Chapter Text

𝕿𝖔 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖔𝖗 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊, 
𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖔𝖗 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖆𝖙𝖊. 
𝕾𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖇𝖔𝖙𝖍 𝖜𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍 𝖉𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓.

Chapter Text

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐈 . . .

a forsaken fanfic

Elliot

A picture can’t haunt someone forever.

Can it?

“Elliot, over here,” Builderman beckoned, gesturing to an empty seat. Everyone sat at the tables in the dining room. I complied, sitting down. I at least attempted to recall everyone’s names. 

Of course, there’s Noob, the youngest between all of us. A survivalist, but can be helpful when last in any round. Then there’s Shedletsky, admin of Roblox. He’s always strict or silly, never in between. He keeps most of his backstory to himself. No one knows why. Then, there’s Two Time. They’re mostly quiet, but creepy in my opinion. Taph, who cannot speak and just stays mute, but he tends to use sign language or emojis. Dusekkar is like an elder for the way he speaks towards the group. Builderman, the one who just spoke to me, can get a bit . . . temperamental, but nothing all of us can’t handle. Guest 1337 happens to be really nice to me. He protects people that can’t do much for themselves. Finally, there’s Chance. He’s friendly in my opinion. That’s all.

I sat next to Taph and Two Time. Two Time was mumbling some sort of prayer, while Taph just looked around. I traced my finger on the table, watching the timer in anticipation. 14 seconds . 

“Dang it—uh,” barged in 007n7 through the door, holding a folder, “I found the folders. Investigative . . . Iris? Yeah, Iris. She gave them to me.” 

I almost forgot, but that’s 007n7. Most of us keep our distance considering he’s the father of a certain . . . someone. 

Guest 1337 closely examined both the folders and 007n7. “That’s great. Place them over here, would ya?” 

007n7 placed down the folders on the table. Guest 1337, Shedletsky, Chance, Dusekkar, and Builderman all took one and read them. 

Apparently, half or so of the survivors were on a mission of some sort. I’m not in it, so I don’t know what it’s all about. It’s best if I don’t involve myself. I wouldn’t make any good use.

Dusekkar hummed in thought.“With only 10 seconds on the intermission clock, we shall return to this after the next round’s knock.”

Collective agreements filled the room. Once everyone quieted down, some people were still hosting conversations with people nearby, I simply waited for the timer to end.

“Elliot,” said Chance, tapping my shoulder from behind. I flinched, whipping my head around to see him standing behind me. “Geez, I didn’t mean to scare you that badly.” he smirked innocently.

I blinked. “What do you want, exactly?”

“I meant to tell you about this last round. The whole mission kept me busy, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to you.” he explained.

“Continue?” I said impatiently. 

Chance spoke up once more. “Yeah. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you this before, even if it wasn’t that important. I was going to tell you that I–”

The round started just then.

I’d just wait ‘till the next round, I guess. That didn’t stop me from worrying.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 . . .

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧

There’s nothing to do except for generators. I nimbly picked up the wires to complete the puzzle. I looked around, trying my best to recognize the map. Sadly, my best will never be enough. After completing a few puzzles, I checked my watch to see the survivors. Noob was the lowest in health, Shedletsky was the second lowest, but I guessed he would be okay since he must’ve had enough chicken, and Dusekkar was third lowest. Everyone else seemed to be okay and scattered across the map, likely away from Jason. 

Behind me, I heard footsteps. Was it Jason? 

I backed up, letting myself look around. That’s when I felt my back press against something—or someone. My heart stopped. I turned around.

Taph .

I get startled not one, but two times.

Heal Noob? Taph signed, pointing at me. I sighed in relief.

“I don’t know where he is,” I told Taph. “Out of my reach.” Truth was, if I looked hard enough, I could probably find Noob quite easily.

Taph tapped his chin before bringing up his hands to sign again. Other side. Near the other bridge. Near where the killer spawns.  

I nodded, grateful for the information. “Thanks, Taph.”

Though I doubted I was going to make my way to the other side, I turned around again back towards Taph. “You’re . . . not feeling excluded so far, right?”

Taph tilted his head. He reluctantly brought his hands back up to sign. Everyone’s nice so far. Taph doesn’t really have an opinion. 

I forced a smile, just to satisfy him. To let him know it wasn’t supposed to be a deep question. “Right.”

I walked away, finding somewhere to go. Should I really risk finding out that the Jason could be a milestone and get me killed in a span of five seconds?

Yes. Yes, I absolutely should.

I picked up the pace in my feet and ran to the other side, walking across a bridge and closer to a manor. I turned to my right, keeping an eye out to see any other survivors around.

As I got closer to the other side of the map, I saw Guest 1337 swoop in to hit Jason, letting Noob limp away. I followed after Noob cautiously, not wanting to catch the attention of Jason.

“Noob!” I called out, seeing them turn around while sprinting. I tossed them a pizza, and, as expected, watched them catch it mid-air and take a bite. Noob nodded in gratitude, the cuts slowly disappearing. I stopped chasing after him to catch my breath.

I leaned against the wall, hand against my beating heart. Who knew running across the map felt like running a marathon? Likely because I’m not the greatest runner—or just have serious skill issues. Being exhausted like this. Just like this. It makes me feel useless sometimes. Not being able to do anything, key word: unable. I gave myself some time to balance myself, then looked back up. In front of me was Jason, standing tall with his machete, ready to strike. I quickly braced myself for the slash—

“Elliot!”

Guest . . . ?

I opened my eyes to see . . .

Guest.

Blocking. Fists up, Jason misses.

Something I would never be able to do, but I’d have to appreciate him.

While I still had the chance, I ran. I kept hold of myself, because that’s what everybody wants me to do. 

Hiding behind a nearby wall, not breathless but tired, I checked if I had any pizza ready first, then checked my watch. Two survivors down; Dusekkar and Builderman. Two Time only at 43 health and 007n7 at 65. I let out a sigh. 3 more minutes left. Most of you may wonder, ‘Elliot, you deal with this everyday. Why are you, just now, sulking?’

August 21, 2014

It was always weird driving on my borrowed motorbike to my workplace. I felt like I was constantly being watched, my every move, my every thought was exposed—like the world revolved around me in a bad way. Not that the feeling of being stalked affected me much.

Everything just felt uneasy.

Down the plain road, I only saw houses and more houses—then the back parking lot, 

typically reserved for employees. After parking and stepping off of my motorbike, I went through the back door. I went through the delivery room and through the boxing room, through the kitchen and stopped behind the counter once more. 

