Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Early morning light filters through the thin, hole-ridden curtains, bathing the room in a hazy glow. A soft groan escapes your lips as you rub your eyes, desperately willing the dryness that comes with a lack of sleep away. Turning to the side, your eyes begin to search the darkness for the bright red light of your alarm clock, while your mind lags behind, the tendrils of sleep still wrapped around your brain. 5:53 am. It’s much too early for any sane Robloxian to be awake, but you find yourself rising anyway, pushing yourself with aching limbs into a sitting position.

It feels like you hadn't managed any sleep at all last night, or at least not anything substantial. Dozens of short bursts of light sleep, only to be forcibly dragged back to consciousness by the never-ending racket from outside. A part of you could be convinced that the window was left open and the abnormally loud sounds came from that crack. But that part is quickly squashed down by your rationale, as the final cobwebs of sleep are finally chased away. The window has been shut and locked since you started renting this apartment. Even if you wanted to, there was no way the window could open, the landlord keeping the key somewhere you didn't care to find.

A shiver runs down your spine as you kick off the threadbare blankets covering your bed, the little warmth they provided you now gone. After slamming a hand down on your clock to cancel the upcoming alarm, you stand, stretching in a poor attempt to rid yourself of the worst of your aches and pains. At least you could take a shower with the extra time you found yourself with; who knows, maybe the five minutes of hot water would do your tired muscles some good.

A wry smile works its way onto your face at the thought. If only you were so lucky as to get a full five minutes. But there was no way your landlord would allow such a drain on his resources. With one last sigh, you set about getting ready for the day. Blankets are haphazardly tossed over the mattress; the cheap, thin pillow is beaten within an inch of its life to get some sense of plumpness back; and the curtains are opened, letting light properly flood into the room.

Well, ‘flood’ might be a generous term. In reality, this place is stuck in perpetual shadow, with the only window in the room having the wonderful view of a graffiti-ridden brick wall. But there is enough light to see by, and that’s all you need. It wasn’t like you spent all too much time in the apartment anyway.

After grabbing your clothes for the day, you step into the bathroom, the only other room in the small apartment. The shower turns on with a soft click, water sputtering out of the head. Waiting a little for the temperature to go from freezing cold to somewhat warm, your eyes can’t help but take in all the imperfections of the tiny space. From the paint peeling off of the walls to the mould that coated the corners, like a parasite feeding off of the corpse of what once could have been a nice room. But fixing up this place had never been your intention. This place was never home to you; just somewhere to stay before one day, you can finally save up enough to move somewhere else. Somewhere nicer.

The shower door opens with a squeak, and you step inside, the warm water doing wonders for the aches caused by your cheap mattress and even cheaper bed frame. But if a little pain was the price to pay for getting out of this town faster, it was one you would pay a thousand times over.

An involuntary gasp escapes you as the water suddenly shifts to be freezing once more, making you shiver uncontrollably. Making quick work of washing yourself in the icy shower, you finish up in a few minutes and turn the shower off, leaving the head to drip slowly to itself. A lone, off-white towel sits on a hook in the wall, and you grab it, using the worn fabric to dry off, trying to ignore how the rough, scratchy material feels against your skin.

And then, you find yourself standing at the mirror, hands bracing against the sink that lay below it. Despite the lack of warm water, condensation fogs up the surface, rendering your reflection nothing but an amorphous blob. Hesitantly, a hand comes up, brushing some of the water away. Just enough to see, to check. Turning slightly, you bring your right arm into view, just visible in the slight gap you made amidst the condensation. And there, you see it. The reminder of the worst day of your life.

A large, open wound sits jagged on your flesh, the glitchy mass inside a stark contrast to the complexion of your skin. Tentatively, your left hand approaches it, gently feeling the sensitive skin around the wound. Still, it remains unchanged, remaining the same as it was all those years ago when you got it. One day, you would have to accept that it was fine, that the virus was dormant, that you weren't in any danger, but...not now. Every single day you check and analyse and make sure that nothing has changed, that you are safe and healthy.

Maybe, in the far future, you would get the thing removed properly. Somewhere safe, where you could trust the professionals to get it out of your code. But that couldn’t happen yet, not until you left this place and settled somewhere else. So, you sink to your knees and open the cabinet under the basin, grabbing a fresh roll of gauze and a pair of scissors.

Most of your wages go towards high-quality bandages, other than buying food and paying rent. It leaves you little to store in your savings and makes raising funds to get out of town a lot harder, but you won’t risk using anything else to cover the virus. A necessary task, partially so as to not aggravate the wound and partially to keep it away from prying eyes. If anyone found out you had a virus…

Your life might as well be over.

The fleeting thought sends a shiver down your spine, and you squash that line of thinking like it’s nothing more than a bug. The virus is dormant; you know that; it hasn't changed or progressed in years. And yet, you still check on it, day after day, anxious for any sign of improvement or for the worst to happen.

A soft thud sounds out as you stand up, closing the cupboard door. With a practiced ease, you wrap the wound tightly, hissing slightly in pain at the familiar pressure against the tender area. The bandage is cut and pinned in place, and in a few moments you finish, quickly shrugging on your outfit for the day.

You exit the bathroom, glancing at the time as you do so. 6:30 am, just enough time to get something to eat before work. Making your way over to the small kitchenette, which in reality is a corner with a counter, crappy stove, and refrigerator, you can’t help but yawn. Maybe some coffee would do you good.

…If you had any left, that is. And, as you open the single cabinet under the counter, that feels less and less likely to be the case. The cupboard is barren; all that remains there is the end of a loaf of bread and half a tin of soup. You frown slightly at the sight. Has it really been that long since you last went grocery shopping?

With a resigned sigh, you grab the bread, deciding to just eat it plain. It looks like a shopping trip is necessary, and before that you have to figure out where you stand financially. If you were as close as you hoped to the savings needed to get out of town, living off of scraps for the next few days might be a worthy sacrifice.

Regardless, that would be an issue for you to sort out later. You tear into the slice of bread, cringing at the dry texture. Far from the nicest meal you ever had, but it's enough to keep you going, and that's all you need. With the 'meal' quickly finished, you slip on some shoes and grab your jacket from the back of the chair it rests on.

The well-worn fabric fits around you comfortably, and you can’t help but smile a little as you shrug it on. Through thick and thin, you always had this jacket, and it felt more like home than any place you slept, as threadbare as it currently is. And, luckily enough, your work doesn’t have a strict uniform policy, letting you get away with wearing the jacket to cover the bandages wrapped around your arm.

The clock ticks over to 6:45, and you quickly grab your apartment keys, heading out and triple-checking the door is locked before hiding them in a hidden pocket sewn inside your jacket. With how common getting robbed was, you didn't want to take any chances.

The path to work is a short one, thankfully, but still, you take care while walking, constantly checking your surroundings. Seeing other pedestrians at this time is unusual, but you still remain vigilant, keeping a mental note of the closest place you could run to should something happen.

After a few minutes, you make it to work. The commute was as uneventful as usual, aside from a few stray cats knocking over a trash can, making you jump a lot more than you would ever admit. But no hacker or exploiter crossed your path, and that was good enough for you, especially given how this place teemed with the folk.

Honestly, a part of you found it funny how the admins never seemed to keep this place in check. Most decent Robloxians had left long ago, leaving only those who couldn't leave or who had grown up in this place and, for whatever inexplicable reason, didn't want to leave. Even then, the law of the land demanded a level of harshness to survive. And those who couldn’t abide by that (a hand absently comes to rub against your right arm) didn’t stick around for long, for one reason or another.

Physically shaking that train of thought away, you clock in and begin your shift, praying silently that today would be easy. Last night's lack of sleep has long since caught up to you; the gentle, yet familiar, pull of exhaustion making you yawn.

It’s going to be a long day.

Finally, the clock ticks over to 8 pm, and you let out a loud groan, head hitting the counter. Another day, finished, and hardly anything to show for it other than whatever spare change you made on minimum wage and a fresh bout of aches and pains. But those are the drawbacks of customer service, you suppose, and a team of shitty coworkers on top of that. Constantly leaving you with more work than you get paid to do, leaving earlier than allowed, and forcing you to close up every single night.

