?” came Sally’s sweet voice through the wooden door, slightly muffled but clearly excited about something. “Are you in there? I brought you something special!”

Y/N looked at Liu, who had gone completely still, his green eyes fixed on the door with an intensity that was almost predatory. “Do you know Sally?” she whispered.

“The dead girl,” Liu replied quietly, his voice taking on that flat, matter-of-fact tone again. “She’s harmless enough, but she has a tendency to wander around at night when the other residents are trying to sleep. Most of them avoid her because she makes them uncomfortable.”

“Because she’s dead?”

“Because she’s innocent,” Liu corrected, his expression growing thoughtful. “True innocence is rare in this place. It makes people nervous, reminds them of what they used to be before the Operator got his hooks into them. Sally is a mirror that shows us all how far we’ve fallen.”

The knocking came again, more insistent this time, accompanied by the sound of small feet shifting impatiently in the hallway. “Y/N? I know you’re in there, I can hear you talking to someone. Is everything okay? Are you having trouble sleeping?”

Y/N looked at Liu questioningly, and he nodded slightly. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “Sally won’t tell anyone I’m here if I ask her not to. She’s good at keeping secrets, especially from the adults who don’t treat her kindly.”

Y/N moved to the door and opened it slowly, revealing Sally standing in the hallway with her arms full of what appeared to be wildflowers. The little girl’s big green eyes were bright with excitement, and the constant stream of blood from her cranial wound seemed heavier than usual, dripping steadily onto her pink nightgown and creating small dark stains on the floor around her bare feet.

“I picked these for you!” Sally announced cheerfully, holding up the bouquet of flowers with obvious pride. They were beautiful in a wild, untamed way, all different colors and varieties that somehow worked together despite their obvious differences. There were daisies and roses, violets and something that looked like baby’s breath, all bound together with what appeared to be strands of silvery moss. “I found them in the part of the forest where the moonlight makes everything silver, and I thought you might like something pretty in your room to make it feel more like home!”

“They’re beautiful, Sally,” Y/N said genuinely, accepting the flowers with a warm smile. The stems were still damp with dew, and they smelled like rain and earth. “Thank you so much, that was very thoughtful of you.”

Sally beamed at the praise, her face lighting up with pure joy that was both heartwarming and heartbreaking. The sight of such genuine happiness on the face of a dead child was almost too much to process. “I know all the secret places in the forest! Places where the flowers grow in colors that don’t have names, and where you can hear music even though no one’s playing anything.”

But then her attention shifted to something behind Y/N, and her expression became curious rather than excited. Her head tilted to one side in a way that was distinctly childlike, blood dripping more heavily from her wound with the movement.

“Oh, hello Liu!” she said brightly, waving at the figure behind Y/N with her free hand. “I didn’t know you were visiting Y/N. Are you two having a sleepover? That sounds like fun! I love sleepovers, even though I don’t really sleep anymore.”

Liu stepped into Sally’s line of sight, his expression immediately softening as he looked down at the child. Despite everything Y/N had witnessed about his darker personality, his interaction with Sally was genuinely gentle and patient. “Hello, Sally,” he said warmly. “The flowers you picked are very pretty. Y/N is lucky to have such a thoughtful friend looking out for her.”

Sally practically glowed at the compliment, bouncing slightly on her bare feet in a way that made more blood drip from her head wound. “I know all the best places to find flowers!”

“That sounds wonderful,” Liu replied with genuine warmth, and Y/N could see why Sally was drawn to him. Despite his scars and the darkness that lurked beneath his gentle surface, there was still something fundamentally kind about him. “Maybe you can show Y/N some of those places tomorrow, after she’s had time to settle in properly and get used to how things work here.”

“Oh, I’d love to!” Sally exclaimed, clapping her hands together with delight, apparently unconcerned about the blood that splattered from the movement. “We could have a picnic, and I could show her the stream where the water runs backward, and the clearing where butterflies made of light dance around the fairy stones!”

Y/N found herself smiling despite everything that had happened. Sally’s enthusiasm was infectious, her innocent joy a bright spot in this place of darkness and horror. It was hard to reconcile the cheerful child with the brutal reality of her situation, the fact that she was dead, trapped in this nightmare realm for reasons Y/N could only guess at.

“That sounds perfect, Sally,” Y/N said gently, meaning every word. “I’d love to see all your special places. It’ll be nice to have a friend to show me around.”

“Yay!” Sally bounced on her toes again, then seemed to remember something important. Her expression became slightly more serious, though still bright with childish energy. “Oh, but I should let you two get back to your grown-up talk time. I know adults need their private time to discuss boring things.”

She started to turn away, her pink nightgown swishing around her thin legs, then paused and looked back at them with sudden seriousness that seemed far too mature for her apparent age. When she spoke, her voice carried a warning tone that made the hairs on Y/N’s arms stand up.

“Liu,” she said, her green eyes suddenly sharp and knowing, “you need to be careful. The other part of you has been getting stronger lately, and some of the scarier people have noticed. They’re starting to talk about whether you’re becoming too dangerous to keep around, especially with everything that’s been happening lately.”

Liu’s expression darkened at her words, something cold and calculating flickering behind his eyes. But before he could respond, Sally had already skipped away down the hallway, her bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor as she hummed a tune that sounded like a lullaby played backward.

Y/N closed the door slowly, her mind racing with the implications of Sally’s warning. The “other part” of Liu, the way his personality shifted so dramatically, it wasn’t just trauma response. There was literally someone else sharing space in his head, someone the other residents considered dangerous enough to be a threat.

“Liu,” she said carefully, turning to face him, “what did Sally mean about the other part of you?”

Liu’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. For a moment, that cold, hard expression returned to his features, making him look like a completely different person. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

“His name is Sully,” Liu said, his voice tight with barely controlled emotion. “He’s… he’s what Jeff created when he tried to kill me. The part of me that wants revenge, that fantasizes about making him pay for what he did to our family, to me.”

“Sully,” Y/N repeated, testing the name. It felt strange on her tongue, like speaking about someone who was present but invisible. “Is he… are you aware when he’s in control?”

“Most of the time,” Liu replied, though there was uncertainty in his voice that suggested the answer was more complicated than he wanted to admit. “It’s like watching someone else use your body, hearing someone else’s words come out of your mouth. But lately, the transitions have been getting smoother. Sometimes I’m not sure which one of us is really in control, or if there’s even a difference anymore.”

The admission clearly frightened him, Y/N could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his green eyes darted around the room as if looking for escape routes. The idea of losing control of his own mind, of potentially becoming as dangerous as the brother who had nearly killed him, was obviously his worst nightmare.

Y/N stepped closer. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said firmly, reaching out to take his scarred hands in hers. “Either of you. Whatever Sully is, whatever he wants, he’s still part of you. And you’re still the same person who used to protect me and Jeff, who never walked away from someone who needed help.”

Liu stared at her in amazement, as if her words were the most impossible thing he’d ever heard. “Y/N, you don’t understand. Sully isn’t just angry, he’s violent. He’s killed people, innocent people, because they reminded him of Jeff or because they were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s everything I never wanted to become, but I can’t seem to stop him from getting stronger.”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” Y/N said softly but firmly. “You’re not alone anymore, Liu. You don’t have to fight this battle by yourself.”

For a moment, Liu looked like he might cry. His scarred features crumpled with emotion, and Y/N could see the overwhelming relief in his eyes at having someone who didn’t immediately run away when faced with his darker nature.

But then his expression shifted again, becoming colder and more calculating.

“Aren’t you just precious,” he said, but it wasn’t Liu speaking anymore. The voice was similar but carried an edge of violence that made Y/N’s skin crawl. “Little Y/N, still trying to save everyone even when she can barely save herself. How wonderfully naive.”

Y/N forced herself to stand her ground, even as every instinct screamed at her to back away from the dangerous gleam in his eyes. She’d learned long ago that showing fear to bullies only made them worse, and something told her the same principle applied here. “Sully, I presume?”

“Guilty as charged,” Sully replied with a grin that was all teeth and malice, completely transforming Liu’s usually gentle features. “Though I have to say, you’re taking this remarkably well. Most people start screaming when they realize they’re talking to a killer. Or at least have the good sense to run.”

“I’ve had a day full of killers,” Y/N replied dryly, crossing her arms and meeting his gaze directly. “You’re just another name on a very long list. Besides, I don’t scare that easily.”

Sully laughed, the sound harsh and bitter but tinged with genuine amusement. “Oh, I like you. I can see why Liu’s been so worried about you all these years. You’ve got backbone, I’ll give you that. Most people would be cowering in a corner by now.”

“Most people probably have better survival instincts than I do,” Y/N admitted with a slight smile. “My friends always said my stubbornness would get me killed someday. Guess they weren’t wrong.”

“Stubbornness can be a virtue in a place like this,” Sully said, his tone becoming more conversational, though the dangerous edge never quite disappeared. “The weak don’t last long here. The ones who break easily become either victims or monsters, and neither option is particularly appealing.”

He moved closer, studying her face with the intense focus of a predator sizing up prey. “Liu’s been carrying guilt about you for years, you know. Wondering if you were okay, if you were happy, if you blamed him for not stopping what happened. He’s a soft-hearted fool sometimes.”

“That’s not foolish,” Y/N said firmly, her protective instincts flaring. “Caring about people isn’t a weakness.”

“Isn’t it?” Sully asked, tilting his head to the side. “Caring about people is what got Liu nearly gutted by his own brother. Caring about people is what landed you in this nightmare. When has caring about others ever done anything but cause pain?”

The question hit harder than Y/N wanted to admit. Emma was dead because she’d cared enough about her. The participants in today’s trial had died because they’d cared enough about their own lives to fight for survival. Even her own situation could be traced back to caring, her guilt over Jeff’s transformation, her inability to let go of the past.

But she refused to let Sully’s cynicism take root. “Caring about people is also what saved me today,” she said firmly. “Sally cared enough to bring me flowers. Liu cared enough to come see how I was doing. Even Jeff, in his twisted way, cares enough to want to protect me.”

“Jeff doesn’t care about you,” Sully said bluntly, his voice carrying a harshness that made Y/N flinch. “Jeff is obsessed with an idealized version of you that exists only in his memory. He’s in love with a ghost, and he’ll destroy the real you trying to bring that ghost back to life.”

The words were brutal in their honesty, and Y/N could feel their truth settling into her chest like a stone. She’d seen it in Jeff’s eyes today, the way he looked at her like she was something precious and fragile, something to be protected and preserved rather than allowed to grow and change.

Before Y/N could respond, Sully’s entire demeanor shifted again. His shoulders relaxed, his expression softened, and suddenly Liu was back, looking confused and slightly disoriented.

“I’m sorry,” Liu said immediately, running a hand through his messy brown hair. “Did Sully… did he say something to upset you? You look troubled.”

