Chapter Text
You follow Mikaela and Sable back toward the villa after your “little adventure” in the forest.
“I need to meet all the killers? What is that supposed to mean?” you wonder. “I’ve already seen more than enough of them to make some kind of progress here.”
And yet, you’ve learned that in order to move forward in this place, you need to unlock your hidden abilities—perks, as the others call them. How does that even happen? What do they look like once they appear? No one seems to know, or at least no one is willing to explain. It’s one more secret in a place that feels like nothing but riddles. The sheer number of unknowns gnaws at you, fraying your nerves. How impossibly twisted does life have to become here? And how tangled must the minds of those who’ve lingered long enough to understand nearly all of the Entity’s design truly be?
You trail after the two girls down the villa’s corridor, guessing they’re leading you toward the kitchen. A social hub—meaning you’ll likely have no privacy. Survivors love to eavesdrop, especially on stories like yours. Just minutes ago, most of them stared at you wide-eyed while you mumbled about your stalker and those fragmented memories. Out of all the supernatural horrors in this place, the most fascinating thing seems to be the ordinary lives of the people dragged here. Everyone wants to know who they’re sharing eternity with—an eternity of pain and suffering.
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a few people slipping in through the main entrance—Lara, Yui, and a couple others—no doubt curious to hear every detail of your strange memory.
You sit at the table beside Mikaela while Sable busies herself at the counter, pouring tea left over from breakfast. She hands you the mug, and you drain it in one breath, grateful for the illusion of tasting your favorite drink again.
“Now,” Mikaela begins, eyes bright with anticipation, “tell us about your memories. What did you find out?”
Her wide-eyed curiosity makes you laugh. They really do love anything dark, and you can already tell they won’t leave you alone until you spill everything. And honestly, thanks to Sable helping you recover the memory, you don’t feel any barrier holding you back.
So you start talking, pausing only to sip at the tea. You tell them every detail you remember about your little apartment, even the ones that don’t matter, just to see it all more clearly in your mind. Then you bring up the photo. You pull it out and show them—the piece of your trauma you still don’t fully understand. They turn it over in their hands, studying the writing on the back, while you recount the feelings that washed over you the first time you touched it. The fear of glancing out your window, of seeing a shadow in the forest watching you. The helplessness. The sense of being caged, observed from every angle.
Finally, you reach into your jacket and pull out the knife you found buried in the dirt of the forest. You lay it on the table with a steady breath.
“I stabbed him with this,” you say firmly.
“You?!” Sable gasps. “I thought that knife was his doing!”
“I thought so too—at least at first. But then the memory hit me. The very last one before the fog dragged me under.”
You run your fingers along the blade, trying to bring the moment back into sharper focus. And you tell them: the photo on your phone, the mad dash through your apartment door, the desperate run into the forest.
Then—the knife in your hand. The surge of rage when you saw that tall black figure standing with his back to you. The wild thought of spilling his blood into the dirt, of ending the fear, the paranoia, the hunt. The madness that made you leap onto his back with nothing but murder in mind. His terrifying speed and strength, which only your surprise attack had managed to counter. The moment the blade sank into the side of his neck. And then—the darkness swallowing you whole, body and soul.
“The memory was cut off at the worst moment. I don’t know if I killed him, or just wounded him. That not knowing—it’s driving me insane.” You slam your palm against the table in frustration.
“And what did he look like? Did you see him up close?” Sable presses, clearly enthralled.
“Not really,” you sigh. “Just pieces. He was dressed head to toe in black, so much that I could barely make him out in the forest. Moved so quietly it was almost impossible to track him. And I think… well, it’s probably just in my head.” A sharp laugh bursts out of you, almost hysterical.
“What do you mean?” Mikaela asks, brows knitting in confusion.
“It looked like he was wearing a mask.” You clutch your stomach from laughing too hard. “White, long, kind of… like those cheap Halloween masks kids wear. But that’s ridiculous. No one in their right mind would wear something that obvious. It’d make them stand out instantly.”
Mikaela and Sable exchange a quick glance, their expressions dimming. You catch the shift in the air.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“N-no,” Sable blurts, fingers drumming nervously on the table. “Yeah, that would be weird. Not very professional. Probably just your imagination.”