I wonder why I’m not as successful as my other family members or friends. I have to be stuck in this pizza place as a lactose intolerant, which isn’t exactly your lovely, perfect career job.

Behind the counter was absolute prison. Morning to evening shift, 6AM - 7PM. Reason? Poverty speedrun, and I happen to be winning. The amount of windows in the restaurant should be unholy at this point, and the sun decides to be extra-bright even if I have been woken up enough. Easily recognizable place. Brick walls, wooden doors. Just so I didn't get called out, I paced around the restaurant to make it look like I was doing something. Lulu—one of my co-workers—stayed in the kitchen on her phone. All I had to do was wait until a customer would show up.

Ring.

I rushed myself back to the cash register, watching a customer approach the counter. “Nice to see—”

“Yeah, yeah. Let me think.” the customer interrupted.

I cringed. “Right, there’s four options on the menu.” I muttered to myself impatiently. Once they were finished looking at the menu, they looked back at me.

“Cheese pizza. Nothing special, my son might throw it up.” they demanded. I wasn’t a big fan of their attitude, but I added it to the register anyways.

I eyed them closely. “And that would—”

“—be all. Yes.” they quickly said. I fought the urge to quip back. I didn’t have anything to lose if I said anything back—just the chance to repay my college debt.

“Alright. That’ll be seventeen dollars.” 

They crossed their arms. “I’m sure that payment comes after the food?”

“The system’s different. Find another restaurant if that’s the case.” I clenched my fists, biting my tongue so nothing else would come out. Only a nod came from them, then they slipped the money in cash on the counter. I took the money and placed it into the cash register.

Something about that person.

About that guy.

He sat down at the seat near the wall with his so-called ‘son,’ which didn’t even look like his son. Some red pill-baby that was the same color as my uniform. Whatever it was, it wasn’t any of my business. 

If I had known better, I would’ve never made this mistake.

Once Lulu finished boxing the pizza and everything, I brought the box over to him. I didn’t want to say a word to either him or his son. Back at the counter, I waited in the still-empty restaurant. I couldn’t help but think to myself—who the heck orders pizza this early in the morning? Is his organs doing well, or his son’s? A pill baby— pfft , can it even digest the pizza?

Oh.

Oh my heavens.

I can almost envision my face again. When I saw that pill baby swallow the whole thing. By the whole thing, I mean the whole pizza box and pizza. Did I feel disgusted? Kind of. Frightened? Yes. 

Well, that just gave me a perfect reason to stay away from both the baby and the father.

Oh, and I know you’re getting bored of my talk-to-self-and-sulk-podcast. I’ll hurry up, I promise. 

After serving a few customers and having to ride back and forth on my motorbike to deliver pizzas to different houses, I saw someone. Both before being taken into the Spectre and afterwards, I knew them for a considerable amount of time. Lots of people pester me with the question: ‘Yeah, well why do you favorite him?’ Have no fear, ‘cause your local yapper is here to show and tell you.

Ring!

Words cannot describe how fast my attitude lit up. Distinguishable stuff—a dark fedora hat, a tie, blazer, headphones, and shades. 

“Hey, Chance!” I greeted first, waving. The internal, screaming YES inside of me unwavered. 

He slid one side of his headphone off his ear to hear me better. It was a small thing that I noticed him do. “Hey kid. I just wanted to order a regular pepperoni? Just for my friend.”

“Friend . . . iTrapped, right?” I thought I remembered him talking about this before. “Unless it’s someone else? . . . “

Chance gave me a small smile. “So you do remember stuff. Yes, that guy.” He seemed a bit surprised. I nodded, adding the order to the register. “Dang, Eli. You’re a pretty good listener. I thought I mentioned that weeks ago only once.”

Good grief. He remembered . I wasn’t going to tell him that it was because he was my only friend. He’d think that would mean I was pathetic—and no one wanted to talk to me. It’s best to keep the truth to myself sometimes. “Yeah, I just . . . happened to pick up the name!” I laughed it off, scratching the back of my neck. 

A moment of silence passed. “Being a pizza worker, or whatever. It doesn’t take away your personal life, does it?” he asked. 

I thought for a moment. Even if I didn’t know the answer, I responded with, “No, it doesn’t.” 

Did it really? Did the whole job feel like it was taking away my life? I wasn’t sure, and I’m still not sure today. All I know is that it’s the only job that accepts me, even with my . . . “invalid” resume background. It’s my only hope to get my family dinner everyday, ever since my dad has been less active emotionally. It’s what sustains me. It’s what I’ve devoted every cent , every willpower , every second , every prayer to. It’s what I worship . 

“I-I have to go.” Chance looked rushed and nervous, looking behind him constantly.

I tilted my head. “What? Do you need help with something–”

“No, no, Elliot, I have to go. I’ll come back next time, I promise I just—” Chance waved quickly, running towards the door.

I furrowed my eyebrows. “But your order is—”

He already left by then, the door closing. I stood there, confused and a bit terrified. If you were born yesterday, you’d know I was so surprised because he’s never done that before, and it would only be a matter of time before I found out.

Once there was no trace of Chance, I went on my phone, back against the counter. Maybe I’d deliver him the pizza later on. I’d have to tell Lulu to leave it in the delivering room for me. 

Ahem.  

My fingers flinched, ready to hurl my phone, but I shoved it into my pocket instead and slowly turned.

Towering—seemingly looming over me was a group of five. All dressed in the same outfit but different hats, one of them taller than the rest and was the only one wearing a different outfit. I only picked up the similarity that the tallest one had the same hat as Chance—just striped. Their hat overshadowed their eyes, so I couldn’t pick up on half of their facial features.

The group’s presence made me feel shaky, but I composed myself. “Good evening, what can I get you today?” The amount of voice cracks made me wince. Hopefully they didn’t notice.

One of them with a top hat interjected unexpectedly. “I like your hat.”

My . . . hat?

“Huh . . . ?”

“The visor you have on? It’s really cool! Nice color too,” he smiled. I blinked.

“Thank . . . you?” The simple compliment lightened the atmosphere, which made me feel much better. Two of the boys on the left were whispering and laughing to themselves, another one with shades and no hat just stood there, looking annoyed at them. “ . . . And what are you all getting today?”

“Whatever the boys want,” the tallest one said with a sigh. His voice was so deep that it echoed off the restaurant’s walls. The group immediately broke out in chaos.

“I want—”

“Shut up, Contractee! You got to order last time!” The one with the ushanka pushed who I’m guessing was named ‘Contractee.’ Who names their child that.

“I called dibs last time! Back off!”