Y/N studied Liu’s expression carefully, noting the genuine concern in his green eyes, the way he seemed completely unaware of the harsh conversation that had just taken place.

“He said Jeff was obsessed with me,” Y/N said carefully, watching Liu’s reaction. “That he’s in love with a memory rather than who I actually am.”

Liu’s scarred features tightened with what looked like pain mixed with acknowledgment. “Sully isn’t wrong about that,” he said quietly. “Jeff… he has a tendency to freeze people in time, to remember them exactly as they were at a particular moment and refuse to accept that they might have changed. With you, that moment was probably right before everything went wrong.”

He sat heavily on the edge of her bed, suddenly looking much older than his years. “Jeff talks about you sometimes. He talks about the girl who used to climb trees with him, who used to help him with his homework, who never made fun of his drawings even when they were terrible. But that girl was thirteen years old, Y/N. You’re twenty-two now, and you’re not the same person.”

“Neither is he,” Y/N pointed out, settling beside him on the bed. “The Jeff I knew wouldn’t have killed that boy today. He wouldn’t have smiled while doing it.”

“No, he wouldn’t have,” Liu agreed sadly. “But Jeff refuses to acknowledge that he’s changed. In his mind, he’s still the same person he was back then, just… evolved. He thinks the killing, the violence, it’s all just a natural progression of who he always was.”

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway outside Y/N’s room, followed by voices that were clearly engaged in some kind of heated discussion.

“I’m telling you, she’s fine,” came Tim’s irritated voice through the door, muffled but clearly annoyed. “Jack checked her over, Natalie got her settled, and she’s probably trying to sleep off the trauma from today. There’s no need to hover around her room like some kind of obsessed stalker.”

“I’m not hovering,” came Jeff’s defensive reply, his voice carrying that sharp edge that meant he was on the verge of losing his temper. “I just want to make sure she’s okay. After what happened today, after that fucking game the Operator put her through, someone needs to check on her.”

“Someone did check on her,” Tim shot back, his voice growing louder and more exasperated. “Multiple people, in fact. And Sally’s been keeping an eye on things from the shadows. What you’re doing isn’t checking on her, it’s obsessing, and it’s making everyone uncomfortable.”

“I don’t give a shit about everyone else’s comfort,” Jeff snarled, his voice carrying the kind of barely controlled rage that Y/N remembered from their childhood, except now it was tinged with something much darker. “Y/N is here because of me, because of our connection. It’s… It’s my fault that she’s here. That makes her my responsibility, and I’m not going to let anything happen to her.”

“Your responsibility?” Tim’s voice carried a note of incredulous disbelief. “Are you completely insane, Jeffrey? You don’t even know her anymore. It’s been nine years, and from what I observed today, she’s not exactly thrilled with your methods of ‘protection.’”

There was a moment of tense silence, and Y/N could practically feel Jeff’s rage building through the door like a living thing.

“She’ll understand eventually,” Jeff said finally, his voice low and dangerous in a way that made Y/N’s skin crawl. “When she realizes how much worse things could have been, when she sees what some of the other residents are capable of, she’ll understand that everything I did was to keep her safe.”

“Or she’ll realize that you’re exactly the same psychotic killer everyone says you are,” Tim replied bluntly, apparently unconcerned about provoking Jeff further. “Face facts, Jeffrey. The girl you knew as a kid is gone, and the woman she became isn’t interested in being your damsel in distress.”

Y/N felt Liu tense beside her, his grip on her hand tightening as he listened to the conversation outside. She could see something shifting in his expression, the gentleness fading as that harder, more violent personality began to surface.

“I should go out there,” Liu said quietly, but his voice had changed, becoming sharper and more aggressive. “Jeff needs to understand that he doesn’t own you.”

“Liu, no,” Y/N said firmly, recognizing the signs of Sully beginning to take control. “Getting into a confrontation with Jeff won’t help anyone. It’ll just make things worse, and you said yourself that the other residents are already concerned about Sully.”

But Liu’s expression had already shifted, becoming cold and calculating. When he spoke again, it was clearly Sully in control. “Someone needs to remind dear brother that his obsession doesn’t give him any special rights. You’re not his property, and you’re certainly not his responsibility.”

The argument outside was getting louder and more heated, with Jeff’s voice taking on the hysterical edge that Y/N remembered usually preceded violence. She could hear other footsteps now, more voices joining the conversation as other residents were drawn to the commotion.

“Look,” Y/N said firmly, grabbing Sully’s attention before he could act on whatever violent impulse was building in his mind. “I appreciate that you want to protect Liu’s interests, but I can handle Jeff myself. I’ve been dealing with his intensity for years, even before everything went wrong.”

Sully studied her for a long moment, his green eyes calculating. “You realize he’s going to keep pushing, right? Jeff doesn’t know how to take no for an answer, especially not from someone he considers his property. And make no mistake, in his mind, you belong to him.”

“Then I’ll keep saying no until he gets the message,” Y/N replied stubbornly, her chin lifting in the way it always did when she was preparing for a fight. “And if he doesn’t get the message, I’ll make it clearer. I’m not afraid of Jeff, and I’m not going to let his obsession dictate how I live my life.”

Something that might have been respect flickered across Sully’s features. “You really don’t back down from a fight, do you?”

“Never have, never will,” Y/N replied with grim determination. “It’s probably going to get me killed in this place, but at least I’ll go down swinging.”

Sully laughed, the sound genuinely amused rather than bitter. “Oh, I definitely like you. No wonder Liu’s been so concerned about your wellbeing all these years.”

But before Y/N could respond, there was a loud crash from the hallway outside, followed by shouting and the unmistakable sound of a struggle. Whatever argument had been brewing between Jeff and Tim had apparently escalated into physical violence.

“That’s enough!” came another voice, deeper, more authoritative. Y/N couldn’t place exactly who.

“Wright, get him under control before I have to step in.”

“I’m trying!” Tim’s voice was strained with effort. “Jeffrey, you need to calm down right now, or this is going to end badly for everyone involved.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Jeff’s voice was reaching that hysterical pitch that Y/N remembered from their childhood, the one that meant he was completely losing control. “She’s in there, probably terrified and alone, and you want me to just walk away?”

“She’s fine,” Tim said through gritted teeth, and Y/N could hear the sound of a scuffle, like someone was physically restraining Jeff. “But she won’t be if you keep acting like a deranged stalker. The Operator doesn’t tolerate this kind of disruption, especially not from proxies who should know better.”

At the mention of the Operator, Jeff’s voice became suddenly quieter, though no less dangerous. “The Operator brought her here for a reason. She’s supposed to be protected, not ignored.”

“Protected, not smothered,” came another voice, this one Y/N recognized as belonging to Jack. “Your behavior is counterproductive to her adjustment process.”

Y/N moved toward the door, intending to see what was happening, but Sully caught her arm in a grip that was firm but not painful.

“Stay here,” he said, his voice carrying an authority that brooked no argument. “Let them sort out their own mess. Getting involved will only make you a target for Jeff’s displaced aggression, and trust me, you don’t want to see what he’s like when he’s completely unhinged.”

“I’m already a target,” Y/N pointed out, though she didn’t try to pull away from his grip. “Might as well find out what I’m dealing with.”

“There’s a difference between being a target of obsession and being a target of violence,” Sully said grimly. “Right now, Jeff sees you as something precious to be protected. If you get between him and what he perceives as a threat to that protection, you might find yourself on the wrong end of his knife.”

The sounds from the hallway began to change, fewer voices, less shouting, the heavy footsteps of people moving away from Y/N’s door. After several minutes, an uneasy quiet settled over the corridor.

“Sounds like they managed to defuse the situation.” Y/N observed, though she remained tense.

“For now,” Sully agreed, releasing her arm. “But this isn’t over. Jeff’s obsession with you is going to keep causing problems until someone puts a permanent stop to it.”

“And by someone, you mean you?” Y/N asked, studying his expression.

Sully’s smile was sharp and predatory. “I mean whoever gets tired of his bullshit first. Could be me, could be Tim, could be any number of residents who are getting fed up with his dramatics. This place has a way of solving problems permanently.”

Before Y/N could respond to his ominous warning, Sully spoke first.

“They’ll be back,” he said quietly. “Jeff won’t let this go, and Tim’s patience is wearing thin. Things are going to get complicated very quickly.”

“More complicated than being marked by a cosmic horror entity and forced to live with a compound full of killers?” Y/N asked dryly.

“Much more complicated,” Sully confirmed with a grim smile. “Personal relationships in this place have a tendency to turn deadly. The Operator encourages conflict among his proxies, feeds on the emotional turmoil it creates. Your presence here has upset a very delicate balance.”

“Great,” Y/N muttered, running a hand through her hair. “So not only am I trapped in hell, I’m also apparently the catalyst for a supernatural soap opera.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Sully agreed. “But look on the bright side, at least you won’t be bored.”

Despite everything, Y/N found herself laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Here she was, having a casual conversation about potential murder and mayhem with a violent alter personality in a compound full of supernatural killers, and somehow finding humor in it all.

“You know what the really crazy part is?” she said, settling onto the edge of her bed with a tired sigh. “Last week, my biggest problem was trying to decide what to have for dinner. Now I’m marked by an eldritch abomination, trapped in a place that defies physics, and apparently at the center of some kind of proxy love affair that could end with multiple people dead.”

“Welcome to the family,” Sully said with dark amusement, settling into the room’s single chair. “It only gets weirder from here.”

Y/N looked at him, noting how different his posture was from Liu’s usual gentle demeanor. Where Liu held himself with careful control, as if afraid of taking up too much space, Sully sprawled in the bed with casual confidence, completely comfortable with his presence and power. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” Sully replied, though his tone suggested he might not answer depending on the question.

“Do you hate him? Liu, I mean. For being weak, for not fighting back when Jeff attacked him?”

Sully considered the question for a long moment, his expression growing thoughtful. “No,” he said finally. “Liu isn’t weak, he’s traumatized. There’s a difference. What Jeff did to him, to us, it broke something fundamental in our psyche. Liu is the part that still believes in goodness, still hopes for redemption. I’m the part that accepts the reality of what we’ve become.”

“And what have you become?”

“Survivors,” Sully said simply. “In a place like this, being gentle and trusting will get you killed very quickly. Liu provides the emotional stability that keeps us sane, and I provide the ruthlessness that keeps us alive. We need each other.”

The frank admission was both touching and terrifying. Y/N could see the logic in it, the way trauma had split Liu’s personality as a coping mechanism, creating a protector who could do the things the original personality couldn’t stomach.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to integrate?” she asked. “Become one person again?”

Sully’s expression darkened at the question, something cold and bitter flickering across his scarred features.

“Integration would mean one of us has to die,” he said quietly. “Either Liu absorbs me and loses the ability to protect himself, or I absorb him and lose the part of us that’s still human. Neither option is particularly appealing.”