Silence settles in. Heavy. Awkward. You don’t understand why your words rattled them so much.
“Mikaela,” you finally break it, “you said I need to meet all the killers. What did you mean by that?”
The redhead, pulled from her thoughts, flicks her gaze to you.
“Yes, exactly… the remaining killers,” Mikaela shifted in her chair. “At first it may sound unhelpful or even rude, but trust me, it’s for the best. In your Trials so far, you’ve only faced the oldest and most infamous killers. The fact that you haven’t encountered the others yet is most likely because of your missing memories. And without those memories, without the knowledge of who you really are, you’re blocked from accessing your first abilities. Without perks, the Entity won’t let you move forward. So you must meet them all yourself, and learn to understand how each of them works. In the next Trials, you’ll need to try harder. No more searching for trinkets. Otherwise, you won’t unlock your first perk and, believe me, surviving here without perks is a nightmare.”
You start wondering what kind of ability someone like you could possibly unlock. You can’t quite put your finger on any particular trait—except for that blinding rage you unleashed during your last encounter with the stalker.
“You should go rest,” Sable broke in softly. “You look exhausted. I know how draining those visions can be.”
And she was right. Your head was pounding, and only after stepping into the villa had you started to feel the full weight of it.
“You’re right,” you admit. “The Entity’s been toying with me for so long, I don’t even remember the last time I spent more than a few hours in my room.”
“And there’s no telling when it’ll come for you again, so you should take advantage of the moment.” Sable took your empty mug and set it in the sink.
You rise slowly from your chair, stretching until your back cracks painfully. After bidding the girls goodnight, you head for the door. Passing Yui and Lara on your way out, you notice them slipping silently into the kitchen—their faces still clouded with curiosity.
You climb the stairs to your room, listening faintly to the murmur of Mikaela and Sable’s voices.
“Poor Y/N,” Mikaela sighed. “The Entity must be treating those two like an experiment for its own amusement. Not that I’d ever pity him, of course.”
Her words stop you in your tracks. You freeze on the staircase, not fully grasping the meaning. But your instincts force you to stay quiet, listening closely.
“Two?” your mind reels. “Is there another Survivor here I don’t know about? Strange… usually, arrivals are announced so loudly there’s no way I’d have missed it.”
“You think she’ll finally meet him?” Sable’s voice is a whisper, barely audible. “Everyone already knows whose knife that was. It’s only a matter of time before those two cross paths in a Trial.”
“Him? Who the hell?!” your heartbeat spikes in panic. “That knife belongs to me—I found it. Those are my memories. Why would it belong to someone else?”
Your thoughts explode into chaos. If the others recognize the knife… then maybe it wasn’t yours to begin with. You must have taken it from someone.
From someone they know.
Someone who’s here.
With you.
In this cursed place.
Your knees buckle beneath you, and you grip the railing for support. The wood groans under your weight. From the kitchen below, you hear sudden footsteps.
“Shit—”
Your eyes lock with Sable’s as she steps into the hall and sees you frozen halfway up the stairs.
“Y/N?”
You bolt. Your legs carry you up the stairs, down the hallway, into your room. You slam the door shut and twist the key in the lock.
“That bastard’s here. He’s the one I ripped the knife from in the forest, in my memory. And if everyone here knows him… Goddammit. That means I was dragged into this place with him. I can’t believe it…”
“Y/N?” Sable’s voice trembles on the other side of the door. “Please, open up.”
You sink against the door, tears stinging your eyes.
“I didn’t kill him,” your words come out between shaky breaths. “He’s still here. He’s going to torment me forever, Sable.”
“I know,” her voice softens as she crouches, lowering herself to your level. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you right away… but we weren’t sure.”
A sob breaks free from your chest. You let it all out, surrendering to the weight of your emotions.
“It all makes sense now,” you whisper, your voice raw. “Why the Entity didn’t put us in the same Trial before…”
“W-Why?” Sable stammers, as if trying to piece the puzzle together herself.
“It wanted me to get my memories back first,” you laugh bitterly through your tears. “So it could crush me with them later. Clever bastard, you’ve gotta admit.”
