I Must Be The Reason Why

by Scrappy Rynn (Scrappy_Rynn)

Summary:

Shedletsky has been feeling strange headaches for the last few rounds of this eternal hell, he simply shrugs it off but in the end he jumps a bitch

the spectre is an asshole

repost because i changed psuedes
previously named "Your Mind Must Be Fucking Terrible"
Title from a song - Through Patches of Violets by Mili

Notes:

hi
throws a totally not conveniently shaped brick at you

no i did not kiss it

Chapter 1: It'll all be fine, just give me time

Run. Assist. Survive.

That’s all they’ve done since all of them ended up in this god forsaken purgatory, the constant loop of the rounds bringing exhaustion upon the survivors. No one seems to know who or what brought them here, however, they know there’s no way to escape this hell.

In the lobby, a few survivors were spending their limited time either strategizing or interacting with each other, with the exception of one former admin. Shedletsky sat on the couch, fiddling with the handle of his sword out of pure boredom, the mask of confidence plastered on his face stuck on like worn-out glue.

Ever since Shedletsky ended up here, he’s been getting these faint headaches that increase after every round. He obviously hasn’t told anyone about it being his stubborn self, too arrogant to even admit that these headaches were actually affecting him.

The first time he got one was during a round with that red kid, the former hacker's son, 007n7 was it? Well from what he remembered, he almost felt like he was in a trance, the edges of his vision black like some sort of framed picture that was being projected by his eyes.

Next thing he knew he was dead by those dumbass pizza delivery clones, so much for keeping his pride huh? Not like he’d let that affect him.

Though the aches started to really get to him later on, he was missing his slashes more often than he usually would be as well as him dying every time he was left in last man standing, he usually won those when his creation wasn’t the round's killer.

One specific admin that noticed his recent displays was Builderman, one of his best friends and the one that created Roblox alongside him. He wanted to know why Shedletsky wasn’t up to speed as well as what was going on with him.

Walking down the steps of the upstairs part of the cabin, Builderman stopped on the middle step, looking over at Shedletsky worriedly.

“‘Ey there Shed, have ya been doin’ alright? Ya seem to be performing pretty rough out ‘dere lately.” Shedletsky perked up at his voice, letting out a frustrated mental groan.

Rubbing at his temples, Shedletsky sat up from his slouched position on the couch slightly, turning his head over to Builderman. “I’m fine, Builds. Just..tired as hell.” He squinted his eyes for a moment, noticing that the headache had just completely disappeared.

The former admin obviously knew that he wouldn’t buy his lie but now Shedletsky was left confused himself, that’s not how normal headaches go away, he knew that from the stress he had from being an admin. Shivering at the thought of his past just made him shrug it off, maybe it was just him thinking too much.

“Well if ya say so, bud. I’ll be helpin’ the others out with coming up with a plan fer the next round.” After waving Builderman off he watched as he stepped back up the wooden stairs, every creak torturing his head. “Yeah, yeah,” Shedletsky grumbled in reply, looking at the timer as it ticked down painfully slowly.

As Shedletsky sat on the worn-out couch, he couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort that lingered in his chest. The pain felt like a heavy weight, threatening to pull him beneath the surface of his thoughts.

He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to entertain the faint glimmer of hope—that perhaps, with time, this ache would subside. Maybe the next round would bring something different, a shift in fortune he desperately craved.

With that thought in mind, he let out a long, weary sigh, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease just slightly. Gathering his strength, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool air around him, and slowly pushed himself up from the couch.

As he stood, the familiar creaks of the furniture echoed in the stillness of the room, reminding him of the countless hours he had spent there, wrestling with his emotions.

Making his way over to his room and shutting the door, the rusty lock clicked on as he turned the knob, not even taking the time to chat with the other survivors.

He collapsed onto his bed with a weary sigh, the soft thud of his body against the mattress barely breaking the stillness of the room. His wings unfurled dramatically, feathers fanning out in a chaotic yet graceful display, a testament to his weariness.

Each plume appeared slightly ruffled, glinting softly in the dim light; they whispered of long hours spent navigating the day's challenges.