The guy with the shades helped Contractee up. “Can’t we all just vote?!” The three snapped their heads at him.

“That’s so boring!” complained the same one with the ushanka. I stood there awkwardly, shuffling my feet. 

The tallest one was just watching the group argue, smirking. “They all want the same thing everyday anyways. Two cheese pizzas, four sodas.”

I tapped the register, and the rest of the group that was arguing in the background faced me. I tensed up.

“Wait, that was so cool! Do it again!” the ‘Contractee’ guy said. 

I paused, watching them stare intently at the register. “T-the ordering mechanic?”

“Yeah, yeah! That thing!” the top hat guy pointed at the register eagerly. The tall one in the fedora hat stood there watching, staying unnervingly quiet. 

I pointed at the register as well. “It’s . . . a register .”

“Spare him some grace, men—(the title wasn’t exactly fitting to their mannerism)—I’m sure he has important things to do after this. Thank you, Elliot Builder.”

My breath hitched. He could’ve gotten my first name from my tag—yes, but I wasn’t going to dismiss the fact that he said my full name. I didn’t want to question him, since he had already left to take a seat with his ‘men.’ I had stopped moving completely, my eyes wide because what the heck happened. Once I snapped back into reality, I looked over to where they were sitting.

I didn’t see him do anything threatening. He was just fixing up one of their ties. He was being . . . surprisingly nice to them. For his whole attitude and look, I didn’t expect him to act so diligent. They seemed like a family of some sort, even.

It made me wish I grew up somewhat like that, no matter how strange they were.

“Hey, Elliot?” Lulu asked from behind me softly. I waited for her to continue. “We’re running out of supplies, so I was going to head to grab us more. Could you make the pizza while I’m gone?” She seemed a bit nervous to even talk to me, since I don’t talk to her much, or at all.

It wasn’t much of a problem. So I agreed, heading to the back where the kitchen was. She exited the building and went to the back door, and I looked up at the screen. Two cheese pizzas, four sodas , I replayed in my mind. I began to roll some dough.

I’m determined not to forget things. Ever since my dad said I was diagnosed with dementia, which made me forget most of the memories with my mom and even some things before that, I’ve always repeated things in my head. Again, again, and again. I find it weird though—my so-called ‘dementia’ doesn’t act up.

I threw the pizza in the oven, repeated the process to make two, then took them out of the oven. I took some boxes from the delivery station and shoved the pizzas inside. Stacking the boxes on top of each other, I left the kitchen and made my way to their seating. They were giggling and talking, the tall one who knew my name was only supervising them, leaning back with his arms crossed. I quickly dropped off the pizzas to rush off and grab the sodas they ordered as well from the mini fridge. Four sodas .

I placed the sodas down as well, the tall one giving me a thank you. I survived the day. 

I waited until everyone left and no more customers were around. I helped Lulu unload some supply boxes, hoisting two of them up from the truck. “ . . . What?” she gave me a side-eye, noticing me zone out.

“Nothing. Just thoughts.” I answered honestly, carrying the boxes I held in my arms to the conveyer belt. Once everything was unloaded, I walked past the manager’s office to make sure everything was in place for my next shift—until I heard some talking in his office. Dued1, my manager. I never really saw him around the pizzeria. Sometimes I forget he exists. He was inside the building today. 

Insignificant priorities, Elliot. It’s best to keep doing your job rather than linger around noisily . I thought, walking past. The tables seemed clean enough, and nothing was that dirty. I exited to the back, then saw something in the corner of my eye. Chance’s pizza . 

Picking up the box from the table, I hoped it wasn’t too cold to deliver. I wanted to deliver it to him. I stepped outside to be met with an indoor waterfall–? Oh, it was just rain. 

I stared at the rain for a second, bringing my hand out. It made a pattering sound on the ground, each droplet falling in a pattern. I took a deep breath, taking off my uniform and wrapping the pizza box to cover it from the rain. My black turtleneck underneath clung slightly to my skin from the rain, cold air hitting my arm.

I sat on my motorbike, setting the pizza box on my lap and tying my uniform around my waist to keep it in place. After backing up my motorbike, I started to drive past the houses. He was more likely to live near the richer areas, further from my neighborhood. I drove down the street for a while, my hair getting damp from the rain. If I was correct and remembered their address, it was 3 . . .

My thoughts trailed off as I stared at the estate standing in front of me. I could’ve mistaken it as a hotel based on how big it was. At least four or three stories high, not blending in with the houses around the area at all. A garden filled with flowers and vegetables were displayed on the porch, two garages on both sides of the house. I parked my motorbike right on the curb and stepped foot on the property. I felt out of place in such a high-status plot. I cautiously approached the front door, walking up the steps. 

Knock knock .

My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest while I waited, my finger tapping on my leg. The door creaked open. 

“ . . . Elliot?” Chance opened the door.

I nervously smiled. “I thought I’d deliver the pizza after you left so abruptly and–”

“It’s raining! You’re all wet!” he pointed out, his eyebrows creased in a concerned manner. “It’s past your shift too!”

He was right, and I didn’t have an excuse for that. “I just wanted to deliver the pizza to you. That’s all. I’m going back home now, so . . . “ I unwrapped the pizza box from my uniform and handed it to him, thankfully still dry. I put my uniform back on and ran a hand through my hair. 

Chance peeked above my shoulder. “In that ?” he muttered in disbelief. “Look, it’s raining, there’s going to be a storm, and you’re dripping wet. I could just drop you off at your house or something. I’ll put your motorbike in the back trunk and—”

“No!” I quickly said, a bit too fast. “I mean, no. I’ll just ride home. I’m fine. Just a bit of water, you know?”

If he saw where I lived—a house probably not even as big as his garage—he’d think too lowly of me. “Look, kid. You’re drenched. Just let me drive you home or something. Drivers aren’t the kindest during a storm, especially not at this hour.” he insisted. 

I shook my head. “I’m . . . just fine. Okay? I–”

“At least come inside.”

“Come . . . inside?” I repeated in confusion. Inside his parent’s house? I didn’t look right even standing outside on their porch. I was dripping wet , and he wanted me to come inside ?

The rain outside poured heavily, and I looked back. “Well?”

I fidgeted with my hand. “ . . . It’s not a good idea, it’s your parents house and—”

“My parents are too busy getting drunk with their friends or something back at the casino. They’re not here.”

I swallowed, thoughts racing to make up an excuse. “I’m wet, your floors will get all–”

He held up a finger to stop me from speaking, sliding his blazer off his shoulders. He stepped towards me and wrapped his blazer around me. “You still have a problem?” he asked a bit teasingly. I flattened my lips.

