Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When the Does tell people that they live an ordinary life, they always laugh and describe “ordinary” as nothing short of an understatement.

Not in the sense that they believed they were extremely unnatural, though. Unlike what the rumors circling the couple implied, the two of them would simply shake their head and say they weren’t “extraordinary” but were instead just extra ordinary. They assigned themselves their own respective duties and cared for one another deeply, spending a majority of their days in sweet simplicity, always without conflict or issue.

They thought they were content with their lives. That was ordinary, was it not? They believed there was nothing exciting about them when they looked in the mirror, tended to their daily tasks and work.

Their home was quite isolated, several miles from the borders of the closest town, and they didn’t exactly know why they were assigned to live in that house specifically . But that was perfectly fine. Knowing the rumors circulating them, it was for the best that they didn’t have nosy neighbors. On top of that? It was a good house. One story, sure, but they were only two people - it was small enough to be cozy, spacious enough to feel luxurious to the two of them, and even had a nice garden growing on its left side. Their environment was picturesque, even, with near-perpetual sunshine and a nice forest path nearby.

Their line of work was - despite what they may claim - not all that normal, either. Jane worked as a scripter at HQ, one of the most highly sought after and reputable positions in Robloxia. It meant you were close to the godlike Admins themselves, capable of using some of their powers to an extent, and were trusted with the ability to access and alter the world’s code. Though, she never used her abilities outside of work. She never really had reason to, and didn’t even see her job as all that important or remarkable. It was all she had ever known, something the two considered ordinary despite how abnormal it was.

The two had known each other since they were children. In their earliest memories, blurry and hazy as they were, they remembered staying at each other’s side no matter what. They simply clicked. They understood each other. They don’t know why they became friends and then lovers in the first place, what warranted that strangely innate trust at all, but they believed it was an act of fate - that somehow, they were meant for each other. To them? It was normal. It was all so ordinary.

They would tell people it was just how their lives were, that there was nothing worth questioning about it.

Not even March 18th.

March 14th

John Doe was being spied on.

It was one late afternoon, toiling and fussing with the flowerbeds of his lovely garden, making sure they got enough water in the suddenly scorching sun. Jane was observing his work from the kitchen window, a sweet smile on her face. John believed she was fixated on the flowers, smiling at the vibrant blooms that were beginning to unfurl and the neatness of it it all. Though, her gaze was on him, not his handiwork - him and the suntan beginning to appear on his skin, the care he put into tending to the flowers, the way he meticulously looked over the plants with furrowed brows and the sheen of sweat on his forehead - it was all familiar to her. She found it lovely to see him and his passion.

He pulled some of the rose bushes’ thorns back, which were threatening to twine around the fenceposts, when he finally heard the sound of bicycle wheels spinning for a brief moment. Then there was a thud, and the careful, slow crunch of gravel. Footsteps.

Slowly, he turned to see three children peeking around the corner of his house, crouched by the fence, staring at him with wide eyes and mouths agape. None of them could possibly be a day over eleven years of age, one them wearing a thick hoodie that made him wonder how they weren’t sweltering in the sun’s overbearing heat like he was. The two boys quickly caught his stare, and they began elbowing the distracted third in the hoodie and yelling.

“It’s the real John Doe!” “He saw us, he saw us!” “O-oh God, he looks angry! What do we do, what do we do?!”

John’s face scrunched up, confusion evident as he shielded his eyes against the sun’s rays to see them. “What? No. I’m just gardening, you guys are completely fine-”

Something was lobbed at his head. He covered his face and ducked to the ground, snagging his hair on thorns as he did so. “Ack-!” He looked to see that he dodged a crumpled Bloxy Cola can. When he picked it up, inspected it in his hands, he found that it was filled and weighted with gravel and small rocks. He quickly dropped it, horrified.

John looked around and saw Jane’s shock for a brief moment before she drew the curtains over the window. He barely had time to register what she might be doing before the kids were shouting at him again.

“THAT’S WHAT YOU GET FOR IMPERSONATING ME AND STEALING MY ROBUX, YOU OLD PRICK!” The hoodie kid yelled, shaking his fist. The second had already ran off, sprinting down the gravel path, while the third was grabbing the first’s arm.

“Dude, Mark, we gotta run! It ain’t worth getting kidnapped and eaten!”

John blinked, absolutely aghast. He glanced between the heavy metal can, then the children, then back at the can that could’ve very easily put a gash in his forehead. He got up and took a step forwards, about to argue, only to be interrupted by the sound of the kids screaming. Jane had thrown open the front door with a wall-rattling SLAM!

She was outside in an instant, waving her hands at the kids and shouting:

“You little brats! Quit trespassing! That’s the third time this week, and now you’re throwing things at us?!” She snapped. “I oughta call your parents!”

The children screamed again, shouting incoherent words in those ear-piercing squeals of theirs. John’s brows became creased with worry and frustration, about to shout after them and tell them they were completely fine, but they had already sprinted off before he could blink.

“PLEASEDON’TKILLUSWE’RESORRYYYYYY!!!!” “We gotta get outta here NOW!!!” “Mrs. Doe is terrifying!”

He watched them ride their bikes away, quickly obscured by the forest as they went down its winding path. Eventually the noise vanished with them. He waited a few moments, waiting to see if they’d truly gone, before releasing a heavy sigh and picking the can off the ground. Don’t want this litter around here. “I could barely get a word out,” he mumbled as Jane walked up to him, feeling greatly disappointed.

“Mm, I’m afraid it wouldn’t have mattered…” She mulled. “Those kids were too terrified and angry to listen to reason. You heard the things they said?”

“I’ve heard lots of it before.” He nodded, beginning to count off on his fingers. “Kidnapping, sending people to the Banlands, hacking, stealing robux, stealing candy, giving people nightmares, replacing people’s parents with possessed clones… hm, I think the ‘eating’ one is new. Just when I thought I couldn’t be any more dehumanized and depicted as some sort of beast .” He sighed. “Am I getting too round, Jane? Do I look like a glutton?”

She scoffed. “What? No. Not as far as I’ve seen. Besides, even if you were gaining weight, what would it matter?”

“...I’d be unhealthy?” He suggested awkwardly, shamefully. Despite what she said, he thought his mirror really showed him otherwise.

Jane laughed. “Oh, you worry so much, don’t you? Even if you were, we gotta keep in mind that it’s all part of growing old. Just have to deal with our bodies growing and wrinkling in ways we don’t like.” She turned to fully face him, gingerly swiping his black mop of hair out of his face and placing a tender kiss on his forehead. “They hit you at all with that garbage?” She murmured worriedly.

“No, I dodged. The thing is full of rocks, though. I don’t think those kids knew how dangerous that is,” he said, then added: “Caught my hair on the thorns, though. My scalp still hurts from that.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Damn brats…” she grumbled.

“They’re kids, Jane. They’ve probably heard nothing but horror stories about us from their parents or media,” he pointed out. “And around this time of year? That’s gonna be frequent.”

She nodded sullenly. They’d both seen the news themselves. It was basically a tradition for them to laugh or be frustrated at all the fake “John and Jane Doe sightings” that would pop up online around this week. Children getting too curious, somehow traversing several miles of uneven terrain to their house, and then spying on them wasn’t anything new, either. It had been especially common when they first moved here and were getting settled in.

A kid throwing something at John was quite rare, though it wasn’t like he was keeping count. He had distinct memories of being tackled by a six year old some ages ago when he went shopping more frequently. It was initially funny at first, but quickly became one of his less fond memories when he had to wander the store for upwards of five minutes searching for the kid’s parents. When he finally returned them, he’d been given the most hateful glare from the parents despite his profuse apologies. He’d seen that glare many times on many different faces.

It was hard for him to understand, really - how that hate was warranted. Where those damn rumors even came from in the first place, let alone how they evolved into a worldwide urban myth and horror story about him and his wife being hackers of some kind.

“Y’know, I dunno how some couples deal with it,” Jane remarked, twining her hand around his, thankfully snapping him from his thoughts before they had the change to move on to other disappointing memories. Her head moved to rest on his shoulder, looking up at the distant mountains. “...Dealing with energetic little kids like that every day, I mean. It almost makes me wonder… would we ever have the strength, the patience, the kindness..?”

There was a simultaneous fondness and mourning to her tone. It was a tone he heard many times whenever the subject was brought up. John’s heart nearly wrenched. “I’m so sorry, dear,” he whispered, giving her hand a squeeze. “...I wish it were possible, too.”

She sighed. “I know, I know… even if it were, well, somehow physically possible with me… it wouldn’t be good for us. Not with our current circumstances. Even if we adopted, no kid should have to grow up like that, yeah..? Isolated. The source of rumors. They wouldn’t be raised by two…” She hesitated to say the words.

…Ordinary parents, John’s thoughts seemed to finish.

No. We’re not normal at all, but our lives are ordinary to us, and we… we can be content with that. We should be content with that, yeah? With everything we’ve been through… the least we ought to do is be grateful we’re still living.

“We’d be repeating our childhoods with them,” John mumbled the sudden realization.

Jane managed to laugh. It was devoid of any real amusement, though. “Yeah. The ones we can barely remember,” she said. Her gaze became downcast, her lip curling in on itself briefly as her brows furrowed. She seemed to be contemplating something. Eventually she shook her head. “Best not to think about it,” she said hurriedly, her tone forced. “Empty that thing and recycle it, yeah? We gotta keep an eye out from now on. That could’ve gone far worse.” She gestured to the can before moving back to the door of their house.

There was a crack in her voice, one that made John’s heart sink. He nodded anyways, though. It’s not a happy thing for either of us to think about. None of it is - the fear surrounding us, our younger years, and… our limitations…

No, this week of the year usually never has happy reminders.

March 15th

Today was Jane’s birthday. She had turned thirty. It was quite daunting to her, really. She and her husband couldn’t help but feel more aware of time passing. Sometimes, it felt like it was only just yesterday they had moved in, even though it had been well over ten years ago.

It wasn’t as if time had simply flown by, though - they never felt as if they were wasting time. It was just that time felt like an instant when looking back. Shedletsky was always jabbing at them whenever he occasionally called, jesting that they “ought to live their short mortal lives to the fullest.” And so they did exactly that, not wanting to waste their young years. Festivals, attractions, a variety of experiences and parties, traveling all across Robloxia to see historic monuments and humanity’s great feats - they’d spent their twenties going by different names and appearances so as to better blend in with the public, all in the hopes that they would not be recognized as the urban legends they were. It was thrilling to them at first.

Yet as time passed, and as March 18th slowly approached every year, they would gather supplies and then draw back into their reclusive home for the week surrounding that infamous day. The thrill of playful disguises and childlike, curious ventures into town would quickly become fearful, realized as necessity.

March 18th. John’s birthday, but unfortunately also one of the most feared days. The day where people began to hunt for traces of them, murmur in fear of their supposed exploits, and look for their faces in crowds. Every year there would be Admins in the news trying to shut down the rumors, attempting to “shed light on these individuals”. Every year, hackers would impersonate Jane and John Doe, people would fake sightings and stories, and parents would speak of them as a horror story for children. A myth. That’s what people called them.

How the first rumors started, the two didn’t know. The myth had surrounded them since they were children, ever since those foggy days that they had very little recollection of.

So, despite how much they wished to celebrate the fact they had lived another joyful and busy year, they couldn’t help but be wary. Jane, sitting at the kitchen table and reading the calendar’s date, managed to muster a smile as she sipped at her fresh coffee. An accomplishment. That’s what three decades ought to be, right? It was almost shocking to her, really. It… felt like something unexpected, the idea that she might one day grow old at all…

…Though, why would it be a surprise? They lived ordinary lives. Perfect lives. Without conflict and similarly in perfectly ordinary health. Surely more decades would go by, and more and more, and eventually they would grow old together.

She expected to feel happy at that, alongside some form of existential dread at time passing and inevitable aging, but she didn’t feel either of those emotions. That uncertainty returned, that surprise, that strange uneasiness. The idea that this was something… wrong. That it shouldn’t be happening at all.

Jane shook it aside. She ought to get to work. She opened her laptop, finding that it was already signed into and there was a closed window. It was her notes app. Curious, she clicked it, wondering if she’d somehow left it open when closing her computer.

“open the output log rq” Alongside a long string of heart emojis.

She instantly recognized who the writing style belonged to, the all-lowercase and hearts. Oh boy, what did he do this time? She turned away from her screen and, with a simple wave of her hand, she summoned the ethereal gray GUI in front of her. A variety of identifying numbers and lines of small text was displayed all at once - she felt like she had only just woken up, and the light from it was headache inducing. Most of it seemed like printed reminders to herself about unfinished scripts.

Another quick sip of her sugar-filled coffee, hoping that the caffeine may somehow take effect sooner. She went to the filter and switched from all messages to solely log. There were a few things she printed herself, though there wasn’t anything she actually noticed out of the ordinary. So she went back to the filter, switching to errors . There was a notice right there in the text: “Malformed string; did you forget to finish it?”

Of course. She tapped on the text and, in a separate square of GUI that quickly came into existence, found a mistyped string of text in a brand new script:

1     print(“happy birthday babe)

She tried and failed to suppress a laugh, a sound that came out as a snort. From the couch on the other side of the room, John turned his head to face her, putting down whatever book he’d been reading. Failing to hide the anticipation and excitement in his voice, he asked with a sheepish grin: “Did you see my message?”

Then she burst into giggles, leaning over the table for support and practically wheezing.

He blinked awkwardly, grin slightly faltering as he glanced away. “Uh… did it work..?” He asked again, this time more nervous.

Jane nodded, quickly composing her voice as she smiled ear to ear. “Y-yeah, yeah. It worked,” she lied. “Thank you, dear.” Let him enjoy his fun, she thought, and watched his face light up. He laughed a little under his breath, a brief warmth coloring his cheeks, before turning back to the book he was reading. His smile never vanished. It warmed her heart.

Jane and John, despite not being Admins or hackers or anyone initially hired by HQ, still had the strangely innate ability to access GUI and script. Though, they still had to learn it if they really wanted to do anything useful with that rare power. Jane had studied the Lua language and its uses tirelessly throughout her younger years so that she might have a chance at an actual well-paying job at HQ, whereas John simply brushed the premise of learning it aside, preferring to tend to his hobbies and craft without what he called “all of the magical jargon” of scripting.

Jane never really understood his decision with that. The two of them were blessed to have such a powerful gift, something that was normally only ever granted to the Admins’ favorite mortals. Why would he not put it to use? He wouldn’t even have to be an asset for HQ like I am. So long as he used his power under the moderation of HQ, he’d be fine simply using it in day-to-day life. Yet even if his garden’s flowers were to rot and die, even if the food he baked ended up being shriveled crisps, even if he made any other sort of mistake that could easily be fixed by a few lines of scripts and rewinds… he still didn’t bother to learn it. Hell, he knew full well of its potential and value in Robloxia, he’d seen it firsthand in HQ, by Admins’ power, even in Jane’s experiments.

Yet he claimed he didn’t care to learn it because he was content with what he had. He was completely fine with making mistakes. He said that Jane did enough scripting for the both of them, that much was obvious with her work.

Jane knew the truth, though. It wasn’t just that he was content and perfectly satisfied, it was that he wanted to be like any other ordinary Robloxian, wanted to believe that they didn’t have some anomalous power. He always claimed that it unnerved him to see scripting in action, called it unnatural.

We are still quite ordinary, though, are we not? He believes that as much as I do.

So Jane found it endearing that he’d gone through the effort to at least learn some semblance of printing in order to write a “secret message” for her, even if he’d somehow mistyped and forgot to close the quotations. It was the first silly little gift of many, one that helped serve to brighten her morning. As she began to close the various consoles and GUI she’d created, she didn’t ever think to scroll to the bottom, failed to notice the most recent warning in glaringly bright red text:

01001001 01101110 01100110 01100101 01100011 01110100

March 16th.

John woke up realizing the sun was already high in the sky. He’d somehow slept through his alarm, through the smell of Jane brewing her coffee, through the sounds of Jinx meowing incessantly at the foot of his bed. When he blearily opened his eyes, he felt… strangely dizzy, despite the fact he was laying down. There was an odd pins and needles sensation all throughout his skin, a tight ache in his right arm. Maybe he’d slept in a funny position on his side, hurting his shoulder..?

