Archive of Our Own

For someone forcefully pulled into a video game, the Player didn't ask too many questions.

Sure, there was the initial “what the hell is going on here”, but after that, they seemed content to simply carry on with the game. There was a mission to be accomplished. Purify the zones first, then worry about getting home later.

If they were honest with themselves, the Player would admit that they didn't really want to leave in the first place. Home came with baggage, obligations, and anxiety. Home came with the feeling of never being good enough, never being what people needed them to be. Here, in the game, they were exactly what they needed to be. It was a comfort.

Of course, the Player would never admit it to anyone. And really, the only person to admit it to was the Batter, and he seemed equally content with not asking questions.

So no questions were asked when the first burnt Elsen attacked. Nothing was said when the Elsen on the tracks was purified, screaming for help. Even when they traveled to the purified zones, witnessing the horrible effects of purification and the monsters that remained, the Player merely grit their teeth and moved on. There was a mission to accomplish, and like hell were they going to back out now.

It was the Queen’s words that began to give them pause. They sting like knives, both figuratively and literally, but the strangest thing is that she seems to be directing some of them at the Player.

“You've been wrong since the beginning.”

The Player stopped at that. Wrong? That was impossible. The Player had been nothing but right. The Batter had purified the zones, and would purify whatever’s left by purifying the Queen. After her, the game was over, but then there was home. Then there was school, and friends, and futures. That assumption couldn't be false. The Player was sure that was exactly where they’d end up, after all this. The Batter hadn't indicated otherwise, and they trusted him.

Icy whispers seemed to think otherwise. “You don’t even know his first name.”

The Player doesn't have a good response for that, so they remained silent. The Queen may be telling the truth, but that doesn't mean anything. Names don’t equate with trust. They tell themselves that, even as the Queen is purified and dissolves into nothingness.

The Player expects things to end there. The Queen is dead, there’s no zones left to purify. But they’re quickly proven wrong as they’re transported to a red room, similar to the original entrance to the Room.

That’s a bit… odd.

It didn't help that the color was disturbingly familiar. It was almost like the garish red of the little room with the whimpering boy. The child in their dreams, who mourned the death of friends who-

No. Oh no.

They entered the bedroom, and there he was. Wringing the little red blanket in his hands. He said nothing, but teardrops began to form as he stared at the Batter and the Player in turn.

Before the Player could even speak, they were thrown into battle with the boy. A Wide Angle reveals that his name is Hugo. The Player can’t bring themselves to call the shots, but unfortunately, there is a job to be done.

Hugo does nothing as the Batter and the Add-Ons decimate him. The Player finds that they can do nothing but watch. There’s nothing they could do to stop it.

They suppose the only merciful thing they can do is let the Batter kill him quickly. The Batter does just that. Hugo merely sits there, taking in his final breaths. His last words come with a stuttered cough.

“I’m… scared of the dark...”

The Batter’s reply is simple and honest.

“From now on, there will be no more darkness.”

He speaks with the confidence of a solemn truth. The Player doesn’t feel the same confidence in their own conviction.

Hugo disappears and the world turns white. The Room is purified, for good.

Again, the Player assumes that the game will end there. However, this time it is less of a surprise when a door appears on the other side of the room to prove them wrong. It seems that, however far they go, the mission is never truly complete.

Even now, no questions are asked. The Player’s mouth is kept shut, and the trek down the hall is a silent one.

A switch is visible at the end of the hall. It seems to scream finality, and the Player can finally admit with assurance that the end is nigh. So, it only seems fitting that something gets in their way.

“Stop right there, you impostor.”

The Judge walks up to them, his permanent grin an eerie contrast to the anger in his voice.

“I must say that I had placed the blindest of confidences, the solidest of hopes and the most sincere belief in you. We can well say that I have erred to the bones.”

The Player is silent, expecting the Batter to step in and justify his actions. Instead, the Judge turns to them.

“But the real betrayer is rather the one who is responsible for the Batter’s success. What have you done?”

The words ring in the Player’s ears. They’re familiar, the same words spoken at home. The same words the Player was trying their best to leave behind.

“I-”

The Judge cuts them off. “Is the opaque mist of the sceneristic really your excuse for killing wife and child?”

“It was for a greater good!” they shout.

“You have not purified this place.” the Judge replied with calm determination, “You have destroyed, eradicated it. You have immersed it into a pristine nothingness.”

“It’s better like that.” the Batter reassures them.

The Judge turns his attention to the Batter once more. The Player looks back and forth between the both of them.

“I should not have lent you my hand. I should have detected the black flame that consumed your soul from the beginning.”

He turns his attention back to you. “Join me, Player. Expiate the sins with me that we are guilty of by preventing this monster from completing his work.”

“Don’t do that.” the Batter insists, “I need you in order to purify this world.”

The Player looks back and forth between the two. They know that, whoever’s side they choose, they will surely spell their victory. Whatever that victory may be.

For the first time since the Player entered the game, they want to go home. They want to go home so bad it hurts. Because, even with all of it’s flaws and shortcomings, home has never torn them in half as horribly as this moment.

The Player swallows, closing their eyes. The choice is in their hands. And they think they know what it is.

The Player sits side by side with the Judge, staring out at the sea of plastic. There’s nothing left of the world that once existed here, but there’s nothing they can do about it. The damage has been done.

The sunlight is lukewarm, a mockery of what it once was. The only color left is on the Player. As they stare at their hands, they see that even that color is fading, becoming replaced with shades of milky white.

Tears begin to stream down their face as they whisper into the disappearing color of their skin.

“I’m never going home, am I?”

The Judge’s shaking head was unnecessary. They already knew the answer.

The Batter gripped the switch in both hands. This was it. The Player thought back to Hugo’s final words, of his fear of the darkness that awaited. The Player found themselves feeling the same way.

“I was never going to go home after this, was I?”

The Batter shook his head, and the switch was flipped to OFF.