Shedletsky was engulfed in fatigue, the weight of his exhaustion pulling him deeper into the welcoming embrace of sleep, where the world's worries faded away, and dreams began to weave their gentle tapestry around him.

---

A gentle rapping at the weathered door pulled Mr. Shedletsky from the depths of his restless slumber. As he slowly stirred in the well-worn bed, the familiar creaks of the old frame whispered through the room.

He blinked several times, his dark eyes struggling to focus as he pushed himself up against the lumpy pillows.

“Mr. Shedletsky? It’s Elliot. Supper is ready whenever you feel like joining us,” came the voice from the other side, warm yet insistent. Elliot, ever the caretaker, always took it upon himself to serve meals to the others, even if the menu rarely strayed from the realm of greasy pizza.

Shedletsky sighed, knowing that the sameness of the meals was better than going hungry, but it didn’t make them any more appealing.

Rubbing his eye with the back of his hand, Shedletsky felt the familiar throb of a headache making its unwelcome return, dull but persistent. “I’m not hungry...” he muttered, the words slipping out in a hushed whisper as he sank back into the pillows, willing the ache to fade away.

On the other side of the solid oak door, Elliot lingered, his brow furrowed in concern as he absorbed the weight of his words. The faint rumbling of his stomach served as a constant reminder of his insatiable appetite, a testament to his gluttonous nature.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, mentally conceding to the reality that the obstinate man behind the door wouldn’t be swayed by his pleas. "Well, it’s out here if you change your mind," he called out, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resigned hope.

With a heavy sigh, Elliot turned away from the door and stepped back into the dimly lit main room. He couldn’t shake the unease settling in his chest, and he cast one last anxious glance over his shoulder at Shedletsky’s door, his expression clouded with worry.

The silence that lingered in the air felt oppressive, amplifying his concern for the stubborn individual inside.

Elliot ambled back into the bustling main room, a furrow of concern etched across his brow. He glanced around, assessing the atmosphere filled with laughter and chatter, before raising his voice slightly to catch everyone’s attention.

“Has anyone else noticed that Shedletsky seems a bit… off lately?” His tone was a mix of curiosity and worry, cutting through the noise as he looked at his friends.

At that moment, Chance perked up from his seat, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe he’s just sulking,” he responded, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Did you see how many slashes he missed during the last game? Like, come on!” He burst into a loud, boisterous laugh, the sound echoing in the room and drawing a few amused glances from nearby survivors.

Builderman, sitting nearby with his arms crossed, shot Chance an unamused expression, eyebrows raised in disbelief. He clearly wasn’t taking the gambler’s antics seriously, his focus shifting back to the ongoing game.

The contrast between Chance’s light-heartedness and Elliot’s concern painted a vivid picture of the tension hanging in the air.

“Chance, I’m not joking around here. I really mean it… I can’t shake the feeling that Shedletsky has been behaving strangely lately.” Elliot insisted, his voice steady yet laced with urgency. He glanced around the room, his eyes darting from one face to another, searching for any sign of agreement or shared concern.

The atmosphere felt thick with tension, and he hoped someone else would voice what he feared – that there was something unsettling about Shedletsky’s recent actions.

Builderman raised his voice above the murmurs of the group, clearly intent on shedding light on the matter at hand. “I’ve been keeping an eye on Shed, and I can tell you he’s been acting strangely for a while now,” he began, his tone serious.

“Just earlier today, I had a conversation with him, and he looked really off—like something was gnawing at him from the inside. It’s honestly concerning. I’ve never seen him miss as many slashes as he has lately. He’s usually so precise and focused. It’s like he’s lost his edge,” he added, glancing around at the gathering of weary survivors.

His words caught the attention of nearly everyone present, drawing them into the unsettling reality of Shedletsky’s recent decline.

He was definitely not okay.

Chapter 2: But I Was Just Fine? What Happened?

Notes:

thank you for the idea @mentallyinsanecutie :D

also uh, just reminder that this is not Hacklord Shedletsky or Telamon

“Just one more swing, and then I’ll finally have a chance to escape from the killer,” he whispered to himself, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. A torrent of dreadful thoughts flooded his mind, the weight of anxiety crashing over him like a tidal wave. What if he missed?