When he got up and stretched with a pop of his back, the sensation quickly went away. He sat down on the edge of his bed and quickly chugged the bottle of water next to his nightstand. A heavy sigh afterwards, wiping gunk from the corners of his eyes as Jinx rubbed against his legs, purring up a storm. “Yeah, yeah, I know… papa’s up now…” he mumbled, and the cat mrrowed angrily in response. “...You’re right, Jinx Doe. What time even is it?”

He squinted at his phone screen through narrowed eyes to realize it was 11:00 A.M.

…The hell..?

He should’ve been up ages ago.

Another irritable sigh as he stood up. He went to shower, shave his face afterwards, and finally change into something more appropriate for going out in the sun later: a sleeveless top and shorts. He went out into the kitchen to notice an open notepad on the table, a message written in neat little handwriting: “Hey dear, there was some sort of mandatory HQ meeting I got called in for at 6:00 AM. It was very short notice, and I didn’t want to wake you, so I left as quickly as I could. Dunno when I’ll be back, the message sounded quite frantic. Call me if you need anything, my love.”

His lips pulled into a frown. Six in the morning was far too early for a weekend, and he felt guilt and pity for her sake. Pulling out his phone, he quickly texted her:

“hey babe, saw ur note. i hope you’ll be able to come home and rest soon, and that it’s nothing too urgent or serious. luv you!!”

He hesitated, then grinned as he added a bit too many heart emojis at the end before finally sending it. He nearly pocketed his phone, before it suddenly buzzed in his hand, cheery little ringtone with it. He expected to see Jane calling him, it only made sense with his text, though his brows furrowed when he looked back at the screen and saw a different name.

Shedletsky?

He was at HQ, right? Surely also having attended whatever meeting this was. Maybe he could give more context, fill me in on the details of whatever “frantic” message Jane got. So he picked it up, quickly greeting him in a worried tone: “Hey Shed, what’s u-”

“-HAPPY BIRTHDAY KID!!!”  

He winced, immediately pulling the phone away from his ear. “Ow.”

“Jane’s birthday was yesterday, yeah? Sorry I didn’t call then, I was… kinda busy. Sorry, really. Anyway, happy late birthday to her, and early birthday to you, yeah?? Well, I already told her happy birthday, since she was just here, but like… I haven’t talked to you in a bit, so. Yeah. Anyway! How are things with you lately?”

“...Mm, woke up not feeling the best. Other than that, we’ve been doing the same thing every year when March 18th rolls around,” John explained. His tone became a little more grim. “Y’know… paranoid watching the news and social media. Sulking a bit. Cheering ourselves up. Getting shit thrown at us by nosy kids.”

“Ah, right. Sorry about that. Should’ve, uh… considered. Don’t worry, we’ll make another statement if push comes to shove - we’re on high alert for any data breaches or hackers.” Shedletsky cleared his throat. “Ahem, you said you weren’t feeling too good?”

Right. Another statement to the media and interviewers. As if that does anything to help Jane and I get rid of those rumors. John hesitated. With a heavy sigh, he answered the sudden question and subject change: “Yeah, no. Just a little sore, think I slept in a funny way and that hurt my arm. I’m not sick or anything. Just slept in too much, somehow through my alarm and everything. I think Jane turned it off when she left, or somethin’?” He paused, then: “Speaking of which, where is she?”

“Still at HQ with us. One of our scripters detected an anomaly. We don’t think it’s anything too dangerous - just some creepy messages and vague threats left for us, probably by an Entity or hacker of some kind,” Shedletsky quickly answered. “Most likely the former, though, in which case it might evolve into something more serious. Especially since we can’t pinpoint the Entity’s origin just yet, and a few of us are beginning to worry it’s not one that’s thoroughly researched in our documents.”

John never really questioned the supposed “ghosts” or Entities that were in the world’s script. They weren’t entirely supernatural, sometimes they appeared before mortals and took on tangible form, though most the time they weren’t anything malicious. Usually they were just passive immortal beings that flitted through worlds, observing them, maybe causing a little brief chaos or an attempt at being helpful before moving on. Though, Shedletsky’s tone sounded worried, so John couldn’t help but ask: “...And what if it isn’t something you’ve seen or researched before, in HQ’s thousands of years in Robloxia? What does that entail?”

“Well, the more elusive an Entity is, the more powerful it is - better at hiding its traces in the code, at manipulating script, at putting limitations and commands in place. If one surpasses the power of an Admin? Then it’s not exactly one we can bargain with, at least not as equals,” Shedletsky said. Then he quickly added, in a far more reassuring tone: “Buuut, well, that’s just the absolute worst case scenario. I mean, we only just determined that the anomaly we detected might be an Entity. 99% of the time, it is something we recognize and can deal with accordingly. It’s taken us several hours, though, and we still haven’t cracked the mystery, which is starting a little bit of anxiety. Either we’re not working hard enough to pinpoint it or we’re looking in the completely wrong place. Regardless, I assure you that it’s nothing to worry about, despite how concerning your wife’s notice probably was.”

“I’m even more worried now, actually,” John told him, frown returning. “Shed, everything you’ve said so far is making this thing out to be something difficult for even you Admins.”

“My fellow John,” Shedletsky’s tone was teasing, giving him that old nickname. John Doe could easily imagine him and his stupid grin even though he couldn’t see him. “Hypothetically, let’s say there is some incomprehensible Entity that threatens to wipe out all life as we know it unless we submit to its will. Do ya really think this is the first alarm we’ve had such a thing happen? I’ve been around the block for centuries. I’ve seen far worse things than whatever’s probably happening right now. Heck! Builder, Matt, Doom and I have fought eldritch reality-eating horrors ourselves. Hopefully you’ll get to see me kick some deity’s butt in your lifetime. Maybe then you’ll have a lil’ more respect for your old man and call me more often, yeah?”

John laughed. “Oh, shush. Jane sees you and Builderman at work all the time, and we try to call you, like, every other day. You’ve always been busy with stuff as of recent, though.”

“...Eh, you’re right. That’s my own fault. Blame John,” Shedletsky theatrically sighed, echoing his signature quote. There was a pause, then he awkwardly amended with: “Uh, me John. Not you John.”

Another laugh. “I know, I know. I hope you’re able to rest soon, maybe visit, yeah? Jinx misses you a lot.”

“Jinx misses stealing my chicken,” Shedletsky corrected with an irritable huff. “I’ll see if I can find the time, though. We dunno when this situation will get resolved, but I can assure you - the only reason it is urgent is ‘cause we wanna get it over with quickly, yeah? That’s why we had to wake our asses up before sunrise and scurry off to HQ just to find death threats from some ‘Spectre’ thing. Pretty lame name for a ghost if you ask me.”

“Oh, please. We’re ones to talk, being called John of all things.”

“Hey, John’s a cool name! That’s why it’s so common!” Shedletsky protested, laughing. “Anyway, hope you don’t get too lonely back in your little house. It’s just you, the cat, some plants, and the occasional nosy brat when Jane isn’t there, right?”

“Yeah, pretty much, but I do just fine keeping busy. Got my hobbies, books, chores and whatnot. Good luck with everything, man.”

“...Likewise.” Shedletsky’s tone was strangely solemn. John was about to ask what warranted the sudden shift, before he added: “Stay safe, alright? You’re a good kid. Thirty is a big year for someone like you, yeah..?”

John blinked. “Hey. What do you mean by that? Someone like me?” There was no answer at first, a sudden tension in the call. A long moment of hesitance, then: “Shed. Shed. Hey, man. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just- I zoned out. I remember when you nearly died, first moving into that place…”

…

John’s hand unconsciously went to the thin scar between his right eye and temple. “Well, I didn’t exactly nearly die. More like I got jumped. Ten years ago this week, wasn’t it..? The height of the rumors about me and Jane?”

…

“Shedletsky?”

“Don’t get slashed again, that guy’s knife just barely missed your eye. If ya did get it taken out? Well, you’d be kinda like me!” Shedletsky’s joking tone was back on a whim, though it seemed strangely more forced. “If that happened, we could be eyepatch buddies. Both of us pirates, yeah?”

“Shed, is something wrong-?!”

“-Just a little stress is all. You worry too much, John. I’m tryna lighten the mood, I don’t want you to be so anxious all the time. It’s not good for your health. You got a good head on your shoulders, kid. Don’t get too wrapped up in the big things or the little things.”

Silence. John’s unease didn’t go away, but there was still a warmth in his heart at the compliment. He managed to smile, forced as it was. “Thanks, man. You also stay safe. Hope to see you soon.”

“Right. Bye.”

The call ended. John released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, a tension unwinding from his chest, though the worry never left him. Despite all the reassurances and jests he had made, Shedletsky’s behavior still concerned him.

There was something uneasy rising up inside of him. A feeling of queasiness and nausea. Then he realized that sensation was actually real. His arm went around his stomach, feeling as though his throat was burning for a brief moment. Oh no.

In a few quick, dizzying strides he suddenly found himself in the bathroom, feeling as though he may vomit. As he leaned in the doorway for support, taking in a few deep, gasping breaths with his hand over his mouth, he felt the feeling of nausea suddenly vanish.

…What?

He better not be getting sick. That’d just make this already irritating week even worse.

Chapter Text

March 17th

The sun’s glare was brightly visible through his window’s curtains, higher than it was when he woke up yesterday. He’d somehow slept through the alarm again.

His entire body seemed to hurt, especially his right arm. It wasn’t even an ache, though - it was a legitimate sharp pain centered in his hand, wrist and forearm. He felt horribly groggy, failing to blink away the blur of sleep. If it weren’t for the pain and the irritating noise of the TV, he may have stayed in bed for nearly thirty minutes.

Wait, the TV? Why would Jane have the TV on this early? He squinted his eyes against the light of his phone - it felt strangely brighter than it usually was - and, through oddly blurry vision, made out 1:43 P.M.

…What the hell?!

He shot out of bed in an instant, a dizzying sensation going all throughout him as he did so, a sudden haze in his vision. He shook it away and quickly went through his ordinary morning routine - drink water, stretch, shower, put on some nice clothes…

The pain in his arm never went away, though. He flexed it a bit. Looked at it in the mirror, opening and closing his palm as if it would somehow relieve the sharp sensation. It was about the same, though. He groaned a bit, pained and irritated and feeling sorry for himself. When he went into the main room to make breakfast, he found the notepad on the counter yet again.

“Hey dear. Another early meeting happened, this time at 4:00 AM. I don’t even know how to explain it. There’s so many things I heard in Shed’s call that woke me up, I didn’t understand the half of it. The world is in an uproar, though, so I left the news on for you. I’ll text you when I find a break.”

His heart sank as he checked his phone yet again, finally unlocking it to see his notifications. Not a single text from Jane, though Shedletsky was blowing up his messages, frantic texts that seemed to have been typed quickly and without thought.

“Kid r u okay??” “Things are rLLY BAD rn try to be careful maybe dont go into town” “uhm also if u see anyone creeping around ur house omg PLEASE let me know im being so serious right now, ppl are rlly goingg crazy O.O”

What?

His brows furrowed. People around his house? Kids, yes, no more than usual this time of year, but with everything Shedletsky had said yesterday, with just how wrong this morning (or afternoon) felt… John couldn’t help but begin to move around the house, checking that the windows and doors were locked. He looked outside, worried to see some sort of disturbance or even a person standing in his garden or street.

There was none of that, though. The strangest thing he noticed around his house? There was something wrong with his garden. From his window, he saw that the the blooms seemed far more desaturated, almost like they were wilting…

He saw that there was a black growth on the plants, appearing almost like some sort of fungus on them. He immediately went outside to check and was shocked to see the blooms were already decaying. There was a sickly rotting smell in the air, like that of death and disease. How is this even possible? The blossoms should’ve lasted ages this time of year. It was all perfect just yesterday. Now it looked like a shriveled, overgrown and neglected mess…

…No. What worried him most was that the decay on them was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. There were black veins, creeping up the stems and suffocating the petals, draining the colors from them. He didn’t dare touch them, and felt horribly disgusted when he saw the way the growths pulsated and moved. Whatever the disease was, it was certainly alive, and it was horribly grotesque to look at.

As much as he wanted to somehow clean the blight off of his poor little beloved plants, he had no idea what it was. With how creepily it moved and just how wrong it felt to look at, he decided he didn’t even want to get near it. There was this weird wrong feeling in the pit of his stomach when he looked at it, almost… like something just isn’t quite right with reality, his thoughts concluded. It was an achingly familiar feeling of unease. He didn’t know where he might’ve seen it before, however. Maybe it’s some sort of glitch, messing with my mind..?

According to Jane and Shedletsky’s notes for him, there were bigger things to worry about besides his garden, anyway - things he hadn’t even bothered to check in the news just yet. So, with brows furrowed and feeling greatly disappointed that his flowers perished at all, he left the anomalous sight that was ruining his hard work and went back inside.

A quick, fearful glance over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being watched.

Nothing was there.

He hurriedly closed the door behind him, locking it shut with his heart suddenly racing.

“...We now have John Shedletsky himself, who has only just now decided to take charge, step up and answer the situation.” He had been tuning out the sound of the TV from his mind when he noticed his flowers. At the sound of that familiar name, however, he finally recognized the voice of the Crossroads News reporter. He turned to see her on the screen, looking at the Admin sat in front of the camera. She began to read from what appeared to be a hastily provided script. “Mr. Shedletsky, the public has some questions for you regarding recent events and panic. Would you mind answering?”

“Not at all, miss,” he said with his usual cocky grin. John recognized that look anywhere, he’d seen it countless times, though this time he noticed the smaller details: the glint of fear in his eyes, just how forced the pull of his lip was, and his brown hair and faded white feathers being more of a matted mess. There was the faint, barely distinguishable shade of dark circles around his eyes, and his voice nearly cracked as he spoke. “So long as it helps to ease their anxiety, I’ll answer anything. What do ya got for me?”

“Well, let’s start with the obvious. How much information can you currently give us about the sudden disappearance of Builderman, or Mr. Doombringer going missing only an hour after him? Will we begin to see a pattern?”

John blinked, in disbelief at the question. Disappearances? The immortal Admins were going missing?? As he refilled Jinx’s food bowl, he listened to their voices, sudden worry creeping in on his heart. That… would be something to put the world in a panic, certainly. How can a whole world leader just go missing like that?

“Not much, I’m ‘fraid,” Shedletsky admitted with a nervous chuckle. “Nor any of the other reported disappearances. Doom and Builder? They ain’t the kind of people to pull pranks on people like that, not like me, heh. So, as much as I hate to admit it, this might have the chance to turn into something real serious for the mortal folk. I can’t say whether or not it’ll happen again to someone else.”

“Well, what can you say and predict? Do you believe this will all be resolved? Do you need to take this seriously at all?”

“Wh- well, of course Dusekkar and I are takin’ it seriously,” Shedletsky said hurriedly. “My two best friends and work partners vanished into the blue without a trace. I’ve been around for ages, I’ve seen them vanish to sulk a bit, but I will admit that this is really different. All these disappearances are likely to be connected, according to our researchers. Although I trust that it’ll turn out fine in the end just ‘cause it always has, it’s definitely something new in our history.”

…Something new. That was intimidating to John. Shedletsky and the other Admins had thousands of years on their side. Sure, most of their memories from centuries long past were removed from their mind, put in some HQ storage to secure all that information, but Shedletsky certainly made it sound like he had seen everything in his lifetime. So him saying that there was “something new” was certainly making things even more worrying.

John shook his head of his own thoughts and continued to listen as he made himself breakfast: some standard, ordinary scrambled eggs and bacon. Or, well, I suppose it’s technically well past lunchtime… He couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He never made breakfast for Jane.

“You say all of these brand new missing cases are connected, even the ones of regular, mortal citizens?”

“Well, not all of them, of course. We can’t just group in every missing person’s report as being part of this whole thing, y’know? But Builder and a few others we’ve identified going missing? Yeah, that’s definitely connected. Can’t say how so without getting into some script and memory nonsense. But, can say that we’re working on a list of missing individuals caused by this phenomena right now. Whether or not we’ll publish it, though…” He hesitated and shrugged.

“Right, you probably don’t want to cause more of a panic, since there are rumors of hackers and infamous monsters even going missing. What can you say about the current containment status of the Banlands and Area 51?”

“Oh, jeez. That’s a tough one. Uh, right. So some very scary people definitely went missing and I can tell ya that much, but it doesn’t seem like there was, y’know, an actual site-wide containment breach. Managing Area 51 isn’t my duty right now, that’s been assigned to someone else and they’re still investigating it, so I dunno anything about that just yet.” Another shrug from Shedletsky. “Really, don’t mean to scare you all. I can say that the Banlands is another situation. The alarm didn’t even sound. Eye witness reports from guards just describe blinking and watching their assigned prisoners vanish without a trace in the next moment.”

