Chapter Text
The darkness surrounding the campfire crept inward tonight, hung over your head like the shadowy figure of a phantom. Everyone seemed to be in a bad mood. Shoulders slumped, brows in a frustrated pinch, blood, and dirt smeared across bruised skin. Though, in a world where you’re continuously hunted for sport by humans and creatures alike—some might think the survivors were forever stuck mulling in a pit of gloom and doom. But it wasn’t always this miserable.
There would be times when survivors would come back from a trial with the grin of a champion, crimson dripping down from a nostril as they boasted about evading the last killer with ease. Times where the crew of scraggly hunted would sit around the flickering flames of the fire and banter like age-old friends; re-hashing stories from a time before the entity’s realm. Those were your favorite moments when you were allotted the chance to get to know the others a little bit more. Peeling them apart like an onion; layer by layer; war story after war story.
But tonight, no one seemed willing to do more than grunt and glare endlessly into the growing ash buried around the hilt of the campfire. You hadn’t been swept into the last trial and took your rest with a sigh of relief; back hunched against the bark of a roughly sawed log. While your train of thought derailed into a hopeless pit of despair—one you were old friends with. Time worked differently in this new world. Hell, it didn’t even exist, which left you to ponder endlessly how long you’d been here. You weren’t the newest survivor, nor the oldest—a sorry excuse for a middle—groundhopping between experienced and inexperienced.
Sometimes it felt as if you had just awakened in the Entity’s realm. And other times, it was hard not to feel as if you’d been trapped here for an eternity and then some. The endless loop of gore and misery made the wait fuzzy. Trials began to blend as the somewhat decent memories here became few and far between. It all began to feel like one big fucked up blur, and when the thirtieth or something trial came around, you gave up hope of ever keeping track. You could have been here for a day and wouldn’t know it—week, month, a year. In the end, it wouldn’t matter how long you’d been in this realm, even if everything in you yearned to know. You weren’t promised answers.
Someone sighs and your stare dances from body to body in search of who. With the point of his finger, Dwight pushes his filth-caked glasses up the bridge of his nose and sighs again. Maybe the silence is getting to him, or, maybe, it’s just the tension suffocating the campfire. Meg itches her nose, and Kate gnaws on her lower lip, while Claudette sits with her chin tucked into the palm of her hand. They all seem bored out of their minds, glaring into the bright glow of the flames.
Do you remember how you died? The question is on the tip of your tongue. Burning.
You’d never asked, even though the query has been a bug in your ear since the day of your arrival. Hot searing pain, a flash of red, and then darkness sums up about the width of your memories. Was it the same for all of the others? Judging from the stories shared of their past lives, most of them had been nabbed by the Entity far from the brink of death. Min had been drunk off her ass, Jake had been out on a routine stroll in the morning—nothing of consequence. Yet, Tapp, bleeding out from a gunshot wound and Quentin, having faced the infamous Freddy Krueger in his final moments, had still been able to recall in vivid detail the last few seconds of their Earthly lives. You couldn’t.
The last thing you remembered—or, more accurately, the lack of what you could remember—ate at you incessantly. A dying need to just know how and why your life had been stolen from you, and by whose hand it was taken. Your mouth falls open, the infamous question ready to pop when the fog began to creep up out of the corner of your eye. It’s far away from the campsite, a foot from the outskirt of the surrounding forest. Black pines tower above the patch of dirt all the survivors free of a trial hang around. The trees sway to a nonexistent wind; exaggerated shadows stretching out towards you like crippled claws. The fog grew denser, and then a darkened silhouette appeared.
Jake comes stumbling through, clothes a disheveled mess; a muddied stain pools down the front of his chest. But he strides over in confidence. There are no open wounds to tell of the dangers he’d just pushed through, only the lingering blood saturating his clothes. Even that would be gone soon, though. He stops a few feet away from the orange overcast of the flames, then looks over his shoulder, expectantly. He’s waiting for someone.
Right on cue, another fog begins to accumulate where a tall, muscular form takes place. Pushing through the wisps of smoke emerges a leather-toting, middle-aged man. Someone you had never seen before. A new survivor. He pauses at the sight of the others, an uneasiness sweeping across scarred features.
“Everyone,” Jake addresses, turning back to face the flames. “This is Jeffrey Johansen.”