The very notion sent a shiver down his spine, amplifying the urgency of the moment as he mentally prepared for the pivotal swing that could mean the difference between life and death.

With each passing second, the reality of his precarious situation settled deeper into his bones, propelling him forward with a mix of desperation and determination.

As Shedletsky rounded a sharp corner of the glasshouse map, a rush of adrenaline coursed through him, causing him to suck in a quick breath.

The eerie silence of the glass walls was shattered as the masked killer, Jason, emerged from the shadows, relentless in his pursuit. Shedletsky’s heart raced, and he felt a surge of determination.

With a swift motion, he swung his sword, expecting to miss as he had so many times before.

To his astonishment, the blade struck true, catching Jason off guard and stunning him momentarily. A grin spread across Shedletsky's face, fueled by a newfound confidence as he realized he had turned the tide—if only for a fleeting moment.

With a silent victory coursing through him, he stumbled away from the chaotic scene, pain radiating from his injured arm. He grimaced as he clutched the wound, a grim reminder of Jason's relentless assault.

The sharp pang throbbed with every movement, a tangible consequence of his reckless bravado.

Damn that hitbox—it felt like the universe had conspired against him, amplifying the blows that should have missed.

Each step was a mix of triumph and agony as he navigated away from the fray, determination fueling his resolve to push through the pain.

He struggled up the steep, uneven slope carved into the cliff side, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he felt the presence of the masked man closing in behind him.

Each step felt like a monumental effort, his legs burning with exertion. Shedletsky clenched his jaw, silently cursing out in tags under his breath as his wings flitted in frustration, shimmering slightly in the dim light the dark sky emitted.

The feeling of helplessness gnawed at him; he had just used his stunning ability and it was still on cooldown, leaving him vulnerable and exposed.

The sound of the masked man's footsteps echoed ominously, urging him to pick up the pace even as fatigue threatened to pull him down.

Just as Jason raised his weapon to deliver the final, brutal strike to Shedletsky, the air around them seemed to still. The blade of his weapon was poised above his target, the tension palpable.

But before Jason could finish the job, the sharp sound of footsteps echoed through the chamber.

Without warning, a figure lunged forward, their fist connecting with Jason's covered face in a forceful punch. The impact sent him stumbling back, momentarily off balance.

His grip tightened around the hilt of his weapon, but it was the sting of the blow that distracted him, forcing him to clutch at his mask instinctively as though trying to hold his fractured composure together as they believed stuns didn't actually hurt the killers in reality.

A low, guttural growl vibrated from deep within his throat—eerily silent, like a distant predator’s warning. Jason’s disfigured mouth never moved, his body never made a sound, but the tension in the air grew thick with the weight of his simmering fury.

The anger in his eyes and the way his fingers curled into the edges of his mask made it clear that words were unnecessary. He stood there, frozen for a split second, seething beneath the cold, emotionless facade of his silent, inscrutable exterior before charging off in search of a different target.

The newcomer, undeterred, sized Jason up with a steady gaze, fully aware that they had just triggered something far more dangerous than they’d bargained for.

“####, that was a sick punch! Appreciate it, Guest,” Shedletsky remarked, a wide grin spreading across his face.

However, beneath the surface of his smile, he could feel the unsettling prickling sensation of another one of those bizarre headaches creeping in at the back of his mind.

He grimaced slightly, trying to shake off the discomfort while maintaining his confident exterior.

Guest nodded thoughtfully, reaching into his inventory to retrieve a medkit he had found during the early moments of the round.

Its bright white exterior contrasted sharply against the muted colors of the surrounding environment. "Here, take this," he said, his voice steady and reassuring.

"I was originally planning to hand it over to Elliot, but it looks like Jason isn't focusing on him this time around. Fortunately, that gives us the chance to keep Elliot in the game a little longer." He extended the medkit, his expression a mixture of concern and relief at the unexpected turn of events.

He carefully passed the medkit to Shedletsky, who accepted it with a steady hand. As he opened the kit, his movements were precise and methodical, still displaying an air of confidence.

With the gauze and antiseptic in hand, he began to wrap his wounds, tending to each injury with meticulous attention.