He leaned forward in the bed, his green eyes intense as they focused on her face. “Besides, why would we want to integrate? This arrangement works. Liu gets to maintain his moral high ground and his gentle nature, while I handle the dirty work that keeps us both alive. It’s efficient.”

“But it must be exhausting,” Y/N pressed. “Constantly fighting for control, never knowing which personality will be in charge at any given moment.”

“You adapt,” Sully replied with a shrug, though Y/N could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap. “Besides, it’s not really fighting for control. It’s more like… taking turns driving. Liu handles the emotional situations, the times when empathy and understanding are needed. I handle the violence, the threats, the situations where being nice will get us killed.”

“And what about situations like this?” Y/N asked. “Where both skill sets might be needed?”

Sully’s lips curved into a smile that was all teeth and sharp edges. “This is why I like you, sweetness. You ask the hard questions that everyone else is too polite or too scared to voice.”

He stood up from the bed and began pacing around the small room, his movements controlled but restless. “Situations like this are… complicated. Liu wants to treat you kindly, to take things slow and rebuild the friendship you had as children. But I know that’s not how things work in this place. Here, you take what you want and you hold onto it with both hands, because hesitation gets you killed.”

“So what do you want?” Y/N asked directly, her eyes tracking his movements around the room.

Sully stopped pacing and turned to face her, his expression unreadable. “I want to keep you safe,” he said simply. “Both for Liu’s sake and because you’re too interesting to let some other psychopath break. But I also want you to understand exactly what you’re dealing with here, what this place will do to you if you let your guard down for even a second.”

He moved closer to where she sat on the bed, close enough that she had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact. “You’re marked now, Y/N. The Operator owns you in ways you can’t even begin to comprehend yet. Your body will heal from injuries that should kill you, but your mind… that’s going to take a beating that no supernatural enhancement can fix.”

The clinical way he discussed her situation made Y/N’s stomach twist with unease. “Are you trying to scare me?”

“I’m trying to prepare you,” Sully corrected. “Because the alternative is watching you fall apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left but another broken killer to add to the Operator’s collection.”

Before Y/N could respond, a soft scratching sound came from her window. Both she and Sully turned toward the noise, watching as a familiar black shape pressed against the glass from outside.

The feline sat perched on the window ledge, his wide red eyes glowing in the darkness beyond the glass. His humanoid teeth were bared in that perpetual unsettling grin, and his black fur seemed to absorb the moonlight rather than reflect it.

“Well, well,” Sully murmured, his voice carrying a note of amused interest. “Looks like you’ve made another friend. That’s unusual, Grinny doesn’t typically show interest in the residents.”

Y/N moved to the window and carefully opened it, allowing the strange cat to slip inside with fluid grace.

Grinny immediately began weaving around her legs, purring with a sound that was almost but not quite like a normal cat. His fur was silky soft beneath her fingers, but there was an otherworldly quality to his presence that made her skin prickle with awareness.

“He helped me during the trial,” Y/N explained, scratching behind Grinny’s ears. The cat’s purr grew louder, a rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. “Showed me where to hide when those people were hunting me.”

“Smart cat,” Sully commented, though he made no move to approach the creature. “Grinny’s been around almost as long as the Operator himself. He doesn’t usually involve himself in proxy business unless something particularly interesting is happening.”

As if responding to the conversation, Grinny looked up at Y/N with those glowing red eyes and opened his mouth. Instead of a meow, what came out was a distinctly human voice, childlike and sweet but with an underlying wrongness that made her skin crawl.

“Pretty girl is sad.” Grinny said, his voice carrying the same unsettling quality as his appearance. “Pretty girl has tears in her heart from the blood game. Grinny doesn’t like when nice people are sad.”

Y/N stared down at the cat in shock. In all the impossible things she’d witnessed since arriving at the compound, a talking cat somehow ranked among the more unsettling.
“You can talk.” she said unnecessarily, her voice carrying a note of amazement.

“Grinny can do lots of things.” the cat replied, settling down on her feet with his considerable weight. “Grinny can see in the dark places, can walk through walls, can smell fear and sadness and guilt. Pretty girl smells like all three.”

“I’m not surprised,” Y/N muttered, settling back onto the bed with Grinny still draped across her feet. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

“Blood game was mean,” Grinny continued, his red eyes fixed on her face with disturbing intensity. “Making scared people hunt pretty girl like animals. But pretty girl was smart, was strong, survived when others didn’t.”

The reminder of Sarah and the teenage boy made Y/N’s stomach clench with renewed guilt. “I killed someone today,” she said quietly, the admission torn from her lips before she could stop it. “An innocent person who just wanted to go home to her family.”

“Innocent person tried to kill pretty girl first,” Grinny pointed out matter-of-factly. “Pretty girl defended herself. This is how survival works in the Operator’s domain.”

“That doesn’t make it right.” Y/N protested, her voice thick with emotion.

“Right and wrong are human concepts,” Sully interjected, his voice carrying that familiar sharp edge. “In this place, there’s only survival and death. The sooner you accept that, the longer you’ll last.”

Grinny’s head swiveled toward Sully with fluid, impossible grace. “Angry-Liu speaks truth, but angry-Liu also speaks from hurt. Pretty girl’s heart is still soft, still feels pain for others. This is good thing, even in dark place.”

“Angry-Liu?” Y/N asked, looking between the cat and Sully with curiosity.

“Grinny has his own names for everyone,” Sully explained with a slight smile. “He calls Liu ‘soft-Liu’ and me ‘angry-Liu.’ It’s actually more accurate than the names we use for ourselves.”

“Soft-Liu’s brother loves pretty girl with whole heart,” Grinny continued, his childlike voice carrying an odd wisdom. “Has loved her since small-time, when world was brighter and less broken. But he shows love through protection, through violence against threats.”

The casual way Grinny discussed Jeff’s feelings made Y/N’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. “It’s complicated.” she said weakly.

“Love is always complicated,” Grinny replied with what might have been amusement. “Especially in place where love and death dance together like old friends.”

A sudden commotion in the hallway interrupted their conversation. Heavy footsteps pounded past Y/N’s door, accompanied by shouting voices that sounded urgent and alarmed.

“What the hell now?” Sully muttered, moving toward the door but it opened before he could do anything.

Tim stood in the doorway looking rumpled and irritated. His dark brown hair was more disheveled than usual, and there were what looked like scuff marks on his worn jacket. His skin showed signs of recent exertion, a slight flush, a thin sheen of sweat and his brown eyes held the kind of exhaustion that came from dealing with difficult people. His gaze sweeping the room and taking in Y/N on the bed, Sully by the door, and Grinny still draped across her feet.

“Princess,” he said, his preferred nickname for her carrying its usual sarcastic edge, though there was an underlying note of concern. “I see you’ve got company. I was searching for you, Liu.”

Tim’s gaze moved past her to where Liu stood, and Y/N saw something flicker across the older man’s features, not surprise, exactly, but a kind of weary recognition.

“Tim,” Liu said with a polite nod after Sully gave him the reins, his voice carefully neutral. “I was just checking on Y/N, making sure she was settling in alright after today’s trial.”

“Uh-huh.” Tim’s tone was skeptical, but not hostile. “We have a problem.” He announced without preamble.

Tim’s expression grew more serious as he glanced between Y/N and Liu, his brown eyes calculating. He made a subtle gesture toward the door, a sharp jerk of his head that clearly meant ‘follow me.’ His features held the kind of tension that suggested whatever problem had arisen was significant.

“We need to talk,” Tim said to Liu, his voice carrying an undertone of urgency that made the room’s atmosphere shift. “Now.”

Liu’s entire posture changed, his shoulders tensing as he straightened to his full height. The shift was subtle but noticeable, his relaxed demeanor evaporating as he recognized the seriousness in Tim’s tone. “What kind of problem?” he asked, though his voice suggested he already suspected it wasn’t something that could be discussed in front of Y/N.

Tim’s jaw clenched slightly, his gaze flicking toward Y/N before returning to Liu with a look that clearly conveyed ‘not here, not now.’ The unspoken communication was obvious even to an outsider, whatever was happening required privacy.

“The kind that needs immediate attention,” Tim replied curtly, his gloved hands adjusting his worn brown jacket in a gesture that spoke of nervous energy barely contained. “Outside.”

Y/N watched the exchange with growing irritation, recognizing the way they were deliberately excluding her from whatever crisis had emerged.

“Let me guess,” she said, her voice sharp with sarcasm as she crossed her arms. “This is one of those ‘too dangerous for the delicate newcomer to know about’ situations? Because I’ve had such a sheltered day so far.”

Tim’s attention snapped to her, his brown eyes holding a mixture of exasperation and something that might have been grudging respect for her directness. “Princess, some things are better left as need-to-know information. And right now, you don’t need to know.”

“Right,” Y/N replied dryly, her tone making it clear she thought that was bullshit. “Because being kept in the dark has worked out so well for me lately.”

Before the argument could escalate further, Tim held up a hand in a gesture that brooked no further discussion. His expression grew stern, the kind of authoritative look that probably made most proxies fall in line without question.

“Listen carefully,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of a direct order. “You’re going to stay in this room tonight. Don’t go wandering the halls, don’t answer the door for anyone except the person I’m sending to keep an eye on you, and don’t do anything stupid. That last part is particularly important given your track record so far.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched at the condescending tone, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “I’m not a prisoner, Tim.”

“Tonight you are,” Tim replied bluntly, his brown eyes hard as stone. “For your own safety and everyone else’s. The compound gets… interesting after dark, and you’re not ready for that level of interesting yet.”

Liu stepped forward, his scarred features creasing with concern as he processed Tim’s words. “Tim, please tell me you’re not planning to leave—” He cut himself off abruptly, but not before a name almost escaped his lips. The way his entire body went rigid suggested whoever he was thinking of was not someone he wanted anywhere near Y/N.

Tim’s expression darkened, and he let out a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a bitter laugh. “He’s the only one available right now. Everyone else is either on missions, dealing with Jeff’s earlier tantrum and taking him to his punishment, or specifically requested to stay away from the new acquisition.” His tone grew more authoritative as his patience clearly began to wear thin. “We don’t have the luxury of being picky about babysitting assignments.”

“Babysitting?” Y/N’s voice rose dangerously, her temper flaring at the dismissive term. “I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Tim. I’m a grown woman who’s survived everything this nightmare place has thrown at me so far.”

“A grown woman who’s been here for less than twenty-four hours and already managed to piss off Nina, attract Toby’s attention, and become the center of Jeff’s latest obsessive episode,” Tim shot back, his own temper beginning to fray around the edges. “Forgive me if I don’t trust your judgment on compound safety protocols.”

The harsh words stung, partly because they held more truth than Y/N wanted to admit. She had managed to accumulate an impressive number of complications in a remarkably short time, but that didn’t mean she was helpless.

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth, her pride warring with pragmatism. “But I want to know what this mysterious problem is once you’ve handled it. I’m tired of being the last to know about things that apparently affect my safety.”