“Hey, listen—if you open the door, I’ll tell you everything I know about him,” Sable insists, knocking gently. “His name, how to protect yourself—everything.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” you mutter, forcing yourself to your feet. “Sooner or later, I’ll face him. And when that happens… nothing else will matter. I’ll suffer either way.”
A sudden twist churns your stomach, nausea rising in your throat. Then a violent shiver tears through you, so intense you nearly collapse.
You groan in pain.
“What happened?!” Sable’s voice shoots up, panicked.
“Nothing… just stress,” you lie, though deep down you already know what this means.
Another Trial.
Your body shakes as you brace yourself for the inevitable. And, like clockwork, the black void yawns open across the wall of your room. From the hallway, you hear Sable’s horrified gasp.
“Shit!”
You throw your door open and find her standing just outside, staring wide-eyed at the wall opposite your room. Another portal.
Hers.
She turns slowly to you, realizing what just happened.
“Guess we’ll have to postpone our talk,” she mutters grimly, her gaze drifting past you into your room. Her eyes widen. “Damn it, Y/N! You can’t be dragged into another Trial so soon! This has to be a mistake!”
But your face remains unreadable.
“You’re not shaken?” she presses.
“I’ve grown used to the Entity’s impatience,” you sneer faintly, glaring at the portal.
“Y/N…” Sable covers her mouth, visibly shaken.
“Let’s go,” you nod toward her portal, already knowing exactly who you’ll meet once the Trial begins. “At least it comforts me that you’ll be there too.”
“Find me the moment the veil drops,” she pleads, gripping your shoulders. Then the two of you part ways, each stepping toward your own portal.
If you were to be honest, you’d already partially come to terms with your hopeless situation. You had experienced pain and suffering in this place before, so facing HIM shouldn’t be any different than all your previous Trials.
The worst part of it all is that he still has you in his grip—your fear of him.
Your paranoia, the very reason you were sent here.
Your unrestrained anger, which never found an outlet, because the Entity took away your only chance at revenge the very moment your blade was about to tear through his flesh.
The only thing that could have given you any satisfaction.
You step into the portal, and as always, the cold darkness consumes you.
You close your eyes and run through all the realms you know in your head, trying to predict the Entity’s choice.
It’s unlikely that you’d be called into another Trial so soon if it were just an “ordinary” killer.
It has to be him.
You try to line up the most probable map where the Entity would place him. Place you both.
He’s fast, silent. Loves sneaking up on his prey—you know that much.
The map has to be open, full of houses, corners, blind spots. A stalker’s paradise. A playground for a sick freak.
Springwood? Garden of Joy?
Out of the corner of your eye, you catch thin streaks of light—the Entity placing you on the map.
The glow is yellow. Too warm for the forest realms. The shroud peels away from your feet up to your head, slowly revealing the world.
“Haddonfield,” you mutter under your breath, a bitter laugh escaping. “Of course.”
You glance around. The warm light that had just washed over you comes from streetlamps stretching along a road littered with rusted cars. Not a soul in sight. You’ve been separated—that means it’ll take time before you find Sable and the rest of the Survivors.
Your heart begins to race on its own. The deep-rooted fear that had been buried under anger and indifference now claws its way back to the surface.
You’re scared.
Instinctively, you crouch, straining to hear any sound around you. Footsteps, a generator, anything. But there’s nothing but dead silence.
“Shit,” you whisper.
You have to move, or you’ll be cornered like an animal.
Your eyes fix on a house to your right. A dim light glows inside from dying bulbs. With no better plan, you make for the house.
As quietly as possible, you slip through bushes along the yard and creep to the back entrance.
You don’t know this map very well. You’ve been here a few times at most—far too few to memorize key landmarks or reliable hiding spots.
Peeking around the corner—clear. You climb the white steps into the house, eyes darting in every direction, paranoia gnawing at you.
You carefully sweep through each room on the first floor. Empty. And you wonder: if he were tailing you right now, would you even know? The thought sends a cold shiver racing down your spine. In your old apartment, you hadn’t even realized he’d broken into your bedroom. And here? Here he has a free rein.
Even if he were watching you now, you wouldn’t know.