Sighing, you pick your head up and go about closing the store. Wasting time wasn’t something you could afford to do, not when you left so late. Nights are dangerous in this town, and you couldn’t put yourself at a greater risk of something happening for the sake of being lazy.

In a matter of minutes, everything is closed and locked up, and you begin the short walk home, keys clutched tightly between your knuckles, just in case. Walking at night was always more nerve-wracking than the morning commute; shadowed alleys and noisy, rowdy groups doing nothing for the anxiety that constantly ate away at you.

Footsteps echo out in the silent night air as you walk quickly home, jacket pulled tighter to stave off the chill that seemed to come out of nowhere. A short gust of wind blows against you, and you shiver, speeding up slightly. It was…quiet tonight. Unusually so, but you weren’t one to discount blessings. Less noise meant fewer people around, and that meant less chance of something happening. But still, you keep your head up, looking, constantly observing, waiting for the slightest sign of–

Something moves. It’s nothing but a brief flash, barely visible from the corner of your eye, but you don’t hesitate, breaking out into a sprint, mind laser-focused on where to go, where was safe, where you could hide. You hear footsteps behind you—fast, heavy, and loud footsteps. The closest place was…your apartment. And that wasn’t for several blocks at least; you’d never make it in time.

Your arms and legs pump in unison as you speed up, trying to gain distance between yourself and whatever lies behind you. Panic begins to swell in your chest, but you shove it down; you have to think, have to focus; you couldn’t give in to panic right now! But as you feel your chest ache, desperate for more air than you can take in, you know you’ll have to stop soon. The only option was to hide.

Legs burning, you turn a corner sharply, nearly falling with the harsh turn. But you keep your balance, not even daring to look back. And yet despite that, you catch sight, from the corner of your eye, of a darkened figure moving closer. Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, stinging against the strong wind that suddenly picks up, blowing against you, but you keep pushing, keep running, keep going. An alley lies not too far from where you are, you know that; you just have to get there quickly.

Another sharp turn and…there! The alley waits, and you could break down sobbing at the sight of it, at the sight of a place to rest, to stay safe. Footsteps slow, and you pant heavily, catching your breath as you approach. But you waste no time, stepping into the alley and allowing the shadows to cover you, to keep you safe.

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly in an effort to calm the dread that seemed to pull at your very core, you stand still. Silent. The alley is barren, nothing to hide behind but the shadows that cling to the corners. Instantly, you regret your decision to stop here. If the person chasing you happened to look down the alley, then you'd be done for, cornered, and with nothing to hide behind or protect yourself with.

Footsteps sound out again. They’re getting closer now; you can hear them clearly, scraping against the concrete. Slower, this time, but that does nothing to stop your growing anxiety. Is it too late to run? To get out of here and sprint home? They were fast, that much you knew; they would probably outrun you, judging by how quickly they seemed to get to the alley.

The footsteps are close; only a few more, and whatever had chased you would be here, in front of your meagre hiding spot. You inhale shakily, holding your breath in the hopes that maybe, it would stop anyone from noticing you.

But you know that's an impossibility. And so when the figure steps into view of the alley, almost immediately turning to face you, the shock and terror running through your system isn't due to believing you would get away, no.

The figure's appearance causes that terror. The very texture of their clothes seems to swap every second, moving and folding in ways not physically possible. Eye-straining colours flash across the surface of their skin; the visible parts, that is, the parts not covered in a grainy static, black and white and neon blocks perpetually flashing and swapping and changing. The static crawls up their body from one of their legs in a branching, tree-like pattern, claiming most of the being's torso and left shoulder.

Their body glitches and spasms uncontrollably as they smile; a horrible, unnerving thing, in part due to their mouth and eyes moving positions on their face as they stand there, staring at you.

You know exactly what you're faced with. The very thing you fear becoming every day.

This person was infected with a virus.

Fear pulses through your body, your heart racing and sending adrenaline coursing through your veins, muscles tensed and ready to run. But you can't. You can't go anywhere; you can't run or hide. You cornered yourself, and now all you can do is stare at the thing that will surely kill you as they do the same.

The two of you remain locked like that for what feels like an eternity. Mind desperately racing, you try and think of something, anything you can do to get out, to be able to survive this, but nothing would work, would get you out alive. Barely surviving your last encounter with one of these beings had been nothing short of a miracle, a miracle that you wouldn't be blessed with twice.

A glint catches your eye, and your eyes snap to the being's hand. A knife. Images of being stabbed and left out here to bleed dry flash through your mind, and you shift backwards slightly, breaking the standoff the two of you were having.

That's all it takes. The infected Robloxian lunges forward, knife outstretched, as they grin manically. You step backwards instinctively, arms coming to a cross in front of you in some feeble attempt to block the oncoming attack, eyes squeezed shut tightly.

But as you step back, you stumble, losing your footing. The feeling of falling overtakes you, and the sharp pain of the impending attack never comes. Squeezing your eyes shut, you wince in anticipation of the impact you’re sure to make against the concrete street.

… But the impact never comes. It feels like you’re falling, still, and as you open your eyes, you find yourself surrounded by nothingness. Surely, you should have hit the ground by now, right?

Something clicks. The darkness, the unfamiliarity, the emptiness-all of it mixes into a cocktail of anxiety. Where are you? What happened? A thousand questions, thoughts, and fears fill your mind, finally bubbling over and spilling out, washing over you in a wave of panic. Eyes dart left and right as you search for something, anything in the darkness. Your mind keeps running, faster and faster, a leaky faucet of fear that just can’t turn off.

Adrenaline shoots through your system, and the same urge to run is replaced with the need to panic, arms flailing about uselessly as you continue in what seems like free-fall.

And then, there is something.

You’re being watched.

That single, horrifying thought is the last thing your mind processes before the darkness fully consumes you and your consciousness with it.

Chapter Text

That’s all there is, all you know. It wraps around you, permeating every membrane, dulling every nerve in your body. It’s suffocating, neverending, all-consuming. For a split second, you wonder if maybe you had died and this was some sort of afterlife. An afterlife of nothingness, for all eternity.

But that thought, and the jolt of panic that comes with it, fades quickly as your consciousness slips away again. You aren’t sure just how long you spend like that; consciousness ebbs and flows like the tide, the sensation of falling the one constant that remains at the back of your mind perpetually.

And then, it stops.

Awareness starts to filter in, like coffee dripping through paper, your consciousness coming back fully. And with it, the horrible sensation of being trapped, a strange heaviness settling over every inch of your body. In an instant the need to move overwhelms you; you aren’t claustrophobic by any means, but you have to, need to move. And yet, despite your best efforts, your body remains still, trapped in place in this bitter void.

In the darkness, something changes. Something shifts. Once more, you are struck with the terrible sensation that something is watching you, the thing's gaze washing over you and striking you with the need to cringe away, out of sight. Yet your body stays locked in place, and you are powerless to do anything.

A deep hum seems to echo throughout the void, the darkness vibrating with it. Static stretches over your skin, squeezing the air from your lungs; you try to scream, to breathe, to do anything, and yet you can’t.

And then, the void talks.

“Interesting…”

The void’s gaze pours over you, dissecting you; you are nothing but an animal caught in a trap, a carcass to dissect and analyse. Your body lies prone, open, vulnerable.

“You certainly are… unique. An average vessel, hardly worthy of this realm.”

“But still, potential lies within.”

A pause, and then…

Pain. Excruciating pain, spreading across every inch of you, your very code trembling and glitching. You feel like you could break apart, scatter into nothing but ones and zeros, your very lifeforce splitting open at the seams and spilling everywhere.

And then, it stops, nothing but a dull throbbing in your right arm remaining.

“I wonder…”

The void seems to chuckle, a horrifying thing, making everything tremble with the force of it.

“You may bring some entertainment yet. Do not disappoint me.”