Tim’s expression softened slightly at her reasonable request, though his posture remained tense. “If it’s something you need to know about, I’ll brief you tomorrow. But Princess, some knowledge in this place is dangerous to possess. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss.”

Liu moved toward the door, but paused to look back at Y/N with an expression of genuine concern. The gentle personality was fully in control now, his green eyes soft with worry and something that might have been an apology.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised quietly. “And Y/N… be careful tonight. Whoever Tim sends to watch over you, just… try not to provoke them too much?”

“I don’t provoke people.” Y/N protested, though even she didn’t sound entirely convinced by her own words.

Sully’s bitter laughter echoed in her memory, along with his assessment of her stubborn nature. Maybe she did have a tendency to push boundaries, but that was just being strong-willed, not provocative.

“Right,” Liu said with a slight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Just… try to get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be another long day.”

With that ominous statement, both men left, their heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway as they moved away from her door. Y/N could hear their voices becoming more distant, though she couldn’t make out the words of their urgent conversation.

The sudden silence in her room felt oppressive after the intensity of the evening’s events. Grinny had disappeared at some point during Tim’s visit, probably sensing the tension and deciding to make himself scarce. Y/N found herself genuinely alone for the first time since arriving at the compound, with only her thoughts for company.

She glanced at the clock on her bedside table and was surprised to see it was already past eleven. The day had felt endless, stretching from the horror of finding Emma’s body to the nightmare trial in the forest to the emotional whiplash of discovering Liu was alive. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was still racing with everything that had happened.

Might as well get ready for bed, she thought, moving toward the small dresser where her limited wardrobe was stored. Tim had said someone would be coming to watch over her, but she had no idea when they might arrive or how long she’d have to wait.

Y/N pulled out a simple pair of gray cotton pajama pants and a black tank top from the supplies that had been provided. The clothes were practical rather than pretty, but they were clean and comfortable, which was more than she’d had this morning. She’d learned to appreciate small comforts in the space of a single day.

She moved toward the bathroom, her injured ankle much improved thanks to whatever supernatural healing the Operator’s mark had provided. The pain was now just a dull ache rather than the sharp agony she’d experienced earlier, and she could walk normally as long as she didn’t push too hard.

The bathroom was small but functional, with basic amenities that looked like they’d been installed sometime in the past decade but hadn’t been updated since. The mirror above the sink was the same polished metal she’d encountered in her previous room, reflecting her image with slightly distorted clarity.

Y/N stared at her reflection, noting how much she’d changed in just one day. There were dark circles under her eyes from stress and exhaustion, small scratches on her face from running through the forest, and a hardness in her expression that hadn’t been there this morning. The Operator’s mark was hidden beneath her shirt, but she could feel it burning slightly against her spine, a constant reminder of her new reality.

She brushed her teeth with mechanical precision, the minty toothpaste providing a small sense of normalcy in an increasingly abnormal situation. The routine was comforting, a link to her old life when her biggest concerns had been work deadlines and what to have for dinner.

God, was that really just the other day? she thought, spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing her mouth. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Y/N returned to the main room and quickly changed into her pajamas, grateful for the soft cotton against her skin. The clothes smelled like the generic detergent used throughout the compound, but they were clean and warm, which was enough for now.

She was just pulling the tank top over her head when she heard her door open behind her.

Y/N spun around, her heart leaping into her throat as she prepared to confront whoever had entered without knocking. The sharp retort died on her lips as she took in the sight of impossibly long, clawed fingers wrapping around the doorframe, followed by a figure so tall he had to duck significantly to peer inside.

The creature, because there was no other word for what she was looking at, had to be at least eight feet tall, with elongated arms that seemed almost puppet-like in their proportions. His skin was completely monochrome, a pale, ashen color that looked almost corpse-like in the room’s lighting. Long black hair fell across his face, partially obscuring his features but not hiding the sharp angles of his bones or the predatory gleam in his eyes.

What made Y/N’s blood run cold was his smile, a wide, manic grin that stretched too far across his face, revealing rows of very sharp teeth that definitely didn’t belong in a human mouth. His nose was long and pointed, colored in a swirling pattern of black and white. His lips were black, and when his unnaturally long tongue flicked out, she could see it was also black and white in an alternating pattern.

The most disturbing feature was the black eyeshadow around his eyes, which gave him a theatrical, almost clownish appearance that was somehow more terrifying than if he’d looked simply monstrous.

“Well, well, well!” the creature said in a voice that was cheerful and theatrical, completely at odds with his horrifying appearance. He giggled as he fully entered the room, his movements fluid and graceful despite his impossible proportions. “What do we have here? The famous Y/N L/N, I presume?”

The creature straightened to his full, impressive height inside her room, and Y/N had to crane her neck back to maintain eye contact. He was even taller than Jack, which she hadn’t thought was possible, and his presence seemed to fill the entire space with chaotic energy.

“I’m Laughing Jack!” he announced with obvious delight, giving her an elaborate bow that somehow managed to be both courtly and mocking. “But you can call me LJ, angel. I’ll be your buddy for the night!”

His voice carried a sing-song quality that reminded Y/N unpleasantly of children’s television shows, except those shows typically didn’t feature hosts with razor-sharp teeth and claws that could probably tear through steel.

“My… buddy?” Y/N repeated slowly, her brain struggling to process the situation. This was who Tim had sent to watch over her? This theatrical nightmare creature who looked like he’d stepped out of a horror movie?

“That’s right!” LJ exclaimed, clapping his oversized hands together with enthusiasm. “Tim asked me to keep an eye on you tonight, make sure you don’t get into any trouble or do anything… stupid, I believe was his exact wording.”

LJ moved further into the room with that same fluid grace, his head tilting at an unnatural angle as he studied her with obvious fascination. “Though between you and me, angel, I think you look like you can handle yourself just fine. There’s a fire in your eyes that suggests you’re not easily intimidated!”

Despite her heart hammering against her ribs, Y/N forced herself to stand her ground.

“Well, LJ,” she said, proud that her voice came out steady and strong, “I appreciate Tim’s… concern for my wellbeing. But I was actually planning to get some sleep, so if you could just park yourself in a corner and try not to loom over me all night, that would be great.”

Laughing Jack’s grin somehow managed to become even wider at her bold response, his sharp teeth catching the light in a way that made them look like polished knives.

“Oh, I like you already!” he giggled, the sound high and delighted but with an underlying wrongness that made Y/N’s skin crawl. “Most people start screaming or fainting when they first see me. But you… you’ve got backbone. This is going to be a very interesting night indeed!”

Y/N eyed LJ warily as she moved toward her new bed, her muscles still aching from the day’s trauma despite the supernatural healing. The massive clown-like creature’s presence filled the entire room with chaotic energy that made her skin crawl, but she forced herself to appear calm. If Tim had chosen him to keep watch over her, he couldn’t be that bad, right? Though given what she’d witnessed of Tim’s judgment so far, that wasn’t exactly a comforting thought.

The bed looked inviting after everything she’d been through, but the idea of trying to sleep while an eight-foot-tall demonic entity watched over her was less than appealing. Y/N pulled back the covers and sat on the edge of the mattress, hyper-aware of LJ’s glowing eyes tracking her every movement.

“You don’t have to glare at me like that, angel!” LJ giggled, his voice carrying that same unsettling sing-song quality. He clapped his oversized hands together with obvious delight. “I promise I won’t try anything to harm you! We’re on the same team after all!”

The enthusiastic way he delivered what was probably meant to be reassurance only made Y/N more nervous. She’d learned not to trust anyone who had to explicitly promise they wouldn’t hurt her.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I’m never going to be able to sleep.” Y/N said bluntly, pulling the covers up to her chest in a futile attempt to create some kind of barrier between them.

LJ’s head tilted at an impossible angle, his sharp teeth catching the light as his grin somehow managed to become even wider. “Oh! Would you like me to read you a bedtime story?” he asked with mock helpfulness, his theatrical voice dropping to what might have been intended as a soothing whisper but came across as deeply unsettling instead. “Or maybe I could just hit you on the head so you’d fall asleep faster!”

“No!” Y/N said quickly, alarmed by both suggestions. “Neither of those options sound remotely appealing, thanks.”

But LJ’s eyes had already lit up with inspiration, his entire demeanor shifting to one of manic excitement. “Oh! Oh, I have an idea!” he exclaimed, bouncing slightly on his feet in a way that made the floorboards creak ominously under his weight.

Before Y/N could ask what his idea entailed or protest against it, LJ snapped his elongated fingers with a sharp crack that seemed to reverberate through her skull. The sound bypassed her ears entirely, speaking directly to her nervous system in a way that made her vision blur around the edges.

Y/N felt consciousness slipping away like water through her fingers, her eyelids growing impossibly heavy as some kind of supernatural compulsion took hold. The last thing she saw was LJ’s satisfied grin before darkness claimed her completely, pulling her down into a dreamless void that felt more like being switched off than falling asleep.

Y/N was jolted awake by the sound of giggling and movement in her room, her consciousness returning with the jarring abruptness of someone being doused with cold water. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was, the unfamiliar ceiling and the scent of antiseptic cleaner disorienting her. Then the events of the previous day came rushing back like a tidal wave: the trial, Sarah’s death, Jeff’s violence, Liu’s impossible presence.

She sat up in bed, blinking in confusion as she tried to process what she was seeing. LJ stood in the middle of her room, his impossible height making him nearly touch the ceiling, engaged in what appeared to be an enthusiastic game of Slap Hands with Ben, who was floating at roughly eye level to accommodate the height difference.

“Come on, LJ!” Ben taunted with obvious glee, his red pupils gleaming with mischief as he danced just out of reach of the clown’s massive hands. “You’re getting slow in your old age! I thought demons were supposed to have better reflexes than that!”

LJ’s laughter filled the room as he made another attempt to catch Ben’s much smaller hands. “Oh, you little pest! Just wait until I get my claws on you!”

Ben noticed Y/N sitting up and his face immediately lit up with that familiar mischievous smile that never meant anything good. He spun in the air to face her, his green hat spinning with the movement.

“Well, well!” Ben said with playful enthusiasm, his voice carrying that same cocky edge she’d grown to recognize. “Look who’s finally awake! Did you sleep well? Sweet dreams about yesterday’s fun and games?”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed dangerously as she glared at the floating figure. “Get out of my room,” she hissed, her voice rough with sleep and irritation. The casual way he referred to the horror of the previous day made her blood boil. “What the hell were you doing while I was sleeping?”

Ben laughed at her obvious anger, the sound high and delighted, but his amusement caused him to lose focus on the game. LJ’s massive clawed hand came down on Ben’s head with surprising gentleness, though the impact was still enough to send the smaller figure tumbling toward the floor like a swatted mosquito.

“Got you!” LJ exclaimed triumphantly, clapping his hands together with childish glee.