Crouching near a window frame, you scan the neighborhood. Empty houses, abandoned cars, scattered belongings. Not a soul. Then—metal scrapes faintly. Barely audible, but you know exactly what it means.
Someone’s working on a generator. Nearby. Maybe the house next door.
You need to get there. You can’t be alone now. Not with the odds of running into him so high. You wouldn’t stand a chance by yourself.
So you slip back out the same way you came, hugging the hedge until you reach the next house. The back door is almost identical, and with the same caution, you slip inside.
You listen, trying to place the sound.
Above you, faint clanks of metal pistons. Someone’s working up there. You sneak upstairs and glance toward a large room to the right. From the doorway you can’t see much—just a window.
But peeking in, you spot a humming generator, and behind it, messy blond hair.
“Leon?” you whisper.
His whole body tenses at the sound.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers back. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” You move opposite him and begin working on the generator. “Have you seen the killer yet?”
The question scrapes its way out of your throat. The fear building inside you is unlike anything you can explain.
On one hand, no killer activity should be a relief—more time to repair gens. But in this case… every creak of wood, every rustle of leaves sends you jerking your head around, your imagination running wild.
“Haven’t seen him. That’s what worries me. Too quiet. My guess? Either Myers… or Ghostface.”
You feel the blood drain from your face. Myers—you’ve faced him three, maybe four times. You know, more or less, how he works. But Ghostface? That name doesn’t tell you anything. Which means it must be HIM.
“Huh. So that’s how he’s called,” you reply, your voice trembling, alien even to yourself. You fight off the nervous shiver crawling over your body.
Suddenly, footsteps pound against the wooden floor below. You and Leon snap your heads toward the sound. It’s coming from downstairs. Both of you rise, ready to bolt. Your hands tremble—you ball them into fists. Every muscle in your body is taut. One more second of waiting and you’ll faint.
The steps move onto the staircase. Closer. Louder.
“M-maybe we should—” you start.
“Wait.” Leon’s whisper is sharp, commanding.
A sliver of black fabric slips into view beyond the doorframe—you stumble back. But then, it’s not him.
Sable emerges, clutching her side. Her clothes are bloodstained. She’s already been wounded.
“It’s Ghostface,” she pants, catching her breath. Her eyes lock on you. “Y/N, I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”
You bite your lip hard, fighting the urge to cry.
“What’s happening? Why are we reacting like this?” Leon asks, bewildered.
You see Sable inhale, ready to answer, but all that comes out is a groan of pain from her cut.
“He was my stalker,” you whisper. “He terrorized me before I ever got here. My last moments of normal life were spent running from him. And when I finally found the courage to face him… the Entity dragged me here. With him.”
Your fists clench tighter, nails digging into your palms.
“He broke me down day and night. And now he can do it however he wants, whenever he gets the chance.” Your voice grinds through clenched teeth, a flood of fear and rage coursing through you.
The three of you turn toward the stairs as floorboards creak below, cutting through the heavy silence.
“Who else is on our team?” Leon whispers.
“Jake,” Sable breathes, “but he said he was going for a gen at the end of the street.”
From their looks, you know—it’s time to run. Now. Your heart pounds like a war drum. You don’t know what’s coming.
Sable edges closer to you, moving away from the stairway door. With a sharp gesture, she signals toward the window—you’ll have to jump.
Leon moves past you both, vaults quietly through the window, and offers his hand to Sable, helping her onto the roof. You turn to follow, lifting your leg onto the sill—
“Y/N! Look out!” Sable’s scream rips the air.
You spin just as electricity shoots through your body. Instinct takes over—you leap aside. A blade slices through the wallpaper behind you, burying halfway into the wall.
The gloved hand gripping the hilt tells you everything.
You raise your eyes—white, elongated Halloween mask, black hollow eyes, twisted mouth.
You freeze. His tall frame looms over you, bending close. You can’t move.
You can only breathe fast, staring as if he’s a monster pulled from myth, ripped out of your nightmares.
He yanks at the blade. He swung at you so hard, the knife’s lodged deep in plaster.
“Run! Move!” Leon’s shout cracks through your paralysis.
You jolt, stumbling over your own feet, bolting toward the stairs. Halfway down, heavy steps thunder after you, closing fast. You don’t look back. You won’t make that mistake.