Despite the evident pain, a stoic expression remained on his face, as if he were untouched by the chaos surrounding them.

It struck him that this resilience was one unexpected benefit of the turmoil they found themselves in—a silent determination to endure, no matter the adversity.

Guest’s gaze lingered on Shedletsky for a moment, his expression a mix of concern and calculation. The atmosphere on the cliff was thick with tension, the kind that clung to the air like smoke after a fire.

Slowly, he exhaled, as though gathering his thoughts before speaking.

“I’m gonna go find Elliot,” he said, his voice steady but laced with an unspoken warning. He took a step back, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as though weighing the gravity of the situation. “Knowing Jason… since he failed at getting you, he’ll likely switch his focus to him next.”

There was a subtle shift in Guest’s demeanor, a flicker of something that resembled both recognition and apprehension. Jason’s unpredictability was no secret, and no one in the on was truly safe from his raging pace.

“I’ll keep an eye out, but you should be careful,
Shedletsky,” Guest added, his tone softening, though the weight of his words still carried a quiet urgency. His warning hung in the air, heavy and clear.

With a final glance, he gave a small, almost imperceptible smile—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but still carried a faint warmth in its corners.

It was the kind of smile shared between those who had seen more than their fair share of conflict and understood the stakes all too well.

Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and made his way toward the rocky slope. The soft sound of his footsteps echoed in the otherwise silent cliff as he descended, each step deliberate and purposeful.

The grass at the bottom of the slope rustled, and with it, the last glimpse of his silhouette disappeared into the shadows of the map.

The space felt a little emptier as his presence faded, but his words lingered, a stark reminder of the danger still lurking just out of sight.

With a deep, unexpected sigh escaping his lips, Shedletsky realized just how tightly he had been holding his breath. He dropped the now-empty medkit onto the ground, the small thump echoing softly in the tense atmosphere.

Drawing his sword from its sheath, the familiar weight and balance grounding him in the moment, he steeled himself. As he moved forward, determination coursed through him, propelling him toward his comrades.

He kept his senses sharp, prepared to offer assistance as needed, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

The timer on the wall continued its relentless countdown, each passing second echoing like a heartbeat in the otherwise still air. Shedletsky’s legs felt like lead, every step harder than the last.

His breath was shallow, each inhale a struggle as exhaustion crept up on him, settling like a weight in his chest. Sweat slicked his brow, dripping down his face as he pushed himself forward, one foot after the other, as though the very ground beneath him was conspiring to keep him from moving.

With every step, the world around him seemed to stretch and blur. His peripheral vision was fading—edges becoming soft, indistinct—as if the very act of moving was draining him not just of energy, but of clarity itself.

His heartbeat pulsed loudly in his ears, drowning out the sounds around him, and his limbs trembled with the strain of what felt like an impossible journey.

But he couldn’t stop. He had to keep going. There was no choice now. The seconds were slipping away faster than he could keep up, and with them, the chance to succeed—the chance to survive—was dwindling.

But as the final moments ticked down, the weight of his exhaustion became too much. His vision tunneled, and he could no longer focus on the path ahead.

The world around him twisted, a dizzying spiral of shapes and colors. His body, strained and overworked, betrayed him. He staggered, barely able to catch himself before he crumpled to the ground. His head was killing him.

And then, just as the timer hit zero, his knees gave out beneath him, and he collapsed in a heap, his body finally surrendering to the overwhelming fatigue.

For a fleeting moment, all he could see were blurred faces—too close—their outlines sharp against the chaos in his mind. Builderman’s face was a mask of worry, his brow furrowed as he rushed toward Shedletsky’s side.

Noob, equally frantic, was shouting something, his words muffled and distant. But Shedletsky couldn’t hear them—not clearly. His own ragged breathing and the hammering of his heart drowned out everything else.

And then… nothing. The world went black, the last thing he felt was the cold, unforgiving ground beneath him as everything went silent.

What happened, I was just fine a moment ago?

Notes:

don't expect this to be updated frequently, i'm lazy and i'd rather be eating chicken than writing ngl..

In all seriousness, hello, welcome, thanks for reading ^_^

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Shedletsky my shayla