Chapter Text
It was the start of the round.
He could hear the faint commotion of the other survivors gathering around the colossal castle to his right.
Shedletsky knew there was power in numbers, and they usually strategized against the killers pretty well, but he didn’t feel like being around a bunch of people talking about how to survive the round. Their useless optimism and pointless celebrations of surviving had been getting more tiresome lately. Whether or not they died, it didn’t truly matter. Perhaps it was his eminently high pain tolerance that Shedletsky had long ago stopped being interested in the prospect of staying alive or his want for change. It wasn’t the fear of dying that was his torture, but rather the perpetuity of his life (or death).
Shedletsky chose to walk around freely, isolating himself from the group for no apparent reason other than just a need for something different. It would be the first time he would face the killer alone due to his cowardice and the team’s need for sentinels that kept him glued with at least one other person. Normally, who the killer was was the big mystery. But, Shedletsky could always tell when 1x1x1x1x was the killer. His heart would beat faster, and there would be this part of him that actively wanted to fight, but all of that seemed so distant this round, so petty. He was tired of being petty.
He saw the dust and gravel in the distance begin to move before hearing the faint sound of a mass infection charging up. The sight didn’t deter him from his attempt to protest against the dull nature of this place. He knew it was a weak protest. It wasn’t like he was doing anything that would transmute the hell they lived in over the course of time, but it fed his ego and kept the nagging part of his brain shut for the meanwhile.
Besides, he had the feeling something was watching over. Perhaps they would find his meek protest enticing.
“Ugh” Shedletsky’s feet came to a stop as he rubbed the dust from his eyes caused by the release of the mass infection. He assumed the killer had already found the other survivors. It was the same old, same old.
The blur of the huge shock wave seemed to disagree and sliced his abdomen.
The scream that sounded distant to his ruptured eardrums felt like it had ripped his throat in half. His head felt as heavy as a boulder as the wind knocked him from his feet and his back hit the plastic-like texture of the dirt and grass beneath him. The fall knocked the air out of him and his voice quickly gave out as he wheezed in pain. The pressure squeezed his rib cage tighter as his organs desperately tried to keep him alive and breathing even though that was very much not what he wanted. He groaned in pain, his eyes feeling like they popped out of their sockets as large glitches covered parts of his world that had turned grey.
He hastily put his weight on his elbows before folding forward to put a hand on the ground. His ears rang from the sudden movement as he got up and his muscles protested against moving but he didn’t want to risk the damned killer finding him out in the open all vulnerable.
Shedletsky clutched his arm like a lifeline as his wobbly legs slowly brought him forward to more isolation. Had he strayed that far from the other survivors? He grunted in pain he masked as annoyance and limped toward the white walls that could perhaps keep him hidden (even though 1x1x1x1x had the ability to spot the survivors [kind of unfair]). He heard a whoosh sound near him causing his hair to whip before twin swords just nearly missed him. The only color he could see from his increasingly greying vision was a bright green heading his way. The only color in his dark world, ironic.
While Shedletsky had gotten used to the act of dying—it was hard not to—torture was always unpleasant. It seemed the killers’ way of avoiding boredom was to make each death slow and agonizing. Shedletsky had noticed the killers had distinct torture methods, clearly having different preferences. 1x1x1x1x seemed to enjoy toying with their victims and drawing out their suffering. He hoped the poison in his blood would kill him before 1x1x1x1x arrived.
Shedletsky opened his mouth to call out for someone, anyone, but his throat tightened and thick clots of blood spattered out of his mouth, painting the grass and his shoes. A small hiss left him as he saw a blur of green before his vision went black and his eyes shut for good. His knees hit the floor as his hands automatically went to clutch the dirt to keep himself steady, before his shaking became too much and he landed on his elbows, teeth chattering.
“You’re weak” A familiar, deep, glitchy voice spoke from above him.
He was faintly aware of footsteps approaching. Each thunk louder than the last. “Just from one hit you’re on your knees.” 1x1x1x1x mocked, dragging his swords on the floor as he crept closer. “Whatever happened to your fighting spirit, oh great Telamon?” They tilted their head upwards to stare down at the weak form squirming.
1x1x1x1x hadn’t always called him Telamon. Though now wasn’t the time to think about that.