The mood seems to pick up at that, the exhausted survivors eager to welcome the new meat. No one rises to the occasion, however, offering instead half-assed waves and limp smiles. The mood’s lightened, but not by much. Jake leads the burly man over before slumping down beside Claudette; his mud-caked boots kicked out in front of him. An unbridled weariness warps his features, and at any moment now, he looks as if he’s about to collapse.
“How did your first trial go?” You asked.
Jeff seems hesitant to join the group. Most newbies are. You can remember arriving at the campfire after your first trial and trying to book it into the woods, wary that if you stayed, these people would dawn masks too and chase you with an ax just like the killer had. Meg had been the one to tackle you—ever light on her feet—but that’s not what had made you stick around. It was the warning she’d whispered: the killers are out there. It was only then that you’d inclined yourself to warily remain at the fire-pit with the other survivors then. At least, you’d told yourself, until you can figure a way out of this hell. But that way never came, and you’d grown accustomed to newfound terrors since.
With a shake of his head, Jeffrey plops down on an empty log. There’s a sense of quiet disgruntlement about him. The softest sort of temper you’d ever seen. Yet, even that fades, and his shoulders hunch forward with a pitiful sigh.
“It sucked.”
Someone snickers. You hadn’t expected an answer any different.
“Better get used to it,” Ace grunted. Nobody argues.
The silence settles upon the group again. For just a moment. It’s suffocating and yet refreshing, too. You’re not sure if your problem is with the quiet itself, or if you’re just in desperate need of a distraction—something to derail the depressing turn of your thoughts. Either way, you’re a little more than thankful when Jake speaks up again.
“There’s a new killer.”
“Oh,” Your lips twitch into a frown. “Got any bad news?”
His glare cuts right through you. It’s not born of malice or irritation. It’s blank, and that oddly enough disturbs you more.
“He’s called the Legion. Came here with Jeffrey.”
“You can call me Jeff.”
“Alright.” There’s a pause. Jake purses his lips and nods. “For a killer, I’ve seen worse. For the first half of the trial, he stuck to lurking in the shadows but caught on quicker to the rules of the game than most. I got out just as he began to test the waters on the whole ‘kill-frenzy’ thing.”
“What’s his weapon of choice?” You asked.
“Knife.”
“Oh. That’s not so bad,” Meg cut in, ever optimistic.
You give a lazy shrug: “Better than having your skull crushed by a bear trap.”
“Or being cut in half with a chainsaw.”
The group of survivors more or less nod in agreement. Jeff’s skin grows a sickly sheen, the color of dirty linen. He could use a friendly pat on the back or a comforting hug by now, you’re sure. You know you could have used one the first time your mind had been overwhelmed by the grizzly terrors of the Entity’s realm. Or, how it all had been discussed so casually by a group of strangers, like the kind of small talk one made over a cup of coffee in the morning.
Your stare drifts across the fire. Jake meets your eyes and his lips hitch a tad upwards. Sometimes, you find yourself still wishing for that hug or any semblance of comfort at all. Having someone to hold you close and whisper the horrors away would make this new hell a whole lot easier. It’s hard not to let your mind wander, though. Nothing would ever be okay here, but it could be bearable, and that was all you were hoping for.
The dark tendrils of smoke drift between your ankles then, curling around the flesh of your wrists and calves. “This one’s me, guys,” the comment slipped out just as the Entity enclosed its fog around you, carrying you off to a magical place of whipping wind and rust-stained snow.
Howling, frostbitten winds nip at your bare shoulders and tug at the locks of your hair. The cold is artificial, only a lingering chill against your skin in a place where you should be freezing; dressed in a stained wife-beater and thin jeans. On instinct, you wrap your arms tight around yourself and crouch to the ground.
A rundown, derelict ski lodge sits close by. The windows have been bashed in, snow caking the inside and out, while battered shutters bang against the wooden structure. Abandoned construction equipment is laid tossed a ruin across the blanketed area. It’s a new map. That much is clear. A mountainous forest range and wrought iron fencing encase the grounds, warning you and the other survivors not to cross.
Your stare dances wildly across the arena, searching for any sign of a survivor, generator, or killer. The remnants of the last conversation held at the fire circles back around. Maybe you’ll get a taste of the new killer. A part of you hopes so. They’re beginners, still trying to get a handle on a new reality and all the shitty responsibilities that come with it. If you’re lucky, you could wind up back by a warmth-less fire in no time.