Ben groaned as he hit the wooden floor with a solid thump, his green hat flying off to land in a corner of the room. He glared up at LJ with indignation, though there was genuine amusement in his red-rimmed eyes.

“That’s cheating!” Ben protested, floating back up to retrieve his hat. “You can’t use the pretty girl as a distraction!”

“All’s fair in slap hands and war!” LJ replied cheerfully, his sharp teeth glinting as he grinned down at the smaller figure.

Their playful banter was interrupted by loud, aggressive knocking at Y/N’s door that made the wooden frame rattle in its hinges. Before she could even move to answer it, the door swung open with enough force to slam against the wall, and Toby bounded into the room.

His brown eyes immediately took in the scene: LJ towering in the center of the room, Ben floating near the ceiling while nursing his wounded pride, and Y/N sitting in bed in her pajamas looking thoroughly annoyed by the early morning invasion.

“Oh!” Toby exclaimed with obvious delight, his neck cracking audibly as his head snapped toward each occupant in turn. “Are we having a s-sleepover? Why wasn’t I invited? I love s—s-sleepovers! Though I don’t really sleep m-much anymore, but still!”

Tim appeared in the doorway behind Toby, his brown eyes already showing signs of the kind of exasperation that suggested this was not how he’d planned to start his morning. Brian’s tall frame filled the remaining space, his masked face turned toward the chaos in the room with what might have been resignation.

Tim’s gaze swept the room, taking in the various supernatural beings scattered around Y/N’s personal space like party guests who’d overstayed their welcome. His jaw clenched visibly, and Y/N could see a muscle twitching in his cheek that suggested he was fighting to maintain his temper.

“Nobody would invite you to a sleepover, Rogers,” Tim said dryly, his voice carrying that familiar edge of sarcasm. “Even if this was one, which it isn’t.”

Y/N stood up from her bed, her patience finally reaching its breaking point. Having her room invaded by a collection of killers before she’d even had her morning coffee was testing limits she didn’t know she had.

“What the actual hell is wrong with all of you?” she snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a whip. “Do none of you understand the concept of knocking? Or personal space? Or basic fucking courtesy?”

Her angry words were immediately undermined as Ben and Toby, apparently deciding that her irritation was the most entertaining thing they’d witnessed all morning, began poking at her repeatedly. Ben floated around her head like an annoying gnat, prodding at her shoulders and arms with his fingertips, while Toby approached from the other side, his tics making his movements erratic as he poked at her ribs and sides.

“Aw, is the pr-pretty girl grumpy?” Toby asked with mock sympathy, his voice muffled by his mouth guard. “Did we interrupt her b-beauty sleep?”

“Maybe she needs more coffee before she can handle social interaction.” Ben added, spinning in lazy circles around her head while continuing to poke at any exposed skin he could reach.

Brian stood perfectly still in the doorway, his masked face turned toward the chaos but showing no inclination to intervene. His body language suggested he found the entire situation mildly amusing but not worth getting involved in.

Tim, however, had clearly reached the end of his rope. “That’s enough!” he barked, his authoritative voice cutting through the playful chaos like a knife. “Toby, Ben, back off. Now.”

The sharp command in his tone made both Ben and Toby immediately stop their harassment, though they continued to hover nearby with obvious disappointment at having their fun interrupted.

“Princess,” Tim continued, his attention turning to Y/N with that familiar mixture of authority and barely contained irritation, “get ready for your first training session. You’ve got fifteen minutes to make yourself presentable.”

Y/N crossed her arms, her stubborn nature immediately rebelling against the commanding tone. “Training for what, exactly? And don’t you dare give me some cryptic non-answer about how I’ll find out when I get there.”

“Combat training, weapons familiarization, basic survival skills,” Tim listed off with the efficiency of someone who’d given this speech before. “Standard orientation for new proxies. Nothing too complicated for your first day.”

“And where will you be during this training?” Y/N asked, noting something in his posture that suggested he wouldn’t be sticking around.

Tim’s expression darkened slightly, and she could see tension building in his shoulders. “I have a mission to complete. Something that can’t be delayed, unfortunately.” He gestured toward the hallway behind him. “Kate will be running your training session, with Rogers here as backup.”

The mention of spending her day with Toby made Y/N’s heart sink. She’d already had more than enough of his particular brand of chaotic attention, and the thought of being essentially trapped with him for hours was less than appealing.

“Can’t someone else supervise?” she asked hopefully. “Literally anyone else?”

“Everyone else is either on missions, recovering from missions, or specifically requested to stay away from you until you’re more settled,” Tim replied bluntly. “Rogers is what’s available.”

Toby bounced excitedly at being mentioned, his tics causing his movements to be even more erratic than usual. “This is g-gonna be so much fun! We can p—play all sorts of games! Training games, fighting games, maybe some f-fun games after!”

The suggestive tone in his voice made Y/N’s skin crawl, and she shot him a warning glare that promised retaliation if he got too handsy. “Keep your games to yourself.”

Tim seemed to notice the tension between them, his brown eyes narrowing slightly as he looked between Y/N and Toby. “Toby, you’re there to assist with training, not to harass the new proxy. If I hear that you’ve been inappropriate in any way, you’ll be spending time in the deep chambers with Jeff.”

The threat was apparently serious enough to make Toby’s enthusiasm dim slightly, though his grin never completely disappeared. “I’ll be g-good!” he promised, though something in his tone suggested his definition of ‘good’ probably differed significantly from Tim’s.

“Right,” Tim said skeptically. “Get out, all of you. Princess needs to get ready, and I need to brief Kate before I leave.”

LJ gave Y/N an elaborate bow, his impossible proportions making the gesture both courtly and deeply unsettling. “Until next time, angel!” he said cheerfully. “It’s been a pleasure keeping you company!”

Ben winked at her as he floated toward the window instead of the door, his red pupils gleaming with mischief. “See you around, Y/N. Try not to have too much fun in training without me!”

Y/N managed to kick everyone out of her room, though it took several firm commands and one near-miss with a thrown pillow to get Ben to stop hovering near the ceiling. As the door finally closed behind the last unwanted visitor, she heard Toby’s voice from the hallway.

“I’ll w-wait right here, maus!” he called out with obvious excitement. “Take your time g—g-getting all pretty for training! Though y-you already look pretty even when you’re angry!”

Y/N groaned and headed for the bathroom, her reflection in the metal mirror showing someone who looked like they’d been through a war zone. Her hair was sticking up at odd angles, there were pillow creases on her cheek, and her eyes held the kind of exhaustion that went deeper than just physical tiredness.

She brushed her teeth, the minty toothpaste helping to clear some of the fog from her brain. The routine was comforting, a small piece of normalcy in an increasingly abnormal existence. At least her ankle felt completely healed now, no pain when she put weight on it, no swelling or tenderness. The supernatural healing was unsettling, but she had to admit it was useful.

Y/N dressed quickly in practical clothes: dark jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, and the sturdy hiking boots from her backpack. As she laced up the boots, she noticed Natalie’s greyish-green hoodie still draped over her desk chair where she’d left it the night before.

The hoodie smelled like motor oil and cigarettes, scents that had become oddly comforting over the past day. It was strange how quickly she was adapting to this twisted place, finding solace in the smallest gestures of humanity. Natalie had been kind to her when she didn’t have to be, helping her navigate the compound’s social dynamics and unwritten rules. The least Y/N could do was return her clothing, it was one of the few normal, decent things left to do in this nightmare.

When she opened her door, Toby was indeed waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with barely contained energy. His distinctive grin was already in place behind his mouth guard. The way he straightened when he saw her made her skin crawl.

“F-Finally!” he exclaimed, pushing himself off the wall with enthusiasm that seemed too intense for the early hour. “I was starting to think you’d f-fallen back asleep in there! Ready for some f-fun training, maus?”

The way he said ‘fun’ made Y/N suspicious about what exactly their training would entail, but she pushed the concern aside for now. She had more immediate priorities, and she’d be damned if she’d let Toby’s obvious eagerness to hurt her dictate her actions.

“I need to return this to Nat first,” she said firmly, holding up the hoodie. “Then we can go play whatever sadistic games pass for training around here.”

Toby’s expression immediately shifted to something that looked almost like jealousy, his brown eyes narrowing as he stared at the piece of clothing in her hands. The change was so sudden and intense that Y/N took an involuntary step back.

“Why are you w-wearing Nat’s stuff?” he asked, his voice carrying a petulant edge that made him sound younger than his apparent age. “Did you t-two have a sleepover without telling anyone? Did you get all c-cozy together?”

The possessive undertone in his voice made Y/N’s jaw clench. She’d dealt with controlling people before, and she wasn’t about to start tolerating it now just because this one happened to be a psychotic killer.

“She helped me when I was injured,” Y/N explained curtly, though she didn’t like having to justify her actions to him. “Unlike some people, she actually showed basic human decency.”

“I can show you h-human decency!” Toby protested, his tics causing his shoulder to jerk violently. “I can be really, really nice when I w-want to be! I just thought you might like the more f-fun version of me better! The e—e-exciting version!”

“Your version of fun usually involves someone getting hurt or whatever Tim usually says,” Y/N replied dryly, starting to walk down the hallway with determined strides. “I’ll pass on the excitement, thanks.”

As they moved through the compound’s twisting corridors, Y/N became aware of a new presence watching them from the shadows. The feeling of being observed was different from the usual sensation of eyes on her. At the corner where their hallway intersected with another, a figure stood perfectly still, observing their approach with unsettling intensity.

A woman with short black hair that hung around her face like a curtain, partially obscuring her features. Her skin was unnaturally pale, almost gray in the morning light, and there was something fundamentally wrong with her eyes. They were completely black with white irises that seemed to glow with their own internal light, creating a stark contrast that was deeply unsettling to look at directly. It was like staring into the eyes of something that had once been human but had been fundamentally changed by forces beyond comprehension.

She wore a dirty white hoodie that had seen better days, with what appeared to be bandages wrapped around her torso like a makeshift tank top underneath. Black cargo pants and combat boots completed her practical outfit, but everything about her screamed danger.

A white mask covered her face, but Y/N could see enough to recognize the calculating intelligence in those strange eyes. The woman stood with absolute stillness, every line of her body suggesting barely controlled violence. This wasn’t someone who killed for pleasure or madness, this was someone who killed because it was what she did, as natural as breathing.

“Oh, t-that’s Kate!” Toby said brightly, apparently oblivious to the threatening aura radiating from the masked figure. “Kate, come m—meet maus! This is Y/N L/N, the new girl I was telling y-you about!”

Kate didn’t move from her position, her black eyes with white irises fixed on Y/N with unblinking intensity. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and rough, as if she didn’t use it very often.

“I know who she is,” Kate said simply, her words carrying an undercurrent of something that might have been disdain. “Tim briefed me. Emma’s best friend. The one who thinks she’s innocent.”