Weightlessness takes over; whatever was keeping you locked in place before is gone as soon as the void utters its last words. Air rushes past as suddenly you’re thrust back into freefall, faster than you were before. Eyes widen, but there is nothing for them to look at aside from the neverending expanse of darkness.

The urge to scream takes over, but as you fall, faster and faster still, all you can do is take in breath after desperate breath, lungs burning for air that you just can’t get enough of. It feels like you’re suffocating, every part of your body aching, burning for more oxygen.

Even as you gulp down air like a starving man, it’s not enough. Vision swimming as you continue to fall, your head feels light and your limbs heavy and tired. Your lungs burn.

Suddenly a deep sense of exhaustion washes over you, either due to the complete lack of air that seemed to be here or some other trick pulled by the thing that had spoken before. In any case, you fight. Fight to stay awake, to not let yourself be taken by the darkness yet again.

But, even as you blink rapidly to try and stay awake, your body acts against you, and once again, your consciousness slips away.

Pain is the first thing you notice, before you even wake up properly. A dull, throbbing pain at the base of your skull, causing your eyes to squeeze tighter shut as you wince. Grogginess wraps around your brain, muffling your every sense and tempting you back to sleep. You want to; you desperately want to sleep again, where there's no pain, where you don't have to remember—

Everything comes rushing back, and you shoot up, eyes opening wide, only to shut again in a wince as the dull throb in your head turns to a sharp jolt of pain with the movement. Raising a hand to rub at your neck in some feeble attempt to nullify the pain, you think about the events that led to you arriving here. Walking home from work, the chase, the unnerving smile, a glint of metal and…

And then…what? It was like a chasm lay in your recollection of what exactly had happened, and trying to remember anything past that is fruitless. Racking your brains does nothing for the block that seems to obscure your memory of what got you from that alley to…here.

Eyes darting around, you try and find out where exactly 'here' is. It appears to be a forest; grassy verges lie on both sides of the path you find yourself on, each covered in bushes and foliage. Trees dwarf your sitting form, reaching towards the stars that litter the sky above, thousands of flickering lights, millions of miles away. Through the gaps in the canopy, the moon shines down, providing just enough light to see by.

It's a far cry from the concrete jungle that is your city, yet that only makes you more concerned about this place. Just how far away had you been taken?

Pausing, you can't help but frown at your own choice of words. It feels right saying you were taken here; you at least had no recollection of getting here by your own means. But if you were brought here, that means someone, or something, is responsible for your situation.

A shudder runs through you at the thought, and panic begins to set in, all the unknowns flooding your mind, worry and anxiety forming a pit in your stomach. You feel ill with fear, but…now isn't the time to get scared, you know that. Panic gets you nowhere. You need to stay calm if you want to have any chance of figuring things out.

So, forcing some sense of courage into yourself, you stand, brushing specks of dried mud and rocks from your clothes as you do so. As you begin to walk, you pull your jacket tighter around you, taking comfort in the familiar weight of it.

It doesn't feel quite cool enough to warrant wearing the jacket, but the chill in the air is too much to take it off either. It strikes you as odd, only contributing to the unreal, almost uncanny atmosphere this place seems to hold. It could just be the general fear about whatever has happened in the past…you don't know how long, but the area feels off, in a way you can't quite get out of your mind. An odd haze seems to fill the surroundings, making everything seem pale and dull, like all the colours and life started to be sucked from this place. And everything feels so incredibly still - no breeze blows and no trees move. It's like living in a photograph, caught in a snapshot of time.

A twig snaps underfoot, and you freeze, waiting to see if anyone or anything heard. But…nothing. You carry on walking, more cautiously this time, but can't help but feel put off by the lack of any response. Nature is far from your area of expertise-spiders, roaches, rats, and the occasional stray cat were the only animals you saw with any frequency; and the only greenery in your city was moss and the odd weed sprouting up through a crack in the sidewalk. But even with your lacklustre knowledge, you know that forests have animals—animals that would surely have been startled by the loud noise. And yet there is nothing.

It almost feels like you're the only living thing around.

Shuddering at the thought, you pick up your pace, and soon the trees thin out and give way to a small yet open, grassy field. Nose scrunching up at the overwhelming scent of pine, you look around, trying to figure out what you had just stumbled across. Wooden cabins occupy the area, and small lanterns are dotted about, the light coming from them flickering intermittently as they illuminate the space.

At least now you know you aren't the only person around here; someone has to have lit those lanterns. Yet that fact doesn't comfort you quite as much as it should. With people comes the possibility of answers and maybe even a way out of…this place. But doubt still creeps in; you don't know if these people are friendly or if they were the ones who brought you here. What if making your presence known does more harm than good?

Glancing back at the woods behind you, you sigh softly. Heading back that way was an option, but even with the path, you'd be walking through a forest in the dark with no clue where to go. Despite everything, you still have enough common sense to know that isn't a good idea.

Drawing your attention back to the cabins, you take them in more clearly. To your left, there sit what has to be about a dozen of the buildings, all identical, set out in neat rows, each left dark and empty. And to your right sits a much, much larger cabin, intimidating yet offering a deceptively warm glow. It almost looks like a camp of sorts, like a holiday destination or…

… A small part of you wonders if you had stumbled across some kind of cult.

The thought is fleeting and has hardly any evidence behind it, but it does nothing to stop the nagging fear that finding people is a bad idea. But in reality, what choice do you have? Sticking around means they'd find you anyway, and you already ruled out going back as an option.

Digging your nails into the soft flesh of your palms in some feeble attempt to ground yourself, you take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "It will be fine." You mutter to yourself as you begin to walk toward the large cabin.

"Worst case, whoever is inside will come after me as soon as the door opens." You say under your breath almost absentmindedly, more focused on climbing the three small steps up to the cabin's large front deck without making any noise.

"And in that case, I just…run." You finish verbally stating your plan as you reach the door. Fingers brush and wrap around the cool metal of the handle, and you falter. Everything is fine, or, as fine as it can be; you have a plan for if the worst happens, and that alone gives you an advantage over whoever could be inside the building. But fear remains still, chipping away at the false sense of bravado you managed to instill.

It feels like you stand there for an eternity, hand resting on the handle, battling with your nerves to just press on the handle. But something paralyses you still: fear, dread, worry—you don’t know what, but it leaves you locked in place, unable to do something as simple as open a door. Jaw clenching as you grind your teeth, you mentally snap at yourself, frustrated with your inability to do anything. Squeezing your eyes shut, you press down on the handle, hard…

…and the door swings open before you can do anything, causing you to stumble forwards with the action. Eyes wide, you can only stare at the person standing in the doorframe. They seem to be wearing some sort of uniform, with a bright red visor on their head reading 'ROBLOX' in black font.

They look surprised, for a second, before their brows furrow, looking at you with concern. Understandable, given you had lurched forward with the movement of the door, but the look still makes your skin crawl. Turning their head to the side, the person glances between you and…something else in the room.

"Hey, guys? I think—"

Darkness immediately overtakes your vision, wrapping around you, taking over every sense. For a split second there's a rush of air, and you feel yourself falling.

Before you can even panic at the sickeningly familiar sensation, it stops, and the darkness melts away. Not to reveal the cabin again, or even the forest where you first woke up, but someplace new and unknown.

The urge to laugh, or scream, or cry bubbles up in your chest, so violent in its need to get out you physically slap a hand over your mouth.

You feel like you're going insane.

You might as well be, with the amount of things happening in the past…you still don't know how long! And that fact only adds to the utter helplessness you feel, coursing through you like a plague, infecting you with the urge to just give up, take the easy road for once, stay here, and break down.

Removing the palm still stuck over your mouth, you close your eyes, forcing yourself to just breathe. Giving up would only result in you letting yourself down, and that was something you couldn't afford happening. Not here, not now, not when you were alone yet again.

Taking in and releasing another deep breath, you harden your resolve and begin to wander around the area. You don't know where you're heading or what the goal is yet, but you have to do something.