Shedletsky grasped his throat with a shaky hand, each inhale burning his insides. “I...” He wheezed out, squinting up at the killer through quick blinks. His vision was swimming, barely able to make out the killer’s form and if they were standing still or creeping closer. “I’m bored” He chuckled (though it sounded like a sob) as blood trickled down his lips. “What’s the point, right?” He choked out, each word more breathy than the last. His eyes were able to stay open long enough to see 1x1x1x1x tilt their head and take the remark into consideration. After all, if there was one person (or being) that could understand Shedletsky, it would be the creature that was literally a part of him, created from his own hatred.
Shedletsky wasn’t expecting his offhand command that was more to save his ass from the humiliation to create such a pregnant silence. The only sound that could be heard for the next 10 seconds was Shedletsky’s raspy breathing. He ran his hand over his Adam’s Apple, up and down, right and left, trying to soothe the ache.
“Get up” The killer spoke, voice lower and slower as if considering their actions carefully. He raised both of his swords and stabbed them to the ground, the action causing a small flinch from the survivor much to his embarrassment. “Fight me. Try” They growled, curling their claws into fists.
“But, why?” Shedletsky scoffed, moving the hand that caressed his throat to wipe the blood that trickled down his bottom lip. He tried to remain as nonchalant as possible. This was the longest conversation he had ever had with 1x1x1x1x, and it was nerve racking. He had expected the other to slaughter him mercilessly. Perhaps the killers were also getting bored.
1x1x1x1x growled, pissed the survivor didn’t obey him. “Just do as I say, scum.” Shedletsky pursed his lips before placing a hand on his knee. He narrowed his eyes, accepting the challenge as he stared into those eyes that seemed to shine red even in his grey vision. He was starting to see his idiotic ways of denying a fight. Why had he ever tried to protest again? What was he, a hippie? Demanding peace and outright denying his talent—no—gift for fighting. This place wasn’t hell, it was a place for Shedletsky to shine. Why else would he be here?
His vision swam around as he pulled himself up, the white walls morphing around him and merging with 1x1x1x1x. For a few seconds, with much shame, he lost his footing before managing to stand still. The gasp that escaped his bleeding mouth quickly transformed into a growl and his face twisted into something 1x1x1x1x was familiar with; pride. They had known that look, that stubborn shine in their creator’s eyes, as pride. And they would know it that way for eternity.
Shedletsky blinked hastily to recover his contorting vision and shoved his hair out of his face before meeting 1x1x1x1x’s eyes. “Fine.” He huffed, unsheathing his sword. The killer grinned, their sharp teeth making them more intimidating for anyone other than Shedletsky of course.
1x1x1x1x still hadn’t grabbed either of his swords that were still stuck to the ground. Seizing the opportunity Shedletsky took a few steps forward, his feet angling too much to the right as he attempted to side step and hit from the left. His dark vision and wobbly movements did him no favor and he crashed right into the killer’s chest. After a small grunt, his sword dropped to the floor with a clunk and his knees buckled. “Crap…” He groaned, not bothering to pull away with the little strength he had left. He instead let his head rest, his right eye and cheek squished against the cold, jelly-like texture of 1x1x1x1x’s chest. This would be the most interesting death he would have had in a while. This would be the first death he had wanted. He had failed, after all. He had failed to fight back, to defend himself. He deserved death. In fact, death would be a mercy for the utter shame he felt deep inside of him, like a virus that replaced oxygen spreading into his veins and into his brain perennially. He was wrong, this indeed was hell.
Shedletsky’s ears picked up the sound of a small grunt that came from above him and a slight stumble backwards— it seemed 1x1x1x1x wasn’t expecting such an unceremonious attempt either— before silence. The profuse silence only served to irritate Shedletsky further, and supplement his insecurities. There was no movement from 1x1x1x1x despite the survivor’s wimpish squirming.
No movement. No movement? Shedletsky didn’t feel a sword cut his head off his shoulders, or a projectile slice him in half.
“Pathetic” They rumbled from above, voice unwavering to reveal no tone or feelings for the current situation that was definitely not normal.
Ignoring the insult, this was Shedletsky’s time to slash and run. It was the perfect opportunity to gather him just enough time to eat his chicken and create enough distance to meet up with the other survivors (preferably Guest). He could use the immobilized state of 1x1x1x1x to his advantage and dash.
But, he didn’t want to.
Shedletsky didn’t want to leave.
Didn’t want to separate from the weird intimacy.
