Chapter Text
Chance stared at the dark colored wooden walls of his empty cabin. His flimsy flintlock sat on the dresser that was displayed by the wall, staring at him as if it was mocking his attempted saves to his friends. All chance could do was sulk in the quiet of the room. He had won the round as last man, but it didn't feel like a victory, instead a medal too show his uselessness to his team. All his shots missed or didn't go off.
At one point, him and Elliot where hiding together due to Elliot being low. But unfortunatly, 1x came around the corner and chased Elliot on his heels. Chance had frantically flipped his coin, earning him 3 charges. He smirked and hurriedly aimed his gun straight at 1x, aiming for his head to stun the killer and earn Elliot a chance to run away. His arm shook as he attempted to keep his gun raised at 1x, pressing his finger down on the trigger smirking.
CLICK
Chance felt his whole body tense. His eyes dropped to the useless piece of metal that sat in his hands, and then he heard it. A wretched scream from across the map. Chances eyes darted straight towards where Elliot and 1x stood. Elliot's limp body on his knees to the man in front of him, sword sliced straight through his abdomen. 1x raised his sword in his other hand, slicing Elliot's head clean off in front of chances eyes. Blood gushed everywhere, painting 1x and the floor with the crimson flow. Loud music rang in chances ears, but all he could focus on was Elliot's limp body in front of him. He had failed again. Failed at saving his friend. All because of his flimsy gun and luck.
Dark thoughts clouded his mind, images flashing in head of past mistakes and attempts at saving. His arm twitched, wanting to feel a familiar feeling of cold metal graze his scarred skin again. He needed the feeling, he needed the punishment for not saving his teammates. Oh how he just needed the simple pleasure of pain, just for a few seconds.. anything to get his head away from this torture. Chance continued to stare daggers at the dresser as if it owed him money. The one cabinet that sat closed holding secrets he didn't wanna see again.
Chance slowly stood, his feet guiding him to the dresser with the singular closed cabinet. The gun continued to sit idly on the dresser, screaming chances name. They rested their hand onto the old wood, fingers grazing over the gun. Past memories of an old friend raced his thoughts like a flashback in a movie scene. Images of a gun pressed to his temple, blood splattering the round table in front of him. A familiar blonde that sat across from him, his face blacked out from his memory.
Chance jerked back as if the gun had personally insulted him. His eyes stared at the gun, hand twitching and blood boiling with fear, anger even. He swallowed the lump in his throat and grabbed the rusty flintlock, his grip tightening on the handle. His mind raced as he hesitantly brought the gun to his temple, A familiar feeling washing over him. His finger twitched, not near the trigger but beckoning to press it. Chances body shook, screaming at him to do something, anything to soothe the ache that crawled under his skin like a unwanted possession. His eyes watered under his shades, throat burning from held back emotions.
chance dropped his arm from his head, throwing the flintlock across the room. He heard it bang against the other wall, dropping to the floor and possibly breaking even more. But he didn't care, he needed a relief, something to bring his head back from where it was currently going. He roughly opened the cabinet, grabbing the old knife that the survivors where granted with when they first came here. Its purpose was for the kitchen, but chance had other ideas.
he dropped to his knees, his designer pants scrapping against the floor as he hurriedly raised his sleeves. Old scars and harsh burns littered the grey skin below, but chances mind was fogged from his complete want and need. He brought the cold metal to his skin, sitting there before roughly bringing it down on his skin. His body weakened as he felt the knife plunge into the skin and scrape across, leaving a deep crimson mark along its way. Blood hurriedly gushed out, dripping down chances arm like tears. Chance weakly smiled as he continued to bring the knife down onto his arm, leaving dark marks everywhere possible.
He dropped the knife, arms stained red with blood still oozing down his sticky skin. He could feel his body getting weaker and weaker, but he didn't care. He basked in the relief, placing a hand on the deep marks, watching the blood slip through his fingers as more of it dripped onto the wooden flooring. He rose from his position on the floor and calmly walked to the cabins bathroom. taking out a med kit and a cloth or 2, he rinsed the cloth with warm water and began wiping the blood off his cuts. More of it dripped into the bowl of the sink, staining the countertops red with the crimson color. The cloth wasn't so lucky either, red dying the original white fluff. His head spun from blood loss, but chance didn't care.
He dried his arm before more blood could form, and messily wrapped his cuts with the gauze he luckily snatched from an old round. He could see the under layers begin to stain red, his finger tips brushing against the bandages before moving onto his next arm. He began wettening the cloth, the water creating a smooth melody in his head and dragging him down under. The same memories of the man in blonde plagued his thoughts again, the icy blue of his finger tips brushing against his cheek, burning his skin despite the cold.
They where suddenly brought back out of his head at the sound of banging on his cabin door. Chance darted his eyes around, quickly turning the water off and wiping some of the blood from his arm. He rushed over to the door, fixing his hair and shirt before slowly creeking it open. He hid his arm that was untreated behind the door, putting on his poker face.
Guest stood just outside the door, his serious expression seeming slightly annoyed at Chance. He raised his eyebrow down at the gambler, glaring at the stupid smirk that was always plastered on his face. Guest wasn't stupid though, he's lived longer than and experienced more than most of the survivors. He's seen hell and back, and right now he can tell chance was putting on an act. He studied his expression, eyes flicking between him and the room hidden behind him. It was completely dark, Meaning chance was just sitting in his cabin alone, in the pitch black.. weird.
"I've been knocking at your door for a minute now, Chance. What the hell are you doing?" Guest asked, tone harsh and showing his obvious annoyance at the gambler.
Chance laughed softly, scratching the back of his neck. "sorry soldier.. I was uh- distracted fixing my gun!" Chance flinched from the poor excuse, praying guest wouldn't ask any further questions to his actions and leave him alone.
Guest stared at him like he was an idiot, seeing right through the obvious lie. The flintlock chance carried was fucked over, there was no fixing it despite the many attempts. Plus.. how would he fix his gun in the pitch black? things weren't adding up. He saw chance flinch when he leaned just a bit closer, glaring at him as if a way to show he can see straight through his poor attempts.
He decided to take a mental note of chances state, brushing off the dumb attempt but not forgetting it. He'd bring this up later, right now he wanted chance out of his depressing cabin.
"I came to tell you Elliot made us dinner, so hurry out of here and come eat before i bust your door down and drag you out myself" Guest stated sarcastically, smiling to lighten the mood of the current awkward situation.
Chance nodded, thanking guest before softly closing the door. He stared at the wooden frame, listening to the soldiers footsteps get fainter before he finally sighed loudly and hurried to the bathroom. Guest knew something was up, he wasn't stupid. He knows when things aren't right with the survivors, especially chance of all people. He'd seen straight throw his poor lie, and probably had a feeling something was up. That thought just made chance sick. He couldn't have the other survivors see him in such a weak state, not after them just knowing him as the sarcastic guy who never took anything seriously. He washed the sticky blood off his arm, messily putting gauze over the scars to hide them. He push his sleeves down and practiced his smirk in the mirror before walking out.
eveyrthings ok chance.. just act casual! he told himself, He ignored the burning on his arms and burried the horrid thoughts in his head for later. He casually opened the door to his cabin and stepped out into the cold, infinite night.