“I am well aware you don’t wish to cause a panic, Mr. Shedletsky, but this is all quite the worrying news. If you Admins are even subject to this sudden inexplicable and uncontrollable anomaly, then what would that mean for all of us? Will people return? Will more vanish? What can we expect?”

“I wanna tell the truth, miss. I really do, and that’s why I’m doing my best to be honest about all this. I’m managing it to the best of my ability and I am quite busy with it all, which is why I haven’t been able to do this interview till now,” Shedletsky answered swiftly. “I expect that people will return. All our scripters are hard at work combing through codes and files to see where they’ve been moved to, if anywhere at all.”

“What progress have you made?”

Shedletsky hesitated. “...Well, we’ve found more witness reports. More cases. Like I said, we uh, got a list…”

“Any evidence?”

“I’m afraid not. But this whole thing started only this morning, so… it might take a bit to really find clues, yeah?” Shedletsky cleared his throat. “It’s inevitable that we’ll find traces, one way or another. Everything in our world can be found in the script and GUI, including living people. So, although it’s gonna take a while to look through it all and properly identify things, we’ll get something eventually. It’s simply not possible that we won’t.”

“I believe I understand. Though, I have one more question, something that I hope will at least ease the general public’s worries.” She managed to laugh a little as she read her paper, somewhat out of disbelief. “Ah, can’t believe I’m asking this, and I’m sorry you have to hear it yet again, but… what do you have to say about the belief that all these disappearances may somehow be correlated to the March 18th conspiracy?”

John blinked as he flipped the eggs, suddenly staring off into space as the hairs on his neck rose. It felt like his heart skipped a beat, filled with the familiar dread that came with this time of the year. It’s always about me.

He heard Shedletsky nervously force a laugh yet again, glimpsed him avert his eyes and pretend to scoff. It looked real to any other viewer, but John and Jane knew him well enough to see through this facade. He could easily see the Admin’s worry and just how uncomfortable he was. “Ah, are ya kidding? Yeah, it’s inevitable that’d be asked, I guess. Well, I’ve said it countless times and I’ll say it again: March 18th is a hoax made by some HQ data breach well over twenty years ago. It was caused by an ex-employee who got terminated. It’s completely unrelated to the real John and Jane Doe - the two of them are a regular ol’ scripter couple living in rural Robloxia under the Admins’ protection, and honestly? I don’t think either of ‘em could hurt a fly. Maybe if people weren’t so scared of them, we’d get to see them on this show, yeah? Get a nice, boring lil’ interview?”

It was the answer John always heard from Shedletsky, Builderman, Mr. Doombringer and even Dusekkar. The same information, phrased one way or another every year to the public, even to his own face whenever he asked any of them about the rumors and their origins. It was a dismissive shutdown, something that didn’t ease his confusion or frustration, but certainly stopped his questions. “Stupid” was how the Admins always described the rumors, saying they weren’t worth giving any thought, merely a waste of time for John Doe to speculate on. They always told him he was the unfortunate victim of some spiteful ex-employee wanting to cause some havoc before their termination. As frustrating as that was, John knew they were right. It was all stupid. Childish, really.

So he continued telling himself that it was all ordinary. Not worth questioning.

When he finally finished cooking his breakfast, he placed the plate at the lonely table and sighed. Eventually Shedletsky left the interview, thanked for his time and answers. The reporter went back to her script, giving a brief summary of what they’d discussed, leading John to simply change the channel.

Bloxburg News. The reporters and writers were, at least to him, a little bit unhinged. No filter, no real fact-checking, no care for whether or not the things they said brought about paranoia or controversy. So, whenever March 18th rolled around, it was tradition for him and Jane to laugh their asses off at the sheer garbage this outlet managed to spout to their limited audience.

The first thing he saw when he switched the channel was the reporter giving his “live reaction” face (AKA horribly unamused expression) upon seeing an AI-generated video of “John Doe” kicking a crying Builderman. The real John took a moment to process this, read the screen, and when he realized what it was after a long moment he was absolutely horrified. He had no idea that robots could possibly be so advanced - if it weren’t for the glaring mistakes such as the janky motions, weird rendering, and uncanniness of it all, he probably would’ve looked at it and said those were real actors.

The AI lookalike actually beared zero resemblance to the actual John Doe. The only reason he identified the fake individual as supposedly being him was because of the caption, something along the lines of: “JOHN DOE KILLS BUILDERMAN TOMORROW” . The violent freak was scarily tall, had disproportionately long limbs, an evil-looking and monstrous sneer, and was blonde. John had seen many different depictions of him in multiple fake sightings and reports, all of which never came close to looking like the real him. People wanted to believe he was some terrifying hacker with an unnerving appearance, not some short and average-looking ordinary guy.

“Damn. I can’t believe that’s where Builderman went. It’s so real you guys. So sad, get well soon, anyways…” the reporter deadpanned, before moving on to another video. Apparently the poor guy had been told to report the “news and sightings” related to the disappearance of Builderman, investigating the public’s outcry and speculation over the news, as well as offering his own thoughts and opinions. Unfortunately, it never seemed like he had opinions, instead emotionlessly voicing from a script or dully describing whatever he saw in front of him. Sometimes John worried the guy was depressed.

Somewhat expectedly, there were lots of social media posts about fake sightings and discussion about the “bogeyman of March 18th” being connected to it all due to the date being so close to Builderman and Doombringer’s sudden disappearances. Some were intelligent enough to brush it aside as mere coincidence or sabotage of hackers impersonating the Does, whereas most reports were questioning it all. Whenever he glanced at the TV, he saw a few things along the lines of: “I thought John Doe was just a horror story? Now he’s real?” “Shedletsky sounded kinda weird in the interview when talking about him.” “The Admins say these two are normal people.”

It was a bit disheartening to see. It was surreal, really. John never liked thinking about how he - or at least some twisted, messed up idea of him - had managed to be the subject of such discussion. Why? It was something he always asked around this time of year. How had mere rumors gone unchecked, evolved into conspiracy theories and horror stories for children?

He brushed it aside, remembering what the Admins always told him. It was stupid to think about, to perpetuate, to even question. It was only ordinary.

Another news channel. John was barely listening this time. He turned his attention to the plate in front of him, and realized quite suddenly that he wasn’t hungry in the slightest. Or, he was - his mouth watered looking at the food - but he felt that familiar nausea from yesterday for a brief moment, felt simultaneously sick looking at the meal he’d made. The pain in his arm became more evident as he moved it to pick up the fork. I have to at least eat something, right..?

He eventually forced himself to take a few bites of the eggs. All of it felt gross, and he nearly gagged when he swallowed, hand going to cover his mouth. Disgusting. Normally, when he was sick, he was used to foods having no flavor. This time? The tastes and textures were all the more vivid on his tongue, all the more nauseating and overwhelming. It was unnatural, really - he could still taste the strangely disgusting and unfamiliar food even after a few swigs of cold water. Whatever. He had to eat, it was well into the afternoon, after all.

As he carefully nibbled on the bacon, his thoughts unconsciously drifted to slaughtered animals and enclosures, suddenly becoming far too aware of what he was eating. He felt even more gross, pushing away his plate and staring at it like it would somehow kill him. Huh. Something really was up with him today.

That horrible feeling of dread and unease returned, the sensation that something just… wasn’t quite right. Another sharp pang from his arm and he winced, dropping the fork and shaking his limb. “Ow,” he mumbled, rolling up his sleeve and beginning to massage his shoulder and arm, as if that would do anything to-

John’s hand froze.

A small cluster of those dark veins were on his forearm, embroidered across the surface of his skin, growing like some sort of tumor. It was still moving. Pulsating. It was pitch black, the darkest he’d ever seen, reflecting no light or color. When looked at from an angle, it made it look like his skin was white porcelain with deep cracks in it.

Speaking of which, his skin was pale. Unnaturally so, as if he’d been drained of blood. It was all so unnerving.

In a panic, he quickly went to the sink, turning it on and running warm water over his arm. He felt nothing. The change in temperature was completely unnoticeable on his skin. The pain was replaced by a strange numbness now, going completely dull in an instant.

This isn’t my arm.

No.

No no no no no this isn’t right this isn’t right at all something is wrong something is really wrong what is happening to my arm no no-

It didn’t go away. The anomaly on his skin never washed off, instead clinging more forcefully as he rubbed it, picked at it with his nails, practically trying to tear the damn thing off. It was under his skin now, though. His panic and dread only became more nauseating as the water temperature increased, the thing never leaving.

There’s something there. There’s something there what is it no no no why do I have it this isn’t me no no that’s not normal that’s not freaking normal NO-

This thing - whatever it was - it wasn’t part of him. He quickly remembered what it did to his plants in the garden, killing them and turning them into husks in the span of hours, and felt even more sick. Had he touched the plants and gotten it on his hand? No, that wasn’t right. He didn’t do that at all. If anything, his arm had been hurting since this morning…

No, since yesterday.

…

Shit. This was bad.

He wiped his arm with a towel, going to his phone. He finally answered Shedletsky that no, he hadn’t seen anyone around his house, but then - in a fit of fear - went on to describe every weird symptom of… whatever this was. Waking up far too late, nausea, and even sent a photo of the thing on his arm. His text was clearly frantic, nervous, almost incoherent with how quickly he typed.

After sending it, he immediately went on to try and message Jane, ask her if she was still alright with everything happening at HQ, only to be interrupted typing mid-sentence by an immediate call from Shedletsky.

That was… quick?

Frowning, he picked up. “H-hey, Shed…”

Silence. The only sound was the Bloxburg reporter’s monotone voice in the background, so John quickly turned off the TV and listened to Shedletsky. Shedletsky's voice never came, though, so John turned up his phone’s volume and listened closer, confused.

“...Is everything alright? Are you there?” John asked after a moment had passed.

A sharp inhale from the other end, followed by a shuddering exhale. Shedletsky sounded on the verge of tears "Fuck ...” he mumbled. “...I- I’m so sorry, k-kid, I… I’m sorry…”

“Woah, woah, hey. Don’t say that. What’s wrong?” John asked, worry increasing as he sat down. His leg bounced up and down nervously as he spoke, staring off into space. “Shed. I need you to tell me everything this time.”

…

“Shed. Please.”

“I-I’m sorry, I- I’m really sorry, I-”

“-Stop saying that, I don’t even know what you’re sorry for,” John snapped. He leaned over the table, head in his hands, feeling as though his heart was racing. “Take a few deep breaths, yeah? Just like we always practiced…”

They did so. Inhale, exhaling together, trying and failing to stay in sync. This all felt deeply wrong- it was supposed to be the other way around. When he was younger, first getting adjusted to living independently, he was used to Shedletsky comforting him and Jane. Now the immortal Admin - the fabled swordsman, the light-hearted and carefree man, his support in all this annual madness - was having a damn panic attack.

“...I can’t tell you anything,” he finally said. His voice became more stern, more demanding. It was unnatural to hear from him. “Not unless you and your wife come here, to HQ, right now. Don’t stop in any towns. Don’t go near anyone. Just- actually, nevermind. I’ll teleport you. It’s safer and easier.”

“Jane isn’t at HQ?” John asked worriedly.

“What? No. I sent her and a few others home just a few minutes ago, I- crap. She needs to come back here right now. Both of you do. This is… this is really bad, John. I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner, I- damn it…” Shedletsky’s tone became more frustrated. John flinched when he shouted, hearing a fist slam on a table. “WE WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE MORE TIME! W-we… we were all supposed… to have more time… God, I’m so sorry, I’m so…”

“...Shedletsky, what does that mean?”

Silence.

John sighed, exasperated. “Shed, I’m not doing this again. I need you to talk to me, man.”

“John, something’s happening. Somebody’s here.” All that remorseful tone was gone in an instant, replaced by sudden fear and defensiveness. One moment later, Shedletsky’s voice was a distance away from the phone - John heard his connection begin to break up, a sudden static to his voice, a glitch distorting and stuttering what he said. It was like he was getting further and further away. “H-hello? Whoever- no- whatever Entity you are, know that HQ is a h-highly restricted a-a-area. W-we do not tolerate-”

His voice cut off to static noise, a sound like a high-pitched alarm blaring from John’s phone. He flinched away from it, then yelled: “Hey, Shed? Your signal is getting messed up. Is everything okay there?”

“W-w-wHAT? NO. G-g ET AWA- AY. I- do N’T- IT’S No T my FAULT TTT-”

There was the sound of a metallic sword unsheathing, it’s grating noise ringing through his ears briefly. Shedletsky’s voice became more muffled, more distant, the weak signal deteriorating even further as his words became incomprehensible. Even more garbled noise. There was a hiss of static, then silence. Complete, utter, deafening silence.

“...Shed?”

The silence continued. John hung up the call, then tried calling Shedletsky again. It automatically went to voicemail.

That’s… really worrying. Whatever. He’s an Admin, he’ll be fine. He sighed, trying to ease his sudden fear with that reminder. He has weapons, he has scripts, he has all the other Admins and staff at HQ. He’s seen everything. Whatever that was… he’ll be fine. He has to be fine. He hung up again and went to text Jane, when he reconsidered. If she was driving home right now, that wouldn’t be the best idea. He didn’t want her to worry for him, not like… well, not like whatever Shed’s worry was supposed to be.

His words were concerning, really. Especially that last shout, broken up and garbled. It was one of the few times he’d heard genuine fear from Shedletsky… and if it’s something the Admins are scared of, then…

He remembered how Builderman had gone missing, then Doombringer an hour later, leaving the other Admins to deal with HQ themselves. If they’re all going missing, then… John shook his head. No. They’d be fine. They had to be fine. It wouldn't happen again, right? This whole… thing happening… it had to be fine. It couldn’t possibly get any worse.

His eyes drifted back to the dark thing on his arm. Was it… growing? No. No. He could feel it moving under his skin, a chilling sensation like bugs crawling on him. No, he could see it too- he could see it changing…

He blanched, rolling his sleeve back down and putting his head in his hands. The bug-like sensation went away, but that dizziness returned all over again. He tapped his foot against the ground repeatedly in a quick, aimless rhythm, suddenly unable to ground himself. At some point Jinx rubbed against his legs, though he was barely even aware of the cat’s presence. He felt sick. Out of it.

…The very air around him seemed to be distorting.

He shook his head. Blinked once, twice, again. Everything was fine. Everything would be fine. Builderman would show back up, Shedletsky would be fine after whatever that was, and this thing inside his arm - underneath his skin, turning him pale - would surely be treated and go away. Today was weird. Far too weird and terrifying. None of it felt real. Part of him was unironically wondering whether or not this was all some nightmare.

His mind went back to the dying flowers, how they had similarly turned pale. Another shake of his head. Jane will be home soon. We’ll drive to HQ. We’ll be fine. He leaned over and picked the cat up off the floor, practically cradling the little creature. Jinx started purring and he sighed, a little more at ease as he pet the space between her ears. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m not giving you enough attention, am I, you little rascal?”

The cat meowed in response, mrrped, then harshly kicked off his chest and scurried off to her food bowl. Ow, he thought, seeing little red claw marks under his shirt. “Well, you don’t have to be so rude about it,” he scoffed out loud. Gosh, I sound crazy. I certainly feel like I’m going insane. Do insane people know whether or not they’re insane..? Is that even what’s happening to me?

Silence. He kept fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, staring at the patterns in the surface of the wooden table. “You’re fine, old boy,” he mumbled. “You’re just fine… You’ll be just fine. Jane will get here soon, and then you’ll both be off to HQ to… figure this out.”

His hand moved into a claw-like grasp over his chest, clinging to his shirt as he took a few deep, even breaths. The weight in his heart didn’t seem to go away. He spun around in his chair, getting up and beginning to clean the dishes. The least he could do was something productive before they left…

…

Ages seemed to pass before Jane got back. John heard her struggle with the door for a moment before it finally swung open. She exhaled heavily, relieved to finally be home. “Hey handsome,” she greeted, sounding exhausted. She immediately untied her magenta hair, which was in a frazzled mess as she swept it out of her face. Then she practically collapsed in the couch without another word, grumbling something incoherent into the cushions.