He had never been this close to 1x1x1x1x before (they were practically embracing), and something about the contact that neither of them were breaking or acknowledging kept him longing. It kept him longing for more, much more than he would ever admit. He felt the light touch of 1x1x1x1x’s hands (or claws he supposed) on his back that was as hesitant as Shedletsky’s movements. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t open his eyes to see if he was resting on 1x1x1x1x who was stunned by a survivor or if he was hallucinating this whole scene. He hoped it was a hallucination, not just to save him from the embarrassment but for him to hope and believe that he was actually feeling the cold warmness of what he definitely knew to be his own hatred. More garbled sounds came from his throat as he attempted to move, but his lack of oxygen made him squirm in 1x1x1x1x’s arm who seemed to stiff at the sudden movement. Funny. After all his fake-out swings what had gotten the killer to stiff was touch.
Shedletsky was still heavily leaning against 1x1x1x1x who continued to amplify his silence and not produce a sound other than an insult, let alone make a move. He could feel his head getting lighter, a sign he was being pulled back to that dreadful house he now had to call home (he never would). He took a quick breath that burned his throat, and then another. And then another. His breathing wasn’t stopping, he wasn’t dying. Strong arms slid to wrap around his upper torso and held him close, though not close enough to crush bones. Shedletsky had moved enough to rest the side of his head against the weirdly soft shoulder of 1x1x1x1x. He cracked his eyes open, being reminded once again of his dull vision. It was then he remembered—or saw—the other had hair now. Shedletsky had gotten used to seeing 1x1x1x1x with only their threatening crown and nothing else, but now they had long locks of white hair that contrasted with their dark skin. He sucked in strands of hair that made his nose wrinkle and opened his eyes further as a reflex, granted a few inches. He could see the blurry head of 1x1x1x1x seemingly looking at him.
“What?” He growled. Shedletsky gave a small, lopsided smile in response and looked away. His eyes then fell onto the white curls, and he grunted more so from annoyance at the state it was in.
The gorgeous white hair was messily thrown onto a ponytail and unruly as hell. Strands stuck out everywhere, and the ends seemed to be unhealthy. When was the last time 1x1x1x1x had even brushed their hair? Shedletsky knew how annoying hair was. His own curls were a mess he didn’t like to deal with but he always made sure to brush them so they wouldn’t get tangled. The luscious locks looked so knotted it frankly pissed Shedletsky off. He reached out a shaky hand that 1x1x1x1x’s head followed instinctively. The strands were softer than he thought. The killer recoiled back habitually, and for a moment Shedletsky thought he would be killed. His hand stilled in the hair, letting white strands escape his fingers as he stared at 1x1x1x1x with wide, uncertain, yet challenging eyes. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was challenging 1x1x1x1x to, but they seemed to get the hint. For a moment, they merely looked at each other, the sole sound the survivors ragged breathing and the killer’s grinding of teeth. Shedletsky was unsure why he was persistent on this, and why he hadn’t left. He was almost feeling... desperate.
His shaky hand hovered in the air as Shedletsky peered into 1x1x1x1x’s eyes. The tension between them had molded, for the first time ever. The game of cat and mouse had become something else; it was no longer who would land a blow first. It was something neither of them could discern or discard. Shedletsky didn’t make a move until the killer slouched closer once again. He couldn’t hold back the small breath of relief at the rather meek action, his ribs relaxing.
Without wasting a precious second his hands brushed through the ends of the ponytail, the white locks slipping through his fingers like a wave. “So... so messy” He managed to blurt out through a wheezy voice. He saw those red eyes squint at him, and he twirled a strand on his finger. “Don’t,” His throat tightened against his windpipe and he coughed. His choking felt dry as a small clot of blood spattered on 1x1x1x1x’s cheek. The killer didn’t react. “Take your hair for granted.” He reprimanded. “I don’t know how you grew it, but” Shedletsky sighed as his hand ran through the entirety of the hair. “its very nice”
Shedletsky was bracing (wanting) for another loud silence that seemed to be getting more frequent and comfortable. All he desired was to continue feeling and stroking the soft tufts of hair.
“Your touch is irritating” 1x1x1x1x’s acrimonious and stentorian voice cut off Shedletsky's fantasies with a scowl, his fangs peeking out. They convinced themselves they hated this even though they didn’t pull away or puncture the survivor’s lungs already like they were planning.
“Wow, really?” Shedletsky hummed dreamily, not quite considering the words as he twirled a strand on his finger with a small smile. This was oddly soothing.
“I’m going to rip your teeth out one by one”
No longer soothing.