The casual mention of Emma’s name hit Y/N like a physical blow, unexpected and cruel. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as memories of finding Emma’s body flashed through her mind. The way Kate said it, so dismissive and knowing, made Y/N’s temper flare.

“Don’t,” Y/N said quietly, her voice carrying a warning edge that made even Toby’s constant fidgeting still for a moment. “Don’t talk about her like you knew her.”

Kate’s head tilted slightly, the movement predatory and bird-like. “Touchy subject? Good. Emotional attachments make you weak. Better to address that now before it gets you killed.”

The way Kate studied her made Y/N feel like a specimen under a microscope, examined and found wanting in some fundamental way. But Y/N had been underestimated before, and she’d survived worse than this pale psychopath’s judgment. She straightened her shoulders and met the woman’s unsettling gaze directly, refusing to be intimidated.

“Nice to meet you too,” Y/N said with false cheerfulness, her voice carrying just enough sarcasm to make her opinion of Kate’s rudeness clear. “I can already tell we’re going to be the best of friends.”

Kate’s visible features shifted into what might have been amusement. “We’ll see how long you last first. Most newbies don’t make it past their first real mission.”

Toby looked between the two women with obvious confusion, his brown eyes darting back and forth as if he was watching a tennis match. “Kate’s p—pretty quiet,” he explained to Y/N, as if that somehow excused the woman’s hostile demeanor. “She doesn’t t-talk much, but she’s really good at t-the stabby-stabby parts of training! And the shooty parts! And the breaky-bones parts!”

The enthusiasm with which he delivered that information made Y/N’s stomach clench with apprehension. Training with someone who specialized in “stabby-stabby” anything sounded like a recipe for disaster, especially when that someone was looking at her like she was already calculating the best places to inflict maximum damage.

“Before we go anywhere,” Y/N said firmly, holding up Natalie’s hoodie, “I need to return this. It’ll only take a minute.”

Toby’s expression immediately shifted, his lower lip pushing out in a pout that was visible even behind his mouth guard. “Do w-we have to?” he whined, his voice taking on a petulant quality that made him sound like a child denied a favorite toy. “Can’t you just give it back l-later? After we’ve had our f-fun training time? I’ve been waiting all night to play with you!”

Y/N could see Kate’s eyes narrow as she observed the interaction with obvious interest. The way Toby was acting, like he had some claim on her time and attention, was starting to seriously piss her off.

“It’ll take five minutes,” Y/N said firmly, starting to walk in the direction she remembered Natalie’s room being. “And it’s called being polite. You should try it sometime.”

“But I want to start training n-now!” Toby protested, following after her with his characteristic chaotic energy. “We’re gonna be t—t-training out in the forest today, and the good s-spots fill up fast! Plus I have so many things I want to sh-show you!”

The mention of forest training made Y/N pause, her steps faltering slightly. After yesterday’s nightmare trial, the thought of going back into those twisted woods was less than appealing. The memory of Sarah’s terrified face came flooding back, making her stomach churn with guilt and revulsion.

“The forest?” she asked, trying to keep the unease out of her voice and failing miserably.

“Don’t w-worry, maus,” Toby said, apparently misinterpreting her concern as excitement. “It’s a different part than where you had your little hunting game yesterday. This section is s-specifically for training, so it w-won’t try to kill you! Probably!”

“Probably?” Y/N repeated.

Kate’s rough voice cut through their conversation. “The forest responds to the Operator’s will,” she explained in her clipped, efficient manner. “During official training sessions, it’s relatively stable. But it’s still his domain, so unexpected changes can occur.”

“Unexpected changes like what?” Y/N pressed, her survival instincts demanding more information.

“Terrain shifts, temporal distortions, spontaneous appearance of hostile entities,” Kate listed off with the same tone someone might use to discuss the weather. “Standard risks for anyone operating in the deep woods.”

Each item on the list sounded worse than the last, and Y/N felt her pulse quicken with anxiety. “Temporal distortions? You mean time travel?”

“More like t-time hiccups,” Toby explained cheerfully, apparently unconcerned by the supernatural dangers they were casually discussing. “Sometimes you g—go in for a few hours of training and come back to find a week has p-passed. Sometimes it’s the other w—w-way around! Once I went in for what felt like t-three days and came back to find only an hour had passed!”

The thought of losing time, of potentially missing days or weeks while trapped in some temporal bubble, made Y/N’s stomach lurch with anxiety. But she forced herself to push the fear aside. She’d survived yesterday’s trial, she could handle whatever fresh hell they threw at her today.

When they reached Natalie’s door, Y/N knocked twice, waiting for a response. The silence that greeted her was complete, not even the sound of movement from within. She tried the handle and found it unlocked, apparently privacy wasn’t a major concern in a compound full of killers.

The room beyond was exactly what she’d expected from Natalie: practical and organized, but with small touches that revealed more personality than the woman usually showed. The space was cozy in a way that suggested someone who valued comfort over aesthetics, someone trying to maintain their humanity in an inhuman place.

A worn leather jacket hung over the back of a desk chair, and several mechanical textbooks were stacked neatly on a small bookshelf. The bed was made with military precision, but there were small personal items scattered around, a framed photo turned face-down, a half-finished crossword puzzle, a coffee mug with a chip in the handle. These tiny details spoke of someone fighting to remain human despite everything.

“Nat?” Y/N called out, stepping into the room with Toby and Kate close behind. “I brought your hoodie back!”

No response came from the attached bathroom, and after a moment of listening, Y/N realized the room was empty. She folded the hoodie neatly and placed it on Natalie’s desk, where she’d be sure to find it when she returned.

“There,” Y/N said, turning back toward her unwelcome escorts. “Satisfied? Can we get this training over with now?”

Toby was practically vibrating with excitement, his tics more pronounced than usual as he bounced on his toes. “Yes! F-Finally! This is gonna be so much f-fun, maus! You’re gonna l-love what we have planned! I promise it’ll be really, really educational!”

Kate remained silent, but Y/N could feel the woman’s strange eyes studying her with continued intensity, like she was memorizing every detail for future use.

As they made their way through the compound toward whatever exit led to the training grounds, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking toward something that would fundamentally change her, just like everything else in this nightmare place. The morning light filtering through the windows seemed different somehow, harsher and more artificial than natural sunlight should be. It cast strange shadows that moved independently of their sources, and Y/N found herself averting her eyes from reflective surfaces that showed things that shouldn’t exist.

“So,” she said, trying to distract herself from the growing unease, “what exactly does proxy training involve? Basic weapons handling? Advanced murder techniques? Supernatural entity management?”

“All of t-the above!” Toby replied with disturbing enthusiasm. “Plus some special s-surprises that Kate and I came up w-with specifically for you! We’ve been planning it since yesterday!”

The way he emphasized ‘special surprises’ made Y/N’s blood run cold, and she noticed Kate’s lips curve into what might have been a smile behind her mask. The expression was predatory and cold, lacking any warmth or humor.

This was going to be a very long day.

Y/N followed Kate and Toby through the compound’s winding corridors, her boots echoing against the wooden floors as they navigated toward whatever exit would lead them to the training grounds. The morning light filtering through the windows seemed different from normal sunlight, harsher and more artificial, casting shadows that moved independently of their sources. Every reflection in the glass showed brief glimpses of things that shouldn’t exist, twisted faces, impossible geometries, movements that belonged to no one in the hallway.

As they passed through one of the main hallways, Y/N caught sight of Nina lurking near a doorway, her brown eyes fixed on Y/N with unmistakable hatred. The girl’s disfigured face was twisted into an expression of pure malice, her lipless mouth stretched into that permanent grotesque smile that made her emotions even more unsettling to witness. Nina’s fingers twitched around what appeared to be a small knife, her knuckles white with the force of her grip.

The sight of the blade made Y/N’s pulse quicken, but she refused to show fear. She’d dealt with bullies before, and she wouldn’t start cowering now just because this one happened to be armed and psychotic.

Y/N met Nina’s glare directly, her own expression hardening into something that could have been carved from stone. “Got a problem, Nina?” she asked coolly, her voice carrying just enough challenge to make her position clear.

Nina’s eyes narrowed dangerously at Y/N’s defiant stare, her grip on the knife tightening until her knuckles went bone white. For a moment, it looked like she might actually lunge, consequences be damned.

Before she could make any move, Kate’s rough voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“Hopkins,” Kate said without even looking in Nina’s direction, her tone carrying a clear warning. “Find something better to do with your time. Or I’ll find something for you to do.”

The implied threat in Kate’s words was subtle but unmistakable. Nina’s face contorted with rage at being dismissed so casually, but she apparently knew better than to challenge Kate directly. With one last venomous look at Y/N that promised future retribution, she melted back into the shadows, though Y/N could feel her hostile gaze following them until they turned the corner.

“Well, that w-was fun!” Toby commented cheerfully, apparently oblivious to the murderous tension that had just played out. “Nina really doesn’t l-like you, maus! I wonder what you d-did to piss her off so much? Did you steal her f-favorite toy or something?”

“I existed,” Y/N replied dryly, her voice carrying more confidence than she actually felt. “Apparently that’s enough for some people. And if Jeff counts as a ‘toy’ then kind of, yeah.”

“Nina’s just j-jealous because you’re prettier than her,” Toby said with disturbing casual cruelty. “And you still have all your original f-face parts! She’s really sensitive about that.”

The casual way he discussed Nina’s disfigurement was unsettling, but Y/N found herself filing away the information for future reference. Understanding the dynamics between the residents might be crucial for her survival.

They reached a heavy wooden door that led outside, and Kate pushed it open with more force than necessary. The morning air that greeted them was crisp but carried an underlying wrongness that made Y/N’s skin crawl. It smelled like ozone and copper, with an undertone of something organic and rotting that spoke of death lingering just beneath the surface of everything in this place.

The forest beyond the compound’s immediate grounds was deeply unsettling. The trees grew in patterns that defied natural logic, their branches twisted into shapes that hurt to look at directly. The undergrowth moved without any wind, rustling and shifting as if inhabited by things that preferred to remain unseen. Even the quality of light filtering through the canopy was wrong, too green and too dim for the time of day.

As they walked along what might generously be called a path, Y/N became aware of a familiar presence watching them from above. She looked up to see Grinny perched on a low-hanging branch, his small form draped across the wood with casual feline grace. His wide red eyes were fixed on her, glowing like embers in the strange forest light, and his humanoid teeth were bared in that perpetual unsettling grin.

Despite everything, Y/N felt a genuine smile tug at her lips. After yesterday’s nightmare in the woods, having a familiar guardian watching over her made the twisted landscape seem slightly less threatening.

“Hello, Grinny,” Y/N called softly, surprised by how much comfort the strange cat’s presence brought her. “Good to see a friendly face.”