John waited for a moment, pursing his lip. Shedletsky did say to leave immediately. But, with everything that just happened, didn’t she at least need a rest? His thoughts spun back to the thing in his arm and just how terrified the Admin had been. That terror wasn’t normal. It meant something serious was happening to him, as much as he wanted to believe it was fine. “...Hey. Uh.” He gestured awkwardly to his phone. “Shed called me, like, a few minutes after he said you left work. Uhh… we… gotta go back to HQ, apparently?”

She frowned, propping her face up on the couch and looking at him lopsided. “Eh? Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. He sounded really panicked. He said he’d teleport us, but then - I don’t even know - something happened on his end and he just… stopped talking. It was really weird. I think his signal just stopped working? Or maybe mine was the problem.” John shrugged. “But… i-it sounded really scary, whatever he was talking about…”

“If it was real bad, he would’ve teleported us in an instant,” she pointed out. “That way we wouldn’t have to drive through another hour of traffic. It’s real bad out there, John - there were crowds gathering outside HQ walls, practically blocking the roads. Apparently, with some Admins’ disappearances, people are starting to think they can just do whatever they want. I saw the aftermath of a hacking incident while passing through Bloxburg, it was…” Her voice became more solemn. She rubbed her eyes, grumbling half-heartedly. “...Unsightly, to say the least… I just… I heard it’s only gonna get worse. Not just the roads, but the panicked people, too.”

He nodded absentmindedly, pulling lightly at the neckline of his shirt, then the hem of his right sleeve. He hesitated, before rolling it up. “Jane… this is actually bad. I’m just as confused as you are, and I don’t know why we haven’t been magically whisked to HQ yet, but…” His voice trailed off as he held out her arm for her to see.

Her eyes immediately widened. “What is that?! Why is your skin all…” She couldn’t find the words.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I showed Shed an image of it. Then he called me, panicked and apologized a bunch, said get to HQ right now, and then my audio started getting real messed up and I couldn’t hear a word he said after that.”

“...Shit, you’re right. That does sound bad.” She leaped over the couch’s edge in one quick spin and walked over to him, inspecting his arm. “It’s… pale. You’re very pale, hon… all of your skin is,” she mulled worriedly. “I just- I- I don’t think I recognize this, whatever it is. How have you been feeling?”

“I keep waking up late. This time at, like, 1:40 if I remember right,” he answered. “And feeling dizzy, and… well, my arm was hurting a lot. Now I just… d-don’t really feel anything in it.”

“Your skin is… awfully cold. Are you losing blood?” She questioned. “Increased heartrate, difficulty breathing, anything like that..?”

He nodded, averting his gaze, stammering. “Yeah. All of that. I-I don’t know how that would be possible, though… I’m not injured, I- at least I don’t think…”

Her brows furrowed. She nodded, looking over the black veins. “And- what is this? It’s… just so dark, like some kind of void. It isn’t even-” She looked at it from an angle, tilting her head. “-It’s not natural, it’s not reflecting light. How is that… what in the world is happening?”
“I don’t know!” He exclaimed, hands flying to his head. In an instant he was hyperventilating. “I- I’m scared, a-and I don’t know what’s happening to me, or to anyone, and I-I’m worried! I’m so worried that this isn’t some weird unlucky coincidence, and that maybe there’s something more. Something out of our control. H-heck, something even out of the Admins control, and with March 18th tomorrow..? What if it has something to do with us, dear?! What if it’s all somehow our fault!?”

She blinked, horrified as he curled his head into his hands, bent over the kitchen table and biting back a sob. “Oh, oh no, honey…” She murmured pitifully and scooted her seat towards him, placing a hand on his back. “...Don’t say that, dear. We’ll be just fine. We always have been fine. We have each other, yeah..?” She wrapped him in her embrace, gently trying to soothe him. “Shh, you’re okay…”

They sat there for what felt like ages, tight in the other’s desperate hold, murmuring to one another and finding comfort. Eventually they released their embrace and went to the couch, speaking to one another and listening for a long time. The atmosphere never lightened, but it certainly became more safe, more welcoming for each of them. Jane voiced her complaints and stresses about work, how HQ’s workplace had become far more hectic, irritating, and downright confusing with two of their bosses gone. John managed to put his worries into coherent words, describe in detail all the fear he’d been experiencing over the past few days, the anxiousness that always seemed to haunt him. Jane spoke of the crowds and their protests with tears in her eyes, how she did her best to hide her face from their glares as they shouted at every scripter or staff coming out of HQ, and how she wished she could do something, anything to help everyone despite the fear surrounding them. John told her how worried he was for Shedletsky and the other Admins, fearing that soon all of the staff may go missing, plunging the world into chaos and putting them at the unmoderated whims of hackers and Entities.

Sometimes, they never knew what to say to the other. Didn’t know how to offer comfort in their responded and nods and mumbles of acknowledgment. But they were content people, and it was enough for them to just see the other listening with that look in their eyes. That look full of sympathy, care, and love. That look always told the other that, although there was nothing they could do to fully relieve the other’s burden, they always wished they could, always wished they could offer some kind of support. That love was enough for them both.

At some point John’s phone dinged with a message from Shedletsky.

“False alarm, apologies for the outburst, Johnathon. You do not need to come to HQ, or even go to the hospital. What happened to your arm is only a temporary glitch.”

“Stay home and rest. Take March 18th to yourselves. Your safety is our priority.”

01000011 01001111 01010010 01010010 01010101 01010000 01010100

Chapter Text

The morning of March 18th started out as an ordinary one.

John woke up to their alarm clock this time, fortunately enough. Although thankful for this, he still couldn’t help but be irritated at the rude awakening. He hissed at the blaring noise, rubbing his face and eyes. Gosh, already..?

Jane only yawned. “Yeah, yeah, I know, hon… mm, can stay home from work…” she mumbled sleepily, reaching out her arm and lazily smacking the small clock’s buttons into silence. Right, John remembered blearily as she moved back under the sheets. Today is that day of the year, where we stay in our house for the next week, waiting for people to forget about us.

Jane seemed to sense his shift in mood and rolled over on to her other side, meeting her husband’s face. She smiled at him. “You look better,” she remarked, hand moving to cup his cheek. “Less cold, too. How are you feeling..?”

Like crap. John only shrugged, moving his right arm around a bit, noticing it still felt like it was full of pins and needles. That limb was… strangely heavy, it felt foreign to him. He didn’t want to look and see if the strange dark thing was still there. “Mm, fine,” he finally said. “Just a lil’ sore.”

“Same here, probably from last night.” She grinned at him. It took him a moment to realize what she meant, after which he uselessly stammered, a burning sensation coming to his face. She elbowed him lightly and laughed. “Oh, you dork. I’m teasing you. Don’t want you to be uncomfortable, yeah? Gotta joke around a bit or you’ll never let yourself relax.”

He managed to laugh a little under his breath, though it was a forced one. How can I relax, with everything happening to us right now? We can’t afford such a thing. She noticed this sudden shift in his expression, the way he simply wasn’t convinced. She knew there was more he wasn’t letting on. Of course she does. Her tone was more worried. “So, is that really all you’re feeling, or..?”

A brisk nod. He couldn’t meet her gaze.

“I’m fine,” he said again, this time more firmly.

She reached a hand to him, hesitated, then drew it away. Her voice became softer, more careful. “You don’t… have to lie to me, you know that..? I know you don’t want me to worry, which I understand. The last thing we need right now is more fear, but…” A beat of silence. “...Your arm?”

He didn’t look at it. He’d been avoiding seeing it. “It’s fine, doesn’t hurt,” he said again. Well, if his limb being strangely numb counted as it not hurting, then… yeah. He wasn’t technically lying, was he?

Jane’s brows furrowed. She saw right through this, he knew that well, and he could also tell that she was getting tired of his stubbornness from the way she sighed. It’s too early for us to keep discussing this, he wanted to tell himself. At some point she spoke, tired yet cheerful and loving: “...Happy birthday, Johnny.”

It was something they always said to each other every year. Despite the irritation they had for their circumstances and the bad news surrounding March 18th, they’d always find some happiness that they’d made it another year in spite of it all. He managed to smile, mustering a soft: “Thank you, dear,” under his breath. Her own smile returned, and their faces seemed to move closer together, tentatively closing distance. Staring into her kind eyes, her beautiful face - he felt his breath catch in his throat.

It was nearly impossible to tell who threw their arms around the other first - it seemed like both of them did in an instant, wrapped in a tight embrace as they kissed, if only for a brief moment. John’s face flushed red when they quickly pulled away, each of them breathing deeply. “Well, now you’re certainly no longer pale,” Jane managed to tease between gasps. “Oh, you always become so flustered. You make it seem like it’s your first kiss every time.”

He nodded breathlessly and absentmindedly, grinning like an idiot. She giggled, airy and light, before she put a hand on the nape of his neck and pulled him back in. They closed their eyes, lips pressed together as he tilted his head into her hold. A fluttery feeling went throughout his chest, his free arm twining around her waist, feeling her soft skin against his hand. She sighed deeply, content - he felt her heartbeat against his chest, a steady rhythm that managed to ease his fear.

Safe. That’s what their warm embrace was. Fine. We’re just fine. His thoughts stilled, the chaos and fear in his mind flatlined, all giving way to sweet, static silence. He didn’t need to worry. He just needed her.

Her mouth opened slightly, their kiss deepening as their tongues tied, his arms tightening still as her legs twined around his own. Taste. It was all too strong in his mouth, the taste of her.

…

…And something else.

John opened his eyes, retreating suddenly. A shiver went through Jane as she blinked, took in a deep breath with sudden fear on her face - it quickly turned into worry when she saw the furrow of her husband’s brows, the way he held his hand clasped over his mouth. His right hand. She saw it clearly now: those black, jagged veins on his skin. They were spreading up and down his arm, covering far more skin than they had yesterday, culminating in a void-like patch on his forearm. He was trembling. His eyes were wide. Terrified as he held his mouth shut tight, suppressing something horrible.

They had both tasted it. Something metallic and pungent. Something wrong.

“Hrrk-” a mere gasp from him, tears welling in his eyes.

John began to cough up blood.

Blood wasn’t supposed to be pitch black. Pitch black wasn’t supposed to absorb all light, reflecting none in return.

He wasn’t supposed to be vomiting it up in increasing quantities, either. All Jane could do to help John as he retched was hold back his dark hair, gently pat his back while she murmured profuse apologies. Useless apologies. There was nothing she could say that would help, nothing she could give him but pity. He was trying to say something between strangled chokes, though his voice came out garbled and almost inhuman, a stuttering glitch distorting what he said.

“Shh… deep breaths, don’t say anything,” she pleaded, trying to hide the fear in her voice. “Relax, please…”

A tremble went through John, his voice cutting off to weak, pained sobs. He just about collapsed in her arms - she fumbled to catch him, and was horrified at just how light he was. His ribs were becoming visible, his skin paler than normal, that dark unfamiliar substance dripping from his mouth. It was sickening, he was so frail and gaunt, he may as well blow away in a gust of wind. She felt tears beginning to brim in her eyes at the mere sight of him.

“We’ll be okay, we’ll be okay…” Her voice was a broken whisper, desperate and terrified. It was an attempt at convincing not just him, but also herself that they’d somehow recover from this. “...Please, just breathe. Breathe as much as you can. Don’t say anything, don’t waste your breath… your lungs… ” She buried her face into his hair, kissed his forehead tenderly, desperately trying to ease her own sobs. Blood. Its iron scent was strong. She still felt like she could taste it.

His shivering began to ease, his hands clutching her shoulders as though afraid he’d be dragged away from her. On the marble tiles of their bathroom floor, their clothes stained with that unnatural blood, she could do nothing as he slowly faltered against whatever sickness had afflicted them both.

No, sickness isn’t the right word… This was something else. Something that spread within script - not a viral pathogen, but an entity. Eating away at code and manifesting in the form of that otherworldly darkness. Whatever it was, it had appeared on their skin, too, all in the form of those black veins. It started with him, though she was beginning to feel an indescribable sharp pain in her arm, as well. I’m next, she knew as she winced through it all. This will happen to me soon enough.

Hours had passed since they woken up. It was well past noon now. There was no hospital for them - no treatment or medicine that could stop something like this. The news and messages in their phone made that clear, a reminder that all clinics were full, that the only solution now was to stay isolated and hope that the infection wouldn’t spread further.

“...Are you alright now..?” She asked him tentatively. His breathing was shallow, but it had slowed and he was no longer hyperventilating. He managed a nod, a gasp, and opened his mouth.

“Can-... can it just… ” His voice was shaky and distorted. “...stop. Why… can’t it stop..?”

Feeling as though her heart might just break right then and there, Jane began to help him off of the floor. She slung his arm around her shoulder - his right arm, the one that was infected - and attempted to support him as they made the slow and arduous walk to their living room. Normally it would’ve been a short, quick little thing, but in this moment it was a whole ordeal to simply try and get him to take a step forward.

She guided John to the red sofa, carefully coaxing him to a position where he was laid on his back. She propped up his head on a pillow, then dragged over a trashbin. “If… if you need to vomit again, do it in here, I guess,” she told him. All he could do was nod, a slight and barely noticeable gesture as he squeezed his eyes shut.

She sat on the reclining chair next to the couch, resting her chin in the heel of her hand. Her gaze was distant. He’s getting worse. The same thing will happen to me, but I don’t know when. I’m hurting, I’m tired, I’m… experiencing a few symptoms, though I’m certainly not seeing and hearing things like he is…

Another bout of wet, blood-filled coughing came from his direction, before he suddenly began to talk, voice distorted and pained: “I- go away- get away from me… I can’t… be healed by you, I c-can’t… give in…” His voice was stuttering, layering over itself like some broken record. Glitching, otherworldly. It was the work of the thing afflicting him, slowly breaking reality around them both.

His words didn’t seem directed at her. Speak of the devil. Ever since that moment he first began coughing blood, he’d suddenly go pale and stare at something else- something only he could see. His eyes would go wide, suddenly hyperventilating as he spoke and pleaded for whatever it was to go away. It had already happened twice since that morning. “Johnny, hon…” she began, placing a hand on his shoulder. “...There’s nothing there. It’s just me. Please, dearest, focus on me…”

His wide and frightened eyes suddenly fell on her, and his face softened. His breathing became deeper when he saw her, more even. “Jane…” His voice was a croak, though the glitching effect had left it. There were tears in his eyes, hopelessness. “...A-are we… dying..? Is there no better way out..?”

Dread seemed to make her chest go hollow. Suddenly she felt nauseous. “Of- hah, what a silly question. Of course we’re not dying, dear,” she said, putting her hand on her mouth as her stomach churned. “We’ll get help eventually.”

“Admins… gone… they won’t save us…”

She shook her head. “I know they’re inexplicably missing and that it’s scary, especially in a time like this. But, maybe…” She hesitated and looked away, at a loss for words, not knowing how to console him. Eventually she picked up the remote, turning on the box TV in front of them. “...Maybe there’s more evidence, traces? Let’s see the news, yeah?”

She began to flip through channels, and that’s when she remembered with a start what day it was. March 18th. Her blood nearly ran cold, too late realizing her mistake.

Northeast Robloxia News. “-so understandably, with several staff and the CEO himself missing, rumors have began to resurface of an old urban legend. Around this very day, it was said that an unknown individual known simply as ‘John Doe’ --” Her husband bolted upright at the sound of his own name, fear entering his eyes. “--would bring about the destruction of all Robloxia, supposedly. This paranoia has overtaken the world by storm with the outbreak of this anomalous script disease, something which was mentioned repeatedly in the original document relating to J-”

“You shouldn’t have to hear this, babe,” she murmured as she switched the channel. Bloxburg News. The town closest to them. Maybe we can see how the hospitals are, whether or not we can find one…

“-Infection continues to take a toll in Bloxburg, seemingly its point of origin,” the reporter began. “Clinics have long since run out of space in the wake of this explosive and anomalous epidemic. While numbers of those infected steadily climb across the world, several patients in Riverside have been recently quarantined and taken away to Roblox HQ. However it continues to spread through residents, with a reported instance-”

Even worse. Her heart sank yet again, nausea returning. She switched the channel. We need to stop hearing things like this, before… before John gets any ideas. She shook her head. No, he wouldn’t dare try and die with her still around, would he? Pained as he was, begging for it to stop, even convinced that he was dying slowly… he wouldn’t dare. No. Not when I’m still here.

She quelled that fear and attempted to listen in on the next reporter. The Crossroads Channel.