The surprisingly luscious grass underfoot muffles your steps as you begin to walk towards what looks like a massive hill, with some sort of structure barely visible atop it. Rocky walls litter the area and even seem to surround it, cliffs stretching far into the sky blocking any way out.

A certain kind of unease settles after realising that, the kind that turns your tongue to sandpaper and makes your stomach sink. But there has to be some way out. This area is massive; in the distance, you can even make out a large house on a hill. Just because the immediate area was enclosed doesn't mean everywhere is.

Still, it doesn't make this place any less foreboding, like something bad is waiting just around the corner. Clenching your fists, if only to provide some sense of preparedness, you begin to wander over to some trees in the corner, following the path of the strangely purple river. Trickling water is the only sound, as you continue to trudge through the grass—

A hand touches your shoulder.

Without even thinking, you whirl around, using your already clenched fist to sock whoever it is straight in the face. The figure turns with the unexpected impact, leaving them doubled over, groaning slightly.

You tense up. Every instinct in your body is screaming at you to run, to take the opportunity and hightail it out of there while the person is still stunned. But something urges you to stay; maybe it’s the potential for answers, maybe it’s regret for just hurting this person when they hadn’t hurt you, or maybe you were just glad to see someone who didn’t immediately disappear into darkness. So, you freeze, torn between running and staying, until it’s much too late and the person has recovered, standing to full height—

What.

You recognise the person immediately; of course you do; every single Robloxian would recognise his face. Even if he was currently massaging the bridge of his nose, the nose that you had…

Well, shit. Regret instantly floods through you, alongside a healthy dose of panic. Because, of course, of all the people in the world you could have met here, could have punched in the nose full-force, it had to be the Shedletsky. The admin, infamous sword fighter, and apparently, person now stood staring at you, his very presence intimidating.

Not even thinking, you begin to rattle off apologies and excuses, your tongue tripping over itself as you continue to just blabber, trying to string together something half-coherent. “I’m—I’m sorry, I’m really, really sorry! I-I didn’t know w-who you were, and I just sorta showed up here, and I-I just panicked and you kinda snuck up on me and I'm sorry for punching you and—”

“Hey, it’s fine, seriously.” Shedletsky puts his hands up in a placating gesture, but you can't help but notice the blooming red across the bridge of his nose, a sight that makes you cringe. “You said you’re new here, yeah?”

After a beat, you nod, and the admin sighs, running a hand through his hair and sighing. “Elliot was right, at least.” He mutters before turning his attention back to you. “And who are you, exactly?”

Pausing slightly, you hesitantly say your name, and Shedletsky grins. “Nice to meetcha. Guessing you know me already, yeah?” You nod again before bouncing your own question back.

“What’s...going on? Where are we, exactly?” Shedletsky’s grin immediately falls, and he looks around, as if searching for something.

“That… I can’t exactly answer. What you do have to know is that this place isn’t safe.” Seeing your immediately worried expression, he seems to falter slightly. “I mean, it will be soon. I think. Just not right now.”

As if on cue, a loud roar sounds out from…somewhere behind the admin. The both of you turn, eyeing the area warily, only to see… Were those giant spikes???

Shedletsky huffs, hand reaching for what you think is a sword lying on his waist, and starts to walk towards the spikes. He pauses, though, turning back towards you.

“Just…stay here, yeah? Oh, and if you see a guy with a spiky arm, turn the other way and run as fast as you can.” With those parting words that do nothing to reassure you, Shedletsky runs off, leaving you alone again.

Somehow, your short encounter with the admin only left you with more questions and not a whole lot of answers. At least you weren’t alone, and it seems like Shedletsky is in the same situation as you. Which isn't really a comfort, all things considered. If it really was unsafe, couldn't he just use his power as an admin to get people out of here? And why were you brought here, of all people? Surely if an admin was involved, it meant whatever was happening was serious and more than a little out of your depth.

Being left alone again, nerves begin to creep back, slowly but surely accumulating in a pit of dread lying in your stomach. Glancing around, there’s nothing but the same rocks, vivid purple river, and a handful of trees scattered about. You were told to stay here, but it feels too…open. Empty. A complete and utter lack of cover, leaving you bare and exposed.

Toying with the hem of your jacket, a plan starts to form in your mind. Maybe…it would be fine if you wandered around a bit, right? The house on the hill looked like a somewhat safer place than being out in the open.

Mind set on this new course, you begin to make your way over there, shoes tapping against the white concrete of a bridge to the other side of the river. A gentle hum reaches your ears, and you notice a maroon-coloured metal box, of sorts, pressed up against a large pillar. Approaching the box, you notice the front panel seems misaligned, not properly pushed into place.

Instinctively, a hand reaches out to move it back into place, but at the slightest touch it falls onto the floor with a dull thud. You flinch back at the sudden movement, regretting your decision to try and fix it in the fear you could well have just broken it more. Upon closer inspection, all the wires inside seem to be jumbled, a colourful tangle of them all practically falling out of the box.

A part of you is very, very aware that these are live electrics, and you should most definitely not touch them in case you get a nasty shock. But another part of you, still feeling bad for your earlier…incident with Shedletsky, wants to at least try and fix it, especially since you were guilty of the front panel falling off in the first place.

And so that's how you find yourself fiddling with the mess of cables inside the box, trying to neatly connect the correct cable to the matching coloured port. You had little to no experience with electrics, aside from fixing up stuff in the apartment, like when your landlord conveniently seemed to forget your lights hadn’t worked for five weeks straight. But the colour coordination made it much easier. Still, caution was necessary; you still didn’t know the voltage of this thing, and dying to an electric shock didn’t seem like a nice way to go.

The humming gets louder as each wire is plugged in place until you only have one left. Picking up the dark blue wire, you go to plug it in, only to jerk away as a rogue spark hits your skin, hissing slightly at the twinge of pain. That…could have gone much, much worse. At least you know the voltage is low enough to not cause any major damage, though.

The last wire now plugged in, you stand, placing the panel back on with a click. Grinning slightly at a job well done, you begin to walk up to the house again. A simple, repetitive task like fixing that… box, generator, thing has done you some good, alleviating some of the nerves and providing a good, if temporary, distraction from your fear.

Finally on the hill with the house, you take a final glance around the area, only for another generator to catch your eye. It’s a bit away, back near the first bridge you crossed, but not too far from the potential safety of the house. Even with the distance, you can make out a colourful mess inside, the panel likely off in the grass somewhere.

Glancing at the house, your brows furrow. Were you really considering heading away from safety to…what, fix an old generator? Absentmindedly chewing on the soft flesh of your lower lip, you look between the two. House or generator. The house looks abandoned, empty aside from what looks like a dining room across from the entrance. But it’s enclosed, its—

A glitching, twitching smile. Shadows of an alley that boxed you in. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The glint of metal. A lunge.

Crossing your arms tight across your chest, you walk down the other side of the hill, brisk steps doing little to dispel the lingering fear of that reminder.

 Maybe you were going insane.

You make it to the bridge quickly and barely spare it a glance before walking across. Only a second too late do you notice the odd, black shadow cast across its surface, gurgling slightly. Your eyes widen, and you try to scramble back to stop your foot from falling, but your efforts are in vain.

Your foot falls, and instantly, pain shoots up your leg, a cry involuntarily forcing its way from your lips. It feels like you’re walking through tar, something pulling you down, dragging you back. It hurts, a horrible pain rooted in your very being, in your code itself; a feeling not unlike pins and needles stretches across your skin, leaving you breathless. Something deep inside is screaming, urging you to keep moving, to get out as fast as possible. Tears gather in your eyes despite yourself as you try to move, but nothing is happening, and you can’t breathe again.

And then something is in your hand, and there’s a tugging, a pulling. Someone is trying to help you. With newfound vigour and the help of this person, you push through until finally, you stumble out of the other side, staggering forward. Panting slightly, still wincing from the pain, you look at the person who saved you.

It’s the same person from before, the one with the visor you met at the cabin. Opening your mouth, you try and say something—give thanks, ask who they are, anything—but the person just looks behind you before looking at you with a grave expression.

