Chapter Text
The match was supposed to be easy.
Down the four survivors. Chair them. Win.
Jack had done it countless times before. Precision was his strength. Elegance, his weapon. Fear, his accomplice. And tonight? It should’ve been like any other hunt.
But it wasn’t.
The moment he stepped into the map, something was off—grating against his nerves like a crooked violin string.
There was… a little mouse. A green blur that kept slipping from his grasp.
It was infuriating.
Every time Jack turned, someone was already unhooked. Every time. He’d barely glance at a chaired survivor and the next second—gone. Rescued. As if he were chasing ghosts.
And worse?
He couldn’t see him.
Just flashes of a forest-green jacket darting past the trees, skimming over ruins, sliding across windows with the agility of someone who knew exactly how to taunt him. A shadow with no face, just wind and laughter left in his wake.
It was beneath Jack’s pride to admit it, but he was losing control.
One cipher left, and he’d only managed to down a single survivor.
His breath hitched in frustration as he ran a hand through his dark hair, straightening the edge of his mask with rigid fingers. No, he growled inwardly. I will not lose. Not to this circus act.
Losing wasn’t in his vocabulary—not even a tie.
A hiss escaped through his teeth as he locked eyes on the coordinator. He struck her cleanly, watching her crumple to the ground.
But just as his claws began to curl around her frame—
Pop.
The last cipher was done.
The sound echoed through the fog like a slap across the face.
Jack’s head snapped toward the noise, rage flaring white-hot. His eyes zeroed in—and there he was.
The green jacket. Standing by the cipher with one hand lowering from the lever, the other clenched at his side.
He didn’t run.
He didn’t even move.
His dark eyes burned across the field, locked onto Jack’s from a distance. There was something in them—fury? hatred? defiance?—Jack couldn’t quite tell. But it was raw. Unfiltered. Like a storm about to break.
The ripper’s jaw clenched as he forced himself to turn back and chair the coordinator. The woman thrashed in his grip, but his hold was too strong. He sat her, and with a final scream, she disappeared into the abyss.
It should’ve given him satisfaction.
It didn’t.
By the time he turned again, the gates had opened. He saw the doctor already fleeing into the night.
But the green-hooded pest?
Still there.
Standing at the edge of the open exit gate. Waiting. Watching.
As if to mock him.
Jack’s claws twitched with restraint. The fog curled at his feet, ready to respond to his anger. But he held it back. Using a fog blade now—after the gates were open—would only add salt to his wounded pride.
And still, the man didn’t leave.
Jack narrowed his eyes, voice dripping with venom. “What? Staying to make fun of me?”
The survivor tilted his head ever so slightly, a slow smirk blooming on his lips. His voice was smooth, teasing—taunting. “Yeah.”
And with that, he turned around and walked through the gate.
Gone.
The screen flashed:
Draw.
Jack stood in the fading mist, fists trembling at his sides, heart hammering against his ribs with something he couldn’t quite place—rage, certainly… but also something else. Something colder. Heavier.
Intrigue?
He stared at the spot where the green blur had once stood, now replaced with silence.
“…Who was he?” Jack muttered under his breath, brows furrowed beneath his mask.
A tie. A direct insult. An enigma wrapped in defiance.
That damned speed mouse.
And yet—
Jack’s fingers tingled with anticipation.
He wanted to see him again.