You crash through the front door, sprinting into the open street. You need to hide. Just like in the forest. It worked then—it has to now. He’s fast, but you’re faster.
Every ounce of strength goes into running. You reach the end of the street, turn left, dive into another house through the back.
Where to hide—upstairs, downstairs, basement? Each choice could be death. Ground floor offers the quickest escape. You dart into a room, spot a bed in the corner, and crawl beneath it. Curl tight in the corner. Almost invisible.
You’ll wait for your moment to flee.
You fight to steady your breath—the one sound that could betray you.
Seconds later—footsteps. He’s here.
He prowls through the house. Searching. A door slams open in the next room—cabinets rattling as he checks them.
You’re not stupid enough to hide somewhere that obvious. You’ll wait until he’s far enough, then crawl out, make a break for the back door.
A metallic clang in the distance—a generator completed. Normally, killers rush toward them. But not him.
He keeps searching for you.
“I’m probably not walking out of this Trial alive,” you think. “He’s going to tunnel me, every time he gets a chance.”
He won’t stop until he gets you. He probably cut Sable just to send her running to warn you—bringing him straight to you. Clever bastard.
You strain to place his steps. The kitchen. If you crawled out now, you could make it to the back door. From there—another house.
That familiar shiver runs through you. The same one from when you waited with a knife in hand. Your body’s signal: you can do more. That despite your fear—you can act.
“If it’s a game for you… then let’s play.”
Silently, you roll out from under the bed, feet padding against wood. You listen—nothing. No steps, no breath. It’ll be harder to locate him now.
You peek around the hall. To the right—clear. To the left—the back door, wide open. Your chance.
You break into a sprint—
—but a hand whips out from behind the door, slamming it shut inches from your face. He was waiting.
“Shit!”
You bolt up the stairs, but halfway, his grip clamps around your ankle. Your ribs slam the step—something cracks. You don’t even register the pain before steel plunges into your thigh. A scream tears from you.
You won’t give him the satisfaction. Not him.
You twist onto your back and kick with all your strength. Your heel smashes his diaphragm—he stumbles down a few steps, clutching the railing. But you know it won’t stop him. He’s too strong.
You limp upward, adrenaline blinding you to pain. Again, his hand grabs for you—you wrench free and throw yourself into a room.
Your last chance: the balcony.
You burst outside, a flimsy wooden rail the only barrier between you and temporary freedom.
From below, Sable’s voice:
“Jump!”
One leap, a slide down the roof, a drop onto the car below—perfect escape route.
But another plan burns in your head. Worse. Reckless. Maybe your only shot.
You step back inside, facing him. Sable’s shouts fade behind you.
He enters the room. You watch him wipe your blood from his blade with a gloved hand. You feel nauseous just watching him do that.
You wait. He waits. Both of you are trying to predict the other. His breath rasps under the mask, still uneven from your kick.
You edge backward toward the balcony. He advances, mirroring you.
Then—he charges. With a knife in the air.
Exactly what you wanted.
You sprint for the railing—let him catch up. His knife buries into your back. The pain is white-hot, stealing your breath. You clamp your teeth shut against a scream.
At the edge of the balcony, you spin—arms locking around his neck. With every last shred of strength, you hurl yourself backward.
The wooden railing bursts into splinters as you both crash through.
The roof rushes beneath you. Tiles shatter as you tumble, locked together. He tosses around– but you hold him with all you’ve got.
Then you both fall.
You hit the car. Glass bursts, shards cutting deep through the skin. Metal caves. Both of you bounce hard off the hood and slam onto the ground.
Your vision flickers, your skull splitting with pain. The clatter of tools nearby. You lift your head weakly—you can’t feel your body, but you have to know if it worked.
Your cheek presses something cold. Plastic.
His mask.
You fell on him.
Shattered glass and twisted metal surround you. His body lies bent unnaturally over a toolbox. He fell on it with his back.
Please, you beg, let it be over. Let him stay down.
Your vision collapses into black. Leon and Sable’s voices echo faintly, rushing toward you, words you can’t decipher.
Your body goes limp. You collapse on top of your stalker, praying that if you won’t rise again this Trial—he won’t either.