“We need to go.”

“...huh?” Is all you can respond with, looking at them dumbfounded. They look behind you, more worried now.

“Come on, we don’t have time!” The person doesn’t wait for you to respond, instead dragging you along as they begin to sprint.

As you do, you glance behind you and instantly know why. A large figure stands on the hill, surrounded by what you can barely make out as binary code. And, most notably, there is the singular, deformed, spiky arm that the figure digs into the ground with a familiar roar.

The person Shedletsky warned you about. Eyes widening, you don’t spare a second longer staring and start sprinting, quickly matching the speed of the person in front. It sounds like the ground itself is breaking apart behind you, only fuelling your panic and need to get away. With the sound, the person in front curses softly before running faster, somehow dragging you along with them. Another roar, closer this time, and you feel the pressure in the air changing, getting heavier, almost warning you that something is close. The person in front is dragging you along still, even as you feel your legs begin to burn, and deep down you know you can’t go on much longer but have to, have to get away.

And then in an instant, you’re falling. Air rushes past you, as darkness obscures the surroundings, and you squeeze your eyes shut, knowing that something is behind you and you can’t run; it’ll be getting closer, and whatever it is terrifies you…

Only nothing happens. You aren’t even running anymore; your palm is cold where the person from before let go. Eyes still squeezed shut, you notice how the surroundings are startlingly warm. Much warmer than in the forest you first woke up in and the place you were a second ago.

Daring to open your eyes, you're met with…people. Lots of them. Their gazes dig into you, searching you, stripping down your defences and leaving you exposed to their judgement.

Swallowing thickly past a tongue that is much too dry, you scan the group. A few faces are familiar, but the rest are complete strangers to you. Trying to talk, you open your mouth, only to gape like a fish out of water as a thousand possible questions try to escape at once: Who are these people? What’s happening? What was that thing? How the hell did you get here? But eventually, your mind settles on one: the one you had been asking since the second you woke up in that forest.

“Where…am I?”

Chapter Text

A game.

That's what the group had called it—some sort of sick, twisted game where you had to fight for your life. At first, you rejected the idea; the notion of something like that happening was an impossibility in your mind. Yet any attempts to refute the answers you were given died long before they could be spoken, withered by the grave seriousness on the group's faces.

A hiss of pain sounds out from the sofa next to your own, and you force yourself to keep staring into the fireplace. You had made the mistake of looking over already, only to see a horrible, bloody mess on the person's stomach, a gash having somehow sliced cleanly through the military gear they wore.

Guest 1337 was the injured person’s name; he and the rest of the group that you found upon returning to the cabin had already introduced themselves before finally answering your questions. While they answered as many questions as they could, it was not comforting to hear that two admins trapped here alongside you were both powerless and clueless about the finer goings-on.

Guest 1337 lets out a grunt, oozing with barely suppressed pain, and you wince at the sound. "Sorry, I'll be done soon." Elliot mumbles a quick apology, and you keep your eyes trained on the fire, ignoring how the light burns your retinas. Elliot was one of the few you recognised initially; he had been the one that opened the door for you and had saved your life at the very end of the previous round.

Round. The word itself makes you feel nauseous, serving as a grim reminder of the truth about this place. It truly was some sort of hell, from what you had heard, being forced to survive against ruthless killers, day after day.

“That should be done… Take it easy though, yeah?” Elliot says, his words accompanied by the quiet sound of fabric rustling. Tearing your eyes away from the fire finally, you look at the pair, Guest now wearing a clean, unscathed shirt. A half-empty medkit lies open on the sofa, surrounded by a dozen blood-soaked scraps of gauze. Elliot stands from where he had knelt to aid Guest, stretching, before catching your eye as you blatantly stare at the duo on the other sofa.

Warmth rises to your cheeks as embarrassment curls in the bottom of your stomach, Elliot simply smiling and walking over to you. “Am I ok to check on your legs?” You just stare up at him as he patiently waits in front of you.

“I—um, sure?” You finally stammer out. “I…didn’t really get hurt, though…?”

He lets out a breathy laugh, going to kneel before you. “Right at the end, remember? You stood in one of those shadows.” You shudder slightly at the sudden feeling of cold fingers prodding at your skin as Elliot continues. “Might not do much damage, but damage is still damage. It’ll leave an effect.”

As he finishes speaking, there’s the faint feeling of fingers pressing into your skin once more before a deep, throbbing pain overtakes the sensation. You wince and jerk away instinctively, Elliot mumbling a quick apology before gently ghosting his fingers over your tender skin.

“Looks like ya got some nasty bruises there. Lucky it ain’t anything worse, but that’ll be a pain to deal with.” You turn to the voice, facing Builderman, who was currently sitting in one of the two armchairs by the fire. Out of everyone you had met so far, he was by far the most surprising one to meet, closely followed by Shedletsky.

Speaking of which, the other admin was practically folded in half as he tried to look at your apparent injury from his spot next to you. He sits up as your attention shifts to him, giving you a bright smile. “Hey, we'll have matching bruises!" He teases, and you cringe, unable to miss the red mark still on his nose from where you had punched him. No one had questioned the injury, though, which you were thankful for. Punching someone wasn't exactly the best first impression you could give. "Just be glad your feet haven’t gone completely numb.”

“That…” You pause, “that can happen?”

“It has, once or twice.” Guest says. He looks half asleep, with his eyes shut and a hand across his stomach, pain making his features twist into a small grimace. "To Chance, I believe."

"Heh, yeah! He wouldn't stop complaining for a whole week. Blamed all his bad shots on it too." Shedletsky laughs, earning him a glare from Builderman.

"You ain't got room t' speak, Shed. Remember that time when ya tripped an’ fell—"

"Ok, ok, point taken!" Shedletsky interrupts Builderman hurriedly. “Jeez, no need to bring that up, Builds.”

"Do you still have the cream, Shedletsky?" Elliot interrupts the admins’ conversation, no longer examining your ankles. Shedletsky nods, reaching across you to pass Elliot a small jar of something you can't quite make out. He thanks the admin before unscrewing the lid and scooping out a generous amount of the ointment. The overwhelming scent of menthol reaches you, but the unpleasant scent is quickly forgotten as the cool salve is gently smeared on your skin, making you shudder.

Silence settles for a moment, the only ambient sound the gentle crackling of the fire and Guest's laboured breaths from the other sofa. You clench your fists tighter from where they sit on your knees, gritting your teeth as Elliot rubs the cream into your injury. "I can...probably handle doing that myself." You offer, silently begging for him to accept and let you do it yourself.

Elliot hums, moving on to spread the cream on your other ankle. "It's my job as a support to help the team; it's really no bother.” He insists, and you try to mask your disappointment. It feels wrong for someone else to be helping you like this, in a way that makes your skin crawl at the contact, discomfort settling in your stomach.

Still, one thing he said sticks in your mind. "Support?"

“All of us have different roles when it comes to matches.” Guest says, opening his eyes to look at you and sitting up with a wince. “They help us strategise and give us tasks to focus on during the round.”

Shedletsky perks up, grinning. “Me and Guest are sentinels. We’ve got the job of stunning the killer and keeping them distracted, buying time for the others.”

“Elliot an’ I are supports.” Builderman offers next. “We gotta heal the team or slow the killer down.”

“Then, there are survivalists.” Guest says. “They tend to stick to the sidelines, fixing generators to decrease the timer.”

Nodding, you struggle to memorise every detail. All of the new information was making your head spin, from so many new people to the rules of these rounds and now these roles. But you had to at least try and remember as much as possible. You would be of no help to anyone if you didn’t. “How do you decide who’s what?”

“Each’ve us get abilities, that’ll either help the team or yerself. From there, we figure somethin’ out.”

“We can discuss abilities at a later time.” Guest carries on from Builderman. “For now, I think it would do you some good to take it easy. It can be…a lot to process.”

