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So 007n7 became Dusekkar’s tail for the entire match. He followed a step too close, like an offbeat echo. Whenever Dusekkar ran, 007n7 ran. When Dusekkar crouched, 007n7 crouched—though not nearly as silently. The man might have stealth as a stat, but he walked like he’d never met a patch of grass he didn’t want to trample loudly.
“Do you always follow people like this?” Dusekkar muttered, tinkering with the wires inside a generator.
“No,” 007n7 said brightly. “Just you.”
“Great,” Dusekkar said flatly.
And yet… he didn’t make him leave. They finished the first generator together, sparks flying up as the hum roared to life. Dusekkar barely spared a glance to the left as he moved on, floating like he always did. No footsteps. No sound. But 007n7? He scrambled after him like a dog on too long a leash, barely catching up by the time Dusekkar reached the next gen.
“You really don’t mind CoolKid being the killer?” he asked again, quieter this time, almost shy.
“I already said no,” Dusekkar replied, adjusting a knob. “He’s your son. Whether he’s a rampaging psycho or a toaster, that’s none of my business.”
007n7 stared at him, as if hearing those words physically warmed his bones. Dusekkar didn’t notice. Or pretended not to. Hard to tell with him. They powered two more gens together. CoolKid tried to jump them once, but 007n7 actually body-blocked a hit for Dusekkar. Dusekkar didn't thank him—just handed him a medkit in silence and fixed another generator.
“Why do you even try to talk to me?” Dusekkar asked finally, while they sat hidden behind a tree after a failed chase attempt.
“Because…” 007n7 scratched his cheek. “You’re not scared of me. Or my son. You don’t blame me for what he is.”
Dusekkar huffed softly. “That’s because blame takes effort. I don’t do effort unless it’s necessary.”
“Still,” 007n7 said, smiling at the ground. “It means more than you think.”
Dusekkar glanced at him. Just for a second.
“…You’re weird,” he muttered. “But not the worst.”
When the last generator popped, and the gate buzzed to life, 007n7 stuck beside Dusekkar all the way through the exit. They walked out together in silence. Not triumphant. Not victorious.
Just… side by side.
“Thanks for letting me follow you,” 007n7 said at the threshold, voice almost boyish.
Dusekkar gave a lazy shrug. “Didn’t stop you. That’s all.”
“Still… maybe we can team up again sometime?”
Dusekkar floated a few inches higher. “We’ll see.”
But he didn’t say no.
—-MAIN CABIN—-
The match ended, barely. Blood trails still lingered on the edge of reality, and the static hiss from the last generator hadn’t fully faded.
The Main Cabin creaked with unnatural calm—too still, too quiet. The fog from the outside world seeped in through warped wooden cracks, clinging to boots, coats, and bone.
Dusekkar hovered into the center of it all, exhaustion written in the slump of his posture. He didn’t expect to be invited to tea. Not by him.
007n7 waited by the long, rotting table with a chipped metal kettle and two mismatched mugs. “Figured we could talk,” he said, voice low, unsure. “After all that.”
Dusekkar looked him up and down. No visible weapons. No teeth bared. No whispers of Spectre riding on his shadow. Still. Caution.
“Fine,” Dusekkar muttered, floating across the room and sitting with a solid thud. “But the chair sucks.”
“I—uh, yeah. Sorry. Wood’s rotten in half this place.”
Dusekkar took the mug without comment. Steam curled upward, the scent faintly sweet. Not poisoned. Probably.
Across the room, behind a fogged-up window, CoolKid stood—watching. Still in his mask, still buzzing faintly with the hum of corrupted code. His stare was unbroken, like some predator behind a pane of glass.
Dusekkar didn’t acknowledge him.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” 007n7 asked suddenly. “That he's mine?”
Dusekkar drank, slow and deliberate. “He’s your problem. Not mine.”
“But he hunts you. Always you.”
Dusekkar shrugged. “Everyone hunts me. I’m just easy to find.”
The kettle hissed as it settled on the wood. 007n7 looked away, like he couldn’t take the weight in Dusekkar’s voice. “You don’t even hate me?”
“I don’t have the energy to hate you. I’m conserving what’s left to outlast your son.”
The cabin door swung open suddenly, letting in a gust of cold wind and the scent of ozone.
Elliot entered with urgency in his steps and worry written across his tired face. His collar was crooked again, damp with match fog. The moment he saw the scene—Dusekkar drinking tea beside CoolKid’s father—his shoulders tensed.
He stomped over, boots thudding against the creaking floorboards. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Dusekkar raised an eyebrow. “Welcome back.”
“You’re drinking tea with 007n7? In the middle of the main cabin? While his spawn of darkness is watching through the window like he’s deciding which organ to tear out first?”
007n7 flinched slightly. Dusekkar didn’t even blink.
“It’s warm tea. The chair sucks. I’m tired. This is survival.”
Elliot leaned in close, voice low but firm. “He’s not just a dad. That entire family’s tangled in something wrong. You know how the logs refer to CoolKid—he’s not just another Killer. There’s corruption around him. The kind that sticks.”
“I know,” Dusekkar replied, calm. “But 007n7 isn’t corrupted. Not like CoolKid. He’s… what’s left.”
Elliot’s jaw clenched. “You trust too easy.”
“No,” Dusekkar said. “I just care too little to fear.”
Elliot paused, frustrated, but then softened. He glanced over at 007n7 again, who sat hunched and quiet, hands wrapped around his mug like it was the only thing anchoring him.