“Give me a few minutes first, eh?” He flashed a fatuous grin and curled his eyebrows in a manner that he hoped made him seem cordial. He felt a small rumble from 1x1x1x1x, and the hands that were lightly— hesitantly— holding him curled into his back before setting them both down on the floor. Shedletsky let out a small ‘oomph’ from the pain, ignoring that he was sitting on the killers lap and decided to use his chicken that was summoned to his hand. He took a few bites, offered it to 1x1x1x1x whose features twisted into one of disgust (though it seemed to be more of a facade than anything), and felt his pulse get stronger as his vision cleared, the killer’s green remaining brighter than the rest of the world.
Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten the chicken. He hadn’t realized how close they actually were.
But, 1x1x1x1x seemed to be facing away, avoiding his gaze despite the lack of visible iris. Shedletsky stared for a few seconds, blinking up at the other as he gained his energy back. His gaze fell back onto the hair that stretched down to the floor and he silently undid the ponytail and smiled at the long locks that spilled over his hands. He took one last look at 1x1x1x1x’s unreadable face and began combing through the killer’s hair with his fingers. He knew this was ludicrous and would eventually lead to his death, but at least it would be memorable. His life was starting to blend together anyway; it was hard to stay jaunty with the same people who looked as miserable as he felt. As he had suspected, there were tons of knots his fingers got stuck on while he raked through the hair. Shedletsky might have pulled too roughly on 1x1x1x1x’s hair on purpose a few times, but other than the occasional incomprehensible grumbles the other didn’t react.
It would be a lie to say Shedletsky wasn’t mesmerized by 1x1x1x1x’s appearance, now seeing it more up close than ever before. His red eyes, one that shined brighter than the other like a star, his obsidian like skin and green translucent body and long, white hair all had Shedletsky in a daze. Why did the manifestation of his literal hatred look hotter than he ever did?
“I never cut it” 1x1x1x1x cut through the silence, their deep voice breaking Shedletsky out of his starstruck daze as his head tilted up. It felt like an earthquake each time he heard the raucous sound. “After you left”
“Oh” He weakly responded, continuing to gently brush through the hair as his features softened. Left was a kind way to put it. In fact, it was the kindest 1x1x1x1x had put it yet.
“It looks.. Very nice” He quickly blurted out, trying to fix the situation that seemed to be getting tense again. He didn’t want the killer to... well... kill. Foolish expectations indeed, but they had gotten this far.
1x1x1x1x didn’t respond but continued staring off into space, almost as if they didn’t hear or care about Shedletky’s response, which, fair enough. He wondered what the killer could possibly be thinking about. Perhaps how they would kill Shedletsky, what limb they would slice off first and which ability to land the final blow.
He shook his head absentmindedly which earned him a tilt of the head from the other. No reason to think like that. Shedletsky had a habit of zoning out. It got him a lot of complaints from the other survivors whenever he forgot he had a responsibility to attack the killer and sulked in the corner, or missed his swings. He tried to stay as altruistic as possible, though he would never beat Chance’s selflessness that always bordered on stupidity.
He wasn’t sure how long they had remained like this, with the survivor perched on the killer’s lap (rather uncomfortably if he was being honest). They both remained silent, and Shedletsky realized 1x1x1x1x seemed to also have a habit of zoning out. Weird, but not really surprising. Shedletsky went back to fixating on the killer’s hair and without much thought on how the other would react separated the hair into three pieces before slowly beginning to twist them together. A small smile formed on his lips as he crossed the strands and a pattern began to form. He noted the lack of reaction, specifically aggressive reaction, and felt more comfortable taking his time to make the braid thick so it didn’t reach the floor and 1x1x1x1x wouldn’t trip over it. 1x1x1x1x tilted his head every few seconds, inching closer to the touch and warmth both from Shedletsky’s hefty fingers and overall presence. Meanwhile, Shedletsky welcomed the coldness the other had. It was similar to touching a newly formed icicle but he didn’t mind it. He usually hated the cold.
It was odd, to have the creature that swore to destroy you— and was literally made out of your own hatred— patiently have their hair braided. It didn’t feel like taming a wild beast, but connecting with an old friend. Had 1x1x1x1x ever truly been a beast? Or had Shedletsky wanted to separate himself from his own hatred and malice so much that he had unintentionally caused the never ending hatred in the first place? Did that even make sense? Shedletsky had never been a fan of philosophy.