A flash of tan weaving around the broken yard catches your attention, and with not much else to go on, you force yourself to follow. A trench coat and sharp haircut take form and you pick up your pace, chasing after the other newbie.
“Adam.” Your call is hushed, an octave above a whisper.
His entire body goes rigid before “relaxing” into something between strict and stern. Soon after, the two of you meet silently beneath a rickety lift tower. You peer up through the beams and eye the wood that’s been splintered and wrought with mold. The fact that the entire structure could collapse upon the two of you in a split second becomes a mere afterthought when he asks: “Have you seen the killer?”
Just past his shoulder, you spot the blink of a generator. With a beck of your hand, the two of you huddle close before stalking over to it in low, crouched positions.
“No, but I have my guesses as to who it could be,” you answered, getting to work on the generator.
“Who?”
“I’m thinking the Legion.”
Adam’s face scrunches with perplexity, lips pursing in an attempt to fight back a frown.
“I know I haven’t been here long,” His voice is taught. “But I don’t remember anything about a Legion.”
“We get new killers just like we get new survivors.”
“I figured…The Legion is the new killer, I take. Who’s the new survivor then?”
Your fingers work quick, toying with the wires of the machine on instinct. You knew better than to allow yourself to grow content with the action, however. Growing content means becoming distracted and becoming distracted means making mistakes. If this is going to be an easy trial you can’t afford a generator exploding in your face. Even if the killer’s a possible newbie, they’re not deaf. Loud noises bring death.
“His name’s Jeff. Big biker type. But he’s got nice eyes.”
Every few seconds you afford a glance over your shoulder as a safety precaution. For a while, the coast remains clear. Not a killer nor survivor in sight, until—you freeze. A crudely stitched-up mask peers out from behind a massive boulder. They duck behind it just as quick as you caught them; a flicker of pink hair a stark contrast against the bleak, gray surroundings.
“Adam,” Your voice is a dying whisper. He recognizes the urgency in your tone immediately, however, and ceases all movement. You don’t wait for a response. “You run. I’ll lead them off.”
“Are you sure?—“
You hop to your feet, heart hammering outside of your chest. Adam takes no further notes and scurries off; fleeing in the opposite direction you’ve pin-pointed your glare in. For a few minutes, you wait for the killer to emerge; picturing all blades and a terrifying blood-stained mask. Yet, after a little while longer, still nothing happens. It’s out of pure morbid curiosity that you begin to creep closer to the rock. Maybe they’ve run off...The part of you that knows better assumes otherwise. And yet, you’ve chosen to dance with the devil once more.
She’s tiny, wedged in between the crevice of two snow-dusted rocks, with a rusted blade cradled to her chest. Her head snaps up at the crunch of your sneakers on the snow. White fog breaks apart your lips and clouds in front of your face.
“Hey.” Her wave is short-lived, small hand eager to return to the hilt of her knife.
“Um.” Your brows push together. “Hi?”
Jake said the Legion was a guy. So, who’s this?
With a grunt, she heaves herself from her position on the hard ground. Snow sticks to the dark material of her leggings, skirt, and hoodie. There’s a familiar sense of teenage-dom that radiates from the killer. She’s dressed as you had in your early, angst-riddled high school years, but with a lot more flare.
Eventually, when the awkward quiet pressed in all around her, she blurted: “I don’t want to kill any of you.”
You don’t know what to say to that. Never in your time being here had you met a killer who didn’t jump at the chance to mutilate or gut any survivor in its sight. Perhaps it was because they were used to the drill, or more likely, they were all just cold, heartless, evil beings through and through. It’s not like you had time to give their motives much thought when you were too busy screaming in pain from a bear trap clamped around your foot, or an ax to the back.
“I’m Susie.” Her fingers press together, fiddling around the knife.
“Y/n…”
Suzie’s shoulders slump with relief at that and she stuffs the weapon into the front pocket of her oversized hoodie. Snowflakes drift around her, catching in the tangled locks of her hair, and building on the cotton of her shoulders. Susie sways to a deaf melody, unbothered by your lack of conversation. But you were at a serious loss of what to do here. She’s a killer. She can’t just not…kill?