“You sticking with him the next match too?” Elliot asked.
“Probably,” Dusekkar said. “He doesn’t talk much. That helps.”
“Alright. But if I catch him muttering corrupted lines, I’m hitting him with a medkit.”
“Fair.”
Elliot let out a long, heavy sigh. The kind that said I still don’t like this, but I trust you anyway. He paused in the doorway, throwing one last glance over his shoulder. Dusekkar sat at the table, cloaked in dim lantern light, long coat trailing at his ankles. Calm. Detached. Eyes half-lidded, like none of this was new to him. Like he’d already lived a thousand versions of this night.
Across from him, 007n7 sat stiffly—hands tucked in his lap, legs too long for the small bench. Like a man invited to a peace treaty he didn’t quite believe in. Elliot’s stare lingered on the killer.
“I swear,” he muttered, “if he turns out to be a closet Spectre ‘cultist’, I’m dragging your ass out myself.”
Dusekkar just raised one lazy hand in mock salute.The cabin door creaked shut, Elliot was gone. Swallowed by the fog.
Silence returned. Only the quiet clink of ceramic echoed in the room. Dusekkar raised his tea. Sipped. Didn’t rush.
Across from him, 007n7 shifted—fidgeted with his sleeves like a kid unsure of where to start. Then he just blurted it out.
“My son wasn’t always like this.”
Dusekkar didn’t flinch.
“I mean, CoolKid. He used to be loud. Always laughing. He’d glue macaroni to his drawings and call them masterpieces.”
A pause…
“I still have some. Hidden in my locker. I never told him I kept them.”
Dusekkar nodded once, slowly. Steady.
007n7 went on, voice lowering with each memory.
How CoolKid’s laugh turned sharp. How the glitches started. How other survivors stopped standing near him. How silence became the only language they shared. And how every match, 007n7 watched him lose a little more of himself.
Outside the fogged-up cabin window, CoolKid stood still—watching, unreadable. Like something caught between child and ghost.
Dusekkar reached over once, opened the latch, and gave the kid a soft pat on the head. No words. Just that simple motion…
CoolKid didn’t react, but he didn’t pull away either.
“I just…” 007n7’s voice cracked. “I didn’t know what else to do. I stayed. I tried. But I kept watching him slip away.”
Silence again. And then, almost shamefully.
“Did I say too much?”
Dusekkar looked at him. Not unkindly. Just… long. Then he leaned back, set down his empty cup, and exhaled.
“No,” he said. “It’s normal to let it all out.”
And from his coat pocket, he pulled a single wrapped candy. Strawberry. Slightly warm from the fabric, he placed it on the table and slid it forward.
“A reward,” he said simply. “For being a great dad. No need to apologize.”
007n7 stared at the candy.
No one had called him that in so long. His throat clenched, he looked down, blinked hard, and suddenly the world blurred.
“Th-thank you—sorry—God, I—”
His voice broke apart under the tears. Hands covering his face, shoulders shaking as the weight of months—maybe years—came loose all at once.
“I didn’t expect—thank you—I’m sorry—”
Dusekkar reached out, not hesitated, gently patted his back. His hand stayed there, steady.
“It’s fine,” he murmured. “Let it out. You’re alright.”
It wasn’t flowery. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was real. And that was all 007n7 ever needed.
By the time the crying slowed, the lantern burned lower. The tea had long gone cold. But for once, 007n7 felt… a little lighter. His eyes were red, sure. But his smile was honest.
“…Can I,” he asked, barely above a whisper, “get you on another date?”
Dusekkar blinked. “Date?”
007n7’s face flushed red instantly. “I mean—not like, romantic, unless you want—I mean—tea, talking, this—hanging out. It’s been nice. I haven’t had that in a while. Not without pressure.”
His laugh came out awkward. Too big for the moment. His shoulders hunched like a kid caught sneaking candy.
In that light, he looked painfully soft. Polo shirt. Hands rubbing together because of nervousness.. Eyes full of something he wasn’t ready to name.
Dusekkar actually chuckled. It was quiet, dry—but it made something flutter hard in 007n7’s chest.
“Alright,” Dusekkar said. “I’ll go on another date with you.”
007n7 sat up straighter. “Wait, really?”
“Tomorrow. 5PM.”
007n7 nearly choked. “Yeah! Yes. Yes—tomorrow, 5PM. Of course. I’ll be here. Totally. I’ll—Thank you. Thank you. I won’t mess it up.”
Dusekkar stood, stretching slightly. “See you.”
And like fog after morning sun, he was gone. 007n7 sat frozen for a moment, still holding the candy. His heart was going far too fast. His cheeks hurt from smiling.
He pocketed the candy. Carefully. Like it was something worth keeping safe.
—OUTSIDE THE CABIN—-
Outside, CoolKid waited like always—still and quiet. When his dad stepped out, lighter in his chest but dazed in his mind, the boy looked up.
“…Dad?” CoolKid asked in his usual glitched tone. “Is Mister Dusekkar gonna be my mother?”
007n7 sputtered, nearly tripping over his own feet. “What!? Where did you even—!?”
“You seem brighter,” CoolKid added, tilting his head. “Like your color palette changed.”
007n7 groaned, covering his face again. His ears were red. “I—I don’t know, buddy. But I’ll try.”
CoolKid nodded once. Then, wordlessly, took his dad’s hand in his own.
“Try what?” Elliot appears suddenly, out of nowhere. His face is darkened, it seems like he’s mad.
Make 007n7 screams in fear and terror..