You desperately wanted to refute that, but he was right. Adding more information to the mountain you were already struggling to remember would be a useless endeavour, as much as you hated to admit it.

“That should be done…” Elliot mumbles, screwing the lid back on the cream before standing with a stretch. “Those should be faded soon, but let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

You nod, knowing you didn’t have any intention of doing that if you could avoid it. Still, the answer seems to satisfy Elliot, who gives you a small smile.

Silence settles once more, broken only by the occasional snapping shut of plastic containers and crinkling of packets as Elliot tidies the seating area, disposing of the bloodied cloths and packing what remains of the medkit away. A part of you feels as if you should try to help him, but the offer is bitten back by the lingering knowledge that these people are still strangers. You still don't know anyone here, and even if you did, could you even trust them?

Shedletsky breaks the silence, startling you from your thoughts in the process. “Hey, why doesn’t someone show the new guy around?”

“You offerin’?” Builderman says, leaving Shedletsky sputtering for a rebuttal, gesturing wildly.

“I—you—that’s not what I meant, and you know that—!”

“Well, who else is gonna?” Builderman tilts his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

The admin pauses for a beat. “What about—”

“I’m getting started on dinner; don’t even think about it!” Elliot interrupts from somewhere out of sight, and you find yourself staring very intently at the floor, biting your bottom lip to stop the smile that threatens to show at their bickering. It feels wrong to find enjoyment in such a thing when you’re still new to the group.

“Ah, would you like any assistance?” Guest stands, a hand on his abdomen, as he winces. “I would be glad to help if you wish.”

Elliot pokes his head around the doorframe, levelling a glare at Guest. “The only thing you can do to help is rest. Your stomach is still split open, so don’t push it.” At his insistence, the soldier sits again with a resigned sigh, and you can’t help but feel pity for him, bubbling uncomfortably in your stomach like acid. Opening your mouth, you intend to ask if there’s anything you can do for him, but—

“—So there I am, dice in hand, and—”

The door crashes into the wall with a dull thud, knocking the words from your tongue before they can even fall, two new people entering the room. One wearing a suit and fedora is talking animatedly to their companion, who wears a yellow hoodie and blue top underneath. However, the conversation screeches to a halt as both of them lock eyes with you. Discomfort floods you at unwanted attention; every nerve alight from the intense scrutiny.

The person wearing the hoodie is the one to break the stalemate. “O-oh, there’s—”

“A new guy?” Shock is replaced with an easygoing smirk so fast you’re surprised the fedora-wearing person doesn’t get some sort of whiplash from the action. “Well, I said today was gonna be interesting, didn’t I?”

“Y-you, um, you didn’t say—”

“The name’s Chance.” Fedora guy—or, Chance, you suppose—cuts their companion off, striding over to the sofa you and Shedletsky sit on. Leaning over the back, he offers a hand, one you hesitantly shake. “Pleasure to meetcha.”

“A-And I’m Noob—!” The other person calls from the door, and you crane your neck around Chance to see them giving a small wave and smile. At this, Chance seems to catch on to your intentions, stepping back and fixing his fedora in one fluid motion.

“Perfect timing!” Shedletsky stands, grabbing your wrist and pulling you up with him. Staggering forward with the motion, you barely get a second to recover before the admin has your arm in a tight grip, dragging you along.

“Perfect timing for what exactly?” Chance questions, but before he can get an answer, Shedletsky has grabbed them too, guiding both of you to Noob and the still-open door.

You wince as his hand presses into the wound on your upper arm, but the admin continues on his path, forcing both of you along with him. “Well, I was so graciously gonna offer the newbie a tour, but since you’re here, why don’t you? Take the chance to get to know them, y’know?”

Suddenly the pressure on your arm is released, replaced with the cool air of outside nipping at your skin. Needlelike pain stretches down your arm, deep beneath the skin, and you grimace, subtly trying to flex the muscles there to rid yourself of the familiar pain.

Shedletsky, meanwhile, having effectively tossed Chance, Noob, and yourself from the main cabin, shuts the door with a hurried “Thanks, good luck, and have fun!”

Shivering, you pull your jacket tighter around you in some effort to stave off the cool chill of the night air. The three of you turn to face each other, an awkward, heavy silence settling over you.

A ringing sound breaks through the air, and something glints in the dimly flickering lights of the area. You watch as Chance reaches up, grabbing the glinting object in midair, and begins rolling it idly across his fingers. “So,” he starts, dragging the ‘o’ out, “you got a name?”

Right. You hadn’t actually had time to tell them before Shedletsky seized the chance to kick the three of you out. Making quick work of introducing yourself, you pose your own question back to Chance. “What’s with the coin?”

“This old thing?” They grin, holding it up, the golden sheen brighter under the light of the lantern above. “This is my lucky coin! Never go anywhere without it.”

As if to prove a point, Chance flips the coin again, letting it land in their palm with an almost imperceptible thud. From next to you, Noob whispers, “They…aren’t l-lying. I, uh, caught them s-sleeping while holding it once.”

The visual infiltrates your mind unbidden, and you frown, shaking your head as if to physically dismiss the thought. At the very least, the group you were stuck here with was shaping up to be…interesting, to put it lightly.

“I’m guessin’ you haven’t met the others yet?” Chance asks, and you nod.

“I arrived at the cabin after the…match and have hung around there since.”

They grin. “Well, best get started then!”

“T-Taph should be nearby…I think.” Noob suggests as they look around the space, though it seems as empty as it did when you first arrived.

Chance moves to elbow Noob, the latter stumbling at the action. “Heh, probably off sulking since I beat him in poker.”

“...You l-lost that match. Horribly.” Noob deadpans as the three of you begin walking off the porch. Chance barks out a nervous laugh, glancing back to look at you.

“See, I would’ve won if he hadn’t cheated.”

It’s a blatant attempt at saving face, and you can’t help but doubt the validity of Chance's argument. Still, you remain quiet on the topic, simply following the duo around the side of the cabin until you come across a figure completely concealed by dark, heavy robes.

“Hey, Taph!” Chance calls, the hooded person raising their head and waving. The person remains silent, however, instead making slow, precise signals with their hands.

“🤔🚶‍♂️🚶‍♂️👀🕔–?”

The string of gestures stutters to a halt as Taph looks at you (you think, at least; with the hood casting a shadow on his face, it's impossible to tell). Noob and Chance look between the two of you as you stare at each other, before the former jumps in.

“R-right! This is the, um, n-newest survivor—!” Noob tells Taph your name as you raise a hand, offering a halfhearted wave.

“❌🧠👐🗣️❓” Frowning, you watch as they gesture wildly again, unable to make sense of their movements.

“Don’t happen to know sign language, do ya?” Chance poses, and your eyes widen as the realisation hits you.

“Oh, I— Yeah, I don’t know it, sorry.” You wince, Taph shaking his head vigorously as you apologise. His robes flutter as his hands move to his sides, and after a beat he produces a notebook from some unknown pocket. For a moment, the sound of pencil lead scratching against paper fills the night before he turns it to you, grey markings stark against the white of the new page.

‘It’s all good! Lots of people didn’t when I first got here. ‘That’s why I used this notebook!’

“The notebook you use to cheat, you mean.” Chance jabs, crossing his arms.

‘It’s not my fault I have the better poker face.’ Taph scribbles out, the gambler immediately making his offence known as he gestures wildly.

“You can’t even see your face!”

“You were the one t-to challenge h-him.” Noob points out, Chance only huffing angrily at their words.

Shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot, you stare at the trio as they bicker about such a trivial thing as a game of cards. It was so…normal, a group of friends having a petty argument over a card game with no regard for the situation you were all in. Was it simply a distraction from everything? Or had they simply gotten so used to living here, so accustomed to the torture of this place, that it no longer fazed them?

It hits you with a sudden, startling clarity that this could be you. You could be the one standing there, talking about some negligible issue, the fear of rounds and killers and death a mundane undercurrent to your new life.

The realisation fills you with anxiety anew, nerves settling deep in your stomach like a rock. Any calm instilled from your time spent in the cabin is discarded, a weak wall in the way of the terror that floods your system at the idea of this being your new reality.