“This just in, the sacred Sword Fights on the Heights swords have all gone missing with the recent disappearance of John Shedletsky, Admin and creator of the Heights. Alongside Builderman, Mr. Doombringer and Dusekkar, all of these Admins have left HQ with little moderation or control.”

Jane’s husband looked up at her, expression grim. Her hand went back to her mouth, eyes wide with fear. “No, no… not Shed, too…” her voice was a murmur, disbelieving. After all they’d been through… he had practically raised them in their time spent orphaned at HQ, and remained a lifelong friend even well into their adult years. Builderman’s disappearance was bad enough, what with how he basically ruled over Robloxia, but they never knew him well enough to call him family - the same thing applied to the other Admins. Shedletsky, though? He’d called them just yesterday. It felt like a personal stab to the gut, and suddenly they were fearing for the worse.

What caused these disappearances? Why him? Who is next?

Are they… possibly dead?

No. That’s not possible. They’re immortal, right?

The Crossroads’ reporter continued. “...There also continues to be information and rumors circulating that claim multiple dangerous prisoners have gone missing, as well. Myths, hackers, and even dangerous experiments are said to have vanished from their containments in high-security HQ-controlled places, such as the Banlands and Area 51. Our interview with John Shedletsky prior to his disappearance did not ease our worries regarding this. With the sudden lack of effective moderation, there is a worry that these former threats will-”

Another attempt at a channel change, only for the TV screen to turn static. Jane didn’t even bother trying to fix it. She just collapsed backwards in her seat, beginning to chew at her nails worriedly. This is getting worse every hour.

Builderman and various other high-ranking HQ scripters had vanished yesterday, throwing all of Robloxia into panic, riots, terrified speculation . This infection, whatever it was, had started taking effect over the world only today, worsening the effects on the public as HQ scrambled fruitlessly to keep everything together with their leader gone. Now Admins are going missing, the people that governments would turn to with Builderman gone. Shedletsky. Doombringer. Dusekkar…

…And that disease was continuing to spread at a rapid rate. They’re blaming us for it, Jane knew. Why? What did John and I ever do? We’re just people. Affiliated with HQ and capable of scripting, yes, but we’re not… not monsters… not some urban legend. I don’t even know how or why he was infected first out of everyone.

How did these rumors even start?

The two of them stared into that static screen for a long moment. The weight of the situation was starting to sink in, especially now that they were infected, with all their pleading calls to Roblox HQ being returned with static noise. This might actually be the beginning of the end.

“Don’t do that,” John’s whisper broke the silence. He lazily reached up with his arm and lightly bat her hand away from her face, his touch fragile and weak. “Don’t bite your nails,” he murmured sleepily. His voice was tired, his face fatigued yet still full of worry at the same time.

Jane sighed, leaning over the couch to look down at him, their faces were parallel to one another. “Thank you, hon,” she said, swiping hair out of his face. He smiled, warm and awkward, color seemingly returning to his cheeks. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better. Right? Are you?”

“If you’re around, all is well,” he said absentmindedly.

“Oh, shush, you dork.” She planted a small kiss on his forehead. “How are you actually? Hurting, sick..?”

“Just sleepy,” he mumbled. His eyes looked away from her, back at some distant point. “...I don’t feel any pain or nausea. It’s… weird. Like I’m numb. My head’s kind of foggy, but…” He shrugged uselessly. “Dunno how to describe it.”

Concerning. She kept her smile though as she rose from her seat. “You look cold, dear.” She took a blanket, folded neatly atop the couch, and spread it out over him. As she did so, her hand made brief contact with his arm. Right arm.

…The shriveled patch of darkness on it seemed to be growing, his skin becoming more colorless and pale. Jane reached out to touch the spot gently, fingers brushing over the black thing lightly. Cold. Freezing cold, unnatural. She shook it off her hand, feeling a sudden chill. The infection was a dark fluid in texture, absorbing all light and reflecting none in return, sometimes even distorting light around it when looked at from a certain angle. That liquid void clung fiercely to John’s skin, appearing to leech away at him and turn him gaunt.

She sighed, pulling up the GUI attached to his arm. One more look. She’d already done this endless times, trying and failing to understand what was happening to him. She was a scripter, yes, but she didn’t know the first thing about reprogramming the body. It was horribly complex and inefficient, something you only did if there was no other option. She’d heard of it in experiments with clones - one mistake and you could kill someone, or see them become something so inhumanly grotesque and unsightly that you’d beg HQ for a memory wipe afterwards. Jane wouldn’t risk altering his script. She just wanted to see the infection.

As always, however, as she scrolled through named files and parts, she couldn’t find it a clue of it anywhere except a script named… well, it was just a string of 1s and 0s. Its name was endlessly long, actually - she didn’t bother scrolling through it, she didn’t know binary - and when she attempted to open it, a simple notice popped up:

JC-318: ACCESS DENIED.

It didn’t make sense. She’d never seen such a thing before. There wasn’t even an option to delete the thing. She just closed the GUI and put a hand on him, frown deepening.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled upon seeing her pitiful expression, feeling her tender touch, and he pulled the blanket over him to obscure his infected arm. Jane shook her head, raising the blanket again and climbing under it next to him.

“No, you’re not,” she retorted as she cupped his cheek in her hand, their noses a hair’s width away from each other. “Not at all. Nothing happening to you right now is fine. Don’t dare lie to me, or even to yourself…”

His brows furrowed. “You were just saying that we’d get help. That we’d be okay.”

She lost her words, sighing heavily. How do I respond to that..? I know he’s right about me being contradictory, but… I just want to help, both reassure and heal him. Somehow. Any way I can. She nestled her head in the crook of his neck, hand moving to cradle his head. “I know, I know… I’m sorry…” she said. It was the only thing she could say.

“Don’t be. You’re doing all you can… thank you.” His uninfected arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into a tight hug. There were tears forming in each of their eyes, though they didn’t dare look at the other’s face, didn’t let the other see their fear. There were no words that they were willing to say to each other.

Despite how cozy the other’s hold was, they were not comfortable- there were worries that remained unsaid, a tension that lingered in the air.

They told themselves silently, in each of their minds, that they would be able to somehow fix this later. That there might be a later, despite the crumbling of the world around them and the reality that they were slowly dying. So they laid there in the still quiet, arms delicately embracing each other while the static screen flickered over them.

Eventually she managed to break the silence, say something in a reluctant and defeated voice: “...I have to go into town today, John.”

He blinked, sudden fear entering his eyes. “Wha… why?!” He exclaimed. “It’s- we’re under quarantine- y-you know it’s… it’s not safe, Jane! Especially on today of all the days-”

“I know, dearest. Please don’t fret.” She swept the black curls from his face again, looked into his sad eyes. Tired eyes. Heavy-lidded with shadow under them, shining with tears, his brows furrowed in a worrisome way. “But we’re running out of food, my medicine… we’re long overdue a supply run. Besides, I wish to know the state of that place with the infection afflicting it. I want to know what I can do to help.”

“Nothing. There’s nothing either of us can do. If HQ is helpless, then so are we.” His hand was on her shoulder now, lip trembling as he sputtered. “Please. Please don’t go. I- we can hold out a few more days, right? I-I have enough ingredients to make us meals from scratch, and y-your needles… how many do you have?”

“They’ll last some time,” she answered. “But it’ll be fine, John. I won’t be attacked, but it’s you I worry for.”

“...On this day, though..?” His voice was hoarse, his eyes beginning to shine with tears. “With the rumors circulating? We’re scapegoats, Jane. You could be seen, attacked, killed. Why aren’t you scared?!”

Because we’re dying anyway. “Because I know we’ll be alright in the end.” She smiled sweetly, the expression he was used to seeing from her, but he knew just by looking at her - just by knowing her - that she was lying. They could always tell when the other wasn’t telling the whole truth. His own face fell into a frown.

“I… I love you, Jane.”

Her heart sank with dread, though she mustered a laugh anyway. “Love you too, honey. But why are you saying that like you’ll never see me again?” My suspicions aren’t right. He trusts me. He’s always been a pessimist, burdened by anxiety and fear, but he won’t… he just wouldn’t dare… “...You’ll be here when I come home, right dear? It’s just a quick shopping trip.”

“It’s hard to think of it that way…” he mumbled, averting his eyes.

“Johnny,” she snapped, voice suddenly pleading. She cupped his face in her palm, brows creased, tears threatening her eyes. “Promise me you won’t do anything rash.”

“You’re worried about me?! ” he sputtered, sounding betrayed. “You’re the one going into a town full of people that hates our guts, that’s tried to kill me before!” He pointed to the long scar on his temple, just next to his right eye. “On today. The annual date where everyone whispers our names in fear. In this situation, where the Admins go missing and that infection appears and we are supposedly to blame. Do you really think you’ll get out unscathed?! I don’t think this is safe, I know you think it’s necessary, b-but I just… I don’t understand… ”

She flinched. I’m wrong. He’s scared, he fears for his life. “I… understand where you’re coming from. It’s worth the risk, I believe. Supplies will only become more scarce as this sickness continues to spread, paranoia will only get worse… It’s better I go now than later. Do you really think someone will go out of their way to make an attempt on our lives again? That was years ago, at the height of people’s fear of us, when we first got moved here by Builderman. We haven’t been harmed since.”

He nodded sullenly, seeming deep in thought for a moment as his gaze drifted. John seemed to stare into space, looking right past her. It was a strange look - an unreadable one - almost like he just… wasn’t quite there. Jane didn’t know what to make of it, but it deeply unnerved her. He took a deep, trembling breath in before he finally spoke: “Don’t go in unarmed.”

Her brows furrowed. “John.”

“What?! You never know what will happen!” His gaze snapped back to her. He was here again, back in reality, no longer distant- and despite the fear and anger in his tone, she felt safer knowing that she was looking at him and not… not whatever thing he was seeing and hearing before.

She shook herself. “I don’t want them to see me as a threat, okay?” Jane reminded, before she had second thoughts: if it reassures him, puts his mind at ease… “...Maybe you’re right, though. I still think you’re worrying a bit too much though, dear. I’ll have the script to summon my hatchet ready, it’s the simplest one I got.”

He exhaled heavily, a tension releasing. “Thank you.”

Her hand twined around his own, giving his palm a tight squeeze. “Now, back on topic…” she pressed her forehead against his, looked into those sad eyes. “...You promise me that you will be safe, too, right?”

A nod, he managed a tight-lipped smile. “Of course, dear. Why would I not?”

It was unconvincing, there was clearly more he wanted to say but couldn’t bring himself to telling her, the way there was an anticipation in his tone and face as if waiting for something. She wanted to be done discussing this with him, though. She sighed, rising from the couch and re-wrapping the blanket around him. “Rest well, I’ll be back soon. You can call me if need be. Just… try and relax, yeah? Don’t get too antsy.”

Another nod, this one seeming more convinced than the last.

He simply laid there for a long time, eyelids drooping heavily over his gaze. John flitted in and out of a light, dazed unconsciousness, that sickly feeling never leaving him. He wasn’t able to get warm - despite the soft blanket wrapped tightly around him, he still felt as though he were freezing in his own skin.

He heard a number of sounds in this state. Of doors opening and closing, Jane organizing things and getting ready to leave. It was loud, really- far too loud, even though he could tell she was trying to be quiet for his sake. At some point he was jolted from his sleep when he heard her voice, coming out as a feeble whisper as she leaned over him: “You awake?”

John’s eyes shot open and he looked up at her. Her face seemed… strange for a moment, her features all distorted, but he blinked and was suddenly back in reality. Before his thoughts could linger on whatever he just saw, she continued speaking: “Oh, sorry honey…” She brushed hair out of his face again, and he smiled at the familiar sensation. “...I think I left my coat at work yesterday. I was going to ask if I could borrow yours.”

He nodded. “Oh, uhk-” He immediately coughed into his sleeve when he tried to speak. Jane winced, and he cleared his throat, frowning. “Hff… y-yeah, that’s fine.” He mustered a smile despite the sudden sharp, grating pain in his throat.

Jane raised a brow at him. “Thanks, dear…” she mumbled worriedly, gaze averting from his face. I must be pitiful to look at, he realized suddenly. He watched her take the black garments off the coatrack, including a beaten-up sunhat with a chunk taken out of its wide circular brim. Oh, sure. Take my old hat while you’re at it, too. He laughed under his breath when he saw her put it on, a silly little grin on her face. He used to wear it when he first started gardening - how it had gotten so damaged, he couldn’t remember for the life of him, but it had very much outlived its use. She put on his coat, which was always a little too long on John, and now it seemed too wide on her. She smiled, looking over at him. “How do I look?” She asked. The oversized hat cast a shadow over her eyes, glittering in the light. It was… silly, yes, but he thought she looked beautiful.

“Great,” he said, giggling a little. They both managed to laugh before she slung her messenger bag over her shoulder.

“I’ll be back before dinner, I promise. Can’t say specifically how long, since… well, I don’t know how bad traffic will be, or what stores will even be open,” she said. “Also, don’t bother making food for me. You need to rest, yeah?”

He nodded. He watched her open the door, give him a sheepish little wave and smile, before turning and vanishing. The door shut behind her. John, somewhat vividly, managed to hear the car’s engine rumble to life and drive away, wheels crunching and flattening the gravel path under it. It was a loud, grating sound that made him flinch and put a horrible pain in his jaw and skull. He was suddenly wondering if he somehow had some sort of ear infection, too.

He checked his phone lockscreen, furrowing his brows when he saw the time. 1:50. She’d probably be gone for a long time…

John sighed, setting down the device and closing his eyes - the light was still far too bright over him, glowing clearly through his eyelids. With a grumble, he got up from the couch on wobbly legs. An immediate feeling of nausea and dizziness went through him, his arm going around his stomach as he groaned irritably.

He slowly moved around the house drawing the curtains shut. Every time he came to a window he would nervously look through its glass, eyes darting around to see if anything was out of the ordinary. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, exactly. I feel like… I’m being watched… As stereotypically crazy as that thought made him sound and feel, he kept expecting to see some sort of person on the other side of the glass. Every time he covered the window and turned away, however, he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck raise, almost as if there were eyes drilling through his skull.

He just kept shaking his head, hoping the feeling would vanish. When he approached the last window - the one giving him view of his rotting garden - he found that the flowers were worse than they were yesterday. His heart sank. The plants were now pure black, the same lightless color as the anomaly on his arm, and they were wilting and sinking to the ground. Mere jagged husks, they didn’t even resemble the shape of plants.

Someone is here.

He bolted to attention at the sudden, unprompted and intrusive thought. What?! John’s eyes went upwards, seeing something in the distant treeline: a towering silhouette, hunched and with their head tilted.

Their gazes locked for a brief moment. He blinked, horrified, and the thing vanished when he opened his eyes.

Nope. Nope. No no no I am NOT dealing with this. I am not going crazy, am I?!

He drew the curtains over the window, heart hammering in his chest as he swept hair out of his face. He checked the door was locked - thankfully, it was - before turning off the lights and moving back to the couch. He practically collapsed in its cushions, head in his hands, trembling.

What would that be? The fourth time I’ve seen that thing..?

He sighed heavily, remembering what Jane said. There’s nothing ever there. I really am just seeing things that don’t exist, yeah..? He flinched when he felt an unfamiliar contact on his leg, jolting upright. Looking down, he found that it was just Jinx headbutting his ankle, meowing angrily.

“…Oh. Hi.” John pet the cat lightly between the ears before watching her move to one of her food bowls. “Well, what do you think? Do you think I’m insane?” He re-filled each dish and still found that the creature was glaring at him narrowly. With a reluctant sigh, he gave her some treats, mumbling to himself: “Yeah, I probably am…”

Jane would hate to hear me talking like this. John had a habit of simply voicing his thoughts out loud whenever he was alone, just to fill the silence. He noticed, quite often, that these were usually his own anxieties and ramblings to himself. Definitely a bad habit, since all it does is make me worry more…

He made sure the door was locked before turning off the lights. The typical light of the house gave way to comforting darkness. He went to the bedroom, hesitating in the doorway. The least he could do to feel better was rest, right..?

It was impossible to fall asleep.

John felt this tight feeling of dread and fear in his chest. He kept tossing and turning endlessly, unable to get comfortable, feeling as though his very skin were somehow bothering him. He felt strangely… trapped. Like something was looming over him, or that there might be something in his lungs threatening to suffocate him, or- well, he didn’t know how to describe it.