1x1x1x1x was looking away again, their head faced at an angle where he couldn’t see the killer’s eyes. Their bangs didn’t help. It was hard to tell any emotion from the other’s eyes anyway, but it still made Shedletsky nervous. His fingers fumbled, twirling a strand around his finger from overthinking and messing up the flow of the braid. He cursed silently, loosening the strands to begin again. If he was granted the opportunity to mess with 1x1x1x1x’s hair he would at least make sure he did it damn well. The longer those glowing red eyes were hidden from Shedletsky’s views, the more he was getting infuriated—or nervous—or both. He didn’t know why, but he wanted the killer to look at him, to perhaps touch him as well.
This place was affecting his mental state.
The feel of those sharp claws made to kill, to show no mercy, was not something he wanted on his skin, or his Blame John shirt.
Shedletsky's gaze slipped further down, as if he was hiding from his own thoughts. His braiding was on auto-pilot at this point as his fingers worked to make sure the braid was perfect, and nothing less than perfect. A wave of heat clouded his head as his gaze lowered enough to visually see the position he was in. He was resting on 1x1x1x1x’s bent leg, perched way too comfortably. It took all his power to not flinch or run away or start screaming or summon his sword in his hand from the realization. Somehow the visual confirmation of the position they had been in for a while made it click in his head how rather intimate this was. Why had it taken him this long to process this wasn’t right?
Shedletsky tore his wide and uncertain eyes from the ground a bit too quickly, making his neck ache. A stampede of thoughts were running loose in his head, each one yelling at him and only causing further confusion. He felt like he was drowning from the inside out, the sheer velocity of his thoughts making him freeze like a deer in headlights. If 1x1x1x1x noticed they didn’t care (though they seemed to be in a similar situation).
With a sudden need to stop his brain from overheating his eyes scattered around the map for any potential short cuts that would get him as far away from the killer as quickly as possible. He wondered where the other survivors were, and how long it had even been. He contemplated just swinging his sword, but the killer had good reflexes. Not to mention they could always spot him easily. He was vulnerable and there was nothing for him to do. He was caught in the web of the poisonous spider, and it was all his fault. Why had he even told 1x1x1x1x he was bored?
That was how it all had started, wasn’t it? With their shared feeling of boredom. He was bored. 1x1x1x1x (at least he believes) was bored.
The heavy rain clouds in his brain cleared up as he realized how wrong he was. Shedletsky hadn't felt this stupid in a long while. Here he was, freaking out at how easy of a target he had made himself while the killer had, for who knows how long, not touched him. 1x1x1x1x was just as vulnerable as he was. They both could swing their swords at each other, but weren’t. That’s what mattered. The familiar feeling of yearning for change was back in his stomach again, but this time stronger. This was practically confirmation he wasn’t the only one who wanted something new.
Shedletsky hadn’t even realized the braid was done until he pacified his throbbing brain enough to admire his handiwork. Strange. He wasn’t aware of his competent braiding abilities beforehand. Nevertheless he couldn’t deny 1x1x1x1x looked even more mesmerizing this way. Though, there were still the bangs on the front that seemed to obstruct his glowing eyes. Rather boldly, and once again, without much thought, Shedletsky reached out a hand and placed it on 1x1x1x1x’s cheek to turn their face towards him. It took him a bit of strength to turn the head that didn’t want to turn. The skin’s texture was similar to his own dry one.
Those red incandescent eyes stared at him with uncertainty yet expectation and Shedletsky forgot what he was planning as he stared into them, dazed. He had never seen the killer this close, and their eyes seemed to have so much depth despite it seeming like a flat color from a distance. The bright glow sheened and added extra layers to the bangs that, to the killer’s credit, seemed to actually be well taken care of. Not that his gaze was licentious in any sense.
His thumb caressed the other’s cracked cheek before he realized what he was doing. He blinked slowly yet rapidly, attempting to break eye contact to no avail. He couldn’t tell if it was his own fascination or if he was truly being hypnotized. He chose to believe it was 1x1x1x1x’s power, and it would happen to any survivor. It wasn’t anything to do with Shedletsky’s connection to the killer, definitely not.
He broke out of his thoughts again to suddenly become aware 1x1x1x1x was closer, or he had inched closer himself. The deep red rapidly consuming his entire world caused his panicked mind to blurt out the question that had been racking his brain from the beginning.
“Why... didn’t you kill me?” He asked slowly, his voice cracking embarrassingly from not talking for who knows how long. He moved his chin up to stare at those eyes that held emotions he had never seen on 1x1x1x1x before. Perhaps they were always there, but he had never noticed. No, that was a silly and impossible thought. He briefly wondered if 1x1x1x1x felt his breath on their face...their lips.