You clench and unclench your fists in a rhythmic pattern, timing the pulse to the beat of your heart thumping hard in your chest. You force yourself to refocus on the others, trying to ground yourself in reality. The bickering has stopped, seemingly, Taph instead scrawling a question out and turning the notebook towards the three of you. ‘Why are you guys here anyway? I thought you were heading to the cabin to get dinner.’

“O-oh, we’re showing the n-new person around…!” Noob glances at you as they say this, though it's not like they could be referring to anyone but you.

“Speaking of…” Chance pauses to flip his coin. “You don’t happen to know where everyone else is, d’ya?”

‘I think I saw Dusekkar down by the docks, and 007n7 is probably hiding out in his cabin.’ Taph writes. There’s a flash of familiarity with the second name, recognition tugging at you from somewhere you can’t quite place. You had definitely heard that name before, but where?

“W-What about Two T-Time?” Noob asks as you zone back in, Taph showing his response after a beat.

‘I don’t know where they are; maybe someone else does?’

Chance hums in contemplation before walking off, flipping their coin all the while. “T-thank you!” Noob stutters out, grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you along. Craning your neck, you can barely see Taph waving you off before you stumble along with another tug at the wrist.

It doesn’t take long for you and Noob to catch up to Chance, just a bit further down the dirt path. From here, you can already see a large expanse of water, the surface still, shimmering in the moonlight. Breath catching in your throat, you pause, taking in the sight. The moon shines down on the lake, its reflection remaining undisturbed and surrounded by the almost imperceptible flecks of stars. It’s almost tranquil in its stillness, if you ignore the nagging feeling that something is terribly wrong, that there’s no conceivable way it can be this still.

Another pull at your wrist catches you off guard, sending you stumbling forward and nearly bumping into Noob. “S-sorry!” They squeak out, finally releasing your wrist from their grasp.

Brushing off their apology and reassuring them that it was fine, the three of you carry on; eventually, dirt underfoot turns to sand as you reach the lakeside beach. At the shore stands a dock, green algae encrusted in sparse patches on the damp wood. The rocks of the stony beach grind together as you approach the platform, eyeing the darkened, old wood with scepticism.

“Can this really support all of us?” You wonder aloud, as Chance and Noob walk out onto the dock, approaching the figure standing at the end of it.

“Probably.” The gambler shrugs noncommittally, and you stare in disbelief at their slowly retreating back, the answer doing nothing to help the anxiety festering away in your gut. Gritting your teeth and clenching your fists, you take a deep breath, forcing your nerves away and stepping onto the dock…

… Only to wince and shudder as it groans underfoot, loudly.

Body tense and steps careful, you focus on your breathing while catching up to the other two, already near the person standing at the end of the dock.

“U-um, Dusekkar?”

The figure turns, and you find your panic momentarily replaced by shock at their appearance. In place of a head sits a giant, glowing pumpkin, dark blue and adorned by antlers. The person’s eyes go from Noob to Chance and finally land on you. “Far be it from my place to pry, but have we perhaps gained a new ally?”

“Yep!” Chance says, popping the ‘p’, and you take the opportunity to share your name, cursing internally as your voice breaks in the middle.

“They got here not too long ago, so we’re giving them the grand tour!” Chance claps a hand on your shoulder, and you smile shakily, weak knees locking in place against the force.

“Most unfortunate to first meet upon this plane, but you should know Dusekkar is my name.” The pumpkin-headed person greets, nodding in your direction.

“What…what were you d-doing out here, i-if you don't mind me asking?” Noob asks, wringing their hands.

“Returning after a strike from behind, I thought it best to clear my mind.” He gestures to the lake with a large, imposing staff. The other two’s faces show varying levels of pity for the man, whose focus instead returns to you. “Excuse me, for I do not wish to snoop, but have you met the rest of our group?”

“M-most,” Coughing, you try to mask the slightest tremor in your voice, but it's clear the others have caught it from the sympathy they look at you with, stomach turning at the expression. Or maybe it’s just nausea as the dock creaks underfoot again. “I think I’ve met most people.”

“We’re just missing 007n7 and Two Time.” Chance fills in for you. “Say, you haven’t seen them, have ya?”

“One remains hidden in his abode, while the other’s location I do not know.”

Noob nods, smiling shakily. “G-got it! Thank you, Dusekkar…!”

“Thanks, man!” Chance turns and begins to lead your group from the dock, to your immense relief. After a few steps, however, they turn back to face the man. “Think Elliot’s working on dinner, so you might wanna head that way soon.”

“I shall depart as swift as a breeze, and I hope your search commences with ease.” Dusekkar bids you farewell, turning back to look at the lake.

Back on the stones of the beach once more, you let out a breath, shoving your hands in the pockets of your jacket to hide the unmistakable way your fingers twitch and tremble. Large bodies of water weren’t something you ever really had the chance to see and apparently were something best experienced from far away and not from a dock of dubious quality.

“A-are you…ok?” You jump as the nervous voice startles you, Noob standing at your side.

“I’m fine.” The lie slips easily from your mouth as you grit your teeth and school your expression into something decidedly more neutral. They seem unconvinced, but you don’t give them the chance to continue the topic, instead moving to catch up with Chance, who is already back on the dirt path.

Noob follows close behind, and soon the three of you are on your way to the array of smaller cabins, the others engaged in a whispered discussion, one you can’t make out for the few paces of distance between you and them.

Taking slow, measured breaths, you walk, focusing on the way the air feels, the sound of your muffled steps, the murmurs of hushed conversation; anything to distract from the sickening lump of anxiety that lay heavy in your stomach. An oh-so-familiar tug of panic, the gaping maw pried open by everything so far and only aggravated by the time spent on the dock.

A familiar feeling, yet one you dreaded all the while.

Digging a nail harshly into the soft pad of your thumb, you fight to keep your focus on the surroundings instead of the heartbeat pounding in your ears. You couldn’t break down, not here or now, yet pulling your jacket tighter does nothing to stave off the sudden chill, chest tightening despite your best efforts.

Breathe, you tell yourself frantically, breathe and focus on your surroundings.

Each cabin seems identical, the wood oozing with the scent of pine, rich and intoxicating yet comforting. In front of you are Chance and Noob, the faint glint of the former’s coin as they rhythmically flip it into the air. There’s grass under your feet as you walk towards the cabins, trees towering above them. And…stars. There are stars visible in the sky, dozens of pinpricks of light stippling the blue-black of the night.

The racing of your heart eases as you list the sights, the task doing well to calm you already. There’s the feeling of your jacket hanging heavy on your frame, familiar and warm and comforting. There’s pain too, you note, a dulled throb in your arm, ankles aching with each step. Your hands, too; you can feel your hands, fingers still trembling ever so slightly.

You exhale, weaker and shallower than you would like, but better; the tight pull of your chest lessened considerably. The cabins surround you now, passing between the neat rows of four to a final, barely visible row of 3 tucked away under the cover of the trees.

A thud rings out, stark against the quiet night, and your trio turns in unison to see a middle-aged man stepping out from one of the cabins, freezing like a deer stuck in headlights at your attention.

“There ya are, Seven! Been looking for you.” Chance strolls casually over to the man, you and Noob close behind.

A beat, and then “...You have?”

“‘Course!” Chance turns their head toward you with the slightest tilt, a clear indication for you to step forth. You oblige, standing next to the gambler, as the man with the burger hat looks you up and down, attention clinging wetly to your skin. Cabins, jacket, coin ringing, pine. Breathe. “We got a new guy, and it’s up to us to introduce everyone.”

The disappointed look on the man’s face is unmistakable, if brief, replaced by a nervous smile a second later. “R-right. Um… I’m 007n7.”