He just knew something was wrong with him. Something that, on top of everything else, he just couldn’t quite place.

He kept looking at his arm, noticing the darkness on it had spread further. After a short hesitation, he touched the middle of the dark patch with his other hand. Freezing. It was like putting his hand on ice. The texture of it was slick and smooth even though it wasn’t wet. It disgusted him, and he suppressed a shiver as he drew his hand away. No wonder I can’t get warm.

A quick glance at the clock to see how much time had passed. Though, its red light only blinked back at him empty numbers: --:-- . Huh. Is it off, or..?

He pressed a few buttons on the digital thing. 88:88. Well, that… certainly meant it was broken. “Great, that’s just great…” he mumbled, before looking at his phone. 3:10 PM, now that was more believable.

After putting his phone back on the nightstand, John rubbed his face and forced himself to close his eyes again. He squeezed them shut, began to take deep breaths, started counting… just relax.

1… 2… 3…

More numbers. More deep breaths, useless as they were. The sudden rush of his heart didn’t ease.

10… 11… 12…

His thoughts briefly drifted away from numbers, suddenly worrying for his beloved’s safety. Jane. It took a second to remember her name, surely that meant he was going unconscious, his thoughts and mind slowing?

30… 31… 2… where was I..?

She was strong. She knew how to fight, how to script, she’d be fine. She had to be fine. She was going out, getting supplies and checking on the state of the town, all for their sake… I ought to be thankful, yeah?

His worries weren’t quelled. Back to the numbers. 55… 56… 57… How could one minute feel so long, so tiring? He just couldn’t stop worrying, fearing for the worst. He couldn’t get his own thoughts to calm down. Glimpses of metallic blades flashed briefly through his mind. A hatchet. That’s what it was.

Nothing else. She had a weapon, unconventional as it was, but she was armed. If she were attacked, she’d be able to protect herself. If I were attacked, though..? He shook his head. She was the one he should be worrying for. An axe, really?

Nothing else. No other weapon, just an old hatchet and nothing else. Sure, it was easier to summon since script classified it as a tool and not a weapon, but what could she do against someone with a gun, or a sword… or a knife…

Nothing else. Too late. Now that his mind was on the topic, it wandered further. He vividly remembered the glare of a knife, reflecting his horrified expression - except it wasn’t his face. No, there was something deeply wrong with John’s face, twisted into that of a monster, black veins covering half of it, some sort of red light in the middle of it all…

That blade lunged for that horrible face, straight for his eye, aiming to sever that mindless beast’s sight-

His eyes shot open. Eyes. He still had two eyes, didn’t he? Yes, I do. The scar on the side of his face ached with a sudden pain and he quickly shook his head, not daring to touch the faded mark, instead balling his hands into fists. A brief glance at his clock. 3:17 PM. Something was, in fact, wrong. Now he knew what it was. There really is something watching me. His fear was never unwarranted.

He got out of bed in one quick instant, sudden dizziness increasing tenfold. He stood on weak legs, his eyes wide open, yet reality was out of place in his vision. It felt like he were in a dream, a horribly vivid dream, but one that was still not real.

Hah. I really am going crazy. The one coherent thought amidst the sudden buzzing of fear in his mind, half-formed sentences and speculative worries rushing back and forth, one train wreck into the next, before circling back to look at the previous mess. His focus was all over.

Jane. I’m dying. Where is she? I’m dying. There’s something under my skin there's somebody watching me. Why isn’t she here? Jane, Jane… Have I really gone mad? I am dying I know I am dying everyone is gone. All the Admins missing and yet what about Jane is she also missing? What time is it? Where am I? This is my house. There is somebody in my house. Why am I not dead?

None of it made sense. Not a single one of those thoughts had a destination, and none of them were commanding him to move. Yet, he suddenly realized he was moving anyway, towards his window, one feeble step at a time. Why is it so dark? It was not night, was it? The sun should be high in the sky…

He opened the curtains to find that the sun was gone.

The sky was red. Bright, blinding, bloody red and black, corrupted waves of jagged grainy texture rolling over the sky like some malevolent storm. The trees, the grass, the shape of the mountain - they were all just void, black silhouettes drained of color.

John lost his breath. The red glow reflected in his eyes, shining and bright, washing his face in Its disgusting majesty. All of It was abhorrent, twisting reality to Its gruesome will, and he knew It was all the work of the thing watching him. Waiting for me.

3:18 PM. Not that the time mattered anyway, not where he was going next. He already knew it was too late for him.

“A new plaything.”

Its voice came from all directions. It pounded through his head, threatening to invade his mind and shatter his skull.

“What a sickening amalgamate I see…” The sky’s many eyes - their erratic gazes turned, suddenly focusing on him. He couldn’t see those eyes, but he knew they were there. “Ah, I see you like this pitiful host. How unfortunate for you. You’re both mine now, and so is your suffering.”

Those eyes, they weren’t looking at John, he realized with a start. They were staring right through him, Its gaze and voice focused on something within. He felt a sudden nausea at that revelation. “Well, you’ll make yourselves entertaining enough, won’t you?”

Laughter. It was chilling, inhuman, Its amusement garnered from something horrible and wicked. The dread in his chest only intensified, a sudden weight coming over him. I can’t breathe- there was something in his lungs, his throat, something viscous and wrong.

He coughed, gasped for air. Once, twice, again- It wasn’t working, he was suffocating further as he fell to his knees.

Shapes in his vision were distorting, colors and the very room becoming warped. There was nothing in his thoughts that could question what was happening, though, not when his chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

Why?!

The one coherent thought amidst all the pain, the breaking of reality around him, the realization that he would never be able to comprehend this thing.

Why me..?

A question that drifted off into silence, unanswered, as everything went dark.

…

His mind and body involuntarily surrendered to Its whims.

Another poor damned soul.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in his house.

Chapter Text

John believed he was dead.

He had drowned, hadn’t he? No, as his memory returned to him… it was suffocation, wasn’t it? That darkness - whatever it was - it had strangled him, filled his lungs, made him cough up blood till his throat was torn. That should’ve killed me. He remembered passing out after all that. That would’ve killed anyone, wouldn’t it..? There was nobody to save him.

So, by his logic, he really should be dead. He knew that he should be greeted with some sort of afterlife when he opened his eyes. There was none of that, though. When John blinked awake he found himself in his home, in bed. His happy rural Robloxia home, made up of studded bricks and sparsely furnished. For a brief moment he wondered if it was all a nightmare.

Something was off, though. The environment around him had a strange chill to it despite him being under his covers. The atmosphere itself felt… wrong . It was too quiet and there was not a smell in the air. He was used to waking up to a multitude of different sounds: an alarm’s irritating shrieks, birds chirping in his garden outside, Jinx purring on his chest, or rarely - if he happened to wake up too late - Jane humming a cheery song as she typed away on a keyboard. He’d usually smell fresh coffee brewing, or the pleasant scents of flowers in the window as they bloomed, or the unpleasant stench of whatever decaying rodent the cat brought in.

But it was dead silent, the house was dark, there was not a smell in the air, and most noticeable of all: Jane wasn’t next to him.

This wasn’t his home.

He bolted upright, heart racing as he jumped out of bed in an instant, leaning against the wall for support as he stood. His gaze darted around the room wildly, searching for something, anything or anyone - but he truly was alone now. Awareness of his body began to return as his breath slowed, and that’s when he noticed that his arm was gone.

Actually gone?

It was hard to see in the absence of light, but he could almost make out the shape of - well, something. Is it really my arm? He nearly staggered under his feet, sudden horror coming over him, before he rushed out of his room and stumbled into the bathroom. A quick flip of a switch and sudden light pierced his eyes, glaring through his vision.

John let out a hiss between his teeth, covering his eyes with his left hand as he wandered around blindly, searching for the sink and its mirror. Eventually he found it, waist harshly bumping into its edge, and he blearily uncovered his eyes. A few quick blinks, pupils adjusting slowly, and he finally got a good look at his limb…

…Or at least whatever was left of it.

Nearly his entire right arm was reduced to a black husk, that void-like substance turning it shriveled and gaunt. It was leaving holes in his skin - as he looked closer at his forearm, he suddenly blanched. Is that… bone..?

That wasn’t possible, was it? Bones- that wasn’t right. That just isn’t right. He shouldn’t- couldn’t be seeing his own damn skeleton right now. His other hand reached out warily, fingers trembling as he lightly touched the small rotting array of scattered holes, a lump in his throat. It was some sort of trypophobic nightmare. With bated breath, he suppressed a scream when he felt just how disgusting the darkness was. Its texture was some sort of cold, slimy, nauseating… whatever it was, it was wrong.

He felt sick as he touched the edges of the rotting holes in his arm. There was no pain, but he could still feel it like it was his own skin. This isn’t my skin. He knew that well, that this thing wasn’t his arm anymore. It didn’t belong to him. This isn’t my arm. He didn’t bother going further, didn’t dare touch the thing under his skin that vaguely resembled bone but most certainly hopefully was NOT bone. If he did do that, he might just throw up.

Another look at the mirror, trying to distract himself with anything else. Even ignoring his mess of an “arm”, he still thought he looked horrible. His skin was pale and dull, the harsh mark of dark circles around his eyes and the frenzied look in his gaze making him look like a madman. His dark hair was a matted, greasy mess of tangles clinging to his face with sweat.

I look like I crawled out of a cave. Or maybe a morgue after being pronounced deceased. Or like a vampire - one of the zombie-looking ones, not the conventionally attractive ones. Yeah, no, I’m practically a whole damn corpse, rotting in my own skin.

Speaking of which, why wasn’t he dead? Whatever happened… last night, an hour ago? A week ago? It was impossible to know. It felt like an instant. It felt like ages had passed. What mattered was that he should’ve definitely died to whatever it was that suffocated him. Even now, with his arm practically eaten by the infection, he still didn’t feel any pain. None at all. Just… numb.

So he could be dying and he wouldn’t even know it. It wasn’t a reassuring thought. He took out a roll of gauze bandages from the cabinet, lip trembling as he looked at the decaying wound in his arm. Just… cover it up. Easy enough, surely. He kept averting his gaze as he wrapped it carefully, eyes darting between his grotesque arm and some random point in the room. One layer of bandage and the dark fluid (Blood? Is it blood?) was already immediately soaking through it. Another layer. Then another. He had to force himself to stop after a while. The wound - if it could even be called that - was covered entirely, practically cocooned.

A deep breath in. “I… have to focus,” he mumbled to himself under his breath. Being the first and only noise to break the silence, his voice felt all too loud to him. Focus. Figure out what happened. What time it is, where Jane is… anything, really. Anything at all. Any sort of distraction from this thing. Anything that is more important.

So he wandered around his “house” aimlessly, checking one thing and then the next. Jinx was nowhere in sight. All the clocks seemed broken - his alarm’s screen was completely black, and the clock in the kitchen… well, he didn’t know what he was looking at. The hands on it moved erratically, spinning too fast for him to comprehend, and it was headache-inducing to simply look at. The television’s screen was static noise with no remote nearby. He also couldn’t find his phone anywhere, so it wasn’t like he could check that, either.

Eventually he forced himself to move towards one of the windows. Specifically the one in the living room that gave him a view of the garden on the house’s side. His movements were reluctant as he grabbed the curtains, sweat beading on his forehead. After everything I saw… the way the sky distorted, stared at him as reality crumbled… he couldn’t get it out of his head. He didn’t want to see it again. If his “flowers” were still here, he didn’t want to see how they rotted further, didn’t want to see how much further they had warped and mutated.

A deep breath in as he stared at the ground. He steeled himself, his uninfected hand gripping the fabric cover tightly, jaw clenched. Just look outside. Simple enough. All he had to do was force himself to look. Look outside. What was there to see, really? Why did he want to look? It was safer inside. His mind felt as though it were torn. Look. Out. Side. It was practically a command. These weren’t his own thoughts anymore.

The curtains were thrown open in one quick movement. His head jerked to look up, eyes going wide to find that there was nothing outside.

Quite literally nothing.

No sky. No moon. No sun. No trees or mountains, no birds or plants or garden. No gravel road or winding forest paths. No light. Just darkness. Pure, infinite black. There was nothing to see. There was nothing outside his house.

This isn’t… anywhere, he realized with a start. This isn’t Robloxia. This isn’t my home at all. Is this even a “somewhere”? Whatever this place was, it was detached from reality and time and space. It was a replica of his home. Not the real thing at all. He didn’t know how his mind came to that explanation, why it somehow felt logical. It felt like something was feeding this information into his brain, though he wasn’t sure quite what. For possibly the a twentieth time since this whole thing started, he wondered if he had somehow lost his mind.

John shook his head of the thought, drawing the curtains back over the window and sighing heavily. He moved away from the living room, feeling oddly dizzy at the sight of whatever void that was. Calm down, focus… he leaned against the couch and tried to stabilize himself. A few more deep breaths before he spoke aloud to himself.

“Alright, old boy.” A mere whisper as he looked to the ground, his normal hand twisting his shirt. “This is… certainly something weird. Yeah. This feels real but it obviously isn’t because it’s… just too weird. Okay, maybe… maybe it’s a glitch. Maybe there’s some sort of exploiter attacking me. Or… an Entity…” His thoughts drifted back to the voice he had heard before going unconscious. It certainly wasn’t a human voice. No, It was something ethereal and imposing. Something incomprehensible.

He knew very little about script Entities. Sure, he knew that they were alive and real, but he also knew they were horribly complex and definitely not his problem. He knew their power and danger varied greatly - some were merely unintelligent phantoms that tried and typically failed to alter the code of objects or people. On the other end of the spectrum and certainly less commonly, there were mind-bending reality-eating eldritch monstrosities that required a whole team of Admins’ combined power to be subdued. They were oftentimes invisible, appearing as disembodied voice or GUI, and… well, that certainly sounds like what I’m dealing with.

John’s only prior experience with Entities was being spooked by some ghost-like immature one a couple years back. It had manifested in his house and began unanchoring objects and flinging them around, generally being an invisible pest. After his initial fright of encountering a literal reality-manipulating horror, it quickly became annoyance when he had to wait for Jane to return home and somehow capture the blasted incorporeal thing. He couldn’t remember what script she used - all he knew was that she was far more knowledgeable in all things anomalous than he was.

Heck, she worked for HQ for a living. She dealt with Entities, hackers, and glitches on the daily. If only she could tell me what to do… He felt a sudden pang of dread and fear in his heart. I promised her that I’d be safe, that I’d be home when she returned. But this house - it looks exactly like my house, but I know it isn’t mine. I know this isn’t my world at all.

She’ll come home and find that I’m not there. She’ll be worried sick. I’ve broken our promise, haven’t I?

…How long was I unconscious for, really? What if it’s a new day? What if it was only a minute? What if no time has passed at all? Has it been ages?

He didn’t know at all. His mind began to fear for the worse and he quickly shook his head. No, he couldn’t dwell on that right now. He had to figure out where he was and get out of here somehow.

So he moved towards the front door, hesitating as he placed his good hand on the handle. A deep breath in as he opened it, finding that void once more. There really was nothing outside, huh?

He wasn’t sure what to do. He stepped into the doorframe, hesitantly poking his head outside into the looming abyss. Nothing. Not even wind. Not a change in temperature or the air. It was… terrifyingly surreal. He wondered what would happen if he fell in.

A quick look down. Nothing. His “house” wasn’t on any ground, it was just… floating amidst the nothingness. So what if I fell? What if I chose to jump? The thought was intrusive, unprompted, though it lingered in his conscious for an unnatural amount of time. He couldn’t help but contemplate. Would he fall forever, endlessly into nothing? Was there a bottom somewhere he couldn’t see, and he’d die upon making impact? Or would he fall out of the Entity’s range of control, ending up as a glitching, horrific mess?

…That speculation would get him nowhere. He felt his heart sink with every gruesome thought, every vision of what gorey splatter he might turn into should there be an end. Or the existential dread of there being no end at all, falling for eternity and never changing. He tried to think more positively. What if this is a dream? Well, it was more denial than anything truly positive… no. No. This… surely wasn’t real, it was just too absurd. Right? There was no Entity or hacker or anything like that. He was just going insane, and this surreal yet oddly realistic dream was a byproduct of that. So what if I fall? Will that wake me up? Will I be home?