“ . . . No.”

“Then I don’t see why you can’t come inside, come on.” he waved his hand to follow him, and I stepped inside his house. Looking around, I felt like I could get lost inside of this place in a few seconds–the top had a massive chandelier which felt like if it fell it would kill me instantly, and there was a terrifying amount of space. Window sills were decorated with these fancy patterns and curtains, the staircase spiraled upwards to heaven knows how many floors. He checked behind him to make sure I was following him. “So . . . you didn’t get hit by a car before arriving?”

“Huh?”

Chance smirked. “I’m joking. Lighten up.” he nudged my elbow. “The plan is, if my parents come home, you hide or something cool. Disappear if you’re a magician. You do you. Or . . . “

He pulled out a coin from his pocket, one having an R logo on it, the other side having some sort of crying face. Chance cleared his throat. 

“I kick him out, or I let him hide–’

I grabbed his shoulders. “Wait, I’m going to what !?” 

He held his hands up in surrender. “Woah! Calm down! My parents sometimes don’t even come home. They’re too caught up with their own business on how to expand the casino’s popularity.” Chance raised an eyebrow in thought. “Though sometimes they do come back with a butt-load of people . . . “

His blazer had a faint fragrance of cologne, and could think of is why he’d so free-willingly let me in. He probably didn’t notice who I was compared to him. At least his blazer prevented me from leaving any puddles on his perfect floors. Actually, why would he even give that to me either?

Why was I here—couldn’t I just leave? I stepped inside his parent’s home. Not like he had a house, but even if it was his, I would choose to leave. He surely had better things to do than talk to me. Chance patted a spot on the couch next to him. “Sit down. I’ll get you something to eat, or drink? I don’t know. Whatever you want.”

“I think you’re forgetting I came here to deliver pizza, not to–”

“It’s the end of your shift, in my defense.” he winked, stubborn as he was. He scratched his arm. “Eh . . . do you drink?”

The sudden question made me look up at him. “Huh? Drink, like . . . like alcohol?”

Chance nodded. “Drink. Yeah.” I looked away when I caught a glimpse of his eye.

“Yes.”

“No, you haven’t even tried it.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right. So what if you were?” 

He pulled a nearby bottle from the small drawer in the corner of the living room shelf, placing a shot glass on the table. “That means,” he tilted the bottle to pour it into the glass, “you get to try it.”

I blinked hard to make sure he said that—not that I had a problem with it, but it was kind of unnecessary too. “You want me to drink that ?” 

Chance crossed his arms. “Did I stutter?”

The glass stood on the table tall, half-way filled with a golden liquid, or, alcohol—I’m no alcohol expert, so I can say I looked really confused seeing such a small glass with a pint amount of liquid. 

I wrapped the blazer around me tighter, fiddling with the sleeve. “Well . . . uh . . . “

He just stood there, waiting. “Well . . . ?”

I examined the glass, Chance sliding the shot closer to me. I reached my arm out to take the glass, swishing it around in the cup. 

Well.

Happy late 21st birthday, Elliot.

I tilted the glass to my lips, taking the drink itself quickly as if it was medicine—I wiped my mouth with my hand, a sort of bitter aftertaste left in my tongue. At first, nothing seemed to have happened, then some sort of burning feeling in my throat made me want to cough. 

“You took the glass,” he stated obviously. They had a proud smirk on their face, crossing their arms. “So . . . what did you think?”

I winced. “That was great!”

“You hated that.”

“Okay, shut up.”

The doorbell rang, followed by a knock. Chance turned to the door, then back at me. “Not my parents. You’ll be fine.”

Maybe it was just now I noticed his eyes peeking under his shades. I never actually noticed or cared about his eyes or, really, anything else. Now that he was close, I could see his eyes—two different colors, one yellow, one gray. I stared at his eyes for so long I didn’t notice him looking back at me.

I coughed as an excuse, looking away from him, expecting any answer. Instead, he was still looking at me. 

I saw the way his eyes softened in a way I can only describe as safe. The way he was leaning—leaning? Leaning towards—towards me?

“Uh—Chance, the . . . the door.” I reminded, and he seemed to wake up.

“Oh! Right, the door,” he chuckled awkwardly, standing up to open the front door.

Once he got to the door, I couldn’t see who was on the other side. All I knew was that when he opened the door, the atmosphere felt more tense. Uncomfortable. The rain was not as harsh as before, but it was dark outside. Cold air filled the room, the moon was the only source of light. Something so simple as the presence of someone on the other side of the door could alter everything, right here, right now.

Chance held open the door, not exactly inviting them inside, just answering the door. “iTrapped,” he smiled warmly. Right after hearing that name, I immediately recognized it. His friend—who he was buying the pizza for. I could tell the reason why it was so uncomfortable in the room was because of me. 

“Well . . . ? Are you going to let me in?” His voice sounded quite impatient, and Chance just held the door open.

I could finally see him, and he looked nothing like what I would’ve guessed. Maybe a bit more taller than Chance, but overall the same height. Blue vest and jabot necktie, some fancy coat that had fur around his collar, and his eyes—his eyes? 

I trailed my eyes upwards, his long yellow hair flowing from the sides of his face. 

I didn’t know how to describe it. 

In front of his face was a square. A black square. I couldn’t capture a singular glimpse of his face. I blinked hard, making sure I wasn’t seeing things.

His eyes?

His eyes . . . ?

“And, who’s that?” I couldn’t see his eyes but somehow could tell he was looking at me. I hugged the blazer, not knowing what to say. “Some pizza worker?” he smirked sadistically, if he had eyes, he’d probably be looking me up and down.

Chance adjusted his shades, hiding his eyes again. “That’s— . . . he’s . . . “ he hesitated, words caught up in his throat. “ Elliot. His name is Elliot.” 

I tensed up by hearing my own name, looking back at iTrapped. He looked like he was going to laugh, and at the same time, he looked so stern. I looked above him to see some spiked, translucent blue crown on his head. I felt out of place.

iTrapped hummed, tilting his head slightly. “Elliot.” His judging tone didn’t help. “That’s cute.” Though, his words were only lying to my face. He had a sharp bite to his words.

“ . . . I–I should go now,” I urged, placing Chance’s blazer on the couch. I wasn’t as wet as before, but wasn’t dry either. I took acknowledgement of my disheveled uniform, straightening it out. “It’s not raining that much anymore.”