Realisation slams into you like a freight train, the recognition from earlier finally making sense now that you have a name matched with a face. 007n7 was (is?) an infamous hacker, the talk of your town all through your childhood; from either fear or admiration, you were never quite sure. Though, looking at him now, the difference was startling. He looked shockingly normal, no longer surrounded by the chaos and terror he once wreaked upon countless servers. The only common thread between him now and those old, blurry photographs your classmates shared with odd elation was a pair of bright pink glasses on a face currently looking at you with increasing unease.

Truthfully, you weren’t sure what you had done to warrant that reaction, but unease unfurls in your stomach all the same as you catch your lower lip between your teeth, gnawing on it if only to abate the discomfort. “Um, I’ll—I mean, I should—I’m just…gonna go.” 007n7 stammers out before darting away meekly toward the main cabin.

Even the way he walked was a far cry from the powerful hacker you knew him to be, metaphorical tail tucked between his legs, the picture of abashment. A figure you had subconsciously built up to be this larger-than-life, unstoppable power is now just some guy, trapped here with you. Wasn’t that the same for the admins too, though?

The inherent wrongness of it all is jarring, reminding you again of the throes you were stuck in, accompanied by the squeezing of your chest. Breathe. Stars, jacket, silence, a hand—

You flinch, violently ripping your shoulder from the person’s grasp and whizzing around, heart in your throat. The other two are looking at you again with sympathetic gazes, the attention crawling over you, nausea rolling in your stomach.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Chance shoves the offending hand in his suit jacket, the other going back to flipping their coin. “We won’t pry into what happened. Just know that lots of people here aren’t fond of the guy, so people will hear ya out if needed, yeah?” You nod numbly, barely registering Chance’s words over the pounding in your ears. Breathe.

“M-maybe we sh-should… Your cabin is probably over t-there, if you, uh, need a minute?” Another nod, jerky and stilted, and the others turn toward the back row of cabins.

“Wait.” You blurt from waxen lips, unable to even feel yourself form the words. “I can get there myself; it’s fine.”

They look at each other, and you can tell they don’t believe you, but you can’t, can’t stick with them, can’t break down in front of these strangers. Panic rises again, filling your lungs and leaving you gasping for breath, each thud of your heart pushing you closer, closer to the edge. The urge to run floods your senses, but you shove it down, nails digging deep into your palms.

Neither of them respond for a bit, each second crawling past much too slowly, until Noob finally speaks. “I-if you’re sure, then… it should, uh, be the l-last cabin on the back row…” They point at it, and you don’t waste a second, each step barely registering as you shove shaking hands deeper into your pockets.

“We’ll be in the main cabin. Make sure you come and grab something to eat, yeah?” Chance calls from behind you.

“S-sure.” You say, tagging on a quick “Thank you” as an afterthought.

Hearing their steps retreat from behind you, you jog to the cabin, trembling as you grasp the cool metal of the handle, forcing the wooden door open with more difficulty than expected and stepping inside.

As soon as the door clicks shut, reality comes crashing down, and with it, a tsunami of emotions that sends you crumpling to the floor, head clutched in your hands.

A game. That's all this was: some fucked-up imitation of entertainment, formed of pain and suffering to which even death wouldn’t grant you release. It’s insane, an impossible reality, yet one you find yourself stuck in regardless. Hysteria bubbles in your chest, threatening to tear a manic laugh from you, no longer bottled by the presence of others. Fingers dig into your scalp, the dull pressure the only thing keeping you grounded. Yet as breaths come short, stuttering in staccato, you still feel detached, numb to the world around you.

The finely woven string of emotions tangles around your thoughts, choking, squeezing, wrenching all the air from your lungs. You gasp, desperate to stay afloat in the sea of emotions. But the effort is futile, as a strangled sob forces its way out between desperate gasps for air.

A panic attack Some sane part of you duly notes, between the flood of terror and the constantly repeating mantra, that you are trapped in this hellhole. Fingers press deeper into your scalp as tears roll down your face, hot and fast in their descent. A panic attack. You hadn’t had one of them since…

“No.” You whisper into the night, a plea between ragged breath after ragged breath, but the damage has already been done.

“Hey, dummy. What’s got you all worked up now, huh?” Clenching your teeth, you bite back another sob, the noise akin to that of a dying animal. Her voice is clear, thick with artificial sweetness, and it’s not real; you know it’s not real, but still you ache for her presence, warm hands holding yours as she talks you down from whatever that week's spiral was about.

Despite everything, you still miss her.

“C’mon, silly, you know what to do. Breathe with me, got it?” You want to refuse, to stay defiant, but you know that you have to calm down because you can’t breathe; each gasp is too short and shallow, and your lungs are burning, and it feels like you’re dying, your body shuddering as your eyes press shut.

In for 4. Hold for 4. Out for 4. The instructions, the mantra, aren’t in your voice but hers, the same as all those years ago, ingrained deeper in your memory than you care to admit. You try desperately to match your breaths to your counting, skin radioactive as you pull at your hair, the pain barely registering over the prickling static numbness that coats your body. Something metallic fills your mouth, mixing with the salty tears as you press deeper into yourself, curling up as much as possible against the tremors of your body. In for 4. Hold for 4. Out for 4.

It takes a while to successfully match the count without breaking partway through and even longer, after that, to inhale without hiccuping. Tears still roll with reckless abandon, but reality starts to slowly filter back to you; wood presses uncomfortably into your back where you sit, trembling still against the door, and a dull throbbing comes from where your hands are still tangled in your hair.

As your panic ebbs away, you pry open your eyes, your face sticky from half-dried tears. The room is dark; fuzzy blocks of furniture are barely visible with the light coming from outside and your own watery vision. A hand comes to wipe at your face, skin cold to the touch.

A familiar kind of exhaustion sets in, leaving you to stand on jellied limbs, using the door behind you as support. No matter how many times you went through these, it never got any easier to sort yourself afterwards, aside from when she—

You cut the thought off with a sharp inhale. No need to dwell on that. Not here, not now.

There’s a door on the back wall of the cabin, and after stumbling over there like a newborn foal, using the wall as a crutch, you find yourself in a bathroom. A simple one, but the bareness is oddly comforting in its similarity to your apartment.

Setting about filling the basin with water, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror that lies above the sink. You wince at your appearance: eyes puffy and bloodshot, the faint shine of tear tracks on your red, blotchy skin, with a thin trail of blood crusted down your chin from your lip. Grabbing a folded towel from its position over the shower door, you set about dipping it in the water and dabbing at your face, gently cleaning off blood and tears alike.

It doesn’t take long before you finish, looking marginally better than before. If only you had a brush for your tangled hair, clumps sticking out at odd angles. Nothing was laid out, however, unlike the toothbrush and toothpaste sitting on the edge of the sink or nondescript bottles in the shower.

Maybe in the cupboard? Dropping to your knees, you open it and—

Oh. Your mouth goes dry as you kneel, frozen, staring at the shelves because that’s all you can do, a numb, detached shock working its way through your system. Facing you are rolls upon rolls of bandages, the packaging oh-so-familiar, your own cupboard stocked much like this.

Could whatever brought you here know that much about you? The thought isn’t just creepy; it’s downright terrifying.

Snatching a hairbrush from the top shelf, you slam the door shut with more force than necessary. You weren’t about to tempt another panic attack, so there they could stay, out of sight and out of mind.

Making quick work of the tangled mess that was your hair, you dump the brush on the edge of the sink, looking less like you had completely broken down a few minutes ago. At least, you think it had been minutes. Time never made much sense coming out of a panic attack, and there weren’t any clocks around to speak of in the cabin.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you take a better look around the space than your cursory glance while walking to the bathroom. The cabin is remarkably empty; a simple bed sits tucked away in the corner with a wooden nightstand next to it, a similar-looking closet pressed against the same wall.

Exhaustion tugs you toward the bed, sinking onto the mattress with a deep sigh. You hadn’t eaten yet, but you don’t even have the energy to care. With all that happened so far today, you’re just tired of it all, desperate for the relief from your own mind that only sleep could bring.

You toss your jacket haphazardly across the room, not caring where it lands, and burrow beneath the covers, not even bothering to shut the curtains before sleep pulls you under.