John’s lip curled in, gnawing at it nervously. No, I won’t risk it. He didn’t know what it was, he wouldn’t dare take a chance on his life like that. The alternative, however, was simply waiting in this house… he wouldn’t find anything this way. He wouldn’t find an escape, or a real way to treat his infection, or even Jane. He wouldn’t find her. He’d just be waiting here like a coward. But do I want to be an idiot and jump, and live or die to regret it?

He took a step back, steeling himself and looking up. He closed his eyes. A few deep breaths. I need to be thinking about this more logically, he concluded. I need to weigh my options, figure out what this thing is before I do anything… What if he threw something into that void as a test? Would he watch it fall forever, hear it hit the ground eventually?

Without hesitating any further, he decided to test it. He took a fork from the utensil drawer and lamely tossed it out the door. He watched, unblinking, as it fell for a moment - though, its fall began to slow, as if time were warping around it. At some point it slowed to a halt and froze entirely, suspended midair. He watched its image distort for a moment, visually warping and twisting in a spiraling surreal way, before it vanished from reality in the next moment.

It was gone entirely, as though it had never existed.

…Okay, what the hell? Unconvinced that what he saw actually happened and was even possible, he threw another utensil. It also dissolved before his very eyes.

There’s no way this is real.

A third test, this time with a large plate. The same thing happened. They just vanished - whether or not they went somewhere else, got absorbed by the unyielding black, or were deleted entirely… He didn’t know. He didn’t know how he could figure that out, or what would happen to him if he similarly fell in.

So he decided not to jump. He got up from his crouched position on the floor, stretching his back with a pop and deciding that he would not deal with this crap. He really needed a moment to collect himself. His heart was still racing after seeing what happened to his arm. But what can I do? I’m… not really sure what to do here. What, should I read a book? Pretend to go about my routine as normal? My phone isn’t here, I can’t contact Jane. There’s nobody I can call for help. There’s nobody here…

…Right?

There was a sudden chill up his spine. The brief sound of footsteps, distorted and glitching audibly. Something wrong. Something unwelcome was on his skin. There was a hand on his shoulder. Someone breathing down his neck, a shadow looming over him from behind.

“There’s nothing here for you.”

That same horrible voice.

He didn’t have the guts to turn around and meet Its face, or whatever appearance that Entity took on. Before he could consider wrenching his shoulder free of Its grasp, It suddenly shoved him forward - forcefully, quickly out the door.

He was falling. He saw the bottom baseplate of his house. He saw the door from a lopsided angle, and the shadowy, glitching silhouette that stood crooked in it, staring down at him as he descended into the inky void. The house and the surreal humanoid figure was gone before he could blink, swallowed by the darkness.

John tried to see his hands. He tried to look down. He saw nothing, as if light itself had been drained from his vision. Gradually, his fall slowed, and he felt himself become frozen midair.

“Error: Teleport failed. No set destination.”

What?

“Redirecting…”

Something changed. He felt air, he was falling again, he felt light behind his eyelids. My eyes are closed. Did he pass out mid-fall? When did that happen? Before he could wake up again, his fall ended. He impacted harshly with the ground - a harsh SNAP went through his ribs as the wind was knocked out of him. He was still numb. There was pressure between his sternum and ribs, the feeling that there was something wrong with his chest now, but no pain that came with whatever injury he’d just endured.

Surely a fall that forceful broke something, right? He… felt fine. He didn’t know what to be feeling. Really, he was just confused. Where am I this time? John quickly blinked awake to find himself on a wooden floor, his face staring up at a slanted log roof, flickering lights hanging from its cobweb-ridden rafters.

He glanced to his right. He saw a plate and tossed utensils next to him. Oh, that’s… where they went..? Where is “here”? He looked up and found a door, eerily resembling the one he fell through. After quickly surveying his surroundings, he found that he was in some sort of giant log cabin. The place was horrible. There were tattered couches, ruined and aged furniture, cracks and dents in the walls and floors, and gruesome dark stains that he didn’t even want to know the origin of.

A brief glance through the window revealed evergreen trees outside, a nighttime sky filled with dazzling stars. Huh. I am… in some sort of woods cabin now? Okay. He sat up, a hand going to his ribs. Nothing felt out of place, not even sore. He frowned. I thought I heard something break.

His eyes went up from his chest to look around the room a second time. He noticed some things that he didn’t before: rotting, unstable bookshelves covered in thick layers of dust, a lounge-like area of couches around a coffee table and fireplace, and a grandfather clock slowly counting to midnight. He squinted at the time. 11:33. That surely meant almost a whole day had passed with him unconscious, right? Then… that means Jane would be back in our actual home, right? Unless something happened to her, then…

…No, she was fine. She had to be fine. She could protect herself, right? But now that John was missing… what if she goes looking for me? He was somewhat hopeful at that idea - that there were people looking for him - but he knew that doing so would very likely get her in trouble, and that her search would be in vain. Wherever he was, this certainly wasn’t Robloxia. This wasn’t the world he knew. He didn’t know what told him that - maybe it was his sinking gut feeling, maybe it was whatever Entity might’ve caused this mess. Maybe I’m just going insane.

No. I have to be able to get out of here. Please. I don’t even know where I am, so surely… surely there’s an escape…

John’s thoughts trailed off entirely as his gaze became more adjusted to the cabin and his surroundings, and he finally became aware that he wasn’t alone. There was… something on the couch. He squinted at it, unable to discern the dark shape. Eventually his curiosity and confusion got the better of him. He rose up off the ground on wobbly legs, struggling to get his balance for a moment and feeling like he might collapse all over again. He took a careful step towards the little torn-up lounge, disgusted at the mere sight of it, then another tentative few steps as he suppressed his queasiness when he saw bloodstains. It looked like a brawl or murder had happened here, so he averted his gaze and looked back at the anomaly on the couch.

He tilted his head, confused at what he was seeing on the cushions. It was some sort of cocoon of darkness, slowly rising and falling. A person under a blanket? It would’ve been his first thought, were it not for how that texture was clearly not fabric. No, it was something viscous, shining, and very much unnerving to look at.

Really, he had no idea what he was looking at, though definitely didn’t want to get close to it. So he began to back away - the heel of his shoe pressed against the floorboards in a horribly unfortunate way. Creeeaakkk… An all-too loud noise in the previously deafening, terrifying silence.

His heart seemed to skip a beat. John held his breath in an instant, seeing the formless mass begin to stir. Surely it didn’t hear me. A thought that was quickly followed by something snaring around his neck before he could blink.

In an instant his skull was smashed into the floor.

For one long moment, his vision flashed through dizzying scenes of black and white and images of strange flowers before he regained awareness of his own body, finding that he was being dangled several feet above the ground and that the thing on the couch had, much to his misfortune, been an actual monster. The dark thing wrapped around it had been its own limbs and appendages, too many of them, swirling black tentacles that moved and flowed as though the air were water. Its body was humanoid, though similarly completely dark. Just void. The one discernible, colorful feature it had was a strange accessory, some sort of giant stereotypical witch’s hat that appeared faded and old, its wide brim casting a shadow over its already vague face. Even its face was featureless, just two wide purple eyes without a hint of pupil or expression. Though- was it glaring at him?

It certainly appeared angry, judging by how it had likely gave him a skull fracture and was currently strangling him above the ground with its tendrils. Oh. I am suffocating. Strange that it took him so long to realize, even stranger was that he felt no fear. I’m… going to die… aren’t I? His thoughts were slow, turned sluggish by a lack of oxygen. He didn’t flail against its grasp, he was barely even aware that he was dying as its hold tightened, the rational part of his mind beginning to recede.

John just saw more flowers. His eyes slipped shut, heavy lids drooping heavily, and his senses began to told him that he was somewhere else. Laying in a starry meadow among the nightshades. Illusions of poisonous violet blooms, colors filling his vision with beauty and bliss, the sound of rushing water - a brook or river - somewhere nearby. There was something peaceful in the midst of this natural twilight scene, something that brought him to acceptance. The only escape… is to give in, isn’t it? These were barely even his own thoughts, he knew that well, though he may as well let them in as his own. He’d be happier this way, right? Gone. Amidst the flowers. His soul would be freed, his body made into a sacrifice. A sacrifice for what? Something greater than I, surely…

If only he were capable of actual thought, he’d be questioning his sanity for the near a hundredth time. He’d be in absolute terror, knowing he was going to die to this unholy thing before him, made into a scapegoat. He’d wonder how his mind was being messed with in the first place, wonder if death might free him from this nightmare, or maybe he’d come to terms with the fact this wasn’t a nightmare at all.

He couldn’t do that, though. All that filled his senses were those meaningless flowers. His hand reached out to them, tried to grasp at their majesty, be graced with the delicate touch of their petals, if only for a moment - he knew it would kill him instantly. He could easily imagine lethal poison spreading through his veins. As if he could care. It’s for the best.

When that hand brushed the flowers, ever so careful and loving, he was not the one to die.

Instead they rotted before his very eyes. His heart sank with dread, watching their life and marvel fade, beginning to shrivel and sink towards the ground. The cool and dream-like colors of the poisonous illusion became drained to a desaturated, red-hazed view. The plants’ wilting didn’t stop there. They were poisoned, now - infected by something else. Reduced to black husks, he cradled their shriveled frames, fragile in his own beast-like, diseased claws.

The flowers were warm, wet, dark. They smelled of blood.

His eyes blinked open to reality. The illusion was shattered. John gasped, practically heaving. He felt his own lungs practically burst against his ribs as he inhaled and exhaled repeatedly, far too quickly for his frazzled brain to keep up, feeling as though he would never get enough of that sweet, gracious air. His other hand grasped at his chest, his shirt, before moving to steady himself on the ground. At some point during the illusion he had collapsed to the carpeted ground, on his knees as he held something in his right hand…

…A severed tentacle. That’s what the dark thing was, the end of it crushed and bleeding in his tight vice-grip of a fist. It was the appendage that had put his neck in a chokehold. There were never any flowers. Just the monster and its illusions, possessing his oxygen-starved brain and senses, lulling him into blissfully embracing what would’ve been his final moments. I don’t even know what I was thinking. That… wasn’t really me, was it? Just… letting myself die..? To become some sacrifice…

He dropped the gorey mass in a moment, horrified. His hand went to his throat, feeling the ring of a bruise. After a brief moment of realization that the thing was, in fact, what nearly killed him… he finally looked up. John finally looked back to the thing that was fully willing to strangle him to death-

-And found it in absolute agony.

The rotting stench of iron was strong in the air as it reeled, clutching the bloody stump of a tendril that had once been attached to its back. Its eyes were wide, horrified, practically balled up against the opposite wall. Its mouthless jaw seemed to clench and unhinge, unable to open and release what surely would’ve been a horrible scream. Instead silent tears rolled down its face, unable to staunch the horrific wound with its hands alone.

They looked like a person. A human. Terrified all the same.

I did that to them.

Immediate guilt and fear came over John. Another brief look at the giant appendage he’d somehow managed to tear off of them in the midst of his delirium. I actually did that. I actually hurt someone. He didn’t stop to wonder how it were possible or whether or not it was even justified. He just got up off the floor and ran.

It was a blur. In one instant he was crouched at the figure’s side, tearing off his own sweater vest. “Le- please calm down- just let me help-” he sputtered, feeling as though words were tumbling out of his mouth as they tried to recoil away from him. “-W-wait, no. Stand still. I-I can do something…”

He had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t even stop himself from using his infected arm. In one hand he held the person’s shoulder, in the other he pressed the sweater to their back’s gaping wound and watched with horror and helplessness as fresh purple blood began to soak it through all over again. “I- I don’t… know i-if I can…” His voice trailed off uselessly.

Their trembling was beginning to ease, though. The stiffness and obvious pain in their posture began to ebb away. Were they going limp?! Shocked, he began to shout: “Hey. Hey, stay awake. I-I need you to-”

John’s voice cut off to a yelp when the monstrous stranger lunged with one of their remaining tentacles and smacked the bloodied clothing out of his hand. The blood continued to gush out anew, though they seemed strangely unbothered by this as they just glared at him. There was something softer in their gaze, though. Something contemplating and more confused rather than angry or in pain.

It was… terribly surreal. One moment he was being strangled, the next he was trying to help the person that tried to kill him, and now that very same person was just… staring at him. Hesitantly and feeling a bit stupid, he finally asked the question: “Are you still gonna murder me??”

Their glare narrowed. Could they speak? They didn’t exactly… have a mouth. John inspected their face further and found that there was a thin line where a mouth should be, the semi-transparent glow of a tag in its corner. Oh, that’s- their mouth was quite literally zipped shut. Terrifying.

Their nostrils flared for a moment, releasing a heavy sigh. Irritably and acting as if they weren’t bleeding out, they tapped their knuckle against the wide brim of their hat. John noticed that there was some sort of slit in the hat, glowing a strange purple light within. Then that fabric tear began to move, a monotone and almost robotic voice beginning to emanate from it.

“This is Azure. After you bested him in battle, he has determined that you are not lost prey, and is sorry for assuming otherwise,” it spoke.

Okay. The hat could speak. Was it talking for the person? Azure. After recovering from the brief shock of realizing that an inanimate object had somehow been reprogrammed to speak for someone, John found that he was being glared at expectantly by both the hat and Azure, who were waiting for a response.

He blinked hurriedly, stammered, trying to process what the hat just said. In battle..? “E-excuse me, did you just call me prey?!” He exclaimed, horrified. This person - if they could even be called that - had certainly just tried to kill him.

Azure shook his head and hands hurriedly, appearing apologetic. The hat began to ramble: “Well yes, they did call you that, but they feel great shame in doing so. They realize now that you are one of their new allies, rather than a human victim who was mistakenly teleported here. This was unexpected-” The hat paused suddenly, its mouth frozen mid-sentence. Azure smacked its brim again as if to reset the thing. “-And he reacted defensively, worried he might be attacked in his vulnerable sleep. He apologizes deeply for this rash decision.”

That was… a lot of information. Well, it wasn’t. John took another moment to contemplate it and found quite quickly that the hat spoke too quickly and its rants could easily be dumbed down. Azure thought I was either a threat or prey - whatever that means - and attacked me. They apologize. They think… I’m some kind of ally..? “Uh, y-yeah. Sorry for… whatever just happened, too. Speaking of w-which, are you, uhm- gonna… be alright there..? You’re still b-bleeding a lot…” He could barely get his words out.

“Of course. It would take far more damage to kill Azure, and they have endured far worse. The bleeding will stop and eventually the appendage will regenerate - if not by time, then by forceful reset,” the hat explained. “Worry not, he finds your strength impressive, and is glad that you were merciful enough to not do further harm to him.”

“What?!” John exclaimed, terrified. “N-no, I- I didn’t mean to hurt… I didn’t do that! T-there’s no way I did that to you…”

Azure raised a brow as the hat spoke. “Do not feel guilty, friend. Your reaction was only justified in defending yourself. You attempting to repair the damage afterwards and prevent this conflict from escalating further only proves your kindness. Anyone else surely would’ve attempted to hurt Azure for causing them a concussion, strangling them, and generally being violent.”

I have a concussion? Well, he… supposed that made sense, with how his skull had been slammed into the floor in such a way. He tried to make his speech a little less slurred, practically trying to force his composure. “I-I, uh… I did try to help you, b-because I saw you were hurt and didn’t, uhm… really like that. I feel like anyone would’ve helped you, r-right? I just… I don’t think I really caused that wound, did I..?”

“He appreciates your generosity and humility,” the hat remarked as Azure nodded. “But don’t act as if that inhuman strength wasn’t yours, for there is nobody else here who could’ve caused that. You tore that tentacle clean from his back, did you not? He finds that impressive.”

“I did not,” John retorted, rising to his feet and struggling to regain his balance. “I-I don’t remember d-doing any such thing..! I just remember those flowers dying, and- and… then suddenly I’m on the ground with that bleeding thing in my hand. I am completely human, and so is m-my strength, because there is no way I’d be able to do that.”

Azure appeared even more impressed, however, nodding as that thin line of a zipped-up mouth curled into a smile. “You say the flowers died and you broke the illusion on your own?” The hat asked. “Truly a feat. It is one thing to see through the atropa, but another thing entirely to alter its effects on the senses and fight against it.”

“No. No. I didn’t do that. S-stop saying that…”

“Please, he asks that you do not deflect further. He is not angry at your capability, again, he finds it honorable that he was bested and then offered mercy. If anything, he believes he should be the one apologizing for acting in such a brash way,” The hat said. “Tell us, what is your name?”