“Pretty girl goes to learn fighting,” Grinny said in his childlike voice, his head tilting at an impossible angle as he spoke. “Grinny will watch, keep pretty girl safe from forest-things that bite and scratch and hungry-things that want to eat pretty girl’s insides.”

Before she could ask for clarification, Kate suddenly spun around and drove her knee directly into Y/N’s stomach with brutal efficiency.

The impact drove all the air from Y/N’s lungs in a whoosh of agony, pain exploding through her midsection like a bomb going off. She doubled over and dropped to her knees on the forest floor, her vision blurring around the edges as she struggled to breathe. One hand clutched her stomach while the other pressed against the damp earth for support, leaves and debris sticking to her palm.

“Rule number one,” Kate said in her clipped, emotionless tone, standing over Y/N’s gasping form without a trace of sympathy. “Always maintain awareness of your surroundings. The moment you let your guard down, you’re dead. Enemies don’t announce their intentions with dramatic speeches.”

Behind Kate, Toby was snickering with obvious delight, clapping his hands together as his tics made his shoulders jerk violently. “Oh, that w-was beautiful, Kate! Did you see her face? She t-totally didn’t expect it! The look in her eyes when she r—realized what was happening!”

Y/N glared up at both of them through watery eyes, her breathing still labored as she fought to regain her composure. The pain was already beginning to fade thanks to her supernatural healing, but the lesson stung more than the physical damage.

“A little warning would have been nice.” she gasped, slowly pushing herself back to her feet with shaking arms.

“Enemies don’t give warnings,” Kate replied quietly, her black eyes with white irises studying Y/N’s reaction with clinical interest. “They attack when you’re distracted, when you think you’re safe, when you’re talking to cats instead of watching for threats. In the real world, that moment of distraction would have been your last.”

The harsh truth of her words stung almost as much as the knee to the gut had. Y/N straightened to her full height, wiping the moisture from her eyes and trying to ignore the lingering ache in her abdomen. Her pride hurt more than her body.

“Point taken,” she said through gritted teeth, refusing to let Kate see how much the surprise attack had rattled her. “What’s rule number two?”

Something that might have been approval flickered across Kate’s partially visible features. “Rule number two: never let pain control your actions. You’re hurt, but you’re still standing, still thinking, still capable of fighting back. Pain is just information, use it, don’t let it use you.”

Kate began walking deeper into the forest, her movements silent and predatory as she navigated between the twisted trees. “The training ground is another half mile ahead. We’ll cover basic combat principles, weapons handling, and survival techniques. Consider what just happened your first lesson in staying alert.”

Y/N followed, her muscles still tense from the unexpected attack but her mind now hyperaware of every sound, every movement in their surroundings. Toby bounced along beside her, his chaotic energy making his steps erratic as his tics caused various parts of his body to jerk unexpectedly.

“Kate’s r-really good at the sneaky attack stuff,” Toby explained cheerfully, apparently trying to be helpful. “She can m-move so quietly that most people don’t even know she’s there until she’s already k-killed them! It’s like magic, but with more st-stabbing and less rabbits in hats!”

“Wonderful,” Y/N muttered, rubbing her still-tender stomach. “Any other ‘educational’ surprises I should expect?”

“Oh, l-lots!” Toby replied with disturbing enthusiasm. “Kate has all s-sorts of creative training methods! Some of them even l-leave permanent scars! The really good ones leave e—e-emotional trauma too!”

Y/N forced herself to maintain her composure. She’d survived yesterday’s trial, she could survive whatever sadistic training regime Kate had planned for her.

The training ground turned out to be a circular clearing roughly fifty feet in diameter, surrounded by trees that formed a natural arena. The ground was hard-packed earth mixed with sand, clearly designed to provide decent footing for combat while still being unforgiving enough to make falls genuinely painful. Dark stains in the earth suggested this place had seen plenty of bloodshed over the years.

Various weapons hung from branches around the perimeter: knives of different sizes, wooden training swords, staffs, and items Y/N couldn’t immediately identify but which looked designed to cause maximum damage. Some of the weapons were stained with what looked suspiciously like old blood. The entire setup had the feel of a gladiatorial pit, a place where violence was not just expected but encouraged.

“First lesson,” Kate announced, moving to the center of the clearing with fluid grace. “Hand-to-hand combat basics. Most weapons can be lost or taken from you, but your body is always available as a weapon if you know how to use it properly.”

She gestured for Y/N to join her in the center of the circle. “Show me what you know. Attack me however you think is most effective.”

Y/N stared at the masked woman, trying to process what she was being asked to do. Kate stood there like a statue, perfectly balanced and utterly still, but Y/N could sense the coiled violence beneath the surface.

“You want me to attack you? Seriously?”

“Unless you plan to ask your enemies nicely to stop trying to kill you,” Kate replied dryly, her stance shifting into something that looked deceptively casual but which Y/N suspected concealed deadly potential. “Or perhaps you think your sparkling personality will be enough to save you when someone tries to gut you like a fish.”

The sarcastic tone stung, and Y/N felt her temper flare. She’d always been stubborn, especially when people underestimated her, and Kate’s dismissive attitude was pushing all her buttons.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N tried to remember the basic self-defense moves she’d learned years ago in a community center class. She’d never been particularly athletic, but she’d always been scrappy when cornered, and she’d gotten into her share of fights growing up.

She lunged forward, aiming a punch at Kate’s midsection while simultaneously trying to grab the woman’s arm. It was a clumsy attack, telegraphed from a mile away, but it was aggressive and committed.

Kate avoided it with such minimal effort that Y/N felt embarrassed by her own incompetence. The woman simply wasn’t there when Y/N’s fist arrived, having shifted aside with grace.

Kate’s counter-attack came so fast Y/N barely saw it coming. One moment she was throwing her ill-conceived punch, the next she was face-down in the dirt with her arm twisted behind her back in a hold that would have been agonizing if not for her supernatural healing abilities. Kate’s knee was pressed against her spine, pinning her completely.

“Terrible form, no situational awareness, and you broadcasted your intentions like a neon sign,” Kate observed clinically, maintaining the painful hold. “On the positive side, you didn’t hesitate when given an order. That’s more than some recruits manage on their first day. Most spend ten minutes making excuses.”

Y/N tried to push herself up from the ground, but Kate’s grip was like iron. The position was humiliating, but she forced herself to analyze what had gone wrong instead of just being angry about it.

“Could you maybe let me go so I can learn from my mistakes?” Y/N asked through gritted teeth.

Kate released her immediately, stepping back to give Y/N room to get to her feet. “Again. This time, think before you move. What are your advantages? What are mine? How can you use the environment to your benefit?”

They spent the next hour working on basic techniques: how to fall without breaking bones, how to throw a punch that would actually do damage, how to break free from various holds and grabs. Kate was a merciless but effective teacher, correcting Y/N’s form with a combination of sharp verbal critique and physical demonstration that left Y/N bruised but significantly more competent than when they’d started.

“Better,” Kate said finally, after Y/N had managed to successfully escape a chokehold without assistance. “You’re learning to use your flexibility and speed to compensate for your lack of raw strength. Keep practicing those principles, and you might actually survive your first real fight.”

Y/N wiped sweat from her forehead, feeling a grudging sense of accomplishment despite the harsh teaching methods. Her clothes were dirty and torn in places, and she could feel bruises forming even as her healing abilities worked to repair the damage.

Toby, who had been providing unhelpful commentary throughout the training session, suddenly perked up with obvious excitement. “Oh! Oh! Can we do s-sparring now? I want to f—fight maus! Please, Kate? Can we h-have a proper match? I promise I’ll try to b-be gentle!”

The way he said “gentle” while grinning that disturbing grin made Y/N’s skin crawl. She’d watched him during her training with Kate, seen the eager way he’d studied every technique, every vulnerability that was exposed.

Kate studied both Y/N and Toby with calculating eyes, apparently weighing the wisdom of pitting the inexperienced newcomer against someone with Toby’s particular brand of chaotic violence. After a moment, she nodded slowly.

“No weapons,” she said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. “This is about technique and strategy, not who can do the most damage the fastest. First person to pin their opponent for a ten-count wins. If I see excessive violence, the match stops immediately.”

Toby whooped with delight, immediately beginning to remove his orange goggles and mouth guard. “This is gonna be so much f-fun! I’ve been wanting to get my hands o-on you since yesterday!”

Without the protective equipment, Y/N could see the full extent of the damage to the left side of his face where the flesh had been chewed away, exposing teeth and gum in a grotesque display. The injury seemed self-inflicted.

“Don’t st-stare, maus,” Toby said cheerfully, apparently unbothered by her shocked expression. “I know it’s p-pretty gnarly, but you’ll get used to it! Everyone does e-eventually! It’s not as bad as it looks… a-actually, it’s exactly as bad as it looks, but w—whatever!”

Y/N forced herself to look away from the disturbing injury, focusing instead on Toby’s stance as he prepared for their match. Without the goggles obscuring his eyes, she could see that his brown gaze held an intensity that was almost predatory, a hunger for violence that made her think of a starving animal finally presented with prey.

“Ready when you are, p-pretty girl,” Toby said with a grin that was made even more unsettling by his exposed facial damage. “Try not to cry when I p-pin you down! I promise I’ll make it r—really memorable!”

The suggestive undertone in his voice made Y/N’s jaw clench with determination and annoyance. She’d be damned if she’d let this twitching psychopath get the better of her, especially not with Kate watching her every move with those unsettling eyes.

“Bring it on, Toby,” Y/N replied firmly, raising her hands in the defensive position Kate had taught her. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Kate positioned herself at the edge of their fighting circle, her black eyes with white irises tracking every movement. “Begin.” she said simply.

The match began with Toby immediately rushing forward with the kind of reckless aggression that characterized everything he did. His tics made his movements unpredictable, but Y/N had been watching him long enough to recognize that there was method to his madness. The seemingly random jerks and twitches were actually masking deliberate tactical choices, making it nearly impossible to predict where his attacks would come from.

Y/N managed to dodge his initial grab, using her smaller size to slip away from his reaching hands. She remembered Kate’s lessons about using her advantages, staying mobile instead of trying to match Toby’s raw physical strength. But even as she moved, she could feel his fingers brushing against her clothes, always just a fraction of an inch away from getting a solid grip.

“C-Come on, maus!” Toby called out as they circled each other, his voice bright with excitement. “Don’t just r-run away! Fight back! Show me w-what you’re made of!”

Y/N feinted left, then spun right, trying to get behind him for a rear attack. But Toby’s unpredictable tics meant he was already turning, his elbow swinging toward her face in a move that looked accidental but was perfectly timed.

She barely managed to duck under the strike, feeling the air whistle over her head. The near miss sent adrenaline flooding through her system, sharpening her focus to a razor’s edge.

For several minutes, they engaged in a chaotic dance of attacks and counter-attacks. Y/N landed a few good hits, including a solid kick to Toby’s ribs that should have doubled him over but barely seemed to register. His inability to feel pain made him a terrifying opponent, immune to the kind of damage that would incapacitate a normal person. Every successful strike she landed was met with laughter instead of pain.