“Are you sure . . . ? You don’t have to leave now—”

“Oh, let the boy go. He’ll be fine.” iTrapped said, dismissing me. 

Chance looked over at me. “Just . . . drive safe.” he muttered, then I left for the door.

August 22, 2014

Same routine. 

Get behind that counter and start working, Elliot. I chided to myself, clipping on my nametag, though no one really uses employees names. Lulu had to stay at home, apparently. Some injury happened while driving here. Sure, I hoped she was doing okay, but I felt emotionless enough to not care as much as I wish I would. 

Same feeling.

Is something, someone , watching me?

I looked at the drive-through, the sun, again, not being too kind to me. I wish I could close that freaking window.

It felt empty in the restaurant, especially knowing the only two people in this restaurant were me and my boss, Dued1. I left the kitchen door open for easier access, ready to earn the stress of multi-tasking. That whole day, nothing was in place. That day, I didn’t feel real. Nothing did.

I stood behind the counter for two hours straight, and not once in those hours did I see a singular customer—heck, I didn’t even see anyone pass by. I was leaning against the wall, almost praying for a customer. Without a singular customer, I don’t get money. Which, obviously, that wouldn’t happen, because we always get customers.

My eyes felt heavy, tired from doing nothing. I sighed, not wanting to sit on the floor since there were literal bugs there, and I’m smarter than that. I know that because every time a pizza gets dropped from Lulu’s hands once, those little critters start crawling on the dough. Instead, I left the counter, sitting down at the edge of a dining seat. I saw something move, but I knew it was probably just because I was tired. I laid my head on the dining table.

Why’d I feel so tired? 

I should just close my eyes.

For a bit.

Just for a bit.

When I woke up, my vision felt hazy, everything tilting back and forth like a see-saw. Everything was doubled, my eyes feeling like they couldn’t focus on one thing. I tried to get myself up, everything was aching. But I realized I wasn’t in the pizza place anymore.

Instead, the whole room was dark, a singular light on the ceiling guiding my attention to the table.

A gun ?

My hands were shaking uncontrollably, reaching out for the gun. No, my hands weren’t shaking because of me, it was almost like someone was . . .  puppeteering them. Something didn’t feel right. The aura of the gun felt sickening. I slid the gun off the table, watching it fall into the darkness of the room. 

I tried to see through the darkness, but all I saw was pitch black. 

Shing.

The feeling of fear from a singular sound overwhelmed me, almost making me hyperventilate on the spot. I felt something behind me. 

I couldn’t turn around—something was stopping me. What was this something ? Where was I? Why wasn’t I at the pizza place?

I felt something sharp dig into my stomach, forcing me to lean over. Not just sharp—a burning blade, searing through my stomach as it pushed deeper, like it was trying to split me in half from the inside. It felt like it was getting caught in my ribs, the damp sound of muscle piercing making bile rise in my throat. My lungs felt like they were growing smaller by the second, each breath cut short, like the blade itself had stolen all the air. A scream clawed up my throat but stayed trapped, choking me, leaving only the rasp of blood bubbling in my chest. 

It’s not even me who’s trying to scream.

I placed a hand on my mouth, feeling tape wrapping around my jaw. The scream was caught in my throat. It was trapped in my throat, and my fingers desperately peeled the corner of the tape to let the pain out. I winced, ripping off the tape but . . .

I looked down, seeing my hands stained with blood, the tape soaked red. My own ripped skin clung to it, ripped away in shreds. No, no, no, no , I repeated in my head, my chest heaving. Every breath tasted like rust, thick and hot, spilling down my throat. Warm blood trickled from my jawline, dripping on my neck. I pressed my fingers to my chin—and hit something solid. Hard. Bone. My own skull, being felt by my bare hands. No scream came out. Just the muted click of a jaw dangling loose, hanging open.

I jolted up from my seat, breathing heavily.

The pizza place.

I tried to steady myself, looking around, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths.

It’s the pizza place. It’s the pizza place. Everything was fine. No blood. Just a nightmare.

Fire.

Fire was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. Hot, blazing fire. Heat tugged at my skin, sharp, the air so thick with smoke that it made my throat close. The fire alarm was broken, useless against the loud roaring of flames spreading through the walls. Ash stung my eyes, every movement challenging myself.

I stood up, attempting to see above the tall flames at the exit.

But the exit wasn’t even there. No, it was just a brick wall. My heart seemed like it stopped. I ran for the kitchen door, looking around the kitchen. I looked to my left, but the door frame to the hallway itself was burning, the handle glowing hot. The ovens inside hissed and cracked with small sparks, every one of them on, each pizza dough inside blackened and burning.

Like someone had lit them all on purpose.

The air felt scorching hot, the flames never felt any closer. My clothes seemed to stick to my skin, the dry air burning my nostrils. I forced my way through the flames to get to the ovens, seeing them loom over the haze. reaching my hand to open the oven doors.

"AGH—!" I recoiled my hand backwards instantly, not expecting the burning metal to hurt my hand that much. I felt my own heartbeat pulsing in my hand, realizing the metal seared through my hand easily. My hand was turning red and even almost swollen, making me bite my cheek in pain.

I dropped to one knee, feeling the smoke reek into my lungs. Sour, thick smoke. I pressed my throbbing hand against my shirt, just trying to get a hold of myself. I felt like I was choking for air now, coughing every second. My eyes teared up so badly I could barely see.

Without thinking, I latched my hand onto the handle tightly with my shirt, forcing the oven door open. I could still feel the heat of the handle through my shirt, ash starting to stick onto my clothes.

Gosh, what was I supposed to do?

I felt like I should give up. There's no way im opening eight ovens while I struggle on opeining one.

I took a deep breath before calling out, "HELLO? IS ANYONE THERE?!" I almost felt a sob in the back of my throat.

What if I just gave up?

. . .

The thought pressed in heavier than the smoke. If I let the fire take me, what good or bad to I get from it?

But then—her face. My sister. Waiting for me, needing me. I'm the one who gives her food everyday, care for her in every way I can—something my father doesn't do.

I couldn’t. I wasn’t going to give up.

I doubted myself, I felt hopeless, and I was far from determined. But I wasn't done.

Getting up, I tugged on the handle of the ovens, one after another, each one burning more than the last. A hole formed in the cloth, the heat thinning my shirt.

One more.

I reached my hand for the handle then—

SLAM.

It took me a while to realize what happened.

All of the oven doors were closed again.

More fire sparks creeped from the ovens, landing and igniting the floorboards. I backed away, creating distance between me and the fire. Each spark fed the flames, making them higher and higher to the ceiling.