“I do not think-” John sighed, realizing there was no reasoning with Azure or its verbose hat. Awkwardly, he held out his left hand, his normal one, as though offering a handshake. “...John Doe. Just… call me John. I-if the name sounds familiar, just… know I’m not like what those rumors say, yeah..?”

Azure didn’t seem to recognize the gesture, nor the name. They tilted their head at John’s hand before looking back up at him, barely a change in their expression besides slight confusion. The hat spoke again. “They do not understand this, but greet you regardless. Hello, John.”

“...Hi.” John awkwardly pocketed his hand, glancing away briefly. “So, uh… you say that, uhm, no human can see through the illusion..?”

“Of the nightshades?” The hat clarified. John nodded. “Yes. It is intended to create a more peaceful and quick end for sacrifices as their corpses are offered to the Spawn. Fellow myths and monsters may be affected by it briefly, but by sheer force of will and the Spectre’s influence, they manage to see through it and continue to fight.”

“I-I’m sorry, did you say… myths and monsters?” John’s mind was reeling. Spectre, Spawn, sacrifice and influence - all terms that felt like they should be familiar to him, yet strangely were not present in his memory.

Azure’s brow furrowed. Even the hat seemed exasperated. “He believes this may take some explaining. Come, would you prefer to sit down? The couch is not the most comfortable, but out of all furniture here it is unfortunately what is most ideal for rest.”

John rubbed at his temples. An explanation would certainly be nice. Figuring out where I am, how to leave, maybe how to fix my arm if that has anything to do with all this… So, despite the fact that they had nearly just killed each other, they both awkwardly sat down on the couch and its disgusting cushions anyway. Azure crossed his legs, mulling for a moment, before the hat finally found words: “To start, are you new here? He doesn’t recognize you.”

With a shrug, he finally nodded. John kept adjusting his seating awkwardly, feeling horribly uncomfortable. “...I-I guess I am. I… don’t really know where I am, so… yeah.”

“In short, this is another world created by a godlike Entity known simply as the Spectre.” the hat told him. “Have you died yet?”

Have I died yet? What kind of question is that? I’m still alive, aren’t I? But… no, I should’ve died. John’s mind drifted back to his suffocation back in Robloxia, his own blood filling his lungs. It was the last thing he remembered before he passed out and found himself here. “I… I guess I died..?” He said awkwardly, disbelieving. “But- I don’t think that was here.”

Azure nodded. “There are three ways one can end up here. One, seemingly in yours and Azure’s cases, you die by unnatural and oftentimes tragic means while the Spectre watches, and It transports you to this realm. So it could be called an afterlife, even a mimicry of hell itself, were it not for the two other ways one can end up here.” He was counting off on his fingers now. “You can simply go missing to the living world. Vanish without a trace. That is only when the Spectre cannot create or find a soon enough circumstance where you die, and instead simply chooses to forsake you from reality. Three… you choose to end up here, willingly. Those who do so are believed to be insane or feared. This is not a place that anyone should want to be.”

Another world, really..? He supposed it made sense. With the way he had just been transported from his fake house to here, it certainly made it seem like this wasn’t the world he was used to. Not with how surreal and absurd some things felt so far. John nodded warily, before asking: “So. I uh. I… died in the real world?”

“If you believe you died, yes. You are dead to Robloxia and alive to this world.”

…I’m dead.

He tried to wrap his head around it. Tried to force his brain to understand. All he felt was a strange numbness. Was it denial? Acceptance? He didn’t know. I’m dead. I died. Jane will come home to find my corpse.

Oh.

Oh God, no… she can’t see that. She can’t go through that. He felt a sinking sense of dread and guilt, easily imagining her horror-stricken face. I’m dead. Would she think it was her fault? What would she do in her grief, with everyone she knew and cared for suddenly dead or missing?

No. He didn’t want to imagine. He already felt horrible. If I were in her position instead, trying to hold things together… if she were the one infected, coughing up blood, and I had to go into town - I’d hope she were safe home, since she would be the only person I had left. But no. I would come home to find her sickly corpse… and I just don’t think I’d be able to live with myself after seeing that.

Shit. What would she do, with nothing left to lose?

If I would be willing to join her in death if our roles reversed, would she do the same?

He hoped not. Goodness, he prayed she didn’t. Azure seemed to notice the shift in his expression, the despair and the beginning of tears. John had forgotten they were even there. His mind was practically spiraling with dread and terror, maladaptive speculation and worst case scenarios beginning to take hold of his brain and senses. What will happen. What will she do. Will I see her. Not even questions, just situations of disbelief running through his head.

John felt a strange chill up his hand for the briefest moment. A touch. Something horrible and unwelcome, instantly making him feel queasy. Get away from me. Get away. Leave. Now. Don’t touch me go away I hate you I hate you I can’t be near you get away get away GET AWAY--

-What?

…

Are these really my thoughts?

In a daze, he blinked and found Azure practically collapsed, hanging onto the edge of the couch for support. His eyes were wide, shocked. It had happened too quickly. “He apologizes profusely,” the hat narrated as Azure scrambled to get back on his feet. “He did not mean aggression or to startle you. He just wanted to question if you were feeling well, though you seemed too out of it for any of his words to get through…”

John shook his head hurriedly. “Wh- why are you on the floor?!”

“Did you not just punch him?” The hat questioned, almost snarky.

“I did not, in fact!” John yelled. The fact that his infected arm was out and in front of him certainly wasn’t helping his case. Horrified, he crossed his arms against his chest, trying to ease his sudden racing heart. When did I move? “I- I don’t know what happened- I just wasn’t thinking- g-gosh, I’m sorry… I-I’m sorry if I really did that…”

Azure tilted their head at him, appearing confused. “Your defensiveness is warranted, feel no shame in protecting yourself,” the hat told him. Azure nodded quickly in agreement, giving John a quick thumbs up. They sat back down on the couch as if nothing happened. John noticed the wound in their back was basically gone - in fact, he could see a new, small appendage beginning to unfurl from the once empty space. Although relieved that the damage had healed, he still felt sick at the mere memory of what happened. And I punched them? And they think that’s completely fine? Before he could ask what in the world was going on to make them think that violence was even remotely okay or even anything remarkable, the hat had continued, its voice slow and careful: “...Did you lose something, John..?” Azure’s face appeared mournful. “In your previous life. Was there more you wanted out of it? Did you leave something or someone behind? Do you just… simply not understand why it had to be you who died that day..?”

The hat seemed to have solely Azure’s voice now, rather than some over-the-top explanation of too many words. It had actual tone, somewhat saddened, and was being oddly vague. John furrowed his brow, confused. He couldn’t help but feel sympathetic, although he barely knew what to say. “...Yes,” he finally said after a hesitation. He averted his gaze, looking to the ground. There was nothing he could gain by lying, the least he could do was be honest, even if this person were a total stranger. “I- uhm- I have a life that I want to return to. A nice home and routine. I have… I had a wife… a-and she’s still alive, but I’m not, and… well, she means everything to me. I love her. I love her so much. She is kind, and smart, and she always knows what to say, I- I miss her… ”

Azure tilted his head again, seeming to smile. It was only a ghost of a smile, one that seemed saddened. “You sound happy talking about her,” the hat remarked, its voice back to that monotone narration.

We were both happy. We had everything. His thoughts wandered back to his own corpse collapsed by the bedroom window. Her sweet smile as he promised her that he’d be alright. Her face… and what it might look like upon finding whatever rotting husk was left of him. He felt sick. He shook his head hurriedly. “I- I don’t- w-want to think of…” There was a lump in his throat.

Azure noticed John’s eyes go blank, distant. They reached out a hand to his shoulder as if to console him, only to immediately draw back and briefly avert their gaze, hesitant. Finally, the hat spoke quickly: “He believes you do not have to say anything. Surely, neither yours nor his deaths were anything but pleasant memories. He thinks that the best course of action at the moment is to get you adjusted to the workings of this world, to explain and hopefully ease your confusion in doing so before you experience anything too…” the hat hesitated for a moment, trying to pull a word from Azure’s mind. “...disturbing.”

Immediately John was at attention, bolting upright and looking to face him. “A-as if I haven’t seen enough terrible things-” he sputtered, terrified. “I- first my arm gets messed up, then I see some weird glitchy nonsense happen, and then I end up here and you… whatever you are…” His voice trailed off. “...S-sorry, I uh, shouldn’t have said that. Y-you’re uhm, fine for what y-you did, by the way…”

Azure nodded. His gaze appeared sympathetic as the hat spoke. “John, what you have experienced thus far will only be far from the worse,” it said, almost like it was to be received as some sort of prophecy. “Immortality, which may be a blessing for any Admin in Robloxia, is nothing but a curse here - at least, in the case of the humans… you certainly look like one, but your strength proves otherwise. In fact, he’s not quite sure what you are.”

“My strength,” John repeated flatly. “Me somehow tearing off your limb and punching you in the face and then not remembering I did either of those?”

Another nod, this time more eager as they dismissed his concern. “He truly finds it impressive. He would spar again, if you’re up to it,” the hat seemed to say the last part of its own accord, and judging by Azure’s scowl and the way he smacked its brim, was probably not meant to be said aloud and stay an inside thought. The hat quickly continued, redirecting the conversation: “Of course, you being one of us would explain why you’re here and not with the survivors.”

“...One of you,” John repeated again, this time more disbelieving. “And who is ‘us’? And what are survivors?”

A heavy, tired blink. Azure began to rub their face, already appearing exasperated. Is this something I should already know? Or is it that difficult to explain? “Azure knows that there is a system of sorts. Every time you die, you simply come back to life as if nothing ever happened. You are still fully capable of feeling pain, however, and that is supposedly entertaining to the Entity keeping you here.”

He didn’t know whether or not to believe it. For a moment, he was just shocked at the mere idea of such a possibility. Coming back to life. It’d only be yet another strange and impossible thing on top of many others. He could be gullible for believing it, or stupidly close-minded and irritating for refusing it. Really, he was just unsure. Normal Robloxians like me aren’t supposed to be immortal. “...I haven’t felt any pain,” he admitted. “I just- I dunno. I feel numb. Ever since I ended up here, it’s just been… nothing.”

“He finds that odd. Nobody else - killer or survivor - has described feeling such a way,” the hat remarked. Before John could open his mouth to question this, the hat continued: “You wonder what killers and survivors are?” Reluctantly, he nodded, although the terms alone sounded foreboding. “Killer is a general term that we’ve both observed is given to monsters, myths, mutants, aberrations - whatever you and Azure are. You are labeled as such by your enemies, survivors. Human prey that killers hunt and - as the name suggests - kill. Whether or not it is for necessity of survival, entertainment and pleasure, or something else entirely depends on your circumstances.”

A killer. That… certainly seemed like what Azure was, judging by his violent reaction upon meeting John and his decision to near immediately try and kill him. But me? One of those things? John couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of it. “I-I… don’t think that’s me..?”

“Indeed, he believes you aren’t capable of even hurting a fly, you certainly don’t seem to have the attitude or grotesque appearance for killing,” the hat said. Azure appeared offended - yet another thought meant to stay inside. “Though, he also observes that what you are capable of thus far - resisting the illusion and causing significant harm to this body - is strength befitting of a killer. It is a strange combination of traits, truly, one that makes him wonder if the Spectre is wishing to change these games with an oddity such as you.”

“The Spectre?” He echoed. The name felt wrong on his tongue. It was familiar, really. He tried to piece it together on his own. “I-is that… the name of the Entity that placed us here..?” he asked. Azure nodded. It certainly sounded like a name that would be given to one, boring and cliche as it was…

…Wait. That’s where he heard it. Shedletsky’s call. “...To find death threats from some ‘Spectre’ thing. Pretty lame name for a ghost if you ask me.” He remembered the immortal Admin’s dismissive tone as he described the Entity they’d discovered. If only we hadn’t brushed it aside.

Did the Admins know about this? Wait…

“H-hold on, you said people going missing is how they can end up here?” John questioned suddenly. Azure nodded again. No. That can’t be right. Does that mean… “...Are the missing Admins here?”

“They’ve been here longer than Azure, yes,” the hat answered. “Several tens of years, maybe near a hundred more.”

That really can’t be right. That doesn’t make sense. “W-what do you mean years?!” John exclaimed. “T-they’ve only been missing for a day. That just… how is that even possible?”

Azure’s lip appeared to curl inwards, shrugging dumbfoundedly. The hat explained for the both of them. “Time flows differently between the two worlds. A day in Robloxia may very easily be several centuries here. Though, it may change by the Spectre’s will. For all you know it could’ve been months there for a day here. Reality, time, space - its constraints are nothing to the Spectre.”

Oh dear. John didn’t know how to process that information. It was yet another near-impossible thing to wrap his head around. Years here… barely any time at all… So Jane might not even be home yet, or she might’ve come home and found his corpse ages ago, if the Spectre even left a body behind. “I-I don’t… think I can believe that…” he admitted. Maybe that’s exactly why Azure seemed so exasperated trying to explain this. It just seems impossible to the both of us, and yet… we have to simply live with it. “Is there a way out of here?!” He asked. “H-has anyone tried to go home?”

Azure’s face became saddened. “There is no escape that any killers or survivors are aware of just yet,” the hat answered. “It is ill-advised to even attempt finding an exit. Try and script a teleportation command out of here? End up tormented personally by the Spectre. This realm is one of suffering. He hopes you are right about your peculiar inability to feel pain and your strange circumstances, that you might somehow create a break in the torturous cycle…” Azure shook his head, taking off the witch hat entirely. It went silent. He held it to his chest, gaze appearing distant as he stared off into space.

No way out. That wasn’t something he wanted to think about just yet. John sat there hesitantly for a moment, trying not to make it obvious that he was staring at them as he contemplated what to say. “You, uh… not wanna talk anymore..?” He asked awkwardly, pointing to the removed hat. Azure nodded weakly. “...Alright. Sorry that I, uh, kinda ruined the mood with my questions…”

Azure shook his head again, resting his chin in the heel of his palm as he looked elsewhere. John pursed his lip and scooted away, trying to distract himself with his bandaged arm. He flexed his fist for a moment, curled it in and out, kept touching the bandage as if he expected it to do something weird. My arm works just fine despite how horrible it looks, he realized. Is it stronger than my left arm? I think… I did hurt Azure with it. Twice. I still can’t believe I did that, I just… I really don’t think I did.

What if I was able to feel pain? Does this infection normally hurt people? Did this illness - or the Spectre - somehow fry my nerves to not feel pain, so that I can somehow push through this torment?

No, it was numb before I ended up here and knew about the Spectre. I wonder if this infection has anything to do with that Entity at all. If maybe It decided to infect the world with this strange disease when the Admins went missing… or maybe it’s something else entirely? There was this weird, nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite place. Something that told him his infection was just its own unfortunate thing. Am I crazy? Having these thoughts and “answers” come from nowhere, somehow fed into my brain?

With a heavy sigh, he turned and showed his arm to Azure. The black infection was still visible through the messy gaps in the gauze. “H-hey, uh…” John’s voice was tentative to break the silence. “...I know you aren’t in the mood to talk, but I just have one last question. Do you recognize this infection at all?”

Azure blinked. Stared at it, tilted his head and contemplated. Eventually he just shook his head “no”, his gaze appearing apologetic and simultaneously somewhat unnerved, before going right back to staring off into space. John nodded. Not very helpful. But… if it had something to do with the Spectre, wouldn’t Azure know? How much does he even know about this place? He’s been here longer than I have. “Right. Yeah. Thanks…” he mumbled, drawing his arm away and beginning to fidget with the hem of his shirt. It was still covered in Azure’s blood. He felt disgusted that he added more gruesome red stains to the already horrible looking scene of this cabin, and had also ruined his clothes in the process.

What? No. I should be disgusted that I hurt them at all in the first place. Gosh, what is wrong with me..? I feel terrible.

I feel sick. Tired. No pain, but horrible all the same. Well, I did just get a concussion… and get teleported around… and came close to death maybe twice… John sighed heavily, leaning against the gross cushions of the messed up couch and letting his gaze slowly become more distant. He felt his eyelids droop heavy over his vision. It was all involuntary. He felt control of his mind and body begin to slip away.

His thoughts quickly became lulled away from him, melting into static silence. His fears meant nothing to his suddenly exhausted and seemingly uncontrollable body. Wait, I don’t… want to sleep…

…Because what if I don’t wake up again? What if my body doesn’t belong to me anymore?

What if…

…what if I never see her again..?