Chapter Text
The air smelt of grass and soot, but those notes were simply an afterthought to thou which lay on the ground, as all senses had been overpowered by the not-too-unfamilar taste and stench of blood.
Unfortunately, the blood was the only familiar thing to them.
Everything within It's mind was a haze of static, similar to their body, which tried weakly to get upright, but defied itself in its efforts and fell back uselessly to the ground again.
Immediately, they could tell, this is not where I should be at the moment.
In their heart of hearts, they could tell that something was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
They heard, almost in a timely manner, the thumping of footsteps above where It lay, approaching at first seeming relaxed, but then hastening as the person had seemingly noticed the body. Thou which lay finally regained the sense of vision, eyes blinking open as It managed to push Itself upright enough to try take in where exactly they were, taking in the grass beneath It, and the distant light of some kind of lodging. They almost crumpled again, but persisted, as the hand of the approaching man grasped Its wrist and pulled them up.
"Hey-- holy shit...c'mon, get up–"
Their first instinct was to bat the hand away. The second, to rip it off. But they did not do either of those things, as it was pulled upright, and realised It was now able to look down upon the fedora-wearing man.
As it should be.
They cleared their throat, jerkily raising their arm to wipe the blood pooling from their mouth. It realised just how much their body was shaking, just how much they could not function. They kept their hand over Its own mouth, glaring as the mouth fumbled to find words.
"...Who are you."
The man seemed to take a moment. It didn't know if It had startled the man, and It couldn't place if It enjoyed that It had done that or not.
And then the man spoke again.
"Well, I could be asking you the same question."
They blinked. The audacity of this man. Could he not tell that thou which he was speaking to did not know what It was? Could the man not tell of the static in Its mind, the buzzing within its own brain silencing any coherent thought? Could he not see the way It was quite literally decaying? It was stupid that It was getting so worked up over this, but It expected better from a person they had just met. It deserved better from him.
It wanted to strangle this man. To make him suffer like he had never suffered before. To kill him over and over and over and over and over and over and over–
"Right, right- you're kinda...killing me with your eyes there, huh...I'm Chance."
The man, Chance, a frankly stupid name, put out his hand, expecting some sort of return. But Its hands were pre-occupied with Itself, one still wiping the blood over Its face, the other straightening out their coat.
It did not return the handshake, and Chance had to put his own hand instead awkwardly behind his head.
"Do you... not have a name the–"
"...I am bleeding. My name is the least of your concern at the moment."
"...Right. Yeah, fuck–"
Chance's hands, which It had watched intently, returned to his hips.
" Well, follow me, then, we've gotta have some sorta medical stuff inside, right?"
A question. As if it knew ANYTHING at the moment. It's slowly seething frustration was permeated by the fact it now had conformation of two things. One, there were more people here, and Two, there were actual structures around. Good. Perhaps someone had some sort of answers for them, hopefully more than this pathetic excuse of a living creature did.
It blinked, and the man was walking off. It had lost focus in their thoughts.
It stumbled forward slightly, trying to get a bearing with their shitty sense of balance.
It shouldn't have to walk, it shouldn't be here, it shouldn't have this fucking body.
Despite the fog in its brain, it knew this for certain. Its skin was too tight, arms, legs, chest, it was all thick and thin in the wrong places, too heavy, too clumsy. Forget about the pathetic excuse for living flesh walking away from him, it wanted to tear itself apart more than anything. It was...disgusting.
And yet, it knew it was so much better than anything else down here.
Chance, stopped. And turned again, looking at It, as It glared at him.
"You alright there, bud? Need help walki–"
"I am fine. Do not patronise me."
"...Got it."
Chance turned back around and walked off. Taking a long, laborious breath out, It followed, stumbling slowly towards wherever Chance was taking It.
They began to think. Filling their own mind with thoughts. A cover-up they knew wasn't real, but was good enough for Chance and whoever else was here.
And they breathed, somehow, knowing they would find their place, a wolf among sheep.