My phone.

My phone, my phone.

I reached my hands into my pockets, looking in each one of them.

I forgot my phone at home.

I could feel my heart drop to my stomach, my chest tightening. I forgot my phone at home. I forgot. How could I forget?

I heard a giggle echo off the walls, high-pitched and distorted.

I slammed my elbow against the wooden door to the hall, in hopes for it to budge even the slightest. The doorknob was illuminating red, I could feel the heat without even touching it. I needed air. I punched the door, seeing it burst open. I felt relieved, but had to keep moving. I couldn't waste time.

The hallway didn't have harsh flames like the ones in the kitchen, the delivery room table was on fire, though. The manager's office was open, meaning my manager escaped already to the exit in the back.

However, I saw something in the office seat. Someone sitting there. Bright red, smaller than me. Turned away, so I could only see the back of the chair and their head poking out. Their small fingers were tapping random buttons on a floating screen, laughing and kicking their feet.

It was that pill baby. That 'pill baby' grew in a day. I shut the door in the office, running outside and falling to the blacktop floor, able to breathe fresh air. I gasped, my hand still burning and my hair frizzy. I could see the top of the pizza place on the other side was burning, flames circling the building. I felt light-headed, still feeling smoke in my lungs.

Elliot!

I looked around, still feeling tears in my eyes, smoke flooding around the building.

From the sky, a plastic brick fell. The last thing I saw was it hit my head, and I blacked out.

Elliot!

Chapter Text

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐈 . . .

a forsaken fanfic

Shedletsky

"Elliot!" I called out again, waving a hand in front of his face. He finally snapped out of his daze and looked up at me. I huffed, crossing my arms. "Where have you been this whole round?! Multiple survivors are dead because of you."

Elliot raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms back at me. "Like who?"

"For instance, Two Time. He—"

"They."

“He—”

“They.”

"She, he, they, them, it, its, ze, zir—just make up your mind, damnit!" I rolled my eyes, scoffing at him. "Okay, h—they didn't get enough backstabs to get a 'second life,' and Builderman was looking for you the whole round."

He frowned, not exactly happy with my attitude. "It's not my fault," he defended, although I knew that in his head he had the knowledge it was kind of his fault.

“Sorry, Blondie, but it is kind of your fault.” I dropped, twirling my sword by its handle. “Now, if you care to be helpful and heal 007n7—or Guest 1337? That would be great.” 

Elliot was about to protest, but bit the side of his cheek and forced a smile instead. “You’re always right, Shedletsky. Thanks for the tip.” he merely spoke through clenched teeth, hurrying off to look for the other survivors. It’s because that boy is too worked up for his own good. Rumor has it around the survivors he used to be ‘really kind.’ If so, why can’t he be like that now? Now he just seems like some sarcastic guy that doesn’t want to talk to many people.

But I can’t blame him. We all are quite literally in hell.

Everyone on this team is stupid. Which I’d consider as a good thing, since they’d be too ‘stupid’ to notice and find out things. I peeked right behind a corner, looking for any signs of Jason. I’d get a cool slash or something. 

It wasn’t fair. My arm only had enough strength for two or more slashes, taking a long time to rest and be able to strike again, which then, I usually miss. Unlike before—back when I could absolutely destroy people with however many slashes I wanted. Now I’m here, wasting my time with most people I barely know. 

And knowing they barely know about me.

Perhaps time is a hoax. Not under my responsibility to remember dates, even years. But all I know was that it was the very beginning of the world.

Before the Spectre.

Before Brighteyes.

Before Sword Fights on the Heights.

Before 1x1x1x1.

Before Telamon.

My mentor had told me this story himself, each detail connecting to the last. Never was it passed down to anyone. But maybe you will be the first, perhaps even the last. 

Picture the best you can—an empty, blank void. Pitch black, not anything in sight. Which those dumb, puny Robloxians would call the “Loading Screen.”

Sorry, I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m a Robloxian too. I can’t be saying stuff like this. 

But it still exists today. Maybe you’ll see it next time you, yourself, loads into a game. If you look close enough, faintly, you can see the almighty 2x2 brick himself, in all his glory. Colored in black and almost everywhere in that void. A beautiful, divine creature he was—his model must carry millions of untold scripts—thousands of mysteries that have never escaped out of someone’s lips. The Alpha Brick, some say, the ancestor of every model today, the start of this world. Everything you interact with, see, feel, touch, consume—they all originate from the 2x2 block.

Soon, the world built itself, brick by brick, building by building, monument by monument, mountain by mountain. The Robloxians that used to float endlessly had a place to explore. He had given them life, and they were to make the most out of it. They were aware of this, worshipping and praising Him whenever they could see the worthy 2x2 block. But great power follows with many duties—too many, in fact. Not able to run the world himself or show the Robloxians His physical form since He never had one, He turned a few Robloxians into something different—giving them a new form. The Alpha Block had erased those Robloxian’s minds, switching their accounts, determined to erase their old accounts, completely brain-washing them new, claiming them as the new admins of Roblox. Yet He forgot to erase one—but still, a demi-god was born.

Telamon.

“Arise, my newfound chosen ones,” a dark voice loomed, the endless space vacuum still, allowing Telamon to stand upright on the floating platform. Next to Telamon were others, all standing up as well. The proud tone in 2x2’s voice made Telamon determined.

On the side was Robloxia, the world peaceful and laced with positive energy from others. Telamon and the others all looked down, almost studying the world. As if the other admins and Telamon haven’t seen the world. Telamon reached out to touch the screen, only to get pulled back by someone wearing a similar cloak.

Movements carried echoes in the forever ocean of darkness. Telamon was thinking that the Alpha Brick must’ve seen Telamon’s curiosity. “All of you have a job,” 2x2 ordered, voice never hesitant, “And you are to find out what to do yourself. Your calling.”

Telamon’s calling. Telamon had thought, shuffling. But Telamon didn’t know their calling. How could Telamon discover if Telamon doesn’t know what to seek?

In front of Telamon was a yellow block titled bTools. Something invisible held it, making Telamon turn around. Telamon felt weight on his back. Something heavy. Whatever was controlling with the bTools turned Telamon forward, facing the Alpha Brick. But everyone was now looking at Telamon. Telamon had to shove down the feeling of panic down his throat, watching the floating bTools item back away into the darkness. “Send all of them down to Robloxia. Except for the one you had given wings.”

“I pray to the colon commands,” voices whispered around the baseplate. It took much will-power for Telamon not to look behind. “To teleport . . . “

And there were names, many names—

Dusekkar.