“That t—tickled!” Toby giggled after she landed a particularly hard punch to his solar plexus. “D-Do it again! Harder t—th-this time!”

The fact that her best attacks were having no effect was deeply unnerving. Y/N found herself pulling back slightly, second-guessing her moves, and that hesitation was exactly what Toby had been waiting for.

He pressed his advantage aggressively, his attacks becoming more focused and dangerous. A wild swing caught Y/N across the jaw, sending stars exploding across her vision. Before she could recover, he was on her, his hands grabbing for any purchase they could find.

Y/N tried to break free using the techniques Kate had taught her, but Toby’s grip was like iron.

“Get your hands off me!” she snarled, driving her knee toward his groin with all the force she could muster.

Toby simply laughed and twisted away, using her momentum against her. “F-Feisty! I like that in a girl! Makes it more interesting w—w-when you finally give up!”

The match finally ended when Toby managed to catch Y/N’s ankle during one of her evasive maneuvers. He used her own momentum against her, sending her tumbling to the ground with him following immediately after. Before she could recover, he had her pinned beneath him, his weight distributed across her torso in a way that made it impossible for her to buck him off.

But instead of maintaining a professional pin, Toby settled himself more intimately against her, his hips pressing against hers in a way that was completely inappropriate. His hands were positioned suspiciously close to areas they had no business being near and Y/N could feel her face flush.

“One… two… three…” Kate began counting in her emotionless voice, but Y/N barely heard her over the sound of her own thundering heartbeat and rising panic.

“Get off me,” Y/N growled, struggling beneath Toby’s weight. “The match is over, you won. Get. Off.”

But Toby seemed to be enjoying his dominant position far too much to give it up easily. “But I w-won fair and square!” he protested, though his grin suggested he was prolonging the pin for reasons that had nothing to do with victory. “Kate said first to pin f-for a ten-count, and she only got to three! I st-still have seven seconds left!”

His voice was breathless with excitement, and Y/N could feel him pressing closer against her.

“Four… five…” Kate continued counting, but her voice had taken on a warning edge that suggested she was also noticing Toby’s inappropriate behavior.

Y/N’s vision began to narrow, panic and rage mixing into something dangerous. The weight of Toby’s body, the way he was breathing against her neck, the inappropriate intimacy of his position, it all brought back memories she’d buried deep. But underneath the fear was something else, something darker. The same cold fury that had helped her kill Sarah was beginning to stir.

“Six… seven…” Kate’s voice was getting colder, more menacing.

“Get off me NOW.” Y/N snarled, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that made even Toby’s grin falter slightly and shiver on top of her. There was something in her tone that hadn’t been there before, something that promised violence.

Before the count could reach ten, the sound of running footsteps crashing through the underbrush interrupted the tense moment.

“Y/N! Y/N!” came Sally’s cheerful voice, the little girl’s excitement carrying clearly through the forest air. “I found you!”

Sally burst into the clearing with all the enthusiasm of a child who had been searching for a favorite toy, her pink nightgown flowing around her thin legs as she ran.

The interruption broke whatever dark spell had been building. Toby immediately rolled off Y/N, his face flushing with what might have been embarrassment and something else after hearing Y/N’s tone.

“Sally!” Y/N called out breathlessly, scrambling to her feet and putting distance between herself and Toby. Her hands were shaking with residual adrenaline and barely controlled rage.

“I came looking for you for our picnic!” Sally announced, clapping her hands together with delight that sent more blood spattering from her cranial injury. “Liu told me last night that I could take you to see all my special places today, remember? We’re going to have so much fun!”

Kate raised one hand in a lazy wave of acknowledgment toward Sally, while Toby busied himself with putting his goggles and mouth guard back on, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

“Sally, perfect timing.” Y/N said pointedly, her voice still carrying that dangerous edge. She was grateful for the interruption.

Before anyone could comment further, the sound of approaching footsteps announced the arrival of additional company. Tim emerged from the tree line, now wearing his white porcelain mask, the black eye holes and lipless mouth giving him an unsettling, inhuman appearance. He was loading his gun as he walked, the mechanical clicking of bullets sliding into the chamber creating an ominous soundtrack to his approach.

Brian followed close behind, his brown jacket looking more worn than usual and his red-frowning ski mask hiding any expression he might have had. His tall frame moved with the quiet efficiency of someone accustomed to moving through dangerous territory undetected.

Tim finished loading his weapon with practiced ease, gave it a casual twirl around his finger, then slotted it back into his belt with the kind of fluid motion that suggested the gun was as much a part of him as his own hands.

“Well, well.” Tim said, his masked gaze taking in the scene before him. Y/N’s disheveled appearance, Toby’s flushed face, Kate’s watchful stance. “Looks like training got a little… intense.”

There was something in his tone that suggested he’d noticed more than just the obvious signs of sparring. Y/N felt her cheeks burn with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

“Sally,” Tim continued, his voice slightly muffled by the mask but still carrying clear authority, “picnic time will have to wait. We have work to do.”

Sally’s face immediately fell into an expression of profound disappointment, her lower lip pushing out in a pout that was made more heartbreaking by the blood that continued to stream down her pale cheeks.

“But you promised!” she protested, her childish voice taking on the petulant tone of a kid who had been looking forward to something special all morning. “Y/N was going to see all my favorite spots, and we were going to have tea with the butterfly-lights, and I was going to show her the singing flowers!”

“Another time,” Tim replied firmly but not unkindly, his masked face turning toward the disappointed child. “I promise we’ll make sure Y/N gets to see your special places, but right now the Operator needs us to handle something important.”

Brian stepped forward and offered Sally a small wave that somehow managed to be both friendly and apologetic despite the balaclava hiding his features. The gesture was enough to make Sally’s pout soften slightly, though she was clearly still disappointed.

“Okay,” Sally said with resigned acceptance that spoke of someone who had learned not to argue with the adult proxies when they had missions to complete. “But you have to promise-promise that Y/N will come have a picnic with me when you get back!”

“Promise-promise,” Tim confirmed, and something in his tone suggested he actually meant it despite his usual sarcastic demeanor.

Sally brightened considerably at the reassurance, giving Y/N an enthusiastic wave before skipping back into the forest. “Bye, Y/N! See you later for our tea party! Don’t let the mean forest-things hurt you!”

As Sally’s cheerful voice faded into the distance, Kate turned her attention to Tim and Brian with obvious curiosity. “What are you two still doing here? I thought you had a mission to complete.”

Tim’s masked head turned toward where Toby was still fiddling with his equipment, avoiding everyone’s eyes. There was something in Tim’s posture that suggested irritation building beneath the surface.

“We do have a mission,” Tim replied, his voice carrying a note of barely controlled frustration. “And apparently, Princess here gets the honor of joining us.”

He delivered the news with the tone of someone announcing that they’d been assigned to babysit a particularly troublesome child, making it clear that Y/N’s inclusion in their mission was not his idea or his preference.

Y/N felt her temper flare at the dismissive nickname and tone. “Maybe if you’d bothered to tell me about this mission instead of leaving me in the dark, I would have been better prepared.” she snapped back, her voice still carrying traces of the dangerous edge from her encounter with Toby.

Tim’s mask turned toward her, and even though she couldn’t see his expression, she could feel his surprise at her sharp response. Usually, she was more controlled in her reactions to his taunts.

“Feisty today, aren’t we Princess?” he said, but there was something different in his tone, less mockery, more genuine interest. “What’s got you all riled up?”

Before Y/N could respond, Brian stepped between them with the diplomatic grace of someone used to defusing tense situations.

“Let’s focus on the mission,” Brian said quietly, his voice warm despite the fabric muffling it. “We can sort out the rest later.”

He offered Y/N a polite nod that might have been intended as a greeting, his masked face giving no indication of his feelings about the new addition to their team. But there was something in his posture that suggested he was more accepting of the situation than Tim.

Toby finally finished adjusting his equipment and bounced to his feet with forced enthusiasm. “We get to bring m-maus on a real mission? This is gonna be so much f-fun! Can I show her all the really g-good killing techniques? Please? I have so many things I w—w-want to teach her!”

His words were enthusiastic as always, but Y/N noticed he wasn’t quite meeting her eyes.

Kate scoffed at the announcement, her black eyes with white irises narrowing skeptically behind her mask. “The Operator never sends newbies on missions this early. Usually, proxies have to wait at least a week before they’re considered ready for field work. Most need months of preparation.”

“Yeah, well, apparently our boss has different plans for this one,” Tim replied with a shrug that suggested he was just as confused by the decision but wasn’t going to question direct orders from their supernatural overlord. “Something about accelerated integration and field testing.”

The clinical way he described it made Y/N feel like a lab rat being prepared for an experiment, which probably wasn’t far from the truth.

“What kind of mission?” Y/N asked, trying to push aside her lingering anger and focus on the practical concerns. She wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t ready to become a killer, but she also knew that refusing probably wasn’t an option.

“Information gathering,” Tim replied curtly. “There’s a group of people who’ve been asking too many questions about things they shouldn’t know about. We need to find out what they know and who they’ve told.”

The clinical way he described it made it sound almost harmless, but Y/N wasn’t naive enough to believe that “information gathering” would be a peaceful affair. Not when it involved proxies.

“And if they don’t want to share information?” she asked quietly.

Tim’s mask turned toward her, and even though she couldn’t see his expression, she could feel the cold amusement radiating from him. “Then we convince them. One way or another.”

Kate stepped forward. “Before any of that, she needs proper equipment. You can’t send someone into the field without the right tools.”

“Agreed,” Tim said, then turned his attention fully to Y/N. His masked gaze seemed to pierce right through her. “Princess, if you’re coming with us, you’re going to need proper gear. That means choosing a mask and a weapon. No exceptions.”

The statement hung in the air between them like a challenge, carrying implications that made Y/N’s stomach clench with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Choosing a mask meant accepting her new identity as a proxy, while selecting a weapon meant acknowledging that she was expected to use it on other people.

“A mask,” Y/N repeated slowly, trying to process what that would mean for her sense of self. “Like yours?”

“Something that fits your particular… aesthetic.” Tim replied, his tone suggesting that ‘aesthetic’ was a polite way of saying ‘psychological profile’ or ‘preferred method of killing.’

The weight of the decision settled over her like a physical presence. Once she put on a mask and picked up a weapon, there would be no more pretending that she was just a victim of circumstances, no more clinging to the illusion that she might somehow return to her normal life.

Y/N looked around at the faces surrounding her, Kate’s calculating stare, Toby’s eager anticipation, Brian’s patient waiting, Tim’s masked authority. They were all killers, every one of them, and they were expecting her to join their ranks willingly.

The transformation was about to happen, and the most terrifying part was how natural it was beginning to feel.