“You have to hook me,” You said.
There’s a lack of reaction from your perspective, her mask concealing what little chance of reading the situation you had. For all you knew, this could be some gimmick—a trick to lure you into the clutches of her blade. But for all the innocence Susie emitted, you had a hard time believing she was anything but.
“Why?” Her voice is high-pitched, tinged with disbelief.
You’re not sure how the Entity introduces his killers to their new life, but surely the basics had to of been explained. Right? The wind screams all around you, moaning in your ear.
“Because if you don’t, terrible things are going to happen to you.” You said and divulged from there. Doing your best to explain to this pitifully lost and confused killer the rules of the Entity’s sick and twisted game. You weren’t sure if she believed you or not, but in the end, she seemed to concede, unsheathing her knife. The rumble of the exit gates lumbering themselves open startles you from the moment. Although you had said Susie would be punished if she failed to please the Entity, you weren’t sure what that exactly entailed. She was a sweet girl, though, and the need to help her out pressed into you like a migraine.
“Hook me.” You angle a finger in the direction of the nearest hook. Just sacrificing you might not be enough to save her, but there was a chance that it would, and that was enough for you.
“Do I have to?” Susie whined, shuffling her feet like a grumpy toddler. “This sucks.”
“Yes.”
You march on over, toting her along by the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She drags her feet the entire way, the heels of her boots cutting through the snow. When the two of you stand beneath the grotesque hook, you tap her shoulder in a warning and fight the deprecating laugh that's punching through your teeth. The fact that you’re asking to be hooked is like a slap in the face. But, even if in a few more trials or so, when Susie grows accustomed to the role of the killer and things become much different—you still want to help her. So, you stay.
“I like you. I’ll return the favor someday,” She said.
Suzie hoists you up by your arms with ease, having been gifted strength straight from the Entity. She holds you for a minute with her head cocked to the side before easing you down onto the pointed metal. It pierces through the soft flesh of your shoulder, a strangled whimper catching in your throat. You bite your tongue as the jagged edge pokes through to the other side, worried Susie might change her mind with a scream or a sob. Tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. The worst part is when they let go. Always. When your body weighs itself down, left dangling above the ground by the very goddamn hook penetrating your flesh. Blood pools around the open wound, staining the cotton of your tank top.
Susie shuffles backward as the world begins to collapse in on itself—all the survivors had escaped except you. The black tendrils of the Entity happen upon you like lightning, squeezing the meat of your arms, legs, and stomach. You don’t bother fighting back when a rancid metallic taste coats your tongue. Blood trickles out of the corner of your mouth, dribbling down your chin. When you force a smile, it shakes; pearly whites stained a bright pink.
“Ouch. That looks like it hurts.” She said.
“Like a bitch.”
The fog envelopes around you and then fades with the direction of the wind. Concerned and puzzled faces turn in your direction, cutting David off mid-sentence. His last words give you all the answers you need: “didn’t see the killer once.”
“Y/n, what happened to you?”
Adam’s long begun to settle in. His knees are hunched to his chest, body pressed to a log; his trench coat flaps splayed beneath him. Quizzical expressions pin you where you’re stood, brought on by David’s victory boast of a swift and easy trial.
“I met the Legion.” You don’t give much of an answer and slump down onto the dirt ground, folding your legs criss-cross beneath you. “One thing, though…Legion’s a girl.”
“What do you mean?” Jake’s face pinches. “Leather jacket, painted mask, average height?”
“Short, hot pink hair, plaid skirt.” You combat, running a distracted hand through your messy hair.
Jake sits back at that, face contemplative. The huh? Scrawled across his features like a thick sharpie. The others cast looks around the fire, gold highlighting the depths of their eye-bags and scars. Meg slaps her palms to her cheeks and then rubs them to soothe the pain. You can’t even remember how many times you’d pinched or hit yourself, still believing that this was all some terrible, god awful, horribly gory nightmare.
“So, the Legion is more than one person,” Dwight concluded. Looking as if he’d just swallowed a very large and very bitter pill.
“Guess so.”
“I wonder how many more there are?” Kate asked, rubbing at the goosebumps littering her arms.
“Let’s hope it’s just the two of them,” David grunted.
Everyone looks to be in agreement.