Doombringer. 

Builderman.

Brighteyes.

Erik.

The list went on and on, Telamon could hear the small whooshing sound of them disappearing one by one, name by name. But not Telamon’s name.

No more sound. Empty. Just the cold, cold void. Would Telamon dare to look up at the Alpha Brick?

"You are to observe," He warned, Telamon’s head still down, "Not partake."

Telamon held his hands tighter together, neck aching from maintaining the bowing posture for that long. No matter how much Telamon wanted to ask why, it was never his choice. “Yes, my lord.” Telamon didn’t know what He was saying, but Telamon wanted to survive. It was almost like Telamon had a goal.

In the same strict, booming voice, He demanded, "Teach him how to fly, Bug. Now."

Out from the corner of Telamon’s eye was a figure, wings flapping so fast it wasn’t like a bird’s wing—no, it was like an actual insect. They gave a crooked smile, placing a hand on Telamon’s shoulder, leading them towards the ledge. 

“Taunting, isn’t it?” they giggled, implying towards the pitch-black void over the edge. 

Telamon flinched, not wanting to be at that untrustworthy height. “The height?” he inquired, stepping back.

The Bug laughed, pulling Telamon’s sleeve closer to the ledge. “The height, indeed.” The Bug brought the heels of their feet just over the ledge, using their wings to support their weight. “You will learn.”

Telamon only looked up, not down. “How must Telamon learn?”

The Bug yanked Telamon’s sleeve, flying over the ledge. But Telamon didn’t know what to do, The Bug having to hold Telamon upwards. “The flying command is for the weak,” they lectured while grunting to support Telamon’s weight, pulling him up. “Get up, Telamon. Or has the 2x2 brick chosen the wrong one?”

Telamon took shallow breaths, feeling an impending sense of dread from hovering above the void. 

“You have wings, yet never moved them once.” The Bug dug their hands into Telamon’s arm, trying to pull them upwards, even if he was pulling both of them down. 

“T—Telamon doesn't know how—!” Telamon complained, trying to move upwards with his legs. He could see the world of Robloxia on the side, closer than before.

The Bug huffed. “Flight is never about code—nor command—“ they were using all the strength they could to not let go. “It’s about refusing to fall. So fly, or feign that you were never born to.”

“Telamon's wings—“ Telamon gasped, feeling his only hand that was holding onto The Bug slipping off, “They—they are not like yours, they are not—lightweight as such—“

“They both fly!” The Bug snapped back, almost scolding, “Excuses do not count as solutions to problems,”

Telamon could feel their grip loosening, his hand on the verge of letting go, “Would you help?! For one second?!”

“And that second I help, you will learn nothing.” They retorted, now putting less effort into hoisting me up.

“Help Telamon—!” Telamon almost begged, air spinning around him, the world of Robloxia right below him. “Please!”

“You are to adapt.” The Bug smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “Not build escape routes for different situations.”

“WAIT—!”

The Bug let his hand slip, waving goodbye mockingly and letting Telamon plummet down, the only thought in Telamon’s head was to get up. But no, he saw the sky already, and he knew he was more likely doomed. He fell through the clouds, then turned his body around so he could look where he never wanted to—down the height where the city was.

Oh, no, no, no.

Was this going to be it? Was this where he would die? After all, Telamon was never made into a fully diving being. Just a demi-god. 

It’s about refusing to fall.

Quick Shedletsky note—Telamon was refusing to fall, and Telamon was still about to die.

Telamon shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

For once, he believed in himself.

Right when he was about to hit the ground, he—

“Tough luck, demi-god.” snickered The Bug, holding Telamon’s hood up, then Telamon spawned in the sky—again?!

He was still falling downwards, seeing the field of grass about to his his head. Telamon tried again, putting in so much strength into opening whatever wings the bTools have given him, he thought he might explode. His eye saw the ground for a split second, before he was spawned with a small glitch up again in the sky by The Bug.

Telamon gained more trust into flying. After all, The Bug kept spawning him back to where he was every time he fell. He rushed downwards, and when he thought he would be respawned again, his wings opened, allowing him to glide above the field. 

He had a silent celebration going on in his mind. With no sense of direction or care, he let himself soar freely through the field, only aiming for the sky, not lower. He stayed at the same height though, not able to lift himself up.

He looked down at the grass, which was his first mistake.

CRASH!

“GAH—“ He rolled downwards toward the floor, tumbling with someone else who he was hugging tightly for life. Telamon pulled away, lifting himself up first, finding himself on top of someone with purple hair, star-shaped glasses, and a purple hoodie. 

"Ow—what the hell man?" they spoke up first, wincing. 

"Telamon is—is sorry—" he stuttered, trying to explain though he was struggling to get up.

They scoffed, their tone having a sharp side to it. "Yeah? Well 'Telamon' is also stupid. Get off me!"

“Gotcha,” I smirked, slashing the back of Jason. I took the time while he was still in place, clearly injured, to run half-across the map. There was no way in Robloxia I was going to 1v1 him, even if I am good at sword-fighting. I could easily beat him. I just don’t feel like it.

Why’d I change topics? Because it was such a clean slash! I saved 007n7. I’m the best. 

So far, so amazing. I haven't gotten hurt once.

I think.

He quickly got up, using his wings to pull him back to his feet. Surprisingly, he knew how. "Sorry," he said once more. 

Telamon brushed himself off, dusting his cloak with his sleeve from the excess grass blades. The girl in front of him still had a negative expression. 

“Why do you . . . have wings?” she squinted as if it would help her see better. 

“Why do you not?”

She rolled her eyes, looking him up and down. “‘Why do you not?’” she mocked, which Telamon wasn’t very happy about. “Because, dork. That’s not really normal.”

He tilted his head. “It’s not?”

“Holy free models and assets." She placed her star-shaped glasses on the top of her head. "I give up.”

Telamon offered her his hand. “ . . . Telamon can help?”

“Oh, yes! Of course I’ll accept help from a winged-freak that talks in third-person!” But she assisted herself up instead, completely ignoring the outstretched hand. “No, dork. Try again next time. Maybe just then, you’ll get lucky.”

Telamon looked down sorrowfully. "Telamon is sorry."

She snickered. "You can shut up now, it's getting really stupid."

He silenced himself under command. He wasn't sure if he should step back or keep up the 'conversation' or whatever he should consider it as. 

She raised an eyebrow. "Why do you have wings, anyways?" 

He didn't respond.

"Are you being silent because I told you to shut up?"

He nodded.