The killer budged just enough to drop Shedletsky from their lap. He landed on the floor with an embarrassing gasp and shifted his aching legs. He hadn’t realized the position actually was comfortable before. Shedletsky fluttered his eyelashes, staring at the killer with furrowed eyebrows that presented him as a pouting child more than anything. As the silence carried on Shedletsky felt a heavy weight on his shoulder from the increasingly palpable tension.
Before he could berate himself for causing such a reaction from 1x1x1x1x the ticking of a distant clock could be heard, signifying the end of the round. He briefly looked up as if there was a visible clock and widened his eyes. For once he felt displeasure from the rhythmic yet anxiety causing ticking. As if he expected something more. Because he did.
1x1x1x1x didn’t seem to react to the abrupt sound and remained frozen in place. Shedletsky took advantage of the immobilized state to push the killer’s limits and actually change something. His protest would be meaningful after all, because he was damn sure he would be able to change something this round.
“Or.. why aren’t you killing me?” He asked louder this time, with an authoritarian voice similar to 1x1x1x1x’s natural voice. It felt like he was demanding this time, trying to prove he wasn’t backing down. He felt somewhat manic from the entire situation. It was so absurd.
Sharp teeth revealed that made Shedletsky’s heart beat faster as 1x1x1x1x struggled to come up with a response. His mouth quickly shut before opening and closing again. They huffed, clenching their jaw in confusion and turning their head away to ignore the situation, making their braid bounce. Shedletsky squinted his eyes, warily yet intensely staring at the killer. It wasn’t like the cold stares had any affect on either of them, they were a part of each other after all.
“Don’t ignore me,” Shedletsky said under his breath, his voice more derisive than necessary. He was uncertain if he even spoke aloud or if 1x1x1x1x just understood him. His eyes were losing focus, inching lower than the others shining eyes. “We’ve gotten this far” His lips curled upwards ever so slightly, and his voice came out much softer this time. The killer ground his teeth, looking back and following Shedletsky’s gaze that seemed to want something further. They weren’t sure what Shedletsky was staring at and why.
1x1x1x1x remained stubbornly hesitant and attempted to contrive a response that would scare the survivor into leaving them alone instead of hastening the situation.
It wasn’t the hate that held 1x1x1x1x back, but rather the fear, or uncertainty, of doing something that would have an everlasting effect no matter what. It wasn’t like they could escape each other. It wasn’t like it was the first time either of them had felt this gravitational pull. But this didn’t actually change their dynamic. The killer would still kill the survivor, and the survivor would still fear them. But, it was the first time they had gotten this near, this close to making a change. Change wasn’t necessary for the killer, especially since they got the ideal situation of hunting—rather than being hunted. But whatever force had trapped them here clearly knew what they were doing, because the idealistic nature of 1x1x1x1x’s situation quickly turned out to be a trap, a mere mocking of his situation and internalized feelings. For all the hate they were made out of, the sliver of want, or something similar, controlled them more. Though 1x1x1x1x refused to believe the want was aimed at the person he was a part of. They were unsure if this place had led them to realize their capability of different emotions, or if the repeated act of killing their creator satisfied them no longer and birthed new feelings. He wasn’t quite ready to accept that killing Shedletsky killed his emotions. Either way, 1x1x1x1x wanted to bury, to kill whatever was inside of him that forced further wants and needs. They weren’t even sure what they wanted, but could recognize it wasn’t just hatred that pulled them.
If one thing was clear, however, their creator seemed adamant on something new. Perhaps that was why 1x1x1x1x also wanted change, because Shedletsky did. It was humiliating to share similarities to this man. It was borderline shameful to be a part of him. The survivor was still awaiting a response, narrowed, intense eyes staring. The killer narrowed his eyes back, communicating that no, he did not want this change. He did not want to stop killing, and certainly did not want to attempt to understand Shedletsky. For once he hoped Shedletsky would be gullible enough to believe the silent lie.
Their claw went to clutch the handle of one of the swords they had dropped, not bothering to be furtive with the aggressive movements. His arm felt sore from how long he had remained immobile and noted the change of expression in the survivor’s face as his hand felt the cold metal and wrapped around the handle. If they were any good at emotions perhaps they could understand what Shedletsky was thinking, or feeling, but they couldn’t.
1x1x1x1x could hear the rapid beating of Shedletsky’s heart but before the sword could make contact with the organ to silence it, the round ended, filling both of their visions black.