At first, she just gave him a gawking look. He was staring back at her, oblivious.

And his confused look was something she found so funny she burst out laughing. "Y—you're not serious, right?" She held her stomach, only seeing amusement. "Y—you're—“

Perhaps she would be rolling on the floor by now, howling with laughter. Instead, she composed herself rather quickly. Telamon bowed.

She stepped back. "What are you doing—?" She took another glance at him, then reluctantly spoke. "Uh . . . you can . . . speak now?"

"Telamon." he said, as if he was introducing himself.

She blinked. "I think I figured." 

"You are?"

"Nunya."

He tilted his head upwards. "Nunya?"

"None of ya' business." She pulled out a panel, clicking a few buttons before disappearing out of sight.

Telamon stayed in place, pondering.

Nunya.

I stumbled over a med-kit intelligently, hitting the floor majestically, I know, I know. 

I enthusiastically took that med-kit and ran away, hoping no one saw me fall.

Anyways.

Telamon peeked behind the pillar, trying to tuck his wings close to him as best as he could.  

“But if the Robloxians keep relying on us, especially the admins, what kind of society would they be living in?” The Bug complained, close to arguing with the 2x2 brick. Telamon stayed with the shadows behind one of the pillars. “They need someone to defend, maybe even protect them.”

The Alpha Brick continued an eerie silence that stretched across the room. The Bug clenched their fists.

“Well?”

“Then there will be someone properly trained to fight for the Robloxians themselves, maybe even to simply show off their skill.”

The Bug crossed their arms, their wings twitching in sync with their annoyance. “I don’t know any mentors.”

“Maybe you will be one. Haven’t you thought of that yet?” 2x2 prodded firmly. 

The Bug stared flatly. “Seriously?”

Telamon felt a hand latch around his wrist in the darkness. His feathers ruffed and his heart seemed to stop. Slowly turning his head, he looked at who was holding onto him.

“Not allowed to be here.” the raspy voice hissed, their entire body covered with a black cloak. They held a yellow block labeled as “bTools.” Telamon attempted to pull his hand away.

“S-sorry,” he frantically tugged his wrist, but the cloaked figure wouldn’t let go. Their grip on his hand was too strong. 

They dug their fingers into his wrist. “Yes. Yes. Follow now. You follow, yes?”

Telamon looked around, frozen in place yet prepared for anything that might happen. “Follow . . . ?”

The bTools wielder chuckled. “Follow?”

The question was: follow where? What were they talking about?

Telamon took the 50/50 and nodded his head.

The cloaked figure’s pointy, long fingers showed through their cloak, their eerie presence not helping with Telamon’s interpretations. Telamon couldn’t do anything but follow, walking with them as he was led down a staircase towards the underground. 

Perhaps this was the temple, last time he recalled. He faintly remembered The Bug mentioning it, yet he couldn’t remember when. The stairs led to a dark hallway.

The bTools wielder tugged him forwards, his only objective was to obey. Obedience is key, is it not?

Oh. Shedletsky note again. This might be the last one, no promises, but are gems supposed to fly?

Down the stairs were floating gems of all sorts of colors, orbiting around the room like a crib mobile. A staff of some sort laid in the corner of the room, something coiling around it. Telamon averted his attention towards the wall, a weird-colored stone too out of place for his liking.

“Re-color that stone? The Alpha Brick wouldn’t be so happy about the look of that in His temple.” Telamon pointed out. The bTools wielder clicked their tongue.

“No.” they chuckled, shaking their head. They picked up the staff, bringing it above them. They took a step back, Telamon following, since that was all he could do. They twirled the staff before casting what looked like a beam of light on that exact brick, the whole wall opening with a deep rumble.

Telamon looked upstairs to where The Bug and 2x2 were arguing, worrisome. “They will hear—!”

“No.”

They placed the staff back, tugging on Telamon’s cloak to follow. 

In the dark room beyond the wall seemed like a labyrinth at first glance. Inside the room was an altar, beside it stood a mossy sacrificial stone. Naive Telamon inched closer, tracing his fingertip on the dusty base of the altar. The bTools wielder was whispering something, frantically building a basic light to move on the candle.

“What is this?” Telamon snapped sharply, watching the flames dance onto the candle wicks. The dim room flickered, warm light igniting. “Tell. Tell Telamon—”

On the wall was a symbol too recognizable. 

It seemed like a symbol he has seen before in Robloxia. But he couldn’t land a finger on it.

It was a circle with triangle-curved edges surrounding it, rotating, maybe spinning. It emitted a luminescent white, the bTools wielder bowing. Telamon pulled the bTool wielder up, forcing them to stand up.

“This is idolism, we are only to worship—”

The bTools wielder pushed Telamon down, forcing him to kneel before the symbol as well. He winced, wanting to get up.

The bTools wielder nodded. “You are to obey.”

With nothing else to do, he decided to use words.

“ . . . No, Telamon is not.”

“You are.”

Telamon shook his head, standing up defiantly. “Telamon says no.”

“You—”

Telamon pushed the cloaked person aside, punching the wall. “Telamon does not like this. Telamon will tell—”

He turned around, but no one was there. No trace of the bTools wielder, not even a footstep print. Instead, the singular flickering candle flame swayed with the wind, the symbol gone and the other candle out. The wall was still closed, the altar glowing.

Telamon reached his hand out towards the sacrificial stone, wanting to see what would happen. 

“Stone . . . “ he mumbled, bugs crawling on the moss. However, he knew he had to get out.

He couldn’t help his own curiosity.

Telamon took the ignited candle in his hand, lighting up the one next to it. With a deep breath, he placed the candles back in place.

Nothing.

A dagger fell from somewhere, dripping with dark red blood.

Telamon stumbled back, immediately rushing to punch the door.

Blood? He has never seen blood.

He kept punching and punching the wall until it opened, running upstairs, feeling sick in his stomach, like he was going to throw up. Telamon kept running and running without a thought or glance until he tripped over the edge of the platform, falling down to Robloxia.

Before he could save himself, he blacked out.

“Okay, Blondie. Go heal someone. You’re just standing there looking all sulky.” I pushed, Elliot forcing a smile.

Elliot balled up his fists. “You’re the boss!”

Sigh, sigh.

Useless supports, am I right?

Telamon slowly opened his eyes, sunlight shining too bright for his liking. 

Footsteps.

He boosted himself up using his wings to perch up on a tree, trying to figure out everything that happened first. He tried to focus through the leaves that disrupted his view to see what was moving, only catching a glimpse of a figure carrying a toolbox and just strolling down the path.